Angel Fire

by L. A. Weatherly

Page 62

 

  “We could have them all across the country,” he said, thinking out loud.

  Fred’s face lit up. “Really? You like my idea that much, sir?”

  “It has definite potential,” allowed Raziel. Since the dramatic Second Wave TV footage, the demand for all things angel was exploding. A gated community where families could purchase homes and enrol their children in schools devoted to the angels would take off like wildfire.

  And as he’d thought before, the idea would allow for another possibility, one he’d been mulling over for some time – something that, if the Council knew about it, he was sure would cement whatever plans they might now have in place for him. It didn’t exactly go along with their vision of angels not giving into their baser urges.

  “Yes, I’d like to go ahead,” he decided. “I’ll be in touch soon to discuss the building work. ” Though everything had now been cast into uncertainty, Raziel still held out hope that soon there wouldn’t be a Council to worry about. Meanwhile, in the same spirit of reckless defiance that had caused him to say too much on TV, he refused to put his various schemes on hold.

  Fred seemed almost incoherent with gratitude and excitement; he stammered his thanks non-stop as they made their way back across the fields. “Think nothing of it,” said Raziel, shaking his hand when they reached his black BMW. “You have the angels’ gratitude. ”

  One of the angels’ gratitude, anyway. Grimly, Raziel checked his phone again as he got in his car.

  For distraction on the drive back to Denver, he found himself exploring the psychic link with Willow once more. When both she and Seb, the half-angel boy, had gone looking for the spark of Raziel’s energy – even if they hadn’t known that’s what they were looking for – he’d cloaked it even further, putting so many shields and disguises in place that even a pure angel would have struggled to find it. Now Willow’s angel self seemed puzzled by her former fears, and Raziel was free to wander about the girl’s mind without causing even the least misgiving. Willow’s own spark of energy within him remained unsuspected by her, which was fortunate: if she ever stumbled on the risks to humanity that destroying the Council now posed, the Angel Killers would never go ahead with the attack.

  Willow was currently talking to Seb, trying to learn how to disguise her aura’s colours. It had been news to Raziel that this was even possible. The boy seemed unusually gifted with auras – though who knew what “usual” might be when it came to half-angels.

  Steering his way down the mountain roads, a considering almost-smile came over Raziel’s face as he listened to Willow’s thoughts and feelings. At first he’d told himself he was only delving to find out what was going on with the Angel Killers, but now he had to admit that his daughter’s mental processes had become strangely addictive to him – like one of those reality TV shows humans loved so much. He’d never have guessed any progeny of his could be so nice. The idea was as alien as having a daughter at all. Raziel had spent days looking for some kind of edge to Willow – the angle from which she operated. There was none, unless it was her love for Kylar, or her desire to help others.

  Yet she was no doormat – the girl had a steely strength that Raziel was sure came from him. Miranda had been beautiful, but a limp dishrag of a woman. In short, Willow was a worthy adversary, which irrationally pleased him. If he had to have something as base as a daughter, he at least wanted her to have some wits about her before he put her to death.

  Even so, Raziel was deeply thankful no one suspected he was the father. His mind went back to the day he’d first woken up, and his meeting with the Council in the cathedral conference room: their expressionless faces that never seemed to smile or frown. They’d brought up the half-angel, of course – it had been almost the first thing they’d thrown at him.

  “We Twelve have tried to find her psychically but can’t; her energy is once-removed from ours. ” Isda’s grey eyes had been as impassive as when she’d called for the traitors to be brought out. “How was she able to get into the cathedral and then escape again, Raziel? Exactly what kind of security do you have here?”

  Raziel had gritted his teeth, but kept his tone mild as he explained about his traitorous human assistant. He could feel the Twelve’s minds craning towards each other; undercurrents of thought that he couldn’t catch swirled about the room.

  That’s not good enough, said someone. The words weren’t spoken aloud; the meeting had apparently shifted to the psychic level, which was always a bad sign. If Raziel hadn’t already had psychic defences in place, he would have slammed them down at that moment, like a castle portcullis.

  The voice became several voices, all communicating with him at once. This kind of sloppy work isn’t acceptable, Raziel. The girl should have been destroyed weeks ago. Who’s the father? How was this even able to happen?

  Raziel had managed to keep the surface of his thoughts concerned, wanting to help. Far below, his mind was ticking away. I have no idea, he replied. The girl’s existence is obviously a fluke – believe me, I’m as concerned as you are.

  We’re relieved to hear you share our concerns, said Isda’s voice. Isda herself was leaning silently back in her seat, giving away nothing. Other mental voices chimed in as she continued: Because, as you know, we have never approved of angel–human relationships. It’s unacceptable for angels to demean themselves in this manner.

  Yes, I’m aware you believe that, said Raziel smoothly. But as newcomers to this world, you have to understand it’s quite an ingrained thing by now – traditional, if you like.

  There was a further cooling of the room’s atmosphere. You’ve spent far too long here, if you think that makes it in any way acceptable, chided the many voices in his head. We are angels; we do not cavort with pigs in the dirt. He could feel a few of them beginning to tendril about, searching for anything interesting, and he put up a few extra defences, retreating deep into the recesses of his mind.

  Moderation is the key, Raziel, continued the mental chorus. Every face in the room was stony; he was uneasily reminded of the dozens of angels exploding in mid-air. You’d better remember that if you want to keep your position here.

  Now anger touched him again as he pulled into the cathedral parking lot; how dare they have sat there and threatened him in his own cathedral? Striding back into his office, Raziel felt a smug satisfaction at the sight of Jenny, remembering that their liaison had begun the same evening the Council had left. After several weeks, she was almost as lovely as ever – though she looked more tired these days, and had developed a nagging cough. Raziel shrugged as he sat down at his desk. Perhaps it might be time for a new assistant soon. If so, there’d be no limit of enthusiastic volunteers.

  Still no word from Charmeine. With another restless glance at his phone, Raziel tossed it to one side and brought up his emails.

  His forehead furrowed at one of the title lines: Some Information You Ought to Know. As he scanned the message, his eyebrows shot up. Now, this was interesting: it was from the security guard who’d been stationed at the cathedral’s back door when the Second Wave arrived. Raziel regarded the words on the screen thoughtfully.

  . . . The day of the attack, she was one of the ones who brought in Willow Fields. I’m sure it was her this morning, even though her hair was different. She showed me a badge and started questioning me about that terrorist guy who came running in. She sure seemed anxious to find him. She gave me a card and said to get in touch day or night if I thought of where he might have gone. I haven’t told the police yet, I just feel better going to an angel with this information. . .