Angel Burn

IT TOOK HOURS to get out of the Sierra Nevada, with its winding mountain roads and hairpin turns.

Each minute that passed felt like an hour too long, beating at Sirius's temples.

Even so, he grimly resisted the urge to gun the accelerator and take the sharp turns at a hundred miles an hour.

He had to actually get there, not go hurtling off the side of a mountain.

He drove with his hands tight on the wheel, taking it as fast as he dared.

Finally he reached the highway and floored it, relieved to be moving quickly at last.

For the next twenty hours, he just drove, stopping twice for gas.

Catching sight of himself in a men’s room mirror, he hardly recognized his own image — his eyes looked dark, haunted.

The thought barely registered before he was out the door again, heading back for the truck.

Evening turned to night and then day again as he crossed Nevada and Utah, finally heading into Colorado.

He was making good time, and very, very marginally Sirius felt the sick tension in his gut recede a notch.

He still had to cross the Rockies, but it should be all right; he should make it with time to spare.

Half an hour into the Rockies, the truck got a flat.

Pulling over to the shoulder, Sirius got out and stared in dull disbelief at the left front tire.

He checked the trunk; the space that should have contained a spare was empty.

No.

He slammed the trunk shut; the temptation to just keep driving on the rim was nearly overwhelming.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

OK. Don’t panic.

He’d still get there. He had time for this.

Soon a truck appeared.

Sirius lunged to the side of the road and waved him down.

He thought at first the guy wasn’t going to stop, but then he slowed, pulling over to the shoulder a few hundred yards down the highway.

Sirius jogged up to the cab.

The trucker had rolled his window down and had his elbow propped on the door, gazing out at him.

The words came in a rush. “Hi, I’ve got a flat, and my cell’s not working — do you think you could call a garage for me?”

The man was heavyset, with bright blue eyes that reminded Sirius of Peter.

He glanced back at the truck. “You might have a hard time finding one open on a Sunday, up here. But I’ll give you a lift, if you want — there’s a restaurant about ten miles away; you can make some calls.”

Sunday.

Shit, he’d forgotten it was Sunday.

Sirius looked back at the truck himself.

It sat leaning to one side with the Rockies framed behind it, obviously undrivable.

“Yeah — yeah, thanks,” he said hurriedly, climbing into the cab.

The restaurant was brightly lit, with piped-in music that throbbed at his skull.

It took Sirius almost an hour on the pay phone to find someone who could come out, and then almost two hours more of waiting, his muscles stiff with tension, until they arrived.

By the time the tire was finally changed and he was behind the wheel again, the digital clock read 2:46.

The Church of Angels’ service would begin in just over an hour; Remus would be attempting to disrupt the gate in just over three.

The thought clutched at Sirius's stomach; he still had to get over the rest of the Rockies.

I’ll make it, he told himself, pulling back onto the road and accelerating hard. I’ll make it or die trying.

Soon he was deep in the mountains, on a twisting highway.

The route was familiar to him; he’d been to Colorado many times.

Sirius blew out a breath. He should be in Denver by around four thirty — he’d have time to spare.

But then the traffic stopped.

He was about twenty miles outside of Denver when it happened.

For the last hour or so, the stream of cars on the highway had been steadily increasing, slowing him down.

His hands tight on the wheel, Sirius kept glancing at the clock, trying to reassure himself that he still had time, even with the traffic.

The flow of movement became slower and slower, until finally he was hemmed in on all sides by cars creeping along in fits and starts, no faster than about five miles an hour.

Finally they just ground to a halt altogether.

Sirius sat staring at the unmoving cars, his heart thudding wildly as the minutes passed.

Ten minutes.

Then fifteen, with no movement at all.

Christ, what the hell was going on?

And then it hit him, like a drench of arctic water.

Everyone was going to the Church of Angels.

Tens of thousands of them, all heading in the exact same direction he was.

Sirius got out of the truck and jumped up onto the hood.

His blood froze.

He was on a slight rise; he could see miles of unmoving cars stretched out before him, glinting in the sun.

Far ahead, people were standing outside their vehicles with the doors open, looking as if they’d already been there for hours.

He was still more than fifteen miles away; it was a quarter past four now.

He wasn’t going to make it.

