Angel Burn

ON FRIDAY, Remus had gone to school early so he could catch Emmeline before classes began. He sat in his 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. Emmeline's car never showed.

Remus waited until ten minutes after the final bell had rung, and even then he walked into the building slowly, glancing over his shoulder and hoping — but a tight, anxious part of him already knew that it was too late.

Then, later that morning, Emmeline's parents must have called the school, because someone overheard Mrs. Bexton talking about it in the office.

By lunchtime Hogwarts High was buzzing with the news: Emmeline had dropped out of school to join the Church of Angels.

All that day, Remus walked around in a daze, hoping it was a mistake, that Emmeline just had a cold or something, that she’d turn up later, smiling and perfect, just the same as always.

But of course it didn’t happen.

Finally, between fifth and sixth periods, Mary showed up at his locker.

“You know something about this, don’t you?” she demanded.

Remus stared into the messy depths of his locker, suddenly close to tears. Around them, the hallway jostled with people.

“Yeah, sort of,” he said softly.

“Come on.” Mary grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the school. As they left the building by a side door near the art room, they passed a couple of seniors, and Remus stiffened as he heard what they were saying.

“Well, I think Emmeline's really brave.”

“Yeah, my cousin joined, and so did one of my mom’s friends. They all say that angels really exist and that —”

He hunched his shoulders in his jumper and hurried out the door after Mary.

In the parking lot, they sat in her car and talked. He told her everything that had happened . . . except for the part about Emmeline's angel turning up on his doorstep. She wouldn’t believe him, for one thing, but more than that he didn’t really want to think about it himself.

Anyway, she was stunned enough. She sat silently for ages, shaking her head.

“Remus, this is just . . . I mean, my God.”

“Yeah,” he said, and tried to smile. “That sort of sums it up.”

“Well — what are you going to do?”

“Do?” He was sitting curled in her Corvette’s bucket seat with his head against the window. He looked up and stared at her.

“What can I do? She’s already joined; she’s not going to un-join.”

Mary's hazel eyes were accusing. “And you know this how, exactly?”

Remus scraped his hair back, frustrated. “Because I saw it! She just stays there, getting sicker and sicker, until . . . something happens.”

He trailed off, seeing again the cold gray cloud that had drifted over everything.

“Something happens,” repeated Mary, drumming her fingers on the dash.

“Remus, listen to yourself! It’s not like you know.”

“I do know!”

“You do not. All either of us know is that Emmeline has joined the Church of Angels and that it’s because of your reading somehow and that you’ve got to help her before she ruins her life. Did you know that she was going to try for early admission at Stanford?”

He blew out a breath, wondering why he'd even told Mary. “Look, I have to go,” he said, uncurling himself and grabbing his bag.

“Remus, wait! You can’t just —”

He was already out of her car by then, heading for his own. But he should have known that Mary wouldn’t let it go.

The next morning, Saturday, she turned up at his house early.

“OK, here’s the plan,” she said briskly, flipping her bangs out of her eyes.

“I checked the Church of Angels’ website, and the nearest church is in Schenectady. That must be where Emmeline has gone. There’s an afternoon service today at two o’clock— you’ve got to go there and talk to her.”

They were sitting on the ancient glider on his front porch, drinking coffee. With a sigh, he tucked a knee under himself and dropped back against the faded striped cushions.

“Mary, I’ve already told you . . . it’s pointless.”

She shoved his leg sharply.

“Remus, you have to. Come on, do you think your psychic powers are so infallible that it’s impossible for you to be wrong?”

Put like that, he didn’t really have an answer. He stared out at their street. A few doors down, a car engine started up, breaking the hushed early-morning silence. He sat cradling his coffee, listening to it fade away.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

Resting her coffee on her knee, Mary leaned forward to look him in the eyes. “Please go,” she said softly.

“You seriously might be the only person she’ll listen to.”

Remus could feel himself caving in. He gazed down at the glider’s rusting metal arm, picking at a flake of white paint.

“I don’t know if she’ll want to see me or not, though. She was pretty angry after her reading.”

“You still have to try,” insisted Mary. “If you’re right and she won’t leave, then fine. But you have to try.”

He let out a breath. He couldn’t argue; she was right. Even though he knew he wasn’t mistaken about what he'd seen, she was still right. He started to tell her so but stopped as a thought chilled his hands, even as he cradled the warm coffee mug. Of course he was going to go to the church.

There had never been any doubt. He can’t psychically read himself— whenever he's tried, he's only seen a sort of grayness. The same sort of grayness that he'd seen in Emmeline's reading, though without that terrible graveside coldness.

That was why he couldn’t see more of Emmeline's future at the Church of Angels. Because he was going to play a part in it.

“What is it?” asked Mary, peering into his face.

He shook his head, draining the last gulp of his coffee and trying to ignore the dread that was suddenly pulsing through him.

