Angel Fever (13 page)

S
AM CALLED AHEAD WITH THE
news. When we got back to the base, Seb and Liz were in the garage, waiting. All my senses were huddled inward, but I could still feel Seb’s concern – how desperate he was to help me.

“Willow…” he began hoarsely as I got out of the truck.

Deep down, I winced; I turned away without speaking. Liz had started crying as she stepped towards me. I returned her hug like an automaton.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” she said at last, wiping her cheeks. “You look exhausted.”

Sam was probably a lot more exhausted than I was; he’d refused to let me help drive on the way back. He’d been right, I guess. “I don’t need help,” I said faintly. “Thanks anyway.”

I had to be by myself when I went into the bedroom I’d shared with Alex – it wasn’t something I could face with anyone else present. Liz seemed to get it. “I’ll walk you there, at least,” she said.

She put her arm around me and led me out of the garage, leaving Seb standing wordlessly behind us.

Once alone in my room, silence enveloped me like a shroud. For a long time, I just lay on the bed, hugging myself. Finally, feeling like it was something I needed to do, I got up and put Alex’s shoe deep in our closet, laying it gently on the floor.

When I straightened, I stood gazing at his clothes. I touched a shirt – then dropped my hand. It was freshly laundered, with nothing of him in it. But still draped over our chair was the black long-sleeved T-shirt he’d had on before he left. I picked it up and buried my face in it, breathing it in.

Alex. The smell of his shampoo, mixed with the faint odour of sweat and his own scent – warm and familiar, slightly spicy. Still holding the shirt, I sank down onto the bed again.

The room felt so empty. As I watched, the digital clock changed from 22:07 to 22:08. Then 22:09, 22:10.

I stared, transfixed. Someone knocked on the door; I looked up blearily. “Yes?”

Liz poked her head in. “Hey,” she said, edging in and shutting the door. “I know you said you wanted to be alone, but…”

I didn’t reply. She hesitated, then sat down beside me on the unmade bed. The last time I’d slept between these sheets, Alex had been here. I’d been planning on washing them; now I knew that nothing on earth could make me wash away whatever essence of him still clung to the fabric.

“Willow?”

I looked up, suddenly aware that several minutes had passed. Liz’s eyes were concerned. She touched my hair. “Why don’t I stay here with you tonight?”

I didn’t want her here – not in the bed I’d shared with Alex. I ran a hand over the shirt in my hands. “No, that’s all right.”

“I don’t like leaving you, though.”

I felt too tired to answer, unable to summon up any interest in whether she liked it or not.

22:15. 22:16. “It never stops,” I murmured. Liz’s eyebrows came together. I gave a dull shrug. “The clock.”

“Oh.” She looked blankly at it, her face wan. Finally she wrapped her arms around herself. “I still just…can’t believe it.”

Me neither. Pain wrenched through me.
Trust me,
he’d said. And so I had. I hadn’t gone probing in his thoughts, because he’d asked me not to. What if I’d ignored him and done it anyway – could I have stopped this?

My gaze fell on the desk, to the photo of myself as a child peering up through the branches of a willow tree. And I realized that I didn’t have any photos of Alex, not a single one. Why didn’t I?

“He’s really dead,” I said finally. My voice was small, defeated. Liz’s face crumpled; she pressed her head against my shoulder.

I hugged Alex’s shirt as I stared at the photo – my broad smile and sparkling eyes. It was like looking at someone from a different planet.

I couldn’t imagine ever being that happy again.

We held a memorial service a week later.

Liz and I planned it together: some of Alex’s favourite music and people sharing stories about him. I dressed up for it, wearing the black skirt I’d tried on in Liz’s room with a plain black top, and I told the story of how Alex and I had first met. I told it pretty well, I guess. People were smiling through their tears as I described how he’d barked at me, ordering me into his car.

It was so surreal. I felt like an actress playing a role: the grieving girlfriend. I almost started laughing; I kept wanting to say,
Why are you all pretending? He can’t really be dead.
And then I’d remember the feeling of the explosion thundering through me, and the truth would punch me in the stomach again.

Sam spoke, then Kara, who told a story about when Alex was fourteen. Her bruises were fading, and she’d cut her hair again; it lay sleekly against her head. As our eyes met briefly, I could sense the depth of her sadness. The fact that she’d once kissed Alex seemed so unimportant now. If I could have him back, I wouldn’t care if they had a red-hot affair, as long as I could hold him again.

