Angel Burn (43 page)

She nodded. “Susan was sick, so they asked me to come instead; they were supposed to let you know. It’s OK, isn’t it? I meant to mention it to you yesterday, but there wasn’t a chance.”

As clearly as if I was thinking it myself, I knew that Jonah was frantically wondering if he could shift the lineup, put Beth farther away from me. But there was no time. “No, that’s fine. Glad you’re here,” he said finally.

He moved on down the line. A few minutes later, he said, “All right, girls. This is it.” Even out of the corner of my eye, I could see that he was sickly pale. He went and opened the door. “Let’s go.”

He led us down the short passageway. Numbness came over me as we approached the double doors. This was it. This was really it. Jonah stopped the first girl just in front; the long line of us stretched down the corridor, identical in our silvery-blue robes. “It’s time,” he said, glancing at his watch. “The — the angels be with you, everyone.”

He swung open one of the doors, and the girls started filing into the cathedral. My legs were trembling, but I managed to move forward with the others. I could sense the massive hush from the audience, feel their deep sense of expectation and yearning. My eyes met Jonah’s as I walked through the door. He was staring anxiously at me. Fear. He hoped that this worked; there was nothing left for him anymore.

The thought flashed past, and then Jonah was behind me and I was moving out into the cathedral with the rest of them. We passed through dim shadows at the side and entered a brightly lit stage area, where it was suddenly so dazzling that I couldn’t see the audience, just a deep, waiting blackness to my right. Our footsteps sounded around us, amplified by the microphones like a heartbeat. Details, all of them so clear: an angel-winged pulpit up ahead with a white-haired preacher behind it; a dark-haired man and a voluptuous woman with auburn hair just beside him — the two angels, Raziel and Lailah. A giant TV screen was just sliding up into the ceiling, revealing towering stained-glass windows of angels, with the sunset shining through. And in front of everything stretched a space half the width of a football field, with massive floral arrangements to either side.

The gate.

My heart thudded, drowning out all thought. In silence, the other girls and I stopped directly in front of the gate. I dipped my hand inside my sleeve, touching the angelica. And as everyone moved, I moved with them:

Turn. Snag the stone and kneel. Hands in prayer position.

With the angelica cupped in my hands, I knelt on the floor with the others, watching for the ripple in the air that would signal that the gate was starting to open. Somewhere under the surface, the eggshell had cracked. A deep, aching sorrow; a flash of blinding fear. Oh God, I didn’t want to die. Not yet, not like this; I was too young. A cold chasm wrenched open inside of me, and I started to shake, trying to ignore it as I focused on the gate.
Don’t think. You are not here to think. You are here to act.

As I crouched there with the others, Raziel paced in front of the gate, gazing up at it with his hands behind his back. I caught a glimpse of his face, and even through my fear, it teased at me, distracting me. Where had I seen it before? Then he turned and strolled away again — and I saw him full-on.

A tidal wave of shock crashed through me. The angel’s handsome face, framed with dark hair, was the same one I’d seen in my mother’s mind so long ago.

It was my father.

My head jerked up as I gaped across at him, my concentration shattered. No.
Focus.
I tore my attention away and stared back at the wall, my pulse slamming at my temples.

There was a shifting a few girls down from me — a puzzled, sideways look. And then a quick intake of breath. “Oh, blessed angels,” I heard Beth whisper. “That’s Willow!”

I heard a shuffling noise as nearby girls glanced at her and then at me. I knelt rigidly, looking straight ahead.

“That’s
Willow,
” said Beth, louder. Her voice rose to a panicked shout; I heard it picked up by the sound system. “Somebody, do something! That’s Willow Fields! She’s here, she’s here! Somebody stop her!”

Oh, my God; oh, my God.
I crouched there trembling, unable to move. I saw Raziel stride forward, frowning; the girls around me gaped. And suddenly there was a faint swirling in the air, like water stirred gently with a hand.
Don’t think. Just
move
. Do it!

