Dark Angel; The Chosen; Soulmate (12 page)

She went into the bathroom and followed Angel's instructions precisely without asking why. Then she went to get David to take her home from the party.

“I'm ready. Now tell me what I can do.”

Gillian was sitting on her bed, wearing the pajamas with
little bears on them. It was well after midnight and the house was quiet and dark except for the lamp on her nightstand.

“You know, I think you
are
ready.”

The voice was quiet and thoughtful—and outside her head. In the air about two feet away from the bed, a light began to grow.

And then it was Angel, sitting lotus style, with his hands on his knees. Floating lotus style. He was about level with Gillian's bed and he was looking at her searchingly. His face was earnest and calm, and all around him was a pale, changing light like the aurora borealis.

As always, Gillian felt a physical reaction at the first sight of him. A sort of shock. He was so beautiful, so unearthly, so unlike anyone else.

And right now his eyes were more intense than she had ever seen them.

It scared her a little, but she pushed that—and the physical reaction—away. She had to think of David. David, who'd so trustingly taken her home when she “got sick” an hour ago, and who right now had absolutely no idea what was in store for him on Monday.

“Just tell me what to do,” she said to Angel.

She was braced. She had no idea what it would take to stop Tanya, but it couldn't be anything pleasant—or legal. Didn't matter. She was ready.

So Angel's words were something of a letdown.

“You know you're special, don't you?”

“Huh?”

“You've always been special. And underneath, you've always known it.”

Gillian wasn't sure what to say. Because it sounded terribly cliché—but it was true. She
was
special. She'd had a near-death experience. She'd come back with an angel. Surely only special people did that. And her popularity at school—everyone there certainly thought she was special. But her own inner feeling had started long before that, sometime in childhood. She'd just imagined that everybody felt that way… that they were different from others, maybe better, but certainly
different
.

“Well, everybody
does
feel that way, actually,” Angel said, and Gillian felt a little jolt. She always felt it when she suddenly remembered her thoughts weren't private anymore.

Angel was going on. “But for you it happens to be true. Listen, what do you know about your great-grandma Elspeth?”

“What?”
Gillian was lost. “She's an old lady. And, um, she lives in England and always sends me Christmas presents….” She had a vague memory of a photograph showing a woman with white hair and white glasses, a tweed skirt and sensible shoes. The woman held a Pekingese in a little red jacket.

“She grew up in England, but she was born American. She was only a year old when she was separated from her big sister Edgith, who was raising her. It happened during World War
One. Everyone thought she had no family, so she was given to an English couple to raise.”

“Oh, really? How interesting.” Gillian was not only bewildered but exasperated. “But what on
earth
—”

“Here's what it's got to do with David. Your great-grandma didn't grow up with her real sister, with her real family. If she had, she'd have known her real heritage. She'd have known…”

“Yes?”

“That she was born a witch.”

There was a long, long silence. It shouldn't have been so long. After the first second Gillian thought of things to say, but somehow she couldn't get them past the tightness of her throat.

She ought to laugh. That was
funny
, the idea of Great-Grandma, with her sensible shoes, being a witch. And besides, witches didn't exist. They were just
stories
—

—like angels—

—or examples of New Age grown-ups acting silly.

“Angels,” Gillian gasped in a strangled voice. She was beginning to feel wild inside. As if rules were breaking loose.

Because angels were true. She was looking at one. He was floating about two and a half feet off the floor. There was absolutely nothing under him and he could hear her thoughts and disappear and he was
real
. And if angels could be real…

Magic happens
. She'd seen that on a bumper sticker somewhere. Now she clapped both hands to her mouth. There was
something boiling up inside her and she wasn't sure if it was a scream or a giggle.

“My great-grandma is a
witch
?”

“Well, not exactly. She would be if she knew about her family. That's the key, you see—you have to know. Your great-grandma has the blood, and so does your grandma, and so does your mom. And so do you, Gillian. And now… you know.” The last words were very gentle, very deliberate. As if Angel were delicately putting into place the last piece of a puzzle.

Gillian's laughter had faded. She felt dizzy, as if she had unexpectedly come to the edge of a cliff and looked over. “I'm… I've got the blood, too.”

“Don't be afraid to say it. You're a witch.”

“Angel…” Gillian's heart was beating very hard suddenly. Hard and slow. “Please… I don't really understand any of this. And… well, I'm
not
.”

“A witch? You don't know how to be, yet. But as a matter of fact, kid, you're already showing the signs. Do you remember when that mirror broke in the downstairs bathroom?”

“I'm—”

“And when the window broke in the cafeteria. You asked me if
I
did those things. I didn't. You did. You were angry and you lashed out with your power… but you didn't realize it.”

“Oh, God,” Gillian whispered.

“It's a frightening thing, that power. When you don't know how to use it, it can cause all kinds of damage. To other
people—and to you. Oh, kid, don't you understand? Look at what's happened to your mother.”

“What about my mother?”

“She… is… a… witch. A lost witch, like you. She's got powers, but she doesn't know how to channel them, she doesn't understand them, and they terrify her. When she started seeing visions—”

“Visions!” Gillian sat straight up. It was as if a light had suddenly gone on in her head, illuminating five years of her life.

“Yeah.” Angel's violet eyes were steady, his face grim. “The hallucinations came before the drinking, not after. And they were psychic visions, images of things that were going to happen, or that might have happened, or that happened a long time ago. But of course she didn't understand that.”

“Oh, God. Oh, my God.” Electricity was running up and down Gillian's body, setting her whole skin tingling. Tears stung in her eyes—not tears of sadness, but of pure, shocking revelation. “That's it. That's it. Oh, God, we've got to
help
her. We've got to
tell
her—”

“I agree. But first we have to get
you
under control. And it's not exactly a thing you can just spring on her without any warning. You could do more harm than good that way. We've got to build up to it.”

