by Nikki Morgan
Suddenly She was at the back of me, Her one arm around my neck, a fistful of my hair wrapped tightly in her other hand. 'How would you like to go?' She whispered into my ear, pulling my head to the side. 'Quickly? I could snap your neck in a second. No?'
I remained still, my mind still woozy from the alcohol.
She let my hair go. 'Or, I could run you through with this.' From out of nowhere, She had my angelic dagger, Heaven's Will (that I use to sever the souls of the dead from their bodies) at my throat. 'But if I did that, I would make sure you died a slow and painful death, forcing you to watch as the blood drips away from you, drop by drop, with your life.'
'Do it!' I said, jabbing my neck into the tip of the knife. I felt a trickle of warm blood dribbling down my skin.
She pulled the knife away from my throat and ran her tongue over my bloodied neck. She threw me forward, and I fell heavily to my knees, pain erupting through me as my wings burst from my back. Death grabbed my head and pushed me hard on to the floor. I was unable to move as She climbed on top of me, hissing like some feral cat. She sat astride me, as if I were a dragon, or a griffin, She were taking for a ride.
'The way I'd prefer to do it,' She said, leaning forward, and spitting the words into my ear, 'is by plucking these wings straight from your back.'
She clamped her hands onto either wing, digging her sharp claws into them and yanking them brutally in the wrong direction. My mind flashed back to the first time She had plucked my wings; terror uncoiled within me, but I would not let Her see it.
'DO IT!' I screamed, 'I WANT TO DIE!'
The pain immediately disappeared, along with my wings, and the air stilled, like nothing had ever happened. And yet, I knew it had, because I could feel the memory of it haunting my insides.
Death remained on my back. I could hear her panting hard, trying to regain control, desperate to restrain her anger. After a few moments of silence, She dismounted. 'Get up!' She ordered.
I didn't move. I couldn't move. I lay prostrate on the ground, praying for death.
She grabbed a handful of my hair and hoisted me off the floor. Once I was on my feet, She spun me around to face Her.
'You owe me,' She said, closing her cold hand around my neck.
'Go on then,' I spat. 'Do it.' My near-death experience was making me bold. Or stupid.
'I will tell you when it is time to die, and now is not that time. I wonder,' She said, tightening her grip around my neck ever so slightly, 'what Evie would look like with my hand around her throat?'
I stared back at her black eyes. Black like Her soul. 'You.' But I stopped, knowing the answer to my unspoken question. My shoulders slackened automatically, the fight in me simply vanished. Of course She would do it.
'I see you're finally ready to co-operate. Go and clean yourself up, we need to talk.'
Ten minutes later, I'd cleaned myself up and was sitting on the couch next to Death, watching Her cold hands clasping a coffee mug and imagining Her hands around Evie's neck.
She took a sip of coffee. 'That's disgusting,' she said, pulling a face as She put the mug down on the table, 'You really can't make coffee.'
I stared at the stain of red lipstick left on the mug.
She looked at me like a parent telling off a small child. 'I really can't believe you made me do that. I will pretend,' She said, running her hands over her bright red skirt to brush out the creases, 'that that earlier nonsense didn't happen, but don't ever do that to me again, do you hear?'
I nodded, not really listening.
'Anyway, to business. I need you to pay Obadiah another visit. It seems Hyperion plans to go much further than just cleaving his angelic music.'
I couldn't concentrate on what She was saying, I just kept watching Her blood-red lips moving, as I tried to tune out Her voice.
'I think he's trying to re-unite the Apocalyptic Relics.'
What? Those words grabbed my attention. 'The Apocalyptic Relics?' I said, tearing my gaze away from her lips, 'I've of heard of those-'
'Yes, the page that Hyperion gave you, the one he'd written The Fallen on, it was taken from a book on the Relics. You see, it turns out that page wasn't aimed at you at all, it was a message meant for me.'
'What? But he told me I could be a Fallen, he wrote it on there-'
'So you would bring it to me. I thought it strange when you gave it to me, but I dismissed it, thinking he was just messing with your head.'
'But?'
