by Marie Browne
Lucifer’s hand wobbled and he frowned. Taking a deep breath he ducked his head and tried once more. Again the hand trembled and there was nothing.
‘Don’t be stupid,’ Lucifer muttered. He stared at the wall and seemed to be struggling to move.
Graham’s blue eyes focused on me. ‘Joe, get your fucking knife,’ he screamed as his eyes flashed blue, then dark, then blue again. His body pulsed as it morphed between buff ex-angel and flabby insurance salesman.
Well, I wasn’t going to hang around and marvel – I dashed over and grabbed the knife. With the weapon held loosely in my hand I stood shifting from one foot to the other as I tried to work out when would be the right time to strike. Graham and Lucifer were changing back and forth so fast it was difficult to tell which was which and this was one thing I couldn’t mess up.
For a moment the changes slowed and Graham, sweating and gritting his teeth, managed to hold his own form for longer than a split second. ‘It has to be me,’ he whispered. ‘Stab me. The body’s still mine. Get rid of the body and Lucifer has nowhere to go. Then when he splits away kill him, but you have to stab me first.’
I hesitated. Over the last week this man had almost become a friend. I didn’t want to do the wrong thing once again.
‘Now, Joe.’ Graham closed his eyes and opened his mouth in a scream. ‘I can’t hold him. Now, Joe – now!’
I stepped forward. ‘I’m sorry.’ At the very last moment I hesitated then, gritting my teeth, I plunged the knife deep into his chest. It stuck for a moment on a rib or some other hard object but then shifted and dived, without my help, into his heart.
I opened my eyes as Graham opened his. I stared into one light blue eye and one almost green-black. They both closed as Graham Latimer choked and convulsed.
Sickened, I tried to pull the knife from his chest but it was well and truly stuck. Graham fell away from me, the knife still embedded in his ribcage. I released the hilt and just watched him tumble.
Reaching down to the body I tried once again to remove the weapon but it moved within my palm. Alarmed, I pulled back; the knife had been warm and soft. It felt almost alive.
I watched in horror as first the crossguard then the hilt and finally the pommel slid, without help, into Graham’s body. The knife was gone. A pool of dark liquid crept from beneath him and made the crystals in the floor shine and shimmer.
‘What have you done this time?’
A voice I hadn’t heard for what seemed a lifetime rang in my ears and I spun to look up into Nessus’s long face. He hauled me up in a bear hug.
‘Have you just killed Lucifer?’ Nessus dropped me back onto the ground and, bending down, stared at the body. ‘What happened to the other guy – the insurance salesman? He is dead, isn’t he?’ He looked around the room. ‘Where’s everybody else? They’re not dead, are they? Are you the only one that made it through?’
‘Whoa, whoa.’ I waited, poised, for Lucifer to free himself from the rapidly cooling flesh. ‘Everyone’s fine, they’re outside. In fact, the one person that was dead now … erm … isn’t.’ I shrugged at Nessus’s blank look and changed the subject. ‘Are you all right?’
Nessus snorted. ‘Don’t ask, I hate that place – it shifts and changes on someone’s whim. One minute you’re slogging your way through a hailstorm, the next it’s a blazing summer’s day.’ He shuddered as he stared down at the white-haired corpse. ‘So what was this supposed to accomplish?’
I didn’t want to look any more. I could feel the blood, sticky and still warm on my hand. ‘Lucifer.’ I shook my head. ‘He managed to subdue Graham.’ I shrugged. ‘It’s all got a bit confusing since you left.’ I looked up at the tall centaur, then grinned and walked over to him. ‘It’s really good to see you. What happened to the green dog?’
‘It’s good to be here.’ Nessus nudged me. ‘Faery’s in a right mess. Cu Sith managed to get me to the door, but then he had to run and if he’s got any sense at all he’s still running. The latest laws over there are that anybody who deals out of realm, with either angels, demons or half-breeds, is almost guaranteed to be put to death.’
‘So how are we going to get back?’ I didn’t fancy the idea of going back the way we’d come.