The last thing he wanted was to even go near the church now, but it didn’t feel like he had a choice. Grayness or not, Mary was right: he had to at least try.

“Nothing,” he said. He tried to smile. “OK, I’ll go.”

The dread had faded a little by that afternoon, though the worry hadn’t. He stood in front of the oval mirror that sat over his dresser, studying his reflection. He was wearing a white t-shirt and dark blue jeans

He touched the shirt worriedly. Was it OK? People dressed up for church, didn’t they? Not that it mattered, really, but he wanted to blend in if he could.

It’ll do, he decided.

Quickly, he brushed his hair, pulled on his green jumper and sneakers, grabbed his drawstring bag, and went downstairs.

He could hear the clatter and splash of Aunt Jo doing the dishes in the kitchen; in the living room, his Mom was asleep in her favorite chair. Not a surprise: sometimes he thinks her sleeping dreams must be as seductive as her waking ones.

Asleep, she looks just like anyone else — as if her eyes might light up with recognition if she were to open them and see him.

Gazing at her now, something tightened in his stomach. He's never going to see her again, he thought.

What kind of stupid random thought was that? He shook it away, ignoring the fear that had suddenly spiked through him. Leaning over the chair, he kissed his mother’s sleeping cheek.

“Bye, Mom,” he whispered. He smoothed her pale hair back. “I won’t be gone long. I love you.”

She murmured slightly and fell still again, her breathing soft and even. He sighed. At least she seemed peaceful. He kissed his fingers and touched them to her lips before he slipped from the room.

Poking his head into the kitchen, he told Aunt Jo he was going out, and five minutes later, he was in his car, heading toward Schenectady. There wasn’t much traffic, even when he got onto I-90. Once or twice he noticed a black Porsche behind him.

He glanced at it in the rearview mirror. He'd seen it back in Pawtucket, too, lagging a block or so behind him when he left town. Someone else going to the church, maybe?

If they were, then they didn’t need to follow him to find the way. Miles before he even got to Schenectady, huge signs started appearing on the side of the interstate: billboards with sparkling silver letters proclaiming

THE ANGELS CAN SAVE YOU! CHURCH OF ANGELS, SCHENECTADY, EXIT 8 WEST.

His hands tightened on the wheel. There it was, that generic image so familiar from all the commercials, of the huge white church on a hill.

When he finally pulled into the mammoth parking lot, all he could do was sit in his car and stare for a minute. He'd been to New York City; he'd seen big buildings before — but nothing quite like this.

Maybe it was the way the church sat by itself, rising up from a vast landscaped lawn, but the sheer impact of it was just breathtaking.

He took in the high vaulted roof; the stained-glass windows glittering in the sun. On the other side of the parking lot, he could see a complex that looked like a huge shopping mall. There was a mall in there, he remembered — plus apartments, a gym, a hair salon — anything you might ever need.

It was almost two o’clock; crowds of people were drifting into the church. Remus steeled himself as he got out of his car and started heading toward it. With luck, he'd find Emmeline. . . but her angel could be in there, too. His hands turned cold at the thought. He didn’t want to see that thing ever again if he could help it.

He'd only gone a few dozen steps when a nagging “turn around” feeling tickled at the back of his neck.

He looked over his shoulder. There was the black Porsche again, a few rows down; a guy about Remus's own age with dark hair had just gotten out of it. He wore faded jeans and a leather jacket hanging open over a blue T-shirt. Remus let out a breath, glad for the distraction . . . because the closer Remus got to that church, the more he seriously didn’t want to go inside it.

Half turning, Remus dawdled so that the dark-haired guy would catch up. He hesitated; then they made eye contact, and he walked slowly toward Remus. He had a medium build — slim, but with firm-looking shoulders — and moved like an athlete, confident in his own body. Something fluttered in Remus's chest as Remus realized how attractive he was.

“Um — hi,” Remus said, looking up at him as they fell into step together.

He was a good head or so taller than Remus.

“Did you just come from Pawtucket?” He glanced down at Remus, his eyebrows drawn together in a slight frown, and Remus shrugged.

“I noticed your car.”

“Yeah,” he said after a pause.

“I’m staying with some friends.”

Taking in the strong lines of his face, Remus suddenly wondered whether he was Remus's age, after all. He seemed older somehow. Not his muscles — half the guys at school worked out. But something about his eyes maybe. They were a sort of bluish gray, like a storm at sea. Remus could hardly look away from them.

Remus realized he was staring and looked quickly forward, his cheeks warm. He'd wanted a distraction, but not this much of one. What was wrong with him, anyway? There were at least half a dozen boys at Hogwarts High who were almost as good-looking as this guy, and Remus didn’t gape at them like an idiot.

Ahead, the church loomed over them, practically blocking out the sky. They walked without speaking for a few minutes. Once, their arms brushed together; Remus jerked his away hastily.

