Courtney Moulton - Angelfire 01 - Angelfire

by Courtney Allison Moulton

  She frowned. "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry your father and I were arguing. I'm so sorry you heard that."

  "I mean like growling, like a huge dog or a bear."

  Mom gave me an odd look, gauging what I had just said. Heat rushed into my cheeks as I realized how stupid I'd just sounded. "It wasn't another nightmare?"

  "No, I was awake."

  She sighed and her lips tightened. "Maybe it was a couple of dogs outside fighting? I didn't hear anything. You wouldn't hear strange noises if you shut your window at night."

  "I guess you're right." The consensus was official: it was just a dream and I was a lunatic.

  As soon as I got to my locker, I was greeted by Landon, who carried a vase of roses. My jaw dropped to the floor.

  "Are you serious?" I asked, my gaze spil ing over the lush bouquet.

  "Happy birthday, El ie." He kissed my cheek. Any second I would implode from the sweetness.

  He handed the vase to me and I took it. "I don't want your birthday to suck, even though it's a sad day and al . I hope this makes it better."

  I wrapped my free arm around his shoulders and hugged him. "Thank you so much, Landon! You are too good to me. This wil definitely make my day rock."

  His smile widened. "I have to run to class, but I'm real y glad you're happy. See you later."

  "Bye!" I had to remove a pile of old papers from the bottom of my locker to safely make room for the vase. I'd known Landon for a long time, but he had never given me flowers before. What a dol . I was practical y dancing on my way to homeroom.

  Classes went just as I'd predicted they would. During morning announcements the principal gave a long speech about Mr. Meyer over the intercom, and then my homeroom teacher, Mrs. Wright, gave another. The first four periods of the day were very much the same. Teachers said their bit, did very little lecturing, and gave no homework. My math test had been postponed until the fol owing Monday, which was fine with me since I had no desire to take a test on my birthday. During third-period shop class, which I swear I only was taking only to boost my GPA, we did nothing but sit at our tables and discuss the sanding projects for the fol owing week. I assumed getting mushy would be too much for poor Mr. Gray to handle. When lunchtime came around, I met up with my friends. We al made an effort to have a decently normal lunch. Even an idiot could see how loved Mr. Meyer had been.

  Kate, Landon, and I sat in our usual place in the righthand corner by the windows looking out into the courtyard. Evan, Rachel, and Chris joined us, and to my surprise and happiness, everyone avoided the subject of Mr. Meyer's murder. When I finished my lunch, I headed to the bathroom for a quick break.

  As I washed my hands in the sink, something made me stop and take a second look in the mirror. My throat squeezed with fear as I stared at the right side of my face. Black things--spidery, threadlike lines--were creeping from my scalp and across my cheek and around my right eye, interlacing with one another. Fear spun into revulsion as I rubbed my cheek hard, trying to smear the blackness away. The lines kept coming, getting longer and covering more and more of my face. I rubbed, but I couldn't feel them on my skin. Were they in my skin?

  Half crying, half scared out of my mind, I grabbed a handful of paper towels and wet them under the running water. I rubbed my face vigorously with the wet towels, but when I lowered them, the lines were stil there and my eyes had turned solid white like cue bal s. I dropped the towels and backed away from the mirror until my back hit the solid frame of the toilet stal s. I covered my face with both of my hands, my fingers weaving through my hair, pul ing it in desperation. When I looked back up, I saw nothing on my face in the mirror but the streaks of tears. No black things. No darkness. They were gone. My eyes were normal again.

  I splashed my face with cold water to dul the redness on my face and took several long, slow breaths to steady my nerves. When I felt confident enough to return to the cafeteria, I burst through the bathroom door, determined to forget what had just happened to me. As I rounded the corner, I turned right into Wil .

  "Oh God!" I cried out, fighting the urge to smack him. "You scared the crap out of me! What are you doing at my school?

