Angel Fever

Page 56

 

  He lowered his head to mine; I closed my eyes as our lips met. The moment spiralled out into infinity as we tasted each other. Seb’s hand moved to my head, stroked through my hair. His feelings enveloped me in a rush, rocking me; at the same time he pulled me close against him, and I wrapped my arms around him tightly, drowning in the feel of him – his mouth, hungry on mine; his tongue, warm and wet and real.

  It had been so long since I’d been held this way – so long since I’d felt like this. I broke away, kissing his jaw, his cheek, his temple. “Seb, Seb,” I cried, burying my face against his neck.

  He clutched me to him – his lips on my hair, then pulling away to hold my head with both hands, kissing my mouth again. “It’s always been you,” he said fiercely between kisses. “No matter what I did – no matter what I wanted – always you. ”

  I could never get enough of him; I wanted to climb inside him. We fell against the bar with a bump as we kissed and kissed. I could feel the pounding of Seb’s heart through his sweater – or maybe it was my own. Seb’s hands moved across my back; he found bare skin just above my jeans, and his touch shivered through me.

  And now I could feel our angels too. As the fire cast dancing shadows around the rustic room, they’d emerged above us and were buried in each other’s energy…joined so deeply that I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

  ALEX’S SHOULDERS SLUMPED AS HE spotted the stream through the trees. Oh, thank Christ – it had been two days since he’d managed to fill his water bottle. Limping on his throbbing left foot, he made his way down the muddy bank. The water felt cold on his hands and face as he scooped up handful after handful to drink.

  He’d been wary of the water here at first, but he’d had no choice except to try it – and he’d found it cleaner and fresher than anything back home. The angels had no industry, no pollution. In many ways their world was a complete Eden, though just the word made Alex grimace.

  He drank his fill and then refilled the plastic bottle, screwing the cap back on carefully before replacing it in his pack. Turning his attention to his foot, he drew off the tattered sock. God, his flesh looked as if it had been through a meat grinder: oozing blisters and cuts that couldn’t heal. He dipped it in the stream and winced. Presumably the plants here were similar to those in his world – if he knew how, he could make himself a poultice or something. He’d have to take the survivalist class along with the rest of his team when he got home.

  Because he was going to get home. End of story.

  “What are you doing?” asked a morose voice.

  Alex hardly looked up. “Soaking my foot. ”

  “Oh. ” A man drifted into view through the trees. Sandy hair and a worried expression, clothes that had been fashionable ten years ago. “Have you seen the angels?” he asked.

  “No. ” Alex motioned with his head. “Denver’s that way. ” He had no idea whether the place he was heading to was called Denver here or not. It didn’t matter; the ghosts never listened. This one didn’t either.

  “They’ve all gone,” the man said sadly. He came around so that he was standing in the stream in front of Alex, looking deceptively substantial. The water flowed on, undisturbed by his presence.

  “No, they haven’t,” said Alex.

  “There used to be so many of them…so glorious…and now they’ve all gone. Their world is still beautiful, though. All the rainbows…” The man trailed off, gazing at the rainbows that only ghosts could seem to see. Then he remembered Alex and looked at him hopefully. “So do you know where the angels are? Can you help me find them?”

  Alex didn’t respond. Once they got going on this subject, the ghosts could keep talking for ever. He drew his foot out of the water and dried it as best he could; the sores looked no less fierce. He pulled on his sock, gritting his teeth at the pain. When he looked again, the man had vanished. There were only the trees on the opposite bank.

  The “ghosts” had startled Alex at first, then intrigued him – now, after three weeks in this world, he was bored out of his skull by them. He still wasn’t sure what they were. He’d never seen a ghost in his own world and thought he would have, if they really existed. Were these memories, somehow, of people the angels had fed from? Except that their thoughts, though predictable, did seem pretty rooted in the here and now. The few angels Alex had seen – flying distantly overhead, looking flagging and weak – paid the ghosts no attention at all. Definitely the best policy.

  Anyway, the ghost had been right about one thing – there weren’t many angels here any more; clearly almost all of them had now evacuated to the human world. Lucky us, thought Alex. He rose and tested his weight on his foot. It would do – it would have to; he still had at least twenty miles to go.

  He touched the woven bracelet on his wrist. Willow must be out of her mind by now. Not much longer, babe, I promise, he thought, as he climbed up the bank. Imagining being back with her again – holding her close, seeing her smile – was what drove him to walk extra miles every day, when his throbbing foot would have preferred to rest.

  Alex continued on his way, keeping as brisk a stride as he could. He was deep in the angels’ equivalent of the Rockies now, with woods to either side and a soaring view of mountains whenever he reached a clearing.

  In his world, this area was total wilderness. Here, the angels had apparently groomed the place to be a giant outdoor park. He was walking on a path that had once been tended, lined with small symmetrical rocks; occasionally he passed items that appeared to be artwork, though any meaning was lost on him. He studied a large globe made of steel bands, lying dented beside a marble block.

  As he walked, he scanned constantly for angels. He’d seen only a handful in three weeks, but wasn’t about to become careless now – not when he was so close. There were none, though he saw several more ghosts. They kept their distance, staring mournfully at him as he passed.

  He kept on after dark, his heart quickening in anticipation. Denver was only a few miles away now – with luck, he could be back in his own world before morning. Then hot pain tore through his injured foot.

  Alex swore; groping down, he pulled away a stick with thorns. He could hardly even see his foot any more, but could feel the warm blood streaming from it, soaking into the sock. He hurled the stick into the undergrowth. Stopping when he was so close felt like torture, but if he kept on he might stroll over a cliff before he even noticed.

  Reluctantly, he left the path and made his way into the trees; he sank down between two of them and let out a long breath, head dropped back against the bark. His muscles were starting to sing. How far had he walked today? Twenty miles, thirty?

  He took a deep, thirsty swig of water, conscious now of how hungry he was. He only had one energy bar left; he allowed himself two bites and then lay down tiredly, covering himself with his leather jacket. The ground was freezing, but at least there was no snow. Adding frostbite to his sore and bleeding foot would have just been a joke.

  The smell of damp earth surrounded him; he could hear the gentle rustling of the wind. Exhausted, Alex stared into the shadows, thinking about Denver. If it was laid out like the Denver in his own world, then the gate would be near the cathedral somewhere – on the north side of town, slightly outside the city limits. So he’d circle around and, he hoped, avoid the remaining angels.