Fury

stupid?’

Neqael’s laugh is discordant and derisive. ‘This coming from you, who could not resist showing off your “cleverness” to Jegudiel, to Selaphiel. Turael saw you. You’re as dimwitted as the humans you consort with these days.’

I continue softly, as if she hasn’t spoken. ‘You’re so consumed by malice, so focused on universal domination, that you’ve completely missed the point. You bring out the very worst in humankind, but you don’t see them, you don’t comprehend what they’ve done, what they’re capable of.’

‘Oh, I see well enough.’ Neqael laughs, exposing the sinuous line of her throat that is wreathed with dark markings. ‘They possess a fine capability for depravity of every nature, but beyond that, they are animals. And now you consort with animals — and therefore you are their whore, the way you were once Lucifer’s whore, H—’

I see her tattooed mouth begin to form the first syllable of my name, I feel Turael grasp me by my long, curling hair, lifting me off the ground easily, and I have no choice. They leave me no choice, and I’m almost glad as pain begins to explode in me.

I let Turael swing me towards him, and I turn my face as if I would place one last kiss upon his cheek. Then, like a reflex, like the speed of thought, there’s a gun in each of my hands: sleek and heavy, with the look of the semi-automatic, a single lick of blue flame passing across the surface. They require no strength, no finesse to wield, just proximity and dumb luck.

I feel the muzzle of the gun in my blazing left hand connect with Turael’s jaw as the gun in my right rises towards Neqael as my eyes meet hers. My wrists are crossed before me, and it happens so fast that I’ve already pulled the trigger of each weapon simultaneously in the time it takes for Neqael’s eyes to widen in recognition of the things I hold in my hands.

Her mouth falls open and I see her thinking: But guns are stupid things; human things that humans use upon each other. They have no bearing upon angels, or upon demons.

Until now, until me.

It’s just a single shot from each weapon — small and insignificant against the majestic, blazing blades of my enemies — but the bullets are as deadly as any cutting surface, sped by thought, infallibly accurate, because I am the scope, I am the accelerant.

Just a small sting, like the bite of a mosquito.

But I imagine I see Jegudiel wrenching himself to the right as the blast wave of heat and dark energy that once was Turael knocks me to the tunnel floor. I’m deaf and blind to everything, my entire being resounding with pain as if my body were a tolling bell. So I don’t see the second bullet connect, I don’t see Neqael die. But I feel it. I feel the atmosphere compress then expand almost beyond bearing as the passageway is filled with the roar of her dark matter returning to God.

Then Jegudiel and I are all that remains in this silent, tomblike place.

I crawl across the cold and filthy floor towards him and say into the still place inside his head: Brother, you’re hurt.

Jegudiel sits up slowly against the wall and his damaged wings shred into nothingness. He just looks at me with his dark eyes. I kneel before him, almost in an attitude of worship, dwarfed by his scale.

Raphael kept insisting you’d changed. His voice in my mind is very quiet. And I confess, I did not believe it possible.

Raphael is missing, I reply. He was not in Milan. He has been taken, too. But not here. Taken somewhere else.

Jegudiel seems to slump at the news. Then he gestures in the air, making the fingers of his hands into unfamiliar weapons, into guns. How …?

The smile I give him is sad. When you have lived long enough in this world, you will understand how I am able to manifest something so utterly foreign to everything we are.

I reach out to him, and as my small fingers connect with his, he takes both my hands gently.

‘You do me good,’ he murmurs aloud. ‘To have you restored in this way — it gladdens me beyond measure.’

‘My memory is still riddled with holes,’ I mutter, ‘like this place. I’m not complete, not the creature I was. I may never be whole again.’

‘You don’t need those memories,’ he replies firmly. ‘You no longer have them — whether by your own doing or Raph’s — for good reason.’

His gaze grows distant. ‘Selaphiel can’t remain here — you know that, don’t you? This world will only kill him. I need you to do something for me …’

It’s probably something impossible, but I say anyway, without hesitation, ‘Yes, of course. Name it.’

Jegudiel refocuses his gaze upon my face, and his smile, now, seems sad. ‘Do you know how he does it?’

I shake my head, knowing that he speaks of Luc. ‘Fault lines and surface weaknesses: those are what he uses to move himself and his forces around the human world unseen. He’s had years to work out where the pressure points are; he’s also more than adept at creating new ones.’

Jegudiel shifts uncomfortably against the rough stone at his back and I know he’s wounded inside, too. Perhaps badly.

‘Go on,’ I say softly.

‘We Eight also have our meeting places, our secret haunts. Michael will not thank me for telling you this, but the Majlis al-Djinn is one such place; also the crypts of ancient Carthage, the peak of Mount Pilatus, the limestone terraces of Pamukkale, and many others. After Milan …’ his gaze shifts inward again, ‘… we were to regroup at a place mortals know as SMfu-iwa or Lot’s Wife. Do you know it?’

I shake my head. ‘Where is it?’

‘It’s part of a chain of isles, the Izu-shotM,’ he murmurs, sitting straighter against the wall. ‘Hundreds of miles south of the city known as Tokyo, Japan.’ He gives me a wry, sideways glance. ‘You’ve seen that city … in another life. SMfu-iwa is the southernmost of them all. An isle so sheer and uninhabitable, and located in such rough seas, that it is virtually impossible for any human to disembark there. Perfect for our purposes. Whoever survived Milan was to go there immediately and wait. And plan.’

He grasps my hands tighter in his, and his face is grave. ‘I need you to tell whoever you find there what transpired here: that I am alive; that Selaphiel yet lives and has been taken out of Luc’s reach. Can you do that for me?’

No small thing. But those who have risked their lives for me cannot be denied; and I know now where this compulsion, this need to repay, to make things right, springs from. It has gone beyond simple vengeance, beyond redemption. I’m beginning to see that maybe only love and fealty have the power to move me now. The demon killing that I must engage in sickens me. I do not delight in revenge the way that I thought I would. But I would do it again, and again, in a heartbeat, for the right reasons.

I nod, finally.

Jegudiel stands slowly, pulling me to my feet before releasing my hands. ‘Go as quickly as you can, by whatever means will take you and your …’ He stops momentarily, perplexed. ‘Your mortal companion to SMfu- iwa.’

‘He hates flying, you know,’ I say. ‘My way, not the human way. For so long I couldn’t fly; and when I finally regained my freedom, I almost couldn’t make myself do it again. But now, when I can fly, there’s Ryan to consider …’

Jegudiel looks down into the human face I wear and smiles. It makes him almost too beautiful to gaze on. ‘He must be very strong, to love you,’ he says quietly. ‘He’ll survive.’

His outline begins to shred as I follow him back down the tunnel towards the crack in the wall that conceals that ladder to the surface.

‘Selaphiel is my concern now,’ he murmurs, almost to himself. ‘Mine alone.’ He looks at me over his shoulder and I know I will always remember this moment — the instant he was before me and then gone, vanishing into motes of light, his laughter resounding, ghostly, his voice saying out of the ether, ‘As to the mortal boy who loves you? I leave it to you to explain to him where you are going and why. You were always … inventive.’