The one good thing was that it turned out a few of the girls had taken pictures of Alex on their phones when he wasn’t looking. They printed them up on the computer in the office and gave them to me after the service. My gaze went instantly to one of Alex instructing the team: he’d been caught with a grin lighting up his strong-featured face, one eyebrow quirked.

I stared down at it. Alex. His tousled dark hair, his blue-grey eyes. And if I could look under his shirtsleeve, I’d see his AK tattoo…be able to run my hand up the firm warmth of his skin…

The girls looked at each other nervously. “Was it okay…that we did that?” faltered Chloe. “We just thought…”

I came back with a jolt. “Yes, it was okay,” I said, wiping my eyes. “Very, very okay.”

Soon after, Liz came over and squeezed my arm. “Are you all right?” she whispered. “You look like maybe you’ve had enough.”

She was right; the thought of having to endure one more tearful condolence was torture. “Yeah, I have,” I admitted faintly. “Can we get out of here?”

The corridor was silent as we left the rec room behind. “Back to your room?” Liz asked.

I shuddered, imagining its too-quiet emptiness. “No – not there.”

“Here, then.” She swung open the door to the library. My shoulders relaxed a fraction as I sank down at a table. It was quiet in here too, but that was okay – it was supposed to be quiet in a library.

“Thanks.” I propped myself on my elbows, rubbing my forehead; my brown hair fell forward a little. I’d worn it loose, because Alex had always preferred it that way.

Liz’s face was anxious as she sat across from me. I knew this wasn’t easy for her – she wasn’t exactly a nurturer – but she was trying. “Do you want anything? I could get you some tea.”

“No, I’m fine.” Fine – right. Neither of us said the obvious. “I just want to…not think for a while.”

She started to reply, then broke off as the door opened again. Seb came in and stood awkwardly, wearing trousers and a blue shirt. He’d shaved, I saw. His eyes were fixed on mine; there were dark circles under them.

“Willow, can we talk?” he asked.

I stared at him, wondering what there was to talk about.

“Please,” he added.

Liz glanced at me; finally I shrugged. “Yes, okay.”

She pushed her chair back. “Okay, well – I’ll leave you alone, then.” She picked up the photos of Alex. “I’ll put these in your room for you.”

It’s okay, don’t bother going,
I almost said, but she’d already left, closing the door behind her. Seb sank down in her empty chair.

“Willow…oh,
dios mío,
I am so sorry.” He scraped his hair back; I could see the tension in his fingers. “I wasn’t sure if – if you wanted me, so I’ve stayed away, but I’ve been thinking about you every second,
querida.
”

And I hadn’t thought about him at all. It was almost funny. I let out a breath. “Thanks. I know you’re sorry.”

Seb swallowed. “Tell me how I can help you.” He started to stretch a hand towards me, then seemed to think better of it. “Willow, I know things have been strange between us, but – please let me be your brother again.”

“
Let
you?” I stared at him in disbelief, not sure whether to laugh or cry. “Seb, I wasn’t the one who drew away and started ignoring you.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” he said. “I was stupid, and wrong. I just…couldn’t deal with being around you.”

His hand lay clenched on the table. Looking at it, the night of the party came hurtling back: the way he’d buried his hands in Meghan’s hair and kissed her. And when he had, a brief, sharp emotion had stirred. I’d told myself that I’d just been surprised…but that hadn’t been it, had it?

The sudden guilt felt like it might cripple me.

“I see,” I said, my voice emotionless. “But now that Alex is gone, you
can
deal with being around me?”

He flinched. “That’s not what I meant,” he said softly. “He was my friend, Willow.”

I crossed my arms tight over my chest. “So…what? You want to look out for your friend’s girlfriend, now that he’s dead? That’s nice of you. I’m sure Alex would appreciate it.”

“Why are you—” Seb broke off in frustration. “I want to look out for you, yes. It’s nothing to do with Alex; it’s just what we are to each other – the link we share. Nothing ever changes that, Willow.” His mouth twisted. “Not for me, at least.”

“Right. And what does Meghan think about that?”

“It’s not her business.”

“She’s your girlfriend. I think maybe it is.”

Seb shook his head. “I didn’t come in here to argue with you,
querida.
I’m sorry; I’m just making things worse.” He started to get up. “If you need me, I’m here. That’s all I wanted to say.”

