Night World - Dark Angel Part 5

"I mean, animals can see us."

"But they were scared. All their fur-I've never seen them like that before."

"Well, they may not understand what I am. It happens sometimes. Come on, le t's get the scissors."

Gillian stared down the side hall for a moment, then obeyed.

"Now what?" she said as she brought the scissors back to her room.

"Go in the bathroom."

Gillian went into the little bathroom that ad- joined her bedroom and flicked on the light. She licked dry lips.

"And now?" she said, trying to sound flippant. "Do I cut off a finger?"

"No. Just your hair."

In the mirror over the sink, Gillian saw her own jaw drop. She couldn't see the angel, though, so she turned around."Cut my hair? Off?"

"Off. You hide behind it too much. You have to show the world that you're not hiding anymore."

"But-" Gillian raised protective hands, looking back in the mirror. She saw h erself, pale, delicate boned, with eyes like wood violets-peering out from a curtain of hair.

So maybe he had a point. But to go into the world naked, without anything to duck behind, with her face exposed . . .

"You said you trusted me," the angel said quietly.

Gillian chanced a look at him. His face was stem and there was something i n his eyes that almost scared her. Something unknowable and cold, as if he were withdrawing from her.

"It's the way to prove yourself," he said. "It's like taking a vow. If you can do this part, you're brave enough to do what it takes to get your heart's des ire." He paused deliberately. "But, of course, if you're not brave enough, if you want me to go away ..."

"No," Gillian said. Most of what he was saying made sense, and as for what she didn't understand-well, she would have to ha ve faith.

I can do this.

To show that she was serious, she took the open scissors, bracketed the pale blond curtain at a level with her ear, and squeezed them shut. Her hair just folded around the scissors.

"Okay." The angel was laughing. "Hold onto the hair at the bottom and pull.

And try less hair."

He sounded like himself again: warm and teasing and loving-helpful. Gillian let out her breath, gave a wobbly smile, and devoted herself to the horrible and fascinating business of cutting off long blond chunks.

When she was done, she had a silky blond cap. Short. It was shorter than Amy 's hair, almost as short as J.Z. Oberlin's hair, the girl at school who work ed as a model and looked like a Calvin Klein ad. It was really short.

"Look in the mirror," the angel said, although Gillian was already looking.

"What do you see?"

"Somebody with a bad haircut?"

"Wrong. You see somebody who's brave. Strong. Out there. Unique. Individua list. And, incidentally, gorgeous."

"Oh, please." But she did look different. Under the ragged St. Joan bob, he r cheekbones seemed to stand out more; she looked older, more sophisticated . And there was color in her cheeks.

"But it's still all uneven."

"We can get it smoothed out tomorrow. The important thing is that you took the first step yourself. By the way, you'd better learn to stop blushing. A girl as beautiful as you has to get used to com pliments."

"You're a funny kind of angel."

"I told you, it's part of the job. Now let's see what you've got in your closet."

An hour later, Gillian was in bed again. This time, under the covers. She wa s tired, dazed, and very happy.

"Sleep fast," the angel said. "You've got a big day tomorrow."

"Yes. But wait." Gillian tried to keep her eyes open. "There were some thing s I forgot to ask you."

"Ask."

"That crying I heard in the woods-the reason I went in. Was it a kid? And a re they okay?"

There was a brief pause before he answered. "That information is cla.s.sified . But don't worry," he added. "n.o.body's hurt-now."

Gillian opened one eye at him, but it was dear he wasn't going to say any mo re. "Okay," she said reluctantly. "And the other thing was-I still don't kno w what to call you."

"I told you. Angel."

Gillian smiled, and was immediately struck by a jaw-cracking yawn. "Okay.

Angel." She opened her eyes again. "Wait. One more thing . . ."

But she couldn't think of it. There had been some other mystery she'd wanted to ask about, something that had to do with Tanya, with Tanya and blood. But she couldn 't summon it up.

Oh, well. She'd remember later. "I just wanted to say-thank you."

He snorted. "You can say it anytime. Get this through your head, kid: I'm n ot going anywhere. I'll be here tomorrow morning." He began to hum a Blind Melon song. " I'll always be there when you wake. . . .' Yeah, yeah, yeah."

Gillian felt warm, protected . . . loved. She fell asleep smiling.

The next morning she woke early and spent a long time in the bathroom. She c ame down the stairs feeling self-conscious and lightheaded-literally. With h er hair gone her neck felt as if it were floating. She braced herself as she walked into the kitchen.

Neither of her parents was there, even though her father was usually having b reakfast by now. Instead, a girl with dark hair was sitting at the kitchen ta ble, bent closely over a calculus textbook.

"Amy!"

Amy glanced up and blinked. She squinted, blinked again, then jumped up, s tanding an inch taller than Gillian. She moved forward, her eyes huge.

Then she screamed.

CHAPTER 6.

Your hair!" Amy screamed. "Gillian, your hair! What did you do to it?"

Amy's own hair was short, cropped close in back and full in front. She had large, limpid blue eyes that always looked as if she were about to cry, bec ause she was nearsighted but couldn't wear contacts and wouldn't wear gla.s.s es. Her face was sweet and usually anxious; just now it looked more anxious than normal.

Gillian put a self-conscious hand to her head. "Don't you like it?"

"I don't know! It's gone!"

"This is true."

"But why?"

"Calm down, Amy." (If this is the way everybody's going to react, I think I'

m in trouble.) Gillian had discovered that she could talk to Angel without m oving her lips and that he could answer in her head. It was convenient.