I contacted my angel and ran, scrambling up from the line and hurtling myself forward. I lifted up out of myself. I was flying, I was running. Swooping downward on my wings, I stroked the angelica’s energy with my own and felt it start pulsing in my hands.

About halfway through the field, the cars had started parking in the access lane so that Alex had to slow down to maneuver around them, his blood hammering in an agony of frustration. Finally, he reached the end of it. As he’d hoped, the field backed onto the road, separated by a wide ditch. It took a matter of seconds to wheel the bike across, and then he was on it again and roaring down the road, his back tire slipping slightly as he leaned into a turn. The Church of Angels lay just ahead. From this angle, the massive building looked like the sports stadium it had once been — a plain, curved exterior rising up from the ground in a solid white wall. As he got closer, he could see that the road led to a small parking lot beside the service entrance.

Alex skidded to a stop. He flipped down the kickstand, then tore off his helmet and ran for the door. A guard in a brown uniform stood outside it. Alex hardly noticed him. There was a latch on the door; he turned it and shoved, throwing his weight against it.

“Hey!” said the guy, grabbing his arm as the door started to open. “You can’t go in there!”

Alex jerked away from him and lunged inside. He was in a long, gleaming white corridor. He had only gone a few steps before the guard was on him, gripping his arm again. “Get out right now, sir,” he panted. “You’re trespassing.”

All Alex could see were the double doors, far away at the end of the corridor. Willow was in there; he knew it. Red exploded through him. He slammed the guy off him, heard the startled gasp as he hit the wall, and then he was running again, his footsteps echoing against the polished floor.

As he neared the doors, he heard frantic shouts, amplified through the cathedral sound system:
“Somebody do something! That’s Willow Fields! She’s here, she’s here
!
Somebody stop her!”

I had nearly reached the gate, the air swirling in front of me like a whirlpool — and then in my angel form above, I balked as another angel swooped under me in a harsh flurry of wings. My connection with the angelica flickered and vanished; in my human hands, I felt the stone’s pulsing cease, like a dying heart.
No!
I stopped in despair, staring upward.

It was Raziel. My father.

Dimly, I was aware of someone bellowing, “Let go of me!” and of Jonah’s voice shouting, “It’s all right! Everybody stay back — keep away from the barrier. The angels are handling this!” In my angel form, I darted this way and that, my wings beating desperately as I tried to dodge Raziel, to get past and touch the stone again. He cut in front of me at every move, his powerful wings glinting a bright, pure white. I could see the gate’s ripples growing stronger. Any moment and it would burst wide open.

“You will
not
get away with this,” hissed Raziel. Our eyes met. His widened in sudden recognition, and I knew that he’d seen my mother’s face in my own. For a split second, he hesitated — and then another angel appeared, diving in and attacking him from the side. Nate. With a cry of fury, Raziel spun on him.

The two angels fought, their wings in a frenzy. A burst of white light came from above. There was no time to wonder what it was; in my angel form, I swooped down and touched the stone in my human hand. It came to life again, and I lunged the final few steps.

Behind me, I could still hear Jonah shouting frantically, a battering noise, people screaming, “Stop her! Stop them both! He’s on her side!” The gate was starting to spiral open before me, like an old-fashioned shutter. I caught a glimpse of thousands of angels waiting to come through — shining, proud, beautiful.

Dropping to my knees, I thrust the pulsing stone into the gate. The wall of energy leaped like a wave, seething and warping as it fought with itself. I gasped in pain as it pummeled me; I could hardly see my hand in the midst of it. The wall bucked and shuddered as the gate struggled to open; the angels disappeared and appeared again. A deep rumbling noise, a vibration. With a splintering crack, the floor suddenly heaved up under me. I shrieked, lurching sideways. The angelica started to crumble to pieces in my hand as the floor surged again; something fell behind me with a crash. Oh, God, the wall was tearing me apart; I could feel it happening. I gritted my teeth, struggling to hang on. Distantly, I thought I heard someone call my name — and then, with a roar of white noise, everything exploded.

