Toward a Secret Sky

by Heather Maclean

  Gavin reappeared in the doorway.

  “I promised your gran I’d get you back before dinner,” he apologized.

  I stood up, probably too quickly. I was ashamed at how badly I wanted to leave, to be out of the world’s most depressing hospital.

  “Say hello to Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton for me,” Mrs. Dougall said as we hugged good-bye. “I promise I’ll call you if we hear anything.

  The cool outside air helped clear the dank and dust out of my head. As we walked across the parking lot to Gavin’s car, he told me what he’d learned.

  “The early toxicology reports are totally clean. Nothing is showing up in the bloodstream of the kids. No drugs, no poison, no substances of any kind,” he said.

  “How did you see the toxicology reports?” I asked.

  He tossed me a smile that made my heart leap. “Charm will get you far in this world.”

  “I know,” I answered. “But how did you get to see them?”

  He stopped walking. “You don’t think I’m charming?” he asked. He looked crestfallen, but I couldn’t tell if he was serious or just playing with me.

  “I’m sure you could be,” I said. “I just haven’t seen it yet.”

  “I guess you haven’t been around me enough, then,” he said with a smile.

  Is it possible to be around him enough? I thought. My stomach was full of tiny champagne bubbles.

  He opened the car door for me, just as he had in my grandparents’ driveway. It made me feel grown-up and special and almost like we were on a date.

  “The High Council knew something might happen in this area; that’s why I was assigned here,” he said as he drove me home. “But they didn’t know what. I guess we do now.”

  The High Council. My mom’s letter had been addressed to the High Council. I guess they received reports from agents around the world. I kept quiet, hoping he would keep talking. He did.

  “It looks like a faction of jinn demons are testing a new kind of killing, a chemical warfare that poisons the population.”

  “Killing?” I thought of Jo. “Will everyone who’s infected die?”

  He nodded. “Unless we get an antidote out here quickly, I’m afraid so.”

  Antidote. The scrambled ribbon message from my mom’s journal flashed in my brain. Get antidote from Magnificat.

  “What’s Magnificat?” I blurted out.

  “How do you know that name?”

  “I read it in some of my mom’s stuff,” I said. “What is it?”

  “It’s a place. Well, more than one place, actually. Magnificat is a safe haven for humans working with angels. There’s one hidden in every major city.”

  “Where’s the nearest Magnificat to us?” I asked.

  “London. Why?”

  “I think my mom was working on this project when she died,” I said quietly. I didn’t know if he would be upset I hadn’t told him earlier, but for Jo’s sake, I felt like I had to tell him now. “She left behind some details . . .”

  “Go on.” His face darkened.

  “I found an encrypted note that spells out, ‘Get antidote from Magnificat.’” I got excited, realizing we could save Jo and the others—Gavin and me, working together. “She must have meant an antidote for this poisoning program!”

  “Hold on a minute,” he said. “Have you shown this stuff to anyone else?”

  “No,” I lied. No need to incriminate Hunter just yet.

  “What you found is very sensitive, very dangerous information, Maren. You need to be careful.”

  “I know,” I said. “But—”

  “But nothing,” he interrupted. “I need to go report in with my village. I’ll tell them what you told me, and see what they think is best. In the meantime, I want you to stay home. Don’t go anywhere.”

  “Where would I go?” I huffed. I wasn’t used to being bossed around, especially by someone who looked my age. I knew he was technically older than me, but still . . .

  I sulked until we pulled up to my grandparents’ house. He parked by the mailbox, and when he turned to me, his expression was unexpectedly soft. He leaned over, crossing the middle of the car and stopping just inches from my face. “If you don’t mind,” he whispered, his voice drawing me even closer, “I’d like to sit outside your window tonight.”

  I would have been less shocked if he said he wanted to make out with me. “Why?” I asked, holding my breath, hoping he would try to kiss me.

  He pulled away. “I just . . . I just want to make sure you’re safe . . . until we figure out what’s going on.”

  I raised my eyebrows at him.

  “What?” He feigned innocence.

