Bang, bang, bang.
Battle dragged Harahel bumping across the floor to lie at the Matriarch’s feet.
“Anpiel…” Harahel wept brokenly.
Bastard legs work…
I stumbled up but then staggered back to my knees, head throbbing.
The Matriarch didn’t look up. She stroked the dead Merlin’s beak. “You wish to poison your sister’s love?”
Battle nodded. “I want this ball-bag as my Wing.”
Harahel shook. “No…my Queen…”
“Hush, you honor the dead by flying true and should be thankful a Glory wishes to claim your imperfection.” The Matriarch stroked Harahel’s curls as she’d stroked the dead Merlin. “I delight at what the match means to you both.” Harahel curled into a ball, under her mock soothing hand. “What about you, baby bird? You like to play with the Imperfect.”
I jumped, before glancing at Rebel, but his gaze was blank and unreadable. “I already have a Wing with my name on his neck and everything, remember?”
“Still so much humanity to strip away,” the Matriarch sneered. “In our world, there are more Wings than Glories. Why should we bind ourselves only to one? Many take Poly-Wings, just as they Mark. If you do so, you’d send out the message that such behavior is the word of Perfection. No Glory would dare not follow the example of my precious daughter.”
Bastard politics.
I stared at Harahel, who trembled under the Matriarch’s caress.
Yeah, threat received loud and clear.
But Drake — and the risk of Flight on my back — had taught me the role of leader. I couldn’t become the Matriarch’s daughter, using people as pawns and forcing more couples into Poly-whatever-the-hells and Wings into bed slaves, when I knew that many weren’t willing. Even if it devastated me that I’ve have to sacrifice Harahel.
Once, I’d reckoned all men bastards. I’d been blind, just like my mum.
“The word of Perfection? One Marked Wing is enough for this bitch.” At last, I stood, even though I swayed.
“Please!” Harahel crawled towards me, still gripping the two feathers. “We can Train. You can teach me about computers. I’ll do anything—”
“I can’t,” I murmured. “Would Anpiel have wanted me to force everyone into this?”
Rebel whined, pointing at Harahel and nodding frantically. I mimed tossing his imaginary key up and down, and he subsided, scowling.
When the Matriarch smiled at Battle, she prowled to Harahel, tugging him backwards by the arm. Closing his eyes, he allowed himself to be manhandled to his knees with his head bowed to the ground.
There was a sudden gust on my face, and a shadow stained me.
I stared upwards into the whirlwind shafts that twined up to the skies; fresh air blew on my skin, puffing the ash pyres across the Grotto.
A Wing hovered mid-air; his wings beat slowly, although they flamed. He wore gold harem trousers, but unlike the rest of the Legion, also an emerald silk shirt; his wings burst through slashes in the back.
Why was he special?
His curly golden head was cocked to one side, as he watched us from the shadows; his hair was threaded with gray, although like the Matriarch he looked as young as he must’ve been ancient.
And powerful.
The air thrummed. A crackling candyfloss white static tingled my brain.
Magic.
A spell caster in the ranks of the Legion…? It looked like the Legion’s top boy was home. And he was pissed.
The Matriarch swanned towards me with a grin. “The Mage has arrived. Now the games may begin. But you, baby bird, have been so bad.”
I took a step back.
“Only a mental case would think that she’d pass the Trials.” Battle booted Harahel in the ribs, and I winced. “The lass misbehaves.”
“Maybe that’s because you’re a bad teacher, Switch-happy?” I suggested. “How about a career change? Executioner? Dominatrix?”
The Matriarch gripped my hand, pulling me close. “Seven days. You train but have not become my shadow. I should kill you.” I quivered but couldn’t pull away. “Yet potential licks venomous around you. I see it, even though you fight it: the dark inside. Let it out.”
“See, if you’d gone with light and fairy dust, I’d have been exploding all over the yard.”
She gave a thin smile.
The Ice Bitch had been expecting me to reject her. Never trust it when a bastard knows your line.
