Chapter XII. Fallen Angels
XII
FALLEN ANGELS
“NIGHT HAD FALLEN on the City of Lions by the time I’d told my tale.
“The sun had sunk below the worldsedge, the bells had called the faithful to Le D?me, but I’d sat in the reek of dung and horse, explaining all I’d seen that day.
Aaron’s fury was terrible, dawning slow in ice-blue eyes as I spoke of Baptiste and Cortez in each other’s arms, the offer he’d made me afterward.
And when I was done with my tale, Aaron rose to his feet and spat three words, dripping with murderous rage.
“‘This ends now.’
“My cry of warning was swallowed by the crack of splintering timbers as Aaron threw himself into the air, flying like a cannon shot through the stable roof. I roared again in the hail of rooftiles and splinters, dashing out into the evening breeze and the shouts of panicked gens d’armes, pointing at the shadow now flying over the chateau roof.
“‘Sound the alarm! ’ came the cry.
“‘The coldblood is loose! ’
“‘Aaron!’ I roared, dashing after him. ‘Aaron, Godssakes, STOP!’
“Lieutenant Mathieu emerged from the guardhouse, shouting my name, but I was already off, flinging myself up the chateau wall and scrambling after my friend. Aaron had hurled himself onto the rear battlements, guards flung aside and ramparts cracking as he landed like thunder. He gazed over the metropolis below, her stones stained blood-red in the failing dusk. He’d not walked her streets; he’d no knowing where his mark might be found.
But duskmass in the City of Lions was mandatory for her citizens, and toward that great cathedral Aaron turned his gaze, flinging himself out into the night.
“The streets were silent, the homes and halls and stores and stockyards all emptied. Le D?me’s windows were ablaze with candlelight, hymns echoing within.
Outside, that legion of stone angels stood vigil about its walls, set to guard it from all evil.
But from the sky, a black shadow fell among them, landing with an impact so thunderous the flagstones of Le Chemin des Anges shattered like glass.
A figure rose from the rubble, greatcoat billowing in salt-stung winds as it roared with the all the rage of a husband betrayed.
“‘FERNANDO CORTEZ!’
“The hymn inside the cathedral faltered.
Aaron lashed out with one fist, smashing the statue of the nearest angel—grim Mahné with his grinning skull and wicked scythes.
The impact was terrifying, and with the groan of splitting stone, the Angel of Death tottered like a drunkard at last call, crashing to the flagstones with a BOOM.
“‘WHERE IS CORTEZ? ’
“Silence rang inside the cathedral now, a member of the gens d’armes emerging from the dawndoors—a youngblood with long dark hair and fuzz on his chin.
He cried out as Aaron struck another statue; sweet Chiara, the blind Angel of Mercy, falling like an elm beneath the woodsman’s axe and shattering on the flagstones.
“The youngblood’s roar of alarm echoed in the night, more folk emerging from the cathedral now, cries of ‘Coldblood! ’ echoing across the Angel Way. A tall figure forced his way through the panic-struck crowd at the dawndoors, dark eyes wide.
“‘Aaron?’ Baptiste cried. ‘Godssakes, what are you doing?’
“‘Where is he?’ Aaron demanded. ‘Where is your fucking whore, husband mine?’
“‘Aaron, please—’
“The song of heavy boots rang on broken cobbles as the first of the soldiery arrived, burning torches and naked blades in their hands. They encircled my brother, brows smeared with ash, snatches of scripture on their lips. But Aaron moved like a midnight wind, terrible strength and rage unleashed, knocking them aside like strawmen. He disarmed the first fool to charge him—that brave dark-haired youngblood who’d sounded the alarm, snatched up like rags and chaff.
Smashing more soldiers aside with his fist, Aaron bellowed his fury and heartbreak into the night.
And as the faithful looked on in horror and his beloved in agony, Aaron finally succumbed to the monster within—opening his mouth wide and sinking his fangs deep into the youngblood’s throat.
“The lad screamed in pain, the townsfolk in terror, Aaron growling as he swallowed the first human blood he’d drunk in months.
The youngblood was tense as three bowstrings, lashes fluttering on his cheeks as the ecstasy of the Kiss took hold, but Aaron had no time to drink his fill.
One mouthful taken, two, then three, and the lad was hurled back into his fellows with a crunch.
Bows were smashed aside, blades shattered, my brother’s voice ringing with monstrous fury and the gifts of his deathless father both.
“‘You think to slay a lord of night with butter knives and burning twigs?’ he bellowed. ‘Run back to your hovels, sons of León, and pray God I do not find you! I am hell ascendant! I am death triumphant! Look upon me and—’
“‘DE COSTE!’
“Lachlan’s roar rang over the tumult; the screaming women, the running feet.
Aaron turned to find my old ’prentice emerging from Le D?me, face twisted in fury.