The silence felt stifling. “Are you a member here?” Remus asked him.

The boy gave a soft snort that Remus realized was actually a laugh.

“No,” he said flatly. His dark brown hair was slightly tousled, growing down past the tips of his ears.

Gazing at his lips, Remus found himself wondering what it would be like to trace his finger over them.

Shoving the thought away, he cleared his throat.

"So . . . what are you doing here?”

“Just thought I’d take a look.” His eyes flicked over Remus's face. “What about you? Are you a member?”

They had reached the broad white steps by then, merging into a crowd of people all climbing upward, like ants streaming up an anthill. At the top, three sets of tall silver doors stood open, waiting. Remus shook his head as they climbed.

“No, there’s this friend of mine. Or no, not really a friend, but . . . ” Remus sighed. “It’s a long story.”

Watching Remus, he nodded without answering, as if this actually made sense. Remus winced, knowing how completely incoherent he must sound. Then as the two of them went into the church, they somehow got separated in the crowd, and Remus found himself on his own in the middle of a vast expanse of snowy marble.

Long pews curved in concentric semicircles, spreading outward from a white pulpit at the front.

He blinked as he got a better look at the pulpit: it was shaped like a pair of angel wings, its carved feathery tips arcing upward. Behind it, a giant stained-glass figure of an angel stood with its arms out, smiling down at them.

Finding a seat at the end of one of the shiny white pews, he sat down gingerly, holding his cloth bag on his lap. He bit his lip as he took in the solid mass of humanity around him.

The website was right; there had to be thousands of people here.

Mary had made it sound so easy, but how was Remus ever going to find Emmeline in all of this?

He looked up as a sudden rippling of harp music sounded through the church, its celestial chords echoing.

“Praise the angels,” murmured the woman sitting next to him. Her eyes were shining, ardent.

No, not just her eyes — her whole face, her whole being, was lit up with love for the angels. Feeling uneasy, Remus turned back toward the front as a man in a white robe climbed the short, curving stairs that led up to the pulpit. A preacher, maybe, or whatever you called them here.

“Welcome!” he said, lifting his arms. His voice rang out all around us, amplified by speakers.

As he spoke, a large screen flickered into life above him, magnifying his image ten times over. He had thinning hair and round, ruddy cheeks.

“Welcome,” responded the crowd in a deep, rumbling murmur.

First the preacher led everyone in a prayer to the angels, asking to be worthy of their love.

Then tall, white velvet curtains glided open to either side of the stained-glass window, revealing a hundred-strong female choir.

“Hymn Forty-three, ‘The Angels Have Shown Me My True Path,’” said the preacher into the microphone.

The congregation rose. With a crescendo of harp music, the soprano choir began to sing, and then everyone else joined in as well, voices resonating like thunder.

Remus fumbled on the shelf in front of him for a white leather book entitled Angelic Hymns and flipped it open.

Half singing, he glanced at the pews around him, hoping to catch sight of Emmeline. He couldn’t see her anywhere, but he did see that he was almost the only person who was actually using the book.

Everyone else was singing the words by heart, some swaying with their eyes closed.

Suddenly Remus noticed the dark-haired guy again: he was across the aisle from Remus a couple of rows back, also at the end of a pew. He wasn’t singing at all, just sort of frowning down at his book.

Remus gave a small smile, glad that someone else found this weird, too.

The music ended and the congregation sat down, the notes of the song still vibrating through the church.

The preacher gazed silently out at them. When he spoke again, his voice was throaty with emotion.

“My fellow devotees, we are here today for many things, but first . . . first, we must give thanks to the angels. For today we have three new residential members of our Church: three blessed devotees all joined together in love of the angels, who have pledged their lives to serving them.”

Emmeline.

Remus caught his breath as thousands of voices intoned, “Thanks be to angels!” The woman next to him looked close to tears of joy.

“Oh, praise the angels,” she said again, shaking her head slightly and gripping the pew in front of her.

“More souls to do their holy work.”

His heart beat faster as he shifted on the pew, craning to see. As the harp music quivered around them again, the choir began to sing in pure, silvery notes, their voices lifting up to the high vaulted ceiling.

Slowly, three people in sky-blue robes filed out and stood facing the congregation: two women and one man. Remus spotted Emmeline immediately.

She was on the left, her honey-colored hair falling loose on her shoulders. Even without the huge TV screen, Remus could see that she was smiling — a radiant smile that stretched across her face like a beacon.

Leaving the pulpit, the preacher moved down the short line and greeted them one by one, clasping their hands.

Finally he turned back to the congregation. On the screen behind him, tears were glistening on his round cheeks as he spoke into a handheld mic: “And now, as our beloved angel blesses our new members, let us all reflect on the angels and give thanks for their eternal love.”

Our beloved angel. Remus tensed, wondering what was about to happen.

