Angel Burn

FOR THE NEXT DAY AND A HALF, Sirius drove steadily southwest, crossing slowly from state to state at the tortoise speed of sixty-five miles an hour.

His instinct was to go faster, but he ignored it; the last thing they needed was to get pulled over.

Remus sat curled up in his seat, hugging his knees to his chest and staring out the window without looking at Sirius. Behind his giant sunglasses, Sirius could hardly even make out his features, which was a relief; Remus had pulled his hair back, too, shoving it up under the cap.

They stopped at gas stations a few times, to fill up or grab food, with Remus mostly staying in the car so that he wouldn’t be seen.

He hadn’t been eating very much and usually just drank water.

He had clearly taken Sirius at his word. They hardly spoke at all, apart from the bare necessities: what kind of sandwich Remus would like or what he wanted to drink. On the rare occasions they did have to talk, Remus's voice was cool, his body language stiff — and Sirius realized how much he’d hurt Remus, saying that part of him was just like the angels.

He wasn’t sorry that he’d said it, though, not if it kept Remus at arm’s length from him.

Even so, Sirius couldn’t help noticing things about Remus, though he was trying very hard not to: the curve of his neck with his hair up, the way he tilted his head to one side as he gazed out the window.

Often an expression of sadness crossed his face, and Sirius knew then that he was thinking about the family he'd left behind: his mother, who must have been the damaged energy that Sirius had sensed in the house — her mind irreparably scorched by angel burn — and Remus's aunt.

For Remus's sake, he hoped they were both OK.

When his thoughts reached this point, Sirius realized that he was spending way too much time thinking about Remus.

It was midafternoon on the second full day of driving, and they were crossing through the endless length of Tennessee — fully in the South now, where summer was still blazing, rather than the autumn chill of upstate New York.

To take his mind off of Remus, Sirius switched on the radio and took a gulp of 7-Eleven coffee.

He missed having a port for his iPod; all you ever got on the radio down here was classic rock, gospel, or country. He settled for classic rock, and Remus stirred in the passenger seat to glance at him.

“Would you turn the volume down, please?” He said tonelessly.

Without answering, Sirius twisted the knob down a notch. Remus turned away again, looking out at the dramatic rise and fall of the Smoky Mountains.

Sirius hesitated, glancing at Remus. Part of him wanted to say something to Remus, maybe about his family, but Sirius didn’t even know where to begin.

Grimacing, he took another swig of coffee. Probably a bad idea, anyway.

Just then the Mustang made a loud clunking noise and started to vibrate.

Hastily shoving his coffee in the drink holder, Sirius peered down at the dashboard.

None of the warning lights came on, but then with alarming speed, the vibration got worse, the car jolting back and forth.

“Oh, you ancient piece of crap,” he muttered.

He tried slowing and shifting down a gear. It didn’t help any; all it did was add a knocking noise to go along with the clunking.

In the passenger seat, Remus had sat up and looked as if he was listening closely.

Suddenly the car lurched, slamming forward; Remus cried out as his elbow hit the dashboard.

Sirius pulled over to the shoulder as the car groaned and shuddered; he just made it before the rear wheels locked up, bringing them to a halt.

He turned off the engine and looked at Remus.

"Are you OK?” he said after a pause.

Remus nodded curtly, rubbing his elbow.

“I’m fine.”

Sirius blew out a breath.

“So I guess I’d better go take a look.” Though he knew it would be a miracle if he could actually tell what was wrong.

He and Regulus had both learned to drive when they were around ten — doing donuts in the Jeeps out in the desert — but neither of them had ever been much good with engines.

He popped the hood switch and got out of the car, immediately feeling the steamy Tennessee heat pressing down on him.

The hood creaked as he opened it; he propped it onto its stick and gazed down at the Mustang’s innards.

God, this thing should be in a museum. For lack of any other ideas, he checked the oil, wiping the dip stick off on the edge of his T-shirt.

