by Lou Morgan
“Yes.”
“And Zak brought you here. He rescued you.”
“Yes.”
“Fuck.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“It’s you. They want you.” Mallory’s eyes opened, and both his guns were in his hands. “They want you, and we’ve brought them straight in. Fuck!” He kicked the wall.
“They want me? What for?”
“I don’t know, and right now, I don’t care. All I care about is getting you back to the nearest Archangel. So let’s do that.”
The temperature suddenly dropped. Alice, who was watching Jester, saw him tense.
The voice came from the other end of the corridor.
“Or – here’s an idea – let’s not.”
Xaphan.
MALLORY’S FIRST BULLET went wide, smashing into the stone to the right of Xaphan’s head as he limped towards them – and there wasn’t a chance for another shot, as Xaph pulled Florence out from behind him, using her as a shield.
“Don’t think I won’t shoot her, Xaph,” said Mallory from behind his gun.
“Oh, I know you would. But I doubt he’ll let you.” Xaphan’s grin was wider than it should have been as he nodded towards Vin. The scar tissue covering one side of his face crinkled as he smiled.
“Get them out of here, Mallory.” Vin’s voice was barely louder than a whisper. He was rolling up his sleeves again, curling and uncurling his fingers.
Mallory shook his head. “Not likely.”
“Get them both out. The Fallen want him? They can’t have him.”
“We’re not leaving you.”
Xaphan was watching them with amusement. Another three Fallen had appeared from the depths of the corridor and had arranged themselves into a loose line, blocking the way back.
Vin stepped in front of Mallory. It was almost casual, the way he moved, and somehow, he had got between them and the Fallen. “I’ll buy you as much time as I can.”
“Vhnori...”
“My mess. My fault. I said go.”
MALLORY STARED AT Vin’s back as he calmly walked towards Xaphan. Jester shouted something Alice didn’t quite catch. The Fallen behind Xaphan and Florence lunged forward, only to be driven back as Mallory fired into them... and Vin walked on, with the bullets screaming past his head.
“Go!” Mallory shouted, and she felt him pull on her sleeve as she started to run.
They were leaving him.
Or perhaps it was the other way around...
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Thirty Bullets
VIN LISTENED TO their footsteps fading. He was alone with the Fallen.
A voice danced on the edge of his memory: a voice and a shadow, which asked him if he knew what he was getting into.
There was one way to find out.
He balled his hands into fists, squeezing them until his knuckles turned white and his nails bit into his palms. Blood seeped from between his fingers, dripping onto the floor – and still the Fallen waited. They were smiling. They thought this was going to be easy.
Like hell it was.
Vin snapped his fingers open, and braced himself as they charged him.
THE CORRIDOR SLOPED down, curving in a long spiral. Alice had no idea where they were. She couldn’t hear anything from behind them, and it frightened her. What had happened to Vin? Flames sprang to life around her wrists, glowing gently as she ran. Mallory was just ahead of her, but spent more time checking back over his shoulder than he did looking where he was going. Jester ran alongside him, his face frozen.
Alice could tell what Mallory was thinking, even before he slammed into the wall and stopped running.
“I’m going back.”
“But...”
“Don’t argue with me, Alice. He’s not following, and they aren’t screaming, which means Vin’s in trouble. Get Jester to one of the Archangels: Zadkiel, if you can. Take this.” He thrust one of his guns at her, and she took it like it might bite her, holding it as far away from her body as possible. “You really do have a strange attitude to guns.”
“Just because you like them doesn’t mean I have to.”
“You will when they save your life.” He held her gaze. “Go.”
He turned to run back up the corridor, just as the first of the gas grenades landed at their feet.
VIN SNAPPED HIS fingers open, and braced himself as they charged.
The air in front of him shook; everything went grey.
Through the mist, he saw Xaphan haul Florence off her feet, spinning back into a doorway... and nothing else. There was nothing else there. Just the empty corridor, filled with dust that swirled around him, settling on the floor, on his shoulders. The air tasted oily, somehow...
He lifted his hands; stared at them. “Wh –?”
He was so busy staring at his fingers in shock that he didn’t hear the footsteps behind him in time, and didn’t stand a chance of avoiding the metal bar that smashed into the back of his head.
As he crumpled to the floor, Xaphan dropped the bar with a clatter. “That’s quite enough of that,” he said, dusting off his hands.
GAS AND SMOKE filled the corridor: thick, greenish-white. Alice’s eyes streamed and she stumbled forward into Mallory, who caught her and set her back on her feet. “Change of plan,” he shouted into her ear over the hiss of the smoke, taking back the gun he had handed her. “Where’s Jester?”
There was no sign of him; not that they could have made him out amid the smoke clogging the passageway.
“Jester?” Mallory called his name, but there was no answer. “Jester!”
Still no response.
Alice could barely breathe, and she clung to Mallory, gasping for air. The gas scorched her throat, her eyes, her lungs.
“We have to get out of here...” Even Mallory was choking, his eyes red. “Stay with me.”