“Oh, wait, so you’re not going away after all?” I said, my voice so innocent that it was snide.

Seb stood very still as he regarded me, his jaw tight. “No. I am not going away,” he said.

I stood up too, my head throbbing – and all I could see was the camp, blown to pieces so thoroughly that I didn’t even know if there was anything of Alex left. How could I have been jealous over Seb for even a second,
how
?

I gripped the table edge; my voice shook. “If you’re staying because of me – then don’t bother, okay? Because I’m sorry, but the answer is no. You can’t be my brother again. Not now, not ever.”

I lay on my bed without moving, still fully dressed. Hours had passed – my brain felt dried out, numb. Propped onto the pillow next to me was one of the photos of Alex. I’d been staring at it for a long time.

His slow, lazy grin. The way his blue-grey eyes had lit up whenever he’d seen me. Even our occasional arguments were moments I’d give anything to have back now.

You promised,
I thought bleakly.
Alex, you promised that you wouldn’t put yourself in danger again without telling me. Were they just words?
How could I love him so much and be so furious with him?

How could I be furious with him at all when he was dead? I shuddered and curled into the fetal position. Slowly, I traced my finger over his mouth in the photo.

“What happened?” I whispered.

Trying to take control of the world’s energy field – it was just insane. Had he wanted to die? I rubbed my temples with cold fingers. No. Alex wouldn’t do that, no matter what. But he’d done something else, hadn’t he?

That emotion I’d sensed when he kissed me before he left: I hadn’t been able to place it then, but I could now. It had been goodbye. Not
Goodbye, I’ll see you soon
– something far more final. He’d known exactly what he was doing, and what the odds were.

And he’d told me to trust him and left anyway.

With a wordless cry, I wrenched myself up and hurled the pillow across the room. It smashed into the desk, sending the lamp clattering to the floor.

“
How could you do this to me?
” I screamed. “I wouldn’t have you back now for
anything.
You lied to me; you broke your promise!”

The black shirt lay nearby; I screwed it into a ball and threw it too. It landed in a puddle of fabric. Not nearly enough. I lunged off the bed after it, started to tear it in half, and then reality hit me:
This is almost all I have left of him
– and I began to cry instead.

“I’m sorry,” I sobbed, clutching the shirt to my chest. “Oh, god, Alex, of course I’d have you back – I want to die without you…”

I lay on the rough carpet and cried until there were no tears left. Finally I sat up and slumped wearily against the desk. My eyes felt gritty, swollen – my hair wild and tangled. Around me, the room was silent, the lamp still lying where it had fallen.

It would stay there until I picked it up: I lived alone now. I could rage, scream, cry all I wanted – Alex would never hear me, and he’d never come back.

R
AZIEL GLIDED OVER THE RUINS
of Chicago, his winged shadow growing larger and then smaller as mounds of rubble rose and fell beneath him. The remains of Navy Pier lay half submerged in Lake Michigan, the girders of a Ferris wheel rusting where they reared up from the water. As Raziel circled it, lyrics from the old human song went through his head:
Chicago, that toddling town…

Scattered through the wreckage were campfires and makeshift shelters. Raziel took in a shattered Dunkin’ Donuts: inside were camp beds, stacks of canned food. He’d never understood why some humans were so determined to stay in the ruins of the destroyed cities, but their energy tended to be quite delicious.

Cruising over a few people fishing with makeshift poles, he chose a man with a ponytail and an aura of vibrant blue. Scant moments later, the fishing pole had been dropped and the man was gaping up at him.

“Keith, you okay?” said someone.

Keith blinked as Raziel, sated, finally withdrew. “The angels love us,” he murmured, and then began shouting, scrambling up the debris-covered bank. “Guys, you guys! We’ve all been wrong! We need to go to an Eden and let them take care of us—”

Raziel was already soaring away. Inspecting a new Eden being built in Joliet had given him the chance to come here and indulge, to take his mind off things: there was nothing like the energy of a free thinker. Even so, he had plans to clamp down soon on the humans who resisted his Edens – their failure to comply irked him.

Failure to comply
brought Kara Mendez to mind; he scowled as the half-finished walls of the new Eden came into view.

