Rebellion baf-2

by Lou Morgan

  “You’re not going even going to try another ‘do as you’re told or I’ll muzzle you’ speech? Frankly, I’m disappointed.”

  “Do not provoke me, Alice.” He stood in front of her with his wings wide open and his eyes burning, holding out a hand. “Besides, by your choices, you muzzle yourself.”

  His fingers closed around hers and the world filled with flame.

  “I HATE THAT,” she said, opening her eyes. Wherever they were, it was dark. It was dark and it was damp and it smelled like oil and, quite possibly, vomit. Old vomit, at that. “I really hate that.”

  “You would rather have walked?” Michael sounded even more sarcastic than usual.

  “No, I’d rather have...” Alice started to look around, and tailed off. “Where the hell are we, anyway?”

  “Where they are.” Michael nodded to a warehouse just ahead of them. “The Fallen. Gabriel. Lucifer.” The last name came out in a hiss.

  Behind them, Alice could just see the outlines of Michael’s choir: they were trying to blend in, trying to be subtle. Trying, not succeeding. And she realised that this was where they were going to miss Zadkiel: not just because he hid them, made them forgettable when they needed to be... but because he was merciful.

  What had driven Gabriel to Lucifer? Vengeance, she was willing to bet. Vengeance on... everyone – on Michael, most of all. And what would Michael do without Zadkiel behind him? Adriel had told her to help him, to help Michael. To help the angels to remember.

  Human or angel. Make your choice.

  There it was. What Adriel, more than anyone, had been trying to make her see. That there was no choice. She was both. That was the point of it all. She was both and always would be, and that was where she stood – between the two. More than that, it was where she belonged. And Adriel – impartial Adriel – had not only seen it, but he had tried to tell her so, before all hell had broken loose.

  He’d seen it all coming.

  So what was this ‘apprentice’ business, and what did it mean?

  The angels were restless, shifting their weight from foot to foot; ruffling their feathers and muttering amongst themselves.

  Alice looked at them all, and she knew they would not be merciful.

  Betrayed not once, but twice, by their brothers. Betrayed by one of their generals. Besieged and attacked in their own safe haven, and forced to watch as the world they had been protecting tipped away from them.

  No. There was no way they were going to be merciful.

  ALICE HAD THE strangest sense of deja vu. The warehouse, she knew, would have a green neon sign on the front: the entrance to a sleazy-looking club. Around the corner was an alley full of rubbish, and just along from that was another warehouse. Or what was left of one.

  She’d been here before.

  She’d been here the night she had caught up with Murmur.

  “Michael?”

  “Alice.”

  “You said this is where they’re hiding. Since when?”

  “Since we burned them out of hell.”

  “And you knew that?”

  “Of course I did. But I had no reason...”

  “You knew they were here, and you did nothing?”

  “Would you have had me do, Alice?”

  “Stop them! Kill them! Anything!”

  “And then what?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Then what? I could have taken Forfax at any time. Xaphan too, and any number of the others. But Lucifer would still be dust in the wind, and it’s him I want. Him, and now Gabriel.”

  “But you could have stopped this. If you’d taken them... Zadkiel... Medea... those kids. You could have saved them!”

  “And what good would it have done me? Would it have brought me any closer to Lucifer? No.”

  “But his generals. The Twelve...”

  “Would have been replaced. They always are.” He adjusted the edge of his breastplate. “For all this time, I have fought a war of attrition. I have tried to wear them down faster than they wear us down. I have followed the rules: rules which, by the way, Lucifer is more than content to break. I have been patient. No more.”

  “I just think you don’t like the idea of losing.”

  Alice was prepared for Michael to be angry, but the violence of his reaction still took her by surprise. One second she was standing on dark, damp, vomit-spattered tarmac, the next she was... somewhere else.

