Angel Fire (52 page)

“
Santa Muerte
,” said Seb to my unspoken question. “Saint Death. Many people here worship her.” He snorted slightly. “At least she’s not wearing angel wings yet.”

I knew how much Seb hated being back here; I kept getting flashes of memory from him that made me cringe. But as he walked, his lean body had an indifferent look – as if he belonged on these streets and still had his switchblade in his pocket. His arm, looped around my shoulders, seemed just as relaxed. A few people glanced speculatively at us, took him in, and then looked away again.

And even though it was only Seb, who’d probably had his arm around me half a dozen times...something in me had gone very still at the nearness of him. Remembering the weird moment of jealousy that had come over me when Céline had kissed him – how, for a second, I’d actually hated her for the attraction that had shone so clearly in her eyes – I shook my head in confusion. God, what was wrong with me? I was still so conscious of the pain over Alex that it was like a boulder pressing on my heart. I couldn’t deal with whatever this was now; my emotions were tattered enough already.

Seb didn’t falter as he led me through a gap I hadn’t even noticed between two stalls. With a rustle of plastic, we were suddenly out on another street, just as crowded and tunnel-like as the first. No wonder the locals could tell who didn’t belong so easily; only someone who’d been raised in Tepito could prowl it with no hesitation. Seb stayed quiet as we wove through the stalls – and I knew that the violence and death we’d witnessed at the cathedral made his memories at being back here even more raw. Scrounging food from a trash can because he hadn’t eaten in days; hiding fearfully under a stall table, hoping his mother’s boyfriend wouldn’t find him. I swallowed. I’d seen images like this from him before, but never so loaded with emotion.

Suddenly I had that prickling feeling again, like I was being watched, just like I used to get so often back at the house – only this time when I looked, there was actually someone there. A stocky guy in his early twenties stood nearby, leering as he took in my short skirt. I held back a shudder; it felt like clammy hands running over me.

I realized my eyes had met his and looked hastily away, but it was too late – he came sauntering over, blocking our path. Though shorter than Seb, he was a lot broader, with beefy muscles. With a silky smile at me, he made a comment in Spanish. Seb answered tersely, trying to steer us past. The man grinned and sidestepped in front of us; my stomach turned at the smell of stale sweat and too much cologne. He looked lingeringly at my chest – and then with a smirk he reached out and stroked my cheek, saying something that sounded slimy no matter what the language.

I jerked away, but Seb was faster. He’d stiffened when the man spoke; now he grabbed his shirt and shoved him off me, low, furious Spanish spilling from his lips. With a lunge, the guy pushed Seb back, sending him staggering a few paces. They faced each other on the sidewalk, eyes locked.

“Seb, it’s all right!” I clutched his arm. His muscles were rigid as he stared at the man; I could feel the hard swell of his bicep. “Whatever he said, it doesn’t matter – please, just forget it.”

The guy sneered and said something else. You didn’t have to speak Spanish to get the gist:
Yeah, listen to your girlfriend
.
She knows I’d flatten you in a fight
.

I ignored him and took Seb’s hand, squeezing it. “Come on, let’s go.” Trying to laugh, I added, “Look, I didn’t even
understand
what he said. Really, just forget it. It’s okay.”

Seb’s hand gripped mine as if it were a lifeline. Finally, he let out a long breath. “Yes, you’re right,” he said softly.

Without another word, he put his arm around me again and we walked away. The bustle of the marketplace around us continued without even a ripple; no one had paid any attention to the scene. The man called something after us, laughing.

Seb’s jaw was still tense. I could feel how tightly he was holding himself together, and knew it was all caving in on him: what had happened at the cathedral, and now being back here. Of its own accord, my arm slipped around the lean warmth of his waist and I pressed close against him. A shiver ran through me. Nothing made sense right then, especially whatever I was feeling – I just knew that I wanted so badly to comfort us both.

Seb looked quickly down at me. Neither of us spoke. I couldn’t sense much from him; my own emotions were in too much turmoil. Everything seemed so surreal, like a dream I’d wake up from any second now: the plastic blue and yellow awnings around us; the bodies on the cathedral floor; the fight with Alex.

Alex. My mind flinched away like I’d jabbed a bruise.

