Angel Burn (14 page)

A group of dark-haired guys was sitting on the brownstone steps nearby, drinking beers. They looked up when Alex approached.
“¿Hola, qué tal?”
he said.
“¿De quién es este coche?”
He jerked his thumb at the Mustang. His Spanish was quick, fluent.

“Es mío,”
said one of the men.
“¿Estás interesado?”
He had friendly brown eyes and thick black hair. Rising, he handed his beer can to one of his friends and walked down the steps toward the car.

Alex shrugged, following him.
“Sí, puede que sí. Si me haces un buen precio, podría pagarte ahora mismo.”
I gave him a sideways glance as the two of them walked around the Mustang, talking in quick-fire Spanish. Where had he learned to do that? I wondered. God, I hardly knew
anything
about him — except that he didn’t seem to like me very much. The realization made me feel very lonely. I looked away, leaning against the brick stoop and hugging myself.

About five minutes of bartering later, Alex was counting out some bills from the envelope he’d tucked into his jacket. The guy pocketed the money with a grin, handing over a key ring with a tiny set of fuzzy dice on it.
“Gracias, amigo.”

“Gracias,”
said Alex as they shook hands. He tossed his bag onto the backseat, and we got in the car. Black vinyl seats that were deep and cracked; a curved sweep of dashboard. “Highway robbery,” said Alex under his breath, starting up the engine.

“Why?” I asked faintly. He didn’t answer; the car coughed once, and we pulled away from the curb, leaving the men on the brownstone steps behind. I let out a breath, suddenly sick of him ignoring me. “Why was it highway robbery?” I said again, my voice deliberate.

A muscle in Alex’s jaw tensed as he drove. Finally he said, “He wouldn’t take less than nine hundred, even in cash.”

“Really? He must have been desperate.” Alex looked over at me with a frown, and I shrugged, slumping back against the seat. I wasn’t really in the mood to explain to him that classic Mustangs were collectors’ cars and that the chassis on this one was in great shape, even with the bodywork it needed. The guy could have sold it to an enthusiast for way more than what Alex had paid.

As we drove uptown, I spotted a Kmart on a corner, with its familiar red sign. I cleared my throat. “Wait. Can we stop for a minute?”

“What for?”

“Just — I need a few things.”

He looked irritated, but he pulled into a metered space. “We don’t really have time to go shopping.”

I glared at him. “Yeah, excuse me for being so frivolous.
You
have your suitcase all packed already; I don’t even have any clean underwear. I’ll be right back.” Getting out of the car, I slammed the door shut. Once inside the Kmart, I found the clothes section and quickly picked out five pairs of underwear in my size. I fingered a T-shirt, wishing I had enough money for it, too, but I didn’t — and I wasn’t about to go back out to the car and ask Alex for any.

As I waited in line for the cashier, I saw a
News of the World
headline that said,
THE ANGELS WALK AMONG US, SAYS WELFARE MOM.
I stared at it, the brightly lit store fading away around me. All of this had really happened. That was why I was here in New York City, buying cheap underwear and about to drive across the country with a boy I hardly knew.

I was a half angel.

“Can I help you?” called the checkout girl.

Coming back to myself with a start, I walked up to the cash register, clutching the tiny plastic hangers. I slid them across the Formica counter. “Um, yeah — just these, please.”

When I got back outside, Alex was leaning against the car, drinking a Starbucks coffee, his dark hair ruffled from the breeze. Even just standing there in faded jeans and a leather jacket, he gave off a sense of confidence somehow — of being at ease in his own body. A girl about my own age gave him a second look as she passed; he didn’t seem to notice. For a moment I felt embarrassed that he knew I’d bought underwear, and then I shoved it away. None of this was exactly my fault.

As I walked up, Alex glanced at me. “How did you pay?”

With money,
I almost said. “Cash,” I told him.

“If you have any plastic, don’t use it.”

“Do you mind not barking orders at me?” I said tightly. “This is all sort of — difficult enough already, actually.”

He gave me a look. Then he drained the coffee and tossed the empty cup into a garbage can. “There’s an Internet café across the street; I need to check something out. Do you want to come with me or wait in the car?” His tone was super-polite. I could have kicked him.

