by Brian Fuller
Helo pitied Robbie. He’d been on a couple of those kinds of dates in high school too. “I’m glad Robbie behaved himself. Thanks for today. I had a great time.”
“Me too,” she said. “We could have been doing this kind of stuff for six months. Just saying. Then maybe . . .” she finished dreamily.
“What?”
“Never mind,” she said cryptically. “Would you mind trying the meditation with me?”
“Sure,” he said. It was a great idea. Anything to keep their minds off the impending dawn.
They sat up and faced each other, and she put her hands in his. Maybe it was the Vexus Avadan had poured into him, but getting to the image took longer than usual. Now that he knew what the problem was, it hit him hard: the spheres seemed destined to spin opposite each other, forever separated in their orbits. No amount of thinking or concentration or exerting his will could get his sphere to speed up or slow down independently of hers.
Inside the meditative bond, he could sense her frustration, her attempts to do what he was doing. But the spheres resisted every persuasion, every attempt to hasten or delay them. It was maddening, even fatiguing. A mental and emotional exhaustion settled in on him like a virus, dragging him down, sapping his strength.
Then the sprinklers hit them.
Melody stood up and spun around, taking a sprinkler jet to the gut. She stumbled back and ended up in his lap. He laughed and used his good arm to pull her into him. The clouds had lightened a little, and his mirth died. Dawn was coming.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get away from the machine-gun nest.”
She stood and pulled him up, face sad, frustrated. “It’s hopeless. There’s no time.”
“There’s more time,” he said, angling for a little copse of trees just off the green. “Let’s not give up.”
And as soon as he said it, something clicked in his head.
Give up.
That’s what the scene in the meditation wanted them to do. To throw in the towel. To get tired. To surrender. And that was it! Surrender. Everything that orbited something else was continually trying to escape the gravity of the thing that imprisoned it. But why would one want to escape the gravity of light and joy? Orbiting them would always leave one half of life dark, always keep love within view but at a distance.
“Come on,” he said.
“What is it?” she said, face alarmed. “Your face . . . it’s . . . it’s glowing.”
They got into the copse, and he pulled her down in front of him and assumed the lotus position. She pressed her palms into his, and he could feel her, that warm, alive knowing of another he had enjoyed for a brief time with Aclima.
She inhaled sharply, eyes wide.
“I know,” he said. She was tearing up. Trembling. “We have to do this now, Melody. Come on.”
He found the vision easily, but it took a while for Melody’s sphere to appear. To him, the sun blazed more brightly and more invitingly than ever before, the gravity of its call overwhelming. Its invitation had been there the whole time. There was no word for it. It was a mother yelling in the woods for a lost child to come home. It was a lover waiting at the window for the beloved’s car to pull into the driveway. It was a father watching a long way off for the prodigal to come home.
Now that he knew what to do, it came easily. No escape. No pulling against gravity. No more spinning in circles. Surrender. Complete surrender. His sphere tumbled out of the circular path it had long traversed, half bathed in light, a path that was an unending circle to nowhere. The sphere fell, trailing fire, around and around, faster and faster. His soul burned. His mind lit up. His heart hammered, pumping light. The sphere crashed into the sun.
And then he stood in a world of white, like the White Room, but in a sea of shifting white flame. He was naked, his body alight with an aura only real angels possessed. There was peace here, but not yet for him, a restless nagging biting at him. He was incomplete. She was missing. But a calm assurance rested on his mind. Melody was smart, especially about symbolism. If he had understood, then she—
And she was there. And then there was peace. And then there was joy. There was only light between them.
She embraced him, and he her.
Rapture.
Chapter 36
Billy Wickett
Rapture almost consumed him, almost burned him to the point of annihilation. As strong as Ash Angel bodies were, the glory of Rapture with Melody in his arms—in his heart—was about all his immortal frame could take. It was joy. It was light. It filled him to the brim. Virtus crackled inside of him, threatening to explode into the world around him.
