Gabriel's Clock (9 page)

Gabriel took a deep breath as if the telling of the tale caused him physical pain. The knuckles of his right hand showed white as they gripped his wineglass far too tightly.

“And so we come to the end of my story. Heaven was never the same again, not really. We had all been changed by the horror of war, and the home that we'd fought for seemed darker somehow. The anger inside Raphael grew, and we just stood and watched. We didn't know what else to do; we had no more stomach for fighting. I packed away my cherubim and prayed that I would never see them again. I buried myself in building clocks—the simplicity of their mechanisms reminded me of how creation should be: ordered, regular, predictable. Raphael retreated into his tower, Michael rested to recover from his wounds, and Sammael continued her job of igniting suns.

“Then, one awful day, there was an accident. Just as Sammael started the chain reaction to create a newborn star, Michael suddenly appeared at her side, spear in hand. She said he looked afraid, as if he was expecting an attack, as if he'd been told that she needed saving. She didn't. Sammael could do nothing except watch the awful look on Michael's face as he realized what was happening. He turned to flee, but it was too late. The blast vaporized him, spread his atoms among the stars, and all my sister could do was watch. She's special, you see: she's immune to the heat and radiation of a star; the rest of us are not.”

Gabriel's wineglass finally cracked under the pressure of his fingers; murmuring an apology, he set it carefully upon the table.

“Sammael was in shock. She didn't defend herself as Raphael ordered that for killing her brother she be cast out of Heaven. She wasn't sentenced to Hell as Lucifer had been, but she was to be exiled, never to walk through the gates of Heaven again.

“I watched my sister as she fell, knowing that my time was over too, and I told Raphael that he was no longer my brother. A darkness had taken root in his soul and I could not stand by and watch him turn our home into his own version of Hell. I've always wondered whether he had something to do with the accident that killed Michael, but even now I cannot understand why he would do such a thing.

“Raphael ordered me thrown down after Sammael, but I would not submit to such indignity. I threw myself from the gates of Heaven and let my wings burn as I fell. I no longer wanted to be an angel; I just wanted to be Gabriel and to be left alone. So on the second of September 1666 I crash-landed here, in a little hamlet in the middle of a forest. My wings were badly damaged, and I gave most of what power remained in them to the village itself, to give it life, to make a refuge for me and for anyone who wanted somewhere to be safe. Heaven and Hell would know where I was, but I would not be a threat—I would just be a clock maker—and angels and demons would leave me alone. And with the loss of so much power I began to age much faster than my siblings, become frailer. Still, when I look out my window and see the refuge this village has become, I know it was a price worth paying. And so the years passed and here we are.” He shrugged self-consciously and smiled at Jonathan. “Does that answer your question?”

“I . . .” Jonathan stammered, not knowing what to say.

“What happened to Sammael, and to Raphael?” asked Cay.

“Sammael found her way to Hobbes End and stayed for a time, but she could never forgive herself for killing Michael. I tried to tell her my suspicions about Raphael's involvement in Michael's death, but she wouldn't listen—the very idea was so awful, she didn't want even to think about it. We argued a lot, and eventually she left to try to find some peace while walking the earth. I haven't heard from her for many years. As for Raphael, I never heard from him again. The gates of Heaven have been locked shut, and I have no idea what's going on behind them.” Gabriel pushed his chair back and stood up. “Please forgive me, but I'm rather tired. I'm going to have to skip dessert. I'll replace the wineglass.” He walked to the door, but as he drew level with Jonathan he paused. “I'm sorry for what you've suffered, Jonathan,” said the angel. “And I'm sorry for being so preoccupied since you arrived. I meant to give you this earlier today.”

Jonathan turned to see Gabriel take off his wristwatch and hold it out to him. “But it's yours,” he protested.

“Take it,” said Gabriel, quietly insistent. “My gift to you. Every boy needs a good watch, and I made this myself a long time ago. It may be a bit careworn, but I can vouch for the quality.”

Not wanting to offend the angel, Jonathan held out his hand, and Gabriel placed the watch in his palm. “Thank you very much,” he said.

Gabriel nodded, shook hands with Ignatius and Grimm, and left quietly.

“Well,” said Ignatius. “That was something. I thought I knew that story, but I've never heard Gabriel tell it with so much detail, or so much passion.”

Jonathan didn't know what to say—he just stared at the watch in his hand, running his thumb over the worn leather strap and the scuffed sapphire-glass face.

“Anyway, Grimm, where's that massive Pavlova you've been slaving over?” Ignatius added, hurriedly changing the subject.

Grimm brought out dessert, and they ate in near silence; even Elgar was quiet. There was something about the sadness of Gabriel's tale that made laughter seem inappropriate.

“Right,” said Ignatius, once they had finished. “Hand me your dishes so Grimm and I can wash up.”

After clearing the table, Cay thanked Grimm for cooking and said her goodbyes.

“I'll walk you back,” said Jonathan. “I could do with some fresh air.”

They left the vicarage and walked out into a chilly and moonlit night.

“Did Gabriel really not tell you that version of the story before?” he asked as they strolled across the green.

“No,” said Cay. “He always left out the detail. Now I understand why he can be a bit distant sometimes—it's because he's sad.” She looked up at the stars. “I wonder how long it takes you to fall from Heaven,” she said.

Jonathan looked up too, wondering what it must be like to stand next to a star when it first exploded into life.

“Fancy a walk in the woods tomorrow?” asked Cay. “We can pack some sandwiches, and I can show you the lake.”

“Cool,” said Jonathan. “I'd like that.”