“Who’s the bloke flapping up a storm?” I glanced at the angel who was watching us from above. “What’s the deal with the Mage?”
“You don’t notice the resemblance?” The Matriarch laughed. “And my Wing believes you to be close. But then, why would anyone befriend my boy?”
She pushed me back, sweeping away across the Grotto.
Golden curls…creamy skin…yet silver in his hair…
“The Mage is Drake’s dad? But…” The Mage was top boy in the Legion. How could he watch his son being played with by the Matriarch…and others? The Matriarch didn’t hide it behind closed doors. Or did the Mage have as little choice as the rest of us? “Is the poor bastard also your Marked Wing?”
Now the Matriarch’s laugh was evil fairy merry, as she twirled back to me. “Are you listening, Rahab? You will fly on such flattery; I prefer younger toys. My precious hasn’t learned her lessons, however, so I offer a treat: my daughter for one day. May your play teach her what I cannot.”
Shocked, my breath caught. I backed away, raising my fists.
A shadow above, before the Mage swooped down. He snatched me in his arms, ensnaring me in the scent of sandalwood like fragrant trees, and carrying me into the dark.
17
One time, as a kid, I’d mouthed off to the toy boy on the Estate.
The top boy — the cocaine psycho of Utopia Estate — had me dangled upside down over Apartment Block A’s open ledge.
I’d swung, rain-lashed and powerless, whilst blood pooled in my head, watching the other kids swinging in the playground below and I’d learned my lesson: always carry your shank.
The toy boy had tried to scare the spirit out of me like all his other tamed little soldiers.
But instead? He’d birthed the Bitch of Utopia Estate.
If you have the words, you better have the power to back them up. You better not get caught unprepared.
I swung upside down with a yelp.
The Mage lazily spun his fingers in a loop, and more leather straps dropped from the veined gold crystal of his chamber’s ceiling, thwapping around my ankles and jerking me in a swinging arc.
Warm shafts of early morning light speared across the golden walls. I swam in the creamy sandalwood heat. The Legion’s Quarters in the Highest Level of the mountain, and I was alone with the Mage.
I struggled, wriggling and worm hooked.
The Mage chuckled, standing with his hands behind his back on a red Persian rug, examining me like I was the latest curio. His shirt hung open over his chest.
Yeah, this was Drake’s daddy.
Suddenly, my grip slipped on my sunglasses, and they tumbled to the floor beneath.
Hell no…
I screwed closed my eyes. Panic clawed. I struggled for breath.
“Hush, little princess,” the Mage’s voice was soothing.
The slow flapping of wings…
I shivered at the gust of air against my exposed skin and the Mage’s fingers, drawing patterns down my waist.
My arse might be on show upside down like this, but at least my dress covered my other set of blushing cheeks.
“No touching the animals,” I rasped (because Rebel had a point on the no touching rule). “This zoo has a strict policy.”
To my surprise, the Mage’s fingers paused their stroking and then withdrew.
“Do you imagine, naïve one, that I truly wish to touch you in the manner you fear? I’m not your mother. Also, you hold no interest for me…like that.” He smoothed up my dress,
peering at my flushed face. “Where’s your faith in angels now?”
“You heard me?” Shocked, my heart thudded. “All those years I called to the angels as a kid?”
“I don’t let go of what’s mine because I am not a bad father. But why should I have answered you?”
“Let me down,” I hissed.
When the Mage’s intense gaze met mine, he dissected me in the moment. “You are special. Chosen. Yet you hide yourself so exceptionally, and I wish to see the real you.” He studied both my black and violet eyes. Mesmerized, I lost myself in him: what if he had been my father? What if he’d answered? Then he smiled fondly. “And there you are.”
Snap — he clicked his fingers, and like lolling tongues, the leather straps around my ankles became loose.
I fell from the top of the cave, landing in a tumble of bruised limbs.
Dazed, I shoved down my dress. “Bastard.”
The Mage simply shrugged.
