by Lou Morgan
“Mallory?” Alice followed him out into the dappled light.
“Mmm?” He had opened his wings and was stretching them out as far as they would reach, the feathers catching the light and shining as they moved. This time, the sight stopped her in her tracks. She was so used to seeing angels covered in dust and dirt and blood, had grown so used to them always being in motion and in darkness, that it almost never occurred to her how beautiful they would look to someone else. Someone seeing them for the first time.
Someone who didn’t know what they really were; what they really meant.
Someone who would see the man with his wings shining in the sun and not see a soldier, tired and scarred and half-dead on his feet and staring down the barrel of complete and total defeat, and carrying on regardless.
Alice watched him as he folded his wings away and crouched down, pulled both Colts from the back of his belt and ejected the magazines, checking them over. He patted his pockets, checking for more ammunition.
“Mallory?”
“Yup.”
“Something’s been bothering me. About yesterday.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“Apart from the obvious.”
“Right...”
“The woman. The woman on the beach.”
“Taken as read, yes.” He didn’t look up from his guns.
“How did she know I spoke English?”
“She didn’t.”
“But she’s... she was... French, right?”
“Is there a point to this, Alice?”
“She spoke to me in English. How...”
“She didn’t. She was speaking in French. I would’ve thought that was obvious.”
“She wasn’t.”
“She was. Believe me.” He stood up again, tucking one gun into his belt. The other disappeared into the pocket of his hoodie, which despite the scorch marks had still fared better than his jacket. “Do you think all angels only speak English? Really?”
“I hadn’t given it much thought.”
“That’s a little narrow-minded of you, isn’t it?”
“No. Yes. Pass.”
“The sign. The Angel and Pistol. You commented on it. You didn’t think it was odd that it was in English?”
“I kind of assumed... tourist pub, you know?”
“You should know better than to assume, Alice.” He shook his head, but he was smiling nonetheless.
“Oh, god. This is another one of those...” She flapped her hands, looking for the right word. She gave up. “Angel things, isn’t it?”
“You’re the only person I know who can make the word ‘angel’ sound like an insult. And I’ve met a lot of people. Some of them would be happy about being able to understand other languages.”
“And I might be, if I’d been warned about it.”
“Oh, stop whining.”
“Shan’t.” She stuck her tongue out at him. “Besides, if I’m magically able to understand all these languages, how come I was always so rubbish at Spanish in school?” Another thought occurred to her. “And, how come I couldn’t understand Vin when he was speaking Cantonese when I met him?”
“Well, in both those cases, your gift hadn’t manifested, had it? Unless you’re going to tell me you used to regularly set fire to your school books?” He shrugged and turned away from her, sauntering towards the path back to the town and the sea, and the island. His voice drifted back over his shoulder. “Besides, how d’you know Vin isn’t still speaking in Cantonese?”
Alice’s mouth dropped open.
“SERIOUSLY. WHAT LANGUAGE?”
“Alice, give it a rest, yeah?” Vin rolled his eyes at her, but it was obvious that he was enjoying her frustration more than he should. “Have you been sniffing old incense or something?”
“No! I just... it’s...”
“It’s driving you nuts? I can tell.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “But here’s the thing: does it actually matter?”
“I...”
“Does it?”
“No, but...”
“There you go. Besides,” he said, “doesn’t matter what language I say it in, you still don’t listen to a bloody word, do you?” He ducked, laughing, as she took a half-hearted swing at him.
“Alright, children. Am I going to have to separate you again?” said Mallory, stopping to wait for them. They had almost reached the edge of the town everyone was referring to as Medea – although that was certainly not the name on the signposts – and ahead of them the sea gleamed blue and silver at the foot of Mont Saint-Michel, and the statue of Michael was already catching the sun. The causeway was deserted: too early in the day for tour buses or cars full of holidaymakers, it stood empty, stretching ahead of them through the boggy marshland and the water.
