Waking the Moon (43 page)

Now she wasn’t so sure. Now, it seemed that maybe Angelica was onto something. Because
this
was different.
This
looked like the Real Thing.

In front of the pool Angelica stood, arms upraised, bathed in a cold bluish glow like moonlight. But when Cloud tilted her head back, she could see no moon, only a black-and-grey chiaroscuro of thorns and scrubby leaves. She moved gingerly, trying to get more comfortable, snagged her arm and swore beneath her breath.

When she looked up again Angelica was at the very edge of the pool. Light rippled across her bare flesh, mirroring the lightning overhead. About her throat she wore the same moon-shaped pendant she always wore for her rituals. The necklace must have been catching the light in some weird way: it glittered and sparked as though it were white-hot and had been struck with a hammer. The eerie light made Angelica look as though she were made of some semiprecious stone, fluorite or azurite or agate, something that filled her veins so that she glowed like phosphorous. Her hair streamed across her shoulders and over her breasts, tangling with the ends of her necklace. Angelica was a good ten or twelve years older than Cloud, but you couldn’t tell by looking at her now. Her breasts were high and full, her waist small above wide hips, her legs long and muscular.

Gazing at her Cloud’s mouth went dry. Her head was pounding, as though she’d had too much to drink; but Cloud never drank. She tried to take a step forward, felt her head yanked back sharply.

“Ow!”

Her pigtail was caught on a thorn. She sucked her breath in, terrified. But a few yards away Angelica stood oblivious, her hands rising and falling as she chanted.

Hail Hecate, Nemesis, Athena, Anahita! Hail Anat, Lyssa, Al-Lat, Kalika. Great Sow, Ravener of the Dead, Mistress of the Beasts, Blind Owl and Ravening Justice. Hail Mouth of the World, Hail All-Sister, Othiym Lunarsa, haïyo! Othiym.

Cloud teased her pigtail free. She brushed a line of sweat from her upper lip, glanced back up at Angelica, and froze.

Angelica had fallen silent. For the first time Cloud noticed the myriad small creatures at her feet. Squirrels, or maybe rats, something that must be a horned toad and a ponderously moving creature with a tail squat and thick as its body. A gila monster, gaudy as a beaded clutch.

Ugh!
Cloud grimaced, but Angelica paid no attention to the lizard. Instead, her hands were poised above something that Cloud couldn’t see. Faster than Cloud would have thought possible, Angelica snatched at the ground. An instant later she raised her arms triumphantly. From each one dangled a snake—sidewinders, Cloud could hear their rattles as they whipped the air, and the whistling noise of their bodies writhing frantically to escape.

She’s gone nuts!
Cloud swallowed, her mouth gone sour with fear and disgust.
Time to check out, Sister Cloud
—

She wanted to run; but Cloud had chosen her hiding spot too well. She couldn’t move without dislodging something or getting stabbed by thorns.

She moved anyway. Immediately a branch snared her tank top. An overhanging limb snagged her pigtail. Cloud yanked the ocotillo from her shirt; the fabric ripped as she lurched away. A small burst of pain as hair pulled from her scalp; then she was free again. She staggered forward, falling to her knees. Holding her breath, she raised her eyes to look out onto the patio.

Angelica was still there, her body shimmering in the violet dusk. In her hands the snakes flailed. Her voice rose, nonsense syllables that Cloud did not recognize.

Beryth, Eisheth, Zenunim, Lilith, Rahab, Naamah, Ashtaroth, Cammael, Dommiel, Exael …

Within the darkness a light appeared, a tiny flicker like a spark fallen from a burning log. As Cloud gaped the light grew stronger, until a flame leapt there, higher than Angelica’s head, high enough almost to lick at the stars. The flame spread, grew into a wall of fire that obscured utterly the serene surface of the pool. Cloud raised one arm before her eyes.

Like an earthbound aurora the wall of light flickered. In front of it stood Angelica, the two frantic serpents coiling and uncoiling in her hands, like living question marks. Like some terrible question themselves, and that awful heatless flame the answer.

… Beryth, Eisheth, Zenunim, Lilith, Rahab, Naamah, Ashtaroth, Cammael, Dommiel, Exael. Oye Eisheth, haïyo Othiym, oye haïyo, Othiym Lunarsa!

