Angel

by L. A. Weatherly

Page 79

 

  Another mile and he was up on a hill with the cathedral below him at last, its huge domed roof glinting golden in the late-afternoon sun. He could tell at a glance that he wasn’t going to get in through the front doors. There were tens, maybe hundreds of thousands of people outside the building: a dark, solid carpet of humanity that covered every inch of the cathedral’s steps, its lawn, the parking lot. People were sitting up on their cars, watching and waiting. Stopping briefly as he stared down at the scene, Alex could just hear a choir singing, their voices broadcast outdoors with speakers.

  There had to be a way in; there had to be. Forcing himself not to panic, Alex scanned the cathedral; it was laid out below him like a postcard. His pulse leaped as he saw a black helicopter rise up from the rear of building and fly off to the east, looking exactly like the helicopter that had taken Willow away yesterday. Of course, there was a rear entrance — that must be where Willow had entered. Peering down, he could see a service road leading to the back of the cathedral; the door would probably be there.

  On his left was a large field that ran alongside the church complex, solid with parked cars, with a space for access at the center. The field looked like it would lead to the road, if he was lucky. Seconds later Alex was roaring through it, the motorcycle kicking up clumps of earth, and the same words beating over and over again through his skull:

  Please, please, let this get me to her. Please, let me be there in time.

  The helicopter landed behind the cathedral at exactly twenty minutes to six. Nate and Sophie took me to a rear entrance, a gray door set into the back of the building. The robe’s silky fabric sighed around my ankles as we started toward it, the angelica hanging heavily in my sleeve. The hood lay draped over my head like I was a monk, showing only my face. Everything seemed so quiet. I’d seen the massive crowds out front as we flew in, not to mention the miles of stopped cars on the highway — but back here, a sort of hush lay over everything, even with the amplified echo of the service going on inside.

  Or maybe the hush was within me. I gazed down at my feet as we walked, looking at the shiny black flash of the new shoes and thinking of my jeans rolled up under the robe. In my pocket, I could just feel the slight bulk of the photo of myself and the willow tree. I hadn’t wanted to leave it in my bag, which was back in the helicopter — Sophie had said she’d “keep it safe” for me. I knew I’d never see it again. I felt very distant, but I was aware that if I thought too hard, everything would come crashing down. It was as if I had to carry myself carefully, like a hollow eggshell, so that I wouldn’t break.

  A guard in a brown security uniform stood beside the door. “Hi, we’ve got the Wisconsin acolyte here,” said Sophie with a smile. “Could we see Jonah Fisk, please? He’s expecting us. ”

  The man spoke into a walkie-talkie; a moment later a young guy with a mop of curly dark hair came to the door. I took him in with faint surprise. I don’t know what I’d been expecting the contact to be like, but this wasn’t it. Jonah looked about twenty-two, with worried brown eyes. He was wearing a gray suit; his tie was the same silvery blue as my robe.

  “Good, uh . . . Wisconsin, you finally made it,” he said. From somewhere outside of myself, I almost laughed at what an awful liar he was. The security guard didn’t seem to notice; he was leaning against the outside wall with a bored expression on his face.

  Jonah ushered us in. The four of us walked down a long, quiet corridor; the floor, walls, and ceiling were all gleaming white. He took us into an empty room about halfway down the hall, closing the door behind us. “So you’re Willow,” he said, staring at me.

  I nodded, my mouth too dry to speak.

  “Is everything ready?” asked Nate.

  Jonah was still gazing at me as if he couldn’t quite believe his eyes. With a slight shake of his head, he turned to Nate. “I hope so. As ready as I can make it, anyway. ”

  “And are they scanning for her?” put in Sophie.

  “No, I don’t think so. Raziel believed the news of her — your — death,” he added awkwardly, looking at me.

  I managed a thin smile. All I could think was It’ll be true pretty soon.

  Sophie let out a breath. “Thank God for that, at least. ” She glanced at her watch. “OK. I guess I’d better go now. ” She turned to me, looking conflicted as she touched my arm. “Good luck, Willow. And whatever happens, thank you. That sounds so inadequate, but . . . ” Her voice dwindled to a stop.

  I tried not to hate her for leaving. “I’ll do my best,” I said. “I mean it. ”

  “We know you will. ” Suddenly she gave me a quick hug; she smelled of perfume and cigarette smoke. She turned to Nate. “Good luck to you, too,” she said, shaking his hand. “It’s been a real honor working with you. ”

  “And you,” said Nate with a small smile. Bending down, he kissed her cheek. I turned away, not really wanting to hear the finality in their good-byes.

  After Sophie was gone, Nate looked at his watch, too. “I’d better get to my seat — we don’t have much time. ” He regarded me for a second; I could see how desperately he wanted me to succeed. “I’ll do anything I can to help,” he said. “Good luck, Willow. And thank you for trying, no matter what. ”

  “Thanks,” I said. It wasn’t really the right answer, but it was the best I could do just then. Squeezing my shoulder, Nate left, shutting the door behind him.

  Jonah shoved a nervous hand through his curls. “I’d better take you to where the other acolytes are now — he’s right, we don’t have much time. And before I forget, your name in the lineup is Carrie Singer, OK? I’ll be checking everyone off the list in a few minutes; don’t forget that that’s you. ”

  “I won’t,” I said in a voice that sounded almost normal. As we started down the hallway, I could hear the noise from the cathedral growing louder behind a pair of double doors: a sort of muffled boom throbbed all around us. It took me a second to realize it was a choir singing. I fingered the angelica in my sleeve, reassuring myself that it was still there.

  “This way,” said Jonah, putting his hand on my arm before we got to the doors. At his touch, cold fear lashed through me; I didn’t know whether it was mine or his. He took me down another short corridor. “They’re all in here,” he said in a low voice, stopping in front of a door. “You’d better keep your head down — I’m sure they’ve all seen your photo. ”

  I nodded and ducked my head. The hood swayed obediently forward. As we went into the room, the excited chatter of girls rose up to meet us; all I could see from under my draped hood was a flurry of silvery-blue robes everywhere. Jonah cleared his throat and called, “It’s almost time, everyone — let’s get into the lineup from yesterday. ”

  Immediately, the chattering stilled; a sense of deep excitement pulsed through the air. A rustling noise, as the robes adjusted themselves into a single long line. Feeling conspicuous, I stayed where I was, scared to look up too much and not knowing where to go, anyway. Thankfully, Jonah took my arm again. “Wisconsin, we’ve got you in the middle. . . . Here you go. ”

  He guided me to a spot in the line; two girls moved aside to make room for me. As I got into place, I had a sudden sense of the minutes racing past, hurtling me toward whatever was going to happen. My hands felt like I was holding ice.