There was a rustling noise as people seemed to get settled, some bowing their heads, some closing their eyes. Only barely lowering his own head, he peered up through his hair, keeping an anxious eye on Emmeline.

What if she was whisked away again after this, and he wasn’t allowed to speak to her?

A deep, waiting stillness fell over the church.

Several endless minutes crept past; Remus fiddled with the drawstring of his bag, twisting it around his finger until it hurt. At the front, Emmeline was looking upward expectantly.

And then he saw it.

An angel had appeared; a glorious haloed creature of radiant white light and stretching wings.

Remus's breath wilted in his chest. It was like the being he'd seen in Emmeline's memory, but here, real, right in front of him, shining so brightly that it dazzled his eyes. Its wings moved slowly as it hovered over the new members.

From the sheer delight on Emmeline's face, she had seen it, too.

She smiled at the angel above her like a child experiencing all of her Christmases at once. Drifting to the floor, the angel landed beside her.

Remus stared up at the big screen and stiffened as he saw the features of its proud, beautiful face.

Oh, my God, it was the same angel that he'd seen in Emmeline's memory, the same being that had turned up on his doorstep.

The angel said something in her ear; she nodded eagerly. And then it reached out to her with hands of light and —Remus went rigid.

What was it doing?

As he watched, Emmeline's energy field came into his view. The angel had its hands buried deeply in it, and it was . . . draining her.

Emmeline's energy looked sort of grayish already, with a dim violet light streaking through it; now, at the angel’s touch, the violet faded and died. Her energy field shrank in on itself, like a deflating balloon. And Emmeline just stood there, smiling.

“No,” Remus whispered.

He had meant to scream the word.

His fingernails dug into his bag as he looked wildly around him.

Wasn’t anyone going to stop this?

“Please come,” murmured the woman next to him, gazing toward the front.

“Please, blessed angel, come and greet our new members.”

She didn’t see it.

Abruptly, Remus realized that no one else did, either.

The congregation all sat there smiling, the same beatific look on each of their faces.

He started to shake. He wanted so badly to go racing up the aisle and yank Emmeline away from that thing, but what would the angel do to him if he did?

For that matter, what would everyone else do?

Terror at his own powerlessness swept over him.

Swallowing hard, he peered back at the dark-haired guy. A jolt went through Remus as their eyes met; he was watching Remus.

Immediately, he turned his gaze to the front of the church, his expression grim.

An odd relief filled Remus as he tared at him — he could see what was happening, Remus could tell.

Suddenly his eyes were pricking; Remus looked away again, swiping at them with the heel of his hand. Neither of them could do anything. Remus knew that.

But at least he had noticed. At least he saw.

When the angel finished with Emmeline, it moved on to the next new member.

And then the next.

Once all three had been touched by it, there was a great movement of shining wings and it departed, vanishing upward into the brightness of the vaulted ceiling until Remus lost sight of it.

The preacher said something to the three in a murmur; they smiled and nodded.

He grabbed up his mic, his words booming around us: “Our angel has been here! It has blessed our new members!”

Electricity leaped through the building as the congregation burst into cheers and applause.

“Thank the angels!”

“Praise be to angels!”

The church member beside Remus was clapping so hard that it must have been hurting her palms.

Emmeline and the others were all beaming; she and the woman next to her hugged, their blue robes wafting together.

“Let us greet our new members!” The preacher’s voice rang through the speakers as he lifted an arm.

“Beloved brother and sisters, walk among us now, so that we can feel our angel’s love through your touch!”

Smiling broadly, the three of them each took a different aisle, slowly making their way down it.

People leaned toward them, shaking their hands, patting them on the back, jumping up to embrace them.

Joy crackled through the vast room like wildfire.

Emmeline was in his aisle. Remus sat up straight as he watched her approach, his pulse pounding in his ears.

She looked more beautiful than ever — her face was alight with such a deep, pure happiness. But Remus could sense her exhaustion, could see the slight stagger in her step.

Oh, please, God, I know it’s hopeless, Remus thought. But, please, please, let me be able to get through to her.

It took almost ten minutes for her to reach Remus, and then she didn’t even see him at first — the woman to his left was craning past him over the pew, reaching out to Emmeline.

“Bless you. Bless you,” she said fervently, clasping Emmeline's hand in both her own.

“Thank you,” said Emmeline . Still smiling, her gaze fell on Remus. . . and she froze.

“You,” she breathed.

Her eyes widened, and she took a step backward.

“What are you doing here?”

He rose to his feet. “Hi, Emmeline,” he said, gripping his bag. “I — I just wanted to talk to you for a second.”

“Get away from me.” Her face was white, her lips pinched.

The church was still filled with the buzz of the other new members receiving hugs and congratulations, but around them it had gone deathly silent. Conscious of everyone nearby watching us, Remus glanced back at the tall silver doors.

“Look, can’t we just step outside and talk?” He started to touch her arm, and she jerked away.

