We are in the centre of the maze. The summerhouse is before us. There is a clear space, maybe fifty feet wide all the way around and we are spaced out around the circumference. Bridge is to my right, with Mario beyond him and Serif at the quarter position. To my left are Sam, Alex and Taz. Presumably the rest are on the far side of the summerhouse. Everyone looks as dazed as I feel.
"Luma?" Star appears round the corner, running and he doesn't stop until he is in my arms. "What happened?"
"I'm not sure. I don't think I'm the one to ask." I glance over his shoulder and he follows my eyes. As soon as his settle on Serif he breaks free and launches himself at him.
"You bastard! What have you done with Sacha? What did you do to...?"
"Star." Bridge's voice is soft but it stops Star in his tracks. "It wasn't him. It wasn't Serif. It was someone who made himself look like him."
"You've got to be kidding."
"Honestly I'm not. Serif was in the tower room; he was... He wasn't like the rest but he was..."
"I was silenced," Serif supplies. Bridge smiles at him and continues.
"I heard him, when we in the basement. I heard him calling and I found him. He was... I thought he was dead but he wasn't: obviously he wasn't. There was blood everywhere and he-- whoever that is." He nods towards the summerhouse. "He'd bound him. Not with rope but... well, I don't understand how he'd done it, but he had; and then he'd cut his wrists and left him to bleed to death."
I stare at Serif in absolute horror. As powerful as he is, he can die like the rest of us when he's in human form. And if he does... If he dies here...
"It's alright, Lumin'el," he says with a smile. "I called and I knew he would answer."
"Of course I answered. I was scared when I saw all that blood. I was scared and I thought you were dead but then I realised that if you were dead you wouldn't be able to call me. So I got closer and I could see that you weren't dead. You even managed to open your eyes, but you were too weak to speak. I kind of knew what I was supposed to do but Luma had said that my blood is no good for you."
"It isn't," Serif says smiling at Bridge. "Not for them."
"Well anyway; it was the only thing I could do. I couldn't just stand there and do nothing and I figured that if you were dying anyway... So I did the only thing I could think of..."
"You did exactly the right thing, Bridge."
"Well anyway." He turns to me. "When he was feeding from me he started to hum inside my head and I just found myself doing it out loud and the music kind of took me over. It wasn't coming from me it was coming through me." He looks confused. "I thought I was getting dizzy from losing blood but it wasn't that." He thinks deeply for a moment then shakes his head.
"As soon as he stopped feeding, Serif started to hum too and then there were others, there were voices all around... no not around... inside and they were singing and... and then..."
"Do you have any idea what you did?"
Bridge's eyes go wide and he looks scared. "What did I do? Was it the wrong thing? Was it bad?"
I stride across the grass and take him into a bear hug. "Wrong? Bad? Bridge you summoned a choir."
"A what?"
"A choir," Serif says gently, turning Bridge around and smiling into his face. "You are a very special person Bridge; more special than you will ever know. No being other than an angel has ever summoned a choir."
"A choir of angels?"
"Absolutely." Serif lowers his head and kisses Bridge. Bridge's slender body shudders like a reed in the wind and Serif's arm around his back is the only thing that stops him from falling. When he raises his head Bridge stares up at him; his eyes enormous with wonder.
"Is it true? What I saw; is it true?"
"What did you see?"
"You're an angel. You're really an angel."
"Haven't I said as much? Didn't you see it with your own eyes when you held up the wheel?"
"Was that real? Did that really happen? I thought it was a hallucination. I didn't think it really happened."
"Was there really a wheel?" This time it's Ara who tentatively asks. I notice they have all drawn close and are standing in a half circle around us. "Did we really see those angels?"
"Yes, you did." This time they all look at me.
"And the dragon?"
"That was me," Star volunteers, smiling... and then he laughs aloud. "Fuck... that was me. I was flying. I was actually fucking flying. I was a dragon... I am a dragon."
I pull him close and kiss him. "A damn sexy dragon, too."
"And you're an angel? I thought you were a vampire."
"What do you think vampires are?" I ask him, smiling into the beautiful turquoise eyes.
"Well... I kind of figured they were undead monsters."
"Not exactly. We're fallen angels... at least the creatures you know of as fallen angels. Your myths about angels are no truer than your myths about vampires... and your myths about dragons are way off."
"So, the war... the war that Serif-- the person who was pretending to be Serif-- was talking about." Bridge says carefully, turning in Serif's arms to look at me. "That was the war in heaven; the war when God punished the angels by throwing them into hell."
"Not exactly. There was no God, or Hell, or angels really. There was just politics."
"Politics?"
"I'll tell you about it some time. For now I think we should concentrate on Sacha."
"Oh my God, Sacha. I forgot..."
Bridge makes to run for the summerhouse but Serif holds him back. "Wait. We have to be careful. He knows. He knows what's happened and he is not going to be happy about it. You saw what he's done. He's set up a barrier around Sacha; so we couldn't reach him from the wheel. The only chance he has is if we can reach him from here. But it's not going to be easy; don't make the mistake of thinking it is."
"What should we do?" David asks anxiously.
"You should wait here. Luma, Star, Bridge, Taz and I will go in; the rest of you stay here."
"But we want to help."
"You can help by staying here. We can do this but only if you keep safe. He wants us to be less than focussed on him. He wants us to be scattered, fragmented. He wants us to have other things on our minds... you. That's why he did what he did to you; to us... We need to not have to think about anything else; because this is not a question of whether we get Sacha out of there; it's a question of whether any of us get out of there."
"I... Be careful."
Serif smiles. "I am always careful, and that's why you are going to stay right here. You are safe here. Don't leave this place. Don't go back to the house."
"But what if you don't come back?"
"Then it won't matter where you are and we won't care. But for as long as we do care we need to know you are safe here."
"Alright," Chancey says bravely, "you go ahead and I'll take care of everyone here. We'll stay here... until you get back," he says firmly.
Impulsively I hug him and hold him close for a few moments then let him go and walk towards the summerhouse, without looking back.
We pause at the door. "Do you know who it is?"
"I have a fair idea."
"Abdi'el?" I supply grimly.
"Who else?" He chuckles. "Okay... maybe it could be someone else but it has his name written all over it. One of the more powerful beings would have been more direct; the lesser ones more careful. He's the trickster... the total prick."
I can't help myself; that makes me smile. "He always was a slimy creep."
"Quite a few of them were. They've been low key for a while but with the Council in shreds they're crawling out of the woodwork."
"Not my woodwork."
He turns and grins at me. "What's so special about your woodwork?"
I return his grin. "It's mine."
Laughing out loud he reaches out his hand and the door of the summerhouse explodes inwards in a rain of glass shards and toothpicks.
I hold Bridge close to me as we enter. I am not easy about him being here, although I know why. Star protects his other side while Serif and Taz precede us. I feel bad about that; especially about Taz being in the frontline, but I have to take care of Bridge.
The interior of the Summerhouse has radically changed. The foliage is blackened and burned; the riverbed is dry and the whole building is filled with acrid smoke that burns our eye and makes us cough. As we move further in, the smoke grows thicker and moves in turgid swirls of oily blackness.