The Mage’s chambers had been transformed into something more human than anything I’d seen in Angel World: real books, with gold spines and paper pages, lined the walls on birch shelves, with matching coffee table and fruit bowls.
I eyed the apples longingly.
The Mage strolled to a chocolate leather sofa, which was pushed against the wall and a circular opening out over the welsh valley far below.
Mist hung over the gully and the dense woodland.
I crawled to my sunglasses, ramming them back on with a sigh.
Let Drake Senior stare, the real me was not a bitch he wanted to unleash. And I wasn’t ready to be called any more of a freak.
“You’re not, you know.” The Mage threw himself back on the sofa in a melodramatic lounge, stroking down his chest.
“A brat? An epic fail? Your bitch? Narrow it down, spell caster, because I’m a lot of nots.”
He grinned. “A freak.”
How the hell did he know that?
I froze. “Trespasses in my mind will have their heads cut off. Your son’s already had that warning.”
“My son has barely a shadow of my power, even with the harshest of motivation.” The Mage’s stinging voice coiled telepathic into my mind. “A child grows up with a good father who knows when to punish and when to reward. But what does a father do when that son disappoints? If he can, he creates more sons who will fly true. My Legion are my true sons.”
“Throwing away your real son to Doctor Frankenstein a new bunch isn’t Father of the Year Award worthy,” I shot back with my mind, before I’d even realized that I’d done it.
The Mage smiled smugly. “Sympathy is wasted on the unworthy. A hard lesson, but those in power must learn it. And it was merely a test. Extraordinary for you to have telepathy already.”
“That’s because I’m kickass,” I snarled, diving at him.
I straddled him, clouting him across the mouth. His lip split, and his blood smeared across my knuckles. He gaped, suddenly looking almost as young as Drake in his shock. Then his wings banded around me, twisting me over the arm of the couch.
A moment later, the feathers were gone.
The Mage sauntered over to the shelves of books, running his fingers down the spines, absentmindedly. But I was stuck — paralyzed — bent over the arm of the sofa, arse up.
Yeah, this wasn’t humiliating at all.
I fought against the invisible force holding me motionless. “Stop the bad mutant routine or I’ll get medieval on your arse.”
The Mage casually pulled out a book, before sprawling back on the sofa. He tapped the cover. “Some of my boys are human mages and all they read and watch are mutants, superheroes, and gods. The reason they adore me?” He stroked my hair, tucking it behind my ear. “My powers are much more awe-inspiring than their fictional idols’, and I teach them to become mutants too. Aren’t you intrigued?”
He traced his nail over his cut lip, before scoring it down my cheek.
Psyching out the most powerful Angel in the Legion? I was going there. Even though I knew not to mouth off without my shank.
“What makes you the Legion’s top boy? So, you have some party tricks. But look at this room. You’re as much an Addict as the bastards you trap in the dark.”
“The difference, little princess, is an Addict is enslaved to the human world, whereas the human world is enslaved to me.”
“I’ve seen the real you as well, and when you were a kid, you were the loser of Angel World: the geek who got dashed. I’m right, yeah?” I smirked. “Why aren’t you a Wing, kneeling at some Glory’s feet?”
The Mage’s slim fingers tightened around the book’s spine; the book cracked, splitting up the leather cover. Carefully, he placed the mangled book next to him on the sofa, dragging his hand through his curls. “You mean, how have I rescued myself — and my boys within the Legion — from such a fate?”
I nodded, wincing at the rescued.
Did Big Bads either rescue, or need rescuing?
The Mage tapped his forehead with a sudden grin. “Magic.” He cocked his head, considering me. “You understand the frustration and rage of growing up considered beneath others. And so eloquently shame me for it.” I dropped my gaze. “I should show you the true meaning of shame…” My eyes widened, and I held my breath, as he reached for me. But then he hesitated, pulling back. “My apologies, little princess, you’re not mine to teach.”
“Magic’s why my mum let’s you run around like you’re free and not her lap dog?”
