Angel Burn (2 page)

“Jesus Christ,” breathed Eddie as the angel drew toward him.

Half a street away, Alex could hear the bouncers laughing with a woman who’d stopped to ask them for a light. If any of them glanced this way, all they’d see would be Eddie standing on his own, wobbling drunkenly on the dark street.

Leaning over the top of the car, Alex squinted through the lens, his hands cool and steady as he aimed the rifle. The angel’s face came into focus, magnified several times. As a human, Goodman was as physically attractive as all angels, though Alex knew that if he’d gotten a good look at his face, it would have seemed slightly weird — too intense, with eyes maybe a shade too dark for comfort. But now, in his ethereal form, Goodman’s features had an almost otherworldly beauty: proud, fierce. The halo that framed them radiated like holy fire.

“Don’t be afraid,” soothed the angel in a voice that was a hundred chiming bells. “I am here for a reason. I need to give you something.”

Eddie dropped to his knees, eyes bulging. “I — I —”

The halo. Alex sighted on it, aiming for the deep, pure white at its heart.

“It won’t hurt,” continued the angel, drawing closer. It smiled then, and its radiance increased tenfold, burning the night. Trembling, Eddie moaned and ducked his head, unable to bear the beauty of it.

“In fact, you’ll remember this as the most meaningful experience of your life —”

Alex pulled the trigger. As the pulsing energy of the angel’s halo was disrupted by the force of the bullet, the creature burst, without a sound, into a million shooting fragments of light. Alex ducked behind the car as a shock wave slammed past him, the angel’s scream of anguish echoing in his ears. Still in his enhanced state, he could see the energy fields of every living thing nearby affected by the aftershock: the ghostly outline of a tree, of a few stray blades of grass — all of them dancing and warping as if buffeted by a hurricane.

Slowly, everything returned to normal. There was silence. Alex brought his energy focus back to his heart chakra, and the ghostly outlines disappeared. He shoved his rifle under the car for the moment, then walked over to Eddie, who still knelt, trembling, on the sidewalk. T. Goodman was gone, with no sign of him left.

“Hey, man, you OK?” said Alex easily, crouching beside Eddie. The bouncers had stopped talking and were looking in their direction. Alex raised a casual hand to them.
Everything’s fine. Dude’s just a bit drunk is all.

Eddie turned a tearstained face toward him. He swallowed, shaking his head. “I — there was — I know you won’t believe me, but —”

“Yeah, I know,” said Alex. “Come on, let’s get you up.” He put an arm around Eddie and helped him to his feet. Jesus, the guy could try dieting a little.

“Oh, God  . . .  I’ve got such a headache,” moaned Eddie, leaning limply against Alex’s shoulder.
Angel fallout,
thought Alex. Eddie had only been a few feet away, and though most of it had blasted straight back at Alex, he’d still feel the effects for days. It was better than angel burn, though.

Anything was better than that.

“It was so beautiful,” mumbled Eddie, his head lolling limply. “So goddamn beautiful. . . .”

Alex rolled his eyes. “Yeah, real beautiful,” he muttered. He started walking back toward the bar with Eddie shuffling along beside him. As usual, he felt the mix of pity and contempt that he always felt for civilians. Though he spent his life trying to save them, they were all so clueless that he didn’t get much pleasure from it.

“Hey, I think our friend here needs a cab,” he said when he reached the bouncers. “Found him passed out on the sidewalk over there.”

One of the bouncers chuckled. “Yeah, we’ll take care of it,” he said, taking the businessman’s weight from Alex. “Old Eddie’s a regular here, aren’t you, buddy?”

Eddie rolled his head, struggling to focus. “Tom  . . .  I saw an angel,” he slurred.

The bouncers burst out laughing. “Yeah, you mean Amber, right?” said the other one. “She wears those really short shorts while she’s dancing around on the bar.” He winked at Alex. “Hey, you wanna go in? No cover charge; our treat.”

Alex had been in plenty of places like this in his time, mostly dragged along by the other AKs when he was younger. He thought they were boring as hell, to be honest. And though a drink sounded good, the thought of sitting in a Spurs with his adrenaline still pumping from the kill was a little too surreal, even for him.

