Angel Falls (Cassandra Bick Chronicles Book 3) (24 page)

I opened my eyes, and wondered why I was lying on the floor and where the world had gone. Then I blinked a couple of times and the angel came into focus. She did not look happy to see me.

‘Wow. I didn’t think that would work.’ I sat up slowly, resting for a moment before I pulled myself unsteadily to my feet, an unsmiling Aeylith showing no inclination to help.

‘How dare you summon me?’ she hissed, her voice low, but I was in no mood for an angel lecture, so I ignored that.

‘Cain tells me that an angel never stops loving someone,’ I said, almost conversationally, pouring myself a glass of wine with a hand that only trembled slightly. She looked nonplussed at that, then even more so when I poured another and held it out to her. She accepted it warily, sniffing it as if checking for poison. ‘Which means he still loves you, after all this time, is that right? Even after everything you’ve done to him.’

She flinched slightly at that. Good.

‘But that also means that you still love him, even though you did them?’

She looked truly pained at that. I was glad, suddenly, of my atheism. Super-powered, immortal beings capable of great cruelty I could deal with – I had experience of that – but I wanted no part of a God whose rules would make one lover torture another, and not even grant the gift of forgetting or hatred. Then again, for all I knew, if they really were celestial, their idea of God was as whacked out as those right wing nutjobs who bomb abortion clinics and think gay people cause avalanches, or old men who think it’s somehow holy to convince a 14-year-old child to wear a suicide vest to a mosque or a market. She glowered at me like she could read my thoughts, and bristled under my disdain. But more than that, she hated me. Hated me for being human and weak and, most of all, hated I could be those things and still have Cain care for me. It was a feeling so strong and so obvious it was palpable, and for a moment, I was scared, and I wondered what the hell I thought I was doing.

Eventually, she spoke.

‘You cannot change what must come. We have rules, and he has broken them. Again.’

‘I thought you might say that. I figured if him begging and screaming didn’t stop you hurting him back when you were actually lovers, me asking you nicely wouldn’t do it now. Can you at least tell me what’s going to happen to him?’

Her face twitched into a smile that wiped away all the beauty that should have been there.

‘Despise you even as I do, mortal, I would not be so cruel.’

I swallowed, the wine ashes in my mouth. But she was here, now, so I might as well try.

‘Then maybe we can talk a little about religion,’ I said, and she frowned at me, curious. ‘Tell me, what are your views on atonement?’

I’ve had many wardrobe dilemmas in my time, but ‘what to wear to a public execution’ was a new one on me. My Hail Mary pass with Aeylith had been a fairly desperate attempt to… I don’t know. Delay the inevitable? Guilt trip her? But it had only made me feel worse, and I was worried Cain could somehow sense that I had spoken to her. I wasn’t sure I even wanted what little insight I had gained – humans were messed up enough, I couldn’t imagine spending eternity holding onto that kind of grudge.

***

‘So our big plan is we just go in unarmed?’ I repeated, more to myself than to anyone else.

‘They have security checks at the entrance,’ Medea pointed out, for the fifth time, but I could tell that, now the event was actually approaching, she was as dubious about our plan as I was. She’d secured us four tickets – they were limited availability, and 100 quid a pop, so I was definitely asking Laclos for that money back if we all made it out alive – so we’d decided that Medea, Cain, Jonesy and I would be the ones on the inside, leaving Val, Katie, Mariko and Leon to handle the exterior. Val had proven herself pretty handy with the grappling hooks back when we attacked the building in Canary Wharf last year, so if there was a clear path she could scale one of the towers and get an aerial view, and Leon and Mariko were stationed one at either side of the bridge, so we had the exits at least covered for sight, even if we lacked the manpower to do anything more than check out what was going on. So, we had all eventualities covered, except the one where they recognised us as Laclos’ allies when we walked through the door and machine gunned us to pieces on the spot. Even in a life already littered with questionable decisions, this seemed a pretty foolish one to me.

***

The main problem, other than us being unarmed and exposed in an enclosed, hostile environment surrounded by supernaturals who were stronger than most of us and could, in many cases, overhear even our whispered conversations (which made planning seriously difficult) was that we were on a clock. There was, in theory, a window of opportunity before dawn – the vampires would have to retreat to somewhere windowless or shielded before sunrise – but cutting it that fine would risk not only Laclos, but Leon and Mariko also. Cain’s blood might buy Laclos a few minutes of sunscreen, but that was a theory it was pretty risky to test. Had Medea been up to speed, she might have magicked some kind of protection for him until we could break him free, but the tang of wrongness that hung about her made it obvious her magic was still on the fritz. So our grand plan really amounted to little more than scope out the territory and wing it. Comforting, that was not.

