Angel Fever (21 page)

Once the fire was going, he came back to the bar and leaned next to me. We both gazed across at the flames.

I cleared my throat. “That’s…really good that you got a fire lit,” I said. “There must be a kitchen somewhere too. Maybe we can find some pots and pans, and heat up our meal for a change. Hey, we could use plates. And real silverware.”

I was babbling. I fell quiet again. Seb’s profile remained motionless, etched golden in the firelight. Finally he scraped his hands over his face. When he spoke, his voice was low.

“Tell me. What I sensed outside – did I only imagine it?”

My skin felt electric. I shook my head. “No. You didn’t imagine it.”

Seb’s eyes flew to mine. He swallowed, his expression haunted.

I wanted so badly to comfort him. I wanted so badly to comfort myself. I gently laid my hand against his hurt cheek, feeling the surface chill of his skin with the warmth underneath – the soft prickle of his stubble.

My voice wasn’t even a whisper. “Seb,” I said.

Our gazes held as the fire crackled. For a long moment, neither of us moved. I’d forgotten how. Then, slowly, Seb reached up and took my hand.

He lowered his head to mine; I closed my eyes as our lips met. The moment spiralled out into infinity as we tasted each other. Seb’s hand moved to my head, stroked through my hair. His feelings enveloped me in a rush, rocking me; at the same time he pulled me close against him, and I wrapped my arms around him tightly, drowning in the feel of him – his mouth, hungry on mine; his tongue, warm and wet and real.

It had been so long since I’d been held this way – so long since I’d felt like this. I broke away, kissing his jaw, his cheek, his temple. “Seb, Seb,” I cried, burying my face against his neck.

He clutched me to him – his lips on my hair, then pulling away to hold my head with both hands, kissing my mouth again. “It’s always been you,” he said fiercely between kisses. “No matter what I did – no matter what I wanted – always you.”

I could never get enough of him; I wanted to climb inside him. We fell against the bar with a bump as we kissed and kissed. I could feel the pounding of Seb’s heart through his sweater – or maybe it was my own. Seb’s hands moved across my back; he found bare skin just above my jeans, and his touch shivered through me.

And now I could feel our angels too. As the fire cast dancing shadows around the rustic room, they’d emerged above us and were buried in each other’s energy…joined so deeply that I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

A
LEX
’
S SHOULDERS SLUMPED AS HE
spotted the stream through the trees. Oh, thank Christ – it had been two days since he’d managed to fill his water bottle. Limping on his throbbing left foot, he made his way down the muddy bank. The water felt cold on his hands and face as he scooped up handful after handful to drink.

He’d been wary of the water here at first, but he’d had no choice except to try it – and he’d found it cleaner and fresher than anything back home. The angels had no industry, no pollution. In many ways their world was a complete Eden, though just the word made Alex grimace.

He drank his fill and then refilled the plastic bottle, screwing the cap back on carefully before replacing it in his pack. Turning his attention to his foot, he drew off the tattered sock. God, his flesh looked as if it had been through a meat grinder: oozing blisters and cuts that couldn’t heal. He dipped it in the stream and winced. Presumably the plants here were similar to those in his world – if he knew how, he could make himself a poultice or something. He’d have to take the survivalist class along with the rest of his team when he got home.

Because he was going to get home. End of story.

“What are you doing?” asked a morose voice.

Alex hardly looked up. “Soaking my foot.”

“Oh.” A man drifted into view through the trees. Sandy hair and a worried expression, clothes that had been fashionable ten years ago. “Have you seen the angels?” he asked.

“No.” Alex motioned with his head. “Denver’s that way.” He had no idea whether the place he was heading to was called Denver here or not. It didn’t matter; the ghosts never listened. This one didn’t either.

“They’ve all gone,” the man said sadly. He came around so that he was standing in the stream in front of Alex, looking deceptively substantial. The water flowed on, undisturbed by his presence.

“No, they haven’t,” said Alex.

“There used to be so many of them…so glorious…and now they’ve all gone. Their world is still beautiful, though. All the rainbows…” The man trailed off, gazing at the rainbows that only ghosts could seem to see. Then he remembered Alex and looked at him hopefully. “So do you know where the angels are? Can you help me find them?”

Alex didn’t respond. Once they got going on this subject, the ghosts could keep talking for ever. He drew his foot out of the water and dried it as best he could; the sores looked no less fierce. He pulled on his sock, gritting his teeth at the pain. When he looked again, the man had vanished. There were only the trees on the opposite bank.

