Rebellion

“Michael appears to believe it is,” said A’albiel. “But only if he is the sum of his parts. Otherwise, you can destroy the body...” He shrugged.

Mallory rubbed his chin. “I was afraid he’d try something like that. It’s unheard of. I mean... restoration. It would change everything. Everything. Do they know?”

“The Fallen? I can only imagine that they do.”

“It would explain a lot, wouldn’t it?” Mallory looked thoughtful. “And Michael’s sure? How?”

“The library here. He believes there is a text that holds the key. Gabriel is redeeming himself by searching for it.”

“I almost feel sorry for him...” Mallory muttered, then turned to Alice. “I don’t suppose it’s too much to hope that you missed the mention of the word ‘library’ there, is it?”

“Yes. And now you’ve said it again, you have my full attention.” She batted her eyelashes at him.

“Bloody librarians. You’re all the same.”

“Thank you. Continue?”

“Michael’s library holds... everything. Everything we’ve ever learned about the Fallen.”

“Wait... so, if there’s a book that tells you how to destroy Lucifer, why hasn’t Michael just done it already?”

“Because of the risk.” Zadkiel’s voice made Alice jump: she had had no idea he had joined them. “To destroy Lucifer, you must first restore him.”

“Put him back together, you mean?”

“No. I mean restore him. He can only be destroyed as an Archangel.”

“Ah.”

“You see. We’ve never had to consider it before: the war... all this, has always been about the balance. As long as we could always keep the balance, Lucifer was irrelevant.”

“Irrelevant? That’s one word for it.”

“What would you understand? What are you? Human. Human with angel blood running in your veins, perhaps, but human nonetheless.”

“Your boss seems to think differently,” Alice said, surprised at how smug it sounded when she said it aloud. One of Zadkiel’s eyebrows shot up, as did Mallory’s.

“Michael has never been as” – Zadkiel paused, considering his choice of word – “desperate as I’ve seen him lately.”

“Desperate?” Mallory stepped in. There was a strange emphasis on the word. Zadkiel shook his head.

“He doesn’t like losing.”

“You mean he’s not willing to lose.”

“Whatever the cost. In his mind, the end justifies the means – whatever those might be.”

Mallory didn’t appear to have an answer to that. Instead, he closed his eyes as though in pain, and hung his head. Vin, too, stared at the paving beneath his feet, and even Al looked dejected.

When Mallory spoke again, his voice was hoarse, like he was trying to hold something back. “I’m sorry, Alice. I shouldn’t have brought you here. It was a mistake.”

“Bollocks. You didn’t bring me. I came.”

“You don’t understand. What Michael’s planning – if he succeeds... Archangel against Archangel. It’s unthinkable.”

“It’s a death sentence,” Vin said quietly, but Mallory made an impatient ‘hush’ sound.

“There’s a reason no attempt has ever been made to completely destroy him, Alice,” Mallory continued. “It’s simple: it’s because it could destroy everything. All of us. All of you, even. Lucifer has always been allowed to remain because he was imprisoned, both by us and by the balance. Everything that spun out from that was... manageable.” He smiled sadly. “And Lucifer always knew, I think, that we would never risk trying to destroy him completely. He knew what could happen.”

“Mad,” said Alice.

“Perhaps...”

“No. Not ‘mad.’ Mutually assured destruction. Equilibrium strategy. The balance.”

“This time you’ve lost me, Alice.”

“It’s game theory, right? All that stuff?”

“Strategy? You’re lecturing me on strategy?” Mallory stepped back and looked her up and down. “What happened to ‘I’m a librarian’?”

“Spend long enough around books and some of it sort of sinks in,” Alice said with a shrug. She was aware that Zadkiel had cocked his head on one side and was looking at her with a thoughtful expression. “What?” she asked, suddenly embarrassed. She felt like a five-year-old crashing their parents’ dinner-party.

“Perhaps Michael’s right about you after all,” said Zadkiel.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’ve given me an idea.” He nodded to A’albiel, who nodded back and walked away. He grew faster and faster as he went, until he was almost running. Zadkiel watched as he disappeared through a door at the base of a tower. “We’ve always played by the rules of engagement. It’s time to change the game.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE Zero-Sum

TO SAY THE stairway was unevenly-lit would have been an understatement, thought Alice. There was the occasional candle stuck to the wall here and there, and the odd little window along the way, but it really wasn’t much to work with. Thankfully, there was a thick, braided rope running around the outer wall in soft swags by way of a handrail, so she clung to that and followed the sound of footsteps ahead of her. It wasn’t like she could get lost, after all; it was just a case of climbing until they ran out of steps.

If she never saw another staircase – up down or sideways, it didn’t matter where it went – it would be too soon, as far as she was concerned. And then she remembered that she was being taken to see Michael, and all of a sudden, the idea of walking up stairs for the rest of her natural life seemed quite appealing.

At last, there were no more stairs. Her heart was hammering against her ribs, and her legs felt like someone had taken hold of her ankles and shaken her. Hard. It was with no small satisfaction that she heard Vin panting behind her. If even Earthbounds found that climb hard going, she wasn’t in as bad a state as she’d thought. Mallory and Zadkiel – naturally – looked as if they’d gone for a twilight stroll. Alice shot them both a dirty look, but neither noticed.

The stairs opened onto a small landing, and a door. There was a slightly larger window than the ones which had almost-lit the stairs – an archway cut straight into the stone – and looking out of it, Alice felt dizzy. The sea was so far below now, even the streets on the island looked distant and small. The staircase they had just followed, according to Zadkiel, had been built by some of the first monks there, expressly at Michael’s command.

“His command?” asked Alice.

“He appeared to them in a vision,” said Zadkiel. “At least that’s the story they told.”

“And the real story?”

“He sauntered into the refectory one day, sat down and put his feet up on the table and asked when he could expect his room to be ready.”

“Bullshit.”

“I was there, remember,” Zadkiel said with a smile. “And here we are. Secret staircase, secret room. Not even the current monks know where this one is – not that it’s stopped them from looking.”

“But there was a door. It was kind of... oh.” Alice suddenly remembered who she was talking to. “You.”

“Me.”

“Have you ever said no to him?”

“To Michael? Why would I? He’s my commanding officer. More than that: he’s my friend.”