Angel Fire by Andrew M. Greeley

Author:Andrew M. Greeley
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Body, Mystery & Detective, Angels & Spirit Guides, Guardian Angels, Fiction, Science Fiction, Romantic Suspense Novels, Mind & Spirit, General
ISBN: 9780812583410
Publisher: Tor Books
Published: 1988-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

We could make a lot of money with this act.

Then they were in the richest ballroom in all the world with a mighty symphony orchestra and scores of dancing couples. Vienna. Franz Joseph. Johann Strauss. Except that the waltz was both wilder and more comic than Strauss, the setting richer than the Hapsburgs at their most powerful could have produced, and the instruments sweeter and more melodic than any instruments known to humankind.

Gaby appeared in a free-flowing white gown, shoulders bare, and took center stage, bowing modestly to all around. Then she began her own waltz, part respectable eighteenth-century dance and part madcap acrobatic display in which her long white legs, skirt spinning and billowing around her, cut across the dance floor like thoroughbreds racing down the homestretch.

Sean began to lose his breath. It was too much, too fast, too crazy.

Next he was carried off to an ice cap in the arctic where she did a pas de deux to Stravinsky-like sound with a charming and polite polar bear, perhaps fourteen feet tall. The bear was soon joined by a chorus line of his fellows, all tap dancing behind the lead duo. Bob Fosse would have loved it, though he probably would never be able to find the polar bears.

This is all for me, Sean thought. She wants to calm me down for tomorrow.

Don’t kid yourself: she loves every second of it. From a larger-than-life Vienna, he was carried back to their parlor at the Grand Hotel, a parlor flooded with misty, multicolored lights. The other dances had been modulations in space across which Gabriella’s body had moved. Now, there was not space, only her body, most likely nude, pirouetting gracefully in the dense mists. No Istar or Salome, Gaby’s fluid movements displayed the dignity and the charm of human body (female) in motion, ‘whirling and spiraling, bending and stretching, sweeping and mesmerizing in the rapidly changing lights as flutelike music urged her on.

I’m dizzy, he thought, why doesn’t she stop? Stop she did, as the flute was replaced by a mechanical sound, melodic and yet harsh. Modern dance now—Gabriella in factory work clothes leaping wildly from smokestack to smokestack, charging up and down assembly lines, plunging dizzily into coal mines, clinging to the caboose of a railroad train, hanging on to the tail of a 747.

Not bad, not bad at all.

Then the lights went on and they were back in their parlor at the Grand, Gaby in her dress from the ball. She reached out her hand to Sean, inviting him to dance.

“No, thank you,” he responded. “No way, Jose.” You don’t say no to an angel.

They whirled off into space, dancing across the cosmos, slid-‘ ing down the tails of comets, tapping on asteroids, skipping from spoke to spoke of galaxy wheels, drinking in the Milky Way, doing the polka on the moon, riding up on solar winds, frolicking on the rings of Saturn, waltzing across the canals of Mars, Jitterbugging in the fog of Venus. Time to stop.

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