Rebel Angels (32 page)

They step from the shadows, half a dozen or so of the most grotesque creatures I have ever seen. Dressed to the very last one in tattered, filthy white robes over ancient chain mail and sharp, steel-toed boots. Some have long, matted hair that trails over their shoulders. Others have shaved their heads bald, the cuts still fresh and bloody. One fearsome soul has but one long strip of hair in the center of his head, running from forehead to collar. His arms are ringed in bangles, and about his neck is a necklace made of finger bones. This one, the leader, steps forward.

“Hello, poppet,” he says, smiling hideously.

He offers his hand. His fingernails have been painted black. There are deep black lines inked up his sinewy arms, thorny stems weeping tears of pitch. They end above his elbow, where fat red flowers bloom in a band around his arm. Poppies.

Nell’s words swim back to me:
Beware the Poppy Warriors.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

THE SHADOWS MOVE. THERE ARE MORE OF THEM. Many more. Far above us, they perch on railings and rafters like a flock of gargoyles. One dangles a mace on its chain, swinging it back and forth like a pendulum. I am afraid to look at the man in front of me, but at last I do, into eyes that are rimmed by black kohl in a diamond shape. It is like looking into a living Harlequin mask.

My throat’s gone dry. I can barely stutter out a greeting. “H-how do you do?”

“How do we do what, poppet?”

The others laugh at this, a sound that gives me chills.

He steps forward, closer. He’s got a crude sword that he uses like a walking stick, his hand clenched about the handle. Every finger wears a ring.

“We’re sorry to have intruded . . .” My mouth is too dry. No other words come.

“We’re lost,” Felicity croaks.

“Aren’t we all, poppet? Aren’t we all. My name is Azreal. I am a knight of the poppy, as are we all. Ah, but you haven’t told us your names, fair ladies.”

We say nothing.

Azreal clucks his tongue. “Oh, that won’t do at all. What have we here? Ah, I see you have made friends with the forest folk.” He pulls the bow and arrow from Felicity and lays them on the ground. “Foolish poppet. What did you promise-omise them?”

“It was a gift,” Felicity says.

The crowd breaks into a hiss of a chant. “Lies, lies, lies, lies . . .”

Azreal grins. “There are no gifts in the realms, poppet. Everyone expects something. What does such a sweet lass do with such a dreadful gift? Tell me, poppets, what were you looking for? Did you think this was the Temple?”

“What Temple?” Felicity says.

Azreal laughs at this. "Such spirit. ’Twill be almost a shame to break you. Almost.”

“And if we were looking for this Temple?” I say, heart beating fast in my chest.

“Well, poppet. We’d need to keep you from it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Have you bind the magic? No, poppet. Then we’d have none wandering near us. No one to play with.”

“We’re not here to bind the magic. We want what you do, a piece of it,” I lie.

“Lies, lies, lies,
lies
!”

“Shhh,” Azreal says, spreading his hands, wiggling his fingers.
"The Poppy Warriors know why you’ve come. We know one of you is the Most High. We can smell the magic in you.”

“But . . . ,” I say, trying to find a way to reason.

He puts his finger to my lips. “Shhh, no negotiating. Not with us. Once we break you, we can suck the magic from your very bones. A sacrifice. ’Twill give us fierce power indeed.”

“But it dooms you,” Ann whispers.

“We are already doomed, poppet. No use crying over spilled blood. Now, which of you shall we offer first?” Azreal stops before Felicity. “Such games we could play together, poppet.” He trails his sharp fingernail down Felicity’s cheek, drawing a thin line of blood. “Yes. You would be such good sport, my pretty pet. We’ve found our first offering.”

He grabs Felicity’s arm and she falls to her knees, terrified.

“What can I offer you?” I shout.

“Offer us, poppet?”

“What do you want?”

“Why, to play our games, of course. We’ve no quests left to us, no crusades. Only games.”

He claps, and two of the beasts grab hold of Felicity.

“Wait!” I shout. “This is hardly sporting, is it?”

Azreal stops the men. "Go on,” he says to me.

