by Lou Morgan
THERE WAS SOUND before anything else. Voices seeped in at the edges of Alice’s mind, muffled and distant at first, but growing clearer, louder, more certain.
She opened an eye. Outside, was nothing but searing light, and inside it was dark, and warm, and peaceful. She had a nagging feeling that there was something she was meant to be doing. It was important. It was important and it made her angry. Or perhaps they were both the same thing? It didn’t seem to matter so much in here, in the dark. Maybe she would just stay here for a while...
“Alice. Alice. Aaalice...” The voice calling her name wasn’t one she knew. No – that wasn’t quite true. It wasn’t one she liked.
“Alice. I know you’re awake. There’s no point trying to pretend.”
“Time to get up and play, Alice.” Another voice; this one sharp, all edges and points.
Someone poked her hard in the ribs and she rolled over, curling into a ball. Another poke, this time to her back, and harder still.
“Get up, Alice. I’m getting terribly bored of waiting. And, besides, there’s someone here who’s just dying to see you again.”
No. She really didn’t like that voice. It reminded her of something: a feeling, more than anything else. Of feeling tired, of feeling cold. Of feeling frightened.
Xaphan. It was Xaphan, and suddenly her eyes were open.
“THERE YOU ARE. I knew you were in there somewhere. You have very pretty eyes, Alice. It would be such a shame to keep them closed any longer. Or to let Purson have them.”
He glanced over his shoulder towards the dark-eyed Fallen standing a few paces behind him, then turned back to Alice. “He’s very impatient, you know. Between you and me, it’s exhausting keeping up with him. Exhausting.” He looked back again and rolled his eyes. “But the thing is, he’s very useful. Not to mention well-connected.” He lowered his voice and leaned closer. “I think he’s something of a favourite at the moment. Not that that ever lasts for long. We all have our moment in the sun, of course.” He drew away from her again, and Alice automatically tried to follow, but banged her forehead on something cold and solid.
She shook her head to clear it, and it was only as she did this that she saw the bars in front of her.
She was in a cage.
Xaphan watched her register this with great amusement.
“What, you thought you could simply stroll around? Like I’d let that happen. No angel – Descended or Earthbound – has ever set foot on my level, never mind in my lab. A half-breed’s bad enough... But then we all have our orders, don’t we? I have mine, you have yours and he has his.” He stepped neatly to one side, but even before he did, Alice knew what she would see.
To call it a room would be unfair. It was a space, a workspace: a lab, lit by the same sickly light as the rest of hell. A workbench ran the length of the opposite wall, littered with books, broken glass and strange, twisted tools. A flask sat above a blue-flamed burner; its contents bubbled and shrieked. Where the bench thrust from the rock wall, there was a wheel. Eight feet across, it was built of steel-bolted bone. Broad leather straps hung from its edges; another from its hub, and dark stains spread patchily across it. She knew what this wheel was. She had seen it in Abbadona’s memory. Even from here she could feel it weeping pain like a wound. And even from here she could feel his fear, as he stood beside it with his head bowed in defeat, Purson gripping him tightly and forcing his burned wrist into the first of the straps.
She didn’t realise that the shout was hers until he looked up at her with sad eyes. She didn’t realise that her hands were wrapped around the bars of the cage until the cold-iron froze her palms. She didn’t realise that she was pulling on them, shaking at them, hauling at them with all her strength until her shoulders ached, and even then, she didn’t stop. And all the while, Purson methodically fastened the buckles on the straps.
Alice’s throat was dry and sore but still she couldn’t stop screaming, because everything else was falling away, all the angels; all the fire and the pain; all the blood and the death and the horror... and all that was left was Alice, watching a man she had once thought she loved bound to the wheel where he would die.
He held her gaze, and it no longer mattered that he had never been who she thought he was. It didn’t matter that he had been little more than a spy, nor that he had lied. She was about to watch his execution, and they both knew it.
Purson stepped away from the wheel. The straps held Abbadona – Rob, the name such a trivial matter now – stretched out across the wheel. Still his eyes were locked to hers.
