Not unless she counted the tiny red spark which appeared in front of her nose. It hung in the air, dancing... and then slowly, slowly, it fell. It landed at her feet.
The floor caught fire.
Flames shot up from the glass, burning nothing and everything all at once. And it hurt.
It
Alice was so shocked that she almost didn’t feel the pain. Almost. But as the flames swallowed her feet, wrapped around her shins, stretching –
It hurt.
It shouldn’t hurt. It couldn’t.
But it felt real – and that was the last clear thought she had. Everything else was screaming and heat and blinding, blistering pain.
It hurt.
She tried to bang on the glass, but it was too hot to touch and she was appalled to see that where her fingertips brushed it, there were smeared red-black marks.
She could smell burning hair.
And it hurt...
...And with a jolt she was back on the concrete. Michael was in front of her, watching her with narrowed eyes, while behind her a troop of angels waited for his command.
She held her hands up in front of her, turning them over to check first the backs and then her palms. She was fine. There wasn’t even a speck of ash on her. She’d been right: it wasn’t real. It was all in her mind.
“Do not provoke me, Alice,” he said again.
He didn’t wait for her to answer: perhaps he knew that she was far too shaken to speak. Perhaps he didn’t care if she did or not. All he did was turn on his heel and walk away... towards the warehouse.
“Wasn’t real. Wasn’t real. It wasn’t real...” she told herself – without pausing to wonder why, if it wasn’t real, her mouth felt so dry, and why she could taste burning hair at the back of her throat...
There was movement in the shadows beside the warehouse, and Alice watched a figure detach itself from the dark and approach Michael. Castor, and beside him, carrying a long staff, was Pollux. They were speaking to the Archangel, and Alice could see Michael nodding as he listened, following Castor’s gestures as he pointed to various sections of the building. They were almost ready.
Mallory and Vin were in there. That was all that mattered to her: she didn’t care about the rest of it – not really. She didn’t care about the Fallen. She didn’t care about Gabriel. She didn’t care about Lucifer. She didn’t care about Rimmon or Xaphan. She didn’t even care about finally getting her hands on Florence, she realised. She didn’t care about their battles; their war. She didn’t care about the world and whether it kept on turning.
She cared about
Castor and Pollux broke away from Michael, moving to the side of the building, and Michael squared up to the warehouse. His wings unfurled, feathers trembling as they opened wide and orange sparks jumped across the surface. She heard wings behind her, and she turned to see every angel there, lined up on the empty tarmac, with their wings open. Waiting. Still waiting.
Michael looked like a statue. His sword raised, his head tipped back. His wings wide open...
Alice’s heart raced in her chest.
There was a sudden shout – a battle cry – and every angel’s wings burst into life: the fire was so bright that Alice threw an arm up in front of her face to shield her eyes. All she saw was fire. Metal glittered deep within it, but the fire...
Another shout, and Michael jabbed at the dark sky with his sword. There was a cheer from the angels – loud enough to make Alice’s ears ring – and they began to move.
It was no stampede, no rush. No disorganised charge. They marched. One foot, then the other. Even, steady. Holding the lines, burning like suns. And Michael led them: lost at the heart of the flames, only his sword visible behind his blazing wings, he walked calmly towards Lucifer’s hiding place.
Alice watched as they passed; column after column, row after row. Their eyes forward, their swords ready. They didn’t question, didn’t hesitate. They would follow Michael wherever he led... How many of them, she wondered, had had the shiny-box treatment?
Michael had given her no orders. Not really. He knew what she would do.
She would find them, whatever it took. Whatever it cost.
She was the only one who would try.
The last of the lines moved past her, and she squinted towards the warehouse, sitting squat and dark on the far side of the fire. The Fallen knew they were coming. It’s what Michael wanted. There was no attempt to hide – not from Lucifer, and not from the rest of the world. Anyone could have seen them... but perhaps that was the point. There had been something about staying hidden, hadn’t there? Perhaps the time had come for them to move out of the shadows. Perhaps it was their only chance.
“Far too philosophical, Alice,” she said to herself, and closing her eyes she reached out to the warehouse. If that was where the Fallen had been hiding all this time, there would be more than enough pain there. More than enough fuel for the fire.
It washed over her, around her; crowding her and crushing her and shutting out the world. Closing her off to everything but someone else’s pain. It ate through her, pushing its way into her fingers, her lungs, her bones... it wove and threaded itself through her, and deep in her eyes, when she opened them, were spinning circles of fire.
Alice looked at the warehouse, and her mind cleared.
One foot, then the other. Even. steady. And Alice followed the angels into hell on earth.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Pull the Pin
“WAIT... DID YOU just call me heroic?”
“Maybe. Don’t get used to it.”
Mallory closed his eyes, and Vin shot a glance around the room. Rimmon had left it scattered with... a lot of things Vin didn’t like the look of, if he was honest. But they’d do.
“I still...”
“Vin. You know how it goes. Michael won’t come for us. You can get out. You have to leave.”
“I’m not leaving you here.” Vin slid his hand behind his back; his fingers stretched along the floor, reaching...
“You’re right. You’re not. But you
“You don’t get to give me orders, Descended or not. And you really don’t get to do it now.”
“I’ve made up my mind, Vhnori. Do it.” Mallory’s eyes were still closed – as if he couldn’t bring himself to look at Vin.
“Fair enough. Give me your hand.” Vin reached forward and took Mallory’s hand in his. The chain rattled as the manacle shifted on his wrist, sliding down. There was a ring of blood beneath it, and dark lines trailed up Mallory’s arm away from it, beneath his skin. Vin flinched – only slightly, but still enough for Mallory to laugh.
“Helliron. What can you do?” he said with a shrug.
“You ready?” Vin asked, his voice sad.
“I’m ready.”
“Good,” said Vin – and he jerked Mallory’s arm towards him, pulling him closer, at the same moment as he brought up the knotted rope Rimmon had dropped on the floor. He swung it with all the strength he had, and the huge knot connected with the side of Mallory’s head, knocking him, unconscious, across the floor.
Vin let out a sigh of relief, and lowered his friend’s hand. “All these years, and you’ve never once managed to piss me off enough to actually
