Angel Burn (44 page)

Please, take my strength,
he thought.
Whatever I have, take it.
 . . . 
Just please live. Please, you’ve got to live.
 . . . 

Desperately, Alex tried to picture his strength and his love for Willow flowing into her, helping her, finding her and bringing her back from wherever she was going. He wasn’t sure how much time passed — he could hear the angels flying overhead; the cheers still sounding. Willow’s body in his arms remained motionless. Finally, dreading what he might see, Alex opened his eyes.

Willow’s aura was gone.

Pain struck him like a blow. “No! Please, no  . . . ” Willow blurred in his vision as he clutched her to him, burying his face against her shoulder. The softness of her skin, the smell of her hair. Alex began to shake, holding her. He’d been too late. She’d gone to her death alone, without even knowing he was there. “I’m sorry,” he choked out. He kissed her unmoving lips; they were still warm. “Willow  . . .  oh, Willow  . . . ”

A deadening weakness started slumping through his muscles, draining them so that it was all he could do to keep his arms around Willow. Then a quick, wrenching pain, like something being torn away from him. His head reeled; he wondered vaguely if an angel had ripped his life force away. For he could feel his own life fading now, slipping away like water down a drain. As he held Willow’s still form, dull relief filled him at the thought.

A swirling of light above them; faint silver and lavender mixed with vibrant blue and gold.

Alex looked up in confusion as the lights moved together over him and Willow like twin plumes of smoke. The silver light was ghostly, barely visible. As he watched, the blue light wrapped itself around it, stroking it, caressing it. The blue-and-gold aura paled as the silver-and-lavender one began to brighten; Alex had an impression of strength pouring from one aura to the other. At last the silver light was steady, its lavender hues gleaming. Alex’s aura drew itself back to him, faint but already starting to recover. He felt his life force return in a rush.

The silver-and-lavender aura settled around Willow, unwavering now, and growing brighter by the second. An agony of hope roared through Alex as he stared down at her in his arms. He touched her cheek, not daring to breathe. “Willow?”

At first there was nothing  . . .  and then her green eyes came slowly open. She stared up at him, looking dazed.

“Alex?” she whispered. “Is it really you?”

He felt a jolt of joy so great that it was almost pain. He cradled her to him. “It’s me, baby,” he said hoarsely, his lips moving against her hair. “It’s me.”

Her arms came up around him; she pressed her face into his shoulder with a weak sob. “Alex  . . .  you’re here, you’re really here. . . .”

Pulling back, he stroked a stray strand of hair from her temple, scanning her face in the shadowy light. “Are you all right? Please, please tell me you’re OK.”

She gulped, nodded. “I think so. I’m just so tired. . . .”

Thankfulness drenched through him like water. He held her closely, kissing her hair, her cheek. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Oh, God, Willow, I didn’t mean it — I didn’t mean any of it —”

Her embrace tightened around his neck. “I know. . . . Alex, I know. . . .”

For a moment he savored just holding her, warm and alive in his arms. Urgency followed; they had to get the hell out of here. He glanced back over his shoulder. Angels still hadn’t stopped soaring from the gate; the entire length of the cathedral was a winged river as they flew over the pews and then finally out through the massive doors at the far side.

The crowd’s cheers had become somewhat ragged, but were still going strong. Nate had said that it would take around twenty minutes for all the angels to arrive. How much time had already passed?

“Come on, we’ve got to hurry.” With a quick kiss, he scooped Willow into his arms and stood up, feverishly grateful that the front area was still cloaked in shadow. He started toward the double doors he’d come through, picking his way as fast as he could across the uneven floor. When the doors were only a few dozen steps away, Willow tensed against his shoulder. “Alex!”

He whirled around; the angel he’d seen fighting Nate earlier was diving through the air toward them, wings outspread, its beautiful face set in a snarl. Alex grabbed his gun and set Willow’s feet on the floor in almost the same motion, keeping one arm around her. The angel landed about ten feet away, and with a dark ripple changed to its human form: a handsome, slender man with pale skin and coal-black hair.

“The half angel and her assassin,” he said in a low, deadly voice that somehow carried over the noise. “And it appears that I was the culprit, somehow.
Miranda
, correct?” Alex stiffened at the man’s English accent. It was the same angel who’d ordered Willow’s death. He felt her take a quick breath and suddenly remembered that her mother’s name was Miranda.

