Текст книги "Angel Fever"
Автор книги: L. A. Weatherly
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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 26 страниц)
3
RAZIEL STOOD IN THE EMPLOYEE parking lot of the Denver Church of Angels. The building’s high, curved wall rose before him – so similar to its physical counterpart in the angels’ dimension, yet wholly different.
Thinking of his home world, Raziel gave a private smile and gazed up at the sky, where he could sense the gate he’d prepared so painstakingly. It was a thrill to realize just how many secret things about it could be sensed by no other angels…mainly because none of them would ever imagine that he might do such a thing.
Bascal was with him: an angel who was shorter than average, with solid muscles and a shaved head. Raziel had never figured out whether the shaved head was meant to be ironic. Not that “irony” was a word he’d expect Bascal to know.
“Double whammy tomorrow,” Bascal said, his tone heavy with satisfaction. “They’re not even going to know what’s hit them.”
Raziel’s mouth twitched. “No, probably not,” he said.
Bascal stood braced, arms behind his back as he squinted upwards. “Well, if there’s any trouble, we’ll be ready.”
Raziel had a feeling there might be. Thankfully, most angels were still stunned from the deaths of the Council members ten months ago. None seemed to have noticed that he’d been unobtrusively putting together a small army for months now, made up of Bascal and his other angel cronies.
Bascal gave Raziel a sideways look. “So, anyway…once it’s all over with, we can talk about a reward, yeah?”
Raziel held back a sigh at the bluntness, thinking of Charmeine with her crystal wit and subtle mind. The energy wave that had slammed into them above Mexico City had stunned them both; Raziel, recovering first, hadn’t hesitated to do away with his scheming former collaborator – but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss her. Still, at least Bascal was strictly a right-hand man and knew it.
Raziel raised an eyebrow. “A reward?” he repeated, as if such an idea had never entered his head.
Bascal scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah. I was thinking maybe…better classifications for me and my friends.”
How predictable. Raziel nodded, bored already. “Don’t worry – you’ll get them.”
He kept gazing upwards, enjoying the gate’s intricate feel. It had taken almost a year of preparation, both here and in the angels’ world – much of it covert and made far more difficult by the execrable timings he had to worry about now. This was a new thing since the quakes: irritatingly, the destruction of the Council’s roots of energy had also affected the ethereal world – things had become jarred between the two dimensions, throwing them out of sync. He’d have been ready months ago otherwise.
But now, finally, the moment was nearly here.
With a shimmer, Bascal shifted to his angel form. “See you tomorrow, boss,” he said as he lifted into the air. “And don’t forget about that reward, huh?”
“Never,” Raziel promised, deadpan.
Once Bascal was gone, Raziel scanned the gate a final time, then extended his scan to include the earth’s energy field. This cloaked the planet on the ethereal level like a human’s aura, its vast presence constantly shifting like wind currents.
As Raziel concentrated, his brow furrowed. There it was again. That strange sense that he’d picked up on a few times since the earthquakes: a feeling like a deep core of gravity, separate from the earth’s energy field but weaving through it. Something strong yet unaware, which everything else in the world was straining towards.
The sensation was fleeting; he was left frowning and uncertain. Unaware – well, naturally; energy wasn’t sentient. Yet when he searched again, the unknown force was gone.
He shook his head impatiently. Didn’t he have enough on his plate without imagining things? Though he was ready for what would happen tomorrow, he wasn’t looking forward to it. No angel would be.
Yet it was needed – just like the angels needed his leadership, even if they didn’t admit it. Especially since most of them were convinced that the Angel Killers were dead now. Raziel saw again his daughter’s green eyes locked on his as she coolly stepped off the Torre Mayor – and knew it would have taken more than the destruction of one of the largest cities in the world to kill her.
Why hadn’t there been even a hint of her and her assassin boyfriend since, though? Ten months without a single angel death. Either they really were dead or they were hiding out somewhere, planning something. He was beginning to feel paranoid for suspecting the latter, but knew his own capacity for deceit too well to underestimate his daughter’s.
No, tomorrow was necessary. Very necessary.
Raziel shifted to his angel form and lifted up in a brilliant glimmer of wings, leaving his black BMW below – he felt like flying through the bright coolness of the autumn day. Leaving the cathedral behind, he soared south over Denver Eden. From this height, he could take in at a glance what he’d accomplished: the different zones that now dissected the mountain city like graph paper; the high, imposing walls that rose in the distance.
