by Lou Morgan
“You think you’ll find her down here? That’s why you came, isn’t it – that’s the truth. You can tell yourself this was all down to me, all down to Mallory, all down to any of the others, but it was your choice. You couldn’t help yourself.” He swung his sword at her. It made a sound like sheet metal tearing. “You think you’ll recognise her, Alice? After all this time? You even think she’ll remember you? And who’s to say she wants to? I hate to break it to you, but given the choice between staying with you or Falling, she picked hell. She chose it, Alice. She chose to Fall. Anything to get away from you.”
“You’re lying.”
“I don’t need to. You know it’s true, don’t you? Deep inside, where it’s dark and quiet – in that little place you like to pretend doesn’t exist? The place you tried in so many ways to forget that you knew? But whatever it is you do; drown it, bury it, burn it... That’s the place that will tell you over and over again that your mother’s one of them now.”
“You’re lying!”
The bars of the fiery cage wavered slightly, and for a moment Gwyn thought they might fall, but with a roar, another row of bars soared up inside them, bringing the fire just that little bit closer. The tips of his wings began to prickle as the feathers curled in the heat. He swung his sword again, harder this time, and far closer to her, forcing her to duck beneath it. She answered with a dart of fire he had to jump sideways to avoid.
His patience ran out and he lunged forward with a growl. Sparks crackled in his hair, lightning bled from his eyes... and he found himself striking at thin air.
OUTSIDE, MALLORY CRANED his neck. He saw sparks, and flames, and little else beyond the fire. But A’albiel looked through it, past it and straight at Alice. He was muttering something under his breath.
“I can’t say I find that very reassuring, Al.”
“It’s nothing... It’s just. Oh. Oh, shit.”
“What?”
“Look.”
Mallory looked harder, until the fire burned itself into his eyes and he was sure he would never see anything but flames again. And the harder he looked, the harder it got, but just when he thought he would have to look away, he saw something else moving inside the cage with them.
“Who... who’s in there?”
“Who do you think?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Choirmaster
SOMEONE WAS PULLING Alice in several directions at once. It wasn’t unpleasant, exactly, but it was peculiar; like being weightless and heavy all at once. Like flying. Like falling. A feeling she’d had before.
The sensation that a single set of eyes was watching her, and that they saw everything she was.
Everything she was, and everything she ever could be.
THE MAN SITTING across the room was half in shadow, the light catching the contours of his face; dark hair brushed back from a broad forehead and eyes full of spinning fire. He was resting his elbow on the arm of the chair and studying her carefully, his chin leaning against his hand.
Alice found herself taking an involuntary step backwards. “Are you who I think you are?”
He didn’t answer. Just kept on staring at her.
“You’re Michael.”
“Marshall of the Armies of the Heavens. General of the Angels. Leader of the Hosts, Master of the Fires.”
He laid both his hands on the arms of the chair and stood, slowly. A heat-haze shimmered about his shoulders as he straightened, then faded as he shrugged and folded his arms across his chest.
“I’ll answer to any of them, but to be honest they’re a bit of a mouthful. The angels tend to call me the Choirmaster. Of course,” he said, lowering his voice, “they don’t know that I know that, so don’t let on, will you?” He winked at her and, quite unexpectedly, Alice felt a pressing need to sit down. Quickly. And on the floor. She stared as his wings unfolded: vast swathes of feather and flame.
“You’re Michael?”
“You sound disappointed. It’s the shirt, isn’t it? You were expecting something... dressier.”
Alice felt her mouth opening and closing, but no sound came out. Especially not once she saw the burning golden sigil on his forearm. He followed her eyes. “Look familiar?” He watched her hand move to her wrist and beamed at her. “Oh, I know what you’re thinking.” He tapped the side of his head. “Can’t keep me out, I’m afraid. You’re one of mine.”
“You can read my mind?”
“Only if I want to. Which – and let’s be clear about this – most of the time I don’t. I’ve got quite enough thoughts of my own in my head without adding an entire choir’s worth. As you can imagine, it gets rather cramped in there if I start listening in.”
“But you can’t...”
“Take over?” His face darkened slightly. “No, Alice. I think you’re confusing me with someone else.” He held out a hand, pulling her to her feet and indicating two armchairs. “Sit with me a while? I believe there are some things we need to discuss.”
“Where are we?”
“Balberith’s study. He won’t be needing it any longer.”
“Balberith?”
“Clerk. Hell’s record-keeper. Pedantic like you wouldn’t believe, sorry. ‘Detail-oriented,’” he said, spotting her smirk. “Every soul that ever came down here, human or angel, he noted them all in those books of his.” He pointed to the shelves across the room, lined with row upon row of books. “And before you ask, no. You may not look. You won’t like what you see.”
“About my mother?”
“About any of it. In case you hadn’t noticed, hell isn’t exactly a holiday camp, and generally speaking it’s full of not very likeable people.”
“And my mother?”
