Angel Dust (3 page)

The girl in his arms nearly fainted.

The pain inside stabbed again. I was confused. Why did watching him hurt so much? She was just a pretty little girl. She was nothing compared to me. I was a winged celestial creature more beautiful than a thousand stars. I laughed at myself. But as Marcus tightened his arms around her, I suddenly felt bewildered. In less than ten minutes he was going to be in my arms.

Not laughing, but dying.

I stood there. And for some inexplicable reason I felt angry. He was so full of life. Everyone loved him. Everyone wanted him. He was bigger, larger, more alive than anyone I'd ever seen. What was it to be alive? Like that?

Marcus raised the champagne bottle, shook it. It exploded like gunfire. A stream of champagne shot so high it splattered off the ceiling, drenching the girls crowding forward. But my mood was spoilt. I wasn't even remotely thrilled any more. In fact I didn't see the point in any of it. What was it all? This being born and celebrating birthdays, this living and dying, this going up to Heaven or down to Hell? If this was God's amazing creation
–
why had he created death? I know all the excuses: Eve, the apple, Free Will – but when all's said and done God created death.

It was the first time I've ever thought like that. And it spoiled everything. Earth was supposed to be fun and beautiful. Human life a sacred thing. Suddenly I wanted out. I was a bit shocked at myself.

As I waited I thought of Heaven, of the endless soft zephyrs that blew across its wide fields, of the delight of the Seraphim, our sheltered cloisters, our laughter. And I was confused. We Collected souls too, didn't we? That was our job, wasn't it? We killed people.

A car screeched to a halt outside the club door. I think even human ears could've heard it. It brought me back to earth. I focused my attention. And I saw everything. So this was how it was going to happen.

The guys in it were dressed in black. They had hoods on, sleeves rolled up, black gloves. The biggest one sprang out of the front passenger door. He was amazingly light for one so huge. In a single motion he drew two Mac 10s. He held them at hip height and kicked open the front door to the club. With angel's ears I heard the splinter of wood, the squeal of metal.

The main guy, massive, dark, hook-nosed, with thick jetty brows, paused, laid a finger over his lips, then ran down the stairs on tiptoe. Like a thief he crept through the arches and stood next to the large mirror by the exit. Marcus didn't see him. He was too busy toasting himself in bubbles. But the girl did. She screamed.

Marcus lifted his beautiful face up and looked at his killer.

‘Yo bruv?' he said very softly.

The girl screamed again. She yelled at the huge guy with the guns. ‘Stop it, Crow,' she yelled. ‘It's his goddamn birthday. Can't I go to any goddamn birthday I want?'

‘Any except his,' said the Crow, raising the guns.

I prepared myself. This was it. I opened my mouth and said the words.
‘I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. Turn and look upon your death.'
And Marcus did. He turned.
He looked straight at me and smiled.

I didn't know what to do.
He could still see me.
How could that be?
It had to be a sign.

In two strides the guy, the Crow, crossed the dance floor and reached the girl. She tried to resist. He yanked at her, pulled at her until she was in his line of fire. The Crow levelled his guns. With a shudder I realised he was going to kill them both.

The demons crowded forward.

‘No!' yelled Marcus. He swung the girl behind him, shielded her with his body, faced the Crow.

‘
Stop!
' screamed the girl.

Dazed, I moved in. Yes, this was how it would happen. Marcus would be shot, protecting the girl. She wasn't scheduled to die. I knew. I had the Manifest in my raiment. His blood would coat my wings. I would hold him as each throb of his heart beat and bled and ebbed.

But he'd seen me, and somehow we were destined to be together.

I wasn't ready. I was caught off guard. I didn't step forward far enough. I'd only ever done sleepers. I'd never seen a violent death, nor been to any with one so young. I froze. I was confused.

He'd seen me
.

I got the timing all wrong. I stepped forward too late. So when the guns went off
I wasn't there.

Everything went very quiet, except the music. It wound on, stuck on a phrase.

Go . . . go . . . go . . . go . . . go . . .

But I wasn't there.

And then all Hell broke loose.