“My angel told me you’d be gone by now,” she hissed.

“That they’d taken care of you, so that you could never hurt them.”

The church, the pews, the people — all of it seemed to fade away as Remus stared at her.

“Hurt them? What are you talking about?”

Emmeline's face was so full of hatred that something shrank inside of Remus; her beautiful lips were almost a snarl.

“My angel told me, OK? You’re sick and twisted! You hate the angels; that’s why you told me all those terrible things — you’re a danger to them; you want to destroy them!”

Her voice rose as she went on, until she was almost shouting at him.

Remus shook his head dumbly, unable to speak.

A danger to the angels? Was she completely insane?

Emmeline's cheeks had gone paper-pale, with a single spot of color high on each one.

“You’re never going to hurt them, Remus,” she said softly.

“I’m going to stop you.”

She turned and ran back up the aisle, her blue robes churning over her slim calves.

Remus stared after her in a daze and slowly became aware of the low murmurs all around him.

“A danger to the angels?”

“Yes, our angel said so.”

“That one, the boy with the blond hair.”

His throat went dry.

People were whispering, glaring at him. Not a single face looked friendly. Then up at the front, he saw Emmeline talking urgently to a man with sandy hair, pointing back at Remus.

It was her angel.

He was in his human form again. He was here.

The angel looked sharply at Remus; he could feel the menace radiating off him even from where he was standing. Trembling, Remus took an uncertain step backward, and then suddenly he felt a strong hand grab his arm.

“Get out. Now,” said a low voice.

The dark-haired guy.

Remus didn’t need to be told twice. Remus turned and ran with him beside Remus, still clutching Remus's arm. Their footsteps echoed briefly on the pink-veined marble; he shoved open a silver door, and they burst out into the sunshine, pounding down the broad white stairs.

Behind them, the preacher’s shouts were thundering out through the microphone: “That boy must be stopped! He's evil; he plans to destroy the angels! On the angels’ orders, he must be stopped now, before he hurts them!”

“Oh, my God, what’s happening? What’s happening?” Remus panted.

As they neared the end of the lawn, Remus glanced over his shoulder and stifled a scream.

The angel was in his angelic form again, flying after them, wings on fire with the sun.

The dark-haired guy whirled around; he reached under his T-shirt and pulled out a pistol. The angel let out a furious screech, diving right at Remus.

And then . . . and then Remus didn't know what happened.

The fear left him. It was as if he'd suddenly grown taller. He was up in the air, and he had wings himself— glorious, shining things that gleamed like frost on snow.

He felt the autumn coolness on his arms as he hovered, shielding his human body with its fragile aura below. Remus watched the approaching angel, looking it coolly in the eye.

The creature drew back, startled; at the same moment, Remus heard the gun go off and saw its halo waver and buckle. And then it just — vanished, erupting into millions of petals of light.

“Come on!” yelled the dark-haired guy, grabbing Remus's arm again.

Before Remus knew it, he was snapped back to himself, running alongside dark-haired guy as they tore across the parking lot.

What had just happened?

Behind them, the crowd was starting to pour down the stairs. Angry shouts drifted toward us: “There he is!”

“Get him, before he hurts the angels!” Halfway to his car, his steps faltered as he glanced back.

Wildly, he thought, Mary, this was a really bad idea. A man built like a football player was far ahead of the rest of the crowd; he was already at the parking lot, racing across to a silver pickup truck.

He wrenched open the door.

The dark-haired guy jerked hard on Remus's arm.

“Run, if you want to stay alive!”

Remus turned and sprinted as fast as he could, clutching his bag to his chest and barely keeping up with the dark-haired guy.

They passed Remus's Toyota and Remus pulled on his arm, gasping, “Wait — this is mine —”

He ignored Remus. They got to the black Porsche; he clicked the doors open.

“Get in, hurry.”

“But —” In confusion, Remus glanced back at his car and saw that the crowd had reached the parking lot; they were surging across, screaming and shouting; Remus could feel their hatred like a great wave rolling toward him.

The man who’d made it to the pickup truck was so close now that he could almost make out his face.

He was holding a rifle.

As he saw Remus staring, he stopped and took aim, sunlight gleaming on the black metal.

Remus couldn’t move. He just stood there, frozen in disbelief. This couldn’t be happening. This really, seriously could not be happening.

“Get in the car!” shouted the dark-haired guy.

Opening the passenger door, he shoved Remus in; as he ran around to the driver’s side, the sharp sound of gunfire echoed. Flinging himself into the driver’s seat, the boy slammed the door and started the engine; a second later they were roaring away from the parking lot.

Twisting in his seat, Remus saw that the man with the rifle had dropped to one knee, still shooting at them.

“He — he was trying to kill me,” Remus stammered.

They careened onto the main road; the dark-haired guy swung the steering wheel to the left, taking them away from the interstate.