  “You’re serious,” I answered. “You, Mr. I’m-Not-a-Babysitter, are volunteering to be my personal night watchman? What’s the catch?”

  “There is no catch.” He tried to look all business, but his eyes said he wasn’t thinking about business at all. There was a hot energy coming off him again—and it was pointed at me. He stammered, “It’s just . . . Well, you do have the information from your mum. Someone should at least protect that.”

  I pretended to be hurt. “What about me?”

  “I thought you didn’t need protecting,” he said.

  “I don’t,” I replied. After breaking my heart and leaving me without warning, he wasn’t getting an all-access roof pass without working for it.

  “Please,” he sighed. I was glad I was able to shake him up a little, since he seemed to have no problem messing with my emotions. “For once, can you just try to not be so difficult . . .”

  “That’s your idea of convincing me to let you sit outside my window all night? Some sweet-talker.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, they seemed bluer than ever before. “Maren,” he pleaded softly, “I would really like to make sure you’re safe tonight. Please.” He slid his strong hand over mine. The heat between us was so intense, my heart threatened to jump out of my chest. It was all I could do to sit still.

  “All right,” I exhaled. I didn’t dare move my hand. I didn’t dare move anything. I wanted so badly for him to kiss me, but he just sat there, staring at me. I couldn’t take my eyes off his beautiful lips. I wanted to dive into them. I’d never wanted to do anything as badly as I wanted to kiss him. But there was no way I was going to make the first move.

  Please, I silently willed him, just move your head the tiniest bit toward me. I’ll meet you in the middle. I want to kiss you. I want you to want me too!

  His gaze bore into me, but he sat completely motionless. I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to break the tension before my body turned traitor and I made a fool of myself.

  I slipped my hand from under his and swiveled to unlock the car door, turning away from the passion that threatened to suffocate me. I wasn’t going to give in that easily. Not if he wasn’t going to say something first.

  “You can sit up there if you want.” I shrugged. “But don’t go peeking in my room or anything.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said with a sly grin.

  Damn!

  I couldn’t sleep. The wind screamed around my attic room—an otherworldly wailing that spoke of demons and my mother’s death. Loose shingles rattled against each other with a concrete scraping that made my skin crawl. I imagined a corpse trying to climb out of its coffin. The gale tormented me, not just because I was scared, but because I knew Gavin was right outside, keeping watch on the roof.

  Thoughts of him consumed me. Can he be blown off? Is it too chilly? Do angels even get cold? I remembered the warmth of his chest and doubted it.

  To calm myself, I rubbed my hands over my new pajamas; I’d been wearing his shirt to bed every night since he’d left it. The fabric still held his scent: a delicious, heady smell like the first spring breeze of the season. I closed my eyes and tried to remember the wind as a gentle thing, not the invisible, deadly force that beat outside.

  Something banged overhead and then thumped away like a lop
sided coconut. What is going on out there? Did something happen? What if Anders came back for me? I bolted upright.

  Gavin was standing at the end of my bed. He put a finger to his lips, silencing the yelp that revved in my throat.

  “What are you doing in here?” I croaked.

  “Making sure you’re all right,” he whispered. “Your heart was beating a bit wildly there.” I was embarrassed, remembering he could hear it.

  “It’s the wind,” I confessed. “Kind of sounds like screaming. I’m not a fan.”

  “Och, the wind can’t hurt you.”

  “Says the guy who can fly,” I answered. “It’s not the wind as much as the things it carries: large tree trunks, flying cows, demons . . .”

  He shook his head. “We’ll be having none of those tonight.”

  “Can you maybe make the wind stop, then?” I hoped.

  “Sorry, I don’t control the weather.” He smiled, not helping my heart rate one bit.

  “What can you control?” I demanded.

  “Apparently, not my wardrobe,” he mused. “That’s my shirt you’re wearing!”

  I gathered the collar in one hand. “No, it’s not.”

  “Aye, it is. You pinched it!” His playful familiarity made my bones turn to liquid. I sunk into the mattress a bit.

