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No. He shook his head as he slid behind the steering wheel and started the engine. Not two girls — one girl and one something that he didn’t understand at all.
When the CIA had taken control of Project Angel after the Invasion almost two years earlier, a lot of things had changed. One of the main ones was that each Angel Killer now worked alone, with no contact from the others. Alex didn’t even know where the rest of the AKs were; he hadn’t been in touch with them for over twenty months. Anonymous texts arrived on his cell phone from unknown angel spotters; there were no names involved, no way for him to link the information he received to an actual person. Though his longing for the old days — the camaraderie, going on the hunt together, even the boring, endless days at the camp in the desert — was like an ache inside of him, he knew that the secrecy was necessary. This was war, even if its millions of casualties were too blissed-out to realize it. If he were caught by the angels or any of their human followers, he wouldn’t be able to give them any information.
But it also meant that it was a bitch to actually get ahold of someone if you needed to.
Alex spent the next five hours in his motel room, trying the emergency number that he’d been given when the CIA took over. He’d been told — on the phone, by an unknown voice — to memorize it and then destroy it. It wasn’t to be used except in cases of untold emergency.
For a long time, no one answered. He watched ESPN as he hit redial over and over, frowning at the TV screen without taking anything in. “Come on, pick up the goddamn phone,” he muttered.
Finally, just before noon, there was a click and a woman’s voice came on the line. “Hello?”
Alex had been lying on the bed with his cell cradled between shoulder and ear, dully channel surfing. He dropped the remote and snatched at his phone, sitting straight up. “This is Alex,” he said.
There was a long pause. “Yes?”
“I need to talk with someone. ”
“This number is only to be used —”
“This is an emergency,” he said, his voice tight. “Trust me. ”
Another pause, this one lasting for almost a minute. “Someone will call you back,” said the woman finally. Another click, and the line went dead. Alex swore, sorely tempted to throw the phone against the wall.
It was almost an hour before his cell phone went off. He grabbed it on the first ring. Without preamble, a male voice said, “Are you alone?”
“Yeah,” said Alex.
“Good. What’s going on?” The voice was bland; Alex couldn’t tell whether it was the same one he’d heard almost two years ago. Briefly, pacing around the motel room with its two double beds, he explained what had happened.
“Yes?” said the voice when he had finished. There was too much politeness in the short syllable, implying, What’s the problem?
Alex frowned. “So — I don’t know what this girl is,” he said. “If there’s no halo, then —”
“She’s an angel,” interrupted the voice. “You’re to follow your orders. ”
Alex felt himself bristle. The CIA had come onto the scene about ten years too late, as far as he was concerned. Where exactly had they been while the rest of them were living out in the desert like refugees, shooting ancient guns, and using creaky holographs for training?
“Look,” he said, trying to keep his tone level. “She’s not an angel. I know an angel when I see one, all right? This girl is something else. It’s almost like she’s . . . part angel, part human. ” Even as he spoke the words, he knew they were insane. Angels couldn’t breed.
“The anomalies are not your concern,” said the voice. “Just do your job. She’s an angel; she has to be exterminated. ”
“Did you hear a word I just said?” demanded Alex. He started pacing again, shoving a chair out of his way. “Listen to me: She is not an angel. She doesn’t feed. She had a childhood. There’s no halo! If she’s an angel, then where’s she getting her energy from? How does she exist?”
“Again, these aren’t your concerns. ”
Alex heard his voice rise. “You’re kidding, right? I’m out there on the front line every day; if there’s something I don’t understand, I’m toast. If this girl’s a danger, I need to know how. She —”
“Trust us,” said the voice.
Alex fell silent in disbelief. It was like talking to a robot.
“We have no reason to believe that there are any more like her,” the man continued after a pause. “But she must be taken care of. And quickly. She’s already caused great harm. ”
Listening intently, Alex thought he caught a faint English accent. He stiffened as memory traced a finger up his spine. Just like humans, angels had their individual quirks . . . and one of the few to ever get away from his father had spoken with a British accent. The AKs used to joke that whoever got that angel next time would get bonus points.
“What great harm?” he asked.
“That’s not —”
“Not my concern. Right. ” Alex sank onto the bed. This felt wrong. This felt very, very wrong.
“If there’s no halo, then more conventional methods will be fine,” said the voice, its English lilt obvious now that Alex was listening for it. “But you’re to do it, and do it now. If that creature isn’t dead in an hour, you’ll regret it. ” With a click, the voice was gone.
Alex slowly flipped his phone shut and put it on the bedside table. It could just be a coincidence, of course. It wasn’t impossible that someone from England could be in the CIA. Except that he didn’t really believe in coincidence; it was one of the reasons he’d stayed alive for so long. Mentally replaying the conversation with its evasive, threatening tone, exactly how wrong it was struck him forcibly. In his experience with the CIA, that wasn’t how they operated, at least not with Project Angel. They knew perfectly well that the AKs were the experts, not them — they’d never have said “trust us” to him and actually expected him to buy it. He was being lied to.
His thoughts tumbling, Alex rapped his fist against his jeans. Jesus. Could angels have taken control of Project Angel? The implications reeled through him. And if they had, then why were they so eager for him to kill this girl?
What was she, anyway?
Alex’s gaze fell on the photo that lay on the dresser beside his keys. The pretty little girl with long blond hair, smiling upward through the trailing leaves. Abruptly, he got up from the bed and began to pack, throwing things into his bag without paying attention to how they were landing. If he was right and the angels were somehow behind this, then he wasn’t going to let this girl out of his sight until he knew what the hell was going on.
And meanwhile, he had a feeling that he might have to make a run for it soon.
ON FRIDAY, I’d gone to school early so I could catch Beth before classes began. I sat in my Toyota in the student parking lot for over half an hour, watching all the cars pull in one by one, until the parking lot was a sea of glinting metal. Beth’s car never showed. I waited until ten minutes after the final bell had rung, and even then I walked into the building slowly, glancing over my shoulder and hoping — but a tight, anxious part of me already knew that it was too late.
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