His vision took a moment to fade from white, but when it did, he found himself in what looked like an empty, rusty bank vault lit by a single recessed light. But what blew his mind was that Melody was with him, in the flesh. Her eyes burned with Virtus, like she was about to zap him with it.
“Are my eyes doing the glowy thing like yours?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“That’s fun.” She threw herself at him and kissed him for everything she was worth. Now that he could feel her, really feel her, it was a moment of complete joy, of flesh and spirit. One he would never forget. Her passion was infectious, a virus he hoped to never be cured of.
But this was enemy territory. And there was this whole thing where she had somehow heart traveled with him. As difficult as it was, getting lost in Melody would have to wait. Six months. He could have been enjoying this for six months. He was more disappointed than Cassandra and Dolorem put together.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” he said.
She put her forehead on his. “Work, work, work,” she teased. “Is that the way it’s always going to be with you?”
“Not always,” he said, “but as far as romantic getaways go . . .”
“. . . this is not the best.” Melody sighed. “You’re right. Where are we?”
Then the whole room lurched, throwing them against each other on the back wall.
She grinned saucily. “I thought you said we needed to work.”
The cell lurched again. They were moving. The lurches were gears shifting. This was a mobile prison cell. At least Avadan didn’t have them tumbling in a cement mixer. Maybe they were in a delivery truck or the back of a semi.
“Help me look around,” he said. “Maybe we can bust out of here. He wasn’t expecting two Ash Angels.”
The solid metal prison Avadan had trapped them in was unremarkable save for two holes about the diameter of a quarter in the ceiling, a small drain in the floor, and what was probably a small speaker high on the wall behind a thick grate. Helo breathed in to smell rust and mildew. This wasn’t just a prison. It was a tank. Avadan could drown them or put them up to their necks in water. They really needed to get out.
He told Melody his suspicions.
“I think you’re right,” she said. “You know what else? This is on a semi. I can tell by the way the gears shift. I grew up in one of these.” She ran her hands along the wall, stepping out the distance. “This can we’re in is about twelve feet long. If this is a standard forty-eight-foot trailer, that means there’s plenty of space for this room we’re in and a tank of water that could fill it. Still, it would be heavy. I mean, this metal box has to weigh a bunch, and to fill this with water? It would take another tank about this size, which would be, let’s see . . . twelve long, seven wide, and twelve tall . . . about ten thousand more pounds for the water, not to mention the other equipment. This has got to be close to an overweight load. Probably not legal on the axle weights, either. Tires are probably stressed.”
Suddenly his pop singer had turned into a Department of Transportation official. “Who are you?”
She smiled. “I was homeschooled in a truck, remember? This load is heavy and probably unbalanced. I’m thinking if we combined our Strength and started bashing the sides we could throw the trailer off, maybe tip it or cause tire failure. With this much weight, i
t will take a lot of force to budge it.”
“It’s a good idea,” he said. “I knew there was a reason I liked you. It’s not going to be good on our bodies.”
The speaker crackled. “Now, before you go and do that, let good old Billy give you another path through this corn maze we all find ourselves in.” It was the same practiced drawl Avadan had used back in the casino’s parking garage. Was he driving the truck? Or was this one of his Shedim?
“Billy?” Helo said. “Is this Avadan?”
“I’m Billy Wickett,” he said. “Or the artist formerly known as Avadan. I’m just a small-town kid from Nebraska driving truck to scrape by so I can take care of my poor mother with cancer. Just waiting for someone to discover my talent and good looks. Make me a star.”
Melody raised her eyebrows.
“Okay . . .” Helo said. Would the craziness never end?
“So how are there two of you?” Billy asked. “I threw one lonely heart back there. Some new trick? You stuff one heart in another turducken style? Not going to answer, huh? Well, I suppose I can’t blame you. So, Helo, from the um . . . frivolity . . . earlier, I suspect you like this lovely lady. She is mighty fine. Slender as a cornstalk.”
