Angel Fever a-3, page 24
part #3 of Angel Series
“I don’t usually come to this city any more,” Miranda was saying. “There’s someplace else I like to go. But then I sensed you – and you seemed so familiar that I had to come.”
“Yeah?” Alex asked dully. Should he even tell Willow about this? God, she loved her mother so much – as a child, she’d cared for Miranda alone, keeping her mental illness a secret so that no one would take her away. Would it make her feel better or worse to know that somewhere her mother wandered, eternally young and beautiful and confused?
“Yes, it’s strange,” Miranda went on. “It’s as if…as if someone reaches out to me sometimes, and I’ve heard them talking about you.” Looking disturbed, she cocked her head to one side, studying him. “You said you know someone I do. Is it Raziel?” Her voice softened at the name.
Alex held back a bitter laugh. “Uh – no,” he said. “I mean, yeah, I do, but I don’t think that’s how you know me.” He hesitated; did she even remember she had a daughter? He plucked a piece of dry grass from the ground, twisting it between his fingers.
“Do you know Willow?” he asked finally.
Miranda went still. “Willow,” she repeated. “I remember once in the other world…that was when…” Her eyes became lost in time; Alex had the sudden fear that she might vanish.
“Can you see that other world now?” he asked quickly. “Is anyone there with you? Do you know where you live there?”
As he’d hoped, the questions seemed to ground Miranda; she focused on him again as she considered. “There’s a lake, I think. I hear it sometimes…and Jo is there. My sister.”
Alex started to ask if she knew who’d protected them – the mystery person who’d burned Joanna’s house down to convince the world that the two women had died – but Miranda was still talking.
“When I sense whoever it is that’s reaching out to me, that’s where they’re reaching – to the Miranda by the lake. But I can still hear it. Feel it. Right here,” she said, touching her heart with slender fingers. She left them there, frowning.
“Wait – that someone reaching out to me – Willow!” Her eyes flew to his, as if seeking confirmation. “I have a daughter.”
Alex nodded. “Yeah, you do.”
“How could I have forgotten?” Miranda murmured, pressing her fingertips to her forehead. She darted him an almost frightened glance. “How old is she now?”
“Eighteen.” There was so much more Alex wanted to say – she’s beautiful; you’d be so proud to know her; she makes my life worth living – but he kept quiet, letting Miranda adjust.
“Eighteen – but—” She licked her lips. “But I’m only twenty-one.”
Grey clouds were rolling in over the bruised peaks of the mountains. The breeze picked up; Alex felt cold even with his jacket. He chose his words carefully.
“The part of you that’s here is still twenty-one. I guess you always will be. But in the other world, you’re old enough to be Willow’s mother.”
Though Miranda’s eyes stayed locked on his, he wasn’t really sure how much she was taking in. The wind tugged at his hair. Miranda sat as if in a bubble of protection, hair and clothes motionless.
“I never see Raziel any more,” she said finally. She nudged at a blade of grass. Her finger passed right through it. “He used to come here sometimes – I’d follow him, though he never knew.”
“You mean the angels can’t see you?”
Miranda gave a wistful shake of her head. “I don’t know why, when we all want them to so badly…”
When Alex had first encountered the ghosts, he hadn’t sensed any energy from them, though he hadn’t spent much time trying. Attempting again now, he detected only a faint life energy from Miranda – just an echo, really, and more on the human world’s frequency than here. Maybe they could only be seen by humans, then.
“Raziel used to come to this city sometimes,” Miranda went on, nodding downward. “But now he never does, so I go somewhere else. It’s a special place, though.” A fleeting smile. “I remember things there that make me happy.”
“I’m glad.” The words came out huskily. God, she was so much like Willow – or Willow was like her. Except Miranda seemed so much more vulnerable. Alex felt protective towards her for Willow’s sake – though it was kind of late for that now.
“It makes me feel clearer, talking to you,” Miranda said. Hesitantly, she continued, “In the other place – where I’m old enough to be Willow’s mother – I have trouble thinking sometimes.”