Or almost empty, at least. At the near end, a man was leaning against the low wall that ran along its edge. He could have been anyone, his hooded jacket unzipped over a red t-shirt, basking in the warmth. As they drew nearer, Alice could make out large splatters of what looked like cement on his boots and on his jeans. If she hadn’t known better, she might have said he was a builder waiting for a lift. But she did know better, and she knew perfectly well that the man waiting for them was the Archangel Zadkiel.
He didn’t move as they came closer. He just watched them. His eyes skated over Mallory and Alice and Vin, and even past the Fallen and Florence. His gaze passed over them all, eventually fixing on Pollux, and finally on Castor. It was Castor he watched as they reached the edge of the causeway. And it was Castor’s pain that Alice felt surge beneath her ribs. Surprised, she turned to look at him, but he wouldn’t meet her eye. He looked straight at Zadkiel. And Pollux, bringing up the rear of their odd little troupe, was looking at him.
“D’you maybe want to fill me in on this?” she whispered to Mallory, jerking her head back towards the others. He glanced over his shoulder then shook his head.
“Right now, it’s probably better you don’t know. Later.”
“Later. Like you were going to explain the hair thing, right?”
“Exactly. And I did. So later.”
He snapped his attention away from Alice and back to Zadkiel. They had stopped at the edge of the causeway, where the clear tarmac of the road gave way to dusty-looking concrete scattered with pockets of sand left by the high tides. Zadkiel’s face was stern and unmoving.
“If I’d known, I would have got you something, too.” He gestured to Xaphan.
“He’s for Michael,” said Mallory, drawing himself up to his full height.
“Of course he is,” Zadkiel said, and snapped his fingers.
They were suddenly surrounded by angels. Angels in full armour, their breastplates shining so brightly that Alice screwed up her eyes against the light, peering at them as they formed a loose guard around the four at the back, leaving only Alice, Vin and Mallory outside. They didn’t look especially friendly: the one nearest to Alice scowled at her as she peered at his arm, looking for a sigil. She just caught sight of the angular lines of Michael’s sigil when Zadkiel barked an order and, as one, the angels stood to attention.
And then, with a ‘whoomp,’ they burst into flames.
The heat that suddenly rolled off them forced both Mallory and Vin back. Even Zadkiel took a step away, but not Alice. Only Alice stood her ground and stared at the angels; stared at the flames boiling across their armour, at the tiny pockets of sand on the causeway which began to bubble and melt. She couldn’t imagine quite how hot it must be in the middle of it all, and for a moment she worried about Castor and Pollux; at least, she did until she heard a whistle somewhere above her head and looked up. There they were, Pollux wheeling overhead and Castor beating his wings lazily, keeping a close eye on everything below. So it was just Xaphan and Florence in there, was it? Alice sniffed. She didn’t feel an overabundance of sympathy for them. After all, she’d made it through hell, and she wasn’t likely to forget the cold there in a hurry. It might do them good to f
eel a little heat.
The angel at the front of the guard was still scowling at her, but now it looked more like a challenge than anything else. She hadn’t jumped back like the others, and he didn’t know why. Apparently, half of Michael’s choir had toasted their brains and were a tad on the slow side.
Never one to be outdone, Alice closed her eyes, and reached for the dull ache inside her, the one that came from Castor. Flames skipped around her wrists, easily, lightly, and she held them out for the new arrival to see, trying not to look too smug about it. He just carried on scowling, so she shrugged and turned her back on him. “No sense of humour,” she said as she wandered across to Mallory. He raised an eyebrow at her.
“What have I told you about playing nice with the other children, Alice?”
“Sorry...”
“What is it with you two? You and Vin. You make me feel like I’m stuck with two bickering kids all the time. If it’s not one of you, it’s the other.”
“Are we done here?” Zadkiel was clearly anxious to move. Not surprising, given there was a phalanx of angels on fire standing in the middle of the road.
