Angel Burn

by L. A. Weatherly

  “Hey!” said the guy, grabbing his arm as the door started to open. “You can’t go in there!”

  Alex jerked away from him and lunged inside. He was in a long, gleaming white corridor. He had only gone a few steps before the guard was on him, gripping his arm again. “Get out right now, sir,” he panted. “You’re trespassing.”

  All Alex could see were the double doors, far away at the end of the corridor. Willow was in there; he knew it. Red exploded through him. He slammed the guy off him, heard the startled gasp as he hit the wall, and then he was running again, his footsteps echoing against the polished floor.

  As he neared the doors, he heard frantic shouts, amplified through the cathedral sound system: “Somebody do something! That’s Willow Fields! She’s here, she’s here! Somebody stop her!”

  I had nearly reached the gate, the air swirling in front of me like a whirlpool — and then in my angel form above, I balked as another angel swooped under me in a harsh flurry of wings. My connection with the angelica flickered and vanished; in my human hands, I felt the stone’s pulsing cease, like a dying heart. No! I stopped in despair, staring upward.

  It was Raziel. My father.

  Dimly, I was aware of someone bellowing, “Let go of me!” and of Jonah’s voice shouting, “It’s all right! Everybody stay back — keep away from the barrier. The angels are handling this!” In my angel form, I darted this way and that, my wings beating desperately as I tried to dodge Raziel, to get past and touch the stone again. He cut in front of me at every move, his powerful wings glinting a bright, pure white. I could see the gate’s ripples growing stronger. Any moment and it would burst wide open.

  “You will not get away with this,” hissed Raziel. Our eyes met. His widened in sudden recognition, and I knew that he’d seen my mother’s face in my own. For a split second, he hesitated — and then another angel appeared, diving in and attacking him from the side. Nate. With a cry of fury, Raziel spun on him.

  The two angels fought, their wings in a frenzy. A burst of white light came from above. There was no time to wonder what it was; in my angel form, I swooped down and touched the stone in my human hand. It came to life again, and I lunged the final few steps.

  Behind me, I could still hear Jonah shouting frantically, a battering noise, people screaming, “Stop her! Stop them both! He’s on her side!” The gate was starting to spiral open before me, like an old-fashioned shutter. I caught a glimpse of thousands of angels waiting to come through — shining, proud, beautiful.

  Dropping to my knees, I thrust the pulsing stone into the gate. The wall of energy leaped like a wave, seething and warping as it fought with itself. I gasped in pain as it pummeled me; I could hardly see my hand in the midst of it. The wall bucked and shuddered as the gate struggled to open; the angels disappeared and appeared again. A deep rumbling noise, a vibration. With a splintering crack, the floor suddenly heaved up under me. I shrieked, lurching sideways. The angelica started to crumble to pieces in my hand as the floor surged again; something fell behind me with a crash. Oh, God, the wall was tearing me apart; I could feel it happening. I gritted my teeth, struggling to hang on. Distantly, I thought I heard someone call my name — and then, with a roar of white noise, everything exploded.

  I was tumbling, falling. Pain, so much pain. I tried to cry out but couldn’t.

  As everything slowly faded, I thought, Alex.

  BURSTING INTO THE CATHEDRAL, Alex had seen a blue-robed girl that had to be Willow running toward the gate while another girl screamed. He pounded forward; his only thought was to get next to her as she reached the gate, to put his arms around her and hold her so that she wouldn’t die alone. He had a blurred impression of a commotion going on to one side: a curly-haired guy in a gray suit, struggling with someone who looked like a preacher; a cluster of shrieking robed girls.

  Before he reached the lighted area, Willow stopped short, staring upward. Angels. Stopping, too, Alex quickly drew his gun with the silencer on it and sped through his chakra points. Three angels swam into view: Willow’s own, dodging around a male angel, and higher up, a female angel with a hard, beautiful face, diving straight at Willow’s human form. Alex dropped to one knee, tracked the female, and shot. She vanished into scattered pieces of radiance.

