Rebellion baf-2

by Lou Morgan

  “This coming from the woman who just burned a man alive?”

  “Woah there. Hold on.” She pointed a finger at him. “Firstly, that wasn’t a man, that was a Fallen. And secondly, how the hell do you know that’s what happened?”

  “He died, yes?”

  “Well, yes. But that... oh. Angel of Death. Got it.”

  “Indeed.”

  The centre of the room was dominated by an enormous steel table, draped in an extremely white sheet.

  There was something underneath the sheet. Alice watched, feeling slightly queasy as Adriel pulled it aside, leaving the table and its contents exposed and horribly spotlit.

  It was a pair of wings. A pair of wings which had been torn from the back of an angel.

  They lay outstretched on the steel of the table, side by side, the feathers bedraggled and sad, and matted with blood. Those on the outer edges of the wings were slightly blackened, and Alice caught the smell of burning. Her stomach turned a quick somersault, but somehow, she couldn’t stop herself from reaching out for them...

  At the touch of her fingers, the wings burst into flame, but they did not burn. Instead, the flames settled, quietly scudding across the surface of the broken feathers. And Alice looked in horror at Adriel.

  “This is one of Michael’s choir.”

  “He was.”

  “What happened?”

  “The Fallen.”

  “They did this?” Alice looked back at the wings spread out on the embalming table, the flames dying out as they fanned out over the feathers. She could see the bones, the muscles and sinews bunched beneath the flesh and feathers, and even she understood that this angel – whoever he was – had been tortured. The bones were broken; the muscles twisted... the wings ripped from his back.

  “This is a message,” Adriel said, pulling the sheet back over the broken wings. “Not a subtle one, either. They are coming. No – more than that: they are already here. And for all that you want to fight, Alice, you are too much a human for this.”

  “That’s what Xaphan said. In hell. Just before he murdered my friend and made me watch. He said I was too human.”

  “Just because Xaphan is one of the Fallen doesn’t mean he can’t tell the truth when it suits him.”

  “He was wrong. Still is.” She curled her fingers tightly in on her palms.

  “I understand – but don’t confuse the will to fight with the strength to do so. You are like them, but not one of them.”

  “How?” Alice held out her hands, and fire danced across her palms; spun around her wrists. “Tell me how. You look at me and tell me how...”

  “Because you can die, Alice. All too easily, you can die.”

  Adriel smoothed the sheet over the wings and quietly walked away, the steel doors swinging shut behind him and the lights switching themselves off as he left. And Alice was alone in the darkness with only dead wings and fire for company.

  She thought about it for a moment, and decided that it wasn’t enough.

  “No. You don’t get to say that. You don’t. You don’t get to take away everything I had, and leave me with this and tell me that I’m not one of you.” She stormed down the corridor after him, catching up with him as he sat back down in his chair. “He died, didn’t he? That angel – whoever he was. He died.”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “So. You said it yourself: everyone dies. Even angels, right?”

  Adriel simply blinked up at her. “What is this obsession of yours? This need to be one thing or another? Why can you not simply be what you are?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m trying to say.”

  “And it’s precisely what makes you human.” He steepled his fingers together and peered at her over the top of them. “Angels do not doubt what they are. Angels do not question their place. They simply are. But you? You want to be this so very, very much. You want it so badly that it burns you. Metaphorically speaking,” he added, seeing Alice open her mouth to interrupt. “Be as you are and be content. Besides,” he said, shuffling papers on his desk, “have you not understood what it is to be an angel? I would have thought Mallory could tell you that. Pain and war and little else.”

  “That’s not what Mallory would say.”

  “Not what he’d say, perhaps, but isn’t it what he thinks?”

  “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been able to ask him. He left.”

  “And so you try to fill the space he has left. Be careful, Alice. The footprints you follow are not meant for you.” He blinked again, and it was clear that he had no interest in discussing the matter any further.