'He wasn't, well, not just your head anyway.' Death crossed her pale legs, revealing a little bit too much thigh as Her red stiletto scraped the side of the coffee table. 'Yesterday we collected the soul of Lysithea, a Watcher whose particular field of expertise happened to be in the Apocalyptic Relics.'
I thought back to what Obadiah had said about the Demons' liking for the angelic Divine Spark. 'Was it a demon?'
'No, it wasn't a demon, although Lysithea had been slaughtered with Devil's Nightfall-'
'A demonic weapon?'
'Yes, although it was no demon who wielded it. The sword had Hyperion's musical stain all over it.'
'Isn't slaughtering angels against God's Will?'
'Yes, if it is found that it was, indeed, he who murdered and tortured Lysithea, Hyperion will be thrown out of Heaven.'
I thought I could hear the trace of something unsaid in Her words, a touch of sorrow maybe?
'It seems Hyperion doesn't care; he wants to bring about The End of Days so that he can challenge God's authority.'
'The End of Days?'
'Yes, you probably know it as the Divine Apocalypse. The time in which the One-hundred-thousand-year Truce will be broken, and the Four Horsemen will be let loose to ravage the earth, the time when men and angels must choose their side; Demonic or Divine, God or Lucifer.'
'And re-uniting the Relics can do this?'
'Yes.'
'But why does he need to Cleave his music? What has that got to do with the Relics?'
Death sighed loudly. 'Re-uniting the Relics would be a direct breach of the terms of the One-hundred-thousand-year Truce, it would cause a war, the likes of which, has never been seen before. When Hyperion cleaves his angelic music no one will be able to hear him coming. He will be neither Divine nor Demonic. He wants to destroy both God and Lucifer in the Apocalypse.'
'Hyperion wants to destroy God and Lucifer?' Could Hyperion really want to destroy the world as we knew it? 'Did he get any information from Lysithea?'
Death sat in silence for a moment, as though She were taking time over the words to use. She picked Her mug off the table before finally speaking. 'We do not know for sure, Lysithea was...tortured for a long while...her Arkhe had been partially removed...almost as though he was experimenting. We don't know how much She told him, but we can presume, from how she was left...'
'If you've collected her soul, couldn't you ask her, when she sits before God to be judged?'
Death shook her head. 'When I said we collected her soul...what I meant to say...well, it wasn't really a soul...but we have no word for the entity that he created, the thing that was left behind.'
This was the first, and only time, I had seen Death show even the slightest bit of uncertainty. For once She was not in control and, although She was desperately trying not to show it, whatever had happened, whatever She had seen, had disturbed Her. What had Hyperion left behind after he had tortured Lysithea? What on earth could possibly have scared Death, the Goddess of Mortality?
I didn't know, but if it had scared Her, then I knew I should be feeling terrified.
But I wasn't.
'Why do I need to go and see Obadiah again?'
'He holds the information you will need to stop Hyperion. We cannot let him re-unite the Relics. And do it quickly because we cannot let the Demons find out; we do not need a war with them, not at this time.
'Go to Obadiah, learn about the Relics, find out as much as you can about them. Then you stop Hyperion. Kill him if you must. He must not get
those Relics, do you understand?'
I nodded.
'And Josh?'
'Yes?'
'Don't ever question my authority again.' she said, tightening Her hands around Her mug.
Evie
Revolution, the club where they were holding the engagement party, was like someone had eaten the 1980s and had vomited it all up over faux leather and glass. There were bright pink neon lights attached to almost everything, including the fake palm trees that were drooping either side of the bar like huge brackets in some unspoken sentence. I sat on a leather sofa upstairs, swirling my warm coke to determine whether the object floating on top of it was a slice of lemon, or something more sinister, whilst also trying to ignore the stares of a bald guy standing at the bar guzzling bottles of lager like they were going out of fashion. I'd never been too good at multi-tasking.
It was hot, too hot under the lights and the stares, so I grabbed my helmet and made my way over to the edge of the mezzanine, one sticky step at a time.
