Angel of Ruin (23 page)

“Yes, Father. May I come in?”

Father Bailey led her inside the dim room. Lettice appeared with her maidservant, tying on her hat and pulling on gloves. “You needn’t worry, Mrs Milton, I shall be going to market with the girl. I shan’t hear a single secret word.”

“Please don’t leave on my account,” Betty said, with little sincerity.

“No, ’Tis better that we have privacy,” Father Bailey said. “Take a seat, and I shall open a window, for it has grown very stuffy in here.”

Betty waited while Lettice and her girl left and Father Bailey opened a window. A light breeze blew in, making the wall hangings dance gently. Betty saw motes of dust float by on a weak sunbeam. She tried to relax. Father Bailey sat opposite her, smiling through his rotten teeth.

“And so you are returned to London?” he said.

“Yes, and the problem with the girls appears to have worsened. Especially the youngest, the most learned one.”

“These are the dangers of teaching girls. What have you brought to show me?” He indicated the package she clutched upon her lap.

Betty passed the package to him. “I found these in the youngest girl’s closet.”

Father Bailey’s wrinkled hands carefully folded back the cloth. First he picked up the mirror.

“I am uncertain if it is a forbidden object,” Betty said quickly, “but it seemed odd that she hid it.”

Father Bailey nodded, his lips pressed tightly, deepening the lines which ran vertically from his mouth. “Oh, it is an instrument of necromancy for certain. The design is fiendish.”

“That’s what I thought,” Betty said, excited finally to speak with somebody who took her seriously. John was too much of a cynic for his own good.

“Let me show you,” Father Bailey said. Unexpectedly, he lifted the mirror and slammed it down on the corner of his chair with a crack. Betty anticipated that it would smash into pieces, and felt a sudden twinge of guilt at breaking Deborah’s possession. It didn’t break. Father Bailey held it out for her to inspect. The glass was not even cracked.

“Evil,” he said, “protects itself.”

“Then how can we destroy it?” Betty asked, aghast that she had even handled such a sinister object.

“I can destroy it, fear not.” He put the mirror aside cautiously, then turned his attention to the book. “Ah, you did well to bring this to me. It is a book of necromancy.”

“Deborah defended herself by saying that it was a long and honoured tradition for men to read about spirits and angels.”

“No man does it for any reason other than personal gain, despite what he says. Or she. It is always wicked.”

“Then we should destroy it too?”

“Without question.”

“She said it belongs to somebody else; a well-respected friend of my husband.”

“She lies. It belongs to the devil. We shall stoke the fire and return it to his care. It would be most negligent of us to allow it to circulate in this world, especially in the hands of a young woman.” Father Bailey stood and walked to the fireplace. Betty watched as, despite the heat of the day, he stacked it with coal and lit it. His movements were frustratingly slow and meticulous. The longer she was away from home, the more lies would be necessary to cover her absence. She hoped she could at least be back in time to take John on his afternoon walk.

“Very well,” he said at length, happy with the low flames which now burned in the grate. “Pass me the mirror first.”

Betty stood and took the mirror to him, laid it in his withered hands. He mumbled a few words of Latin, and Betty looked around nervously. What if somebody dropped by, somebody who knew her and reported back to her husband? She realised she was sweating: the warm day and the fire conspiring with her anxiety.

Suddenly the mirror flew up in the air and then rattled to the ground a few feet from them.

“Did you do that?” Betty asked, but could tell from Father Bailey’s shocked expression that he hadn’t.

“It does not want to be blessed or burned,” he said in a harsh whisper. “There are demons protecting it.”

“Demons? Here?” Betty’s heart sped.

“Pass me the book,” he said, indicating where it lay on the chair.

She didn’t want to touch the book. “I …”

“Pass me the book,” he said sternly.

She reached for the book and, to her horror, it spun away from her and landed on the floor. “How does it move like that?” she gasped.

“Evil moves it,” Father Bailey said grimly. He turned away from the fireplace with purpose and marched first to the book and then the mirror, picking them up firmly. Once again, he tried to say a Latin blessing over them. First the book, then the mirror shot out of his hands to lie on the hearth. Betty felt a sudden bolt of courage galvanise her, and she stepped forward to kick the book towards the fire. It slipped out from under her, unbalancing her and sending her crashing to the floor. As she fell, she bruised herself painfully on the chair.