When it had come time to transport Kara to Salt Lake Eden, Raziel had, just as he’d planned, engineered things so that she could make a run for it. For if Willow and the others
were
still alive, why not let feisty little Kara lead him to them? If they weren’t, it would be simple to recapture Kara and present her to the Salt Lake hordes after all.

Except that it
hadn’t
been simple – because her microchip hadn’t worked.

He’d been in his Denver office when he got the news. “It
what
?” he’d asked, stunned.

“It, um…appears to have malfunctioned,” repeated the miserable lackey at the other end. “She got away like you told us, but now there’s no trace of her.”

“How?” Raziel had demanded from between clenched teeth.

“We don’t know. I promise, sir, we’ve had no problems at all with these chips before. It’s as if she was…was
protected
from it somehow—”

He’d hung up, uninterested in pointless excuses. And scarcely an hour later, he’d authorized for that particular lackey to enter the general feeding pool. No point sheltering an imbecile.

That had been over six months ago; no sign of Kara since. Not technically a defeat – hardly anyone knew he’d had her – but it grated.

More than grated, it was unnerving: far too reminiscent of other things that seemed to be slipping from his control. There were definitely murmurs of dissent now from the other angels. Not many, perhaps, but enough to bother him, enough for him to keep Bascal’s force well-maintained and ready to defend his empire at a moment’s notice. Yet he did not want this to happen. For if there was civil war, then what exactly would he be left in charge of?

It won’t happen – they wouldn’t be that stupid,
Raziel told himself, and wished he believed it. He glided into the high, peaked roof of the newly completed church and changed back to his human self. He was now in a luxurious apartment of muted blues and golds, with an office adjacent. In every Eden, they completed the church first, with special quarters for him.

He went to the bathroom and splashed water on his face. He studied himself.

Seven months after the Separation, he was finally getting used to the silence inside his head. But some angels had refused to try – the loss of their psychic connection on top of the Council members’ deaths had apparently been too much.

Raziel had seen footage of one of the now-infamous “final parties”: a group of over twenty angels, at first simply enjoying a lavish gathering. Then they’d all stood in a circle, their shining wings touching, and one by one had stated their names:

I am Vardan. I cannot live this way.

I am Dascar. I cannot live this way.

And at a given signal, each angel had taken a knife and reached for the halo of the angel next to them.

There’d been dozens of these suicide parties; maybe more that Raziel hadn’t heard about.
Cowards,
he thought, his lip curling. He should have left them in the angels’ world to rot along with the dissenters – see how they felt about being separated when they realized they were slowly dying along with the ether. They’d have been howling before he even closed the gate, just like the abandoned angels who’d opposed him had surely done.

He strode restlessly to the living room. The view featured cranes and bulldozers. No other angels yet – most stayed strictly to the completed Edens, still fearful to venture out unless in groups. When they weren’t feeding, many spent their time huddled together, talking and talking – fervently sharing their every thought in an attempt to recreate psychic closeness.

“A little ironic, isn’t it?” he’d snapped at Therese when he’d discovered her in one of these sessions. “Before, we spent all our time trying to
hide
our thoughts from each other.”

Therese was beautiful, as all angels were, but now her eyes looked tormented. “I know you understand, Raziel… Don’t act like you don’t,” she whispered. “You’re as much an angel as any of us. Even if you pretend not to be.”

“I pretend nothing – and I’m a better angel than you,” he’d replied coldly. “At least I have enough pride not to wallow in this like a pig in muck.”

The demoralized angels were bad enough; the ones who muttered against him – who gathered in small groups that went silent when he appeared, their eyes hard and secretive – were even worse. Raziel had new, grudging respect for the human leaders of old; how had anyone ever managed to stay in power, not having
any
idea what those around them were thinking? Without knowing who to trust?

His cellphone went off: Lauren. “Yes?” he answered tersely.

Though Lauren had lasted longer than any of his other human girls, her voice was still weaker than it used to be. “Raziel, someone named Gallad called. There’s trouble in Mexico City.”

He frowned. “What kind of trouble?”

“I’m not sure; it has to do with that Eden they built in Teotihuacán. He said to tell you they’ve found six more people like – wait, I wrote down the name.” There was a pause; Raziel scowled out the window, tapping his fingers. Lauren came back.

“Like Kara Mendez,” she said.

Raziel stiffened.
Mexico City. Kara was there. So was Willow.
The puzzle pieces made no sense but seemed darkly ominous.