Remus would die alone, thinking that Sirius hated him.

No. No.

Sirius leaped off the truck and flung open the passenger-side door.

His gun was in the glove compartment; he grabbed it and shoved it under his T-shirt.

Then he started to run.

Dimly, he was aware of cars and people moving past his vision.

He kept his eyes on the road ahead, feet thudding rhythmically on the shoulder.

At the gym, he could run almost eight miles in an hour.

This was harder — he was on a hilly road; the mountain air was thin.

It didn’t matter. Setting his jaw, Sirius ran faster, pushing himself.

After a few miles, he abandoned his jacket, throwing it to the side of the road.

He lost track of the time.

There was only the endless concrete and running and the frantic beating of his heart.

Finally he came up over a rise and saw two motorcycles parked on the grass to the side of the shoulder.

A man and a woman were standing beside them, looking like they’d stopped to rest; they were pulling on their helmets.

On the highway, the line of cars stretched out, as unmoving as ever.

The couple stopped mid-motion, watching Sirius in amazement as he jogged up to them.

He put his hands on his thighs, gasping for breath; he could feel the sweat coursing down his face.

“What — what time is it?” he panted.

The man had long brown hair in a ponytail, a braided goatee, and sunglasses.

He took a cell phone from the pocket of his jeans. “Five twenty-seven,” he said.

No. Oh, God, no.

“How far to the Church of Angels?”

The man made a face. “Ah, dude, you’re not one of those, are you? I don’t know, five or six miles?”

Sirius's blood pounded in his brain.

Half an hour.

Remus might die in just over half an hour, and he wasn’t going to make it in time; Sirius wasn’t going to be there for him.

“Here,” said the woman, handing him a bottle of water.

She was short, with a round face and long black hair, and was staring at him in concern. “You look like you need it.”

His hands were shaky; he gulped down half of the water at once.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he handed the bottle back and said, “I’ve got to get to the cathedral by six o’clock — I’ve got to. Do you think you could give me a lift?”

The man shook his head with a grin. “Sorry, we’re heading down to Colorado Springs; we’ll be taking the next exit off. I can give you a tip, though — the angels aren’t really coming, so you don’t need to bother.”

“No!” Sirius struggled to sound halfway calm; knew he wasn’t managing it.

“It’s my boyfriend. I’ve got to get to him; he's in trouble. Please, I’ve got to be there — it’s life-or-death, I mean it.”

The smile faded from the man’s face. “Well — I sure wish we could help you, dude, but . . . ”

“What do you mean, life-or-death?” broke in the woman, her eyes wide.

Oh Jesus, Remus might die and he was actually standing here talking to these people?

“I can’t explain,” he said tightly. “I’ve just got to be there.”

He glanced at their bikes; one was a vintage Harley; the other an aging Honda Shadow.

“Could I buy your bike?” he burst out.

The man’s eyebrows shot up over his sunglasses. “Are you serious?”

Sirius felt like punching him. “Yes. Look, I’ll give you a grand for the Honda, cash — please, just let me have it.”

It would only leave him with a few hundred; he knew it didn’t matter.

If Remus died, he didn’t want to live anyway.

The woman’s mouth had dropped open.

Slowly, she closed it and looked at her boyfriend, who shrugged.

“You were thinking of getting a new one,” he said to her.

She shook her head. “Well — yeah, but I only paid eight hundred for it, and that was two years ago —”

“Great, you’ve made a profit.” Sirius grabbed his wallet, counted out the bills, and thrust them at her.

She stared down at the money.

Finally she took it, tucking it into a leather bag across her chest.

“Well — OK.” She shrugged, laughing in surprise. “Here, I guess you’d better take this.” She handed him the blue helmet she’d been about to put on.

“You do know how to ride, right?” said the guy as the woman took her things out of the motorcycle’s side storage compartment.

Strapping on the helmet, Sirius nodded as he straddled the bike.

It had been a few years, but Barty had had a motorcycle back at the camp; he and Regulus used to take turns on it.

The woman handed him the keys. “Here,” she said. “And — good luck. I hope you get to your boyfriend in time.”

“Yeah, me too,” muttered Sirius.

He started the engine; twisting the throttle in short bursts, he steered the bike past a car and out into the center of the wide-laned highway, where there was space between the lines of traffic.