“Never mind, Mrs Milton, it will take more than a demon to defeat me,” Father Bailey said, and a little
fleck of spittle escaped the corner of his mouth. “Gather the objects and wrap them once more. I shall deal with them later, when I have all the proper instruments of exorcism around me.”

When Betty hesitated, he said, “Go on, Mrs Milton. They will not hurt you. Not now our intentions have changed.”

Betty bent to pick up the mirror and the book, and both of them were inert again. She wrapped them in the cloth she had brought with her and passed them to Father Bailey.

“Good. Now, if you leave them with me, I shall take care of them.”

“Thank you, Father,” she said, relieved that she would never have to see the objects again.

“Your problem now is far more serious.”

“My problem?”

“These are only the symptoms of a greater sickness in your household,” he said. “Your stepdaughters are dabbling in necromancy. The house should be properly blessed. I shall have to come in and drive the demons out.”

Betty squeaked. “No!” she managed to say. “Oh, no, Father. My husband would … well, I’m certain you can imagine my husband’s reaction to such a suggestion.”

“Mrs Milton, what is more important? Your husband’s anger or your soul’s health? And his soul? And those of your stepdaughters?”

Betty stopped herself from saying that she would gladly see her stepdaughters burn in hell. Instead she said, “You’ll have to let me think about it.”

“Do not take too long to think, Mrs Milton. This is very serious.”

“I know, I know,” she said, backing out. “I must go. I shall be missed.”

“Do not let your upbringing send you to damnation. We are the one true faith, and we still have the only sure remedy against demons.”

“It is all impossible at the moment, Father Bailey. But my husband is talking of going away for a little while soon. Perhaps I can conspire to stay behind.”

“You must do something. And quickly. Ere matters develop beyond my capacity to contain them.”

Betty nodded. “I must go,” she said again.

“Do not be foolish.”

“I shall not,” Betty said, but as she let herself out and found her way home, she wondered over and over again if she would be foolish. If she would ignore the Father’s warnings and let her fear of John stop her from driving out the evil in her house.

It took two weeks before anything happened, and in the meantime Deborah did not use the demon key again. But finally, late one evening, she returned to her closet to find the book and the mirror lying neatly upon her bed, just as though someone had lain them there carefully. She picked up the mirror, traced the grotesque carvings with the tip of her finger. Why had Lazodeus given this to her? If his sworn purpose was to use his magic to protect them — a magic they were all forced to relinquish when Mary had unwittingly released him from their command — why give her a scrying mirror? What were his intentions, and where was he now? She had neither seen nor heard of him since the night they had left London.

She passed her hand over the mirror and said, “Show me Lazodeus.” The mirror remained blank. She tried again. Had the mirror ceased to work?

“Show me Betty,” she said. The mirror gleamed back an image of Betty sifting flour in the kitchen with Liza, her sleeves rolled up and her cap pinned on
crooked. So it still worked. She passed her hand over the mirror’s surface, thoughtful. It didn’t work on the bestower of the mirror. For a reason? Could one not watch an angel? Or did the angel, as she had always suspected, have something to hide?

A knock at the bedroom door had her hurriedly hiding the book and mirror under her bedclothes. Liza’s voice: “Miss Deborah, your father needs you for dictation.”

Deborah poked her head out of her closet. “I’ll be down in a minute,” she replied.

Liza left, closing the door behind her. Deborah pulled out the book and mirror. She had hidden her other book deep within her trunk, and now, wrapping the objects carefully, she buried them among her clothes. As an added measure, she pulled out the demon key and held it up in her right hand. “Bael, I call upon you with this key as your commander. Protect my belongings from the eyes of those who seek them.”

As the beautiful music rang out, she once again felt a thrilling power streaming through her. It took her a few moments to recover herself before she went downstairs to work with Father.

“You took your time,” he said sourly, as she gathered up her writing tray and sat across from him.

