Blood and Feathers (43 page)

“You can shoot me. I won’t hold it against you. Well, not much.”

“Fuck off, Lucifer.”

“Listen to you. Never were very much for words, were you? Why use your head when a fist works so much better?”

“But funnily enough, you’re the one stuck in hell. Explain to me how that works?”

“Oh, you’re in hell already, Mallory. You just didn’t Fall. So shoot me. Shoot
her
. Make it perfect.”

Mallory’s hand shook. His whole arm shook. He was looking at Seket’s face, a face he hadn’t seen in so long: it was drawn, and lined, and not to put too fine a point on it, looked like she’d been through hell. Which was fair enough. But in the middle of that face, in the place of the soft eyes he had always known, there was Lucifer looking out at him. He had his boot on Lucifer’s throat, but it wasn’t Lucifer’s throat, was it? It was Seket’s. She would be the one who died, not Lucifer. He would just hop on over to another of the Fallen. And that was the way it was.

But Lucifer had kept Seket here, kept her in this chamber, alone, all these years. Why? Was she worth something to him?

Alice.

It was all for Alice.

Mallory’s grip on his gun tightened.

Lucifer wanted Alice. He had known about her, and he had her right where he wanted her. He had played them all, or even engineered it himself. Mallory couldn’t be sure which, and wasn’t certain he wanted to be. Somehow Lucifer had found the perfect opportunity to get to Alice.

“Always were an opportunist, weren’t you?” said Mallory.

Below him, Lucifer batted his eyes in mock innocence. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“You’re forgetting. I know you. I know how you work. And I know Alice.”

“Do you? Are you sure? Do you trust her, Mallory? Tell me that. More importantly, does she trust you? Think what she’s been through: what you, the angels, all of you, have put her through. And now, at the end of it all, she gets her reward: a chance to see her mother, to be with her. You should never underestimate the power of grief.”

“You know what?” Mallory rolled his eyes. “You’re an arse. You always were. You’ve not changed.” He cocked the gun.

Lucifer simply carried on smiling. “And you,” he said, “apparently still have too much faith.”

Alice’s punch hit Mallory squarely in the jaw, knocking him sideways. “Get away from my mother.”

“Alice.” Mallory staggered slightly as he tried to regain his equilibrium. “That’s not your mother.”

“I don’t care.” Alice was standing between them, between him and Lucifer, her face dark.

“Alice...”

“No.” She raised her left hand, and already he could see the flames around her wrist; a hot, shining bracelet. He followed her gaze... and saw the smear of blood from Lucifer’s shoulder on the ice, and he cursed himself for being so stupid.

“Alice, he’s using you. He’s using
her
. He always has been.”

“Doesn’t matter.” She took a step towards him, and behind her, Lucifer flashed his appalling smile. Overhead, the rocks groaned.

“Alice. If you stand in my way, I only have one choice.”

“You don’t make choices. You follow orders.”

“Because I choose to.”

“Because you have to.”

“You want to get into the semantics of it with me? Fine. Step out of my way. Let me finish this.”

“No.” She took another step forward, and Mallory could see it in her eyes: she was going to kill him, and hand Lucifer even more than he could ever have dreamed.

“Alice. I’m not going to warn you again.” He raised the gun; leveled it at her.

They stared each other down, and there they would have stayed, had it not been for the quiet voice carried on the wind, saying just two words.

“Mallory. Please.”

“Seket?” Mallory’s mouth dropped open.

Behind Alice, Seket nodded. It was her.

“Is he gone?”

“No. And he won’t ever leave, Mallory. Take her. Get her away.” Her eyes settled on Alice, still frozen between them, apparently unable to hear her. Another creak came from the ceiling of the cavern, and the ice shifted beneath their feet. Seket shook her head. “He can’t hold it. Hell will collapse, starting with this cave. You have to get her out of here.”

“She won’t go.”

“She must.”

“Seket, I can’t...”

“You will, Mallory. You can’t win here, now, but there will be a time and a place that you can. All you have to do is find it. And be ready.” She frowned. “I can’t stay. He’s too strong.” Her eyes flashed red, and back again, and Mallory felt his heart cracking inside him. “Tell her I gave her the only thing I had left,” said Seket, and then Lucifer’s voice chimed out of her:

“What’s that?” he sneered. “Love?”

“No,” Seket answered. “Pain.”

A
LICE HEARD IT
coming for her. It roared, breaking over her like a tide. She was swimming in it, drowning in it, and even as it washed over her, through her, she felt the fire rushing to meet it. It burned away everything in its path, everything that Seket had felt in the coldest, hardest part of hell.

And Alice knew what would happen next.

She couldn’t control it, couldn’t even begin to. There was just too much of it. There was nothing but pain.

Fire ripped through the ice around them, punching holes in the sheet they stood on, knocking them off their feet as blocks of ice tore free from one another. The frozen lake was burning.

Ice floes loomed over them as they tipped in the water, sliding against one another, and Alice looked from Mallory to Seket in panic. The ice lurched alarmingly, throwing her towards Mallory, who caught her and locked his arms around her, pulling her close to him where he knelt. “You stay with me.”

“No. Mum!” she called, seeing her mother struggle to her feet, but when Seket looked around, her eyes were flashing red and back. Lucifer was trying to take over again, and she was fighting him.