There was a figure within the flames. It was as tall as Angelica, and like her it faced the eastern sky with arms raised. Save that it bore no serpents, it might almost have been her shadow—a shadow limned in flame, almost too brilliant to look upon. Angelica lifted her hands. The snakes squirmed furiously as with a cry she flung them from her.

For an instant Cloud saw them, curling and hissing like two hairs held above a lit candle. Then the sidewinders burst into flame. A searing blast, a smell like burning leather—and they were gone, vaporized as cleanly as though they’d been tossed into a furnace.

“Oh,
man.”
Cloud shivered helplessly. “This is some shit.”

Angelica brought her hands to her face. She clapped, just once, and took a single backward step.

“Eisheth!”

A hissing, as when hot metal plunges into water. Then the thing that stood within the flames walked toward Angelica. Cloud made a groaning sound deep within her throat.

It was like a man or woman made of fire. Light rippled about it like leaves thick upon a tree, but as it moved from the flames its bright skin faded to ruddy bronze. Its hair fell about its broad shoulders in tangled brassy strands. From its shoulders sprang two immense folded wings. While it made no sound, there was a heaviness to its tread—it moved like a creature formed of the same stone as the buttes and mesas. Its hands were crossed tenderly upon its breast. It held something there, but Cloud could not see what it was.

“Eisheth,” whispered Angelica.

The creature lifted its head, and Cloud nearly cried aloud for the sheer mad beauty of it. It had a long angular face, with high, planed cheekbones and slanted eyes, a strong jaw and jutting chin. But there was something feminine about it as well, something soft in the wide mouth and rosebud lips, the enormous eyes and arching brows. Its pupils were almost without color, pale and icily prescient, like those of a malamute. Its skin was the color of thick cream, ivory tinged with yellow, its body smooth and hairless as an infant’s.

It had wings.

“Eisheth,” Angelica repeated.

“Yes,” the thing replied, its voice a whisper. A girl’s voice, or a boy’s before the change. Its arms remained crossed; whatever it held neither struggled nor cried out.

“Do you know me, Eisheth?”

The thing bowed its head very slightly. “I do, Mistress.”

“And you have brought what I commanded you to bring me?”

“I have, Othiym.”

Othiym,
thought Cloud. She dug her nails into her thighs to keep from crying out.
Othiym, it called her Othiym
—
what
is
this shit?

“And the other naphaïm: they have done as I asked? They are heeding when they are called?”

“They are.”

“And they do as my priestesses bid them?”

“They do, Othiym.”

Cloud’s knees shook uncontrollably.

Othiym.
Angelica was calling herself
Othiym.
And this other—
thing,
whatever the fuck it was—
it
was calling her Othiym, too!

The two of them were barely fifteen feet from where Cloud squatted. Behind her, past more ocotillo and the deactivated electric fence, stretched the gravel road that led to the highway and open desert. If she took off now, she could be out of sight in moments. Cloud knew she could outrun Angelica—all that personal trainer stuff was great for keeping your stomach flat and your thighs taut, but it didn’t do shit for your stamina.

But
was
this Angelica? And could she outrun something with
wings?

“Let me see him, then.” Angelica’s voice was impatient. Cloud forced herself to look up again.

Behind the naphaïm, the fiery wall had died away. There was only the pool, still and calm as before, though streaks of lavender and green occasionally flickered across its surface.

“Now!”
demanded Angelica.

The naphaïm’s wings spread into a shimmering tent of gold and bronze and black. It opened its arms. From them something staggered, something pathetically small and frail-looking. It took a few steps, stumbled, and clumsily got to its feet again.

“Hey.” The figure looked around slowly. “This isn’t the bus station.”

Oh, shit,
thought Cloud.

It was a kid. A boy, no more than sixteen or seventeen. He wore standard street gear—baggy pants cut off at the knees, a paisley shirt once brightly colored but now faded to grey tears. Busted-out boots with no socks, filthy bandanna, bruised knees. Kind of a sweet face, sunburned pink where it wasn’t grey with dirt. Blue eyes, freckles: basic Midwest issue. Probably hadn’t seen a shower in a month. His hair was blond and very dirty, hanging limply to his shoulders. What Cloud could see of the rest of him was dirty as well.

“Hello,” murmured Angelica. Almost imperceptibly she gestured at the naphaïm. “Eisheth—go now.”

