Angel Burn

by L. A. Weatherly

  They started walking along the road. The fresh air felt good, clearing his head. Beside him, Jake had his hands stuck in his back pockets, a habit they both shared. “Hey,” he said after a pause. “Can I ask you something?”

  “What?” asked Alex.

  His brother lifted a muscular shoulder. “Do you ever . . . think about doing anything else?”

  Alex was startled. “What? You mean, not hunt angels?”

  “Yeah,” said Jake, glancing at him. His eyes were like looking in a mirror.

  It had hardly ever even occurred to Alex. He went silent as he considered it. “Not really,” he admitted. “I mean, we sort of have to, don’t we? It’s not like there are that many people around who can fight them.”

  “Yeah, I know,” said Jake, looking down at the road as he walked. “But all the other AKs got a choice, didn’t they? They had other lives first. You and I never did; Dad just told us it was what we were going to do.”

  Alex nodded slowly, knowing what he meant. “Yeah,” he said. “It just . . . feels like me, though. Who I am. I mean, I don’t know what else I’d even do.” He thought of the tattoo on his bicep. Jake had a matching one; so did most of the AKs.

  As they passed a line of oak trees, a steep canyon opened up to their right; Jake gazed out at it without speaking. “No, me neither, really,” he said finally. “I guess I just wonder about it sometimes — what it would have been like if Mom hadn’t been killed. Like, talking to that girl last night — her life was just so totally different from ours. I could hardly even imagine it.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Alex. “This is you, right? You’re saying that you talked to her? You found out things about her life?”

  Jake grinned. “Yeah, OK, I didn’t find out that much. . . .”

  Alex stopped suddenly, putting his hand on Jake’s arm. “It’s getting close,” he said. They cut across the road to a wooded glade, crouching behind some trees. Soon a woman with brown hair appeared a few hundred yards away, strolling down the road. She stopped every so often, leaning against the low stone wall that separated the road from the canyon and staring out at the view. Alex scanned, and got a jolt of angel energy; the aura was pale silver with hardly any blue. The creature was ready to feed, probably hoping to come across a hiker or walker.

  “Trawling,” said Jake, watching her. “Christ, this could take hours.”

  A tickle of anticipation went up Alex’s spine. He nudged Jake’s arm. “Hey. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  Jake looked at him and groaned. “Oh, man, you’ve got that stupid gleam in your eye.”

  “Come on, let’s do it,” said Alex, not taking his eyes off the angel in its human form. “It’ll take forever otherwise.”

  Jake shook his head, starting to smile. “If Cully ever found out that we did this . . . ”

  “I know: he’d kill us.” Alex glanced at him with a grin. “Do you want to lure it, or should I?”

  “I’ll do it this time,” said Jake. “I know how much you love springing into action, hotshot.”

  Alex laughed. “Yeah, you know it. . . .” As his brother got up, Alex took his gun out and screwed the silencer on.

  “OK,” said Jake, slapping him on the shoulder. “You got my back, bro?”

  “Got your back,” said Alex.

  “Cool,” said Jake. “Then let’s go get us an angel.”

  And as Alex kept his gun trained on the woman leaning against the wall, Jake stood up and started casually across the road.

  Alex awoke with a jolt. His dream voice was still echoing in his ears, screaming his brother’s name. Oh God, the dream again. The same stupid dream. Breathing hard, he swallowed and covered his eyes with his forearm. He had thought he was over this — seeing those last twenty-four hours replayed over and over in his head. It had been almost two years now; why couldn’t he just accept that Jake was never coming back? That he was gone forever and it was all Alex’s fault?

  On second thought, maybe there were some things that you could never accept, no matter how much time passed.

  Letting his arm drop to the pillow behind his head, Alex opened his eyes. It barely made a difference; the room was almost pitch-dark, its curtains showing only the faintest sliver of light. In the other bed, he could hear the soft sound of Willow’s breathing. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, he could just make out the small curve of her body as she lay curled under the covers. He hesitated, gazing at her — and then shifted through his chakras, lifting his consciousness up through his body until it hovered outside of himself, above his crown.

