Angel

by L. A. Weatherly

Page 69

 

  Willow slipped slightly. He steadied her arm with his, and they kept climbing. She had gone silent, her face pale but resolute. Finally they reached a small, rocky ledge, with the cabin and the valley below it in clear view, looking almost toylike. And there was the helicopter — sleek and black, swinging in the air as it touched down near the truck.

  “Oh, no,” whispered Willow.

  “Get down,” said Alex quickly. Ignoring the small jabs of rocks against his chest, he lay flat on the ground and sighted along the rifle, peering through the telescopic lens. Willow lay beside him, her eyes fixed fearfully on the scene below.

  The helicopter snapped into sharp focus. It was unmarked, with tinted windows. As its blades slowed, a man and a woman climbed out. The woman had shoulder-length brown hair and wore gray pants and a fitted jacket; the man was blond, in jeans and a bulky fisherman’s sweater. Closing his eyes, Alex moved through his chakras, scanning to check out the pair’s energies. They were too far away for him to sense, but when he opened his eyes again, he could see their auras clearly through the lens: the man was an angel; the woman, human. As Alex watched, they started climbing up the deer path toward the cabin. The woman was carrying a briefcase.

  “What can you see?” asked Willow in a low voice.

  Tersely, he told her. The man and woman had reached the cabin now; they knocked on the door and then looked inside. Knocked on the door. Alex stared through the lens, frowning. Why were they bothering with being polite? They must know that their helicopter had been heard; he’d expect them to go in with all guns blazing. In fact, if they were Church of Angels, he’d expect a small army, not these two. Who the hell were they?

  As he watched, the woman took a small handheld amplifier from her jacket. Looking up at the mountains around her, she spoke into it; her voice echoed around them. “Alex Kylar and Willow Fields. Special Agents Kinney and Anderson here, CIA. ”

  Alex’s shoulders tightened with surprise. “They must be from Project Angel,” he muttered to Willow. Did the woman have angel burn, or was she unaware that her colleague was one of the enemy?

  Down below, the female agent was still staring upward, turning slightly as she spoke. Her next words rocked him: “We’re aware that you can read auras. Special Agent Anderson is an angel; he’s on our side. It’s imperative that we speak to you. ”

  Beside him, Willow stifled a gasp. “Alex, can that be true?” she whispered.

  An angel, on their side? Alex took his eye away from the lens and shook his head. “I doubt it. It’s exactly what I’d expect them to say, to lure us down there. ”

  Willow hesitated. “If I got closer, I could try checking them out psychically. ”

  At first he thought she meant climbing down again, and then he realized. “He’s an angel; he’d see you. ”

  “Yes, but I don’t think he could hurt me. I’m not like them — my life force is in my human form, not my angel one. It might be the only way we can find out. ”

  Alex didn’t like the idea, but he knew she was right. “Yeah, OK,” he said finally. “Be careful. ” He put his eye back to the lens; if Willow’s theory was wrong and her angel looked like it was in danger from either of those two, they’d regret it.

  Willow shut her eyes, going very still. Gradually, her angel took form above her, its wings gleaming in the rosy morning sun. Flying upward, the angel went into a long, slow glide, heading toward the cabin. Alex crouched over his rifle, watching the man and woman intently as the angel approached, flying over the stream.

  “He’s seen me,” murmured Willow beside him.

  The blond man’s eyes had widened in surprise as he spotted Willow’s angel; now he was saying something to the woman, his expression urgent. The rifle’s trigger was ready against Alex’s finger as Willow’s angel swooped close and hovered. But the man made no threatening gestures. Instead, he turned to face Willow’s angel, his arms held out from his sides; the woman imitated him, though she clearly didn’t know quite where to look.

  “They’re both . . . mentally opening themselves to me,” said Willow softly. There was a long silence; the wind rustled around them. Alex glanced at Willow at his side, taking in her furrowed brow. Finally she opened her eyes, looking deep in thought. “Alex, I think they’re what they say they are. They’re both from Project Angel; they believe they’re the only agents left who haven’t been contaminated. He’s an angel, but he really is on our side. He hates what the others have been doing. ”

  Alex put his eye back to the lens. “Yeah? Ask him what he’s been feeding on,” he said, scanning the angel’s aura again. It looked sated, as if the being had recently indulged.

  Willow closed her eyes again. There was a pause, and then Alex saw the man’s lips moving. When Willow opened her eyes again, she looked saddened. “I — I thought the question at him, and he heard me,” she said. “He feeds off people who already have angel burn. He hates doing it, but he says it’s the only way he can survive to try and stop what’s happening. ”

  “Do you believe him?”

  Slowly, Willow nodded. “Yeah, I do,” she said. “I believe both of them. ”

  Alex looked back at the scene below. Neither the man nor the woman had moved as Willow’s angel hung in the air above them, her wings as white as clouds. He shook his head in disbelief. He had complete faith in Willow’s psychic abilities, but Christ — an angel that actually cared about what it fed on?

  “OK,” he said finally, lowering the rifle. “Tell them we’re coming down. ”

  As they crossed the field back to the cabin, Alex saw that the agents were sitting on the ground outside, and, grudgingly, he respected the fact that they hadn’t invaded their space by waiting inside the cabin. The woman was smoking a cigarette, looking pensive; she stubbed it out when she saw them approach and jumped to her feet. “Mr. Kylar,” she said, walking toward them with her hand out. “Sophie Kinney. This is a real pleasure. ”

  He shook her hand, feeling nonplussed. She was gazing at him with an expression akin to wonder.

  She seemed to catch herself. “Sorry, it’s just that you were something of a legend in the office . . . more than two hundred angels, single-handed. And you must be Willow Fields,” she said, offering her hand to Willow.

  “Hi,” said Willow, shaking it. Her elfin face looked worried.

  The man came forward; he was taller than Alex, with broad shoulders. His blue eyes had the odd intensity of all angels’ eyes, piercing into Alex’s own. “Nate Anderson,” he said, holding out his hand.

  After a beat, Alex took it. “So what made you change sides?” he asked brusquely.

  The angel’s expression didn’t change. “I was never on the other side,” he said. “Not all of us feel that we have a divine right to use humans as cattle. ”

  “We have so much that we need to discuss with you both,” said Agent Kinney. “Please, could we go inside?”

  Alex glanced at Willow. “OK?”

  She nodded, and Alex opened the door. With the four of them inside, the cabin seemed even smaller than usual; he saw Agent Kinney noticing the narrow bed with its joined-together sleeping bags.