If that happened, he’d fight to get back to her, of course, but he’d already failed to fly through the impenetrable barrier the curse had created. It could take years or centuries to get back to Bastille.
Human lives were too damn short.
Kara wrapped her arms around him, her face soft despite the breastplate between them. “This is something I never thought to ask before—do the humans who live good lives here go to Heaven? Or is the curse blocking them from getting there the way it’s stopping you?”
“A human soul is energy that can’t be measured. As far as I know, it can cross the barrier.” At least, he thought so. In all his years since the Collision, he hadn’t run into an unusual number of ghosts, just a few here and there. If human souls were trapped here by the curse, he’d have encountered a legion of them.
She put her hands on either side of his face, her expression grave. “If the worst happens and we don’t get to live our lives together down here, I don’t want you to fall again and risk getting trapped. If God says you can’t come back down to earth, sit tight and wait for me upstairs.”
“Kara—” he began.
She tugged on his breastplate, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. “What? Are you suddenly afraid of commitment? Haven’t you been single for a few thousand years—what’s a couple of more decades?”
Tears burned behind his eyes, but Kara was steadfast and fearless. “If things go bad taking down these douchebags and undoing the curse, I have faith we’ll meet again in Heaven, so let’s just get out there and end this.”
It was a sound plan, except for one thing. Heaven had rules. It was pure. Nothing tainted could enter. Which meant Kara’s demon heritage barred her from its gates. Forever.
But he didn’t tell her that. He took her hands. “No matter what happens, nothing—neither Heaven nor Hell—will keep me from you.”
He’d war with God himself before he let his fierce warrior princess be damned.
Ignorant of the storm raging in his breast, Kara nodded.
“Nothing will,” she promised with a bracing smile. She tugged on his arm to get him moving. “Let’s go. We have work to do.”
28
Bastille was in chaos. Several fires dotted the skyline, and people were fighting in the street.
Ash and Kara ran into the nearest crowd at the edge of Parc Monceau. Men and women were running back and forth. She pulled aside a random man about to break the door down to a bakery with a rock.
“Looting, really? What the hell is going on?” she asked in disgust. “Has another Firehorse risen?”
The man started, his eyes wide as he took in Ash in full armor over her shoulder. “Yes. And the first person to die was him,” he said, pointing at Ash.
“The reports of my demise have been greatly exaggerated,” Ash drawled, disappointed when the two blinked owlishly at him.
“No Twain fans? Never mind. Obviously, I’m not dead.”
Kara wrinkled her nose. “I didn’t think the cabal would move this quickly to announce your death.”
He turned to her. “Neither did I.” They could have at least waited long enough to be sure their trap would hold him.
Mazarin could never count patience as a virtue.
The incredulous man shook his head. “They told everyone over the new PA system. And…” He stopped, clutching at his neck.
“And what?”
“They said your aide Marcus caused the building collapse. They’re going to execute him as a Firehorse—a real public execution at the Place de Grève. He’s to meet Madame Guillotine.”
Ash pulled out his blade with his next breath. “When?”
The man’s eyes skittered to the knife before coming back to his face. “Now, I think. In f-f-fact, he may already be dead.”
His stomach dropped as the ground fell away from beneath his feet. Aside from the woman standing in front of him, Marcus was his only friend. “Kara—” he began.
She waved him away. “Don’t worry about me. Go!”
He stopped just long enough to kiss her before spreading his wings and shooting into the sky. Pumping harder than he ever had before, Ash streaked through the sky, hurtling toward the center of the city.
It wasn’t far, but he pushed himself to his very limits. His pecs and scapula were screaming by the time he sighted his destination below.
Place de Grève was mobbed.
It was a flashback straight out of his nightmares. A wooden platform had been erected at one end in front of the Hotel de Ville. Two tiny figures were moving on it, dragging a third figure to what appeared to be an empty doorway, standing in the middle of the stage.
Ash blinked, reliving the nightmare of the revolution in the space between seconds. He’d been in England when the Reign of Terror had started. He’d rushed back to Paris, his goal to save as many of the blameless as possible. His actions had spared a few. The terror had wound down on its own. When the demons had come, they’d rejected the guillotine as too humane.
He could see Marcus’ contorted features as the two men forced his aide to lay across the board under the gleaming blade.
Despite being fit, Marcus was no longer a soldier. He strained against their hold, but he was no match for the pair holding him.
Time slowed as he flew down, knife at the ready. The mob was roaring. Some were cheering. Others were screaming, a combined primal shriek that reverberated in his soul.
Ash opened his mouth, his war cry sounding from deep in his core as he plunged down like an avenging angel. But it was too late. The blade whistled as it fell, striking Marcus’ head from his body. It hit the platform with a thump.
He was too late.
Red flooded his vision. Raising his blade, he dived, closing the distance as his best friend’s head rolled off the stage into the crowd. Slashing wildly, Ash cut down the first man. The force of his blow cut the man in half, spraying ruby-red blood like a mist across the stage.
The screams of the crowd transmuted to terror.