The “ghosts” had startled Alex at first, then intrigued him – now, after three weeks in this world, he was bored out of his skull by them. He still wasn’t sure what they were. He’d never seen a ghost in his own world and thought he would have, if they really existed. Were these memories, somehow, of people the angels had fed from? Except that their thoughts, though predictable, did seem pretty rooted in the here and now. The few angels Alex had seen – flying distantly overhead, looking flagging and weak – paid the ghosts no attention at all. Definitely the best policy.

Anyway, the ghost had been right about one thing – there weren’t many angels here any more; clearly almost all of them had now evacuated to the human world.
Lucky us,
thought Alex. He rose and tested his weight on his foot. It would do – it would have to; he still had at least twenty miles to go.

He touched the woven bracelet on his wrist. Willow must be out of her mind by now.
Not much longer, babe, I promise,
he thought, as he climbed up the bank. Imagining being back with her again – holding her close, seeing her smile – was what drove him to walk extra miles every day, when his throbbing foot would have preferred to rest.

Alex continued on his way, keeping as brisk a stride as he could. He was deep in the angels’ equivalent of the Rockies now, with woods to either side and a soaring view of mountains whenever he reached a clearing.

In his world, this area was total wilderness. Here, the angels had apparently groomed the place to be a giant outdoor park. He was walking on a path that had once been tended, lined with small symmetrical rocks; occasionally he passed items that appeared to be artwork, though any meaning was lost on him. He studied a large globe made of steel bands, lying dented beside a marble block.

As he walked, he scanned constantly for angels. He’d seen only a handful in three weeks, but wasn’t about to become careless now – not when he was so close. There were none, though he saw several more ghosts. They kept their distance, staring mournfully at him as he passed.

He kept on after dark, his heart quickening in anticipation. Denver was only a few miles away now – with luck, he could be back in his own world before morning. Then hot pain tore through his injured foot.

Alex swore; groping down, he pulled away a stick with thorns. He could hardly even
see
his foot any more, but could feel the warm blood streaming from it, soaking into the sock. He hurled the stick into the undergrowth. Stopping when he was so close felt like torture, but if he kept on he might stroll over a cliff before he even noticed.

Reluctantly, he left the path and made his way into the trees; he sank down between two of them and let out a long breath, head dropped back against the bark. His muscles were starting to sing. How far had he walked today? Twenty miles, thirty?

He took a deep, thirsty swig of water, conscious now of how hungry he was. He only had one energy bar left; he allowed himself two bites and then lay down tiredly, covering himself with his leather jacket. The ground was freezing, but at least there was no snow. Adding frostbite to his sore and bleeding foot would have just been a joke.

The smell of damp earth surrounded him; he could hear the gentle rustling of the wind. Exhausted, Alex stared into the shadows, thinking about Denver. If it was laid out like the Denver in his own world, then the gate would be near the cathedral somewhere – on the north side of town, slightly outside the city limits. So he’d circle around and, he hoped, avoid the remaining angels.

He’d learned early on that most congregated in the cities – when he’d passed Albuquerque, the place had been comparatively teeming. He didn’t have a clue why the creatures no longer seemed to enjoy strolling around in their wilderness parks, but he wasn’t about to argue.

As Alex finally drifted off to sleep, he touched his woven bracelet again: the colours of his aura and Willow’s entwined.
Not much longer,
he vowed silently. He’d get back to her soon – or die trying.

When Alex had first opened his eyes after the blast, there hadn’t been a single part of him that didn’t ache.

Gazing blearily upwards, he’d seen smooth white walls that met a plain ceiling, light streaming in through a small window. Dawn. Or sunset, maybe. Ignoring the fact that he felt as if he’d been clubbed with a mallet, he slowly rose to his feet and stared around him.

Jesus, he’d made it. He was in the angels’ world – though getting here had been agony like nothing he’d ever experienced. Recalling the sense of being crushed, ripped apart, Alex marvelled that he was even still alive.

The room that he’d glimpsed from his father’s house was weirdly ordinary, something he wouldn’t have looked at twice in his own world – about the same size as his dad’s place, but all one open area. It had the feel of a disused storeroom, with a thin layer of dust and a stale scent. He couldn’t see any form of lighting; apart from that, the only strange thing was a painted line of symbols on one wall – elegant squiggles and swirls that he couldn’t read. A wooden crate lay on its side, empty.

Wondering briefly what angels needed to store, Alex sank down onto it, his thoughts spinning. Everything ached. He was coated with a powdery grime, and had a dozen scrapes and bruises. His left ankle was the worst: a long, shallow scratch that had clearly bled a lot; his sock was stained with red.

