Angel Fire (8 page)

“I know.” Willow was still touching his arm; her fingers felt warm against his skin. “But how often do angels scan auras when they’re in their human bodies? Don’t they usually wait until they’re in their angel form, about to feed?”

“The ones I’ve tracked usually do,” he admitted.

“And you’ve tracked hundreds,” she pointed out. “So it must be pretty typical. If an angel saw my aura when it was about to feed on someone, then we’d probably see it, too. We’d have a good chance of getting it.”

When it came to Willow’s safety,
probably
and
good chance
were not his favourite words. Looking down, Alex took her hand, playing with her fingers. “How strongly do you feel we need to go there?” he asked at last.

“Really strongly,” she said without hesitating. “The sound of all those angels screaming...” She trailed off. Slowly, she said, “Alex, it feels like something’s going to happen in Mexico City that could cause the angels serious harm. Only we have to be there for it to take place. We
have
to be.”

Alex fell silent. Willow’s premonitions had never steered them wrong so far, and if what she’d dreamed was even partly accurate, then she was right, no question – they had to go. And even apart from her dream, he knew it would be a lot easier to recruit people in a city, rather than up in
el monte
. If he were on his own, then Mexico City would be exactly the place he’d head for. Plus there were the rogues: angels who believed their kind didn’t have the right to destroy humanity – Nate had told them about how they did something called “marshalling”, where they implanted a tiny bit of resistance in a human’s aura to make it unpalatable to angels. There were bound to be some rogues in Mexico City; if he could somehow hook up with them, it might be just what was needed to swing the balance in an almost-hopeless fight.

Alex massaged his forehead as the headache jabbed again. Yeah, going to Mexico City was all really logical...except he’d already nearly lost her once.

Willow took in the movement of his fingers on his brow. She didn’t comment this time, though he saw the concern in her eyes. “Alex, we have to go,” she said instead. “We really do.”

“All right,” he said finally. He managed a smile. “I mean, if you’ve got a psychic girlfriend, then I guess you’d better listen to her, right?”

She reached across and gripped his hand; he knew she was only all too aware of how much he dreaded anything happening to her. “Okay,” she said softly. She started to pick up her taco again and then stopped, narrowing her gaze. “Wait a minute. So, does that mean you wouldn’t listen to me if I
wasn’t
psychic?”

She looked so cute that he almost grinned despite his apprehension. He raised an eyebrow at her. “Is that a trick question? Of course I wouldn’t – you’re a girl.”

Willow’s mouth pursed as her green eyes flashed with sudden humour. She started laughing. “Oh, you are in so much trouble for that.”

“I am?”

“Definitely.” She propped herself up on her elbows and kissed him, stretching across the picnic table. Alex curled his fingers around the smooth skin at the back of her neck, holding her in place for a moment and savouring the feel of her lips on his.

“Is that really your idea of being in trouble?” he said when they drew apart. “Because I don’t think you’ve grasped the whole punishment/deterrent thing. See, you’re supposed to make me
not
want to do it again.”

Willow was laughing, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “I’m the one who doesn’t want to do it again. Your
lips
are all spicy from those chillies—” Suddenly her face slackened in alarm. “Alex, the bike!” she cried.

He leaped up from the bench without asking for details. A pickup truck had pulled in front of the taco stand while they’d been talking, blocking the motorcycle from view. As Alex hurtled around the side of it he saw a stocky guy with black hair crouched beside the Shadow, untying the tent. On the ground beside him sat a bulging knapsack, and both sleeping bags.

“What the hell are you doing?” shouted Alex in Spanish. “Get away from my bike!”

Leaving the camping stuff, the guy grabbed the knapsack and ran, his heels kicking up dust. The jimmied-open storage compartment gaped emptily. Alex swore and took off after him, pounding across the dry soil. The guy was as fast as he was, though, weaving around dumpsters and abandoned cars like a rabbit and finally veering off to the right, scrambling over a high concrete wall. Alex started to follow but stopped, acutely aware that he’d left Willow by herself, when anyone from the Church might stop by the stand and see her. Still cursing the thief, he turned and jogged back to the bike. Jesus, how was that for luck? They’d lost their stuff twice in one week now.

Willow was waiting beside the Shadow looking anxious; the taco stand woman stood beside her, chattering in worried Spanish that Alex knew Willow didn’t understand. “He stole your things!” the woman cried as Alex approached. “I’m so sorry – I didn’t see him until you shouted. Is there anything I can do?”

“No, but thank you,
Señora
,” replied Alex. If they’d been in America, he knew she’d have probably already called the police. Thankfully, running to law enforcement didn’t usually occur to people here – which was good, since the Mexican police were just as much in the angels’ pockets as back home.

Willow’s face was tight with distress as the woman returned to her stand. “God, I’m sorry – I
knew
there was something! I was focusing so strongly on the Church of Angels, but I could tell it wasn’t that, and I guess I sort of disregarded it—”

“Hey, come on, it’s not
your
fault,” he said, squeezing her shoulder. He squatted beside the bike, shaking his head as he examined the forced-open lock. The thief must have worked fast; he obviously knew what he was doing.

“Well, at least he didn’t get much,” he said as he stood up. “And I’ve still got my wallet. We can always buy more clothes; the marketplaces in Mexico City are really cheap.”

Willow nodded as she hugged her elbows. “Yeah,” she said finally. And then it hit him. Her photo. The one of her as a child, standing beneath a willow tree and tipping up her head in delight at its trailing leaves. It had been taken by her mother – was the only thing Willow had of hers. And it had been in the storage compartment, in the pocket of her other pair of jeans.

He swore, his fists tightening as he glanced back towards the wall the guy had disappeared over. The thought of the slimy creep stealing Willow’s photo – tearing it apart to see if there was money in the frame, then throwing it away in the garbage somewhere...

