The couple stopped mid-motion, watching Alex in amazement as he jogged up to them. He put his hands on his thighs, gasping for breath; he could feel the sweat coursing down his face. “What — what time is it?” he panted.
The man had long brown hair in a ponytail, a braided goatee, and sunglasses. He took a cell phone from the pocket of his jeans. “Five twenty-seven,” he said.
No. Oh, God, no. “How far to the Church of Angels?”
The man made a face. “Ah, dude, you’re not one of those, are you? I don’t know, five or six miles?”
Alex’s blood pounded in his brain. Half an hour. Willow might die in just over half an hour, and he wasn’t going to make it in time; he wasn’t going to be there for her.
“Here,” said the woman, handing him a bottle of water. She was short, with a round face and long black hair, and was staring at him in concern. “You look like you need it.”
His hands were shaky; he gulped down half of the water at once. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he handed the bottle back and said, “I’ve got to get to the cathedral by six o’clock — I’ve got to. Do you think you could give me a lift?”
The man shook his head with a grin. “Sorry, we’re heading down to Colorado Springs; we’ll be taking the next exit off. I can give you a tip, though — the angels aren’t really coming, so you don’t need to bother.”
“No!” Alex struggled to sound halfway calm; knew he wasn’t managing it. “It’s my girlfriend. I’ve got to get to her; she’s in trouble. Please, I’ve got to be there — it’s life-or-death, I mean it.”
The smile faded from the man’s face. “Well — I sure wish we could help you, dude, but . . . ”
“What do you mean, life-or-death?” broke in the woman, her eyes wide.
Oh Jesus, Willow might die and he was actually standing here talking to these people? “I can’t explain,” he said tightly. “I’ve just got to be there.” He glanced at their bikes; one was a vintage Harley; the other an aging Honda Shadow. “Could I buy your bike?” he burst out.
The man’s eyebrows shot up over his sunglasses. “Are you serious?”
Alex felt like punching him. “Yes. Look, I’ll give you a grand for the Honda, cash — please, just let me have it.” It would only leave him with a few hundred; he knew it didn’t matter. If Willow died, he didn’t want to live anyway.
The woman’s mouth had dropped open. Slowly, she closed it and looked at her boyfriend, who shrugged. “You were thinking of getting a new one,” he said to her.
She shook her head. “Well — yeah, but I only paid eight hundred for it, and that was two years ago —”
“Great, you’ve made a profit.” Alex grabbed his wallet, counted out the bills, and thrust them at her.
She stared down at the money. Finally she took it, tucking it into a leather bag across her chest. “Well — OK.” She shrugged, laughing in surprise. “Here, I guess you’d better take this.” She handed him the blue helmet she’d been about to put on.
“You do know how to ride, right?” said the guy as the woman took her things out of the motorcycle’s side storage compartment.
Strapping on the helmet, Alex nodded as he straddled the bike. It had been a few years, but Juan had had a motorcycle back at the camp; he and Jake used to take turns on it. The woman handed him the keys. “Here,” she said. “And — good luck. I hope you get to your girlfriend in time.”
“Yeah, me too,” muttered Alex. He started the engine; twisting the throttle in short bursts, he steered the bike past a car and out into the center of the wide-laned highway, where there was space between the lines of traffic. Then he kicked the clutch and gunned it.
Even with having to maneuver around cars and stragglers, it was far faster than running, and relief drenched through Alex — along with terror that he still wasn’t going to make it in time. The final few miles went quickly as he wove in and out of the traffic. Finding the cathedral was easy — there were huge signs every mile or so. He took the exit, leaning into the turn. Dimly, he noticed that the cars he was passing now were abandoned; the devotees had apparently decided to just give up and start walking.
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.
Jonah walked down the line, checking off names on a clipboard. Soon he was almost halfway down.
“Jessie King?”
“Here.”
“Latitia Ellis?”
“Here.”
“Carrie Singer?”
It took me a second, and then I remembered. “Here,” I said.
Checking me off, Jonah moved away without looking at me. “Kate Gefter?”
“Here.”
The drone of names and replies continued. I stood stiffly. I could feel the eggshell inside of me trembling, straining to crack. We all stood facing a wall; there was a poster on it that said, THE ANGELS SAVE! I stared at it, taking in the angel, trying to memorize its every feature.
“Susan Bousso?”
“Here. Or — actually, she’s not. I’m Beth Hartley. I’m taking Susan’s place.”
I flinched in sudden terror. Beth was here? I couldn’t help glancing down the line; she was only four girls away. Her features under her hood were tired but as beautiful as ever. I looked quickly forward again before she could see me, my heart battering in my chest.
Jonah stood frozen. I could sense his confusion, his fear. “Beth,” he repeated.
She nodded. “Susan was sick, so they asked me to come instead; they were supposed to let you know. It’s OK, isn’t it? I meant to mention it to you yesterday, but there wasn’t a chance.”
