Angel Burn

TOM LEANED BACK in his leather chair, drumming his long fingers irritably on the gleaming wood of his desk.

“Any news?”

Snape nodded as he shuffled through a sheaf of papers.

“Yes, our police in New Jersey stopped the Porsche, but the passengers weren’t them. It appears that they dumped the car in New York City with the keys inside, and someone stole it.”

Tom rubbed his forehead. “So we don’t even know what they’re driving now. Or if they’re driving.”

“Er . . . no,” said Snape, his brown eyes blinking.

Tom dropped his hand onto his thigh with a slap.

As if the half angel’s escape from the Schenectady Church of Angels four days ago, along with his would-be assassin, hadn’t been enough.

“What about the remote viewers?” he asked.

Snape licked his lips. “Well . . . several of them have gone to Schenectady to read that girl, Emmeline, and see the half angel in her memories — but they say it will take time, if they get anything at all.”

Tom scowled.

He had thought as much.

Most angels’ psychic skills didn’t extend to picking up specific information without physical contact, and even with those few who could view things remotely, it was often hit-and-miss.

“Time,” he muttered.

With the Second Wave scheduled in less than a month, time was one thing he didn’t have.

Anger swept over him again that the assassin had killed Lucius.

There was the ripple of pain, of course, of incompleteness that every angel felt at the death of another, but beyond that, Lucius was the only one of them who’d actually had contact with the half breed — the only one who could have possibly found him speedily.

“What about the aunt?” he demanded. “Is she still asking questions?”

Snape's greasy hair moved as he shook his head.

“No. The police investigation has been closed already. She’s been told that her nephew had a secret boyfriend and that he ran away with him. She seems to believe it. She’s grateful to the Church for putting her nephew's photo up; she thinks we’re trying to help find him. The friend isn’t convinced, but no one’s taking her seriously.”

“Good,” said Tom shortly.

It wouldn’t have troubled him to have to dispatch of either the aunt or the friend, but it would have been an aggravation that he didn’t need.

“What about our person in New Mexico?”

“He’s watching for them; he’s in contact with the Albuquerque branch. But he thinks that they should have arrived by now. So maybe they’re not coming. He doesn’t know where the assassin might go, in that case. He says that he’s very resourceful.”

Which wasn’t news, especially.

Tom hissed out a breath from between his teeth and fell into silence, cursing the decision to retain this particular assassin in the first place.

Someone who was that good at killing angels obviously had a few brain cells; with hindsight, they should have seen trouble brewing with this one.

And now he and the half angel actually seemed to have joined forces.

The thought that the thing was still out there, with the Second Wave about to occur, was deeply unsettling.

Snape shifted in his chair. “There have been a few possible sightings from Church members,” he offered.

Tom's assistant was ideally suited for his job, being devout to the angels without having been damaged by them — the boy’s energy simply wasn’t very compelling.

However, at times, Tom wanted to throttle him.

“Yes?” he said sharply. “Do go on, Severus; don’t hold back.”

Snape cleared his throat, looking down at his papers.

“Well — actually there have been thousands of possible sightings since we put the information up, but only a few that seem promising. One is a boy in Madison, Wisconsin, who matches the description; Church members there are checking him out. And there’s been a possible sighting near Toronto . . . and another in Brooklyn . . . one in Eugene, Oregon . . . one in Dalton City, Tennessee . . . one in —”

Tom could feel his hold on his temper slipping.

“Snape, do you actually have any good news to tell me?” he interrupted, his voice icy calm.

“Or just a long list of places where teenage boys with curly blond hair have been spotted?”

Snape quickly ducked his head down; there was a rustling noise as he rifled through his papers again.

“Well, the one in Dalton City was a little different. The Church member there saw a boy in sunglasses who he thought looked suspicious.”

A boy in sunglasses.

Was this really the best they had?

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose, wishing that he couldn’t feel headaches in his human form. “I presume they’re checking it out.”

“Yes, the Church members there are on it. They’ll let us know.”

“Right.” The chair squeaked as Tom sat up.

“I want them found, Snape. We can’t have that thing still at large when the Second Wave arrives.”

His assistant nodded. “I understand,” he said fervently.

“We’ll find him — every Church member in the country knows how important it is that he be stopped.”

And there were no people more rabidly committed to a course of action than Church of Angels members, thought Tom— surely the thing would be found soon; the half angel and his protector couldn’t have just vanished.

“Very well,” he said curtly. “On to the Second Wave, then. I’ve had some further news. The plan is to create the opening here, in the main cathedral.”

Snape's eyes grew wide. “Here? The Second Wave of angels is really going to arrive here? Oh, my gosh, that will be — such an incredible honor —”

“Yes, so the Council wants a bit of a welcome to take place,” broke in Tom. “Something lowkey, I should think.”

“Oh, no!” gasped Snape.

As Tom looked at him in surprise, his assistant’s cheeks flushed.

“I just meant — sir, you have no idea how much this is going to mean to everyone. The whole Church should be allowed to celebrate. A second wave of angels, blessing our world with love and peace —we should fill the place to the rafters! We should have choirs and a special service; we should decorate the cathedral with acres of flowers; we should —”

“All right, I get the idea,” said Tom.