“Yes. Yes, I see that. You're right.” Gillian blinked rapidly. She tried to calm her breathing, to
think
.

“And just at the moment, she's stable. A little depressed,
but stable. She'll wait until after Monday. But Tanya won't.”

“Tanya?” Gillian had nearly forgotten the original discussion. “Oh, yeah, Tanya. Tanya.”
David
, she thought.

“There is something very practical you can do about Tanya—now that you know what you are.”

“Yes. All right.” Gillian wet her lips. “Do you think Dad will come back if Mom realizes what she is and gets it all together?”

“I think there's a good possibility. But
listen
to me. To take care of Tanya—”

“Angel.” A slow coil of anxiety was unrolling in Gillian's stomach. “Now that I think about it… I mean, aren't witches
bad
? Shouldn't you—well,
disapprove
of this?”

Angel put his golden head in his hands. “If I thought it was bad would I be here guiding you through it?”

Gillian almost laughed. It was so incongruous—the pale northern lights aura around him and the sound of him talking through clenched teeth.

Then a thought struck her. She spoke hesitantly and wonderingly. “Did you
come
here to guide me through it?”

He lifted his head and looked at her with those unearthly eyes. “What do you think?”

Gillian thought that the world wasn't exactly what she had thought. And neither were angels.

The next morning she stood and looked at herself in the mirror. She'd done this after Angel had first come to her and made
her cut her hair—she'd wanted to look at her new self. Now she wanted to look at Gillian the Witch.

There wasn't anything overtly different about her. But now that she
knew
, she seemed to see things she hadn't noticed before. Something in the eyes—some ancient glimmer of knowledge in their depths. Something elfin in the face, in the slant of the cheekbones. A remnant of faery.

“Stop gazing and come shopping,” Angel said, and light coalesced beside her.

“Right,” Gillian said soberly. Then she tried to wiggle her nose.

Downstairs, she borrowed the keys to her mother's station wagon and bundled up. It was an icy-fresh day and the whole world sparkled under a light dusting of new snow. The air filled Gillian's lungs like some strange potion.

(I feel very witchy.) She backed the car out. (Now where do we go? Houghton?)

(Hardly. This isn't the kind of shopping you do at a mall. Northward, ho! We're going to Woodbridge.)

Gillian tried to remember Woodbridge. It was a little town like Somerset—but smaller. She'd undoubtedly driven through it at some point in her life.

(We need to go shopping in Woodbridge to take care of Tanya?)

(Just drive, dragonfly.)

Woodbridge's main street ended in a town square bordered
by dozens of decorated trees. The stores were trimmed with Christmas lights. It was a postcard scene.

(Okay. Park here.)

Gillian followed Angel's directions and found herself in the Woodbridge Five and Ten, an old-style variety store, complete with creaking wooden floorboards. She had the terrifying feeling that time had gone back about fifty years. The aisles were tight and the shelves were jammed with baskets full of goods. There was a musty smell.

Beyond asking questions, she stared dreamily at a jar of penny candy.

(Head on to the back. All the way. Open that door and go through to the back room.)

Gillian nervously opened the rickety door and peered into the room beyond. But it was just another store. It had an even stranger smell, partly delicious, partly medicinal, and it was rather dimly lit.

“Uh, hello?” she said, in response to Angel's urging. And then she noticed movement behind a counter.

A girl was sitting there. She was maybe nineteen and had dark brown hair and an interesting face. It was quite ordinary in shape and structure—a country girl sort of face—but the eyes were unusually vivid and intense.

“Um, do you mind if I look around?” Gillian said, again in response to Angel.

“Go right ahead,” the girl said. “I'm Melusine.”

She watched with a perfectly friendly and open curiosity as Gillian moseyed around the shelves, trying to look as if she knew what she was looking for. Everything she saw was strange and unfamiliar—rocks and herby-looking things and different colored candles.

(It's not here.) Angel's voice was resigned. (We're going to have to ask her.)

“Excuse me,” Gillian said a moment later, approaching the girl diffidently from the other side. “But do you have any Dragon's Blood? The—
activated
kind?”

The girl's face changed. She looked at Gillian very sharply. Then she said, “I'm afraid I've never heard of anything like that. And I wonder what makes you ask.”

Gooseflesh blossomed on Gillian's arms. She had the sudden, distinct feeling that she was in danger.

Angel's voice was taut but calm. (Pick up a pen from the counter. The black one's fine. Now—let go. Just relax and let me move it.)

Gillian let go. It was a process she couldn't have described in words if she'd tried. But she watched, with a sort of fascinated horror, as her own hand began to draw on a small white invoice slip.

It drew across the lines, in some kind of pattern. Unfortunately the pen seemed to be out of ink, so all Gillian could see was a faint scribble.

(Show her the carbon copy.)

Gillian peeled off the first sheet of paper. Underneath, in carbon, was her design. It looked like a flower—a dahlia. It was crudely colored in, as if it were meant to be dark.

(What is it, Angel?)

(A sort of password. Unless you know it, she's not going to let you buy what you need.)

Melusine's face had changed. She was looking at Gillian with startled interest.

“Unity,” she said. “I
wondered
about you when you came in. You've got the look—but I've never seen you before. Did you just move here?”

(Say “Unity.” It's their greeting. And tell her that you're just passing through.)

(Angel—is
she
a witch? Are there other witches around here? And how come I have to lie—)

(She's getting suspicious!)

The girl
was
looking at Gillian rather oddly. Like someone trying to catch a conversation. It scared Gillian.

“Unity. No, I'm just visiting,” she said hastily. “And,” she added as Angel whispered, “I need the Dragon's Blood and, um, two wax figures. Female. And do you have any charged Selket powder?”