Miranda watched her in confusion as footsteps headed their way, ringing out over the wooden floors. “She’s in here,” said Jo’s voice, sounding unwontedly cowed.
A low, resonate murmur came in return – and Miranda’s breath left her. It was the one voice she’d longed to hear again since she was twenty-one, locked in his arms under the willow tree.
“Leave us alone,” he ordered now.
The girl scrambled up and hurried away, her head still bowed. Miranda didn’t even see Jo; all she could see was her angel. He stood in the doorway with his black hair ruffled from the wind, dressed in grey trousers, a crisp white shirt, a navy jacket peppered with dampness. He was so beautiful – so insolently, negligently beautiful. In all these years, he hadn’t aged a single day.
Miranda’s throat was dry as she stared at him. And for some reason she felt again the faint sense of unease that had touched her the first day they’d met – fingers of dread that traced coolly up her spine. She shook it away in confusion. Raziel was here; that was all that mattered. Why should she feel dread about the love of her life?
Raziel’s gaze never left hers. A small, considering smile played at his lips as he entered the room, shutting the door behind him with a soft and final
click
.
“Hello, Miranda,” he said.
Author’s note: If you ever wondered how Alex made it back to Pawntucket after leaving the angels’ world…you’re about to find out! Though I decided that his arrival had more dramatic impact without this scene, I always liked its details.
“Fifty-one credits,” said the service station clerk, peering in through the driver’s side window.
Alex showed the Eden ID he’d found in the truck, flashing it casually. Then he handed over the card with angel credits on it.
“Wait, I didn’t see,” said the clerk, reaching for the ID card. He tilted it back towards him and studied it. “Cincinnati Eden, huh?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” Alex said, keeping his voice relaxed. “Great place – you ever been there?”
“Nope. Where you headed?”
“Bangor Eden. Got to pick up some medical supplies.”
The guy nodded, his gaze going back to the ID. The photo showed a man slightly older than Alex, with dark hair and similar features. They didn’t look unalike; it could have been Alex on a bad day.
At least, that’s what he’d thought.
Just as Alex was starting to think he’d either have to draw his pistol or floor it, the clerk handed the ID back. “Sorry, we can’t be too careful,” he said. “We get bandits sometimes, you know – trying to steal gas from the angels.”
Alex managed to look shocked. “Who’d steal from the angels? No problem, man. Glad you checked.”
Once back on the highway, he let out a breath. God, that had been close. He’d never have risked using the ID at all, except that after stealing the truck he’d realized that he’d stolen from a thief. Ironic, then, that the guy had fallen for such an obvious ploy: a large branch dragged into the road. Alex had dived into the still-idling cab and taken off while the driver was moving it.
When he’d stopped some time later, he’d found that the vehicle had almost a dozen different Eden staff IDs in it; cards full of angel credits; what looked like belongings taken from refugees. Looking it all over, Alex suspected grimly that the people who had owned the IDs were dead now. But using one meant that he could keep to the main highways, with their brightly-lit service stations that were only for Eden staff. It’d shave days off his journey – there’d been no contest.
There’d been a first-aid kit in the truck, too; he’d slathered his injured foot in antiseptic and bandaged it. And, though he’d hated sparing the time, he’d gone into the first dark town he’d seen and scavenged until he found an old pair of work boots. If he had to run for any reason, he didn’t plan on being slowed down by his foot again.
As Alex headed north on Highway 12 his stomach rumbled; he ignored it. He hadn’t been bothering to scavenge much food these last few days, and had no intention of stopping again when he was this close. Four hours later, he was rewarded as a sign came into view:
Welcome to New York State – home of the Big Apple!
Alex’s muscles sagged. Finally, he was almost there. Another four or five hours, tops.
Then he straightened, his eyes narrowing as a sign for Albany Eden flashed past. Another new one. Christ, what was going on? So far he’d seen about a dozen Edens he didn’t recognize. Their information back at the base couldn’t have been
that
out of touch – they’d gotten most of it from Raziel himself, with his gloating announcements on the shortwave.
Alex shook his head. Forget it; it was a mystery he’d have to solve later. For now, all that mattered was getting to Pawntucket. Apart from yearning to be with Willow again, he was tensely aware with each second that passed that she could be in danger.
A few hours later he passed Schenectady Eden…and the “could be” instantly became “was”.
The sense of thousands of angels hit him so strongly that his mind reeled. With a rough spin of the wheel Alex pulled over to the shoulder and got out; he stared towards the small city that rose up a mile or so beyond the freeway. His spine chilled. Jesus, he could actually
see
them: a shifting cloud of white that hung over the place like smoke. There couldn’t possibly be enough humans down there to sustain so many angels for long.