  I thought you didn't go here." I nervously tugged my bag higher on my shoulder and took a deep breath. That was when I noticed that the black, spiraling tattoos al up and down his muscled arm were plainly visible--the exact same tattoos he'd worn in my dream. I stared at the strange symbols, and the winding blackness reminded me of the blackness spreading on my face moments before. But this was different. His tattoos were beautiful, frighteningly so, and unearthly. They wound and danced across his skin as if they were proud and defiant. I couldn't take my eyes off them. He ignored my question. "Are you al right?"

  Had he heard my crying? How did he know? Wresting my gaze away from his tattoos, I dismissed my thoughts and sternly asserted, "I'm fine."

  "I need to talk to you." He wasn't smiling. In fact he didn't look cheerful at al , and his questioning gaze fel on my stil red cheek. I self-consciously covered it with my palm.

  "About what? I have to get back to lunch." I started to walk around him, but he sidestepped in front of me, blocking my path. After what had just happened in the bathroom, I was not in the mood to deal with any more craziness.

  "We need to talk about last night."

  My stomach clenched, and the fear I had felt moments before came raging back into my body. "I don't know what you're talking about. I was home last night. There's nothing we need to--"

  "Don't you remember?" He leaned into me, his green eyes wide and tearing into my hazel ones. He was so close that he was al I could feel, see, and smel . My senses were drowning in him.

  "Remember what?" It was just a dream--it had to be. What happened could not have been real. I'd imagined it, just like I'd imagined the black spiderwebs on my face. He took my arm and pul ed me gently against the lockers when a couple students walked by. "The reaper? The one you kil ed?" he asked in a harsh whisper.

  "The what? What the hel are you on, Wil ?" I tried to pul myself away, but he held me tighter. "Look, I'm not into that stuff, whatever it is, so--"

  "Enough of this," he growled, leaning closer to me. "You need to accept what happened last night and what you are, no matter how much you don't want to. Pretending that it was just a dream or that I'm insane isn't going to help you. It'l only make things worse."

  "I don't know what you're talking about!" I snarled through gritted teeth. I was desperate to keep my anger from causing more tears.

  Wil took a breath and spoke his next words slowly. "Look, I feel awful and I don't want to scare you--"

  "Wel , you're doing a damn good job of it!"

  "Just listen to me for a minute and I'l leave. Okay?"

  I studied his face. He was real y serious about this. I might as wel humor him. "Fine."

  He took another deep breath. He spoke slowly, but with an intensity that frightened me even more. "What you saw--

  what you fought--last night was a reaper. Forget the scythewielding skeletons in long robes. This is real. Most don't need scythes, because they have teeth and claws for weapons. They eat you. They eat your flesh and your blood, and then they drag your soul to Hel . Your teacher, Frank Meyer, was kil ed and eaten by the same one you kil ed last night. You are the Preliator, the only mortal in the world with the power to fight them. And I am your Guardian, your bodyguard, sworn to protect and defend you. And you are making my job excruciatingly difficult."

  I stared at him for a few moments, unable to decide how to respond. I settled for the easy thing. "You're completely out of your mind."

  "Damn it!" Wil threw his hands up. "This is ridiculous. I don't understand why you don't remember. I triggered your power last night. You woke and entered the Grim on your own and kil ed the reaper. Why don't you remember now?" He stepped away from me and clamped his hand over the top of his head. His voice was rapid and worried. "Maybe because it's been so long. Before, it was always only eighteen years between cycles. Your s
oul has been asleep too long."

  I backed away, my hand crawling along the wal , unable to make sense of anything he said. Then I noticed the metal chain around his neck, tucked into his shirt. An image flashed across my mind of something gleaming, dangling--a plus sign. It was like deja vu, a memory I didn't remember ever having, if that made any sense at al .

  "And if you're wondering where your hoodie went, check your wastebasket. Sorry it was ruined."

  "Ruined?"

  "Is there a problem, Miss Monroe?"

  I turned around to see one of the assistant principals, Mr. Abbot, standing behind me, looking from me to Wil .

  "Who is this young man?" Mr. Abbot asked, clearly seeing that Wil was not a high school student. His accusing gaze lingered on the tattoos covering Wil 's arm. To him, the tattoos must have been a sure sign of delinquency.

  "A friend," Wil said. "I stopped by to bring some of El ie's homework she had forgotten at my house."