He shook his head, taking a step backward. “Nah, maybe next time. I’d better get going. Thanks, though.”

“Anytime,” said the first bouncer. Eddie had passed out for real by then, slumped against the man’s broad shoulder like a sack of potatoes. The bouncer shifted his bulk impatiently. “Hey, Mike, you gonna call that cab company, or what? Sleeping Beauty here is fading fast.”

“Yeah, tell him to lay off the hard stuff,” said Alex with a grin. “He’ll be seeing pink elephants next.”

“THIS IS
SO
EMBARRASSING,” muttered Nina. She was leaning against the driver’s-side door with her arms crossed over her chest, shaking her head in disapproval.

“Do you want it fixed or not?” I demanded. My voice came out muffled, because my head was buried somewhere deep in her Corvette’s engine, along with most of my upper body. I was trying to replace her carburetor, but her engine was so filthy that the nuts were practically welded in place with gasket grime — which is black and gross, in case you’re wondering.

“Would you hand me that wrench? The one with the yellow handle?”

Nina grumbled to herself as she crouched down to rummage through my tools. “I can’t believe you actually have a
toolbox
. I can’t believe you brought it to
school
with you.” She shoved the wrench into my hand.

“Fine — should I stop? Just say the word.” I’d already removed her air filter by then and disconnected the fuel line and vacuum hoses. We were in the school parking lot because I had figured it would be easier doing it there than in my garage at home, which is stuffed to the gills with old boxes and bicycles and crap that my aunt keeps meaning to throw out but hasn’t gotten around to yet. I had clearly reckoned without the embarrassment factor, though. Story of my life.

“Willow! Don’t you dare,” hissed Nina, pulling at her brown bangs. “Look, don’t get all sensitive. Yes, I want it fixed; I just didn’t know that you were going to do it
here —
 that’s all.”

She glanced furtively over her shoulder at the playing field, obviously keeping an eye out for Scott Mason and his gang of swaggering football heroes. The school day was long over with, but football practice was still going strong. Meanwhile, the student parking lot was like an empty gray ocean around us, with only a few stray cars dotted about here and there.

“Just be thankful I didn’t do it at lunchtime,” I told her. “I do have some sense of decorum, you know. Oh, come
on,
you —” I gritted my teeth as I struggled to turn the wrench, putting all of my weight on it. All at once the nut gave way. “
Ha!
Success.” I spun it free, then pulled the old carburetor out and checked it against the new one. Perfect match. Which was sort of a miracle, given that Nina’s Corvette practically belonged in the Smithsonian.

Nina wrinkled her nose. “Decorum? You? Don’t make me laugh. Like, what are you
wearing
?”

“Clothes?”

“Willow. You look like  . . .  I don’t know; I don’t think there’s even a word for it.”

“Really? Cool.” I grinned as I wiped my hands off on a piece of wadding. “That means I’m unique, right?” Despite the chill in the air, I was wearing a short-sleeved 1950s brocade blouse with my favorite pair of battered jeans. My black velvet jacket was draped over Nina’s open hood, out of harm’s way. I’d bought most of it at Tammy’s Attic, which has to be my favorite store ever.

Nina closed her eyes and groaned. “Unique. Yes, you could say that. Oh, my God, Pawtucket is
so
not ready for you.”

This was so true that it wasn’t even worth debating. Instead I took a screwdriver and started to scrape clean the area where the old carburetor had been, getting rid of all the old dirt and gasket material. Beyond gross. Picture a coal pit that’s fallen into an oil slick.

Nina opened her eyes and peered under the hood. “What are you doing now?” she asked warily.

“Getting rid all of your disgusting grime.” I showed her the wrench, which was now thick with black goo. “Want to help?”

“Eww, no.” She sighed and leaned against the side of the car again, twiddling a piece of hair around her finger. “Anyway, what do you have to clean it for? Can’t you just shove the new one in?”

