clarified.
From what Miranda had said, Alex doubted Raziel had many friends here either. Doing another scan, he sensed again that the angels were sticking fearfully together – and now their seething, hopeless anger also came through.
No, not many friends at all.
At last the Coliseum’s curved white exterior came into view. The pale wall gleaming through the rain was the most beautiful thing Alex had ever seen. He’d made it – after three weeks, he’d finally made it.
“It’s inside,” Miranda said, gazing at the building with apprehension.
The downpour intensified, falling in solid sheets. Alex jogged across the slick cobblestones towards the Coliseum, pain lashing him with every step.
Miranda kept pace with no visible effort. “Can you tell me what Willow’s like?” she asked hesitantly. “I mean, I know what she was like as a child, but…”
Alex panted out a response. “She’s the most amazing…beautiful girl in the world. Kind…smart – everything. You couldn’t ask for a better daughter, not ever.”
Suddenly his senses tingled in alarm. Alex veered sharply left, but it was too late: an angel, also running, had emerged from a side street. They collided with a solid thump and the squelch of wet clothes.
“Oh, beg your pardon—” started the angel, and then he stared into Alex’s streaming face. “Wait, I don’t know you. You’re not an—”
As the angel broke off, gaping, Alex was already running again, pounding the cobblestones as fast as he could – there was no way he could fake his way out of this one, none.
The Coliseum grew steadily closer, but crippling pain slowed him down. Miranda had vanished. Footfalls sped after him – more than one pair, gaining on him.
The angel had been joined by at least ten others. They stopped a few feet away, out of breath, their faces hard. “You’re human,” said the first one. Black hair, dark eyes. “How did you get into our world? How?”
“I don’t know – it was a mistake.” The rifle was propped and ready on Alex’s shoulder.
“Why don’t I believe you?” spat the angel as he stepped forward, rain streaming down his hair. “You know a way in, so you know a way out.
Alex backed away a step, still holding the rifle on them. “Yeah, so you want to come to my world and make sure humans die instead. Not a chance.” He wasn’t without sympathy for the angels – trapping them here had been pretty cold-blooded, even for Raziel – but his sympathy stopped short of letting them join the soul-suckers in his own dimension.
The angels moved towards him with no warning: half of them lunged forward in their human forms; the others shifted to their angelic selves and swooped fiercely at him. Two went high, ready to dive; Alex aimed at the lead one – large and ghostly in the rain – centred on its halo, and shot, then got the second angel just as the human ones tackled him.
Pieces of light fell like confetti as Alex went crashing down. His rifle hit the ground with a clatter as someone wrenched it away from him. “Tell us!” hissed the dark-haired angel, cracking Alex’s head against the cobblestones. “Talk!”
The pain spurred him on. He jackknifed upwards and swung hard, connecting with the angel’s damp cheekbone. His head got slammed into the cobblestones again in response; someone else kicked his ribs. Alex threw punches wildly, not caring what he hit: blood spurting, the crunch of cartilage as he flattened an angel’s nose. He knew he was outnumbered but didn’t care; he was
In a blur, Alex saw an angel standing on the fringe, staring at the drifting fragments of light. It let out a sudden wail of agony. “He’s killed Ganziel and Larmont! We didn’t even feel it!”
The news seemed to sap all will from the angels.
The dark-haired one on Alex’s chest went still, gazing upwards in horror. The remainder who’d been in angelic form had reverted to human again. They stood shuddering as a group and regarded Alex with wide, frightened eyes.
For the first time ever, Alex felt a fleeting urge to apologize for shooting an angel. He didn’t give in to it. He heaved the dark-haired angel off him, then scrambled to his feet and ran.
The rain was still pelting down. Alex ducked down a side street adjacent to the Coliseum, then another one and another – desperate to lose the angels before they figured out where he was going. Though he scanned continuously, he could sense no sign of them. Had they given up?
Finally Alex doubled back. Breathing hard, he pressed flat against a building and peered around it at the Coliseum’s high white walls.
A side entrance lay directly across the street. Alex glanced the other way, hating how open this area was. At least the Coliseum seemed empty – he had a feeling the place hadn’t been used in a while.
“You’re hurt,” Miranda said with concern, suddenly appearing next to him. “Your head’s bleeding…” She reached out to touch it; her fingers tingled lightly against his scalp.
He let out a breath, deeply glad to see her again: this wraith who was somehow all that was left of Willow’s mother’s mind. “I’m fine – I’m going to make a run for it. You can still show me how to get through, right?”
She nodded, and Alex took off. To his relief, the door was unlocked. He slipped quickly through it.
Inside it was cool, dimly lit. He was in a long, plain corridor that reminded him again, strongly, of the Denver Church of Angels – it was exactly like the hallway he’d gone careening down to reach Willow when she’d attempted to stop the Second Wave.
Miranda was beside him again. “This way,” she said, starting silently down the corridor. “It’s different from how the other gates were – Raziel’s the only one who can sense it’s there.” They came to another door; she waited as Alex opened it.
“But what about the timings?” she asked suddenly, peering up at him.
“What timings?” Alex put his hand on the pistol under his waistband as they entered an open space larger than two football fields, blindingly bright. Tens of thousands of seats wrapped around it; overhead, a high, arched ceiling seemed both transparent and solid – one moment plain white, the next showing dark clouds still spitting down rain.
Alex’s jaw tightened. Was it like that from the outside? All the angels had to do was fly over, and they’d figure out he was here in two seconds.
They were on a broad, raised platform. Though everything looked sleekly modern, there was a sense of immense age.
“Raziel always worries about the timings,” Miranda explained. “I mean, he did the last few times he was here. I thought it must be hard to get them right.”
Alex shook his head; he didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. “I’ll just have to take my chances.”
He saw to his alarm that his foot was bleeding; he’d left a smudged red trail all the way across the platform. He quickly shrugged out of his jacket and yanked off his damp T-shirt, ignoring the jab of bruised ribs. He bent down hastily, mopping up the blood, and then wrapped the shirt around his foot. He wasn’t going to lead them right to the gate, not if he could help it.
“All right, well…” Miranda bit her lip, and Alex realized she was reluctant to give away Raziel’s secret. She motioned towards a large twisting sculpture near the edge of the platform. “It’s very small, right under that first curve. Like a keyhole, but smaller.”
Alex lifted his consciousness through his chakras and probed. Apprehension touched him. “I can’t feel it.”
“No, I told you – Raziel keeps it hidden. But it’s there.”
Alex took her word for it; he didn’t have a choice. Pinpointing his consciousness again, just like he’d done all those weeks ago in his father’s house, he plunged it, needle-like, under the sculpture’s silver curve. Not the right place. He tried again. Not there either.
Suddenly Alex’s senses jolted with the dark feel of angel energy close by. They’d found him, hundreds of
