Angelborn (8 page)

T
he clock tower
chimes the hour, signaling the end of class. The professor is the first one out the door. I slowly put away my laptop, waiting for everyone else to leave before I venture out. Narrow, congested hallways, crowds of any kind really, give me a headache, which is ironic because the dead avoid them too. My life would be a lot easier if I could only be comfortable around large groups of people, everyone breathing and blinking together.

Caleb waits alone in the hallway. There’s no way to avoid him, so I turn up the volume on my music. Shirley Manson snarls out a vaguely disturbing ode to obsession and stalking. My own personal number-one crush follows me to the exit. He holds the door open, so I guess he’s visible now. I make the mistake of meeting his eyes; an entire world is alive in there, and I tear my gaze away.

Walking faster doesn’t do any good, since his legs are longer than mine and besides, he can fly, but still I don’t know what he’s here for. I wish he’d just go away.

Finally, he calls my name. I pretend not to hear. “We should talk.”

I pop out an earbud and round on him. “Talk about what, exactly?”

He’s caught by surprise, like he didn’t expect me to answer. His lips start to form words, but then he changes his mind. He smells amazing, like something I can’t even describe, angel dust maybe — fresh, like laundry just out of the dryer but masculine, a light woodsy scent I want to inhale all day.

“What’s
Napoleon Dynamite
?”

The question takes me by surprise. “Excuse me?”

“I just … Genna said it’s her favorite movie, and I watched it today, but I don’t think I understand.”

I shake my head and a snort escapes involuntarily. That girl is hilarious. “Genna’s favorite movie is
The Notebook.
Did you notice the huge poster on her wall? She just said
Napoleon Dynamite
to impress you.”

He frowns. It’s fucking adorable. “Why would she think lying would impress me?”

How do I explain flirting to an angel? “It’s not exactly lying. She probably likes it well enough. People just enhance the truth sometimes by saying things they think the other person wants to hear. It’s how dating works.”

I can see him working through this in his head. It’s obvious it still doesn’t compute. “She probably wants you to think she’s cool and quirky. Since you’re all …” I wave my hand toward him. He’s taken my advice and wears solid-colored shirts these days and jeans that hug his ass and thighs in a totally sexy way. I blink and lose my train of thought.

“I’m all what?” he asks.

“Never mind.” I turn away from him to try to clear my head.

“Wait.” From the corner of my eye, I see him reach out to grab my arm. I jerk away and trip on the raised edge of the sidewalk where it meets the grass unevenly. Some dude blazes by on a bicycle, and I lose my balance completely, slamming onto the concrete on my hands and knees. My left hand crumples, unable to bear any weight, and I land hard on my elbow.

Caleb hovers over me like a nervous mother as I stand up. Both palms are scraped and beginning to bleed, plus the knee of my jeans is torn and the skin pulled away there as well.

“That was my fault. I’m so sorry,” he says.

I look at him like he’s crazy. “How was that your fault? It was Lance-fucking-Armstrong’s fault over there. And mostly mine.” There’s some gravel lodged in the cuts, and I start to brush it away. Caleb’s hands envelop both of mine.

“Let me.”

His touch sends tingles through me and I try to pull away, but he’s being stubborn. All of a sudden, I’m tingling in a totally different way. The stinging sensation disappears, and the abrasions all heal before my eyes.

He pushes up my left sleeve, revealing the ugly scar going up the inside of my forearm.

“What happened here? I can sense the damage, but I can’t heal something this old.”

I yank my arm out of his grip and pull down my sleeve. “Long story. Crazy dead girl.”

His eyes get this faraway look, and I wonder what he’s doing. The tingling has faded and I try not to miss it. Try not to remember how his hand felt encompassing mine. I’ve never held hands with anyone. People don’t really touch me.

“I can see your ability,” he whispers. He’s looking in my direction, but sort of through me. At first I’m not sure what he means, but then I feel this … change, is really the only way to describe it. There’s no tingling, no real sensation, but something is different.

Behind Caleb, an old man who shuffles across the Yard just about every day begins to slowly disappear. My heart catches in my chest. The busy campus pulses all around us, and everywhere people are vanishing. Tears well in my eyes.

“They’re going away. They’re fading, they’re all … they’re all gone.”

I spin toward him, rubbing my head. There’s suddenly a lightness inside me, like my whole life I’ve been carrying this heavy weight, and now it’s gone. This must be what other people feel like all the time.

“They’re gone. What did you do?”

He closes his eyes and frowns, concentrating. “Your Sight, it’s clearly identifiable within you. I just covered it, like putting on a blindfold.”

I hold my breath, scared to ask, but the words come tumbling out. “Is it gone forever?”

Caleb’s face falls and it’s answer enough. “Your power is strong, so anything I can do in this form is temporary. It may last a few hours. With my full powers, I think I could remove it. It’s a part of you, but still separate, not connected to anything vital.”

