Blood and Feathers (21 page)

The wind is still rising, and Alice’s own hair is blowing now, into her eyes and her mouth. She tucks it behind her ears, but it whips free again, flipping around her like a halo.

A cloud passes in front of the sun; a shadow falls across the pavement.

And she sees him. He lands near the end of the road, just ahead of her – swoops in on wings white as teeth, feathers shifting against one another as he moves. Small sparks speckle the feathers and he folds them behind him, striding towards her mother. She cannot see his face, but she knows it will not be kind.

Now Alice’s mother is caught between the two: the man and the angel. She looks from one to the other, and that’s when she sees her daughter on the hill. She calls out and the angel stiffens slightly but he does not turn, nor does he stop. Instead, he advances on her, one arm raised, and spreads his wings, hiding them all from Alice’s sight. Feathers fill her world. There’s a cry, hard and harsh and fearful, and the street is awash with light and flame. Lightning courses down the road as the cry builds to a scream that echoes off the houses. The angel lowers his wings and Alice’s mother is ablaze with a hungry white fire.

The light fades and she seems unharmed. She sways a little on her feet, staggers first forward then back, then forward again, and falls. The angel flaps his wings, once, twice, and rises above them all. He does not leave, but perches on a rooftop where he folds his wings about him, watching. Waiting.

Alice is no longer thinking. She is running, or trying to. Because a hand is on her shoulder, holding her back. She looks around and sees another man, yet another stranger, his brown eyes fixed on the road ahead.

“You don’t want to do that, Alice. You want to stay right here,” he says, his voice warm but distant, and she obeys.

She watches as the man with the glasses lifts her mother from the ground. She feels the earth shake, and watches as it opens... she watches as her mother is carried into hell, and watches as the ground closes over her.

Alice is six years old, and barefoot, and shaking. Without a word, Mallory gathers her in his arms and turns away, towards home. She buries her face in his chest, smelling leather and incense and candlewax. He carries her back to her father, standing ashen at the end of the drive, who takes her into his own arms and smoothes her hair, pulling her close. He, too, is shaking, his body shivering in spite of him. There are no words, and then there are only the two of them – alone with each other in the sunlight.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Nor are we Out of it

“T
HAT DREAM...
”
SAID
Alice.

“It wasn’t a dream, no.” Mallory shook his head.

“And you were there.”

“I was.”

“You knew. You’ve known all along. Everyone knew.”

“Alice...”

“I was six years old, Mallory. I was six years old, and I watched my mother burn, and I watched her Fall. And in all the years that came afterwards, all the times I had that nightmare; in all the times I dreamt it, no-one thought to tell me that it was okay? No-one thought it might be appropriate to tell me I wasn’t going mad? Did it cross anybody’s mind to mention this when they took me out of school and put me in a
hospital
?”

“What, Alice? What could anyone say? That you were reliving the memory of your angel mother Falling, of seeing her carried down to hell? Imagine what would have happened to your father if he had tried.”

“Do you know what they
did
to me? I was a
child
. Do you have any idea what my life was like in there?”

“You want to talk to me about being kept somewhere against your will? Somewhere you don’t belong? Somewhere that makes you ache for home every time you breathe? You want to go there? With
me?
” There was an anger in Mallory’s voice that Alice had rarely heard. Not just anger, but a bitterness, and a sorrow. It wasn’t enough.

“A year in hospital. Two years with a shrink. Four years with a therapist. Six years of medication...”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t. All this time, I thought it was my mother dying that messed everything up. She died, and something was wrong with me. I just couldn’t cope with it. I looked around and saw other kids who’d lost their mums or dads, and I wondered why I couldn’t be like them, why I was so weak. And now, after all this, you come along and tell me that it was
you
who ruined my life. You and all the other goddamn angels.”

Mallory’s slap stung her cheek, forcing her to take a step back. She steadied herself and glared at him. His face was stern, his wings extended and twitching in agitation.

“There is a line, Alice, across which you do not want to step. You want to blame me for everything that might have gone wrong in your life? Fine. If that makes you feel better, you go ahead and do it. But don’t you dare stand there and tell me that your life is so very much worse than a thousand, a million – a billion – others. You want pity? You won’t get it from me. That’s not what I am, and I warn you now, feeling sorry for yourself is a faster way into hell than anything Xaphan could ever conjure up. But you know that already, don’t you?”

“Excuse me?”

“You think I don’t see you flinch every time?” He whipped out his silver flask and waved it at her, and Alice found herself pulling away. “You see?” he said. “I
know
you, Alice. I know what you’ve done, who you’ve been, how you’ve spent your time on this earth, so don’t even bother trying to convince me you’re something you aren’t.”

“Oh, right. And maybe if you weren’t so fucking obscure all the time, I might feel a little more inclined to believe you.”

“You want clarity? Sure. Here it is. Your mother, Alice, your mother was one of the most extraordinary of Raphael’s choir. I know that, because she, of all the angels, was the one I chose to love. I loved her, and she left me. She chose to leave me – to leave all of us – and she chose damnation. And now, here I am: trying to explain to her daughter, who looks so
very
like her, why I have to send her into hell itself. Why she has to walk in there willingly and alone, and why she might never come out again. All in the name of a war we can never win. How’s that for you?” He uncapped the flask and took a long draught, then wiped the neck with his sleeve and held it out to her. “Now, are you sure I can’t tempt you?”

