FREED (Angels and Gargoyles Book 2) (20 page)

She waited until the moon was high in the sky. Everyone had gone to bed hours before, but she could sense them lying restless on their pallets. Ellie was the first to fall asleep, her dreams filled with a past neither of them would ever know again. And then Sam, his dreams a mystery to her even with her mental wall down and her mind probing him with all she knew to do. She had never been able to read Stiles when he didn’t want her to. And Wyatt…she was afraid to probe his mind for whatever he might be dreaming about.

She didn’t even have to think about it. One moment she was lying on her blankets, the heat of the night attracting bugs to her that drove her nuts, even though their bites disappeared almost the moment they were formed. The next, she was soaring high over the trees, the breeze like a dream as it rushed through her spirit. She only had to imagine where she wanted to go, and she was there. She settled low over the stream where she and Wyatt, Sam and Ellie had gone the night before everything turned to chaos. She stood at the shore, watching the water rush silently over rocks and mud, moving downstream at a semi-leisurely pace. She could see Sam standing there, skipping stones over the surface of the water as though it was a solid thing.

What would it be like to have every day of your life as carefree as that?

She was afraid she would never know.

She stayed longer than she should have. The moon was beginning to disappear from the sky when she finally turned and walked the long path back to the place where the resistance had made their camp all that night. She could still see the remains of the fire, could see the stones that had held it in and the ashes that still lay there under the last of the wood that had never burned. Blankets and clothing, a few boots, and some books were still scattered across the grass. There were mounds of dirt here and there. Dylan knew that this was where some had buried their dead. It was an image that came to her as she walked through the camp. She didn’t even have to concentrate, didn’t have to touch anything. The emotions were so strong that it came to her without any effort at all.

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she walked through the camp. So much pain. And it was all because of her.

She wanted to leave, wanted to let the dead rest in peace. But she came here for a reason.

She picked up a blanket that was lying under one of the trees. It was Wyatt’s. She remembered seeing it that morning, over the pallet where Ellie was sleeping. She must have missed it in the rush to gather her things that day.

Dylan held the blanket against her chest, the rough material scratching her bare arms, the tender skin under her chin. She closed her eyes and let the scrambled memories turn into a coherent one.

The Redcoats attacked without warning. They marched into the camp in a line, their swords at the ready. People ran, but the Redcoats followed. They swung their swords. None of the people had a chance. The Redcoats were bigger, heavier. Faster. No matter where they ran, no matter where they went, the Redcoats found them.

Dylan began to shake, her emotions blurring the edges of the memory until it all became clouded. She thought about Davida, and suddenly the vision came back into crystal clear focus. The images moved as though she was being shown the events a she flew overhead, the massacre she had been watching shifting and moving until the vision settled again over a small group of people huddled in a small depression on the ground. Jimmy was there, and the other adults he was always consulting, the group Dylan had come to think of as his council. And Davida, her body tucked underneath Jimmy’s. He was protecting her.

But what he didn’t see was that she was actually the one protecting them all.

Each time a Redcoat came close enough to see their prone bodies, she signaled them. It was subtle. Even Dylan didn’t recognize it at first. She didn’t move and she didn’t seem to be transmitting any thoughts. But each time a Redcoat came this direction he would pause and turn when he was within a few feet of the depression. And then he would walk away.

Dylan watched it happen over and again, more than a half dozen times. And then she saw it.

Davida was doing something with the energy that naturally existed in the air around them. It was like she had built a wall out of air. Dylan walked up to it, touched the memory of it that still hung in the cool, predawn air. And when she did, she felt a spark. Then the vision faded and she wasn’t able to see anything more. It was as if touching the wall had wiped out whatever it was that allowed Dylan to see these things that had happened in the past.

She turned, looking back over the camp that had housed the people who took her in, the people who looked to her as their salvation, even those who hadn’t trusted in who and what she was. Even that was gone. All she saw now were the few items of clothing that had been abandoned in the rush to get out of harm’s way, the piles of dirt where survivors had buried their loved ones. All she saw was the land that was before they came and what it would be when they were long gone. The memories, the pain and the fear, and the energy of those memories were gone. Wiped out almost as if they had never existed.

She didn’t understand.

What had Davida done?

Dylan moved slowly over the countryside as she made her way back to Wyatt and the others. She looked for some clue as to where Davida and Jimmy and the others had gone. She knew now that they had survived. But she still couldn’t sense Davida, couldn’t feel her presence or hear her thoughts. She felt cut off, as though someone was blocking them intentionally.

Is that what Davida had done during the attack? Had she blocked the Redcoats so that they would not find her and Jimmy? Or was there something more going on here?

Why did Davida send Carver and Bobby with her and Wyatt when they fled the Redcoats? Had she known who they were? Had she known that they were working with Lilith?

She wasn’t even sure what that meant.

Lilith was not going to survive much longer. Dylan could feel it, could feel her wasting away each time she thought about her. Her death—or whatever it was that was coming for her—seemed as though it should be a victory for those fighting against her. But Dylan wondered if it really would be.

This war had been going on for decades. Most of the humans were dead or so deep in hiding that Dylan could sense them when she was like this, in her ethereal state, but had no clue where to look for them. There were many cities, many of them populated and ruled by angels. But it was difficult to tell if those humanoids were really humans, or angels and gargoyles in disguise, or hybrids like Dylan. Like Wyatt. It felt like the point of the war had gotten lost somewhere.

Did any side really know what they were fighting for now?