“Alice?”
There was a new voice – a woman’s voice. Young. Familiar. Alice tore herself away from the wheel, and looked for it, her grip on the bars slipping, her arms hanging heavily by her sides. There was no-one else there: just Xaphan, Purson and Abbadona, tied to the damned wheel. Waiting.
Waiting for what?
The air around Xaphan began to shimmer, to shiver ever so gently, and then dropped as though everything behind him had been an illusion, a curtain which had been allowed to fall.
Suddenly, there was someone standing beside him. Green eyes, and a streak of black against bright white hair.
“Alice, I’m sorry.”
“No, Florence. You’re not.” Alice’s voice was cracked, but still managed to sound angry, angry enough that Florence took half a step behind Xaphan for protection. “How can you be sorry? You’re on the wrong side of the damn bars.”
“I never... I didn’t...”
“Yes, you did.”
“If you’d just let me explain...”
“Explain what? Why you let everyone think you were dead? Why you left your brother? Why you left Vhnori to the Fallen? And this, what about this? You’ve got an explanation for this?” Alice banged on the bars.
“Because Xaphan asked me to.” Florence’s voice was low, her eyes on the ground.
From the wheel, Abbadona began to laugh. “You love him? You’re out of your fucking mind, sister.”
“No one asked you,” snapped Xaphan, taking his eyes off Alice for the first time.
Abbadona snorted. “You got me on the Wheel already, Xaph. What else are you going to do to me? Talk me to death?”
Alice was staring at Florence, her face dark, and Florence shook her head in frustration. “If anyone was going to understand, I would have thought it would be you. We’re the same...”
“No, I really don’t think we are.”
“So you never loved him, then?”
“It doesn’t matter, does it?”
“Alice,” Florence was at the cage now, her fingers twining around the bars, resting on Alice’s. “I didn’t mean it to end like this. You were never meant to... it shouldn’t have been you. They told me it would be an Earthbound...”
“How long?” asked Alice. It seemed to matter.
“Since the beginning,” said Florence. “Since the first hellmouth.”
“She’s been making people choose, Alice. They have to make a choice, remember. Xaphan’s been using her.” Abbadona was still laughing. “They see what they want, and they jump right in.”
“Ah, not entirely true,” Xaphan cut in smoothly. “We needed to use a degree of... persuasion at the beginning, yes. But in time...”
“...the balance started tipping,” Alice finished his sentence for him. “And then you could just take them.”
“Well, now. Mallory has been busy teaching you, hasn’t he?” Xaphan raised an eyebrow, but managed to look no less smug. “You’re quite right. Once the balance passes the tipping point, we don’t need people to make a choice. We prefer it, of course, but it’s no longer necessary.” He opened his arms expansively. “It’s over, Alice. The angels have failed. We have control. And all humanity will Fall, whether they choose to or not.”
“You’re a pompous old goat, you know that?” Abbadona’s wrists strained against the leather straps. “You felt it earlier, just like I did. The Gate’s down. The angels are coming, and you t
hink it’s just going to be the Earthbounds? They’ve got into hell, Xaphan. The Descendeds, the Archangels... they’re all coming. And they’re all coming after you.”
“Me? I think not. After all, that’s what you’re here for, isn’t it? To help the little half-breed destroy the hellmouth machine?” He half-looked to his left, caught himself and stopped, grinning. “Nice trick, Abe. But not nice enough. By the time the angels find you, and realise you failed, it’ll be too late. And I’ll be long gone.”
“Too late? Too late for what?” asked Alice, her attention suddenly snapping away from the touch of Florence’s fingers. Her skin was warm. Alice felt like she hadn’t been warm in years. Not since all of this began.
“Hey!” Florence yelped in pain and pulled her hands away, backing up towards Xaphan.
Alice looked down. Her hands were burning. Flames boiled up the bars, licking at the metal, but it stayed as cold as ever.
