Angel Burn (23 page)

His mouth twitched. “I try. Here, get on my shoulders.” He bent down. Resting a hand on the hardness of his shoulder, I straddled his neck; he looped his arms over my legs and lifted me up as lightly as if I didn’t weigh a thing. Stretching upward, I slid the window shut, trying not to notice how it felt to be so close to him.

When I was on the ground again, Alex glanced out toward the road. “You’d better stay here while I go for the car. Will you be OK?”

We were in a small grove of pine trees, partially hidden. I nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”

He hesitated as he gazed down at me, his eyes troubled. “I don’t suppose you’d take my gun if I gave it to you, would you?”

The thought sent chills through me. My eyes flickered to his waistband, where I knew the gun lay under the gray T-shirt hanging loosely over his jeans. “Uh — no. I seriously couldn’t use a gun on anyone, Alex.”

He sighed, shoving his hair back. “No, I didn’t think so. Look, just keep out of sight, OK? Keep safe. I’ll be back as fast as I can.”

“Be careful,” I said. My throat felt dry suddenly. “I mean — please, be really careful.”

“I will.” He turned and walked out toward the road, his hands shoved casually in his back pockets. A few minutes later, he had turned the corner and was gone from sight. The trees seemed to fall very still. I put my sunglasses on and sat leaning against the outside wall of the motel with my arms wrapped around my knees, trying to make myself as inconspicuous as possible. It was warm, even here in the shade; I could feel the back of my neck growing damp.

The minutes passed, stretching out. I tried to count them, wondering if Alex had had time yet to reach the garage.
Oh, God, please let him be OK,
I thought. Please let whoever was watching us think that we were still sitting in the room, eating too-sweet donuts and drinking awful motel coffee.

After a while my legs started to feel stiff. I stood up, leaning against the rough gray bark of a pine tree as I stared anxiously out at the road. He
must
have gotten there by now. What was taking him so long? Across the road, a woman wearing a bright yellow sundress sat waiting for a bus. There was a baby stroller next to her; as I watched, she peered into it, laughing and shaking her head, and then reached in as if she was adjusting her baby’s blanket. She looked so happy that my nervousness faded slightly.

The woman glanced up, her expression startled. I followed her gaze, and my heart faltered.

There was an angel flying toward her.

The bark dug into my cheek as I pressed against the tree. I didn’t want to watch, but I couldn’t stop. The angel appeared female, with long hair that flowed past its shoulders. Its robes swayed gently as it landed, its glorious wings spread. The angel folded them behind its back and started forward. Light streamed from its fingers as it rested its hands on the woman, who was gazing up at it with awestruck wonder. And then it began to feed.

The woman’s life energy came into my view. I could see it draining, collapsing in on itself, fading from a vibrant pink and violet to a dull gray. But the woman just sat there on the bench, staring up at the angel with an expression of such love and gratitude that I had to duck my head away, screwing my eyes tightly shut. From what seemed a great distance, I heard her baby start to cry.

The sound of a car approaching, then slowing down. I forced myself to look. It was Alex, pulling over to the curb. Across the street behind him, the angel was still feeding, its wings slowly opening and closing like a butterfly on a flower. Its halo gleamed; its beautiful face was tipped back, smiling.

Move!
I shouted at myself.
You have to!
My legs felt wobbly and unsure of themselves. Ignoring them, I grabbed our bags and ran for the car. As I came out of the shade, the angel seemed to explode into brilliance, sunshine bursting off its white wings. Alex leaned across the seat, opening the door for me; I shoved the bags in, and he swung them into the back. I threw myself into the seat and slammed the door. “Hurry — let’s get out of here,” I said, my voice shaking.

He pulled away from the curb, looking sharply at me. “What is it? Did you see someone?”

I shook my head. And I didn’t want to, but I had to — I twisted to look over my shoulder. The angel was gone; there was a woman standing in her place with long black hair and a pretty white top. As I watched, she touched her victim on the shoulder and drifted off down the sidewalk. The woman blinked, looking dazed. As we rounded the corner, I could see her reaching for her baby, and then she passed from view.

“Willow? What is it?” asked Alex.

“Nothing,” I managed, turning forward again. “So, you made it to the garage OK.”