Then he kicked the clutch and gunned it.

Even with having to maneuver around cars and stragglers, it was far faster than running, and relief drenched through Sirius— along with terror that he still wasn’t going to make it in time.

The final few miles went quickly as he wove in and out of the traffic.

Finding the cathedral was easy — there were huge signs every mile or so.

He took the exit, leaning into the turn.

Dimly, he noticed that the cars he was passing now were abandoned; the devotees had apparently decided to just give up and start walking.

Another mile and he was up on a hill with the cathedral below him at last, its huge domed roof glinting golden in the late-afternoon sun.

He could tell at a glance that he wasn’t going to get in through the front doors.

There were tens, maybe hundreds of thousands of people outside the building: a dark, solid carpet of humanity that covered every inch of the cathedral’s steps, its lawn, the parking lot.

People were sitting up on their cars, watching and waiting.

Stopping briefly as he stared down at the scene, Sirius could just hear a choir singing, their voices broadcast outdoors with speakers.

There had to be a way in; there had to be.

Forcing himself not to panic, Sirius scanned the cathedral; it was laid out below him like a postcard.

His pulse leaped as he saw a black helicopter rise up from the rear of building and fly off to the east, looking exactly like the helicopter that had taken Remus away yesterday.

Of course, there was a rear entrance — that must be where Remus had entered.

Peering down, he could see a service road leading to the back of the cathedral; the door would probably be there.

On his left was a large field that ran alongside the church complex, solid with parked cars, with a space for access at the center.

The field looked like it would lead to the road, if he was lucky.

