Principles of Angels

by Jaine Fenn

  ‘Taro, we cannot let ourselves get distracted. Remember vengeance , Taro. Remember Malia and your oath.’

  ‘I remember.’ And he did. Those things still mattered, and he’d have to deal with them soon enough, but not now, not yet.

  ‘Focus on the future. I know it hurts, but you have to. We have to.’

  He laughed lightly, feeling his ribs (which didn’t hurt any more) move against her slender body. ‘I will. But things’ve never made sense before. All that crap in the songs an’ stories. Love. I always thought . . . it’s just what yer body does to yer head when you’ve had a solid prime bit of grind, ain’t it?’

  Despite her attempt to keep barriers between them, he could sense her amusement.

  He went on, ‘But it’s real. I know that now. It’s like . . . the world re-organises itself, has re-organised itself, around you—’

  ‘—Taro—’

  ‘No, it makes sense. You and I, we’re alike, don’t you see? You do, I know it. Neither of us could ever show our true selves before! It’s just like Malia said: you kill strangers; I fuck them, but either way they ain’t really people to us. They can’t be. So we’ve both developed barriers - like, those topside delicacies, the ones they grow in tanks in the top restaurants, shells, that’s it. When you have to use and be used just to live, you end up livin’ inside a shell, but if you find someone else who’s the same as you, who understands the real you, then the shell breaks. It’s the best thing that can ’appen. It’s the reason we’re alive.’

  ‘No, Taro,’ Nual said slowly, ‘it’s an illusion, a side-effect of the way I healed you.’

  He nuzzled into her shoulder and whispered, ‘I can’t accept that. It feels so right. This can’t jus’ be some random weirdness in me head. This is how things is meant to be: us in unity, no walls, perfect trust. You know it, don’t you?’

  She didn’t say anything for a while, and he could feel her withdrawing further from him, reluctantly but firmly excluding him from her thoughts. Finally she said softly, ‘I know it. I was born into unity. But I rejected it. I can never go back.’

  Taro said nothing. He didn’t have any idea what was really behind her shell, but if she had made him love her with her Sidhe magic, he was hardly going to be able to tell. There was no point trying. And if he didn’t survive the trouble they were heading into, he’d rather die for her than for the Minister or for some high-and-noble idea of duty or loyalty, or even for revenge - though he would hate Scarrion for as long as he had breath in his body. Nual had never lied to him, and she had done everything she could to help him. He knew she loved him too, at least a little.

  He felt her tense just before she whispered, ‘Hellfire! This we don’t need.’

  Taro raised his head to see a figure, another Angel, flying towards them from the edge of the City. She was moving fast, brown hair and red cloak streaming out behind her.

  He felt Nual kick out and they changed direction, moving more slowly. ‘Keep a look-out for a way up into the mazeways, Taro,’ she said urgently. ‘We can’t face her down here in the open.’

  Taro obeyed, scanning the underside of the Undertow for a gap. ‘There’s a hole in the nets comin’ up on your left, just after that water-trap with the yellow-and-brown banners.’ He had no idea where they were; he hoped they weren’t about to come up inside someone’s homespace.

  Nual followed his directions. By the time they reached the gap the pursuing Angel was close enough that Taro could make out her face. He thought she looked familiar, but before he could puzzle out where he might’ve seen her before Nual rose into an un-netted stretch of mazeway, cutting off his view. There was a gap of some two metres of open space before the next vane. From the stench of blood and boiling fat, Taro guessed they were close to a flesher’s.

  Nual swivelled in the air and Taro stepped out of her embrace onto the ledge without being told. He wanted to stay with her, except . . . no, he needed to get under cover before the other Angel arrived - he didn’t know if the thought came from her head or his, but either way it made sense. He looked around, but the nearest opening on the ledge was ten metres off, and barred with what looked, even from this distance, like a pretty solid door. He pressed his back against the vane and watched Nual, still floating just off the edge of the mazeway, facing the direction the Angel was approaching from. Despite Taro’s feelings for her, Nual’s expression disconcerted him: she looked completely calm, a little curious, not at all like someone about to face a crisis.

  When the other Angel rose through the gap Taro realised where he’d seen her before: in the Exquisite Corpse, just a couple of days ago, when she’d decided to slice him up to relieve the tension of a bad day. Her gaze flicked across him, confused, and he suddenly remembered he was wearing Nual’s cloak; though it felt light as water to the touch, if he’d thought to pull it round himself he could’ve disappeared completely. He must look well freaky now, with his head and one arm sticking out of nowhere.

  ‘That yours?’ she said, addressing Nual but nodding in Taro’s direction. Though she was sober now, Taro heard the same anger in her voice.

  Nual said nothing.

  The other Angel shrugged back her own cloak, which shimmered and started to pick up the colours of the background. ‘Don’t answer, then. He’ll be mine soon enough.’

  ‘Do you have business with me?’ asked Nual softly.

  ‘Business?’ The Angel frowned. ‘You don’t know?’

  ‘Perhaps you would like to tell me?’