“Not for much longer,” said Lucifer’s voice, but even as he said it, he lost control and the red glow faded. Seket smiled at Alice, and their eyes met, and then she turned, throwing herself forwards and on to the jagged shard of ice that rose to meet her.

The flames boiled around them, climbing higher as Alice screamed. She watched Seket’s body tense, impaled on the ice, and then relax. She saw blood seeping out – obscenely red against the cold blue – and dripping down into the water and fire. She felt Mallory’s arms tighten about her... and she turned her head to look at him.

“You can help her! Before it’s too late. You could heal her!”

“Maybe I could.”

“Then go! Go help her!”

“No.”

“What? But that’s what you do! You heal people. She’s hurt, she’s dying. She’s dying. You could save her.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because that was her choice.” His voice was flat; rough, sad.

Alice realised he was crying, and it was only a moment later that she realised she was too.

There was a groan overhead, and a shower of rocks fell from the cavern roof. The ice shuddered, and Seket’s body slid slowly into the lake. Alice screwed her eyes shut and wished that she could be somewhere else. Anywhere else. Any
one
else.

Mallory’s grip on her shifted. He released her and he was taking her hand, pulling her to her feet.

“We have to go, Alice.” Another shower of loose stones and frost fell from above them.
“Now.”

They ran. The ice slipped beneath their feet and fissures opened ahead of them, throwing fire up into their paths. They jumped from ice-sheet to ice-sheet as the pieces tipped and tilted and rolled across the water. Twice, they fell, scrambling back up again and moving, and the door to the stairs was forever away.

Behind them, on the centre of the lake, Lucifer’s body stood imprisoned on its own ice sheet, ringed by fire, his empty eyes watching them go.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Heaven Help Us

T
HE STAIRS SEEMED
narrower on the way back up; longer, too, and even colder and darker. Mallory kept hold of her hand. She felt as though a hand had simply reached inside her and torn out everything that could feel.

She had found her mother, and she had lost her again. And this time, she was gone. There would be no more chances.

“Mallory?” Her voice felt small. “Why did she do that?”

“Because she knew it was the only way.”

“She could have come with us. We could have...”

“Could have what? Saved her?”

“Yes.”

“No. She knew what was right, Alice. Trust in that. She would always have been your weakness, and mine.” Ahead of her, in the darkness, he sniffed.

“I let her down. I let you down, Mallory. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Let me down? Bollocks. You listen to me, Alice, and you listen carefully. You might be a half-born, but you know what that makes you? Half-human. You remember that. It makes you better than us, even better than your mother. It makes you... more complete.”

“Right. Because that makes sense.”

“The greatest wisdom is usually the most impenetrable. Just look at fortune cookies.”

“You eat those?”

“Only the cookie. I find the fortunes tend to get stuck on the way down.” He coughed theatrically and, despite herself, Alice laughed.

The blackness of the stairway was paling to grey. Somewhere beyond it, there was light, of a sort, and they stumbled out into a passageway.

“I never thought I’d be so pleased to be back in the middle of hell,” Mallory muttered. He looked tired, thought Alice, as he turned towards her. Tired and stretched. “You alright?”

“No. I’m not alright.”

“But you will be, and that’s what matters, Alice. You
will
be.”

“What happened to Lucifer?”

“Who knows?” Mallory blew out a long, frustrated breath. “But don’t for a second think that he’s gone. He’ll be back.”

“She won’t, though, will she?”

“She won’t, and I’m sorry for that. But it couldn’t have gone any differently.”

“If I...”

“No,” he said, taking her by her shoulders and looking into her eyes. “You couldn’t.” He held her gaze, then released her. “Know that. Remember that.”

A rumbling sound echoed out from the stairwell, and Mallory pointed down the corridor.

“We need to go. Do you remember the way you came?”

“Not even remotely.”

“Just as well I do then, isn’t it?” He rolled his shoulders, checking his wings over. The damaged one flapped weakly.

“Does it hurt?” asked Alice.

Mallory gave her a wry smile. “You could say that. It’ll mend soon enough. But it means we’re on foot, so best get moving. Goodness only knows what’s going on up there.”

O
N THE PLATEAU
behind the remains of the Bone-Built Gate, the battle was over. The Fallen had either been killed or had fled, and Raphael’s choir were moving across the field, looking for their own wounded. Following them through the carnage was a curly-haired figure with a satchel slung over his shoulder, his wings tucked neatly behind him as he bent to examine each of the injured. Slowly and carefully, the Archangel Raphael picked his way through the dying and the dead, and he wept.

From a rock to the side of the shattered Gate, Michael surveyed the ground. What he saw did not please him. There were too few of the Fallen, too many of the angels. The attack had been sloppy, too soft. More to the point, it had been a trap. One into which Gabriel had allowed his army –
Michael’s
army – to march ill-prepared and unaware. The Twelve had escaped. If they had even been there at all. He doubted that they had. Lucifer was an opportunist, and he was heartless, but he was no fool.

The damage had been done. Someone would have to pay.

“Brieus?” Michael half-turned to the angel standing behind him, and Brieus snapped to attention, lowering the standard he had captured. His face was still stained with Azazel’s blood, and his hands were sore and bruised. And when hell’s flag fell, the battle had turned. Of course, the arrival of the Archangels might have had something to do with it, but the way Brieus saw things, it had been
all
about the flag.