“You’re the boss,” Mallory muttered, scuffing his boots in the sand while Vin stared out to sea saying nothing, his eyes hidden, as always, behind his sunglasses. Zadkiel looked them up and down with something approaching bemusement.
“Alright, then.”
And with that, the burning angels simply vanished, as did Castor and Pollux and the prisoners. Suddenly, there were only the four of them, alone on the causeway and with the salt wind ruffling their hair.
“Nice trick,” said Alice. Zadkiel stepped around Mallory and folded his arms, looking her up and down.
“A trick, is it? How can you be sure?”
“Because I can still feel them.”
And she could. She could still feel the heat of the flames on her skin. Besides, Zadkiel had pulled this one on her before, and she wasn’t falling for it again. He tipped his head on one side and gave her an oddly approving look. “I can see I’m going to have to keep an eye on you.” And then he smiled and turned towards the island at the far end of the causeway. “Shall we?”
Obediently, they fell into step behind him, and even though she couldn’t see them or hear them, Alice felt the heat of Michael’s choir, her choir, following her every step of the way.
Whatever Mallory and Zadkiel were discussing, ahead of her on the causeway, it was serious. Neither of them looked happy. Mallory, in fact, looked deeply uncomfortable. It wasn’t surprising. After all, he and Michael didn’t exactly see eye-to-eye, and there was still the matter of Gabriel.
From what Alice could gather, Mallory and Gabriel had history: something that went much further back than her arrival on the scene, or even Mallory’s doomed attempts to help her mother. There was more to it than Mallory had let on, even before Gabriel blamed the three of them for having lost his favourite, Gwyn, to the Fallen, and his own Archangel status. Gabriel had gone from Archangel to Earthbound in one fell swoop, and whether that was their fault or not, Alice couldn’t imagine a version of events where he’d be happy to see them. The comfort she took in knowing that Michael was there too was... limited. She shot another glance at Zadkiel. So far, he seemed slightly less unbalanced than most of the other angels; perhaps there was hope yet.
The moment she thought of his name, Zadkiel paused, the rhythm of his stride breaking as he cocked his head to one side, almost as though he was listening.
Which he was.
Alice mentally kicked herself.
Zadkiel was the Archangel with power over the mind, wasn’t he? Of course he could hear what was going on inside her head. Just like Michael could, if he wanted to.
Still kicking herself, Alice decided that from now on, she was going to think about kittens and flowers and very little else while they were on Michael’s turf.
Pretty. Fluffy. Sparkly. Yes.
There was a snort from up ahead, and Zadkiel shook his head, turning his attention back to Mallory.
“Alright?” Vin fell into step alongside her, his hands in his pockets. He was kicking a stone ahead of him as he walked, watching it bounce along the road.
“Ask me later.”
“I know the feeling.”
“What about you?” It felt like ever since Vin had turned up at Adriel’s desk, he had been holding back, not quite himself. Alice had largely put this down to their uncomfortable proximity to Florence. But there was something more.
Vin sighed. “You want the honest answer or the cheery one?”
“Depends which is the real one, doesn’t it?”
“Oh, don’t start with your... words and that.” He laughed, but it wasn’t a particularly happy laugh. He kicked the stone again. “Thing is, I’m tired. And I don’t just mean... tired. I mean tired. Like deep-down, no amount of sleep’s going to fix it, bone-cold, dirt-tired.”
“‘Dirt tired’? That’s a thing?”
“Yes, it’s a thing. Shut up. I’m talking here.” Another kick. “Things are harder now. Not that they’ve ever exactly been what you’d call easy, but lately” – he tipped his head back and stared at the sky – “lately, I’ve been wondering what it’s all for, you know? I mean, we kick the shit out of each other, and half the time I don’t even know why. Does it achieve anything? All this time, I feel like we’ve been running just to stand still. Keeping the balance... what good has that done? We’re still fucking losing, however you look at it.” He booted the stone so hard that it smacked into the back of Mallory’s leg, just below his knee. Mallory immediately spread his wings and leapt into the air, twisting as he jumped and pulling out both of his guns. Zadkiel stopped walking and stared at him as, realising it was nothing to worry about, he sank back to the ground.
