Wilder (29 page)

Chapter 55

T
hen . . . the feathers tasted the air. As if remembering their long-ago flight, they unfurled to become long, beautiful, white wings joined to Aleksandr’s back.

Charisma pulled her head out of Aleksandr’s chest.

Their descent slowed. The wind caught them. They began to glide in slow, wide circles away from the building.

They were flying like birds, like butterflies, like . . . angels.

She looked up at Aleksandr’s face, and thought that angels came in all forms, for this man-beast was fearsome. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck.

And she loved him.

He pulled her closer, one arm behind her back, another under her knees; he put his great head against hers, and together they experienced the miracle of flight. Together they soared like a giant eagle, fulfilling Osgood’s ancient prophecy, Jacqueline’s current prophecy, and the visions they themselves had experienced on the bus.

And no matter what happened now, no matter if they never saw another sunrise, they would always have this moment of oneness and wonder.

Behind them on the building, they heard a shriek of rage. “No. It’s not possible. No!”

Aleksandr banked in a slow, long curve that brought them back to face the Osgood building.

Osgood stood looking up at the sky.

As the wind caught the black clouds, they showed ragged edges, and the lightning retreated. The sun shone more brightly.

Osgood lifted his arms. He projected his voice. “I command the earth to move!”

The earth remained stubbornly still.

Osgood’s form wavered.

Charisma blinked.

He seemed to struggle with himself. He wavered again, stretched sideways; then, like cloth being torn in half, the devil tore himself free from the clinging tentacles of Osgood’s soul and took his own form, as beautiful and cruel as the sea, with blue eyes that blazed with malice.

Even from this distance, the angry blue flame of Satan’s eyes reached Aleksandr and Charisma . . . but nothing he could do would touch them now.

They were out of his reach.

They circled again, rising on an updraft of air.

When they came back around, they saw Osgood, feeble, skinny, old, and completely, totally human, clinging to the devil. He fell to his knees, begging, pleading.

Satan looked up at the sun, which was shining brightly. He looked down at the earth, still and obedient to the laws of nature. He shook Osgood off as if he were nothing but a pesky flea, and, with his hands over his head, he leaped over the balustrade and dove toward the ground—and through it.

He left no trace of his passage, no proof he had for seven years been one with Osgood, working evil through a wicked man.

Osgood stood alone.

Lifting his fists to the heavens, he cried out a high, defiant curse.

A chill went through Charisma. “Defiance cannot be good. In fact, I think it’s very bad. Let’s get out of here. Fast.”

She and Aleksandr wheeled away.

They swooped low and saw the people fleeing from the building.

“Look.” Charisma pointed. “I see the Chosen Ones. There. And there.” She pointed at several small groups. “They’re looking up. I recognize John.” She waved. “And Rosamund. There’re Samuel and Isabelle.”

The Chosen Ones waved back, then returned to their task—herding Osgood’s employees farther and farther away from danger.

And none too soon.

The building gave a deep rumble.

The people looked back in terror, then fled.

“It looks like the Chosen Ones helped Osgood’s sacrifices escape,” Charisma shouted at Aleksandr. “No wonder the devil left Osgood. He failed!”

He nodded and flew north.

She looked behind them and saw Osgood’s magnificent headquarters tremble, then shake, then break apart beneath him, collapsing in on itself, faster and faster, like cards folding back into a deck.

When the dust cleared, Osgood and the symbol of his evil were gone.

Aleksandr helped Charisma turn in his arms, to face out as they ascended and descended, and see firsthand the transformation of their world.

Overhead, the black clouds showed more and more holes, and sunbeams poked through to the earth like benedictions from heaven. The smog swept out to sea.

Here in the heart of the wind the air was calm, and far below, New York City was laid out like a living map. Sunshine outlined the island of Manhattan: to the east and north, the river, the glistening waters of Long Island Sound, the high-rise apartments and three-story walk-ups of Brooklyn. Charisma saw all the way to Fire Island and beyond, to the sparkling waters of the Atlantic. To the west and south, she saw the Hudson River, the cliffs of New Jersey, the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge. They soared so high, she felt as if she could see all the way to Ireland. The water glimmered deep and blue, glorious in its eternal promise.