Seconds later Sirius was roaring through it, the motorcycle kicking up clumps of earth, and the same words beating over and over again through his skull: Please, please, let this get me to him. Please, let me be there in time.

~~~~~~~~

The helicopter landed behind the cathedral at exactly twenty minutes to six.

Frank and Alice took Remus to a rear entrance, a gray door set into the back of the building.

The robe’s silky fabric sighed around his ankles as they started toward it, the angelica hanging heavily in his sleeve.

The hood lay draped over his head like he was a monk, showing only his face.

Everything seemed so quiet.

He'd seen the massive crowds out front as they flew in, not to mention the miles of stopped cars on the highway — but back here, a sort of hush lay over everything, even with the amplified echo of the service going on inside.

Or maybe the hush was within him.

Remus gazed down at his feet as they walked, looking at the shiny black flash of the new shoes and thinking of his jeans rolled up under the robe.

In his pocket, he could just feel the slight bulk of the photo of himself and the willow tree.

He hadn’t wanted to leave it in his bag, which was back in the helicopter — Alice had said she’d “keep it safe” for him.

Remus knew he'd never see it again.

He felt very distant, but he was aware that if he thought too hard, everything would come crashing down.

It was as if he had to carry himself carefully, like a hollow eggshell, so that he wouldn’t break.

A guard in a brown security uniform stood beside the door.

“Hi, we’ve got the Wisconsin acolyte here,” said Alice with a smile. “Could we see Severus Snape, please? He’s expecting us.”

The man spoke into a walkie-talkie; a moment later a young guy with a greasy mop of dark hair came to the door.

Remus took him in with faint surprise.

Remus don’t know what he'd been expecting the contact to be like, but this wasn’t it.

Severus looked about twenty-two, with worried brown eyes.

He was wearing a gray suit; his tie was the same silvery blue as Remus's robe.

“Good, uh . . . Wisconsin, you finally made it,” he said.

From somewhere outside of himself, Remus almost laughed at what an awful liar he was.

The security guard didn’t seem to notice; he was leaning against the outside wall with a bored expression on his face.

Severus ushered them in.

The four of them walked down a long, quiet corridor; the floor, walls, and ceiling were all gleaming white.

He took them into an empty room about halfway down the hall, closing the door behind them.

“So you’re Remus,” Severus said, staring at him.

Remus nodded, his mouth too dry to speak.

“Is everything ready?” asked Frank.

Severus was still gazing at Remus as if he couldn’t quite believe his eyes.

With a slight shake of his head, he turned to Frank. “I hope so. As ready as I can make it, anyway.”

“And are they scanning for her?” put in Alice.

“No, I don’t think so. Tom believed the news of his— your — death,” he added awkwardly, looking at Remus.

Remus managed a thin smile.

All he could think was it’ll be true pretty soon.

Alice let out a breath. “Thank God for that, at least.”

She glanced at her watch. “OK. I guess I’d better go now.”

She turned to Remus, looking conflicted as she touched his arm. “Good luck, Remus. And whatever happens, thank you. That sounds so inadequate, but . . . ”

Her voice dwindled to a stop.

Remus tried not to hate her for leaving.

“I’ll do my best,” he said. “I mean it.”

“We know you will.” Suddenly she gave him a quick hug; she smelled of perfume and cigarette smoke.

She turned to Frank. “Good luck to you, too,” she said, shaking his hand. “It’s been a real honor working with you.”

“And you,” said Frank with a small smile.

Bending down, he kissed her cheek.

Remus turned away, not really wanting to hear the finality in their good-byes.

After Alice was gone, Frank looked at his watch, too.

“I’d better get to my seat — we don’t have much time.”

He regarded Remus for a second; Remus could see how desperately Frank wanted him to succeed.

“I’ll do anything I can to help,” he said. “Good luck, Remus. And thank you for trying, no matter what.”

“Thanks,” Remus said.

It wasn’t really the right answer, but it was the best he could do just then.

Squeezing his shoulder, Frank left, shutting the door behind him.

Severus shoved a nervous hand through his hair. “I’d better take you to where the other acolytes are now — he’s right, we don’t have much time. And before I forget, your name in the lineup is Connor Singer, OK? I’ll be checking everyone off the list in a few minutes; don’t forget that that’s you.”

“I won’t,” Remus said in a voice that sounded almost normal.

As they started down the hallway, Remus could hear the noise from the cathedral growing louder behind a pair of double doors: a sort of muffled boom throbbed all around them.

It took him a second to realize it was a choir singing. Remus fingered the angelica in his sleeve, reassuring himself that it was still there.

“This way,” said Severus, putting his hand on Remus's arm before they got to the doors.

At his touch, cold fear lashed through Remus; he didn’t know whether it was his own or Severus's.

Severus took Remus down another short corridor. “They’re all in here,” he said in a low voice, stopping in front of a door.

“You’d better keep your head down — I’m sure they’ve all seen your photo.”

Remus nodded and ducked his head.

The hood swayed obediently forward.

As they went into the room, the excited chatter of voices rose up to meet them; all Remus could see from under his draped hood was a flurry of silvery-blue robes everywhere.

Severus cleared his throat and called, “It’s almost time, everyone — let’s get into the lineup from yesterday.”

Immediately, the chattering stilled; a sense of deep excitement pulsed through the air.

A rustling noise, as the robes adjusted themselves into a single long line.

Feeling conspicuous, Remus stayed where he was, scared to look up too much and not knowing where to go, anyway.

Thankfully, Severus took his arm again. “Wisconsin, we’ve got you in the middle. . . . Here you go.”

