THE SCORPIONS do a surprising thing. They take off into the night sky, leaving Beliel alone to roll down the prisoner’s chain gate and lock it.
He takes his time doing this as if to tease the captives. When he’s done, he hangs the key on one of the lamps beside the container.
The mesh of the rollup gate is woven loosely enough to put an arm or foot through an opening, but even a kid couldn’t get out.
The old prisoners are quiet but the new ones make a fair bit of noise with their crying and panicked questions.
“What’s going on?”
“What are they going to do to us?”
Beliel limps around shutting off the tripod utility lights on the dock. His knee seems to be bothering him more than before. He leaves the lights on only near the shipping container. The circle of light is bright there and I’m glad we’re still hidden in the shadows.
As if the fear and hysteria of the prisoners weren’t enough for him, Beliel rattles the container gate, then slams his open palm on the metal side. The loud clang echoes through the pier.
Everyone cringes and the crying gets louder. The terror and hopelessness come in such big waves that they swamp me.
Beliel shoves his face into the chains of the gate. Everyone backs away even more. He hisses and growls at them. Then he grabs the edge of the container and shakes it.
Now, even the veteran prisoners are screaming.
What’s he doing?
I’ve seen him in a rage when he’s been totally out of control. This is different. There’s no passion in what he’s doing. It’s just a job.
He’s on edge, though, and sneaking glances up at the sky.
Is he being watched? Maybe this is more training for the scorpions? Maybe they’re still around, watching somewhere? For what purpose?
I look up into the darkness and the remaining rooflines, suddenly feeling exposed.
I see only the beams of light near the container prison. The lights are a beacon from the bleak landscape of twisted buildings and the lifeless night.
I still can’t make sense of it.
Then, a darker silhouette appears against the sky.
Menacing demon wings.
Broad shoulders.
The shape of a Greek god gliding through the sky.
Raffe.
Every nerve in my body comes alive and pulses.
My mind cries trap, trap, trap!
This is why Beliel is alone, making all this noise. The noise would both attract attention and disguise any noises that the scorpions would make. The scorpions are out there. Hiding. Waiting.
Without thinking, I instinctively spring and open my mouth to scream a warning to Raffe.
But vice-like hands grip my arm, knocking me off balance. Hands clamp down over my mouth and all I can see are the huge, terrified eyes of my mother. She looks at me like I have gone insane.
My brain finally catches up to the rest of me.
She’s right.
Of course she’s right. How bad are things when your clinically insane mother is more rational than you are?
Raffe.
I nod to show that I’m sane again and shift so I can see what’s going on. Mom lets me go.
Raffe lands silently. His wings don’t fold all the way. The scythes on the edge of his wings unsheathe and he whips them out. They’re retractable. I hadn’t realized that before.
I frantically run through my options. What can I do? Yelling will get all of us in trouble. Besides, Raffe thinks I’m dead. Yelling to him might only put him in more danger by shocking him.
The prisoners scream when they see Raffe with his demon wings. It’s painful to see that people prefer a bad guy who looks like an angel to a good guy who looks like a demon.
Beliel feigns stage shock like a clown. “Why, it’s Raphael! Oh, how will I defend myself from the great Wrath that is the fallen echo of what once was?” He drops the act. “Seriously, Raphael, there’s nothing sadder than a broken wreck of a has-been obsessed with trying to relive his past glory. Have a little dignity, will you? You’re embarrassing yourself.”
“Shall I rip off your arms and legs first and then tear off the wings? Or the other way around?” Raffe’s voice is full of raw violence in a tone I haven’t heard before. He sounds like he wishes he could have it both ways.
“Why do you want to go back so badly, Raphael? What was so great about being part of the angelic host anyway? So. Many. Rules. I’d forgotten just how many. Maybe you have, too.”
Beliel is stalling. Keeping Raffe in place until the scorpions can descend on him. I’m dying to call out a warning to him. It’s all I can do to stay quiet.
“All this theory about how a master warrior race can only survive if every little infraction of the rules is punished in the extreme.” Beliel motions his hand in a gesture that says, Whatever. “It might have made sense once upon a time when there were only a few rules, but now, things have gotten out of hand, don’t you think? We, the Fallen, on the other hand, have proven that a master warrior race can survive just fine with the opposite system. No rules. You do what you want. To whoever you want.”
Raffe advances on him, the harsh lights emphasizing the shadows on his face. He looks like the Angel of Death. Or maybe the Angel of Vengeance. Someone I can’t imagine approaching.
“You would have saved yourself so much hassle if you had listened to reason and joined us,” says Beliel. “That little Daughter of Man who died in your arms? She could have been yours. No one would have said no. No one would have dared to try to take her from you.”
With a vicious growl, Raffe attacks.