Don’t go there
, I thought as we continued through the rustling tunnels of Tepito.
Just
...
don’t
.

Somehow Sophie battled her rented 4 x 4 truck through the
centro
– almost a full square mile of riots, cars on fire, howling gangs. Alex scanned non-stop as they drove, searching for Willow’s energy. There was no sign of it anywhere. None.

Finally they reached a street where everything was quiet, apart from a single car that sat smouldering. Sophie pulled over and killed the engine. “What are you doing?” demanded Alex. “We’ve got to get Wesley home.”

“No, I don’t want to know where you live,” said Sophie. “It’s safest, in case I get caught.”

“I’m okay,” said Wesley from the back. He sat stiffly against the seat; his voice sounded tense. “It doesn’t really hurt. It’s just numb.”

“Come on,” said Sophie, opening the truck door. “This is for your ears only, Alex.”

He started to protest, but she was already striding away up the dark street. He swore under his breath and followed, banging the truck door shut after him. She stood waiting in a nearby doorway. She’d just lit a cigarette; its tip glowed red in the darkness.

“What’s going on?” he demanded, joining her. “How did you find us?”

Sophie blew out a stream of smoke. “Ever since the Second Wave arrived, I’ve been putting out feelers, trying to locate you. A rogue angel down here heard about it, and got in touch with me.”

Alex leaned against the doorway, watching her. “A rogue? I haven’t seen any signs at all of rogues in this city.”

Sophie shook her head. “No, most of them have been assassinated by the angels – apparently there was a mass execution just after the Second Wave. But there’s at least one left who they don’t know about; she’s working covertly with the Seraphic Council. Her suspicion was that you might be down here with a new team, because of all the recent angel deaths.” She offered a tight smile. “Well done.”

“Yeah, go me,” said Alex shortly. “So why didn’t this rogue get in touch with me herself?”

“She hasn’t been able to find you yet; it’s difficult for her to get away without raising suspicion. But I had a feeling you might be in the Zócalo tonight, with that demonstration going on.”

That’s not why we were there
, he started to say, but Sophie was still talking, her tone urgent. “Alex, listen – it’s vital that the Seraphic Council are killed. If they are—”

“Is this seriously what you came thousands of miles to tell me?” he broke in. “Look, we know all about it – the Council, the reception, everything. That’s why we’re in Mexico City in the first place.”

Sophie didn’t miss a beat. “Good, that makes things easier.” She unzipped her bag and pulled out an envelope. “Here,” she said, handing it to him. “There’s a memory stick in there with all the details you need. You’ve also got ten VIP passes to the reception; they’ll get you and your team onto the top floor of the Torre Mayor.”

Slowly, Alex reached out and took the envelope. He could feel wallet-sized plastic cards inside. “Where did you get this?”

“From my contact. Her name is Charmeine and she used to know Nate; she worked with him back in the US until he joined the CIA. She’ll help you any way she can.” She nodded at the envelope. “Like I said, all the details you need are in there.”

All the details they needed. Alex tapped the envelope against his palm, frowning. “So it sounds like
Charmeine
was pretty confident you’d find us in time,” he said at last. “Was there a backup plan?”

“No one was confident about anything, believe me,” said Sophie. “And no, there’s no backup plan – she’s the only rogue left; if she tried to act on her own she’d be killed before she even put a dent in the Council. A trained team of Angel Killers is our only chance.”

Alex snorted.
Our
– yeah, just as if Sophie had been down here helping them out all along. “So what’s the proof that Charmeine’s definitely a rogue, and this isn’t a trap?” he asked.

“She’s legit, I’m sure of it.” Sophie took another puff of her cigarette; the smoke looked ghostly in the dark. “She knows things about Project Angel that only Nate could have told her.”

“Angels are psychic,” he reminded her dryly.

“Not
that
psychic without touching you. Listen, I took some convincing too, but she was definitely friends with Nate – she has all the inside information on how we attacked the gate when the Second Wave arrived. Plans, details, everything. The only way she could know all of that is if Nate told her. And if she wasn’t on our side, then they’d have tried to stop us at the time.”

“Okay,” said Alex finally, sticking the envelope into his pocket. “We’ll check it out – compare it with what we’ve already got.” Which wasn’t
that
much, but at least they had the classified blueprints to double-check things against.

