Gabriel's Clock (24 page)

Staring through a haze of pain, Jonathan watched as Gabriel's limp body crumpled to the floor. No longer an archangel, just a thin, blind old man who'd loved building clocks.

“Grandfather!” he cried as he felt his heart breaking.

It was finally too much for Grimm. Dealing Crow a stunning blow that sent him flying, the big man launched himself at Belial like an artillery shell. The archdemon just stood and watched him come. Grimm raised Isobel for an almighty strike to Belial's head, but he didn't get the chance. With supernatural speed, the archdemon stepped aside and raked festering fingernails across Grimm's back. The big man screamed as if he'd been dipped in acid, then dropped to his knees.

Belial turned to look at Ignatius, a guttural, liquid laugh bubbling up from inside him like marsh gas through stinking mud. The reek of rotten meat that flowed from him was so strong, it made Ignatius want to gag.

“Now for you!” the archdemon spat, hatred burning in his eyes. And a terrible change began to overtake him. His skin rippled as whatever was hiding beneath decided it was time to reveal itself.

“We need to get out of here!” shouted Kenneth, pushing his daughter protectively behind him and starting the change to his wolf form.

“Not without Jonathan,” said Ignatius.

“Hurry,” said Elgar. “I don't know what's happening to Belial, but it's not going to be good!”

Ignatius took a step toward Jonathan but was brought up short when, with a sound like tearing cloth, Belial's body grew violently in size, the skin on his face stretching obscenely before splitting like old leather. The seams of his suit gave way, the shredded remnants swaddling a pulsating, malformed torso.

“Dear Lord,” said Ignatius, his face deathly pale.

“I didn't know he could do that,” said Elgar, hiding behind Ignatius's leg.

Belial's body gave one final heave as two huge, membranous wings erupted from his shoulders, the tatters of his suit and skin dropping to the floor with a sound like a wet towel. The change was complete.

Unable to move, Jonathan stared as Belial reared up to his full height and roared at the ceiling, the black scales that covered his thickly muscled body glinting under the ballroom lights. His horned reptilian head, like a nightmare version of Brass, swung down to glare at Ignatius with an open mouth full of mismatched fangs. Crimson droplets spattered onto the wooden floor, and the creature gave vent to a rumbling, viscous chuckle.

“Hiding one's true form can be tiresome,” he hissed. “But occasionally I find that showing it is useful for instilling fear. Who would think that you could fit all this”—he spread his arms wide—“into that?” He indicated the stinking pile of flesh that lay oozing on the floor.

Ignatius stood his ground, desperate not to show the fear that flowed through him. “Given that you're an archdemon,” he said, “I'd have expected something a little more . . . impressive.”

Belial snarled but didn't rise to the bait. He turned his attention to Elgar. “Well, cat,” he sneered. “I see that you survived your exile after all. Do you feel comfortable in
your
skin? Have you learned your place yet?”

Elgar hissed furiously, his fur standing on end. “Go to hell!” he spat.

“Not yet, little demon. Not just yet.”

With a gesture from Belial, Elgar slumped to the floor as if he'd been struck. He howled in pain, his claws skittering over the polished wood as his limbs flailed helplessly.

“Stop it!”
screamed Cay. “You're killing him, you monster!”

Elgar snorted his defiance. “Is that all you've got?” he grunted. But the pain was too much; the cat fell unconscious, his breath ragged and shallow.

“Now what?” Ignatius asked Belial as Grimm clambered unsteadily to his feet.

“Now I take my time killing you all.” The archdemon inhaled and closed his eyes, savoring the moment. “Killing you all . . . slowly.”

“You talk too much,” said Ignatius, his teeth clenching his pipe.

The archdemon roared and with lightning speed grabbed the front of Ignatius's jacket and lifted him off his feet. “I think,” Belial growled at the vicar, “I'll begin with you!”

Jonathan watched in frozen horror as Ignatius struggled to get free while Grimm threw himself at the huge creature, wielding Isobel with all his strength.

