Blood and Feathers (38 page)

“And you should remember that you’re a half-born, nothing more. You don’t want to cross me, Alice. You’ll regret it more than you know.” He raised his sword, electricity crackling up and down the length of it. “You really don’t know who you’re dealing with, do you?” He made a small gesture with his left hand and a shower of white sparks fell from his fingers, damping the flames. He stepped forward just as Alice hurled the ball of fire she had been holding straight at his head. He ducked, and took another step forward.

“You think you’ll find her down here? That’s why you came, isn’t it – that’s the truth. You can tell yourself this was all down to me, all down to Mallory, all down to any of the others, but it was your choice. You couldn’t help yourself.” He swung his sword at her. It made a sound like sheet metal tearing. “You think you’ll recognise her, Alice? After all this time? You even think she’ll
remember
you? And who’s to say she wants to? I hate to break it to you, but given the choice between staying with you or Falling, she picked hell. She
chose
it, Alice. She chose to Fall. Anything to get away from you.”

“You’re lying.”

“I don’t need to. You know it’s true, don’t you? Deep inside, where it’s dark and quiet – in that little place you like to pretend doesn’t exist? The place you tried in so many ways to forget that you knew? But whatever it is you do; drown it, bury it,
burn
it... That’s the place that will tell you over and over again that your mother’s one of them now.”

“You’re lying!”

The bars of the fiery cage wavered slightly, and for a moment Gwyn thought they might fall, but with a roar, another row of bars soared up inside them, bringing the fire just that little bit closer. The tips of his wings began to prickle as the feathers curled in the heat. He swung his sword again, harder this time, and far closer to her, forcing her to duck beneath it. She answered with a dart of fire he had to jump sideways to avoid.

His patience ran out and he lunged forward with a growl. Sparks crackled in his hair, lightning bled from his eyes... and he found himself striking at thin air.

O
UTSIDE,
M
ALLORY CRANED
his neck. He saw sparks, and flames, and little else beyond the fire. But A’albiel looked through it, past it and straight at Alice. He was muttering something under his breath.

“I can’t say I find that very reassuring, Al.”

“It’s nothing... It’s just. Oh. Oh, shit.”

“What?”

“Look.”

Mallory looked harder, until the fire burned itself into his eyes and he was sure he would never see anything but flames again. And the harder he looked, the harder it got, but just when he thought he would have to look away, he saw something else moving inside the cage with them.

“Who... who’s in there?”

“Who do you think?”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Choirmaster

S
OMEONE WAS PULLING
Alice in several directions at once. It wasn’t unpleasant, exactly, but it was peculiar; like being weightless and heavy all at once. Like flying. Like falling. A feeling she’d had before.

The sensation that a single set of eyes was watching her, and that they saw everything she was.

Everything she was, and everything she ever could be.

T
HE MAN SITTING
across the room was half in shadow, the light catching the contours of his face; dark hair brushed back from a broad forehead and eyes full of spinning fire. He was resting his elbow on the arm of the chair and studying her carefully, his chin leaning against his hand.

Alice found herself taking an involuntary step backwards. “Are you who I think you are?”

He didn’t answer. Just kept on staring at her.

“You’re Michael.”

“Marshall of the Armies of the Heavens. General of the Angels. Leader of the Hosts, Master of the Fires.”

He laid both his hands on the arms of the chair and stood, slowly. A heat-haze shimmered about his shoulders as he straightened, then faded as he shrugged and folded his arms across his chest.

“I’ll answer to any of them, but to be honest they’re a bit of a mouthful. The angels tend to call me the Choirmaster. Of course,” he said, lowering his voice, “they don’t know that
I
know that, so don’t let on, will you?” He winked at her and, quite unexpectedly, Alice felt a pressing need to sit down. Quickly. And on the floor. She stared as his wings unfolded: vast swathes of feather and flame.

“
You’re
Michael?”

“You sound disappointed. It’s the shirt, isn’t it? You were expecting something... dressier.”

Alice felt her mouth opening and closing, but no sound came out. Especially not once she saw the burning golden sigil on his forearm. He followed her eyes. “Look familiar?” He watched her hand move to her wrist and beamed at her. “Oh, I know what you’re thinking.” He tapped the side of his head. “Can’t keep me out, I’m afraid. You’re one of mine.”

“You can read my mind?”

“Only if I want to. Which – and let’s be clear about this – most of the time I don’t. I’ve got quite enough thoughts of my own in my head without adding an entire choir’s worth. As you can imagine, it gets rather cramped in there if I start listening in.”

“But you can’t...”

“Take over?” His face darkened slightly. “No, Alice. I think you’re confusing me with someone else.” He held out a hand, pulling her to her feet and indicating two armchairs. “Sit with me a while? I believe there are some things we need to discuss.”

