Night World - Dark Angel Part 12

CHAPTER 12.

Yes," Gillian said simply. Her heart rate had picked up a little, but with an tic.i.p.ation rather than fear. Angel was looking very mysterious.

He struck a looking-into-the-distance pose, then said, "Have you ever had th e feeling that you don't really know reality?"

"Frequently," Gillian said dryly. "Ever since I met you."

He grinned. "I mean even before that. Someone wrote about the 'inconsolable secret' that's in each of us. The desire for our own far-off country, for so mething we've never actually experienced. About how we all long 'to bridge s ome chasm that yawns between us and reality ... to be reunited with somethin g in the universe from which we now feel cut off. . . .' "

Gillian sat bolt upright. "Yes. I never heard anybody say it that well before . About the chasm- you always feel that there's something else, somewhere, an d that you're being left out. I thought it was something the popular people w ould be in on-but it hasn't got anything to do with them at all."

"As if the world has some secret, if you could only get on the inside."

"Yes. Yes." She looked at him in fascination. "This is about being a witch, isn'

t it? You're saying that I've always felt that way because it's true. Because for me there is a different reality. . . ."

"Nah." Angel grimaced. "Actually everybody feels exactly the same. Doesn'

t mean a thing."

Gillian collapsed. "What?"

"For them. For them, there is no secret place. As for you . . . well, it's not what you're thinking; it's not some higher reality of astral planes or anythi ng. It's as real as those socks. As real as that girl, Melusine, in the store in Woodbridge. And it's where you were meant to be. A place where you'll be we lcomed into the heart of things."

Gillian's heart was racing wildly. "Where is it?"

"It's called the Night World."

Gray-blue shadows were gliding up the hills. Gillian drove in the twilight, h eading toward the darkness in the east.

"Explain again," she said, and she said it out loud, even though she couldn't see Angel. There was a slight disturbance of air above the seat to her right, a hint of mist, but that was all. "You're saying it's not just witches."

"Not by a long shot. Witches are just one race; there are all sorts of other cr eatures of the night. All the sorts that you've been taught to think are legend s."

"And they're real. And they're just living alongside normal humans. And th ey always have been."

"Yes. But it's easy, you see. They look like humans, at least at first glance . As much as you look like a human."

"But I am a human. I mean, mostly, right? My great-grandma was a witch, b ut she married a human and so did my grandma and my mom. So I'm all ... d iluted."

"It doesn't matter to them. You can claim witch blood. And your powers are beyond dispute. Trust me, they'll welcome you."

"Besides, I've got you," Gillian said cheerfully. "I mean, ordinary humans d on't have their own invisible guardians, do they?"

"Well." Angel seemed to coalesce dimly beside her. From what she could see o f his face, he was frowning. "You can't actually tell them about me. Don't a sk why; I'm not allowed to explain. But I'll be with you, the way I always a m. I'll help you out with what to say. Don't worry; you'll do fine."

Gillian wasn't worried. She felt steeped in mystery and a sort of forbidde n excitement. The whole world seemed magical and unfamiliar.

Even the snow looked different, blue and almost phosph.o.r.escent. As Gillian drove through rolling farmlands, a glow appeared above the eastern hills, a nd then the full moon rose, huge and throbbing with light.

Deeper and deeper, she thought. She seemed to have left everything ordinar y behind and to be sliding more and more quickly into an enchanted place where anything-anything at all-could happen.

She wouldn't have been surprised if Angel had directed her to pull off into s ome snowy clearing and look for a fairy ring. But when he said, "Turn here,"

it was at a main road that led to the straggling outskirts of a town.

"Where are we?"

"Sterback. Little hole-in-the-wall place-except for where we're going. Stop h ere."

"Here" was a nondescript building, which looked as if it had originally been Victorian. It wasn't in very good repair.

Gillian got out and looked at the moon s.h.i.+ning on the windows. The building might have been a lodge. It was set apart from the rest of the dark and si lent town. A wind had started up and she s.h.i.+vered.

(Uh, it doesn't look like anybody's in there.) (Go to the door.) Angel's voice in her mind was comforting, as always.

There was no sign at the door, nothing to indicate that this was a public bu ilding. But the stained gla.s.s window above the door was faintly illuminated from the inside. The pattern seemed to be a flower. A black iris.

