by Lou Morgan
“And we’re running why?” she shouted at Mallory as he edged ahead of her. Vin was way ahead of them both, trailing just behind Zadkiel.
“We’ve been given an order, Alice. This is what we do.” Mallory shot a look back at her over his shoulder. “You wanted to run with the angels, right?”
“I didn’t think it would be quite so literal...” she muttered, starting to feel out of breath. Mallory didn’t seem to be having the same problem.
They rounded a corner, where the others had stopped. Alice forced herself to a halt – almost losing her balance in an attempt not to slam into Zadkiel’s back as he stood in the middle of the corridor. It wasn’t a dignified stop, but at least it was a stop.
“The south corridor,” said Zadkiel.
To the right was a narrow doorway, an archway cut directly through the stone of the wall and edged with carvings of fruit. Through it was, as promised, another corridor, and he stepped through into it, gesturing for them to follow him. The passage was windowless and perhaps thirty yards end to end; the ceiling towered above them, tapering to a pointed vault high above their heads. Iron struts spanned the space, bracing the old walls against each other. There were candles in sconces bolted to the walls, and three large iron candelabra dangling from the ceiling on chains.
“That’s a lot of candles. Who the hell lights all these?” Alice asked, a little too flippantly.
Zadkiel simply said: “You did.”
“I what?”
“You did. When you came around the corner.” He tapped the sigil on his arm, and she glanced down at her own. “Michael’s choir,” he said, “are rarely without light when they want it.”
“But I didn’t...”
“Let it go, Alice. There’s no time.” He peered past her, down the corridor, and she turned around. There were two angels coming towards them, the corridor barely wide enough for them to walk side by side: Castor and Pollux. Pollux was limping; a long, jagged cut crossed Castor’s face, from one side of his jaw to the eyebrow on the other side. Both of them looked like they had been beaten to within an inch of their lives.
“I’ve got this,” said Mallory, handing his guns to Vin, who took them without a word. Mallory went first to Castor, taking his hands gently in his, closing his eyes and tipping his head back. The slash across Castor’s face began to knit together and the skin across Mallory’s cheek tore itself apart with surprising violence, lengthening across his nose and down to his jaw. He sagged, but shook his head as though he was trying to shake the pain off...
The candles on the walls flared higher.
Mallory stepped back from Castor and turned to Pollux. He held out his hand to the other Descended, and although his back was to Alice and she could no longer see his face, his hand shook. One of the fingers was twisted; the palm slashed almost to the bone in several places.
“Mallory...” she said, about to go to him, but Vin put his arm out to stop her.
“Leave him. It’s what he does.”
“But both of them? It’s too much...”
“No.” Mallory’s voice was hoarse, but determined. “Pollux needs help. And we need Pollux.” He was about to say something else, but he bit off his own words as he took Pollux’s hand and a shudder ran through his whole body. With a loud snapping sound, a handful of the long feathers on his wings bent and tore – and that was enough for Mallory, who let out a howl of pain. He dropped Pollux’s hand, and slumped sideways against the wall.
Alice strained forward again – still held back by Vin. “You really think that’s a good idea? Remember what happened last time...” He pointed at her blazing hands as echoes of Mallory’s pain coursed through her, burning away so fast that she barely even felt it. She was grateful; she remembered the last time she had been there when Mallory healed someone. It had been Vin, left for dead by Purson; and she had felt every broken bone, every cut and every tear. Now... now it poured through her like oil and was gone: burned away almost before she knew it had reached her.
But the fire was still there. The fire was always there.
“Mallory?”
He was still slumped against the wall, his head carefully turned away from her and lowered towards his chest.
“Mallory!”
His head rose a little, and he raised one of his hands. It was slow, and his movements were clumsy, but growing more sure with every second that passed. He pulled out his hip flask, and with shaking hands, he unscrewed the cap and emptied the whole thing down his throat. When he turned around, he was himself again, with only the faintest suggestion of a new scar on the edge of his jaw. He spotted Alice staring at him. “They don’t go as easily as they used to. Makes me look rugged, right?” he whispered, patting her arm as he reached past and took his guns back from Vin.
“Alright. So that was fun.” He turned back to face the far end of the corridor, a gun in each hand. “Now, let’s find me something to shoot.”
“So, what exactly is the plan here?” Alice asked. “We’re supposed to be stopping them coming in, right?”
“Not exactly,” said Zadkiel. “We want them in.”
“We what?”
“Anyone coming into the priory from this side has to pass through this corridor.”
“Which is why you want to stop them getting into it.”
“No. It’s why we want them in here. It’s a natural bottle-neck. The trick is...”
“...to stop them getting out again.” It made sense. In the corridor, it would only take a few of them to hold it against however many Fallen tried to force their way through. Just as well, because there were six of them. Only six. And they were fish in a barrel.
“So are they, Alice. So are they.”
Alice considered telling Zadkiel that this was not nearly as reassuring as he seemed to think – and to stay out of her head – but she thought better of it. Mostly because the others all looked like they had a plan. And she didn’t.
