by Rebecca Hall
“Do you think she would have hesitated? Do you think we would have sat here talking once I told her what was required?”
“No,” Mitch sighed. Michael’s words might have cut like a knife but his appearance hadn’t seemed to bother her, certainly not enough to keep her from doing what she felt was necessary. Maybe she would have found it cathartic.
Michael nodded, “I want my death to be more than a means to an end. Your little princess would cut me down without a moment’s hesitation or second of regret, Nikola wouldn’t do it at all. That leaves you.”
“No.”
“Would you prefer to watch the Other World burn while knowing you could have done something to save it?”
Mitch shuddered. “No,” he said in a small, defeated voice. He could save the world, all he had to do was kill an angel. He’d kill Michael and then… He didn’t know. He’d never be able to see Nikola again without remembering but that was better than never seeing Nikola again and… He swallowed past the lump in his throat. He wasn’t really going to do this, was he?
“Straight through the heart,” Michael said, rising to his feet. “The sigils will draw my blood out once it’s done.”
Mitch sniffed and wiped his face, he didn’t want any of his blood dripping onto the sigils and confusing them.
“How?” he asked. Maybe in bad movies vampires could rip a person’s heart out with their bare hands but it wasn’t a skill he’d ever wanted to learn. Walking across ceilings had been bad enough.
“You have Gabriel’s feather do you not? With a little reinforcement it should make a suitable blade.”
Mitch gulped and drew it out of his pack. It was glowing, far brighter than he’d ever seen it before. The eye was almost blindingly bright but there was no heat. Ice slowly crawled the length of the feather, encasing it in a cold, razor sharp blade that would have been impossible without magic.
“Are you sure you can’t use my blood?” It would have been easier, terrifying but easier. “It’s cursed.”
Michael shook his head. “The curse must be broken by something outside itself and even if that weren’t the case your blood would not suffice. All the world requires of you is your innocence.”
“Why him?” Mitch asked, slowly raising the feather sword in a shaking hand. Why me? There were millions of other people who could do this without Amelie’s cold detachment. Instead it was him and the man wearing his best friend’s body.
“His is the only body I’ve ever worn, his voice the first to seek me out. I can be no one else.”
“Any last words?” Mitch blinked, trying to clear his eyes.
“Don’t miss my heart,” he grinned and then his smile faded. “Protect him, even from himself.”
Especially from himself, Mitch thought.
He took a deep breath, or tried to, his heart was racing, his lungs straining. Inhale and exhale. On the third breath he lunged forward, the sword plunging into Michael’s heart.
Mitch watched as his best friend’s face twisted in pain and his hand sprang away from the feather sword as if burned by the cold. He scrubbed it against his pants and then lunged forward again, this time to catch Michael as he fell, his blood flooding into the sigils and lending them an unearthly silver radiance.
He slowly lowered Michael to the sigils and his eyes met the angel’s one last time. The angel gasped, blood bubbling from his mouth, and fell still. Every one of the sigils that he’d created, every one of the sigils that comprised the Heart of Faerie blazed with light.
To Make an End
Mitch was lying on something soft and reassuringly solid. Solid was good; even the chair Michael had made had felt curiously insubstantial. Solid was wonderfully comforting after the vast nothingness at the Heart of Faerie. His hand twitched, shivered, every muscle aching, his entire body feeling like it was weighed down by lead. If it hadn’t hurt so much he would have welcomed the sensation.
He opened his eyes and saw a crumpled shirt. His shirt, and beyond it the dark, shadowy space below a bed. His bed. He was back in the Other World, back in his own room. He sighed, the sound part relief, part pain and part exhaustion. He was home, it was over and…
He shot to his feet and fell almost immediately, he caught himself on his bed and cursed as aching muscles refused to take his weight. Nikola, he had to call Nikola and make sure he really was alright. But first he had to somehow make it across his room, down the hallway and into Nikola’s room. He should have asked for a damned magic mirror but it had never occurred to him. It wasn’t like he had anyone else to call.
