Earth Angel (27 page)

Gwynne’s heart hammered. “If you keep that up, we’re going to get in an accident,” she murmured.

Abby fingered the seam of her jeans and followed it upward. Gwynne stopped breathing. Her thighs tightened and her back pressed against the seat as her blood pulsed against the crotch of that seam, throbbing with anticipation, impatient for her fingers to reach her, squirming with worry that if Abby did ever get there—and she was damn close—she’d rise off the seat.

“I used to be able to hit that high note,” Abby said matter-of-factly. “So I just go for it, because, you know, maybe one day I’ll surprise myself.”

Gwynne slammed her hand back onto the steering wheel to maintain control of the car.

“I love you,” Abby murmured, brushing her lips close to her ear as she returned to her seat.

She loved her. Abby loved her.

Gwynne swallowed. She had to tell her this at ninety miles an hour?

Abby crossed her arms and settled in her seat as if nothing had happened. “Why are all you angels here, anyway? Couldn’t you just give us directions to this mystery mountain and meet us there?”

Elle spoke up from the back, her broken-glass voice carrying over the singing. “We want to make sure you arrive safely.”

“And doing a bang-up job of it too,” Gwynne said, wishing she could be alone with Abby. Elle wasn’t the major source of distraction here—she had Abby to thank for that—but Elle wasn’t helping. Maybe once they fixed the bridge they’d get a break from all the angelic visitation. That would be nice. Privacy. Alone with Abby Vogel. Alone with her in a very private room. With a “Do Not Disturb” sign on the doorknob. What was that saying,
Angels are all around us
? This sign would say
Angels are NOT all around us. PLEASE.

The brake lights on the cars ahead of them lit up simultaneously and she eased her foot off the accelerator.

“
Now
you slow down?” Elle sounded annoyed.

“Speed trap,” Abby said before Gwynne could figure out why everyone was slowing, but several seconds later, she saw Abby was right.

“I did warn you,” Elle said.

“This was why you wanted me not to drive faster than my angel can fly?” Gwynne held the car steady at five miles below the speed limit. “Could you have been a little less cryptic?”

If she couldn’t be clear about something as innocuous as a speed trap, what else hadn’t she told them?

* * *

Odina Fierro rang up two extra-large bottles of spring water, various snacks, and a bunch of postcards of one of the supposedly extinct volcanoes up the road to the north.

“You’re buying postcards?” one of the two young ladies asked the other, as if there was something wrong with the merchandise.

Odina didn’t see what the customer was so worked up about. Sure, personally, she thought the pictures of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains at sunset, when the mountains turned bloodred, were prettier. But these were nice too. The aerial views of the lone mound rising from the plains always sold well. Nothing wrong with any of her postcards.

The other girl fanned out the postcards to show her friend. “Elle says this is where we’re going.”

“When did she tell you that?”

“While you were outside digging through the trunk for your purse.”

Odina hadn’t noticed the girl talking to anyone. Had to be texting. “You girls planning to visit the mountain?”

“That’s why we’re here.”

“Risk-takers, I see.” They didn’t seem like the type. Usually it was skinny testosterone junkies who hiked up that mountain, daring each other to do something stupid, trying to feel alive. Her neighbor’s kid went up there last year and came back with an armload of thunderwood and carved it into souvenirs he wanted her to sell in her shop. No thank you, she told him. No sir-ee. Wood injured by the lightning spirit was bad luck. The kid said the tourists didn’t know any better. They’d think it was traditional. But she told him no.

“Lots of other mountains around here you could hike,” Odina told the girls. “Just as beautiful.”

“What’s wrong with this one?”

“You don’t know?”

“What do you mean?” one of them asked.

Odina counted out their change and handed it to them. “We call it the Bermuda Triangle of New Mexico. Every year someone disappears up there. Or gets struck by lightning.”

The two girls exchanged meaningful glances.

“No one ever proves it’s lightning that kills ’em, of course. If it was just disappearances, I’d put my money on a mountain lion having them for lunch. A mountain lion could explain the fatal heart attacks too, if you ask me. But the dead bodies, no. Never heard of a mountain lion killing folks and not eating ’em.”

“We’ll watch out for mountain lions,” said the one buying the postcards, tucking her change into her purse. She didn’t look like she was taking her seriously—just humoring an old woman.

