I thrilled inside, as my vampiric side roared, inflaming shadows and silver on a wave of violet, until I drowned in the frenzy.
Tiger rushed forward, leaping onto Misrule and winding his legs around his waist. Misrule ran his hands over Tiger’s ears, then he was kissing them and dragging Harahel closer, until all three were caught in the safety of his wings.
“You see, my boys, why we train? The Fallen attack even our home.” Rahab raised Mischief’s head from the puddle; Mischief took one desperate gasp for air, before Rahab plunged him back under. Och hesitated, glancing between his brother and the vampires, before straightening his shoulders and remaining motionless, finally trusting the plan…and Mischief. “Defend the Legion!”
Whispers, shuffled feet, and ruffled wings.
Anael raised his hand with a smirk. “Father, bad boy.” Rahab flinched like he’d been struck. “Don’t make a fuss. They never truly were your boys.”
Rahab paled, clenching his fists.
Tiger turned back to the Broken kids, bending down to pick up Fynchan, who cuddled against Tiger’s shoulder. Ceri grinned, ushering the other kids out after him, towards Neptune’s Courtyard, whilst the vampires paired up with them and the Underserving. Drake eyed his enemies warily, but at the same time gestured at the apprentices to follow them. Och led the cautious Brotherhood towards their freedom.
The war between the vampires and angels had been waging for centuries. The Legion had been conditioned to annihilate vampires. But what did I care about bastard rules or traditions? Misrule and Harahel — a vampire and an angel — had already rebelled against the old intolerance. Now they’d agreed to offer sanctuary to the Brotherhood, including the Broken kids, Underserving, and the Phoenixes.
It didn’t stop the war with the angels, but it was still something new and exciting. And I didn’t miss the irony that a witches’ spell that allowed you to breathe underwater, would lead to the rescue of their enemy mages.
“You’ll Fall!” Rahab shoved his foot against Mischief’s neck. “Enough of this nonsense. This Glory is damning you.”
The shadows inside me joined with the silver; wings beat in majesty, furious at being caged by Rahab’s spell. Suddenly, they broke out of my chest. The phoenix wings shattered the paralysis as they flamed through the cold night air and scorched Rahab’s feathers. Rahab howled, stumbling away from Mischief.
Mischief forced himself up to his elbows, before shakily raising to his knees; scarlet snaked from his split lip.
I shook off the tingling remains of the paralysis, prowling towards Rahab. Shadows rippled around me; I blazed on righteousness.
And vengeance.
Rahab was right: in the Under World, the angels would Fall eventually, unless they returned to Angel World. But I knew one thing: at least by then, they’d be able to make their own choice, and my family and I would have a shot at taking down the Matriarch.
Rahab panted, struggling to stand upright.
When I seized Rahab by his golden curls, his eyes glistened with tears. “How’d you like your personal nightmare?”
“I believed you exceptional and I was right,” Rahab whispered. “I mistook just how monstrous you are, however, even compared to your brother.” I flinched, but didn’t let go of his hair. “Do you imagine it a surprise to me that a Glory can’t be trusted? But for the sake of my…son…I raised you up, gave you family, and life. It’s a hard lesson, but you’re nothing more than a destroyer.”
Emerald tendrils forced themselves into my mind.
Crack — I fell backwards, writhing.
Rahab forced memories one after the other in a movie of Violet’s Worst Moments: touching Rebel’s collar, whilst under the influence of the witches’ potion, sacrificing Harahel to become Battle’s Poly-Wing, attempting to kill my own dad… Every action, for which I ever felt guilt, replayed in multicolor, over and over and over and…
I keened, scratching at my face and slicing my lips in my distress, splashing side to side, until a sudden surge of copper lime and the Bailey was awash with Anael’s blood.
The tendrils snapped back into Rahab, as he wailed, bent over and scrabbling his hands through the blood that was being washed away by his own storm in horror. “Zophia, what have you done?” He gasped.
Mischief pushed himself up, opening his wings, until he towered in glory. “I believe that I promised to make the hope real…?” He wiped his hand through his hair, smoothing it back. “Isn’t it obvious? I’ve teleported the stored blood from the Bleeding Chamber out here to drain away.” He tapped his broken lip. “Oh dear, does that mean no more slave army?”