“I apologise, Father. What would you have me do?” The long poem was becoming more and more of a trial as he dictated pages, deleted them, and dictated them again. Because Mary was also working on it, there was confusion about where they were up to at any given moment. Father repeatedly said it was “almost finished,” but as far as Deborah could see it had never been more of a mess.

“Mary should have left it at the right place. Read me the first lines you have in the pile.”

Deborah picked up the sheet and read, “So spake th’ Eternal Father, and fulfilled all justice …”

“Yes, yes, keep reading.”

Deborah read for a few pages, and Father was very pleased with himself, almost cheerful. When she had finished the section, he sat back smugly. “I’m mightily delighted with it, Deborah. What do you think?”

“It is masterly, of course,” Deborah said, and it was not false flattery. “But Father, may I ask you something?”

His mouth tightened. “Certainly.”

“How do you write so confidently of angels and our first parents, when you were not there to witness these happenings?”

Father considered the question, pressing his pale fingers into his chin. “Why, Deborah, I had never considered such a question.”

“Do you believe what you write is fact, Father?”

“I believe it is a version of the truth. I could not continue to write it if I did not believe that. It would seem pointless, the babyish meanderings of a wild imagination.”

“But you have never seen the face of Adam; you have never heard Raphael speak …”

“And yet I have such conviction that what I write is real and living.” He chuckled, perhaps a little nervously. “At least, I did feel that conviction. Until you asked me about it.”

Deborah leaned forward. “Perhaps there is an alternative to this story. The angels being thrown out of Heaven; Lucifer; Hell.”

“All my reading points to the accuracy of my story; all my instincts declare it also.” He drew up tall, suddenly remembering his pride. “I have been destined since birth to write this work. That calling alone ensures that what I write must be of truth, albeit poetic truth.”

“Of course, Father,” she said, sharpening her quill. “Shall we proceed?”

Anne was combing her hair, Mary stretched out across the bed scratching Max’s belly, when Deborah came upstairs to bed late that evening. Mary watched as Deborah hesitated for a few moments in the threshold of her closet, glancing between her two sisters.

“What’s the matter, Deborah?” Mary asked.

Deborah walked across to their bed and sat next to her. “I want to talk to you both very seriously.”

Anne turned, her comb in her hand. “About what?”

Deborah patted the bedspread. “Please, come and sit down.”

Anne, suspicious, laid her comb on the dresser and joined her sisters. “What is this all about, Deborah?” she asked, and Mary could see the vague fear in her eyes. “You sound so serious. Is it something bad?”

“’Tis serious, but not bad. At least, I don’t think so.”

“Go on, then,” Mary said.

“I want to call the angel back.”

Mary gasped loudly. “Lazodeus?
You
want him back?”

Anne shook her head. “Deborah, I am so surprised. Why? You wanted to be rid of him.”

“Only until I could decide for certain what we should do about him. I have thought about it at great length —”

Mary snorted, and Deborah glanced at her annoyed.

“I have thought about it at great length, and I have decided that we are in no mortal or spiritual danger from Lazodeus, and there are a great many questions I should like to ask him. I expect that because the three of us sent him away, only the three of us can effect his return.”

Mary recalled her earlier conversation with Anne. She turned to her older sister. “Anne? Do you want to see Lazodeus again? Or do you find the idea tiresome?”

Anne’s feigned nonchalance would have convinced nobody. Her fingers practically trembled as she pushed her hair away from her face. “I suppose we could call him again.”

“Let it be done, then,” said Deborah. “I want to waste no more time, for I am still full of silly fears and may change my mind and disappoint myself.”

“How do we do it?” Anne asked.

“The same as the first time. Remember? The triangle and the chant.”

Mary took a deep breath, certain her pounding heart could be heard by her sisters. “Yes, I remember. It was so long ago, but I still remember.”

“Bar the door,” Deborah said. “I shall outline the triangle with charcoal.”

Mary leaped to her feet, trembling from feet to fingers. Tonight she would see the return of her angel.

H
e arrived as he had the last time, naked inside a cage of light. Without having to be asked, Anne said, “Lazodeus, join us in our world.” The bars disappeared and he tumbled to the ground, in his familiar outfit of layered black. All three of the sisters hurried to help him at once. But, to Mary’s shock and disappointment, it was Deborah’s hand he took, and Deborah upon whom he leaned when he stood.

