Sunlight broke through the delicate wisps of clouds above, the gentle heat caressing my skin and I closed my eyes for a moment, enjoying the warmth and still tasting strawberries and champagne on my tongue.

Lying next to me on the red checkered blanket, Brandon linked his fingers with mine, the remnants of our picnic scattered all around us. There was a small white daisy still in his hair from where I'd made a daisy chain crown and tried to make him wear it, laughing hysterically when he'd resisted my efforts and wrestled me to the ground, covering my face with kisses as he'd mock-growled like an animal. I'd decided not to tell him about the daisy yet but was struggling not to giggle at the sight of the tiny flower nestling in his dark curls.

He sighed a deep contented sigh and ran his thumb over my brand-new wedding band.

"We should do this every Saturday," I said finally. "Grab the champers, fill the picnic hamper and just watch the clouds go by, away from the city, away from all the noise."

He chuckled. "And there was me thinking you were a true city girl at heart. Maybe you were born in the country? You seem much more at home here, where it's all quiet and peaceful."

"Maybe I was, but I guess I'll never know. But don't you love it here too? You can't say it's not beautiful."

"I think you're beautiful," he said, raising my hand to his mouth and kissing my fingertips.

"Stay on subject please Mr. Walden," I chided playfully.

"As you wish, Mrs. Walden," he said, turning onto his front to rest on his elbows. He stared into the thick knot of woodland behind us, his deep hazel eyes scanning the tree-line.

"You want go for that hike in the woods later? See if we can find ourselves some forest fairies?" I picked at the daisy, untangling it from his unruly locks and tickling his cheek with the soft petals.

He said nothing for a moment, just continued to stare into the wood, a strange look upon his face. I suddenly wondered whether I'd done something wrong, said something wrong. Sometimes I just never knew with him. His mood could change so fast, as if there was always some dark shadow waiting to take over.

When he turned to look at me, the darkness was gone, but there was a pinched tightness around his eyes. "Nah," he said, softly. "No hiking today. And besides, there's no fairies in the woods, only monsters. Don't you remember what happened to Little Red Riding Hood?"

I laughed. "Didn't she kill the big bad wolf?"

"Actually I think that was the woodcutter."

"Oh."

I grinned, my eyes running over his handsome face and feeling the warm embers nestle in my stomach as I looked at him. He really was beautiful for a guy. Sometimes I wondered how on earth I'd managed to land such a catch. One day I'd wake up and find out it was all nothing but a lie, some horrible nasty joke to play on the care-home kid. Just another in a long line of horrible nasty jokes.

"Anyway," I said with a pout as I leant over to kiss his face, loving the roughness of his stubble on my lips. "I'm not afraid of monsters in the woods. I've got you after all."

He smiled, that little crooked smile that I loved so much, the one that made him look so young.

"Yes and I've got you," he said, pulling me against him. "You're mine. Always."

*******

There were no clouds. No sunlight. Just endless indigo stretching far above and the moon watching over us like a sentinel in the night sky.

I wondered what would happen if I lay here until dawn. Would it hurt as the sun set me ablaze? I couldn't imagine anything hurting more than this. I was already burning after all, my veins screaming as Lucifer's dark poison infected more of my body with each agonising second. No, nothing could be worse than this. In fact, if the sun suddenly broke through now, I would have welcomed it as I turned to ash in its embrace.

At least then it would finally be over. At least then I would find some peace.

Someone was still calling my name and the voice made me blink - once, twice - and I smiled in spite of everything, in spite of the pain, because it was his voice and I needed to hear it now more than I ever had. His faint Bostonian accent still sent butterflies careening around my stomach, as if I was a schoolgirl with a crush. There was something I liked about that, something that still felt exciting and real. Something I could hold on to.

Harper's face swam into focus above mine. The strong stench of his many kills lingered heavy on his clothes and his skin was a mess of blood and battle-dirt but it was still him, and I could have wept tears of joy to see him and to know that he was alright.

I raised a trembling hand to his face, which he grabbed, his eyes widening in horror when he saw the black venom snaking under my skin.

"Megan, what the fuck!" he said, frantically checking the rest of me, lifting my shirt to expose my stomach, fingers finding my neck, my shoulder and clearly finding the same. "What the hell is that? What should I do?"

He was panicking; Harper, who usually went from passive to volcano in a matter of seconds, wasn't really one to panic, he'd explode, he'd rant, but he never panicked and he certainly never looked as lost and as helpless as he did right then. I cupped his cheek in my palm, forcing him to meet my gaze.

"Get Lucius," I said. "I need Lucius."

"Right. Okay." He nodded, running off and leaving Fenton in his place.

I could tell that the usually calm and collected Fenton was trying to hold it together as he knelt down next to me, but his eyes betrayed him.

"Did we win?" I asked.

"I think you won," he said, biting his lip.

"Funny, I'm not sure I feel quite like I won anything." I paused to steady my breathing, inhaling slowly but feeling the ragged shake in my chest and the sharp pain every time I sucked in a breath. "What about the others ...the other Varúlfur?"

"Either dead or gone. Any left alive fled when Vana- ...well, when, you know." He trailed off, his brow furrowing as he looked at me, even though I could tell he was trying not to.

"It's reached my face now, hasn't it?"

He said nothing, but swallowed visibly and nodded.

I smiled weakly. "It's okay. I know. Can ...feel it." And I could feel it, like the maddening itch of spiders crawling under my skin. "I bet I look terrible."

He shrugged and looked almost embarrassed. "You've looked better."

"That was pretty lame for you."

"I know. I'll do better next time."

Next time. I clenched my fists and gritted my teeth when the pain rocked through me, my muscles tensing, my feet pushing against the ground as my body went into spasm. It lasted a matter of seconds, but I was left with the after-shocks and a chill that went bone-deep, as if I'd been sleeping on the cold ground for days.

"Megan!"

