Blood and Feathers (5 page)

“You said something was coming earlier, in the street.”

“It is. And it’s coming for you. Your father’s job was to keep you protected, keep you hidden until we came to find you – until you were ready.”

“So I’m ready now?”

“Are you kidding? You’re far from ready, but things have changed. They’ve found you, and we’re almost out of time.”

“Before what?”

“Before
they
get what they want: ontrol. Forever.” He pointed at the floor, and the look in his eyes told Alice everything she needed to know.

“B
UT WHY ME
?” Alice asked, throwing clothes into a bag. She was in her room, packing everything she could reach. Mallory hadn’t been specific, he’d just told her to pack “stuff.”

“Why not you? You’ve obviously got a talent the Fallen think will be useful to them, or one that they don’t want on our side.” Mallory was perched on the banister outside her bedroom door. Sitting there, he reminded her of a large, slightly scruffy bird.

“So what now?”

“You come with us. There’s somewhere safe we can take you, somewhere they won’t be able to get at you in a hurry. Then we can talk. We’ll tell you everything, I promise. And we’ll see what you can do.”

“Like a test?”

“No. No test. But all angels have their gifts, you included.”

“What about you? What are yours? Oh... do the Earthbounds still...?”

“I still have my gifts, yes.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “I’m a healer. I fix things.”

“Like what?”

“Like anything. The lightbulbs, earlier? That was me.”

“And people?”

“People too. People are... harder.” The smile was gone.

“Time to go.” Gwyn’s voice drifted up from the hall. There was a finality in it that made Alice stop with her hand halfway to her bag. Until that moment, it hadn’t dawned on her that she would be leaving.
Really
leaving. She couldn’t stay, she knew that. Regardless of what Gwyn and Mallory said about something “coming,” there would be questions.

“We’re going. Alice!” Gwyn again.

Mallory stuck his head around the door. “We have to go. Anything else you need, you pack it now. You won’t be coming back.”

“No. I think I’m done.” Alice looked around her room. Her bed, her things, they all seemed so alien now, as though they belonged to someone else.

Mallory held out his hand for her bag. “You travel light. Good. But are you sure that’s all you want?”

“Let’s just go, okay?”

“If you’re sure.”

Alice was already at the bottom of the stairs. Gwyn was at the front door, peering out into the darkness of the street. He looked like he was waiting for something. Listening. All Alice could hear was the rain, but Gwyn obviously had better hearing. He pointed at her shoes. “Get those on, now. They’re close.” Alice pulled on her trainers and tied the laces as quickly as she could with shaking hands. Mallory was suddenly next to Gwyn, her bag thrown over his shoulder and one hand moving towards the gun tucked into his belt.

“Time to clear up, I think,” he said, quietly, and Gwyn nodded. Brushing past her, he opened the cupboard under the stairs. “The fuse box, is it in here?”

“Why?”

“Answer the question.”

“Yes. But why?”

“Covering our tracks.” Gwyn reached inside the cupboard, and as Alice watched, he placed his palm flat on the cover of the fuse box. There was a horrible hissing, fizzing sound and a wisp of smoke curled out from his fingers.

“Let’s go, Alice.” Mallory was on the doorstep, beckoning to her. “Let him finish.”

“What’s he...?”

“Never mind. Keeping you safe.”

He took hold of her sleeve and pulled her out of the hallway, marching down the drive and across the road – watching the ends of the street the whole time. They stopped under a tree, and Alice looked back at the house. A white glow was spreading, ever so slowly, from the windows; seeping out into the driveway, reflected in the rain on the tarmac. Mallory muttered something under his breath, and put his hand on her shoulder just as the house exploded.

Windows blew out in a storm of glass. The door slammed shut and then open again, rocking on its hinges. Car alarms sounded and a blast of hot air knocked Alice sideways. Mallory’s fingers tightened on her shoulder and held her up. A huge plume of smoke drifted up into the sky, and Gwyn strode out of the fire, straightening his jacket. He looked immaculate. Alice couldn’t say she was surprised.

“Let’s get moving. Someone will notice that,” he said.

Mallory snorted. “You think?” He shouldered Alice’s bag again and slid an arm around her, drawing her to him. “Alice?”

“I...” She stared at the flames.

“Alice. Now.”

He pulled at her. Suddenly it felt like his arm round her shoulder was not for comfort. He was shielding her from something, hiding her. Gwyn walked off down the road, his blond hair reflecting the light from the fire. Mallory pulled her with him, and Alice saw movement out of the corner of her eye. At the far end of the street, she was sure she had seen someone standing at the end of a driveway, but when she twisted her head and looked again, they were gone. She huddled closer to Mallory, catching the smell of his leather jacket and wondering how it was that he was still bone-dry while the rain was dripping off her nose, and dismissed it. It had been a shadow. It was just... perhaps it had been a trick of the light – a car in the glow of the fire, maybe – but for a moment, it had almost looked like a pair of red eyes: eyes which shone in the darkness, and were fixed upon her...

But there was nothing in the darkness. Only rain and fire, and the past.

CHAPTER FIVE

Picking up the Pieces

“A
BSOLUTELY NOT.
”

“What, Gwyn? You’ve got a better idea, I’d love to hear it.” Mallory nudged a cardboard box along the floor with his toe; the box clanked.

“There is no way that I can condone her staying here. It’s appalling,” Gwyn looked around him with an expression of utter disdain. Mallory gave no indication he heard him and shoveled a stack of books off the sagging sofa and onto the floor. There was a faint squeak and a scurrying sound that Alice chose to ignore.