“Not that that was an overreaction...” the Archangel muttered. Alice and Vin both simply shrugged. “You get used to it,” she said, while Vin looked for another stone to kick.
The Archangel was now staring at all three of them. “You’re all completely insane.”
“You should know,” Mallory said as he tucked his guns away. “Are we waiting for something?” He gestured along the causeway and started walking again.
Alice looked past him, and past Zadkiel (who was trying not to look flustered, and not entirely pulling it off) to the buildings ahead. Even from the causeway, the sheer scale of them seemed impossible.
“It’s something, isn’t it?” said Vin, following her gaze.
“Have you ever been here before?”
“Me? Are you kidding? Michael’s been known to rip the heads off unexpected visitors.”
“Doesn’t surprise me.”
“What d’you think he would have done to us?”
“I’m not even going to consider it.” She thought for a moment. “Besides, I’m not sure whether I’d have got off easier or not. Which is twice the reason not to ever think about it. Anyway. You were saying.”
“I was?”
“You were apparently in the midst of some kind of existential crisis.”
“What? You don’t believe angels can have those?”
“Not at all. I don’t believe you know what ‘existential’ means.”
Vin turned towards her, and Alice found herself staring at her distorted reflection in his sunglasses. She could see the glare of the sea, and small white clouds scudding behind her head, but however hard she looked for them, she couldn’t see his eyes behind the dark lenses. “Are you going to take those off at any point, Vin?”
“What? And damage my image? Nah,” he said, and turned away. Whatever it was he wanted to talk about, he obviously felt he had said enough.
The buildings on the island loomed over them as they drew closer: huge stone walls punctuated by tiny windows and topped with solid-looking ramparts; behind them, smaller buildings – houses, mostly, their lower floors converted to restaurants or shops selling tourist tat – were jammed side by side and almost on top of one another along the steep w
inding streets. And above it all, the priory: the thing the tourists came to see. Now she was closer to it, it really did look like someone had balanced a hulking great cathedral on top of the little island, or like an enormous ship had somehow washed up there. A ship made of rock, and surmounted by a bloody great statue of Michael swinging his sword about.
As she stared up at it, it occurred to Alice that she may not be viewing it with quite the same level of reverence as everyone else who came to the island.
She was kind of okay with that.
Reverent or not, she got the point. It was imposing. And those walls towering over her were definitely sturdy. As was the huge wooden gate. And the big iron studs holding it together. And that was without mentioning the extremely large cannon sitting beside the gate – even if it looked a little on the rusty side.
“It’s alright,” Zadkiel called back to her, waving a hand at it, “we don’t use it anymore. Well. Hardly ever.”
“Get out of my head,” she growled.
“Sorry. Force of habit.” Zadkiel shrugged. He didn’t sound sorry in the slightest.
High above them, the sunlight was turning the slate roofs to silver. Vin had finally had enough of kicking his stone along and scooped it up, throwing it overarm into the water to their left. On the right, there was a slightly boggy-looking car park: nothing but scrubland and mud, and one or two metal signs warning of high tide times. Beyond that, there was nothing but water and, at the base of the walls, thick, wet sand.
“Quicksand,” said Mallory as Alice and Vin drew level with him. “A lot of people have died out there over the years on pilgrimage. Getting across here before the causeway was built... it was seen as a test of faith.”
“Why does that not surprise me?” sighed Alice.
Mallory’s face became stern. “Careful, Alice.”
“Oh, come on.”
The only response she got was a steady, steely look.
Zadkiel peeled away from them, heading towards the mud on the left and a set of wooden steps down.
“Into the mud? In these shoes?” Alice pointed at the canvas of her trainers. “Not bloody likely.”