Jesus, it was him. Her father.

“Don’t say her name,” whispered Willow. “You have no right  . . . ”

“Oh, I beg to differ,” said the angel. “Why, this is quite
historic,
isn’t it? The only half angel in existence  . . .  now, how did I manage that? I wonder.” He stared hard at Willow. Behind him, now almost half the length of the cathedral away, the stream of arriving angels continued to fly, shining, overhead.

Holding Willow close, Alex kept his gun pointed at the angel. “I thought you died in the blast,” he said coldly.

“Wouldn’t that have been convenient?” replied the angel with a sneer. “But no, it was only the traitor who died — I was merely a bit dazed.” Eyes narrowing, he took a step forward.

“Get back, or you’ll regret it,” said Alex.

The angel curled his lip. “I think not, actually. It’s time now for you both to die, the way you were supposed to in the first place.” Shifting back into his angel form, he surged straight toward them, wings flashing.

Alex shot. The angel dodged at the last second, his wings slicing the air, and the bullet caught the very edge of his halo. Its blue-white energy rippled, hesitated. Hovering above, the angel writhed as tremors seized him, his wings flapping like a giant trapped bird’s. Before Alex could shoot again, the angel went still and collapsed to the floor, in his human form once more. He lay unmoving.

Willow stared down at him; she seemed almost ready to drop. “Alex, he  . . .  that was  . . . ”

“Shhh, I know,” he said, picking her up again. She slumped against his shoulder, her arms tight around his neck.

Fleetingly, Alex wished the creature was human — he’d have no compunction at all about peppering that prone body with bullets. But there was no point; the only way to kill an angel was to shoot it through its halo heart. At least this one would be out of action for a while. With a glance back at the arriving angels, Alex headed for the doors with Willow cradled in his arms.
Please,
he thought,
just a few more minutes, and we’ll be out of here.

Just a few more minutes. That’s all they needed.

When the Second Wave of angels first began pouring out of the gate, Jonah had stood frozen, gaping above him. It hadn’t worked. After all of their planning, after everything he’d risked — he’d lost it all, and the angels had arrived anyway. Beautiful face after beautiful face flashed past — and soon they would all be hungry and feeding. Jonah shuddered, dizzy with dismay. His cheekbone throbbed where the preacher had punched him.

The front section of the cathedral was still in shadow; Jonah could just make out the preacher a few steps away, loudly applauding the new arrivals. Beth and another acolyte had their arms around each other’s shoulders, their faces alight. Behind them, the crowd had forgotten all about crashing through the barrier to get to Willow. People were throwing their hats in the air, calling out to the angels to bless them, laughing and crying.

Jonah didn’t know how long he simply stared upward at the arriving angels, wondering what he was supposed to do now. Then, at the corner of his vision, he saw a brief sliver of light from the far end of the cathedral. Glancing over, he saw a dark-haired figure carrying a girl disappear through the double doors.

Jonah stared as he recognized her. Willow. Was she still alive — or not? Then he realized that he had to get out as well. Raziel knew now that Jonah had betrayed him; he had lied about Willow’s death, and the angel must have noticed him shouting at the crowd, holding the preacher back. During all the confusion, Raziel had vanished, obviously retreating to his divine form; so far the angel hadn’t reappeared.

What would he do to Jonah when he did? For that matter, what would the church members do when this was over?

Jonah turned and ran through the darkness, stumbling across the uneven floor. Near the barrier, he saw the security guard gaping upward and veered away from him. As he neared the doors, he jerked back with a gasp, his brown eyes widening. There was a dark shape lying in the shadows: Raziel, sprawled unmoving in his human form. Shock reeled through Jonah, along with a sick relief. Could Raziel be dead? He couldn’t tell; he wasn’t about to touch him to find out. Edging around the prone figure, he sprinted the final few steps.

He pushed through the doors; the lights back here were making a humming noise, flickering on and off. The person carrying Willow was already halfway down the long corridor, disappearing fast. Jonah ran after him, suddenly desperate to know whether the girl was all right or not. He caught up with them just as they reached the outside door.

“Hey —” he started, and then sucked in his breath as the dark-haired youth whirled on him, clutching Willow to his chest with one arm and holding a gun on Jonah with the other.

