Hey everyone! It's Day 4! 2 more to go until you get our reviews (which is probably full of hints) about ANGEL FEVER!
The book has a prologue! But this one is not it; this is the original one! The one Weatherly had thought to use but didn't! This also gives a sneak peek in what may happen in the book! ;) Well hope you enjoy it! (NOTE: Miranda is Willow's Mother)
Author’s note: At first I’d planned to include Miranda’s point of view in Fever, but this turned out to feel a bit complicated and unneeded, so I ended up cutting it. However, here’s the original prologue, which is in her point of view. I really loved the dark power of this sequence and regretted having to lose it, though echoes of it did remain in the dreams that trouble Raziel. (You may also recognize a character last seen in Angel!)
It wasn’t often that she noticed her surroundings…but when she did, she was dimly aware that they’d changed.
Beneath her feet lay wooden floorboards instead of worn and faded carpet; through the window she could see a placid lake instead of a street with houses. There was no steady rise-and-fall drone of a TV set, or the noise of cars. Instead came the rhythmic lapping of water against a dock – and at twilight when the mist crept in there were long, wavering birdcalls that echoed across the lake. Even the people had changed. Her sister, once all spikes and sharp corners, now showed only a sad, wistful smile: Can you hear me, dear? instead of Oh, for the love of Mike, snap out of it!
Of Willow, there was no sign at all. There was a teenaged girl, just as pretty, but she was night to Willow’s day in how she tiptoed around Miranda, so nervous and respectful.
“Mrs. Fields, would you like…”
“Not Mrs.,” Jo gently corrected. “She never married, you know. But the angels don’t mind, and so neither should we.”
The teenaged girl cleared her throat. “Oh, I – Miss Fields, then. Would you like…”
Where was Willow? Where was her daughter? The question brought a sense of unease even when she couldn’t remember why – so much so that occasionally Miranda ventured out of her dreams and struggled to focus on the here and now, murmuring Willow’s name in a question. And then hands that were meant to be soothing would stroke her arm, her forehead.
“Don’t you worry about her,” Jo would say. “If she ever shows her face here, we’ll know what to do.”
The words made no sense. The house she was in wasn’t right, the view wasn’t right, the people were all wrong. But maybe the problem was with her – she knew that she often got confused. It was a relief to give up trying and sink back into the only world that still felt real. Here, nothing had changed. Here, everything was the same as always.
Rainbows.
Somewhere deep in the recesses of her mind, Miranda let out a thankful breath and sat hugging her knees, her blonde head tipped back as she took in the dancing prisms. Crystals sparkled and shimmered around her, casting broken rainbows that made her whole. As if on cue, one of her favourite memories arrived to carry her away. With a smile, Miranda closed her eyes and felt dew-damp grass brushing her bare feet as she walked, and the long skirt whispering around her legs.
The years fell away, and she was back.
The willow tree stood on the bank of a small pond, its trailing branches lacing blackly against the dusk. Miranda couldn’t tell whether he’d come or not, and her heart beat faster. No, he wouldn’t be there – of course he wouldn’t. Things like this didn’t happen to shy, quiet Miranda Fields, who could only express herself with a guitar in her hands. Ever since she’d met him, she’d been certain that she was either dreaming or going insane.
Miranda walked faster, almost breaking into a run. As she came to the tree she ducked down and groped through its feathery branches. “Hello?” she called, her pulse pounding. “Raziel, are you here?”
A long, dark shadow detached itself lazily from the tree trunk.
“You came,” he observed.
His voice thrilled through her; she gasped in relief. “Yes, of course I came! I – oh, Raziel—”
She didn’t remember closing the distance between them, but somehow she was there beside him, so close that she could smell his cologne: a heady, spicy scent that went dizzily to her head. Lost in wonder, she ran her hand up his arm and heard him chuckle. Why on earth had she been so apprehensive of him when they’d first met? The memory seemed alien now.
“I still can’t believe it,” she whispered. She looked up at his face and then quickly away again, flustered. Though she could barely make out his features in the dim light, his eyes were still compelling – unsettling.
Raziel had begun stroking his hands over her without quite touching her, gliding them up and down her arms, her back, her torso. She could feel the faint stirring of air as his hands moved, and a yearning to feel his touch that was more intense than touch itself shivered through her.
“Which can’t you believe?” he asked, his hands never pausing. “That angels are real, or that I am one?” His accent was faintly English; she could just see his black hair, cresting in a sharp widow’s peak.
“Both,” she said weakly. “It’s like – like living in a fairytale.”
“A fairytale,” he repeated, and she could hear the amusement in his voice. “So that would make me the handsome prince, I suppose?”