I looked over the clear Perspex balustrade as I took a sip of my coke. I could see Cassie on the dance floor, dancing provocatively in her stunning emerald green gown, slashed to the thigh, her red hair all elegant and curly as Ava Gardner. Celia danced next to her, her bottom falling out of the smallest hot-pants I have ever seen, her boobs almost doing the same out of her corset. She was a Highwaywoman, complete with a replica pistol and thigh high boots.
Dan, dressed as Jack Sparrow, pranced onto the dance floor and slipped his arms around Cassie's waist and started kissing her neck just as Laura Branigan started singing about self-control. The irony wasn't lost on me.
Watching their closeness, their obvious desire for one another, made me squirm. A thousand little worms wriggled in my stomach as she reached her hand up to his face. I closed my eyes, unable to watch them any longer. I suppose some of my disgust was down to the fact that Cassie was my mom - it was weird watching her do that kind of stuff - and it also hurt that Dan wasn't my dad, and she shouldn't be doing that with Dan, especially as Cassie was living off my dad's money.
But worse, worse was the fact that their intimacy exposed and opened up all of the deficiencies in me. I was alone.
And I was so fed up of being alone.
I could feel this gaping hole in my stomach, like all the stuffing had been knocked out of me. If I were a ragdoll, they'd just shove the stuffing back inside me and stitch me back up, or, more likely, they'd throw me away and leave me to rot.
Why was I still feeling like this? Surely I should be getting back to some sort of reality now? But then, most of me didn't know what was real or fake anymore. In my depression I had lost myself and I didn't know who I was or what was real.
I didn't know what I should be feeling.
Would the real Evelyn Anderson please stand up?
'Nice suit!'
I opened my eyes to find the bald bloke was standing beside me, his one hand resting on the balustrade, his other clutching a half empty bottle of Becks. 'Thanks,' I said, clutching my helmet tighter.
'I love Star Wars,' he said, sliding his body and his hand along the rail, moving himself closer to me, 'and I love Storm Troopers.'
'Oh,' I said, turning my gaze back to the dance floor just as Cassie and Dan began to snog. It was bordering on pornographic.
'Yeah,' said the guy next to me, now so close I could smell the tobacco and lager on his breath. It wasn't a good combination. 'I always wanted to be one, you know when I was a kid.'
'Oh,' I repeated. Maybe if I didn't say anything else he would get the hint and do one.
'Yeah,' he said, 'but I wouldn't look as good as you in it.'
As the words registered in my mind I turned to look at him, his face had gone weird, like he was going to eat me or something. I took a step back, clutching my helmet even tighter.
'Yeah, you look so good in those white heels. I love them, not authentic Storm Trooper, but still,' he said, licking his lips as he took another step towards me, his eyes fixed on my boots. It was official, he was freaking me out.
I don't think this was the outcome Celia had wanted when she'd turned up earlier that day with all the costumes; Cassie's emerald Ava Gardner gown, her sexy Highwaywoman ensemble (you couldn't really call it a costume as they wasn't much to it), Dan's Jack Sparrow and Carl's Indiana Jones complete with whip. She'd left mine until last, bringing it out of her Fiat in a black bin liner.
'Sorry,' she'd said, but I knew she wasn't at all, her eyes sparkled with mischief and her pencilled on eyebrows were so high that I couldn't see them and I wandered if she'd forgotten to draw them on, 'it was the last costume left in the shop.'
'Thanks,' I said, taking the bin liner and carefully opening it - not knowing what hideous creation she had got for me - desperately hoping it wasn't something like the Marshmallow man or an animal costume, or, even worse, something short and sexy. When I took it out I was actually relieved; I didn't particularly love it, nor did I hate it, but at least I could sneak off into a corner and not be pestered.
Or so I'd thought.
'Do you,' he said, trying to take the glass out of my hand, 'fancy getting out of here?'
I looked at him straight in the eye. 'Yes,' I said, turning and walking away from him, 'ON MY OWN!'
I didn't look back at him. Instead I struggled down the stairs, juggling my helmet and coke. My boots, as sexy as he thought they were, were a nightmare to walk in. And suffering in the name of fashion was not my thing, whatever Kylie, Kim Kardashian or any other celebrity said.