Lucius. The little boy scrambled to my side, half-climbing over Fenton to reach me. His white blonde hair was tousled and sticking up at odd angles, dirt still smudged his face giving him an almost-feral look, but he was unhurt and that was all I cared about. He cocked his head to one side, his expression too solemn for a child his age and then, without saying a word, he pulled off his gloves and held out his hand.

"You're going back?" Harper said, his voice full of alarm. "Megan, you can't!"

"I have to," I said as calmly as I could. "And you have to come with me."

"What?"

Lucius looked from Harper back to me, one eyebrow raised. "They won't like it, Megan. They won't like it at all."

The dead. He was talking about the dead. It was one thing for me to go walking through Purgatory alive, but to take Harper there? The dead would flock to his vitality and life-force, desperate to take back what they lost, but I had no choice. I needed his help to get me there and it couldn't be anyone else.

"I need him there, Lucius." My breath faltered. "Can't do this on my own."

Leaning down to brush his lips against my forehead and stroking my hair, Harper locked eyes with me.

"Okay," he said, his tone softer than usual. "You've got me. So what do I have to do?"

"Take mine and Lucius' hands, carry me when we get there and follow directions."

Easy peasy.

*****

Lucifer's library was a mere skeleton of what it once was.

A fire had raged here and the charred remains of the books smoldered on the never-ending bookcases. Tiny pieces of burnt parchment drifted down like black confetti settling in our hair and on our clothes. Up above the skies were a mix of burnished orange and sunset red, tainted by the smoke that still lingered in the air.

On the huge fireplace, the carved figures huddled together and covered their eyes. Whatever they had seen here definitely can't have been pleasant if it had sent them scurrying for cover, and I could only imagine the levels to which Lucifer's wrath had reached. I was almost surprised to not find him here, but strangely I had no sense of his presence, just an emptiness that you feel when you enter a deserted building that no one has lived in for years. There was an overwhelming feeling of sadness here, something that bordered on a grief that had the power to imprison a heart for eternity.

I was instantly worried that Garrick wasn't here, where I'd left him, but at the same time hopeful that he hadn't been around when Lucifer had returned. I couldn't cope with the thought of Garrick bearing the brunt of my actions, not after everything that had just happened.

"Holy shit," said Harper, looking decidedly grey-skinned. "How the Hell have you done this so many times? That was just ...fucking horrible." He shuddered, before glancing at me, the concern quickly suppressing everything else. "So where now?"

"Through there," I said, pointing at the mirror.

He groaned. "How did I know you were going to say that? Okay, come on."

He lifted me up onto one of the chairs and I climbed onto his back, wrapping my arms around his neck as he hooked his arms under my legs. My full weight slumped against his back, my head on his shoulder and I breathed him in, blood, dirt and all. There was a momentary comfort from feeling his body against mine but the thought of that came with its own demons and I pressed my face into his neck, wanting to drink as much of him in as possible.

The journey through the mirror was just as nauseating as ever. The liquid glass sucked on my burning skin, making me screw my eyes tight shut and hold on tighter and I could feel the mirror jeering in triumph, almost aware of the fact that the Devil's poison was working its debilitating magic in my veins.

Once we were through to the other side, in the other library, Harper stopped to scan the room, turning in a slow circle so that he could take in every detail.

"What's wrong with this place?" he said, and I could hear the distinct repulsion in his voice. "I mean, the other side was pretty screwy, but this is something else."

"Yeah, I know." I took a deep breath, feeling it break in my chest. "It doesn't get any better either."

"Well now I really can't wait."

Directing him out into the corridor beyond, he walked warily, his eyes scanning the sodden and peeling wallpaper as if he expected something to come slithering out of the walls.

"You know, back when I was human," he said, as he walked, keeping his voice low. "I got into a pretty bad fight one time and ended up in the local hospital for a few days. The ward I was in was a stone's throw away from the asylum and at night I could hear the inmates screaming. I don't know what it was about night-time that got them so riled up, but there was this one guy - and I swear I remember him until this day - and he used to just scream and scream like he was being tortured and he'd call out, begging for someone to kill him."

He stepped over a worn and tarnished Edwardian-style chair that lay on its side across the walkway, one leg splintered in half.

"I remember," he continued. "I was lying in bed and thinking how do you get to that point? What kind of fucked-up shit must be going on inside your head that the only thing you can do is just scream and scream and hope for death? I guess, years later, I sort of understood the whole wanting-to-die thing, but that was the grief and the guilt fucking with me. That guy, that was something different. He must have been living in some walking nightmare, stuff the rest of us only dream up when we're asleep."

I knew he was talking to distract us both from the obvious, but it was okay. I liked hearing his voice. I wanted to hear his voice and was suddenly struck by just how much I enjoyed hearing his stories. Why had I never asked him more about his life? Why hadn't I spent more time wrapped up in his arms and listening to tales from when he was human, of when he first became a vampire? A shroud of despair lay heavy around my heart to think of everything I had missed, everything I hadn't discovered about him because I'd been too busy fighting against what we clearly felt for each other.

"That's what this place feels like, don't you think? Like some kind of walking nightmare."

He stopped abruptly. "Megan?"

I'd been so lost for a moment, thinking about him and how much time we'd wasted that I'd fallen silent as he carried me, not realising he'd taken my lack of response as something else.

"It's okay," I said. "I'm still awake...still here." My head was pounding, thunder building at the temples and radiating out behind my eyes, which I closed for a moment, trying to steady the nausea that came hand in hand with the pain. "This place..." I said. "I think it's like the real Lucifer, not the one that he pretends he is. This is the one he doesn't really want you to see ...the one that's twisted and lost and alone."

"Alone? You think Lucifer is lonely?" He snorted.

"He's trapped in a world that he doesn't want to be in. He doesn't think he belongs here," I tried to explain. It hurt to think. Hurt to talk. To breathe. "He ...he wants to be with his brothers. He's like the runaway kid, standing at the window looking in and watching his family move on without him. For all his undeniable charm and attraction, scratch under the surface and there you'll find the real Lucifer. Everything else is just ...a façade to hide the madness and hatred underneath."