He groaned and forced himself to his feet, if he managed to stagger a few feet then he’d be able to use the wall for support, assuming that he didn’t trip on something first. There were a lot of clothes on the floor and he’d have to navigate around his pack as well. Somehow it must have followed him back. He was just glad that the contents of the bloodbag they’d tried to use to break the curse hadn’t followed him back too. That would have been messy.
He shuffled forward, his shoes feeling like they weighed a million tons. He was still shivering though, his body covered in sweat, taking them off might just be more effort than keeping them on. At the very least it would add a whole extra step to the process of getting to Nikola’s room and he was almost out of spoons for the day, maybe the year. He wasn’t even sure how long the day had been.
He made it to the wall and leaned against it panting. Now he just had an eternity to go until the door and then… He’d worry about that once he got there. Just moving one step at a time was hard enough, he wasn’t about to try thinking ahead.
He finally made it to Nikola’s room. He hadn’t seen any sign of Amelie yet though he’d made enough noise to wake the dead. She was probably in the same state as he was, as their bodies sought to purge all of the magic they’d absorbed or inhaled or whatever in Faerie.
He leaned against the wall and traced the series of sigils that would connect him to Nikola, on the silver panel in the bottom corner of the mirror. His hand shook so badly that he had to stop and start again twice before it worked.
There was no response and Mitch was beginning to fear that he’d made a mistake after all when rainbow lights washed over the glass and were replaced by Gawain’s face. The Fae looked terrible, his hair dishevelled, face grey and eyes glazed.
“Nikola,” Mitch blurted. “Is he ok? He’s alright isn’t he?” His voice was shaking even more than the rest of him.
“He’s in a coma,” Gawain said. “It will be a while before I can wake him.”
“But he’s going to be ok isn’t he?” Mitch asked, his eyes stinging.
“I don’t know Mitchell,” Gawain sighed. “Mother might be able to tell but Nikola would not react kindly to her magic, his system can barely tolerate mine.”
“He has to be alright,” Mitch insisted.
“I’m doing everything I can to ensure that he is,” Gawain replied. “But even with my help it will take him a long time to recover.”
Mitch nodded mutely, tears running down his face. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Just take care of yourself,” Gawain said, “When Nikola wakes up I want to be able to tell him that his friend is well.”
“I…” he swallowed, “I can do that.”
“We both need to rest,” Gawain said. “We’ll call you.”
Mitch nodded and Gawain’s image distorted until it was his own reflection looking back at him. He looked away. He pushed himself away from the wall, drunkenly weaving across Nikola’s mercifully clear floor until he reached the bed and collapsed into it. He needed to check on Amelie, needed to talk to her, needed to break up with her, but he couldn’t bring himself to face any of it right now. He couldn’t even muster the energy to stand up and return to his own room.
Instead he curled up on the bed and stared at his hands. There wasn’t a single speck of blood on them even though they should have been covered in it after what he’d done. The feather didn’t seem to have made
it back either but he’d be quite happy if he never saw another archangel feather again. If he never saw another angel again. He probably wasn’t that lucky though.
He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. It was better than staring at his bloodless hands. He’d murdered an archangel. He’d murdered Michael, he should have had to wash his hands at the very least. He’d had to shower after killing Ms Saris.
The ceiling was almost as reassuring as the floor had been. It didn’t move. It didn’t shimmer with light. It wasn’t filled with incomprehensible sigils. It just sat there, calm and peaceful, the only change coming as the sun set and shadows stretched across it.
#
Mitch wasn’t sure how long he had been asleep for. It was still dark outside and he was starving but he didn’t hurt as much as he had. He sat up stiffly, his clothes clinging unpleasantly to his body, and finally removed his shoes, wrinkling his nose at the smell.