Behind her, Castor and Pollux had taken up a position on either side of the doorway, barring the exit. Each was holding a long metal pole as tall as he was, taken from a pile of spare roof struts in the corner. “Well, you two look utterly terrifying.”
“And I thought you liked me in uniform,” Castor shot back, making her laugh. “Are you ready?”
“No. Yes. Maybe. Ask me later.”
“It’s no different, you know. No different from the warehouse. No different from any other time.”
“Yes, Castor. It is.” She turned to face forward again.
Mallory was in front of her, cricking his neck from side to side. Just ahead of him was Vin, sleeves rolled up, his weight on his back foot. They were ready. Zadkiel paced across the doorway at the far end, calling back to them.
“Pollux, you two are our last line. Do not let anyone past you. Whatever you have to do, do it.”
“Not a problem.” Pollux shuffled his feet, widening his stance. Alice didn’t think it was going to be a problem: between them, there might as well not have been a doorway at that end.
“Mallory, Vin – I’m going to let as many through as we can get. And then I’m going to shut the door behind them.”
“What door?” Vin piped up.
“This door.” Zadkiel held up his sword.
“Gotcha.”
“Alice?” Zadkiel’s voice was softer, but no less determined. “You take out what you can.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it. That and not getting killed. I don’t think Michael would thank me.”
“Screw Michael. Worry about how I’d feel.”
“You can do this, Alice.”
“I know,” she said, and held up her hands. Flames streamed from the wall sconces closest to her into her open palms; fire wound through her hair. “You didn’t say his name,” she whispered, seeing Zadkiel start at the flames.
“What did you say?” His voice was too low for anyone else to hear, but he was looking over her shoulder at Castor.
“You he
ard me, Zadkiel. Castor. You didn’t say his name.”
“Now you listen to me...” His hand was on her arm, and he was gripping it tightly. She glared at it, and flames skipped across his fingers. He let go. “Stay out of things you don’t understand.”
“Things I don’t understand? You know what I understand? Pain.” The flames flared brighter, hotter, forcing the Archangel back another step.
“This conversation’s over.” He turned his head away from the heat of the fire, but she could still hear him muttering, “Just like Michael,” under his breath.
He reached the doorway, and his hand went up in warning. “Here they come.”
Zadkiel flattened himself back against the wall beside the doorway, and Alice watched as, in spite of the blazing candles and the fire, the shadows around him softened and thickened, wrapping themselves around him, and he was gone.
Except he wasn’t. She could still feel him standing there.
There were footsteps coming from the other end of the corridor. Just one set; slow and cautious. A moment later, a head poked around the doorway. One of the Fallen.
He stepped into the opening, peering ahead of him, and Alice realised that he couldn’t see them – not clearly, at any rate. He kept screwing his eyes closed and twisting his head this way and that... as though he was sure there was someone waiting for him, someone he couldn’t quite make out. Whatever Zadkiel had done to hide himself, it appeared to have covered all of them... at least a little.
The Fallen stopped and sniffed the air, baring his teeth. Like all the Fallen Alice had met, he looked like he had too many, and they were just that little bit too sharp. She watched him sniffing – still turning his head from side to side – and realised she was holding her breath. She let it out... just as the Fallen’s wings snapped open. The blackened spines rattled against one another as he moved, stepping carefully, one slow step at a time, into the corridor.
“Smells like angel...” he hissed, and there was suddenly a crowd of them behind him. Watching. Waiting.
He had almost reached Vin, crouched low.
“They’re close.” The Fallen turned and beckoned to the others behind him, just as Vin exploded up from the floor, grabbing him around the neck and flipping him over, throwing him to the ground.
“You’ve got no idea, mate,” he said, stepping over the dropped Fallen, who was screaming as grey mist wound around his throat, turning his flesh to stone.
Vin shifted from foot to foot, staring down the other Fallen, who had frozen where they stood. “You going to stand there all day, are you?” he jeered, and as one, they took the bait.
The threw themselves into the narrow space with such force that several of them tripped and were almost trampled underfoot, and with a stab of panic Alice saw just how many of them were out there. They streamed through the doorway; charging straight for Vin, who ducked and wove and spun with such speed that Alice could barely follow him. Very few of the first Fallen through got past him; they dropped to the floor with cries and stony thuds.
And the ones who managed to get past – the lucky ones – ran head-first into Mallory, who strode out of nowhere, both guns in his hands and a smile on his face. “Hello, boys,” he said, and then he started shooting.
The sound of the gunshots reverberated along the corridor, deafening Alice. She clamped her hands over her ears and squealed, before remembering that she was supposed to be doing something. The corridor, which had felt so empty only heartbeats before, was suddenly crowded; rammed with bodies in motion. And cold. That cold. They brought it with them, wherever they went, leaching hope and warmth from the air.
The warmth she could do something about, at least.
One of them had got past Mallory. He hadn’t seen her yet, and she understood what Zadkiel had done. They would stay hidden until the Fallen reached them. It was layer upon layer of ambush. There was no mercy, and no retreat.
