Rebellion

Wherever the hell she was.

WHILE TOBY WAS trying to process his first meeting with an angel, Alice struggled to find her way through the thickening smoke towards one of the others. It was the smoke that bothered her most: more than the gas, more than the crowds. This smoke tasted like naphtha; a Fallen weapon if ever there was one. All of this felt like their handiwork – the way the people were turning on one another, the random violence of it. With one hand covering her mouth and nose, she peered through the gloom and headed for the faint glow of wings.

“Alice.”

Was it really too much to ask for people to be in front of her if they wanted to talk to her? She turned around and found herself almost nose-to-nose with an Archangel.

She could tell he was one of the Archangels, just by looking at him. Something about the way he held his head; about the way he folded his arms across his chest – and looked utterly unfazed by everything happening around him. Admittedly, the sword hanging from his waist and the glowing sigil on his wrist helped.

The symbol was familiar, but even if that hadn’t given him away, the scent that hung around him, cutting through the smoke, probably would have done. He smelled like cut grass and tomato leaves, like old books and poster paint, like tarmac baking in the sun. He smelled like the past, like childhood. Like memories.

She was standing in front of Zadkiel.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he shouted.

Alice stared pointedly at his wings. “Neither should you!”

“Things are changing. I’m... necessary. All this” – he waved his hand around him – “it has to be contained.”

“Like Michael contained hell, you mean?” Alice snapped.

Zadkiel looked taken aback. “He told me you’d say something like that.”

“Did he really? Well, let me assure you that whatever he says, Michael doesn’t understand a thing about me. Or he wouldn’t have sent you after me.”

“You? I’m not here for you!” Zadkiel said with a shake of his head. “I’m here for this. We all are.”

“All?”

“Look closer, Alice.” He gestured to the crowd behind her, and she turned and looked.

The air shimmered – and suddenly she could see angels everywhere. Among the crowd. On the rooftops. Behind the police, among the police. In the air, beating their wings.

“But... why couldn’t I see them? Before?”

“Because I didn’t want you to. Not all of them.” He patted her on the shoulder. “You take care of yourself, Alice. It was nice to meet you. Michael sends his regards.” His fingers closed around the hilt of his sword as he stepped around her. “We could use a little help, you know.” The creases at the corners of his eyes deepened, and Alice took the hint. Something told her it wasn’t a great idea to get on the bad side of another Archangel.

“He told me you’d say that,” she mimicked, shaking her head. “Angels. Can’t live with them... end of sentence.”

It was as she was turning away that she spotted the back of a jacket. A horribly, horribly familiar jacket.

She only saw it for a second, and then the press of bodies closed in again, but she’d seen enough, and her heart sank.

Toby.

He was supposed to go home. That was the whole point... he was supposed to be safe, far away from all this. But there he was, right in the middle of it. Should she go to him? Would she be protecting him, or putting him in harm’s way?

Torn, she tipped her head back, hoping to find some kind of answer. The angels were still there – although Alice had no idea whether everyone else could see them. Could Toby? What did that mean? Did they know what was happening here? Did he? They’d certainly all seen the Descended arrive: he had been hard to miss. But since then... she turned again and looked back to the centre of the crowd where he stood. No-one was staring, or shouting, or doing any of the things she would have expected them to be doing. Their eyes slid over him; they moved around him, but no-one seemed to notice him. And that had to be Zadkiel’s doing. He could control memories, after all.

“Collateral damage, Alice. Collateral damage...” whispered a voice behind her, and as she whirled to find its source, she saw only red eyes glinting behind a heavy visor.

Lucifer.

He was here.

Stumbling back, she fought the urge to run. What good would it do, in the midst of the pandemonium? Even the angels had finally, typically, vanished.

Lucifer was taunting her. That was the point.

But Lucifer never wore his own body, and she had only ever seen him speak through the Fallen. That was part of the deal: that at any moment, he could invade their heads and make them his own.

And that meant the policeman, standing in front of her and swaddled in his heavy riot gear, was not what he seemed.

His shoulders began to smoke, and then to burn, small flames running down his arms, but he simply laughed, patting them out with his gloved hands. “Fireproof. Nice touch, don’t you think? You’ll have to try harder than that if you want to burn me, Alice.”

...and then the red glow vanished.

As she watched, he dropped his shield, tossing it aside like a toy. It rolled along the pavement, where it was immediately snatched up by a woman who swung it straight at the head of the man pushing past her. It connected heavily and he fell to the ground.

Alice should run. She should; she knew she should. Suddenly her determination was fading, and was being replaced by something very like fear. She should do something, anything... but Lucifer had had the opportunity to sneak up on her and he had let her know he was there. Why? He could have hurt her, could have killed her, yet he hadn’t. If he had a reason for leaving her unharmed, there was no way he would let another of the Fallen hurt her...

... she hoped.

The policeman tucked his baton into his belt and lifted the visor of the helmet, pulling the whole thing off his head and letting it fall to the ground. Everything except for his eyes was hidden behind black wool. He yanked his hands out of his gloves, throwing them away too, and grabbed the front of his balaclava, pulling it up and back until she could see him clearly.

Xaphan.

“You.”

“Me.” He flashed her a shark-like grin, and suddenly his hand was moving to his belt – and before Alice could blink, the baton smashed into the side of her head, sending her stumbling sideways. She hit the ground hard, and pain flared from her hip to her shoulder as she rolled, fire dancing across the tips of her fingers. She swallowed the pain down, held the fire back and sat up. Black stars burst behind her eyes and the world began to sound tinny and far away. A foot came down on the back of her hand as she tried to push herself up.

She tried again, but her legs felt weak. A knock to the side of her head added bright red suns to the black stars dancing in front of her. She blinked hard, shook her head.

And then, swimming into view, a scarred face and a too-wide smile leaning over her.

“You were looking for me, weren’t you? Here I am.” He tossed the baton aside.

Alice recoiled, but Xaphan simply grinned harder and clamped a hand around the back of her head, reaching out with his other to stroke her hair. “Now, now. You don’t have to be like that. I thought we were friends. How do you like our party?” he asked, turning his head away from her and surveyed the crowd. “It’s quite something, isn’t it? And this... this is only the beginning.”

Something slipped over Alice’s head, around her neck, and pulled tight.

Alice gagged and swatted at Xaphan, but it was no use. Fire blazed up around her hands and throat,