Angel Fire

by L. A. Weatherly

Page 13

 

  She reached across and gripped his hand; he knew she was only all too aware of how much he dreaded anything happening to her. “Okay,” she said softly. She started to pick up her taco again and then stopped, narrowing her gaze. “Wait a minute. So, does that mean you wouldn’t listen to me if I wasn’t psychic?”

  She looked so cute that he almost grinned despite his apprehension. He raised an eyebrow at her. “Is that a trick question? Of course I wouldn’t – you’re a girl. ”

  Willow’s mouth pursed as her green eyes flashed with sudden humour. She started laughing. “Oh, you are in so much trouble for that. ”

  “I am?”

  “Definitely. ” She propped herself up on her elbows and kissed him, stretching across the picnic table. Alex curled his fingers around the smooth skin at the back of her neck, holding her in place for a moment and savouring the feel of her lips on his.

  “Is that really your idea of being in trouble?” he said when they drew apart. “Because I don’t think you’ve grasped the whole punishment/deterrent thing. See, you’re supposed to make me not want to do it again. ”

  Willow was laughing, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “I’m the one who doesn’t want to do it again. Your lips are all spicy from those chillies—” Suddenly her face slackened in alarm. “Alex, the bike!” she cried.

  He leaped up from the bench without asking for details. A pickup truck had pulled in front of the taco stand while they’d been talking, blocking the motorcycle from view. As Alex hurtled around the side of it he saw a stocky guy with black hair crouched beside the Shadow, untying the tent. On the ground beside him sat a bulging knapsack, and both sleeping bags.

  “What the hell are you doing?” shouted Alex in Spanish. “Get away from my bike!”

  Leaving the camping stuff, the guy grabbed the knapsack and ran, his heels kicking up dust. The jimmied-open storage compartment gaped emptily. Alex swore and took off after him, pounding across the dry soil. The guy was as fast as he was, though, weaving around dumpsters and abandoned cars like a rabbit and finally veering off to the right, scrambling over a high concrete wall. Alex started to follow but stopped, acutely aware that he’d left Willow by herself, when anyone from the Church might stop by the stand and see her. Still cursing the thief, he turned and jogged back to the bike. Jesus, how was that for luck? They’d lost their stuff twice in one week now.

  Willow was waiting beside the Shadow looking anxious; the taco stand woman stood beside her, chattering in worried Spanish that Alex knew Willow didn’t understand. “He stole your things!” the woman cried as Alex approached. “I’m so sorry – I didn’t see him until you shouted. Is there anything I can do?”

  “No, but thank you, Señora,” replied Alex. If they’d been in America, he knew she’d have probably already called the police. Thankfully, running to law enforcement didn’t usually occur to people here – which was good, since the Mexican police were just as much in the angels’ pockets as back home.

  Willow’s face was tight with distress as the woman returned to her stand. “God, I’m sorry – I knew there was something! I was focusing so strongly on the Church of Angels, but I could tell it wasn’t that, and I guess I sort of disregarded it—”

  “Hey, come on, it’s not your fault,” he said, squeezing her shoulder. He squatted beside the bike, shaking his head as he examined the forced-open lock. The thief must have worked fast; he obviously knew what he was doing.

  “Well, at least he didn’t get much,” he said as he stood up. “And I’ve still got my wallet. We can always buy more clothes; the marketplaces in Mexico City are really cheap. ”

  Willow nodded as she hugged her elbows. “Yeah,” she said finally. And then it hit him. Her photo. The one of her as a child, standing beneath a willow tree and tipping up her head in delight at its trailing leaves. It had been taken by her mother – was the only thing Willow had of hers. And it had been in the storage compartment, in the pocket of her other pair of jeans.

  He swore, his fists tightening as he glanced back towards the wall the guy had disappeared over. The thought of the slimy creep stealing Willow’s photo – tearing it apart to see if there was money in the frame, then throwing it away in the garbage somewhere. . .

  “Alex, it’s okay,” said Willow, touching his arm. “It’s. . . it’s only a photo. You couldn’t catch him now, anyway. And besides, we shouldn’t draw attention to ourselves – just let it go. ”

  He let out a breath, hating himself. “I almost had him. . . ”

  “It’s okay,” Willow repeated. “It really is. ” Stepping forward, she hugged his waist. As he held her close, Alex knew he was seriously never going to forgive himself for this, even if Willow already had.

  “I love you, you know that?” she said.

  He managed a rueful smile. “Why, because I let that jerk steal your photo?”

  Willow looked up; her eyes were like a forest washed with rain. He could see the happiness in them as she regarded him. “No, actually it’s because you’re everything I ever wanted. ”

  “I love you too,” he said softly, kissing her. Then he sighed. “Anyway, you’re right – I won’t catch him now. We’d better get going. ”

  He reattached the camping gear. Just as they started to climb back onto the bike, the woman hurried out from behind her stand again with a paper-wrapped package. The rich aroma of roast pork rose up from it.

  “Please, take these for later,” she said in Spanish. “It’s the least I can do. ”

  “Gracias, Señora. ” Alex put the food in the damaged storage compartment, grateful to have it. They could save some money on dinner now.

  “Gracias,” echoed Willow fervently. “Muchas, muchas gracias. ”

  A few minutes later they were speeding down the highway once more, leaving Chihuahua in a haze of heat behind them. The houses they passed were small, dusty, in various shades of pastel with black water tanks perched on top of each one. Alex gazed beyond the homes to the rugged shape of the Sierra Madre, looming off to the southwest. And with all his heart, he wished that Willow had never had her dream. He’d have had a decent shot at keeping her safe, up there in that wilderness. Mexico City was going to be anybody’s guess.

  But they’d made their choice now. As they roared down the desert highway, he reached for Willow’s hand at his waist and twined his fingers through hers.

  “WILL I FIND TRUE LOVE?” asked the woman. She was in her mid-twenties, pretty, with a serious, earnest face.

  They were sitting in a corner of the Chihuahua marketplace. Seb considered how to answer as he pretended to inspect her palm – though the information he was getting had nothing to do with the woman’s lifeline, and everything to do with her aura; the feel of her energy; sudden flashes of knowledge.

  “There’s a man in your life – his name’s Carlos,” he said. He wasn’t usually good on names, but he was sure this one was right; he was sensing it so strongly. “You’ve been hoping he’ll propose to you. Señorita, I don’t see this happening. ”