Bad Cow

by Andrew Hindle

  “Not now,” Gabriel said, but his tone was casual with a hint of impatience, rather than urgent. Whatever the pictures were, Ariel didn’t press. There would obviously be a time and a place for them. “I sort of inherited her,” the Archangel explained, his voice shifting to slight embarrassment, “after Barry – it’s sort of a long story, but he salvaged her from the Imago who made her, and when Barry ended up as Angel-Demon soup, I took on the job of keeping her on the rails.”

  “I was salvaged, and then inherited, and then became a job,” Laetitia said airily. “I’m like an old boat.”

  “I own an old boat,” Ariel said. “You’re not like one. Also, boats don’t go on rails,” Laetitia laughed again. It seemed a perfectly normal, rather sexy laugh, bordering on infectious. Despite her malicious entrance and striking cosmetic disfigurement, Ariel was having a hard time ascribing hostility to the creature. Let alone different-subspecies status. “Do you drink blood?”

  “It’s one of the main things Imago do,” Laetitia said.

  “Human blood, or animal blood? I mean some kind of non-human animal,” she added, seeing the glib answer forming on Laetitia’s lips.

  “Plenty of humans in the world,” Laetitia said, slightly sulky at having her comeback stolen but evidently still amused. “I didn’t drink the blood of the customs clerk, if that’s what you’re worried about. Gabriel makes sure only the choicest pieces of human garbage find their way onto my menu.”

  Ariel looked at the Archangel, eyebrows rising.

  “Imago have actually done quite a good job of keeping the human race healthy and under control,” he said, hunching defensively – and still very carefully keeping his distance from Laetitia. “And that’s saying something, because if you were going to assign two characteristics to the human race, healthy and under control are right down at the bottom of the list.”

  “Is ‘Vampire’ like a racial slur to Imago?” Ariel asked, deciding to give him a break on the topic of feeding humans to his pet monster. If the Archangel Gabriel couldn’t find a person deserving of being exsanguinated to death, then there really was something wrong with the world. “Is that why they don’t use the word?”

  “We don’t use the word because the Vampires are all dead,” Laetitia replied tartly. Ariel blinked and Laetitia leaned towards her, running a finger down the side of her marbled, slightly pockmarked face. “The Princess killed them, and took a darn good shot at killing us too.”

  “The Princess?” Ariel blurted, recoiling instinctively. “Wait – the cow plague? How is that even possible?”

  “I’m not a virologist,” Laetitia said, “so I couldn’t tell you. But the Vampires were wiped out in ninety-six, and the Imago all suffered the symptoms even though we survived it. And there have been no new Vampires to replace the population. Like the cows, it’s as if their entire seed has been cleansed from the Earth.”

  “And that’s not necessarily any better news than it was when the cows died,” Gabriel pointed out. “The biosphere shifts and environmental impact of the cows was huge, so the disappearance of the Vampires basically went unnoticed.”

  “Easy to miss, when you don’t know what you’re looking for,” Laetitia remarked.

  “Sooner or later, though, it’s going to make a serious spike on some human statistics,” Gabriel added. “But for now … well, all I can say is that it seems to be a fact. The Synondala virus killed all the cows, and it killed all the Vampires, and it made all the Imago extremely sick. But … well, putting it simply, Vampires are – were – low-grade scavenger-predators, feeble, lacking in higher brain function. They were just shambling corpses that picked off the occasional old or otherwise weak member of the human herd. There were plenty of them, operating on instinct, just another specialised predatory species. Imago,” he gestured at Laetitia, “are Vampires who retain their human identities, intelligence, and appearance.”

  “The Princess was a form of airborne hybrid blood disease,” Laetitia said. “We always just assumed that it hit us because blood is such an integral part of our metabolism, even if it’s not cow blood. It was a side-effect of the food chain being so dramatically fucked around. The Vampires were wiped out because they were susceptible, and there haven’t been any more because they’re still susceptible. The Imago survived because we’re tougher,” she spread her hands. “We were collateral damage in an insane war between humans and their own food.”