Nessus didn’t respond and we stood in silence for a moment. ‘What are we waiting for?’ Nessus laughed. ‘Are you expecting him to get up again?’ He reached out a cloven hoof and gave the body a prod. ‘I don’t think he’s …’
There was an odd sound like a child hitting a pudding with a spoon and Nessus finished his sentence with a word that sounded like ‘huggpfpf’.
‘What?’ I dragged my eyes away from the body and turned to look at him. ‘You don’t think he’s what?’
Nessus stared at me, his huge eyes showing white. Slowly, like a toppling oak, his legs gave way and he fell to his side. A long white stick decorated with feathers protruded from just behind his front leg. It quivered with every laboured breath the centaur took, his fingers flexing and scrabbling at the stone beneath him.
‘Hello, Joe.’ Michael stepped casually out from behind the throne and, slinging a short bow up onto his shoulder, walked over and prodded Nessus in the chest with one silver toenail. He smiled at his handiwork then looked over at me. ‘Don’t you go away now. I have someone who wants a word with you, and he’s very upset that you just left. He’s waiting for some sort of proper resignation.’
Michael wrapped his hand around the shaft. He slowly dragged the bloodied barbed monstrosity out of Nessus and casually wiped it on his flank. The blood made a dark sticky mark across the shining hair, matting and dulling it almost immediately. The prone centaur shuddered and gasped.
The dour archangel looked down at Graham’s body then waved the arrow at me. ‘Looks like you did what you were supposed to after all.’ He walked back behind the throne.
‘Shit!’ I knelt down beside the wheezing centaur. ‘Nessus, keep breathing – just hold on.’
It seemed a lifetime ago that I’d healed Keril; I tried desperately to remember what I’d done. Reaching for my knife I felt a cold hand grip my heart. I didn’t have it any more. It was gone – hidden somewhere inside Graham’s rapidly cooling body. With no other option available I attempted to heal him without its help. Holding my hand against Nessus’s ripped, bloody side I tried to see it whole and sleek again. I closed my eyes against the morbid scene and my ears to the sound of the laughing angel and finally felt the skin on my hand begin to tingle. ‘Come on,’ I whispered, ‘we don’t need that bit of old iron. I can heal him. The power comes from me.’ I poured all the energy I could into the centaur’s labouring lungs and kept my hand hard against Nessus’s side. I could feel his breath becoming more rapid and shallow. I desperately poured as much as I could into his body.
‘What are you doing?’ Michael laughed. ‘You really are stupid, aren’t you?’
I felt his hand wrap around my throat and he pulled me bodily to my feet. I retched and coughed as his long fingers wrapped around my throat, alternately squeezing then letting go just enough for me to take a short breath.
He tapped me between the eyes with the tip of the arrow. ‘Angelic weapon.’ He punctuated each word with a squeeze from one hand and a tap from the other, then dropped me to the floor. ‘You have to use this weapon to heal any wounds it’s responsible for. There wouldn’t be much point if any piece of low-class shit could just hold up his hand and use a little bit of stolen power to just say “heal” now, would there.’ He held up the arrow. ‘I’m not going to let you do that.’ Taking the arrow in both hands he casually snapped it, then, lining up the two pieces, snapped it again. He threw the four pieces carefully around the room. ‘There, unlike being eaten alive by stinking goats and burnt by noxious poisons, there really is no coming back for him.’
Grabbing my knuckle-dusters from my pocket I lunged toward him, aiming for his chest. Twisting, he brought one of his great grey and white wings down onto my arm. I heard a scream and felt the sickening
crack of bone then lost all the feeling in my fingers. One of the ’dusters flew from my numb hand and bounced, skittering off to stop against Graham’s thigh.
‘And then there was one.’ Michael ignored the flow of blood from where I’d managed to graze his wing. He drew his sword and the flames lit up the crystal room. Exhausted, I sank to the floor, one hand on Nessus’s back, not really caring what Michael had in mind. I watched the dying centaur through a veil of tears, gasping each laboured breath in sympathy with my dying friend.
‘I don’t think so.’ Belial and the rest of the group appeared at my side. The angry fallen angel had also drawn his sword and the black smoke smothered Michael’s flames. The room quietened again.