Big surprise; it was fine. Ditto for the water.

Great. What now?

Sirius shoved his hands in his back pockets and glanced up the freeway, trying to remember how far the next town was.

The passenger door opened and Remus got out.

Coming around to the front, he took off his sunglasses and thrust them at Sirius.

“Here,” he said shortly. Continuing to the driver’s side, he got on his hands and knees and peered under the car.

“I need a flashlight,” he said, his voice muffled.

“Can you see if there’s one in the trunk?”

Sirius blinked. He started to ask if Remus knew what he was doing, but the answer was pretty evident.

He looked in the trunk and then came back.

“No. Nothing.”

Remus was silent, still half buried under the car. Finally he came scooting out.

“I think the prop shaft has come loose somewhere — I can just see it hanging down at the front, at a sort of an angle. If it is, it’s not a major repair. I could do it myself if I had my tool kit, and the bolts are all still there. Or else it might be the gearbox, which is pretty bad — the whole thing would have to be removed and dismantled.”

“You know about cars,” said Sirius. And then felt like an idiot. Christ, way to state the obvious.

Remus gave Sirius a cool look as he brushed off his jeans.

“Yeah, go figure. I actually do something that isn’t freaky half-angel stuff.”

OK, he wasn’t going to touch that one. Letting out a breath, Sirius looked up the road again.

“Well . . . we’d better see if we can get a lift into the nearest town. And then I guess we’ll have to get the car towed.”

“Fine,” said Remus. He took his sunglasses back from Sirius: his face vanished as he put them on.

Sirius put his bag in the trunk. Wordlessly, Remus handed Sirius his green jumper; Sirius threw that in, too, and shut the trunk, locking it.

He glanced at Remus.

“Look, I —” He stopped, not knowing what to say. Frowning, he turned away, stepping to the side of the road to put his thumb out.

A trucker gave them a lift into Dalton City, about ten miles away. The three of them rode squeezed together up in the cab, with Sirius in the middle.

He talked to the guy about football, stupidly conscious of Remus sitting so close beside him, Remus's arm and thigh pressed against his.

They were both in short sleeves; he could feel the warmth of Remus's bare arm, its light sheen of sweat.

He's a half angel, Sirius reminded himself.

Half of him is the same as the creatures that killed your family.

He felt so human that Sirius could barely carry on a conversation.

Finally the truck rolled to a stop.

They were on a giant concrete forecourt on the outskirts of town, with a gleaming gas station in front of them.

“The garage there’ll give you a tow,” said the trucker in his southern drawl, jerking his thumb at it.

“And Rose’s Diner shouldn’t poison you too bad, if you want something to eat.” A grin flashed through his beard.

“Thanks, man. We appreciate it,” said Sirius, shaking his hand.

“Yeah, thanks,” echoed Remus as they climbed down from the cab.

He gave the trucker a friendly wave as he pulled away; then his gaze fell on Sirius again, and his smile died.

They went into the garage, and Sirius arranged to have the Mustang towed in, though the mechanic said that it would be a couple of hours before he could look at it.

Great.

Back on the forecourt, he and Remus looked at each other.

A huge American flag was flying over the gas station, rustling gently in the wind.

And there was a Church of Angels billboard, showing the familiar gleaming white church with an angel hovering over it, protecting it with its wings.

Sirius glanced at the billboard and then at Rose’s Diner.

Though there didn’t seem much else to do here while they waited, could they afford to take the chance?

A quick scan showed him that there were no angels around . . . but it wasn’t just angels that they had to worry about.

Behind his sunglasses, Remus seemed to be thinking the same thing; he was gazing fixedly at the restaurant.

“I wonder if any Church of Angels people are in there,” he said in a low voice.

Sirius made a face. Tennessee was part of the Bible Belt; the Church of Angels was big here.

“Better not risk it,” he said.

Remus didn’t respond; he stood very still as he stared at the diner, apparently deep in thought.