"Well, whatever this place is, it's creeping me the fuck out."

I smiled weakly against the soft warm skin of his neck. "Scared, Cain?"

He half-chuckled but said nothing and I knew he was scared, but not of this place, not really. He was a problem-solver. Someone who made decisions, whether good or bad. Someone who took the lead. Sorted things. Only he couldn't sort this. He couldn't solve this problem and it was terrifying him. I could hear it in his voice, feel it in the way his muscles had tightened across his back.

At the end of the corridor, we turned into the grand ballroom with all its dark decadence and sinister air. The dirty grey candles in the chandeliers were all but extinguished, barely impacting on the gloom that converged in front of us. Glancing up I could just about make out the cherubs in the arched ceiling, their tiny wings swishing overhead as they fled to the darkest corners. At the end of the room, the destroyed entrance to the Gallery waited like the open jaws of some great beast, ready to swallow us whole.

"You're sure about this?" Harper said, hesitating just inside the ballroom.

"Yeah." But I wasn't. I wasn't sure at all, but I had to try and put things right, that's if it wasn't already too late to fix what I'd done when I was last here. "J-just keep going. Don't stop."

I didn't want him to know that I was clinging to the edge now, hanging on even though the pain was crippling me, clouding my head and darkening my vision. I didn't want to tell him that I could feel time slipping through my fingers like sand and yet, almost as if he sensed this unspoken thing that haunted us, he picked up the pace, moving quickly through the ballroom and into the Gallery.

With my strength depleting by the second, I had to conserve what little energy I had left and couldn't risk trying to light the path ahead so we continued through the oppressive gloom of Lucifer's prison, until we reached the glowing embers of what had been Garrick's painting and what was now Asbeel's eternal cell. The canvas was like a molten mess of black scar tissue and I could see nothing of the scene that it had shown before. The asylum was gone, as was Asbeel but I knew he was still in there somewhere, locked deep within some lonely realm where he had only his own screams for company.

"This was where they kept Garrick," I said, when Harper stopped to stare at the ravaged wall. "I sent Drachmann's second-in-command into there and sealed it up."

"You did this?" Harper said, his voice hardly more than a whisper. I couldn't tell what he was thinking and felt a touch of shame burn inside, remembering how Garrick had looked at me after he'd seen me throw all my hatred at the demon who'd tortured him. I didn't want Harper to look at me like that, not now, not after everything. I couldn't bear it.

"God, I love you," he finally said, casting his eyes over what was left of the painting before turning and walking away.

And there it was. So typical of him to be proud of my anger and need for revenge, because he knew he would have done exactly the same. I buried my face into his neck, unable to speak, hugging him tighter even though it hurt like Hell.

We were moving further and further into the Gallery, until up ahead I gestured to a faint light that lifted the weight of the shadows outside the entrance to the annex.

"There," I said and Harper headed straight towards it, coming to a halt just outside the black gates, where one still lay bent and twisted off its hinges.

The only light now came from Michael's painting, after I'd sent all the candles tumbling from the alcoves when I'd walked away from him before, but it was still enough to illuminate the dark figure of a man sitting on the floor below the huge frame. For a moment, I thought it was him; Lucifer and I held my breath as whoever it was hesitated on seeing us, before climbing quickly to his feet.

"H-Harper? Megan?" The voice called out.

I heard Harper's ragged breath whistle through his lips, felt his step falter beneath him as he laid eyes on his brother for the first time since the battle at Oxleas.

"Garrick?"

"What are you doing here?" Garrick's voice cracked with pain, clearly assuming that if Harper was here, in Purgatory, then it could only mean one thing. He stumbled towards us, the relief-filled smile he wore when he realised Harper wasn't actually dead, soon fading into horrified dismay when he saw me. "Megan, what the Hell happened?"

"Lucifer happened," Harper said, quickly covering the short distance to the painting and carefully lowering me to the floor, where I collapsed onto my knees. The pain fractured inside my stomach, forcing me to double over, clutching at my gut.

"He poisoned her we think, we don't know exactly, but it's killing her, Garrick. She needs Michael now!" 

"Is he still here?" I said, reaching out and grabbing Garrick's wrist. "Is Michael still in the painting?"

"Yes," Garrick replied. "He's still here."

"And Lucifer?"

"I have no idea. When you disappeared, I didn't know where to go or what to do, there didn't seem a way out so I just waited for a while and then everything just started to shake, like an earthquake and there was this terrible noise like the world was splitting in two. I ran through the mirror again; it seems a bit like suicide coming back here but I didn't have a clue what else to do, I just knew if I stayed there I'd be in a whole heap of shit. I ran in here because it just felt, I don't know, safer I suppose."

Harper's head whipped around, glancing over his shoulder. His eyes narrowed as he tried to pierce the darkness out in the main Gallery.

"What?" I said, gasping as the cramps twisted me up as if someone had just kicked me in the stomach.

"I heard..." He trailed off as he stealthily crept over to the entrance of the annex, peering around the corner into the long room. Cursing under his breath, he froze as he straightened up, fists clenched, before rushing back over to where Garrick and I waited.

"What is it? What's out there?" Garrick said.

"I have no damn clue," Harper replied, swallowing. "But whatever you need to do, angel, do it quick, because it's about to get pretty fucking crowded down here."

Shooting past his brother, Garrick peeked out into the gloom, staring back at me with panic etched on his features.

"The demons?" I asked, breathlessly.

"No," he replied, shaking his head. "Not them. It's the dead, Megan. They're coming. They're all coming."

"How can they be here? This isn't their realm; they shouldn't be able to access it." Pain spiked down my back and I braced my arms against the wall as waves of agony tortured me from my collarbone down to the base of my spine. I was being pulled apart by the poison, feeling it tear me to pieces, crushing bone and ripping into my muscles with its deadly claws.

"I don't know, but they're here and they're coming this way."