‘Belial.’ Michael dipped his head. ‘How are you, brother? Still picking the wrong side I see. Still picking the wrong fights – still championing the underdog.’ Michael rearranged his face into an exaggerated pout. ‘Oh dear, still failing.’
Belial stared down at Nessus and swallowed. Carly joined me at his shoulder and, running her hands over and over his dulling hair, sobbed. I wanted to hold her, to comfort her, but because of my broken arm my hand hung heavy at my side and I just couldn’t stop the other from stroking the centaur.
‘We really ought to talk about this, you know.’ Belial didn’t look up from the dead centaur. ‘Why don’t we do it over a meal? There’s a Caribbean place in Birmingham that does an excellent goat curry.’
Michael sneered. ‘Maybe I should sell them the rest of this chap then – for ingredients.’ He reached over his shoulder and brought out his arrow bag: a tall goatskin bag, the head was still attached to the flap cover.
I winced. Bright, laughing blue eyes had been replaced with jewels and stared at me in silent accusation.
‘I like to stroke it when I’m thinking of you two,’ Michael said.
I looked over at the others. Keril had his hands on Una’s shoulders; Farr was next to his sister who appeared to be having trouble breathing – her brother was holding her and whispering urgently into her ear.
Belial smiled. ‘Little brother,’ he said, approaching Michael. ‘Seen Gabriel recently?’
Michael’s smile fell away. ‘My family is such a disappointment to me,’ he said. ‘One brother a traitor, the other a raving psychopath.’
‘But you get on so well with raving psychopaths.’ Belial leant on his sword, his tone conversational. ‘After all, you take orders from one.’
‘That’s a little harsh.’ Metatron, in his little professor guise, stepped around the throne with Raphael in tow. ‘I do love a family get-together.’
He glanced at Nessus, snorted then looked over at Graham’s body. ‘Joe, I see you’ve screwed up yet again.’ He gave a delighted laugh. ‘You are without doubt the worst, most useless human I have ever had the misfortune to meet.’ He wandered over to the body and kicked the bare foot and then waited for a reaction; there wasn’t one. ‘However, every time you screw up, it works for me. I’ve been doing it wrong all these years. I should have gifted you to Hell right at the very beginning – you’d have probably taken the whole thing down by yourself and I wouldn’t have had to lift a finger.’
He perched on the black throne and studied me. ‘And now we wait.’
I winced. My neck and back felt as though they were on fire, while my head felt as though it was stuffed with cotton wool. All I wanted to do was lay down and sleep.
‘He’s dead.’ Reaching out, Michael gave Graham’s body another vicious kick.
Metatron shook his head. ‘No, only the body is dead. Lucifer’s still hiding in there desperately hanging on but he can’t hang on for ever. All we have to do is wait for his power to transfer to Joe and God’s power to transfer to me. Then we pick Joe up and he’ll be joining poor Gabriel in chains.’ He smiled and glanced my way. ‘I would have left you free and worked with you, but you make bad choices, Joe.’ He looked down at the body. ‘Very bad choices. You can’t help turning on those who love you.’ He looked around the room. ‘You take up with scum and demons, traitors and harlots.’ His eyes settled on Carly. ‘And other abominations that should have been left in the cold to die … You.’ He pointed at her. ‘You are against God’s will and should be put down like a feeble kitten.’
Belial roared with rage and, swinging the great black sword, rushed at Metatron.
Expressionless, the Voice of God leapt toward the ceiling, his great grey wings cracking like thunder as he twisted nimbly out of the way. His long white hair swirled around his head and in his hands appeared a long black staff from which streamed a green light.
‘Nice to see you’ve managed to get your balls back at last, Belial,’ he said. ‘But I am still the Voice of God.’ He laughed as he blocked each of Belial’s smashing blows. ‘And as soon as Lucifer has the guts to emerge from that corpse, I will be God.’
As the two angels fought above our heads, crystal shards shattered and fell. Metatron aimed bolts of light toward the enraged archangel but Belial was fast and most of them exploded into the walls. The two beings traded blow after blow and it seemed as though Belial was finally getting the upper hand as he drove Metatron back toward the tourmaline throne. He obviously intended to shove him back through the Fae Gate that was still open in the far wall.