“Funny.” The ground felt soft beneath Alice’s feet, uneven and unstable. “I...”

“It’s alright.” He pocketed the flask and sighed. “You’re doing well, you know. For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks?”

“I mean it. But we’re out of time, and you’re not ready. You’re a long way from ready. You can’t control yourself and you’re not strong enough.”

“Wait... alone?”

“Sorry. I should have mentioned that sooner. It’s in the rules. I’m doing my best, but...”

“Alone. I have to go in there alone.”

“Yes.” He had the good grace to look uncomfortable.

“And what...” – she choked on her words, but somehow they found a way out – “what am I supposed to do when I get there?”

“You remember those people I told you about? The ones who’ve been stolen? They’re the reason the balance is tipping. You have to make sure no more are taken.”

“But how am I supposed to do that?”

“Xaphan. It has to be Xaphan. He’s found a way of opening these hellmouths – you have to stop him. Stop whatever it is he’s doing.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re you. And because I know you can.”

“How? How the hell do you know that?”

“It’s called faith, Alice. You should try it sometime.”

“You don’t want to put your faith in me, Mallory. I’ll let you down. I let everyone down, in the end.”

“Alice...”

“No, it’s true. I do. I just...”

“Alice?”

“This is all too big; it’s too much. I can’t...”

“Alice!”

“What?”

“It’s snowing.” And, sure enough, the sky was filled with swirling white specks. They spun and drifted down to the ground, settling softly around them as they stared upwards. Just like the rain, it left the two of them untouched, collecting around their feet, but never once landing on them – dancing past them in languid spirals. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

“It’s not,” said Mallory, shaking his head.

She frowned at him. “How can you say that? Look at it!” She held out her hand, trying to catch one of the flakes, but still, they darted away from her.

Mallory stared at her. “What month is it, Alice?”

“What month? It’s...” She paused. “It’s October.”

“It’s snowing. In October. Here.” He folded his arms, and Alice understood.

“Hell’s cold, isn’t it?”

“Colder than anything you’ve ever imagined. It’ll freeze your soul.” He gestured to the snow that thickened the sky overhead. “This? This is just the beginning.”

“I
T’S SNOWING,
”
SAID
Gwyn when they walked into Mallory’s room. He was sitting, reading a newspaper. The front page headline seemed to be about a celebrity scandal: Alice could only assume that he was catching up.

“Snowing? No shit,” Mallory slammed the door behind them. If anything, it was actually colder inside than it was outside.

Gwyn barely even looked up. “You should know by now that I am absolutely immune to sarcasm.”

“It makes me feel better.”

“This is not necessarily a good thing.” Gwyn dropped the paper on the floor. “I took the liberty of having the place cleaned a little. Not completely, of course. I can’t work miracles, can I?”

“You’ve... moved things,” Mallory said, poking at a pile of books on the floor.

Gwyn frowned. “If by ‘moved’ you mean disposed of, and by ‘things’ you mean three years’ worth of rubbish, then yes, I have ‘moved things.’ No need to thank me, but I really would like to discuss that. Out there.” He pointed to the window.

“It’s too soon, isn’t it?”

“Yes. We thought we had more time.” Gwyn folded his arms. “Everything is in place. Is she ready?”

“Umm...” Alice raised her hand and cleared her throat. “
She’s
right here, you know.”

“Of course you are, Alice,” Gwyn said, fixing her with a blue-eyed stare, then turning straight back to Mallory. “Well? Is she?”

“Nowhere near.”

“And does she know?”

“About my mother?” she cut in. “Yes, thanks. I know. Not before time, either...” She bit back her words as Mallory placed a firm hand on her arm.

Gwyn looked at her oddly. “About Seket? I rather assumed you would have worked that out for yourself by now. You saw it, after all.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Alice saw Mallory’s free hand rub his forehead. His grip on her arm tightened. “Timing, Gwyn.”

“Oh?”

Alice’s head hurt. It suddenly felt too small, as though everything inside it would force her mind open and seep out through her ears. There was more. Of course there was more. How could she have expected that to be the end of it? Would there ever be an end to it?

Gwyn shrugged. “She needs to be ready, Mallory.”

Mallory glared at him, then started to speak, but Alice couldn’t understand any of it. It rolled and twisted and fell from his tongue, the language of the angels. He kept going, too: for what felt like hours, he kept on speaking – never once pausing for breath or for Gwyn to answer. And whatever it was he was saying, Gwyn didn’t like it one bit. His face grew darker and darker, his eyes stonier... until at last he snapped a hand up, pointing at Mallory. Sparks fizzed from the tip of his finger and Mallory fell silent.

“Enough. If you are not able to prepare her, then I will. Perhaps it would be better if I assumed responsibility now, rather than at the last minute when you have failed?”

“I will
not
fail, Gwyn. Not you, and not her.”

“Maybe you will, maybe you won’t. I have to say there are some who think you a most unwise choice, given your... emotions.”