by Lou Morgan
Florence had the grace to look uncomfortable. How else could she look, sitting in the back room of a church and surrounded by people who wanted very little more than to see her dead? Xaphan was one of the Fallen – more than that, he was one of their generals, one of the Twelve – but Florence was a traitor to the angels. She had betrayed them all: her mentor, her friends. They had good reason to want her dead.
“Tell them what you told me,” Mallory barked. “And quickly. I can’t promise you they’ll both control their tempers for long.”
“I don’t know what to...”
“Then choose. You want to burn to death, or you want to join the statues out there?” Mallory nodded first to Alice, then to Vin – neither of whom had taken their eyes off Florence. Xaphan muttered something under his breath, nursing the bloody wound on his thigh... and quick as a flash, Mallory was across the room again and in front of him, the barrel of his gun pressing into the ragged hole in his leg. Xaphan howled, but Mallory only pressed harder, twisting as the barrel dug deeper. “Did I ask for your opinion?” he snarled, then looked back up at Florence. “Spit it out, girl.”
“We need your help. I do. He does...” She shook her head. “Jester. Jester does.”
Hearing Jester’s name, Vin twitched. “What did you do to him?”
“Me? No – I didn’t!” Florence pressed herself back into the sofa as Vin took a step forward. Alice had never seen him look so angry.
“Where is he?”
“He... they... Michael. Michael took him.”
“What?”
“Michael took him.” Florence’s face had gone from pale green to bone-white. “I need your help to get him back.”
“FROM MICHAEL? WHAT the fuck would Michael want with him? He’s not done anything –” Vin suddenly tailed off, whipping round and kicking out at the wall. “Idiot. I warned him.”
“You warned him? About what?” Mallory had pulled his gun out of Xaphan’s leg, and was wiping the blood off the barrel with what looked like Alice’s favourite tea-towel. On any other day, she might have been annoyed.
Vin’s mouth set in a line. “I heard that Michael was after Jester. I didn’t believe it, but I told him to keep his head down. There’s been nothing from him in a few days, so I thought he’d actually listened for once...”
Alice had just about got enough of a grip on herself to be able to concentrate on something other than not setting fire to the building. It was challenging – a little like trying to pat her head and hop on the spot at the same time – but she was reasonably confident she could do it. Reasonably. She wondered whether she’d replaced the fire extinguisher under the sink: she’d gone through the last three so quickly that she couldn’t quite remember.
“Why did Michael want Jester?” she asked.
Vin rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Purson.”
The name made Alice’s fingers itch. Fire threatened to fight its way back out from inside her, but she swallowed it back down. Purson. She remembered him all too well: Lucifer’s favourite torturer and executioner, he had vanished during the battle for hell. The angels had, for the most part, assumed he was dead, but judging by Vin’s face, she wondered whether that was the truth. He looked... shifty. There was no other way of putting it.
“Vhnori,” she said, using his full name and making him roll his eyes, “why did Michael want Jester?”
“We took Purson, alright?”
“You what?”
“We took him. We caught him, and we took him.”
“To Hong Kong.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“I don’t... oh, tell me you didn’t? Please tell me you didn’t.”
Vin had fixed his gaze firmly on a spot on the far wall. “You weren’t there, Alice.”
“I wasn’t there? Wasn’t there when, exactly? I wasn’t there when he executed someone in front of me? Or I wasn’t there when he dropped you off the top of a building? Don’t you dare.”
“It doesn’t matter.” He hung his head.
“What doesn’t matter? That you’ve tortured one of the Fallen?”
“Hey, I didn’t see you judging anyone when Castor stuck a spike through Xaphan’s leg. Or when Mallory just jammed his gun into an open wound.”
“That’s different.”
“Yeah? Funny how that works, isn’t it?”
“You know what he did.”
“And like you said, you know what Purson did to me.”
“I never thought you were the type to do it back.” She shook her head. “So now I have to worry about Mallory and you doing it?”