Gazing down, he could see hundreds of people, their life energies on display as they shopped, wandered through the parks, drove cars. All so beautifully ordinary. He took good care of his cattle; no one could say otherwise. When you stepped into an Eden, you stepped into bliss – just like he’d promised.
Raziel couldn’t hold back a smirk as the wind whispered past his wings. Yes, bliss: he doubted that any resident of his Edens would describe life otherwise. Certainly not once they’d known the angels’ feeding touch…which never took very long.
He glided high; below, other angels hunted in small, lazy circles. There’d been complaints at first about the need to keep to assigned zones, but by now most seemed resigned to it. Raziel suspected that many angels actually liked the order imposed by his new regime, especially now the Council was gone. What was it about the angelic mind that craved something definitive to cling to?
A green-tinted glass building rose up above the others, reflecting mountains and clouds. Raziel swooped in through its highest window and shifted back to his human form. The penthouse apartment was a symphony of high windows and polished wood, with the Rockies rearing up to the north.
He tossed his suit jacket onto the sofa and settled into a broad leather armchair. As if on cue, a pair of beautiful young women appeared: one blonde, the other brunette – both dressed in tight clothes that it took little imagination to picture coming undone.
“Would you like anything?” asked the brunette, her eyes wide and hopeful. They used to call him “sir”, until he decided that familiarity was more enticing.
Unbuttoning his shirt collar, Raziel hardly looked up. As he reached for the remote control and turned on the TV, he said, “Just a drink, perhaps. Do we have any Evian?”
“Of course.” As the brunette hurried off, the blonde settled at his feet, leaning her head against his knee. She was named Summer and had been a world-renowned model; it amused Raziel when he remembered seeing her image on magazine covers.
He idly stroked her hair as an old rerun of I Love Lucy came on. They hadn’t gotten around to creating new TV shows yet, but this was in the works: every time an actor entered an Eden, they were whisked here to Denver, where writers were busy preparing several new programmes. One, Angel Avengers, was sure to be a hit: it featured a small group who spent their lives hunting down Angel Killers, destroying them in new and inventive ways each week.
“I love this one,” murmured Summer, as Lucy cavorted in a vat of grapes. She tilted back her perfect head to gaze adoringly at Raziel. “It’s so funny.”
“I’m delighted you’re enjoying it, my dear,” he said absently. Summer had a degree in art history and had once been far from stupid – but after several months with him, her aura was weak, her mind almost gone. Really, he should retire her to one of the lower zones, except that she was still so decoratively beautiful that he’d been putting it off.
The brunette – Lauren – appeared with his Evian on a small tray; Raziel shook his head at himself and took a sip. Sentimentality – he couldn’t afford it. He’d make the call tomorrow and have a fresh A1 brought over immediately. For if he didn’t deserve the highest classification of humans, then who did? Perhaps he’d get another brunette, Raziel mused. He could have a matching pair.
On the TV, a man wearing angel wings held up a cellphone, talking excitedly. “Here at Celestial Cells we’ve got the best darn phones around, and every Eden resident wants one! We got electricity here, folks – let’s enjoy it! Talk to your friends, send texts, pictures! Deals start at only a hundred and twenty-nine angel credits – so you be nice to those angels and get your new phone today!” He winked broadly at the camera.
Raziel yawned and flicked to the other channel. The news came on, a pair of coiffed humans sitting behind a desk. There was no investigative reporting any more; the “news” was simply them reading stories provided by Raziel.
The male newscaster beamed. “Today we’re delighted to announce the openings of three new Edens: Cincinnati, Detroit and Omaha. Praise the angels!”
A film clip came on showing the opening of Omaha Eden. “I’m so happy,” said a tearful woman to the camera; behind her, people whooped and cheered. “We’ve been living in a refugee camp for months, and the angels took real good care of us – but this! Oh, it’s just too good to be true!”
Pride warmed Raziel at the sight of the crowds streaming into the made-over city. It wasn’t easy to remake a city into an Eden, but he’d done it. And now five more Edens were scheduled to open within the next month. He had several in Canada and South America, as well – soon he’d be ready to begin expanding into the rest of the world.
I’m getting there, Raziel thought, draining his drink. Even those few humans who hadn’t succumbed yet to his Edens were slowly falling into line. He made shortwave radio broadcasts daily, bombarding anyone who was listening with tempting morsels about how easy and fulfilling life was in an Eden: far more enjoyable than squatting in dark towns with no food supply.