  The angel appeared above Willow: life-size and radiant white. As before, her lovely face — a mirror image of Willow’s own — was bowed in repose, her wings folded behind her back. He could see the glowing outline of every feather; see every fold of the robe that fell from the angel’s shoulders.

  Alex lay looking at the angel for a long time. The halo-less image didn’t move, and neither did he. He took in the long spill of her hair, her lips, her slightly downcast eyes that looked as if she’d be smiling if she glanced up. And slowly, he could feel the dream releasing its hold on him. As the images of Jake began to fade, his breathing calmed; his heart stopped thudding.

  When Alex finally closed his eyes once more, it was Willow’s face that he saw . . . and he knew that he’d be able to sleep again.

  RAZIEL LEANED BACK in his leather chair, drumming his long fingers irritably on the gleaming wood of his desk. “Any news?”

  Jonah nodded as he shuffled through a sheaf of papers. “Yes, our police in New Jersey stopped the Porsche, but the passengers weren’t them. It appears that they dumped the car in New York City with the keys inside, and someone stole it.”

  Raziel rubbed his forehead. “So we don’t even know what they’re driving now. Or if they’re driving.”

  “Er . . . no,” said Jonah, his brown eyes blinking.

  Raziel dropped his hand onto his thigh with a slap. As if the half angel’s escape from the Schenectady Church of Angels four days ago, along with her would-be assassin, hadn’t been enough. “What about the remote viewers?” he asked.

  Jonah licked his lips. “Well . . . several of them have gone to Schenectady to read that girl, Beth, and see the half angel in her memories — but they say it will take time, if they get anything at all.”

  Raziel scowled. He had thought as much. Most angels’ psychic skills didn’t extend to picking up specific information without physical contact, and even with those few who could view things remotely, it was often hit-and-miss.

  “Time,” he muttered. With the Second Wave scheduled in less than a month, time was one thing he didn’t have. Anger swept over him again that the assassin had killed Paschar. There was the ripple of pain, of course, of incompleteness that every angel felt at the death of another, but beyond that, Paschar was the only one of them who’d actually had contact with the half-breed — the only one who could have possibly found her speedily.

  “What about the aunt?” he demanded. “Is she still asking questions?”

  Jonah’s brown curls moved as he shook his head. “No. The police investigation has been closed already. She’s been told that her niece had a secret boyfriend and that she ran away with him. She seems to believe it. She’s grateful to the Church for putting her niece’s photo up; she thinks we’re trying to help find her. The friend isn’t convinced, but no one’s taking her seriously.”

  “Good,” said Raziel shortly. It wouldn’t have troubled him to have to dispatch of either the aunt or the friend, but it would have been an aggravation that he didn’t need. “What about our person in New Mexico?”

  “He’s watching for them; he’s in contact with the Albuquerque branch. But he thinks that they should have arrived by now. So maybe they’re not coming. He doesn’t know where the assassin might go, in that case. He says that he’s very resourceful.”

  Which wasn’t news, especially. Raziel hissed out a breath from between his teeth and fell
into silence, cursing the decision to retain this particular assassin in the first place. Someone who was that good at killing angels obviously had a few brain cells; with hindsight, they should have seen trouble brewing with this one. And now he and the half angel actually seemed to have joined forces. The thought that the thing was still out there, with the Second Wave about to occur, was deeply unsettling.

  Jonah shifted in his chair. “There have been a few possible sightings from Church members,” he offered.

  Raziel’s assistant was ideally suited for his job, being devout to the angels without having been damaged by them — the boy’s energy simply wasn’t very compelling. However, at times, Raziel wanted to throttle him.

  “Yes?” he said sharply. “Do go on, Jonah; don’t hold back.”

