by Lou Morgan
“It won’t end. Not until I give them what they want.”
“And what is it they want?” Vin already knew, but he still had to ask.
“Me. They want me.” Mallory hung his head.
“Why? You’re bolshy, bad-tempered, you drink like a fish and you’ve got an itchy trigger-finger. And, by the way, you owe me money.”
“I always owe you money, Vin.”
“Exactly my point.”
“Stop. Please.” Mallory was too serious for Vin to carry on pretending.
“Alright. But I’m still not doing it.”
“There’s no other way.”
“There’s always another way.”
“Not this time.” Mallory shook his head. “I won’t stand by and let them torture and kill and say it was all because of me.”
“Coward.” Vin looked Mallory in the eye as he said it. And meant it.
“Coward? Really? You think that’s what I am?”
“You’re running away. You’re giving up. That’s cowardice, isn’t it? Where’s your faith? Where’s your fight, for that matter?”
“Look at him.” Mallory held Vin’s gaze, unblinking, but raised his hand and pointed at Toby’s broken form. “Look at him. You want that on your conscience? Because I don’t. I can’t.”
“You know that anyone else would let him die. Everyone else. I’m not so sure I wouldn’t.”
“Not him.”
“Why? What’s so special about him?”
“Nothing. That’s the point,” replied Mallory.
“I DON’T THINK I’ve ever heard anything so messed up. And I’ve heard a lot of messed-up shit.” Vin was still shaking his head in disbelief. “This isn’t about Rimmon, or the kid. It never has been. It’s about you. You think Rimmon’s doing this as some kind of taunt, don’t you? You seriously think he’s smart enough to come up with this all by himself? He’s a flunkey: you’ve said it yourself a thousand times. This? This is Lucifer. It’s always Lucifer. It’s why he goes after you, it’s why Rimmon went after Alice” – Vin watched Mallory’s face darken – “and which I now remember Raphael told me to make sure you never found out about. Yes. Moving on.
“How is it possible that you – the smartest guy I know – can be so thick? I mean, tactically you’re the best of us. Better than...” He paused and lowered his voice. “Better than Michael, even. But sometimes, talking to you’s like talking to a rock. A stupid one.”
“You know, I’m beginning to wish Rimmon would come back. Then I could suggest that maybe he’d like to kill me instead. Or you. Either would work.”
“I’m trying to help you.”
“I don’t think you can. Unless...”
“Just listen. You’re not seeing it all, are you? You’re still not seeing it. It’s all Lucifer. All along. He knew you’d talk: it’s why he picked you. He wanted to send a message to everyone that he wasn’t to be messed with, and he knew you wouldn’t be able to help yourself. And so it goes – right up to now. Lucifer picked this kid because he knew you’d feel responsible for him, just like you’d feel responsible for the next one.”
“Then he’s right.”
“You’re impossible.” Vin kicked out at the wall.
“It doesn’t matter why it’s happening, Vin. It doesn’t matter what the reasoning is behind it, and it doesn’t matter who did it, or why. What matters is that they will kill him, right there” – Mallory pointed at the chair – “and they will do it, ultimately, to get at me. Maybe because it’s part of a bigger ‘torment Mallory’ plan just for shits and giggles; maybe because I won’t do what they want. End result is the same.”
“There must be another way...”
“And if you can come up with it, then I’m all ears. But I don’t think there is one. I will not Fall, and I will not let this stand.”
“There has to be another way.” But Vin was starting to sound doubtful.
“Then find it. But find it fast.”
Vin sighed, and stared at the floor. “Jester?”
Mallory shook his head. “I think we both know what that means.”
“This whole thing. It’s...”
“Yes, Vin. Yes, it is.”
DOWN THE CORRIDOR, across the warehouse floor with its stacked crates and its pit, through an opening draped with plastic sheeting and down a flight of dark stairs, stood a door; and beside it, a window. It looked not out, but in: behind it, there was a room with nothing in it but a table, bolted to the floor. A small group of men gathered on the outside, looking through the glass. One was tall and blond, and wore a suit: his red eyes reflected in the silver of the glass. One had dark hair and carried a cane. One would have been handsome, but for the scars which covered half of his face and smeared his features into one another, drawing his lips back in a too-wide smile. The last of them had wings which shone with white sparks, crackling as the feathers rubbed against one another. They looked through the window, and they waited.
At a nod from Lucifer, Xaphan unlocked the door and opened it wide, grinning as Florence stepped unsteadily out. She held out a red-smeared hand, pressing the sticky knife into his outstretched palm, and slumped against him.
“Did I do alright?” she asked, her voice pleading.
“You were perfect.” He draped his arm around her and drew her close. “It could have been a little quicker, perhaps, but other than that...”
“Oh.” She hung her head.
“But not to worry. I’m sure next time will be better.” He ruffled her hair and shot a glance over the top of her head towards the others. Handing the knife to Gabriel, he nodded. “And that should be it,” he said.
Lucifer blinked at the window and then – quietly at first, but with increasing energy – he began to laugh.