I was tumbling, falling. Pain, so much pain. I tried to cry out but couldn’t.

As everything slowly faded, I thought,
Alex.

BURSTING INTO THE CATHEDRAL, Alex had seen a blue-robed girl that had to be Willow running toward the gate while another girl screamed. He pounded forward; his only thought was to get next to her as she reached the gate, to put his arms around her and hold her so that she wouldn’t die alone. He had a blurred impression of a commotion going on to one side: a curly-haired guy in a gray suit, struggling with someone who looked like a preacher; a cluster of shrieking robed girls.

Before he reached the lighted area, Willow stopped short, staring upward. Angels. Stopping, too, Alex quickly drew his gun with the silencer on it and sped through his chakra points. Three angels swam into view: Willow’s own, dodging around a male angel, and higher up, a female angel with a hard, beautiful face, diving straight at Willow’s human form. Alex dropped to one knee, tracked the female, and shot. She vanished into scattered pieces of radiance.

In the audience, people were shouting Willow’s name, thumping against the plastic barrier as they tried to break it down. As Alex burst into the lit area, Nate appeared in his angel form, his wings beating strongly as he attacked the first angel. At the same time Willow’s angel dove toward her and Willow lunged the final few steps; reaching the gate, she shoved her hands in it. The energy warped, leaping wildly — he glimpsed angels waiting to come through. The floor near the gate lurched upward, sending her slipping sideways. Nearing Willow, Alex almost lost his footing as the floor seethed under his feet; he regained himself and sprinted toward her.

“Willow!”
he shouted.

The gate exploded open. A wave of energy slammed past in a blinding flash. Crying out, Alex shielded his eyes with his forearm. A confused image: the two angels tumbling, fragmenting into pieces — and Willow, thrown with the blast. There was a wrenching, groaning noise, a crash of dust and cement as a section of the ceiling fell, shattering only a few feet from the huddle of robed girls. Screams. With a spray of spitting sparks, the lights went out. The entire front area fell into shadow, lit only by the dying sunset through the stained-glass windows. As if on cue, hordes of angels began soaring through the open gate and out over the pews, wings and halos shining, glimpses of their own world’s fading sunset just visible through the open gate behind them. A solid wall of sound cracked through the cathedral as the audience began cheering. The people in the first few pews were all staring upward, jumping up and down, Willow completely forgotten as they took in the celestial river flowing overhead.

It had all happened in seconds. Willow. Oh, God, where was Willow? Alex’s consciousness was still hovering above his crown chakra, and in the sudden gloom around him he saw people’s auras come sharply into view, the colored energy fields pulsing with excitement as everyone stared upward. He scanned the front area hurriedly, fear building in him when he couldn’t find Willow.

And then, faintly, he spotted her aura — a silver-and-lavender flutter off to one side, away from the others. Alex plunged through the shadows, stumbling and almost falling on the uneven floor. Finally he reached her. She was lying on her back, her face turned away from him. “Willow!” He dropped to his knees and gathered her up in his arms. “Willow, please be all right — please, please —”

Her head dropped back. She lay unmoving against him, her aura dim, growing dimmer. Alex felt his heart die in his chest as he stared down at her familiar features. No. Oh Jesus,
no.

Behind him the crowds continued to cheer, their shouts reverberating through the cathedral like thunder. There was a sudden shimmering — and as Alex looked up he saw that Willow’s angel had appeared over her, so pale that she could hardly be seen. She motioned to Willow and then to him, her eyes pleading  . . .  and then faded from view. What had she been trying to tell him? What? Alex gazed down at the prone girl in his arms, his pulse thudding. Willow’s aura was scarcely visible now, the barest flicker of light. He hesitated. Not quite knowing why he was doing it, he placed his hand on her heart and closed his eyes.