“Oh, my God, he really wanted to kill me.” Suddenly Remus was shaking so hard he could barely speak.

“They all wanted to kill you,” said the boy shortly.

They hurtled onto Highway 5; in seconds the speedometer had reached seventy, and it was still climbing.

He drove expertly, sending them flying down the highway.

For a while, neither of us spoke. Remus huddled against the soft leather seat, so cold that he could barely think.

The boy kept checking the rearview mirror, his eyes flicking back and forth. As soon as he could, he turned off onto a back road and then another and another, flinging them around the tight turns.

Finally he’d spiderwebbed his way across to Route 20; he pulled onto it with a screech and floored it.

Relaxing slightly, he turned and really looked at Remus for the first time since they'd escaped.

“So what are you, anyway?” he said.

Remus's head jerked up, startled. He was serious.

“What do you mean, what am I?”

“Part angel, part human. How?”

Remus's jaw dropped. “Part angel? I am not!”

“Yeah?” His voice was hard. “So what was that thing that appeared above you when the angel attacked?”

Remus licked his lips, suddenly terrified.

“I — I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“There was an angel above you with your face,” he said, accelerating as he passed a truck. “It looked like it was protecting you.”

Remus couldn’t speak.

The wings he'd felt, hovering in the air with the coolness of autumn on them.

“I. . . I don’t believe you,” Remus got out.

“I was just hallucinating or something.”

“Then you did feel something,” he said, giving Remus a sharp glance.

“No! I mean — it was all confused, I don’t really —” Remus stopped, pushing the memory away.

“Look, I am not part angel, OK? It’s impossible.”

“Yeah, it should be.” His eyes narrowed. “But you’re part angel, all right, and the only way I can think for that to happen is —” He broke off, almost scowling as he tapped the steering wheel.

“No way,” he said in an undertone. “It can’t be.”

God, he was as crazy as Emmeline.

Sitting up, Remus shoved his bag down by his feet.

“Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Remus repeated, grating out the words.

“I didn’t even know that there were angels until a couple of days ago.”

“What about your parents?” he asked abruptly.

“Who’s your father? Do you know him?”

Remus was starting to hate him a little. “Who are you, anyway?” Remus snapped.

“You’re not just some random guy who thought he’d check out the church, are you?”

“Answer the question.”

“No, you answer mine.”

Though the boy didn’t move, Remus suddenly had an impression of power from him, like a feral cat that might spring at any second.

“I was following you,” he said finally. “My name’s Sirius. And you’re Remus. Is your last name Lupin?”

Remus stiffened. “How did you know that?”

His mouth quirked into something like a smile, except that there was no warmth to it.

“Because I was in your house this morning.”

“You were in my house?”

The boy — Sirius — sped up to pass an eighteen-wheeler.

The Porsche moved like silk on glass.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice curt.

“I was given orders to kill you.”

Remembering the gun he was carrying, the air froze in Remus's lungs as he stared at Sirius.

Sirius snorted slightly, catching his look. “Don’t worry; I’m not going to do it. I work for the CIA.”

He grimaced. “Or worked, probably. My job was to hunt down and destroy angels. I was told that you’re one. And instead you’re . . . ” He trailed off, his eyebrows lowering.

“Like nothing I’ve ever seen before,” he muttered.

Remus could hardly speak for a moment.

“You’re seriously saying that the CIA ordered you to kill me. And you expect me to believe this.”

Sirius shook his head impatiently.

“No, I’m saying that I got an order to kill something I was told was an angel. I thought the order came from the CIA, but now I know it didn’t, that it came from the angels themselves. Anyway, I followed you, to see what was going on.”

Remus opened his mouth, and then closed it again.

Sirius might be one of the best-looking guys he'd ever seen, but he was also loony-bin delusional.

“This is just . . . completely insane.”

He gave Remus a scornful glance, his dark hair falling across his forehead.

“Really? You saw what that thing did to the new members; I was watching you. Angels have been around for centuries, feeding off humans — causing death, insanity, disease. It’s called angel burn. That’s what they do.”

The scene in the church flashed back to Remus: Emmeline's energy subsiding into grayness as the angel drained her. Had this really been going on for centuries?

His mind reeled; it was too much to take in.

Looking away, he rubbed his arms, trying to warm himself. “Uh-huh. And you think that I’m part angel, for some reason.”

Sirius's gaze raked over Remus, his blue-gray eyes startling under dark lashes.

“Yeah, let’s see. That same angel that appeared above you outside the church? I saw it hovering over you as you slept this morning. It looks almost exactly like a real angel, only without a halo. Your aura is a mix of angel and human; so’s your energy.”

Remus remembered again the feeling of flight, of lifting up above his body with wings. No, stop. He was not going to think about this.

“OK, so there’s an angel that hovers over me while I sleep,” he said, his voice shaking.

