Angel Dust

by Sarah Mussi

  I pulled my cloak tighter and broke into a run. No flying, and now identity bracelets. Maybe it was all my fault God’s Army were clamping down on everyone. Suppose Larry was working for the Devil? Would signing the contract for Marcus’s life mean I’d made the ‘pact’ with him?

  And if it did, was I sorry?

  I thought of Marcus. I put my hand to my throat and held the key he’d given me. To know that Marcus was alive, to hope that I could save him from Hell – I couldn’t be sorry for that.

  I wasn’t sorry.

  I’d do it again.

  And that scared me more than anything. I wasn’t sorry, and part of me didn’t care who the hell Larry worked for.

  Even if it was the Devil.

  At the North Gate I waited. I hid myself behind a buttress. From there I could see down a long valley. God’s Army were still at work far off, bombing the edge of the Abyss. Every now and then flares lit up the night sky. I wondered if demons were already crawling up its cliffs, already seeping in their oiliness out of its depths.

  ‘How clever of you to come so quietly,’ murmured a voice at my ear. I spun round to see the noble figure of Kamuel just at my right shoulder. ‘But no more than I expected.’

  I glowed at his praise. I had done right to be secretive, to cover my fiery beauty with such a dark cloak

  ‘Yet still quite brilliant,’ he said. ‘No raiment, however dark, could hide that.’

  My glow turned a little hot. I think I blushed. It was very sweet of him to say so. I knew he was sincere. And I was sure he didn’t say such things often, maybe hardly ever. His voice had a kind of unpractised air about it. But despite all that it was sort of embarrassing. The earnestness of his tone made me shrink from him. How perverse I was! When Marcus laughed at me, I longed for him; when Kamuel praised me, I cringed.

  ‘Thank you,’ I whispered, ‘but I don’t think you summoned me here to admire my dark cloak.’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Tonight we have a difficult and dangerous mission to accomplish: know that this night I intend to break all the Rules of Heaven. I do not ask you to join me in this – I hope that you will. But if not, then you may turn back now.’

  My eyes flew wide. What, was I to break yet more rules? But Kamuel was an Archangel so all I said was: ‘Tell me what I must do.’

  His beautiful face softened and he smiled with such radiant happiness, I was almost afraid. ‘So lovely, so innocent,’ he murmured.

  But I said nothing except: ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Now you have chosen your path, do not seek to understand, only to obey.’

  Obedience is the third vow and a prized virtue. I couldn’t refuse. No one can refuse an Archangel, anyway.

  ‘Your will is my command,’ I said.

  ‘Good. You are not to tell of anything that happens this night,’ instructed Kamuel. ‘And for your loyalty, know that I shall not forget you when misfortune knocks at your door.’

  My feathers tingled. Misfortune was certain to come, then? A cold shiver ran through me.

  ‘It’s right to be afraid,’ said Kamuel. ‘Did you not say – only earlier today – that you have seen the darkness?’

  I nodded, swallowing.

  ‘Remember, then,’ said Kamuel. ‘In your darkest hour, I will not desert you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I whispered.

  ‘Then know that there is one whose soul we must save tonight.’

  I nodded again, suddenly wondering if we were to go down to Earth.

  ‘You did say you believed that the saving of souls was God’s true work, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then meet the one whose soul will be forever in your debt,’ he said.

  He waved a wing. Out of the shadows came forth a dark figure. He was cloaked as I was and with faltering steps he slunk along the edge of the Jasper Wall until he reached us.

  ‘Vincent,’ Kamuel said. ‘Come, take courage, this young Seraph will lead you to the edge.’

  I peered through the shadows at the cloaked figure. It was the same tired angel I’d seen at Raquel’s garden party. He looked even more tired than ever. His eyes were red. His arms hung limp. The lines of his face told of things that chilled my spirit.

  What in Heaven’s name had they done to him?

  Serafina 21

  Vincent bowed slightly to me, but didn’t speak.

  Kamuel drew nearer. ‘Together we will guide him to the Abyss,’ he said. ‘You must be ready to carry on alone should God’s Army detect us.’

  ‘Carry on alone?’ I faltered.

  ‘You can command thunderbolts, I hope?’ smiled Kamuel.

