Angel Fever (29 page)

“Look, I’ve got to know – what was it like for Willow?” He glanced over at Seb. “After I left. Was it as bad as I think?”

Seb’s face in the moonlight was still dark with his own problems. Finally he sighed. “Worse,” he said.

Alex swallowed. “Were you…able to do anything for her?” There’d been times when he’d resented Seb and Willow’s closeness; now he hoped fervently that they’d become closer than ever.

Seb shook his head. “She wouldn’t let anyone near. She did her work; said what she was supposed to say. But she was just…a zombie.”

Alex’s throat tightened as he pictured it.
I’ll make it up to you,
he’d told her. It may have been the stupidest thing he’d ever said. He could never make it up to her, not if he spent his whole life trying.

“Then during the attack…” Seb looked down at his feet as they walked. “I think she really wanted to die. I almost couldn’t get her out.”

Alex stared; his steps stilled. “What attack?”

Seb stopped with a quick, surprised glance. He closed his eyes. “Oh,
dios mío,
she hasn’t told you.”

Alex grabbed his arm. “Told me what? What’s happened at the base?”

Seb’s eyes were reluctant. “There was an angel attack about two weeks ago,” he said at last. “Almost everyone was killed.”

Alex stood stunned as Seb told him the details: how the angels had struck with no warning during a training session; how Sam had died and Willow had tried to run into the final fray.

“I had to fight with her to get her out,” Seb finished. “She was kicking, struggling – she wanted to die with them. No, she just…wanted to die.”

Alex had one hand over his eyes, pummelled by every word. “I should have been there,” he said roughly.

He sensed rather than saw Seb’s shrug. “There was nothing you could have done.”

“I should have been there anyway – they were my team,” Alex snapped. He dropped his hand…but couldn’t force away the image of Willow standing over Sam’s body, crying and shooting at the angels. Or of the others, almost all dead.

The world was icy and silent – the sky overhead brilliant with stars. “They were my team,” Alex repeated finally. The words tasted like dust.

“A
ND THEN WHAT HAPPENED
?” R
AZIEL
asked, his tone conversational. He stood propped against the desk in the Schenectady Church of Angels office, idly cleaning his fingernails with a letter opener. “Do not lie to me again, Zaran.”

The dark-haired angel sat clutching his temples, visibly trembling. He’d been sitting there for over two days – since just after Raziel had arrived, in fact. All that time without feeding, for to shift into his angel form would make him vulnerable.

He wasn’t handling it very well.

“I’m not lying,” he gasped. “Nothing happened. I flew down the corridor, and no one was there, so I flew back to tell the others.”

“Mmm, yes, so you keep saying.” Raziel motioned to Bascal, who stood waiting by the door with two other goons. “You know, I’m feeling rather peckish,” he confided. “What about you?”

“Sure am,” said Bascal with a leer. “Want me to call for a couple of A1s?”

“Delightful.” Raziel noted with satisfaction how pale Zaran had become at the mention of food – angels, unlike humans, could not go for very long without partaking of sustenance. Zaran’s aura had been shuddering for hours, its edges a vivid, painful blue.

Raziel straightened up and stretched as Bascal headed out. “You know, it
is
funny how all roads keep leading back to you,” he said. “Willow Fields did not die; I’d stake my own life on it. And the entrances she was nearest to could only be reached by the corridor you say you flew down. So where did she go?”

“I don’t know – I told you!”

Idly, Raziel picked up the small photo Bascal had given him. “Such a pretty girl,” he mused. “You must have thought it a shame that she had to die.”

“I didn’t think—” Zaran broke off. Raziel raised an eyebrow and smiled.

Low murmurs came from the outer room as Bascal returned. He’d left the office door slightly ajar behind him; through it they could see a starry-eyed pair of humans – and then silence came as Bascal fed. His halo pulsed brightly through the crack in the door.

Raziel had enacted this little performance several times already with Zaran; this time it could truly be called a success. The high-cheekboned angel sat staring as Bascal fed, his aura shaking with weakness and fatigue. “I – no, I didn’t—”

“Didn’t what?” Raziel asked gently.

“Didn’t think of
her
! I didn’t—” With a moan, Zaran buried his face in his hands. “All right,” he whispered raggedly. “I saw them – saw them both. Her and the other half-angel.”

“And you let them go,” hissed Raziel.

“It was just the spur of the moment – it was the other half-angel, you see. He…he’s my son. I didn’t want him to be hurt.”

Ah.
The mystery of Seb’s parentage finally revealed itself. “How fascinating,” Raziel said coldly. “And how quaint of you to feel such a human emotion. What about Kylar?”

