Toward a Secret Sky Read online

  “It’s not rocks,” Gavin said. “It’s—”

  “Scree,” I interrupted. “The slippery shale that lines the glens is called scree.” I instantly regretted how geeky I sounded. Why couldn’t I stop things in my brain before they came out of my mouth?

  “I see you’ve read your Scottish geography books.” He said, seemingly not put off by my being a huge know-it-all. Only I hadn’t read any geography books, and I’d never heard of scree before it popped into my head. Weird.

  “Why is it called scree?” I asked, trying to redeem myself by proving I didn’t have all the answers. “Because of the noise you make when you fall down it?”

  “It’s from the Old English word for ‘slip,’ actually,” he answered.

  “You don’t say,” I replied, peering anxiously over the side at what could be my imminent death, or at least a lot of ugly scabs.

  “You can snow ski, right?”

  “Kind of,” I answered. Skiing down a big hill into powdered snow was one thing. Hitting rocks that would hurt like heck, if not rip the skin right off me, was another.

  “Perfect, because we’re going to slide down it rather quickly, like skiing. All you have to do is stay upright.” He reached out his hand. “Are ya ready?”

  I probably grabbed his hand a little too eagerly, and as I did, a delicious shock reverberated through my entire body. “R-r-ready,” I answered in my best Scottish accent, slightly rolling my r. He smiled at my pathetic effort.

  “The trick is to just keep going,” Gavin said, “and stay a little ahead of the slide.”

  The first step was beyond scary, because the ground seemed to slip away from under my shoe, but I figured out that as long as I picked up my feet every once in a while to control my balance, and stopped whenever I could, it was actually not too bad. And once I made it halfway down without wiping out, it got fun. The thrill seemed to echo down from the pit of my stomach in a tingly, happy way.

  Gavin began showing off, scree-ing backward, and doing little circles around me. “Come on,” he laughed. “Give it a good go. Show me what you’ve got.”

  He didn’t know I’d grown up ice skating on the knobby frozen ponds near my house. If I wanted to, I could deliver a wicked hockey stop. And I wanted to.

  I waited until he was in front of me, then dug in for an abrupt, angled skid that sent a shower of rocks spraying over him. He opened his mouth in surprise, and when the deluge stopped, he grinned and spat a pebble out in a tiny arc. I laughed so hard, I thought my sides might split. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d actually laughed like that.

  “Will ya look at that?” he marveled. “She’s happy. Deep down, honest-to-goodness happy to her bones.”

  I continued to laugh, grateful for the joy that seemed to spread to every part of my body. Joy that wasn’t tainted with even the slightest bit of sadness or guilt. Finally! I gulped it down greedily.

  We continued our rollicking descent until we were enveloped in the cool, speckled fog. The scree ended abruptly, and we hopped onto a grassy path, stumbling for a few steps, and holding on to each other for balance.

  “That was amazing!” I breathed.

  “Ach, no,” Gavin answered. “‘Amazing’ is just round the bend.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Standing in the fog was like standing on another planet. The damp gray engulfed us on all sides, blocking out the sun, giving everything a muted glow. White clouds, perfectly compact and cottony, rolled around our feet and floated past our knees like lost sheep.

  As we walked, I lost all sense of direction. I could see we were following a faint path through the grass, but the landscape more than an arm’s length away was obscured. The fog also seemed to mute all the sounds of the world. The eerie silence kick-started my serial killer sensor. Why am I stupidly following a stranger into the mist in the middle of nowhere? If he turned on me, they’d probably never even find my body . . .

  Just as my brain started to peak with panic, his beautiful accent wafted through the air.

  “Nearly there,” he said, and a warm peace settled over me once again.

  A gigantic, flat, sharp-edged column of rock twice as high as me appeared on the side of the path like an ancient signpost. It was shaped like a rounded headstone, with a bit notched out near the top left. The dark, wet stone was speckled with bright orange lichen that curled around an elaborate engraving of a cross.

