Rebellion

“Not him.”

“Why? What’s so special about him?”

“Nothing. That’s the point,” replied Mallory.

“I DON’T THINK I’ve ever heard anything so messed up. And I’ve heard a lot of messed-up shit.” Vin was still shaking his head in disbelief. “This isn’t about Rimmon, or the kid. It never has been. It’s about you. You think Rimmon’s doing this as some kind of taunt, don’t you? You seriously think he’s smart enough to come up with this all by himself? He’s a flunkey: you’ve said it yourself a thousand times. This? This is Lucifer. It’s always Lucifer. It’s why he goes after you, it’s why Rimmon went after Alice” – Vin watched Mallory’s face darken – “and which I now remember Raphael told me to make sure you never found out about. Yes. Moving on.

“How is it possible that you – the smartest guy I know – can be so thick? I mean, tactically you’re the best of us. Better than...” He paused and lowered his voice. “Better than Michael, even. But sometimes, talking to you’s like talking to a rock. A stupid one.”

“You know, I’m beginning to wish Rimmon would come back. Then I could suggest that maybe he’d like to kill me instead. Or you. Either would work.”

“I’m trying to help you.”

“I don’t think you can. Unless...”

“Just listen. You’re not seeing it all, are you? You’re still not seeing it. It’s all Lucifer. All along. He knew you’d talk: it’s why he picked you. He wanted to send a message to everyone that he wasn’t to be messed with, and he knew you wouldn’t be able to help yourself. And so it goes – right up to now. Lucifer picked this kid because he knew you’d feel responsible for him, just like you’d feel responsible for the next one.”

“Then he’s right.”

“You’re impossible.” Vin kicked out at the wall.

“It doesn’t matter why it’s happening, Vin. It doesn’t matter what the reasoning is behind it, and it doesn’t matter who did it, or why. What matters is that they will kill him, right there” – Mallory pointed at the chair – “and they will do it, ultimately, to get at me. Maybe because it’s part of a bigger ‘torment Mallory’ plan just for shits and giggles; maybe because I won’t do what they want. End result is the same.”

“There must be another way...”

“And if you can come up with it, then I’m all ears. But I don’t think there is one. I will not Fall, and I will not let this stand.”

“There has to be another way.” But Vin was starting to sound doubtful.

“Then find it. But find it fast.”

Vin sighed, and stared at the floor. “Jester?”

Mallory shook his head. “I think we both know what that means.”

“This whole thing. It’s...”

“Yes, Vin. Yes, it is.”

DOWN THE CORRIDOR, across the warehouse floor with its stacked crates and its pit, through an opening draped with plastic sheeting and down a flight of dark stairs, stood a door; and beside it, a window. It looked not out, but in: behind it, there was a room with nothing in it but a table, bolted to the floor. A small group of men gathered on the outside, looking through the glass. One was tall and blond, and wore a suit: his red eyes reflected in the silver of the glass. One had dark hair and carried a cane. One would have been handsome, but for the scars which covered half of his face and smeared his features into one another, drawing his lips back in a too-wide smile. The last of them had wings which shone with white sparks, crackling as the feathers rubbed against one another. They looked through the window, and they waited.

At a nod from Lucifer, Xaphan unlocked the door and opened it wide, grinning as Florence stepped unsteadily out. She held out a red-smeared hand, pressing the sticky knife into his outstretched palm, and slumped against him.

“Did I do alright?” she asked, her voice pleading.

“You were perfect.” He draped his arm around her and drew her close. “It could have been a little quicker, perhaps, but other than that...”

“Oh.” She hung her head.

“But not to worry. I’m sure next time will be better.” He ruffled her hair and shot a glance over the top of her head towards the others. Handing the knife to Gabriel, he nodded. “And that should be it,” he said.

Lucifer blinked at the window and then – quietly at first, but with increasing energy – he began to laugh.

“MALLORY, WHEN ARE you going to get it through that thick head of yours that it doesn’t matter to Rimmon? It won’t make a blind bit of difference to him. How do you know he doesn’t already realise who he’s got in that chair?”

“I don’t doubt he already knows.”

“Then what’s the point?”

“Because I couldn’t save Rimmon from them... but I might be able to save him.” Mallory cleared his throat, rolled his shoulders and his neck. “You wait. You find a way, and you get him out of here.”

“You think he’s going to be able to walk out? Seriously? I’d be shocked if he’s got a single bone that’s not broken. Have you seen him?” Vin hissed.

“I don’t need to see him.”

“But you’ll die for him. That’s veering dangerously close to heroic. And you know how I feel about that kind of thing.”

“What happened to my being a coward?”

“Isn’t it the same thing?” Vin shrugged. He was so matter-of-fact about it that Mallory laughed.

“I think they’re supposed to be the opposite. It’s being brave. Doing the things that are necessary. Like you will, because you know that it needs to be done.”

“Wait... did you just call me heroic?”

“Maybe. Don’t get used to it.”

It wasn’t in anything that Mallory said, or did. It wasn’t in the tone of his voice or the look on his face. It wasn’t even in the fact he might possibly have said something that counted as nice to Vin... but he knew that Mallory had made up his mind. There would be no convincing him otherwise; no talking him down.

Mallory was right. As things stood, there was no other way out of this. Not for him. Watching Rimmon torture and kill his way through a busload of people – just because he could? That would kill Mallory too. But it would be slow, and it would be painful, and it would be his spirit that died first. All that would be left was a shell.

However much he hated the idea on every level, Vin was starting to wonder whether Mallory might be right.

He bit his lip, and hoped that Alice would come.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE Transition

ALICE WAS ON the stairs. Again. She was on the stairs, turning over everything Adriel had just told her in her mind, and trying to separate out the useful bits from the typically Adriel-ish mysticism. “I think I preferred him when he was just a slightly creepy undertaker,” she muttered as she stomped down the stairs in search of... anyone.

The roofs were still burning, but the fire showed no sign of spreading, and she wondered if there was more to it than just normal flames. It was Michael’s, after all. What did it look like from the mainland? Was there even