“I’ll come,” I said.

We crossed the street. The café was one of those places where you can buy cans of soda and sandwiches. “What do you want to eat?” asked Alex as he paid for half an hour’s Internet time. “I don’t want to stop again tonight.”

I knew that I should be hungry — I hadn’t eaten anything since an apple at lunchtime — but food had never held less interest for me. I shook my head. Alex bought two sandwiches anyway and handed them to me in their plastic containers. “Here, put these in your bag.” Our eyes met as I stared coldly at him. I didn’t care how good-looking he was; it didn’t give him the right to boss me around. He let out a breath.
“Please,”
he added.

A few minutes later, he was sitting at one of the computer terminals, laboriously typing something into a search engine. The computer next to him was empty. I sat in the plastic chair and watched his screen  . . .  and then tensed as a white church on a broad green hill appeared. The Church of Angels site.

“What are you checking?” I asked.

He didn’t respond, scrolling down the main screen with the cursor. “Great,” he muttered to himself. “They didn’t waste any time.”

I stared at the screen. My throat felt like it had sand in it. My own face was looking back at me, with text underneath it that said:

“Oh, my God,” I whispered. “But how did they get my photo?”

Alex tapped his mouth with his thumb. “That  . . .  book with everyone’s picture in it, that you have in high school.”

“Yearbook,” I said. Was he trying to be funny? But of course he was right; that’s exactly where it was from. “Come on, let’s get back to the car,” I hissed, glancing around me. Suddenly it felt like everyone in the Internet café was busy going onto the Church of Angels website, scrutinizing my photo.

“Not yet,” he said tersely, scraping back his chair. “We’d better get you some sunglasses or something first.”

Sunglasses at night,
I thought inanely as we headed back to the Kmart, remembering the old ’80s song. Nina and I used to do that a lot. We’d quote song lyrics at each other — saying them seriously, like we really meant them in conversation, and then the other one would say, “Hey, I think there’s a song about that.” I rubbed my arms as I realized I was already thinking about Nina in the past tense. God, what was she going to think when she heard that I’d disappeared?

“Here,” said Alex once we got into Kmart, choosing a huge pair of dark Hollywood-style glasses from a rack. “And you can shove your hair up under this.” He picked up a black baseball cap. His tone was flat, impersonal. He was hardly even looking at me, just thrusting things at me as he spoke. “You’d better get some new clothes, too; they’ll probably be circulating a description of what you’re wearing.”

Even though I knew he was right, my jaw tensed at the suggestion. “I don’t have enough money.”

“I’ll get them.”

I hesitated. I didn’t exactly want to take any help from him, not the way he was acting.

Alex blew out an impatient breath. “Look, what size do you wear?”

“I’ll pick them out,” I muttered.

I got a couple of pairs of jeans and a few shirts. I needed another bra, too, and so even though it made my cheeks burn to have to do it, I grabbed one off the rack. I saw Alex glance at it and then quickly away again, his expression stiff. Good, at least I wasn’t the only one who was embarrassed.

Finally we were back in the Mustang. Alex started it up, making a face at the coughing noise. “Let’s hope this thing makes it to New Mexico,” he said in an undertone.

I gazed out the window, not answering. There was a lot of traffic, and it took hours for us to make it out of the city. By around ten o’clock that night, I was watching the New York City skyline grow smaller behind us, all twinkles and stars against the dark sky. I stared back at it, keeping it in sight until the last skyscraper finally winked from view. It was stupid. I had never lived in the city; I had only visited there a few times.

But it felt as if my lifeline had just been cut away.

I didn’t think I would ever sleep, but I must have dropped off finally. The next thing I knew, it was around three in the morning and the car had stopped. Drowsily, I opened my eyes. At first I couldn’t remember where I was, and then it all came crashing back. I sat up, pushing my hair off my face. We were parked by the side of a road; it was dark.

“Where are we?” I said.

Alex was adjusting his seat so that it leaned back. “Pennsylvania.” Lying down, he stretched his legs out.