“And lightning,” added the friend.

Odina hoped nothing happened to these girls. They were so young. Maybe if she told them about the mysterious lights and strange sounds…

“Then there’s that hum they talk about. Folks that can hear it, they say it sounds like an engine gone bad, but it would have to be one hell of an engine to be heard for miles and miles. Could be coming from Los Alamos. Who knows what the government does up there. They sure don’t want us knowing about it, that’s for sure.”

The girl nodded. “We’ll listen for the hum.”

You know, now that she thought about it, maybe they did believe her. The thing was, though, they were going to do whatever the hell it was they planned to do anyway. They weren’t scared. What was wrong with kids these days, anyway?

Chapter Twenty

Abby returned from the convenience store’s restroom and hopped into the rental car where Gwynne waited for her in the driver’s seat, pressing a postcard against the steering wheel and tapping her mouth with a pen.

“You could die this afternoon and you’re writing postcards?” Abby pulled the door shut. “If you’re writing a suicide note it would be easier to post it online.”

“It’s not the same. Didn’t your grandmother teach you the olden ways? A handwritten note says you care.” Gwynne scribbled something on the postcard. “Besides, I always send postcards when I travel. People expect it.”

“What people?”

“Dara, Hank, Megan-and-Kira…”

A happy thought struck her. “If you want to write postcards, we could switch places and I could drive.”

“Nice try.”

It was, wasn’t it? “You must be tired after all that driving,” Abby said, antsy from too much time in the passenger seat and unable to resist needling her. “Especially with the angel light shining straight into your eyes. Wouldn’t it be safer if I drove?” Not that driving safety was at the top of their priority list right now. If that clerk at the convenience store was right, Gwynne was going to die anyway as soon as she touched the angels’ humming secret government property. Either that or get eaten by mountain lions.

“Relax.”

Oh, sure, like that was going to help. Abby squirmed in her seat. “Are you writing about the hum?”

“There’s no hum.”

“Maybe we just can’t hear it.”

“I doubt it.” Gwynne kept writing.

“All that stuff she was talking about—it must be the bridge.”

“Of course it’s the bridge.” Gwynne tapped her pen on her stack of postcards. “I hope Dara’s not having any problems running the appointment desk.”

“You should tell Dara about the hum. She loves that stuff.”

“There’s no hum.”

“Hmmmm,” Abby said, anxiety making her act silly. She walked her fingers up Gwynne’s arm. “Hmmmmmmmm.”

Gwynne’s eyes twinkled. She stashed her postcards in the door and started the car. “I don’t hear a thing.”

* * *

Half an hour later they were driving at Gwynne’s idea of highway speeds when the car slowed and Gwynne started swearing. Abby glanced at the road, trying to spot what was wrong, but saw nothing. The cords in Gwynne’s forearms visibly worked as she gripped the wheel.

“Hang on,” Gwynne said tersely as she pulled the car off the road onto the dirt where the shoulder should have been.

They hit a bump and bounced farther from the road before coming to a stop beside a clump of what she guessed was sagebrush. Abby stared at Gwynne’s hands—one held the gearshift that was now in Park, the other still gripped the wheel. After the bumpiness and the gravel hitting the undercarriage, everything seemed oddly still.

“What happened?” Abby asked.

Gwynne stared straight ahead, motionless except for her ribcage moving up and down. She laughed, but she didn’t sound amused. She turned the ignition and the engine didn’t even try to start. But Abby hadn’t seen her turn the engine off. Wait, did that mean…

“The engine stalled?” Abby asked.

“Yup.”

“We drove off the road for that?”

“Sorry for not trying to restart the engine at seventy-five miles an hour.”

Abby loosened her seat belt and refrained from telling her
she
could have done it. So Gwynne overshot the road by a few yards. No big deal. The important thing was no one got hurt.

Gwynne tried to start the car again.

Nothing.

Gwynne bent down to feel around the gas pedal. “Do you know anything about cars?”

“I know how to call a mechanic.” Abby pulled out her phone and scanned for a signal. No signal. It figured. She got out of the car and held her phone up to the heavens. Still no signal. Staring at her phone, she walked several yards away, staying parallel to the road, then zigzagged away from the road, then back to the car.

