He caught sight of a larger shape huddled in the corner beside the angel, and guessed it was Heath. The sorcerer wasn’t making any noise.
“How are you holding up there, Angus?” Francis asked.
Angus grunted, which at least told Francis that the magick user was still alive. Then Heath shifted his weight so the faint illumination from the lone skylight in the ceiling shone on his face.
Francis actually gasped at what he saw.
Heath’s face was bloody and swollen, his lips sewn together with thick black thread.
To prevent him from uttering any spells, Francis gathered.
Heath’s bloodshot gaze bore into his.
“That certainly doesn’t look pleasant,” Francis said.
Heath grunted, and leaned his bulk back against the wall.
Francis moved his arms, feeling the weight there, and hearing the rattle of chains. He looked down to see the golden manacles, etched with angelic sigils.
“Shit,” he grumbled. “Anybody got a paper clip?”
“Could you really pick those locks if you had a paper clip?” Montagin asked.
“Probably not,” Francis admitted. “But I’ve seen it done in movies lots of times. How hard could it be?”
“Idiot,” Montagin grumbled.
“At least I had an idea,” Francis retorted. “What have you got?”
“What does it matter?” the angel answered. “We’re all as good as dead.”
“That’s the one thing I like about you,” Francis said. “Your upbeat attitude.”
It sounded as if Heath tried to laugh, but it turned to a moan.
“Sorry, Angus,” Francis said.
Montagin continued to be a ray of sunshine. “I should never have gone to Chandler,” he complained. “I should have gone right to Michael and shown him what had happened.”
“And what good would have come of that?” Francis asked.
“I wouldn’t have been tortured and thrown into a filthy jail cell with the likes of you two. I wouldn’t be awaiting my inevitable demise for withholding information from the legions of Heaven.”
“No, you’d be watching the earth being turned into a battleground, with humanity caught right in the fucking middle.”
“That will happen anyway,” Montagin said. “Right now we’re only delaying the inevitable, and have signed our death warrants in addition.”
Francis tried to get comfortable on the damp, stone floor, but no matter how he maneuvered, his body ached. “We did exactly what we were supposed to do.”
“What, die?” Montagin demanded. “We were supposed to die? I don’t remember volunteering to—”
“We needed to buy him time,” Francis interrupted. “Let’s just hope that Remy found what he needed to keep all the flaming swords in their sheaths.”
They were silent for a bit, and Francis had begun to drift off when Montagin’s voice called him back.
“Do you seriously believe it will matter?”
“What?” Francis asked. “What Chandler’s doing? Yes . . . yes, I do.”
Montagin chuckled. “You obviously haven’t been around them—the soldiers and generals. They’re just looking for an excuse. I’m surprised that Aszrus has actually managed to hold them off this long. He was as hawkish as any of them, but it was as if he was waiting for something, that one last thing that would say it’s time.”
Francis felt Montagin’s gaze upon him.
“Maybe it was his own murder he was waiting for,” Montagin continued, “and he just didn’t know it.”
“Or maybe it was the success of
The dungeon fell silent again, which was fine by him.
“I hate that show,” Montagin said after a few minutes, and Francis could not help but laugh, which ended up being one of the most excruciating experiences that he’d endured in quite some time.
“Serves you right,” Montagin added, which only made Francis laugh all the more.
The laughter eventually subsided, and then it was the wait for the pain to die down. The cell was silent, occasionally interrupted by the rattle of chains and moans of discomfort from Heath.
Francis was lost in pain-addled thought, wondering where they might go from there. They had no idea if Remy had been successful, and the former Guardian was sure that information wouldn’t be shared by their captors. Angels could be real cocks when they wanted to be, and since they had them, why would they bother to let them go?
Especially since they had such a hard-on for his employer.
Francis thought about his current boss, and wondered if the Morningstar was fully aware of the situation. Lucifer knew that Azsrus was murdered, and that it could be used for political purposes, which was why he had put Francis on the case.
But Francis had to wonder how in the loop his boss actually was. He decided that it probably couldn’t hurt to find out.
He shifted again, grunting in pain as his limbs made it known they didn’t care to move in those specific directions.
“Can’t you just die in your sleep or something?” Montagin asked. “I’m tired of hearing the two of you voicing your discomfort.”
“I’m going to try something,” Francis said, searching for a section of the cell where the darkness seemed almost liquid.
“What?” Montagin asked.
“I’m going to try to contact my boss,” he said.
“You’re what?” Montagin questioned. “Are you mad? Do you seriously believe that Lucifer Morningstar would intrude on a stronghold held by one of Heaven’s legions?”
“You’ve forgotten how strong he is,” Francis said, focusing on the darkness. “And if he can get us out of here, why the fuck not? Especially if we’re all going to die anyway.”
“I want nothing to do with this,” Montagin said, and Francis could hear the angel trying to move as far away from him as possible, while Heath moaned about the the invasion of his space.
“Fine,” Francis said. “I’ll leave you here to rot, and Angus and I will take off. Right, Angus?”
Francis heard a noise that he took to be an affirmative answer.
He was concentrating on the darkness, reaching out with his mind to where he imagined the Morningstar would be. He had no idea if this would work, but he didn’t see any other options.
“What are you doing?” Montagin demanded.
“I’m trying to contact him.”
“Will that work?”
“We’ll have to wait and see, won’t we?”
“I wish you’d been beaten to death,” the angel snapped.
“Sorry to disappoint you.”
Francis suddenly felt the pull of the darkness on him. Concentrating all the harder, he attempted to follow the pool of shadow down to its source.
To a sea of bottomless black, and beyond that, to what he hoped would lead to his master’s ear.
Something moved in the ebony pool, surging up from the inky gloom. His concentration momentarily broken, Francis sat back.
“Well?” Montagin questioned.
Francis wasn’t sure how to respond.
“I don’t know,” he said, keeping his crusty eyes on the shadows.
The darkness undulated, as if something moved behind it.
“What have you done?” Montagin demanded. “If you’ve brought more ruin upon me, I will do everything in my power to—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Francis said. “But before you get your panties in more of a bunch, why don’t we make sure that I’ve actually done something, all right?”