"I shouldn't have come here with you, Megan," Harper said, clutching at his hair. "Lucius said they wouldn't like it. They must know I'm here."

I grimaced through the pain. "You had to come, I couldn't have got here without you." I glanced up at the painting. "Quick, lift me up, I need to reach the frame."

He did as I asked, lifting me so my legs were wrapped around his waist, with Garrick supporting my back on the other side and I reached out with trembling arms, desperately trying to ignore the splinters that stabbed at my shoulder-blades.

The frame felt strangely warm to touch and as soon as my fingertips found it, I heard the faint rustling of the wind through the trees, the delicate song of birds nestling in the branches. The scent of grass after the rain infused my nostrils and I breathed it in, the first breath I had taken that didn't hurt, that didn't make me want to scream. It reminded me of the first beautiful day of spring, of new beginnings, of home. Yes, that was it. Home.

I smiled and closed my eyes in rapture. I was crying but this time, not from the pain, but from a sense of peace that radiated through me, a sense of belonging, as if something inside me clicked into place and was saying, yes, this is it, this is what you were looking for.

Child. Megan.

The deep, gravelly tones of Michael's voice resonated warmly in my head and unlike when Lucifer had spoken to me this way, I didn't feel that horrible sense of invasion, but something instinctive, as if this had always been the way we had spoken to each other.

I'm sorry, I answered him. I was wrong, I was not myself. Forgive me, forgive me...

I heard his laughter, soft and low, but there was no malice lingering in the sound, no mockery.

You were more yourself than you realise. You stood up for what you believed in. You remained true to who you are. There is no right or wrong here, child, and nothing to forgive.

The sob ached in my chest, bubbled up into my throat.

Megan. Open your eyes.

I did and there he was, standing just on the other side of the invisible barrier, surveying me solemnly, his heavy-set blonde brow furrowed slightly. The gentle breeze toyed with his tousled ash-blonde locks, brushing wisps of hair against his weathered face where the skin crinkled around his eyes. He said nothing more and I stretched up a little further, laying my palm flat against the canvas. Faint ripples cascaded out around my hand and I heard him, felt him, sigh. He hesitated for a moment then with a nod of his head, he pressed his palm against mine and instead of the painting under my hand, I felt flesh and bone and heat. I groaned as the glow pulsated from my fingers, the effort sending juddering pains up my arm. The light was weak, but the effect was strong as the venom in my veins fought against it, attempting to smother the energy before it could do its work. Screwing my eyes tight shut, I willed the heat to rise.

Please, please, please.

And then, just when I thought I could do no more, Michael's fingers linked with mine and I opened my eyes with a gasp, to see the whole of the painting aglow, sending a myriad of fractured light cascading into the annex as his arm protruded from the luminous rippling canvas. Brilliant radiance filled the room and Harper and Garrick turned their heads away from the brightness that now enveloped us. I grasped Michael's hand tightly in mine and with one final burst of energy, I pulled, hearing a scream in my head that sounded too familiar, too awful, and I felt something give, the resistance of the canvas dying along with that scream. The light didn't die, however and instead of burning like fire, it was warm and beautiful and wrapped everything up in a blanket of pure bliss, breaking my fall as I collapsed backwards out of Harper's arms.

When the light subsided, I was on my knees with someone holding my hands and looking down, I saw those hands were slightly tanned and weather-beaten, the skin feeling rough against my own. Lifting my head, I sobbed to see him there, because he shouldn't have been there, on his knees in front of me. Not him. Not Michael.

There was so much power. A power that came with its own justice, its own rules and with the capability for so much destruction and yet was coupled with so much love and warmth that it was overwhelming and frightening to see. He terrified me and at the same time, filled me with a sense of such belonging that I was suddenly bereft at the thought of ever being without him.

As if reading my thoughts, he frowned and his expression faltered, revealing something that bordered on sadness and regret, before he squeezed my hands gently.

"You hurt," he said, his deep blue eyes seeing too much. Like Lucius, I thought. "Your pain runs too deep, child, but it will not last forever. Soon you will be free from this." He rubbed the pads of his thumbs over my hands, where the black veins ran strong under my skin.

"Where is Lucifer?" I asked.

"Oh he is not gone but he will not come here, not yet. Right now, he will be licking his wounds no doubt. Hiding in one of the realms where only he can go, biding his time, until he thinks it's safe to return. And when he does we will play these games of his over and over again. That's just the way of things. He always returns."

A shuffling, scraping noise whispered through the annex and Harper cursed, jumping to his feet as he stared widely at the entrance where the black gates hung twisted and broken.

Grey faces stared out of the darkness there, crammed into every space, moving like one mass, an unstoppable tide all with eyes full of yearning and I knew they stretched back through the whole Gallery and beyond; an endless sea of the dead. I saw their pain, each face a canvas depicting their own suffering, their own prison where they harboured an eternal need to seek an end to their agony. And yet, despite their pain, they were ominously quiet. No cries. No wails. No screams. Just a strange terrible silence that hung in the air like a thundercloud, waiting for that right moment to break.

Michael stood slowly, his face impassive as he looked at the souls that crowded there.

"Fear not, night creature," he said to Harper, who had backed up a step, his face noticeably paler than it had been before. "The restless ones will not harm you. My brother's hold over the realms has weakened, the boundaries have become blurred, enabling the dead to breach what was once closed to them. They are drawn to your life-spark which resounds loudly in the darkness, but it is not that which they seek. They have travelled far to find the light that would guide them onwards in their journey. They are not here for you."

"They want Megan?"

The territorial note in his voice tolled almost louder than his life-spark but Michael just smiled kindly.

"They want what they always want. An escape from the darkness that binds them to this place. They want peace, an end to their suffering. The light offers them comfort and gives rise to hope. Most will never leave this place, but they will never give up hope that they can. They yearn for hope in death, just as they did in life. Even when times are at their most desperate, they cannot help but hope." He turned to glance down at me. "They sense your pain, child. They feel it as you feel theirs and they come to pay homage to the light, to pay homage to you."