(Tell her you cut it because it froze. That ought to flip her guilt circuits.) Angel's voice sounded the same as it did when she could see him. Soft, wry, dis tinctly his. It seemed to be located just behind her left ear.

"I had to cut it because it was frozen," Gillian said. "It broke off," she added brightly, inspired.

Amy's blue eyes got even wider with horror. She looked stricken. "Oh, my G.o.d, Gillian-" Then she c.o.c.ked her head and frowned. "Actually, I don't think tha t's possible," she said. "I think it'd stay pliable even frozen. Unless, like , you dipped it in liquid nitrogen. ..."

"Whatever," Gillian said grimly. "I did it. Listen, I've got it slicked back behind my ears right now, but the ends are sort of uneven. Can you smooth the m out a little?"

"I can try," Amy said doubtfully.

Gillian sat down, pulling together the neck of the rose-colored bathrobe s he was wearing over her clothes. She handed Amy the scissors. "Got a comb?

"Yes. Oh, Gillian, I was trying to tell you. I'm so sorry about yesterday. I j ust forgot-but it's all my fault-and you almost died!" The comb quivered again st the back of Gillian's neck.

"Wait a minute. How did you find out about that?"

"Eugene heard it from Steffi Lockhart's little brother, and I think Steffi he ard it from David Blackburn. Did he really save you? That's so incredibly rom antic."

"Yeah, sort of." (Uh, what do I tell people about that? What do I tell them a bout the whole thing?) (The truth. Up to a point. Just leave me and the near-death stuff out.) "I've been thinking all morning," Amy was saying, "and I realized that I've been an absolute pig this last week. I don't deserve to be called a best frien d. And I want you to know that I'm sorry, and that things are going to be dif ferent now. I came to pick you up first, and then we're going to get Eugene."

(Oh, joy.) (Be nice, dragonfly. She's trying. Say thank you.) Gillian shrugged. It didn't seem to matter much what Amy did, now that she had Angel. But she said, "Thanks, Amy," and held still as the cold scissors went snip behind her ear.

"You're so sweet," Amy murmured. "I thought you'd be all mad. But you're such a good person. I felt so terrible, thinking about you alone out there, freez ing, and being so brave, trying to save a little kid-"

"Did they find a kid?" Gillian interrupted.

"Huh? No, I don't think so. n.o.body was talking about anything like that last night. And I haven't heard about any kid being missing, either."

(Told you, dragonfly. Are you satisfied now?) (Yes, I am. Sorry.) "But it was still brave," Amy said. "Your mom thinks so, too."

"My mom's up?"

"She went to the store. She said she'd be back in a few minutes." Amy stepped back and looked at Gillian, scissors held in the air. "You know, I'm not sur e I should be doing this. . . ."

Before Gillian could summon up a reply, she heard the sound of the front d oor opening and the rustling of paper bags. Then her mother appeared, her cheeks red with cold. She had two grocery bags in her arms.

"Hi, girls," she began, and broke off. She focused on Gillian's hair. Her mout h fell open.

"Don't drop the bags," Gillian said. She tried to sound careless, but her stoma ch was clenched like a fist. Her neck felt stiff and unnatural as she held very still. "Do you like it?"

"I-I-" Gillian's mother put the bags on the counter. "Amy ... did you have to c ut it all?"

"Amy didn't do it. I did it last night. I just got tired of it long-" (And getting all wet and icy) "-and getting all wet and icy. So I cut it. So do you like it, o r not?"

"I don't know," her mother said slowly. "You look so much older. Like a Pa risian model."

Gillian glowed.

"Well." Her mother shook her head slightly. "Now that it's done--here, let me shape it a little.

Just touch up the ends." She took the scissors from Amy.

(I'm going to be bald when this is finished!) (No, you're not, kid. She knows what she's doing.)And, strangely, there was something comforting about feeling her mother gen tly wield the scissors. About her mother's scent, which was fresh like lave nder soap, without any hint of the terrible alcohol smell. It reminded Gill ian of the old days, when her mom taught at the junior college and was up e very morning and never had uncombed hair or bloodshot eyes. Before the figh ts started, before her mom had to go to the hospital.

Her mother seemed to feel it, too. She gave Gillian's shoulder a pat as she whisked a bit of cut hair away. "I got fresh bread. I'll make cinnamon toast and hot chocolate." Another pat, and then she spoke with careful calm. "Are you sure you're all right? You must have been . . . pretty cold last night.

We can call Dr. Kaczmarek if you want; it wouldn't take a minute."

"No, I'm fine. Really. But where's Daddy? Did he already go to work?"

There was a pause, then her mother said, still calmly, "Your father left last n ight."

"Dad left?" (Dad left?) (It happened last night while you were asleep.) (A lot seems to have happened last night while I was asleep.) (The world's kind of that way, dragonfly. It keeps on going even when you're not paying attention.) "Anyway, we'll talk about it later," her mother said. A final pat. "There, that 's perfect. You're beautiful, even if you don't look like my little girl anymor e. You'd better bundle up, though; it's pretty cold out this morning."

"I'm already dressed." The moment had come, and Gillian didn't really care if she shocked her mother now or not. Her father had left again- and if tha t wasn't unusual, it was still upsetting. The closeness with her mother had been spoiled, and she didn't want cinnamon toast anymore.

Gillian stepped to the middle of the kitchen and shrugged off the pink bathr obe.

She was wearing black hipsters and a black camisole. Over it was a sheer bla ck shirt, worn loose. She had on flat black boots and a black watch, and tha t was all she had on.

"Gillian."