As clearly as if I was thinking it myself, I knew that Jonah was frantically wondering if he could shift the lineup, put Beth farther away from me. But there was no time. “No, that’s fine. Glad you’re here,” he said finally.
He moved on down the line. A few minutes later, he said, “All right, girls. This is it.” Even out of the corner of my eye, I could see that he was sickly pale. He went and opened the door. “Let’s go.”
He led us down the short passageway. Numbness came over me as we approached the double doors. This was it. This was really it. Jonah stopped the first girl just in front; the long line of us stretched down the corridor, identical in our silvery-blue robes. “It’s time,” he said, glancing at his watch. “The — the angels be with you, everyone.”
He swung open one of the doors, and the girls started filing into the cathedral. My legs were trembling, but I managed to move forward with the others. I could sense the massive hush from the audience, feel their deep sense of expectation and yearning. My eyes met Jonah’s as I walked through the door. He was staring anxiously at me. Fear. He hoped that this worked; there was nothing left for him anymore.
The thought flashed past, and then Jonah was behind me and I was moving out into the cathedral with the rest of them. We passed through dim shadows at the side and entered a brightly lit stage area, where it was suddenly so dazzling that I couldn’t see the audience, just a deep, waiting blackness to my right. Our footsteps sounded around us, amplified by the microphones like a heartbeat. Details, all of them so clear: an angel-winged pulpit up ahead with a white-haired preacher behind it; a dark-haired man and a voluptuous woman with auburn hair just beside him — the two angels, Raziel and Lailah. A giant TV screen was just sliding up into the ceiling, revealing towering stained-glass windows of angels, with the sunset shining through. And in front of everything stretched a space half the width of a football field, with massive floral arrangements to either side.
The gate.
My heart thudded, drowning out all thought. In silence, the other girls and I stopped directly in front of the gate. I dipped my hand inside my sleeve, touching the angelica. And as everyone moved, I moved with them:
Turn. Snag the stone and kneel. Hands in prayer position.
With the angelica cupped in my hands, I knelt on the floor with the others, watching for the ripple in the air that would signal that the gate was starting to open. Somewhere under the surface, the eggshell had cracked. A deep, aching sorrow; a flash of blinding fear. Oh God, I didn’t want to die. Not yet, not like this; I was too young. A cold chasm wrenched open inside of me, and I started to shake, trying to ignore it as I focused on the gate. Don’t think. You are not here to think. You are here to act.
As I crouched there with the others, Raziel paced in front of the gate, gazing up at it with his hands behind his back. I caught a glimpse of his face, and even through my fear, it teased at me, distracting me. Where had I seen it before? Then he turned and strolled away again — and I saw him full-on.
A tidal wave of shock crashed through me. The angel’s handsome face, framed with dark hair, was the same one I’d seen in my mother’s mind so long ago.
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br /> It was my father.
My head jerked up as I gaped across at him, my concentration shattered. No. Focus. I tore my attention away and stared back at the wall, my pulse slamming at my temples.
There was a shifting a few girls down from me — a puzzled, sideways look. And then a quick intake of breath. “Oh, blessed angels,” I heard Beth whisper. “That’s Willow!”
I heard a shuffling noise as nearby girls glanced at her and then at me. I knelt rigidly, looking straight ahead.
“That’s Willow,” said Beth, louder. Her voice rose to a panicked shout; I heard it picked up by the sound system. “Somebody, do something! That’s Willow Fields! She’s here, she’s here! Somebody stop her!”
Oh, my God; oh, my God. I crouched there trembling, unable to move. I saw Raziel stride forward, frowning; the girls around me gaped. And suddenly there was a faint swirling in the air, like water stirred gently with a hand. Don’t think. Just move. Do it!
I contacted my angel and ran, scrambling up from the line and hurtling myself forward. I lifted up out of myself. I was flying, I was running. Swooping downward on my wings, I stroked the angelica’s energy with my own and felt it start pulsing in my hands.
About halfway through the field, the cars had started parking in the access lane so that Alex had to slow down to maneuver around them, his blood hammering in an agony of frustration. Finally, he reached the end of it. As he’d hoped, the field backed onto the road, separated by a wide ditch. It took a matter of seconds to wheel the bike across, and then he was on it again and roaring down the road, his back tire slipping slightly as he leaned into a turn. The Church of Angels lay just ahead. From this angle, the massive building looked like the sports stadium it had once been — a plain, curved exterior rising up from the ground in a solid white wall. As he got closer, he could see that the road led to a small parking lot beside the service entrance.
Alex skidded to a stop. He flipped down the kickstand, then tore off his helmet and ran for the door. A guard in a brown uniform stood outside it. Alex hardly noticed him. There was a latch on the door; he turned it and shoved, throwing his weight against it.
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