  Mr. Abbot looked questioningly at me. "Is this true?"

  I nodded. "Yes, sir. It's okay." I didn't know why I was covering for him. Maybe his craziness had rubbed off on me like a bad cold, or something worse.

  He turned to Wil . "Young man, I'm going to have to ask you to leave campus. You've done El ie a good service by bringing her homework. However, as you are not a student and have not signed for a visitor's pass, you'l need to be on your way."

  Wil nodded. "That's fine. I'l say my good-byes and go."

  He stared intently at Mr. Abbot, refusing to budge. Strangely, my assistant principal made a peculiar face before he turned and left. "El ie, wil you talk to me after school?" Wil asked me.

  "No way," I said, turning my back to him.

  He stepped around me so that we were face--to-face. "If you don't, then you won't know how to cal your swords and you won't be able to defend yourself."

  I felt a shiver crawl up my spine as his eyes bored into mine, locking our gazes, his voice low and downright invasive. "Was that a threat?" I asked cautiously. His expression gave nothing away. "They'l come for you."

  That shiver turned into a brutal stab of fear straight into my gut. My pulse quickened and I pursed my lips together when I felt heat rushing into my face.

  "Now that I've woken your powers, you're fair game to the reapers. You're at your most vulnerable, and this is when they'l strike."

  I took a deep breath. "If you don't leave me alone, I'm going to scream for security and they're going to cal the cops."

  He watched me for a few moments. His jaw was clenched tightly and he sucked in his upper lip in frustration. "It takes a while for your memory to return sometimes, but it's never been this bad before. I know you're having the nightmares. You've always had them when you're ready to face who you are. Of course, the last time I saw you--the real you--wel , that was over forty years ago. You've been gone for twentyeight years."

  My throat tightened.

  He flashed me that astonishing smile, only this time it held something different, something secretive. "Happy birthday, by the way. I'm sorry I didn't say that last night, but I have a gift for you. You passed out before I could give it to you."

  Wil pul ed something out of his pocket and held out his hand. On his palm lay a pendant shaped like a pair of white wings hanging on a gold chain. The necklace was gorgeous, ethereal, the wings so brightly white that they shimmered and appeared to glow in the light. When I blinked, the glow was gone.

  "What is this?" I asked, marveling at the winged pendant.

  "It's always been yours," he said, lifting my hand and placing the necklace on my palm. "Since before I knew you. It never tarnishes or fades. Always the same. Always permanent even when fate takes so much away." He gently closed my fingers around the pendant, his warm hands lingering a moment too long. "I'l talk to you soon."

  Wil turned and left. I opened my hand to stare at the beautiful necklace. Brushing my fingers across the wings, I couldn't decide what it was made of. The pendant's surface was smooth and luminous, as if it were made of mother-ofpearl, but something more precious than that. Its beauty lul ed me, and I slipped into a strange, nostalgic trance; and the whispers of memories that couldn't have belonged to me surfaced in my mind. Distant images of Wil 's face, of reapers lurking in the dark, of me running through al eys and forests, of the necklace in my hands. Things I shouldn't have remembered but did.

  I shook my head and stuffed the necklace into my purse. Over forty years? I fel back against the lockers tiredly and rubbed my face with both hands. Why wouldn't Wil just leave me alone? He seemed to firmly believe that I was some kind of superhero, and that had to be the craziest thing I'd ever heard. As if that wasn't enough, he said he'd talk to me soon. Although I knew little about Wil , I knew for a fact that was a promise.

  I went back to lunch with my friends and tried to forget about him, but I couldn't. Fourth period came and went without incident other than Kate distracting me from the discussion of the week's assignment. Something about dress-shopping plans for Saturday's party outfits. Thankful y, that was the only other class I had with Kate, so I was able to concentrate a little more during my other classes. Fifth period European history was mildly more interesting because I actual y liked history. It was something I got easily, unlike economics.

  As I sat at my table, ignoring my tablemate who absently picked at his face, I found myself thinking about the night before. I tried to remember the horrible creature Wil had cal ed a reaper. The snarling, dead-eyed monster stared out at me from my memories, its enormous talons digging into the earth, ready to leap. Why would I dream about such awful things? I rubbed my arms, recal ing the sensation of its fur brushing against my skin. Never had any nightmare felt so real, in my mind, on my skin, and in my heart.