Lauren sat perched on the arm of his chair with her shapely legs crossed. Once the news was over, she ran a finger up his arm and said, “You missed some phone calls. Nothing important. Mostly angels wanting better classifications.”
Raziel smirked. It was a familiar complaint: only a few angels now had access to whichever humans took their fancy. If they wanted to stay in his Edens, then they had to stick to the classifications they’d been assigned.
Unless they were friends of his, of course.
“I told them they’d have to talk to you,” added Lauren.
“Clever girl.”
“I try,” she said with an arch smile. Lauren had only been with him a few weeks, and already Raziel found himself torn between wanting to indulge in her as much as possible and wanting to go easy so that she’d last longer. She’d slipped unobtrusively into the role of assistant, showing a valuable sharpness at it – in fact, the best assistant he’d had since Jonah.
The thought of his traitorous former employee brought a spark of irritation. It was just as well for Jonah that he hadn’t shown his face again since the arrival of the Second Wave. Raziel would like nothing better than to watch him die slowly.
Lauren’s presence was soothing, desirable. Despite his resolution, Raziel’s hand strayed to stroke across her clear blue aura. He could feel its slight resistance against his fingers, as if he were moving them through water.
She caught her breath. “Oh, yes, Raziel, please,” she murmured, gripping his hand. She leaned down to kiss his neck. “Please,” she repeated.
He didn’t need further urging. He changed to his angel form and stood before both girls, wings spread; reaching out mentally to them, he rested a hand in each of their auras and began to feed. Even with Summer’s sadly depleted energy, experiencing two of them at once was intoxicating: waves of sensation that rocked through him, nourishing him.
When he’d finished, the two girls sat slumped weakly, looking awestruck, Lauren in the chair and Summer leaning against it. Raziel shifted to his human form again and smiled to himself at the picture they made.
“Come with me,” he said, tugging them both up by their hands. Summer staggered as she rose; he put an arm around her. All right, so perhaps he shouldn’t be doing this when the girl was so weak already – but he’d be getting rid of her tomorrow, after all.
“Oh, Raziel…I feel like my life is a fairy tale now,” whispered Lauren as she got up. She snuggled against his side.
Her words seemed to echo. Raziel froze, staring at her, as an image rushed into his mind: the gently shifting branches of a long-ago willow tree, lit by the glow of his wings. A woman with wavy blonde hair, gazing up at him: You’ve made my life a fairy tale.
“Why do you say that?” he demanded.
Lauren blinked. “Well, because it is. When the earthquakes came, it was so terrible at first, but now I’m almost glad they happened. You’ve made life a fairy tale for both of us. We feel so lucky, Summer and I.”
“We do, we really do,” said Summer dreamily.
He was an idiot. Two beautiful girls, and he was thinking about one from nineteen years ago? Who wasn’t even alive any more and had been catatonic for years before her death?
“Well, come on then,” he said, lifting Lauren up in his arms; she squealed in delight. “Let’s see if we can make the fairy tale a little more real for you both.”
Later the dream that was memory came again.
Both girls had now departed. Raziel stood at his bedroom window with a sheet wrapped around himself, scowling out at the flaming Rocky Mountain sunset. The images had awakened him from what should have been a refreshing nap. He could almost hear Miranda’s voice still, so soft and childlike – feel her arms around him as the two of them sank to the ground, the willow branches making a private cave.
“You know, I – I get confused sometimes now,” she’d whispered.
“Do you really?” It had been cold out there; he hadn’t cared. Ah, the smoothness of her neck against his lips – the delicious taste of her life energy, still pulsing through his halo.
Miranda had nodded, green eyes wide. “Since I met you, it’s hard for me to think… It’s like part of me is in another world, and I can’t figure out where I’m supposed to be.”
Hardly surprising, the amount he’d been feeding from her. Raziel had chuckled, only half listening. “First a fairy tale, now another world. I’m not very good at keeping you in the here and now, am I?”
“No, you are! Oh, Raziel, you’re the only thing that does.” She’d reached up to cup his cheek, swallowed hard. “The rest of my life – college, compositions, concerts – none of it matters compared to this, right now, with you.”