  Ariel wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to sit and listen to a Vampire – even one that called itself an Imago – criticise her species for its lifestyle choices. She was also intrigued at her own visceral reaction to the knowledge that she was sitting next to a human-shaped thing that had contracted the Synondala virus. The Princess was recent history – fears of its resurgence, its spread to other livestock and the accompanying ecological and economic shifts, were real and ongoing fears. And horror stories about it jumping to humans were still fresh on the sweat-soaked pillow of the cultural consciousness. The idea that she was close to any sort of primate carrier made her skin crawl more than the idea of Vampire did.

  “So what role do you have here?” she asked as politely as she could, trying to force her body to unclench and lean back into a normal sitting position. “Aside from turning up and making unwelcome, creepy remarks about my family? And bringing mystery pictures that Gabriel apparently ordered…”

  Laetitia grinned. Ariel couldn’t really see any difference between her teeth and those of a normal person. “I couldn’t help but notice Gabriel was telling you about your magical immortal superpowers,” she said. “Has he told you about how Ash Vandemar’s murder-power has never really recovered to the strength it was during that first event? No matter how much training and experimentation she went through in the secret military bunkers and academies, no matter how awful she is, her greatest and most terrible act was when it was the three of you, together.”

  “Laetitia,” Gabriel said wearily.

  “Of course there are elements of the three Disciples joining forces and being stronger than the sum of their parts,” Laetitia went on. “Classic elemental mythology, really. But has he told you how much of your past he’s studied? How he and the other Angels have scrutinised you through whole lifetimes? Plotting your development back towards full power? Plotting anomalies like the Surabaya incident, and connecting them with pins and red string to other cases where one or another of you has gone absolutely off the rails with a show of power that you should never have been able to contain?” she leaned forward. “That, ultimately, you didn’t contain?” the Imago tilted her head, looking sympathetic and curious. “Has he told you what he thinks might be causing these anomalies?”

  Ariel glanced at Gabriel. “Did she learn her inability to get to the point from you, or is it a natural talent?”

  Gabriel grunted. “Bit of both,” he said. “I’m sorry, Ariel. I should have done more to prepare you. And we don’t want to open old wounds. It’s true that sometimes your Pinian abilities … spike … and it’s true that we have some theories about what might cause these outliers, but it’s all too vague to go into. It’s not your fault, though. Don’t be bothered by Laetitia’s misguided enthusiasm and lack of respect for my foolish old faith.”

  “I’m an unwilling passenger in all this,” Laetitia said when Ariel turned back to give her a pointedly questioning look. “When Gabe took off for Australia, he left instructions that I was to pack myself up and ship myself after him on the next plane, mystery pictures and all. I’m accustomed to doing what the singe tells me to do,” she raised her eyebrows. “If I could have avoided coming back here, believe me – I would have.”

  “She … spent her first years as an Imago here,” Gabriel said, “when she was turned at fourteen. She continued to age a few years, then we moved on once she’d stabilised. It wasn’t a pleasant time for her.”

  “What other talents does she have?” Ariel asked. “I mean, she evidently poses some kind of threat to Angels…”

 
Gabriel’s broad leathery face went slack, and Laetitia gave a short, rich laugh.

  “Oh, she’s good,” she said admiringly.

  “What are you–?” Gabriel said, stiffening still further in his seat.

  “The second she arrived, you drew away like she had – well, the plague,” Ariel said, immediately regretting her choice of words despite the fact that Laetitia had used up her entitlement to sensitivity before even sitting down, and had done herself absolutely no favours since. “Is that what it is? They still have the Princess in their systems, and it’s somehow transmissible?”

  “No,” Gabriel said, although Laetitia was laughing again, melodious yet grating. “The virus has run its course.”

  “Don’t think I didn’t notice you leaning back and puckering your precious little butthole up a few seconds ago,” the Imago said merrily to Ariel.

  Gabriel did his best to ignore his adoptive daughter’s glee, and Ariel was happy to do the same. “Laetitia is toxic,” he said, “because she’s been teleported by a Demon.”