  Jonah cleared his throat, looking down at his papers. “Well — actually there have been thousands of possible sightings since we put the information up, but only a few that seem promising. One is a girl in Madison, Wisconsin, who matches the description; Church members there are checking her out. And there’s been a possible sighting near Toronto . . . and another in Brooklyn . . . one in Eugene, Oregon . . . one in Dalton City, Tennessee . . . one in —”

  Raziel could feel his hold on his temper slipping. “Jonah, do you actually have any good news to tell me?” he interrupted, his voice icy calm. “Or just a long list of places where teenage girls with long blond hair have been spotted?”

  Jonah quickly ducked his head down; there was a rustling noise as he rifled through his papers again. “Well, the one in Dalton City was a little different. The Church member there saw a girl in sunglasses who he thought looked suspicious.”

  A girl in sunglasses. Was this really the best they had? Raziel pinched the bridge of his nose, wishing that he couldn’t feel headaches in his human form. “I presume they’re checking it out.”

  “Yes, the Church members there are on it. They’ll let us know.”

  “Right.” The chair squeaked as Raziel sat up. “I want them found, Jonah. We can’t have that thing still at large when the Second Wave arrives.”

  His assistant nodded. “I understand,” he said fervently. “We’ll find her — every Church member in the country knows how important it is that she be stopped.”

  And there were no people more rabidly committed to a course of action than Church of Angels members, thought Raziel — surely the thing would be found soon; the half angel and her protector couldn’t have just vanished. “Very well,” he said curtly. “On to the Second Wave, then. I’ve had some further news. The plan is to create the opening here, in the main cathedral.”

  Jonah’s eyes grew wide. “Here? The Second Wave of angels is really going to arrive here? Oh, my gosh, that will be — such an incredible honor —”

  “Yes, so the Council wants a bit of a welcome to take place,” broke in Raziel. “Something low-key, I should think.”

  “Oh, no!” gasped Jonah. As Raziel looked at him in surprise, his assistant’s cheeks flushed. “I just meant — sir, you have no idea how much this is going to mean to everyone. The whole Church should be allowed to celebrate. A second wave of angels, blessing our world with love and peace — we should fill the place to the rafters! We should have choirs and a special service; we should decorate the cathedral with acres of flowers; we should —”

  “All right, I get the idea,” said Raziel. Jonah went quiet, his face alight. Raziel sat playing with a silver letter opener as he mulled it over. It did have a certain appeal — thousands of cheering Church members would show the Second Wavers just how popular the first had been, just how successful at paving the way for them. On the other hand, the logistics seemed nightmarish.

  “Could you organize something?” he asked his assistant.

  “Me?” Jonah went pale. “I — oh, it would be an honor. I mean, I’ve never attempted anything like this before in my life, but I’ll do my utmost —”

  “Yes, all right, then,” said Raziel. “I’ll leave it all up to you. Do whatever you like; I know that you’ll arrange something appropriate.” He bestowed a smile on his assistant. “Good idea, Jonah. The angels are most grateful.”

  “Thank you,” breathed Jonah. “Thank you. I’m honored to be of service.”

  “You are very welcome,” said Raziel. “You may be excused now.”

  After his assistant left the room, still murmuring his thanks, Raziel sat back in his chair, thinking grimly of the half angel. Willow — what a ridiculous name for something half divine; it seemed to highlight the travesty that was her very existence. Stretching his arm out, he tapped his computer mouse, bringing up the Church of Angels website that had already been on his screen. Once again, he studied the thing’s face: the wide green eyes, the slightly pointed chin, the long blond hair. Such an utterly normal-looking girl — pretty, but nothing special. And yet, according to Paschar’s vision, she somehow had the means to destroy them all.

  As Raziel gazed at the thing’s image, it niggled at him, not for the first time. There was something vaguely familiar about the shape of her face, her eyes. He shrugged the thought away. She was half human, and many humans looked similar; it was hard to even tell them apart at times. He closed down the site, and the girl’s photo vanished. Looks aside, the important thing was that Willow Fields did not have long to live.

  And once she was found by the Church’s devoted followers, she was going to wish with all her heart that her assassin had followed his orders to shoot her.