Xaphan ushered Florence behind him and stepped forward to stroke the cage. “That’s not going to help you, little girl. I forged those bars myself. No amount of angel fire’s going to get you out. Who are you really angry with, I wonder? Us, or yourself? All that confusion, all that emotion. You were so busy thinking, you forgot to fight back! It made my job much easier; I should thank you. I never imagined we’d take you so easily. Perhaps I overestimated you? Still, burn all you like. It won’t make a difference here. Not for you.”
Alice heard the challenge in his voice and let the fire burn anyway. It cleared her head. “Have you seen the Ghasts, Florence?” she said, enjoying the feel of Florence’s fear.
“Of course I have.”
“You know they were like us, once. Half-borns. Maybe more like you: half-borns who Fell. You know what happened to them?”
“You mean their eyes? Sure I know. It’s not like I’ve only just got here. But Xaph, he won’t let that happen. Not to me.”
“You keep your eyes open, Florence. Next time you see me, one way or another, it’ll be the last thing you see.”
A flame slid between the bars of the cage and towards Florence, weaving through the air, reaching for her.
“And that’s quite enough of that,” snapped Xaphan. He whistled to Purson, who took hold of the edge of the wheel with both his hands and pulled down, hard. There was a low rolling sound like thunder, a scrape of steel on stone, and the wheel began to turn.
An oily smell filled the air, a burning blackness, and dark flames sprang up along the rim of the wheel. Small at first, they skipped around the edges and down the spokes. Abbadona’s eyes widened a little; his jaw set as the fire found him. Purson stood in front of the wheel, watching with satisfaction, and slowly raised his arm. He was holding a metal bar. He struck out with it, hitting Abbadona’s leg with a terrible crunching sound. He waited for some kind of cry: none came. He struck again, and again there was nothing from Abbadona, but as the wheel turned and brought his face level with Alice, he looked out at her. Pain in his eyes, fear in his face, he looked at her and he said: “Sorry, princess. I did my best.”
The black flames covered him, and Purson struck blindly into them, over and over and over again. But Abbadona made no more sounds, and still the wheel turned.
ALL THIS TIME, Xaphan had eyes for nothing else: only the burning wheel. Abbadona would be causing no more trouble, that was certain, not now the Gate was broken and hell was breached. That was a problem in itself, of course, but at least it wouldn’t be his.
Satisfied, he turned towards the cage... just in time to see Alice go nuclear.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Catharsis
XAPHAN DIVED FOR cover beneath the workbench, dragging Florence with him, pulling her on top of him in the process. Florence’s heart hammered against his ribs, her breath hot on his neck as she huddled closer. It made him feel vaguely sick.
“What happened?” Her voice was muffled by his chest.
“That,” he said, wriggling away from her, “is how you find out which side a half-born comes down on: angel, or human.” He had almost managed to slide himself out from under her when her fingers clamped around the lapels of his coat. She blinked at him tearily. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“If you hadn’t pulled me down with you...”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about it. I needed to get to cover. You just happened to be in the way.”
“But I...”
“Spare me, Florence. Just tell me if she’s still out there.”
“I can’t tell.”
“Well, how about you stand up and take a look?”
“You heard what she said before. What if she meant it?”
“Then you’d better hope you see her before she sees you, hadn’t you?” And with that he gave her a shove, sliding her along the floor and into the open.
“ALL YOU HAVE to remember to do is to let it in, and you’ll be fine.”
It had sounded so easy when Mallory said it. And back then, it had been. Then, hell had been an idea, a premise – a possibility. But now it was real. It was real and it was here and it was now. And Alice had seen, and she had felt...
The fire burned brighter, hotter.
There was just too much of it. Too much of it outside. Too much pain, too much fear.
There was too much of it inside. Too much to hold.
The wheel was still turning slowly. Still burning blackly. It was just a wheel now: he was long gone. His pain was gone, but it still echoed in her head.
There was too much pain, and too much death, and there was no space left.
Too much to hold, and it was all piling up, piling up, piling up.
Alice felt something give, deep inside.
