Night World - Dark Angel Part 16

If she had a chance of finding Angel, it might be here.

The only way to the older section was up a wooden staircase held in place by railway ties. Gillian climbed it cautiously , holding the handrail. Then she stood at the top and looked around, trying not to shiver.

She was among tall sycamores and oaks which seemed to stretch black bony f ingers in every direction. The sun was falling lower in the sky and long s hadows tinged with lavender were reaching out from the trees.

Gillian braced herself. And then, as loudly as she could, she yelled.

"Come on, you! You know what I want!"

Silence.

Gillian refused to feel foolish. Gloved hands tucked under her arms, she shout ed into the stillness.

"I know you can hear me! I know you're out there! The question is, are you in here?" She kicked a foot toward a snow-covered sandstone marker.

Because of course there was nothing she could do here on her own. The only way to get the information she needed, about who Angel had been in his ea rthly life and what he'd done or left undone, was from Angel himself.

n.o.body else could tell her.

"Is this you?" Gillian sc.r.a.ped snow from a granite gravestone and read t he words. " 'Thomas Ewing, 1775, Who bled and Dyed for Liberty.' Were yo u Thomas Ewing?"

The ice-coated twigs of the tree above her clashed together in the rising wind. It made a sound like a crystal chandelier .

"No, he sounds too brave. And you're obviously just a coward." She sc.r.a.p ed some other stones. "Hey, maybe you were William Case. 'Cut down in th e flower of Youth by falling from the Stagecoach.' That sounds more like you. Were you William Case?"

(Are you all finished singing?) Gillian froze.

(Because I've got one for you.) The voice in her head began to sing raucously . Eerily. (The Pha-a-antom of the Opera is here, inside your mind. . . .) "Oh, come on, Angel. You can do better than that. And why aren't you letti ng me see you? Too scared to meet me face to face?"

A light shimmered over the snow-a beautiful pale golden light that rippled lik e silk. It grew, it took on a shape.

And then Angel was standing there. Not floating. His feet actually seemed t o touch the snow.

He looked-terrific. Haunting and beautiful in the gathering twilight. But h is beauty was only frightening now. Gillian knew what was underneath it.

"Hi there," she almost whispered. "I guess you know what I'm here to talk a bout."

"Don't know and don't care. Should you be out here alone, anyway? Does anybody know where you are?"

Gillian positioned herself in front of him. She looked directly into eyes that were as violet and darkly luminous as the sky.

"I know what you are," she said, holding those eyes, giving every word equal weight. "Not an angel. Not a devil. You're just a person. Just like me."

"Wrong."

"You've got the same feelings as any other person. And you can't be happy be ing where you are. n.o.body could. You can't want to be stuck there. If I were dead, I'd hate it."

The last words came out with a force that surprised even Gillian. Angel loo ked away.

An advantage. Gillian leapt in. "Hate it," she repeated. "Just hanging around, getting stagnant, watching other people living their lives. Being nothing, do ing nothing-unless it's to make a little trouble for people on earth. What kin d of a life is tha-" She broke off, realizing her mistake.

He was grinning maliciously, recovering. "No life!"

"All right, what kind of existence, then," Gillian said coldly. "You know what I mean. It stinks. Angel. It's putrid. It's disgusting."

A spasm crossed Angel's face. He whirled away from her. And for the first time since Gillian had seen him, she saw agitation in him. He was actually pacing, moving like a caged animal. And his hair-it seemed to be ruffled by some unseen wind.

Gillian pressed her advantage. "It's about as good as being under there." S he kicked at the dead weeds over a grave.

He whirled back, and his eyes were unnaturally bright. "But I am under there , Gillian."

For a moment, her skin p.r.i.c.kled so that she couldn't speak. She had to force herself to say steadily, "Under that one?"

"No. But I'll show you where. Would you like that?" He made a grand gesture , inviting her down the stairs. Gillian hesitated, then went, knowing he wa s behind her.

Her heart was pumping wildly. This was almost like a physical contest betw een them-a contest to see who could upset the other more.

But she had to do it. She had to make a connection with him. To reach into his anger and frustration and despair and somehow drag answers out of it.

And it was a contest. A contest of wills. Who could shout louder, who coul d be more merciless. Who could hold on.

The prize was Angel's soul.

She nearly tripped at the bottom of the stairs. It was too dark to see her foot ing. She noticed, almost absently, that it was getting very cold.

Something like an icy wind went past her-and there was light in front of her . Angel was walking there, not leaving any footprints in the snow. Gillian s taggered after him.

They were heading for the newer section of the cemetery. Past it. Into the very new section.

"Here." Angel said. He turned. His eyes were glittering. He was standing beh ind a gravestone and his own light illuminated it.

Chills washed over Gillian.

This was what she had asked for, it was exactly what she had asked for. But i t still made the hair on her neck stand on end.

He was under here. Right here. Beneath the ground. The body of the person sh e'd loved and trusted . . . whose voice had been the last thing she'd heard at night and the first thing each morning.

He was under here in some kind of box, unless maybe that had rotted. And he wasn't smiling and golden-haired and handsome. And she was going to fi nd out his name from a stone.