  It was a box, mirrored on all sides. The floor, the roof, each wall... all reflected her own frightened face. Not quite a cube, it was tall enough for her to stand, and wide and long enough for her to reach out her arms. She couldn’t see how it was lit, but it was certainly light enough for her to make out her surroundings. With mounting panic, she realised that was part of the point.

  “What are you doing, Michael?” she asked, her voice bouncing back to her with tinny resonance. The only other sound was her breathing, and it crossed her mind that she had no idea how much air she had...

  “Michael?” She called his name, louder. There was no answer.

  Not unless she counted the tiny red spark which appeared in front of her nose. It hung in the air, dancing... and then slowly, slowly, it fell. It landed at her feet.

  The floor caught fire.

  Flames shot up from the glass, burning nothing and everything all at once. And it hurt.

  It hurt.

  Alice was so shocked that she almost didn’t feel the pain. Almost. But as the flames swallowed her feet, wrapped around her shins, stretching – reaching – for her, she started to scream.

  It hurt.

  It shouldn’t hurt. It couldn’t.

  It’s not real, she told herself. It’s not real. It’s in my mind. Michael’s in my head.

  But it felt real – and that was the last clear thought she had. Everything else was screaming and heat and blinding, blistering pain.

  It hurt.

  She tried to bang on the glass, but it was too hot to touch and she was appalled to see that where her fingertips brushed it, there were smeared red-black marks.

  She could smell burning hair.

  And it hurt...

  ...And with a jolt she was back on the concrete. Michael was in front of her, watching her with narrowed eyes, while behind her a troop of angels waited for his command.

  She held her hands up in front of her, turning them over to check first the backs and then her palms. She was fine. There wasn’t even a speck of ash on her. She’d been right: it wasn’t real. It was all in her mind.

  “Do not provoke me, Alice,” he said again.

  He didn’t wait for her to answer: perhaps he knew that she was far too shaken to speak. Perhaps he didn’t care if she did or not. All he did was turn on his heel and walk away... towards the warehouse.

  “Wasn’t real. Wasn’t real. It wasn’t real...” she told herself – without pausing to wonder why, if it wasn’t real, her mouth felt so dry, and why she could taste burning hair at the back of her throat...

  There was movement in the shadows beside the warehouse, and Alice watched a figure detach itself from the dark and approach Michael. Castor, and beside him, carrying a long staff, was Pollux. They were speaking to the Archangel, and Alice could see Michael nodding as he listened, following Castor’s gestures as he pointed to various sections of the building. They were almost ready.

  Mallory and Vin were in there. That was all that mattered to her: she didn’t care about the rest of it – not really. She didn’t care about the Fallen. She didn’t care about Gabriel. She didn’t care about Lucifer. She didn’t care about Rimmon or Xaphan. She didn’t even care about finally getting her hands on Florence, she realised. She didn’t care about their battles; their war. She didn’t care about the world and whether it kept on turning.

  She cared about them.

  Castor and Pollux broke away from Michael, moving to the side of the building, and Michael squared up to the warehouse. His wings unfurled, feathers trembling as they opened wide and ora
nge sparks jumped across the surface. She heard wings behind her, and she turned to see every angel there, lined up on the empty tarmac, with their wings open. Waiting. Still waiting.

  Michael looked like a statue. His sword raised, his head tipped back. His wings wide open...

  Alice’s heart raced in her chest.

  There was a sudden shout – a battle cry – and every angel’s wings burst into life: the fire was so bright that Alice threw an arm up in front of her face to shield her eyes. All she saw was fire. Metal glittered deep within it, but the fire...

  Another shout, and Michael jabbed at the dark sky with his sword. There was a cheer from the angels – loud enough to make Alice’s ears ring – and they began to move.

  It was no stampede, no rush. No disorganised charge. They marched. One foot, then the other. Even, steady. Holding the lines, burning like suns. And Michael led them: lost at the heart of the flames, only his sword visible behind his blazing wings, he walked calmly towards Lucifer’s hiding place.

