Angel Dust (18 page)

I shrank back.

Marcus's face grew bleak. He laughed a sudden savage laugh. Then a dark fury seemed to settle over him. I could have apparitioned. I should have.
I'd come all this way to speak to him
. But suddenly I didn't dare. He looked half wild and mad.

And I was afraid.

How could I tell him, now, that I'd killed Joey?

So I turned.

I was a coward.

I left him alone with his lilies and his roses, his memories and his grief.

I left him alone with his fury.

And I fled.

I shouldn't have done that. I should've stayed and faced him. How cowardly.
And he thought I was a liar.
I'd blown my one chance to get to Earth. Wasted. And now I was back in Heaven, wearing my identity bracelet, back on curfew, a virtual prisoner and frantic to see him again.

I wasn't a liar. I'd just not told him everything.

And going down to Earth was Absolutely Out Of The Question without a proper job spec and probably an armed escort.

Immediately I went to find Raquel to see if I could do a Collection Duty for her, but she had the rest of the week off. I went to the Angel Roster to see if I could swap myself in for something: a prayer meeting, a revelation, even watching over the beds of sick children (which is really heart-rending, but has to be done). Nothing. With all the new rules, the checkpoints, the curfews and curtailments, hardly anyone was going to Earth at all.

There were a few choir duties. I marched straight into the Celestial Job Centre and applied for them – I didn't even feel ashamed about trying to deprive a trainee cherub of a chance to visit the Vatican –
anything
to get down to Earth; but they didn't take me. Perhaps they knew about the ban on undergraduates from the Cloisters, perhaps they'd been given orders not to let me out of Heaven by Jehudiel himself – I no longer cared. I had to get a glimpse of Marcus. I had to explain. I had to reassure myself he was all right. I wasn't a liar. I had to find him.

It was listening to the Prair Waves that afternoon that gave me the idea. I'd been trying to figure out when the next Angelic Host was due to go on tour, hoping it was soon and that I could slip down amongst its ranks. I tuned into a God's Army broadcast by mistake and someone on it was having a rant:
‘. . . we must stamp out every trace of sin
 . . .
Heaven has gone slack . . . what we need is another Great Purge . . . venial sin . . . the illegal communication with those on Earth . . . haunting . . . reincarnation . . . those using the Channel . . . clean up the Summerlands . . .'

Those using the Channel.

The words struck home.
The Saved used the Channel to get down to Earth when they went haunting
. Why not me?

Without a second thought, I put on a cloak and headed for the Summerlands, beyond the Suburbs-of-the-Saved.

Down Shamballa Street in one of the less shabby suburbs of the Summerlands, I found the offices of Lily Rose's Psychic & Astral Travel Agency. Actually it wasn't an office at all. It was the back room of somebody's house, the somebody in question being Madam Lily Rose.

As soon as I saw her name above the door I knew I'd made the right decision. It was a sign. An omen. The same flowers that Marcus had chosen. I shuddered again at the memory of that torn rose.

Madam Lily Rose ushered me into her home and, peering quickly up and down the street to make sure we'd not been seen, slammed the door to behind us and locked it. Five bolts.

‘Can't be too careful,' she whispered, ‘with bloody thugs out there like Jehudiel.' She shook her head as if she expected far better from an Archangel. ‘I had a premonition you were going to be followed. Quick, in there and wait. I'll spread a bit of mystic fog outside. Give me your identity bracelet.' She beckoned me to follow and showed me into a darkened back room. Then she disappeared behind a curtain.

In the centre of the room stood a table. It was covered by a dark red velvet cloth, and on it was a crystal ball. There was a low couch under the window, and the walls on every side were hung with maps. Framed above the fireplace was a huge certificate which read
Psychic & Astral Travel Agents' Guild award this certificate to Lillian Rosemary Higgins
.

Soon Lily Rose reappeared, rubbing her hands and looking satisfied. ‘That'll bamboozle him,' she exclaimed triumphantly.

I looked at her, alarmed.

‘It's all right. Sit down,' she said and slid out a chair. ‘I saw you coming ages ago, and that great fat whip-bearer too. He doesn't know where you are now, though!' She chuckled in a high squeaky tone.