He guided Remus to a spot in the line; two girls moved aside to make room for him.

As he got into place, he had a sudden sense of the minutes racing past, hurtling him toward whatever was going to happen.

His hands felt like he was holding ice.

Severus walked down the line, checking off names on a clipboard.

Soon he was almost halfway down.

“Jessie King?”

“Here.”

“Luka Ellis?”

“Here.”

“Connor Singer?”

It took Remus a second, and then he remembered.

“Here,” he said.

Checking him off, Severus moved away without looking at him.

“Kate Gefter?”

“Here.”

The drone of names and replies continued.

Remus stood stiffly.

He could feel the eggshell inside of him trembling, straining to crack.

They all stood facing a wall; there was a poster on it that said, THE ANGELS SAVE!

Remus stared at it, taking in the angel, trying to memorize its every feature.

“Susan Bousso?”

“Here. Or — actually, she’s not. I’m Emmeline Vance. I’m taking Susan’s place.”

Remus flinched in sudden terror.

Emmeline was here?

Remus couldn’t help glancing down the line; she was only four girls away.

Her features under her hood were tired but as beautiful as ever.

Remus looked quickly forward again before she could see him, his heart battering in his chest.

Severus stood frozen.

Remus could sense his confusion, his fear. “Emmeline,” he repeated.

She nodded. “Susan was sick, so they asked me to come instead; they were supposed to let you know. It’s OK, isn’t it? I meant to mention it to you yesterday, but there wasn’t a chance.”

As clearly as if Remus was thinking it himself, he knew that Severus was frantically wondering if he could shift the lineup, put Emmeline farther away from Remus.

But there was no time.

“No, that’s fine. Glad you’re here,” he said finally.

He moved on down the line.

A few minutes later, he said, “All right, people. This is it.”

Even out of the corner of his eye, Remus could see that Severus was sickly pale.

He went and opened the door. “Let’s go.”

He led them down the short passageway.

Numbness came over him as they approached the double doors.

This was it.

This was really it.

Severus stopped the first girl just in front; the long line of them stretched down the corridor, identical in their silvery-blue robes.

“It’s time,” he said, glancing at his watch. “The — the angels be with you, everyone.”

He swung open one of the doors, and the people started filing into the cathedral.

Remus's legs were trembling, but he managed to move forward with the others.

He could sense the massive hush from the audience, feel their deep sense of expectation and yearning.

His eyes met Severus's as he walked through the door.

He was staring anxiously at Remus.

Fear.

He hoped that this worked; there was nothing left for him anymore.

The thought flashed past, and then Severus was behind him and he was moving out into the cathedral with the rest of them.

They passed through dim shadows at the side and entered a brightly lit stage area, where it was suddenly so dazzling that Remus couldn’t see the audience, just a deep, waiting blackness to his right.

Their footsteps sounded around them, amplified by the microphones like a heartbeat.

Details, all of them so clear: an angel-winged pulpit up ahead with a white-haired preacher behind it; a dark- haired man and a voluptuous woman with auburn hair just beside him — the two angels, Tom and Bella.

A giant TV screen was just sliding up into the ceiling, revealing towering stained-glass windows of angels, with the sunset shining through.

And in front of everything stretched a space half the width of a football field, with massive floral arrangements to either side.

The gate.

His heart thudded, drowning out all thought.

In silence, the others and him stopped directly in front of the gate.

Remus dipped his hand inside his sleeve, touching the angelica.

And as everyone moved, Remus moved with them: Turn. Snag the stone and kneel. Hands in prayer position.

With the angelica cupped in his hands, he knelt on the floor with the others, watching for the ripple in the air that would signal that the gate was starting to open.

Somewhere under the surface, the eggshell had cracked.

A deep, aching sorrow; a flash of blinding fear.

Oh God, he didn’t want to die.

Not yet, not like this; he was too young.

A cold chasm wrenched open inside of him, and he started to shake, trying to ignore it as he focused on the gate.

Don’t think. You are not here to think. You are here to act.

As Remus crouched there with the others, Tom paced in front of the gate, gazing up at it with his hands behind his back.

Remus caught a glimpse of Tom's face, and even through his fear, it teased at Remus, distracting him.

Where had he seen it before?

Then Tom turned and strolled away again — and Remus saw him full-on.

A tidal wave of shock crashed through him.

The angel’s handsome face, framed with dark hair, was the same one he'd seen in his mother’s mind so long ago.

It was his father.

His head jerked up as he gaped across at Tom, his concentration shattered.

No. Focus.

Remus tore his attention away and stared back at the wall, his pulse slamming at his temples.

There was a shifting a few people down from him— a puzzled, sideways look.

And then a quick intake of breath.

“Oh, blessed angels,” he heard Emmeline whisper. “That’s Remus!”

He heard a shuffling noise as nearby people glanced at her and then at him.

He knelt rigidly, looking straight ahead.

“That’s Remus,” said Emmeline, louder.

Her voice rose to a panicked shout; Remus heard it picked up by the sound system.

“Somebody, do something! That’s Remus Lupin! He's here, he's here! Somebody stop him!”

Oh, my God; oh, my God.

Remus crouched there trembling, unable to move.

He saw Tom stride forward, frowning; the people around Remus gaped.

And suddenly there was a faint swirling in the air, like water stirred gently with a hand.

Don’t think. Just move. Do it!

Remus contacted his angel and ran, scrambling up from the line and hurtling himself forward.

He lifted up out of himself.

He was flying, he was running.

Swooping downward on his wings, he stroked the angelica’s energy with his own and felt it start pulsing in his hands.

