Angel Fever

27

THE MAIN OFFICE IN THE town hall was piled high with scavenged goods. Ignoring the thought of all the people these things had belonged to, Seb sifted quickly through the clothes. He was wearing just his jeans, his skin still damp from a hasty wash with chilly water. Scott the football hero hadn’t returned yet with the others, though they’d be back any second.

Footsteps echoed in the marble hallway. Seb glanced up; Willow’s voice floated in – she was talking to Nina. He stood motionless as their footsteps faded – then shook his head and snapped on a T-shirt.

Though he would never have thought it possible, kissing Willow again had at least done one thing for him: the thought of trying again with her, ever, held no appeal at all. He couldn’t believe it had happened again – to be kissing her, then find out it was Alex she wanted. And this time it had killed something vital in him. Even if Willow came to him now, totally over Alex, and said she wanted him – he’d tell her no and he knew it.

There was a mirror propped against one wall. Seb stopped and stared at himself, frowning, as the momentousness of this hit him.

Dios mío…it was really true. He’d finally had enough.

In a daze, Seb sank down onto a desk. Searching his emotions, he found only a deep sense of caring for Willow. He loved her, yes; he always would – but in love with her?

No.

After sixteen years of thinking himself in love with Willow, he’d at last come out the other side. Yet the sadness was still there, so ingrained within him that he could feel it in every cell.

Willow’s frustrated voice came back to him: At least be honest with yourself! Why do you think you’ve been so unhappy these last few months?

The ghost of the argument still infuriated him. To go from kissing Willow to being told that he wasn’t really in love with her at all—

Deep down, his angel stirred. But you’re not.

Seb’s jaw clenched as, from out of nowhere, he remembered when Meghan had taught him to drive: the way she’d laughed when he’d stalled them with a lurch, sending her auburn hair swinging forward. Suddenly his chest felt hollow. He clutched the back of his head and sat hunched over, almost wanting to punch something.

And then glanced up, startled, as Jonah stepped in.

An awkward silence. “Hi,” Jonah said, shifting his weight. “I just wanted to see if you were finding everything all right.”

“Yes, thanks.” Seb got up and yanked on his sweater, confused by the vehemence of his emotions. What was wrong with him, anyway?

Jonah came in and leaned against the desk. His jean-clad form was tautly thin, like a runner’s. “So you’re from Mexico?” he asked. “My family went to Puerto Vallarta on vacation once.”

Seb had been several times, hoping to spot his half-angel girl in the sunburned crowds. “Very pretty,” he said non-committally. “The beach is nice.”

Jonah smiled slightly. “I guess it’s not the real Mexico.”

Images swarmed in: the traffic of the Distrito Federal, with its shouting street vendors; the grinning skull of Santa Muerte; the danger that lay down a wrong street – the chaotic beauty down another. And the large brown eyes of a too-thin street girl as he grabbed her, told her to Run, niña!

“No, the real Mexico is impossible to explain,” Seb said finally. “It’s better to go where the tourists go. Enjoy the sun.”

“I grew up in Utah – I got plenty of sun there. I’d rather see what’s real.” Jonah nudged at the floor with a scuffed sneaker. “I’ve got kind of an aversion to things that aren’t, ever since I left the Church.”

Voices approached outside; Jonah straightened. “Scott’s back.” He cleared his throat, glancing at Seb. “You know, I’ve never been in a battle before.”

“I don’t recommend them,” Seb said in a low voice. “But we have a warning this time, at least.”

Jonah’s face might have been boyish; his thoughtful dark eyes were not – and Seb realized that at some point he’d already faced what was, for him, the worst thing imaginable.

“Yeah, I hope that makes a difference,” Jonah said quietly. “But if it doesn’t—” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “As long as Nina’s safe I don’t care what happens to me. There are some things worth dying for.”

When Seb and Jonah entered the room with the shortwave radio, Scott and a dozen others were already there, including Willow. Scott had a map of Pawntucket spread out on the desk. He glanced up as Seb and Jonah came in.

“I’ve got the others out scavenging,” he said. “Wood, nails, stuff like that, so we can build fortifications.”

Seb nodded. “Yes, this sounds good.”

“And listen, sorry about before. We had some angels sneaking around here this morning, and—”

“Jonah told us,” put in Willow. “We probably wouldn’t have been very welcoming either.”

For the first time in two years, Seb realized that he didn’t have to stop his aura from straining towards Willow’s. She’d been about to say something else; her eyes widened. She turned quickly towards him – and he knew that she knew.

Looking somewhat stunned, Willow shook herself. “So, um – what kind of fortifications?” she asked.

As everyone pressed around the table, Seb found himself next to a tall, leggy girl with long auburn hair. He did a double take, and she glanced at him, eyebrows up.

It was only Rachel – that girl he’d seen earlier. Seb tore his gaze away, gritting his teeth as he realized: when he’d seen her, hope had leaped within him like a flame.

