by Lou Morgan
The lightning bolt hit with no warning. The chanting and the cheering and the jeering were cut short, replaced by a stunned silence.
The air smelled of ozone; of bleach and metal and blue glass. Alice knew what that meant.
She clambered onto the top of a litter bin. Slowly straightening up, she could see clear over everyone and into the centre of the road, where the lightning had struck. A large gap had formed in the crowd. All thoughts of rioting had evaporated as the crowd stared at the feathery lines radiating from the spot where the lightning had struck.
And at the man who stood at the centre of the shattered circle of tarmac.
The man who stood with his head bowed and his hands folded.
The man who, as the crowd watched in a combination of terror and awe and utter confusion, slowly opened his wide white wings.
“Shit,” said Alice.
A Descended. Not even an Earthbound, but an actual Descended, an honest-to-goodness actual, full-fat, proper angel. Out in the open. And, judging by the entrance, one of Gabriel’s.
He rolled his shoulders and faint white sparks jumped across his wings. He smoothed down the front of his t-shirt, apparently oblivious to the eyes on him.
Alice had noticed his clothes straight away: if he’d been in armour, she would have been really worried. But a t-shirt and jeans? That was slightly more encouraging. As were the bare feet.
And then she remembered that was exactly how the first angel from Michael’s choir she had met – A’albiel – had been dressed when he almost tore the head off one of the Fallen in a car park. So maybe it wasn’t so good. But still, it was only one Descended, right? It wasn’t like there was an army of them, or...
Something moving at the far edge of the crowd caught her eye. For a single, sickening moment, it had almost looked like a wing. But it couldn’t have been, could it?
Another flash of white – this time down the street to her right – and the queasy sensation crawled into her throat.
Behind the crowd, there were three angels, standing to attention. And they were in armour.
“Shit,” she said, with a little more force this time, scrambling down from the top of the bin. The crush of bodies in front of her seemed to have miraculously thinned – at least, enough for Alice to see what was happening. The Descended in the t-shirt was still standing there, head bowed and wings outstretched. No-one made a sound: it felt like the whole crowd, so intent on tearing itself apart only moments before, was holding its collective breath.
And then he raised his head and looked around. Bright blue eyes like searchlights skimmed the faces surrounding him – and magically, people began to find their voices. Some whimpered, some muttered prayers under their breaths. One or two laughed. More cried.
He looked straight through them all.
His gaze settled on her, and even through the now all-encompassing terror that surrounded her, Alice felt his surprise. He blinked at her, then nodded, and his eyes moved on. She heaved a sigh of relief: she didn’t think she was exactly flavour of the month with Gabriel’s choir at the moment... she couldn’t be sure, but she got the feeling that they probably wouldn’t look very kindly on her involvement in their general and Archangel becoming Earthbound, or his second-in-command being thrown to the Fallen... Of course, she could be wrong. But she doubted it.
At the moment, however, he didn’t seem to be particularly interested in her; his ice-blue eyes kept on looking. For what? she thought, staring at the people around her.
More than once, Alice had wondered what would happen if the angels were to appear like this, to a crowd. She knew Descendeds popped up every now and again – but only to individuals and never so openly. She would also put good money on there being more than one Earthbound hidden in amongst the rioters... but, knowing most of the Earthbounds she’d met, she’d also put good odds on them being the ones throwing the bricks.
The spell was broken by a single scream. It rang out through the silence, then swelled as the rioters snapped out of their trance. Away from the angel, right at the front of the crowd, a police officer had taken advantage of the distraction, breaking the line and stepping forward. He was now standing over a prone man, whose hands flapped ineffectually at the blows raining down on him. Again and again the policeman brought the baton down, blood spattering the tarmac as the crowd swelled and turned in on itself, jostling to look, or to intervene, or to attack.
A burning bottle smashed in front of the police line, and they charged.
When the two lines of bodies met, there was an awful crunching sound that almost rivalled the shrieks and howls on both sides.
Alice could no longer see the man on the floor; he had been lost beneath trampling feet. She had to fight against the movement of the bodies around her just to stay in one place. Everyone in the crush turned against one another as they tried to reach the front of the mob, or to get away from the nightmare in their midst: the cold-eyed angel who dripped lightning from his fingers and was currently glaring at the Fallen he had plucked from the mayhem and pinned to the ground. Both of them appeared completely oblivious to the rising panic around them.
Remarkably, it looked as though the police charge was having some effect, although that could be the tear-gas, Alice thought, her eyes smarting. Ahead, another police line was forming, this one admittedly a little less solid than the last. She looked back over her shoulder and counted the angels. Five of them now. Five Descendeds. More than enough.
Trapped between the line of police shields and the angels – with who knew how many Fallen in the middle – Alice was rapidly running out of options.
CHAPTER NINE
Like Bringing a Spoon to a Knife Fight
TOBY DIDN’T UNDERSTAND what was happening. He was so far from even beginning to understand what was happening that he’d more or less given up. There had been a blinding flash of light and a tearing sound... and then silence. Silence and then – where he stood, at least – screaming. He couldn’t see much: all around him, people shoved and crowded him, but it seemed like something big was happening and the riot stilled for a moment before erupting again.