His teasing, agonising hands were still stroking, taking their time. Oh, please touch me. Miranda leaned against the tree trunk, feeling faint, and wondered if it was possible to literally dissolve into nothing.
“You’re making fun of me,” she got out.
A low, anticipatory laugh. “Ah, Miranda. You are quite, quite delicious.” His hand hovered over her shoulder, drifted musingly above her collarbone. “I can almost taste you, you know – right through my fingertips.”
He bent his head; his warm mouth lightly touched hers. For a contradictory, tumbling moment the world stood still even though she was falling – and then she caught her breath sharply as Raziel nipped her lower lip, hard enough to hurt.
“And now I want to taste you for real,” he whispered. He propped an elbow beside her head and played with a strand of her hair. “Would you like that, little Miranda? Hmm?”
Her blood beat faster as she realized what he meant. The teasing note in his voice said that he was going to do as he pleased regardless, but Miranda couldn’t bring herself to care. She wouldn’t deny him anything, not ever – especially not something that she longed for so much herself.
“Yes, I want you to,” she whispered.
The space under the willow tree exploded into light. Miranda slumped against the tree trunk, staring at the angel who now stood before her, on fire with radiance, great wings outspread. His face was Raziel’s, only so much more beautiful that it stole the breath from her throat.
Humans weren’t meant to witness such perfection, she thought dazedly as he reached for her. The willow’s long branches looked unnaturally green in the angel’s glow, each leaf as sharply outlined as if a child had drawn it.
“I’ve been waiting for this,” said Raziel in a soft voice.
Miranda couldn’t answer. Even now, he didn’t quite touch her, but instead rested his gleaming hands just over her arms. From the opening and closing of his palms it was as if he were gripping her tightly – as if he could never bear to let her go.
“Yes, oh yes,” he murmured, shutting his eyes.
She let out a shuddering breath. The racing of her heart was like that of a small, trapped creature, except that was crazy, it was nothing at all like that – because this was bliss, pure and simple. Joy poured through her: an ecstatic jumble of Raziel’s beauty, and his love, and the love of all angels.
The angels are here, and they love us, she thought in wonder. Overwhelmed, tears pricked at Miranda’s eyes – and with every beat of her pulse she could see Raziel’s halo glowing brighter, as though her own love were lighting him up from inside.
Finally Raziel lowered his hands. His halo was now blazing like a small sun, so that it hurt Miranda to look at it.
“Very nice,” he said from far away.
Darkness fell again like cool dew as he shivered back to his human form. Miranda wrapped her arms around him with a whimper, suddenly so exhausted she could hardly stand, her mind spinning dizzily. She closed her eyes as she clung to him – to the feeling of ecstasy still thrumming through her. The weakness didn’t matter; it would go away. It took a while sometimes, but it always went away.
Finally her legs felt able to support her again. She let out a long breath. “You know, I…I get confused sometimes now,” she whispered shakily.
Raziel had swept her long hair back and was kissing her neck. “Do you really?”
She nodded. “Since I met you, I – it’s hard to think; it’s like part of me is in another world, and I can’t figure out where I’m supposed to be…”
She knew that she wasn’t making much sense. “First a fairytale and now another world,” observed Raziel with a chuckle. “I’m not very good at keeping you in the here and now, am I?”
“No, you are – you’re the only thing that does.” The words felt too tight for Miranda’s throat. She reached up to touch his cheek. “The rest of my life – college, compositions, concerts – none of it matters compared to this, right now, with you …”
“Shall we make the most of it, then?” he suggested. She caught her breath as his warm hands slipped under her shirt, caressing her. “Of course, it will probably make you feel even more confused, so maybe we shouldn’t.”
His voice held an amused challenge. She stared up at him, drinking him in. She’d been chided for an overactive imagination all her life, but she’d never dreamed of anything even close to how Raziel made her feel.
“No, we should,” she said faintly. Suddenly joy swept through her, so forcefully that she laughed out loud. “We definitely should.”
The angel’s own laugh was low; it tickled through her. “I had a feeling you’d say that. Ah, little Miranda … you’re beautiful, you know. Even when the confusion is all that’s left, you’ll still be beautiful…”
She didn’t know what he meant and didn’t care. All that mattered was that she was in Raziel’s arms, and as they sank to the soft ground and the trailing willow leaves stirred gently around them, she thought, I will never be happier than I am right now, at this very moment.
“Miranda?” Jo’s voice sounded distant. “Miranda, you need to eat. Can you hear me?”
“Rainbows,” murmured Miranda, because now that she’d come out of that perfect slice of her past, she could see them all around her again: pure, clear crystals that shimmered in the sunlight.
“No, dear, there aren’t any rainbows. Come on now, you have to eat something. You’ve got to keep your strength up, for when the angels need you.”
