Rebellion

AS EXPECTED, THERE were more steps. A lot more steps. And they kept on climbing: sweeping stairways which wound around the sides of buildings, narrow stairs cut into the bare rock between walls... and one heart- stopping rickety wooden staircase which clung to the bare rock, with nothing below it but the sea and a rather unpleasant death. Even Zadkiel hesitated before setting foot on that one, but after a brief pause, he shrugged and ploughed on. “I don’t usually come this way,” he called back over his shoulder.

“It’s very quiet,” Alice said, trying to keep her mind, and eyes, off everything below her. Definitely not looking down. Not thinking about looking down, either. “I thought there’d be more people about by now.”

“What, you mean the people who are busy rioting and watching the world crumble around them? Everything’s falling apart. The balance has tipped, even if they don’t know it. They can feel it all the same. You really think they’re going to put ‘holiday’ on the top of their to-do list? And if they did, do you think they’re going to be queueing up to visit the town where the inhabitants all up and took to the streets and hanged their children in the school hall?”

“You always have an answer, don’t you?”

“Archangel. It’s my job.”

THE STAIRWAY OF near-death brought them up and out again into a cloister, enclosed by an open-sided corridor. It wasn’t exactly large, but it was big enough. There was a well to one side, and a wooden bench where two monks dressed in the same black habits as Phillip sat in silence in the sun. But the most striking thing about the square was that it was filled with angels. They weren’t just standing around, chatting, either. They weren’t walking in loose groups, or sitting, or doing any of the things Alice had got used to seeing them do.

They were in organised lines; blocks. They stood to attention. They shone: breastplates strapped over glittering mail, swords in their hands and wings outstretched and scudding with flames. They looked, not to put too fine a point on it, like an army.

Michael’s choir were drilling, but all Alice could see was the fire. It was everywhere: in their hair, running down their arms. Sparks rose into the air from their swords; danced at the ends of their wings. She could feel it, could smell it: the faint scent of woodsmoke carrying on the breeze, mixing with the smell of the sea.

Home. It smelled like home. Even though she had never been here before, it smelled like home.

There was a bark of command and the rows of angels spun to face Zadkiel and raised their swords in salute. He waved them away, looking embarrassed. “I hate that,” he said, and then a very complicated expression crossed his face: something between happiness and relief and disappointment... and nudging against despair. And there was that aching pain behind her ribs again, just like the one she’d felt earlier, but stronger now. So much stronger.

There, on the far side of the square and half-hidden by the wings of Michael’s angels, was Castor, leaning back against the wall and watching the drill.

“Oh,” said Alice. She remembered Xaphan’s sneer, back in the church.

Mallory was right behind her. “You don’t want to get in the middle of that.”

“Castor. And...”

“Castor and Zadkiel. Messy. Painful.”

“Oh,” she said again.

“Want to know the best bit?”

“I thought you said I should stay out of it...”

“No, no. Let me finish.”

“Fine.”

“The best bit? Is that of all the angels you shouldn’t put in a room together, we’ve come here with three. And the fourth is inside this very fortress. And hates us.”

“Gabriel?”

“Gabriel.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Mallory unscrewed his hip flask, and took a long swig before holding it out to Alice. “You sure you don’t want any?”

“ALICE!” A FAMILIAR voice boomed across the square, and Alice saw a figure weaving between the others, trailing sparks behind him. He was smiling. And waving enthusiastically.

A’albiel.

Apart from Mallory and Vin, he was one of the few angels who Alice both liked and trusted. It was entirely possible he was the only one besides Mallory and Vin. It was A’albiel who had rescued her from Xaphan’s first attack, when she was alone and vulnerable and had less than zero control over her gift. It was A’albiel who had helped uncover Gwyn’s betrayal in hell; who had made Michael see sense.

And he was here.

He marched over to them, the flames streaming across his wings dying down, the feathers folding in on themselves and away.

“I heard rumours,” he said. “I heard rumours, but I did not believe they could be true.”

“Were they good rumours?” Alice asked, smiling at him. This appeared to puzzle him, and he frowned. She shook her head. “Never mind.”

“Is it true?”

Mallory tucked his flask away again and straightened up. “You’re going to have to tell us what the rumours are if you want us to answer that one, Al.”

“Indeed.” Al nodded. “They say you come to see Michael...”

“No shit.”

“If I might? They say you come to see Michael, and to bring him a prisoner. One of the Twelve.”

“And his girlfriend,” Mallory snorted. A’albiel looked blank again, so Alice stepped in.

“Xaphan, Al. It’s Xaphan. And Florence.”

“The half-born?”

“Try not to make it sound like a dirty word, would you?”

“My apologies. I meant no disrespect, Alice.”

“None taken.”

“But you have Xaph?” He glanced from Alice to Mallory and back again. “This seems...”

“Unlikely. Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Mallory shrugged. “I know, alright? But apparently, Michael has something they want.”

“What can Michael have that the Fallen would want?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Power? An army of angels? A great big fuck-off castle?” Mallory kicked at the wall. “It’s the brother. The girl’s brother. She’s a trade.”

“She handed herself in?”

“Something like that. Our... paths crossed back in Camden.”

“The riots.”

“The riots. And as you can imagine, Xaphan was having a fine time dressing up as a copper and beating the shit out of people.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“No. But it’ll certainly be the last.”

“Curious.”

“How so?”

“That Xaphan would allow himself to be captured – whatever the reason. Now, of all times.”

“You’re going to have to fill in the backstory, Al. We’ve been a little busy...”

“Michael believes he has found a way to bind Lucifer together, body and soul. And if he can bind him...”

“He can destroy him.”

Alice interrupted. “Destroy Lucifer? Is that even possible?”