  “Teleported,” Ariel said, remembering some of the scribbled notes Roon had shown them after her meeting with Gabriel in the Archipelago. “Through this shadow-universe God-sphere thing that Demons can use?”

  “God-space,” Gabriel said, “yes. She got carried around a bit, early on, by the Demon currently suspended in fluid form over in Fremantle. It ingrained her with that Demon’s essence, or with a tiny amount of God-space essence – just enough that it’s unpleasant for me. It’s not enough to dissolve me entirely or soil holy ground or–”

  Ariel reached over, deliberately, and poked her index finger against Laetitia’s cheek. It didn’t burn, but Laetitia’s response was near-instantaneous.

  Perhaps the Imago hadn’t thought Ariel would actually dare to make contact, but when she did, Laetitia’s reaction had all the immediacy of deep-seated instinct. She hissed, her eye teeth finally elongated a few centimetres to an alarming proportional depression of her cheekbones, and she shoved at Ariel, hard. Laetitia DeVaney evidently didn’t like to be touched.

  Ariel supposed the Imago moved fast, but – battle-honed reactions or not – Ariel moved faster. She’d always been the quickest of the three Vandemar sisters, although that was most apparent in the water or on the running track. On this occasion, however, it was simply a matter of leaning aside, raising her other hand in which she’d palmed a device from the portable defence system Roon and Ash had made, and activating it against Laetitia’s fast-moving arm.

  With a flat crack, a jolt of electricity punched the Imago’s upper body sideways off her chair and sent her crashing, gangly and unconscious, into the currently unoccupied dining setting next door. Several groups of people, who had until now somehow been ignoring the two eye-catching women and the even more eye-catching hairy Archangel, turned and gasped in shock and concern.

  “Oops,” Ariel said lightly.

  Gabriel sighed.

  GABRIEL’S RETURN TO TUMBLEHEDGE

  When Jarvis answered the door chime on Monday evening, he found the Archangel Gabriel standing with long arms folded and a sour look on his face. It was an hour or so after sunset.

  “Good evening, sir,” he said, inclining his head and ushering the sombre-suited ancient inside. “You are expected in the drawing room.”

  Gabriel grunted and stamped into the entryway with a sweep of wings. “Loadsworth.”

  “May I offer you some light refreshment?”

  “What do you have for acute arse pain?” the Archangel growled. “I’ll take three.”

  Jarvis led Gabriel to the lounge that they’d unanimously decided was the drawing room – Roon had actually installed a light-desk for illustrating work in one corner, despite Ariel’s insistence that wasn’t what a drawing room was for – and introduced him. This was partially for the novelty value of saying “the Archangel Gabriel”, and partially for the irritated eye-roll Aunt Agñasta performed as a result.

  “Oh,” Ariel said as Gabriel stumped forward and swung into an armchair with a creak of his wings, “where’s your daughter?”

  “Wouldn’t you know it, she decided not to come,” the Archangel said.

  “That’s a shame,” Ash said. “After years of hunting human monsters I would have liked to meet a Vampire.”

  “Imago,” Ariel corrected her.

  “My mistake.”

  “Any faults Laetitia has are down to my shabby parenting,” Gabriel said, without heat. “She’s not a monster, human or otherwise.”

  Jarvis made his way as quickly as possible into the kitchen and mixed up three vodka sours, but he apparently didn’t miss much of the conversation. When he returned, the room was silent and Gabriel was leafing through one of Roon’s notebooks. She’d shown it to them in the past – it was the one with Tumblehedge on the cover, where she kept some of her more esoteric inspirations and ideas. More recently, she’d added several pages of observations following her meeting with Gabriel and her brief examination of the tub of sludge that apparently resulted when an Angel and a Demon cancelled each other out.

  Now, Gabriel was turning pages slowly, his ancient face intent.

