I crouch by the edge of the flower bed and spark the phoenix lighter. The Aqua Regia explodes into flame, burning me a nice path through the hungry mouths. I actually feel kind of bad for the little curs. It’s not their fault they’re a cannibal florist shop. Unlike most of the havoc, they were bred to be the way they are.
I drink the rest of the Aqua Regia and wait for the flames to die down. When they’re low enough that I’m reasonably sure I’m not going to go up like a Roman candle, I walk carefully through the little walkway I’ve created. The flowers on either side of the path growl and stretch their stupid stems to get a piece of me, but they can’t quite reach.
When I get to the tree I don’t touch the sword right away. I take out Doris’s butcher knife and probe around the branch. After all, the tree in the other Eden had a snake in it. Who knows what kind of nefarious wrigglers might be hiding in this one?
But the blade comes back clean and with no bite marks. I sniff it and don’t smell any obvious poison. And I didn’t trigger any booby traps. Still, I don’t exactly want to reach up there and just grab the sword. I should have kept the golden blade instead of being all magnanimous and giving it back. Lesson learned: once you get a weapon, never, ever give it up. Unless it’s the amber blade. That one I promised to give back, but that’s a special case. Now that I think about it, I wonder if it might be useful here. If there is something hiding in the branches, maybe it will kill it before it gets a piece of me.
I put away the butcher knife and take out the amber blade. Probe around the branch the way I had a couple of minutes earlier, but this time it’s different. The moment I touch the tree, there’s a crack. The trunk sags a few inches and slips to the side. Branches fall off all around me. Shit. I killed the thing. It’s funny watching something die that’s older than anything you know. I don’t exactly feel bad about it, but it’s another reminder of how everything snuffs it somewhere, sometime. Maybe I should get over being dead and figure out the best way to spend eternity. For damn sure it isn’t going to be in this weed patch.
Finally, the branch right above my head snaps off. I have to duck out of the way, then twist around to catch the falling sword. The moment I have it in my arms, I, very carefully, slip the amber blade back inside my coat.
The flames have died down enough on my walkway that the nearest dog blossoms can reach me. I have to jump out of the flower bed to keep from getting gnawed to death.
And that’s it. I have Mr. Muninn’s sword in my defiled Abomination hands and neither of us exploded or turned into a pillar of salt. The gold is beautiful, but I’m surprised. I mean, it’s just a sword. I was expecting something that vibrated with power the way the amber blade does. This is just a sword. And it’s light for gold. I swing it through the air a few times. The weight is perfect. I’d really like to keep it for a while and play with it, but there’s a bunch of grumpy killers and angels and a soon-to-be-dead messiah waiting for me.
I remind myself that I can’t get too anxious about doing in the Magistrate. Not with Daja around. She doesn’t realize I’d be helping her, and I won’t have the time to explain to her the facts of life. So, just like every other goddamn thing on this fun-house ride, I’m going to have to wait and pick the right moment. And Daja isn’t the only one I’m worried about. I have to make sure Traven is clear of the havoc before I do anything. But I’ve waited this long. A little longer won’t make any difference.
They wait for me at the edge of the ruins. It doesn’t look like anyone wants to get closer to the spooky junkyard, so I put on a little show. Swinging the sword. Spinning it. Flipping it end over end into the air and catching it just before it hits the ground. Alice laughs, but Vehuel and the other angels look like they’re about to have kittens, so I let them off the hook. Stepping out of the ruined palace, I toss Vehuel the sword. She plucks it out of the air more gracefully than I ever could. Angel show-off.
“You’re welcome,” I shout before taking a deep and obnoxious bow.
The angels crowd around Vehuel, laying hands on the sword like sixties teenyboppers trying to touch the holy hem of Jagger’s tailored suit.
“It’s beautiful,” says Vehuel.
I pat my pockets, looking for a cigarette. Find a pack of Maledictions with one last soldier inside.
