Blood and Feathers (26 page)

The stairway was shorter than it had at first appeared. From the cliff, the Plains seemed to start far below, and yet it took a surprisingly short time to reach them. Knowing how tricky the Fallen could be – after all, wasn’t that why she was there? – Alice decided to accept that somewhere, there was an illusion happening, and that for the moment she didn’t need to know exactly what it was and where it might be. It would only make her head hurt, and she was already having to concentrate hard enough on not catching fire. The closer she got to the Plains, the more insistent the itching in her skin became and the more she had to concentrate on not noticing it, on balling her hands into fists and biting her lip and breathing, above all,
breathing
.

She hesitated on the last step. Abbadona turned and flashed that smile of his at her. “What’s wrong, Alice? Worried you’re in a little over your head?”

“Not exactly.”

Her words came out through gritted teeth as she fought to keep control. The ends of her hair sparked gently and she could almost smell the fire. Her head hurt, her body hurt... even her teeth hurt, and there were suddenly voices in her head, chattering in a hundred languages.

“I can’t wait all day. Well, theoretically I
can
, but I won’t.”

“Really? I thought you were just about made of time.” She swallowed the heat and the pain back down and stepped onto the Plains.

“It’s not time that’s the killer. Not down here, not right now. It’s the others, if you’re seen, and if Lucifer finds out about this” – he lifted his damaged wrist – “you can’t even imagine what he’ll do.”

“I can. I’m picturing it right now, actually,” she smiled sweetly at him.

“Nice.”

“For me, yes. For you? Not so much.”

She batted her eyelashes at him, all the while remembering the red eyes that looked out of Batarel’s face in the churchyard. Abbadona stared at her, and then something seemed to occur to him.

“Wait... you’ve met him, haven’t you? You’ve met the Morningstar. He spoke to you, didn’t he?”

“Sort of. I think it was more an opportunity to size me up. I used to have a form-teacher at school who looked at me like that. Mrs Evans. Everyone said she was probably the devil. Maybe she was.”

“Fascinating as this little detour down memory lane is, don’t you think you’re missing something?”

“Probably. If I knew that, I wouldn’t be missing it, would I?”

“Ha-bloody-ha. Try this: why didn’t he kill you?”

“What?”

“Why didn’t he kill you? All he’s wanted – and I do mean
all
he’s wanted – for years, centuries: it’s been to defeat the Descendeds. To break them. To
end
them. You’re the best chance they’ve had yet to stop him, and you’re telling me that you just walked up to him and he had a clear shot at you... then he let you walk
away?
Why?”

“Gwyn...?”

“Gwyn? Lucifer’s not afraid of him; don’t you go relying on that. Lucifer’s not afraid of any of them. Except Mallory, perhaps. You’d have to be entirely mad not to be afraid of Mallory.”

This was news to Alice. “Why?”

“Because he’s insane. That’s why. What do you think got him exiled in the first...” He tailed off. “You don’t know what he did, do you?”

“Should I?”

“Ha!” His laugh this time was sharp. Triumphant. His wings shivered behind him as he shook his head. “Looks like your guardian angels aren’t telling you everything. I wonder, has it crossed your mind what else they might not be sharing?”

He was still laughing as he walked on ahead of her, towards the frozen figures.

They stretched on, endlessly: their eyes open and iced over, staring into nowhere. Row upon row upon row of them. She stepped between the first two rows, her head feeling increasingly crowded and uncomfortable. It wasn’t just that she could feel them, the people around her, it was that they looked as though they could move at any moment. just snap out of it and step away. Of course, it wasn’t
likely,
but still...

The man to her left had red hair and a short, untidy beard. Lumberjack shirt, blue jeans. Barefoot. A gold ring hung around his neck on a chain and Alice found herself reaching for it. She stopped, pulling her hand back, but Abbadona nodded.

“He won’t wake up, you know. He doesn’t care.”

He sidled off to peer at a nearby woman and Alice caught the ring between her fingers, drawing it closer. The outside was scratched and dented, the inside worn smooth. A woman’s name was engraved around it, just visible, and Alice wondered where she was – whether she was here, whether she was missing him. She looked at the woman on her right: could that be her? It didn’t seem likely, however hard she tried to picture them together. This one looked like she might be a bit too high-maintenance for him – designer clothes, for sure, and haircuts like that didn’t come cheap. But she, too, was barefoot and her toes curled in on themselves against the cold. Her eyes were open and blank like all the others, and her make-up had been smudged; smeared, even. Just behind her stood another woman, younger, her hair tied back from her face and her brightly-coloured raincoat looking horribly out of place. A dog lead dangled from her hand, an empty collar still attached. None of them were exactly the kind of people Alice had expected to find in hell, but then it wasn’t quite the hell she had expected, either.

Alice had never given much thought to hell, but she had a few ideas about it. Pitchforks sprang to mind, and horns, and fire. Somehow, heat had become an integral part of this vague mental image. But the cold? The cold was worse. Whenever she thought she was getting used to it, she breathed a little too deeply and felt it creep inside her, making her eyes water and her lungs burn. And it stayed there, the cold – twisted itself through her ribs like a weed, rooting somewhere she couldn’t reach. She hoped this plan worked, and soon. Hanging around too long didn’t seem like a good idea.

Something moved at the edge of her vision and she jumped, whirling towards it.

There was nothing there, just the endless rows of bodies.