“It’s OK,” he said suddenly.

“I just — sort of have a feeling.”

Sirius hesitated.

His pistol was hidden under the waistband of his jeans, but he knew he’d be loath to use it on another person — even a Church of Angels fanatic.

“Are you sure?”

Still looking at the diner, Remus nodded slowly, the sunshine glinting off his dark glasses.

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.” He glanced at Sirius, his expression tight.

“Sorry. More half-angel freakiness.”

Not wanting to get into it, Sirius shrugged.

“Fine. Let’s try it.” Crossing the forecourt, they entered the diner; a rush of air-conditioned coolness greeted them.

Sirius slid into a booth; Remus sat across from him.

Waitresses in brown dresses bustled about, refilling coffee cups and carrying trays piled high with cholesterol-laden food.

Sirius's stomach growled as he pulled a battered plastic menu from between the salt and pepper shakers.

They’d been living off gas station sandwiches for almost two days now.

“What’s a fritter, anyway?” murmured Remus to himself, regarding his own menu. “Or grits?”

“A fritter’s a sort of fried thing,” said Sirius, reading about the different burgers on offer.

“Grits are for breakfast; they’re like oatmeal.”

Remus looked up at Sirius, his face inscrutable behind the sunglasses.

“You’ve traveled a lot,” he said after a pause.

Sirius lifted a shoulder, wishing he hadn’t said anything.

They fell back into silence, reading their menus. A red-haired waitress appeared and set down two glasses of ice water in front of them.

“Y’all ready to order?” She took a notepad out from her apron.

“Yeah, I’ll have a bacon cheeseburger and fries,” said Sirius.

“And coffee.” He shoved his menu back in place.

“Bacon cheeseburger and fries,” the waitress repeated, scribbling it down.

“How about you, honey?”

Remus started to respond but stopped, staring at the waitress.

“I —”

Looking across at him, Sirius could see how tense he was suddenly; his knuckles on the menu were white.

The waitress regarded him with a frown.

“Hon? You ready yet?”

Remus seemed to give himself a slight shake.

“Um — yeah,” he said, glancing down at his menu.

“I’ll have the club sandwich. And a salad with ranch dressing.”

The waitress’s pen moved across the pad.

“Coffee?”

“No, just water.”

Remus's gaze followed the waitress as the woman headed back toward the counter.

Catching sight of his profile behind his sunglasses, Sirius was taken aback by the conflicted expression on his face.

“What?” Sirius said.

He winced, glancing at Sirius and then the restaurant around them.

Looking at the waitress again, he seemed to make up his mind about something and started to slide out of the booth.

“I’ll be right back.”

“What is it?”

He shook his head with a quick grimace.

“Nothing. I’ve just . . . got to talk to that waitress for a minute.”

Sirius watched in confusion as Remus crossed the diner, tall and slim in his jeans and T-shirt.

A moment later he was leaning over the counter, talking to the redheaded waitress.

He pulled his sunglasses off as he spoke; the waitress’s eyes were saucer-large.

What the hell was going on? Unable to just sit there watching, Sirius got up and crossed to the counter, too, propping himself against a red leatherette stool.

“Is everything OK?”

“Yes, fine,” murmured the waitress. Her attention was riveted on Remus.

“Go on. Please.”

The tips of Remus's ears were turning red.

Remus's eyes met his; Sirius saw his embarrassment that he had appeared — and then he straightened his shoulders and turned back to the waitress.

“Look, I know that you don’t know me and this might be an intrusion, but I really am psychic like I said. If you could just let me hold your hand, I might be able to see something.”

The woman hesitated.

LILY, read her name tag.

A black waitress with dyed blond hair had been listening, and now she nudged Lily.

“Go on, honey,” she urged. “It might be just what you need.”

“Please?” said Remus.

“I really want to help.”

As if she were under a spell, Lily held out her hand, and Remus took it in his own.

He gazed silently down at the counter for a moment; when he spoke, his voice was hushed, almost dreamy.