“It’s pretty,” I say, “but until you’ve had a Singapore sling at Bamboo House of Dolls don’t talk to me about beautiful. Carlos is Picasso with little umbrellas.”
No one is paying attention. Here I am telling these halo jockeys about the best place in L.A. for a celebration drink, but none of them hears a word. They’re all too busy wanting to get back to Heaven for milk and cookies. An angel wouldn’t know fun if it showed up in a blimp with dancing girls and a full bar.
Traven and the Magistrate go over to cop a feel from Excalibur, leaving Daja alone. I walk to her and offer her the Malediction. She takes it, has a couple of puffs, and hands it back.
“Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
“That’s it, then? That’s God’s sword?”
“That’s it.”
“I thought it would be bigger.”
“Me too. It’s light for gold. But I guess Mr. Muninn can do what he wants with the molecules or atoms or whatever.”
I hand her back the cigarette. She puffs and hands it back.
“I don’t understand anymore. We take it back to the weapon, make it work, and then what? Do we have to drag it back into Hell?”
“I’m not dragging that thing one more foot.”
“A lot of people feel that way. Maybe they’ll take us to Heaven with them to fight.”
“I doubt that. Odds are they’ll take the gun and piss off back home, leaving us here with a pat on the ass and a promise to call the next day. But they never call.”
She gives me a look.
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s a metaphor . . . or maybe a simile. I’m not sure. What I mean is Vehuel and the rest are done with us. They have what they want and they don’t care about us any more than the Magistrate cares about those morons he’s been dragging through the desert.”
“That’s not true,” she says. “He cares. You just misunderstood.”
“Sure. It’s all a misunderstanding.”
I give her the last of the Malediction. She finishes it and absently drops it on the ground. It’s hard when your parents disappoint you and doubly hard in Hell when you thought you were having Sunday dinner with the messiah. Whatever Daja was when she got Downtown, she’s more screwed up than when she got here, and that’s not fair. Of course, fair doesn’t mean anything in this universe. The winners are the schemers and the ruthless who take what they want, not the suckers standing around hoping for an even break. Still, it’s one more reason I’ll enjoy killing the Magistrate.
But I might not get the chance. I think some other people have the same idea.
The angels with their supersonic ears hear them first. By the time Daja and I notice them, the mob is practically on top of us. Or rather, from the way they’re spaced out, two different mobs come at us side by side. This is definitely a pitchforks-and-torches situation.
Johnny is at the head of one mob. Wanuri leads the other. Two mild-mannered personalities. Nothing bad can come of this.
Wanuri shouts, “Daja! Magistrate—be careful!”
“Is that the sword?” says Johnny. He’s holding Doris’s panabas. There’s no way she gave it to him voluntarily. I scan Wanuri’s bunch and see her with them, a deep gash across her forehead.
“Hand it over,” Johnny says.
See, this is what I meant by fair. The problem here is that while Wanuri and her group are clearly looking out for people they consider friends, Johnny’s horde is twice as big. The only thing keeping his bunch from ripping hers apart is that Wanuri was smart enough to keep control of the guns. Almost everyone in her group is armed. So, why aren’t they shooting? I have a bad feeling I know the answer.
Johnny
is flanked by Billy and Frederickson. Barbora is nearby with a small contingent of Hellions. She nervously taps a length of pipe against her leg. The mob behind them looks tired, hungry, and desperate. I’m sure they’re going to listen to reason.
Vehuel holds the sword across her chest.
“The Lux Occisor belongs to the Almighty, not damned mortals and fallen angels. You will not have it.”
“Look,” says Johnny in a more reasonable tone. “We’re going to take it. Yes, you’re bloody angels and all the rest of it, but even with those sparklers you call swords, there are only six of you. There are a lot more of us and you can’t take all of us down.”
Vehuel takes a step toward the crowd. A few of them back up.
“Do not test my patience, mortal.”
Johnny points at her.
“We know you can die.”