Dylan knew what had to happen. She knew that everyone had the right idea, but none of them had the right plan. The gargoyles wanted to save the humans. But at what cost? And Luc and Lily wanted the planet to themselves, to turn it into some sort of paradise for angels. But that would mean too much sacrifice, too much death for those who had chosen to remain true to their original purpose, to save the humans. And the angels…

The image Dylan had seen in Joanna’s thoughts was of an explosion, a huge detonation that would destroy everyone and everything on earth. Except for two people. A man. A woman. In Joanna’s mind, the man had been Wyatt. The woman, however, had been a faceless image, a small, petite woman who seemed to embrace everything that was conventional of the feminine form. A perfect specimen meant to take Wyatt’s seed and repopulate the earth. A new start. A new world. A stronger humanity.

But it came at such a high price.

Joanna was willing to sacrifice herself, to sacrifice Jimmy and all the other humans in the world. All the humans, the gargoyles, the hybrids, the other angels who had sacrificed their place at God’s side to fight against Luc and Lily. Joanna was willing to sacrifice everything with her hope for the future placed in just two people. Adam and Eve. Wyatt and his faceless partner.

Dylan couldn’t let that happen.

There had to be a way to end it all without destroying anything. She just had to find it.

To do that, she needed to gather the ones she trusted the most. And Davida was at the top of that list.

Where was she?

She arrived back at camp just as the sun was rising above the horizon. She settled back on her pallet and listened to the slow, even breathing of her friends. Her eyes slid closed, and she thought for a minute she might actually be able to get a few moments of sleep. She was actually on the edge of that cliff, preparing to jump off, when a thought burst unexpectedly through her mind.

Here. You must lead her here.

The thing was, the thought wasn’t hers. It wasn’t meant for her mind. She must have left her mental wall down, must have forgotten to protect herself from the thoughts of those around her. Funny that she hadn’t sensed anyone’s dreams, hadn’t felt or seen any images emerging from her friends’ minds as she usually did when that wall was down. She just heard those words and saw a ruin where there were no buildings, just huge shapes. Circles and squares, boats with no water to sail over, train tracks moving high into the sky with no trains to ride on them.

She had seen it before.

Dylan sat up and stared at the open window of the building where Wyatt slept. But it wasn’t him. Even though she had seen him in that place once while she was dreaming, it wasn’t his mind that had received the words. The image. Wyatt’s mind was still. For the first time in days, he was asleep without a riot of dreams torturing his mind. It wasn’t him.

But who was it?

For once, she couldn’t read any of them.

She had no clue.

Dylan walked behind everyone else. She was tired, but that wasn’t what made her lag behind. She didn’t want anyone where she couldn’t see them. Wyatt continued to lead them, though he walked so quickly that they had all given up trying to stay with him long ago. Anger still rolled off of him in waves, anger and confusion and a sense of betrayal. She wished she could do something to fix things for him, but her healing powers only worked on physical wounds, not mental ones.

Sam walked beside Ellie. They seemed friendlier these last few days. Maybe Sam’s feelings had changed. Maybe it had always been Ellie for him.

And then there was Stiles.

With everything else going on, Dylan found herself looking at him in a new light. He had just been Stiles before, the awkward, pale boy she had to protect from Wyatt’s distrust. And then he was Stiles, the gargoyle who had appointed himself her guardian angel. Ironic, really, when she thought about it now. A guardian angel. That was, quite literally, exactly what he was. That, and so much more.

He made her laugh. And they had laughed, deep, belly rumble laughs. She hadn’t felt that good in a long time. Not since before Davida left Genero. And then he grew serious, those beautiful eyes still dancing with merriment, making her head spin with something that went beyond the lightheadedness of amusement. And when his lips touched hers…

Wyatt’s kisses made her feel a tightness in her belly. It made her heart begin to beat with a different rhythm. His touch made her nerves beg for more.

But Stiles?

His kiss lifted her up. Made her feel as though she were capable of anything. And when he took her hands and pinned them to the tree above her head, when he deepened the kiss and explored her in a way Wyatt had attempted to do but had been in too much of a hurry to do properly, she stopped thinking. And that was saying a lot.

She didn’t want to remember what that felt like.

He didn’t seem to be thinking about it. He had hardly shared two words with her all day, and he never once looked her in the eye since they left camp. But he walked at her side, as though afraid if he moved behind or in front of her, she would disappear.

“I need to stop,” Ellie said about midday. “My feet are killing me.”

“Wyatt!” Sam called, trying to alert him as Ellie perched on the edge of a tree stump and began working her boots off her feet. Wyatt didn’t respond. He didn’t seem to hear as he continued to stomp away just this side of the horizon.

Stop, Wyatt,
Dylan said, throwing the words toward him. He turned and shielded his eyes as he looked back at them. She could tell he was frowning, even from this distance. He shook his head, turning back toward the road he had been following with a gesture that suggested they did not have much farther to go. Dylan tossed up her hands in her own gesture, indicating Ellie and her sore feet. Wyatt began walking back toward them.

“Are they blistered again?” Dylan asked, turning her attention to Ellie.

“No,” she said, holding one up where Dylan could see it. “But these boots rub.”

Dylan turned her foot this way and that, looking for something that needed to be healed. But she couldn’t see anything obvious. Just Ellie being Ellie, she decided, dropping her foot before tossing herself down onto the cool grass a few feet away and lying back, the sun warm and comforting on her face.

“Do they really hurt?” Sam asked Ellie in a soothing voice Dylan noticed he reserved just for Ellie. “I could rub them.”