“Shall we make the most of it then?” he’d murmured, still caressing her. “Of course, it will probably make you feel even more confused, so maybe we shouldn’t – I seem to have that effect on humans.”
As he’d known she would, Miranda had joyfully acquiesced. He remembered feeling a slight regret that her mind seemed to be dissolving so quickly – though not enough regret to make him hesitate.
Now Raziel gritted his teeth. Why did he keep dreaming about this? Ever since the earthquakes, Miranda had been haunting him. She was a woman he’d once enjoyed, yes – for a short while, he’d been almost obsessed with her – but now, after nearly two decades, he wouldn’t even have remembered her if it hadn’t been for the child she’d somehow borne.
He glared out at the mountains. Yes, the half-angel, half-human, wholly impossible child – who, if still alive, had the power to destroy them all, according to Paschar’s vision.
No. Not after tomorrow.
In the window, his reflection showed a handsome, sensitive face with crisp black hair, whose expression was more apprehensive than he liked to admit. Raziel knew the dream would linger for days now. Seeing again Miranda’s image – so like their daughter’s – he pressed his forehead against the cool windowpane and swore softly. Why, out of so many human conquests, had this one young music student begun haunting him?
And why did her memory fill him with such unease that what should have been a time of triumphant anticipation instead felt dark with foreboding?
4
ALEX KNEW THAT MOST OF the drive to Denver would have been pretty desolate anyway – crossing first the Nevada desert and then the Utah one – but the earthquakes had taken desolate to a whole new level. Though he longed to just floor it, in too many places there were deep potholes lurking or dramatic ripples in the asphalt – and out here there’d been only aftershocks.
It had still been enough to change the terrain for ever.
Dawn was breaking as the remains of Las Vegas came into view. The Strip had been almost totally destroyed; Alex could make out the jagged base of the Eiffel Tower and half a pyramid. Grimly, he recalled a trip he and Sam had made into Vegas, to scavenge holograph machines for training from the ruins of an angel-themed hotel. Poking around in the shattered building with his flashlight had not been an experience he’d want to repeat. Christ, there’d been people in there when the place went down.
Willow sat in the passenger seat, staring at the devastated city, her face tight. Alex touched her leg, glad when they left the sight behind.
Five hours after leaving the base, they reached Utah. When at last they turned east onto Highway 70, the route was transformed: fresh, smooth asphalt gleamed in the sun.
Thank god. The truck leaped forward as Alex punched down on the gas. It was a relief to be going faster, though the newly repaired road meant it was a route used by Eden staff. It’d be pretty attractive to bandits too – and a truck loaded with half a dozen full fuel containers was a prize they’d kill for.
Willow sat quietly, hugging her knees. Alex took in her expression. “Getting worse?”
She gave a tense nod. “Stronger with every mile.”
Gradually the road started to climb as they entered the Rockies. Neither of them commented as refugees began appearing: straggling groups weighed down with belongings. Without fail, they stuck out their thumbs the second they spotted the truck. The hope on the tired, dusty faces gouged at Alex.
An older woman holding a little girl’s hand came into view. Willow’s eyes were sorrowful as she studied them. “Heading to Denver Eden,” she said.
“Or Golden. It’s just opened, remember?” The small town was only about ten miles from Denver. Alex shifted gears, hating what he knew would happen to everyone they were passing.
“Yeah.” Willow sighed, still gazing at the woman and child. “So I guess they didn’t hear the Voice of Freedom,” she said softly.
Alex reached across and squeezed her hand. “No. I guess not.”
For amazingly, at least one other person in the world had figured out the truth about the angels. They’d first heard the “Voice of Freedom” a few months ago, when Sam had shouted the four of them into the comms room.
“I was doing a routine check – and listen!” he’d said, cranking up the volume.
“Don’t trust them. The Edens are a trap – if you go into one, you’ll never come out. The angels are poisonous to us, toxic as rat poison. Do you know anyone who’s seen an angel? Is that person well? Or are they sick and feeble and tired…”
They’d stood gaping in wonder. The husky voice coming out of the speakers was androgynous – and utterly welcome.
“This has been the Voice of Freedom,” the broadcast finally concluded. “I’ll be on again soon. Just listen, and you’ll find me.”
Alex knew the broadcasts couldn’t reach more than a handful of people – those lucky enough to have both generators and shortwave radios – but, Jesus, every little bit helped. If nothing else, it was comforting to know that the AKs weren’t completely alone.