  The Angel laughed and a flash of silver showed at her palms. ‘After all those years of perfect service, you’ve finally blown it, baby.’ Taro thought she sounded pleased at the thought of Nual having fucked up.

  ‘You are entitled to your opinion. But I have City business and I must ask you not to interfere.’ Nual didn’t move, kept her hands loose by her sides.

  ‘City business, eh? That makes two of us. I’m just doing the Minister’s bidding. Which is more than you’ve done, apparently.’ She flicked her wrists, extending both blades to their full length.

  ‘Ah. I see.’

  ‘Do you? About time.’ She drew herself erect and said gleefully, ‘For disobeying the Minister’s direct order to perform a removal, I call feud on you, Nual. Defend yourself.’

  And with that she launched herself at Nual, who spun away, deflecting the Angel, who flew past her, blades outstretched.

  Nual hung motionless, her expression dark. Her blades were not extended.

  The Angel leapt again, and again Nual reacted almost before her opponent had moved.

  The other Angel swore and came to rest by the vane just across the mazeway from Taro. ‘C’mon, bitch,’ she invited, ‘fight me.’

  ‘No.’ Nual’s blades were still sheaved.

  ‘Hah.’ The Angel tossed her head. She looked over at Taro and her lip curled into a smile. ‘If you won’t fight for yerself—’ she murmured. She turned and leapt at Taro.

  The image of the Angel, blades extended, filled Taro’s world, then his legs gave way. He felt the mazeway vibrate as she slammed into it, heard her blades scrape the vane above him where his head had been a moment before.

  He drew himself into a tight ball, pulling the cloak over his head.

  Blades swished through air. He tensed himself for the killing blow.

  There was a noisy scuffle, a thud, then silence.

  After a tense moment he uncurled himself. The other Angel was lying face-down on the mazeway. Nual, still floating, bent over her, then turned her onto her back. She looked unharmed, peaceful, as though she’d just fallen asleep. Nual laid a hand on the side of her face and stayed like that for some time.

  Taro, his racing heart calming a little, untangled himself from the cloak and sat up.

  When Nual finally looked over to him, her eyes were distant, her expression serene, inhuman. He felt a shiver run along his spine. ‘Is she dead?’ he whispered.

  ‘No. When she wakes up she will not remember meeting us, n
or will she have any idea how she got here.’ Nual straightened and floated over to him, offering him a hand to help him stand.

  As their eyes met he felt an unspoken acknowledgement pass between them: he’d seen her true self, and she knew it.

  He hesitated for no more than a heartbeat. Then he took her hand and let her pull him into her arms. Her palms, hardened to act as foils to her blades, were cold to the touch.

  She was an alien and a murderer. By her own admission she’d fucked with his mind.

  But he loved her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Elarn had not let herself think of anything while she lay next to Salik, but on the pedicab journey back to her hotel her head was spinning. Salik had been talking to his bodyguard about a gun, and a dataspike - and had he really mentioned Nual? Perhaps this was not about her; he had a life outside of their relationship, of course he did, and she had no right to intrude on it. She would have dismissed the com call as nothing to worry about . . . except for the way he had referred to her. ‘The delectable Medame Reen’ was not a phrase a lover would use, was it? Especially not when talking to someone like Scarrion.

  The thoughts chased each other in Elarn’s head. What if she was wrong? What if she had misheard him or, in her dream-haunted state, misinterpreted what she had heard? By running away from him, she would hurt him, and hurt herself, all for nothing - and she would be alienating her only ally.

  She should never have involved Salik Vidoran in her problems; it was just that she had panicked when she found out what Lia had become. If he really loved her, then it wasn’t fair to draw him into that unholy mess. And - she didn’t want to think this, but she couldn’t let it go - if he wasn’t being straight with her, the last thing she should do was put herself in a position of being indebted to him. Love didn’t matter as much as saving her own skin and sanity.

  But even if he was not the ally she had hoped for - still hoped for, with heart-stopping fervour - she could still get someone else to kill Lia. She had been thinking Salik might let her use his bodyguard for the unpleasant task, but in a lawless place like this there must be plenty of people who would kill for money. It was an obvious solution to her problem, and she might have considered it earlier had she not been too busy being scared and falling in love. Such people would hardly be listed on the com, but the infobroker might know how to get in touch.

  By the time Elarn walked into the lobby of the Manor Park Hotel, dawn was washing out the neon brilliance of the Streets. Back in her room, lying fully clothed on her bed, she turned on the com and set it on a low volume, random scan. But the drone of the holo, far from shutting out thoughts of Salik, reminded her of him in the most trivial, banal ways: recordings of Assembly proceedings (see, you do have a life of your own, Salik, my love); lifestyle programs showing some of the most prestigious State Quarter apartments (your rooms were impersonal, but when I was there with you they felt like our haven); adverts for ‘The best guards, all ex-militia: Want a Guide, a Guard and a Night-time Companion? - We can provide all three in one package, men women and hermaphrodites, for your pleasure and protection.’ (You are my pleasure and my protection.)