“Your husband died of lung cancer in March,” he said.

“I see you nursing him for years before that. You had the spare bedroom at home fixed up, so that he didn’t have to be in the hospital so much.” Remus looked up.

“You loved him more than anything, didn’t you?”

Lily had gone pale, swaying with shock.

“I — oh, my gosh —”

“That’s right!” cried the other waitress. “His name was James, and he —”

“No, don’t tell me anything,” interrupted Remus.

“Lily won’t be able to believe it afterward if you tell me anything.” Remus went silent again, his body very still as he seemed to listen to something within himself .

Sirius leaned against the counter, unable to take his eyes off Remus as he continued.

“I see pills on a little shelf in your bathroom,” he said slowly. “Diazepam. The doctor gives them to you for stress, and you’ve been hoarding them for months. You’ve researched it on the Internet, and you know just how to do it.”

Tears began streaming down Lily' stricken face.

She stifled a sob as her friend rubbed her arm.

“Please, please don’t,” Remus entreated, leaning forward.

“It’s not the way.”

“I just — I just want to be with James again,” choked out Lily.

The other waitress handed her a paper napkin, and she wiped her eyes, smudging her mascara.

“I — I miss him so much.”

Remus's own eyes were soft with compassion as he held Lily's hand, his whole being focused intently on the woman.

Sirius stood without moving as he watched Remus, his thoughts spinning.

He didn’t know why he was feeling so floored; all angels were psychic to some degree —this was just another sign of Remus's half-angel nature. Except that somehow it felt completely different.

“I know how hard it is,” Remus went on, squeezing Lily's hand.

“But it’s not your time. I see another path for you, a different path. In a few months, you’re going to take the insurance money and move home again, back to Atlanta, and you’re going to open your own restaurant. It’s something you’ve always wanted to do, but you’ve felt guilty about the money. You shouldn’t. James wanted you to have it. It’s his gift to you.”

“Oh, honey!” murmured the black waitress. She put an arm around Lily's shoulders. “Can I have a job there?” she teased.

Lily laughed through her tears, patting the woman’s hand.

“You bet, Dorcas,” she said.

“Anyway, that’s . . . all I see for now,” said Remus. “I hope it’s helped.” He started to release her hand.

“Wait!” cried Lily, tightening her fingers around Remus's.

“Can you — can you see James? Does he have a message for me?”

The hope on the woman’s face was so raw that Sirius felt a painful twist in his chest. He looked away as memories of Regulus gripped him.

“No, I’m not a medium,” said Remus gently. “But he’s around you — I’m sure of it. And I think he’d really want you to be happy again, if you can be.”

Lily nodded, dabbing at her eyes. “I think — I think maybe I can be now,” she said.

“It’s been such a weight. You just don’t know —” Then she broke off, gazing at Remus in awe. “No, I — I guess you do know, don’t you?”

Remus gave a small smile of agreement.

Watching him, Sirius was hit forcibly by the contrast between the elfin beauty of his face and his light-green eyes, which looked so much older than the rest of him.

All at once Sirius knew without a doubt that he had seen a lot of things in his life that he hadn’t wanted to see, just as Sirius had . . . because that old-before-his-time look was the same that Sirius saw on his own face whenever he glanced in the mirror.

Coming out from behind the counter, Lily clutched Remus's hand in both of her own.

“How can I ever thank you?” she said. Impulsively, the two of them hugged.

“That’s easy,” said Remus with a grin, pulling away first. “Throw away those pills when you get home.”

“She will,” put in Dorcas. “I’ll make sure of that!”

“Thank you, honey,” said Lily again, touching Remus's face. “I mean it. You’ve given me my life back.”

Remus's cheeks went pink. “I’m glad I could help.”

As Sirius and Remus returned to their booth, Remus hooked his sunglasses back on.

Sirius stared at him as they slid into their seats, at a loss for words.

