keep him airborne as the screaming winds forced him back down to the street.
Twisted by the ferocity of the unnatural air, Remy was slammed down upon his back, the oxygen forced from his lungs in a wheezing explosion. Colors danced before his eyes, and he did everything he could to maintain his consciousness. He could only imagine the fate that awaited him if the children found him helpless.
A piece of pipe lay upon the ground, and Remy reached out to snatch it up. He needed a weapon, and if a sword or gun wasn’t handy, then this would have to do. Willing some more of his inner fire into the body of the makeshift club, he watched as it began to glow.
By the light of the divine fire he saw something that took his breath away.
Malatesta and Prosper were tied to twin posts sticking up from the ground. The fallen angel was unconscious and looked as though he’d been beaten within an inch of his life, while the Vatican magick user, though bloody and bruised, at least was awake.
“I’d ask if you’re all right, but you’d probably tell me to go fuck myself,” Remy said, flaming pipe in hand.
“You’re probably right,” Malatesta answered weakly.
At least the sorcerer was in control again.
“Prosper?” Remy asked, keeping his eyes on the children, who were now coming closer.
“Alive,” Malatesta said. “But just barely.”
The teenage girl dropped down from the sky to land before Remy. Her hands blazed as if dunked in gasoline and lit on fire.
“Anything you can tell me that could help me out?” Remy asked.
“Not that I can think of at the moment,” Malatesta said. “One of them seems to be able to broadcast directly into my head, making it rather difficult to think straight, never mind cast spells.”
“So much for asking for a hand,” Remy said.
He was watching the group, sensing power the likes of which he’d never encountered. Holding the flaming piece of metal out before him, Remy decided that fighting would lead to nothing good, and let the makeshift weapon clatter from his hands to the street.
“I don’t mean any of you harm,” he said, raising his hands in surrender, and allowing his wings to fold upon his back.
The teenage girl just laughed, and threw one of her balls of fire directly into Remy’s chest. It exploded on impact, knocking him backward to the ground where he found that he no longer had the will—or the strength—to rise.
The children gathered around, staring down upon him—some with curiosity and the wonder of youth, others with distrust, fear, and hate.
He wanted to tell them again that he wasn’t like the general, that he wasn’t like Aszrus, but the girl’s fireball had taken away everything he had left.
Suddenly, Remy noticed movement in the gathering and a murmur passed through the crowd. Then they moved aside, allowing another of their number to step forward.
He was an older boy, probably sixteen or so, and in his eyes Remy saw something that scared him.
In the young man’s eyes were anger and defiance.
“He wanted to turn us into weapons,” the young man said as he stared down upon Remy.
“I guess his wish has come true.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
In that bizarre state between waking and unconsciousness, Remy waited until he was able to pull enough of himself together to function again.
But in the cool, soothing darkness, he wasn’t alone.
“You’re really in a fix this time, Mr. Chandler,” said a voice that he missed with every fiber of his being.
Madeline was sitting beside him, wearing that yellow sundress she’d worn one day on Nantucket during their honeymoon.
“Hey you,” Remy said, forcing himself up to a sitting position. “Long time no see.”
“Aww, did you miss me?” she asked, with a tilt of her head.
“Always.” He smiled at the woman who’d been gone from his life two years now.
“But you’re doing so well,” she said, leaning against him. “Personally, anyway.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, shrugging.
“I like her. She’s tough. I think she can handle the nonsense you’ll put her through.”
It was odd to hear his dead wife talk about Linda, but also strangely comforting to have her approval, even though she was only a manifestation of his subconscious.
“I hope you’re right,” Remy said. “Although I’m not sure even I can handle my current situation.”
“It is a bad one,” Madeline agreed. “What are you going to do?”
Remy shrugged again. “My original plan was to find out who was responsible, and then turn him over to the legions to defuse the situation. But now . . .”
Remy recalled the pain and anger in the boy Gareth’s voice as he talked about the angel that was his father. Gareth hated the Heavenly being, but at the same time, he seemed to hunger for his acknowledgement, to be recognized as his son.
Aszrus had finally begun to take an interest in Gareth and the other children. For a time, Gareth had actually started to believe he was something more than the forgotten by-product of an unholy union.
But then Aszrus had revealed his true motivation, his plan for the children to be used as weapons against the forces of Hell. Gareth’s dreams of belonging suddenly came tumbling down, and the full extent of his unnatural power began to take shape.
“You can’t turn them over,” Madeline said, speaking his own thoughts.
“No, I can’t.” Remy shook his head. “Although they are extremely dangerous.”
“Angry children,” Madeline said. “Not the easiest creatures to reason with.”
“Tell me about it.” Remy had tried to calm Gareth and the others, which resulted in one of the children reaching into his skull and giving his brain a good squeeze to shut him up.
And that was why he was here, but at least he was in very good company.
“So where does that leave us?” Madeline asked.
“It leaves us in a pretty bad place,” Remy admitted. “Gareth wants to lead his brothers and sisters from the island to confront the angels responsible for siring and abandoning them.”
“That’s probably something they’ve been wanting to do since they were old enough to know better,” Madeline said. “A power fantasy—if they couldn’t be loved by those who cast them away, then they would destroy them.”
“That sums it up,” Remy said.
They sat, silent in the cool darkness, each deep in thought.
“I can’t let them be hurt any more,” Remy finally said.
“Yeah, I figured you’d say something like that.”
“Am I that predictable?” Remy asked.
“All in a good way.” Madeline leaned over and kissed his cheek. “So what’s the plan?”
“Really not much of one,” he said. “I’ve got to convince Gareth not to attack, and then to stay hidden.”
“That’s it?”
“I told you it wasn’t much.”
“But it is a start.” She kissed him again, only this time longer, pressing her lips firmly against his cheek. Remy turned in to the kiss, eager to feel her lips against his own.
Even if it was only a dream.
Water dribbled down his chin as a cup was pressed to his lips.