“He wasn’t there.” Zaran’s eyes were still fixed on Bascal; his fingers gripped the chair’s arms. “That’s everything. Let me feed now – promise you won’t hurt me if I do.”

“Oh, but I don’t think it
is
everything. What aren’t you telling me?”

Zaran shot him a wretched look. His face was pale, clammy with sweat.

“I know there’s something, you see,” Raziel said softly. “I may not be very psychic any more, but I’ve become quite, quite adept at body language. Yours is very revealing right now.”

Zaran sat frozen. His throat moved.

Without taking his gaze off him, Raziel called, “Bascal, I don’t think I’m hungry after all. Take the humans away, will you?”

“No!” burst out Zaran. “All right. Willow fell in front of me during the fight, right after she beat Margen. And the expression on her face – I think she got something psychically from Margen before she killed her.”

Electricity surged through Raziel. Margen had been one of the few angels to know about Pawntucket. Willow knew, then, that he planned to destroy her hometown.

And that meant, unless he was very much mistaken, that she was in Pawntucket right now.

Raziel smiled. Suddenly he felt almost friendly towards Zaran – the wait before the attack had been well worth it. “Why don’t you go and feed?” he suggested gently. “Go on – we won’t hurt you.”

Zaran didn’t move at first, his expression an agony of disbelief and desperation. Finally, with a weak lunge, he bolted out the door. A moment later, light from his angel form poured in through the office doorway.

Raziel nodded at Bascal’s two goons; they straightened and slipped into the other room. There was a blaze of light as they, too, shifted – then winged shadows struggling briefly on the wall. A broken-off scream from Zaran. A moment later, drifting pieces of light glinted at the corner of Raziel’s vision.

“Goodbye, Zaran,” he said, carefully placing the photo back on the desk. “It was a pleasure knowing you.”

A few hours later Raziel was still in his office, eyes narrowed in thought as he leaned back in his leather chair. The information was even better than he’d first thought.

Pawntucket, with Willow leading them, would be preparing for the attack, of course. It didn’t matter; they’d be crushed in moments. Yet now that it came down to it, merely killing the girl seemed anticlimactic…especially since the quakes seemed to have awakened such a power in her over human auras.

Raziel had no doubt now that the Mexico City anomaly was because of Willow: people who she’d merely lived near, perhaps, or whose auras she’d brushed against on the street. The sheer
power
that implied – not to mention the energy shift he’d been sensing in the world. If that was linked to her too, and he could get her to harness it…what couldn’t he do?

Yet to do that, he’d need to control her.

Raziel’s gaze fell on the photo of Willow again. He narrowed his eyes at the smiling girl. “You’re a worthy opponent, but I am more so,” he murmured, touching the brass frame. “And I will get what I need from you.”

A knock came; he glanced at the clock. Almost three in the morning. “Yes?” he called with a frown.

A human church official peered in. “Sorry to disturb you, sir. But there’s a woman here to see you.”

“At this hour?”

The man shifted uncomfortably. “She says she’s been travelling for several days, down from the Adirondacks, with no car. And that it’s urgent. She says…” He took a breath. “She says that the fate of the angels depends on it.”

Raziel’s eyebrows shot up. “Send her in,” he said after a pause.

A moment later a thin woman with a pursed mouth entered. Everything about her looked faded – nondescript hair, pale skin. She gulped when she saw him.

“Sir, it’s – it’s an honour,” she gasped. “When I came here, I never dreamed I’d see
you.
Why, I thought you were in Denver Eden!”

Raziel rose, crossing to a sideboard. “Yes, quite. And you are…?”

“Joanna Fields.”

He’d been about to pour himself a glass of water; he froze mid-motion. “Willow Fields’s aunt,” he said.

There was a mirror over the sideboard; he saw her expression darken. “That’s not my fault.
You
know that, sir. Miranda and I have nothing to do with that girl.”

He was glad he wasn’t facing her; he wasn’t able to keep the stunned surprise from his face. He finished pouring his water and turned, leaning against a low table.

“Miranda?” he enquired blandly.

“Yes, my sister.” Joanna started to sit down and hesitated. “I’m sorry – may I?”

“By all means.” He remained where he was, playing with the glass. “Suppose you remind me of the circumstances surrounding your and Miranda’s – er – continued existence,” he said. “I find myself fuzzy on the details.”

“Our – oh, of course.” Joanna sat up straight. “
Well,
you see, it all started when Willow ran away with that secret boyfriend of hers. He must have been a terrorist: a terrible influence. She was always strange, that girl, but never malicious, do you know what I mean?”

