Free In the End by Alexandra Rowland

hard, did I?”
    ***
    Later that night, as Lalael was trying to get to sleep, a thought struck him with the force and suddenness of a boulder dropped off a roof. Lucien had saved his life, and now he felt a strange obligation to trust the demon not to kill him in his sleep. Lalael didn't entirely understand him, but perhaps Lucien did have some kind of ethical code after all. Lalael touched the bump on the side of his head. Then again, maybe not. Maybe he was just playing a very long game.
    Somehow, Lalael didn't think so.
    That night was the first night Lalael managed to get a decent night's sleep since his descent to Earth. In fact, when he thought about it, he hadn't been sleeping well for the last four thousand years.
    It was also the first night of the Dreams. He had never dreamed before; being an angel, and living in Ríel, his mind had been above subconscious imagery, but he knew what they were and basically what they were supposed to feel like. One of his jobs before the Heavenly Army had been delivering them – as usual, it hadn't ended well.
    But this night, a dream came to him, not as a gift, but by itself on light wings.
    There was a little house, once white, now stained with soot and smoke. Green shutters were broken off their hinges. The lawn was singed, and the picket fence was in ruins, except for the gateposts and the gate itself, still standing demurely before a cobbled walk and bearing the number 437.
    The dream twisted away in gut-wrenching slide like an ice slick.
    The images began to speed up: A little girl inside the house, coughing and spasming. An older woman tending her. No sound but white noise like rushing water. The girl silently cried out and scratched at her own chest.
    Another slick movement that momentarily smeared the images together. In the girl's open, screaming mouth, a small demon was lodged, slowly climbing down her throat.
    Lalael sat up abruptly. He was panting as if Lucien had saved him from falling again, and the sheets were tangled around his legs. He wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, and swallowed to try to get the dry, bitter taste out of his mouth.
    “ I heard you calling out in your sleep. Nightmare?” Lalael was almost unsurprised to see Lucien sitting quietly on the other side of the bed.  The angel nodded, accepting the glass of wine that was wordlessly offered. He sipped delicately, careful not to spill on the crisp sheets. This would be a good time for Lucien to slip him poison, if he was going to. “Wanna talk about it?”
    Lalael handed the glass back to the Fallen, no more than a dark and pale shade, like a phantom, who took it with more care than was possibly needed. The angel raised his eyes to the still form. “No,” he said, suddenly feeling uneasy and retreating back into his previous distance. “Thank you for the wine.” Lucien nodded regretfully in the darkness and padded softly out.
     
     

 
     
    CHAPTER FIVE
    Two days passed, uneventful except for an incredibly, incredibly awkward moment involving Lucien waking up to find Lalael standing over him with a kitchen knife and a wild expression. On the afternoon of the second day, Lalael barged into the kitchen from his room and said with surprising heat and passion: “Lucien, we have to go.” And then he was gone, fumbling for keys and shoes and his coat at the door.
    “ What? No wait!” Lucien set down the plate of bacon he had been attempting to fry over a candle flame – the power hadn't and probably wouldn't come back on. “Why?”
    “ Because we have to.”
    “ Why?”
    “ We just do! Now!” Lalael was getting ever more urgent.
    “ Well,” Lucien mournfully looked back at the bacon.  “Should I bring Antichrist? Is the world going end or something?”
    Lalael looked at him scornfully and did not deign to answer. “We have to go .”
    “ We are coming back, right?”
    Lalael snatched Lucien's coat off the rack and flung it at him. “Yes.”
    “ Where are we going?” He