Night World - Dark Angel Part 13

"No, I don't!" She was screaming it. "I don't know anything about you! W hy did you take me there? Why did you want them to hurt me? Why?"

"Gillian, stop the car. Stop. The. Car."

His voice was so commanding, so urgent and imperative, that she actually ob eyed. She was sobbing anyway. She couldn't drive or see. She felt, literall y and honestly, that she was losing her mind at that exact moment.

"Now look at me. Wipe your face off and look at me."

After a moment she managed. He was shining. Light seemed to radiate from eve ry inch, of him, from the gold filaments of his hair, to his cla.s.sic feature s, to the lines of his perfect body. And he'd calmed down. His expression was rapt and uplifted, the serenity only marred by what looked like concern for her.

"Now," he said. "I'm sorry if all this scared you. New things are like that sometimes-they seem repulsive just because they're different. But we won't t alk about that now," he added, as Gillian caught a shuddering breath. "The i mportant thing is that I wasn't trying to hurt you." His eyes seemed to grow even more intense, pure violet flame.

Gillian hiccupped. "But-you-"

"I could never hurt you, Gillian. Because, you see, we're soulmates."

He said it with the weight of a monumental revelation. And although Gillian had no idea what it meant, she felt an odd quiver inside, almost of recognit ion.

"What's that?"

"It's something that happens with people who belong to the Night World. I t means that there's only one love for everyone who exists. And when you meet that love, you know them. You know you were meant to be together, an d nothing can keep you apart."

It was true. Every word seemed to resonate inside Gillian, touching off an cient, hidden memories. This was something her ancestors had known.

Her cheeks had dried. Her hysteria was gone. But she felt very tired and ver y bewildered.

"But ... if that's true . . ." She couldn't put the thought together."Don't worry about it right now." Angel's voice was soothing. "We'll talk abou t it later. I'll explain what it all means. I just wanted you to know that I w ould never hurt you. I love you, Gillian. Don't you realize that?"

"Yes," Gillian whispered. Everything was very foggy. She didn't want to thi nk, didn't want to consider the implications of what Angel was saying.

She just wanted to get home.

"Relax and I'll help you drive," Angel said. "Don't worry about anything. It's all going to be all right."

CHAPTER 13.

I he next day, Gillian tried to concentrate on normal things.

She hurried to school, feeling unrested-had she had nightmares?-and desperat ely in need of distraction. All day at school, she threw herself into activi ties, chattering and laughing and keeping people around her, talking about C hristmas and parties and finals.

It worked. Angel was very gentle, keeping quietly in the background. All th e other students were hyperactive with the thought of only two more days of school. And by the afternoon Gillian had become caught up in her own frant ic good spirits.

"We don't even have a tree," she said to David. "And it's five days to Chri stmas Eve. I have to drag my mom out and buy one."

"Don't buy one," David said, smiling at her with his dark eyes. "I'll take you out tonight to a place I know. It's beautiful, and the trees are free." He wink ed.

"I'll bring the station wagon," Gillian said. "Lots of room. I like big trees."

At home, she stayed busy, prodding her mother to wrap packages and dust of f the plastic Christmas flower arrangements. There was no talk with Angel about how to tell her mother about witches.

She was still happy when she picked David up after dinner. He seemed a littl e subdued, but she wasn't in the mood to ask questions. Instead, she talked about the party Steffi Lockhart was giving on Friday night.

It was a long drive, and she was running out of speculations about Steffi's party when David finally said, "Somewhere along here, I think."

"Okay. I'll take one of those." Gillian pointed at the sixty-look-alike fern tre es that lined the road.

David smiled. "There are some smaller ones farther in."

There were so many that Gillian had a hard time choosing. At last, she settle d on a balsam fir with a perfect silhouette, like a plump lady holding out he r skirts. It was wonderfully aromatic as she and David chopped it down and ha lf dragged, half carried it to the car.

"I just love that smell," she said. "And I don't even care that my gloves are r uined."

David didn't answer. He was quiet as he tied the back of the station wagon closed around the tree. He was quiet as they got in the car and Gillian began t o drive.

And Gillian couldn't stand it anymore. Little waves of acid were lapping in her stomach. "What's wrong? You haven't been talking all night."

"I'm sorry." He let out his breath, looking out the window. "I guess ... I was just thinking about Tanya."

Gillian blinked. "Tanya? Should I be jealous?" He glanced at her. "No, I me an-her arm." A strange sort of p.r.i.c.kling cascaded over Gillian, and in that moment everything changed forever. She seemed to ask the next question in a huge, quivering stillness. "What about her arm?"