  “If by ‘pinched’ you mean ‘stole,’ no, I didn’t,” I protested. “You left it here.”

  “So we’re agreed, it is mine.”

  I shrugged in response. I couldn’t believe he was in my room, in the dark. I was glad I had locked my bedroom door. No adult, no matter how laid back, would let a hot guy inside a girl’s room in the middle of the night. The idea of breaking everyone’s rules started my blood flowing again.

  “Now, young lady,” Gavin interrupted my fantasy. “You’ve got to get some sleep.”

  I found his old-fashioned terms terribly romantic. I didn’t want him to leave. “I can’t,” I assured him. “I’ve tried.”

  A shutter slammed against the side of the house, and I jumped. Between the storm outside and Gavin inside, I was wound up.

  “Shhhh, it’s all right,” he soothed. “The way that heart of yours is pounding, I can see why you’re having trouble falling asleep.” He took a few steps closer to the bed. “Is there anything I can do?” The things that came to my mind were a far cry from sleeping . . . “Did your mum have a special trick?” he asked.

  “My mom?” I faltered.

  “To help you fall back asleep,” he explained. The mention of my mom was as good as a cold shower. Guilt, loneliness, and grief bullied all other emotions away.

  Did Mom do something to help me sleep? If she did, why can’t I remember it? Am I that terrible of a daughter, or was she just too involved in her work?

  “She wasn’t really touchy-feely.” I blinked back tears.

  “Well, when I was a wee angel first on earth, and none too happy about it, one of the elder female angels used to stroke my hair to help calm me down,” he replied. “Worked every time. I could . . .” He motioned to me. “No funny business, of course. This is strictly professional.”

  I couldn’t suppress a giggle.

  “What?” His eyes widened in defense.

  “When you first told me you were an angel, and I said angels helped people sleep, you were all offended, and now, you’re actually . . .” I smiled in spite of myself.

  “I don’t have to.” He raised his hands.

  “No, please,” I said. “I . . . want you to.”

  He sat next to me, resting his back against the worn headboard. Instinctively, I laid my head on his shoulder. He cradled me into his arm. With his free hand, he caressed my temple with short, soft strokes. My body molded into his like we were two halves always meant to make a whole: my knee tucked against his thigh, my arm draped across his stomach, my cheek resting in the swell of his chest. Heaven.

  I willed myself to stay awake so I wouldn’t miss a minute of the divine closeness, but the warmth of his body, the rhythm of his heart, and the tender massaging hypnotized me. Serenity engulfed me and I slipped into the deepest, sweetest sleep of my short life.

  CHAPTER 21

  An angry buzzing rang in my ears. I opened my eyes and found I was alone in my bed. The first rays of the dawn were peeking from beneath my curtains, and the whole house was still. It was Sunday morning, but barely. I rolled over at the noise on my nightstand. My phone was vibrating its way to a seizure.

  I picked it up and tried to focus on the screen to see what time it was and who in the world would call me so early. I prayed the call had nothing to do with Jo.

  5:30 AM

  HUNTER

  She must be up with the nuns for disciplinary breakfast duty. Knowing Hunter, it wouldn’t be the first time . . .

  Before I could even say hello, Hunter started whispering frantically, “Maren! Is that you? You’ve got to help me. I’m in so much trouble!”

  The desperation in her voice kicked me awake. “What’s wrong?”

  “Everything!” she said. “Oh, Maren! He was such a nice guy, he was only trying to help me, and they killed him. They killed him! Then they came after me”—she started to sob—“and I ran to the first place I could find . . .”

  “Hunter, Hunter . . .” I tried to sound soothing while my body prickled with fear. She was freaking me out. Hunter was anything but a crybaby. “You’re talking too fast. I can’t understand you. Who’s ‘they’?”

  “The guard, the demons, and then these shadows. Everyone! They’re all after me!” Her crying escalated in passion but quieted in volume, as if she’d put her hand over her own mouth.

  “Where are you?” I asked.

  “In the church. It was down the street. They couldn’t follow me in.”