The words stirred through her, unsettling her. Did the angels really need her? With a great effort, Miranda pulled herself out of the sparkling perfection and tried to focus on her surroundings.
Jo’s face, leaning over her. On the wall behind her sister hung a calendar showing a picture of geese in flight. Miranda stared in confusion. Was that really the year? But then Willow must be almost an adult now. How could that be, when she hadn’t even had Willow only moments ago? She licked her lips; the urge to sink back into the clarity of her crystal world was almost overwhelming.
“I…don’t understand,” she whispered, gazing fearfully at the geese.
“There, that’s better,” said Jo. “Here, have some soup.”
A spoon was suddenly in her mouth. Miranda swallowed, hardly tasting the broth. Across the room, the geese kept soaring above their wrong date, and she could see a teenaged girl moving about, tidying things. It wasn’t her daughter. Now Miranda remembered worrying about this before, and a headache began to throb. Where was Willow?
“The angels will be very pleased that you’re keeping your strength up,” Jo was saying. She scraped up another spoonful of soup and popped it in Miranda’s mouth. “They’ve got big plans for you, you know.”
“I wish we knew more about that,” said the teenaged girl. She’d been sweeping; she leaned over her broom, resting her arms on it. “We’ve been here for so long already…”
Jo’s thin lips grew thinner. “That’s not for us to question,” she said sternly. “The angels want us to take care of Miranda until it’s her time, and so that’s what we’ll do.”
“Oh, of course!” The girl had honey-coloured hair, and blue eyes that had widened in sudden alarm. “I didn’t mean – all I want is to serve the angels, you know that—” She broke off, coughing. Her body was too thin, as if each cough might break her in two. Behind the girl, the lake looked grey and restless through the window: choppy waves biting at a colourless sky. Miranda shivered.
“You’re cold,” announced Jo, putting the empty soup bowl to one side. “Beth, hand me that afghan. I’ll build up the fire.”
The afghan was duly produced and tucked around her – and then, seamlessly, she had somehow tumbled back into her crystal haven. Far away, Miranda felt her hand on the afghan relax, her fingers melting into the knitted threads.
Oh, thank you, she thought to whatever unseen benefactor had brought her back here – to her memories, to Raziel. Thank you.
Miranda blinked as she became aware that the afghan had vanished again, and her chair had been moved – it now sat in the corner, near the fireplace. The lake looked lethally cold now: dull grey with thin shards of ice glistening at its bank.
Across the room, the geese had been replaced. Miranda gaped at the calendar’s picture of snowy fields. The date. Where had all the months gone? The numbers under the geese had been bad enough, but now…
Miranda started to shake; she clutched blindly for the afghan and realized again it was gone. Nearby, the teenaged girl sat hunched on a battered sofa, her honey-coloured hair looking dull and lifeless. The house was so still, as if she and this unknown girl were the only people in existence.
“What’s happening?” Miranda’s voice sounded too loud in the silence.
The girl slowly raised her head. She’d been crying. “I – I can’t say,” she replied after a pause. “But the angels aren’t pleased.”
“Where’s Jo?”
“I don’t know if I should…” The girl swallowed, wiped her eyes. “She’s not here. She’s gone to—” She broke off at the sound of a door closing, longing and dread plain on her once-pretty face. “They’re here,” she whispered. “Oh the angels, they’re here.” She slid hurriedly off the sofa and knelt on the floor, head bowed, her thin body visibly trembling.
Miranda watched her in confusion as footsteps headed their way, ringing out over the wooden floors. “She’s in here,” said Jo’s voice, sounding unwontedly cowed.
A low, resonate murmur came in return – and Miranda’s breath left her. It was the one voice she’d longed to hear again since she was twenty-one, locked in his arms under the willow tree.
“Leave us alone,” he ordered now.
The girl scrambled up and hurried away, her head still bowed. Miranda didn’t even see Jo; all she could see was her angel. He stood in the doorway with his black hair ruffled from the wind, dressed in grey trousers, a crisp white shirt, a navy jacket peppered with dampness. He was so beautiful – so insolently, negligently beautiful. In all these years, he hadn’t aged a single day.
Miranda’s throat was dry as she stared at him. And for some reason she felt again the faint sense of unease that had touched her the first day they’d met – fingers of dread that traced coolly up her spine. She shook it away in confusion. Raziel was here; that was all that mattered. Why should she feel dread about the love of her life?
Raziel’s gaze never left hers. A small, considering smile played at his lips as he entered the room, shutting the door behind him with a soft and final click.
“Hello, Miranda,” he said
There you go, are you wondering what may happen? Well... thank you for reading! :)
Happy Reading and with TONS of love
~Arya and Kay
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