He crouched down again in front of me.

"The time has come to ask me, Megan," he said. "Ask of me what you will."

My voice broke, my resolve cracking under the weight of his stare.

"P-please," I said. "I know I have no right to ask you." I sank lower to the ground, having to support myself with my hands to stop myself from collapsing completely. "After what I did, I wouldn't blame you for refusing me, but I have to try. I'm begging you, please don't take Lucius. I know what he is and I know what he is capable of, but he is also a boy who deserves to exist. His life isn't meaningless and it isn't an aberration. It's a gift, just as every life is a gift. Let the Guardians protect him. Let the bloodline be about life, not death. I know you say that you can't, but I know that you can, I feel that you can. Please just give the Guardians a chance to live up their name and be Guardians."

His stare did not waver as he looked at me, but his eyes narrowed slightly as I spoke and finally, once I was done, he sighed wearily, the frown deepening the already pronounced lines on his forehead.

"Do you truly believe the bloodline can prevail?"

"I know that they can."

He smiled then, shaking his head in awed disbelief as he did so. "Your faith in them is quite remarkable, Megan. I just wish that your faith in me was as strong. You think me a monster, don't you? One that would extinguish the life of a child without question or feeling."

I began to protest but he dismissed my denial with another smile and a roll of his eyes that seemed so human-like.

"You need not deny it. I know the truth that lies within you, you cannot hide that from me. And you would be justified in thinking so. We angels walk a fine line, that I will admit, yet what you see as monstrous is often our only option in our fight against those that seek to bring about the end of days. We destroy to maintain the light. But that does not mean we do these things without care or feeling. We become monsters because that is the only thing we can do, Megan, but that does not mean we are truly monstrous."

He broke off for a moment, casting his gaze upon Harper who stood a little straighter under his scrutiny, refusing to back down under his stare.

"The bloodline is strong, there is no doubt about that," he said, raising one blonde brow in agreement. "But there can be no wavering from their one true task in life. Everything they do must be governed but this and by this only."

"It will be. I swear it."

"And you really think that they cannot be knocked off course? You really believe that nothing can divert them from their path? Because it has happened before, as you well know."

My heart sank a little to hear his words, but I held firm. "I believe in the bloodline. I believe in him."

Harper flinched beside me. "Wait, what? What do you mean? What is this?"

The panic was rising in his voice again and I needed him to be calm, I need him to hold it together. I reached out and grabbed his hand, smiling to reassure him even though it was killing me inside to lie to his face. Michael had been right. Sometimes you did what you had to do, even if it did make you feel shitty, because it really was the only way.

"Very well," Michael said. "But know this, what I do now, I do because I believe in you, child, because you have proved yourself to be worthy of such a request and so much more besides. I take a great risk, turning a blind eye to the boy's existence but turn a blind eye I shall, on one condition: the Guardians must not falter, they must not stray from their path. From here on out they exist only to protect the Lost child. They keep him hidden and they do not force me to regret putting my faith in the bloodline. If at any point, for whatever reason, they do not uphold their side of the bargain, my justice will be swift and without mercy and then, and only then will the night-creatures truly understand what monsters the Archangels can be."

The room bristled with a dark tension, a shift in the air that you only usually felt before a storm hit. And then he smiled, banishing the thunder before it had a chance to break the skies apart.

"I take it we have an agreement?"

I exhaled. "Yes. Yes. Thank you."

He chuckled. "I seek not your gratitude, Megan. Besides, I feel as if your requests are not quite done?"

He knew. Of course he knew. How could he not? I think maybe he knew me better than I probably knew myself.

I looked up at Garrick, who had stood on my other side throughout, taking in the whole conversation and clearly understanding far more than Harper did from the stricken look on his face.

"Please," I said to Michael. "He's a good man. One of the best actually. He deserves this, he deserves more."

Garrick's eyes widened. "Megan, no! You can't ask this! I told you, I don't want this. It's not right and I won't let you do it."

"I know," I said, tears pricking my eyes. "I know you don't. Which is why I'm not asking to bring you back, even though I hate you a little for it." I smiled even though it hurt to do so. The pain was tightening across my skin, making every little movement feel like Hell. "I'm asking him to let you go. I'm asking him to save you."

He gasped. "But he can't, he said ...."

"I know what he said." I glanced back at Michael. "But you can do it, can't you? You can make an exception. This time, you can. Please."

"Megan, you can't ask this. You don't have to do this, not for me."

"I can and I will. I'm not arguing with you about this, Garrick. It's hurting enough just to keep myself upright, I don't have the energy to argue with you too."

"I cannot do this, Megan." Michael's calm voice cut through our bickering, pulling the rug out from underneath me. "I cannot do it," he said. "But you can."

"What?" I felt winded, breathless, as my chest screamed. "I can't. I don't have the power to do it, you know I don't. It's too much."

"I will help, but it has to come from you."

You can do this, child. It will take everything you have left, but you can do it. Make this your last stand, your last battle.

I stared helplessly at him. He was right. I had to be the one to do it. I was the only one that could now.

I linked my fingers through Garrick's. "Let me do this. I owe you this."

His face twisted with a flash of anger. "You don't owe me a damn thing, Megan Garrick."

"Yes I do," I whispered, gesturing towards Harper. "Yes I do. You gave me everything, Bartholomew. You know that you did."

He shook his head, his dark hair falling over his face, which he smoothed back with a hand that noticeably shook. "I hate it when you call me that."

"No you don't. You like it a little. Please, Garrick."

He was struggling, the anguish clearly stamped on his features and he chewed on his lower lip as he looked around, his gaze finally coming to rest on Harper, who stared back at him with equal torment. Something unspoken passed between them, something that made my heart ache to see, something I knew they couldn't say out loud.

"I-I don't think I'm ready," Garrick said, not taking his eyes from his brother.

"No one ever is," Michael said softly. "Not really."

