Angel Fire (15 page)

He was glad to feel the tension between them ease. “Yeah, but you still look just the same,” he said, scanning her face. Kara was half black and half Mexican; the mix had resulted in stark, dramatic features and a graceful neck. Extremely short hair looked amazing on her; it always had.

She smiled, and pretended to preen. “Thanks – when you get to my age, you kind of like hearing that.” Her face grew more serious again. She examined her nails; he saw the same expression in her eyes as when she’d made the mistake over the coffee. “So...do you still think about him as much as I do?”

Alex looked down at his plate; the words wouldn’t come. He felt Kara reach across and squeeze his wrist. “Sorry,” she said. “Stupid question.”

“Every day,” he said finally. “I miss him every day.”

They both straightened as Willow came back into the kitchen; he could tell that she’d picked up on the mood. She stood with her arms crossed over her chest, and attempted a smile. “Hey, I’m sorry to be boring, but I’m getting pretty tired,” she said. “I might just go on to bed.”

“Me too,” said Alex, stretching. Then he remembered. “Kara, can we borrow some clothes from you guys? Some thieving jerk stole all our stuff, up in Chihuahua.”

“Yeah, we can fix you up, no problem,” said Kara. She started clearing the plates away; Willow moved to help. “So, Willow, we’ve got an extra bed in the girls’ dorm that you’re welcome to. And Alex, you can take Juan’s old room if you want; it’s right by the guys’ dorm – it’s pretty small; it’s got a single bed in it—” She stopped, looking flustered as she glanced from Alex to Willow. “Oh, wait. I guess maybe you...”

“We’ll both take Juan’s old room,” said Alex. He saw Kara start to say something and then stop, her lips tightening. “What?” he said sharply. “Everyone knows that Willow and I are together; I’m not going to start hiding it.”

“No, it’s not that,” said Kara. She scraped the remains of the spaghetti into the trash. “It’s just...well, Juan thought it was better if people didn’t couple up too obviously. For the team, I mean. He sort of laid down some ground rules when we first got here, and that was one of them. But look, you’re in charge now; you do what you want.”

He started to say
Good, I will,
and then hesitated as he remembered – his father had had that rule, too. It wasn’t that Martin had cared who was seeing who – illicit meetings in the broom closet had been fine as far as he was concerned – but he’d said it made the team feel like more of a unit if it was always team first, couples second. And when you were in a combat situation, that could be vital.

“Alex, it’s fine – I’ll go into the dorm,” said Willow, rinsing their forks and knives off without looking at him.

He could just imagine what it would be like for her in there, with the other girls hating her. Then he noticed the tension in her movements, and that she still wasn’t meeting his gaze. His eyebrows lowered in concern as a suspicion came to him. “Could you leave us alone for a second?” he asked Kara.

She put the rinsed-off dishes onto a drying rack. “Sure, I’ll just go and find some clothes for you both. Back in ten.”

Alex leaned against the counter by the sink and gently pulled Willow to him, looping his arms around her waist. “You heard what Kara was saying before, didn’t you?”

She gave a reluctant nod. “Just the last part of it, as I was coming down the stairs, but...yeah, enough to get the idea,” she admitted.

“Okay, so you know it’s a complete fantasy, right? You do
not
cause angel burn. Not to me, or anybody else.”

Glancing down, Willow fingered the crystal pendant he’d given her; it gleamed in the light. “Kara’s right, though, you don’t know that for sure.” Her voice was unsteady. “How can you? No one really knows anything about half-angels. I mean, I don’t
think
I’ve ever hurt anyone, but you and I are so close, and maybe— ”

“
Wil-
low. Come on. Babe, please, listen to me—” He lifted her chin with his hand; her eyes were bright with tears. “Of course you’re not hurting me,” he said. “Do I look unhealthy to you? I’m fine.”

“But just because someone looks healthy doesn’t always mean they are. And what about that headache you got in Chihuahua? The night before, we almost—” She stopped, flushing slightly. “I mean...we came so close, remember?”

With a sudden grin, he said, “Oh, hey, yeah. Now that you mention it, I do seem to recall that.” He bent his head down and kissed her; felt her start to respond and then pull away.