  Alice was furious. More than furious. “I’m not afraid of the Fallen,” she said quietly. It wasn’t entirely true, but she said it anyway. Her shoulder was starting to throb.

  “Neither are they. You must understand – the angels aren’t afraid of the Fallen. They’re afraid of death.”

  “Of you.”

  “In a manner of speaking, yes.” He folded his hands neatly on the blotter on top of his desk. “You’re quite right. Everything dies, Alice. But believe me when I tell you it takes considerably less to cause your death than it would, say, Mallory’s. And angels have died for this war. Many of them. Does that not suggest that perhaps you should fear the Fallen? Have you seen what they do to your world?” He pointed at the door; at the looting, the violence... the madness that had come from nowhere and seemed to be building with every passing day. The streets outside were a carpet of broken glass. It was quiet out there now, but it wouldn’t last.

  “The Fallen have lost everything. They won’t forgive that. And Lucifer, if I remember correctly, has a particular interest in you. So yes, you should fear the Fallen. And you should stop seeking to place yourself in harm’s way. I have gone to considerable trouble to protect you from them, Alice, but I cannot protect you from yourself.”

  And with that, he waved his hand at her, and it was clear she was dismissed. She was still furious, but she was something else, too. Everything Adriel had said sounded suspiciously like the ‘you’ve let yourself down’ speech she’d heard too many times in the past. She had disappointed him, and it left her with a fresh ache in her chest: one that had nothing to do with the beating she’d taken. Was that it? All this, it wasn’t just to keep an eye on her. It was to keep her safe. And she was just getting in the way.

  She hadn’t forgotten about Lucifer. He wasn’t exactly easy to forget, speaking with her mother’s voice, looking out of her mother’s face; asking her to join him. She hadn’t so much ‘forgotten’ that as ‘chosen to ignore.’ Plus, of course, there was the whole problem of the fact she’d managed to set two Archangels against each other and... it was all just such a mess. And where was Mallory? Gone.

  She sighed, fury abating, and turned towards the door. As she reached it, Adriel called her name and she stopped, looking back at him.

  “Alice? I think perhaps you should take a few days. Think of it as sick leave: I’m afraid it simply won’t do to have you covered in bruises. It’s bad for business, and people will ask questions. I don’t enjoy questions, as I’m sure you can understand.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t think.” And she was sorry, she really was. She hadn’t thought, had she? Because she was used to there being someone who could patch her up whenever she needed it. All traces of her anger were gone now, replaced utterly by regret. She hung her head, and was about to step out into the corridor when Adriel coughed quietly. Again, she stopped.

  “One more thing,” he said – this time, with what looked like a half-hidden smile on his face. “If you really must persist in getting into these running battles with the Fallen... at least stop letting them hit you, hmm?” He held her gaze for just long enough to make his point, and then nodded goodnight. She closed the door behind her.

  ADRIEL SHUFFLED HIS papers again and sighed, listening to her footsteps heading down the corridor, and to the door banging as she let herself out.

  “You not done with all that paperwork y
et? You’ve been fiddling with it long enough,” said a voice from the corner of the room.

  Adriel glanced up. “I find paperwork soothing. Particularly when talking to Alice. She’s... struggling.”

  “She’s not.”

  “I beg to differ. That... girl” – Adriel paused – “is in free-fall.”

  “She’s fine.” The angel who had been standing unnoticed in the darkness stepped out into the room, his leather jacket creaking as he flopped into the chair across from Adriel and swung his boots up onto the desk. Adriel scowled at him pointedly, and he swung them back down again. “She needs to find her feet again. That’s all.”

  “I’m not sure it’s that simple.”

  “I didn’t want her to know I was here, Adriel. It would defeat the point of all this.”

  “I understand. But...”

  “It was for the best, but you’re right. Things have changed, haven’t they? And whether you believe it or not, I do appreciate you calling me. She’s pissed off. I didn’t think for a second that she wouldn’t be. Frankly, if I didn’t think she missed me, I’d be pissed off. I’m the kind of man you’d miss, don’t you think?” He cracked a grin, burrowed down into the chair, and this time, when he swung his feet up onto the desk, Adriel simply rolled his eyes.

