Angel's Watch

  Chapter Three: The Face of an Angel

  The clouds were dark. Saturated. I could see the raindrops streaking across the window, pushing and prodding, fighting to blaze their own path. But why? They would all fall off eventually, plummeting into the great depths beneath my feet. It was a rat race, full of pointless pride, arrogance, and self-importance. Just like the people around me.

  There was a flash of lighting, followed by a rumble of thunder. I wasn't sure I trusted the Plexiglass window, although the stewardess had assured me everything was perfectly safe. I closed the shutter, just in case. I'll admit I was frightened. Petrified. I had never been on a plane before; Beth was too young to travel far, and the idea of flying in a metal box simply hadn't appealed to me. Besides, tickets were expensive. Most of my savings had been spent in splitting the cost of a one-way ticket to London with Pepito. Apparently, this Rocky fellow was a Cambridge native, and owned several houses in the city. Indeed, Rocky was performing that very night at the O2 Arena. I planned to attend the concert, possibly taking a peek backstage, to see my charge in person and investigate the potential of these mysterious "forces" I was facing.

  Pepito, the conscientious cop, had tried to purchase a concert ticket, but all of them had sold out weeks before. I wasn't concerned (my skills were more than adequate to allow me to sneak into a crowded theatre), but I was intrigued. Why had the concert sold out so quickly? I'd never heard of a singer named "Rocky" before.

  He must have been popular in England.

  Another roar of thunder ripped through the plane, and I shrieked. A few passengers turned to face me, and I felt my cheeks burn. I was a seasoned thief; why was I so frightened by this small thermal reaction? Irritated, I grabbed the earphones from the seat pocket in front of me and jammed them into my ears. They did little, however, to block the rolls of thunder...and the snickers from the passenger next to me.

  He was a boy, young, possibly my age. Unshaven, with a red baseball cap pulled over his eyes. His ears were dwarfed by huge Skullcandy headphones, and his jeans had fallen down too far, allowing his red-and-black striped boxers to peek through.

  He looked like a thug. How lovely. I was sitting next to a simpering…

  The boy’s smirk widened. Evidently he noticed he had caught my attention.

  "Something funny, Skullface?"

  The boy didn't move. "Just wondering if you know when we're landing, love."

  I turned away. "No."

  The boy's nose wrinkled. "Then ask someone."

  "Er..why don't you?"

  "Me?" the boy repeated, as if the idea were entirely foreign. "Aw, you're just too scared of the big bwad thunderings to call someone over. Think you might've peed yourself, given the stench."

  "I beg your pardon?"

  The boy's lips turned upwards. "I'm sure you heard, love. Just didn't care for it."

  "Who --?"

  "And they tell me blondes are stupid."

  I didn't deign to respond; rather, I plugged the earphones into the jack, and began to flip through the films on the screen in front of me.

  "That one, there, The Juggernauts, is fantastic, but you would--"

  I hit the "Music" button with a little too much force. The first band began to play. Adam's Paradise.

  Never heard of them, but it beat listening to Skullface.

  The boy was still speaking, but I fiddled with the volume until I could no longer hear him. Or the thunder.

   

  The moment I stepped off the plane, I was engulfed in the chaos of London Heathrow International Airport.

  People pushing, prodding, screaming, shouting. Running. Late. Stressed. Frightened children and hassled parents. Ticking clocks and missed connections.

  My Watcher reflexes tingled, but I pushed them aside.

  I had a mission. I had to find Rocky.

  But I had to get out of here, first.

  The jetway opened into a much wider space, and, for a moment, I, too, felt overwhelmed. The people, the buzz, and the stifling heat formed a maze around me, and, for the first time ever, I felt small. Insignificant. Useless. This place was a complete contrast to the one I had left. This world was so...so busy! So alive!

  And dirty, too, I noted, as I studied the floor. The white tiles were matte and dull, covered with dirt from innumerable passengers, innumerable places. I wondered how many stories, how many countries could be found within the dust and soil. I wondered if it were possible to tell.

  I passed a few restaurants. The aroma was welcoming to my tired senses (I suddenly remembered I hadn't slept the night before), but I was in a hurry. I had to find...

  A rough hand pushed me aside, and I stumbled.

