Rebellion

weaving through her hair like ribbons, but Xaphan just laughed.

“I thought we were past all this, Alice! You know me, and I know you. You’ll always try and burn your way out of everything.” He leaned closer, brushing her hair aside and whispering into her ear. “And I won’t let you.” She could feel his breath on her neck. He smelled of oil and soot, and something faintly metallic. “What is it that fire needs to burn? Oh, yes. Air.”

Everything was fading: the street, the world and the fire with it. The pain in Alice’s throat had faded to a dull throb, and her lungs felt like they were full of water. Through the sound of her heart hammering in her ears, Alice was almost sure she heard Xaphan humming a tune.

The black stars were spreading across her field of vision, shutting out everything else. There was only darkness, and her pulse starting to slow, and the world was so very, very far away.

With a roaring sound, everything exploded into focus. Air rushed back into her lungs, forcing its way down her aching throat. Alice coughed and flames blazed across her skin.

Blinking as the world came back into focus, she saw Xaphan being thrown into the crowd by an Earthbound in riot gear, his grey, foreshortened wings twitching as he moved. Xaphan snarled, but the Earthbound simply pointed at him, glaring from behind his helmet. The Fallen scowled, spat in his direction and vanished into the crowd.

The Earthbound turned back to Alice and dropped to his knees beside her, pulling off his helmet and balaclava. It was Castor, the angel from the warehouse.

“We really need to stop meeting like this,” he said with a grin.

“Nice outfit,” Alice croaked. Her throat felt like someone had poured paint stripper down it. “Aren’t you a little old for dress-up?”

“Who’s dressing up? I’ll have you know this is for real!” He stroked the front of his uniform, looking offended.

“You’re a police officer. Seriously.”

“What the fuck else am I going to do with myself?” he asked, holding out a hand. “Can you stand?”

“One way to find out.” She let him help her up as the flames burned out, trying to decide which she wanted to recover first: her dignity or her balance. She went for balance. She wasn’t sure dignity was an option. “Where did he go?”

“The Fallen? No idea.”

“You know who that was, don’t you?”

“Do I look like I was born yesterday? Right now, I’ve got bigger problems than Xaphan. I’ve got a full-scale riot, and three officers separated from the line. If we don’t get them back, this lot’ll tear them apart. You need to get out of here.”

“People keep telling me that.”

“Maybe once in a while you should listen, yeah?” Castor was already walking away from her, pulling the balaclava back over his face.

And she would have answered, except that when she turned around, Toby was standing directly behind her, his eyes wide. Their eyes met and he took a step back from her.

“I came looking for you. I came back for you.”

“Toby.”

“What was that? You... you were burning. But you’re fine... Look at you. You’re fine.” He waved a hand at her, oblivious to everything else. “How’s that even possible?”

“I can explain... well. Not explain, maybe, but...”

“I don’t... What’s happening? What is this? What’s happening, Alice?”

She already knew she’d lost him. It didn’t matter what she said or didn’t say; he was looking at her like she was a monster or a miracle.

She didn’t have time to plead with Toby, or to tell him to go. She didn’t even have time to tell him that this wasn’t – any of it – what he thought. But the look on his face told her: whatever she said, it would never be enough.

She didn’t have time; as she opened her mouth to speak, the smell of incense filled the air, and a single gunshot rang out.

Alice’s head whipped round.

Mallory.

ALICE NO LONGER heard or saw anything around her. The smoke and the gas were forgotten. The Fallen were brushed aside, and the memory of Toby faded from her mind until it was less than a shadow. All these things were nothing compared to the thought racing through her head.

Mallory’s back.

She craned her neck, but all she saw was the remnants of the riot. The sound of the shot might as well have gone entirely unheard for all the reaction it got: it was as though no-one had heard it at all. Perhaps, she thought, remembering Zadkiel’s presence, nobody had.

Nobody but her.

She turned on the spot, but there was no sign of him, and so absorbed was she in looking for Mallory that she didn’t even notice Toby was gone.

From somewhere down the road, she caught the scent again; that smell of incense... and now she could feel him. Feel his anger at the chaos, feel his determination... and something else. Not fear, exactly; concern? He was nervous, certainly. Not afraid, but...

Slowly at first, and then with increasing confidence, Alice made her way down the street.

The crowd was less dense here; there was no attack, only retreat. Some were walking, some were running. Several were limping, bleeding heavily. One man had his arm slung around another’s shoulder, leaning on him for support. Others jogged backwards, jeering and raising their middle fingers at the rest of the crowd, at the police. Alice passed a couple sitting on the edge of the kerb, their heads in their hands, sobbing. She sympathised. Keeping a lid on her gift, on the all-encompassing desire to burn out the pain and the confusion of the crowd, had left her exhausted. It was all she could do not to sit down beside them and sob with them.

None of these people knew what had really happened here, that they had been sucked into the front line of the fight between the angels and the Fallen. The Fallen had pushed their buttons, had manipulated and twisted them, and the angels had turned up to put a stop to it.

No wonder the people were dazed: they had seen a Descended manifest in their midst, and had had all memory of it wiped from their minds by Zadkiel and his choir. Alice understood, and – if she was honest – was relieved, but on the other hand, if Zadkiel could make a hundred, two hundred people all forget what they had seen, what else could he do?

A shiver ran down the length of her body – one which had nothing to do with the chilly air. Michael with his fire; Gabriel with his lightning, and Zadkiel, who could take away your mind on a whim. She wasn’t sure who worried her more: the Fallen, or the Archangels.

An angel – a Descended – suddenly stepped into her path, blocking her way. He looked vaguely familiar, with sandy hair cropped close to his skull. He looked her up and down. “He said you’d come.”

People really did seem to be making assumptions about her today.

He blinked at her, then stood aside.

And there, behind him, was Mallory.

HE LOOKED ALMOST exactly as she had expected, down to his boots and torn jeans; his leather jacket was as ropey as ever. But there were more lines than she remembered around his brown eyes, and his dark hair was flecked with fresh grey. He was fiddling with his gun as the other angel stepped aside, so absorbed that he didn’t notice her watching him. The tiredness came off him in waves.

She felt unexpectedly guilty. She had spent the last six months being angry at him for leaving her; where had he been to leave him so worn-down? What had he been doing?

He looked up, and their eyes met – and for what seemed like an age, they simply looked at each other.

And then he was smiling, and striding towards her and throwing his arms around her; lifting her off her feet in a bear-hug, and before she knew what she was doing, she was crying.