He groaned and shuffled to the edge of the bed, half falling off it. He pulled the curtains, shutting away the outside world though he’d have to face it soon, and went into the ensuite. He groped across the shower wall in the dark until he managed to turn it on and peeled off his clothes. It didn’t occur to him to find the light switch until he’d been standing under the scalding water for a good ten minutes.
He slipped back to his room clad in only a towel, straining every sense for some sign that Amelie was awake. He still wasn’t ready to see her. He wasn’t sure he would ever be ready to see her but he would have to do it soon. Maybe after breakfast.
He was half way to his fridge when remembered that he didn’t have any blood left. He’d taken it all to Faerie. He groaned and dragged the empty bloodbags out of his pack, spewing the rest of its contents across the floor. He tried not to look at the bloodbags, at the memories they conjured of the last time he’d seen blood. There had been so much of it. And yet he needed it to survive. Maybe from now on he could just drink with his eyes closed.
He grabbed his wallet and keys and skittered out the door, easing it shut so as not to wake Amelie. His first stop was Macca’s; it was greasy and not very good but it was also open in the dead of night and the first food he’d had in he wasn’t sure how long. Best of all there wasn’t any blood. He wasn’t even sure there was any meat.
Campus was still cordoned off but while there were entrances to the Netherworld that weren’t within the cordon he wasn’t sure where they were and had even less inclination to try to find them. Instead he looked around, sharpening his vision and hearing and praying that there weren’t any CCTV cameras nearby to watch him turn invisible and jump over the fence.
He stayed invisible as he made his way through campus, staying as far from the buildings as he could and trying not to look at what had been the lecture theatre where he’d had his last lecture on maths. If Hayley hadn’t shown up then… He almost wanted her to show up now so that he could yell at her, so that she could tell him that it had worked, that the Twisted Curse had been broken.
Maybe he could call Belle instead. She’d probably know, though last he’d heard she’d been more interested in her girlfriend than visions of an apocalyptic future. He didn’t blame her either; he knew what option he would choose.
He stepped through the Nethergate and shuddered when it left him feeling as if his skin was a size too big. The Netherworld had stood up to the quakes remarkably well but it had thrown the Nethergates out of alignment and they hadn’t been fixed yet. Making sure nothing was about to cave in was the priority. The Nethergate to the bloodbank was even worse.
“Mitchell,” Sieg said.
Mitch jumped, he’d been too busy not thinking about what he was getting to notice the older vampire come in.
“You don’t usually visit at this hour.”
“Yeah, well…” Mitch ran a hand through his hair. “How are the repairs going?”
“Well,” Sieg smiled, “what happened Mitch?”
“I’m not really sure,” Mitch said, his shoulders slumping.
Sieg studied him for a moment and then turned to the damphir who had just emerged from the refrigerator. “Store it until he returns,” Sieg ordered, clapping a hand on Mitch’s shoulder. Mitch didn’t resist as he was steered across the entry door and into Sieg’s office. He couldn’t help but note that that Nethergate worked perfectly.
“What happened Mitchell?” Sieg asked again once Mitch had been deposited in a chair. Sieg retreated behind the desk and opened a cupboard. Mitch flinched when he pulled out a bloodbag and set it down.
“You clearly need it,” Sieg said, his voice softer.
Mitch shuddered and took the offered blood, squeezing his eyes shut before he bit into the bag and sucked it dry.
“We tried to break the curse,” he said once Sieg had disposed of the empty blood bag. Mitch was almost surprised that he didn’t have some sort of laundry chute for empty blood bags but then this office was normally held by damphirs. “But Michael was there and…” he sighed. “He said that the only way to do it safely was to kill him and I… I don’t even know if it worked,” he finished, staring once again at his bloodless hands.
“What of the angel child?” Sieg said. “She was your friend was she not? She could tell you.”
Mitch shook his head, “No more angels.”
“What will you do now?”
“Break up with Amelie I guess.”
“At five in the morning?”