“Alex, I’m serious! What if that had something to do with—”

“Shh,” he murmured, kissing her again. His hands were on her hips; gliding them upwards, he could feel the slim cello-dip of her waist. “Listen to me. You don’t have a halo. You don’t feed. The only way you could hurt me would be to stop touching me. That would hurt. A lot. This feels...really good, actually.” The kiss deepened, their mouths moving together. He felt her give in to it, pressing close against him and twining her arms around his neck. He stroked his hands up her spine, relishing her warmth. The thought of sleeping separately from her was agonizing.

When they drew apart, Willow rested her head against his chest; he dropped his cheek onto her hair, caressing her back through the softness of the plaid shirt. “Promise me you’ll tell me if you ever even suspect I’m hurting you,” she said after a pause. “I mean, if you even have a
cough
that you don’t think you should have, you’ve got to tell me, all right?”

He started to make a joke and then Willow looked up; her expression was gravely serious. “I promise,” he said, touching her face. God, he could kill Kara for putting this idea in her head. “But, Willow, it’s not going to happen. You’re not hurting me. It was just a headache – everyone on the planet gets them sometimes.”

She hesitated, her eyes searching his. “I really hope you’re right.”

“I am,” he said. He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “I promise you. I’m completely fine.”

Willow let out a breath. “Okay,” she said at last, nodding. “Maybe I overreacted a little.” She reached up and covered his hand with hers. “I’ll believe you until I have a reason not to, how’s that?”

“Much better,” he said. He drew her back to him again. Lowering his head, he whispered in her hair, “So now that we’ve got that settled...maybe we should think about finishing what we started the other night.”

She glanced quickly at him; her cheeks reddened a little, but she was smiling. “Oh, I’m definitely thinking about it – believe me.” She traced a finger over his chest. “But next time, someone needs to be a little more prepared.”

Alex nuzzled at her neck. “I bought some on the drive down today,” he murmured against her smooth skin.

“You did?”

“Mm-hmm.” He nibbled at her ear; felt her shiver.

“Oh,” she said faintly. “That makes it...really, really suck that I’m going to sleep in the girls’ dorm while we’re here.”

He pulled away. “You are?”

Willow sighed. “I think I’d better. Don’t you, honestly? I mean, I don’t want to cause any problems, and it sounds like it’s sort of the established thing.”

He grimaced. “It doesn’t
have
to be. I mean, I’m the lead now...I could always just order you to sleep in the same bed as me.”

“Oh, that’s romantic.”

Alex half laughed, half groaned, dropping his head down onto her shoulder. He felt her stroke his hair. “Yeah, you’re right,” he said finally. “Dad had the same rule. He didn’t care what people did, but...” He raised his head and smiled ruefully. “Maybe we could find a broom closet somewhere.”

“It’s amazing; this conversation just keeps on getting more and more romantic.”

“So...that’s a no to the broom closet, then.”

“It is a definite, emphatic no to the broom closet.”

Alex smiled. “You know I’m only kidding, don’t you?” He found her hand; linked his fingers tightly through hers. “Willow, when it happens, I want it to be just...incredible for you. For both of us. Totally perfect.”

“I know,” she said, her eyes soft. “We’ll find a way soon. Let’s get used to being here first, okay? Then we can start sneaking around and checking out broom closets.” She sighed. “I’m really going to miss sleeping with you, though,” she said, running her hand up his arm. “I mean, just – talking to you. Being held by you.”

Alex could hear Kara returning with their clothes. “Yeah, I know,” he said, giving her another quick kiss. “Me, too.”

And he thought wryly that was probably one of the biggest understatements of his life.

“R
AZIEL
!” T
HE FEMALE VOICE WAS
low, urgent. A hand lightly slapped his cheek, and then the other one. “You
must
wake up. Hurry, we haven’t much time!”

The touch was angelic; the voice wasn’t any that he’d been hearing since lying here in bed – and how long had that been? A day? A week? With terrible, sudden clarity, what he’d sensed while unconscious came roaring back, and Raziel’s eyes flew open. When he saw who was at his bedside, he struggled upright, his head still swimming.

