Elias

Elias scrambled back, not even caring if he made enough noise to be heard all the way in Moscow.

"Harold's here," he hissed.

Abigail's eyes widened and she said something; Elias didn't listen. His eyes were already on the tumult of metal and wire mounted onto the wall next to the balcony. It was probably a dismantled lighting rig. Whether it was a relic of the theatre or the nightclub, he wasn't sure. He scooted over to it. It wouldn't take him down all the way to the ground floor, but it was better than a jump straight from the balcony.

"I'll try to be quiet. But if they see me too early, I need you to cover me, ok?"

Abigail's face scrunched up in incomprehension. "Are you insane?"

"Probably. And, Abby, I am sorry about before in the restaurant."

Elias clambered over to the remnants of the lighting rig and tried to find a path down. Halfway, he realised he was in luck, as long as Jala and Harold stayed by the table, he was hidden from view behind the balcony's edge. However, the rig couldn't get him far. A metre below the balcony, he was stuck. Elias sucked in a breath, preparing for the pain, then jumped.

He landed sideways, his hip and upper arm taking the brunt of the impact. Pain coursed through his body. Fuck. That's so much worse than expected.

"Who's there?" Jala called out.

Trying to ignore the numb agony, Elias struggled up. He clenched the sword in his hand. "Michael is an arse!"

The sword went up in flames. Startled, Elias nearly dropped it.

"Harold, your little nephilim mate's here," Jala said.

Elias shifted his grip on the sword back towards the pommel; heat radiated in waves off the blade.

"Why don't you limp over here, Harold," he said, moving slowly from under the balcony. If Abigail was going to help him, she needed to see what was happening. "You have some questions to answer. Or is the limp a lie too?"

Harold didn't rise from his seat. "Hello, Elias. Where's your sister?"

"None of your business," Elias replied. "You were the one to tip them off that Ramiel and Abigail were, coming weren't you? I thought Kiara must have found a way, but you were right there in the room with me, messing about with your phone. How long have you been working with them?"

"They knocked on my door before you did."

Limping a little, Elias moved towards Harold. The old man remained rooted in his seat as Elias raised his sword and pointed it at Harold's chest.

Jala laughed. "Oh, Harold. He's furious now."

"Elias..." Harold began, then trailed off into silence.

"If they get what they want, life on this planet as we know it will be over! Why would you help them do this?" Elias said.

"Sometimes you have to be realistic!" Harold finally rose out of his seat. "Do you know how many nephilim died in the past year? How many of my lifelong friends? I wasn't going to end up like they had. Like your parents did."

The heat emanating from the blade was beginning to burn Elias' hand. This was a weapon designed for an angel, not a human. He dared to glance down. His hand was crimson, as if he had been sitting too close to a bonfire. Elias nudged the sword closer to Harold.

Let the old man sweat a little here.

"So what are you going to do with him now, nephilim?" Jala asked in a gleeful tone. "He betrayed you and the entire human race for his own skin."

"I suppose he had cause to be afraid. I saw what happened to mum and dad. I'm sure the deaths of the others were no better."

Jala's grin broadened. "Yes, all those poor nephilim. I never had more fun."

Elias snarled and swung the sword towards Jala. She took a step back, although with the distance between them, Elias' wild swing never would have hit her anyway. With a snarl, he charged forward and swung the sword at Jala's head. She sidestepped the attack.

"Even the best weapon is useless in the hands of an idiot," she said.

Elias took another swing at Jala, although he realised she had a point. He was pumped up on fury and adrenaline, but he had no idea what he was doing. Vaguely he remembered something about cornering your target, but they were in the middle of a large, empty space. There wasn't even anything he could set on fire and box her in with flames. Besides, Jala was an angel — her wings would save her from any trap Elias could construct.

He clenched the sword tighter and tried another swing, this time swiping horizontally towards Jala's chest. The reaper took a step back, cocking her head.

"Are we to carry on with this pantomime of a fight until you can't lift a sword anymore?" she said.

There was a horrendous groan, then something the size of a tree trunk smashed into Jala. Several more objects no smaller than the first fell on top of the angel until she was buried. Elias scrambled over to her. It was only when he reached to push one of the objects aside that he realised he was looking at rows of mangled theatre seats.

He glanced up. Abigail stood at the balcony railing, trembling, but looking satisfied with her handiwork.

"Harold," Elias said. "Release Ramiel."

"Of course," the man replied in a shaky tone.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Abigail shuffle along the balcony, never taking her hand off the railing. Elias had to trust Harold not to pull any tricks on him or if he did, that Abigail would have her brother's back. His attention was on Jala. A few pieces of broken furniture wouldn't kill an angel. He pushed or kicked aside the remnants of the chairs until he exposed Jala's upper half.

She lay still. Wood splinters had left gouges in her skin. A metal rod, which Elias guessed had come from the mechanism that mounted the chairs to the floor, was lodged deep into her left temple. Without pulling it out or taking an x-ray, it was impossible to guess how deep it was. It seemed unlikely, however, the rod was enough to kill an angel. Elias had heard plenty of stories of human surviving ludicrous brain injuries and angels seemed a lot less prone to death than humans were.

This is for mum and dad.

Elias lined up his sword to his best guess, then plunged it through the angel's ribs and hopefully, her heart. Jala's body spasmed. It wasn't a single shiver, but a chaotic jerking that seemed to go on forever. All the while blood poured out from the side of Jala's head and the wound Elias had inflicted. He pressed his hand over his mouth until the spasming finally slowed and the flame went out, leaving only the sword itself lodged deep in the angel's chest.

Is that it?

Elias staggered back. Jala was dead, wasn't she? He had actually done it. Stomach churning, he turned away.

He stumbled up the steps leading up to the stage, trying to ignore what he had just done, then came to a sudden stop. Elias had been too focused on Ramiel before to notice that the stage floor was bathed in blood. In some places it had pooled, elsewhere there were only splatters and around where Ramiel was slumped were sigils marked out in blood.

Harold had already removed the ropes around Ramiel's hands and feet, but the angel remained in the same pose as previous. Elias crouched down beside Ramiel. He was breathing, but neither waving a hand in front of his face nor pinching him elicited a response. Elias rubbed his knuckles across Ramiel's sternum. Nothing.

"What've they done to him?" he asked.

Harold used his cane to nudge away the rope that had been used to restrain Ramiel. "All manner of things, I hardly know. The demons spoke their own language to Ramiel and he seemed to understand them. Then this morning he just stopped responding. They weren't even touching him at the time."

"Touching him?" Elias shook his head. "Yeah, by all the blood around here, it's pretty clear what they were doing. And you were helping them all along. Don't hide behind euphemisms."