After World Chronicles: Angel Awakens

Angel Fire

ANGEL

Two days later Dante is still in a foul mood, withdrawn, scowling and keeping me at arm's length. All of the training exercises he assigns me involve no contact between us. I take the initiative to practice my masking skills and sneak up on him to tackle him. At least I try to tackle him. I end up feeling like a monkey climbing a tree since he refuses to go down. The hilarity of the situation strikes me and I can't help but laugh. Instead of finding the humor of the situation along with me, he scolds me with obvious annoyance and shoots me the most prohibitive look I've had from him yet.

"Quit playing around!" he exclaims as he shakes me off. I fall unceremoniously to the ground in a heap, and giggle some more as he shakes his head in exasperation. At least one of us knows how to enjoy the moment. I refuse to let his dour looks define my mood. At the moment, if I don't allow myself to be a little silly, my irritation over his refusal to discuss what happened with the Watcher and that girl will make me truly angry. We've already had the talk about how toxic secrets can be. I thought we'd agreed not to keep them from each other. As the hours drag from one day into another, and still he gives nothing away, I realize that he is still willing to leave me in the dark, withholding information I feel is relevant and important for me to know.

As he walks away from me now, I struggle to maintain the lightness of my mood. Even the weather has been foul. The nights are humid and misty. Soupy fog clings to the skin like a wet blanket. With the climate changing as we migrate north I'm feeling chilled. The moisture heavy air has my clothing feeling damp, and beads of water drip from my dank hair which never fully dried after my cleansing dip in the water hole. I'm uncomfortable and I wish for a real bath in hot water. I fantasize about floral scented soap to lather away the clammy sheen.

We've been staying in a long abandoned and overgrown homestead. Planks of a rotted barn jut up covered in green-gray moss. The partially collapsed wall of a shack is smothered beneath waist high weeds. The exposed interior of the ancient building is black with mold while the floors and moldering furnishings are half buried by inches of dark dirt. A broken shelf hangs off a far wall. Surprisingly a few filthy objects still cling to it. Beside it a tattered, grungy rag covers a side window. Below the grime coating it a pattern of vines and leaves is barely visible. Steady wind makes it flap uselessly in place beside the jagged pane of broken glass.

A set of rusty doors jutting out of the earth at a tilt open to stone steps that lead to a surprisingly well preserved underground shelter. Its obvious that over time the shelter has been used and kept up by various occupants. While there is nothing new or clean to be found, and certainly not a scrap of edible food, the shelter is still habitable and even comfortable. Dante tells me he has stayed in it several times in the past, but never more than a night or two. While he is inclined to talk about his former experiences in the shelter, he refuses to discuss the surprise visit we received.

After our visitors left, I tried to discuss the event with Dante, but he quickly shut down any attempts at conversation. After several efforts from me went nowhere over the first day and a half, I now wait patiently for him to initiate the topic. I want to hear about his experience to hopefully illuminate my understanding of what threw him into such a foul mood, but mostly he remains sullen and silent. Quiet Dante I'm used to. Sullen Dante I've experienced, but never both to this degree. To me its obvious that he experienced something unpleasant during that secret conversation with Leo and Tessa. Assuming this only makes me more urgently wish to know the real details.

"I picked this place for you to practice using your angel fire," Dante tells me, drawing my attention back to training. The drill sergeant persona is activated. "It's relatively far enough away from others for the privacy needed to use it covertly."

I allow myself to be distracted by the training. It's been awhile since our encounter with the affected where I surprised myself with the power of this ability to create and push out blasts of white power from the palms of my hands. Dante has been withholding another secret, because as training begins he demonstrates that he can use this ability also.

"It's angel fire, princess, and we've established that I'm an angel. Of course I can use this ability," he argues at my accusation. "I wasn't hiding anything. There's far too much to be able to share over one conversation."

The indignation I feel over his response fuels the spark of my own ability. I allow him to instruct me on how to call forth the light, build it in my palms, and direct it outward. Although the energy I summon is a fraction of what I used against the affected that day, it still leaves me feeling drained as the sun begins to rise. We are further north than we've ever been, so the irascible heat doesn't immediately blast us as the sun comes up. We are able to stay outdoors for a little while. The beautiful colors of the sunrise distract me from training, and I can't help but be carried away in admiring this miracle as the rays of light spread across the broken barn and filter through the tips of the overgrown grass.

Dante allows it, and I see that he is also enjoying the experience. He comments with clear fascination on the multicolored highlights the morning sun picks out in my hair. I can't help but blush awkwardly at this unexpected attention, especially when he comes close and actually runs his fingers through my hair, lifting strands as he inspects them. I like having him this close, having this attention. Maybe I like it too much, because I feel a strong urge to touch him too. My fingers itch to feel the powerful muscles of his arms, and chest. I want to rub my cheek against the stubble on his, to experience its roughness against my skin. As I reach for him he abruptly steps away, his face taking up its typical glower.

"Let's do this once more," he commands, "and then we'll shelter for the day." As he walks backwards away from me he gestures for me to begin the exercise once more.

My emotions are churned up from the brief encounter and they fuel the spark needed to create the angel fire in my palms. I feel a slow burn of indignation as I consider that Dante played me just now to create this reaction. As the feeling builds, so does the spark and white light fills my palms.

Dante nods as he watches. "Now direct it," he points to a large rock with pits in it, "and let go."

I aim my palms to the rock and push, sending the light in a blast at the rock. The rock rises from the ground a few inches and bursts apart, raining down in tiny chunks. Even though I am the catalyst, it fills me with awe. The fire cools and dissipates from my hands, leaving me shaking and numb. I collapse in a heap as coldness overtakes me, increasing the shivering the now rocks my body.

In an instant, Dante is beside me, checking my vitals, offering me sips of water. Darkness edges my vision, narrowing the world which is now blurry. I hear Dante curse roughly as everything goes dark.