“I know,” Alex admitted. “Willow told me.”
Her face was tense, anxious. “How did I take care of her, then?”
Christ, what a question. “You did the best you could, I guess,” Alex said. But remembering how Willow had told him how much she’d dreaded going to school every day and leaving her mother alone, he knew that Miranda’s best hadn’t been great.
She seemed to realize this too. She winced, studying her hands clasped around her knees. “I know I didn’t do a very good job,” she whispered. “Before I met Raziel, I wasn’t like this.”
“Yeah. I know that too.”
“You do?” Her gaze collided with his again; she looked away, twisting the hem of her skirt. “I – I wonder sometimes…I mean, if Raziel had something to do with…” She swallowed. “But that’s crazy, isn’t it?”
Her voice was pleading, though Alex couldn’t tell what she wanted to hear. “It’s not crazy,” he said. “You’re not the only person who’s felt confused after meeting an angel. All the others here are the same. Plenty of people back home too. It’s…kind of a side effect.” He’d never described angel burn so mildly in his life.
Miranda didn’t respond directly, though Alex had a feeling she’d understood. She gazed down at the city. “Is Willow all right?”
“Yeah, she’s fine.”
“How do you know her? You haven’t said – or have you?”
“I’m a friend of hers.” Explaining that Willow had had a serious boyfriend for over a year, when Miranda hadn’t even remembered that she had a daughter just a few minutes ago, seemed a bit much.
“She’s on her way to Pawntucket,” Miranda offered after a pause.
Alex straightened abruptly. “She’s what?”
“Pawntucket,” repeated Miranda. “We lived there for a long time. And it’s where…” She looked down; her cheeks tinged as she cleared her throat. “Anyway, she’s going there.”
He’d thought Miranda was fairly lucid; now he was starting to doubt it. “Are you sure?”
“Oh, yes,” she said. “I can feel it. It’s something to do with Raziel – I think maybe he’s going there too.” She gave a crooked smile. “See, I told you that talking to you made me feel clearer.”
Pawntucket, thought Alex dazedly. Why the hell would Willow be going there if Raziel was? What sort of trap was he building?
A light rain had started. “She’s been very sad, you know,” added Miranda, unaffected by the weather. “For a long time.”
“Yeah?” murmured Alex, still distracted by Pawntucket – and then the words sank in. Oh Christ, that must mean that she couldn’t sense him here; she must think he was dead. His heart wrenched in his chest as he imagined her going through that.
Alex started to ask how she was and then stopped, alarmed to see Miranda looking faint around the edges again. Her form and voice wavered as she said, “All these people who are confused… Maybe – maybe it would be better if that hadn’t happened to them. I mean…even if that meant they couldn’t see how beautiful the angels are.”
Alex watched her sharply. Keeping his voice casual, he said, “That’s what Willow thinks too. So do I. A lot of us are trying to make it so that people aren’t confused by the angels any more.”
To his relief, Miranda turned more substantial again. “You are?”
“Yeah.” Alex swiped his hand through his hair; it was heavy with damp. “That’s why I’m here. I was trying to use the energy field to defeat them. It didn’t work, though. Now I’m just trying to get home.”
Solid once more, Miranda crinkled her nose at him. “You were trying to use the angels’ energy field? But that’s impossible.”
Great – it was obvious even to a confused, drifting ghost. “Thanks, I found that out,” he said dryly.
“Because you’re human,” Miranda explained earnestly, as if pleased to be able to help. “The energy field here is very strong, but very exact. You can sense things with it, but you can’t use it like the angels do unless you belong here – it wouldn’t let you.” After a pause, she said thoughtfully, “Willow could, though.”
The world felt suddenly electric. Of course: Willow, with her half-angel energy. Alex propped his weight on one hand, leaning close to Miranda.
“There’s another half-angel in our world too,” he said intensely. “Could he help her?”
“Does he have someone here?”