Helo suspected there was a camera in the speaker grate, so he stuck his hand in front of it to deny Avadan a view of Melody’s naked body.
“Cut the crap, Avadan,” Helo said. “What do you want?”
Water began to pour from the two holes in the ceiling, jetting downward.
“If the water gets too high, we won’t be able to get any momentum against the wall,” Helo warned.
He and Melody backed up to one side, flared their Strength, and slammed into the side of the prison. The water sloshed a little as the trailer rocked ever so slightly.
“Again!” Helo said.
They beat against the wall over and over, the trailer rocking a little but not enough to tip it. Then the water was up to their waists. Too much resistance. After another minute it rose to their armpits, setting their hearts to beating and robbing them of their Bestowals.
“That’s better,” Billy said over the speaker. “Now listen up, y’all. I’ve got a deal for you—somethin’ I think even you’ll have a hard time turning down. So here’s my question: you want to kill a bunch of Dreads?”
“Yeah, Avadan,” Helo said. “We want to kill Dreads. I can think of one in particular.”
“How about you, lovely lady?” Billy said.
“Yes,” Melody answered.
“Well, that’s just great, I tell ya,” Billy said. Helo rolled his eyes. If he heard Avadan say “yee-haw” at any point, Helo swore his head would explode.
“What do you want?” Helo asked.
The truck hit a nasty bump, and the tank creaked and sloshed. “Sorry ’bout that, folks!” Billy said. “I either hit a big pothole or a Smart car. Not sure which. Anyway, as you know, I have some pull with the Dreads, and I’m interested in downsizing. So you help me with a little theatrical production—just a few minutes of your time, mind you—and I will help you rid the world of its Dreads. It’ll be more fun than stomping cockroaches in high heels.”
Helo looked at Melody, whose face had the same what-the-hell expression as his. “Why would you do that?”
“That’s none of your beeswax, mister,” he said. “All you have to do to get this once in a lifetime opportunity is play a couple of little kids for a while. That’s it. I know, I know. You think it’s a trick. But it’s not. No normals will get hurt. Just a little production for Billy Wickett’s coming-out party.”
“We’re not going to help you do anything,” Helo said.
“Ah, well,” Billy said. “I guess I’ll have to sweeten the deal.”
The water sprayed out of the holes in the ceiling again, and in a few minutes they had to tread water. It kept rising.
“How’s my deal sound now?” Avadan said. “In a few minutes there won’t be any more deal, just drowned Ash Angels going down the drain. Not for the first time, I might add.”
Their heads banged against the tank’s ceiling. Still, the water kept coming.
“Helo,” Melody said, face panicked and sad.
He couldn’t let her go out like this. He faced the speaker. “You promise?”
The water stopped.
“Promise what, Helo?” Billy asked.
“No normals get hurt.”
“Absa-positutely, partner!”
Helo hated him. “We’ll do it.”
“Great!”
The water level lowered, a whirring pump sucking it out the drain in the bottom of the floor until it was about waist level, their Ash Angel numbness returning. Helo closed his eyes and breathed out. That was close.
“So here’s the what’s what,” Billy said. “I need you two to morph into a couple of kids. I was only expecting Helo, but a little girl in the mix will make this all the more powerful. So, Helo, let’s have you be an eight-year-old, and the lovely lady will be your six-year-old sister. Go ahead and get that done, then I’ll tell you what’s next.”
They did as Avadan asked. Melody was a cute kid, though her eyes cut like a knife. Helo found the morph easy again. He shagged his hair like it used to be at that age and added a few freckles across his nose.
“We’re done,” he said.
“Just dandy!” Avadan said. Then his voice switched out of Billy mode and back to what Helo was used to hearing. “Now, just as a precaution, I need you to expend your Virtus. All of it. I warn you that I have done studies and I know how long it takes to completely drain an Ash Angel of Virtus, with the given variances between people. I’m guessing you don’t know how long it takes, so it’ll be pretty easy for me to tell if you hold back. And you both can Hallow, I believe.”