As soon as I got downstairs, I found the table that had been reserved for the VIP Engagement party guests and sat down, although VIP hadn't been intended for me as there were only four chairs at the table, but as the four of them were dancing, I didn't think they'd care. Cassie had obviously got other things on her mind, her tongue seemed to have been glued down Dan's throat for an eternity. I pulled off my boots and sighed in gratitude.
I looked at everyone drinking around me and realised I was in my own personal Hell. Dante's Inferno had got nothing on it. It was like all of my nightmares had grown legs and were now dancing around in front of me.
A movement in front of me caught my eye; Cassie and Celia had come back to the table.
'Hi Hun,' said Cassie, before she downed a half a glass of fake champagne, 'You okay?'
I nodded. I wanted to say, you've managed to prise your tongue out of his mouth then, but instead, I said, 'Are you enjoying yourself?'
'Of course she is,' cut in Celia, 'But you could make more of an effort.'
I smiled politely, 'Just having a rest, been dancing with a guy upstairs, now my feet are killing me.'
Celia stared at me. I wasn't fooling anyone.
'Okay Hun,' said Cassie. I really don't think she'd even registered what I'd said, 'I'm just going outside for some fresh air.'
'Okay,' I said, and off she sashayed.
And then I caught a glimpse of the bald guy, staring at me from across the dance floor. Geez, could this night get any worse? I grabbed a full bottle of the cheap champagne off the table and took a long swig. I could feel it trickling down the sides of my face.
I came up for air, wiping my mouth on my sleeve. What was I doing? Getting bladdered, that was Cassie's thing, and no way did I want to be like her. What was it Dexter had called her? A drunkard, a pisshead and a town bike, that was it. I thumped the bottle down on the cluttered table, the contents fizzed over the neck.
I was not like her, whatever Dexter or Amber, or anyone else thought. I was not a piss-head.
And then Cassie appeared in front of me, her hair blazing around her, her face wild, mascara tracing the tears down her face. She grabbed the bottle of cheap champagne and pretty much downed it in one.
She dropped into the seat beside me, her sobs lost to the music; Michael Hutchence was singing Never Tear Us Apart. This was their song; my father's and Cassie's. It was their first dance, their first kiss. Was that why she was upset?
&n
bsp; 'Hey, slow down,' I said, leaning over to her and putting my hand on her arm to stop her grabbing another bottle. 'Are you okay?'
'Do I look okay?' she snapped, wiping mascara over her face with her arm. I hadn't seen her like this for a while.
'I was only asking,' I said, grabbing my boots from the floor.
'Don't go,' she said, grasping my arm a little too hard, 'I'm sorry.'
I sat back down as she snatched another bottle.
'What's happened?'
She pulled the bottle from her lips and champagne dribbled down her front, blossoming across her gown like a blood stain. 'Dan. That's what's happened,' she spat, before downing more alcohol.
Of course she wouldn't be upset by the song, why would I even be as stupid as to think that? Cassie didn't think beyond Cassie. End of.
The bald guy came over. 'Hey beautiful!' he said.
I really didn't need it now. I was just about to tell him to do one when he grabbed Cassie's hand. 'No,' I said, pulling Cassie back as she stood up to dance with the creep.
'Jealous?' he sneered.
'No.'
'Leave me alone!' Cassie screeched, pulling her arm away from me, 'I can do what I want!' The creep led her away. It was painful to watch as he mauled her on the dance floor, his hands were all over her. It made me feel physically sick as he practically undressed her in front of me.
How the hell was I going to stop him? Where was Celia when I needed her?
Cassie's head fell onto the creeps shoulder and I could see him speaking into her ear. She nodded, and he led her off the dance floor and to the bar.
Leaving my boots and helmet behind, I followed them, keeping watch from behind a palm tree. I didn't know how I was going to get her away from the creep, but I knew I had to, because I didn't trust him one little bit. I trusted Cassie even less.
Two shots of Vodka were put down in front of them; they were both downed in a matter of seconds. Another two. No, this was hurtling way out of control.
I frantically looked around for Celia, Carl, a bouncer. Anyone. Anyone who could help.