"No, I...."

"Do it." Harper's voice was firm but I saw how he clenched his fists tightly by his sides, how his cheek muscles twitched when he tried to force a smile. "Quit being a bloody wimp and just do it. She's throwing you a lifeline here. Don't throw it back because you're too chicken-shit to admit you want this. And besides, hanging around here is making you look like crap."

"Funny, that's sort of what she said, only more eloquently put."

Harper shrugged. "Yeah well, she always has had a way with words. And even better taste in men."

Garrick looked at him under his dark lashes, a devilish glint in his eyes. "Debatable, dear brother. You just got there first." His sniffed, wrinkling his nose a little as his smirk faded. "You were always the one, you know. She's right to believe in you. They all are. Don't forget that, okay?"

"You're not getting all sentimental on me, are you?"

"You'd hate that wouldn't you?" The sly grin returned.

"Fuck off."

I glanced at Michael, who instead of seeming offended by Harper's blunt language, was watching them with a keen interest, his head cocked to one side, a half-smile on his lips.

It's time, Megan.

My side hurt where Drachmann had stabbed me with the scythe and although I had welded the skin back together, I knew that Lucifer's poison was tearing at the wound from the inside out, unthreading what I had done, picking apart invisible stitches. I pressed my palm to the scarred skin and inhaled and exhaled deeply. It was time, I knew that more than I knew anything right then.

"Garrick, help me up."

Hooking his hands underneath my armpits, he gently pulled me to my feet. He was supporting most of my weight, he knew it, I knew it, and I hated the look in his eyes, a look that held too much pain, too much pity.

"Don't do that," I whispered, resting my palms on his chest. "I don't want that, not from you."

"S-sorry." His voice broke and he leant forward, pressing his lips softly against my forehead, pulling me against him and we remained there like that for a few awful, beautiful seconds.

When he pulled away, he opened his mouth to speak but I cut him off, cupping his cheek in my hand and brushing my thumb lightly across his mouth.

"I know," I said, blinking away the tears that had sprung cruelly to the surface. "I know."

Looking over at Michael, I reached out, still clinging onto Garrick and Michael took my hand, encapsulating mine in his, the warmth instantly spreading into my palm.

Let go, Megan, you cannot save him if you don't let go.

I knew he wasn't telling me to physically let go of Garrick even though I knew I had to do that too. I needed to let go. I had to let go but the act of letting go made my chest hurt, a pain that ran so deep that I knew it would scar my heart forever. Closing my eyes, I inhaled his scent one last time before giving him a little push, feeling the hardness of his chest under my hand, feeling his fingers snag on a lock of my hair.

A gentle humming had arisen from the restless ones and I opened my eyes to see them swaying in unison, Garrick standing just a few metres in front of where they waited. He looked so small standing there, on his own with the sea of the dead behind him that I was all at once driven by this selfish need to keep him here, with me, but I knew that I couldn't.

Michael released my hand but didn't pull away, instead he just held his above mine, our open palms barely an inch apart. Light swelled between us and I felt a surge of power flowing from his hand into mine, an electricity that coursed through my body, sending a static charge deep into my bones.

Will it hurt? I asked.

This time it will. But I will hold you steady.

With a deep breath, I clenched my teeth together and pushed hard, as hard as I could.

Shimmering white light burst from my skin, ballooning outwards in a radiant orb of colour, shifting and moving in waves. The first wave hit Garrick and his eyes widened as he rocked back gently on his heels, holding his hands out to steady himself.

It wasn't enough. It wasn't going to be enough. I could already feel Lucifer's magic resisting, I could feel the loathing as it struggled against the heat, desperate to bring me to my knees. Pain rocketed through me, but I held firm and pushed again, groaning with the effort as the light glowed from my whole body.

When the next wave struck him, Garrick stumbled, the impact sending him reeling backwards a few steps. The chorus of the dead grew louder, more resplendent, the light sending them into exultant rapture as they moved together, feet shuffling against the tiled floor. Their voices rose as one, echoing through the Gallery and filling the room with their euphoric song. Even from far off, I could hear them as they crowded the halls and corridors of the realm. They sang, so loud and clear and so utterly beautiful that I cried to hear it and felt spurred on by the elated choir.

With arms outstretched either side of me, I felt the power deep within and held it there even though the agony was almost unbearable. I needed to control it, needed to focus it right where I wanted it to go.

We locked eyes, Garrick and I, that final understanding passing between us and we said our goodbyes, silently, wordlessly and yet his voice resounded so loudly in my head and my heart that I knew I would always hear it. I would always hear him.

"Wait!" cried Harper suddenly, his face aghast. "I'm not ready, I'm not..."

But it was too late.

With everything I had, I let go, unleashing the light, unleashing the last remnants of power inside me and it peeled off me in great, tumultuous waves, layer after layer of brilliant silver and dazzling white that rebounded off every surface, sending sparks cascading around the room. Blinding light filled the annex, forcing Harper to his knees where he curled up, shielding his face from the glare. On and on the light rippled and pulsed, until there was nothing but the light and the rhapsodic choral voices, rising upwards and upwards, reaching so far up that it felt like there was no ceiling, nothing but miles and miles of endless light and noise stretching far above us.

And then the light blinked into nothing, almost as if it had never existed, as the world crashed back into focus and I was crashing too, tumbling, falling, unable to stand as the pain overwhelmed me, triumphantly rampaging through my veins, my bones, my flesh.

Lying prostrate and broken on the floor, I turned my head to look for him but Bartholomew Garrick had gone.

Finally, he had gone.

*****

"Megan, wake up. Come on, please, wake up!"

Closing my eyes, I discovered, was a premature move. It felt good to close them, to shut down and embrace the darkness but as soon as I did, the pull seemed almost too irresistible. It was easier to just accept it and feel the gentle tide lapping against my limbs. Everything felt weightless and good and wonderfully blissful, but the voice was calling me back, his voice was calling me back.