  In the outer office, Jonah sat praying at his desk, giving thanks to the angels for this immense honor they’d bestowed upon him. When he raised his head, his face was radiant; he sat gazing around him, drinking in his surroundings — the tidy desk, the soft, off-white carpet, the small Michelangelo painting of an angel hanging on the wall.

  When he compared his life now to how it had been eighteen months ago, he could hardly believe it. He’d been struggling in college, hating his courses, with hardly any friends and a family that had always been remote at best and actively unsupportive at worst. His future had seemed swathed in shades of gray — a career he didn’t want, nothing to look forward to, nothing to really care about. Reading T. S. Eliot in his English class, he’d thought that if he had any courage, he’d just end it all — then at least he could go out with a bang, rather than the whimper of continuing on with his mediocre, pointless life. He used to idly plan how he might do it, knowing that he would never actually have the guts, but it made him feel better. It cheered him up, in a strange way.

  And then one day, he saw an angel.

  He’d been walking through the campus, glumly worrying about his biology class. He had to do at least one science requirement for his degree, but he had no aptitude for it and was slowly failing, and now it was too late to try to switch to geology or something else that was easier. Jonah had sighed, staring down at his feet as he walked. Maybe it was better if he did fail; it wasn’t as if he even wanted the degree, anyway.

  A brilliant flash of light had stopped him in his tracks. And, looking up, he had seen an angel flying slowly toward him — a bright, glorious being of such utter radiance, emanating such love and tranquility, that Jonah had simply stood there, frozen with wonder as the angel drew closer.

  Do not be afraid, she had said. I have something to give you.

  White light had burst around Jonah as the angel rested her shining hands on him, and he had felt something flowing into him — a strength, a resolve he’d never had before. The angel’s face was pure beauty, her features peaceful and kind. When she finally flew away, her wings shining in the sun, his world had been changed forever.

  He had dropped out of college; he’d never felt such freedom in his life as the day he drove away from campus. He’d gone straight to Denver, where the new Church of Angels cathedral was being built. There he had encountered other angels, just as glorious and shining as the first — and though none of them had ever touched him more than fleetingly, he still basked in the glow of their
serenity, their peace. When he realized that angels lived among people in human form, the knowledge had simply confirmed to him that the world was not a gray, sodden place; it was beautiful and shining, full of magic. And somehow he had actually lucked into this job where he served an angel himself.

  Jonah sat at his desk, wondering at his good fortune. Shaking his head with a smile, he forced himself to focus: he had work to do. Opening up a new document on his computer, he began to make a list of ideas for the celebration of the Second Wave of angels. Suddenly another thought came to him: perhaps they could get TV and news coverage. Excitement tingled at his scalp. Yes, of course — surely they should let the whole world know about this? His mind buzzing with plans, he quickly got up to ask Raziel about it.

  As Jonah started to knock on Raziel’s office door, he stopped, his fist in midair. He could hear the angel’s voice on the phone.

  “Yes, Lailah, I know they won’t be feeding the instant they arrive. I’m just saying that we’ll have the cattle all there on display for them . . . Yes, that’s right, a big celebration, everyone cheering and happy to see them. It’ll be a nice little welcome, don’t you think? They can see all the blissed-out faces, realize how happy the humans are to be fed off by us. . . .” There was a pause, and Raziel laughed. “Now, now. Don’t be greedy. You know you have to be in your human form for that. . . .”

  Jonah backed away from the door slowly, his head spinning in confusion. Angels feeding off humans? The idea was ridiculous — unthinkable. The angels were here to help people; he knew that firsthand. They hadn’t only changed his life; they had saved it. Raziel must have been joking. The angel had an acerbic sense of humor sometimes, and Jonah knew that he didn’t always catch the nuances of it.

  He had just gotten it wrong. That was all.

  Jonah sat down at his desk and gazed at the open document on his screen. Hearing the word cattle in his mind again, he somehow didn’t feel quite as enthusiastic about organizing the celebration as he had a few minutes ago, even if Raziel had only been speaking in jest. He saved what he’d done and closed the screen, logging onto his e-mail instead. It was a relief to see that he had several new messages that needed to be taken care of.