  In the audience, people were shouting Willow’s name, thumping against the plastic barrier as they tried to break it down. As Alex burst into the lit area, Nate appeared in his angel form, his wings beating strongly as he attacked the first angel. At the same time Willow’s angel dove toward her and Willow lunged the final few steps; reaching the gate, she shoved her hands in it. The energy warped, leaping wildly — he glimpsed angels waiting to come through. The floor near the gate lurched upward, sending her slipping sideways. Nearing Willow, Alex almost lost his footing as the floor seethed under his feet; he regained himself and sprinted toward her.

  “Willow!” he shouted.

  The gate exploded open. A wave of energy slammed past in a blinding flash. Crying out, Alex shielded his eyes with his forearm. A confused image: the two angels tumbling, fragmenting into pieces — and Willow, thrown with the blast. There was a wrenching, groaning noise, a crash of dust and cement as a section of the ceiling fell, shattering only a few feet from the huddle of robed girls. Screams. With a spray of spitting sparks, the lights went out. The entire front area fell into shadow, lit only by the dying sunset through the stained-glass windows. As if on cue, hordes of angels began soaring through the open gate and out over the pews, wings and halos shining, glimpses of their own world’s fading sunset just visible through the open gate behind them. A solid wall of sound cracked through the cathedral as the audience began cheering. The people in the first few pews were all staring upward, jumping up and down, Willow completely forgotten as they took in the celestial river flowing overhead.

  It had all happened in seconds. Willow. Oh, God, where was Willow? Alex’s consciousness was still hovering above his crown chakra, and in the sudden gloom around him he saw people’s auras come sharply into view, the colored energy fields pulsing with excitement as everyone stared upward. He scanned the front area hurriedly, fear building in him when he couldn’t find Willow.

  And then, faintly, he spotted her aura — a silver-and-lavender flutter off to one side, away from the others. Alex plunged through the shadows, stumbling and almost falling on the uneven floor. Finally he reached her. She was lying on her back, her face turned away from him. “Willow!” He dropped to his knees and gathered her up in his arms. “Willow, please be all right — please, please —”

  Her head dropped back. She lay unmoving against him, her aura dim, growing dimmer. Alex felt his heart die in his chest as he stared down at her familiar features. No. Oh Jesus, no.

  Behind him the crowds continued to cheer, their shouts reverberating through the cathedral like thunder. There was a sudden shimmering — and as Alex looked up he saw that Willow’s angel had appeared over her, so pale that she could hardly be seen. She motioned to Willow and then to him, her eyes pleading . . . and then faded from view. What had she been trying to tell him? What? Alex gazed down at the prone girl in his arms, his pulse thudding. Willow’s aura was scarcely visible now, the barest flicker of light. He hesitated. Not quite knowing why he was doing it, he placed his hand on her heart and closed his eyes.

  Please, take my strength, he thought. Whatever I have, take it. . . . Just please live. Please, you’ve got to live. . . .

  Desperately, Alex tried to picture his strength and his love for Willow flowing into her, helping her, finding her and bringing her back from wherever she was going. He wasn’t sure how much time passed — he could hear the angels flying overhead; the cheers still sounding. Willow’s body in his arms remained motionless. Finally, dreading what he might see, Alex opened his eyes.

  Willow’s aura was gone.

  Pain struck him like a blow. “No! Please, no . . . ” Willow blurred in his vision as he clutched her to him, burying his face against her shou
lder. The softness of her skin, the smell of her hair. Alex began to shake, holding her. He’d been too late. She’d gone to her death alone, without even knowing he was there. “I’m sorry,” he choked out. He kissed her unmoving lips; they were still warm. “Willow . . . oh, Willow . . . ”

  A deadening weakness started slumping through his muscles, draining them so that it was all he could do to keep his arms around Willow. Then a quick, wrenching pain, like something being torn away from him. His head reeled; he wondered vaguely if an angel had ripped his life force away. For he could feel his own life fading now, slipping away like water down a drain. As he held Willow’s still form, dull relief filled him at the thought.

  A swirling of light above them; faint silver and lavender mixed with vibrant blue and gold.

  Alex looked up in confusion as the lights moved together over him and Willow like twin plumes of smoke. The silver light was ghostly, barely visible. As he watched, the blue light wrapped itself around it, stroking it, caressing it. The blue-and-gold aura paled as the silver-and-lavender one began to brighten; Alex had an impression of strength pouring from one aura to the other. At last the silver light was steady, its lavender hues gleaming. Alex’s aura drew itself back to him, faint but already starting to recover. He felt his life force return in a rush.