(The Black Iris is the name of this place. It's a dub-) Angel was interrupted by a sudden explosion. That was Gillian's impression.

For the first instant she had no idea what it was-just a dark shape flying a t her and a violent noise-and she almost fell off the porch. Then she realiz ed that the noise was barking. A chained dog was yammering and foaming, tryi ng to get at her.

(I'll take care of it.) Angel sounded grim, and an instant later Gillian felt so mething like a wave in the air. The dog dropped flat as if it had been shot. It rolled its eyes.

The porch was dead silent again. Everything was silent. Gillian stood and b reathed, feeling adrenaline run through her. But before she could say anyth ing, the door opened behind her.

A face looked out of the dimness inside the house. Gillian couldn't make out the features, but she could see the gleam of eyes.

"Who're you?" The voice was slow and flat, not friendly. "What do you wan t?"

Gillian followed Angel's whispered words. "I'm Gillian of the Harman clan, a nd I want in. It's cold out here."

"A Harman?"

"I'm a Hearth-Woman, a daughter of h.e.l.lewise, and if you don't let me in, y ou stupid werewolf, I'm going to do to you what I did to your cousin there.

" She stuck out a gloved finger toward the cringing dog. (Werewolf? Angel, there are real werewolves?) (I told you. All the legendary creatures.) Gillian felt an odd sinking. She had no idea why, and she continued to do just as Angel said. But somehow her stomach was knotting tighter and tighter.

The door opened slowly. Gillian stepped into a dim hall and the door slamme d shut again with a curiously final sound.

"Didn't recognize you," the figure beside her said. "Thought you might be v ermin."

"I forgive you," Gillian said, and pulled off her gloves at Angel's direction.

"Downstairs?"

He nodded and she followed him to a door which led to a stairway. As soon as the door opened, Gillian heard music.

She descended, feeling extremely . . . subterranean. The bas.e.m.e.nt was dee per than most bas.e.m.e.nts. And bigger. It was like a whole new world down t here.

It wasn't much brighter than upstairs, and there were no windows. It seemed like an old place; there was a shuffleboard pattern on the cold tile floor a nd a faint smell of mildew and moisture. But it was alive with people. There were figures sitting on chairs dumped around the borders of the room and more gathered around a pool table at one end. There were figur es in front of a couple of ancient looking pinball machines and figures clu stered at what looked like a home bar.

Gillian headed for the bar. She could feel eyes on her every step of the way.

She felt too small and too young as she perched precariously on one of the b ar stools. She rested her elbows on the counter and tried to slow her heart down.

The figure behind the bar turned toward her. It was a guy, maybe in his twe nties. He stepped forward and Gillian saw his face.

Shock rippled through her. There was something . . . wrong with him. Not t hat he was hideously ugly or that he would have caused a commotion if he g ot on a bus. Maybe it was something Gillian sensed through her new powers and not through her eyes at all. But the impression she got was that his f ace looked wrong. Tainted by cold dark thoughts that made Tanya's scheming mind look like a sunlit garden.

Gillian couldn't help her recoil. And the bar guy saw it.

"You're new," he said. The dark and cold seemed to grow in him and she re alized he was enjoying her fear. "Where are you from?"

Angel was shouting instructions at her. "I'm a Harman," Gillian said as stea dily as she could. "And-you're right. I'm new."

(Good, kid. Don't let him bully you! Now you're going to explain to them just exactly who you are-) (In a minute, Angel. Just let me get-settled.) The truth was that Gillian w as completely unsettled. The sense of dread that had been growing ever sinc e she walked in was reaching an unbearable pitch. This place was . . . she groped for adjectives. Unwholesome. Corrupt. Scary.

And then she realized something else. Up until now she hadn't been able to m ake out the faces of the other figures properly. Only eyes and the occasiona l flash of teeth.

But now-they were moving in around her. It reminded her of sharks, swimming almost aimlessly but ending up in a purposeful gathering. There were peopl e directly behind her-she could feel that with the back of her neck-and the re were people on either side of her. When she looked, she could see their faces.