“Are you unwell?” Mary asked lamely, her hand brushing his glowing skin as Deborah led him past her to the bed.

“I shall be well enough in a moment,” he said, sitting down with his head in his long, pale hands.

Deborah crouched before him, looking at him closely. “I have many questions to ask you.”

“Deborah, let him catch his breath,” Anne said from behind her.

Lazodeus looked up, a smile playing at his lips. “Questions, Deborah? Have you decided to trust me?”

“I’ve decided to listen to you. Tell me about the war in Heaven. Tell me how it is that you and the other fallen angels were expelled.”

“Deborah, just let him be!” Mary said, stepping in and pulling Deborah away from Lazodeus.

“No, no, all is well. I am nearly recovered,” Lazodeus said. “But will you want me to stay by you this time? Or will you be sending me back as soon as I’ve answered these questions?”

“Stay,” Anne said quickly.

“Anne, don’t forget we cannot command him any more,” Deborah said prudently.

“But I would still help in times of trouble,” Lazodeus replied. “If I could.”

“I should like you to stay,” Mary said, hoping that Lazodeus could read through her pretended casualness to the burning desire at her core.

He gave her a smile. “Should you, Mary? That is comforting.”

Mary felt a hot flush seep up through her body.

“Stay then, for I don’t care,” Deborah said. “But tell me of the war in Heaven. I want to hear it from someone who was there.”

“All of you sit down, then,” Lazodeus said. “We shall make ourselves comfortable. We won’t be disturbed, will we?”

Mary glanced to the door. “Nobody can gain entry, and Betty rarely bothers us after supper. But you must speak quietly so she cannot hear us.”

“Certainly,” he said smoothly. “Now, let me begin.

“The war was caused by a series of misunderstandings and betrayals. It may be hard for you to comprehend the politics of angels, for you have been raised to believe that angels are good and forgiving, that God has no follies, that all are merciful and peaceful. But all of these ideals are attributable to the Son.”

“The Son? You mean Jesus?”

“Yes. For he is mild and merciful, and he is God’s representative on earth. But the truth is that angels are beings who are not all of one mind, just as mortals are
not all of one mind, and that means there are as regular and passionate debates in Heaven as there are anywhere else. If you can accept that, then the rest of my story will make more sense.”

“I have heard that angels are sometimes cruel in their goodness,” Deborah said.

“It is true, for any zealot can be tempted to protect their cause without mercy. What is also true is that God, or Father Infinite as we call him, has a weakness. His weakness is that he loves to love. And that is how this story truly begins. A million angels were not enough for him. He decided that he wanted a child, a son.

“This was in a time before your history. The world was not yet created, and beyond Heaven there was only a void, in which strange creatures, which are long since extinct, resided. We lived on Heaven’s plains in five tribes; one belonged to each of the archangels.”

“Michael, Uriel, Gabriel, Raphael and Lucifer,” Deborah said.

“That is right. Lucifer was then an archangel. And he was Father Infinite’s favourite. He was second only to the Father in power and influence, and in beauty.”

“What does God look like?” Anne said.

Lazodeus considered a moment. “You could not look upon him direct, but even to see the reflection of his glorious countenance is to experience true fulfilment. He is as a blaze of perfect light, but he never takes mortal form as we do, as Lucifer does.”

“But I thought we were created in his image,” Mary said.

Lazodeus shook his head. “A misunderstanding. You were created like him in that you love too much, that love is your weakness.

“Lucifer ruled the northern plains of Heaven with a devoted tribe of angels. We were called to gather around Father Infinite’s throne, which was on a hill in the central
lowlands. And there we all arrived, a million angels arrayed with our ensigns and standards, shining canvasses and flying flags, camped around the hill waiting for Father Infinite’s arrival. Such a beautiful sight, so much colour. I still see it in my mind’s eye, and a great longing possesses me, for it is all lost to me now.”

He shook his head. “Once we had assembled, Father Infinite sat upon his throne and spoke in an excited and reverent voice. He had decided to create for himself a Son, an expression of his love and a being for him to adore. I was thrilled, as were we all, for we knew we too would adore the Son. I cheered with the rest of the crowd, a merry joyous cry of happiness.