“And you saw this when you were in my house, working for the CIA, even though you’re, like, my age. Great, yeah, I think I’ve got it now.”

The Porsche glided in and out of traffic as Sirius changed lanes.

“You didn’t answer my question about your parents,” he pointed out coldly.

“Do you know both of your birth ones? You don’t, do you? You were raised by a single mother or adopted or something.”

Remus drew his knees up to his chest. “That’s — none of your business.”

“Do you ever cause pain when you touch people? How about being psychic?”

“Cause pain? Of course not! But —” Remus hesitated as a small cold drop of dread darted down his spine.

“But, yes, I’m psychic. How . . . how did you know that?”

Sirius's lip curled, as if he wasn’t surprised. “It’s an angel trait. How did they find out about you, anyway?”

Remus definitely hated him now. When he didn’t answer, Sirius shot him a look.

“How? It’s important.”

Remus wanted to tell Sirius to bite him, but something in his voice made Remus answer. Remus glared at him.

“Because . . . I gave Emmeline a psychic reading. I saw the angel; I saw that it was hurting her. I warned her to stay away from it and she got angry, and then later the angel showed up on my doorstep in its. . . human form, or whatever. It pretended to want a reading, and when I said no, it grabbed my hand. . . ” Remus stopped, remembering the images that had seethed through him.

“And then it left.” His mouth felt dry as he again saw the flying shards of light outside the church.

“What — what happened to it? When you shot it, what —?”

“I killed it,” said Sirius. “OK, so it came and read you. And it saw something that scared it. When was this? Thursday? Late afternoon, early evening?”

He’d killed it. Remus couldn’t believe how matter-of-fact he sounded, as if he did this every day.

He tried to marshal his thoughts. “Yeah, Thursday. Early evening. How . . . ?”

“That was when I got the order.” Sirius's jaw clenched; he slapped the steering wheel with his palm.

“Damn it. I knew it. They really have taken it over.”

Remus frowned as he watched Sirius.

Who had taken what over?

Then all at once Remus realized that they were heading east, away from Pawtucket.

“Hey, where are you going? I have to go home!”

“No way,” he said flatly. “You’d be dead in a day.”

Remus felt his eyes widen as he stared at Sirius. He gave Remus an irritated glance.

“Come on, you saw those people. Do you really think they’re going to just forget about this? They’ve been told that you’re an abomination who’s planning to destroy the angels. Christ, they’ll tear you to pieces if they ever see you again. What about that girl? Does she know where you live?”

Remus's veins turned to ice. “Mom,” he gasped. “Oh, my God, I have to get home — you’ve got to take me home right now!”

Sirius shook his head. “I’m not taking you home.”

“You have to! My mother needs me; she’s sick —”

Sirius's voice turned harsh.

“Yeah? Well, the best way for you to put her in danger is to go back there. Do you really want an angry mob turning up at your door if she’s sick? Maybe deciding to go for the abomination’s mother, too, while they’re at it?”

“Shut up,” Remus whispered, feeling nauseous at the thought.

“I — I can go to the police, or —”

“They won’t help you. Half of them are Church of Angels.”

“OK, well, what do you suggest?” Remus said, his voice rising.

“Are you saying that I’m homeless now? You don’t even know me — just take me home! What do you care what happens to me, anyway?”

Sirius's mouth twisted. “I don’t, except that the angels seem pretty convinced that you’re a danger to them for some reason. So if you think I’m going to let you go get yourself killed, you’re crazy.”

“You have nothing to say about it!” Remus shouted.

“What, am I like your captive now? Take me home!”

Sirius didn’t respond, and Remus shoved his arm.

“Hey! Are you listening to me?”

Sirius slammed on the brakes, spinning the wheel and swerving to the shoulder of the road.

The Porsche rumbled over the gravel and stopped with a lurch.

“We don’t have time for this,” he said.

Again Remus had an impression of barely sheathed strength, even just in the way his forearm was draped over the steering wheel. Sirius's eyes locked on to Remus's, his expression fierce.

“Listen carefully; I’ll use small words. If I take you home, you will die. Anyone you care about might also get hurt or die. The only way you can keep them safe is to never go back there.”

Goosebumps chilled Remus's arms; he was almost trembling. He wanted to believe that Sirius was lying or crazy, but he couldn’t. Everything about him — his voice, his tone, his vibes — felt like he was telling Remus the truth.

“This can’t be happening,” Remus whispered.

“This just can’t be happening.”

That morning when he'd woken up, things had been almost normal. Then he remembered the shiver of dread he'd felt when he kissed his Mom earlier, and his throat clenched.

“It’s happening.” Sirius 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 Remus could do was gape at him.

“As in New Mexico, the state,” Remus said.

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

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

He gave Remus a look like he couldn’t believe Remus 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,” Remus said, his 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.”

Remus's chin jerked up as they stared at each other.