  Skullface brushed by.

  "Excuse me?!?!"

  Skullface turned around and smirked. "Problem, Princess?"

  "You pushed me."

  "Oh." Skullface began to walk away.

  "What a bloody pig!"

  Skullface whipped around. "What did you say?"

  "You heard me!"

  Skullface leant forward, stopping when his face was only centimetres from mine. His breath was warm, and I could hear the music blasting through his headphones. Only from one side, though.

  "Shove off, prat," he said.

  I snorted. "You wish."

  Skullface frowned, raised his hands, and pushed me backwards. I hit the wall, the back of my head smashing against wood and concrete. Stars danced around my eyes, and I felt music pound through my head. His music.

  I touched my earlobes. Adam's Paradise. How ironic.

  After my vision had cleared, I looked around, rubbing the back of my head. The surrounding traffic was just as hectic as before; there had been no hiccup, no one stopping to help or even watch. At least it didn't make a scene, I suppose.

  I looked down, fingering the gilded monogram on the black leather wallet resting in my hands. How long would it take Skullface to realise it was missing? Smirking, I flipped the wallet open. Nothing but cash: British pounds, and a lot of them. Skullface must be rich.

  Good. I needed money for this shenanigan.

  I watched Skullface walk off. Not once did he think to check his back pocket.

  What a fool.

  He approached a rather large group of people. Boys in jeans and men in suits. A welcoming committee, perhaps.

  I felt a twang in my stomach. Jealousy? No, of course not. I was never jealous. Certainly not of people like that. What did I have to be jealous of? I was Alice Redglove, for crying out loud!

  No, you're not, said the voice in my head. That's what people call you, but it's not really who you are. You know better.

  That voice was terribly annoying. I pushed it aside and moved a little closer to the group, to eavesdrop.

  "Mate, how'd it go with the gov'nor?"

  "Ah, same old, same old. You know how the old man is."

  "Blimey, Rock, you know that --"

  "WHAAA-eh, now, mates, Neal ate all the --"

  "Bloody old man's nothing to worry --"

  "Crisps, now what are we supposed to --"

  Skullface tilted his head back, laughing, and I glimpsed his features.

  A thin nose, tan skin, wide lips...just like the pictures, but unshaven. Untouched. No make-up or airbrushes. There was a pimple on his right cheek nearly oozing with pus. A pimple which hadn't been there in Pepito's picture.

  But...his face. It didn't seem possible such a face could belong to him. The Skullface, a brutish, pig-headed boy-band wannabe, shouldn’t have looked like that. Under different circumstances, I might have said his was the face of an angel, for it was almost beautiful. Perfect, in an imperfectly human way. Almost...almost like that of another girl I had watched, nearly a lifetime ago.

  Indeed, there could be no mistake. I was staring at Beth's brother, Rocky Cortez.

   

   

  I bought myself a cup of Earl Gray, black, no sugar, and sat on one of the benches. The warm liquid soothe
d my throat, and I leant back into the bench, watching Rocky and Co. They seemed to be in no hurry to move. Or rather, two devoted fans had glimpsed their idols, and the boys were now stuck signing notepads, customs forms, and luggage tags for the population of teenage girls within the airport. Not that they seemed to mind the influx of female attention.

  I had finally recognised Rocky and his younger companions as the members of Adam's Paradise, the same band I had first heard on the plane. It was remarkable how well the album cover pictures had been touched up. The older men around them must have been bodyguards. The same bodyguards whose abilities Pepito had doubted.

  "AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH! He TOUCHED me! He actually TOUCHED me!"

  Excitement exploded a few metres away from me. I watched the trembling, tear-stained girls snap picture after picture as Rocky posed with a few lucky fans towards the front of the crowd. His gold dog tags hung loosely down his chest, and a skull tattoo was visible on his neck.

  Ooh...what a heartthrob! Disgusted, I turned away from the crowd, choosing instead to scan the waiting area for interesting characters. Anything to take my mind off the nerve-crumbling scene behind me. There was a limit to the number of screaming teenagers any sane mind could manage. Although the general population itself offered little reprieve from life's daily stressors.