He nodded, shifting gears as we came to a stoplight. “Yeah, it was fine. I think we got away clear — I saw the guy still standing there watching our room as I drove past.”

“Thank God.” Relief rushed through me, followed by something almost like guilt, that I could feel relieved for myself after what I’d just seen.

Alex was watching me; he frowned in concern. “Willow, come on, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

I didn’t want to say it. My fingernails dug into my palms as I let out an unsteady breath. “There  . . .  was an angel, feeding on a woman across the street from the motel.”

He winced. “Oh, Christ. No wonder you looked so upset. Are you OK?”

“
I’m
fine. I doubt that the woman is.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said in a low voice.

There was a pause. I gazed out the window, still seeing the angel’s wings moving back and forth and the woman’s life energy fading away as she sat there smiling. “How come I’ve never seen that before?” I asked thinly. “Up in Pawtucket?”

“There aren’t that many angels in upstate New York,” said Alex. “I don’t know why; there seem to be some regions they like better than others.”

“But — the Church of Angels in Schenectady is huge.”

“It only had one angel, though, from the sounds of it. They kept mentioning
our angel
during the service.”

I went cold. “One angel and  . . .  all those people?”

Alex glanced at me. Sounding reluctant, he said, “Some of them really like variety. They might feed on a dozen different people a day.” The light changed to green; we started forward. I sat in silence, and then I felt his gaze on me again. “Listen, I know how hard it is when you see it happening, but try not to think about it, OK? There wasn’t anything you could do.”

The words burst out of me. “Yeah, and how exactly am I supposed to not think about it? Alex, do you know how I knew there was someone outside our room? I was having a dream that I was flying, and I knew I had to go outside, and I saw him — I had wings, just like that
thing
back there. Except that it wasn’t a dream at all, was it? I
did
have wings. I —” I broke off, my mouth tightening. No, I wasn’t going to cry. I was not.

We came to the turnoff for the interstate. With a shrug, Alex accelerated as he merged. “If that’s how you found out, then I’m glad it happened. If you hadn’t seen what you did, we both might be dead right now.”

And I knew he was right, but that just seemed  . . .  too easy somehow. I shook my head, my feelings too tangled to put into words.

For a few minutes, neither of us spoke. I curled up with my head against the seat, staring out at the passing cars and the high green hills. Then Alex looked across at me. “Hey,” he said. “You were right about the air filter, too, you know. It needed to be replaced.”

“Yeah?” Was I actually supposed to care?

He nodded, his fingers lightly tapping the wheel. “So, how come you know so much about cars, anyway?”

I grimaced. “Alex, I don’t feel like —”

“Come on, tell me. I’d like to know.” His eyes met mine, and my throat clenched at the understanding I saw there. He knew exactly how I felt; he was trying to help. “Did you take a class on it in school or something?” he went on.

A few billboards flashed past. I stared out at them, still seeing the woman; still hearing her baby cry. “No, it wasn’t offered.”

“How, then?”

I sighed and shifted in the seat. “Do you really, seriously want to know this?”

He smiled. “Yes, I really, seriously want to know this.”

“OK.” I sat up, trying to gather my thoughts. “It was because of my aunt Jo. See, Mom and I have lived with her from the time I was nine, and she’s always been sort of horrible about it. I mean, she helps take care of Mom, but she’s always complaining about how expensive it is, having us both there. Anyway, one day her car broke down, and she just wouldn’t stop talking about how much it was going to cost. So I went to the library and got a book on do-it-yourself car repair, and I fixed it.”

Alex laughed out loud, and something hard and tight eased within me. The pain in my hands faded as my nails relaxed from my palms.

“Really?” he said. “Oh man, that’s excellent.”

“Yeah.” In spite of myself, I smiled at the memory, too. “She took a taxi to work that day, and I played hooky from school and fixed it. It was just the alternator; all I had to do was go to the dump and get a new one. You should have seen her face when she got home — I think she’d really been looking forward to a few weeks of complaining.”

“I bet.” He gave me a considering look, his eyes warm. “How old were you?”

I thought. “Thirteen? Anyway, then I just got really into it. I like engines. They’re not actually that complicated. There’s a real  . . .  logic to them.”