“MALLORY, WHEN ARE you going to get it through that thick head of yours that it doesn’t matter to Rimmon? It won’t make a blind bit of difference to him. How do you know he doesn’t already realise who he’s got in that chair?”
“I don’t doubt he already knows.”
“Then what’s the point?”
“Because I couldn’t save Rimmon from them... but I might be able to save him.” Mallory cleared his throat, rolled his shoulders and his neck. “You wait. You find a way, and you get him out of here.”
“You think he’s going to be able to walk out? Seriously? I’d be shocked if he’s got a single bone that’s not broken. Have you seen him?” Vin hissed.
“I don’t need to see him.”
“But you’ll die for him. That’s veering dangerously close to heroic. And you know how I feel about that kind of thing.”
“What happened to my being a coward?”
“Isn’t it the same thing?” Vin shrugged. He was so matter-of-fact about it that Mallory laughed.
“I think they’re supposed to be the opposite. It’s being brave. Doing the things that are necessary. Like you will, because you know that it needs to be done.”
“Wait... did you just call me heroic?”
“Maybe. Don’t get used to it.”
It wasn’t in anything that Mallory said, or did. It wasn’t in the tone of his voice or the look on his face. It wasn’t even in the fact he might possibly have said something that counted as nice to Vin... but he knew that Mallory had made up his mind. There would be no convincing him otherwise; no talking him down.
Mallory was right. As things stood, there was no other way out of this. Not for him. Watching Rimmon torture and kill his way through a busload of people – just because he could? That would kill Mallory too. But it would be slow, and it would be painful, and it would be his spirit that died first. All that would be left was a shell.
However much he hated the idea on every level, Vin was starting to wonder whether Mallory might be right.
He bit his lip, and hoped that Alice would come.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Transition
ALICE WAS ON the stairs. Again. She was on the stairs, turning over every
thing Adriel had just told her in her mind, and trying to separate out the useful bits from the typically Adriel-ish mysticism. “I think I preferred him when he was just a slightly creepy undertaker,” she muttered as she stomped down the stairs in search of... anyone.
The roofs were still burning, but the fire showed no sign of spreading, and she wondered if there was more to it than just normal flames. It was Michael’s, after all. What did it look like from the mainland? Was there even anyone to see, and if there was, did they care? If the world really was falling apart around them, would anyone notice the death of a single angel?
The news that Zadkiel was dead, that Gabriel was with the Fallen... she had heard it, and she had understood it – but she couldn’t make herself feel it. Michael’s anger had gone beyond mere rage: it was grief, she knew... and something else.
Fear.
She had felt that, alright. A stab of it, deep inside her, as he had left the room. Right after he had mentioned Lucifer.
They were going to restore Lucifer. The Fallen wouldn’t just be the Fallen any longer. They would be an army, led by two Archangels and reinforced by an entire choir, and the current Angel of Death.
And they had Mallory and Vin.
The day was just getting better and better.
She hurried down the stairs fast enough to make herself dizzy. The stone walls no longer felt cold to the touch: now, they were warm, even on the inside, thanks to the flames outside. Michael had a temper... not that that was news to Alice. A temper, combined with grief, was about the most mindlessly destructive force there was. Alice didn’t need anyone to tell her that: she’d been there. She just hoped that in this case, there was someone around to pick up the pieces.
She turned the corner at the bottom of the stairs and stepped out of the doorway into the cloister. There, angels were lining up – as she had expected. What she’d seen earlier was a drill. This was the real thing. This was, as Michael had already said, absolute war. Their armour caught the light of the fire above them, glowing deep red in the fading light. Alice glanced up: she hadn’t noticed, but it was almost dusk, and the deepening blue sky was slashed across with red and pink.
She thought back to her first sight of the priory, from the shore of the village they called Medea. The sunset had made the roofs look like they were burning then... now, they were.
A dark figure at the far side of the cloister caught her eye; not in armour, like the others. An Earthbound, with sandy hair, ruffled and streaked with dirt. He was dressed in black – including what looked to Alice like a stab-proof vest. A police vest. Castor.
He barely acknowledged her as she crossed the cloister to him, weaving between angels and ducking beneath outstretched wings as they opened. His face was empty, his eyes dull and red-rimmed.
“Castor...?”
There was no reaction.
“Castor, I’m sorry.” Alice put a hand on his arm and he flinched, but then his eyes seemed to come into focus and he looked at her, recognising her at last.
“He’s dead. Zadkiel is dead,” was all he said, and his voice was little more than a rasp.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“He’s gone. I lost him, Alice. I lost him.” It almost looked as though he was going to say something else, but he changed his mind and covered his eyes with his fingers. Alice rested her hand on his arm, wishing there was more she could say, but there was nothing. Behind them, the angels clattered to attention – all swords and plate and feather – and none of them thought to look in the corner. Not one of them saw Castor weep for his Archangel.
A bell rang somewhere nearby, tolling across the cloisters, and the angels fell silent. Alice looked round just as Michael swept into the cloister, his wings folded behind his back. He cocked his head on one side, listening as the last echoes of the bell died away, and then he folded his arms across his chest, armour blazing not with the light of the sunset, but with flame.
