Angel Dust

by Sarah Mussi

  ‘God’s Army are coming,’ I cried. ‘If we wait here a moment longer, we’ll be discovered.’

  Kamuel smote his breast with a clenched fist. ‘The work, Serafina, is all that matters.’

  ‘I can’t!’ I cried. And I bent my head, for to refuse an order from an Archangel is a terrible thing.

  Over the crest of the Sapphire Mountains lightning flashed.

  Kamuel looked as fixed as the rock around us.

  I looked from him to the Abyss. A spectre seemed to rise before me, the image of Marcus standing at the River Styx. He’d turned his head and called out to me. My feathers shivered, all the little wisps of down on my under-wings stood on end. The flesh on my bones chilled. My mind was made up. Marcus could not do it alone. I had promised him I’d be there. I would go to Hell with him if he wanted. Who else would?

  ‘I can’t come with you,’ I said to Kamuel. ‘I can’t.’

  The trumpets sounded nearer, the tramp of feet, the smell of boot polish. I heard over the rush of air the sound of Jehudiel. ‘SURRENDER YOURSELF. We know who you are. You have betrayed Heaven.’

  ‘You do not want to save souls at all, do you?’ said Kamuel, suddenly understanding.

  I shook my head, for I too understood. Gone were my pretences, gone my self-deceit, and in that instant I knew my own heart. Marcus wanted me. I wanted him.

  I longed for his touch, his skin on my skin.

  I wanted to feel his love, surrender to his force. I wanted union with him so that we could truly be one.

  Nothing else mattered.

  I loved Marcus.

  I drew myself proudly up, I spread my fiery wings. I kept my fires ablaze. I was no longer ashamed. I thought of Marcus. I burned for him. I burned and burned and filled the sky with scorching heat.

  I kept my eyes smouldering; I swept Kamuel’s arm off me, I stepped right to the edge of Paradise where the Cliffs of Fall began. I looked over the rim of the great Abyss. That twisting drop, seething in smoky plumes, falling away into wispy nothingness. The wind moaned up. The boiling clouds churned in the very depths of the void.

  I stepped out on to the furthest pinnacle.

  I slipped the noose around my wings.

  I stood with the bottomless chasm at my feet.

  I pulled the rope tight.

  ‘Please,’ cried Kamuel.

  ‘Marcus!’ I shouted.

  And I threw myself down.

  Marcus.

  My choice.

  Serafina 34

  Air dashed against me, bruised my face, tore at my raiment. Gasping, guttering, sinking, I gulped and found only the void. Vainly I strained with my wings to fly. Vainly I crushed my feathers: but the rope held tight. Down, down into the ever-darkening Abyss, twisting, turning, straining.

  On and on, I fell.

  Sometimes upright.

  Sometimes spun in strange vertigo.

  Down. Ever Down.

  ‘Oh help me, Lord,’ I cried. But barely had the words left my lips when tornadoes of air ripped them apart and scattered them behind me. There was none to hear. My head swam. Clouds blasted against me. I closed up my eyes. ‘Oh God forgive me,’ I whispered. And with a cry of despair I remembered something terrible: they said Satan fell for nine days. Nine days? Surely not? I should have checked. I would never get there. The 31st was the day after tomorrow.

  A hurricane howled. I pulled at my wings. The noose held firm. I remembered my purpose. I remembered the kit and Larry’s words: ‘You find a crossroads, you blow the whistle.’

  I was at a crossroads. Above me lay Heaven – below me surely Hell.

  Between Heaven and Hell, between Good and Evil, between angel and mortal, what greater crossroads?

  So I twisted in my fall. I threw aside my raiment until it tangled with my limbs. I drew from around my neck the whistle.

  And I blew it.

  Far way through the firmament I heard them. Cruel voices singing. No, not really singing – chanting maybe, intoning, howling. I rode the air. I set my fires to burn brightly. But even as I did so, a gale howled up out of the Abyss.

  ‘We are the hounds from Hell

  We come when you ring the bell.’

  ‘Whistle,’ said one very loud flat voice. ‘Not bell. Whistle.’

  ‘Doesn’t rhyme,’ said another voice.