“But then Father Infinite said, ‘When the Son comes, he shall be the vice-regent of Heaven, and you shall all bow before him. Those who do not shall feel the edge of my wrath, and may find themselves banished to the outer limits of Heaven.’”

Lazodeus paused a moment, reaching for words. “You see, Father Infinite feels so fiercely in love, that he sometimes displays an impatience which is difficult to tolerate. And yet, we loved him dearly and so we accepted his stern warning and rejoiced with him. The day was declared an enormous celebration. We raised our pavilions.” He narrowed his eyes as though seeing it again. “For as far as my eyes could see were the coloured banners of the angel tribes and families, bright tents and long tables laid out with angel food. Such a delicious combination of smells and sounds: food, flowers, rain-fresh earth, happy voices and the gentle breeze in treetops. We played music and we danced and we all spoke of the new Son, and when he would come, how he would look, how precious he would be to us.

“But as night fell, and we found our places around fires and inside the pavilions to converse and to sing quietly in groups, a rumour went about that delegations
from Michael’s tribe and Raphael’s tribe had come to see Lucifer. Although I was not a Throne or a Duke or a Principality, I knew Lucifer well, as he had been my mentor when I approached guardian class. A few close friends and I decided to go up to his pavilion to see what was happening. Lucifer’s pavilion was very grand, warm compared to the evening chill outside, and suffused with the light and scent of burning candles. There I saw four Dukes, two of Michael and two of Raphael, along with various Seraphim and other important angels from our tribe. They sat upon the thick fur rugs which lined the floor, and spoke — and not in hushed voices or furtive whispers, but openly — about how they felt about the Son being declared vice-regent. It was an innocent conversation, I swear to you, an exchange of feelings and thoughts. One of Michael’s Dukes asked Lucifer if he felt particularly affronted.

“‘And why should I be so?’ said Lucifer.

“‘Because you were our vice-regent in Heaven,’ the Duke replied.

“‘Unofficially,’ added a delegate from Raphael’s tribe.

“‘Yes, unofficially,’ Lucifer ceded, ‘but Father Infinite never led me to believe anything greater awaited me.’

“‘It is a great loss of power for all the archangels,’ the first Duke said. ‘Though I suppose there is nothing we can do about it.’

“Soon after, goodnights were bade and the delegation left. Lucifer invited us to stay for more food and song, and the rest of the evening passed uneventfully. My friends and I lay down to sleep in Lucifer’s pavilion. After a few hours, I woke for some reason — perhaps the noise of more revellers close by — and saw that Lucifer sat awake still in his throne. I rose and went to sit with him.

“‘Are you troubled, Majesty?’ I asked him.

“‘I feel that I have been given a monumental problem to consider, and no time or space in which to consider it.’

“‘You speak of the new Son?’

“He nodded.

“‘It is not for a lowly guardian such as I to offer advice. Should I wake some of the Seraphim?’

“‘Yes,’ he said, ‘fetch Belial and Asmodeus. I would feel better if I could speak with them.’

“I found the two Seraphim that he spoke of, sleeping outside under the glorious stars. They woke a number of other retainers and high-ranked angels, so that all in all there were seven of us who returned to the pavilion. We sat on the floor around our troubled majesty and listened.

“‘Should I be worried about the coming of the Son?’ he asked us, when we were all assembled.

“Belial seemed bursting to speak. ‘Does it not strike you as strange that he should name a vice-regent and it should not be you, Majesty? Have you not always been the one who sits closest to Father Infinite, there at his left hand? It should have been either you or Michael, but everyone knows you are the Father’s favourite.’

“‘I am proud,’ Lucifer said, leaning forward with his perfect hands cupping his chin. ‘I know I am proud and I must guard against pride, but I have been sitting here for hours thinking the same thing. If Father Infinite decided he wanted a vice-regent, he should have given us a chance to argue our case for the role. And then, if he still chose to create a Son and name him so, I would feel more content. But I have not even been given a chance.’

“‘What can we do, Highness?’ Asmodeus asked.