A strand of my long blond hair fell down as I was working, and I tucked it back behind my ear without looking up. “Good idea. Then it wouldn’t have a perfect seal, so it would start sucking in air like a dying vacuum cleaner, and —”

Nina straightened up again with a jolt. “Oh, my God! Here comes Beth Hartley!”

Beth Hartley was one of the stars of Pawtucket High — slim, beautiful, good grades, et cetera. She was a year older than us, almost eighteen, and a senior. Even apart from that, we didn’t exactly move in the same circles. She was on every club and committee there was and basically lived at school. In fact, I think they’d shut the place down if she ever couldn’t come in for some reason. The teachers would all go on strike.

I poured some solvent onto a clean rag and started swabbing it around the empty space where the carburetor had been. “What was it today, do you think?” I said. “Cheerleading? Prom committee? Saving the world?”

“Willow, this isn’t
funny,
” moaned Nina. “She’s heading right toward us!”

“So? I’m sure she’s seen a carburetor before.” Nina stared at me. There was a beat, and then I realized what I’d said and started laughing. “Oh. Maybe not, huh?”

Nina huffed out a breath, looking like she couldn’t decide whether to throttle me or join in laughing. “Look, I know
you
don’t care, but most people already think you’re Queen Weird, you know. This is
not
going to help matters, believe me —” She fell abruptly silent as Beth walked up.

“Hi,” said Beth, looking uncertainly from Nina to me. She had long, honey-colored hair and makeup that was always so subtle and perfect that you could barely tell she had it on. Which had always seemed sort of a waste of time to me — spending hours putting on makeup that looked invisible once you were done — but there you go.

“Hi,” I said back, poking my head out from underneath the hood.

“Hi, Beth,” said Nina faintly. “Good drama club meeting?”

“Yearbook,” corrected Beth. “Yeah, great.” She was staring at the open hood and me under it. “You’re  . . .  fixing Nina’s car,” she said. It was halfway between a question and a statement.

I nodded. “Her carburetor.”

“Carburetor. Right,” echoed Beth, blinking her wide brown eyes.

There was a pause. I could see Beth mentally shaking her head to clear it and then deciding that, actually, she didn’t really want to pursue the carburetor thing. She cleared her throat. “Willow, I just wondered whether you had the homework assignment for Atkinson’s class. I wasn’t there yesterday.”

I felt my eyebrows fly up. I hadn’t realized that Beth even knew we were in the same class. Or in the same school. Or on the same planet. On second thought, scratch that — we probably
weren’t
on the same planet. And why was she asking me, anyway? A dozen of her perfect friends were in that class.

I shrugged. “Yeah, sure — it’s in my red folder.” I motioned toward my schoolbag, which was sitting beside the open toolbox on the ground. “Would you mind? My hands are all —” I held them up to show her, and she blanched.

“Great, thanks.” She slipped the folder out of my bag and quickly scribbled down the assignment. As she put the folder back, she glanced at Nina and hesitated. She started to say something and stopped. Her neck turned bright pink.

The motion of my hand with the rag slowed as I looked at her in surprise. All at once I knew exactly what was coming; I had seen it too many times before to mistake the signs. Nina’s eyes widened as she realized the same thing. “Maybe I’ll  . . .  go get a drink of water,” she said, taking an ultra-casual step backward. I could tell she was thinking the same thing I was:
Beth Hartley? Really? Miss Perfect?

Once Nina was gone, Beth edged closer to me, lowering her voice. “Um, Willow  . . . ” She took a deep breath, running her manicured fingers through her hair. “I’ve heard that you do  . . .  readings. Like, psychic ones,” she added quickly. Her face was bonfire red.

I nodded. “Yeah, that’s right.”

Beth seemed to catch her breath. Her expression was trying to be skeptical, but it was suddenly so hopeful and pleading that it was like having a puppy gaze at me. “Well — are you any good?” she blurted out.

I shrugged as I started to install the new carburetor, tightening it into the intake manifold. “I guess so. I mean, not everything I see comes true, but most things seem to. And to be honest, the stuff that doesn’t is usually an alternate path.”

She was watching me intently, taking in every word. “An alternate path?” she repeated. “What do you mean?”