“It’s not looking so good,” she said when she returned. “Not unless one of the angels wants to step in and do something.”

All the angels in the vicinity promptly vanished.

“Right. You’re not engineers,” Abby said to empty air. She looked at Gwynne, who had popped the hood and was peering at the car’s parts from enough of a distance that it was clear she had no idea what she was looking for. “What do you think the chances are they went to get help?”

“No idea.”

“Craptastic.”

“Yup.”

Abby left Gwynne with the car and stationed herself at the side of the road to flag down help. It didn’t take long for someone to pull over and agree to send a tow truck from the next town up the road. When she returned, she found Gwynne underneath the car, her feet sticking out.

“What are you doing?” Abby ducked her head to look under the car. Gwynne lay faceup in the dust, her arms outstretched like Jesus on the cross. She was petite enough that she had enough clearance, but…“Isn’t the car hot under there? What if something sparks?” The last thing they needed was for Gwynne to get injured doing something stupid.

“I’m doing energy healing on the car.”

On the
car
? Abby was glad Gwynne couldn’t see her face. “Is it working?”

“I have no idea.”

“Should we test it?” It seemed unlikely that anything Gwynne could do would have helped, but it was worth a shot. And it might get her out from underneath the car.

Gwynne wriggled out and scooted into the driver’s seat. She turned the key in the ignition. Nothing.

“I’ll do more healing on it.”

“I don’t think more healing’s going to work,” Abby said through the window. “Let’s just sit and wait.”

“Maybe I should try to flag down another driver for help,” Gwynne said. “As backup, in case your Good Samaritan falls through.”

“She said she would call a tow truck for us. She was very nice.”

“I just want to be sure.”

“Worrying is not going to help.” Abby cracked her knuckles, which probably made her look worried. They could wait a few hours. If the tow truck didn’t show up, they’d try again.

“Flagging down another motorist isn’t worrying,” Gwynne said. “It’s doing something.”

“So is waiting.”

“What if she doesn’t follow through? We’re just going to sit here and wait for AWOL angels to save our asses?”

“They want us to get to the bridge. They’ll make sure we get there.”

“They want
you
to get to the bridge.” Gwynne tried the ignition one more time. She slapped the keys in her palm and got out of the car and slammed the door shut behind her. “If we die out here in the desert, they get what they wanted all along.”

Abby followed her away from the car. “They wouldn’t do that.”

“Elle wants to kill you, Abby. My coming along on this trip is her way of appeasing you.”

“She said it might work.”

“After I talked her into it,” Gwynne pointed out. “How about we sit farther from the road, okay? I wouldn’t put it past Elle to distract a driver and make him crash into us. She’s bloodthirsty.”

They found a spot a safe distance from the highway and settled down to wait. Gwynne sat on the ground with her forearms resting on her bent knees and stared out at the desert. She was gut-droppingly beautiful, the strong planes of her face outlined by the sun. Gwynne turned her head and met her eyes with her fathomless gaze, and the shock of it made Abby sway, made her feel like she was falling out of the sky.

Gwynne rose and sat closer, close enough to touch. “I love the gold streaks in your hair,” she said. “You have so many colors. The blond, the brandy, the caramel—”

“The gray?”

“You don’t have any gray.” She lifted a strand of Abby’s hair between her fingers and reverently tucked it back into place, smoothing it down.

“Flatterer.”

“It will be beautiful gray too.”

Gwynne stretched out on the ground beside her, the side of her thigh touching Abby’s hip, one arm draped over her eyes to shield herself from the sun. Abby wanted to kiss her, wanted to roll on top of her, but she couldn’t—not here. Anyone driving by could see them from the road.

She almost didn’t care.

Instead, she got up and retrieved her harp from the car.

“Come back,” Gwynne said.

An invisible thread of wanting stretched between them.  Abby still wanted to kiss her. Seeing her flat on her back reminded her too much of making love to her. It was like a Pavlovian response, giving her ideas.

She returned with her harp and sat so her thigh pressed against Gwynne’s while the harp rested in her lap. Back home, she’d loosened all the strings to protect them from snapping in the changing air pressure aboard the airplane, and now it took her a good ten, fifteen minutes to tighten each string and bring it back into tune, even though it was a small harp with only three octaves.