My eyelids fluttered, making me wince. How was it that even my eyelids hurt to move?

Something pressed against my face. More pain. But it brought with it a soft warmth that soothed and a dampness that came from tears that were not my own.

"Please," he begged and I did as he asked, opening my eyes to find his forehead resting on mine, nose against nose as he nuzzled at my face, tears falling from his cheeks onto my skin.

I wanted to reach up and brush them away. I wanted to caress his face and run my fingertips along his jawline. I wanted to touch him so badly but my arm wouldn't move, almost as if invisible hands were holding me in place, preventing me from doing what I wanted to do more than anything.

"You're crying, Cain," I whispered. "You never cry."

He smiled with relief, planting small but fervent butterfly kisses on my nose, my cheek, my mouth.

"Hey, I'm a new man. In touch with my feminine side and all that." More kisses. I was drowning in them but it was a good kind of drowning. One that I could suffer for eternity. "I thought you'd gone," he said. "I thought I'd lost you too."

"Not yet ...soon."

A fresh assault gripped me, forcing my body into spasm and this time my arms did move, clutching onto him tightly, fingers locked into claws as I jerked and tensed until I thought every tendon and every muscle would snap under the strain. When it stopped I was left gasping for breath and twitching, every nerve ending on fire.

Harper waited until the worst of it was over and then gently pulled me onto his lap, cradling me against his chest and I thought this would be okay, right here, I could deal with it if it was here.

"Listen to me," he said firmly. "You're not going anywhere, okay? You're not giving up. I won't let you. Everything will be okay, because Michael here is going to save you." He looked up at the Archangel who stood nearby, watching us with a sad, solemn expression on his face. "You're going to fix this, aren't you? You're going to get rid of whatever this shit is he put inside her and you're going to fix this."

Even his question sounded like a demand and if it didn't hurt so much I would have laughed at the thought of Harper Cain barking instructions to an Archangel. Only him. Always him.

Michael said nothing, but his eyes found mine, an expectant gaze that terrified me a little because I knew I was going to have to say it out loud. I had no choice.

"Harper," I said. "I didn't come here to be saved. I came here to save them. I came here to save Lucius and Garrick. This was never for me."

"Yes and you did that. You did that, Megan. You. But now it's your turn, after everything you've done, it's the least he can do."

"Harper, you're not listening. Look at me. It's too late. You know it's too late."

I tried to lift my hand again but I could barely lift it a couple of inches and it seemed so cruel that I couldn't, like one final kick in the teeth. He grasped it in his and raised it to his mouth, smoothing his lips over the delicate skin of my wrist, where the black veins seemed most prominent.

"I don't believe that and you shouldn't either. We can still stop this." He looked beseechingly at Michael. "Please, I'm begging you, please just help her."

The Archangel seemed so burdened with exhaustion then as he glanced away, avoiding Harper's demanding gaze and he exhaled a long whisper of breath through dry lips. His broad shoulders slumped slightly, his sun-kissed skin suddenly ravaged by too many lines and he looked thoughtfully at the dead that still waited there, as if mulling something over in his mind.

When he turned back to face us, he approached, crouching down by my side, clasping his hands together between his knees. There were faint grass stains on his bare feet and it reminded me of summer days walking bare foot and feeling the tickle of blades of grass between my toes.

"You love her deeply, night-creature," he said. "That much I can see. It is a good love, a strong love. It is not usual that I feel a sense of regret and while I do not, for one moment, regret Megan, I regret that my actions will cause so much pain, for that, I promise you now, was never my intention. But you must understand why things are the way that they are."

He paused to rub his palm over the faint scrub of grey beard that adorned his face.

"We angels are governed by so many laws, so many restrictions and sometimes, we are forced to find alternative methods, shall we say, or as man likes to call them, loopholes, I suppose. We seek not to subvert our Father's rules but often we are left with no choice, but to find another way. Knowing that Lucifer sought to disable me, I had to find a way to ensure that I could still defeat him, whether imprisoned or not and so I bent the rules, instilling my power into beings that would never have survived without my intervention. At the time, I saw no wrong in my actions and whilst I knew I was not strictly adhering to divine law, I was confident that I was not breaking any primary rule. After all, I was not creating life, merely sustaining that which would be lost without me. So I sent my own spark into a select number of humans and concealed them on Earth, where I hoped they would not be discovered until the day came when I needed them to come to my aid."

"Why are you telling me this?" Harper said. "I don't care what happened or why you did what you did, I just want you to save her, that's all."

"That's all," Michael repeated softly, arching one brow. "If only it were that simple. I am trying to explain, that Megan came to exist only because of the power that I gave her. She was not meant to be Earth-bound then, and she is not meant to be Earth-bound now. She was created for one reason and that was to protect the Gates and now that she has done what she was born to do and her physical body fades, it is time for her to come home, it is time for her spark to return to where it belongs. With me."

Harper's face contorted with anger, red hot flushes of rage spotting his tear-drenched cheeks. "She has been earth-bound for over twenty-three years. How dare you talk about her life there like it meant nothing. She's real and she's alive and she deserves a chance, damn it. You might have had a hand in her existence, but you sure as Hell didn't help her to live. She did that herself. And she succeeded where all your other little experiments failed so you owe her a chance. You can do something. I know you can. You can save her."

Michael looked away for a moment, but when he turned back to us, there was a darkness in his face, a shadow that was all-consuming and terrifying to behold.

"The divine spark is not meant to remain on Earth. It was never destined for mankind for they do not have the capacity to control it.  Desire it they do, as man will always desire any kind of power that gives him supremacy over others, but it would come to control them. Consume them. It is a celestial power meant only for the angels, bestowed by God Himself."

"Then take it," Harper said. "Take your damn power back but leave her with me."

Michael titled his head to one side as he stared at Harper and I knew he was looking at him, really looking at him and seeing everything.

"Think on this, do you seek to keep her here for her sake, or for your own?"