He stiffened. “I have more freedom than others because I have mental powers beyond anyone, even Queen Miniel. They grant me power over every prideful angel.”
My gaze hardened. “And that’s why my mum has your son to shag.”
I tensed, waiting for the explosion, pain…something.
Find a bloke’s weakness and shank it sharp.
Instead, the Mage chuckled. He chucked the split book flying into the sunlight: the paper leaves broke apart, fluttering away on the wind like feathers. “And who do you think gave Drake to her?”
I bit my tongue to hold in the rage. “You’re sick, bro.”
The Mage stretched out on the sofa, until his face was almost touching mine. “It was a trade. My son was valuable and well-trained. His mother dead in the birthing. What else should I do with him? His brain doesn’t work like others.” He licked over the cut on his lips. “If I were not his father, he would’ve been counted amongst the Broken. He’s lucky I showed him such kindness. Your mother’s reward, however, made it worth it, and your mother does not seem displeased with the goods. I hear you’ve sampled. Is he satisfactory?”
I spat at the Mage.
A foamy globule dripped down his nose, hanging off in a stream of spittle.
He gawked at me. Taken by surprise twice in one day? I was going for the record with this bastard.
Could Drake ever have been different to the cold but beautiful angel that he was, when he’d been brought up by a dad like this and my mum?
“You’re a child,” the Mage wiped his sleeve over his nose, “blundering around in a world and war, balanced on a cliff edge, whilst you are in ignorance. Let me guide you.”
“I don’t need a pimp angel holding my hand.”
He wrenched up my head by the hair. “Forget Drake. My new sons are the Legion, special boys around even the human world who fight against vampires and witches both. That is where the future lies.” Then he whispered, burning with fanatical fervor, “I resurrect dead angels.”
My eyes narrowed. “You lost me on the zombie angels, bitch.”
The Mage twisted my hair, and I yelped. “Nonsense. I’ve seen your true self, remember? This is an honor, which I extend. Never before have I offered for a Glory,” he bit out the word with dripping contempt, “to join our ranks. The Matriarch sees you as nothing but a weapon. But you’re our savior because you’re the link between all the worlds, and I wish your loyalty.”
“I’m out of the gang lifestyle now. And I wouldn’t ever make you
my top boy.”
The Mage let go, springing up, before stalking to the archway out of the chambers. “I told you that learning is about punishment and reward.” I startled at the words, which were like honeyed music in my mind. “Let’s start with the reward. What do you desire?”
Ash: trapped in the birdhouse prison. Could the Mage free him?
The Mage said that he had human mages. Could they search for my sister and the disappeared kids of Hackney?
Yet if you made deals with the devil, then you paid for them in hell.
“How about your wings on a silver platter?”
The Mage gave a deep laugh: now he’d surprised me. “Punishment it is then.” He clicked his fingers, as if at a dog. “Drake, here.”
What had I done?
Drake shuffled into the room, holding his hands behind his back.
When Drake had been hunting us, he’d appeared with lash marks and broken fingers, after he’d failed to bring us back to Angel World. Had they been from my mum or his dad?
Drake cast one assessing glance at me, before ducking his head again. The Mage snatched his curls dragging him to the center of the Persian rug.
Drake stumbled, falling to his knees.
“The Matriarch brought to my attention that my son,” the Mage spat the word, as if it was distasteful, and Drake furled his wings around himself, “has grown fond of you.”
I couldn’t help the snigger. “Try again. The Ice Commander hates being trapped entertaining my sassy arse.”
Drake turned away his head, but not before I’d seen how his cheeks had reddened.
I was a bitch.
The Mage laughed. “He was always a fool. I allow no disobedience, however, and even though you clearly feel nothing for him…” Drake’s chest heaved, as he curled up like a kicked puppy. “Take this as a lesson.”
The Mage pressed his hands to Drake’s temples, and Drake gasped, writhing. The Mage held him down, pushing him onto his back, tearing apart his mind.
And he didn’t stop.
I hollered and cursed.
Rebel Angels: The Complete Series Page 42