  The silver-and-lavender aura settled around Willow, unwavering now, and growing brighter by the second. An agony of hope roared through Alex as he stared down at her in his arms. He touched her cheek, not daring to breathe. “Willow?”

  At first there was nothing . . . and then her green eyes came slowly open. She stared up at him, looking dazed.

  “Alex?” she whispered. “Is it really you?”

  He felt a jolt of joy so great that it was almost pain. He cradled her to him. “It’s me, baby,” he said hoarsely, his lips moving against her hair. “It’s me.”

  Her arms came up around him; she pressed her face into his shoulder with a weak sob. “Alex . . . you’re here, you’re really here. . . .”

  Pulling back, he stroked a stray strand of hair from her temple, scanning her face in the shadowy light. “Are you all right? Please, please tell me you’re OK.”

  She gulped, nodded. “I think so. I’m just so tired. . . .”

  Thankfulness drenched through him like water. He held her closely, kissing her hair, her cheek. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Oh, God, Willow, I didn’t mean it — I didn’t mean any of it —”

  Her embrace tightened around his neck. “I know. . . . Alex, I know. . . .”

  For a moment he savored just holding her, warm and alive in his arms. Urgency followed; they had to get the hell out of here. He glanced back over his shoulder. Angels still hadn’t stopped soaring from the gate; the entire length of the cathedral was a winged river as they flew over the pews and then finally out through the massive doors at the far side.

  The crowd’s cheers had become somewhat ragged, but were still going strong. Nate had said that it would take around twenty minutes for all the angels to arrive. How much time had already passed?

  “Come on, we’ve got to hurry.” With a quick kiss, he scooped Willow into his arms and stood up, feverishly grateful that the front area was still cloaked in shadow. He started toward the double doors he’d come through, picking his way as fast as he could across the uneven floor. When the doors were only a few dozen steps away, Willow tensed against his shoulder. “Alex!”

  He whirled around; the angel he’d seen fighting Nate earlier was diving through the air toward them, wings outspread, its beautiful face set in a snarl. Alex grabbed his gun and set Willow’s feet on the floor in almost the same motion, keeping one arm around her. The angel landed about ten feet away, and with a dark ripple changed to its human form: a handsome, slender man with pale skin and coal-black hair.

  “The half angel and her assassin,” he said in a low, deadly voice that somehow carried over the noise. “And it appears that I was the culprit, somehow. Miranda, correct?” Alex stiffened at the man’s English accent. It was the same angel who’d ordered Willow’s death. He felt her take a quick breath and suddenly remembered that her mother’s name was Miranda.

  Jesus, it was him. Her father.

  “Don’t say her name,” whispered Willow. “You have no right . . . ”

  “Oh, I beg to differ,” said the angel. “Why, this is quite historic, isn’t it? The only half angel in existence . . . now, how did I manage that? I wonder.” He stared hard at Willow. Behind him, now almost half the length of the cathedral away, the stream of arriving angels continued to fly, shining, overhead.

  Holding Willow close, Alex kept his gun pointed at the angel. “I thought you died in the blast,” he said coldly.

  “Wouldn’t that have been convenient?” replied the angel with a sneer. “But no, it was only the traitor who died — I was merely a bit dazed.” Eyes narrowing, he took a step forward.

  “Get back, or you’ll regret it,” said Alex.

  The angel curled his lip. “I think not, actually. It’s time now for you both to die, the way you were supposed to in the first place.” Shifting back into his angel form, he surged straight toward them, wings flashing.

  Alex shot. The angel dodged at the last second, his wings slicing the air, and the bullet caught the very edge of his halo. Its blue-white energy rippled, hesitated. Hovering above, the angel writhed as tremors seized him, his wings flapping like a giant trapped bird’s. Before Alex could shoot again, the angel went still and collapsed to the floor, in his human form once more. He lay unmoving.