Rahab roared, surging towards Mischief, but this time Mischief was the one lashing Rahab; Mischief threw out a lasso that caught Rahab around the chest. When Rahab struggled, I leapt up, adding my magic to Mischief’s. Together, we dragged Rahab to the whipping post and hung him, roped in silver, facing the post.
The storm died down; I might even get my rainbow moment. Rahab, however, had started weeping.
The shadows slipped back inside me.
Mischief met my gaze, and we grinned at each other. When I turned back to the Bailey, however, I realized that the remaining Brotherhood, who hadn’t yet been taken out with the vampires, were watching us in shock. Anael had been backed into a corner by a gang of mages, who didn’t look down with the liberation program.
I wet my bleeding lips: time to play my part. “I may be your champion and queen, but every one of you can rise.” The mages glanced around at me, then their broken leader strung up on the whipping post. “You’ve nothing to prove, fear, or feel guilt for. One thing I’ve learned, it’s not how you’re born — Glory, Wing, magical, Child of the Seraphim or Fallen — that makes you who you are but what you bastard do. Fly in the world and open your eyes because there’s magic everywhere, even in human music, the Fallen’s anarchy, or a Glory’s love. This is the Brotherhood rising: Rise!”
Lazarus rises! Rises! Rises! And we will rise!
The mages burst into passionate chanting as they rose in rippling golden waves, followed by their Phoenixes, to fly to Neptune’s Courtyard.
I sagged against Mischief, whilst my family who weren’t herding the unusual mix of vampires and angels off the island, gathered around me.
Rebel clasped Mischief with the intensity of a bloke who’d been forced to watch his fam’s near death (and I knew how that felt).
Blaze and Spark slipped either side of Rahab, as if on guard duty, and Firebird clung to Spark: I should’ve known that my shy vampire Halfling would be playing big brother to the angel Phoenix.
Anael rested his hand on the base of Drake’s neck in a casual display of older brother dominance, but it still shook.
Ash curled himself around me, resting his head on my shoulder.
“Are they likely to become Mage Munchies as the vampires’ Blood Lovers?” I asked.
Ash waggled his hand in the universal sign for fifty-fifty. “Are the mages likely to force Compulsion Collars on the vampires?”
Anael’s mouth curved wickedly, as if already imagining it. “Only if they enjoy playing. Do you, soldier?”
Both sides of my nature rose in possessive rage. My brother was putting the moves on Ash…? “Stand down, bitch. No one’s collaring the Brigadier again.”
I scowled at Anael, whilst winding my fingers through Ash’s feathers.
Ash grinned. “You’re hot when you’re in Silver Queen mode, monkey muffins.”
Anael snorted with laughter.
Yeah, there was my older sister respect blown.
I pinched Ash’s hip. “The Silver Queen can get even more creative than garlic crushers and butter knives…”
Ash rubbed his head against mine. “Never doubted it, babe.”
“I apologize for interrupting the prattle of your vampire whore.” Drake winced, when Anael increased the pressure on his neck, but he still continued, “Allow me to remind you that we yet have the most powerful mage in the Legion tied
to the whipping post. What do you propose to do to him?”
Drake quickly averted his gaze. He hadn’t said father, but I’d heard it: I had his dad bound in front of him.
Rebel had been forced to watch, whilst his own dad had been executed by Drake on the Matriarch’s order. Could I put both Anael and Drake through that, even if they’d chosen me…and freedom…over their dad? After all, I’d sacrificed mine to save the world from an apocalypse; Lucifer had been taken back by the Matriarch as her forced Wing.
Why should their dad be spared? And would my family ever be safe again if he was?
I wriggled free of Ash, stepping in front of Rahab.
Rahab lifted his head, trying to swallow his sobs, even though his eyes were red-rimmed. He looked so much younger and achingly alike to Drake.
This isn’t Snape, Violet-crush, it’s Voldemort. I’ll read you until you die and rise again that this is your chance—
To become an executioner?
Why, girl, of course not. This is your chance to become a true leader.
Pride spun through J’s words, and a hopeful edge of courage.
