“Human?” she whispered back.
“I sure hope so...”
She was about to ask what the alternative might be, when Mallory suddenly spun around and darted out of the room. With barely a second thought, both Alice and Vin took off after him, back through the main bar and out into the street. Mallory had gone through the front door so fast that he had nearly torn it from its hinges; it swung furiously back and forth. All the while, Alice wondered how exactly her life had got so ridiculous. And then she was in the street, and Mallory and Vin had stopped dead in their tracks.
Alice stopped too.
WALKING AWAY FROM them, down the middle of the street, was a woman. She was wearing a plain, grey dress which did nothing to hide how thin she was, and she had bare feet. Long dark hair, streaked with grey, fell loosely to her waist. Her walk was uneven, as though each step caused her pain. No wonder, thought Alice, with her bare feet. She must have heard them rush out of the bar, but she gave no sign of it. She just kept walking.
Alice saw the others exchange looks, and in silence they followed.
The woman walked down the centre of the road, straight as an arrow, and it was only then that Alice noticed there were no cars. There weren’t even any pedestrians. Other than themselves and the woman, there didn’t seem to be another living soul here. Which seemed odd, given that right across the bay was one of the most obvious tourist destinations for miles around (something she still couldn’t quite process, if she was entirely honest). It was – just about – early summer. There should be tourists. There should be... people.
Instead, there was only the stillness and that infuriating buzz and a lone woman walking towards the sea.
Something bad, Mallory had said.
The road took them through the middle of the little town, past deserted junctions and restaurants as the streetlamps flickered on, past traffic lights which phased through their colours for an empty street; past alleys and cafes and houses... and not a soul in sight.
Except.
The first time she saw it, Alice thought it was a trick of the light. A shadow. The wind moving a cafe awning. A sheet of newspaper blowing across the road.
And then she saw it again.
At the end of every street they crossed, there was movement. It was small, and whenever she looked, there was nothing to see. Just more of the same empty streets. She thought about calling out to Mallory or Vin, but instead, she simply stopped and folded her arms and stared up the street crossing her own. And she waited.
One moment, he wasn’t there... and the next, he was, looking back at her through the dusk. She could see his armour catching the glow from a nearby streetlight; see the shadow of his wings.
The streetlight behind her suddenly flared, the bulb blowing in a shower of sparks and startling her, and when she looked back towards the end of the street, the angel had vanished.
Mallory and Vin, oblivious to the fact they were being watched, had stayed with the woman. They had reached the far end of the street, where the road ended abruptly in an area of sandy scrub, separated from the beach by a rough, low wall. Alice could just make out the woman’s outline on top of the wall. She was heading for the sea.
Fire flared up in Alice’s footsteps as she broke into a run. Sparks fell from the ends of her hair, from the tips of her fingers as flames shimmered up and down her arms. The soles of her trainers made a slapping sound as she ran; every breath caught in her throat, burning as it came. She blazed past Vin, past Mallory, and leapt the wall, not knowing or caring how far the drop down to the beach might be on the other side...
The woman was sitting on a rickety bench. Once, it had been painted green, but the paint had flaked from the half-rotten wood, and little more than rust held it together. Her head was turned towards the island. Alice picked her way over the sand and the rough shingle, through pockets of seaweed and mounds of old shells.
“We knew about the angels, of course.” Her voice was quiet, soft, and she spoke in English. Alice froze on the spot. “We thought of them as our guardians. It was a joke, you would say. Local legend. The island of the angels. We thought they would protect us. Protect us from them.” She looked at Alice. Her eyes were the palest shade of grey. “We trusted them. We were mistaken.
“They came in the night. Twenty of them; maybe more. They ran through the streets and howled like animals until the whole village was awake. And then they began. They came to our doors and they threw them open, and they dragged the children from their beds. Such strength. Such rage.” She blinked, and played with the fabric of her dress. “The school. They took them to the school, and...” She stopped, and held her hands out in front of her, turning them over and staring first at the palms, then at the backs, flexing her fingers as though she didn’t quite believe that they were a part of her. “We had no choice. You must understand. No choice. Even then, we thought the angels would come; that they would save... Even as they closed the doors...” She dropped her hands again and smoothed down the fabric of her dress. “They watched. They stood on their walls and they watched. They saw, and they did nothing. Nothing.”
“What happened here?” Alice could barely bring herself to ask.
“The school. The school.” A single tear ran down the woman’s cheek. “And then, after.... Then the angels came. The Archangel, he came and he made them forget. All of them. All of them but me.” She stood, slowly, unsteady on her feet, and Alice wondered whether she should help her, but then she had found her balance and she drew herself upright and sighed. “They sit inside and they wait to die alone. They have nothing left: not even their memories. And I? I have too many.” She reached out, and brushed her fingers down Alice’s cheek. “Beware the angels, child, and think: what will you do when they come for you?”
“They already did.” Alice heard the words as though they were someone else’s. The woman looked at her sadly and shook her head.
“Then it is too late.”
She pressed something into Alice’s hand, closing her palm around it, and then she began to move away, picking her way through the stones and onto the sand. Alice watched her. There was something about the way she moved... as though...
Alice looked at the object in her hand. It was a pebble. Smooth and round, it felt cool against her skin.
Something about the way she moved...
“Stop!” Alice screamed after the woman who was now almost at the edge of the water. She started forward, but found herself held by a pair of strong hands. “Stop!” she screamed again, pulling with all her strength against Mallory. It wasn’t enough, and if the woman heard her, she didn’t respond.
The woman kept walking. Her head held high as the hem of her dress floated up to her shins, to her knees, and then the stones in her pockets weighed it down.
Weighed her down.
Still she walked.
Alice was burning, and Mallory’s hands were holding her back.
The waves closed over the woman’s head.
The fire died, and Alice felt Mallory relax his grip.
“Sometimes, you just have to let them go,” said Mallory. He sat on the sand, wincing as the blisters on his skin faded. It was a good job he healed fast. His jacket was not so lucky; he had dropped it in a sticky, bubbling heap on the beach.
“She said they were waiting for the angels.”
“I know.”
“And no-one came.”