“I propose a game.”

Azreal grins, giving his face the appearance of a death mask. “I am intrigued, poppet.” He snakes his hand around my neck, caressing it, as he whispers into my ear. “Tell me, what sort of game?”

“A hunt,” I whisper.

Azreal steps back.

“What are you doing?” Ann warns.

I keep my eyes trained on Azreal’s. If I can get us together, I can make the door of light appear, and we can escape the Poppy Warriors. Azreal claps again, breaking into a delighted cackle. The Poppy Warriors follow suit. Together, they sound like the birds we heard on our way across.

“A most sporting offer. Yes, yes, I like it. We accept, poppet. The hunt shall whet our appetites. Do you see that door?”

He points to an arched iron door at the far end of the cathedral.

“Yes,” I say.

“It leads to the catacombs below, and five tunnels. One leads out and away. Perhaps you’ll find it. That would be magic indeed, poppets. We’ll let you start.”

“Yes, but we shall need a moment to confer,” I say.

Azreal waves a finger at me. “No time to wish for the door, Order priestess,” he says, as if reading my mind. “Yes, I know all about it. Your fear lets us in.” He shakes his hands over us, as if sprinkling fairy dust, his bangles jangling in an echo. “See if you can find the tunnel. Go now, poppets. Runrunrun.” He chants it to us like a benediction.

“Run. Run. Run.”

The Poppy Warriors pick up the chant—
Run. Run. Run
— till it bounces off the cathedral’s walls like a great roar.
“Rrruuunnn! Rrruuunnn! Rrruuunnn!”

As if shot from a cannon, Ann and I break for the door.

“Felicity!” I shout.

She’s stopped to grab her bow and the quiver of arrows.

“Clever, poppet!” Azreal yells. “Such spirit you have!”

“Go!” she screams, catching up to us. We waste no time. We push through the heavy door into a long corridor lined with candles.

“Give me your hands!” I shout.

“Now?” Felicity screeches. “They’re right behind us.”

“All the more reason to leave at once!”

We join hands, and I try to concentrate. The most terrible, primal howls and screeches echo in the huge cathedral. They are coming after us. In seconds, they shall be through the door and we don’t stand a chance. My whole body shakes with fear.

“Gemma, make the door of light! Get us away!” Ann screams, nearly hysterical.

I try again. A piercing shriek unnerves me, and I lose my train of thought. Felicity’s face is wild with fear.

“Gemma!” she cries.

“I can’t do it. I can’t concentrate!” I say.

Azreal’s singsong voice rings out. “There’ll be no magicagic here, poppet. Not when we’ve such games to play.”

“They’re keeping it from us. We’re going to have to find another way out,” I say.

“No, no, no!” Felicity whimpers.

“Come on! Look everywhere!” I shout. We stumble along the corridor, patting the walls, searching for some escape. It is gruesome work: my palms rub across chips of bone and teeth. A bit of hair pulls away in my fingers, and I gag with fear and revulsion. Ann screams. She’s found a skeleton shackled to a wall, a warning of what’s to come.

“Ready or not, poppets, we’re coming for you!”

Oh, God. My trembling fingers find a handle. It is part of a small door that nearly blends into the wall.

“What’s this?” I say. The door opens with a creak, and we come close to tumbling down a long rope of perilous steps. They snake around the wall, ending far below, where the room opens into five tunnels.

“This way!” I shout. Felicity and Ann step in and we push the heavy door closed, bolting it shut. Under my breath, I mutter a silent prayer that the wooden plank we’ve slid into place holds fast.

“Stay against the wall,” I say, peering over the edge. Ann’s boot sends a stone plummeting. It takes many seconds for it to hit the floor—a long way to fall. Quickly but carefully, we make our way down. It is like descending into hell. Torches cast an eerie glow on the wet, rocky walls. At last, we reach the bottom. We’re in a circle that branches off into tunnels like a five-pointed star.

Tears streak Ann’s face, mingling with mucus from her dripping nose. Her eyes are wide with fear. “What now?”