“Oh, you can leave me out of this,” Mallory said from the corner of the room. He wasn’t watching them: he was watching Xaphan. None of this seemed to come as a surprise, and if Alice didn’t know better, she would have assumed that Mallory already knew...
Her mouth dropped open.” You knew about this?”
“About this?” He waved his gun at Xaphan and Florence. “Or about that?” He gestured at Vin. “Because that I knew about. You don’t seriously think I wouldn’t, do you?”
“Jesus. Next you’ll be telling me you helped him...” Mallory sniffed and refused to look her in the eye. “Oh, come on.”
“Can you perhaps concentrate on the matter in hand, Alice? You’re perfectly free to tell me how disappointed in me you are, but now isn’t the best time.”
“I can’t even...” Alice held up her hands and shot Vin a dirty look. “What happened to you?” she hissed at him, but he shook his head.
“Not now.”
Someone was slow-clapping. Xaphan had leaned back into the threadbare cushions and was watching them with an amused look on his face.
“Well, well. Dissent in the ranks, Mallory?”
“Shut up.”
“No, really. I mean, you honestly think you can win? You can’t even control your own underlings.”
“Shut up, Xaphan.”
“If it wasn’t so funny, it would be tragic. You know that, don’t you?”
“I... said... shut... up.” Mallory strode back to the sofa with his gun, pointing it at Xaphan’s nose. Xaphan snorted, and leaned forward so that his forehead was resting against the end of the barrel.
“Well? What are you waiting for?”
Alice could see everything that Mallory was thinking. It was all over his face; etched into the lines around his eyes.
She could stop him.
She should stop him.
But.
In the end, it was Castor who placed his hand over Mallory’s and turned the gun away. “In my professional opinion,” he said softly, “everyone needs to take a moment.” He turned to Xaphan. “And you, my friend, need to give some thought to the predicament in which you find yourself. Because you’re in a room with a Descended, an Earthbound and a half-born who all want to kill you. Keep pushing. I’ll let them take turns, and I will personally see to it that you stay alive long enough for all of them to get a go.” He slid Mallory’s gun out of his grip and stood there, turning it over in his hands. “Nice. Nice heft, you know? I’ve been thinking about getting one of these.” Before anyone could move, he had slipped his finger across the trigger and shot Xaphan in his injured leg. The gunshot echoed in the tiny room, making Florence clap her hands over her ears. None of the others moved, with the exception of Xaphan, who roared with pain and clutched his leg. Castor blinked at him. “Sorry about that.” He handed the Colt back to Mallory. “You want to watch the safety on that, mate,”
“Thanks for the tip.” Mallory was smirking. As Castor came back to stand next to Alice, she could have sworn she saw him wink. Xaphan, meanwhile, was whimpering in a most uncharacteristic way, and Florence was clearly wishing she was invisible. Or dead. Or both.
Out of the corner of her eye, Alice saw a spark float up from her hand, and she realised she hadn’t been concentrating. Castor’s little display had distracted her just enough for her guar
d to slip. With a sigh, she elbowed her way past Mallory and Vin and stood in front of Florence, arms folded, waiting.
Florence looked up into eyes which were spinning discs of fire, and realised she had no choice but to talk.
THE LAST PLACE anyone had seen Jester was in Hong Kong. He had been with Vin, staying at his apartment with Sari, who knew nothing of the Fallen locked in a crate in the building’s basement... not then, at any rate. Jester had been uneasy, had said something to Vin about needing some time, and had gone for a walk. That was the last anyone had heard from him.
Until Florence got word that he had been seen in Mont Saint-Michel. No Man’s Land. Which could only mean that he had been taken there, and that he was Michael’s prisoner.
“But what the hell would Michael want from Jester? He let us all go.” Alice didn’t add that she was the only one he said he’d be coming for.
“And why do you care? You picked your side.” Vin glared at Florence.
“Because he’s still my brother.”
“Is he?”
Florence’s voice cracked. “I can’t just leave him...”