  “Right,” he said, “we’re about to cross over.”

  I peered down the path and saw nothing different from where we were standing.

  “This is your village?” I asked.

  “No, this is just the entrance,” he answered. “You won’t see anything until we cross over, which you can do thanks to your necklace, and the fact that you’re with me.”

  I was not convinced. “How does this work again?”

  He sighed, as if exasperated to have to explain himself to such an idiot. “There are dozens of different dimensions in the universe,” he began. “Humans can only experience four: your three-dimensional idea of the world and time. You can enter another dimension with me, but your wee brain—ahem, I mean your human brain—wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

  I clenched my teeth as my wee brain exploded with a million insulting comebacks.

  “Your Abbey necklace has a touch of angel essence embedded in it that acts sort of like a translator,” he continued, “so you can perceive the experience. Make sense?”

  Nope.

  “Yep,” I said.

  “I’ll just be needing your hand so I can transfer my energy to you, and we’re off,” he said. He extended his palm to me and waited for my permission.

  I slipped my hand into his. Fireworks exploded under my skin. I was ready to pretend I could see his imaginary village just for the thrill of holding his hand, when the necklace suddenly got heavier. And hot.

  “What is that?” I asked, grabbing at the pendant with my free hand.

  “Nothing to worry about,” he assured me. “Just the necklace working. The sensations will calm down once your body acclimates.”

  In a few steps, my neck cooled, and the tingling feeling subsided.

  I smelled the village before I could see it: wood smoke and something delicious being cooked over an open flame. A few more steps, and the fog miraculously dissipated, revealing a low, stone wall and the straw-topped roofs of small buildings. Men’s voices and the sound of children laughing drifted over them.

  We turned a corner and found a woman standing in the middle of the path, blocking our way. She had been waiting for us.

  Gavin unceremoniously dropped my hand, and galloped up and gave her a big hug. With his arm still around her, he introduced us.

  “Maren, meet Rielly.”

  Rielly was in her late forties or early fifties; I couldn’t tell. Her face had the wrinkles of someone who lived and worked outdoors, but there wasn’t any gray in the brown hair twisted into an elaborate knot at the nape of her neck. She wore a long skirt made of the same plaid as Gavin’s kilt, with an oatmeal-colored blouse, and more plaid wrapped over her shoulder.

  I held out my hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  She took my hand in both of hers, and held it up to her heart. “Och, she’s a bonnie lass, ain’t she? More beautiful ’an a sunset! You were right, Gav.” He blushed. He told other people about me? And apparently told them I was pretty? I could have fainted at the revelation.

  “You’re only missing one thing,” Rielly continued. She lifted a thick ring of flowers and ivy gathered together like a fairy crown, and placed it on my head. “Now you’re a proper maid! On to the festival!” She started toward the village, and we fell in step beside her.

  “There’s a festival?” I asked.

  “Aye.” Gavin smiled. “It’s kind of a regular thing around here.”

  As we walked through the village, it seemed as if we had walked back in time. Every building was crafted entirely of stone, with open rectangles for windows and thatched, gr
ass roofs. Gavin said they were crofts, small Highland houses. He explained that unlike demons, angels preferred to live as simply as possible.

  My mother would love this, I thought. She was such a history buff. Although maybe with her secret job, she’d already seen things like this . . .

  The whole village exuded an undeniable peacefulness. I hadn’t been there five minutes, and already I felt a heavy contentment. Even though I didn’t see any halos or wings, the people we passed were literally glowing with happiness.

  Everyone in the village appeared human and was dressed in rustic kilts like Gavin and Rielly. They looked like men, women, and children of all ages, even little babies gnawing on their fists, but there was something ethereal about them, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

  “Is everyone here an angel?” I whispered to Gavin.

  “Almost everyone,” he whispered back.