  “Now. You got anything to drink around here?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Dancing on Pins

  “YOU CAN LET him go now, Zak.”

  Michael was pacing the floor. Behind him were a half-dozen angels, all standing to attention and blocking the doorway, and in the middle of the floor between them was Zadkiel, his boot firmly placed on the back of one of the Fallen, pinning his chest to the floor and his wrists to his spine.

  “You sure? Because I’m good here.”

  “Zadkiel, let him up. He’s clearly of no use to me.” Michael snapped his fingers and a very small flame appeared on the floor, an inch in front of the unfortunate Fallen, whose eyes crossed and then widened as he tried to focus on it. “Unless, of course, he happens to remember something I want to know...”

  “Wait!” The Fallen thrashed, trying to turn his head away from the rapidly growing flame. Michael snapped his fingers again, making the flame vanish, and dropped into a crouch directly in front of the Fallen. He tipped his head sideways to look at him.

  “Yes?”

  “That half-born! The one with the fire!”

  “Yes?”

  “She killed Murmur.”

  “Did she now?” Michael sat back on his heels and glanced up at Zadkiel – who shrugged, then took his weight off the Fallen’s back and stepped away.

  The Fallen sat up, slowly at first, and was obviously about to scuttle into a corner when he spotted the other angels, and thought better of it. He met Michael’s calmly inquisitive gaze.

  “So... what’s your name?”

  “Astorath.”

  “Astorath. You look familiar. Have we met?”

  “I don’t...”

  “Frankly, I don’t really care either way. And I don’t have to tell you how this will go, do I? You’ll tell me whatever it is you know, because I want to know it.”

  “And you’ll let me go?”

  “Yes, yes. Something like that.” Michael waved a hand vaguely. “Now. Tell me about Murmur.”

  “He was... in a warehouse. The Earthbounds came. They had the half-born with them and she...”

  “She burned him, I imagine. Well, well. Look who’s all grown up. Murmur, you say?” He frowned, and looked up at Zadkiel, who made a looping motion with his finger across the lower half of his face. Michael got the message. “Ah, him. Mmm.”

  He rocked back on his heels and stood up, running his hands through his hair as he turned away. Behind Astorath, Zadkiel took a quiet – but exaggerated – step back.

  “That’s it? That’s all you wanted to know?”

  “Why? Do you know more?”

  “No. No, no. I don’t know anything.”

  “Well, then.” Michael had stopped with his back to Astorath, and the Fallen clambered to his feet, one eye on the door.

  “I told you what you wanted to know. I can go now, right? You said you’d let me go...”

  Michael was back across the room, eyes blazing and wings unfurled, in a heartbeat. He swung one of his wings at the unfortunate Fallen and knocked him sprawling onto the floor. “Let you go? For what? To go snivelling back to your master? Vermin,” he hissed, and suddenly his sword was in his hand. He raised it high... and then stopped. Astorath – who had curled into a ball and wrapped his arms around his head – peered out between his elbows. He watched as Michael lowered his sword, then smiled. When Michael winked, he drew his arms away from his head... and then burst into flames. Michael stood and watched as the Fallen burned away to nothing – not even ash – and he folded his wings behind him.

  Zadkiel shook his head from his perch on the windowsill. “You’re a mean old bastard, aren’t you?”

  Michael waved the other angels away, and as one, they turned and marched out of the room. As soon as they were gone, he scowled back at Zadkiel. “Would you care to elaborate on that?”

  “Not really.”

  “He was looking for Lucifer.”

  “So that would be exactly what I said would happen, then, wouldn’t it? I really don’t care if you kill them, but there’s no need to get their hopes up before you do it. And if it were up to me, I’d weigh Lucifer down and drop him into the ocean.”

  “It isn’t that simple.”

  “You sure about that? Because from where I’m sitting it looks pretty fucking simple.”

