Angel, Page 80

Page 80

 

  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.

  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.

  “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.