Raphael, ducking out the way of some falling crystal, shot across the room and snatched Una from where she stood, looking frightened amid the noise and glittering shards of smashed stone. Wrapping his arms around her he scuttled back behind the throne.
‘No!’ Farr leapt forward obviously intending to drag the child away from the angel.
Michael stood in his way. ‘If you love death so much, necromancer,’ he said. ‘Let’s see if we can let you experience it firsthand, eh?’
Farr slid to a halt and began backing toward Parity. He wasn’t fast enough. With a shout Michael raised his sword and began a slow sidestep toward the suddenly sweating man.
Keril growled, locked his claws into Michael’s arm then, swinging him into an arm lock, he attempted to force the angel’s sword arm back and up between his wings.
Michael sneered and, with a slight shudder, picked Keril up and threw him easily into the throne. There was a sickening crack and Keril slid, unconscious, to the floor.
Farr watched the advancing angel and, with his hands glowing blue, he closed his eyes.
‘There’s nothing here.’ He turned toward his sister. ‘There are no dead here.’ He sounded panic-stricken
‘There’s always something there!’ Parity shouted. ‘Be creative.’
Farr gritted his teeth and, ducking Michael’s sword, plunged his glowing fingers into the soft white sand that carpeted the Throne Room and began to chant.
Spiders, beetles, centipedes and a huge array of other insects – some I didn’t even recognise – heaved themselves from the sand and crashed in a black wave toward the enraged angel.
Michael, after one incredulous look at the oncoming tide, took to the air in an effort to avoid the plague of resurrected insects. It didn’t work. The ones that could fly merely took off after him, coating his face and neck until, screaming, he tumbled to the floor, where the thousands of others advanced.
Even over the clash of the battle raging above me I could hear the dry whisper of thousands of wing cases and stick-thin legs brushing against chitinous exoskeletons. I pulled my legs in but the advancing wave of undead insects seemed intent only on Michael.
Raphael, still bombarded by falling, dagger-sharp shards of black crystal had thrown a wing over Una’s head. She didn’t seem to be too worried and was peering through his feathers at the fighting taking place all around her.
Michael, almost invisible under the blanket of humming, buzzing insects, held up his sword. As the blue fire cascaded like water down his arm, then on down his body, the crackling fire turned him into a nightmare form of flames and smoke. He grinned with satisfaction at the layer of tiny smoking corpses that littered the ground around his feet. Shaking off a
layer of soot he glared at Farr. ‘I hate goats and I hate insects.’ He shuddered and brushed a hand through his hair.
Metatron shot around the throne and landed beside him. As Belial followed him down, the Voice of God tapped Michael gently on the hand and pointed at the demon. ‘Stop him,’ was all he said.
Michael leapt toward Belial, barrelling into the demon and knocking him away.
‘Michael No!’ Raphael looked so tired; Una seemed to be holding him up.
While both Michael and Belial were struggling, Metatron aimed carefully and knocked the black sword from the demon’s hands. It flew in a short graceful arc into the wall where it shattered like glass.
Belial, enraged beyond all reason, screamed again and, with hands hooked like claws, shook off Michael and went for the Voice of God with nothing but fury and fingernails.
Almost casually, Metatron swung the staff and, catching Belial across the ribs, knocked him into the throne. He bounced off and landed in a crumpled heap next to Keril who, twitching and retching, was just beginning to come round.
‘No!’ Carly leapt up and ran toward her father.
I tried to put out a hand to stop her but my broken wrist, still healing, twinged and I drew it back, gasping as I cradled it against my chest. Taking as deep a breath as I could and, uttering a quiet apology, I placed a hand on Nessus’s back and began to push myself upright. A weight fell on my arm and pulled me back to the floor.
‘Dad!’ Carly knelt and placed her father’s head on her knee then looked at Metatron. ‘You are shit!’ she screamed at the sneering angel. ‘How can you think of yourself as God when all you do is destroy and torture.’ She sobbed as she stroked her father’s hair away from a horrific gash in his temple. ‘You’re worse than the Morning Star ever was – he had a reason to hate. At least he tried to change things. You, you’re just a pathetic, power-crazy warmonger. You should be the Antichrist.’