***

Still, we made it through the first hurdle: the metal detector and bag check at the entrance. Clearly they recognised us: the burly vampires at the door stood up a lot straighter when they saw Cain, and though they very politely asked him if he would be willing to have a ‘random’ pat down, they were pretty thorough about it. I would have put this down to the fact that even in a suit Cain looked like trouble, but my Sense picked up a genuine unease that was more than just caution, and I suspected word of his fierceness had spread.

(I could tell you how good Cain looked in a suit, but I’m afraid I might jibber. But
good
. Seriously good. George Clooney, Don Draper, James Bond level good. It says much that despite the seriousness of our mission, it had taken us three attempts to leave the house. My God, he was handsome. And clearly I wasn’t the only one that thought so. In a room full of humans who were glossy the way only money can buy and screeds of naturally elegant vampires, he was getting an awful lot of hungry looks, and it wasn’t because the vamps were picking up on his premium grade blood. In fact, had he had Medea on his arm – stunning in a deep red silk shift that complemented her skin to perfection, and heels so high and pointy I suspected she’d worn them so they could double as weapons – they would have easily been the most attractive couple in the room. As it was, I admit I spent the first few minutes of our entrance not rolling out my Sense to pick out danger, but instead revelling in all the jealous glances and thinking, ‘Ha! He’s mine, bitches!’ Because, yes, I am that mature.)

But then all thoughts of triumph faded, because we were into the main walkway, now, and it was then we saw Laclos on display.

***

I’d expected – foolishly, perhaps – that he would look like he had when he was taken by Sebastian: beaten, tortured, broken. But of course that would have raised questions, and gone against the narrative the vampires were pushing, and instead he seemed remarkably chipper for a man sentenced to death. (I wondered, fleetingly, if the way we could get out of this was simply for him to yell for help in front of all these humans, but a muggy air of mild compulsion that my Sense picked up on suggested the vampires had planned for that eventuality.) He was, à la David Blaine, in a glass box that was suspended directly under the walkway, but instead of this being vertical it was – in a tribute to his languorous nature, perhaps, or because it deliberately mimicked a coffin – horizontal. It was spacious – he was sitting propped up against one side of the box, long legs stretched out casually before him, and he looked perfectly comfortable: they’d even furnished him with a silk cushion to lean against, and a bottle of champagne to keep him occupied. It really was the most civilised of executions. There was an oasis in the crowd directly above him – and I suspected this was less to do with fear of him getting an upskirt view than an instinctive suspicion of walking over a grave – but people were looking down through the glass walkway with appreciative curiosity, and he was responding with the occasional cheery wave, champagne flute in hand, as if simply delighted everyone could come to his party. Shirtless, with his painted nails and his lined eyes and his dark hair flowing over his shoulders, he sold the modern magician part well, and suddenly I thought – they’re actually going to get away with this. They’re going to kill him in plain sight, and everyone is going to go home believing they’ve seen a great trick, and there’s nothing we can do about it.

***

Because he was completely inaccessible. The heavy glass box was suspended from cables directly under the walkway, so there was no way to access it without being seen from the outside, and unless we wanted to break through the reinforced glass floor of the walkway, no way to reach it from where we were. Any attempt to break the cables from a distance – y’know, if we had Hawkeye and some explosive arrows or something – would depend on Laclos being able to either fly or survive crashing 200ft onto concrete, which might be a bit much even for a vampire his age with an injection of angel blood. I knew in theory vampires were only killable in certain ways, but I wasn’t sure how ready I was to test that in practice.

Lest we miss a moment of the excitement, there was a camera mounted inside the box, and large screens throughout the walkway relayed the scene. It was disconcerting to see Laclos’ beauty digitally relayed onto TV; finally, he really was a rock star. The vampires were taking no chances – they didn’t just want witnesses; they were getting this on tape. But that meant I didn’t need to be looking at Laclos when he realised we were here. I saw something flicker in his face, unreadable, and my Sense spiked as if he were deliberately trying to trigger it, though I had no idea how. He raised his glass and gazed at the camera through lowered eyes and long lashes, a slow smile spreading across his lips as he wet them with a hint of champagne, and the temperature in the room went up about five degrees. Several of the guests fanned themselves, almost unconsciously, and I had to smile in response: even held prisoner, Laclos could switch on the charm. But there was a sadness behind that smile, and more than that, forgiveness. He knew we were here, and he expected us to fail.