Helo’s mind ran in circles. With being Angel Born and with whatever Virtus he and Melody had been given during their meditation, they had more energy than most Ash Angels. Still, he had no idea how long he would have to Hallow before Avadan would find it convincing, and after seeing all the books filled with Avadan’s research, he absolutely believed the Loremaster knew how long it would take. But Avadan wouldn’t be able to tell he was Hallowing from a camera feed. Divine auras and energy didn’t show up on video.
“You first, Helo,” Avadan said. “Hallow from the back of the truck toward the front until I tell you to stop. Then hold it until your Virtus is expended. Any tricks and I turn the water back on and make a little ash soup. And go!”
So that’s how he could tell. He would wait until he felt the hallow. Shaking his head, Helo complied, letting the hallow stretch forward until Avadan barked over the speaker to stop. Helo didn’t know how long it took, but it was a good while before the energy ran out, leaving him drained.
“Good!” Avadan said. “That’s the best time I’ve seen. The lady’s next.”
Melody frowned and let the hallow flow until Avadan told her to quit extending it. Helo put his arm around her, and it did feel a bit like comforting his little sister. She leaned into him, and after a long while it was over.
“The little lady wins!” The Billy voice was back. “That’s a new state record! Got you by a full thirty seconds, Helo. Better luck next time, cowboy. Now, we’ve got a ways to go before we get to our destination. Please enjoy the complimentary music—Billy Wickett’s demo tapes!”
Helo could hardly believe it, but sure enough, Billy’s dulcet tones poured through the speaker. It was an entire country album. And while Helo wasn’t into country, he had to admit Avadan had skills.
“What’s the verdict?” Helo whispered to Melody.
“He’s really good,” Melody whispered back as if sickened by the thought. “Even over the crappy speaker. Great vocal range. Great expression and phrasing. And the lyrics and music, well, they’re typical but with a unique flavor. This is so . . . bizarre. A Loremaster recording a country-music album?”
“He’s insane.”
“Yeah,” Melody said. “I get that. But he’s got
all this immense power. He could wreak devastation like the world has never seen. Strike fear into the hearts of the world. Rule over creatures of evil with an iron hand. But he’s using all of this immense power to do what? Become a country-music star? Why?”
Helo shrugged. “Maybe country music is more evil than people think.”
She punched him in the arm. “This is serious.”
“We’ll get him,” Helo whispered. “Sooner or later.”
The demo tape eventually ran out, and Avadan—apparently proud of it—let it run a few more times before shutting it off for good. For hours Helo and Melody sloshed around, making small talk. The truck stopped at some point, and not long after that, the water drained all the way out of the holding tank.
The vault-like door swung open, and Avadan as Billy and a Sheid accompanying him morphed as a bearded hipster appeared in the doorway. Behind them the truck’s trailer door was shut, but the sound of a couple cars passing filtered into the tank.
“Almost showtime,” Billy said, his handsome face smiling like a million bucks, though the feeling that came with him and the evil spirit jutting out of his back ruined the benevolent famous-guy effect.
The Sheid threw them towels and clothes. Melody got a hand-me-down pink dress with a few stains on it, and Helo pulled on a pair of jeans with holes in the knees and a white T-shirt that appeared to have barely survived a red-and-blue popsicle massacre.
Billy clasped his hands together and then extended them with glee. “Perfect! The cameras will love you. Just a few more minutes now. Hold tight.”
The tank door closed, and Melody took Helo’s hand. “The cameras? This is a bad idea. Maybe we should have let ourselves be killed.”
“No,” Helo said. “If there’s a chance we can survive this, we take it. You and I are the best chance for ending this war once and for all.”
In a few minutes, Billy and Hipster were back. Billy looked them over and then turned to the Sheid. “Break her arm and smash his nose. Helo, if you could bleed for me. And morph a few bruises on your face and chest.”