“Charmeine,” he said.

She was sitting on the side of his bed, wearing grey trousers and a black angora sweater that bared one shoulder, her long white-blonde hair falling in a shining stream. Raziel regarded her, pleasure mixing with sharp suspicion. He and Charmeine had had a thing once and were now friends of a sort, though Charmeine was too much like him for comfort sometimes. They’d kept in touch sporadically these last two years, but he hadn’t known that she’d planned to come across with the Second Wave. Given the Council’s sudden appearance as well, it wasn’t particularly reassuring to find her here now, perched on his bed.

“I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong – I promise you can trust me.” Charmeine took his hand and he felt her opening herself to him, showing her sincerity. Which was nice, but meant little. It was standard procedure to let someone in and show them exactly what you wanted them to see.

“The Twelve are here, Raziel. And—”

“I know,” he broke in bitterly, pulling his hand away. He still felt dizzy. “And only three or four years ahead of schedule, fancy that. Why? Did someone tip them off?” Like many angels, Raziel had unconsciously taken on characteristics from some of his human energy donors; the English accent had been with him for years.

“No, I mean they’re
here
,” said Charmeine levelly. “Downstairs. In the cathedral. They sent me to summon you.”

Raziel was unable to hide his shock; he felt it leap within him like a flame. “They’re
summoning me
– in my own cathedral?” he said finally.

“Yes,” said Charmeine. “And yes, they’re here in the first place because they were tipped off. I don’t know who by, but they know everything you’ve been up to – they have for months. They’ve been making plans.”

Apprehension tightened his muscles. “What plans?”

She shook her head. “You’ll find out soon enough, I’m afraid.”

Typical Charmeine: to dangle information, and then not supply it. Raziel frowned, but didn’t bother to go searching. Angels had had thousands of years to perfect the art of psychic manoeuvring – Charmeine’s defences were as skilled as his own. “And what do
you
have to do with all of this?” he demanded instead. “What do you mean, they sent you?”

“I was, shall we say, strongly encouraged to come across with the Second Wave and serve them,” said Charmeine. “They’ve decided that only family can be trusted. Even a black sheep like me.”

Charmeine was one of the “first family” – an angel who had been formed soon after the Twelve. She wasn’t as close to them in lineage as some – more of a distant cousin than anything else. But her basic ethereal make-up was still more similar to the Twelve’s than other angels’, which in theory meant they’d find it easier to have psychic control over her. Hence their sudden yearning to have their “family” around them, no doubt.

“So they’ve bound you,” summed up Raziel. “You’re one of their psychic lackeys now, and they know everything you do.”

Charmeine shrugged; her exposed shoulder was slim and pale. “They think so. I think they’d be surprised how strong my defences are. The familial energy works both ways, you know – I have layers they haven’t even discovered yet.”

Raziel regarded her; if true, it was interesting news. “And how long do you think you can keep
that
up?”

“Long enough, hopefully.”

Her tone was lightly casual, but he knew Charmeine had never said anything truly casual in her life – like most angels, she thrived on innuendo and subtext. Raziel shoved back the covers and got out of bed. He was wearing a silken pair of pyjamas that he rarely bothered with; obviously one of his human attendants had put them on him.

“Delightfully mysterious as always, I see,” he said. “Fine. I’ve got to take a shower and change.”

“Don’t be too long,” cautioned Charmeine, glancing at the door. “They expect you down there shortly.”

“I’ll be as long as I like,” he snapped. “This is
my
cathedral – they don’t give the orders around here.”

Despite his bravado, he still found himself hurrying as he bathed, which enraged him. Lurking below the anger was that same almost-fear he’d felt while unconscious. He hadn’t expected the Council to find out the true extent of his power in this world yet. Ever since the First Wave, their knowledge of what was happening here had been somewhat sketchy; only a few First Wavers had the ability to communicate with them across the dimensions. And as time had passed, loyalties had shifted. It hadn’t taken long for the angels living here to feel more in tune with Raziel and others who were connoisseurs of this world than with the old guard back home – or to see the enticing possibilities for the power they could all share here.