"I'm here, Gillian," Angel said ghoulishly, leaning over the granite marker, resting his elbows on it. "Come up and say h.e.l.lo." He was smiling, but his eyes looked as if he hated her. Wild and reckless and bitter. Capable of any thing.

And somehow, the sick horror that had been sweeping through Gillian disap peared.

Her eyes were full, spilling over. The tears froze on her cheeks. She brushed at them absently and knelt beside the grave, not on it. She didn't look at A ngel.

She put her hands together for just a moment and bent her head. It was a wo rdless prayer to whatever Power might be out there.

Then she took off her glove and gently sc.r.a.ped snow away from the marker with her bare hand.

It was a simple granite headstone with a scrolled top. It read "In loving m emory. Our son. Gary Fargeon."

"Gary Fargeon," Gillian said softly. She looked up at the figure leaning over the stone. "Gary."

He gave a mocking laugh, but it sounded forced. "Nice to meet you. I was f rom Sterback; we were practically neighbors."

Gillian looked back down. The date of birth was eighteen years ago. And the date of death was the previous year.

"You died last year. And you were only seventeen."

"I had a little car crash," he said. "I was extremely drunk." He laughed again , wildly.

Gillian sat back on her heels. "Oh, really. Well, that was brilliant," she whis pered.

"What's life?" He bared his teeth. " 'Out, out, brief candle'-or something like that."

Gillian refused to be distracted. "Is that what you did?" she asked quietly.

"Got yourself killed? Is that unfinished business somehow?""Wouldn't you like to know?" he said.

Okay, retreat. He wasn't ready yet. Maybe try some feminine wiles. "I just thought you trusted me-Angel. I thought we were supposed to be soulmates ..

"But by now you know we aren't, don't you? Because you found your real lov e-that jerk."

Gary turned up the brilliance of his smile. "But even if we're not soulmates , we are connected, you know. We're cousins. Distant, but the bond is there.

Gillian's hands fell to her sides. She stared up at him. Lights were going on in her brain, but she wasn't quite sure what they illuminated yet.

The strangest thing was that she wasn't entirely surprised.

"Didn't you ever wonder why we both have the same color eyes?" He stared down at her. Although everything was dark around him, his eyes were like violet flame. "I mean it isn't exactly common. Your great-grandmother Els peth had these eyes. So did her twin brother, Emmeth."

Twins.

Of course. The lost Harman babies, Melusine had said. Elspeth and Emmeth.

"And you're . . ."

He smirked. "I'm Emmeth's great-grandson."

Now Gillian could see what her mind was trying to illuminate. Her thought s were racing. "You're a witch, too. That was why you knew how to do the spells and things. But how did you figure out what you were?"

"Some idiots from Circle Daybreak came," Gary said. "They were looking fo r lost witches. They'd managed to track Emmeth's descendants down. They t old me enough that I understood what kind of powers I had. And then-I tol d them to get lost themselves."

"Why?"

"They were jerks. All they care about is getting humans and Night People t ogether. But I knew the Night World was the place for rne. Humans deserve what they get."

Gillian stood. Her fingers were getting red and swollen. She tried to pull he r glove back on. "Gary, you are a human. At least part. Just like I am."

"No. We're superior to them. We're special-"

"We are not special. We're no better than anyone else!"

Gary was grinning unpleasantly, breathing quickly. "You're wrong there. Th e Night People are supposed to be hunters. There are even laws that say so .".

A chill that had nothing to do with the wind went through Gillian. "Oh, re ally?" Then she had another thought. "Is that why you made me go to that c lub? So they could hunt me?"

"No, you idiot!" Gary's eyes flashed. "I told you-you're one of them. I just wanted you to realize that. You could have stayed, been part of them-"

"But why?"

"So you would be like me!" The wind was gusting wildly again. Frozen tree branches creaked like creatures in pain.

"But why?"

"So you could come be with me. So we could be together. Forever. If you j oined them, you wouldn't have gone on to the Other Side-"

"When I died! You wanted me dead." Gary looked confused. "That was just at first-" Gillian was angry now. Yelling. "You planned the whole thing! You lured me. Didn't you? Didn't you? That crying I heard in the woods-that w as you, wasn't it?"

"Everything you did was designed to kill me! Just so you'd have company!"

"I was lonely!" The words seemed to hang and echo. Then Gary's eyes dark ened and he turned away.

"I was so lonely," he said again, and there was something so hopeless in his voice that Gillian stepped toward him.

"Anyway, I didn't do it," he said over his shoulder. "I changed my mind. I t hought I could come live with you here-"

"By killing David and taking his body. Yeah. Great plan."

He didn't move. Helplessly, Gillian reached out a hand. It pa.s.sed right throu gh his shoulder.

She looked at the hand, then said quietly, "Gary, tell me what you did. What the unfinished business is."

"So you can try to send me on."

"Yes."

"But what if I don't want to go on?"

"You have to!" Gillian clenched her teeth. "You don't belong here, Gary! Th is isn't your place anymore! And there's nothing you can do here, except . . . except evil." She stopped, breathing hard.

He turned, and she saw the wild look again. "Maybe that's what I like to- do.