“You can’t do it now?” I search his eyes for some kind of hope, for something to let me know this wasn’t just a cruel joke fate and the heavens are playing on me. Haven’t they had enough fun with my life?

“To use my full powers, I’d have to take on an angelic form, and the Vultures would find me immediately. I wish that I could.”

I take a step back and try to rein in my disappointment, though I know I can’t really hide anything from him.

“Maia.” My name isn’t just a word he says, it’s a plea. I get myself together, harden all the soft parts again, and turn around.

“How much time do you think you have left?” I ask.

He looks away, his eyes downcast. “Not long.”

“Is she close? To binding with you?” He studies the bench intently instead of answering.

What could the holdup be? The rare times he’s not around, she doesn’t shut up about him. She’s on the phone with her mom, her friends, just about anyone who will listen, yammering on, day and night. He must be doing something to screw it up. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I — I don’t know. Keep an ear out. Let me know if I do something wrong. If she’s unhappy.”

Boys. So clueless. I don’t know much about love or souls, but I watch people a lot, and I listen. Caleb and Genna were literally made for each other. He’s probably closer than he thinks.

“So what’s your plan? Have you even told her? About being angelborn?”

He shakes his head. “She isn’t ready to believe me.”

“But you could show her. She’d have to believe it if she sees you flying around or something.”

“You’d be surprised what humans can convince themselves of. Full angels with far more power than I are denied again and again. It almost never works the way you think it would. If she remembers me, I’d have the best chance.”

“Remembers you? That can happen?”

“Most humans don’t have access to their past lives, but it isn’t impossible. I don’t have the power to make her remember, though some angelborn could. But with enough time, her soul should recognize me.”

“But time is working against you.”

He nods sadly.

“How will you know they’re coming?” The reality of his situation is just sinking in for me. He’s fighting a battle with odds so steep, they threaten to crush him.

“I won’t. I can’t see angels in this form.”

“But if you could? I mean, what do they look like?”

“The Vultures present with wings. In the Wasteland, they fly everywhere. Their angel forms are black in the same way that the Deaths are reddish. Each guild takes on a color. The Vultures often travel with angelfire instead of the portals. It’s faster, but rather unpleasant.”

“Angelfire? Is that black, too? I think I’ve seen it. The dead who leave, they always disappear in a blaze of black fire.”

He seems a little in awe of me. Something in my chest swells, expanding like a balloon. “Yes, that’s it. I suppose it makes sense that you can see it as well. Your gift is truly remarkable.”

“It’s not a gift.” That little reminder is a pin stuck through me, deflating the tiny bit of joy his esteem had brought.

“Maia,” he says, a light flashing behind his eyes, “if I knew when they were coming, if you could warn me when you see them, I could remove your Sight before they take me away.” He takes a step closer to me. My legs want to move backward, but I stay in place.

“If Genna agrees to bind with me, I can take on my angel form and do it. Then, it won’t matter if the Vultures find me, I’ll be reborn.” He pauses. “And if she doesn’t, I’ll still help you … before I go.”

I don’t want to believe him, but Caleb doesn’t lie. Contrary to just about everything my life has taught me, I trust him.

“She’ll do it,” I tell him. “I know she will.” His eyes crinkle, though the smile doesn’t make it to his lips. “Shake on it?”

He waits a second before taking my hand, so long that I feel self-conscious, but then his palm slides against mine and a shiver goes through me. I can’t peel my eyes from the sight of our joined hands, and it unsettles me. I pull out of his grip and stuff my hand in my pocket.

I chance another look at him. He seems puzzled, as if something just happened that he doesn't understand either. I walk away before he can stop me and hope like hell he binds with her soon. I’m wanting things I have no business wanting. The sooner they bind, the sooner I can go back to not wanting anything at all.

A
stranger responds
with a smile when I greet her.

I walk by the hospital, instead of going four blocks out of the way to avoid it.

I meet a lonely old man feeding the pigeons in the park. He has a daughter and grandson in San Jose and shows me their pictures in his wallet.

The streets are blissful and quiet. Serene. Full only of the living, going about their days, interacting with one another. For the first time, I am, too.

I look people in the eye as I pass them. Smile. Pick up a stuffed elephant dropped by a toddler and return it. Stop and listen to a street musician and give him a dollar.

Clouds roll in and a light rain begins, but I’m so carefree, it’s like that song — even the raindrops can’t make me complain. I feel like a soap bubble, lighter than air. Ready to float away and soar. Ready to burst.

The clouds grow gloomy and agitated. Shadows emerge around me, vaguely taking on the shape of people. The shadows solidify, the sky darkens, and the world changes.

The buildings become hollowed-out shells. The streets look like a war zone. Broken windows, collapsed roofs, crumbling walls and facades border the road. The cars are burned out with smashed glass and flattened, torn tires. Chunks of asphalt are missing from the street. Everything is broken or destroyed.

The empty husks of former people surround me. Their ashen faces are desiccated, mouths formed into Os like they’re in a constant, silent scream or a perpetual state of surprise. They stagger around like slow zombies, unaware of their surroundings.

