“Don’t thank me, Mallory.”
“One minute.” He watched her for a moment, his face inscrutable, then stepped outside, leaving Alice alone with Toby.
He barely seemed to know what was happening. She wasn’t surprised, and she couldn’t blame him. He had no idea where he was, why he was there, what he had done (or not done), and none of it made any sense. He must have been there since the riot. She’d tried to push him away. To protect him. She’d done well at that, hadn’t she?
She brushed his hair away from his face.
“Alice... what’s happening?”
“You got in the middle of something, Toby. You didn’t mean to, and it wasn’t your fault. But now you’re in.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I don’t either.”
He was looking at her now; straight at her. His eyes locked on to hers. “You’re going to leave me here, aren’t you?”
“I’m sorry, Toby. I’m so, so sorry.”
“You said you were going to get me out...”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“You’re just going to leave me.”
“I can’t...” Alice found herself drawing back from him. She hadn’t meant to – not at all – but still, she had pulled away.
“You’re going to leave. With them.”
“I have to.”
“You don’t have to. You can help me!” He strained against the ropes, and the chair rocked from side to side. “Please! You can help me!”
“I can’t. I can’t untie the ropes, and I have to go. I’m sorry.” She dropped a kiss on his forehead, along with her tears. “Someone will come back for you and get you out, I promise... I’ll send someone. Just... hold on.”
“You can stick your promise, Alice.” Toby’s voice was heavy, and it hurt Alice more than anything else in that room. She was abandoning him, and he knew it.
“I’m sorry...” she said again, and she meant it. But somehow she was beside the door and he was still tied to the chair. Still tied to the chair and beaten. Still tied to the chair and bleeding.
And she was beside the door where the angels were waiting.
Toby turned his head away from her, and there was nothing else to say.
Mallory’s face was grim, but he was still waiting. “It’s time to go,” he said. Alice nodded.
“I know.”
“Alright, then.” He glanced up at Castor and Vin. “Let’s go.”
Toby heard them walk away. By the time the echoes of their voices had faded, the only sound left was his sobbing.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The Garments of Vengeance
ALICE HAD BEEN right about the fighting. While she and Castor were looking for Mallory and Vin, Michael and his choir had torn through the rest of the warehouse. Things were burning everywhere Alice looked. Sheets of paper blew along corridors – some scorched, some still on fire – and pools of fire dotted the floor. Shouts echoed through the building; shouts, and the occasional scream. Alice felt dizzy, unstable. Nothing made sense. She had left Toby. Toby, a prisoner of the Fallen, and she had left him to be tortured, perhaps even to die. Beside her was Mallory, his face blank. But he was angry, and he was hurt. Whatever Michael had done, it hurt – and more than that, it had forced him to obey. Something which never sat well with Mallory...
They rounded a corner and walked almost straight into two of the Fallen, who recoiled and gnashed their teeth at the sight of Mallory. He sidestepped one, dodging neatly and bringing his gun level with the other’s heart. He pulled the trigger, and the unfortunate creature took a bullet in the chest, falling back with a shriek. Without breaking his stride, Mallory whirled around and smashed the butt of the gun into the other’s face, knocking him to the ground.
“Where is he?” he shouted, leaning over the Fallen, who grinned and spat up into his face.
“He’s coming home,” he hissed.
“Lucifer? Fuck that. That’s not who I meant and you know it,” said Mallory, and sharply brought his boot up under the Fallen’s chin. His head snapped back and lolled against the floor.
“Coming home, indeed. Load of old bollocks.” Mallory muttered.
Castor was staring at him.
“What?” he said, stopping mid-stride.
Castor blinked back. “You’re a crazy person. An actual crazy person.”
“Me? No. No, right now, I’m angry. You want to see what happens when I get crazy?”
“Is that likely to happen tonight?”
“That depends on how long it takes me to find Rimmon.”
“MICHAEL!” ONE OF the angel’s wings was broken, and hung down at his side. Michael pulled his sword up and out of the body on the floor and turned to look at him.
“What?”
“Xaphan has been sighted. He’s heading...”
“Follow him.”
“You don’t want us to stop him?”
“Not yet. Xaph’s usually the first one to run, and he’s usually the one who knows where to go. So watch him, follow him... whatever it takes.”
“We could...”
“And if you kill him, what do you think Lucifer will do?”
“I understand.”
“Good.” Michael wiped his sword clean. “I won’t have our plans spoiled – not now we’re so close.”
“Yes, sir.” The angel saluted and hurried off.
“MICHAEL TOLD YOU to report to him.” Alice was having trouble keeping up with Mallory, who was now storming ahead of them.
“Yes, he did.”
“You’re not, are you?”
“Oh, I will. Just not yet.”
“Why?”
“Because he made this personal.”
“Who? Michael?” Mallory turned abruptly to face her, and she stumbled to a halt.
“Not Michael. Rimmon.”
“Oh, not again...”
“Alice?”
“What?”
“Listen to me – just for once. This is personal. More personal than you can imagine. It always has been, and I’ve had enough. So yes, I will go and report to Michael like the good little soldier I am... but first, I’m going to find Rimmon and I’m going to hurt him. And I’m going to enjoy it.” There was an edge to his voice that Alice recognised. “So if you don’t want to be there for that, I suggest you go. Now.” He steamed ahead again, not waiting for a reply.
Alice frowned. “After all this? You think you can just walk away? You think you can do this without me?” she shouted after him. Behind them, Castor looked at Vin.
“They’re always like this, aren’t they?” he asked, gesturing to them both.
“Welcome to my life.”
MALLORY THREW THE door open and marched through. “Rimmon!” he shouted. Something nearby rattled. “Rimmon!”
“He’s going to get away...” Alice mumbled, following him through. It was dark on the other side, but here and there she could make out reflections: light glinting on metal. It was a big room, and it smelled of booze. “Mallory...” she said. “I don’t like this.”
He paid no attention. Instead, he banged his gun down on something and carried on shouting. “Rimmon! I know you’re in here, you little shit!”
“Mallory....”
He was still ignoring her – but Alice had found the light switch... or rather, a bank of them. Switch by switch, she flicked them on, and then wished she hadn’t.
The room smelled of booze because it was a bar. They were standing beside the counter: clad in black plastic with gold edging, it wanted to look like marble and failed. There was what seemed to be a dance floor ahead, and coloured lights spun above it, casting weird, shifting shadows. A small, round podium stood in the middle of it all, complete with a golden pole fixed to the ceiling, and Alice felt an overwhelming desire to wash her hands.