Rebellion

“Because I love him.” There was more than a hint of defiance in Florence’s voice.

“He’s one of the Fallen, Florence. The only person he loves is himself.”

“And that means I can’t love him?”

That stumped Alice. She opened her mouth and closed it before she could come up with anything at all. And even then, all she could manage was: “But he’s a bad man. As in: really bad. As in: he’s in league with the devil. Literally.”

“I can’t help that.”

“He won’t change.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Seriously?”

Florence shifted in her seat. “We’re not so different, you and me.”

“Yeah, we are. And this isn’t about me, is it?” The memory of a man – or someone she’d thought was a man – and how he had died flashed through Alice’s mind, but she brushed it aside. “I made a mistake. Maybe you have, too, but the difference is that I didn’t know any better. You did. You knew what Xaphan was. Is.”

“I do, Alice. And I can’t help that.”

“You think he’ll change? You’re going to sit there and tell me you honestly think he’ll wake up one morning and decide to be someone else?” Alice waited, but there was no answer from the other side of the screen. She could just about make out the outline of Florence’s face, silhouetted against the divider. Finally, the answer came.

“I don’t want him to be someone else. I just want him.”

“I’m sorry, Florence. But if that’s the truth, then you’re as damned as he is.” Alice swung herself up from the seat and around the outside of the booth to face Florence, who met her gaze with cool green eyes.

“What would you know, Alice? What do you know about me, or about him? What do you know about any of it? You think the angels are on your side? You think they care? What are you to them? You’re a pet. A tool. Nothing more. Things could have gone so differently, and you know it. An inch either way and you could be sitting here instead of me. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought it.” she said, lowering her gaze and glancing up at Alice from beneath her lashes. “Enjoy it, Alice. Enjoy it while it lasts, because things are changing.”

Alice had heard enough. She looked Florence up and down once more, and without another word, she walked away. Florence’s voice, raised now, followed her. She was shouting.

“At least I made my choice!”

MALLORY WAS BESIDE Xaphan’s makeshift cell, talking to Castor and Pollux. He had lowered his voice and his back was to her, but Alice could still hear snatches of their conversation.

“I mean it. I’m not happy about this. Not with your history,” he was saying to Castor.

“You want to go without me? Fine. I’ll keep an ear out for what Michael does to you. Someone’s bound to hear the story.”

“Michael isn’t my primary concern.”

“Maybe he should be, Mallory. Being around all those other Descendeds must have scrambled your brain, or you’d remember that Michael’s adopted a fairly strict ‘kill first, ask questions later, if at all’ policy recently.”

“Thank you, I’m aware of Michael’s tactics. What I’m more concerned about is what happens when we put you, your brother and Zadkiel in the same room. When was the last time that happened?”

“You know the answer to that.”

“Yes, I bloody do. When you were Earthbound. So you’ll forgive my reluctance to put my life – Vin’s life, Alice’s life – in your hands, all on your say-so.”

“Oh, piss off, Mallory. You’re one to talk.”

Alice had heard enough. She cleared her throat and their heads snapped round, the conversation stopping dead as soon as they realised she was listening. “Oh, come on. You’re going to tell me it’s fine to have your little chat in front of him” – she pointed at Xaphan, who was apparently snoozing – “and not me?”

“Because,” said Xaphan, not bothering to open his eyes, “everyone already knows this story. The brothers and the Archangel. The star-crossed lovers. The tragedy of their separation... oh.” He opened his eyes and smirked. “Everyone except you, I suppose.” He let out a short, cold laugh and shut his eyes again. “Oh, well.”

Mallory’s mouth set in a hard line, and he glared first at Xaphan, then at Castor. “Get them in the van.”

Castor nodded – but as he headed for Florence’s booth, Pollux muttered something under his breath and Castor rounded on him.

“You know what, Pol? Fuck you. Fuck you and every single Descended like you, you fucking prick.”

Pollux raised an eyebrow at his brother in response. None of this seemed to bother Mallory.

“Problem, gentlemen?” He was flipping a single bullet between his fingers, spinning it up and over and round again, but his eyes were fixed on Pollux. He tossed the bullet into the air, caught it and dropped it into his pocket. “I asked if we’re going to have a problem here. Because solving problems is something I’m very good at.”

“We’re fine.” Pollux hauled Xaphan out of his seat and pushed him towards the front of the church.

Once he’d gone, Mallory let out a long sigh. “Those two are a pain in the arse.”

“There’s a story there, isn’t there?” Alice asked, following him back around to the sacristy.

Mallory laughed. “Story? There’s an eight volume Russian fucking novel in there. And no. Not with a barge- pole,” he added. “We’re leaving. Now.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN Brothers in Arms

“YOUR CARRIAGE, MY lady,” said Mallory as they walked to the front of the church and Alice spotted the van parked outside. It was black, and the words ‘Private ambulance’ were stencilled in big white letters on the back doors. Her heart sank. She’d seen that van before: it was one of Adriel’s.

And that was how they were getting to Michael. All of them.

In a coroner’s van.

IT WAS NOT a thought Alice relished, but she climbed in, put her head down and wrapped her arms around her chest, tucking herself into the corner, as far as possible from Xaphan and Florence. Castor immediately took it upon himself to act as their driver, complete with his police uniform and Zadkiel-given ability to mess with people’s heads. Mallory rode with him, and that left Alice, Vin, Pollux, Xaphan and Florence – still wearing their chains, which rattled at every bump in the road – in the darkened back of the van. For hours.

She had no idea how long they’d been in there, jostled and bruised and growing increasingly bad-tempered, when she finally started to doze. She was tired; more than tired, she was exhausted. As the world dropped away into darkness, she felt someone slide something soft behind her head. It smelled of beer and stale smoke, and – faintly – something else. Vin’s jacket.

IN THE FRONT of the van, Mallory had sunk as far into his seat as was possible and had his feet up on the dashboard in front of him, ignoring Castor’s protests. He had also retuned the radio – again, ignoring Castor’s protests.

“Usually, driver picks the music,” said Castor pointedly.

“Usually, driver doesn’t have a Descended with a pistol riding shotgun,” Mallory growled back at him.

“Point made.”

There was no noise from the back of the van, which both of them could only assume was a good thing, and it wasn’t long before Mallory retreated into his thoughts.

They drove. Through the night and into the dawn, they drove.