  An enormous tree trunk stripped of its branches and bark rose from the center square. It was decorated with long, twisted, blooming vines. Dozens of colored ribbons fluttered in the breeze from the top of the pole, and what looked like little girls danced with them, weaving in and out around each other. I was relieved to see that they had exquisite flower garlands in their hair too. I didn’t mind wearing it as long as I wasn’t the only one. A group of musicians began playing homemade instruments: skin-covered drums, wooden reed pipes, and handheld harps. The music was so cheerful, I found myself bouncing the tiniest bit as I walked.

  Any doubts I had that Gavin was really an angel were disappearing quickly, especially when we met a positively cherubic little girl with a cereal bowl face, light blonde curls, and perfect pink lips. She was unpacking a picnic onto a large woolen cloth. Rielly and Gavin sat down, so I did the same. The blanket held a feast: loaves of bread, cheeses, berries, and even a little crock of butter.

  “Angels eat regular food?” I was shocked.

  “Of course,” the girl replied. She was busy buttering what looked like a scone. “We eat and drink and dance and belch just like you humans do, at least when we’re on earth . . .”

  “Cassidy!” Rielly scolded.

  “Sorry,” Cassidy mumbled through a mouthful of pastry, “but it’s true!”

  “True or not, the Chief wouldn’t think very much of your manners,” Rielly said.

  “The Chief?” I asked.

  “Aye, the clan chieftain, Hector,” Rielly answered. “He’s the most senior angel, sort of like the father of this outpost.”

  “Father, bother, aunties, panties . . .” Cassidy sang.

  I glanced at Gavin and found he was staring at me. Intensely. I stared back. His gaze was so penetrating, I felt vulnerable, but somehow strengthened. I couldn’t hear Cassidy anymore, couldn’t hear the band. All I could hear was my own thumping heartbeat.

  “Right, young lady!” Rielly stood up, and helped Cassidy to her feet. “That’s enough out of you. Let’s go find you a drink. That mouth could use a fresh rinsing.”

  The interruption caused Gavin and me to break our gaze. When Rielly and Cassidy were gone, he spoke to the ground. “I apologize for staring at you. I just didn’t expect to . . .” He stopped, looked back up, and I felt the same piercing gaze again. “You’re not the first girl I’ve had to play Guardian to.” His voice slithered into my ears like a hypnotizing tongue. “I’ve done this a dozen times, and nothing like this has ever happened to me. I have to keep reminding myself you’re only a human.”

  “I’m not sure I’m following you,” I said, my entire body warming up the more he talked, “except that last part sort of sounded like an insult.”

  He shrugged and looked away. I was not going to let him start brooding. There were too many things I wanted to know about him, and when he was paying attention to me, it was like basking in a warm ray of sunshine. I didn’t want the feeling to go away. Ever.

  “So, there are other angel villages like this one?” I asked.

  “Aye,” he said, avoiding my gaze.

  “Where?” I pressed.

  “There are angel clans spread out around the world: Italy, Russia, Japan, New Zealand . . .” He trailed off, as if he were too bored to continue. I was determined to break him down.

  “How long have you been in Scotland?” I asked.

  “A long time, but I was just stationed to Aviemore a month ago,” he said. He ran his fingertips across blades of grass near his knee.

  “How old are you?” I asked.

  “Two hundred eighty-three.”

  “Be serious,” I chided.

  “I am. Dead serious,” he answered, glancing back at me with a look that said he was.

  “But you don’t look that old. You look like you’re my age.”

  “I’ve chosen to look this age because it helps with my job,” he answered.

  “Your job? You mean, rescuing all those damsels in distress?” I said lightly, trying not to reveal how jealous I was at the thought of him spending time with other girls. Even if he was just protecting them.

  “No,” he said, irritated. “I told you my job is to be a Warrior, not a babysitter.” He examined the sky, possibly searching for the returning party. It was obvious he wanted to be anywhere else but next to me. But why would he talk about me to Rielly? I was sick of his mixed messages. Why did he like me one minute and detest me the next?

  “Right, right,” I sulked. “You hate being stuck with me. I get it. Go. Find a sword or something.”

