«Not I» Lucifer regarded him, smiling, a vision in black breeches and a billowing shirt of ivory silk, which seemed dark against the milk and roses of his skin. He cupped a wing forward, extended a hand: fingers and feathers swept down Kit’s arm as one. :Those scars and what they contain came into thee before I did:
“Why did you not heal them when you did mine eye?”
«They suit me»
“Can the enemy find me through them?”
«Perhaps. But what touched thee just now was the reaction of that which lies within thee to the Word» Again the caress, a drawing close, the encirclement of those sheltering angel wings.
Ah.Kit pulled back. “I do not wish your touch, Father of Lies.”
«Who knows a lie when he hears one. What other touch dost crave, who was Christofer Marley?»
There was no answer, and Lucifer knew it. Kit turned to track a blazing comet tumbling across the heavens. “What do my scars contain?”
Silence. He turned and looked Lucifer in the eyes. The Devil’s soft smile never altered.
“Will said, Morgan said something similar–” Something shifted in Kit’s breast, an emotion seemingly just beyond the brush of his fingers. “I do not understand what you wish of me, Morningstar, or why you have come to me now.”
«I came for that within thee calleth me in his suffering, at his grief to hear the Word»
“That within me?”
Silence, and a smile.
Kit shook his head like a horse reined too tight. “Surely you have poets aplenty, and one more damned soul cannot mean much to such as you.”
«How many damned souls» the Devil said, his words no more than the susurrus of wings, «dost suppose have ever gazed on me with pity?»
“Oh.” Damn me,Kit thought. And here I thought Edward was my masterpiece.“A companion heart.”
«Neither am I permitted such» Even in darkness, Lucifer’s wings shed light – a deep and subtle glow like moonbeams, that seemed to turn every detail of Kit’s clothing and form into a thin sketch in charcoal, echoing his heart. «And only the damned believe in me»
“Is that what you need them for? The damned? To believe?”
«Canst feel God here?»
“No.”
«Nor can I.» Lucifer’s eyes were dark, and bright. «Ask again what thou containest, and I will tell thee.»
“Morgan said to Will that I could not bear to know it.”
«Neither canst bear what thou hast locked in thy breast, my love.»
“Lucifer. ”Kit put his hand to his mouth, shocked at the name that escaped his lips, the exasperation in it.
«Thou hast not said that name in my hearing before.»
“I wrote it .”
«Aye. His waxen wings did mount above his reach / And melting, heavens conspir’d his overthrow–I have paid thee for the poetry, in mine own coin, and thou hast bought what else thou hadst from me. Wilt treat with me now as a friend?»
“If such as I could be friend to such as … thee.”
«We are alike – damned and not‑damned, abjured by God for that which he created us. An he be all he claims, who was Christofer Marley, has he not failed in creating us irredeemable?»
“The Catholics would redeem us,” Kit said, crouching to warm his hands before a star that grew and flowered close beside his feet. They stood on one of the crystal vaults of heaven: far below, he could discern the shifting blue‑white orb of the Earth. “If we forswore all for the love of God.” He paused, pressing his fingers to the crystal, so pure it was invisible. “An we were closer, I might amend some maps.”
A laugh, and the brush of feathers along his spine, affectionately disarraying his hair. «I keep the damned because the damned believe in me, my love, and belief is my power. Ask me thy question again, an thou wouldst hear mine answer»
“Lucifer.” Fear darted on bright wings in his breast as he stood. He’s right. I do not wish to know the answer. And yet I must –“What sorcery did Richard Baines work upon and through me?”
«A binding and a sealing within. A rape to abrogate the barriers of thyself, and a star burned into thy flesh to lock within that which thy prayers lured into thee, when thou didst raise thy voice to God for aid, and aid was sent»
Kit turned to look the Devil in the eye. “Thou”–an effort to say it, and Satan’s amusement made it worse–“sayest I have a cage for an angelburned on my skin?”
«Aye»
“Why?” Kit staggered. His scars flared so hot he thought they might burn through his doublet, and he drew his cloak tight as Lucifer cupped his shoulders with one bright wing. Kit hunched into the Devil’s arms. “And moreover, how?”
«Tell me who the angel Mehiel is.»
Kit closed his eyes, thinking. Mehiel.Amaranth had been right: he’d found the name easily in London. “Protector of poets, authors, and lecturers. He’s also the angel under whose wardenship my birthday falls, if thou dost believe such things. But those are papist superstitions – ”
«Are they?» The golden brows rose, rumpling the ivory forehead. «Tell me, then, which of my brothers would come to thee in thy hour of need, Sir Poet?»
Oh, God.
«Nay. But a bit of His creation, more kindly disposed to thee than most, to help thee bear thy pain. And now he hears the name of God and seeks to burst his prison, but his prison is thy mortal flesh:
“No,” Kit said. He pressed his fist against his chest, heart thundering against the backs of his fingers. “No. It is not so.”
«If devils may be bound» Lucifer murmured, pitiless, «why, so may God’s angels, for we are brothers, all»
“But why?”Such a small voice, Kit could hardly believe it came from his own throat. He would have fallen if Lucifer’s white wings and arms hadn’t borne him up; the pain in his breast was incapacitating, his eyes burning so hot he could not think anything but fire flowed down his cheeks.
Lucifer lifted the folds of Kit’s patchwork cloak with a wing tip, violent colors draped over the whiteness of his feathers, and held it before Kit’s eyes. It caught the light of all the vaults of heaven, the planets spinning below and the stationary stars all around. «The magic of sympathy,» he said. «To bind the angel within thee, and then to bind thine own magic and thy voice, and then to take thee in servitude, and cripple thy power with fear and loathing and the hatred of thine own weakness they put in thee. ‘Tis half the reason their opposition of thy plays, and Shakespeare’s, has been so successful. That thou hadst any success at all is a testament to the power of thy will–and thy Will, also.»
God,Kit thought, understanding finally why it was that Richard Baines had let him live, until he’d proven once and for all that he would notlet them control him. Why everyone–Prometheans, Faerie, Hell–seemed bent on owning him, no matter the cost. “But why would God send an angel to–me?Why would He care?”
«God will not save thee.» A knowing voice, and one burning with pain like embers banked and buried in the ash. «But He will of a time give thee the strength to endure what horrors His servants do visit upon thee.»
Kit swallowed, hearing the voice, feeling that filthy caress on his filthy hair – ‘If we have a chance to complete the wreaking in London, it would help to use the same vessel. Even more if he were willing, of course. Although mayhap our little catamite liked it, considering his tastes.’