Angel

by L. A. Weatherly

Page 32

 

  Oh, God, don’t be nice to me; I’ll start crying. I shrugged, staring fixedly at the screen. “Yeah, I’ve had better weeks. Like the week when I had the chicken pox — that was a lot more fun. ”

  He gave a short laugh. The sound surprised me; I realized that I’d never heard him laugh before. But then I hadn’t been laughing much, either. We watched the show in silence for a while. A woman was accusing her dog groomer of giving her dog a bad haircut and wanted hundreds of dollars in pain and suffering. The dog didn’t look as if he cared either way.

  “When did you first find out that you’re psychic?” asked Alex suddenly. He was gazing at the TV. When I didn’t answer, he turned his head to look at me. His dark hair was ruffled, still a little damp from his shower.

  My muscles tensed. I wasn’t usually self-conscious about being psychic, but I knew exactly what it meant as far as he was concerned. It was why I’d felt so torn about doing a reading in the diner, right in front of him.

  “Why?” I asked.

  His shoulders moved as he shrugged. “Just wondering. It must be pretty hard — knowing things that other people don’t know. ”

  Everything within me seemed to go still. That wasn’t what most people said. Most people, if they believed I was psychic at all, just went on about how fantastic it must be. Wow, you can really tell the future? That is so cool! Can you, like, win the lottery? Having someone actually realize that it’s not always fun was . . . unusual.

  “I don’t know when I first found out,” I said. “I’ve always been psychic. It was more a question of . . . well, realizing that the rest of the world isn’t, I guess. ”

  An unwanted memory flashed through my mind: myself at five years old, out shopping for groceries with Mom. There had been a kind-looking lady in the cereal section who’d squeezed my hand and cooed, “Oh, what a pretty little girl!” And that had made me feel good, so that I wanted to do something nice for her, too. So I told her all about the images that I saw. The new house that she and her husband were building. Her teenage son, who was going to leave home but then return in less than a year. Her new job, which she wouldn’t like at first, but —

  She’d dropped my hand as if she’d been holding a snake. She must have said something before she hurried away, but I don’t remember what. I just remember the expression on her face; it had been burned into my brain. A look of absolute horror; of disgust almost, as if —

  As if I wasn’t even human.

  My chest went tight at the memory. What do you know? The woman had been right.

  Alex looked back at the TV. “Yeah . . . finding out that other people weren’t must have been tough. Like you were the only person in the world. ”

  “That was exactly how I felt,” I admitted. “But then I got to be a teenager, and it stopped bothering me so much. I guess I’d gotten used to being different. Besides, I like helping people, if I can. ” I stopped in confusion, realizing that we were actually having a conversation — one that wasn’t about what kind of sandwich I wanted.

  Alex nodded. “I could tell that back at the diner. What you did for that waitress, that was really . . . ” He stopped, seemed to be searching for words. “Really good,” he finished at last.

  He meant it. I gazed sideways at him, wondering why he was talking to me now . . . and whether he still thought that part of me was just like the angels. God, why did I even care? The memory of how the energy from his shirt had felt flashed through my mind, and my cheeks flushed.

  “Thanks,” I said, looking away from him. On the TV, another court case was coming on: as the dramatic music played, a woman strode toward the defendant’s podium, wearing a power suit and lots of gold jewelry.

  “So will she get her restaurant in Atlanta?” asked Alex.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. It was the nicest of her likely futures, so I hope so, now that I’ve told her about it. ”

  He propped himself on his elbow, watching me. “Can you read yourself?”

  “No. I’ve tried, but I never get anything. It’s always just gray. ”

  “Probably just as well. That would be weird, to see your own future. ”

  “Just being psychic is pretty weird,” I said. “Or at least, most people think so. ”

  He lifted a shoulder. “Well, you’re talking to someone who kills angels for a living. That’s not exactly normal. ”

  I glanced at him, suddenly wondering what his life was like. He was so young to be on his own the way he was, and it seemed like he’d been doing it for years. I pushed the thought away. I wasn’t about to ask him any questions, not after last time.

  Alex sat playing with the remote, turning it over in his hand. A long moment passed, and then he cleared his throat. “Look . . . I’m sorry,” he said.

  My head turned sharply as I stared at him.

  “What I said that first night —” He stopped and sighed, tossing the remote onto the bed. Scraping his hand through his hair, he said, “When I first found out, it just threw me, OK? For a lot of reasons. I don’t — I don’t think you’re like the angels. And I’ve been acting like a jerk. I’m sorry. ”

  A smile grew slowly across my face. “Yes, you have,” I said. “But apology accepted. ”

  “Good. ” He smiled back at me. His eyes looked slightly troubled, but it was a genuine smile. It changed his whole face.

  Warmth filled me; embarrassed, I turned to the TV again. The woman in the power suit was showing close-up photos of a scratch on her car, her voice trembling with anger. After a pause, I said, “So, can I ask questions now?”

  Alex’s dark eyebrows rose. “You could have asked me questions before. ”

  “I guess. It didn’t really feel like it. ”

  He thought about this; a corner of his mouth quirked. “No, I guess it didn’t. Yeah, go on, fire away. ”

  I sat up, crossing my legs. “What’s this place that we’re going to, exactly?”

  Alex shifted, pulling one of his pillows out and sitting up a little. “It’s a camp in southern New Mexico, out in the desert. It’s where I was trained. I think Cully will probably be there now, training new AKs. ”

  Angel Killers, I remembered. “And who’s Cully, exactly?”

  I could practically see the memories flickering across his face. “He used to be an AK, until he lost a leg on a hunt. He knows more about all of this stuff than anyone alive. ”

  Lost a leg. My eyes went to the dresser, where Alex had put his pile of clothes. His gun lay on top, in a holster. Obviously I had known already that what he did must be dangerous, but now it hit me just how dangerous. “Does that sort of thing happen often?” I asked.

  Alex’s expression didn’t change. I could feel the tension forming inside him, though, like a coiled wire. “He was lucky,” he said shortly. “The unlucky ones either die or end up with angel burn. ”

  Had something like that happened to his brother? Looking back at the TV, I changed the subject in a hurry. “So, you lived at this place in New Mexico?”

  “Yeah. ” Alex hesitated and then added, “My father was the one who started it. ”