Acrid smoke billowed across the street. It tasted of petrol and oil and soot. Toby held his arm across his face, trying to breathe through his sleeve. The sky overhead was getting darker and darker – still glowing that infernal shade of orange – and it could almost have been night.
He stumbled forward, then backward, turning this way and that until he no longer knew which way he was going; all he knew was that he couldn’t leave Alice out here, in the middle of this.
Head down, he did his best to push past a group of teenage girls leaning against the side of a wrecked police van, looking for all the world like they were watching a carnival – apart from their hoods and the bottles of vodka, which they were swigging from and then hurling over the heads of the people in front. They laughed as one connected with the back of a man’s head.
Finally getting past them, Toby found his way blocked. Eyes watering from the ever-thickening smoke and gas, he blinked, and looked up.
In front of him – and at least a head taller than him – was a man with short hair and hooded eyes, his forehead heavily creased. His arms were folded across his chest. And he was wearing armour.
Toby was about to tell him that he was taking this ‘riot’ business a little seriously when the man raised an eyebrow at him, nodded slightly and stepped aside to let him pass. Gratefully, Toby edged past, and it was only when he turned around to shout his thanks that he saw the wings.
They were huge, and the feathers were white. They weren’t just white – they glowed.
Toby’s mouth dropped open. His feet wouldn’t move. His eyes widened as his mind tried to catch up with what he was seeing.
An angel.
Which was impossible. Right?
The angel must have sensed him staring, because he suddenly cocked his head to one side and turned round. There was a tattoo on his forearm: an unrecognisabl
e squiggle, but just like his wings, it glowed.
And this time, as the angel met Toby’s eyes, he looked almost amused. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but a sudden scream cut through the chaos around them, and he was gone, leaving Toby standing in the middle of the crowd.
Toby had the distinct feeling that he had just seen something; that something had just happened... but he couldn’t quite seem to remember what it was. There was a hole there. He couldn’t have forgotten, surely.
But the more he thought about it, the more unimportant it seemed. What mattered was finding Alice. Wherever the hell she was.
WHILE TOBY WAS trying to process his first meeting with an angel, Alice struggled to find her way through the thickening smoke towards one of the others. It was the smoke that bothered her most: more than the gas, more than the crowds. This smoke tasted like naphtha; a Fallen weapon if ever there was one. All of this felt like their handiwork – the way the people were turning on one another, the random violence of it. With one hand covering her mouth and nose, she peered through the gloom and headed for the faint glow of wings.
“Alice.”
Was it really too much to ask for people to be in front of her if they wanted to talk to her? She turned around and found herself almost nose-to-nose with an Archangel.
She could tell he was one of the Archangels, just by looking at him. Something about the way he held his head; about the way he folded his arms across his chest – and looked utterly unfazed by everything happening around him. Admittedly, the sword hanging from his waist and the glowing sigil on his wrist helped.
The symbol was familiar, but even if that hadn’t given him away, the scent that hung around him, cutting through the smoke, probably would have done. He smelled like cut grass and tomato leaves, like old books and poster paint, like tarmac baking in the sun. He smelled like the past, like childhood. Like memories.
She was standing in front of Zadkiel.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he shouted.
Alice stared pointedly at his wings. “Neither should you!”
“Things are changing. I’m... necessary. All this” – he waved his hand around him – “it has to be contained.”
“Like Michael contained hell, you mean?” Alice snapped.
Zadkiel looked taken aback. “He told me you’d say something like that.”
“Did he really? Well, let me assure you that whatever he says, Michael doesn’t understand a thing about me. Or he wouldn’t have sent you after me.”
“You? I’m not here for you!” Zadkiel said with a shake of his head. “I’m here for this. We all are.”
“All?”
“Look closer, Alice.” He gestured to the crowd behind her, and she turned and looked.
The air shimmered – and suddenly she could see angels everywhere. Among the crowd. On the rooftops. Behind the police, among the police. In the air, beating their wings.
“But... why couldn’t I see them? Before?”
“Because I didn’t want you to. Not all of them.” He patted her on the shoulder. “You take care of yourself, Alice. It was nice to meet you. Michael sends his regards.” His fingers closed around the hilt of his sword as he stepped around her. “We could use a little help, you know.” The creases at the corners of his eyes deepened, and Alice took the hint. Something told her it wasn’t a great idea to get on the bad side of another Archangel.
“He told me you’d say that,” she mimicked, shaking her head. “Angels. Can’t live with them... end of sentence.”
It was as she was turning away that she spotted the back of a jacket. A horribly, horribly familiar jacket.
She only saw it for a second, and then the press of bodies closed in again, but she’d seen enough, and her heart sank.
Toby.
He was supposed to go home. That was the whole point... he was supposed to be safe, far away from all this. But there he was, right in the middle of it. Should she go to him? Would she be protecting him, or putting him in harm’s way?