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘If for any unforeseen reason we are found out, on the beat of a wing I will repair to the topmost peak of the Sapphire Mountains and hurl thunderbolts into the sky. I will make a fine show. Dazzle and terrify. Let obscene wailings be heard from the depths of the void, create shadows that dance against the starry sky. Fearing a new offensive, God’s Army must and will turn their steps towards me. When they are upon the foothills, I will disappear and meet you by the very rim of the Abyss, right at the point where Lucifer fell: the place they call Devil’s Drop.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, although the idea struck terror into me.

  ‘Well said,’ commended Kamuel. ‘You will not regret this hour.’

  ‘But how did you free Vincent? Where will he go?’

  ‘Do not ask how I released Vincent, which angels helped me, which broke into God’s Army’s camp and shattered the chains that held him. That is how we work.’

  ‘We?’ I said.

  ‘Ah,’ smiled Kamuel, ‘so you have not yet heard of the work of the Mission?

  I shook my head. In all the long hours spent in study or devotion at the Cloisters, I had never heard of any group called the Mission.

  ‘It’s just as well,’ said Kamuel. ‘No one should know who we are.’ He drew his cloak closer around him. ‘If God’s Army should arrest you, you will not betray us. And I will not forget you.’

  I nodded. Already it was too late. Was I not here, cloaked in darkness, already assisting an escaped criminal?’

  ‘What about Vincent?’ I said, looking at the thin angel beside us.

  ‘He will fall to Earth,’ said Kamuel. ‘He will fall from the edge of the Abyss and he will escape.’

  ‘But . . .’ I said.

  ‘And he will dwell among men, forever invisible, forever unable to return to Heaven, but he will survive. He will work doing the will of the true faith, until the day we triumph. He will become one of the Outcasts,’ said Kamuel.

  ‘One of the Fallen?’ I said.

  ‘There are many.’

  I blinked. Where had I been for the past few millennia? Why didn’t I know about this? About Outcasts, about Falling, that unseen angels trod the pavements on Earth? I opened my mouth to ask: can they apparition to humans? Can they command rainbows? Do they touch mortals?

  But Kamuel held a finger over his lips and I said nothing.

  ‘They all worked for the Mission. They all knew the price they might have to pay,’ said Kamuel. ‘They live on Earth in secret. One careless flash of angelic power would give them away. Retribution would be swift and entire.’

  I thought about that. Had I passed Outcasts in my duties on Earth? Had I not noticed they were there? Had that lonely figure in the club been one of them? I suddenly knew he must have been one of them. It had been him at Styx! The cities of Earth were probably thronged with the Fallen.

  ‘Unless they cross over to the dark.’

  ‘The dark?’

  ‘Join Satan.’

  I shivered. Join Satan?

  My thoughts were interrupted. ‘Are you ready?’ Kamuel asked.

  Kamuel took Vincent’s arm. Vincent nodded.

  ‘Come, brace yourself. Take courage, Vincent,’ said Kamuel. ‘Lucifer shall not have you, and God’s Army will not find you.’

  Vincent seemed t
o shrink under the fortification. His cheeks sank in, and his eyes stared back out of deep hollows.

  ‘So, Vincent, can you do God’s work on Earth in secrecy, in silence?’

  Vincent nodded. His thin shoulders twitched a little.

  ‘Can you renounce Heaven, and Fall?’

  ‘God bless you, Kamuel,’ whispered Vincent, ‘for offering me the chance.’

  ‘The work will be hard and thankless. You will go unnoticed, often cursed.’

  Vincent looked like that had been the case for a very long time already.

  ‘You will be called upon to deceive out of Kindness, to be cruel out of Love, to kill out of Mercy.’

  ‘I’m ready.’

  ‘Then go with the Mission’s blessing.’

  ‘What were God’s Army going to do?’ I squeaked.

  Vincent smiled. ‘God’s Army would have taken me to the Day of Judgement Courts to be tried before the Senior Team. The penalty for unlawful killing is vaporisation.’

  I shuddered. In my mind’s eye I saw Vincent shattered into a million tiny fragments of dust, each angelic speck doomed to waft in the air for eternity.

  ‘If I had only done it once,’ continued Vincent, ‘perhaps they might have just stripped me of my wings and banished me from Heaven . . .’

  ‘Oh,’ I whispered. I wanted to ask more – who, why, how many – and did Extensions count as unlawful Collections? And why had he chosen to become an Angel of Mercy? But I just couldn’t.