They had reached Cay's house by then, and after saying good night Jonathan made his way back across the green. He turned to look at the dark forest and shivered; it felt like he was being watched. Hunching his shoulders, he hurried back to the warmth and light of the vicarage.

Chapter 10

Hidden in the dark of the forest, his pinstriped suit blending into the shadows, Rook watched as Jonathan scurried across the green and disappeared through the vicarage gates.

“Well, well,” he murmured to himself, idly gouging chunks of bark from a nearby oak tree with his long, talon-tipped fingers. “If that's not the boy we've been looking for, I'll eat my hat.” A red line appeared across the bottom half of the demon's face and split apart like an opening wound. His long, mottled tongue, forked at the tip, tasted the air like a snake.

Ceasing his surveillance, he turned and strode off to find his siblings. Pulling a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket, he dabbed at the sweat that trickled down his featureless face.

“I can see you,” he said, mocking Hobbes End as he strode along. “But you can't see me, can you? It looks like Belial was right; we finally have a way in without being burned to a crisp!”

 

Raven was sitting in the driver's seat of the black Rolls-Royce, staring out the windscreen. Flowing from beneath the brim of her bowler hat, her long dark hair swept past the shoulders of her pinstriped suit. There was much to do, and Rook was late.

A snapping of twigs heralded the arrival of Crow, shambling toward Raven from the direction of the forest. In one clawed hand he held the mangled carcass of a freshly butchered pheasant. In his wake, a trail of feathers led back into the trees. Across Crow's face, a vivid smear of blood shone stark against his pale skin. Dropping his snack, he used the sleeve of his jacket to wipe away the gore. Opening the car door, he took off his bowler hat and got in next to Raven.

“Hungry,” he said, looking at his sister for approval.

Raven nodded.

Content that he hadn't done anything wrong, Crow fixed his attention on the hat resting on his knees. He hummed tunelessly to himself while gently stroking the velvet nap of the brim. What Crow lacked in intelligence, he made up for in vicious, simple-minded brutality, and Raven liked her younger brother, very much.

There was a sharp rap on the driver's window. She lowered the glass to reveal the looming shape of Rook.

“The angel was telling the truth,” he growled. “The boy's here. It looks like he's staying at the vicarage rather than with his grandfather, which seems odd to me. Time to report in.”

Raven started the engine, and within minutes they were hurtling down deserted country lanes far from Hobbes End. Eventually they reached a pair of electronic security gates set into a towering yew hedge. The gates swung open, and Raven drove the Rolls-Royce up a long tree-lined drive, coming to a stop outside a large, fortified manor house.

Rook led his siblings through a cavernous entrance hall and up a wide oak staircase. He reached a leather-embossed door just off the landing and struck it with a clenched fist.

A moment of silence passed before a voice called out, “Enter.”

Rook, Raven, and Crow—the three demons of the Corvidae—filed into the room. Before them, leaning against a huge mahogany writing desk, was Belial.

“Well?” asked the archdemon, his voice rasping through thin, cruel lips.

“Darriel's information proved correct,” said Rook. “Jonathan's mother ran straight to Gabriel. She thinks he's safe in Hobbes End.”

“Of course she does,” said Belial. “After all, nothing evil can enter Hobbes End, can it? Gabriel made sure of that. Unless, of course . . .” Belial turned to look at the small wooden box sitting on his desk. “Unless, of course, you have some help. How did the field test go?”

“The village could sense I was there, but it couldn't see me,” said Rook. “It must be quite frustrated.”

“How much do we have left?” asked Raven.

“Enough to get hold of that boy,” replied Belial. “I suggest you pay Hobbes End another visit tomorrow and persuade Jonathan that he'd be better off with me. I suspect you'll have to be firm with him—his father put up quite a fight, after all.”

Crow gave vent to a laugh that sounded like a drain being unblocked.

“Did you leave Darriel where I told you?” asked Belial.

Raven nodded. “Right on the steps of Heaven itself.”

“Still alive, I hope?”

“Barely.”

“Good. I want him to be an example of what's coming to anyone who stands in my way. And what of Jonathan's mother? What of the lovely, wayward Savantha?”

“We couldn't find her,” said Raven. “She went back to the house, but we just missed her. We tracked her to the nearest Hell-gate but she'd already gone through.”

“Where did the gate lead?” asked Belial.

“To Baal's domain.”

Belial scowled. “She's probably heading to Lucifer to beg for his help. That might be a problem in the long run, but first she has to get past Baal. If he catches her, she'll wish she'd just cut her own throat. Well, she's a loose end that can wait for now—it's Jonathan I want. With the boy tamed and with his powers under my control, I'll be able to crush Baal and Lilith. Once I have their resources, I'll place my boot on Lucifer's neck and wipe that smirk off his arrogant face.”

“And then?” asked Rook.

“And then this planet and everyone on it will be mine too. Humans have forgotten us, my bowler-hatted generals, but I will make them remember. With fire, sword, and blood I will show them what Hell on earth looks like!”

“And if Heaven decides to try to stop us?” asked Raven.

“I can't see that insane archangel doing anything but cowering behind his locked doors,” said Belial. “No, Raphael will be hiding in the dark until I see the opportunity to crush him. The gates of Heaven will open one day. When they do, I'll be waiting to finish the job that Lucifer was too weak to complete. He'll regret surrendering to Sammael—every second of the eternity it takes him to die.”

“And what if Jonathan turns out to have no powers at all?” asked Raven. “What if he's just a freak of nature? What if we've spent the last twelve years chasing a ghost?”

Belial shrugged his shoulders. “Then you can eat him,” he said. “And I have to go back to the drawing board. No point in wasting time on a lost cause.”

The Corvidae grinned like sharks.