I sat down, suddenly faint.

‘It's all sorted,' she said. ‘I've got a couple of disembods to go for a walk with your bracelet until further notice.' She chuckled and chuckled. ‘He'll have fun following them all afternoon.'

I hoped that was a good idea. I hoped Jehudiel didn't catch them and realise he'd been fooled.

‘You can't catch disembods – that's the whole joke of it.' She chuckled as if she'd read my thoughts. She sat down, folded her arms over her ample bosom and looked at me. ‘Now, angel, what can I do for you?' she croaked. ‘Charms or curses?'

I stared back at her. ‘Oh, not curses,' I said.

‘Charms, then?' she queried.

‘My name is Sera—' I started.

‘Oh, no names.' She lit a candle. ‘It's better that way.'

‘I want to get down to Earth,' I said, ‘as soon as possible. Now – if you can arrange it?'

She looked at me, shook her head. ‘You're an angel,' she said, ‘you don't need me to get down to Earth. You can take the Staircase, the back stairs, the fire escape, plus you've got wings if you really want to do it the hard way. It's only the Saved who use the Channel – for them there are no other routes.'

‘I want to use the Channel too,' I said. ‘I have my reasons.'

At this she nodded her head. Everybody has their reasons, don't they?

‘It'll be expensive,' she said. ‘More – now that God's Army have outlawed it.'

‘I'll pay,' I said, ‘whatever you ask.'

She thought for a moment. ‘Cheese,' she said. ‘I need cheese.'

I raised my eyebrows.

She laughed. ‘Oh, there's a good market up here for cheese. Since that blasted bloody whip-wielding freak banned imports, my customers will pay anything – even for a slice of rat trap.' She shook her head. ‘The souls of the Saved like their food, you know. I could do good business with a bit of cheese.'

‘But –' I said.

‘You just get it. Put it in this bag (she thrust a crumpled bag at me) and leave me and the Channel to do the rest. I'll get it through in an eatable state.'

I blinked. So I was to pay in contraband goods.

‘Ever done it before?' she asked, as if she knew I hadn't.

I shook my head.

‘Here're the rules then. You leave your body there.' She pointed to a couch nearby. ‘You'll fade in and out a bit at first. Head for the colder patches, stand in draughts – it helps stabilise the haunting. If you get too intense your feelings will boil up and you'll overheat. Overheating must be avoided at all costs. You won't be able to communicate. Even angels won't see you. But you can blow the air around. Skilful ghosts can write messages in dust and on windows, direct Ouija boards, slam doors, howl down chimneys.'

I nodded. I had no intention of howling down chimneys, but the tip about staying as cold as possible was useful.

‘Nobody will be able to hear you or see you.'

My heart sank. How was I going to explain anything to Marcus if I couldn't talk to him?

‘I only do person-haunting,' she said. ‘If you want to haunt a building or go on holiday you've come to the wrong travel agency.'

‘No,' I said, ‘I want to haunt a person.'

‘Right, you'll have to go where they go. If you try to stay behind or go elsewhere, you'll feel the Channel tugging you along and it'll be uncomfortable. Bit like diarrhoea,' she whispered. ‘You'll have a window of about a quarter of an hour – if you're away from your hauntee longer, you'll ricochet right back to them like a boomerang.'

I blinked. Diarrhoea. How ghastly. Not that I'd ever had it. Angels don't get those kinds of problems.

‘You can slip out and get the cheese within fifteen minutes, can't you? Any cold section of a supermarket will have it. The chill will help you stabilise as well.'

I nodded. I supposed I could.

‘And you can affect atmosphere. If you want to bring about a change in the fortunes of others, just focus on an image.'

‘OK,' I said. Instantly I thought about cheering Marcus up. If I could only make him feel better about Joey.

‘Now, have you got an object that belonged to the person you want to haunt? You need that, otherwise I can't direct the Channel.'

My eyes flew wide. She needed something belonging to Marcus? I didn't have anything. Not even a picture.

I wouldn't be able to go.

‘That'll do,' she said, pointing at my throat.

I looked at her, confused.

‘The key.'

Of course, his key! Thank God I had his key.
How had she known it was
his
key?