When I raised my hand, sparks danced on my fingertips. Rahab’s startled gaze met mine, before he glanced around the now empty Bailey and slumped against the post again.
Mischief strode behind Rahab, shaking out nine strands of silver in a fizzing whip.
Rip — Mischief tore Rahab’s shirt in half, revealing his unmarred back.
Then he raised the whip and slashed it down.
Swish — thud.
I jumped on Rahab’s hissed groan.
Was this justice? It sure as hell felt like vengeance.
Then I noticed how ashen both Drake and Anael had become.
“I’m sorry, does it hurt?” When Mischief cracked the whip against the ground, Rahab flinched. “Only, you ordered ninety-nine more strokes like that for Rebel, who you professed not to wish to hurt. But then, you also hung him. So, busy day ahead of us: shall we get going on the flogging first?”
When Mischief lifted the whip again, however, it was Rebel who curled his hand gently around Mischief’s, stilling it. I stared at Rebel in shock: Rahab had whipped his back to ribbons. The punishment had haunted me. How could Rebel not want it repaid in blood?
“It’s like this, see, the bad bastard is banjaxed already. He’s lost his family, reputation, and home. He’s made a balls of everything, and sweet Jesus, do I understand that. But I don’t want to be like him.” Rebel glanced at the whip, before adding softly, “We shouldn’t be like him.”
Rahab barked a deep laugh, before choking on a cough. “I told you, Zachriel, that you were too good. Do you finally believe me?”
“You’ll not talk to him, Mr Bound at My Mercy, or I’ll add a special Violet sprinkle into the arse kicking.” I sidled closer.
Rahab writhed, trying to look over his lashed shoulder. “D-duma…my prince...A-anael… I never meant my names for you to mean… You are still my sons.” His howl echoed around the courtyard. I shivered, wrapping my arms around myself. My gut roiled at his devastation. For once, he wasn’t playing to an audience or long game: his agony was real. Why did there have to be something real underneath? Tears slipped down his cheeks, as he rested his forehead on the post and murmured, “How could you take away my sons?”
“I am not your son.” Anael’s arm tightened around Drake. “I’m nothing but a trained weapon, like all your boys. And you don’t deserve your true son.”
Drake’s lips were pinched, but he flushed. “You wished that I hadn’t been born, father. This is surely your wish come true.”
Suddenly, the skies darkened with clouds, before the ground shook. I staggered, stumbling to my blokes, who clasped each other’s hands in an instinctive circle.
Nope, not looking like a rainbow on the horizon…
“This is my island, and if you’re not my sons…” Rahab hissed, even through his tears, “then I can take life, as easily as I grant it.”
A growling rumbling.
“No one ordered a freight train did they…?” Ash asked, even as he cast a concerned glance at me.
“Holy Mary preserve us…” Rebel pointed at the sky above the castle.
It wasn’t a train or rainbows that hung above us but a wall of water.
Rahab had summoned a tsunami to destroy us all.
“I love you,” I hollered above the roar because suddenly in the exhilaration of knowing that we were about to die, I knew my last words.
Mischief seized the back of my head, crashing his mouth against mine. In the desperation, magic, and love, I tasted the blood of his torn lip. Then, whilst the first droplets of seawater fell on us, he bit my lip and sucked.
When the wave thundered down, I was swept away in a swirl of silver.
30
When my powers had arisen phoenix-like from the ashes of my human life, I’d torched my mum’s court in Angel World, then stolen my dad’s light from the Under World.
Now I’d cheated my brother of his magical birthright, whilst I’d shattered the world of our false mage father.
Yet did that make me the destroyer or savior? The Beginning or End? Birth or death?
Both light and shadow, I was the Phoenix and Silver Queen.
Yet did that make me an exploder of myths? Or simply a better storyteller?
Feathers, copper, and ash.
I spluttered on the taste of Mischief and magic: Death.
Then I booted out in my panicked confusion because the world had been transformed to soft feathered violet.
Was this…hell or heaven?
I snatched at fistfuls of silky hair, wings, and tails. A tangled pile of soft arms and hard chests.
“Sweet Jesus, woman, would you stop that? I’m not a cow to be milked,” Rebel’s voice broke into my alarm.