“I seriously don’t think you want to try and stop me,” he said in a low voice.

Jonah felt the blood leave his face. “No, I — I’m sorry. I just —” In a daze, he saw that the guy was younger than he was.

Willow had her arms around his neck, her head against his shoulder. At the sound of voices, she tiredly opened her eyes; her gaze and Jonah’s met. “Alex, he helped,” she murmured.

Alex?
Jonah gaped at him. Of course, it was the assassin. He was here.

At Willow’s words, Alex seemed to relax a fraction. He lowered the gun, and Jonah let out a breath. “You’re the contact,” stated Alex.

Jonah nodded. “You’re  . . .  the assassin.”

Alex didn’t respond; his eyes flicked down the long corridor behind Jonah. “You’d better get out of here, too; they’ll kill you when this is over.” He put his other arm under Willow, then shoved through the door and was gone.

Jonah glanced behind him. He could still hear the sound of distant cheers, but for how long? Pushing the door open, he stepped out into the fading sunset. At the edge of the nearby parking lot, Alex and Willow were standing beside a motorcycle. Alex had just helped Willow out of her silvery-blue robe. He dropped it to the ground and seemed to be asking her something; she nodded as she looked at the motorcycle. Abruptly, he bent down and kissed her, gripping her face in his hands.

Jonah ducked his head away, not wanting to spy on their private moment. When he looked again, Alex was helping Willow put on a helmet; then he quickly straddled the bike and she got on behind him, wrapping her arms around his chest. At the sight of them preparing to leave, Jonah remembered something, and his heart chilled.

“Wait!” he called, running over. Alex was already revving the engine; he glanced over a shoulder.

“Raziel,” panted Jonah, reaching them. “Is he dead?”

“The angel?” Alex shook his head. “No, he’s just knocked out. He’ll be out of commission for a few days, but he’ll be fine. Unfortunately.”

Willow’s face was pale and drawn. “Thank you for helping, Jonah,” she said. “I wish  . . . ” Her voice trailed off.

“Yeah,” mumbled Jonah. He’d been stunned to see Willow face-to-face at last — in his mind he’d built her up to be some kind of supergirl. Instead she was diminutive, and had been so gravely frightened and self-composed that he’d just felt ashamed of his own terror.

Now he looked back at the door, trying not to panic. “What will you do now?” He meant,
What will I do now?
but he couldn’t say the words.

Alex lifted a muscular shoulder, and Jonah sensed his impatience to leave. “Getting away sounds like a pretty good plan. What about you? Have you got a car or something?”

Jonah nodded. “In the employee parking lot, just around the side.”

A humorless smile crossed Alex’s tired features. “You’d better use it,” he said. “I don’t think you’re going to be working for the angels anymore.”

“Take care, Jonah,” said Willow weakly, and then Alex kicked the clutch, and they were gone, roaring off down the road. Jonah stood watching until they had vanished from sight and he couldn’t hear the engine anymore.

Or anything else. The sound of cheering had stopped.

Jonah licked his lips, frozen where he stood. He hadn’t expected this. He had thought that the destruction of the gate would kill him along with everyone else nearby, and on some level, he had wanted it that way. What was his life going to be like now, without the one shining, beautiful thing that had been his — the knowledge of the angels and how they were here to help humanity? Miserably, he thought that if he had any courage, he’d go back inside and let the crowd do to him what they would. But he didn’t have courage. That was the problem; it always had been.

Then, softly, a memory came to him: his angel, the first he had ever seen, flying toward him on the campus in a glory of wings and light.
Don’t be afraid. I have something to give you
. She had helped him. He hadn’t imagined it. He
had
had courage; because of her, he had managed to change his whole life. If he could just hold on to that  — the knowledge that there really were angels who were good and kind, regardless of the rest, maybe that would give him the courage he needed now to go on living.

Glancing anxiously at the doors, Jonah took off at a run, heading for the employee parking lot.

The service road led them back to the highway, where Alex saw long lines of cars still creeping along on the other side, caught in gridlock. Heading away from the cathedral, there was hardly any traffic at all. As dusk fell, he switched on the headlight and headed south, feeling the wind lashing at his hair and T-shirt. Occasionally he put his hand on Willow’s arms around his chest, just to reassure himself that she was really there.