This was why Willow had gone to Pawntucket, it had to be – and the attack on her town would be coming soon.
Alex flung himself back into the truck. A second later he was speeding down the highway, aching to go faster but knowing that now, of all times, he could not get caught. He had to get there. Miranda’s voice came back to him.
And when she tries to link with the energy – she needs to do it in Pawntucket. There’s a place there where she should be able to.
If Raziel destroyed Pawntucket he’d be taking away their last chance to reclaim their world. The thought of what Willow would have to do – of the blast that had nearly killed him when
he’d
tried it – made Alex’s heart catch in his chest, but there was no choice. Not for either of them.
But before they took any kind of action…god, all he wanted to do was hold her again.
His jaw tightened as he shifted gears.
Soon, babe. I’ll be there soon
.
Author’s note: I really wanted to wrap up Beth Hartley’s story in
Fever
, but never quite managed it! Here’s one of my attempts to bring her in. It came near the end when Willow and Alex are escaping from the Schenectady Church of Angels, having just found out that the Pawntucket attack is imminent and Willow’s mother’s life is in danger. Ultimately, I decided that it didn’t work to break up the tense action of that moment with this glimpse of Beth, but it’s nice to be able to show it to you here.
We’d almost reached the stairs when suddenly the door to them swung open. A thin girl wearing a bathrobe appeared. She had a mug; the smell of peppermint tea wafted towards us. She stood gaping, clutching her mug – her face so gaunt that it hurt to look at it.
We’d stopped short; Alex propped his rifle against his shoulder. “Don’t even think about moving,” he told her in a low voice.
The girl didn’t seem to hear. Her eyes had dark circles under them…and they were fixed on me. She swallowed.
“Willow,” she whispered in a voice full of dread.
I was holding my pistol, but I’d forgotten how to use it. The girl was so frail and sick-looking that I barely recognized her. Even her honey-coloured hair was limp and dull now.
“Beth?” I said faintly.
She moved all at once; the tea tumbled to the floor as she darted for a fire alarm on the wall.
No!
I brought out my angel in a flurry and jetted towards her, but Beth got there first. She stood with one hand on the alarm, mouth open as she took in my angel hovering.
Alex and I had both run towards Beth too; we halted a few paces away. “Beth, no – please don’t!” I gasped out. “You don’t know how important it is that we get away.”
“An angel?
You
?” she breathed as the light from my ethereal self played on her wasted features. Her fingers tensed on the alarm. “No, this has to be a trick—”
I could sense Alex ready to make a dive for her – but oh god, she looked so fragile!
We don’t have time for this,
I thought frantically. Without thinking I reached for her psychically, groping for that part of her I’d gone to school with – the part that maybe, just maybe, might be straining towards me like the others.
In my mind’s eye I spread my energy out thin and wrapped it around her. “Please don’t, Beth,” I said intently. I put my hand on Alex’s arm; he glanced at me with a quick frown. “Please, just go back to bed.”
Beth stood staring at me, so thin that the faded belt of her bathrobe looked as if it might slice her in two. Her feelings came in a rush: an utter love of the angels, wonder at their glory. She would do anything for them. But like a tiny, hesitant flicker, there was something in there responding to my energy, too.
My heart pounding, I took another step forward. If I was wrong about this… “Beth, please,” I repeated as my angel’s white wings stirred gently overhead. “Please.”
Our eyes were locked on each other – Beth was trembling, her expression agonised. And for just a second I caught a glimpse of the Beth I’d once given a reading to: the beautiful girl who’d tried so hard to be perfect.
I had no idea what to say; I just knew I needed to say something. “Do you remember coming to my house that time?” I asked softly. “I couldn’t even imagine what problems you might have. Everyone admired you so much.” I licked dry lips. “But – but I guess that can really be a strain, can’t it? Always having to live up to that.”
Beth didn’t move. Mentally it felt as if she were a field of grass, with wind churning the blades wildly. Her hand on the alarm stayed white-knuckled – but her mouth quivered as I saw her swallow.
Alex said in a soft voice, “Look at her angel, Beth. Do you really believe that she means you harm?”
Her gaze went back to my angel’s shining features – the face that was just like my human self’s. For a long moment she didn’t speak…and then I sensed her relax. Just a tiny fraction, but enough.
“Maybe – maybe it’s a sign,” she murmured. She dropped her hand from the alarm and slumped against the wall, her face pale. “I don’t feel well,” she whispered, rubbing her forehead.
I was aching with sorrow – for her, my mother, everyone. The only way I could possibly do anything to help was to get out of there as fast as possible. “Thank you,” I said hoarsely, and Alex and I ran for the door.