  I decided to imagine for a moment that Wil had been tel ing the truth. If I were indeed what he claimed, the Preliator, then those monsters, the reapers, were real. What did he mean when he said I'd been gone twenty-eight years?

  I was so confused. Just trying to make sense of Wil 's claims was enough to drive me crazy.

  I couldn't get past Wil 's surprise that I couldn't remember anything. Of course, nothing happened--it was just a bad dream, and Wil was just nuts. But how could he know so many details from my nightmare? He had even mentioned the "grim" again, whatever that was. And his tattoos . . . I had not seen those when I met him the previous afternoon. The first time I saw them was in my dream.

  Wil had touched me in my dream the night before and I suddenly had become someone different, someone powerful, someone very frightening. That scared me, but I was stil drawn to the idea. I pul ed the winged necklace out of my purse and studied the delicate edges and intricate etchings. Remember. I thought hard, shutting my eyes tightly and closing my fingers around my pendant. Remember, remember. What was I supposed to remember? I stared down at my history notes. If only my own history were written on those pages instead of Charlemagne's.

  The events from the night before replayed over and over in my mind like a horror movie: the reaper stalking through the dark, charging at me as I swung those strange, flaming, sickle-shaped swords. So much blood . . .

  And then my eyes went out of focus. I squeezed them shut and opened them again, turning my face away from the harsh light of the classroom to stare at the floor. The temperature plummeted, and I shivered and rubbed my arms. The floor blurred and my desk and al the faces around me vanished, leaving me alone in the dark and kneeling on a snowy ground. I stood and looked around me, and I saw the dense, shadowed forest closing in on me and the icy, unyielding wind on my face.

  My eyes fell to the trail of blood dotting the snow in front of me as I moved through the Grim. I knew the reaper couldn't be far. He had taken nearly a hundred lives already in the poor region of Le Gevaudan in southern France. The dragoons sent by the French king had found nothing and left an endless trail of innocent wolf carcasses in their wake. The lupine reaper was smarter and hungrier than any of them, and that made him far more dang
erous. They couldn't hunt something that they couldn't see and that was smarter than them.

  I could suddenly feel it--the tingle of the darkest power crawling across my flesh, rolling through the earth beneath the snow.

  Something dark flashed to my right. Then it flashed to my left. He was circling me.

  I hated when they hunted me back. I held my swords closely. The flames didn't melt the snow around me. Angelfire only ever burned evil and left everything else untouched.

  Footsteps crunched the snow in front of me. The reaper had finally decided to show himself. He stepped closer, allowing me to get a better look at him. He gnashed his teeth with the promise of death, and his black fur glistened with a dark, lurid liquid. Blood. I didn't know what, or who, it belonged to.

  "You are a fool for hunting me, Preliator," he growled through wolflike jaws, jaws that should never have been able to speak human words. "This is my territory. The souls in this land will be mine. You will meet your end in this forest."

  I scoffed and tightened my grip on both helves. "I may, but before I die, I'll make sure you don't leave this forest alive either. That is the price you pay for taking so much blood."

  The reaper lifted his head, his black eyes watching me curiously. "And what price do you pay? For all the blood you've spilt?"

  "This is my duty."

  He ignored me. "Loneliness, I suspect." His voice was so deep, it hurt my ears trying to hear him.

  "Stop trying to get into my mind and just fight me, Holger."

  He lowered his head, and his muzzle formed a strange wolfish smile. His eyes were nearly invisible against his black fur, revealed only by the angelfire cast across their glossy surfaces. "You know my name."

  "I know a lot more about you than that."

  "Does that knowledge make you fear me?" he asked, frighteningly hopeful. He was old--older and more powerful than most of the reapers I had fought in recent years. Three hundred years was certainly something to boast about.

  "That would make you happy, wouldn't it?"

  "Yes, yes it would," Holger said, the words rolling over his giant tongue. "Where is your Guardian, Preliator?"