“Oh, maybe not right now then.” He doubted that she’d appreciate being woken up at five am for that conversation. Maybe if he did it with pancakes? Or he could clean his room first or… It was amazing how many methods of productive procrastination he could suddenly come up with.
“Could I borrow a pen and paper?” Mitch asked. He owed Nikola about a week’s worth of letters even if Nikola wouldn’t be able to read them.
“The nethermarket is open,” Sieg said, handing him a pad and pen. “And you’re welcome to return to my place once you’ve finished breaking up with your girlfriend.”
“Thanks,” Mitch said. He hadn’t even thought about that. He took the pen and paper and went to write a far more detailed account of what had happened for Nikola.
#
There were three letters from Nikola waiting in the letterbox. Mitch gulped, Nikola had written them before they’d met in Faerie. He almost didn’t want to read them, Nikola had been happy then, he’d been healthy. Hell, he’d been conscious. And they’d ruined it. But it was a chance to hear Nikola’s voice again, even if only in his head.
He hurried inside and tossed the rest of the mail on the table. He could deal with it later, if there was a later, as much as he might want to put it off he would have to talk to Amelie when she got up. He put the jug on and started reading.
“Morning.”
Mitch jumped, coffee slopping over his wrist. He’d been so immersed in his reading that he hadn’t even realised Amelie was awake and clearly had been for quite a while. Her hair was still wet from the shower.
“Morning,” he replied, lowering the letters into his lap and grabbing a tissue to mop up the spilt coffee.
“Another one already?” Amelie asked. “That was quick.” She smiled and put the jug on again before turning to their depleted cupboards.
“They’re from last week,” Mitch said. “I called Faerie, Nikola is in a coma again.”
“I’m sure Gawain will bring him out of it when he’s ready,” Amelie replied. She grabbed a couple of slices of bread from the freezer and shoved them into the toaster. “We’re going to have to go to New World later, we can’t live off toast and take out.”
“We…” We could try. The words died on his lips. “Amelie…”
“Do you want some?” she asked, “We still have a pretty decent selection of spreads, even the jam that Nikola made. And not even you can mess up toast.”
“I was actually thinking that it was time I learnt how to cook,” Mitch said. He’d have to see if he could find a Cooking for
Dummies. If Nikola had ever used a cookbook he hadn’t left any behind. He’d probably just memorised all of his favourite recipes.
Amelie arched and eyebrow. “I’ll be sure to order pizza on those days then.”
“Ha ha.”
“Coffee?”
“No thanks. We–”
“I was thinking that we could go away for a while,” Amelie said, cutting him off. “You know there’s this island resort in Fiji that’s run by Teratos? There are no non-magical people there at all.”
“You want to go to Fiji?” Mitch said.
“I thought it would be nice to just relax after… you know. We went through all that and… We didn’t even accomplish anything did we?”
“I don’t know,” Mitch admitted. He set his cup down on the coffee table and got up, Nikola’s letters clutched in one hand.
“You know,” Amelie said, “there are people in the Netherworld that could set Miriama up with a false ID, once she’s out of hospital. Even if healing potions won’t work… She’s still young enough that she wouldn’t incur any obligation to the Fae right?”
“It’s not polite to ask a lady’s age,” Mitch said. He didn’t think that Miriama was more than a year or two older than him. “Amelie,” he tried again.
“So what do you think?” she asked, should we go to Fiji?”
Mitch sighed, “Enough stalling Amelie,” he said. “We need to talk.”
Her slightly fixed smile faded and she began to butter her toast with a great deal more intensity than such a simple task really needed.
“No we don’t.”
“Yes we do.”
“And what if I don’t want to?”
Mitch shook his head. “I don’t want to either but…” He should have done this weeks ago, he should have done it when he first realised that he liked Nikola. He wasn’t even sure why he hadn’t.
“What’s the point?” she demanded, slamming her knife down on the counter. “I already know what you’re going to say. You’re breaking up with me for him aren’t you? You finally realised what everyone else knew a year ago, you love Nikola.”