Angel Fever

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?