  Alice watched as they passed; column after column, row after row. Their eyes forward, their swords ready. They didn’t question, didn’t hesitate. They would follow Michael wherever he led... How many of them, she wondered, had had the shiny-box treatment?

  Michael had given her no orders. Not really. He knew what she would do.

  She would find them, whatever it took. Whatever it cost.

  She was the only one who would try.

  The last of the lines moved past her, and she squinted towards the warehouse, sitting squat and dark on the far side of the fire. The Fallen knew they were coming. It’s what Michael wanted. There was no attempt to hide – not from Lucifer, and not from the rest of the world. Anyone could have seen them... but perhaps that was the point. There had been something about staying hidden, hadn’t there? Perhaps the time had come for them to move out of the shadows. Perhaps it was their only chance.

  “Far too philosophical, Alice,” she said to herself, and closing her eyes she reached out to the warehouse. If that was where the Fallen had been hiding all this time, there would be more than enough pain there. More than enough fuel for the fire.

  It washed over her, around her; crowding her and crushing her and shutting out the world. Closing her off to everything but someone else’s pain. It ate through her, pushing its way into her fingers, her lungs, her bones... it wove and threaded itself through her, and deep in her eyes, when she opened them, were spinning circles of fire.

  Alice looked at the warehouse, and her mind cleared.

  One foot, then the other. Even. steady. And Alice followed the angels into hell on earth.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Pull the Pin

  “WAIT... DID YOU just call me heroic?”

  “Maybe. Don’t get used to it.”

  Mallory closed his eyes, and Vin shot a glance around the room. Rimmon had left it scattered with... a lot of things Vin didn’t like the look of, if he was honest. But they’d do.

  “I still...”

  “Vin. You know how it goes. Michael won’t come for us. You can get out. You have to leave.”

  “I’m not leaving you here.” Vin slid his hand behind his back; his fingers stretched along the floor, reaching...

  “You’re right. You’re not. But you are leaving.”

  “You don’t get to give me orders, Descended or not. And you really don’t get to do it now.”

  “I’ve made up my mind, Vhnori. Do it.” Mallory’s eyes were still closed – as if he couldn’t bring himself to look at Vin.

  “Fair enough. Give me your hand.” Vin reached forward and took Mallory’s hand in his. The chain rattled as the manacle shifted on his wrist, sliding down. There was a ring of blood beneath it, and dark lines trailed up Mallory’s arm away from it, beneath his skin. Vin flinched – only slightly, but still enough for Mallory to laugh.

  “Helliron. What can you do?” he said with a shrug.

  “You ready?” Vin asked, his voice sad.

  “I’m ready.”

  “Good,” said Vin – and he jerked Mallory’s arm towards him, pulling him closer, at the same moment as he brought up the knotted rope Rimmon had dropped on the floor. He swung it with all the strength he had, and the huge knot connected with the side of Mallory’s head, knocking him, unconscious, across the floor.

  Vin let out a sigh of relief, and lowered his friend’s hand. “All these years, and you’ve never once managed to piss me off enough to actually try to kill you. If you think I’m going to do it now, you’re dumber than you look. And that’s saying something.”

  Vin tossed the rope aside and he sat there, legs stretched out, in between Mallory – unconscious on the floor – and Toby – unconscious in the chair. He looked from one to the other.

  “I knew I should’ve stayed in Hong Kong.”

  THE BOTTLES ON the shelf rattled, gently at first, but with increasing violence. No-one in the bar noticed – they were too absorbed in their own affairs, and the music was loud – but when the first bottle threw itself from its spot and smashed on the floor, its contents bursting into flame as it hit the concrete, they paid attention. A half-dozen men in crumpled suits, collars open and ties tucked in their pockets, glanced round. Paul the barman, a man with bright red hair, stared wide-eyed at the broken glass and the burning puddle before reaching under the counter and pressing a small black button, pulling a metal rod out from beneath the bar and setting it on the top, just in case. The remaining bottles behind him rattled ever-louder, some of them jumping in place and rocking alarmingly, and a phone mounted between the shelves rang.