Maybe she had imagined it. She was, after all, in just about the creepiest environment imaginable with no idea how she was going to get back and only a Fallen angel for a guide. It didn’t exactly make for a relaxing day out. But no, there it was again: a movement at the very corner of her eye, barely seen, and this time, she
heard
it. It was a whispering, whimpering sound: almost inaudible, barely human. For the first time since she had walked into hell, Alice cracked, and taking a deep breath, she opened her hand. The flame was there in an instant: shifting across her palm and rolling around her fingers. It felt good, like release. The only sign Alice had that these bodies were still occupied was the pain rolling off them, the terror. They were all so frightened, and despite their numbers, they were all so alone – and Alice was standing there, soaking in it. Drowning in it. Letting even the slightest portion of it out meant she had space inside to breathe again, to think.

There was a rattle of wings behind her and she looked round to see Abbadona nose-to-nose with the redheaded man. Without taking his eyes off him, he said, “It’s only the Ghasts. They’re nothing.” He blinked, and was about to turn away when he spotted the fire boiling inside Alice’s hand, and his eyebrows shot up. “Fuck me. Look at you now. Really are one of them, aren’t you?” And he took a step back, apparently measuring her up.

Just like that, their own personal balance tipped, and while she was still afraid of him, now he was almost certainly afraid of her too.

“Here’s a suggestion,” he said, his voice suddenly wheedling. “How about you point that somewhere else, and I’ll take you on past the Ghasts?”

“Ghasts?”

“They’re...” he paused, considering his answer. “Well, once upon a time, they were you.”

He beckoned to her, and hurried through the lines of people, weaving in and out, back and forth, then stopping so sharply that she almost piled into him, getting a mouthful of spiny feathers into the bargain. She spat the taste out of her mouth: soot and oil and dust. Peering past his wings, she saw what he was talking about.

It was a figure, of sorts; hunched over and lurching between the ranks ahead of them. It was grey, all over – its clothing, its hair... even its skin. As Alice watched, it stopped in front of a man in a torn suit and ran its hand across his face, skimming his eyes and brow with its fingertips. Abbadona leaned back slightly and whispered to her through his wings. “The Ghasts keep an eye on the Damned. They tend their dreams, make sure things are running smoothly.”

“But what
are
they?”

“I told you: they used to be you. They’re half-borns. Only they work for us.”

“They joined the Fallen?”

“What? Everyone’s entitled to make a choice. I promise you, there’s plenty of people who’d rather die than be stuck with Gwyn.”

“Can’t imagine why,” she said quietly. Then, to him, “And you’d be able to help with that, no doubt.”

“Not exactly. You see, the problem is the Ghasts are trapped here, just like we are. They’re only half-borns, so they don’t last long. What you’re looking at is a Ghast who’s been down here a while. You remember what I said about the hell-chill?
That’s
what it does to a half-born.” He nodded towards the shuffling figure, which must have heard him, because it suddenly turned to look at them. Or at least, turned its face towards them, as Alice realised it couldn’t see them, however hard it tried. Its features were ruined: the mouth twisted, the cheeks sunken, and where its eyes should be were two bloody balls of ice. It stared at them with its empty eyes, then as suddenly as it had turned, it looked away. Abbadona shivered. “Give me the creeps, they do. But you stay down here long enough...”

“That’s what it’ll do to me?” Her voice felt thick and claggy, and the cold sensation that settled in her stomach had nothing to do with the temperature.

“Eventually. Not the eyes, though. The Descendeds did that.”

“Wait, the
angels?
The angels put out their eyes? Not the Fallen?”

“What can I tell you? They don’t like it when people don’t want to play on their team. And you can always rely on Gabriel for a bit of old-school wrath and vengeance.” He watched as the Ghast ambled on down the line, stopping here and there to peer at one of the faces it passed. “We should try and avoid running into too many of them,” he whispered. “Just like everyone else down here, they’ve got a direct line to Lucifer. He doesn’t generally listen to them, but if enough of them start chirping up, we’re going to have a problem. Or you are, anyway. I’m only taking you through a couple of levels. After that, you’re on your own. That’s the Twelve’s turf down there, and I’m just not that stupid.”

“Gentleman, aren’t you?”

“I try my best.” He dropped into a mock-bow and stalked off.

Alice stared after him, past the people crowded onto the Plains. Even as they dreamed, their fear spilled out around them. It inched its way towards her like dark smoke, and the single consolation she had was that the fire busily raging inside her kept the hell-chill at bay. Most of it, anyway. She followed Abbadona, who – despite everything he had said about keeping a low profile – looked for all the world as though he was out for an afternoon stroll; his hands deep in his pockets, his shoulders back, and... “Are you
seriously
whistling?”

“Just as demanding as you always were, aren’t you?” He spun on his heel and jabbed his finger towards her. “You remember, Alice, you’re on my ground now. I know the rules down here, and you don’t. All it takes is one word from me...”

“And what? I’m willing to bet that you’ve got a lot more to lose than I have. Who do you think would be more valuable to Lucifer: a half-born from Michael’s choir, or one little Fallen who’s snuck out and done a deal with the angels? He’s got hundreds of you, but as you say, there’s only one of me.”

Abbadona’s mouth opened, then closed again and he scowled at her. “You want to be careful talking like that. Dangerous road to start down. It’s that kind of attitude that lands you somewhere like this.”

“Thanks for the advice. You understand why I don’t believe a single thing you say, right?”

“Believe me or not; doesn’t make it any less true,” he said. “But whatever. I’m done standing around chatting. Besides, the next level’s my favourite. That’s the really
fun
one. This is just the warm-up.” His eyes twinkled at her, and it struck her that he meant it. He didn’t want to get out of hell because it was hell. He
liked
it. He just didn’t like everything that came with it.

“You’re a monster.” The words caught in her throat. The world spun, and it was full of lies; of pain and loss and hate and fear. He pulled a face, pouting. Mocking her.

“Monster? Really? I haven’t even shown you where we keep the kids yet.”