Harper said nothing for a moment, before looking down at me and tracing his knuckles gently down my cheek. I closed my eyes for a second, wishing I could hold on to how good it felt. His chest heaved as he hugged me against him and I heard the sob choking him as he began to rock me gently back and forth. When he spoke, his voice was cracked and broken.

"Is it so wrong to want to keep her here with me? Tell me, is it?" His words tore through my soul, breaking my heart into pieces. "I lost them all, everyone whoever meant a damn thing to me. I lost them. Must she be taken from me as well? Must I always be alone?"

"Loss has made you the man that you are, Harper. It has shaped you. Defined you. Each time you have lost someone dear to you, you have strengthened, grown, become something more than you were before. It will be the same with Megan. You will survive because that is what you do."

"I don't want to survive." The anger ripped out of him. "I don't want to have to pick myself up again and keep going. I want to live and I can only do that with her by my side."

"You are wrong. You will live and you will continue to uphold your role as Guardian. The role that she bestows upon you. The role that she believes you were destined to do. Loss is only temporary and the human spirit always prevails."

"Only I'm not human, am I?"

"Night creature, you are more human than you think you are."

Harper's mouth found my face again as he leant down, brushing his lips along my forehead.

"Please," he said. "Please, I'm begging you and if you knew anything of me you would know that I don't beg. I've never begged for anything in my life but I will beg for her, I will get down on my knees in front of you and I will beg you for her life. I will beg you not to take her from me. Please."

"Harper, I am not my brother and I require no one to kneel before me." He sighed, raking his fingers through his greying curls. "I do this because I see no other option for her. If she remains, all my powers will be gone from her grasp and her survival will depend wholly on whether she can endure this, but I fear that her injuries are just too grave. Lucifer's venom has travelled too deep. If she does not come with me now, I cannot guarantee her life. I cannot intervene and I cannot save her. She will be a vampire once more and nothing else and she will be governed by the laws of life and death, just as all earth-bound creatures are."

"And she will survive," Harper insisted. "I have seen her endure so much, I have seen her survive when others would have fallen. She will live, I know that she will."

"Perhaps she will, but know this; if perchance, she stays and she perishes, I will not be able to protect her in the black seas. Of course, I can seek counsel from my Father, beg him to grant her peace, but the chances of succeeding in petitioning him are but the smallest of hopes. Her best chance is to return with me as she is now. With a spark of divinity still alive inside, I can save her. Her soul can come home, Harper, where she truly belongs."

"Her home is with me."

"Then why don't we ask her?"

"W-what?"

"You are right. This body and this life has been hers for over twenty-three years. I have no claim over either, as neither do you. This must be her choice, her will. So let us ask her what she wants."

There was an awful silence, one that seemed to swallow time whole, bringing it to a shuddering halt as they stared at each other. It was Harper who broke first, sucking in a sharp intake of breath before releasing it slowly.

"Okay," he said, trembling slightly. "Okay."

Inclining his head, Michael gave a small sad smile and stood up, backing away. I knew what he was doing, he was giving Harper a chance and I adored him for it.

"Megan?" I hated hearing the break in his voice. It sounded so unlike him, so unlike the Harper I knew. I wanted to hear him rant and roar. I wanted to hear him say fuck you to the world just because he could, because that was him. My Harper.

I looked up at him from under heavy lids. It was hurting so much just to keep my eyes open now but I couldn't close them. Not yet. I wasn't ready to stop seeing his face. I wasn't ready for any of this.

"I hated you at the beginning you know," I said. "I hated you and I wanted you and I didn't understand why. You infuriated me. I think you might be the most infuriating man I've ever met."

"That's okay," he said with a smile. "I hated you too at times."

"You did? Why?"

"Because you saw through me. I hated that about you."

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

"For hating me or for seeing through me?"

"I don't know. Both maybe. I'm sorry for everything. But mostly, I'm sorry for wasting so much time. It wasn't enough. It wasn't enough."

"No," he said, his breath hitching in his throat. "An eternity would never be enough."

He lifted his gaze to look at Michael and the torment was so visible. He didn't want to do this. He didn't want to ask me.

"Megan, you have to..."

"I know," I said, digging deep and finally raising my hand to touch his face, even though the agony of it sent white hot flashes exploding behind my eyes. "I know I have to choose."

My fingertips found his mouth, that mouth that was capable of so much cruelty, so much pain, so much beautiful goodness. God, I loved that mouth. I loved him and the thought of that made my chest tighten unbearably.

The pain thundered through me then, almost as if it knew I was hanging on the edge, loosening my grip with a volley of shots that made me scream out loud and when it was done, I was crying, clinging onto him desperately and crying.

"I'm tired, Harper ...so tired."

"I know you are, angel," he said, his face crumpling. "I know."

He pulled me closer and I sobbed into his neck.

"It's okay. Everything will be okay." He pressed his lips against mine again and again, stopping only to stroke the hair back from my sweat-glistened brow.

"You have been the last dream of my soul, Megan Garrick," he whispered.

"Dickens? You're quoting Dickens? Benjamin would be very proud of you."

He shook his head. "No, he would be proud of you. You made the bloodline strong again, not me. You brought hope for all vampires, you created light when there was nothing but darkness. You were the one, Megan. You were always the one."

I laid my palm flat against his cheek. The room around us was distorting, blurring, slipping out of focus but I could still see him. Could still feel his skin warm against the coldness of my hand.

"No, you were the one. I love you."

"Always?"

"Always," I said. "Endlessly."

I crushed my mouth against his and closed my eyes.

The darkness came quickly, too quickly, but it was beautiful, wondrous, and I let myself slip below the surface, feeling it surround me, consuming me, nestling me in its soft embrace and finally the blessed release washed over me, replacing pain with a calmness of spirit that I hadn't felt in so long.

I needed it. I craved it.

Welcomed it.

And as I fell further and further, the voices of the dead rose up around me in harmonious chorus, in exaltation, in praise and I smiled to hear them.

It was time.

Take me home, I said. It's time to go home.