  I watched the people around me. A young mother scolded a child, while the man next to her tried to contain his laughter. A stewardess dropped a briefcase, scattering papers across the floor. Two girls texted on cell phones, one giggling, the other, blushing. A man reached inside a bag and…

  No, that wasn't right.

  I stood up, dropping my cup and spilling tea on the floor and bench. I heard angry mutters from the people around me, but I ignored them.

  There was a man in a gray toque, fiddling with something in his bag. Something shiny. Dangerous.

  I began to approach him, then stopped. Something else had caught my attention: a circle of light, dancing around the room. A red light.

  The light of a sniper rifle.

  But where was the sniper?

  I looked up. The ceiling was covered with skylights and glass. But there were no shadows from above, only the harsh glare of sunlight.

  I looked back down, blinking the dancing flashes of red and gold from my eyes. The man with the toque had tucked the gun inside his jacket. He, too, was watching the red light of the sniper rifle racing around the room. Both of us stiffened when the light paused…just above Rocky's head.

  It moved down, and I jumped.

  BOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

  SNITSNITSNITSNITSNIT!

  Glass rained from the ceiling as panic ensued, the screams resting heavily in the air.

  My eyes opened, and I found my arms wrapped around a shaking Rocky Cortez. We were both lying on the ground. I realised my Watcher reflexes had taken over; I had tackled Rocky, managing to push him to the ground just before the first bullets hit. The boy was safe, but I couldn't say the same for the wall behind us. It would be best to get out of here. Quickly.

  "...what the $%@?" Rocky muttered under me. I realised he was a little dazed, and shifted to ease my weight off him.

  The pain hit hard. It surged through my body, and I bit my tongue. The blood trickled down the sides of my mouth, but it wasn't the only part of my body covered with blood. My hands, my legs, my face...I realised I was nearly lying in a pool of my own blood. I had been shot.

  The thought, though, was pushed aside when more gunshots rang through the air. The shooter - the man with the toque - had fired his gun, and was now elbowing his way through the crowd. I rolled off Rocky and scrambled to my feet. The pain localised in my leg. My thigh, specifically. I had been shot in the thigh.

  I could still move, and I could weight-bear, although the pain was phenomenal. Gritting my teeth, I hobbled after the shooter, trying to quicken my steps as he turned down a corridor.

  Human cries echoed through my ears.

  "HELP! HELP!"

  "Molly? MOLLY!"

  "Bloody HELL!"

  “JESUS CHRIST!”

  "MUMMY!"

  As I turned the corner, I saw a frightened crowd running in my direction. I flattened myself against the wall, keeping my eye on the toque man. He had been caught in the deluge and was struggling against the flow.

  I used his confusion as an opportunity to examine my leg more carefully. The bullet had missed the major vessels, but the wound was still bleeding. I tore a piece of fabric off my cardigan and tied it tightly around the area. I would worry about removing the bullet later.

  When the crowd had cleared, the toque man and I stood alone in the eerie quiet of the room. We eyed each other briefly before he broke the silence. "You should run."

  "The police will be here soon," I said, stepping away from the wall. "You'll be arrested."

  "The police don't frighten me," said the toque man. "And neither do you."

  I smiled. "You know nothing about me."

  "On the contrary. I know quite a bit, Tessa. More than you seem to think. But don't worry about it too much. We'll meet again soon."

  As he spoke, the man's body began to dissolve into a beam of golden flecks and float through a nearby window. Lazily...almost like a sunbeam...or the dancing dots of a sniper's rifle.

  I had seen that trick before: with the Watchers. The man was a Watcher. Or, at least, some type of angel. A Rogue angel, of course. No one in the Pack would kill, not even to save their own charge.

  I sighed as I looked at my leg, shifting my weight to my good side. If the toque man were a real Watcher, Pepito's "dangerous forces" might be more than I could manage. Real Watchers would be difficult to fight. They had stronger stamina, and it took a great deal to injure them. Each of them was also granted a very particular skillset, a gift I had relinquished when I failed my Watcher Trial.

  If Rocky was being targeted by Watchers, even Rogue ones, it may not be wise to stand in their way. This man seemed to know exactly who I was. What I was. Which was disconcerting, to say the least.

  But I couldn't back down. Not now, not yet. I had made a promise to Pepito. I owed it to him – to myself – to at least try to see this through.