“You really are persistent, aren’t you? Here I am. Michael. Archangel; commander of the choirs of angels. And you insist on questioning me about a silly little Fallen.” He ignored Alice’s gasp. “You honestly expect me to think of her as something more? She Fell. And, to put it bluntly, the only kind of Fallen I’m interested in is a dead one. That includes your mother.”
“But I thought... I mean...”
“You want to know how a child born to a human and one of Raphael’s pets ends up in my choir? Of course you do.” He leaned back into the chair and the leather creaked under his weight. “Simple. She asked me for a favour.”
“She what?”
“She asked me for a favour. Specifically, she asked me to strip your gift. The whole empathy thing. I can’t say I blame her. It must be terribly tedious, always knowing how everyone feels. Quite bad enough when you’re dealing with thoughts: at least there’s usually some reason in there. But emotions? What a mess.”
“You didn’t, though, did you?”
“Didn’t what? Strip your gift? No. Not exactly. I told her I would take you under my protection and order Raphael to remove it.”
“Which you never did.”
“No. It must have slipped my mind.”
He lowered his chin, his eyes still fixed on her. The spirals of fire in his eyes were hypnotic, and she could almost believe him. Almost.
“So, why?”
“Because I saw a chance. A chance that was too good to miss. I already knew what your gift was: pure empathy, just like your mother’s. I could see it, even while you were still a baby. She laid you in my arms, and you looked up at me, and I could see it. I could taste it, Alice.” He leaned forward. “You could feel others’ pain. Really feel it, in your bones. And I thought, in the right hands, in the right place – in the right time – a gift like that would be more than a mere gift. It would be a blessing. A weapon.”
“A weapon. You looked at a baby, and you saw a weapon?”
“I’m a soldier, child. A very good one. And I was right. Because look at you: I had to pull you away from one of Gabriel’s favourites before you took off his head! Quite remarkable.”
“Right. Look at me. Some angel you turned out to be.” Alice’s fingers were digging into the leather of th
e chair. It was smouldering around them.
Michael banged his hands on the arms of his chair, and it burst into flames.
“You will respect me, Alice. You may find you don’t like me, but you will respect me. I will not be spoken to in that tone. Not by any man, not by any angel. You remember what you are, Alice. One of my dogs, one of the hounds of heaven. And remember this, too: if needs be, I will muzzle you.” His face softened slightly, the flames behind him disappearing back into the chair. “But I forget. You have done well. You have made all the choices I hoped you would make, and they have led you here. If I had planned your course myself, I couldn’t have laid it better.”
“You didn’t exactly give me a choice, though, did you?”
“Choice? Have you learned nothing? You’ve had nothing but choices; a dazzling, shining multitude of them. You are absolutely unique. A glorious experiment. I had no way of knowing what you could become. What you have become.”
Alice stared at her hands. It was too dangerous to look him in the eye. Every time she did, she found herself agreeing with him. He sighed. “I haven’t done this right, have I?” He sagged back into the seat and drummed his fingers on the chair. “Mallory is so very much better at it than I am. You will forgive me, I hope?”
She didn’t answer.
“In time, you will understand. This is new to you, and it is hard. I know that. But you must understand, Alice. There is more at stake than the happiness of a half-born, and your mother knew that. At least, she did, before she took complete leave of her senses.”
“You’re saying my mother knew what you would do? And what, that she offered me up like a... like some kind of...?” Alice snapped, looking up.
But she was talking to an empty room. Michael had vanished, leaving nothing behind but the smell of woodsmoke.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Pennies from Heaven, Dropping Like Rain
“WHERE’D SHE GO?” Mallory watched the cage of fire collapse into ash around Gwyn. There was no sign of Alice, just an angry angel with sparks spitting from his armour. On any other day, it might have made Mallory laugh.
“Al? Where did Alice go?” he turned to A’albiel, who was scowling.
“Michael took her.”
“Michael? As in, you know, Michael?”
“That one.”
“Well, that’s just swell, isn’t it? Where did he take her?”
“How should I know?”
“Al?” Mallory’s voice hardened. A’albiel was being evasive, and he wasn’t in the mood for it. “I’ll ask you again. And this is the last time I’ll ask nicely. Where... did... Michael... take... Alice?” He scratched his temple with the barrel of one of the Colts, and A’albiel raised an eyebrow at him.
“Are you trying to threaten me?”
“Why? Is it working?”
“Not exactly. But I understand your concern. He won’t harm her, you know.”
“Gosh, that’s reassuring. You’ll forgive me if I take that with a pinch of the proverbial, won’t you?”
“What?”
“Never mind.”
It was difficult for Mallory to miss the look Al was giving him. He tended to forget that most Descendeds had enough trouble getting their heads around any language that wasn’t Enochian, let alone sarcasm. Still, seeing a Descended completely and totally flummoxed was worth the effort. Even if he did like this one. He sighed, and checked the field behind them.
Unsurprisingly, the arrival of first the Archangels and then Alice had cleared the ground. Mortars still broke overhead and the rock ran redder than ever, but the Fallen were starting to thin. Some had fled the Archangels, some had been cut down. Some had surrendered. Mallory didn’t think it would take long before they wished they hadn’t. If he was less cynical, he might have believed they had won. But with the gates of hell broken, the Fallen fleeing and – as Gwyn had so succinctly pointed out – none of the Twelve on the field, it felt far less like victory than it did defeat.