“I don’t even know you,” Remus 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. Sirius's dark eyebrows were drawn together, his jaw tense.

“How psychic are you?” he demanded.

“How do you do it? What do you need?”

Remus shrugged, trying to hide his sudden apprehension.

“I . . . just need to hold someone’s hand.”

Sirius thrust his hand at Remus. “Here. Go on.”

Remus shook his head, not moving.

“I can’t do it like this. I’m too upset.” Sirius kept his hand in the air between them, his blue-gray eyes a challenge. Finally, his mouth tight, Remus took Sirius's hand in his own.

It was warm, firm, with calluses on the bases of his fingers.

Stupidly, heat flickered through Remus. Annoyed with himself, he ignored it and closed his eyes, trying to clear his 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 Sirius sitting outside it in his car. He really did work for the CIA.

Remus saw him sensing something strange about Remus's energy — something not angelic, but also not human. Then he was inside, watching Remus as he slept. Remus caught his breath sharply as he viewed himself through Sirius's eyes, lying curled up on the sofa under their old Afghan.

There was an angel floating peacefully above him with his head bowed — beautiful, radiant, serene.

He had no halo; his wings were folded gracefully behind his back.

As Sirius moved slowly around their coffee table, keeping his gun on the angel, his face came into view.

It was Remus.

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

“Well?” said Sirius.

Remus hugged himself, not looking at Sirius. He wasn’t crazy; his energy had felt clear and strong. The truth of everything he had said, every word, beat through Remus. Along with the memory of Remus's wings, gently stirring the air.

“What does this mean?” Remus's voice came out high, frightened.

“These . . . angel things that you’ve seen about me. How can I be part angel, unless . . . ” Remus stopped as if the breath had been punched out of him.

When he was around eleven, he went through this phase where he really wanted to know who his father was.

Since Aunt Jo had no idea, he had asked his 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 him. Smiling, her eyes had focused briefly on his as she’d whispered, “He was an angel.”

He'd given up trying after that.

Remus felt the blood drain from his cheeks. The image of his father that he'd seen once when he tried to read his Mom, the man who’d creeped him out so much he made Remus shudder. He’d had the same strange, compelling eyes as the angel that had stood on Remus's doorstep.

And now Remus remembered: amid the pretty rainbows of his 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 his father. He had thought she was just hallucinating.

Remus could hardly breathe. He clenched his shirt, bunching the material in his fist.

“Unless what?” pressed Sirius.

“You — you said that angels can cause insanity,” Remus burst out.

“Do they ever — have relationships with humans? I mean —”

“Yeah,” he said, giving Remus 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,” Remus whispered. His shirt twisted and writhed in his fist.

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

Panic gripped Remus, quickening his 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.” Remus stopped, the words dying coldly in his throat.

Sirius sat staring at him, 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, they were edging up to ninety.

The world was pitching around Remus like a hurricane. He knew it was true, even if he didn’t want to believe it. He was a half angel. His father had been one of those things; he’d destroyed Remus's mother.

“This should be impossible,” said Sirius 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 his wings opening and closing, Remus thought he might throw up. Don’t think of it. Don’t think of it.

He let go of his shirt and shakily smoothed his hand over it. “Who is it that you want to go see?”

“A guy called Peter,” said Sirius.

His dark hair had fallen onto his forehead again; he shoved it back without looking at Remus.

“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. Remus licked his lips.

“Will — will those people really go to my house?

What happens if they do? What if they hurt his Mom and Aunt Jo?”

Sirius 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 . . . Peter person might have some answers.”

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

Remus fell silent. His Mom. He envisioned her sitting dreaming in her chair, her eyes filled with distant, beautiful things.

He thought of Aunt Jo’s house, of the lavender swaths of fabric draped across his bedposts.

And then he saw the screaming crowd at the Church of Angels, felt their hatred again, surging toward him in a dark sea. The beautiful winged being as it swooped after him, shrieking — the barrel of the rifle, pointing straight at him. Maybe Sirius didn’t seem very friendly, but he had saved Remus's life; he knew it without a doubt. If Sirius hadn’t been there, Remus would be dead now.

A shiver ran sickly through him. Sirius was right: he couldn’t go home. He'd die if he did; he'd put his Mom and Aunt Jo in terrible danger. In his mind, Aunt Jo’s house suddenly looked very small — already distant, moving away from him forever.

If he couldn’t go home, then where could he go? He couldn’t put Mary in danger, either.

There was no place that was safe; those people weren’t going to be happy until he was dead.

A half angel.

The only sounds were the humming of the Porsche’s engine and the slight whisper of wind rushing past.

Remus hugged himself.

If this person Sirius knew really did have some answers, then he was someone Remus seriously needed to meet.

The words hesitated in his throat. He couldn’t believe that he was actually saying them.

“OK,” he whispered, so softly that he could hardly hear himself. “I’ll go.”