“And my tail’s not a wee comfort blanket,” Blaze grumbled.
I stilled. In one hand I clutched Rebel’s hair, in the other, Blaze’s tail. I lay in a tangled pile of fam: angels, vampires, Phoenixes, and Halflings.
After everything — when I’d expected a nothingness at this moment of death — I’d been rewarded with all I’d ever desired.
My family.
Maybe wishes did come true. I’d acted the leader and saved my people, even if I’d have given anything for my family not to have died with me. I’d promised Rebel light and I bubbled with silvered delight that it hadn’t been a lie.
I squirmed around, kissing lips, wings, tips of elbows, nipples, and backs of knees: every surface of skin that my exulting mouth could reach. My blokes laughed and jostled, but both sides of my nature glowed with such intense joy that I vibrated with it.
Hell, I’d never expected to feel so alive in death: again, with the irony.
The only angel missing was Rahab. It’d be even more ironic, if he hadn’t been judged worthy of the light.
“Not to interrupt your fun,” Anael slouched up onto his elbow, “but you do know where we are, surely?”
I blinked. “Together.”
He rolled his eyes. “And…?”
“Heaven…?” Suddenly, as the high began to fade along with Mischief’s potent blood, I became less certain about what had happened in the moment before the wave had hit. The blur in front of my eyes began to clear.
Anael waved a lazy hand. “Stand up.”
When I stumbled to my feet, I noticed that Mischief hadn’t been in the cozy group snuggle, but was hunched to the side with his arms crossed. He wouldn’t meet my gaze.
My feet sank into the mountain of violet feathers. I stared out over a valley of glowing bones, choking on the stink of ash. The skies raged, burning. I shielded my eyes, backing away, until I bumped into Drake’s shoulder. He steadied me.
The land of feathers and bones from my visions: they were real…?
Or had we been transported into my mind and dreams?
“Where the hell are we?” I demanded.
“Calm yourself. We’re alive,
although how long we shall survive in this realm of gods…?” Drake shook his head; his curls fell over his eyes. Gods…? He attempted a smile, but it barely curled the corners of his lips. “Do I still have so little skill as a kisser that you must choose to swap saliva and blood with Zophia and drag us to the Realm of the Seraphim?”
The realm of the deadly and ancient angel gods…?
I twisted to Mischief, who bowed his head under my scrutiny. “But you told me only the Emperor’s son could…?”
Mischief finally raised his gaze to meet mine; his eyes twinkled. “Ta da!”
I flushed hot and cold: Mischief was the Archduke of the Seraphim. And he’d known all along.
Anael’s gaze was assessing. “What a naughty secret to hide from us.”
Rebel burst up, snatching Mischief around the neck and dragging him closer to me; Mischief didn’t struggle. “You great idiot; we trusted you.”
Drake’s icy glare made Mischief shrink back. “You truly are a traitor.”
I traced Mischief’s cheek with the back of my knuckles, whilst Rebel fisted his long hair, holding him still. Yet I knew that Mischief was allowing himself to be manhandled: he’d taken on Rahab with me. He was the Archduke.
His powers were no longer hidden.
When I lowered my hand around Mischief’s throat, however, he remained unresisting. “Your mother was right: you’re a Sly Imp.” Mischief’s eyes gleamed with tears but he defiantly didn’t let them fall. It ached to flay him like this, but he’d lied and masked himself for too long, and now we were stranded in the world of my nightmares. My steel nails shot out, grazing his neck. Mischief hissed but he didn’t pull back. “I swore to behead you, if you tricked me again. Tell me how everything you pulled back in Castle Drake wasn’t one big illusion?”
Ash prowled between us. “Enemy terrain. Unknown hostiles. No backup.” Ash stabbed a finger at Mischief’s chest. “No executing the Imperial Highness, whilst we need a guide or hostage.” Then he shrugged. “At least we finally know who the true Emperor is…”
Why did it excite me that I wasn’t alone in the royalty gig, at the same time as my angelic and vampiric sides seethed to hear Imperial Highness on Ash’s lips? And why didn’t it surprise me that Mischief was the rightful son of the Emperor of the gods, despite having been treated as an Undeserving?
Rebel Angels: The Complete Series Page 101