  Sanctuary. She had been chased by darkness, just like in my dream. I crept to the window and cracked it open. Gavin was sitting on the ledge of the roof, about ten feet away. I motioned for him to come back inside.

  “Slow down,” I said. “First, are you safe?” Gavin settled next to me on the window seat. I tilted the phone so he could hear too.

  “I think so; as long as I stay inside, anyway. But you’ve got to help me, Maren! I’ve no one else to call!”

  “Of course,” I answered, unsure of exactly what I could do. “But what happened? Start at the beginning. And calm down. You’re fine. You’re going to be fine.”

  She took a deep breath and tried to stop crying. She managed, mostly, but little wheezy hiccups still snuck into each sentence.

  “I knew I shouldn’t have gone—hh-huh-hh,” she said, “but I wanted so badly to prove I was good enough for the Abbey—hh-huh-hh—and they must have seen me looking at the drawings, because—hh-huh-hh . . .”

  “What drawings?” I interrupted.

  “The ones from your mom’s—hh-huh-hh—book,” she exhaled.

  Gavin’s look reminded me I’d sworn I hadn’t shown anyone. I scrunched up my face into a contrite expression and mouthed the word Sorry. I’d have to tell him about Hunter and why I’d sent her the secret pictures; how she was an Abbey orphan too, and that I’d wanted to help her land her dream job.

  “I recognized one of the buildings, so I decided to go check it out,” she continued. “The square castle with the turrets. It’s the Tower—hh-huh-hh—of London.”

  Even though I didn’t know what it looked like, I did know what the Tower of London was: the infamous fortress where prisoners like Henry VIII’s wives were kept before they were beheaded.

  I instantly regretted not telling Hunter I’d been to one of the demon strongholds myself and had barely gotten out alive. I thought about Jo in her hospital bed, her body wracked with poison. Why didn’t I warn Hunter when I’d had the chance? My stomach turned sour. It was all my fault. I brought this evil to Britain with me, thanks to my mom’s journal, and now two of my friends were in danger of dying at the hands of demons. I had to do something.

  “Maren? Are you there?” Hunter asked, jol
ting me out of my thoughts.

  “Yes, Tower of London. So what happened?”

  Hunter took a deep breath. “This terribly ugly guard started bothering me, pushing me on the shoulder, and telling me I was in trouble. He tried to take my phone away, and this nice bloke—this tourist, I think—he came to my defense. He was really lovely, Maren, not as handsome as you said Gavin is, but very good—”

  “Okay, I get it. Then what?” I interrupted, now mortified that Gavin was listening in. I leaned away from him a bit, but he followed, moving closer to me. I was pretty sure I saw him smile out of the corner of my eye.

  “Then this other guard came—he must have been a superior or something. He was amazingly good looking too, but he got into a fight with the tourist, and then he . . .” She started crying again.

  “He what, Hunter? It’s okay. It’s not your fault.” It’s my fault.

  “Th-th- they started swinging at each other,” she gasped, “an-and the new guard punched th-the guy in the face, and his n-n-neck snapped.” She was back to sobbing.

  “Noooo!” I breathed.

  “Yes, I swear. He killed the guy. In one blow. And then it was absolute chaos. The guy’s friends all ran off, the guards tried to grab me, and I just ran. It was horrible. It was like a call went out to every demon in the country, and they came after me. They were like shadows, pushing and tripping me. I fell and bashed my knee.” Just like in my dream. “I even lost my necklace, Maren,” Hunter wailed, “the one from my mum. But I just kept running. I must have run a mile when I saw the church dome all lit up. They chased me all the way. I barely made it in.”

  “How are you still there?” I asked. “It’s five thirty in the morning. Did they give you permission to stay overnight?”

  “No, I hid until all the visitors left, and I’ve been hiding ever since. I could live in this place for a year and no one would find me,” she said. “Crap! My phone’s about to die. It took me forever to find a signal in here . . . You have to come get me! I can’t even step outside—they’re out there waiting for me. I can hear them!”