The Fallen who had made it past Mallory had now turned and was throwing himself at Mallory’s exposed back, tearing at his wings. The corridor was too narrow for him to open them completely, meaning he couldn’t shake him off, and he was too busy with his guns, picking off the Fallen as they fought for space.
Alice stepped out of the shadows, and the corridor was ablaze with light. She grabbed the Fallen in front of her, pulling him away from Mallory, dodging the sharp sweep of his spiny wings and wrestling him down to the floor. She might have caught him by surprise, but it didn’t last long, and he fought back, hard.
Until he burned.
She was pulled off him, hauled to her feet by a dozen hands. A glance told her that Mallory and Vin had their hands more than full, and Castor and Pollux were just getting warmed up – spinning their makeshift quarterstaffs with ease, jabbing, sweeping, lunging. Zadkiel, too, had emerged from his shadows and was mercilessly cutting down anyone who tried to head back the way they had come. A Fallen lunged at him, aiming his fist at the Archangel’s face, but he dodged and responded with a punch of his own.
Faces crowded around her, backing her into the wall. A hand lashed out, and she ducked, springing back up and retaliating with a kick aimed squarely at the knee of the Fallen closest to her. He screamed as her foot connected, his knee popping back on itself. The others recoiled – not much, but enough.
Why weren’t they attacking?
They had her against the wall. Literally, against the wall. She had nowhere to go, but apart from that one lunge at her, they did nothing.
There was a sudden flash of red in the eyes around her; a laugh that sounded a little too familiar... and Alice decided not to wait to find out.
She closed her eyes, and let the fire out.
It raged across the stone, pouring onto the floor and wrapping around the legs of the Fallen; streaming from her fingers and sparking from her hair.
And still the Fallen stood, simply looking at her.
One of them took a step towards her and she froze. His clothes were alight, and the stench of burning hair and flesh made her gag. He stretched a hand towards her and she saw his lips move even as they blistered.
“Thank you.”
Behind her barricade of fire, Alice’s mouth dropped open.
He swayed, the flames taking hold, and at last, he dropped to his knees. Alice couldn’t take her eyes off him.
The kneeling Fallen suddenly jerked sideways, his body falling forwards. Startled, Alice looked into the gap the Fallen had left behind, and there was Mallory, one of his Colts still smoking in his hand. “Thank me later,” he shouted over the noise.
There was another shout, from the far end of the corridor.
“I need a weapon!” Zadkiel shouted. He had his sword in one hand, and what looked like a slender silver rod, about as long as his palm, in the other. He held it at arm’s length, and with a sharp twist of his wrist jerked it up and sideways. It snapped open, flipping over itself, and suddenly he was holding a knife. But he didn’t have the space to swing the sword any longer, and his reach with the knife was not long enough for comfort. Not that it stopped him. As Alice looked from him to Mallory, she saw the Fallen closest to him drop with a knife-wound to his neck.
Mallory stopped shooting. “Up!” was all he said.
And with that, both his guns were back in his belt, and he had spun on the spot, jumping and wrapping his hands around one of the struts just above his head and pulling himself up. He paused on the way up to kick another one of the Fallen smartly in the face, then crouched on the bar, his boots balancing on the metal rod. Opening his wings as far as he could in the narrow space and throwing out his hands, he glanced back down at Alice. She nodded at him, and watched as slowly, carefully, he drew himself upright. He wobbled, and for a second it looked as though he might topple back, but then he had his balance, and his guns were out again and he began to half-hop, half-run from one metal bar to the next, shooting down into the crowd of Fallen below, all the while drawing closer to Zadkiel, who was still holding his corner.
&nb
sp; “Weapon!” shouted Mallory, and Zadkiel’s head snapped up to see one of Mallory’s guns spinning towards him. The Archangel reached up and snatched it out of the air; bringing it down and firing without pause.
The air smelled of dust and smoke and cordite, and the Fallen were... falling. Castor and Pollux held their ground behind a tangled pile of bodies, their eyes wide and their poles held at arm’s length. Vin’s hair was streaked with dust and he was slowing now, moving more deliberately through the Fallen who remained. There weren’t many. The angels had seen to that.
Mallory was still up on his perch, surveying everything below. He had dropped into a crouch on the metal bar, balancing on the balls of his feet as he scanned the floor for movement. Satisfied, he tucked his gun into the back of his belt and jumped down, landing in a neat crouch on the floor. “Are you hurt?” He straightened and crossed the floor towards Alice, stepping over an outstretched hand. It was still twitching.
“No, I’m not hurt.” Alice frowned, watching the hand on the floor behind him.
“You’re something, though. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing... I... what?” Alice was still staring at the dead Fallen’s fingers tick-ticking against one another. Mallory followed her gaze. He cocked his head on one side, blinked, whipped out his gun, and shot the hand through the middle of the palm. What was left of it stopped twitching.
“You were saying?” He turned back to Alice.
“I’m not sure that was strictly necessary.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise you were going to be the voice of my conscience today.”
“Someone has to be!”
“Really? Because funnily enough, I seem to remember having to shoot one of them for you.”
“You didn’t have to.”