  Vincent smiled.

  Kamuel silenced us with a wave of his wing. He beckoned us forward. ‘Now,’ he hissed.

  The three of us hurried through the North Gate and down the narrow lane that led out to the wasteland beyond.

  Silently, like shadows in the night, we passed the barren plains that stretch northwards towards the Sapphire Mountains. None heard us pass, none stopped us with shout nor alarm. On we flew, quiet as the grave, skimming the land and keeping low so that no careless moonbeam would betray us.

  At last we came to the first postings of rock that signalled our closeness to the Abyss. No fields, nor woodlands, adorned this part of Heaven, only the bones of the mountains, austere, unwelcoming. I’d never in all my days been this far north.

  ‘Devil’s Drop is not far off,’ whispered Kamuel.

  We alighted upon stones as quietly as snow falls. I drew my raiment tight around me. I was so glad I’d chosen such a thick one. It was very cold. The wind wailed like a disembodied spirit out of the depths of the Abyss, blasting us with icy particles. I could hear it moaning even from where we were.

  ‘Draw close,’ said Kamuel.

  The three of us huddled together in the shadows of the rocks. From amongst the folds of his robes Kamuel drew a rope.

  ‘What’s that for?’ I asked, imagining somehow that Vincent was going to have to climb down it into the Abyss.

  ‘To bind his wings. Come, Vincent,’ said Kamuel. ‘Let me tie them for you.’

  Vincent shuffled forward.

  ‘Why do you tie his wings?’ I asked.

  Kamuel smiled as he pulled the knot tight. ‘If I do not, once he has jumped he will use them. There is no other way. None can withstand the Fall if they have wings to save themselves.’

  Kamuel finished his work. Vincent tested the knots. I shuddered to see his feathers broken in places, crushed, deformed. But Vincent didn’t murmur.

  We walked the rest of the distance on foot. In single file we tiptoed silently between the overhanging rocks, crept round the curved mass of the boulders, and made our way quietly to the lip of the Abyss.

  There it was. I’d never seen it before. The rocks so perilously smooth. One wrong step and you’d slip, fall, plunge. Instinctively I unfurled my wings. The edge beckoned; seemed to tempt. I felt a sudden overwhelming urge to slide forward, to peer over its edge, to look into the void beneath . . .

  Kamuel caught my shoulder. ‘Have a care,’ he said. I stepped back. The wind moaned up. Mists swirled out of the deeps below – sometimes thin and wispy in phantom shapes, sometimes thick and treacherous. My pulse raced. I balanced precariously on the rocks.

  A sudden noise.

  What was that?

  A squeak of leather on stone.

  I jumped, slipped, tipped towards the edge, unfurled my wings, beat the air. Kamuel held me steady.

  It happened so fast. Before I knew what was going on – there they were.

  ‘STEP AWAY FROM THE EDGE,’ boomed a dreadful voice.

  I whirled around. Wildly I stared into the mists. Not phantom shapes at all. There they stood, as if they had materialised straight out of the Apocalypse. A whole regiment of God’s Army.

  God’s Army!

  How had they surrounded us so quietly? Why had I imagined their tramping would give them away?

  ‘Stand off,’ commanded Kamuel, instantly summoning a swirling fog to hide us.

  ‘BEWARE! We act with authority,’ ordered the voice I remembered from Raquel’s party. ‘Show yourselves. Someone has signed a pact with the Devil. They must be found and punished. You cannot stand in our way. Do not protect the wicked. Until the threat is dealt with everyone is at risk.’

  There he stood, whip in hand, towering over all the others. My heart beat. I made to step forward. Kamuel and Vincent should not be caught because of me.

  ‘We know a Seraph is amongst you. We know you are assisting an escaped convict.’

  Instantly Kamuel turned to me, grabbed my arm, exposed the Cloister’s identity band. Without hesitation he ripped it off, hurled it into the Abyss and whispered in my ear, ‘Do not argue. You have been tricked. Fly.’

  Confused, alarmed, I beat my wings. I rose straight up.

  ‘Jump!’ Kamuel screamed at Vincent.

  But Vincent hesitated, undecided.

  ‘Jump, for God’s sake!’

