Rebellion

and was punctuated by a variety of ducts, pipes and vents. Around the walls was an array of what looked suspiciously like kitchen cupboards, and a plastic skeleton dangling from a noose. Alice raised an eyebrow at it, but Adriel simply shook his head. “It takes a certain kind of man to live with the dead. It isn’t your place to judge.”

“Maybe not, but that’s just all kinds of wrong.”

“This coming from the woman who just burned a man alive?”

“Woah there. Hold on.” She pointed a finger at him. “Firstly, that wasn’t a man, that was a Fallen. And secondly, how the hell do you know that’s what happened?”

“He died, yes?”

“Well, yes. But that... oh. Angel of Death. Got it.”

“Indeed.”

The centre of the room was dominated by an enormous steel table, draped in an extremely white sheet.

There was something underneath the sheet. Alice watched, feeling slightly queasy as Adriel pulled it aside, leaving the table and its contents exposed and horribly spotlit.

It was a pair of wings. A pair of wings which had been torn from the back of an angel.

They lay outstretched on the steel of the table, side by side, the feathers bedraggled and sad, and matted with blood. Those on the outer edges of the wings were slightly blackened, and Alice caught the smell of burning. Her stomach turned a quick somersault, but somehow, she couldn’t stop herself from reaching out for them...

At the touch of her fingers, the wings burst into flame, but they did not burn. Instead, the flames settled, quietly scudding across the surface of the broken feathers. And Alice looked in horror at Adriel.

“This is one of Michael’s choir.”

“He was.”

“What happened?”

“The Fallen.”

“They did this?” Alice looked back at the wings spread out on the embalming table, the flames dying out as they fanned out over the feathers. She could see the bones, the muscles and sinews bunched beneath the flesh and feathers, and even she understood that this angel – whoever he was – had been tortured. The bones were broken; the muscles twisted... the wings ripped from his back.

“This is a message,” Adriel said, pulling the sheet back over the broken wings. “Not a subtle one, either. They are coming. No – more than that: they are already here. And for all that you want to fight, Alice, you are too much a human for this.”

“That’s what Xaphan said. In hell. Just before he murdered my friend and made me watch. He said I was too human.”

“Just because Xaphan is one of the Fallen doesn’t mean he can’t tell the truth when it suits him.”

“He was wrong. Still is.” She curled her fingers tightly in on her palms.

“I understand – but don’t confuse the will to fight with the strength to do so. You are like them, but not one of them.”

“How?” Alice held out her hands, and fire danced across her palms; spun around her wrists. “Tell me how. You look at me and tell me how...”

“Because you can die, Alice. All too easily, you can die.”

Adriel smoothed the sheet over the wings and quietly walked away, the steel doors swinging shut behind him and the lights switching themselves off as he left. And Alice was alone in the darkness with only dead wings and fire for company.

She thought about it for a moment, and decided that it wasn’t enough.

“No. You don’t get to say that. You don’t. You don’t get to take away everything I had, and leave me with this and tell me that I’m not one of you.” She stormed down the corridor after him, catching up with him as he sat back down in his chair. “He died, didn’t he? That angel – whoever he was. He died.”

“Yes, he did.”

“So. You said it yourself: everyone dies. Even angels, right?”

Adriel simply blinked up at her. “What is this obsession of yours? This need to be one thing or another? Why can you not simply be what you are?”

“That’s exactly what I’m trying to say.”

“And it’s precisely what makes you human.” He steepled his fingers together and peered at her over the top of them. “Angels do not doubt what they are. Angels do not question their place. They simply are. But you? You want to be this so very, very much. You want it so badly that it burns you. Metaphorically speaking,” he added, seeing Alice open her mouth to interrupt. “Be as you are and be content. Besides,” he said, shuffling papers on his desk, “have you not understood what it is to be an angel? I would have thought Mallory could tell you that. Pain and war and little else.”

“That’s not what Mallory would say.”

“Not what he’d say, perhaps, but isn’t it what he thinks?”

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been able to ask him. He left.”

“And so you try to fill the space he has left. Be careful, Alice. The footprints you follow are not meant for you.” He blinked again, and it was clear that he had no interest in discussing the matter any further.

Alice was furious. More than furious. “I’m not afraid of the Fallen,” she said quietly. It wasn’t entirely true, but she said it anyway. Her shoulder was starting to throb.

“Neither are they. You must understand – the angels aren’t afraid of the Fallen. They’re afraid of death.”

“Of you.”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.” He folded his hands neatly on the blotter on top of his desk. “You’re quite right. Everything dies, Alice. But believe me when I tell you it takes considerably less to cause your death than it would, say, Mallory’s. And angels have died for this war. Many of them. Does that not suggest that perhaps you should fear the Fallen? Have you seen what they do to your world?” He pointed at the door; at the looting, the violence... the madness that had come from nowhere and seemed to be building with every passing day. The streets outside were a carpet of broken glass. It was quiet out there now, but it wouldn’t last.

“The Fallen have lost everything. They won’t forgive that. And Lucifer, if I remember correctly, has a particular interest in you. So yes, you should fear the Fallen. And you should stop seeking to place yourself in harm’s way. I have gone to considerable trouble to protect you from them, Alice, but I cannot protect you from yourself.”

And with that, he waved his hand at her, and it was clear she was dismissed. She was still furious, but she was something else, too. Everything Adriel had said sounded suspiciously like the ‘you’ve let yourself down’ speech she’d heard too many times in the past. She had disappointed him, and it left her with a fresh ache in her chest: one that had nothing to do with the beating she’d taken. Was that it? All this, it wasn’t just to keep an eye on her. It was to keep her safe. And she was just getting in the way.

She hadn’t forgotten about Lucifer. He wasn’t exactly easy to forget, speaking with her mother’s voice, looking out of her mother’s face; asking her to join him. She hadn’t so much ‘forgotten’ that as ‘chosen to ignore.’ Plus, of course, there was the whole problem of the fact she’d managed to set two Archangels against each other and... it was all just such a mess. And where was Mallory? Gone.

She sighed, fury abating, and turned towards the door. As she reached it, Adriel called her name and she stopped, looking back at him.

“Alice? I think perhaps you should take a few days. Think of it as sick leave: I’m afraid it simply won’t do to have you covered in bruises. It’s bad for business, and people will ask questions. I don’t enjoy questions, as I’m sure you can understand.”

“Sorry. I didn’t think.” And she was sorry, she really was. She hadn’t thought, had she? Because she was used to there being someone who could patch her up whenever she needed it. All traces of her anger were gone now, replaced utterly by regret. She hung her head, and was about to step out into the corridor when Adriel coughed quietly. Again, she stopped.

“One more thing,” he said – this time, with what looked like a half-hidden smile on his face. “If you really must persist in getting into these running battles with the Fallen... at least stop letting them hit you, hmm?” He