The shrieks of the Poppy Warriors drift through the crevices of the bolted door. They batter it mercilessly, the wood splintering in deafening cracks.

“We must find the tunnel that leads out.”

“Yes, but which one?” Felicity says. The tunnels, lit by torches, flicker with shadows. Five tunnels. And we’ve no idea how long each one is—or what is waiting for us at the ends.

“We’ve got to separate. We’ll each take a tunnel.”

“No!”
Ann wails.

“Shhhh! It’s the only way. Each time we come back to the center. If you find the one, shout.”

“I can’t, I can’t,” Ann cries.

“We stay together, remember?” Felicity says, invoking the words we spoke in my room at Spence. It was only two weeks ago, but it feels a lifetime away.

“All right, then,” I say.

I grab a torch from the grisly wall, and we enter the mouth of a darkened tunnel. The flame illuminates the few yards in front of us and nothing else. The light falls on the rats that scurry at our feet, and I have to stifle a scream. We push on until we reach a dead end.

“This isn’t it,” I say, turning back.

A high-pitched keening echoes off the walls. It bounces around the bones of the dead, those unfortunate playthings of the Poppy Warriors. I would give anything to escape that awful sound. Above us, the door has been battered, but mercifully, it still holds fast.

The great black birds we saw outside circle us in the catacombs. Some have perched on the steps. Others flutter to the ground, cawing. The second tunnel yields another dead end. Ann’s sobbing openly by the time we have stumbled through the third tunnel, the weak light of the torch showing no way out.

Azreal’s voice drifts down to us. “I can hear you, my pet. I know which one you are—you’re the plump one. How will you run from me, my beauty bones?”

“Ann, stop crying!” Felicity shakes Ann, but it does no good.

“We’re trapped,” she sobs. “They’ll find us. We’ll die here.”

The keening of the Poppy Warriors has turned to growls and squawks, like a reverse hunt in which the animals corner the humans. The sound makes my skin crawl.

“Shhh, we’ll find it,” I command, leading us back to the open circle. More birds have arrived. The air is thick with them.

“Only two tunnels left,” Azreal calls out. How does he know that? He isn’t at the door. Unless there’s some other way in, a way only they know.

My heart beats wildly, and I fear I shall faint, when Felicity shouts, “Gemma, your amulet!”

It glows dimly beneath the fabric of my dress.

Ann stops crying. “It must be showing us the way out.”

Dear God, yes, a way out! With frantic fingers, I pull at the necklace, but it’s stuck on the lace of my dress. With one hard yank, I pull the amulet free. It sails through the air and skitters across the floor, landing somewhere in the dark.

“We’ve got to find it. Quick, help me look!” I shout.

The cavern is dark. We’re down on hands and knees, hunting for anything shiny. My heart’s a hammer swung hard and fast. I have never felt such fear.
Come on, come on. Find it,
Gemma, that’s a good girl. Keep the fear from your mind.

Something glints in the dark. Metal. My amulet!

I rush to the spot. “I’ve found it!” I say.

My hand reaches down, but the metal doesn’t come up in my hand. It is attached to something. A steel-toed boot. It takes shape under my fingers as a scream lodges in my throat. When I look up, I see Azreal glowing in the torchlight.

“No, pretty pet. I’ve found you.”

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

THE GREAT BIRDS CAW. THERE IS A HUGE FLAPPING of wings as they leave their perches. As they fly down, they change shape, becoming men, until they are the Poppy Warriors, surrounding us, cutting off all escape.

Seeing my shocked expression, Azreal explains. "Yes, it was the Order that cursed us so for our games. It’s been so very long since we’ve had such beauties to play with. So long since we’ve been able to visit your lovely world and bring back pets.” He entwines my hair around his fingers like laces. His breath is hot in my ear as he leans in close. “Such a very, very long time.”

My throat’s dry as kindling, and my legs tremble.

“I don’t think this will do you any good now,” he says, dropping the lifeless amulet in my hand. “Now, who shall we play with first?” Azreal stops in front of Ann. “Who would miss you, pet? Would anyone sighedy-sigh over one more lost maiden? Perhaps if she were the fairest of them all. But this is no fairy tale. And you are not fair. Not fair at all.”