“Tonight, the Angelus has rung without Gabriel. You will know by now that he has betrayed us. He has abandoned us; he has turned on us. He has murdered our brother and opened our gates to the damned.”
There was a quiet murmur from the crowd of assembled angels.
“He has broken our trust, and taken what was not his to take. Tonight, we take it back.”
A cheer.
Alice could have sworn she saw the corner of Michael’s mouth twitch... and at that moment, she realised there was suddenly nothing under her hand. Castor had moved. In fact, Castor was now out in the middle of the cloister, striding towards Michael. “Oh, bollocks,” muttered Alice, scrambling after him.
“What about Zak, Michael?” he shouted. “What about vengeance?”
“Vengeance?” Michael asked, raising his voice. Every single pair of eyes was now very definitely on Castor, and Michael’s face broke into a broad smile. “Vengeance was always what Gabriel did best, wasn’t it? I think it’s time we showed him what vengeance really means.”
Another cheer, and this time the angels began to step out of their lines. They were forming a crowd, with Castor and Michael as the centre.
“We take them. We take them now!” Michael shouted, raising his sword towards the sky. The angels roared in response and Alice stared open-mouthed at them as they bayed not for Lucifer’s blood, not for the Fallen, but for Gabriel’s. Gabriel, who until hours before had been one of their own.
“Not your bad guy anymore,” she whispered, remembering what Mallory had told her the first time he’d mentioned Gabriel.
“Alice, when the lights go out and the world stops, at the end of time, and there’s nothing left but dust and ash and embers... Gabriel will still be standing there with blood on his hands.”
“He sounds like a piece of work. You’re sure he’s one of the good guys?”
“He is. He’s just a bad one.”
“Can’t say I’ve ever seen much of a difference between the bad good guys and the good bad ones.”
“Oh, there is one. Namely that he’s ours.”
The memory didn’t exactly make her comfortable.
THE SOUND OF wings filled the cloister; the rustle of feathers as angels took flight. It was either an extraordinary thing to see, or a ridiculous one. Alice was too tired to be sure. She felt like she had stumbled into the middle of something; something too big for her. Finally, she was ready to call it quits and to go home – because this... this, she knew, would break her.
“Doubt? You?” The voice was an inch from her right ear. She froze.
The air smelled of woodsmoke, and she could hear his wings.
“Not doubt.”
“I should hope not. What, then?”
“I don’t know.”
“Adriel gave you a message for me.”
“Yes. Now can you stop breathing in my ear?” Alice snapped, glaring at Michael and taking a step away from him. He straightened up, raising an eyebrow at her.
“Message, Alice.”
“He said to tell you the apprentice was ready. What does that even mean?”
“It means that Adriel has done the right thing.”
“Which is...?”
“The Angel of Death cannot be partial: he cannot be ‘ours’ or ‘theirs.’ Not at a time like this. He simply... is.”
“Which is why Lucifer isn’t any more.”
“Quite. You can imagine how that would have gone, can’t you?” Michael scowled, but continued. “Adriel was chosen from those of Lucifer’s choir who remained. He was the most... level-headed. The most balanced.”
“Looks good in a suit, too.”
“Yes, I’m sure that was one of our main considerations.” He sighed. “Everything will change, Alice. If Lucifer is restored. Everything. Do you understand?”
“Not even slightly.”
“Perhaps it’s best that you don’t. And do you still want to come with us?”
“Do they still have Vin and Mallory?”
“They do.”
“Then what do
you think?”
“I think I would have immense trouble keeping you here. But don’t for a moment make the mistake of thinking that I couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. And you would not enjoy that at all.”
“I’m not going to blithely shut up and do what I’m told, so let’s not even waste time on that conversation.”
Michael made a sound which might have been a growl, but she pretended not to notice. After a moment, he sighed. “It doesn’t matter what I say to you, what I order you to do, does it?”
“No.”
“You realise that they are there, in part, because of you?”
“No. They’re there because they made choices. Just like I’m here.”
“Mallory chose to give you time to get away.”
“That’s why he’s my friend.”
“Tell me, Alice: why would you risk so much to save him? To save them?”
“Because he... they’re worth saving.”
“Would you do the same for me? Am I... worth saving?”
“I’m not sure.”
Michael laughed, but there was very little joy behind it. “One thing you will obey me in, Alice, and this I do mean. The Fallen will have other prisoners. Mallory is being held with a human. You cannot save them both.”
“Why?”
“Because. Human or angel. Make your choice.”
Alice stared at him. “You’re telling me – you, Michael, all-powerful angel and all that – you can only save one of two people in a room.”
“No, Alice. I’m saying you can only save one of them.”
“What’s the catch?”
“That’s for you to decide. Now choose. Choose, or stay behind – and remember, if I take you, it’s nothing more than as a show of faith. Stay out of my way. I have work to do, and there’s more at stake than the lives of a couple of angels.”
“You’re a caring type, aren’t you?” She was getting used to Michael’s utter disregard for anyone else, but even so... “Of course I’m going to pick Mallory. Why wouldn’t I want to help him?”
“And therein lies the bane of my daily existence.” He opened his wings. “Remember your choice, Alice.”