Leaving Cay in the doorway, the wolf launched himself into the fray. Within seconds both he and Grimm were doing their best to stop Belial from killing Ignatius while, unable to move, Jonathan could only scream silently as he watched his friends fight for their lives. He wanted to join them, to unleash the power that he knew lay somewhere inside him, but try as he might he couldn't find it. The block that Belial had placed inside his mind was too strong. And without help, Jonathan knew, it could only be a matter of time before Belial tore his friends to pieces.

Only a matter of time.

For suddenly Jonathan heard a gentle chiming. He didn't recognize it, but it seemed to be coming from his watch. Before his eyes, everything slowed to a crawl and then to a complete stop. The lethal dance with Belial froze midcombat, silence fell upon the ballroom, and the smell of apples and beeswax reached Jonathan's nose. Then, mercifully, he was somewhere else. And he could move again.

He found himself standing on a wide marble platform, hanging in space. Behind him two impossibly tall gates made of glass and gold reached up into the stars. The gates were so high that he couldn't see where they ended, or even if they ended.

Without warning a runaway train full of memories slammed into his mind—images of a terrible battle, of a shining city, of the joy of creation, of falling and of burning. Feeling himself being buried beneath their weight, Jonathan began to panic, clawing at the images as they swirled around him; then, just as it became too much, a pair of familiar hands reached out and grasped his, steadying him until the rush of memories flowed around—but not over—him.

“Hello, grandson,” said Gabriel, his face free from injury, his eyes impossibly blue.

“Gabriel?” gasped Jonathan. “But you're dead.” His heart ached in his chest as he pictured his grandfather falling to the floor.

“Yes.” The angel nodded. “It was the only way to save you all. He doesn't know it yet, but in killing me Belial has doomed himself. It is my gift to you.”

“But Belial has done something to me,” cried Jonathan. “I couldn't use my power even if I wanted to!”

“Oh, grandson,” said Gabriel, smiling at Jonathan with extraordinary warmth. “There is no point getting old if you don't get crafty. Look around you—where do you think you are?”

“I don't know.”

“You are standing in a memory of Heaven. My memory of Heaven, back when I was first created. Behind you are the gates, and if you open them, you will see such wonders.”

“But the gates are locked.”

Gabriel nodded. “But I have given you knowledge. All of my knowledge. Everything I was I give to you. I once thought I would give it to my son, but ever since the day you were born I knew it had to be you. You will be a bastion against the dark—a guardian against the chaos outside of creation.”

“But how can I have your memories?” asked Jonathan, bemused.

Gabriel just smiled at him. “If you have my memories, you already know the answer. Look inside yourself. Believe it, know it. See what I have made for you.”

Jonathan did as his grandfather asked and realized that the truth had been literally within arm's reach all along. He looked at the watch Gabriel had given him and understood what a gift it had truly been.

“Deus ex machina,” he said.

“And you know what it means now, don't you?”

Jonathan nodded. “God from a machine. It's not just a way to control Brass, is it?”

Gabriel shook his head and grinned mischievously.

“It's the back-door key to Heaven too,” Jonathan continued, his voice filled with awe.

Gabriel nodded.

“And more than that,” said Jonathan, “it was your way of making sure that all your knowledge wasn't lost if you died. Whoever wore this watch at the moment of your death would get it all.”

“Deus ex machina,” said Gabriel, his face happy beyond measure. “There are so many ways you can find God in a machine.”

Jonathan stared at the watch. He could feel it ticking against his wrist. It was warm and reassuring, just like the voice of his wings. His eyes went wide.

“I can hear my wings!” he said. “They're not shouting; they're not angry.”

“That's because you have my memories. It will take a long time to master all that power, but I will be there walking beside you while you learn.”

Jonathan nodded, tears running down his cheeks as he understood that he would never speak face to face with his grandfather again.

“Now, grandson,” said Gabriel, “let me show you what it's like to fly—what it's like to slip the surly bonds of earth and touch the face of God!”

 

A blow from Belial caught Grimm on the shoulder and knocked him across the floor. Moments later a vicious kick sent Kenneth, in his wolf form, flying through the air to land by the double doors. Free from distraction, Belial bent to devour Ignatius. The vicar of Hobbes End, pipe still gripped between his teeth, closed his eyes and prayed that he had the strength to die well.