The world went white.
FLORENCE EDGED FORWARD, still crouching, and peered around the edge of a stool that lay on its side. Xaphan’s lab was almost unrecognisable: charred papers littered the floor – some still smouldering – and broken glass glittered in the wall where it had been embedded by the blast. The wheel where Purson had tied Abbadona was still spinning, although not as quickly and certainly not as evenly. There was no sign of Purson, for which Florence was grateful. More than any of the others, he gave her the creeps. More, even, than Lucifer.
She had met Lucifer only once, and it wasn’t an experience she wanted to repeat. It was the day Xaphan had brought her to the Gate; the day he had brought her to hell. Charon barred their way, and suddenly Xaph wasn’t Xaph any more. It wasn’t just the red eyes: everything about him had been different, even down to the way he moved. Lucifer had walked around her, looking her up and down – examining her – and when he spoke, although it was still Xaphan’s voice, he sounded like a stranger. He was a stranger.
“Do you know what you’re doing, girl? This isn’t a game. And I warn you, eleventh-hour repentance is not something I have much patience for.”
“I understand. Xaphan said you need me. That’s why I’m here.”
“He did, did he? That’s Xaphan for you. He’ll say anything to get a girl.” He drew closer, running a finger down her cheek. “And I do mean anything.” He smiled at her. “Are you curious to hear what he really thinks of you? I can tell you, you know. Everything that goes on up here” – he tapped the side of his head, Xaphan’s head – “belongs to me, just like everything beyond that Gate does. It’s mine, all of it.” He stepped back again and narrowed his eyes. “Do you understand that?”
“Yes.” She looked at the floor. Anything not to meet his gaze. Whether this was the right response, she couldn’t say, but it seemed to be enough. Lucifer nodded.
“He hasn’t lied to you. Which, for Xaphan, is new. But he’s wrong about the Brand. He thinks he’ll let you take it, but he won’t, and with good reason.”
“Can I ask what that is?”
“You can. Of course, I wouldn’t normally answer, but in your case, it amuses me not to. Whether or not he lets you is largely irrelevant, because I will not permit it.” He folded his arms, enjoying the shoc
k on her face.
“But without it...”
“Yes, yes. Without it, you’ll fade; become a Ghast. I’m afraid it’s inevitable. But you see, a branded half-born loses her gift, and what good are you to me then? You’re just another half-breed, as worthless as the rest.”
“Xaph said there were exceptions.”
“Did he, now?” Another smile. “One. One exception. And one is quite enough. You make your choice, Florence. And if you choose us, I suggest you keep an eye on the angels. They don’t take kindly to coming second.” He pointed at his eyes and laughed. “I’ve enjoyed our chat,” he said, looking her up and down again, slower this time. “I’m already looking forward to the next one. Until then...” His eyes closed, and when they opened again, Xaphan was back. He had a strange look on his face – a mixture of anger and fear – but he said nothing. Instead, he took her hand and led her towards the Gate.
FLORENCE STOOD IN the ruined lab, with just two thoughts in her head. The first was: “What happened to Alice?” The second was: “What if I chose the wrong side?”
THE CAGE WAS gone. Just gone. In its place was a ball of flame that flickered and swayed, and at the heart of the fire stood Alice. Molten metal bubbled around her feet. She stared ahead, not registering Florence ducking back behind the stool and out of sight.
The fire dimmed and shrank back until all that remained was a bracelet of flame around each of Alice’s wrists, and still she stared emptily ahead of her. She took a step forward, out of the puddle of iron, and she paused. She turned her head from side to side, like an animal searching for a scent, and then she started to walk, leaving a trail of blazing footprints behind her.
Florence shrank further behind the stool and held her breath as she passed, not entirely trusting that Alice would see an empty lab.
It wasn’t the fire that followed in Alice’s footsteps that made Florence so keen to avoid attracting her attention, nor was it the fact she had just melted bars of solid cold-iron into nothing. It wasn’t even the threat Alice had made before Abbadona died.