‘I am a clairvoyant,' she said reproachfully.

I looped the lanyard off my neck and handed her Marcus's key.

‘Very good,' she said warmly and, picking up the key, held it firmly between her two hands.

‘Yes, yes, excellent,' she commented and directed me to the couch. ‘I've got a few other things to do this afternoon, so you'll have to be back by four.'

I nodded and, wondering if she'd prefer Cheddar or Camembert, let her push me gently on to the couch.

Lily Rose sat down at the table and, still holding on to the key, she spun the crystal ball. ‘Relax,' she said.

The crystal ball turned. The edges of the velvet tablecloth began to blow. The maps from the walls swirled towards me. Like pages of a book they flicked before my eyes. One map hovered, drew nearer. It was a map of city streets. As it whirled closer I caught sight of the name Curlston Heights. I caught my breath. I tilted forward. I was really doing this. The little square on the map widened. I felt myself leave the couch.
What if something went wrong? Or Jehudiel found out? Or Marcus didn't want to see me ever again?

I tipped head first through the square, into a long dark tunnel.

Then suddenly, without warning, I seemed to be stuck. I froze, not knowing whether to try and struggle back, or shove myself further in.

Then –
whoosh
.

I pitched forward again. Air dashed against me. I was sucked downwards. There was a stretching, a tugging, a guttering and sinking. A tornado bruised my face. I gulped.

I gasped.

Down I fell.

Down into the Channel.

I feel my feet hit ground. I sway and stand. All around me blurred shapes come into focus.

Immediately I know where I am: the CD covers are scattered on the floor, expensive trainers showcased on their shoeboxes, everywhere pictures of girls.

Marcus's bedroom.

‘What about Film and Media?' says a voice I don't recognise.

I squint, slitting up my eyes and peering out into the small room through a dim greenish fog.

‘Or Music Technology. You like music.' The voice is sweet and musical and female.

‘Nah,' says a voice that sets my heart pounding. ‘Don't see myself as a technician.'

The fog clears. In front of me – so near I could almost touch him – sits Marcus. He's bending over a keyboard. His eyes are fixed on a computer screen. Thank God he's well. Thank God he's calm. I pray he's forgiven me too.

‘I'm sorry,' I say shakily, moving straight to his side. ‘You mustn't ever think I'd lie to you –' But the two of them don't look up. I go nearer to the desk. ‘Marcus?' I try a burst of sunlight. It doesn't work. He doesn't move. I remember. I'm completely invisible, without powers – just a voyeur.

‘What about Sports and Leisure?' says the girl. ‘Or personal trainer?' I step round her and look. She's petite, pretty, about sixteen. She has such a smile. She adores Marcus, I can tell. I recognise her from the photos. She's Jasmine, Marcus's younger sister.

‘I'm not sure about that.' Marcus peers at the screen. ‘Criminology, that looks cool . . .'

Jasmine frowns. ‘Are you sure?' she says.

‘Why not?' he says. ‘Man knows a lot about it, and I told you, man's just looking, so don't get too excited. I promised someone I'd think about making a change.'

‘But . . .' she says, ‘. . . it's really great you're looking at colleges, but –'

‘You think I'm too old, too stupid?'

‘Oh no, not that.' She strokes his head. ‘You're the cleverest, nicest person ever. It's just that in lots of the jobs these courses qualify you for . . .' She hesitates, then says in a low voice, ‘. . . Marcus, you need a clean police record.'

Marcus throws up his hands. ‘So you're saying there's no point in even thinking about fixing up?'

‘Well,' said Jasmine thoughtfully, ‘I just think you need to go for something where that won't matter.'

‘Like?' says Marcus. He types something into the search engine. I try to look over his shoulder, get as close to him as possible. He's very angry about something. I can feel his energy, the way he punches the keys. I hope he's not still angry at me.

‘Well,' he says. ‘At least I can ask about it, can't I?' He looks over his shoulder and mutters, ‘If you're watching, Angel, know that even though you don't deal straight with me, man's dealing straight with you. I may be a gangsta, but I don't lie.' And he types in 56 Curlston Heights and then his postcode, clicks on
Request A College Prospectus
.