They staggered away from the wall. A soft thwomp from somewhere in the smoke was followed by the clatter and hiss of another grenade, and the gas drowning them thickened. Alice felt the world spin and leaned into Mallory’s side, hoping he wouldn’t let her fall.
The haze thinned, further ahead. It was still hard to see, was still hard to breathe, but it was better, and Alice could at least make out the point where the walls ended and the floor began.
A red door stood out in the murky air and Mallory threw himself at it. It gave with little resistance, opening not onto a sheer cliff, but into a small, mostly empty room. A room filled with clean air. They lay on their backs on the floor, gulping air into their aching lungs, and Alice thought that was it: they had made it. But Mallory was already pulling himself to his feet, shaking his head to clear it as the wall of smoke and gas headed their way. “Come on. We’ve got to go, Alice. Get up. Get up!”
“I can’t...”
“You have to! Get up!” He looked around the room. There was very little of any use here: just a small wooden table and a long bench with a high back. A tapestry hung on one wall.
“Shit,” he muttered... and then he saw the tapestry move.
He was across the room before Alice could even register what he was doing, wrapping a hand around the tapestry and pulling. The fabric came away from the wall, bringing the rod that held it up.
Behind it was a staircase.
It wasn’t much: a tiny spiral stairway that looked like it had been cut out of the wall rather than built, and it only led up, but it was something.
“Alice!” Mallory pointed to the stairs, one eye on the door.
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
“No more. No more running. Unless you’re coming with me, I’m done.”
“You’re not done. You’re not done because I say you’re not. Now get up.”
“No.” Even the word was an effort. She closed her eyes.
The faint clicking sound made her open them again.
She was looking straight into the barrel of Mallory’s gun. Behind it, his face was dark, h
is mouth grim.
“I’m not leaving you. We left Vin: I won’t leave you.”
“Yes, Alice, you will. Now get up.”
Alice got up, pressing herself back against the wall, edging around it towards the staircase as the barrel of Mallory’s Colt followed her. She knew he wouldn’t shoot – at least, she thought he wouldn’t – and she hesitated.
All he said was: “Go.”
She ducked into the stairway, her foot on the first stair, and froze. Mallory had turned away and was standing in the middle of the room, his back to her. His arms hung by his sides, a gun in each hand; his wings opened wide and shining as he watched the door.
Alice took one last look back at him, and she started running up the stairs.
THE SMOKE HUNG in the doorway, not moving one way or the other. Just sitting there, sullen. Mallory didn’t move. He was watching the door. And he had a horrible feeling he knew who was about to come through it.
It was a vague shadow at first, gradually taking shape inside the cloud, as shoes clicked closer and closer on the stone floor. There was a rapid crunching, grating noise and then the ping of something small hitting the floor and rolling. A shotgun cartridge rolled to a halt at Mallory’s feet. An extremely large shotgun cartridge. He glanced down at it, and raised his eyes just as the cloud of smoke cleared around the man striding into the room, the shotgun clasped to his chest and his red eyes shining.
Mallory had been expecting Lucifer. And given that Lucifer’s body was, at that moment, locked up several hundred feet below them both, Mallory had been expecting him to be ensconced in a Fallen angel’s body, but the sight still shocked him.
Blond hair and a smart suit, and what should have been cool blue eyes staring out of a narrow face.
Gwyn.
Mallory started shooting.
Not a single bullet found its mark: Lucifer simply waved them away like summer flies – annoying, but harmless. His eyes glittered as Mallory took a step back, still firing, and Lucifer took a step forward.
“Now, now, brother. Still using your fists and not your head, I see.”
Mallory had run out of bullets. He fumbled with the guns, dropping the empty magazines on the floor and groping for fresh ammunition from his pockets.
“It’s different, this time, isn’t it?” Lucifer said. “Now you don’t have the upper hand. Tell me: how does it feel, hmm?”
“How does it feel?” Mallory felt the click of the second magazine sliding into place. “It feels a little like this.” He brought his arm up, pulling the trigger as it came. The bullet spun out of the barrel, towards Lucifer... who caught it.
He held it up to his eye, peering at it. “How very metaphorical of you.” Without lowering his hand, he dropped the bullet. The ting of the metal bouncing on the stone echoed around the room. “Head, Mallory.” He tapped the side of his head, Gwyn’s head, and all Mallory could do was stare in horror. Alice’s face flashed through his mind, and he hoped she could make it to Michael. Michael was her only chance. Not Zak, and not Gabriel. Only Michael stood a chance against Lucifer now.
“Oh, one more thing!” Lucifer held up a finger. “I just want you to know, before I go, that this is all him.” He smiled, his grin splitting Gwyn’s face open, and then the red glow faded from his eyes, leaving Mallory alone with Gywn for the first time since hell.
“Gwyn.”
“Hello, Mallory.” Gwyn raised the barrel of the shotgun. “Goodbye, Mallory.” He pulled the trigger.