I’m dreaming. My mind is replaying the events of the day and twisting them. It’s strange, because for the past six years, I’ve always had the same dream — the hospital, Natasha, the rain. Then again, I’ve never experienced life without my Sight before. I’ve imagined it many times, but for a few brief hours, it was mine.

The descent back into everyday life, seeing the dead, felt like descending back into hell, or the Wasteland. It took me a long time to get to sleep, and now I have to dream about paradise lost.

Suddenly, a sort of glittering, white silky thing drops from the sky, like milk poured into oil. It captures all of the zombie people's attention, like a magnet, and they race in its direction. At first I follow them, not quite knowing why, but drawn toward this falling wisp of light. It’s so beautiful I almost want to cry. This thing, whatever it is, releases a torrent of emotion from deep within me. Sadness, regret, hope, envy, all of them fight for dominance and pummel me on their way out.

The people around me are affected similarly. Hundreds or thousands of them, maybe, rush into view, clamoring for position beneath the falling light. They want to catch it. Their blank faces contort in desperation, fear, and adoration. Bodies slam into one another. The cracks of bones breaking and flesh slamming is sickening.

I’m knocked down by the horde. All desire to chase the crowd flees. I curl into a ball as bony feet kick and trip over me in their haste. On my hands and knees, I struggle to crawl in the opposite direction from the mob. Shins and knees crash into me, and my head rattles from the blows.

The odd clarity of this dream frightens me. I’m used to being injured in my nightmares — I die each and every time — but this is different. It has the feel of permanence to it, like if I die in this dream, there’s no coming back.

A strong kick to my ribs leaves me sprawled facedown on the crumbling asphalt. I’m trampled, pressed into the ground and struggling to breathe as pain explodes on my back. A crunch sounds, and I’m sure something is broken. Then, suddenly, I’m weightless. A familiar woodsy smell fills my nostrils, and a blanket of safety enfolds me.

Caleb is here. His arms form a protective band around me. He carries me away from the rabid crowd. I sink into his embrace, telling myself it’s just gratitude and nothing else.

“What’s happening?” I whisper into his neck.

“We’re in the Wasteland.” Some part of me is not surprised. “You’ve gotten into my dreams somehow, Maia. I don’t know how.”

“What was that thing everyone was fighting for?”

“A new soul.”

“I didn’t realize they made new souls.”

“Very rarely. Too rare to even hope for.”

We’re far away now, but even from this distance, I hear the continued agony. The shouts and cries. I’m shivering in his arms, and he grips me tighter. Then, like before, we’re somewhere else. Not the tiny pond where we washed off before — my face heats at the memory — but an endless beach. It’s sunset, and the air is warm but not hot. He sets me down on the sand and I turn away to hide my disappointment. I’m pretty sure every emotion I have shines through on my face. I’m afraid he’ll see the storm that rages inside every time he touches me.

I focus on the surroundings. The ocean, glowing purple and red as the sun dips low in the sky.

“Do you dream of this place often?” I ask. His presence is warm at my back, but he doesn’t touch me again. I keep myself from leaning into him, but just barely. Caleb’s hands on mine earlier today were warm and strong. His arms around me just now were like a drug. I can see myself becoming addicted.

“No, we’re back in your dream. I cannot walk my own the way I can with others.” He touches my shoulder, and a quiver of excitement ripples through me. I step out of his grasp out of pure self-preservation.

“This isn’t mine. I’ve never dreamed anything like this.” I shake my head. All the good things that exist in the world seem perpetually beyond my grasp or come only for a short time. I had three hours and forty-six minutes today without seeing the dead, and then they were back.

My dreams I can handle. My life, I’m used to. What I can’t handle are someone else’s happy dreams rattling around in my head. You can’t miss what you don’t know, right? “Take me to my regular dream, to the hospital. Wake me up. Something.”

He walks around to face me, lifting my chin. His fingers singe my skin.

“Why? Why would you want to go back to that?”

“Because it’s
real
to me. That’s what my reality is. I won’t ever have someone risking everything for me. I’m not Genna. I don’t get the knight coming in on horseback asking for a piece of my soul. My soul is dark … that’s the way my dreams should be. It all fits.”

I wrench my chin from his grip and take off running down the beach. The wind picks up and I imagine it lifting me off my feet, letting me fly through the air, free for a moment. But what I told him is true. This isn’t mine and I can’t allow myself to get used to it. I don’t even want to dream about it.

When I run out of breath, he’s behind me. He gathers me close, pressing his nose into the top of my head. “I’m so sorry, Maia,” he whispers into my hair.

I don’t know when I started crying, but my chest rises shakily against the bar of his arm, trapping me in place. I don’t deserve his comfort, don’t want his pity, but I’m tired of fighting. I relax in his arms for just a moment.

When I open my eyes, I’m in bed. Genna sleeps soundly across the room. It’s dark, but not too dark to see Caleb’s head as he disappears through the door.