Angel

by L. A. Weatherly

Page 36

 

  Remembering how quickly he’d reacted when the angel came after me, I didn’t doubt that he was very good at it. I thought of the shards of light falling against the sky. “How does a bullet kill them, though? I mean, they look like they’re just made of light. ”

  Alex tossed the pizza crust back into the box and shut the cardboard lid. “You have to get them right in the halo. Like I said last night, that’s their heart. We’re not totally sure how it works, but when the bullet hits, the halo’s energy sort of jumps off the rails. It sets off a chain reaction that their bodies can’t handle, and then it just blows them apart. ”

  And my angel didn’t have a halo. What did that mean? I slammed the thought away. I didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to know. “It’s weird that something so small can destroy them,” I said instead.

  Alex snorted. “Yeah. Not very good planning for them to come here; I guess they don’t have bullets in their own world. ”

  “Does it always work?”

  He stretched, linking his fingers together. “Usually. Sometimes if you nick the edge of their halo, they just pass out in human form. That’s only happened to me a couple of times, but it’s a bitch when it does — you have to trail them for days to get another chance at them. Plus, they’re aware of you then. ”

  I couldn’t help staring at him. He was so calm and matter-of-fact about all of this, even though it sounded like his life was on the line every time he got a text. “And . . . you’ve been doing this for how long now?”

  “Which?” he said, glancing at me. “Hunting angels or getting texts with their location?”

  “I don’t know. Either. ”

  “I’ve been hunting angels since I was eleven,” he said.

  “Eleven?”

  Alex shrugged. “I’d been in training for years by then. It was different in those days — a bunch of us would go out hunting together, following leads. A hunt might take weeks. We’d be out on the road, staying in different places. Camping sometimes. ” A brief wistful look crossed his face, and all at once I knew just how much those times had meant to him.

  “OK,” I said after a pause. “What about the texts?”

  The toned muscles of his arms flexed as he lay back on his pillows, propping them up under him. “Well, after the Invasion, the CIA took things over and we each had to work alone, without any contact with the others. Angel spotters sent us the details, and we just went after them. ”

  “You mean you’ve been by yourself since the Invasion? But — you said that was almost two years ago. ”

  “Yeah,” he said shortly.

  I felt my heart chill. I couldn’t even imagine it. Maybe I wasn’t the most sociable person in the world, but being alone for that long in awful motel rooms like this, with only my own stupid thoughts for company? I’d go insane. “So you got a text with my address on it,” I said finally, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

  He nodded, staring up at the TV like he wasn’t really seeing it. “I was in Colorado. It took me about a day and a half to get to Pawtucket, and then I went and checked you out. ”

  “Broke into my house and followed me, you mean. ”

  Alex gave me a sideways glance. “Well, the orders I got were just to shoot you. Following you for a while seemed like a better idea. ”

  “I’m not complaining,” I said. I studied the firm lines of his face. “You’re in danger, too, aren’t you?” I realized suddenly. “I mean, the angels want to kill me, but you can’t be very popular with them, either. You rescued me from the church — and you know that they’ve infiltrated Project Angel. ”

  He shrugged, folding his hands under his head. “Yeah, I’m probably not their favorite person,” he said mildly.

  How could he sound so laid back about it? For a moment I didn’t know what to say. “You really did rescue me, you know,” I said at last. “I’d be dead now if it wasn’t for you. Thank you. ”

  Alex looked quickly at me, his eyes surprised. I smiled, and after a beat he smiled back. “That’s OK,” he said.

  The rest of the day passed. An old movie came on, something called The Ghost and Mrs. Muir, then a couple of game shows and sitcoms. We watched sometimes and talked sometimes — mostly just about what was on TV, but it felt nice. Relaxed. Around nine or so that night, Alex got up and stretched, yawning.

  “I think I’m TV-ed out for now,” I said, yawning, too. “Much more of this, and my eyes are going to fall out. ”

  “Yeah. Me, too. ” Reaching for the remote, Alex turned the TV off. “Hey, do you know how to play quarters?”

  I shook my head. “What’s that?”

  “We just need a glass. ” He got a plastic cup from the bathroom and then sat down at the round table, moving his bag to the floor. I swung my legs off the bed and took the chair next to him.

  “OK, it’s usually a drinking game, but it doesn’t have to be,” he said, digging in his jeans pocket. He took out a quarter. “All you do is throw it flat against the table, like this —” He tossed the quarter sharply against the wood, his forearm flexing. It jumped up in the air, kissing at the plastic lip of the cup and then spinning back onto the table. “Almost,” he said. “You’re supposed to get it in the glass. ”

  “OK, let me try. ” I reached for the quarter. It was tougher than it looked; on my first attempt, the quarter hardly even bounced at all. After a few tries, I got the hang of it and sent the coin flying up into the air and into the cup, almost knocking it over.

  “Good one,” said Alex with a grin.

  We started keeping score, using a GoodRest pen and a sheet of stationery. Alex wrote both of our names at the top; his handwriting was quick and spiky. After an hour or so, he was ahead seventy-two to fifty-seven, but then I started to have a run of luck and leaped ahead of him.

  “Are you sure you’re not cheating?” he asked, marking down my latest goal.

  “How could I cheat?” I snapped the quarter against the table again, and it went straight in. “Yes!” I cried, lifting my fist.

  He cocked a dark eyebrow at me. “Maybe you’re psychically making me think that you’re winning when you’re really not. ”

  I burst out laughing. “Yes, I have psychic mind control, you’re right . . . Look, dude, I don’t need to cheat; this game is easy. ” I tossed the quarter again, and missed this time. I slid it across the table to him. “See? Not cheating. ”

  “Hmm,” he said, picking up the quarter.

  I propped my chin on my hands, watching him. “Do you think that the psychic stuff is really weird?”

  “Stop trying to distract me,” he said. “Just because you’re in the lead. ” His blue-gray eyes were narrowed as he aimed, bouncing his forearm slightly as he prepared to throw the quarter.

  “Sorry. ” I sat back in my seat with a smile as he threw; the quarter went in.

  “No, I don’t think it’s weird,” he said, adding it to his score. He glanced up at me. “We trained in all kinds of strange things at the camp. Not that, exactly, but things most people would think was just as strange — auras, chakra points, all kinds of stuff. ”