Demons skulked forward. Shadows descended. Oily phantoms slithered down from the ceilings. I tried to move. My legs wouldn't work. I tried to jump to the spot where I should have been. Spectres groped their way across the floor. Nothing happened. My heart hammered.
I wasn't going to make it.
The demons, my God, how they smelt.

And I wasn't there.

There was another burst of fire.

Frantically I beat my wings. I commanded the air to let me pass. Nothing gave. I was frozen. Bewildered I thrashed my wings in panic.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Something was holding me against my will. The music cut. A crescendo of screaming tore through the club. Blood, thick and slippery, coated the floor. And Marcus falling. I couldn't reach him.
I couldn't reach him.

‘Oh God help me,'
I screamed.

As if in answer, a figure detached itself from the crowd. A stranger, tall, graceful. He slid smoothly forward and seemed to push the demons aside. There was a slight smell of drains. The shadows fell back at his touch. He caught Marcus, held him steady by the shoulder. Marcus staggered and pitched into the centre of the dance floor. The stranger looked at me.
He looked directly at me.
And for the second time that evening I realised I'd been seen.

‘Quick,' he said, ‘I can't hold him.'

At that the demons seemed to flood everywhere. Shadows with greedy tendrils lurched out, clutched at the shining figure in white, at Marcus falling. But the stranger stood firm, holding them off, holding Marcus up, holding time back.

And just as suddenly as I'd been frozen, I unfroze. I didn't question that. I should have. I should have thought: What power could halt a Seraph in her divine duty? But I didn't. I was too relieved. I wanted to bring Marcus his perfect death. I wanted to get it completely right. Golden glimpses of Elysian Fields.

‘There,' the stranger said. ‘Catch him.' And he let go.

Slowly, gracefully, Marcus pitched forward. Thank Heaven I was there
.
Arms open, wings outspread, I caught him. I held him. I smoothed back his damp brow. I pressed his head to my bosom.

Hallelujah in the highest. And a huge sigh of relief.

Instantly I switched into action. I unfurled all my wings and beat the air. Without warning I sent hot fireballs raining down on the demons. We Seraphim have nasty tempers when roused, you know. The shadows fell back, the spectres squealed, but they cleared off before I tossed thunderbolts at them too. Demons aren't stupid, are they? With a toss of my thick locks I perfumed the air. Then I tended to Marcus.

I held him close. I felt the heat of his blood and the hammering of his heart. Yes, he was still alive. I wasn't too late. Thank God. Outside a church bell was tolling midnight.
Not a day more. Not a day less.
I must be quick. I lifted up my face and with a blaze of my eyes I froze time. We, the Seraphim, can do that, if we really need to. (It's considered rather flashy, though, and we can't do it for very long.)

For an instant all sound ceased. In the silence that followed, I brought Marcus the Grace of Heaven. It would make him comfortable. His Passing Over would be pain free. I was just deciding whether to go for the heart-shaped tears or the shooting stars when Marcus, cushioned against me, opened his eyes and looked into mine.

His eyes were so full of trust they took me by surprise. My heart lurched.
He thought I was there to save his life.

‘So, angels
are
watching over me, after all,' he whispered, smiling up at me.

I held him so close then; I forgot who I was. ‘Only one,' I whispered back, as if I really were his saviour.

‘All I need for now,' he said and closed his eyes contentedly.

And I was so touched by his faith in me, I didn't know what to do. Except to wish I wasn't an Angel of Death.

Miserably I summoned a freckling of angel dust to shimmer in the air around us. ‘Please repent your wrongdoings, repent your selfish life and the hurt you've caused others,' I said, my throat catching.

There was no reply.

All he needed to say was, ‘Sorry.' I could have worked something out. Got him off Purgatorium, got him through the Twelfth Gate. I'd have done my best. Stayed with him while he did his penances; we could have gone straight up to Heaven together. Climbed the Staircase hand in hand. With a bit of luck nobody would have even known about the car thing, so when I came clean it'd actually have gone in our favour. I imagined St Peter saying: what a marvellous Seraph you are. Saving the soul of a hardened gangster like Marcus Montague. And Marcus, how brave to put your sins behind you. I'll be sure to let the Senior Team know that a lost lamb has returned to the flock and what a scrupulous, trustworthy angel they have.