Mallory’s home, such as it was, had come as something of a shock. While she wasn’t entirely sure what she had been expecting, a glorified broom cupboard had not been it – never mind a glorified broom cupboard at the back of a church. It was still raining outside, and as Mallory bustled about, clearing rubbish – and, thought Alice, a quite extraordinary number of empty bottles – a large, cold drip landed squarely on the back of her neck, making her jump. Mallory looked round. “You might want to take a couple of steps to the left. And if you could scoot that bucket across...” He pointed at a red fire bucket next to her feet. Alice obliged, and sat down on the sofa, hoping she was out of the way. It creaked, and a cloud of dust rose into the air. Gwyn was still taking in the place with a look of disgust, but now he was touching things: picking up a mug here, moving a newspaper there.

“You’re a slob, you know that?”

“Been a little busy, thanks. Or had you not noticed?”

“That’s no excuse.”

“No excuse for what?”

“For living like this.”

“Like what, exactly?”

“Like... this.” Gwyn poked at a pile of old pizza boxes. It collapsed, spilling mould-ridden crusts onto his shoes.

Mallory shrugged. “You get used to it. There’s been a few things I’ve had to get used to over the years. But you know that already.”

The words were sharp, meant to cut, but Gwyn didn’t seem to pay any attention and instead tried to rub a spot of ancient cheese off his shoe and onto a threadbare rug.

Feeling like she was intruding, Alice coughed. “So what happens now?”

“Now,” said Mallory, finally giving up on tidying, “we lie low for a while, and try to work out what to do with you.”

“What to do with me? You mean you don’t know?”

“Well, not exactly.”

“I thought there was some kind of plan...?”

“There was,” Gwyn cut in. He swept a good inch of dust and muck off a narrow wooden chair and perched on the back of it. Not the seat, but the back. Alice found herself slightly irritated by this, as though it was a deliberate affectation of his. Oblivious, Gwyn smoothed down his jacket. “The plan was that we would come for you when you were ready. Which, as we have already told you, you aren’t. We ran out of time, and we needed to get to you before they did.”

“Who?”

“Alice, there are more things in Heaven and Earth...”

“Oh, come off it!” Mallory interrupted. “Not Shakespeare. Don’t be so bloody pretentious. Or obscure.”

“Hamlet,” Gwyn said, “is not obscure.”

“Whatever.” Mallory shrugged again. “He’s talking about the Fallen, Alice. The Fallen got wind of who you were, and where you were, and they were coming for you.”

“And my father?”

“You saw what they did to him. And this is going to sound bad, but believe me, if they’d taken him alive... I’m sorry, but that’s not something I would want on my conscience.”

“Taken him where?”

“Where d’you think?”

“No. That’s ridiculous. It is. It just... You’re kidding me, right?”

“Alice.” Mallory crouched in front of her, his eyes level with hers. “Let me be very clear about one thing. I
never
joke about the Fallen.” His face was stern; more serious than Alice had yet seen it. She nodded mutely. “This is the way it works. Everyone knows the rules – your father did too. Better than most. In the meantime, you are fair game, so you’ll stay here, where it’s safe.”

“How do you know they won’t find me?”

“Find you? They don’t need to find you. They already know you’re here. But the point is that they can’t come in, so they can’t get you. As far as you’re concerned, right now, this is the safest place on Earth or in Heaven. You don’t move from here without our say-so.”

“Unless,” Gwyn chipped in, “she catches something first. Cholera, perhaps? Dysentery?”

“Would you stop, alright? I’ll get the place cleaned up. We can’t all live...” Mallory didn’t finish his sentence, and instead stared at the floor.

Gwyn raised his eyebrows. “You were saying?”

“Nothing.” His eyes were fixed on his boots, and Alice could have sworn she saw something like triumph on Gwyn’s face.

“I know it’s probably a stupid question,” said Alice, “but why here? I mean, what’s so safe about this place? Shouldn’t we go to the police or something?”

“You’re an innocent, aren’t you? It’s touching. Naive, but touching.” Gwyn slid down from his chair. “And what do you think the police would do if you walked into a police station and told them that the Fallen were trying to kill you? That Lucifer had sent his Wolves after you?”

“Wolves?” Alice shuffled on the sofa, making the air even dustier. No-one had mentioned wolves. Angels, yes. But now, the devil? And wolves?

It was Mallory who answered her question. “They’re not
actual
wolves. Those wouldn’t worry me in the slightest. He means the Wolves of hell, the Twelve. They’re assassins, if you like: Lucifer’s generals and his personal guard. They’re ambitious, and they’re only out for one thing: promotion. Nothing else. If any of them had the balls, they’d take on Lucifer himself... not that they’d win. But it’s almost certainly the Twelve who’ll be on your trail.”

“And that’s why you’re here. To stop them.”

“Amongst other things. But that’s for another time. For now, I think it’s time you got some rest.”

“Because that’s going to be easy, isn’t it?”

“You’re safer here than you’ve been your whole life, Alice. Nothing that would harm you can cross that threshold.”

“Don’t tell me: hallowed ground?”

“Something like that.” Mallory pulled his gun out of his belt pointedly and ejected the magazine, checking it over before reloading.

“Well. That’s settled, then.” Gwyn was moving towards the door. “I, for one, can’t stay here any longer. The smell....” He wrinkled his nose and Mallory sniffed.