  One eye on the bottles, Paul picked up the receiver – plugging his other ear with his finger to better hear the voice on the other end. He listened, his face expressionless, and then he spoke.

  “They’re coming,” was all he said.

  He listened again and nodded, then hung up the phone and disappeared through a black door behind the bar, turning a dial on the music control pad as he left.

  No-one saw him leave.

  The music grew louder.

  When the next bottle fell, nobody noticed.

  MICHAEL’S CHOIR REACHED the warehouse, but instead of launching themselves straight at it, as Alice had expected, they stopped.

  “Michael’s waiting,” whispered a voice from the shadows, and Alice twitched. She thought she was the last one there. Peering into the dark, she saw a vague shape... and a pale face in the gloom. Castor. Dressed head to toe in black, he was almost impossible to make out in the shadows.

  “Waiting for what?”

  “The most effective moment.”

  “He’s giving them warning.”

  “Of course he is.” He folded his arms.

  “That’s crazy...”

  “Not if you’re Michael. He wants them to know he’s coming. And that he’s coming for them.”

  “For whom, exactly?”

  He didn’t answer, so she changed tack. “What about you?” she asked. “I thought you’d be out front, leading the charge...”

  “Me? No. I’m an Earthbound, remember? Don’t belong.” He stepped into the light of Alice’s flames, twirling his baton in his hands. “You’re going in after Mallory, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you’re going to need a little backup. What do you say?”

  “What do I say?” She pointed to what looked like a loading-bay door, padlocked shut. “I say... what are we waiting for?”

  The door was a corrugated metal shutter, large enough for a van to back through. Castor peered at the hasp of the padlock, attached to a small steel loop set into the ground. “Just to make this clear,” he said, smashing his boot down onto it – once, twice, three times until it cracked – “I’m very much off duty right now.” He kicked the fragments of metal out of the way and heaved on the door, which rattled up and over their heads, leaving a gaping hole ahead of them. Alice shot a look over her shoulder. The angels were still waiting.

&nbs
p; She and Castor were not.

  The smell was like walking into a wall. Solid, thick, heavy. She couldn’t just taste it, she could feel it. There was a faint green glow coming from the emergency lighting in the rafters, high above – just enough to make out the stacks of crates that stood around the space. They were going to have to tread carefully.

  “What on earth is that smell?” Alice’s voice was muffled by her sleeve, clamped over her face in an attempt to shut it out.

  Castor didn’t seem particularly bothered by it. He pointed at something in the far corner. “That. Come on.”

  “You want me to get closer to it? Why?”

  “Because.” He tugged at her arm and headed towards it. Pulling a face, she followed – only to walk straight into his outstretched arm a moment later.

  “What...?”

  He was pointing down with his other hand.

  She looked.

  He had stopped her on the edge of a large pit in the floor, her toes actually sticking out into empty air. It reminded her of the mechanic’s pit in the garage her father used to take their car to when she was little. Only that pit had been smaller – much smaller. And less full of...

  She peered into the pit, straining her eyes in the faint light.

  ...Less full of entrails.

  “Oh, god.”

  “Believe me when I say there’s absolutely nothing godly about this place.”

  “What is that?”

  “You really want me to tell you?”

  “No. I really don’t.” More than anything, Alice wanted to look away, but she couldn’t. Her eyes just kept on staring. They wouldn’t close, wouldn’t blink, wouldn’t move. “I think I can see a finger.”

  “I think you need to stop looking.” Gently, he pushed her back and away from the pit, although he didn’t move himself. “This is what they do, Alice. This. They were like us, once. All the Fallen. They were just like us.”

  “What happened to them, do you think?”

  “Lucifer happened. Lucifer promised them freedom: he just neglected to tell them what he was freeing them from. Hope. This is the work of the hopeless. No-one with any hope in their soul could do this.” He stared down into the pit.