The bewildered audience began to scatter, but Ash had no time to soothe them or explain they had just executed an innocent man. He raised his blade again, caught up in a near-Berserker rage.
The second man to fall was Klein. He stumbled backward when he saw his accomplice cut down, tripping on his feet. Landing on his backside, he crawled away like a worm, but Ash didn’t let him get far.
His knife whistled through the air, stabbing down with enough force to drive his blade completely through the man’s body, the tip embedding in the wooden stage. Ash pulled it out effortlessly, scanning the crowd at the edge for the fleeing figures of the cabal.
His heart drummed in his ears as he pounced on the first well-dressed man he saw. Reaching out, he snagged the man’s collar, flipping him over on his back.
“Please don’t!” Titouan screamed. “Have mercy!”
Ash wanted to rail that a murderer didn’t deserve mercy, but all that came out of his mouth was an incoherent roar. All around them, the buildings trembled with the violence of the sound.
Titouan clapped his hands over his ears, shrieking in agony. Ash thrust his blade through the man’s throat, cutting off the noise with a gurgle.
Blood poured out of the hole in a stream as he withdrew the blade. It was flung from the end as he spun around, looking for the last one.
“Mazarin!” He couldn’t pick out the politician’s oily scent among the fleeing crowd. The acrid stink of fear overpowered it.
A gurgle made his look down. Titouan was still alive, weakly holding the hole in his neck. In his rage, Ash had failed to sever his spine. He decided to remedy that immediately. Reaching back, he yanked the man by the hair, cutting off Titouan’s head in one ruthless stroke.
Carrying the head and knife in one hand, he pulled the first likely looking overweight man roughly to him. The portly man shook and gibbered incoherently. Ash tossed him aside as soon as he realized it wasn’t Mazarin.
“Ash!”
Kara
was forcing her way against the tide of stampeding humans. She was almost mowed down by a man, but a quick shove gave her enough room to keep her feet.
He met her halfway, his bloodlust too high to think. “I’ll kill him,” he growled, starting after the man who had knocked into her.
She grabbed his arm. “For fuck’s sake, put down the head and leave that poor man alone.”
“I need to find Mazarin,” Ash said, pulling away.
She ran after him, throwing up her hands. “Look around, Ash. He got away. Taking down random men in the streets won’t change that.”
Ash blinked, his ardor cooling reflexively in her presence. He dropped Titouan’s head, helplessly gesturing to the stage. “I was too late,” he said hoarsely.
Kara’s eyes flicked to the head lying in front of the platform. She grimaced. “I know. I’m so sorry,” she said softly.
She hesitated a beat before walking into his arms. The move forced him to hold his knife away from her, but he was still running hot. He kept his weapon out to ward away any more threats to her.
“Mazarin has to pay for this.”
“He will,” she soothed, stroking his free arm. “But you can’t go running amok with a knife like this and not expect everyone to run away screaming.”
“Every second we delay gives him a chance to burrow deeper in some bolt hole.”
She held up a hand. “Temporarily. He won’t be able to hide without help. And everyone who saw you slice and dice the other two councilmen don’t know they deserved it.”
He shook his head. “They should. The cabal told everyone I was dead. They killed Marcus!”
“And all they know is you came roaring back from the dead, and you started hacking people to pieces. You need to explain what happened—and not in your terrifying angel voice. Look around you! The buildings can’t handle the stress. The people probably can’t either.”
“How then? The only way the whole town would hear me is if I used my true voice.”
Kara stood on her tiptoes, tugging on the top of his breastplate for emphasis. “The radio.”
* * *
Videl, the engineer at the radio station, knew Ash by sight, but he’d never seen him covered in blood. He fumbled with the microphone, dropping it on the counter of the makeshift radio station before freezing in place.
“I’ll get that,” Kara volunteered, stepping forward to relieve the panic-stricken attendant.
The short man threw her the most grateful glance Ash had ever seen on a human face. I should be trying to set Videl at ease. That was what a human would do.
The thought came from a million miles away. He stared at the microphone, feeling numb and random.
Don’t break out into the lyrics of “Video Killed the Radio Star”.
“Ash.”
He looked up with a start. Kara widened her eyes meaningfully, jerking her head toward the mike.
Go, she mouthed.
Oh. They were ready.
“This is Ash.”
Kara waved frantically. She grabbed the skin on her neck, tugging it up and down.
“This is Azazel,” he began again, infusing his voice with the peculiar resonance specific to his kind.
He hesitated, wondering what he should say. A description of Mazarin and a threat to anyone harboring would be a good place to start.
But that wasn’t how he began. He started with what was in his heart. “I lost my best friend today.”
Kara walked to the back of his chair, putting her arms around his shoulders.
He reached up to take her hand. “It happened because of greed and self-importance.” He coughed, clearing the roughness in his throat.
“Mazarin and the others lied to you about my death. They blamed a good man for it, murdering him. For that, I executed the two conspirators I found at the scene of the crime. To the other members of the council, I grant clemency. I can’t prove their involvement. As long as they stay out of politics, I will leave them be. But not Mazarin. He is still at large. I want him found.”