“You already did.”
“IT’S NOT MICHAEL.” Mallory had listened to everything Florence said, and to Alice and Vin, and he shook his head. “If it was Michael, we’d know. Believe me, we’d know.”
“Then why would he be taken?” Florence sniffed.
“Who’s to say he has been?”
“No,” said Vin. “He’s got no reason to be in No Man’s Land.”
“None except Zadkiel. And don’t call it that.”
“Whatever. Because knowing Zadkiel’s around makes it so much better, doesn’t it?”
“Well...” Mallory shrugged.
As usual, Alice felt like she was only hearing half the conversation. “No Man’s Land?”
Mallory barely glanced up, so deep was he in thought. “Michael’s fortress: it’s what some of the... less bright among us call it. It’s where he took Lucifer’s body. He’s holed up there along with half his choir, and Zadkiel.”
Alice’s mind flashed back to the Archangel from the riot. “And Jester’s Zadkiel’s choir...”
Mallory nodded. “But I don’t know why he’d take him.” He paused. “Actually, that’s a lie. I know exactly why he’d take him...”
“No.” Castor’s voice came from the back of the room. Alice glanced round at him and saw his mouth set in a firm line. “Zadkiel wouldn’t do that. He’s not the type.”
“You sure?” Mallory didn’t exactly sound convinced, but Vin nodded, and Alice’s eyes dropped to his forearm. She’d forgotten he was one of Zadkiel’s choir.
“I’m sure. If Zadkiel has him, it’s on Michael’s orders.”
“And Michael...?”
Every eye in the room turned to Alice. She shuffled her feet, uncomfortable at being the focus of their attention. “What?”
“You’re the only one here who can tell us anything about Michael. Why would he take Jester?”
“How do I know? Maybe he’s pissed off. Maybe he’s going to try and make an example of him. Maybe he found out you caught Purson and he wants to give him a medal.” She tugged at her hair. It was all too much, and it was too hard not throwing herself at Florence, at Xaphan, and taking out everything she was feeling on them. Her fingers burned, her skin itched and there was a ringing in her ears which threatened to drown out everything else. Realising they were all still watching her, she shrugged. “You want to know my experience of Michael? He’s a psychopath. And you want to know what he’s capable of? Anything.”
“Well, that’s certainly set my mind at ease,” muttered Xaphan, who had recovered himself enough to start being sarcastic. Florence let out a whimper.
Mallory looked at each of them in turn, stony-faced. Eventually, his gaze came to rest on Vin. “Well?”
“Well what?”
“He’s one of yours.”
“He is.”
“You’re going to say something stupid, aren’t you?”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know you. You and stupid go hand in hand.”
“Like you said, Mallory...”
“Yeah. I know. Stupid.” Mallory tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling for a moment, then growled in frustration. “How could you lose him, Vhnori?”
Alice butted in. “How could you get him involved in that in the first place? I thought you were...”
“Better than that?” Vin snapped back. “Well, maybe you were wrong.” He turned back to Mallory. “I’ll go. I’ll go alone.”
“You will not. Not after last time. Might I remind you that Michael also took Gabriel with him, and Earthbound or not, he’d still love a chance to take a swing at you – never mind what he might have said to Michael between then and now.”
“I can’t ask you to get involved.”
“And you never have to. But this is on you. You understand?”
Vin nodded back at Mallory, who seemed satisfied – and he rounded on Florence and Xaphan. “And you. I should kill you. Right now, both of you. But I’ve got a better idea.” He leaned closer to them, spreading his wings so that they all but filled the tiny room. “You’re going to come with us. This time? I’m going to hand you over to Michael myself. You for Jester. Seems like a fair trade.”
“Hardly,” Xaphan spat, but Mallory simply laughed.
“You don’t get a choice. Your girlfriend there wants our help? She’s got it. But it comes at a price, and you’re both going to pay.”
“DO I NEED to tell you I have a bad feeling about this?” asked Alice.