  The song continued:

  ‘We are the hounds from Hell,

  We come because you Fell.’

  And through the mists I saw something. At first it looked like a huge fireball bowling straight at me, but as it drew closer I saw that it was a giant wheel the colour of beryl, tinted by impurities; green, blue, yellow, red, and white – and all along its circumference flames raged. It was being rolled through the air – half pushed, half dragged by two gigantic dogs.

  As they drew closer I saw my mistake. Neither were dogs. The larger was definitely a wolf. The smaller was a being with a jackal’s head. From the oily blackness slipping all around them I knew at once they were both demons.

  ‘You called, madam?’ said the first demon. ‘Allow us to introduce ourselves. This is Marchosias, and I’m Anupu, King of the Abyss.’

  ‘You’re not King of the Abyss,’ said Marchosias.

  Anupu opened his jaws, lunged at Marchosias and cracked his teeth together with a ghastly snapping sound. All around us the elements writhed.

  ‘Missed,’ remarked Marchosias. ‘Get her to the eye of the storm.’

  The two hounds suddenly pounced at me. Desperately trying to escape their deadly teeth, I spun sideways.

  The wind dropped.

  They dragged the wheel closer. They flipped it on to its side. Marchosias slavered and sent up an eerie howl. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Hurry up and get on it – we’re not doing overtime.’

  ‘Get on the wheel?’ I gasped.

  ‘We are the hounds from Hell

  We’re here to perform the spell,’ chanted Anupu.

  ‘Ritual,’ said Marchosias. ‘Not spell.’

  ‘Doesn’t rhyme,’ said Anupu.

  Then without warning the two animals jumped on me. Legs, arms, head, shoulders. Their teeth clicked too, imprisoning me. I screamed. They stretched me out. I kicked at them, fought as best I could. I tried to escape.

  ‘Hey you,’ snarled Marchosias. He slashed me with a razor paw. ‘D’you want to become human or not?’

  ‘Yes,’ I whispered, terrified.

  ‘Then let us get on with the job,’ he growled.

  Without further notice they tied me down, spreadeagled me on the burning wheel: north, south, east, west, until my body made a five-pointed star. I opened my throat and screamed. Then with one mighty heave they spun the wheel.

  The vacuum twisted. The flames leapt. A vast spiral of air – and I was spinning at the centre of a thin whirlwind.

  ‘OK,’ barked Marchosias, ‘this is your cue, Anupu. Give it your best.’

  Before I knew what was happening Anupu jumped on to my chest and in fierce biting motions snapped his teeth together over me, crooning:

  ‘I am a hound from Hell

  And this is the bit I do well

  I’m making the sign of the cross . . .’

  He snapped again in a ghastly parody of the Kabbalistic cross. His spittle dripped down on me and the stench of sulphur overcame me.

  ‘You summoned me up from my lair

  Spirit, water, fire, earth and air . . .’

  ‘Give it some proper poetry,’ yowled Marchosias.

  I tightened my lips, praying I wouldn’t faint.

  ‘Whatever – it’ll have to do –’ snarled Anupu. ‘Get the kit; I’ve got the whistle.’ He ripped it from around my neck.

  Marchosias jerked the D.I.Y. kit out of my grasp. He swept the contents into his grip. The instruction sheet flailed beneath his paw, flapped in his muzzle.

  I struggled, but all the bands held good.

  In that gloomy light, in that rush of vile air, he read: ‘Guidelines for casting extreme Blac
k Magic. Once you have performed the Supreme Invoking Ritual of the Pentagram (“I’m not doing it again,” growled Anupu) it’s time to Summon the Devil.’

  Serafina 35

  ‘Check everything’s there,’ yelped Anupu. ‘One black candle, a packet of dust, a handful of bones, a blade, a bottle of water, a rock of salt.’

  ‘Yep,’ said Marchosias.

  ‘Right, you can do this bit,’ said Anupu. He threw the whistle at him. ‘Blow the whistle at Raphael. Pour the water over Gabriel. Extinguish the candle for Michael. Throw the salt at Ariel.’

  With what seemed like one smooth, practised motion Marchosias did it all. In some kind of twisted irony I thought how easily – thus – is the power of the Senior Team dismissed by the gyrations of a devil dog.

