layered beneath the new. Broken glass and soggy old books were mixed with crumbs from their food and balled up dirty clothes. Holt snapped the footlocker shut, kicking it under a table. They’d come back for the launcher if they could, but it was too much to carry on the run. He took another careful peek outside the window. Thane was gone, and presumably had gone back to following orders now that they suited what he wanted to do anyway. The angels were still down, and neither one was moving yet. That gave them at least a few minutes.
“Holt. This is Faye. I’m fine. Thane and I got out and onto another street. There’s a subway station up ahead, and if we get stuck we’ll hole up there until dark.” The city’s underground networks were a mess. Many of the old passageways were blocked or had been destroyed. But some paths were still passable, and could be used to travel to the city’s edges. From there, you could generally move freely once night had fallen. The angels couldn’t see you from above, then, and while some of the Vichies could be a threat, if confronted they often would revert to the same meekness they showed their masters. With many of them, the urge to roll over and expose their bellies when threatened by anyone or anything had become their second nature.
“Thank God,” said Dax. He pulled his backpack over his shoulders and looked to Holt for guidance on what to do next.
“We’re going downstairs,” said Holt. “Stick to the interior of the building until we get to the ground floor. I saw a hole going into the next building in one of the walls. We go through, hide, and wait this thing out until sundown.” Dax’s eyes bulged to the edges of their sockets, and he started to stammer. Holt heard the flapping, and turned.
The younger angel had recovered. He was outside the window, sword drawn and hovering as he held himself aloft at eye level with Holt. He was handsome—strikingly so, almost perfect except for a trickle of blood flowing across his face from a gash on his forehead. Holt’s missile had done something, at least, but that wasn’t much comfort to him now.
The angel touched his wound gingerly, withdrawing his hand. He eyed the blood on his fingertips, and then glared at Holt in fury.
“You did this. This face survived the Fall unscathed, and now you’ve marred it. You’ve earned an agonizing death for that. Ungrateful little wretch. You can’t fathom how long I slaved away for your kind. I saved the ones the Maker thought deserved to be saved, and I killed the ones he thought had to be killed to keep the rest of you safe. All those centuries, all those people, and I’ve never, ever , seen one of you foolish enough to strike me.”
“First time for everything,” said Holt. “And now there’s a second.” He pulled a taser from a holster on his belt, aimed directly at the angel’s treasured visage, and fired. Wires burst forward, clamping onto the skin of his face and buzzing loudly with energy. The angel dropped his sword and grasped at his head, tumbling downward and jerking the taser out of Holt’s hand as he spiraled out of control and into the ground below.
“Move!” Holt yelled, directing Dax down a staircase with an urgent wave of his hand. Dax ran, as quickly as could be expected from him, with Holt close behind. Sometimes the leader must follow, when danger’s in the rear, and Holt had always felt an obligation to shoulder the bulk of any risks to his subordinates himself. They raced down the stairs, floor after floor, and finally heard a crashing from above. The angel must have recovered, and was certainly in an awful mood. They could hear him tearing apart the floors above, as they ran to Holt’s escape route and crawled through a breach in the brick walls separating their building from the next. Holt led the way—he made it a habit to scout around before selecting a base of operations, and he always had a few contingency plans up his sleeve. They
“Holt. This is Faye. I’m fine. Thane and I got out and onto another street. There’s a subway station up ahead, and if we get stuck we’ll hole up there until dark.” The city’s underground networks were a mess. Many of the old passageways were blocked or had been destroyed. But some paths were still passable, and could be used to travel to the city’s edges. From there, you could generally move freely once night had fallen. The angels couldn’t see you from above, then, and while some of the Vichies could be a threat, if confronted they often would revert to the same meekness they showed their masters. With many of them, the urge to roll over and expose their bellies when threatened by anyone or anything had become their second nature.
“Thank God,” said Dax. He pulled his backpack over his shoulders and looked to Holt for guidance on what to do next.
“We’re going downstairs,” said Holt. “Stick to the interior of the building until we get to the ground floor. I saw a hole going into the next building in one of the walls. We go through, hide, and wait this thing out until sundown.” Dax’s eyes bulged to the edges of their sockets, and he started to stammer. Holt heard the flapping, and turned.
The younger angel had recovered. He was outside the window, sword drawn and hovering as he held himself aloft at eye level with Holt. He was handsome—strikingly so, almost perfect except for a trickle of blood flowing across his face from a gash on his forehead. Holt’s missile had done something, at least, but that wasn’t much comfort to him now.
The angel touched his wound gingerly, withdrawing his hand. He eyed the blood on his fingertips, and then glared at Holt in fury.
“You did this. This face survived the Fall unscathed, and now you’ve marred it. You’ve earned an agonizing death for that. Ungrateful little wretch. You can’t fathom how long I slaved away for your kind. I saved the ones the Maker thought deserved to be saved, and I killed the ones he thought had to be killed to keep the rest of you safe. All those centuries, all those people, and I’ve never, ever , seen one of you foolish enough to strike me.”
“First time for everything,” said Holt. “And now there’s a second.” He pulled a taser from a holster on his belt, aimed directly at the angel’s treasured visage, and fired. Wires burst forward, clamping onto the skin of his face and buzzing loudly with energy. The angel dropped his sword and grasped at his head, tumbling downward and jerking the taser out of Holt’s hand as he spiraled out of control and into the ground below.
“Move!” Holt yelled, directing Dax down a staircase with an urgent wave of his hand. Dax ran, as quickly as could be expected from him, with Holt close behind. Sometimes the leader must follow, when danger’s in the rear, and Holt had always felt an obligation to shoulder the bulk of any risks to his subordinates himself. They raced down the stairs, floor after floor, and finally heard a crashing from above. The angel must have recovered, and was certainly in an awful mood. They could hear him tearing apart the floors above, as they ran to Holt’s escape route and crawled through a breach in the brick walls separating their building from the next. Holt led the way—he made it a habit to scout around before selecting a base of operations, and he always had a few contingency plans up his sleeve. They
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