"You didn't hear? I thought somebody would've called you. They took her to the hospital this afternoon." "Oh, my G.o.d."

"Yeah, but it's worse. That thing they thought was a rash was necrotizing som ething-or-other ... you know, that flesh-eating bacteria."

Gillian opened her mouth, but no sound came out. The road in front of her seemed very dim.

"Cory said she can't have any visitors-her arm swelled up to three times its normal size. They had to cut it open all the way from her shoulder to her fin ger to drain it. They think she might lose her finger-"

"Stop it!" A suppressed scream.

David looked at her quickly. "I'm sorry-"

"No! Just don't talk!" Gillian's automatic reflexes had taken over driving the car. She was hardly aware of anything outside her own body. All her con centration was fixed on the drama inside her own mind.

(Angel! Did you hear that? What is going on?) (Of course I heard it.) The voice was slow and thoughtful.

(Well, is it true? Is it?) (Look, let's talk about this later, all right, kid? Let's wait-) (No! Everything with you is "Wait" or "We'll talk about it later." I want to k now right now: is it true?) (Is what true?) (Is Tanya that sick? Is she about to lose her finger?) (It's just an infection, Gillian. Streptococcus pyogenes. You were the one who put it there.) (You're saying it is true. It's true. I did it with my spell. I gave her flesh-e ating bacteria.) Gillian threw the thoughts out wildly, disjointedly. She couldn 't really grasp what it all meant yet.

(Gillian, we had to stop her from destroying David. It was necessary.) (No! No! You knew I didn't really want to hurt her. What are you talking ab out? How can you even say that?) Gillian was in hysteria again, a strange h ysteria of the mind. She was vaguely aware that she was still driving, that fences and trees were flying by. Her body was sitting in the car, breathing quickly, speeding, but her real self seem ed to be in another place.

(You lied to me. You told me she was all right. Why did you do that?) (Calm down, dragonfly-) (Don't call me that! How can you just-just sit there . . . and not care? What kind of person are you?) And then-Angel's voice changed. He didn't get hysterical or agitated; it w as much worse. His voice became calmer. More melodious. Pleasant.

(I'm just dispensing justice. It's what angels do, you know.) Icy horror swept over Gillian.

He sounded insane.

"Oh, G.o.d," she said, and she said it out loud. David looked at her.

"Hey-are you okay?"

She scarcely heard him. She was thinking with fevered intensity: (I don't kn ow what you are, but you are not an angel.) (Gillian, listen to me. We don't have to fight. I love you-) (Then tell me how to fix Tanya!) Silence.

(I'll find out myself. I'll go back to Melusine-) (No!) (Then tell me! Or heal Tanya yourself if you're a real angel!) A pause. Then: (Gillian, I've got an idea. A way to make David love you mo re.) (What are you talking about?) (We need to give him a near-death experience. Then he'll be able to truly understand you. We need to make him die.) Everything blurred. Gillian knew they were nearing Somerset, they were on familiar streets. But for a moment her vision went completely gray and spa rkling.

"Gillian!" A hand was on hers, a real hand, steadying the wheel. "Are you a ll right? Do you want me to drive?"

"I'm okay." Her vision had cleared. She just wanted to get home. She had to g et to that shoe box and fix the spell on Tanya somehow. She had to get home .

.. to safety. . . .

But nowhere was safe.

(Don't you understand?) The voice was soft and insidious in her ear. (David can never really be like you until he's died the way you have. We have to make him die-) "No!" She realized she was speaking aloud again. "Stop talking to me! Go away!"

David was staring at her. "Gillian-"

(I don't want to hurt you, Gillian. Only him. And he'll come back, I promise. He might be a little different. But he'll still love you.) Different . . . David's body. Angel wanted David's body. As David left, Ange l would take possession....

They were almost home. But she couldn't get away from the voice. How do you get away from something that's in your own mind? She couldn't shut it out. ...

(Just let go, Gillian. Let me take over. I'll drive for you. I love you, Gillian.) "No!" She was panting, her hands gripping the steering wheel so hard it hurt . The word came out jerkily. "David! You have to drive. I can't-"

(Relax, Gillian. You won't be harmed. I promise.) And she couldn't let go of the steering wheel. The voice seemed to be inside her body, diffusing through her muscles. She couldn't take her foot off the a ccelerator.

"Gillian, slow down!" David was yelling now. "Look out!"