He points to me.
“That shit stain there killed one of you by himself. I figure all the rest of us together must equal six of him.”
“You don’t,” I shout. “Go home before they chop you into kitty litter.”
“You’re next, mate. We take the sword and then we settle with you.”
I turn to Vehuel.
“In that case, feel free to kill them all, starting with Chopper Read up there in the front.”
“Why do you even want the sword?” says Daja. “What good is it going to do you out here?”
“He does not want it out here, do you, Johnny?” says the Magistrate. “You and your serfs will drag the weapon all the way to Pandemonium. That is your plan, is it not? You will set up your own private fiefdom in Hell’s ashes and crown yourself its king. The master of ruins. That is quite a title, Johnny. Your mother would be so proud.”
“Leave her out of this.”
“Of course. I did not mean to offend. But I am curious: How do Frederickson and Billy feel about being your lackeys once you have secured your kingship? Or do you plan on killing them, too?”
“Enough!” he shouts. “We’ll have the sword or your head, or maybe we’ll have both. How does that sound to everybody?”
That idea gets a nice rise out of Johnny’s glee club.
The Magistrate says, “Wanuri. Would you mind killing Johnny and his confederates if they move toward the angels?”
“With pleasure,” she says.
Johnny shakes his head.
“They’re bluffing. I helped to move supplies from the trucks to the ship. There was barely any ammo left. Miss boong and her tribe have a lot of guns, but I know for a fact that half of them are empty.”
Yeah. That’s what I was afraid of.
I look hard at Wanuri. Her eyes glance nervously left and right. Johnny is right. She’s bluffing. There’s no way to stop what’s going to happen. Maybe six angels really can hold off this many psychos, but a lot of people I kind of like are going to get hurt. I wonder how many people I can take with the amber knife before they take me down. I also have the na’at, the Colt, and the butcher knife. Dying again isn’t what I hoped for today, but I should be able to take a fair number of Johnny’s idiots with me to Tartarus.
Alice comes and stands beside me.
“Don’t worry. I’ll protect you,” she says.
“That’s my line.”
“Yeah? How’s that Gladius of yours coming?”
“Sure. Kick me when I’m down.”
I look around. Traven has gone to stand with Wanuri’s group. Cherry, however, is still missing.
Alice shouts, “Vehuel!”
I turn and see something I’ve never seen before. An all-out brawl among angels. Johel and a dark-haired female are on top of Vehuel, trying to wrestle the sword away from her. The sixth angel is already dead.
Oh, fuck. They’re rebels.
Me and Alice run over. While Johel and Vehuel continue to fight, the dark-haired woman gets up and manifests her Gladius. Alice never stops running. She manifests hers and the two of them slam into each other in a thunderclap of noise and light. I head over to help, but they both extend their wings and flap into the air. Not much good I can do there. So I do the only thing I can think of: I jump on Johel’s back and get an arm around his throat. He lets go of Vehuel and does a quick flip, throwing himself on top of me. With all that armor on, he knocks the wind out of me just long enough to jump to his feet and manifest his Gladius. He’s fast, but so am I. He brings it down hard and the ground sizzles around it when he misses. No way this is going to be a fair fight without my Gladius. So I do the only logical thing.
I cheat.
With one hand I pull out the na’at, and with the other hand, I reach into my coat. Extending the na’at to its full length, I flick it at Johel like a whip. The Gladius slices through it like a blowtorch through Rocky Road. Too bad. I’m sorry to see the na’at go, but using it did give me enough time to get out the amber knife. He sees a blade in my hand, but just laughs at the skinny thing. Then he charges me.
I throw the knife.
At first I can’t be sure anything happened. But then Johel starts pulling at his chest, trying to get his armor off. His Gladius goes out and he falls on his back, breathing hard. I guess Samael was right. The knife does go through angel armor. Good to know. I run to get the knife back, but it’s not there. I roll him over and there’s blood on his back. The knife went all the way through him and embedded itself in a nearby tree, which is also extremely dead. I run and grab the knife, scanning the sky overhead for Alice.