Alex frowned, not seeing the relevance. But Seb’s mother was dead, and as far as Alex knew, there was no one else Seb had ever been close to with angel burn. He shook his head. “No. He’s alone.”
“I don’t think so, then,” Miranda said, her voice musing. “Because trying it would be such a jolt, you see. But I’m here for Willow, and she has someone in her own world who she could mentally hold on to there, doesn’t she?”
“Yeah,” said Alex faintly, sinking back into place on the wet grass. “Yeah, she does.”
Willow: Paschar’s vision that she was the one who could destroy the angels – her, and no one else. This was how. Oh Jesus, this was how.
It was full-out raining now, pattering down on Alex’s head and jacket. Looking at the city, he saw how dark and shadowy it had become and made a sudden decision. “I’ve got to go now,” he said, standing up.
Miranda blinked. “Go?”
“Yeah – back to my own world, so I can tell Willow about this. If she tries it, then you’ll help her, right?”
Miranda frowned; her next words rocked him. “Of course, but…do you really know how to get back? I thought Raziel was the only one who knew that, now that he’s destroyed all the gates.”
The rain beat down, bouncing manically off the cobblestones; the clouds had blackened so that it was almost as dark as night. Having shifted his aura to angelic silver, Alex kept to the shadows as he made his way to the Coliseum, gritting his teeth as his injured foot struggled with the cobblestones.
At ground level this Denver looked a lot less like the city he knew. There were no traffic lights – no sidewalks or signs. Abstract sculptures rose from strange places: the middle of the street or sprouting from the sides of buildings.
Miranda walked beside him, exactly Willow’s height: the top of her head reached just past his chin. “Please don’t tell Raziel I’m helping you get home,” she said again, her voice anxious. “He’s the only one who’s supposed to know about the gate – he might be angry if he found out I followed him.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell him,” Alex muttered. A block down, he’d just spotted a group of angels in their human forms. He kept walking, minimizing his limp. He’d hidden the rifle under his clothes, but just his backpack was probably conspicuous enough.
The angels disappeared around a corner; Alex relaxed slightly. “Raziel and I aren’t exactly friends,” he clarified.
From what Miranda had said, Alex doubted Raziel had many friends here either. Doing another scan, he sensed again that the angels were sticking fearfully together – and now their seething, hopeless anger also came through.
No, not many friends at all.
At last the Coliseum’s curved white exterior came into view. The pale wall gleaming through the rain was the most beautiful thing Alex had ever seen. He’d made it – after three weeks, he’d finally made it.
“It’s inside,” Miranda said, gazing at the building with apprehension.
The downpour intensified, falling in solid sheets. Alex jogged across the slick cobblestones towards the Coliseum, pain lashing him with every step.
Miranda kept pace with no visible effort. “Can you tell me what Willow’s like?” she asked hesitantly. “I mean, I know what she was like as a child, but…”
Alex panted out a response. “She’s the most amazing…beautiful girl in the world. Kind…smart – everything. You couldn’t ask for a better daughter, not ever.”
Suddenly his senses tingled in alarm. Alex veered sharply left, but it was too late: an angel, also running, had emerged from a side street. They collided with a solid thump and the squelch of wet clothes.
“Oh, beg your pardon—” started the angel, and then he stared into Alex’s streaming face. “Wait, I don’t know you. You’re not an—”
As the angel broke off, gaping, Alex was already running again, pounding the cobblestones as fast as he could – there was no way he could fake his way out of this one, none.
The Coliseum grew steadily closer, but crippling pain slowed him down. Miranda had vanished. Footfalls sped after him – more than one pair, gaining on him. Shit. Alex unstrapped his rifle from under his jacket and whirled to face them, standing his ground.
The angel had been joined by at least ten others. They stopped a few feet away, out of breath, their faces hard. “You’re human,” said the first one. Black hair, dark eyes. “How did you get into our world? How?”
“I don’t know – it was a mistake.” The rifle was propped and ready on Alex’s shoulder.