“BELIAL!” Cay screamed at the top of her lungs. “LOOK BEHIND YOU!”

The archdemon paused, chuckling to himself. “You really don't expect me to fall for that one, do you, little girl?” he asked.

Ignatius opened his eyes and peered past Belial. His utter astonishment at what he saw almost made him drop his pipe. “No, really,” he said to the archdemon. “Look behind you.”

The grin on Ignatius's face irritated Belial, and with a snort the archdemon turned round.

Staring back at him with cobalt blue eyes stood Jonathan. His body was covered in black armor, the overlapping plates wrought with exquisite craftsmanship. His neck was patterned with red scales, and two small horns grew from his temples. On his wrist was a small, battered watch with a worn leather strap.

“Jonathan?” said Ignatius.

Jonathan smiled at him and walked forward, the plates of his armor sliding and folding as he moved. It was as though he was
encased in molten black glass.

“This ends,” he said to Belial, his voice filled with power and controlled fury. “There'll be no more death here.”

The archdemon stood completely still, a wildly grinning Ignatius still dangling from his claws.

“Let him go,” ordered Jonathan.
“Now!”

A look of stunned incomprehension plastered across his monstrous face, Belial opened his claws and let Ignatius fall to the floor. Amazed to still be alive, the vicar of Hobbes End ran to the door, sweeping up Elgar's limp body in his arms as he went.

“What are you?”
Belial demanded.

“I've been asking myself that a lot lately,” said Jonathan. “Now I know. Let me show you what fear looks like, monster.” And he spread his arms wide. There was no pain, no anger—just the song of quantum mathematics surging through his body. As he stood, head bowed, two mighty wings appeared in the air behind him, stretching from his upper back right to the ceiling of the ballroom with myriad ribbons of serrated purple light, each one curling joyfully around its neighbor. Cay clapped her hands together and shouted in pure delight—it was both beautiful and terrible, beyond her wildest imagination.

“How?”
roared Belial.

Jonathan held up his left arm. “The real Gabriel's clock,” he said, glancing at Ignatius and smiling. “It's not just Heaven's back-door key; it's a means to keep my grandfather's legacy alive. Deus ex machina, Belial.
You wanted it? Well, here it is!
” He thrust his arm forward so the archdemon could see the old wristwatch.
“Do you want to try to take it?”

“Think of what you're giving up, little general,” hissed Belial. “You could stand at my side and rule all of creation.”

“DON
'
T YOU DARE, YOU BUTCHER!” bellowed Jonathan, the air around him rippling with the force of his anger.

Belial backed away, finally realizing what he was up against.

Shifting his attention from the archdemon, Jonathan kneeled by his grandfather's body. With infinite care he gently wrapped it from head to toe in his wing ribbons, and covered by a shining purple shroud, Gabriel's body dissolved into that from which he'd been made: light. Through the windows of Jonathan's wings, the old angel finally returned to the heart of creation.

Jonathan stood and turned to face Belial. “You need to leave now,” he called across to his friends. “I want you all to be safe.”

“What are you going to—?”

Jonathan didn't give Belial time to finish the question. He knew what he was going to do, and with Gabriel's memories guiding him he finally knew how.

“We are going to slip the surly bonds of earth,
monster,” he interrupted, sending all his wing ribbons flying toward the archdemon. They whipped around and about him, pinning his wings and arms to his body, squeezing with incredible strength.

Roaring his defiance, Belial lunged at Jonathan, snapping at him with a crazed sawmill of razor-sharp teeth. Jonathan staggered back, narrowly avoiding decapitation. With clenched fists he gave Belial a double-handed blow that drove the archdemon to his knees.

“I SAID, RUN!” Jonathan shouted back over his shoulder.

“Everybody out!”
Ignatius bellowed.

At that very moment a groggy Elgar finally came to.

“Hey, Belial!” he yelled as the vicar carried him away. “I hope Jonathan pulls your flippin' wings off!” Then the cat was gone, leaving a trail of obscenities in his wake.

“Are you ready?” Jonathan asked the archdemon.