“ALICE. THERE ARE things you need to know.”
“You think?”
“Alice...” Adriel had slipped into his ‘remember who you’re talking to’ tone.
“How long do we have?”
“‘We’?” He raised an eyebrow at her.
“Oh, come on. Just for once, can you forget all the mystery and tell me?”
Adriel frowned, and fiddled with his wrist. “It isn’t as simple as that. There are things which...”
“...which I won’t understand? Fine. Make it easy, or skip them. Tell me what I need to know.”
“What you need to know? In simple terms, Gabriel has betrayed Michael. He has taken Lucifer’s body and has run to the Fallen. They have, we believe, the means to restore him.”
“And when you say ‘restore,’ you mean ‘stuff his mind back in his body.’”
“More than that. It won’t simply reunite him. It will restore him. He will become an Archangel again...”
“...with everything that entails.” Alice finished the sentence for him, and shook her head. “Well, who thought up the plan that lets that happen? It’s pretty bloody stupid, isn’t it?”
“There is always a reason, Alice. In this case, it was a failsafe: if the time ever came when Lucifer had to be destroyed, this was the only way it could be done. But perhaps we should keep to the more relevant points.”
“Whatever.” Alice waved a hand dismissively. She was fairly sure she could guess what he was going to tell her next: Lucifer was levelling back up to Archangel, and with Gabriel’s defection, the sides had gone from ‘angels versus Fallen’ to ‘angels versus Fallen-plus-two-Archangels’.
“Lucifer once had a choir, Alice. If he’s restored...”
“His choir have to answer to him. This just gets better and better.”
“His choir will have to answer to him...”
“Oh, now you really are taking the piss. You? Seriously?”
“Wheels are in motion which I cannot stop. Lucifer will rise, and he will call and I will have no choice but to answer.”
“Wait.” Alice held up her hand and Adriel blinked at her with his black eyes. She was almost afraid to ask, but she was going to do it anyway. “Lucifer had a choir. What did he control?”
“You already know.” Adriel hung his head.
“I do.” Alice felt as though someone had pulled the floor sideways from beneath her.
Lucifer had been the Archangel of Death.
“It’s his throne. The mercy seat, they call it.” Adriel nodded at the chair on the dais. “Michael took it, as a reminder.”
“What about you? How did you...”
“I did not follow Lucifer.”
“That’s pretty obvious.”
“I seconded Mallory.”
“You what?”
“When Mallory told Michael of Lucifer’s plans, I was his second. As Mallory betrayed him, so did I. And in many ways, my betrayal was worse: I rebelled against my commander.” He scratched at his wrist again, and pulled back his sleeve. There on his arm was a sigil – but unlike the others Alice had seen, which looped and swirled, Adriel’s was nothing more than a circle, clear against the pale skin of his arm. “Endless, you see. No beginning and no ending. Eternal.” He rubbed it thoughtfully. “Lucifer liked it so much, he kept on using it.”
“The brands!” The white brands worn by all the Fallen around their wrists, like shackles. The brands which bound their minds to Lucifer’s, just as the sigils bound the choirs.
“He took what was good, and he corrupted it,” Adriel said. “It is in his nature, perhaps. He is the darker side of death: rot and decay and fear and despair. He is the cold. He is destruction, and he is oblivion.”
“And now he has an electric psychopath as his wingman...” Alice chipped in – and was surprised to see Adriel almost smile. Not quite, but close enough.
“Michael needs you. After Seket... after your mother... there were no more Travelers. No more angels bridging the divide between human and angel. It was seen as too much of a risk. And so they forget, little by little. The angels forget. They forget what it is to have mercy, to have hope. They forget that there is more to the world than their war.”
“I don’t think they forgot.” Alice was surprised by how bitter she sounded. “I don’t think they ever cared.”
“They did. They do still. They just need to be reminded what it is they’re really fighting for. It isn’t to win, and it isn’t to defeat the Fallen. It’s for them. For you.” He pointed at the window – or rather, the world beyond it.
“Well, that’s all gone to shit, hasn’t it?”
“Because they don’t remember what it’s all for, Alice. Remind them.”
“Me?”
“You. You, the half-born who fights against the Fallen. The child who walked into hell with a smile on her face...”
“I think that’s a slight exaggeration...”
“I have seen you, Alice. I have seen who you are. I know who you are, even if you don’t. The half-born who wants so much to be one thing or another that she forgets she is the best of both.” He smiled this time, but his smile was distant – as though he was listening to a voice Alice couldn’t hear. “Help them. Help Michael. Help Mallory. Help them all. They’ll need it, though they may not thank you for it.” He drew away from her. “It has been my honour to serve as the Angel of Death. Not always painless, but a privilege. I was bound to serve only my purpose, answering to no-one, but I fear I was impartial when I should have been otherwise, and now I must be partial when I would be not.” He paused, and half-smiled again. “Tell Michael the apprentice is ready.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means he will rise and I must Fall. Not that it matters: with Gabriel gone, we are all as good as Fallen. I wonder, though, with Zak dead... who will remember us?”
“I will,” said Alice, and she looked straight into his black eyes.
“I hope so,” he said, sadly. And he nodded once, and then he was gone, leaving Alice alone and baffled in the throne room.
“Well, that’s all just marvellous, isn’t it?” she said, and sat down on the floor, trying to work out exactly what had just happened.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Making Monsters
TOBY HAD BEEN slumped in the chair, as far as Mallory could make out, ever since Rimmon left. Certainly, he hadn’t heard any movement from the other side of the room. Not that he had a lot of choice – the Fallen had, ever thoughtful, apparently left him tied there.
“Toby?”
Nothing.
“Hey, Toby. Are you in there?”
Nothing.
“It’s just, well, I’ll be honest. This floor’s starting to get uncomfortable, and you’re not being very fair. I think, seeing as I’m basically your guest, that the least you could do is stop bogarting the chair...”
There was a soft hiccuping sound. It might have been sobbing, it might not.
“So, what do you say? You want to let me have a turn?”
“I would,” came the answer, in a voice that was far too thick for comfort, “but my hands, so to speak, are tied.” The hiccuping sound again, and with a sigh of relief, Mallory realised it was laughter. Or something like it. Maybe he was a fighter after all.
“How are you doing?” he asked, more serious now.
“How do you think?” There was no sarcasm there. It was a simple question.
“I think... not so good.”
“You’d be right.” There was a groan from across the room, and the sound of the chair creaking, of the rope straining, as Toby sat up. “Mallory, right?”