(It will only take a second . . .) Gillian's world had been switched into an old-time movie. The flickering bla ck-and-white kind. With each frame, the telephone pole in front of her got b igger and bigger. It was happening very slowly, but at the same time with ut ter inevitability. They were rushing oh-so-slowly toward that pole, and they were going to hit. On the right side of the car, where David was sitting.

(No! I'll hate you forever . . .) She screamed it in her mind and the last word seemed to echo endlessly. The re was time for that.

And then there was a loud sound and darkness.

"Can I see him?"

"Not yet, honey." Her mother scooted the plastic chair closer to the emerge ncy room bed. "Probably not tonight."

"But I have to."

"Gillian, he's unconscious. He wouldn't even know you were there."

"But I have to see him." Gillian felt the hysteria swelling again, and she d amped her mouth shut. She didn't want a shot, which is what the nurses had s aid they were going to give her when she started screaming earlier.

She had been here for hours. Ever since the cars with the flashing lights came and pried the station wagon door open and pulled her out. They'd pull ed David out, too. But while she had been completely unhurt-"A mirade! Not even a scratch!" the paramedic had said to her mother-David had been unco nscious. And had stayed that way ever since.

The emergency room was cold and it didn't seem to matter how many heated blankets they wrapped around her. Gillian kept shivering. Her hands were blue-white and pinched looking.

"Daddy's coming home," her mother said, stroking her arm. "He's taking the first plane he could get. You'll see him tomorrow morning."

Gillian shivered. "Is this the same hospital- where Tanya Jun is? No, don't as k. I don't really want to know." She stuck her hands under her armpits. "I'm s o cold. . . ."

And alone. There was no soft voice hi her head. And that was good, because, G.o.d, the last thing she wanted was Angel-or rather that thing, whatever it was, that monster that had called itself an angel. But it was strange after so long. To be all alone . . . and not know where he might be lurking. He could be listening to her tho ughts right now. . . .

"I'll get another blanket." The nurse had shown her mother the heated closet.

"If you could just lie down, honey, maybe you'd feel like sleeping a little.

"I can't sleep! I have to go see David."

"Hon, I already told you. You're not going to see him tonight."

"You said I might not get to see him. You didn't say I wouldn't! You only s aid probably!" Gillian's voice was rising, getting more shrill, and there w as nothing she could do about it. The tears were coming, too, flooding down uncontrollably. She was choking on them.

A nurse came hurrying in, the white curtains around the bed swirling. "It's all right; it's natural," she said softly to Gillian's mother. And to Gillian: "Now, just lean over a little-hold still. A little pinch. This is something to help y ou relax."

Gillian felt a sting at her hip. A short time later everything got blurry and th e tears stopped.

She woke up in her own bed. It was morning. Pale sunlight was shining full i n the window. Last night . . . oh, yes. She could vaguely re- member her mom and Mrs. Beeler, their next-door neighbor, leading her from the hospital to Mrs. Beeler's car. She remembered them taking her upstair s and undressing her and putting her to bed. After that she'd had hours of wonderful not-thinking.

And now she was awake and rested and her head was clear. She knew exactly what she had to do even before she swung her legs out from under the cov ers.

She glanced at the ancient Snoopy clock on her nightstand and got a shock.

Twelve thirty-five. No wonder she was rested.

Efficiently, without making a sound, she put on Levis and a gray sweatshir t. No makeup. She ran a comb once through her hair.

She paused, then, to listen. Not just to the house, but to herself. To the worl d inside her own brain.

Dead quiet. Not a creature stirring. Not that that meant a thing, of course.

Gillian knelt and pulled the shoe box out from under her bed. The wax dolls were garish, red and green, like a hideous parody of Christmas. Her first impu lse at the sight of that poisonous green was to get rid of it. Snap off one d oll's hand and the other's head.

But what that would do to Tanya and Kim, she didn't want to think. Instead, she forced herself to get a Q-tip from the bathroom, soak it in water, and dab the iridescent green powder away.

She cried as she did it. She tried to concentrate as she had when she'd done the spell, seeing the real Tanya's hand, seeing it heal and become whole.

"Now may I be given the power of the words of Hecate," she whispered. "It is not I who utter them, it is not I who repeat them; it is Hecate who utters them, it is she who repeats them."

When the powder was off, she put the dolls back in the box. Then she blew her nose and rummaged through the pile on her desk until she found a sma ll pink-flowered address book.

She sat on the floor crosslegged, dragged the phone close, and thumbed thr ough the book.