“Where are we?”

“Balberith’s study. He won’t be needing it any longer.”

“Balberith?”

“Clerk. Hell’s record-keeper. Pedantic like you wouldn’t believe, sorry. ‘Detail-oriented,’” he said, spotting her smirk. “Every soul that ever came down here, human or angel, he noted them all in those books of his.” He pointed to the shelves across the room, lined with row upon row of books. “And before you ask, no. You may not look. You won’t like what you see.”

“About my mother?”

“About any of it. In case you hadn’t noticed, hell isn’t exactly a holiday camp, and generally speaking it’s full of not very likeable people.”

“And my mother?”

“You really are
persistent
, aren’t you? Here I am. Michael. Archangel; commander of the choirs of angels. And you insist on questioning me about a silly little Fallen.” He ignored Alice’s gasp. “You honestly expect me to think of her as something more? She Fell. And, to put it bluntly, the only kind of Fallen I’m interested in is a dead one. That includes your mother.”

“But I thought... I mean...”

“You want to know how a child born to a human and one of Raphael’s pets ends up in my choir? Of course you do.” He leaned back into the chair and the leather creaked under his weight. “Simple. She asked me for a favour.”

“She what?”

“She asked me for a favour. Specifically, she asked me to strip your gift. The whole empathy
thing
. I can’t say I blame her. It must be terribly tedious, always knowing how everyone
feels
. Quite bad enough when you’re dealing with thoughts: at least there’s usually some reason in there. But
emotions?
What a mess.”

“You didn’t, though, did you?”

“Didn’t what? Strip your gift? No. Not exactly. I told her I would take you under my protection and order Raphael to remove it.”

“Which you never did.”

“No. It must have slipped my mind.”

He lowered his chin, his eyes still fixed on her. The spirals of fire in his eyes were hypnotic, and she could almost believe him.
Almost
.

“So, why?”

“Because I saw a chance. A chance that was too good to miss. I already knew what your gift was: pure empathy, just like your mother’s. I could see it, even while you were still a baby. She laid you in my arms, and you looked up at me, and I could see it. I could
taste
it, Alice.” He leaned forward. “You could feel others’ pain. Really feel it, in your bones. And I thought, in the right hands, in the right place – in the right time – a gift like that would be more than a mere gift. It would be a blessing. A weapon.”

“A weapon. You looked at a baby, and you saw a weapon?”

“I’m a soldier, child. A very good one. And I was right. Because look at you: I had to pull you away from one of Gabriel’s favourites before you took off his head! Quite remarkable.”

“Right. Look at me. Some angel you turned out to be.” Alice’s fingers were digging into the leather of the chair. It was smouldering around them.

Michael banged his hands on the arms of his chair, and it burst into flames.

“You will respect me, Alice. You may find you don’t like me, but you
will
respect me. I will not be spoken to in that tone. Not by any man, not by any angel. You remember what you are, Alice. One of my dogs, one of the hounds of heaven. And remember this, too: if needs be, I will muzzle you.” His face softened slightly, the flames behind him disappearing back into the chair. “But I forget. You have done well. You have made all the choices I hoped you would make, and they have led you here. If I had planned your course myself, I couldn’t have laid it better.”

“You didn’t exactly give me a choice, though, did you?”

“Choice? Have you learned
nothing?
You’ve had nothing
but
choices; a dazzling, shining multitude of them. You are absolutely unique. A glorious experiment. I had no way of knowing what you could become. What you
have
become.”

Alice stared at her hands. It was too dangerous to look him in the eye. Every time she did, she found herself agreeing with him. He sighed. “I haven’t done this right, have I?” He sagged back into the seat and drummed his fingers on the chair. “Mallory is so very much better at it than I am. You will forgive me, I hope?”

She didn’t answer.

“In time, you will understand. This is new to you, and it is hard. I know that. But you
must
understand, Alice. There is more at stake than the happiness of a half-born, and your mother knew that. At least, she did, before she took complete leave of her senses.”

“You’re saying my mother knew what you would do? And what, that she offered me up like a... like some kind of...?” Alice snapped, looking up.

But she was talking to an empty room. Michael had vanished, leaving nothing behind but the smell of woodsmoke.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Pennies from Heaven, Dropping Like Rain

“W
HERE’D SHE GO
?” Mallory watched the cage of fire collapse into ash around Gwyn. There was no sign of Alice, just an angry angel with sparks spitting from his armour. On any other day, it might have made Mallory laugh.

“Al? Where did Alice go?” he turned to A’albiel, who was scowling.

“Michael took her.”

“Michael? As in, you know,
Michael?
”

“That one.”

“Well, that’s just swell, isn’t it? Where did he take her?”