Cold-dark-wrong. Not just wrong, but almost diabolic. These were people who m ight do anything and enjoy it. Their eyes glittered at her. More than glitter ed. Some of the eyes were s.h.i.+ning . . . like an animal's at night . . . and n ow they were smiling and she could see teeth. Long delicate canine teeth that came to a point. Fangs . . .

All the legendary creatures . . .

Sheer panic surged through her. And at the same instant, she felt strong han ds on her elbows.

"Why don't you come outside with me?" a voice behind her said.

Then things were confused. Angel was yelling again, but Gillian couldn't re ally hear him over the pounding of her own heart. The hands were exerting p ressure, forcing her away from the bar. And the figures with their diabolic al faces were settling back, most of them wearing conspiratorial grins.

"Have fun," somebody called.

Gillian was being hurried up the stairs, whisked through the dim building. A blast of cold air hit her as the door opened and she suddenly felt dearer. Sh e tried to break out of the iron grip that was holding her. It didn't do any good.

She was out in the snow, leaving the house behind. The street was completel y deserted.

"Is that your car?"

The hands on her arms eased their pressure. Gillian gave one desperate wre nch and turned around.

Moonlight was s.h.i.+ning on the snow around her, giving it the texture of white satin. Every shadow was like an indigo stain on the sparkling coverlet.

The person who'd been holding her was a boy a few years older than Gillian . He was lanky and elegant, with ash-blond hair and slightly tilted eyes.

Something about the way he held himself made her think of lazy predatory a nimals.

But his face wasn't wrong, the way the other faces had been. It was set and grim, maybe even a little scary, but it wasn't ev il.

"Now, look," he said, and his voice wasn't evil, either, just rapid and short. "I don't know who you are, or how you managed to get in there, but you'

d better turn around and go home right now. Because whatever you are, you'r e not a Harman."

"How do you know?" Gillian blurted before Angel could tell her what to say .

"Because I'm related to the Harmans. I'm Ash Redfern. You don't even know what that means, do you? If you were a Harman you'd know that our famili es are kin."

(You are a Harman, and you are a witch!) Angel was actually raging. (Tell him! Tell him!) But the ash-blond boy was going on. "They'll eat you alive in there if they find out for sure. They're not as-tolerant-of humans as I am. So my advice i s, get in your car, drive away, and never come back. And never mention this place to anybody else."

(You're a lost witch! You're not a human. Tell him!) "How come you're so tolerant?" Gillian was staring at the boy. His eyes . .

. she'd thought they were amber colored originally, like Steffi's, but now t hey were emerald green.

He gave her an odd look. Then he smiled. It was a lazy smile, but with some thing heart-wrenching behind it.

"I met a human girl last summer," he said quietly, and that seemed to explai n everything.

Then he nodded at her car. "Get out of here. Never come back. I'm just pa.s.s ing through; I won't be around to save you again."

(Don't get in the car. Don't go. Tell him. You're a witch; you belong to Circ le Midnight. Don't go!) For the first time, Gillian deliberately disobeyed an order of Angel's. She unlocked the car with shaky hands. As she got in, she looked back at the boy . Ash.

"Thank you," she said.

"Bye." He wiggled his fingers. He watched as she drove away.

(Go back there right now! You belong there, just as much as any of them. Y ou're one of them. They can't keep you out. Turn around and go back!) "Angel, stop it!" She said it out loud. "I can't! Don't you see that? I can't.

They were horrible. They were-evil."

Now that she was alone, reaction was setting in. Her whole body began to sh ake. She was suddenly blind with tears, her breath catching in her throat.

"Not evil!" Angel s.h.i.+mmered into the seat beside her. He had never sounded so agitated. "Just powerful-"

"They were evil. They wanted to hurt me. I saw their eyes!" She was lapsin g into hysteria. "Why did you take me there? When you wouldn't even let me talk to Melusine? Melusine wasn't like them."A violent s.h.i.+ver overtook her. The car veered and she struggled with it, bar ely getting control. All at once everything seemed alien and terrifying; she was out on a long and lonely road, and it was night, and there was an uncan ny being in the seat beside her.

She didn't know who he was anymore. All she knew was that he wasn't any ki nd of an angel. The logical alternative sprang immediately to her mind. Sh e was alone in the middle of nowhere with a demon. . . .

"Gillian, stop it!"

"Who are you? What are you, really? Who are you?"

"What do you mean? You know who I am."