“‘We can do nothing, not surrounded by the other tribes and with Father Infinite still so excited by his
new plan. I think we should withdraw back to the North to think upon it further. Perhaps we can arrange a delegation to visit Father Infinite in the coming weeks, while he prepares to create the Son. When the first flush of his excitement has worn off, and he is more like to listen to reason.’

“And the murmur went around that it was an excellent plan, and so on. And we began to pack up right then, for dawn was only a breath away and we had the furthest to travel of all the tribes. But when we started to leave in the early light, angels from other tribes came by to ask us what was wrong. And through ignorance more than design, the rumour arose that we were leaving because Lucifer was angry with Father Infinite, and we were withdrawing to the North in order to cut ourselves off from the rest of the tribes and make it known our outrage. Before long, we found that other angels from other tribes wanted to join us, because they too were unhappy with the idea of an unknown vice-regent. They threw their lot in with us and angered their archangels. Consequently, Michael, Uriel, Gabriel and Raphael sent a messenger to Lucifer: he should return immediately and swear allegiance to the new Son. Their hypocrisy was not lost on Lucifer, for it was the archangels who had originally encouraged him to express his dissatisfaction.

“Lucifer declared his hand would not be forced, that he intended to return home and think about the new developments and would speak with Father Infinite soon. He would not deign to speak with other archangels when the matter did not concern them. With this, he made four powerful enemies. The other archangels, whether they admitted it or not, had always been jealous of Lucifer: his beauty, his intimacy with Father Infinite, the loyal devotion of his tribe. Now they had an opportunity for their resentment to grow into something real.

“Long before we reached our homeland, we realised that fully one third of all angels were now in Lucifer’s train. I was amazed to see them, mighty and beautiful, following us to the North. With this large group of supporters, I began to imagine that Lucifer’s case would be heard and perhaps even that Father Infinite would agree to make him vice-regent.” Lazodeus paused momentarily, as though struggling with an uncomfortable thought. “In all truth, perhaps Lucifer’s pride did become too unwieldy at this point. Perhaps he could imagine all too easily what shape his own vice-regency in Heaven would take, and that fantasy robbed him of his undivided reason. We camped on the plains, a day’s journey from our homeland, and Lucifer decided to address his followers. He decided to speak out about liberty. This was his fatal error.”

“Why?” asked Deborah.

“Because liberty is a word that rebels and radicals use. To justify pride, excess, even cruelty. This dispute was not about liberty, and Lucifer knew it. We all knew it. This was about wounded dignity.

“He had spirits erect him a glittering throne on a hilltop, and all of us waited, gathered around for miles, to hear him speak. He appeared, a vision of great beauty in dazzling white, proud and tall. The love I felt for him, the admiration and longing we all knew, made the air thick around us. I would have followed him to … well, in the event, I did follow him to the end of Heaven.” Lazodeus let his head hang forward.

“Does it make you sad?” Mary asked.

“I cannot express to you the grief which comes from being separated from Heaven — my homeland, the place where I know I belong. I know not if I shall ever see it again, but I would wait beyond eternity for just one more glimpse of those hills and valleys.”

Mary considered how much more beautiful he appeared in his distress. She could not remember ever having felt so twisted up inside. Her helpless hands clutched each other in her lap.

“Lucifer waited until we had all fallen hushed. And then he said, ‘Fellow angels, we have this day been threatened by the four other archangels, told that we must answer to them, respond to their questions as though we were inferior to them. As though they were our betters. All this follows on from Father Infinite’s announcement of his intention to name a vice-regent of Heaven. This vice-regent will not come from among the ranks of the angels, but will be his newly created Son.’

“From the front of the crowd, somebody called, ‘You should be vice-regent, Majesty.’ And a great cry went up, for that was the love that we bore Lucifer. I wanted to see great honours heaped upon him; I wanted him to be the King of Heaven, because Father Infinite was remote and unknowable, but Lucifer knew me and bore me great love. In those moments, those delicious dangerous moments on the edge of the northern plains, it began to seem possible. I imagined Lucifer replacing Father Infinite, an active, dynamic leader rather than a vague source of passive love. To be in that crowd at that time was to feel as though history, the very history of the infinite universe, was being shaped in my hands.