  A strange look—regret, maybe?—crossed his face. “No, I can’t leave you alone,” he said.

  “I’m sure I’ll be fine. We’re in a village full of angels, right? What could possibly happen?”

  “It’s rude,” he protested.

  “Since when do you care about being rude?”

  “I do care,” he said, his face reddening. “I’m just not very good at sitting still. Please don’t take my restlessness as a sign I don’t want to be with you. That’s what you’re doing, isn’t it?”

  I bit back a smile, amazed that he’d pinpointed exactly how I was feeling.

  “I’m sorry.” He lowered his voice to a tender level. “I’ve been terrible to you. Can you forgive me?” He flashed me a grin that about broke my heart in two.

  “Maybe,” I said, tucking my legs up under me, hoping he didn’t notice I was moving just to distract myself from his perfect lips. “What are you going to do to make it up to me?” I said in what I hoped was a flirty way.

  “How about a tour?”

  “That could work,” I said. Before I could even uncross my legs, he was on his feet, reaching down to help me up. I let him, and thought I might really faint for the pleasure of touching his hand again. Miraculously, once I was standing, he didn’t let me go.

  “Great!” he said, tugging gently on my hand as he entwined his fingers in mine. “This way.”

  I looked around nervously to see if anyone was watching us. Was he allowed to hold my hand? Would we get in trouble? Maybe it was just an angel’s way of communicating with a friend, although I desperately hoped it meant more to him.

  We walked around the village, but I could barely focus on anything. My entire being was concentrated on the four square inches of my skin touching his. I couldn’t believe how electric it felt, like our entire bodies were plugged into one another through our hands.

  We strode past a small garden, through an overgrown thicket bursting with thistles, and into the woods. We walked for a bit through the forest, and then he suddenly stopped and turned toward me.

  “Close your eyes,” he said.

  “Um, no thanks,” I answered.

  “Come on,” he begged. “Please.”

  “Why?”

  “Just trust me,” he said. “You’re going to love this.”

  I looked around. There was nothing but trees as far as I could see. “All right, but don’t walk me into anything.”

  “I promise,” he said. “I won’t walk you into anything.”

  His emphasis concerned
me. “Or through anything,” I added.

  “No problem. Not into or through. Got it.”

  I closed my eyes and let him lead me, although I shortened the distance between us to keep from stumbling. Instead of holding his hand, I wrapped my arms around his left one, hugging it close to my chest.

  Without sight, my other senses roared to life. The scent of him—woodsy and masculine—filled my nose. The sound of his breath coming quicker now—or was that my imagination?—filled my ears. The movement of his muscles beneath my palms—hard and yet somehow still soft—thrilled me.

  The spongey ground beneath my feet hardened in one step, and he instantly swooped out of my grasp and repositioned himself. He was now standing behind me, pressed close, his hands over my eyes. I put my own hands up to his in protest.

  “What gives?” I asked.

  “Can’t have you peeking,” he said. “Not when we’re so close.”

  Even though I still couldn’t see a thing, I could sense a change in the atmosphere. There was more wind. It made me a little dizzy. I heard the sound of water. A waterfall, I decided. He wanted to show me a secret forest waterfall.

  We continued walking for a few paces when, midstep, my right foot still in the air, he tightened his grip on me. “That’s enough,” he said. “You can open your eyes.”

  In one swift movement, he let go of my face and moved his hands to my shoulders and squeezed them, almost too tightly. I wondered why he needed to hold me so tight. The wind was stronger now and lapped at my cheeks. I opened my eyes.

  I was standing on the very edge of a cliff, staring straight down into the churning water far below. I was leaning forward at an impossible angle, with nothing but air under my body.

  I screamed and almost squirmed out of Gavin’s grip. My right foot scrambled to settle on hard ground, sending a small cascade of rocks hundreds, if not thousands of feet straight down. Was this a murder-suicide mission? Did he mean to kill me?

  “It’s a’right,” he said in his crazy-sexy accent. “I’ve got you.”