Joanna went on breathlessly, not waiting for his response. “Then when Willow tried to blow up the cathedral in Denver – oh, it was just horrible. Reporters knocking at my door, demanding comments day and night. I told them I deplored what Willow had done and that she was no niece of mine any more, but it never satisfied them. So of course when the angel came to see us, at first I thought she was one of
them.
”

Raziel swirled the water around in his glass. “The angel,” he repeated in a neutral tone.

Joanna nodded eagerly. “Yes. Well,
you
know, sir – she said that you’d sent her. Oh, she was the most glorious creature! She explained that we were in danger, and that she’d take us away where no one could harm us. That’s why my house was burned down, so everyone would think we’d died. Then she took us to a cabin hidden up in the Adirondacks. She thought of everything.”

Rage was building within Raziel; it was difficult to keep from squeezing his crystal tumbler into pieces. “How enterprising of her,” he said. “May I ask the name of this paragon?”

Joanna blinked at “paragon”. “She said her name was Paschar.”

For a second, shock jolted Raziel; an even greater fury followed. Oh, someone thought they were very clever, all right – and he had a feeling he knew who.

Raziel shifted to his angel self. Joanna had been about to say something else; her mouth dropped open as he approached, wings outspread, the light from his ethereal form bleaching out her features.

“I think perhaps I need more information,” he said, and buried his hands in her aura.

Though he found her energy distasteful, he fed deeply. It was, he’d found, the one thing that enhanced what little psychic ability he had left. As Joanna’s life force flowed into him, Raziel closed his eyes, scanning through her thoughts like shuffling cards.

An angel with pale blonde hair and dark eyes appeared – a crystal smile.
Charmeine,
thought Raziel grimly, unsurprised. They’d always had a strong psychic connection; she’d obviously realized he was Willow’s father and squirelled Miranda away somewhere, to use when the revelation would be the most damaging to him. Just like her to have had all her bases covered.

Raziel shimmered back to his human form with a smirk. Ironic that Charmeine’s machinations had now delivered Miranda right into his hands.
Foiled again, my dear,
he thought, seeing again the moment of Charmeine’s death.

“So beautiful,” murmured Joanna, gazing into space. “Almost as beautiful as when Paschar touched me.”

“Thank you.” Raziel leaned against the desk. “Well, I think I’m up-to-date now,” he said, falsely cheery. “Why did you come to see me?”

Joanna stared at him; her aura was now a murky grey. Raziel wondered if he’d overdone it, and then she roused herself and sat up weakly. “Well, I – I know we were supposed to wait until the angels came for us, but…something’s happened. You see, Miranda’s been talking.”

Raziel’s eyes narrowed. “Go on.”

Joanna swallowed. “Usually she just sits in her chair and dreams. But last week she started speaking – as if she were talking to someone I couldn’t see.”

“Last week?” Raziel said sharply.

Joanna flushed. “It took time to find someone who could stay with Miranda – and of course I couldn’t trust anyone else to come here with this message. I didn’t like the sound of what she was saying at all. It – it sounded
traitorous.
”

Raziel struggled to keep his voice controlled. “What was she saying?”

“I wrote it down afterwards, so I wouldn’t forget.” Joanna fumbled in her handbag; she handed him a folded piece of paper anxiously.

Raziel’s eyebrows rose as he scanned the neatly written passage:

Miranda seemed to be talking to someone. At the very end, she said his name: Alex. They seemed to be planning something. Miranda said it might be better if people weren’t confused by the angels any more. She sounded like she was somewhere else, because she talked about the “Miranda by the lake” and said that wasn’t her. She mentioned a gate and said that Raziel was the only one who knew it was there, but that she could show it to this Alex to help him get home. And that when Willow tried to link to the
“energy field”, she’d need to do it in Pawntucket.

Shock and understanding roared through Raziel. Some part of Miranda was still cognizant, and existed in the angels’ world. And
Kylar
had been there with her.
How?
How had he gotten across to their world?

Enraged, Raziel resisted the urge to crumple the paper into a tiny ball. He’d destroyed all the known gates – yet if this information was accurate, he’d missed something vital. His plan to gain control of Willow flashed back to him. Yes, and none too soon, if she knew how to use the angelic energy field. If he didn’t act quickly, she’d destroy them all.

Fortunately, his next move would not be one she’d expect.

Raziel folded the paper and ran his fingernail sharply along its crease. “Where did you say Miranda is being kept again?”

Joanna had been studying the photo of Willow on his desk, her mouth tight with disapproval. She looked up. “We’re in a cabin maybe a hundred miles from here, right up in the mountains – on one of those remote lakes that doesn’t even have a name. And I don’t mean to complain, but it’s
very
difficult to get to, I’m afraid. The roads are—”