Ann is so terror-stricken she’s nearly in a trance.

“It would be a blessing if we took you, hmmm? No more burning inside while the others have all they could ever want and more. No need to cut into your own flesh. No more keeping your mouth closed tight around the scream that explodes inside while they mock you.”

Ann nods in agreement. Azreal leans in to her. "Yes, we can end it for you.”

“Stop it!” Felicity spits out.

Azreal moves to her, caresses her neck. “Such spirit, pet. How long would you last? If I broke and bled you? A week? Two?” He breaks into a slow grin. “Or . . . would you skitter away inside somewhere, as you did every time he touched you?”

Felicity’s shame shows as a single tear coursing down her cheek. How does he know this about her?

“You be quiet,” she whispers, her voice betraying her anguish.

“All those nights in your room. Nowhere to go. No one to trust. No one to hear you. Not such spirit, then, pet.”

“Stop,” Felicity whispers.

He licks her cheek. “You took it. And deep down, you told yourself,‘This is my fault. I made this happen. . . .’ ”

Felicity is so afraid. I can feel it in her. We all can. What was it he said?
We smell your fear. It lets us in.
Is there something about our fear that gives power to their magic?

“Fee, don’t listen to him!” I shout.

“Do you know something, pet? I think you rather enjoyed it. ’Tis better than being ignored altogether, isn’t it? That’s what you truly fear, hmmm? That you are so very unlovable after all?”

Felicity’s sobbing, unable to answer.

“You don’t want to live with this anymore, do you, poppet? The shame. The heartbreak. The stain on your soul. Why don’t you take this blade and do yourself in?”

Felicity reaches out and takes the dagger he offers.

“No!” I shout, but I’m restrained by one of the Warriors.

He coos to her sweetly as a mother with a babe. “That’s it. Just end it. All that pain. Gone forever.”

“Don’t let them in,” I say to Felicity. "They’re using your fear against you. You must be strong. Be strong!” Strong. Strength. I’m reminded of something Nell said. “Felicity, Nell said the Poppy Warriors would steal our strength. Fee, you are our strength! We need you!”

I’m face to face with Azreal and his dead, kohled eyes. “What about
your
fear, poppet? Where should we begin? You can’t even help your own father.”

“I’m not listening to you,” I say. I try to concentrate, abandon my fear. But it is so very hard.

Azreal continues. "All that power, yet you cannot do the one thing that matters.”

A moment ago, the amulet began to glow, to show me the way out. I clutch it in my hand, secretly angling it toward the last two tunnels. Which is the one?

A hard slap stings my cheek. "Are you listening, poppet?”

Keep concentrating, Gemma.
Do I imagine it, or does the amulet glow? It does! It is faint but real. The tunnel directly behind Azreal is the one. I’ve found the way.

“We visit your father from time to time,” he says.

“What do you mean?” I say. My concentration is gone. The glow disappears.

“When he is under the drug’s spell, his mind is most receptive to us. Such games, such games. We told him about you. About your mother. But he’s getting weaker. And we’re losing all our fun.”

“You leave him alone.”

“Yes, yes. For now. Let’s play.”

“Stop where you are!” Felicity stands poised on a rock, her bow drawn back, one eye squinting on the arrow that she aims in a sweeping arc, taking in the whole of the room. The Poppy Warriors caw at her. Her mouth curves into a hateful smile, a mimic of the bow’s string.

“Put the bow down now, poppet.”

Felicity trains the arrow on Azreal. "No.”

His grin vanishes. "I’m going to eat you alive.”

“I don’t bloody think so,” she says through tears.

With a great caw, he charges for her. Felicity’s arrow flies hard and fast, piercing Azreal’s neck just above the protection of his chain mail. His eyes widen as he sinks to his knees and falls to the dusty floor, dead. There is a moment of stunned silence, followed by pandemonium. The Poppy Warriors shriek in anger and grief. There is no time to lose.