I sighed. A spasm went through Marcus. I watched the pulse of his blood, feeling its warmth as it pumped out against me. I waited for him to open his eyes and speak. But for some reason I couldn't seem to bring myself to pinch out his life. Instead I just waited for him to repent. Willed him to repent – as if I could change his destiny.

Just two little words.
That's all it would have taken.

Oh Marcus, why couldn't you have spoken?

Such is the will of God that we, the Angels of Death, may only ask once. One last chance before the clasp of fire and brimstone. And repentance must follow freely, because this is the hour and the minute and the second and after that Time. Runs. Out.

And Time did run out. I had to let it start up again. The bell tolled. The Crow and his crew left. The music coughed back louder than ever:

. . . Yea though I walk . . .

Someone screamed, ‘Cut the sounds, man.'

Someone yelled, ‘Call an ambulance!'

Another screamed, ‘Joey Bigga's down! He's hurt.'

. . . through the shadow of . . .

I should have taken his silence as ‘no'. But I was still a little bit unsure about exactly how long you
do
wait. Maybe it was longer than I thought? But when Marcus finally did open his eyes, he didn't whisper ‘sorry'. He raised his gaze to mine and said, ‘Did Candy make it?'

‘She's safe,' I said and I was moved for a second time. Not only was he trusting, he was kind too. How generous that his first thought was for her. So I still waited, still hoped, still held death back.

But no word of repentance came. Instead his eyes danced. ‘I like your feathers,' he said.

Liked my feathers?

‘And the halo.'

And the halo?

I blinked. What did he mean? Nothing in my training at the Cloisters had prepared me for this.

His eyes rolled from me to the demons (who were already crowding back in loathsome number). I knew if I didn't claim his soul soon, they would, and like a shot too.

‘Take heed,' I said, trying to bend the rules, trying to give him a hint, a last last chance.

His eyes widened. He flicked them heavenwards as if to defy all last chancing. I was bewildered. Nobody ever defies demons. A bullet had passed clean through his heart. Didn't he know the danger he was in? Maybe that was why he hadn't repented. He didn't understand.

If only you'd understood, Marcus. You'd have repented. I know you would.

So, you see, I couldn't act.

I couldn't take you.

The last stroke of midnight fell. In a panic I cast an aura of ethereal light around us. This was the moment when I should be making his death beautiful beyond compare, when lyres should be playing, when Paradise itself should envy him his Final Moment.

‘Don't let me die,' he whispered.

But I
should
be letting him die. I should be easing his soul out of his body and taking it by the hand. I should be guiding it to the broad highway that stretches past the Twelfth Gate.

But I wasn't.

I was gazing down into the darkest, wickedest eyes imaginable. I was holding the firmest, tautest body I'd ever touched. Holding it as if I had no intention of letting it go. Anywhere.

What madness was this?

I crouched there, stunned at what I was doing (or rather not doing), when the stranger who'd caught Marcus (that glorious helpful being) knelt down close and laid his hand on mine.

It was a strange sensation. We angels don't have corporeal bodies. We don't feel the cold or heat in the way an Earthly being does; rather we feel through things – to the core of things. We feel in images. In essences. But the feel of that stranger's hand on mine was different. It was like the touch of an Archangel. It was tingly and warm and it sent delightful spirals of heat into my chest. The only thing that marred it was that slight whiff of drains again.

‘Let me help,' he said.

I looked at him. ‘Help?' I said, puzzled. For who can help an Angel of Death?

‘There is a way,' he said.

‘A way?' I repeated.

He laughed. ‘Yes,' he said, raising his eyebrows, ‘a way out even for you.'

I smiled up at the stranger. I pressed Marcus nearer. I cradled his head, covered his blood with my feathers.

The stranger smiled back at me as if I were being very slow. He cocked his head to one side in an enchanting way. ‘You like him. Don't you?' he said.