Charlotte stood at Lachie’s side, gaze boiling with hatred.
The gens d’armes were backing away from Aaron now, terrified by the gifts of his blood.
But Lachlan stood like a mountain. He carried no blade nor wheellock—we’d not been given back our weapons, after all.
But his hands were balled into stone-hard fists as he faced my old friend down.
His eyes drifted from the fallen youngblood to the bloody drool hanging from Aaron’s chin.
“‘True colors shown at last,’ he spat.
“‘This is not your concern, wee squire,’ Aaron hissed.
“Lachlan stalked down the cathedral steps, chin low as he growled.
“‘It’s always been my concern. I warned Gabe it would come to this. The Dead feel as beasts, look as men, die as devils.’
“And fingers curled into claws, he tore off his greatcoat and shirt, unveiling the ink beneath.
“His aegis was silver fire, piercing the night like a hundred spears. His arms were ablaze with angels—Raphael, Eirene, Mahné, Evangeline. Swords and roses graced his ribs, a portrait of the Mothermaid and the infant Redeemer upon the rippling iron of his belly. But the sigil of his bloodline blazed brightest; that bear and broken shield of the Untamed, burning now in Aaron’s eyes as the vampire took one trembling step back.
“‘Xavier Pérez,’ Lachlan spat.
“Aaron hissed, lips dripping red. ‘What? ’
“Lachlan stalked toward Aaron now, silver heels crunching on cracked flagstones and snarling another name with every step.
“‘Arash Sa-Pashin. Philippe the Wolf. Maxim Sa-Shaipr. Tomas Tailleur. Kurtis the Tower. Antony and Duggan á Sadhbh.’
“‘I’ve no idea wh—’
“‘Soldiers of the light, all,’ Lachlan growled, fangs now unveiled in his gums. ‘Sons and brothers of San Michon who answered my call, riding to Gabe’s aid in Maergenn.’ Green eyes narrowed to knifecuts. ‘Slain by the Blackheart and his dog.’
“‘Aaron!’
“Baptiste cried out from behind the wall of soldiers, eyes brimming with tears.
“‘My love, please stop this!’
“Aaron looked around him, golden hair whipping in the chill sea breeze. He was fully encircled now, soldiers forming a wall of flame and steel. They pressed not forward—held at bay by the immortal terror he’d stirred in their hearts.
But nor did they flee, buoyed up now by the fire of Lachie’s faith, the stone gaze of that mighty ring of angels, Gabriel tallest among them; the patron of their city, guarding León from all harm.
“And looking to Lachlan, Aaron whispered with dripping chin.
“‘Woof.’
“A blur of black and silver, a crunch of meat on bone, Baptiste’s heartsick cry lost as Lachlan crashed into Aaron’s chest. The impact was thunderous, gens d’armes shouting as the pair crashed through the circle of soldiers, scattering all like toys.
Charlotte rushed forward, roaring warning, my brothers falling on each other like starving wolves.
“Lachlan was filled with holy fury, aegis burning like long-lost stars. His fist met Aaron’s jaw, broken teeth glittering as they sprayed through the air.
Another punch followed, another, rocking Aaron’s head back on his neck, golden locks spattered with blood.
But eyes flooded red with the life he’d stolen, Aaron struck back, landing a punch to Lachie’s chest so vicious that the song of breaking ribs rang in the night.
“I was still following in my brothers’ wake, desperate, scrambling rooftop to rooftop, flinging myself down onto the cobbles of Le Chemin des Anges at last. Smashing my way through the ring of soldiers, I roared at the top of my lungs, running forward to break up the deadly brawl.
But seizing Lachlan’s throat, Aaron slammed his fist into his face.
Silver sizzled, Aaron’s flesh scorched black upon Lachie’s ink, but the blow was a terrible one, sending my old ’prentice crashing right into the statue of Raphael, Angel of Wisdom.
Limestone shattered like timeworn clay, and with the awful sound of splintering rock and the screams of terrified townsfolk, the whole statue came crashing to the ground.
“I flew through the stone dust and thunder, knocking bewildered guards aside and roaring Aaron’s name.
He stood over Lachlan now, hands charred to the bone and chin glazed with blood.
But despite the burning silver on Lachlan’s skin, Aaron leaned down and seized my old ’prentice’s throat, dead flesh sizzling, black smoke rising.
“‘Wake up, wee squire.’
“Aaron hauled Lachlan from the rubble, backhanded him across the face.
“‘Time to d—’
“The longblade pierced his back, erupting from his chest in a spray of red. Aaron’s gasp died with the crackle of splintering ribs, Lachlan tumbling from his grip as he turned to face the fool who’d stabbed him.
And there I stood, hands wrapped around the longblade I’d snatched from some soldier’s hands, drenched with Aaron’s blood.
“‘B-brother?’