  ‘Place the bones in her right hand. Sprinkle the corpse dust over them. Slice her palm. Let the blood water it. Chant the conjuration: Power of Death, Power of Life, Let the Devil Live and Rise Again.’

  Marchosias jumped to my side, slit the palm of my left hand open, crushed the bones in, sprinkled the dust on, squeezed my hand into a fist until the blood trickled through. And then he chanted the summoning spell, the words of power:

  ‘Bagabi laca bachabe

  Lamc cahi achababe

  Karrelyos

  Lamac lamec Bachalyas

  Cabahagy sabalyos

  Baryolas

  Lagoz atha cabyolas

  Samahac et famyolas

  Harrahya.’

  ‘Right, we’re done,’ said Marchosias.

  And just like that they turned and trotted off, leaving me still tied to the wheel.

  ‘Come back,’ I yelled. But they didn’t even twitch their tails.

  I let out a deep groan. They crooned as they disappeared into the void:

  ‘We are the hounds from Hell

  And this is our dog-ger-el.’

  ‘Rhyme,’ said Marchosias.

  ‘Doesn’t,’ said Anupu.

  And they were gone.

  A howling sounded out of the Abyss. I waited, heart beating. The chasm swirled with choking sulphur. My wrists. My ankles. A fog of brimstone ascended. Oily shadows slithered and seeped into the air around me. Help me, I screamed.

  But no help in the form of either devil dogs or demons came.

  Instead ice formed on the wind. From far away came the sound of screaming. Invisible hands plucked at my raiment. The vortex shattered. The sulphur contracted into a dense column. It swirled as if a thousand snakes had been enchanted to writhe in it. Thicker and thicker, bubbling and howling.

  Then silence.

  Pale as a corpse, a face materialised. White like death, it turned towards me. Two eyes stared out of its shadowy depths.

  Beads of sweat broke out on my brow. My teeth rattled. A shivering took hold of me. This was it.

  I’d summoned Satan.

  ‘What do you want?’ echoed a booming voice. I’m not sure now if anyone really spoke or the words just sounded in my head.

  My throat dried up. I quaked at the thing I was about to do. I remembered Marcus, his eyes, his crooked smile, my promise, remembered that Halloween was only two days away.

  So I took courage. ‘I want to become human,’ I said, teeth chattering, ‘and I wish to live on Earth. And please take me to Curlston Heights by 30th October,’ I squeaked, for I remembered that the Devil is tricky and unless you are very clear about what and when and where, he will twist your wish until it becomes your curse.

  The column of sulphur seethed.

  This was it. I was really doing it.

  And so I should be.

  Marcus had tried to change for me. And he deserved no less. And if only he’d succeeded everything might have been different. If only the Crow hadn’t found out about his statement. Suddenly that seemed odd. How exactly had the Crow found out?

  Only Jasmine and the police officer knew.

  And Larry.

  Yes, Larry knew. I’d heard him: ‘There’s a young man here called Marcus Montague . . . I can corroborate what he says.’

  A cold terror suddenly tightened around my heart. What if Larry had told the Crow? What if Larry had betrayed Marcus? But surely that was impossible. Larry was on our side.

  A new horror struck me.

  What if he wasn’t?

  ‘Wait!’ I cried.

  The yellow column gave a revolting shudder. There was a terrible silence, as if never in his entire existence had the Devil been asked to wait.

  ‘Do you not wish to become human?’ hissed the voice.

  But I did. I did wish to become human.

  And what was the use of wondering if Larry had betrayed me now?

  It was all too late.

  ‘Yes,’ I whispered, ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘So you will pay the price?’ said the voice.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You will sign the contract?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Your soul will be forfeit.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘There is no going back.’

  ‘Yes.’ There was no going back.

  ‘If you fail. If he does not repent. You will be mine, however long you live.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then drink this.’

  A hand, thin, yellow, emerged from the sulphurous column; in it, a phial.

  The liquid inside seemed to have a life of its own.

  ‘Drink!’

  I opened my mouth. In one movement the hand uncorked it, dangled it above my lips and then violently tipped it down my throat. Oh, bitter potion. How it seared my tongue. How I felt it burn all the way down through my chest.