  “I’m not a physicist,” he said, “and I know nothing about Power Plant energy distribution systems, but that seems to be what you’re describing here, with your channelling and catchment and overflow stuff. It looks like you’re really close. Afraid I can’t help you with further implementation, but if you can make this work it’s going to keep the planet breathing more or less indefinitely,” he looked around at them, grinning, then went straight back to his browsing. “It sort of makes my plan redundant, actually.”

  “That’s Roon for you,” Ariel said fondly. “But does that mean we don’t get paid?”

  This managed to pull Gabriel more fully out of the notebook’s pages. “Eh?”

  “You said you were going to hire us, at the start,” Ariel said. “That implies payment. I know it’s all so very human of me, but what did you have in mind there – bottom line?”

  Gabriel shrugged and went back to leafing through the pages. “I might have gone for some sort of ‘virtue and good deeds are their own reward’ play,” he said vaguely. “It’s not like a coupon for a half-price pedicure at Booley’s House of Nails was going to tempt you.”

  He continued turning the pages of the notebook, then froze just as Jarvis started forward again with his tray. Without a word the Archangel raised the book, and turned it to reveal a scattering of phrases and a strange sketch Roon had done on one page. It was a simple curved shape, like a banana, only forked at one end as though its tip had opened up. Or maybe it was supposed to be a tooth, with its roots at the top.

  “What’s that one?” Ariel asked. “I haven’t seen that one before, I don’t think,” she leaned forward to peer at the page, then looked at Gabriel’s grave expression, then across at her sister. Roon shrugged helplessly. “What is it?” Ariel reiterated. “Looks like something on the other side of the Thingy Barrier, whatever it is.”

  “‘Human tech?’” Gabriel read aloud in grim amusement. “‘Sort of, old, lost. Receiver. Sleeping, waiting? Sleeping. Elevator? God’s tooth? Hungry’,” he looked up again, shaking his head. Jarvis suddenly noticed the Archangel’s hands were trembling slightly, and it was the most deeply worrying thing he had ever seen. “What else do you know about the Godfang?” Roon, wide-eyed, simply shrugged again more adamantly and gestured at the book in Gabriel’s hands. What’s there is there. Gabriel shook his head some more. “You were so close,” he murmured. Then, instead of pursuing the ‘Godfang’, whatever that was, he switched abruptly to ancient history. Well, ancient history from the perspective of the brief mortals in the room, Jarvis supposed, especially the girls. From the Angelic perspective, twenty years was probably the wink of an eye. “What can you tell me about the Atonement?” the Archangel asked, looking up to include Jarvis in the question.

  “You mean the capital-A Atonement, the deaths in the mid-Seventies?” Ar
iel frowned. “It was a globe-changer, the upheaval was tremendous. A bit before our time, though.”

  “A couple of years before you three were born, but not necessarily before your time,” Gabriel said, turning his attention back to the book. “Seventy-six, wasn’t it? At least the start of it?”

  “Seventy-six,” Ash confirmed, puzzled. “Why?”

  “According to the official story, it was explained as a serial mass-murder, sir,” Jarvis stepped forward, feeling he should contribute. “The actual mechanism and perpetrators were never found, I think, but it was understood to have been … what was it they called it, Ms. Vandemar?”

  “A large-scale coordinated strike,” Ash said.

  “According to widely-accepted popular culture,” Ariel added, “it was a serial killer who was also psychic head-popper.”

  “Your refreshments, sir,” Jarvis said smoothly in the wake of this statement, leaning in and setting the tray on a small table beside the Archangel. It was that, or stand with them in his hands all night. Also good for butlery amusement value, but more effort than it was worth.

  Gabriel chuckled appreciatively at the drinks. “Nice one,” he shifted the notebook to one hand and picked up a glass. “To pain relief,” he toasted the Vandemars and their aunt.

  “What about the rest of us, Silas?” Aunt Agñasta asked pointedly.

  “Wait, I thought he wasn’t a butler?” Ariel remarked.

  “He can still offer drinks to everyone if he is making three for our guest,” Aunt Agñasta responded.

  “Of course,” Jarvis said with what he considered tastefully concealed glee, inclined his head and turned to go.