Glancing at him, Remus self-consciously tucked a stray blond strand up under the cap.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “More freakiness.”

“No, that was —” Sirius shook his head, unable to express it.

He propped his forearms on the table, studying Remus

“How did you know?”

Remus regarded him for a long moment, as if trying to work out how sincere he was.

Finally, he shrugged. “When she came to our table, I could just feel it. These great waves of sadness. I could tell she was thinking of killing herself.”

Dorcas appeared, placing Sirius's coffee in front of him.

“Your boyfriend sure is a wonder, honey,” she said to him, squeezing Remus's shoulder.

Remus's smile turned strained at the word “boyfriend.”

He could see Remus wanting to correct the woman and then deciding to let it pass.

As the waitress moved away again, Sirius stirred half-and-half into his coffee.

“So . . . I guess it was a good thing that the car broke down,” he said at last.

Remus had been taking a sip of water; he gave Sirius a sharp look as he put the brown plastic glass down.

For a second Sirius thought he might smile, but he didn’t. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess it was.”

When they got back to the garage, the mechanic was waiting for them, wiping his hands on a rag.

“Hey, you were right: it’s the prop shaft,” he said cheerfully.

“I’m afraid I don’t have the right bolts in stock for it, though — looks like three of them went flying when it came loose.”

It was almost six o’clock. Sirius sighed. “So it won’t be today, then.”

The man shook his head. “No. Afraid not. I’ll make some phone calls tomorrow morning; I might be able to find some at another garage. Otherwise I’ll have to order them — that would mean maybe two, three days before they get here.”

Two or three days. Perfect.

Briefly, Sirius wondered about just buying another used car. He couldn’t, though; he only had about twenty-five hundred left now from the emergency cash he kept on hand — despite the high wages that the CIA had paid ever since the Invasion, he’d never particularly trusted them — and knew that he needed to save his money. He blew out a breath, glancing at Remus.

“Well, we’re sort of stuck here. I mean, we’re just passing through —”

“There’s a motel just up the road,” said the mechanic. “Sorry. I know it’s a pain. Check with me tomorrow morning around ten; I’ll know by then if I have to order the bolts or not.”

Sirius nodded slowly. “Yeah, OK.” He glanced at Remus. “Is that all right with you?”

He could see that Remus had stiffened, even behind his sunglasses. He lifted a shoulder. “I guess it’ll have to be.”

Sirius took his bag from the Mustang’s trunk and slung it over his shoulder, then he and Remus started walking in the direction the mechanic had told them.

It was sunset now, with red and purple streaks billowing across the sky to the west and a welcome breeze stirring at the heavy air.

For several minutes, the only sound was their footsteps on the side of the road and passing cars.

Sirius cleared his throat. “Good call on the prop shaft.”

“It was pretty obvious,” said Remus, his voice cool. He was holding his elbows, looking down at the ground as he walked.

Sirius fell silent. Maybe he wasn’t psychic, but he could tell that Remus didn’t want to talk to him.

They trudged along the road without speaking.

Finally, to his relief, a GoodRest Motel sign appeared, with its familiar blue-and-white lettering.

As they neared it, Sirius noticed with apprehension how many cars were in the parking lot; it looked like a used-car convention.

“Have you got any feelings about this place?” he asked.

Remus's steps slowed as he gazed at the L-shaped two-story building. “Not really,” he said after a pause. “I think we’ll be OK.”

Sirius hesitated, still looking at the full parking lot.

Even if Remus thought it seemed all right, they might be stranded here for several days; they needed to do everything they could to protect themselves.

“Listen, we’d better share a room,” he said. “I mean, we’ll get two beds, but —”

Remus stopped in his tracks, gaping up at him in horror. “Do what?”

He felt his cheeks tinge at Remus's reaction, which irritated him; he knew that what he was suggesting was the only sensible thing.

“It just looks less noticeable that way,” he said. “Plus, it’s a lot safer if we stick together, where I can keep an eye on you.”

