Angel, Page 23

Page 23

 

  “It’s happening. ” Alex rapped a fist against the steering wheel, glowering out at the passing cars. “I need you to come to New Mexico with me,” he said at last.

  For a second all I could do was gape at him. “As in New Mexico, the state,” I said.

  “Yeah. The only person I can still trust is there. ”

  “And what does that have to do with me, exactly?”

  He gave me a look like he couldn’t believe I was really this stupid. “Because if there’s even a chance that the angels are right about you, then I’m not letting you out of my sight. ”

  “Oh, you’re not,” I said, my voice shaking with disbelief. “Well, great. Do I get a choice about this?”

  His leather jacket gave a faint squeak as he shrugged. “Sure. You can go home and get killed, and put everyone you love in danger. Go for it. ”

  My chin jerked up as we stared at each other. “I don’t even know you,” I gritted out. “If you think I’m going to drive all the way across the country with you, you’re insane. ”

  The only sound was the traffic on the highway. Alex’s dark eyebrows were drawn together, his jaw tense. “How psychic are you?” he demanded. “How do you do it? What do you need?”

  I shrugged, trying to hide my sudden apprehension. “I . . . just need to hold someone’s hand. ”

  He thrust his hand at me. “Here. Go on. ”

  I shook my head, not moving. “I can’t do it like this. I’m too upset. ” Alex kept his hand in the air between us, his blue-gray eyes a challenge. Finally, my mouth tight, I took his hand in my own. It was warm, firm, with calluses on the bases of his fingers. Stupidly, heat flickered through me. Annoyed with myself, I ignored it and closed my eyes, trying to clear my mind.

  Jumbled images started flashing past: A camp in the desert, with barbed wire and a burning sky. His brother, taller and broader than him but with the same eyes. Killing angels — the hard, deadly joy of it. Aunt Jo’s house, with Alex sitting outside it in his car. He really did work for the CIA. I saw him sensing something strange about my energy — something not angelic, but also not human. Then he was inside, watching me as I slept. I caught my breath sharply as I viewed myself through his eyes, lying curled up on the sofa under our old afghan. There was an angel floating peacefully above me with her head bowed — beautiful, radiant, serene. She had no halo; her wings were folded gracefully behind her back. As Alex moved slowly around our coffee table, keeping his gun on her, her face came into view.

  It was me.

  With a cry, I dropped his hand. There was a pause.

  “Well?” said Alex.

  I hugged myself, not looking at him. He wasn’t crazy; his energy had felt clear and strong. The truth of everything he had said, every word, beat through me.

  Along with the memory of my wings, gently stirring the air.

  “What does this mean?” My voice came out high, frightened. “These . . . angel things that you’ve seen about me. How can I be part angel, unless . . . ” I stopped as if the breath had been punched out of me. When I was around eleven, I went through this phase where I really wanted to know who my father was. Since Aunt Jo had no idea, I had asked Mom, over and over, whispering the question to her and trying to break through her dreamworld. Mom, who was my father? Mom? Do you remember? Who was my dad?

  And once, and only once, she had answered me. Smiling, her eyes had focused briefly on mine as she’d whispered, “He was an angel. ” I’d given up trying after that.

  I felt the blood drain from my cheeks. The image of my father that I’d seen once when I tried to read Mom, the man who’d creeped me out so much he made me shudder. He’d had the same strange, compelling eyes as the angel that had stood on my doorstep. And now I remembered: amid the pretty rainbows of Mom’s mind, there had sometimes been an angel, too, standing in her old apartment and smiling at her. An angel with the same face as my father. I had thought she was just hallucinating.

  I could hardly breathe. I clenched my skirt, bunching the material in my fist.

  “Unless what?” pressed Alex.

  “You — you said that angels can cause insanity,” I burst out. “Do they ever — have relationships with humans? I mean —”

  “Yeah,” he said, giving me a piercing look.

  “What about their eyes? Are they —?”

  “Weird,” he said tersely. “Too intense. Too dark sometimes. You feel like you can’t look away from them. ”

  “Oh, my God,” I whispered. My skirt twisted and writhed in my fist.

  “Your father,” said Alex, his mouth grim. “I’m right, aren’t I? He’s one of them. ”

  Panic gripped me, quickening my breath. “I — I don’t know. I never knew him. . . . I only saw him once, when I tried to read my mom. But his eyes were just like that. He — he broke my mother’s mind; my aunt said that she was normal before him. ” I stopped, the words dying coldly in my throat.

  Alex sat staring at me, his expression battling between I knew it and something like disgust. “A half angel,” he muttered finally. “Great. ” He started the car again and merged back onto the highway, punching the accelerator hard. A few seconds later, we were edging up to ninety.

  The world was pitching around me like a hurricane. I knew it was true, even if I didn’t want to believe it. I was a half angel. My father had been one of those things; he’d destroyed my mother.

  “This should be impossible,” said Alex in a low voice. “If angels can breed now —” He broke off, his hands tightening on the wheel. After a pause, he blew out a breath. “Anyway, they think you’re a danger to them, and I can’t take the chance that you’re not. So — what’s it going to be? Are you coming with me, or do I have to follow you and try to keep you from getting killed?”

  Remembering the sensation of my wings opening and closing, I thought I might throw up. Don’t think of it. Don’t think of it. I let go of my skirt and shakily smoothed my hand over it. “Who is it that you want to go see?”

  “A guy called Cully,” said Alex. His dark hair had fallen onto his forehead again; he shoved it back without looking at me. “He used to be an AK. Angel Killer. He’s the only person I can trust now that they’ve taken over Project Angel. ”

  What was Project Angel? It sounded like something out of a cheesy action film. But then, so did being shot at in a parking lot. I licked my lips. “Will — will those people really go to my house? What happens if they do? What if they hurt Mom and Aunt Jo?”

  He gave a curt shrug, glancing over his shoulder as he took the turnoff for the interstate. “I don’t know. They’ll be searching for this car before they do anything else. But like I said, if you do go home, you’ll die, and so might your family. That’s the best I can tell you. ”

  He sounded so brusque, as if it didn’t matter to him in the slightest. “And you think this . . . Cully person might have some answers. ”

  “He’s the only person in the world who might. ”

  I fell silent. Mom. I envisioned her sitting dreaming in her chair, her eyes filled with distant, beautiful things. I thought of Aunt Jo’s house, of the lavender swaths of fabric draped across my bedposts. And then I saw the screaming crowd at the Church of Angels, felt their hatred again, surging toward me in a dark sea. The beautiful winged being as it swooped after me, shrieking — the barrel of the rifle, pointing straight at me. Maybe Alex didn’t seem very friendly, but he had saved my life; I knew it without a doubt. If he hadn’t been there, I’d be dead now.