Directly below, the SoHo streets were tangled and confused, but beyond they straightened into the familiar Midtown grid. There light reflected off the skyscrapers’ windows, blessed the spires of St. Patrick’s Cathedral—and brought the people out of hiding.

The city was coming to life again.

New Yorkers ventured out of hiding and onto the sidewalks, first in a trickle, then in a flood. Yellow cabs leaped out to catch fares.

Every horn around the city was honking: in ships at the docks from the West Side, from pleasure boats and yachts on the east, the ferries, and all over the island of Manhattan and its boroughs, the horns on every imaginable vehicle—taxis, cars, trucks, buses—created a cacophony of sounds. Even the railroad and the subways—horns bleating as they passed under the street-level grates—added their sound to the rush of rising air generated by their passing.

Then came the last entrants—church bells and chimes.

Not a recognizable melody, merely the sound of New York celebrating its victory over evil.

And from one horizon to the other, a rainbow arched over the earth.

Hope. Osgood had mocked Charisma for having hope.

Yet look at what hope and faith had done.

She breathed in thankfulness and exulted in the freedom, the glory, the promise of a new day.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Aleksandr’s deep voice spoke in her ear.

Another miracle. She had feared he could never speak again.

She turned to look at him . . . and realized the breeze was blowing the beast away. Aleksandr’s features had lost their ferocity and become human again. As she watched, a gust of air removed the hair on his face and dispersed it to the corners of the island.

His body was changing, too. His shoulders were straightening; his chest was sturdy, but man-sized. And . . . and where was the gunshot wound?

It had healed, leaving nothing but a scar to mark its passing.

Where she gripped his arms he had bare skin, and on his hands the claws retreated, his fingers straightened, and the last of his thick fur lifted off, whirled in the breeze, and scattered away.

She looked again at his face.

He was wholly human.

For the first time since he had disappeared three years ago, she could actually
see
Aleksandr Wilder.

He was visibly older, with lines etched into his cheeks and between his brows, lines cut by pain and anguish. His shaggy blond hair blew away from his face, and she thought she saw streaks of white beside the temples.

Yet he was only twenty-eight.

The last time she’d seen him, as he walked up the courthouse steps to Iskra, he had been thin, almost gaunt, as if the guilt of leaving the Chosen Ones chewed at him. Now his face had filled out, gained maturity, and as she stared into his calm blue eyes she saw the man inside. Through suffering and sacrifice, he had gained wisdom and proved his courage.

This was a man to cherish and respect. Forever.

They passed over Times Square. The giant billboards lit up. The Broadway show lights came on. On the ground, the rapidly increasing crowd craned their necks to watch Aleksandr and Charisma, and Aleksandr gave a few slow flaps of his wings.

The crowd cheered.

Charisma laughed with joy. “Show-off!”

Ahead of them, Seventh Avenue and the Avenue of the Americas stretched all the way to Central Park. As they glided along, descending slowly, lights came on in shops and restaurants, a tribute to the renewed life of the city, of the world, and to the resilience of the human spirit.

Charisma twisted in Aleksandr’s grip until she could again slide her arm around his neck. Kissing his cheek, she said, “Aleksandr, you are a brave and noble man, and you deserve this reward.”

“What about you? What reward will you receive for your bravery?” He smiled as if he already knew the answer.

“I have you,” she said. “I need nothing else.”

His arms tightened. “Really, Charisma? What about your life? Wouldn’t you like that returned to you?”

Her face fell. In the exhilaration of their flight, she had forgotten about her weakness, her pain, her approaching demise.

But . . . she wasn’t in pain anymore. Death no longer touched her with its cold fingers. With every breath she felt stronger, and her happiness at being with Aleksandr buoyed her and made her wonder . . . made her realize . . . “The demon’s poison is gone!” She pinched her own cheeks. “It’s gone! Can you tell? You could! How do I look?”

“You look healthy. You look rosy with happiness.” Unashamed tears filled his eyes. “You look like Charisma, the girl I first met, and the woman who brought me back from the brink of madness and into love.”