“I don’t want you to keep an eye on me,” Remus snapped.

He stalked off ahead of Sirius with long, angry strides, his slender back poker-straight.

Sirius caught up with him easily. “What do you think we’re even doing here in Boondocksville?” he pointed out. “People are trying to kill you, remember?”

Remus's mouth tightened, and he fell into an angry silence. “All right,” he said. “Fine.”

As they approached the glass door marked RECEPTION, Sirius started to tell Remus that he didn’t want this, either, and then bit the words back — he’d sound like he was protesting too much.

Maybe he was.

At the front desk, the clerk shoved a registration card across at him; signing in, Sirius showed him some ID — a fake Ohio driver’s license — and paid in cash.

Their room was on the ground floor; neither of them spoke as they walked down the concrete path.

When they reached number 112, Sirius unlocked the door, swung it open, and groped for the lights.

A motel room just like hundreds of others he’d stayed in came into view — the two large double beds, the round table, the TV hanging from the painted concrete wall.

He dropped his bag onto the table; Remus followed him into the room and shut the door behind him.

Remus pulled off his sunglasses and the cap, shaking his hair out and not looking at Sirius. “I’m going to take a shower,” he announced.

Sirius nodded. “Yeah, OK. I’ll take one after you.” He knew that he couldn’t blame Remus for hating him and that it was for the best if he did.

So why did Sirius suddenly wish that he could go back through time a couple of nights and take back what he’d said?

Remus rooted through his bag and took out a hairbrush. He headed into the bathroom, but was back out in seconds.

“There’s no shampoo in there. Do you have some I could use, please?” His face was pinched with irritation.

Sirius knew it was from having to ask him for a favor, rather than caring that much about the hotel’s lack of toiletries.

Opening his bag, he pulled out a tube of sports shampoo and handed it over.

“Thanks.” Remus disappeared into the bathroom again and shut the door.

A moment later he heard the shower starting up, the water hammering against the tiles.

Sirius blew out a breath, rubbing his hand across his face.

As he picked up the remote control to turn on the TV, his gaze fell on Remus's cloth bag, sagging open on the counter.

He could see his wallet lying on top — it was green, with a stitched flower on it.

He glanced at the bathroom, hesitating.

Feeling like a thief, he drew out the wallet; it smelled faintly of Remus's deodorant.

When he opened it, he found a New York State driver’s license for Remus Lupin, showing that he was sixteen. Nearly seventeen — his birthday was only a month away, on March 10.

Sirius looked at the date in surprise; it was the day after his own.

Sirius was exactly a year and a day older than Remus was.

The coincidence was unsettling, stirring through him like the whisper of a butterfly’s wings.

In the photo, Remus had his head cocked to one side, his mouth closed in a pursed smile.

His green eyes sparkled, even with the dull, unimaginative camera work of the New York Department of Motor Vehicles.

Sirius tucked the license back into the wallet and flipped through the plastic photo holders.

There was one of Remus and his friend Mary, with their arms around each other and their heads pressed together.

They were wearing funny hats, mugging at the camera.

And one that had to be Remus as a little boy, holding the hand of a woman with blond hair.

His mother?

Sirius looked at this photo for a long time.

Remus appeared very young in it, maybe six or seven.

And though his mouth was curved in a polite smile at whoever was taking the photo, the expression behind his eyes was anxious.

He stood slightly in front of the woman, his body language protective.

Remus's mother — if that’s who it was — had the same curly blond hair as her son and was staring off into the distance.

The dreamy smile tugging at her lips was that of someone with severe mental angel burn.

Slowly, Sirius closed the wallet and put it away.

He turned on the TV. Lying down on one of the beds with his forearm crossed under his head, he gazed at the screen, still seeing the photo of Remus as a little boy.

His love for his mother was obvious; no wonder he hadn’t wanted to leave her.

And now he was over a thousand miles away from home and might never see his mother again . . . with only some guy he hated for company.