The angels look confused, unsure of what to do next. Maybe if Uriel’s supporters had actually been loyal and cared about him, as opposed to following him because of what he could do for them, maybe they would risk themselves to save him. But before the uncertain angels can make a move, the crowd over Uriel begins to disband.
Several people hold up grisly parts of him as trophies. Bloody feathers, clumps of hair, a finger, and other parts too bloody to recognize.
Okay, maybe we’re not the most civilized beings in the universe, but then, who is?
69
‘I’ve fulfilled my end of the bargain, Archangel,’ says the Pit lord. His burned wings sweep back and forth lazily in the air. ‘I saved your pitiful Daughter of Man and her family. Now it’s your turn.’
Raffe hovers on his beautiful feathered wings in front of the Pit lord. He nods with a grim expression.
‘No.’ The word slips out of my mouth as I watch, mesmerized.
Two hellions with black axes fly in from the dark outside the spotlights. Their axes are stained with layers of old blood. They position themselves behind either side of Raffe’s wings.
There’s a moment when I think Raffe will come up with a way out of this as he stares down the Pit lord.
Then he gives a single nod.
Without warning, the two hellions simultaneously lift their axes and slice through Raffe’s wing joints.
They lift their axes and slice through Raffe’s wing joints.
They lift their axes and slice through Raffe’s wing joints.
They lift their axes and slice through Raffe’s wing joints.
They . . .
. . . his wings . . .
I don’t know if Raffe yells out in his pain, because all I hear is my own scream.
Raffe falls.
Two of his Watchers swoop down and catch him before he can crash onto the bridge.
Raffe’s snowy wings land with a thud on the concrete.
A second after that, his sword clatters onto the ground, cracking the concrete with its weight.
70
The morning light tinges the sky above the San Francisco skyline. It’s forever changed, but I’m starting to find it familiar, if not comforting.
Boats roam the bloody bay, collecting the last of the drowning angels and humans. The boat guys wanted to put the rescued angels into cages and shoot them to debilitate them for a while. I’m sure they would have been happy to gauge how long it would take for them to recover and maybe even see whether they can recover on their own without food and water. But not surprisingly, Josiah and the Watchers insisted that the best they can do is deprive them of blankets and the warm drinks the rescued humans get.
Now that Uriel is dead, they have a shortage of archangels. Raffe seems to be unofficially in charge by default, only he’s going in and out of consciousness as we race down the bay to the nearest working – or at least standing – hospital.
The Watchers are executing Raffe’s orders and reporting back to him when he’s conscious. The angels are so shell-shocked that they’re just following orders.
I get the impression that so long as it sounds reasonable to them, they’ll do what Raffe says, at least for now. This is a group that’s so used to following orders that they probably wouldn’t know what to do without someone in charge.
The humans have mostly left the bridge. I’m using Josiah and the Watchers to relay messages for me too, just because it’s easy for now. I’m too worried about Raffe to help much with the logistics of making sure the humans get to shore. In theory, they’re following my orders, but in reality, they’re doing whatever the Tweedle Twins tell them.
I glance over at Raffe for the hundredth time as I huddle with Pooky Bear beneath a coat that someone gave me. I’m shivering as if it’s zero degrees, and no matter how much I hug myself, I can’t get warm. I can barely see his dark hair blowing in the wind among all the Watchers and angels surrounding him. He’s lying on one of the bench seats of the speedboat that the twins found for us.
The angels and Watchers move aside and look at me expectantly. Then they all take off into the blue sky. Raffe is conscious and looking at me.
I walk over to him. I’ve been trying not to be a big baby by insisting on holding his hand in front of the angels, but the urge is strong. I don’t want to embarrass him even when he’s unconscious.
But now that the others are gone, I sit beside him and hold his hand. It’s warm, and I pull it to my chest to warm me up.
‘How are you feeling?’ I ask.
He gives me a look that makes me feel guilty for reminding him about his wings.
‘So? What’s the deal? Are they making you the new Messenger?’
‘Hardly.’ His voice is raw. ‘I fought against them, then conjured up a Pit lord. That’s not much of a campaign for election. The only thing that saves me in their eyes is that they think I sacrificed my wings to save them from the angelic pestilence.’
‘You could have had it all, Raffe. Once Uriel was out of the way, you would have been back with the angels. And they might have voted you in as their king.’
‘Messenger.’
‘Same difference.’
‘Angels shouldn’t have a Messenger who used to have demon wings. It’s unseemly.’ He winces and closes his eyes. ‘Besides, I don’t want the job. We’ve sent word out to Archangel Michael to get his stubborn ass back here. He doesn’t want the title either.’
‘There sure was a lot of fuss over a job that no one wants.’
‘Oh, lots of angels want the job, just not the ones who should have it. Power is best held by the ones who don’t want it.’
‘Why don’t you want it?’
‘I have better things to do.’
‘Like what?’
He opens one eye and looks at me. ‘Like convince a stubborn girl to admit she’s madly in love with me.’
I can’t help but smile.
‘So if it’s not a pig farm that you want, what is it?’ he asks.
I swallow. ‘How about a safe place to live where we don’t have to scrounge for food or fight for it?’
‘It’s yours.’
‘That’s it? All I have to do is ask?’
‘No. There’s a price for everything.’
‘I knew it. What is
it?’
‘Me.’
I swallow. ‘I need you to be very clear right now. I haven’t slept in forever, and I’ve been living off of adrenaline, which isn’t the best lifestyle for humans. So what are you saying?’
‘Are you really going to make me spell it out?’
‘Yes. Spell it.’
He stares deep into my eyes. It makes me squirm but also makes my heart flutter like a schoolgirl’s. Oh, wait. I am a schoolgirl. I blink a few times, wondering if that’s how I’m supposed to bat my eyelashes.
‘What are you doing?’
‘What?’ Ugh. I suck at this.
‘Are you batting your lashes at me?’
‘What, me? No, of course not. What . . . spell it.’
He squints his eyes suspiciously at me. ‘This is awkward.’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘You’re not going to make this easy on me, are you?’
‘You’d lose all respect for me if I did.’
‘I’d make an exception for you.’
‘Quit stalling. What are you trying to say?’
‘I’m trying to say that I . . . that I . . .’
‘Yes?’
He sighs. ‘You’re very difficult, you know that?’
‘You’re trying to say that you’re what?’
‘OkayIwaswrong. Now let’s move on. Where do you think would be the best place for the angels to stay until they leave?’
‘Whoa.’ I burst out laughing. ‘Did you just say that you were wrong? Was that the word? Wrong?’ I smile at him. ‘I like the sound of that coming out of your mouth. It’s lyrical. W-r-o-n-g. Wroooong. Wrrrrong. Go on, sing it with me.’
‘If I didn’t love your laugh so much, I’d kick you off this extremely noisy and bumpy vehicle and let you shiver in the freezing water.’
He loves my laugh.
I clear my throat. ‘What were you wrong about?’ I ask in all seriousness.
He throws me a glare, looking like he might not answer. ‘About Daughters of Men.’
‘Oh? We’re not all freakish, repulsive animals who sully your reputation?’
‘No, I was right about all that.’ He nods. ‘But it turns out that’s not always a bad thing.’