  Archangel Jehudiel raised his arm. The huge whip curled into the air. ‘STEP AWAY FROM THE EDGE,’ he ordered. ‘FALLING IS FORBIDDEN ON PAIN OF VAPORISATION.’

  Kamuel rose in the air, sent a fury of thunderbolts. The ranks of God’s Army scattered. The fog thinned.

  Vincent just stood there.

  ‘JUMP!’ screeched Kamuel.

  I beat the air, soared ten thousand feet.

  Kamuel followed, but Vincent remained motionless, like a rabbit caught in a finger of light.

  And Archangel Jehudiel flicked the Whip of Justice up into the whirling air. ‘STEP BACK FROM THE EDGE NOW OR I WILL WIELD THE WHIP,’ he commanded.

  And still he didn’t jump.

  And Jehudiel cracked the whip down.

  And a length of white-hot fire – thinner than a flower stalk – snaked out.

  And shattered Vincent into a million shining pieces.

  Serafina 22

  After Vincent was vaporised everything came to a full stop. Of course. The paperwork was endless. The searches took forever. I didn’t dare use the spare pass, and it was all chaos.

  But if Marcus had called me I’d have heard. I’d have found a way to reach him. All he needed to do was whisper: ‘Angel?’ We Seraphim can hear the rustle of a butterfly’s wing as it beats the air a continent away. I’d even have braved using the fire escape if he’d called.

  But he didn’t.

  I thought he might. Hoped he would. He’d said he’d like to see me again. I grew impatient waiting. I had to talk to him. But perhaps it was just as well he didn’t.

  Heaven was in uproar.

  The Daily Trumpet had a field day:

  EVIL ANGEL ATTEMPTS ESCAPE!

  KNOWN KILLER DONE IN AT DEVIL’S DROP!

  VILLAIN VAPORISED ON VERY VERGE OF VICTORY

  DEVIL’S DISCIPLES AT WORK IN HEAVEN

  JEHUDIEL CRACKS DOWN THE WHIP

  It was all obviously part of Satan’s campaign. And it was all major news. And oh, poor Vincent. Poor, poor Vincent. Vaporised by the swirling Abyss. His poor sunken cheeks. His tied wings. His empty eyes, those staring deep hollows. Would I ever forget? T
he terror. The horror. The moment of impact – how the whip had turned him white-hot, fused his wings, sent a web of fissures out into every vein, every artery, his face a mask of pain. How for one moment he’d appeared in his true glory – beautiful beyond compare – then the shattering of his limbs, how they’d melted down, cracking, twisting, breaking . . .

  Why hadn’t he jumped?

  Why had we just flown away? Couldn’t we have saved him?

  The terrible look of retribution on Jehudiel’s face.

  I hid in the Cloisters. I joined the vigil. I went to devotions. I covered my guilt and my terror with white raiment and endless prayer. Had they seen me? Every time a door opened I started, every time it closed I heaved a sigh of relief. Did they know who I was? The identity bracelet. Would I be recognised by the guard? I’d been followed – hadn’t I? I’d been tracked and tagged. It was the bracelet, wasn’t it?

  I tried never to be in my cell; I stayed away from my friends, lest in my eyes they read my terror and asked of it; when the Superior demanded details of all our movements, I didn’t own up. Thank God I hadn’t been recognised. When Jehudiel searched our cells I trembled in silence and hid Marcus’s key. When the Seraphim were issued new Individualised Identity Curfew Bracelets, I accepted mine as if I’d never seen one before.

  They’d vaporised Vincent.

  God’s Army were on to me.

  And I didn’t dare use Raquel’s spare pass. Not until it had all died down. Not until I was absolutely sure it was safe.

  And so three days elapsed before I could get back down to Earth. Three whole days. That left only five before Halloween, and it was torture.

  But at length the day came when I could slip out. I removed the new identity bracelet, fearing it would betray me. I hid it inside the Announcers’ Offices, where I pretended I was going to work all day. Then I tagged along with a choir of Seraphim who were going down to sing at the inauguration of a new bishop. I slipped through the checkpoint – waving my pass – hiding in their ranks.

  Once on Earth, in the flick of a feather I got to the hospital. I hurried to his room. Made ready to apparition.

  But Marcus had vanished.

  I panicked. Had they moved him to another room? Was he in intensive care? Had something gone wrong? Had my miracle not worked?