  Willow stared down at him; she seemed almost ready to drop. “Alex, he . . . that was . . . ”

  “Shhh, I know,” he said, picking her up again. She slumped against his shoulder, her arms tight around his neck.

  Fleetingly, Alex wished the creature was human — he’d have no compunction at all about peppering that prone body with bullets. But there was no point; the only way to kill an angel was to shoot it through its halo heart. At least this one would be out of action for a while. With a glance back at the arriving angels, Alex headed for the doors with Willow cradled in his arms. Please, he thought, just a few more minutes, and we’ll be out of here.

  Just a few more minutes. That’s all they needed.

  When the Second Wave of angels first began pouring out of the gate, Jonah had stood frozen, gaping above him. It hadn’t worked. After all of their planning, after everything he’d risked — he’d lost it all, and the angels had arrived anyway. Beautiful face after beautiful face flashed past — and soon they would all be hungry and feeding. Jonah shuddered, dizzy with dismay. His cheekbone throbbed where the preacher had punched him.

  The front section of the cathedral was still in shadow; Jonah could just make out the preacher a few steps away, loudly applauding the new arrivals. Beth and another acolyte had their arms around each other’s shoulders, their faces alight. Behind them, the crowd had forgotten all about crashing through the barrier to get to Willow. People were throwing their hats in the air, calling out to the angels to bless them, laughing and crying.

  Jonah didn’t know how long he simply stared upward at the arriving angels, wondering what he was supposed to do now. Then, at the corner of his vision, he saw a brief sliver of light from the far end of the cathedral. Glancing over, he saw a dark-haired figure carrying a girl disappear through the double doors.

  Jonah stared as he recognized her. Willow. Was she still alive — or not? Then he realized that he had to get out as well. Raziel knew now that Jonah had betrayed him; he had lied about Willow’s death, and the angel must have noticed him shouting at the crowd, holding the preacher back. During all the confusion, Raziel had vanished, obviously retreating to his divine form; so far the angel hadn’t reappeared.

  What would he do to Jonah when he did? For that matter, what would the church members do when this was over?

  Jonah turned and ran through the darkness, stumbling across the uneven floor. Near the barrier, he saw the se
curity guard gaping upward and veered away from him. As he neared the doors, he jerked back with a gasp, his brown eyes widening. There was a dark shape lying in the shadows: Raziel, sprawled unmoving in his human form. Shock reeled through Jonah, along with a sick relief. Could Raziel be dead? He couldn’t tell; he wasn’t about to touch him to find out. Edging around the prone figure, he sprinted the final few steps.

  He pushed through the doors; the lights back here were making a humming noise, flickering on and off. The person carrying Willow was already halfway down the long corridor, disappearing fast. Jonah ran after him, suddenly desperate to know whether the girl was all right or not. He caught up with them just as they reached the outside door.

  “Hey —” he started, and then sucked in his breath as the dark-haired youth whirled on him, clutching Willow to his chest with one arm and holding a gun on Jonah with the other.

  “I seriously don’t think you want to try and stop me,” he said in a low voice.

  Jonah felt the blood leave his face. “No, I — I’m sorry. I just —” In a daze, he saw that the guy was younger than he was.

  Willow had her arms around his neck, her head against his shoulder. At the sound of voices, she tiredly opened her eyes; her gaze and Jonah’s met. “Alex, he helped,” she murmured.

  Alex? Jonah gaped at him. Of course, it was the assassin. He was here.

  At Willow’s words, Alex seemed to relax a fraction. He lowered the gun, and Jonah let out a breath. “You’re the contact,” stated Alex.

  Jonah nodded. “You’re . . . the assassin.”

  Alex didn’t respond; his eyes flicked down the long corridor behind Jonah. “You’d better get out of here, too; they’ll kill you when this is over.” He put his other arm under Willow, then shoved through the door and was gone.

  Jonah glanced behind him. He could still hear the sound of distant cheers, but for how long? Pushing the door open, he stepped out into the fading sunset. At the edge of the nearby parking lot, Alex and Willow were standing beside a motorcycle. Alex had just helped Willow out of her silvery-blue robe. He dropped it to the ground and seemed to be asking her something; she nodded as she looked at the motorcycle. Abruptly, he bent down and kissed her, gripping her face in his hands.