“No, but I doubt that’s going to stop you.” Mallory’s voice was flat.
“You’re not taking this particularly seriously, are you?”
“Well, perhaps you’d care to tell me how I should be taking it?” He slid the spring he was cleaning back into the body of his gun and set the whole thing down on the table, wiping his hands with a cloth. “I think it’s insanity, but I’m not doing it for me, am I?” He lowered his voice, and looked over his shoulder towards the door. Vin had stepped out ‘for some air’ a little while before, and Castor and Pollux had between them removed Florence and Xaphan. So it was just Alice and Mallory, sitting side by side on the moth-eaten sofa.
“It doesn’t sound like it’s his fault...”
“And it’s not. But that isn’t the point. Vin feels responsible. He’s convinced that this is something to do with Jester helping him with Purson. I think there’s more to it than that, but he’s stubborn, and a miserable git when he’s moping about something. He’s bad enough over Sari.”
“What happened?”
“Shouldn’t have said that, should I?” He screwed up his nose. Alice ignored him.
“She left him?”
“You could say that.” He picked up another piece of the gun, and began slotting it back together, talking as he worked. “Sari’s a bit of an odd one. They’ve been dancing around each other as long as anyone can remember, but after hell, I think she finally thought she’d give him a shot.”
“Which he blew by torturing a Fallen in the basement.”
“Pretty much.”
“She’s got a point. I can’t say I’d be keen on my boyfriend going in for torture.”
“Right. Who’d do something like that, anyway?”
Alice hit him with a cushion, a little harder than was probably necessary. It was all she had.
For a while, the only sounds were the clicks of Mallory reassembling his Colt. Eventually, he sat back, the gun resting on the table in one piece, and rolled his neck. “I like what you’ve done with the place.”
“Cleaned it, you mean?”
“That too.”
“Do you miss it?”
“Sometimes. But I was trying to give you a chance to get on with your life. Remember what that’s like?”
“Not really.”
“I mean it. You don’t want to get any more tangled up with us than you
need to be. It doesn’t usually end well, in case you hadn’t noticed...”
“I noticed.”
“Exactly. I wanted to give you at least a shot at being... normal. As normal as you get, anyway,” he said, nudging her in the ribs. She smiled, but he carried on. “I felt I owed it to you. And what do you do with that chance? You get into fights with the Fallen, and go and work for the Angel of Death. Only you, Alice. Only you.”
“Is that why you came back?”
“Something like that.” The corners of his eyes creased with the beginnings of a smile.
“And what about you? Are you going to tell me about the magic grey hair? Don’t think I forgot.”
“Subtle, aren’t you? It’s not good, put it that way. We’re ageing.”
“And you shouldn’t be, right?”
“Yes and no. Everything ages. We just do it very, very slowly. Or should do.”
“It’s the Fallen, isn’t it? Something changed.”
“They’re winning. That’s what. They’re in control. In spite of everything we’ve done – or maybe because of it – they’re in control.”
“So what does that mean?”
“It means all bets are off.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Served Cold
FORFAX SNAPPED HIS fingers and Kim the waitress jumped to attention. He didn’t bother to speak, simply jabbed at a stack of glasses and a bottle, and she scrabbled to get them onto the tray and to follow him. He spun on his heel and strode off through the bar, his shiny black shoes clicking on the floor and the end of his cane tapping alongside him as he walked. The boss had been in a foul mood all night, and she didn’t want to be the one to get on his bad side – not after yesterday, when he’d broken one of the dancers’ jaws with the pommel of his cane. She’d been ‘out of time,’ he’d said as he straightened his sleeves afterwards, leaving her in a whimpering heap on the floor.
The bar was busy – more so than usual – and rowdy, much more than usual. Everyone in there seemed louder, drunker, less steady on their feet then they should have been, and the air was thick with the smell of spilled beer and stale sweat. It wasn’t a glamorous place to work at the best of times, with its sticky floor and stickier bathroom tiles, but it paid the rent. Just about.