Torn, she tipped her head back, hoping to find some kind of answer. The angels were still there – although Alice had no idea whether everyone else could see them. Could Toby? What did that mean? Did they know what was happening here? Did he? They’d certainly all seen the Descended arrive: he had been hard to miss. But since then... she turned again and looked back to the centre of the crowd where he stood. No-one was staring, or shouting, or doing any of the things she would have expected them to be doing. Their eyes slid over him; they moved around him, but no-one seemed to notice him. And that had to be Zadkiel’s doing. He could control memories, after all.
“Collateral damage, Alice. Collateral damage...” whispered a voice behind her, and as she whirled to find its source, she saw only red eyes glinting behind a heavy visor.
Lucifer.
He was here.
Stumbling back, she fought the urge to run. What good would it do, in the midst of the pandemonium? Even the angels had finally, typically, vanished.
Lucifer was taunting her. That was the point.
But Lucifer never wore his own body, and she had only ever seen him speak through the Fallen. That was part of the deal: that at any moment, he could invade their heads and make them his own.
And that meant the policeman, standing in front of her and swaddled in his heavy riot gear, was not what he seemed.
His shoulders began to smoke, and then to burn, small flames running down his arms, but he simply laughed, patting them out with his gloved hands. “Fireproof. Nice touch, don’t you think? You’ll have to try harder than that if you want to burn me, Alice.”
...and then the red glow vanished.
As she watched, he dropped his shield, tossing it aside like a toy. It rolled along the pavement, where it was immediately snatched up by a woman who swung it straight at the head of the man pushing past her. It connected heavily and he fell to the ground.
Alice should run. She should; she knew she should. Suddenly her determination was fading, and was being replaced by something very like fear. She should do something, anything... but Lucifer had had the opportunity to sneak up on her and he had let her know he was there. Why? He could have hurt her, could have killed her, yet he hadn’t. If he had a reason for leaving her unharmed, there was no way he would let another of the Fallen hurt her...
... she hoped.
The policeman tucked his baton into his belt and lifted the visor of the helmet, pulling the whole thing off his head and letting it fall to the ground. Everything except for his eyes was hidden behind black wool. He yanked his hands out of his gloves, throwing them away too, and grabbed the front of his balaclava, pulling it up and back until she could see him clearly.
Xaphan.
“You.”
“Me.” He flashed her a shark-like grin, and suddenly his hand was moving to his belt – and before Alice could blink, the baton smashed into the side of her head, sending her stumbling sideways. She hit the ground hard, and pain flared from her hip to her shoulder as she rolled, fire dancing across the tips of her fingers. She swallowed the pain down, held the fire back and sat up. Black stars burst behind her eyes and the world began to sound tinny and far away. A foot came down on the back of her hand as she tried to push herself up.
She tried again, but her legs felt weak. A knock to the side of her head added bright red suns to the black stars dancing in front of her. She blinked hard, shook her head.
And then, swimming into view, a scarred face and a too-wide smile leaning over her.
“You were looking for me, weren’t you? Here I am.” He tossed the baton aside.
Alice recoiled, but Xaphan simply grinned harder and clamped a hand around the back of her head, reaching out with his other to stroke her hair. “Now, now. You don’t have to be like that. I thought we were friends. How do you like our party?” he asked, turning his head away from her and surveyed the crowd. “It’s quite something, isn’t it? And this... this is only the beginning.”
&nb
sp; Something slipped over Alice’s head, around her neck, and pulled tight.
Alice gagged and swatted at Xaphan, but it was no use. Fire blazed up around her hands and throat, weaving through her hair like ribbons, but Xaphan just laughed.
“I thought we were past all this, Alice! You know me, and I know you. You’ll always try and burn your way out of everything.” He leaned closer, brushing her hair aside and whispering into her ear. “And I won’t let you.” She could feel his breath on her neck. He smelled of oil and soot, and something faintly metallic. “What is it that fire needs to burn? Oh, yes. Air.”
Everything was fading: the street, the world and the fire with it. The pain in Alice’s throat had faded to a dull throb, and her lungs felt like they were full of water. Through the sound of her heart hammering in her ears, Alice was almost sure she heard Xaphan humming a tune.
The black stars were spreading across her field of vision, shutting out everything else. There was only darkness, and her pulse starting to slow, and the world was so very, very far away.
With a roaring sound, everything exploded into focus. Air rushed back into her lungs, forcing its way down her aching throat. Alice coughed and flames blazed across her skin.
Blinking as the world came back into focus, she saw Xaphan being thrown into the crowd by an Earthbound in riot gear, his grey, foreshortened wings twitching as he moved. Xaphan snarled, but the Earthbound simply pointed at him, glaring from behind his helmet. The Fallen scowled, spat in his direction and vanished into the crowd.
The Earthbound turned back to Alice and dropped to his knees beside her, pulling off his helmet and balaclava. It was Castor, the angel from the warehouse.
“We really need to stop meeting like this,” he said with a grin.
“Nice outfit,” Alice croaked. Her throat felt like someone had poured paint stripper down it. “Aren’t you a little old for dress-up?”