“Mallory?”
“Hmm?” He started slightly. He had completely forgotten that A’albiel was still beside him. In an attempt to recover his dignity, he turned his twitch into a casual roll of his shoulders.
“May I ask you something? I don’t wish to appear... indelicate?”
“You see, you open a question with that and I’m already picturing how many different ways this conversation could go bad.”
“Does that mean...?”
“Ask away.”
“You haven’t been with Gwyn long, have you?”
“Relatively speaking, no.” Mallory glanced up at Gwyn, who had regained his composure enough to corner a small group of Fallen. Blood-soaked and bone-tired, by the look of them, they huddled into the rock as he dispatched them, and Mallory found himself reaching for his flask. His pocket was empty, and he silently cursed Vin. “I was assigned to him after Nathanael was killed.” He fidgeted with his guns. It was a subject which still made him uncomfortable. “Meresin did it, on the Hill.”
“The Hill? But that was less than a year ago. I’m surprised you could be re-assigned to another so soon. Usually, these things take time. Particularly when Gabriel’s involved.” Al shook his head, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Or so I’ve heard.”
“He as much of an arsehole as the rest of his choir?”
“I couldn’t possibly say. It isn’t my place. But I thought you and Nathanael...?”
“We got along. He understood me, which is a sight more than I can say for Gwyn. If I didn’t know how much Gabriel hated me, I’d think Gwyn volunteered for the job just to piss me off.”
“Maybe he did. But Mallory, there’s something which troubles me, and while I don’t wish to speak out of turn...”
“Would you just spit it out, already? What is it with you lot? Gabriel’s boys are all psychopaths, and Michael’s choir are all worried about hurting someone’s feelings?”
“Hardly.” Al drew himself upright, which made him several inches taller. Mallory hadn’t realised he’d been slouching. He fought the urge to stand on tiptoe. Al continued: “It’s just... well, there’s something that doesn’t quite sit right.”
“Again: spit it out?”
“I was at the Hill, Mallory. Nathanael was not there.”
“That’s impossible. He died there. It was Meresin. He grabbed him from behind and...”
“No, Mallory. He was not there.”
“Maybe you didn’t see him. I heard it was untidy. To say the least.”
“You were absent?”
“Long story.”
“So you did not see it yourself?”
“You think I’d be this relaxed about it if I had?” His hand was moving back to his inside pocket again. The next time he saw Vin, he was going to kick him till he bled. Even if he fixed him afterwards, the point remained.
“Believe me, Mallory. I would have known if Nathanael had been with us on the Hill. I would have welcomed it, and perhaps things would have turned out differently. But he did not fight. He was not there.”
“I don’t get it. Why would he tell me that Nat died... that he died with honour? How could...?”
“Who? Who told you?”
“Who do you think? Gwyn, of course.... Oh.”
GWYN DID NOT understand. As he cut his way through the backs of fleeing Fallen – his sword a blur of flashing light and his wings blazing blue – he found himself wondering where it had begun to unravel.
Like all the best plans, at its heart it had been an overwhelmingly simple idea: to be the angel who led the charge on hell.
Overwhelmingly simple; overwhelmingly, completely and utterly impossible.
Unless, of course, you were in the right place at the right time. Or could arrange to be.
Everyone remembered Seket. The Traveler who Fell, who got nothing more than she deserved.
But not everyone had remembered her daughter.
And not everyone had chanced to overhear a conversation between Seket
and Michael – of all the angels, Michael – which had turned out to be very interesting indeed.
At the time, of course, what Gwyn had heard had little relevance. He was just another soldier. But he was a solider with ambition, and he knew that all information is useful in the right circumstances. So he filed it away and returned to his duties.
It was years before he had reason to think about Seket again, years in which he had worked hard and served well and advanced further than he had ever imagined possible. Gabriel himself had shown an interest in him; had suggested that, in time, there might be a place for him amongst the higher ranks.
In time.
Gwyn did not care for ‘in time.’
And so he had listened at doors and in stairways. He made it his business to hear everything that was said or whispered, to know everything that was left unsaid... to understand the silences between the words, the quietness underneath them.
Then the hellmouths had opened, and the war had escalated beyond all imagining.
As with so much else, it had been chance that led him to hear about Nathanael’s assignment. It was political, of course. These things always were. All half-borns were assigned an Earthbound as their mentor, and the Earthbound in turn answered to a Descended, always from another choir. That was how it worked. Seket being – having been – one of Raphael’s, he had insisted that Mallory be her daughter’s mentor. This had caused no little consternation amongst Gabriel’s choir. After all, angels’ memories are long, and no-one had quite forgotten how Mallory had lost Rimmon to the Fallen. The thought of another loss, under their watch, was too much to bear. Nathanael vouched for Mallory; persuaded Gabriel that he could be trusted, that he would be the right choice, and at last it was arranged.
Except that Gwyn had arrangements of his own.
