Angel Fever

by L. A. Weatherly

Page 58

 

  Please try not to worry too much, babe, he thought to Willow. I’ll be home as soon as I can, I promise.

  As he headed across the dusty courtyard, its flat stones still held some of the day’s warmth. Where they ended, the ground turned gritty under his shoeless foot.

  Leaving the buildings silent and empty behind him, Alex started walking across the desert.

  Now, three weeks later – three weeks during which his sock had rapidly disintegrated until he was limping on cuts and blisters, but still he’d refused to slow his pace; three weeks of largely harsh terrain with barely any food to keep him going – Alex had finally reached his goal.

  When he’d first woken up that morning, he’d found a foxlike creature nestled asleep against him – the animals here had no fear at all. He’d smiled in slight surprise, touching the reddish-gold fur; the fox-thing had awakened with a sharp, pointed yawn and ambled off. It had seemed a good omen.

  It wasn’t.

  Alex lay on his stomach on a grassy hill, staring down at the city below. In some ways, it looked very much like the Denver he knew – some of the buildings were even the same. He could pick out a twin to the Wells Fargo Centre with its curved apex, and something that looked like the Centre for the Performing Arts, though with a kind of crystal surface.

  What wasn’t the same was the size of the place. It was easily twice as big as the human Denver, extending well past the Coliseum-like building to the north that seemed to match the Church of Angels cathedral. There would be no “going around” the city to reach the place – he’d have to go straight through.

  And it was full of angels.

  Alex raised his rifle and peered through the magnified lens. There were no cars; the street surfaces looked cobbled, like an old European town. Scanning slowly, he saw a few angels in their human forms – always in a group, never alone – but could sense a hell of a lot more that weren’t visible. He frowned as he probed the angelic energy. It felt frightened, almost – as if they were all huddling together somewhere for comfort.

  But he could be wrong, and he had to be prepared for anything. Glancing at the sun, he grimaced. He’d have to wait until dark before he attempted this. Another delay when he was so close was galling.

  “What are you doing?” asked a soft female voice.

  “Checking out the city,” Alex responded without looking up. He watched a flock of angels circling down below; the motion had a ritualistic sense. Was that how they fed here? If so, they didn’t stay in flight very long. He waited for the ghost’s next comment – maybe about how beautiful the angels were, for a change, instead of where have they all gone?

  “You seem really familiar,” she said in a puzzled tone.

  Alex glanced up – and his heart stopped. A girl of around his own age sat in the grass beside him, hugging her knees to her chest; she had long blonde hair and delicately pointed features.

  Willow? he thought, thunderstruck.

  He sat up, staring. No, this wasn’t Willow, he realized in confusion – her hair wasn’t as wavy, her face slightly different. Besides, Willow hadn’t been blonde in over a year.

  “Who are you?” His voice was hoarse.

  The way the girl’s mouth pursed – like Willow’s did when she was thinking about something – caught at his heart.

  “I should know that,” she said finally. “I’m sorry – I get confused about things sometimes. It’s usually better here, but…” She shrugged and rested a cheek on her knees, studying him. Though wind stirred the grass, her hair and skirt hung motionless. Her eyes were Willow’s: leaf green and slightly tilted.

  “You do seem very familiar,” she repeated with a frown. “I don’t think I know you, though. ”

  Maybe not, but Alex suddenly had a sinking feeling that he knew her.

  “Miranda?” he said softly, hoping he was wrong.

  Her face lit up, making her look more like Willow than ever. “Yes, that’s me! I do know you. ”

  “Kind of,” Alex got out. “I…know someone you know. ”

  His throat was dry. Jesus, was this what the ghosts were – the part that went missing in people with severe angel burn? Willow had described to him so many times how her mother just sat catatonic, lost in her dreams. Exactly like millions of others with minds shattered by the angels. Apparently some essential part of them had simply left the human world and come here, where the angels were from.

  “I don’t usually come to this city any more,” Miranda was saying. “There’s someplace else I like to go. But then I sensed you – and you seemed so familiar that I had to come. ”

  “Yeah?” Alex asked dully. Should he even tell Willow about this? God, she loved her mother so much – as a child, she’d cared for Miranda alone, keeping her mental illness a secret so that no one would take her away. Would it make her feel better or worse to know that somewhere her mother wandered, eternally young and beautiful and confused?

  “Yes, it’s strange,” Miranda went on. “It’s as if…as if someone reaches out to me sometimes, and I’ve heard them talking about you. ” Looking disturbed, she cocked her head to one side, studying him. “You said you know someone I do. Is it Raziel?” Her voice softened at the name.

  Alex held back a bitter laugh. “Uh – no,” he said. “I mean, yeah, I do, but I don’t think that’s how you know me. ” He hesitated; did she even remember she had a daughter? He plucked a piece of dry grass from the ground, twisting it between his fingers.

  “Do you know Willow?” he asked finally.

  Miranda went still. “Willow,” she repeated. “I remember once in the other world…that was when…” Her eyes became lost in time; Alex had the sudden fear that she might vanish.

  “Can you see that other world now?” he asked quickly. “Is anyone there with you? Do you know where you live there?”

  As he’d hoped, the questions seemed to ground Miranda; she focused on him again as she considered. “There’s a lake, I think. I hear it sometimes…and Jo is there. My sister. ”

  Alex started to ask if she knew who’d protected them – the mystery person who’d burned Joanna’s house down to convince the world that the two women had died – but Miranda was still talking.

  “When I sense whoever it is that’s reaching out to me, that’s where they’re reaching – to the Miranda by the lake. But I can still hear it. Feel it. Right here,” she said, touching her heart with slender fingers. She left them there, frowning.

  “Wait – that someone reaching out to me – Willow!” Her eyes flew to his, as if seeking confirmation. “I have a daughter. ”

  Alex nodded. “Yeah, you do. ”

  “How could I have forgotten?” Miranda murmured, pressing her fingertips to her forehead. She darted him an almost frightened glance. “How old is she now?”

  “Eighteen. ” There was so much more Alex wanted to say – she’s beautiful; you’d be so proud to know her; she makes my life worth living – but he kept quiet, letting Miranda adjust.

  “Eighteen – but—” She licked her lips. “But I’m only twenty-one. ”