Finally, a blast from the past for those readers who have followed Willow and Alex since the beginning. As part of the original launch for
Angel
, L.A. Weatherly wrote a post for Bookbabblers.co.uk, featuring a very special piece of homework from Willow Fields, written just a few days before the action in
Angel
begins:
The Willow Tree by Willow Fields
It’s probably a bad thing to be this honest, but it’s exactly 11.27 pm right now, which means that this paper is due in about ten hours. And, yes, I’ve only just started writing it. I know you said for us to really consider our subject carefully and all that, and I have, I just didn’t start writing about it before now. But you can still consider things carefully, without spending a lot of time writing and re-writing them. I know that’s true, because I’ve been considering the things that I’m going to tell you about for years now.
First of all, you have to understand that my mom isn’t really normal. I mean, she’s not like other people’s moms. She doesn’t go to work, or ask me how my day was, or ground me if I do something I shouldn’t. Mostly, she just sits in her chair. That’s practically all that she’s done for years now. The clinical name for it is catatonic schizophrenia. But actually, I think it’s just that she prefers her dream world to the real one. Her dream world is full of rainbows and pretty things. I think I’d probably prefer it too, if I had a choice. So I don’t blame her or anything, for not being there for me…but I do miss her a lot.
Because she wasn’t always like this. When I was little, she was there, at least some of the time. But then as I got older, she started to slip away more and more, until she was hardly there at all. There was one day, though, when I was seven years old, that was just amazing. I still remember everything about it. It was the summer holidays, and when I woke up the house felt lighter than usual. I mean, lighter in mood. When I went into the kitchen, I saw why. Mom was cooking breakfast, singing to herself. When I came in, she turned around and looked at me, and said good morning. And she smiled at me.
That probably sounds like nothing. I bet millions of mothers do that every day, and nobody even notices. Probably millions of kids would even feel irritated by it, or embarrassed for some reason – because their mother was singing, maybe, or because she wasn’t cooking what they wanted. But to me, it was like…MAGIC! My mother was actually there for a change. She was actually seeing me, Willow, instead of the rainbows in her mind that she usually sat and stared at. I almost had to pinch myself. It seemed too good to be true.
And yet it went on like that for hours. After breakfast, I remember that we went for a walk through the park. I practically clung to her side, holding onto her hand and feeling like I was flying with happiness. Under the happiness was a sort of apprehension – a feeling like, this can’t last! Any second, I was worried that the magic would fade and Mom would go away from me again. But she didn’t. She was still there, smiling at me and saying things like, “Look at that puppy, Willow, isn’t he cute?” And then even the puppy looked magical, because Mom had actually noticed it, and thought that I might like seeing it, too.
Finally we came to a tree beside a pond – a tree that had long, feathery leaves trailing into the water. Mom stood staring at it for a long time, with a dreamy look on her face, so that I started to feel scared. Was she slipping away from me again? “Mom,” I said, tugging at her skirt. “Mom.” And then, she sort of shook herself and smiled at me again. “A willow tree,” she said. “Did you know that you were named for that sort of tree, Willow?”
I shook my head, not really caring – just so relieved that she had come back again. And she laughed, and took a camera out of her handbag. “Go and have a look,” she said, giving me a gentle nudge. “They’re beautiful trees – just like you’re my beautiful girl.”
She practically never said things like that. By the time I was seven, she hardly ever even noticed I was around. I can’t even begin to tell you how it made me feel, to hear those words. I ran over to the tree and I stroked my hands through its leaves, and they felt so soft against my fingers. I peered up through its long branches as they framed my face, smiling and smiling like I’d never be able to stop.
Snap! Mom took my photo. “Perfect!” she said. And when I came running back to her, she smoothed my hair with her hand and said, “Someday, sweetie, I’ll tell you the story of the willow tree, and why you’re named after it.” Other kids probably would have jumped up and down and said, “Tell me now, tell me now!” But I was just so thrilled that she was actually talking to me, noticing me, that it felt like it would be bad luck to push for anything more. So we just held hands, and walked slowly home again.
I still have that photo now. I look so happy in it. Happier than I’d been in a long time…or than I would be for a long time to come. Because later that afternoon, Mom went back into her dream world, and she never really came out of it again, after that. I still don’t know what she was going to tell me about the willow tree. I guess I never will, now. But maybe it’s enough to just have the photo, and to know that for that one perfect, amazing morning, Mom was there for me like other mothers. She actually smiled at me, really saw me, and called me her beautiful girl. She’s not in the photo, but she is in a way, because it was the two of us together, linked by the willow tree. My namesake.
So that’s the story of the willow tree. The tree that is me…and that is somehow my mother, too.