“Well, it’s about all I can do to check the oil,” said Alex, changing lanes as he passed a truck. “So I’m pretty impressed.”

“Yeah, but you’re James Bond,” I said. “James Bond doesn’t have to fix his own car.”

He grinned. “True. Plus I used to have a car that was actually from this century, which helped.”

His Porsche. I thought of it sitting in the parking lot in the Bronx. Except that I seriously doubted it was still there. “Did it bother you, having to abandon it?” I asked, propping my feet up on the cracked vinyl seat.

“Not really. It was a great car, but getting killed would have bothered me a lot more.”

“And, anyway, the Mustang’s a great car, too,” I said after a pause.

His eyebrows shot up. “You’re joking, right?”

For a second I thought
he
was joking. “No, I’m not, actually. It’s a complete classic.”

“Um, yeah. Is that another way of saying it’s a broken-down wreck?”

I felt my jaw drop. “Alex! Come on, this is the classic American muscle car. A ’69 Mustang is
iconic.
I mean, think of
American Graffiti.
Would George Lucas have had
Porsches
in it? No, he would not.”

His face twisted as he tried not to laugh. “OK, I sense that I’m losing this argument.”

“Well, at least you admit it.” Suddenly I felt a lot more like myself again; it was a huge relief. We had gotten away; we were safe. Maybe the dream that had saved us had been more half-angel freakery, but I didn’t have to think about that now; I could put it aside. And Alex was right — as horrible as it had been to see the angel feeding, I couldn’t have done anything to help the woman.

I gazed across at him, taking in the firm slant of his cheekbones, his bluish eyes and dark hair. And though I never would have believed it our first few days together, it struck me now how kind he was. How really, truly kind.

“Thank you,” I said.

Alex’s eyes narrowed as he glanced at me. “You’re welcome. What for?”

“You know what for,” I said. “That  . . .  really helped. Thanks.”

He shrugged, looking embarrassed. “You just can’t let it consume you when you see something like that,” he said finally, running his hands along the wheel. “It’s hard, but you have to let it go.”

Outside, Tennessee glided past, the dramatic hills becoming gentle and rolling. We skirted around Memphis, and by five o’clock we’d crossed the Mississippi River, curving wide and vast below us. Halfway over the bridge, we were into Arkansas, where all at once the land flattened, turning into broad fields dotted with trees.

In the driver’s seat, Alex shifted, flexing his shoulders.

“You know, I could drive for a while,” I suggested.

His eyebrows lifted as he glanced at me. “You want to?”

“Yeah, I do, actually,” I said. “It’ll give you a break and get us there a little faster. Besides, I’ve never driven a Mustang before.”

He grinned. “Well, I know you won’t believe me if I say you’re not missing much. But yeah, thanks — I’ll take you up on that.” He pulled over to the side of the road, and we got out to switch sides. The late-afternoon sun beat down on us. It was so strange that it was still almost summer here; back home we’d all be wearing sweaters and jackets.

I paused in front of the car, looking out at a field of crops. Short, twiggy-looking bushes with heavy balls of white on them, like snowfall. I did a double take as I realized what they were. “Is that actually cotton?”

Alex stopped beside me, his hands in his back pockets. A slight breeze ruffled his dark hair. “Yeah, you get a lot of it down here. Rice, too.”

I gazed at him, thinking that even if he’d never been to school, he knew so much more than most of the people I’d ever known. “Where did you learn to speak Spanish?” I asked. “At the camp?”

He nodded. “A couple of the AKs were Mexican — I just sort of picked it up. Plus we weren’t far from the border; we used to go over into Mexico sometimes.” He looked down at me with a smile. “Hey, are you trying to get out of driving?”

His eyes were warm, full of laughter. Suddenly I had an insane urge to just step forward and slip my arms around his waist. I shook it away. “Nope,” I said, holding my hand out. “Here, give me the keys.”

Slowly, we crossed through Arkansas. The Mustang was great to drive. The tracking was a little off, but the wheel under my hands just felt amazing, like holding a piece of history. As I drove, the sun gradually vanished below the horizon, so that by the time we got to Oklahoma, it was so dark that I couldn’t make out the countryside at all.

I peered through the windshield. “Another state that I’ve only heard about before, and now I can’t even see it.”