I gazed at the shadows beyond the car. As my eyes adjusted to the moonlight, I could make out pine trees on the side of the road. Everything seemed so still, like we were in the middle of nowhere. I rubbed my arms. “Is it safe to stop?”

Alex gave a soft, derisive snort: obviously
safe
was relative now. “I pulled off the main road,” he said in a monotone. “I’ve hardly seen any cars for hours.”

I could just see his face; he had his eyes closed. His lips looked almost sculpted in the silvery light. “What about angels?” I asked.

“Only you.”

It felt as if he had slapped me. “That’s not funny,” I said in a low voice.

“I wasn’t trying to be,” he retorted. “I’ve been scanning for angels, and each time I did, I saw yours.”

Without answering, I lay back on my own seat, covering myself with my jean jacket. My angel. As if it was a part of me. I shuddered, pushing the thought away. Staring up at the Mustang’s ceiling, I studied the round plastic dome of the interior light.

“Can I ask you something?” I said after a few minutes.

“Mm,” he grunted.

“How come no one else can see these things? In the church, it was like Beth and the other new members were the only ones who even saw the angel, apart from you and me.”

Alex sighed; I could feel him rousing himself to answer. “Angels can’t be seen in their ethereal form except by the person they’re feeding from,” he said. “I can see them because I’ve been trained. And I guess
you
can see them because of what you are.”

“You really worked for the CIA, didn’t you?” I said quickly, not wanting to think about the
what you are
side of things.

“Yeah.”

“How old are you?” I asked, looking over at him. He had his arms crossed loosely over his chest; his dark hair appeared black in the moonlight.

There was a pause; I could feel his reluctance to answer. “Seventeen,” he said.

“So — you must have started pretty young,” I said, feeling dazed. “What about your brother? Does he work for them, too?”

It was the wrong question. Immediately, I could sense the tension coming off him, and my own muscles clenched in response. “Would you let me get some sleep?” he said coldly.

Something about his brother. Suddenly I had an awful feeling that the brother might be dead, and I swallowed, wishing that I hadn’t mentioned him. Though actually, I suspected that almost anything I had said would be the wrong thing, with the unfriendly vibes Alex was giving off. Were we going to have to make the whole drive to New Mexico like this, with him barely speaking to me?

I hesitated, but I had to say it. “You don’t trust me, do you?”

A long silence. Finally he said, “I don’t trust anybody.”

“Yeah, but especially me. Because —” I could hardly get the words out, could hardly bear to think them. “Because of what I am.”

A muscle in Alex’s cheek moved; apart from that, he lay motionless. When he spoke again, his voice was hard. “Look, I don’t really want to talk to you if I don’t have to, OK? You’re a half angel; part of you is just like
they
are
.
I don’t think we have all that much to say to each other.”

I was glad that his eyes were closed, because mine were suddenly full of tears. “Fine,” I said, feeling more alone than ever. “Sorry to bother you in that case. It won’t happen again.”

I rolled over onto my side with my back to him, pulling my jacket over my shoulders. I wasn’t sure why I’d expected anything different; he’d already made it clear that he didn’t want anything to do with me. But even so, it hurt. A lot, actually. My chest ached as I lay there, staring out at the faint shadows of the pines and wishing that they were the arborvitae trees in our back yard.

And that I’d never, ever given Beth Hartley a reading.

When Alex woke, it wasn’t quite dawn yet; through the car windows he could see that the sky was a pale, pure blue, hovering between night and day. He scraped his hand across his face and lay without moving for a moment.

Willow was still asleep on the seat beside him. Turning his head, Alex took in the gentle rise and fall of her breathing, the blond hair that spilled across one shoulder, the slim curve of her body under her jean jacket. He shook his head slightly. Jesus. If he had felt drawn to Willow when he saw her making coffee in her kitchen, it was nothing compared to actually being close to her, traveling with her. He tried to remember if he’d ever felt this attracted to anyone before and couldn’t. There had been a few girls in the past — brief encounters while he was on the road — but now he could hardly remember what they looked like. Though he’d barely even touched Willow, he didn’t think he could ever forget her face, no matter what happened to him.