~~~~~~

About halfway through the field, the cars had started parking in the access lane so that Sirius had to slow down to maneuver around them, his blood hammering in an agony of frustration.

Finally, he reached the end of it.

As he’d hoped, the field backed onto the road, separated by a wide ditch.

It took a matter of seconds to wheel the bike across, and then he was on it again and roaring down the road, his back tire slipping slightly as he leaned into a turn.

The Church of Angels lay just ahead.

From this angle, the massive building looked like the sports stadium it had once been — a plain, curved exterior rising up from the ground in a solid white wall.

As he got closer, he could see that the road led to a small parking lot beside the service entrance.

Sirius skidded to a stop.

He flipped down the kickstand, then tore off his helmet and ran for the door.

A guard in a brown uniform stood outside it.

Sirius hardly noticed him.

There was a latch on the door; he turned it and shoved, throwing his weight against it.

“Hey!” said the guy, grabbing his arm as the door started to open. “You can’t go in there!”

Sirius jerked away from him and lunged inside. He was in a long, gleaming white corridor.

He had only gone a few steps before the guard was on him, gripping his arm again. “Get out right now, sir,” he panted. “You’re trespassing.”

All Sirius could see were the double doors, far away at the end of the corridor.

Remus was in there; he knew it.

Red exploded through him.

He slammed the guy off him, heard the startled gasp as he hit the wall, and then he was running again, his footsteps echoing against the polished floor.

As he neared the doors, he heard frantic shouts, amplified through the cathedral sound system: “somebody do something! That’s Remus Lupin! He's here, he's here! Somebody stop him!”

~~~~~~~

Remus had nearly reached the gate, the air swirling in front of him like a whirlpool — and then in his angel form above, he balked as another angel swooped under him in a harsh flurry of wings.

His connection with the angelica flickered and vanished; in his human hands, he felt the stone’s pulsing cease, like a dying heart.

No! He stopped in despair, staring upward.

It was Tom. His father.

Dimly, he was aware of someone bellowing, “Let go of me!” and of Severus's voice shouting, “It’s all right! Everybody stay back — keep away from the barrier. The angels are handling this!”

In his angel form, Remus darted this way and that, his wings beating desperately as he tried to dodge Raziel, to get past and touch the stone again.

He cut in front of Remus at every move, his powerful wings glinting a bright, pure white.

Remus could see the gate’s ripples growing stronger.

Any moment and it would burst wide open.

“You will not get away with this,” hissed Tom.

Their eyes met.

His widened in sudden recognition, and Remus knew that he’d seen Remus's mother’s face in his own.

For a split second, Tom hesitated — and then another angel appeared, diving in and attacking him from the side.

Frank.

With a cry of fury, Raziel spun on him.

The two angels fought, their wings in a frenzy.

A burst of white light came from above.

There was no time to wonder what it was; in Remus's angel form, he swooped down and touched the stone in his human hand.

It came to life again, and he lunged the final few steps.

Behind him, he could still hear Severus shouting frantically, a battering noise, people screaming, “Stop him! Stop them both! He’s on their side!”

The gate was starting to spiral open before Remus, like an old-fashioned shutter.

He caught a glimpse of thousands of angels waiting to come through — shining, proud, beautiful.

Dropping to his knees, he thrust the pulsing stone into the gate.

The wall of energy leaped like a wave, seething and warping as it fought with itself.

Remus gasped in pain as it pummeled him; he could hardly see his hand in the midst of it.

The wall bucked and shuddered as the gate struggled to open; the angels disappeared and appeared again.

A deep rumbling noise, a vibration.

With a splintering crack, the floor suddenly heaved up under him.

He shrieked, lurching sideways.

The angelica started to crumble to pieces in his hand as the floor surged again; something fell behind him with a crash.

Oh, God, the wall was tearing him apart; he could feel it happening.

Remus gritted his teeth, struggling to hang on.

Distantly, he thought he heard someone call his name — and then, with a roar of white noise, everything exploded.

Remus was tumbling, falling. Pain, so much pain.

He tried to cry out but couldn’t.

As everything slowly faded, he thought, Sirius.