Sock. Suddenly he realized that he was only wearing one shoe. Alex stared down at his foot in bemusement. The shoe must have gotten blown off in the explosion.

It all rushed back. That’s right; he’d seen the house go, had lost sight of this room in the blast. He must have passed through just as everything went up – he was even luckier to be alive than he’d thought.

“But what the hell, Cull,” he murmured. The plain room was silent, ageless. “It
is
possible to get here.”

Alarm hit as he recalled again the force of the explosion. He straightened up sharply. Speeding his consciousness up through his chakra points, he scanned the room.

The opening between the worlds was gone.

No, stay calm
– he had to be imagining this. Alex got up and circled the room, examining the ether from every angle. There wasn’t even the faintest ripple to show where the gate had been.

“Shit,” he whispered hollowly. Dust motes glinted, stirred by his walking. How could he carry out his father’s plan with no gate leading back to his own world? No, forget
that
– how the hell was he supposed to get home?

“There’s got to be a way,” he muttered. “The angels get through all the time – I’ve just got to find one of their routes, that’s all.”

Yeah, simple.

Alex slumped back onto the crate and slowly rubbed his hands down his face as he gazed at where the opening should have been. Okay, fine – for the time being, he was stuck here. Deal with it. Meanwhile, he’d try to do what he came here for. Maybe that would provide some answers that staring into space couldn’t.

His father’s idea had first been born years ago, when Martin had seen an angel crossing into the human world. He’d done a hasty scan before the entryway between dimensions had closed – and learned that the energy field of the angel world was wholly different from that of the human one. Far stronger, but also more pliable, organized – nothing like the faint but chaotic energy of home.

“It could be controlled, I’m sure of it,” Martin had told his sons. “Think of it – the energy field of an entire world at our fingertips! If we could just get over there long enough to connect with it, we could bridge it back to our own world and use it to destroy the angels!”

Remembering, Alex shook his head. Even now that he’d crossed the first hurdle, the idea still seemed insane to him.
I hope you were right about this, Cull,
he thought, closing his eyes.
Or else I’m stuck here for nothing, and then I really am going to feel like a complete idiot.

Martin had taught both his sons how to tap into the world’s energy field – something Alex hadn’t bothered with in years; at home there was no reason for it. Now he carefully centred himself, planting both feet firmly on the ground. Then he lifted his consciousness and let it spread out in all directions. In his own world, this sensation made him mildly dizzy; here it brought a wave of nausea that had him pale and sweating in seconds. He paid no attention.

There, exactly as Martin had described – a sea of seething energy that roared past his senses. Yet he could tell what his dad had meant: there was an
order
to it. The sense that if you could just figure out the right key, it could be yours.

Alex felt a flicker of excitement. Cautiously, he started to delve into the energy, attempting to merge into it like Martin had taught him.

“
Ahh!
” He jerked back; the crate skidded as he crashed onto the floor. Senses reeling, he hefted himself backwards and slumped against the wall for a minute, breathing hard. The pain had been like grabbing an electrified fence.

His next few attempts were even worse. After an hour of increasingly violent expulsions, Alex was clammy and shaking, muscles taut. “Okay, yeah, this is a real success,” he muttered finally, wiping his forehead. “Oh, man, Cully. I wish you weren’t dead so I could kill you.”

He gripped his temples, forcing himself to face the truth: his energy was alien to that of this world; there was no way for him to breach it. His dad had been wrong. Cully had been wrong. He could observe the energy field here – that was all.

Alex sat motionless, fury and disappointment raging through him. Yeah, he’d just had to
try
this thing, hadn’t he? He’d known it was insane, and now what? He wondered if Willow could sense him in this world; imagining what she’d think if she couldn’t, he winced. Oh, Christ, he’d be frantic if it were her. He’d rather have died in the blast than live trapped in this world for nothing.

Alex’s jaw hardened at the thought. No
.
He would get home again.

He did a scan to check that there was no life beyond the walls. Then he grabbed his backpack and rifle, swung them over his shoulder, and stepped out into a gentle dusk in the angels’ world.

He was in an enclosure reminiscent of his father’s old camp: plain white buildings that were clearly abandoned, though these were clustered around a central courtyard. There was no fence. Desert lay in all directions, startlingly like the one he knew – even the low mountains on the horizon were the same. A warm breeze stroked past.

Relieved at the similarity between worlds, Alex squinted north across the desert. With the gateway here obliterated, the one place where he knew the angels had crossed dimensions before was in Denver.