“Alex, it’s okay,” said Willow, touching his arm. “It’s...it’s only a photo. You couldn’t catch him now, anyway. And besides, we shouldn’t draw attention to ourselves – just let it go.”

He let out a breath, hating himself. “I almost
had
him...”

“It’s okay,” Willow repeated. “It really is.” Stepping forward, she hugged his waist. As he held her close, Alex knew he was seriously never going to forgive himself for this, even if Willow already had.

“I love you, you know that?” she said.

He managed a rueful smile. “Why, because I let that jerk steal your photo?”

Willow looked up; her eyes were like a forest washed with rain. He could see the happiness in them as she regarded him. “No, actually it’s because you’re everything I ever wanted.”

“I love you too,” he said softly, kissing her. Then he sighed. “Anyway, you’re right – I won’t catch him now. We’d better get going.”

He reattached the camping gear. Just as they started to climb back onto the bike, the woman hurried out from behind her stand again with a paper-wrapped package. The rich aroma of roast pork rose up from it.

“Please, take these for later,” she said in Spanish. “It’s the least I can do.”

“
Gracias, Señora
.” Alex put the food in the damaged storage compartment, grateful to have it. They could save some money on dinner now.

“
Gracias,
” echoed Willow fervently. “
Muchas, muchas gracias.
”

A few minutes later they were speeding down the highway once more, leaving Chihuahua in a haze of heat behind them. The houses they passed were small, dusty, in various shades of pastel with black water tanks perched on top of each one. Alex gazed beyond the homes to the rugged shape of the Sierra Madre, looming off to the southwest. And with all his heart, he wished that Willow had never had her dream. He’d have had a decent shot at keeping her safe, up there in that wilderness. Mexico City was going to be anybody’s guess.

But they’d made their choice now. As they roared down the desert highway, he reached for Willow’s hand at his waist and twined his fingers through hers.

“W
ILL
I
FIND TRUE LOVE
?” asked the woman. She was in her mid-twenties, pretty, with a serious, earnest face.

They were sitting in a corner of the Chihuahua marketplace. Seb considered how to answer as he pretended to inspect her palm – though the information he was getting had nothing to do with the woman’s lifeline, and everything to do with her aura; the feel of her energy; sudden flashes of knowledge.

“There’s a man in your life – his name’s Carlos,” he said. He wasn’t usually good on names, but he was sure this one was right; he was sensing it so strongly. “You’ve been hoping he’ll propose to you.
Señorita
, I don’t see this happening.”

Her expression fell. “But...he told me just last night to give him a little more time.”

Seb was getting it clearly now. Not only did Carlos have two other girlfriends on the go, he was married already. The woman had no idea; she’d believed everything the
cabrón
had told her. It was hardly uncommon – a lot of men didn’t seem to know the meaning of the word “faithful”, unless they were talking about what their wives and girlfriends had better be to them – but Seb had given too many readings over the years to stomach this attitude. He knew only too well by now what it did to women; how it made them feel.

“Carlos’s life is complicated,” he said, managing to hide his irritation at the man. “I’m sorry,
Señorita
, but he isn’t in a position to propose to you. I’m afraid he never will be.”

He wasn’t usually this blunt, but he could tell that on some level the woman already knew it was hopeless; it was why she’d stopped to get a reading from him. Now she winced, and ducked her head down. “I’ve been praying so hard to the angels that things will work out,” she said in a whisper. “I thought – I thought so many more of them arriving might be a sign they’d heard me.”

“The angels are very kind,” said Seb diplomatically. He could see that the woman’s energy field was undamaged; she was just one of the ones who loved the angels anyway. There were plenty of them, and now that the angels’ numbers had increased by so many, he supposed there’d soon be plenty more. “But I can hear them now,” he went on, “and they’re saying to me that you shouldn’t wait for Carlos.”

The woman’s eyes widened. Okay, he was making this part up – but he had to give her
something
, or else she wouldn’t make the break. “They want you to get on with your life,” he said firmly. “To be happy. You haven’t been happy in a long time,
Señorita.
”

By the time the woman left, her expression was thoughtful; Seb could sense the hope that had taken root in her. He leaned back against a palm tree, savouring the mental silence. A few hours of readings had left him as drained as an empty bottle. He wasn’t really sure why he put so much into them, for only a hundred pesos. When he’d made the decision to quit thieving, readings had just been a way to keep from starving – and back then, he hadn’t bothered to make much effort; he’d cobbled together quick fortunes from whatever he saw. Somehow, as the years had passed, he’d started caring a lot more.

Thinking of the angels’ arrival, Seb sighed. When he’d glimpsed some of the TV footage in a cafe two days before, he’d wondered for a heart-pounding moment if the presence of so many more angels might somehow lead him to his half-angel girl after all. But he couldn’t see how it might – and so for him, the world hadn’t changed, despite how much happiness the angels’ arrival might have brought everyone else. The realization had depressed him; he’d avoided looking at the footage after that.

Seb scraped a hand roughly across his stubble – enough of this. As he got to his feet, a female voice called his name. Turning, he saw two girls a year or two older than he was heading towards him – both with bright American smiles and bouncing ponytails. “Hey, remember us?” said the redhead in English as they reached him.

“How could I forget?” Seb swung his knapsack over his shoulder. Lucy and someone else. Amanda, that was it. They were part of a group of American students staying at the same hostel that he was; Seb had sat up with a few of them the night before, drinking and talking. The girls’ Spanish wasn’t nearly as fluent as they thought, so that he’d found it easier to speak to them in English, which he’d picked up from giving readings to American tourists over the years. He spoke a little French too – was good at languages almost without trying. He knew being psychic helped.