“Yes, do that,” said Sophie. “You’ll find that it’s all accurate.”

Alex nodded without comment. But Jesus, if this was for real...then it was the answer to all their prayers. It also meant that if Willow hadn’t survived, her death had been for nothing. He shoved the thought away before it could drown him.

“And I’ll be there too, Sunday,” added Sophie. She stubbed out her cigarette, grinding it against the concrete wall. “I’ll meet you in the lobby of the Torre Mayor before you go up, and do whatever I can to help.”

“Wow, really? You mean you’re not going to get whisked off to a safe location this time?”

Sophie’s expression didn’t change. “No, not this time. Here.” There was a jingling sound as she pulled the 4 x 4’s keys from her bag and handed them to him. “My hotel’s just a few blocks away – you can drop me off in the truck and get your team back home. Keep it until after the attack; I only rented it in case I found you all.”

Alex accepted the keys; as his fingers closed over them, he thought of something else. “Where’s Willow’s mother? Have you got her someplace where she’s protected?”

Sophie’s brown eyebrows shot up. “Have I what? Alex, didn’t you see on the news? Willow’s mother and aunt were killed in an arson attack, the night of the Second Wave.”

“But I thought...” Alex stared at her in the dim light. “You mean that wasn’t staged?”

“Not by me,” she replied, zipping her bag shut. “I’ve hardly had any resources since the Second Wave; I’ve been working on my own. To pull off something of that scale would be totally beyond me.” She glanced at him. “Why? Is there reason to believe it
was
staged?”

“No, I guess not,” said Alex after a pause. He had no idea what this meant, but wasn’t about to go into the details of it with Sophie. At least Willow had been able to sense that her mother was okay, wherever she was.

They made the short journey in silence, with Alex driving this time. The team sat quietly, their expressions carefully neutral in the rear-view mirror, though he knew they must be dying to hear what had been said. When they pulled up in front of Sophie’s hotel, she cleared her throat. “I added something else to that memory stick too,” she said. “A sort of proposal for you. Hopefully we won’t need it after the attack, but it’s what I’ve been working on since the Second Wave. Anyway, see what you think.”

“All right,” said Alex, keeping his tone non-committal. “So we’ll see you Sunday, I guess.”

“Yes, you will.” Sophie hesitated, gripping her bag with both hands; he could tell she wished they were speaking alone again. “And, Alex, look – I know we have our differences, but you’re the finest AK I’ve ever seen, bar none. I’ll be honoured to do whatever I can to help.”

“Yeah, okay,” he muttered, embarrassment battling with dislike. Sophie could say whatever she wanted; he was still never going to warm to her.

After Sophie had disappeared into her hotel, Alex got out too, leaving the 4 x 4 idling. “Drive them home, okay?” he said through the passenger window to Kara. “And start checking this stuff out.” He gave her the envelope as she emerged from the back seat of the truck.

“What’s in it?” she asked, gazing down at it in her hand.

“VIP passes, and all the security details we need for the attack. Don’t ask me about it now,” he added. “I’ll tell you when I get home.” Half-hidden by the truck, he checked his pistol. “Can you give me some of your cartridges? I’m running low.”

Kara took out her gun and ejected the magazine; her eyes were worried as she handed it over. “Where are you going?”

He clicked her cartridges into his own magazine, his thumb working with a quick, steady rhythm. “To try to find Willow,” he said tersely. He tucked his gun back in its holster. “If she and Seb are at the house, call me, okay? The second you get there.”

“I will, but...Alex, those riots are still going strong—”

“Here,” he broke in, handing her the empty magazine. “Get Wesley home.”

“There’s no use arguing with you about this, is there?” Kara’s face looked pained with concern. He didn’t reply, and she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “All right. Please take care of yourself.”

He nodded. As Kara climbed into the 4 x 4 with a flash of long legs, he turned and jogged down the shadowy street towards the
centro
, where he could still see orange blazes licking at the sky. He scanned non-stop as he went, searching for Willow’s energy, praying with every second that passed that he’d suddenly feel it. Their fight seemed inconceivable now – something he’d done in another lifetime. Okay, she was close to Seb; maybe she was even attracted to him. So what? He himself was the one she was in love with, and he
knew
that. How could he have been so jealous, so stupid?