***

Although from the ground, the walkways looked narrow, they were actually broad enough not to be cramped. I’d expected us to feel like we were in a window-lined corridor, but instead it felt like a standard party venue – a long, broad room, albeit one that wasn’t great if you suffered from vertigo. The darkness outside meant that the view consisted mainly of the city lights and those buildings that were illuminated, and provided you didn’t look down directly at the liquid blackness of the river beneath us, which seemed to absorb any light that was near it, it was actually easy to forget how high up we were. We accepted drinks from one of the human waiters who bobbed around us with canapés and glasses of champagne; booze wouldn’t affect Cain, and the rest of us were sorely in need of Dutch courage. Medea and I exchanged glances as we both selected a tiny sausage roll, and I knew we were thinking the same thing: our first break of the night, and the vampires themselves had given us it. Then I was distracted from that thought by a spike of power. I turned, straining to see, and tapped Cain lightly on the arm. He leaned down and kissed my neck, gently, seemingly just being attentive, but, feeling thrillingly like a Bond girl, I used the movement to twist slightly, steering his gaze to the other side of the walkway, where, near the far entrance, I had Sensed older vampires walk in. I also noticed his eyes follow the waiter as he left us, and realised he’d spotted the same thing we had.

But before we could discuss either of these things, a voice boomed out across the room and we turned to see a man – a vampire, my Sense informed me – climb onto a small platform stationed midway along the length of the walkway, furnished with one of the large TV screens and a podium, and right next to one of the narrow tables behind which human serving staff bustled to ensure that, should you have somehow missed one of the waiters doing the rounds with silver platters, you could get a drink here. They were slightly crammed in, working in the sliver of space between the fridges of fizz and boxes of red wine lined up against the windows and the table that groaned under glasses of champagne and jugs of juice and water, but it was smart planning at a British gig. Stand near the booze, and you’re sure to get everyone’s attention.

***

‘Ladies, gentlemen, others!’ he called, voice smooth and mellifluous, amplified by the mic he wore at his lapel. ‘Welcome to our charity event! Your generosity is most appreciated – healthy blood is a boon to us all.’

There were some knowing smiles among the attendees, but I saw a few humans grimace. Fuck, I thought, recognising those grumpy expressions. Cain and Jonesy weren’t the only hunters here.

‘We hope you will forgive us this unusually late start time for an event, but we have a unique illusion for you tonight.’

He waved a hand, airily, at the screen behind him, and Laclos – whether able to hear him or just making out what the general sense of what he was saying – obligingly waved, which disconcerted the speaker slightly, though he hid it well. Whatever leverage they’d used, they’d clearly expected Laclos to cooperate, but this unfailing cheeriness was unnerving them. ‘With us tonight is Laclos, the well-known… illusionist…’ Again, knowing smirks from several in the crowd. ‘He has kindly agreed to grace our party until dawn and then, at the first sign of sunshine, he will disappear into mist!’

A ripple of excitement through the crowd, disbelief, cynicism, and, yes, unease. I realised plenty of the vampires who were here had come not out of any great desire to see one of their own burn, but because they felt they had to. If regimes were changing, you needed to be seen to support the winners. I didn’t recognise anyone – my clients would be more low level than those invited to such an event – but despite vampires’ natural talent for dissembling, it was fairly easy for my Sense to pick out those here under duress. That was potentially good news. If things did kick off, they’d hopefully stay well out of it. It was also clear that even among Amalthea, Alastair and Josephine’s people – however that little trifecta shared out authority – there were many who were uncomfortable with the showy, public nature of the night’s events. And I could Sense plenty of them joining the compere in wondering just what it was Laclos had to smile about.

***

‘This isn’t just about Laclos,’ Cain muttered, as the four of us huddled together in an attempt to talk unobserved. ‘It’s about us.’

‘What do you mean?’ Jonesy asked.

‘It’s not just about killing Laclos and proving he’s dead. It’s saying that… exposure isn’t the worst thing you can threaten us with, anymore. We’ve got the script and the PR consultants and we’re not scared. I mean, I’m guessing – they’re vampires, they could just like the idea of a party. But face it, Cass and I both have a rep in this town. If word gets out we stood and watched while Laclos burned, then it means we’re as neutered as he is.’

I hadn’t even thought of that – though I also suspected he was giving me far more credit for a rep than I deserved.

‘I’m seeing a few faces I recognise,’ Jonesy said, his voice low, and Cain frowned and did a quick scan of the room, a nod confirming what I had thought: hunters. A couple returned his attention with a curt nod, though whether they knew him or just recognised one of their own, I was unsure. Cain’s life outside London was a mystery to me, so much of it unknown: they could think of him as a hero to their type, or see his allegiance to Laclos as a betrayal of what they stood for – I had no idea, which made their actions at this event worryingly hard to predict. Maybe they were just here to watch, to make sure if they weren’t getting whatever bounty was on Laclos’ head, no one else was either.

‘Half the vampires in London must be here,’ murmured Medea. ‘We should have brought business cards.’

I smiled at her attempt at humour. But she had also given me an idea.