The boy lifted his head, blinking. Behind him the naphaïm took a step backward. Its wings shuddered, beating the air. There was a sound like thunder. For an instant the air grew darker, as though a cloud had swept before the moon; but of course there was no moon. The boy covered his head, like he expected to see something bearing down on him, crazed eagle or renegade jumpjet or some other desert weirdness. After a moment he lowered his arms, gazing stupidly into the empty air and then at the ground, where a single feather trembled, as long as the boy’s arm and the deep crimson of fresh blood.

“Hello,” Angelica said again.

The boy’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open.

“Who—oa,” he breathed.

Angelica smiled. One hand flicked playfully at a lock of hair falling into her eyes, a fleeting motion that for an instant made her look more human. So that, Cloud thought, maybe—like if you were this kid and hadn’t had a hot meal in a week and were homesick and heartsick and probably sick with other things as well—just
maybe
you could imagine she was something like a normal woman. He was gaping like a gigged frog, running one hand nervously through his stringy hair and staring at Angelica—beautiful, unearthly,
naked
Angelica—like he didn’t know whether she was real or just some hemp-fueled vision.

“What’s your name?”

Angelica stepped toward him, still smiling. It was all so crazy and horrible and yet so
real,
and of course the only sane thing for Cloud to do was to
run,
get the hell away from there as fast as she could. But Cloud was paralyzed.

“Russell,” said the boy, his voice cracking.

“Russell,” repeated Angelica. “How old are you, Russell?”

“Uh—seventeen.”

Her necklace cast a delicate silvery glow across his face, so that for a moment you could see that he really was a nice-looking kid, but definitely younger than seventeen—Cloud thought fifteen, tops. He closed his mouth and swallowed, unable to tear his gaze from Angelica. The amazement in his eyes flickered into something else. Confusion, a certain wariness.

Fear.

“You must be awfully hot—would you like to go swimming?”

Angelica’s hand rested lightly on his shoulder. Cloud hadn’t seen her move to touch him, and apparently the boy hadn’t either. He jumped, then shook his head.

“Uh—no—I mean, I don’t have like, a bathing suit or anything? I was trying—I was
trying
to get to the bus station …”

He frowned, looking up at Angelica, then peered into the darkness behind her as though searching for someone. Cloud’s heat pounded. Surely he must see her crouching there amidst the thorny scrub, he’d point and say something and Angelica would turn and then—

“No?” Suddenly Angelica’s voice was exasperated: she might have wasted hours talking with him, instead of minutes.

One hand lay upon her breastbone, fingers spread to cover the silver crescent. Bluish light streamed between her fingers. As Cloud stared Angelica’s hand tightened about the pendant.
“Well
then, Russell—”

She pulled the necklace over her head, held it with both hands, her fingers curling over its curved points. The boy stared at her, his expression frozen between surprise and disbelief. Before he could move she was upon him.

A streak like the moon through a shuttered window. The boy’s hair fell across his face. His mouth yawned hideously. Cloud saw Angelica’s hand snatched backward, the silver crescent a swath of darkness, blood flowing in its wake. The boy’s head flopped onto his chest. Cloud glimpsed his eyes, wide and startled, his mouth brightly crimson as though lipsticked.

“Ah,” he said.

There was a glistening darkness where his throat had been cut, a net of red covering his face and hands. Very slowly his body crumpled, until he lay on his side like a sick child, his dirty hair fallen across his face.

Above him stood Angelica. She held the crescent before her, its silver tarnished black and crimson. Smoke threaded between its two prongs. Her upturned gaze was beseeching yet triumphant, her voice like hail hammering against the desert floor.

Haïyo Othiym! Othiym Lunarsa!

From distant hills and canyons her voice was thrown back—

Haïyo Othiym! haïyo haïyo haïyo …

—voices dying, dying, dying …

With a yelp Cloud bolted from the underbrush. Thorns tore at her legs, she could feel blood spurting onto her thigh but she didn’t care, she didn’t give a fuck about anything as long as she was
gone.
Beneath her soles stones scattered like marbles. She slipped, catching herself on a barrel cactus and crying out as the thorns pierced her hand. From the corner of her eyes she glimpsed Angelica standing above the corpse of the boy she’d killed, her face twisted with rage.