“OI! ALICE.”
There was something nudging her shoulder.
“Fnnghff.” She swatted at it. It nudged again. It really was quite insistent.
“Alice. Alice. Alice.” A pause. Maybe if she ignored it, it would go away?
“
“Alice isn’t here right now, but if you’d like to leave a message...” she mumbled from behind her hair.
“Fine. Well, when Alice shows up, would you tell her that she needs to get her arse in gear?” Mallory laughed. “You’ve got two minutes, and then I’m dragging you out by your heels and dropping you in the sea. That’ll wake you up.” Alice peeled her eyes open. Knowing him, he meant it.
Her skin felt sticky from sleeping in her clothes, and her shoulders ached from the damp stone floor, but other than that she felt surprisingly rested. The chapel was peaceful and calm, and Alice had absolutely no desire to leave it. Not that staying was an option.
Mallory was standing in the doorway, watching Castor and Pollux haul Florence and Xaphan out, stumbling over the step and tripping over their own feet. They had used the spare ropes to tie them together again, like ponies being led along a cliff. Mallory eyed them as they edged past him, turning to Pollux. “Keep them away from me, you understand?”
Pollux nodded and yanked on the rope, dragging them forward. Xaphan sneered at Mallory. Mallory sneered back, but Alice still saw his hand creep down to his guns.
“Good morning. I see you’ve decided to join the rest of us,” he said as she came to the door. “Sleep well?”
“Not really. But I’m getting used to that,” she muttered. Mallory shrugged.
“You can sleep when you’re dead.”
“Thanks. That’s immensely reassuring.”
“All part of the service.” He ducked out through the door.
“Mallory?” Alice followed him out into the dappled light.
“Mmm?” He had opened his wings and was stretching them out as far as they would reach, the feathers catching the light and shining as they moved. This time, the sight stopped her in her tracks. She was so used to seeing angels covered in dust and dirt and blood, had grown so used to them always being in motion and in darkness, that it almost never occurred to her how beautiful they would look to someone else. Someone seeing them for the first time.
Someone who didn’t know what they really were; what they really meant.
Someone who would see the man with his wings shining in the sun and not see a soldier, tired and scarred and half-dead on his feet and staring down the barrel of complete and total defeat, and carrying on regardless.
Alice watched him as he folded his wings away and crouched down, pulled both Colts from the back of his belt and ejected the magazines, checking them over. He patted his pockets, checking for more ammunition.
“Mallory?”
“Yup.”
“Something’s been bothering me. About yesterday.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“Apart from the obvious.”
“Right...”
“The woman. The woman on the beach.”
“Taken as read, yes.” He didn’t look up from his guns.
“How did she know I spoke English?”
“She didn’t.”
“But she’s... she was... French, right?”
“Is there a point to this, Alice?”
“She spoke to me in English. How...”
“She didn’t. She was speaking in French. I would’ve thought that was obvious.”
“She wasn’t.”
“She was. Believe me.” He stood up again, tucking one gun into his belt. The other disappeared into the pocket of his hoodie, which despite the scorch marks had still fared better than his jacket. “Do you think all angels only speak English? Really?”
“I hadn’t given it much thought.”
“That’s a little narrow-minded of you, isn’t it?”
“No. Yes. Pass.”
“The sign. The Angel and Pistol. You commented on it. You didn’t think it was odd that it was in English?”
“I kind of assumed... tourist pub, you know?”
“You should know better than to assume, Alice.” He shook his head, but he was smiling nonetheless.
“Oh, god. This is another one of those...” She flapped her hands, looking for the right word. She gave up. “
“You’re the only person I know who can make the word ‘angel’ sound like an insult. And I’ve met a lot of people. Some of them would be happy about being able to understand other languages.”
“And I might be, if I’d been warned about it.”
“Oh, stop whining.”
“Shan’t.” She stuck her tongue out at him. “Besides, if I’m magically able to understand all these languages, how come I was always so rubbish at Spanish in school?” Another thought occurred to her. “And, how come I couldn’t understand Vin when he was speaking Cantonese when I met him?”
“Well, in both those cases, your gift hadn’t manifested, had it? Unless you’re going to tell me you used to regularly set fire to your school books?” He shrugged and turned away from her, sauntering towards the path back to the town and the sea, and the island. His voice drifted back over his shoulder. “Besides, how d’you know Vin isn’t still speaking in Cantonese?”
Alice’s mouth dropped open.
“SERIOUSLY. WHAT LANGUAGE?”
“Alice, give it a rest, yeah?” Vin rolled his eyes at her, but it was obvious that he was enjoying her frustration more than he should. “Have you been sniffing old incense or something?”
“No! I just... it’s...”
“It’s driving you nuts? I can tell.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “But here’s the thing: does it actually matter?”
“I...”
“Does it?”
“No, but...”
“There you go. Besides,” he said, “doesn’t matter what language I say it in, you still don’t listen to a bloody word, do you?” He ducked, laughing, as she took a half-hearted swing at him.
“Alright, children. Am I going to have to separate you again?” said Mallory, stopping to wait for them. They had almost reached the edge of the town everyone was referring to as Medea – although that was certainly not the name on the signposts – and ahead of them the sea gleamed blue and silver at the foot of Mont Saint-Michel, and the statue of Michael was already catching the sun. The causeway was deserted: too early in the day for tour buses or cars full of holidaymakers, it stood empty, stretching ahead of them through the boggy marshland and the water.
Or almost empty, at least. At the near end, a man was leaning against the low wall that ran along its edge. He could have been anyone, his hooded jacket unzipped over a red t-shirt, basking in the warmth. As they drew nearer, Alice could make out large splatters of what looked like cement on his boots and on his jeans. If she hadn’t known better, she might have said he was a builder waiting for a lift. But she
He didn’t move as they came closer. He just watched them. His eyes skated over Mallory and Alice and Vin,