“I do love you. And I’m going to live? I’m going to live!” Putting her head against his shoulder, she laughed loud and long. “Aleksandr, you have no idea how important this is.”

“I don’t?” Now he laughed, too. “I have no idea how important it is that the love of my life will be with me all my days?”

As they circled Rockefeller Center, Charisma’s heart soared. “I would like to marry you.”

Aleksandr dipped close to the cathedral. “So you don’t believe what Osgood said? That I’m a predator, a throwback, a humiliation to my family?”

“I believe that the first time you changed, you did it to survive. I know that the second time you changed, you did it to save me, and you did it believing you could never reclaim your humanity. You never have to prove yourself to me, Aleksandr Wilder.” She put her cheek against his. “You already have.”

As if he could express his happiness in no other way, he spread his wings wide. Aleksandr and Charisma rose high above the city, hovered, soared . . . while Charisma’s stones sang with delight.

When they once more began their descent, he said, “We’ll celebrate the wedding with our family and friends.”

“I can’t wait for your family to see you now!” The Wilders would be so happy!

“We’ll travel; we’ll find joy in every simple moment.” Aleksandr took a breath, as if steadying his nerves. “Maybe, when we decide to settle down, we can start a family—”

Remembering, she chuckled. “It’s a little late for that.”

“What?” He shook his head, puzzled.

Now, as she tried to frame the words she had thought she would never have the chance to speak, her eyes filled with tears. “Osgood told me . . . he told me one thing I never suspected. But I know it’s true. Because he was so furious about it. He said . . . he told me I was pregnant.”

Chapter 56

“W
hat?”
Aleksandr sputtered. He actually sputtered. “B-but you said you were protected!”

“I know. One percent chance, Aleksandr. One percent!” And in a surfeit of bliss, anticipation, incredulity, and possibly hormones, Charisma started crying in earnest.

“You’re going to have a baby? We’re going to have . . .” He crushed her in his arms, rocked her as if she were the baby. “This is the happiest day of my life.”

And suddenly they were both laughing. And crying.

“A baby girl,” she said.

“A girl? But I’m a Wilder. We don’t have girls.”

“Are you calling Osgood a liar?” She laughed at his grimace. “Don’t you think that maybe with all your changing and transformations, something might have changed in you?”

“Yes. Yes. Of course. It’s possible.” He laughed again. “I love girls.”

“Me, too. All those cute little clothes. Ooh.” She brightened even more. “And the little teensy shoes!”

“Most important,” he said seriously, “baby girls don’t squirt you when they pee.”

Abruptly, she remembered Aleksandr came from a large family. “I don’t know much about kids.”

“I do.” In a resigned tone, he said, “I have changed more diapers. . . .”

“Cool. You can change all of Shea’s.”

“Not even.” He caught on and smiled. “You want to call our daughter Shea? Like Irving Shea?”

“Well, we can’t call her Irving. I like the name, and I loved Irving Shea. He was valiant and bold, he never hesitated to help us, and he sacrificed his life to get us this feather so we could save the world and look like the heroes.” Charisma wriggled as she made her case. “What do you think?”

“Shea.” He tenderly spoke the name. “It’s perfect.”

They were headed for Central Park, flying north on Fifth Avenue against the still-sparse southbound traffic.

“We’re going to have to set down soon,” he said. “The wings won’t last for much longer.”

“What happened?” She hated to see these moments end. “Did you get a five-minute warning?”

“Something like that.”

She settled down to enjoy the last moments of the coolest flight of her life, and at once her mind skipped forward to their life, to the hours and days and months and years of boring old normalcy.

She couldn’t wait.

She declared, “I need to get some hair dye. Is there any color you prefer? Orange? Pink? Black?”

“All of the above.” He sounded amused.

“Yes.” She bounced in his arms. “Good call! A rainbow to commemorate this day.”

“But if you’re pregnant, should you use hair dye?” It wasn’t so much a question as a statement.

Turning, she stared at him in consternation. “I never thought of that.”

“When the women in my family are expecting, they go organic.”

“Organic.” Horrified, she asked, “You mean, like, for nine months I can’t dye my hair?”

“’Fraid not.”

“But my natural color is so boring!” she wailed.