Kara held her hands in front of him, stretching them to indicate she wanted him to speak more.
He took a deep breath. “I was trying to correct the imbalances in our system of government when I removed all the council members. I thought we would benefit from a fresh start, but I forgot human nature. Those who are given advantages without earning them forget they don’t always deserve them. They think they are entitled to power, just because they’ve had it so long.
“I know the politicians have said the same about me.” He broke off, glancing up at Kara. “Honestly, all I want is to be able to step down and settle on a small farm, surrounding myself with people I care about. But first, I need to end the Firehorse curse. The good news is we’ve moved closer to that goal.”
Kara stepped around him, hovering anxiously, but he signaled her to calm down. He would never endanger her by revealing her secret. “As little as a month ago, I would have said nothing had changed. Things were about as hopeless as they had ever been. But that’s not true anymore. I flew over the wasteland, and I saw something that changed my mind.”
He met Kara’s eyes. She gave him a nod, no longer worried.
“It was a tree,” he continued. “For those of you who have never left the borders of our Bastille, that may not sound like an earth-shattering revelation. Trees grow throughout our city. But thanks to the great Collision and further actions from the demon horde, the wasteland surrounding us is blighted. I believed nothing would ever grow there again. I’m glad I was wrong.”
He took a deep breath, dropping the resonance in his voice to speak in a muted human tone. “I think it’s a sign from God. Our trials and tribulations will come to an end. It could be tomorrow—or it could be ten years from now. I can’t give you a date. But for the first time in a long while, I believe again. I hope you do, too.”
Ash reached across the counter, turning off the microphone. Videl was transfixed. When he looked up, the man had tears in his eyes. He scrambled to turn off the auditory system.
The light in a little bulb on the wall slowly died. “We’re off the air,” the engineer confirmed.
Kara pounded on Ash’s shoulders lightly.
“Was that what you had in mind?”
She hugged him. “It was perfect.”
Ash ignored Videl’s avid expression and pulled her close to his side, making sure she didn’t come into contact with the gore on his breastplate.
“I need to clean up,” he said.
She looked down at him “Hell yes, you do,” she said, tugging on his hand to lead the way. He had to quicken his step to keep up with her, so eager was she to make an escape. Ash suspected Vidal’s curiosity was making her uncomfortable.
Kara threw the door open, stopping short with a low swear. The building was surrounded.
29
People were pouring into the streets. The crowd surrounding the makeshift radio station was almost a wall, blocking their path.
Ash’s feathers bristled as he ushered Kara behind him. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, but if they came at her, more blood would flow.
“Mr. Angel Sir!” a voice called out. Samuel, the night man, pushed his way to the front of the crowd. “Is it true, Mr. Angel? Is there life in the wasteland?”
Ash blinked in surprise. This was not the bloodthirsty crowd he’d assumed. The waiting faces were open and expectant. He hadn’t seen this auspicious a reaction since the king was first overthrown.
“Yes,” he said, slowly glancing behind him. Kara squeezed his hand, slipping away to blend into the crowd.
“Can we start planting crops there?” a woman on the left asked. Ash thought he recognized her as one of the field workers.
“Er… It’s a little soon for that. The land is only now starting to show signs of life,” he said, trying to keep an eye on Kara’s retreating form. “The important thing at this moment is to find Mazarin. If you find him, bring him to me.”
“When wi
ll the curse end?” someone else called out. A hush fell over the crowd.
“As I said earlier, it could be tomorrow, or it could be a year from now,” he said. “I don’t know. But until we do, the well-being of our city rests in our hands. We must all do our part…so why don’t we go to work now?” He held up a hand before they interrupted again. “Now that our announcement system is finally running, I promise to keep you informed of any developments.”
After he answered a few more questions, the bulk of the stragglers departed. He looked around for Kara, but she was nowhere to be seen.
“I’m sorry ‘bout your friend.” Samuel was still there, holding his cap in front of him. “I thought I might help you carry him for burial—I borrowed a clean vegetable cart. Not one of mine.”
Ash blinked rapidly. “I hadn’t thought of that. Thank you,” he admitted. Burials weren’t something he’d really had to take care of. Even after the war with the demon king and all the disasters when a new Firehorse rose—Marcus had always handled those details for him.
“I should go get his mother.”
Samuel waved that away, pointing his cart in the direction of the Place de Grève. “It’s all right. My boy Thomas went to fetch her.”
“Does he know where she lives?”
“Someone will tell him. Everyone knew Marcus. We all liked him.”
Ash nodded. He followed the cart with an odd detachment, relieved someone else was taking the lead on this.
When they arrived at Place de Grève, the bodies of Titouan and Klein were laying on top of a makeshift pyre.
Kara had taken charge. They had already torn down the scaffold holding the guillotine. The weapon itself was lying on its side, being hacked to pieces by a man under her direction.
A faded blue sheet had been laid over Marcus’ body. From the shape of the mound underneath, the head had been returned to the body. Kara hurried up to him. She glanced at Samuel, but despite the night man’s presence, she took his hand in an open display of affection.
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