Damn Willow, anyway, with her stupid certainty. He was not in love with Meghan. Because if he was, that would mean he was the biggest idiot in existence…and had lost the girl who meant more to him than anything.

Scott was drawing something beside the map. “Okay, the angels always come in from the air; they like to attack from height. So I think we need ladders on all the intact buildings, and footholds on the roofs, like this. All around the square, so that fighters have a clear shot at them.”

“What about these streets?” Seb asked sharply, pointing to the lower part of the map. “You have to protect more than just the centre, or they’ll destroy you.”

“But we’ve only got five days,” Rachel protested. Her eyes were the same sky-blue as Meghan’s.

“You are lucky to have five days,” Seb snapped. She reddened and looked away, and he hated himself.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a pause.

“No, you’re right,” Jonah said quietly. “Scott, what about—” He broke off at the sound of running footsteps.

“Jonah!” called a voice. “Jonah!”

Jonah leaped for the door; he flung it open just as a guy with blond hair reached it. “There’s a pack of angels circling overhead,” he panted.

Everyone reacted instantly. Less than a minute later, Seb found himself with his rifle in hand, running close to the buildings lining the square with a guy named David. The town hall bells rang out as angels soared far above.

“This way!” David led him into the bank with its dark, abandoned teller stations. “It’s one of the tallest buildings left – there’s a good view from the top—” David gasped as they pounded up the concrete stairs.

They emerged in an office that had clearly been used for defence before: two metal tables lay overturned, forming a shield, and the glass had been broken out of its windows.

Seb peered out. The dozen or so angels were just circling, too high up to shoot at. He could sense the frustration of other fighters scattered throughout the town.

Finally, after a few long, tense moments, the angels started descending. David snapped his gun into position; Seb’s hand flew out to stop him. “No, wait,” he said, staring upwards. “I don’t think—”

Gunfire sounded from elsewhere; one of the angels exploded into brightness. Seb held back a curse as more gunfire, more destroyed angels followed – he had a sudden feeling that this was not a good idea. Don’t bring your angel out, he thought fervently to Willow, though he knew she was too far away to hear. Don’t let them know we’re here.

As we’d all run outside, everyone had split off in different directions; Scott had gripped my arm to keep me with him. “You any good with a gun?” he demanded as we flattened ourselves against the remains of the hardware store.

I’d already brought out my pistol. “Not bad,” I said, eyeing the bright forms overhead.

Then I stiffened, every sense tingling. “Wait!” I gasped. “We’ve got to go this way.” I’d already taken a few steps further south.

Scott flung me a hurried glance. “What?”

Sudden urgency took my breath away. I had to get there – had to. I started running down the street; Scott caught up and grabbed my arm again. “Willow, what are you doing?”

Gunfire had started. “Come on!” I cried.

“What’s going on?”

I wrenched away; I wanted to kick him. “I don’t know, but I’m psychic, remember?”

Scott looked alarmed; he dropped my arm, and we took off. I caught glimpses of the others as we ran – felt them crouched behind buildings, firing upwards. Stop shooting! I wanted to yell, but my pounding pulse drove me forward, to the streets heading south out of town.

When we reached them, the view opened up and we saw the angels again, only five left now, high up in the sky as they flew off towards Schenectady Eden. “Damn it,” muttered Scott. “If the angels didn’t know about us before, they sure will now.”

“They knew,” I said. We were at the top of Orchid, looking south. I stared at a fallen tree lying across the street. “That wasn’t there before, was it?”

“No, we blocked off the main roads when we got back. Is there a reason we’re here, Willow?”

Then we both heard it: an engine heading our way.

Scott swore and pulled me around the side of a house; he peered out. “Okay, you were right,” he said. “Just like in high school. You know, everyone only called you Queen Weird because it was so spooky how accurate your readings were.”

I crouched down and stared out from under his arm. The street was still empty; the sound of the engine was growing closer. Over the sudden hammering of my pulse, I said, “Yeah, Nina used to tell me I was ruining my chances with the popular crowd.”

“None of that crap matters any more,” Scott said shortly. “We’re all glad you’re back, Willow. We’ve been hoping you’d come.”

A truck cruised into view: a blue 4 × 4 that looked like an Eden vehicle. As it reached the barricade, it stopped. Someone got out; the door slammed.

“Only one,” Scott said, fingering his rifle. “What is he, can you tell? Human or angel?”

I’d forgotten to scan, because all I could do was stare. The guy who’d gotten out had dark hair…and was wearing faded jeans and a leather jacket. My heart skipped so hard it was painful. Oh god, when would I stop seeing Alex everywhere?

“Willow?” said Scott from a distance. “Is he okay?”

The dark-haired guy had firm shoulders, slim hips. A rifle was slung over his back. As I watched, he shoved a hand through his hair in a motion so familiar it clutched at my soul.

Suddenly I was shaking. I did a scan…and as the familiar energy hit me, the world stopped.

“Alex?” I whispered.