She and the dark-haired angel are still fighting. Vehuel struggles to her feet, leaking pearly angel blood. When I get to her, she shoves the Light Killer into my arms saying, “Guard it.” Then she leaps into the air and disappears.
This leaves me in a slightly awkward position. While Johnny and his clown show weren’t about to jump into an angel rumble, they’re not nearly as reluctant to come after me.
“Little help here,” I shout.
“Don’t do it, Johnny,” says Wanuri, leveling her rifle at him.
He says, “Do you even have any bullets, you slit?”
“One way to find out fast.”
He makes a quick, unconvincing feint in her direction and she backs up a step.
Fuck.
“That’s what I thought,” he says, laughing, then calls back to his people. “Get him.”
This is where things get weird. Again. Remember how I was kind of disappointed about how there weren’t any traps or tricks by Maleephas’s tree? Funny thing. It turns out there was something, only it was very old and probably a bit rusty and it took a while to get cranking.
Because all around us, the skeleton trees begin to come apart. Branches unwrapping from around each other. Trunks splitting apart and moving on their own. The pieces start to connect for me. Whatever happened to all the hapless fallen angels when the town came apart? Funny thing. They never left. They are the trees.
All around us, trees come undone and naked bodies—dry skin stretched over brittle bones like hundred-year-old roadkill—lumber down the hills in our direction.
Up and down the line, Johnny’s troops begin to scream. You see, Wanuri’s bunch ran up the side of the road close the buildings, while Johnny’s kept to the side of the road that ran along the base of the hills. Like the beetle attack earlier, the shambling tree zombies overwhelm Johnny’s line with sheer numbers. To give them credit, Johnny’s troops go down fighting. Barbora takes down three with her pipe before she’s dog-piled and disappears. Billy almost makes it out of the fight with two zombies on his back and one on his front. Frederickson . . . well, they go for his scalped head like it’s a bargain buffet on a Sunday after church. He vanishes, one arm flailing like he’s trying to hail a cab.
I grab Daja and we take off running for Wanuri’s group.
She and everybody else with a loaded weapon fires into the hobbling piles of gristle. They take down a lot, but Henoch must have been a pretty big town. There are plenty more behind them. I run down to her with the sword in my arms.
“Come on!” I shout.
“Where?”
“To the gun. We can make it work now.”
I don’t have to tell any of them twice. We sprint back to the crossroads like the freaked-out bunnies we are. I want to say that we all make it, but things don’t work out like that. A lot of people get taken down along the way. Most of the dog pack I know is in front of me. So is Traven. I look up, hoping to catch a glimpse of Alice, but all I can see are flashes of light when Gladiuses smash into each other. I turn away. I don’t want to know what happens until it’s over. I know if the wrong angel comes down I can kill it. That’s all I need to know.
“Where’s the Magistrate?” yells Daja. The idiot stops for a second and I have to grab her and drag her behind me. I want to tell her that wherever he is, he’s fine. He’s a goddamn angel. And no sooner do I think it than the prick appears from the crowd, running alongside Daja like they’re out for a jog in the park.
When we get to the gun, me and the Magistrate leap up onto the flatbeds and run to the rear. Daja, Wanuri, and some of the others climb up behind us, but are too slow to keep up.
When we get to the rear of the gun, I pull open the breech and look at the Magistrate.
“How do we use it?”
“I do not know,” he says. “The stories never specified how the weapon worked.”
Of course not. Vehuel would know, but she’s occupied at the moment.
“Look around,” I say. “It has to fit somewhere.”
By now, Traven and the rest of the dog pack have caught up.
“Look around for where the sword might go in,” I tell them.
A moment later, Traven says, “Here. This might be it.”
He points to an indentation in the breech. There’s a slot where it looks like something could slide in.