  For a moment, nothing.

  Then I jerked in a spasm of pain. Icy tendrils writhed inside. ‘This is it!’ I cried.

  ‘It absolutely is,’ said a voice.

  I twisted in the air, suddenly shocked. I knew that voice.

  There was, I thought, a chuckle from behind the gyrating fog.

  ‘Who is it?’ I screamed.

  This time I was sure there was laughter. The column of smoke definitely billowed out. And I almost recognised that laugh.

  I did recognise it.

  Not Larry.

  Or Harry?

  And suddenly, like a lock clicking open in my brain, all the pieces of the puzzle slid together and formed a picture.

  Larry who was not Larry at all, but Harry.

  Larry who didn’t work for the Devil. But worked for himself. The Extension that Raquel had never heard of. Joey dying all by himself. The date that wasn’t three weeks. The breach that had raised God’s Army. God’s Army after me, collecting my stuff, following me. The police station where he hadn’t met Marcus. The D.I.Y. kit he just happened to be carrying.

  What if Larry didn’t work for the Devil?

  What if Larry was the Devil?

  The laugh. I recognised the laugh.

  I knew it. I’d always known it.

  Old Harry.

  Old Nick.

  Claim Souls Direct.

  I was the one who’d signed the contract.

  Arch Fiend.

  God in Heaven preserve me.

  Prince of Darkness.

  Fallen angel.

  Lucifer.

  Satan.

  The Devil.

  ‘Voilà! Disco! There you go,’ said Larry, his voice echoing through the column of sulphur. ‘It was fun while it lasted, though, wasn’t it?

  Serafina 36

  Oh God.

  Forgive me.

  How I had fallen.

  Larry was the Devil.

  I screamed out at him through the writhing sulphur. ‘Why me?’

  ‘Just because,’ he laughed. ‘You’ll find out.’

  ‘Larry?’ I whispered, as if I could somehow appeal to him.

  ‘My name’s not Larry,’ he said. ‘And don’t you think my two dogs are completely delightful? Did you like the poetry? I knew you’d appreciate a bit of ceremony.’

  ‘But I thought –�
�� I said.

  ‘No you didn’t,’ said Larry. ‘But never mind, I told you right at the start I just love girls who don’t think.’

  I opened my mouth to protest, to plead, to reproach, and found there was nothing left to say.

  ‘Now fly!’ he commanded.

  In one brutal movement something broke the wires that held me. The wheel shattered into a thousand fragments of stone and fire. The rope tying my pinions snapped. Instinctively I unfolded my wings, beat the air.

  Instant pain.

  I slashed at the emptiness. The pain drove everything out of my mind. I tried to stop myself plummeting downwards. For God’s sake stop the pain . . .

  The ice inside me spread.

  ‘Fly!’ came the voice again.

  I stretched out my wings. A force blasted them. I felt feathers ripping – being snatched out. Tears sprang to my eyes. Flight feathers broke. I let out a terrible cry.

  ‘Fly!’

  I was so cold.

  The hurricane plucked out every fibre of down at my wing base. I screamed and screamed. Frantically I beat the air. At every stroke feather after feather shed away.

  ‘Fly!’

  Hysterically I turned, I looked over my shoulder. Behind me my wings were just a fan of bone, all my feathers gone, only the skeletal frame remaining.

  Larry was the Devil.

  I was freezing over.

  And then I fell. I couldn’t stop myself. I plummeted straight down. Inside me a voice confirmed:

  Yes, down you must go. Down you will go. Down, down.

  Down, down. Sheering down.

  I gave a little cry. My body twisted in space. Everything exploded around me. I burst through the horizon, right over the rim of the world, into the skies below.

  I rushed towards Earth.

  I arched my back – the bony span of my wings ripped free. I screamed. The air tore my voice from me. My back hurt, a dizzying agony of blood darkened my eyes. I was squeezed on both sides. Air pressure.

  Falling.

  Gasping.

  Blind.

  Frozen.

  Lungs bursting.

  I have to breathe.

  Can’t breathe.

  No air.

  Darkness.

  The Devil.

  D

  o

  w

  n

  The Book of Zara