“It’s blond, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she said in disgust.

“So’s mine.” He cuddled her a little closer. “Do you think our little Shea will be blond, too?”

Immediately, the vision of their plump, long-limbed baby formed in her mind. “With big blue eyes.”

“No, beautiful emerald green eyes like her mama.”

“She’s going to be so smart, and gorgeous.”

Their flight dipped abruptly lower.

“Is our time over?” She glanced behind and saw the feathers vanishing in a shower of multicolored sparks from the tips first. “Uh-oh.”

“I’m going to set us down by the pond. People are thronging toward Times Square. Hopefully not too many will be close by to see us—”

“It’s New York.” She pulled up her feet as they skimmed the treetops.

“I know. But even for New York, I have a problem with my clothing, or lack of it.”

“Hm. Yeah.” He
was
naked. “When you were covered with fur, it wasn’t such a big deal.” She giggled. “I don’t mean
it
, exactly.”

“I would hope
not
,” he said sternly.

“I mean . . . you’re right.” She glanced down at him. He really was bare. It was time to get practical. “Land in as remote an area as possible. How long do you think it’ll take the Chosen Ones to commandeer transportation to get here?”

“The Chosen Ones? Who needs the Chosen Ones?” He laughed. “Rosie will take care of that. I mean, would you give her any trouble?”

“Never. As long as she’s . . .”

“She’s fine.” Aleksandr hugged Charisma tightly. “We have to believe everybody is fine.”

Charisma nodded. “You’re right. I hope Rosie does the driving.”

“Why’s that?” He aimed them for an open, grassy knoll.

Charisma grinned. “Because if McKenna drives, it will take them most of the day to rescue us.”

“And if Rosie drives, they’ll beat us to the park.” He landed a little too soon, touching down within sight of Fifth Avenue. He ran about twenty steps. He slowed, and then he stopped.

As soon as he stood on sturdy ground, he kissed her, and in the kiss he promised a lifetime of love. Then, wearing only a knowing smile, he let her slide to the ground.

Predictably, the first man who rushed up shouted, “Cool stunt, man! What are you advertising for? A clothing store?” He burst into laughter.

“Funny,” Charisma told him.

An elderly woman sat on a nearby park bench, looking bedazzled and bemused. “He’s an angel!” she told the man.

With a dozen brilliant sparks, the last two feathers burned away.

“See?” she said.

One of the Central Park police officers stalked up. “If he’s an angel, where’re his wings, lady?”

“When they flew over, I saw his wings,” she insisted.

“So did I,” a businessman in a rumpled black suit concurred. “I’ve got video!”

“Look, angels.” The officer spoke to Aleksandr and Charisma, his tone patiently sarcastic. “I know it’s been a weird few days, but if you can’t produce clothes, I’m going to have to arrest you both.”

One of the kids came running across the lawn, dragged by a brown dachshund in a pink coat. “He hasn’t got clothes because he’s an angel!”

On Fifth Avenue, they heard the screech of a bus whipping around the corner, catching the flow of traffic heading downtown. It raced across all lanes of traffic, slid up against the curb, and slammed on the brakes.

“Rosie drove,” Aleksandr and Charisma said together.

The doors whipped open.

John, Samuel, Rosamund, and Genny bounded out and headed toward Aleksandr and Charisma. John and Samuel stripped off their coats as they ran.

“If they can produce ID, will that be enough to satisfy you?” the businessman asked the officer.

“From where would you like him to produce this ID?” the officer snapped.

A jogger ran past. “Get a room, you two!”

“I love New York.” Aleksandr was relaxed and at ease, even when two middle-aged women stopped to ogle his behind.

Charisma imperiously ignored everyone. “You know what the best part of this whole thing is?” She traced her fingers over the tattoo that started on his left shoulder and descended across his chest. “We know what this represents now. The picture is filled in, and there we are, flying from Osgood’s building over New York to our landing here. The colors are so vivid, and, Aleksandr, look!” She bared her own shoulder. “I have one that matches!”

He stared at her tattoo. He lifted his wrist.

Clearly marked on his skin was a brilliant etched tattoo that matched the stones of her bracelet.

They shared more than love. They shared their marks.