  “And that is why you are not the leader of this army. You’ve made your point, Zak,” Michael said, placing his sword on the floor alongside the throne. “Now, I suggest we move on.”

  “You want to talk about Alice. There’s a surprise.”

  “She killed one of the Twelve.”

  “Funnily enough, I got that. Has it occurred to you that you should be thanking her for it? I mean, it’s just a thought, but aren’t we all supposed to be on the same side?”

  “How can I keep order if she wilfully disobeys, and then does... this?”

  “Aaand we’re back to that.” Zadkiel dropped his head into his hands; his fingers rubbing at the corner of his eyes. “Again.”

  “She needs to be brought into line.”

  “Why? Let her run for a while. She scares the Fallen and, to be honest, that’s what you need her to be doing. And, besides, don’t you have other things to be worrying about?”

  “There is nothing more important than...”

  “... order, discipline, boring, boring, boring. Whatever. I’m telling you, Michael: if you don’t act, before long there won’t be a world to fight for. And then what good is your precious little half-born?”

  He fell silent, and watched Michael pacing up and down. He’d said enough. Michael tolerated him speaking his mind, but he had limits. And being told he was wrong didn’t put him in the best of moods.

  “I’ve let her run long enough. It’s time. The very fact she’s taken on the Fallen – the Twelve, no less – by herself...”

  “She wasn’t by herself, though, was she? ‘The Earthbounds came.’” Zak slid off the sill and leaned back against the wall as Michael finally gave up on pacing and sat on the steps of the dais. “That’s what’s really getting under your skin: that she won’t do what she’s told and now the other angels are turning to her instead of you.” He didn’t quite manage to hide the grin creeping across his face before Michael looked up at him. Clearing his throat loudly, he rubbed his chin, hoping he’d covered the worst of it...

  “It’s time that stopped.”

  “And what? She’s got Adriel – Adriel – keeping an eye on her, and I seem to remember that last time you tried ordering her around, it didn’t work out so well.”

  “You don’t see, do you? The longer this continues... the Fallen might be frightened by her, yes, but it won’t take them long
to start seeing her as a weak point. And once they do, they will exploit that.”

  “And the only one who gets to exploit Alice is you, right?”

  “Enough!” Michael’s shout echoed around the room. Zadkiel wrinkled his nose in displeasure, but held his tongue.

  “I know precisely how to deal with Alice,” Michael said, his voice suddenly soft and calm again. “And you are going to help me to do it.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Wreckage

  “SO, WHAT HAPPENED to you, then?” Toby leaned against the edge of the desk, trying to look nonchalant. Alice had been waiting for this, ever since she’d stepped through the door that morning. As soon as Adriel sent her home – bruised and beaten and generally pissed off with the world, her life and herself – she had remembered that she’d agreed to go out with Toby. And that she’d agreed to arrange it the next day, before promptly vanishing. Way to make a great impression.

  It took almost a week for the bruises to fade, and she had rehearsed all her possible excuses on her way into work, but had stopped when she saw the state of the street. There was even more broken glass carpeting the pavement than she remembered, glittering like so many diamonds. A burned-out car slumped in the middle of the road, half-overturned and still smoking. Across from it, a police van stood abandoned, its doors open, creaking slightly in the breeze. All its windows had been smashed and the metal grilles (or parts of them) were scattered across the street. One appeared to be sticking out of a newsagent’s window. There was rubbish everywhere: pages of damp newspapers, food wrappers, a brick... a discarded shoe. Just the one shoe; presumably, whoever had done this hopped home afterwards.

  She stared around her. This was worse than she had seen it – and still the only window in the entire street which hadn’t been smashed or cracked was Adriel’s. Definitely not a coincidence.

  Suddenly uneasy, she took a step forward, and into a puddle. It took a second for her to understand the rush of heat that swept through her, the flames erupting around her hands. She flapped ineffectually, trying to put them out. Nothing happened, and she jumped back, away from the puddle.