Rebellion

“What?”

“Prove it to me. Prove that you are more than the things that make you. Give me your life, Alice. That’s how this works. Give your life to me. Give your life for me. Bleed for me, burn for me – and in return, I would die for you. Kill for you. I will tear down the stars if only you ask. Prove them wrong. Prove Gabriel wrong. Prove me wrong.” He spun on his heel and his eyes locked on to hers, and there was no fire behind them. For once, Michael’s eyes did not burn. “Prove you are all that you can be. All that you could be. Prove that you are more than you should be.”

He finished speaking, and the silence wrapped itself around them both again, because Alice had no answer.

ZADKIEL STOOD ON the top of the outer wall, looking out at the sea. Something wasn’t right; he could feel it, deep down in his bones. Something felt wrong, felt off. It felt like betrayal – Michael was right, of that much Zak was sure. He sighed, and opened his mind to No Man’s Land. A thought, a flicker, a memory... anything; but there was only darkness beneath the touch of his mind. Darkness and the sound of the waves.

“The castle is beset, within and without,” said Castor, leaning on the stone beside him. Zak hadn’t noticed him come out onto the wall, and didn’t acknowledge him. Not that it bothered Castor. He rested his elbows back against the wall, propping himself up with his back to the sea. “That’s what you’re thinking.”

“One of us has to be at least a little poetic.”

“I’m a policeman, mate. What do I know about poetry?”

“Don’t.” Zadkiel turned his head towards Castor and gave him a hard stare. “With anyone else, fine. But not with me.” He turned back to the sea again, but repeated himself. “Not with me.”

“I forgave you, you know,” said Castor, almost conversational. “You never thought I could, did you? But I did. I forgave you the second they cut me loose. Well. As soon as my wings stopped aching, at least.”

“Forgave me? For what?”

“I know what you did. You protected me, didn’t you? It was either you or Gabriel, and you volunteered. You were the one who banished me. You were the one who cut my wings. Because you knew that Gabriel would take them forever.”

“And I knew that you would hate me for it.” Zadkiel was still staring at the sea, but his voice strained as he spoke. “Better that than to see you Fall.”

“I could never hate you, Zak.” Castor smiled, straightening up. “You’re supposed to be able to read minds, you dickhead: couldn’t you see?”

“I didn’t look. I couldn’t bring myself to.” Despite himself, Zadkiel’s face cracked into a smile. “And you watch your mouth. I’m still your Archangel.”

“Still.” Castor watched as Zadkiel sighed; turned away from the sea to face him. He saw the smile reach his eyes – then saw it rapidly fade, flashing through first horror, then determination. He moved fast, but it seemed so slow: Zak’s hand reaching out to Castor, his fingers closing on his shoulder, pushing him down to the floor, hard and fast and with little regard for anything as Zadkiel stood over him.

And Castor rolled over just in time to see the first lightning bolt smash into Zadkiel’s unarmoured chest.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE Lux Aeterna

TO CASTOR, ZADKIEL appeared frozen. Unblinking, unmoving. Unwavering, even as the lightning crawled across his skin and one bolt after another slammed into his body with a force that would have knocked a lesser man off his feet. But Zadkiel wasn’t a man. He was an Archangel, and even as white sparks swarmed around his eyes, burrowing into his skin, he stood firm.

As Zadkiel died, he stood firm and he opened his wings.

And all Castor could do was watch.

Watch as the final blast of white lightning drove into Zak’s chest.

Watch as his strength finally gave out and he fell to his knees.

Watch as he blinked once, just once, at Castor – lying useless on the stone walkway – before the life went out of his eyes and he slumped to the floor.

And now it was Castor who was frozen; frozen as Gabriel strode along the top of the wall towards them, white sparks still flying from his fingers and a smile on his face. He dropped into a crouch beside Zadkiel’s hollow body, his hands skimming his clothing... and then stopped.

His eyes travelled along Zak’s limbs, where he had fallen, and over Castor, who could do little except tremble in fear and in rage and in utter disbelief.

“Tell him, Earthbound. Tell him who did this, and why. And tell him that he will be next.”

Gabriel slid his hand into one of Zadkiel’s pockets and – with a look of triumph –pulled out a small bundle of dirty cloth. He closed his fingers tightly around it.

“Tell him, Castor. Tell Michael. I want him to know. I want him to know that finally, the war is over. The war is over, and he... has... lost.”

Gabriel straightened, slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. The sun glinted off the feathers of his wings as he opened them, stretched them wide.

He stepped onto the parapet, and with a single beat of his wings, he was gone... leaving Castor cowed and weeping as he cradled the body of the dead Archangel on the walls of Mont Saint-Michel.

CHAPTER THIRTY The Price We Pay

MALLORY RUBBED AT the sore patch on his wrist where the manacle dug into his flesh. He was getting desperate. The boy was fading. And he was little more than a boy, Mallory had come to realise. Maybe twenty, thirty at most, and he had no idea what had happened to him, no idea what he had got involved in. None. Which begged the question of what the Fallen actually wanted with him. As far as Mallory had been able to work out, he hadn’t even done anything particularly interesting – certainly nothing that would catch their attention.

At least it gave him something to think about. Mallory was bored. Worried and bored. It wasn’t a pleasant combination. There was no way of measuring the time here: it was always dark, always damp. There was food, from time to time, shoved through a slot in the base of the door, but it seemed to arrive whenever their captors remembered (or could be bothered) rather than at regular intervals.

Toby slept much of the time. Mallory – who had never needed much by way of sleep – listened to the rise and fall of his breath as he slept, wondering whether Alice was safe. Hoping that Alice was safe. And wondering how the hell he was going to get out of this.

He had healed. He knew that much. His wings were sore – and would be for some time, he thought grimly – but more than anything, they ached to be stretched. They ached from the damp and the dark. He ached from the damp and the dark, and the simple fact that he was a prisoner. The manacle, he had discovered, was attached to a length of chain and, in turn, to a bolt on the floor. Testing it had occupied his mind for a little while, but it was pointless. Neither was going to give in a hurry, and it was a waste of strength fighting them. As an extra bonus, the manacle felt as though it had letters carved or cast into it – and while the light wasn’t quite enough to make them out, Mallory would gladly put money on them being Enochian, and on their being put there to keep him in his place. So he could heal, but he certainly hadn’t been able to leave. And that meant there was someone smarter than Rimmon behind this. It had to be Xaphan. And if it was Xaphan, then it absolutely confirmed everything he had feared. The whole of the trip to Mont Saint-Michel had been a set- up. But for what? Too many questions... and none of the possible answers were comforting.