An army truck appeared: one of the transport vehicles that cruised near the Edens, picking up refugees. Alex put on a bored expression. As with the other vehicles they’d passed, the driver acknowledged them with a lift of his fingers off the wheel, obviously assuming he and Willow were Eden staff. The truck disappeared and Willow let out a breath.
Alex knew how she felt. Just being on this route made him uneasy; it was the same road he’d sped along a year ago, desperate to reach Willow before her attempt to stop the Second Wave could kill her.
As if to underline the point, they passed a fading poster of Willow tacked to a tree. Her pixieish face was smiling, her long hair Photoshopped short. The headline screamed: WILLOW FIELDS, WANTED FOR CRIMES AGAINST HUMANITY!
Neither mentioned it – though they both knew the poster offered a generous reward if Willow was taken alive. Alex’s jaw tightened. Yeah, he could just imagine what delights Raziel would have in store for his daughter if he ever got his hands on her. At least her shoulder-length brown hair looked nothing like the poster now.
An hour later they’d passed through the heart of the Rockies and begun the long descent towards Denver. Conversation had stopped – whatever waited was now only a dozen miles away.
All at once Willow shivered. “Alex, it feels really close. Can we go faster?”
Her voice was a taut wire. Alex slammed his foot down on the gas; their tyres shrieked as they whipped sharply around turns. Willow clutched the dash with one hand.
She was actually trembling now; risking a glance at her, Alex saw she’d gone completely white. “Oh god, stop, stop!”
“What?”
“Stop the car!”
Alex screeched over to the shoulder. They were at a lookout point, with pine trees in the foreground and Denver half hidden in the distance, the walled city stretching up to meet the late afternoon sky. Willow scrambled out of the cab; Alex threw on the emergency brake and followed.
She stood staring down at the city, her face twisted in frustration. “I can’t see! These stupid pine trees—”
Alex glanced back at the truck. “Come on,” he said, climbing onto the hood. Seconds later they were both perched on the roof, Willow’s body tense beside his. Alex had a moment of wondering how he’d explain this if their soldier friends saw them, and then all other thought was wiped from his mind. With a cry, Willow leaped to her feet; the truck rocked slightly.
“Oh god, this is it – this is it—”
A chill came over Alex. He rose, gazing down at the city. Lifting his consciousness to view it on the ethereal level made no difference at first, it was still the same – and then the sky over Denver tore open in a vertical slash.
Alex stared. Dimly, he was aware of the massive white-domed roof of the Church of Angels cathedral just below the sight. In the sky, the slit seemed to writhe with life; through it were pink-stained clouds.
And angels.
Even from so far away, Alex could see that there were thousands, millions – hovering in a shining vortex that faced the gate between worlds like a sideways tornado, twisting and spiralling far off into the distance, spiky with wings. He gaped, lost for words.
“No,” whispered Willow. He put his arm around her; she clung to him. “Something terrible – any second now—”
She broke off with a cry as the angels surged forward, starkly white against the sunset of their own world. As they poured through the gate, a sound came like the cracking of a giant whip; there was an explosion of light, searing the world into a faded reflection of itself. Alex wrapped his other arm around Willow, shielding her as a wave of energy roared past; he buried his head in her hair to hide his eyes from the burning light.
Slowly, the world returned to stillness. The only sound was the rustle of the wind through the pines.
Alex dared a look. The sky over Denver was a solid mass of angels, their ethereal bodies reeling; some were making hasty landings, gliding down into the city. Whatever had happened, they obviously hadn’t expected it either. In the angels’ world it was now twilight, with a single star shining. Then the gash between worlds shrank as the sky seemed to knit itself together. The star winked from view, leaving blue sky and clouds.
Alex exhaled. “Hey,” he whispered, rubbing Willow’s arm. “Whatever it was, it’s over now.”
She had her fingers pressed tightly against her forehead; after a pause, she swallowed. “I can still sense Seb – I don’t think we were affected. We’ve always been separate from them, so I guess…” She trailed off.
“Affected? What are you talking about?”
She looked up then, her eyes wide and tearful. “You – you don’t know what that burst of energy meant, do you? You don’t know what he’s done.”
Alex stared down at her with dread. He knew he didn’t have to answer; his incomprehension had to be written all over him.
Gazing out at the angels, Willow shivered. Her tone was flat, defeated. “Alex…the angels aren’t linked any more.”