“This way!” I shout, running for the tunnel the amulet has shown me. Felicity and Ann are on my heels, but so are the Poppy Warriors. We hadn’t the chance to grab a torch. The tunnel is dark as pitch as we barrel through it, bumping into one another, feeling the rats tickle over our feet, hearing one another’s desperate gasps and ragged breathing. And just behind us, there is the hideous cawing of those shape-shifting knights.

“Where is it?” Felicity cries. "Where is the way out?”

It is still too dark to see my hand. "I don’t know!”

“Gemma!” Ann yelps. They are in the tunnel with us. I can hear them closing fast.

“Keep moving!” I shout.

The tunnel takes a sharp turn. Suddenly, I see it up ahead—an opening, and beyond that, the gray haze of fog. With an urgent burst of speed, we rush out into the thick air, breathing in deep gulps. We’re on the shore.

“There’s the boat,” Felicity screams. It’s sitting where we left it. Ann scrambles in and picks up the oars as Felicity and I push the boat away from the shore, wading into the murky water as we do. With effort, we climb in.

The birds come in a great black swarm of screeching.

Ann and I paddle against the current while Felicity takes aim against those terrible winged things. I close my eyes and row for all I am worth, hearing the sound of that awful cawing and Felicity’s arrows slicing the air.

Something bumps the boat.

“What was that?” Ann asks.

“I don’t know,” I say, opening my eyes. I look around but see nothing.

“Keep rowing!” Felicity instructs, letting fly. Birds fall from the sky. They change into men and sink below the water.

“They’re going back!” Felicity screams. "They’re leaving!”

We give a cheer. Ann’s oar is yanked from her hand. The boat is bumped so hard that we shake upon the water.

“What’s happening?” Ann says, terrified.

With a great push, the rowboat goes over and we are pitched into the murky moat. I come up sputtering, wiping the water from my eyes with my fingers.

“Felicity! Ann!” I shout. There is no answer. I call out louder.
"Felicity!”

“Here!” She pops up, sputtering beside me. "Where is Ann?”

“Ann!” I scream her name again. "Ann!”

Her blue hair ribbon floats upon the water, abandoned. Ann is gone, and all we see is the oily sheen of the water nymphs.

“Ann!”

We scream until we’re hoarse.

Felicity dives under, comes up again. "They’ve got her.” Wet and shaking, we stumble onto dry land. In the distance, the hollow windows of the cathedral wink at me. The magical glamour cast off, it has reverted to its true self, a grand ruin. I put my head on my knees, coughing.

Felicity’s crying. “Fee,” I say, putting my hand on her back. “We’re going to find her. I promise. It won’t be like ...” It won’t
be like Pippa.

“He shouldn’t have said those things to me,” she says in great hiccupping cries.
"He shouldn’t have said them.”

It takes me a moment to realize that she is talking about Azreal and what happened in the catacombs. I think of her standing on that rock, piercing our tormentor with her arrow. “You mustn’t be sorry for what you did.”

She looks into my face, her sobs subsiding to a cold, tearless fury. She hoists the nearly empty quiver onto her shoulder.

“I’m not.”

The walk back to the garden is long and hard. Soon I recognize the jungle growth of the place where we met the girls from the factory fire.

“We’re close,” I say. I can hear the factory girls talking.

“Where are we going?” one of the girls asks.

“With Bessie’s friends. They know a place where we can be whole again,” the other answers.

I pull Felicity down. We’re crouched low behind a large fern. Now I see them. The three girls in white, the ones from my vision—they’re leading the girls away from this spot in the jungle toward a direction we haven’t yet been.
They will
lead you astray with false promises. . . .

Nell was right. Whoever these girls once were, they are dark spirits now, in league with Circe.

“Where are they going?” Felicity whispers.

“The Winterlands, I fear,” I say.

“Should we stop them?” Felicity asks.

I shake my head. “We have to let them go. We have to save Ann, if possible.”

Felicity nods. It seems a terrible choice, but it is made. And so we watch them go, some of them holding hands, some singing, all on their way to certain doom.