“I’m on my way home now – call Gallad back and tell him I’ll contact him very soon,” Raziel ordered. The only phone network currently linked to Mexico was in Denver.

The main roads between Illinois and Colorado were new and smooth; he made the trip as quickly as possible, blasting Prokofiev all the way – his own trick for combating the inner silence. When he entered his penthouse, a sunset was touching the Rockies with fire. Lauren stood waiting, her lovely face tired but relieved.

“Oh, good, you’re back,” she murmured, wrapping him in a hug.

As Raziel returned it, he was disturbed to realize how natural her body felt against his –
her
body, not just any human woman’s. He’d gotten far too used to Lauren.

He stepped away. “Get me the phone,” he ordered.

A brief conversation later, he was no more enlightened. Near the remains of Mexico City, an Eden had been built around ancient Aztec ruins, its residents the survivors from the Mexico City quake. Gallad had moved down there some months ago – one of the few angels who knew about Kara Mendez.

“And you’re sure they’re like Mendez?” Raziel demanded, pacing the living room.

“Well, they’re nowhere near as stoic, but they can’t be fed from and don’t seem affected by our touch,” said Gallad, sounding uncharacteristically shaken. “I guess we can’t really know if they’re resistant to being read psychically, though – since
that
particular angelic skill is so feeble now.”

Raziel ignored the implied criticism. “They haven’t just been marshalled somehow?”

“No, it’s more than that. It’s not just that they’re unpalatable; they
can’t
be fed from. It’s as if we’re forcibly expelled when we try.”

Just like Kara indeed. Feeling a stirring of something almost like fear, Raziel stared out at the last sliver of sun. “Who are they, anyway? Did they have any connection with the Angel Killers?”

“Not as far as we can tell. A lot of them are students; they’re all fairly young. Plus there’s a store clerk, a waiter – no one special.”

“All right, I want this kept as quiet as possible,” Raziel said finally. “Keep them isolated and study them. Figure out what’s going on, do you hear me?”

“We’ll try,” said Gallad. “But, Raziel, what if this doesn’t stop?”

“What do you mean?” he said sharply.

“You know what things are like in the angel community now. If our very food starts turning against us, so that we can’t survive here…” Raziel could almost see Gallad’s uneasy shrug. “It would be like…a judgement.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” hissed Raziel. “A judgement from
whom
? We are the only gods in this world, Gallad – and don’t you forget it. Keep the humans isolated, and do away with them if studying doesn’t prove useful.”

“All right,” Gallad said after a pause. “I hope you’re right.”

“
Ah, little Miranda…you’re beautiful, you know. Even when the confusion is all that’s left, you’ll still be beautiful…
”

In the dimly lit room, Raziel opened his eyes and held back a curse at his own remembered words, echoing in his head. He was sleeping less and less now – and though he hated admitting it to himself, he knew this was why: to avoid the dream that still haunted him.

Damn it, Miranda was
dead
– why was this happening? He’d never cared in the least before what he’d done to her; she’d loved every second. Nor did he care now, except that the vivid dreams of the two of them under the willow tree felt as if she were seeking revenge from the grave.

Raziel swallowed, realizing that this was not all. If he checked the earth’s energy field, he’d like as not also pick up that vague sense again of something unaware, yet powerful.

I’m going mad,
he thought. He sat up, his fists tight. Lauren lay asleep beside him; for a moment he’d forgotten all about her. Now his eyes narrowed as he took her in. Though he had two other girls living with him – both stunning – he’d given in to the urge to just have Lauren that night. She was familiar, comforting.

His favourite.

Lauren stirred drowsily and opened her eyes. “Is everything all right?” she whispered.

Seeing again Miranda’s uplifted face and vivid green eyes, Raziel scowled.
No, it isn’t,
he told himself. Becoming too attached to any one human was a mistake. And
this,
at least, he could control.

He flung back the covers and crossed to the dresser, where his cellphone was; he clicked a number on speed dial. “I need an A1 removed from my apartment immediately – she’s being demoted to A2,” he said. Lauren gasped and sat straight up; her brown eyes locked on Raziel’s as he continued: “Yes, a replacement would be good, thanks – maybe a redhead this time.”

He hung up. Lauren had begun to cry. “Raziel, what did I do wrong?”

His fleeting urge to comfort her was proof that this had been long overdue. “Nothing. Everything,” he said, and strode from the room.