“Why don’t I believe you?” spat the angel as he stepped forward, rain streaming down his hair. “You know a way in, so you know a way out. How? We’re dying here.”
Alex backed away a step, still holding the rifle on them. “Yeah, so you want to come to my world and make sure humans die instead. Not a chance.” He wasn’t without sympathy for the angels – trapping them here had been pretty cold-blooded, even for Raziel – but his sympathy stopped short of letting them join the soul-suckers in his own dimension.
The angels moved towards him with no warning: half of them lunged forward in their human forms; the others shifted to their angelic selves and swooped fiercely at him. Two went high, ready to dive; Alex aimed at the lead one – large and ghostly in the rain – centred on its halo, and shot, then got the second angel just as the human ones tackled him.
Pieces of light fell like confetti as Alex went crashing down. His rifle hit the ground with a clatter as someone wrenched it away from him. “Tell us!” hissed the dark-haired angel, cracking Alex’s head against the cobblestones. “Talk!”
The pain spurred him on. He jackknifed upwards and swung hard, connecting with the angel’s damp cheekbone. His head got slammed into the cobblestones again in response; someone else kicked his ribs. Alex threw punches wildly, not caring what he hit: blood spurting, the crunch of cartilage as he flattened an angel’s nose. He knew he was outnumbered but didn’t care; he was not giving up now, not when he was so close to getting home—
In a blur, Alex saw an angel standing on the fringe, staring at the drifting fragments of light. It let out a sudden wail of agony. “He’s killed Ganziel and Larmont! We didn’t even feel it!”
The news seemed to sap all will from the angels.
The dark-haired one on Alex’s chest went still, gazing upwards in horror. The remainder who’d been in angelic form had reverted to human again. They stood shuddering as a group and regarded Alex with wide, frightened eyes.
For the first time ever, Alex felt a fleeting urge to apologize for shooting an angel. He didn’t give in to it. He heaved the dark-haired angel off him, then scrambled to his feet and ran.
The rain was still pelting down. Alex ducked down a side street adjacent to the Coliseum, then another one and another – desperate to lose the angels before they figured out where he was going. Though he scanned continuously, he could sense no sign of them. Had they given up?
No way in hell, he thought grimly. They’ve just gone to get all the others.
Finally Alex doubled back. Breathing hard, he pressed flat against a building and peered around it at the Coliseum’s high white walls.
A side entrance lay directly across the street. Alex glanced the other way, hating how open this area was. At least the Coliseum seemed empty – he had a feeling the place hadn’t been used in a while.
“You’re hurt,” Miranda said with concern, suddenly appearing next to him. “Your head’s bleeding…” She reached out to touch it; her fingers tingled lightly against his scalp.
He let out a breath, deeply glad to see her again: this wraith who was somehow all that was left of Willow’s mother’s mind. “I’m fine – I’m going to make a run for it. You can still show me how to get through, right?”
She nodded, and Alex took off. To his relief, the door was unlocked. He slipped quickly through it.
Inside it was cool, dimly lit. He was in a long, plain corridor that reminded him again, strongly, of the Denver Church of Angels – it was exactly like the hallway he’d gone careening down to reach Willow when she’d attempted to stop the Second Wave.
Miranda was beside him again. “This way,” she said, starting silently down the corridor. “It’s different from how the other gates were – Raziel’s the only one who can sense it’s there.” They came to another door; she waited as Alex opened it.
“But what about the timings?” she asked suddenly, peering up at him.
“What timings?” Alex put his hand on the pistol under his waistband as they entered an open space larger than two football fields, blindingly bright. Tens of thousands of seats wrapped around it; overhead, a high, arched ceiling seemed both transparent and solid – one moment plain white, the next showing dark clouds still spitting down rain.
Alex’s jaw tightened. Was it like that from the outside? All the angels had to do was fly over, and they’d figure out he was here in two seconds.
They were on a broad, raised platform. Though everything looked sleekly modern, there was a sense of immense age.