THE STAIRS SPIRALLED up and up and up, with barely room for Alice to turn along with them. The treads were so narrow that her heels hung off the edge of each step, her toes jammed up against the riser of the next. The only sound was that of her struggling for breath... and then gunfire. Mallory’s guns. Even with what must have been several storeys between them, the noise filled the stairwell. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped, followed by a single shot... and then a blast from something which sounded much, much bigger. Alice clamped her hands over her ears, her eyes wide.
Another blast, and another, and another.
Should she turn back?
What if Mallory...
Vin. Mallory. Jester. Castor. Pollux. Zadkiel. What had happened to them? Should she go back for them...?
MALLORY DUCKED, THE shot from Gwyn’s gun rattling overhead. There was that awful clunk again – the sound of a new cartridge entering the chamber – and another deafening blast. Mallory threw himself down and rolled.
The third blast hit him full in the chest, the buckshot ripping through him. He cried out as the metal bit into his flesh.
Gwyn was reloading.
Forcing himself to roll over, ignoring the pain in his chest, Mallory swung his arm around and opened fire – so desperate to make the most of the time that he didn’t even bother looking. He knew his target: all he could do was shoot and hope. There was a grunt as a bullet hit – the shoulder, Mallory thought.
He didn’t get another shot. There was another roar from the shotgun, and this time the blast hit him across his shoulders. A thousand needles jabbed into his spine as the shot tore through his wings. The next blast followed almost immediately behind it.
Mallory crawled along the floor; the world was blurring, fading out at the edges. There was another shot, but he could barely feel it this time; there was too much pain coursing through him already, and he had no hope of healing his wounds. He was too far gone.
A pair of black shoes, polished to a mirror shine, came into view, stopping an inch in front of his nose. It took all of his strength to roll himself onto his back and his broken wings. He looked up to see Gwyn leaning over him, his face upside-down and twisted into a cold smile. He blinked once or twice at Mallory, lying blood-spattered at his feet, then reached down, peeling Mallory’s fingers from around the grip of the gun clutched to his chest and kicking the other away. And then he smashed the butt of the gun down into Mallory’s face.
The world went dark.
THE SHOOTING HAD stopped. There had been a sound... a sound Alice knew could only have been Mallory. Barely able to breathe, she felt for him – felt for whatever it was he felt – and the wave of pain she found was so strong that it threatened to swallow her. She shut it out, knowing it would drown her. Even as she did so the fire burning at her wrists brightened. It was enough to light her way.
There were footsteps. Someone was coming after her. And it wasn’t Mallory.
Yet again, she ran.
The staircase turned and turned and turned, up and up and up, and suddenly, she was out in the open. She was on a small roof, surrounded by a low wall. A gust of wind threatened to sweep her feet out from under her as she looked for somewhere to go.
Other than the staircase she had just come up, there was nowhere.
The wind tore at her hair, blowing it in front of her face; into her eyes and her mouth... and the footsteps were getting louder. There were voices too: someone was most definitely coming up the stairs. They were chasing her.
Jester. Vin. Mallory.
Alice brushed her hair away from her face, holding it back against the wind. She took a deep breath, and fixed her eyes on the wall.
“One,” she whispered, “two...”
The footsteps were right behind her now. Another few turns of the spiral and they would be out on the roof.
“Three.” She let her hand drop and ran for the edge, her hair streaming behind her in the wind.
She heard them burst out of the staircase, heard them shout... but it was too late. She already had one foot on the wall.
Throwing her arms out wide, Alice jumped.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Leap of Faith
THE RUSH OF air tore at her skin, at her hair, at her clothing. The rocks below raced to meet her with unbelievable speed, and however hard she tried, she could not close her eyes; they were pinned open by the wind, giving her no choice but to look at the ground as it came up to meet her.
Still, she thought, at le
ast this way I get a good look at my landing spot...
The air shimmered around her as she fell. More than shimmered; for an instant, she could have sworn it glowed.
An instant was all she had. No sooner had she thought it than the rocks were there, and everything went black.
ALICE GROANED.
Everything hurt.
Everything.
She wondered if that meant she was dead.
Should being dead hurt this much? Really?
She was lying down, she knew that much. Her head hurt – a lot – and her whole body was shaking. One of her shoulders throbbed hotly.
Wherever she was lying, it was cold. Cold and smooth.
So... not the rocks. She’d had plenty of time to get a good look at those and they had been big and jagged and spiky. Definitely spiky.
She tried to roll over onto her back. Something jangled, like pieces of metal moving over one another.
It sounded rather like...
She opened one eye.
Chains.
There were chains piled on the floor in front of her.
She was on a floor.
Definitely not on the rocks.
As she forced her eyes to look beyond the heap of links, she saw movement. A boot. Two boots. And legs above them.
Everything else was blurry, but there were definitely boots there.
A person.
Great.
But that didn’t explain the chains.
And then, behind the boots-and-legs, she caught a glimpse of white feathers, sweeping down to the floor.
Angel.
Angel. Floor.
Jumping.
She groaned again – but not, this time, because it hurt.
Angel. Floor. Chains.
There was no way this could be good.
“She’s coming round,” said a voice. It sounded as though it came both from somewhere a long way off and somewhere very close, and the words took longer than they should have to unscramble themselves in her head.