  She turned the visuals off and turned on some music, one of her own recordings.

  She must have dozed off, though for once there were no dreams. The chirp of the com woke her. She struggled to sit up, then stopped, hand poised over the accept button. It would be him. It must be him. She should take the call, challenge him about what she had overheard - but that would mean admitting she did not trust him. And how would she know if he did lie? She forced herself not to move, to listen while the call rang out. A few seconds later the ‘message received’ light blinked on. She stayed where she was and stared at the light.

  He would have woken alone, annoyed, then cursed her and commed her to try to get her back under his control.

  He would have woken alone, worried, then missed her and commed her to see if she felt the same way he did.

  She hit the play button.

  He looked dishevelled and tired. ‘Elarn? Are you all right? You were gone and I just wondered—Call me. Please?’

  She found her eyes filling with tears. Just at the sight of him, damn it, the mere sight . . . But she had no intention of calling him back. She had to know for certain she could trust him before she could go back to him.

  Brooding would not help. She needed answers, and one at least was already waiting for her. She had asked Sirrah Meraint to find out if the apparent discrepancies between Salik’s account and the records of his movements were real. If they were, it meant he had lied to her, and one lie was all she needed to confirm her fears.

  And coming back to her main problem, the infobroker could tell her where to hire someone to kill Lia.

  Elarn braced herself and called the infobroker’s office, but all she got was a recorded message stating that he was unable to take her call. Not even voicemail.

  As she shut down the com her eyes caught the time display: half past ten. Was there something happening at eleven? Oh God! She was meant to be in the cathedral in half an hour. Elarn laughed, hearing the hysteria in her voice. She couldn’t sing at a time like this—Yes, yes she could. That was exactly what she should do: remember the things that mattered before, and that would matter again, if she survived this.

  Or she could wait here for Salik to call and explain - without admitting that she had eavesdropped on him - why he had been talking about her as though she were merchandise, what he had meant about a gun and a dataspike, and what he was going to do to save her from having to kill Lia herself. And she could just assume that everything he told her would be the truth, because she wanted it to be.

  She pulled on her cloak and set off for the cathedral.

  As they dropped back below the mazeways, Taro glimpsed a dark shape and murmured a warning to Nual. A closer look told him it was no Angel, the shape was all wrong, and as it disappeared behind the thin dark line of the spine, he realised it was not just misshapen, but it was larger than a human too.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Nual softly, ‘if I’m not mistaken, that is Solo, on her way from the Corpse to my homespace, to warn me.’

  ‘Warn you—? Oh.’ About being marked, she meant.

  The shape stopped, probably hovering under Nual’s empty home. Taro looked away, scanning the underside of the City, not sure what he was looking for. ‘Does she know?’ he said at last, ‘What you are, I mean.’

  ‘Oh, aye. She is as much an exile from her people as I am from mine.’

  Taro couldn’t even begin to imagine how strange it must be to be the only one of your race in the world. ‘That’s why you two’re such good friends.’

  Nual laughed lightly, ‘That and the fact that she is immune to Sidhe charms, being an empath herself.’

  Taro opened his mouth to ask what an empath was but Nual was already answering his unspoken question, ‘She can’t be as precise or - or as forceful - as me, but she can read and influence the feelings of those around her.’ He remembered how the Angel who’d threatened him in the Corpse - the same one they’d left lying asleep on the mazeway behind them - had suddenly decided not to bother with him. At the time he’d just put it down to the way Angels were, fiery and changeable; now he wondered if it was something to do with Solo.

  ‘Aye,’ Nual continued, her voice quiet, ‘being able to influence your customers’ moods is a useful talent in a barkeep.’

  She fell silent and Taro got the impression she didn’t much like talking about alien mind stuff. He didn’t mind, it didn’t freak him like she said it did most humans, but if she wanted to steer clear of the subject, well, he’d respect that. After all, he now realised, without respect there can be no real love.

  They flew on in silence. After a while he felt her look upwards. ‘We’re nearly there, Taro. Can you check the banners on the water-traps?’

  Taro had already recognised Fenya’s row of yellow-and-silver ’traps in the distance, and several smaller on
es were flying the colours of troupes he knew; he spotted Limnel’s orange-and-green fluttering from a ’trap to the left. ‘There, rimwards,’ he said, pointing.

  ‘I think we should avoid the front door,’ Nual said. ‘Do you know any other ways in?’

  Taro vaguely remembered Arel taking him out of a back exit last night but there was no way he’d be able to find that again. He pushed the other details of that night out of his mind. ‘I was only there a few days,’ he mused. ‘Maybe we could come up through the room where Limnel has his water-traps? There’re no nets there, and it looks like there’s only one ’trap down.’

  Nual nodded and adjusted their course. As they got closer Taro found himself peering upwards; though the chances of being spotted were low, he had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, a mixture of nerves and shame. He almost wished he’d never insisted on coming back with Nual - but no, he had to face what he’d done, make amends. And he had to help Nual.