Snape went quiet, his face alight.

Tom sat playing with a silver letter opener as he mulled it over. It did have a certain appeal — thousands of cheering Church members would show the Second Wavers just how popular the first had been, just how successful at paving the way for them. On the other hand, the logistics seemed nightmarish.

“Could you organize something?” he asked his assistant.

“Me?” Snape went pale. “I — oh, it would be an honor. I mean, I’ve never attempted anything like this before in my life, but I’ll do my utmost —”

“Yes, all right, then,” said Tom. “I’ll leave it all up to you. Do whatever you like; I know that you’ll arrange something appropriate.” He bestowed a smile on his assistant.

“Good idea, Severus. The angels are most grateful.”

“Thank you,” breathed Snape. “Thank you. I’m honored to be of service.”

“You are very welcome,” said Tom. “You may be excused now.”

After his assistant left the room, still murmuring his thanks, Tom sat back in his chair, thinking grimly of the half angel.

Remus— what a ridiculous name for something half divine; it seemed to highlight the travesty that was his very existence.

Stretching his arm out, he tapped his computer mouse, bringing up the Church of Angels website that had already been on his screen.

Once again, he studied the thing’s face: the wide green eyes, the slightly pointed chin, the curly blond hair.

Such an utterly normal-looking boy— attractive, but nothing special.

And yet, according to Lucius's vision, he somehow had the means to destroy them all.

As Tom gazed at the thing’s image, it niggled at him, not for the first time.

There was something vaguely familiar about the shape of his face, his eyes.

Tom shrugged the thought away.

He was half human, and many humans looked similar; it was hard to even tell them apart at times.

He closed down the site, and the boy's photo vanished.

Looks aside, the important thing was that Remus Lupin did not have long to live.

And once he was found by the Church’s devoted followers, he was going to wish with all his heart that his assassin had followed his orders to shoot him.

In the outer office, Snape sat praying at his desk, giving thanks to the angels for this immense honor they’d bestowed upon him.

When he raised his head, his face was radiant; he sat gazing around him, drinking in his surroundings — the tidy desk, the soft, off-white carpet, the small Michelangelo painting of an angel hanging on the wall.

When he compared his life now to how it had been eighteen months ago, he could hardly believe it.

He’d been struggling in college, hating his courses, with hardly any friends and a family that had always been remote at best and actively unsupportive at worst.

His future had seemed swathed in shades of gray — a career he didn’t want, nothing to look forward to, nothing to really care about.

Reading T. S. Eliot in his English class, he’d thought that if he had any courage, he’d just end it all —then at least he could go out with a bang, rather than the whimper of continuing on with his mediocre, pointless life.

He used to idly plan how he might do it, knowing that he would never actually have the guts, but it made him feel better. It cheered him up, in a strange way.

And then one day, he saw an angel.

He’d been walking through the campus, glumly worrying about his biology class.

He had to do at least one science requirement for his degree, but he had no aptitude for it and was slowly failing, and now it was too late to try to switch to geology or something else that was easier.

Snape had sighed, staring down at his feet as he walked.

Maybe it was better if he did fail; it wasn’t as if he even wanted the degree, anyway.

A brilliant flash of light had stopped him in his tracks.

And, looking up, he had seen an angel flying slowly toward him — a bright, glorious being of such utter radiance, emanating such love and tranquility, that Snape had simply stood there, frozen with wonder as the angel drew closer.

Do not be afraid, she had said. I have something to give you.

White light had burst around Snape as the angel rested her shining hands on him, and he had felt something flowing into him — a strength, a resolve he’d never had before.

The angel’s face was pure beauty, her features peaceful and kind.

When she finally flew away, her wings shining in the sun, his world had been changed forever.

He had dropped out of college; he’d never felt such freedom in his life as the day he drove away from campus.

He’d gone straight to Denver, where the new Church of Angels cathedral was being built.

There he had encountered other angels, just as glorious and shining as the first — and though none of them had ever touched him more than fleetingly, he still basked in the glow of their serenity, their peace.

When he realized that angels lived among people in human form, the knowledge had simply confirmed to him that the world was not a gray, sodden place; it was beautiful and shining, full of magic.

And somehow he had actually lucked into this job where he served an angel himself.

Snape sat at his desk, wondering at his good fortune.

Shaking his head with a smile, he forced himself to focus: he had work to do.

Opening up a new document on his computer, he began to make a list of ideas for the celebration of the Second Wave of angels.

Suddenly another thought came to him: perhaps they could get TV and news coverage.

Excitement tingled at his scalp.

Yes, of course —surely they should let the whole world know about this? His mind buzzing with plans, he quickly got up to ask Tom about it.

As Snape started to knock on Tom's office door, he stopped, his fist in midair. He could hear the angel’s voice on the phone.

“Yes, Bella, I know they won’t be feeding the instant they arrive. I’m just saying that we’ll have the cattle all there on display for them . . . Yes, that’s right, a big celebration, everyone cheering and happy to see them. It’ll be a nice little welcome, don’t you think? They can see all the blissed-out faces, realize how happy the humans are to be fed off by us. . . .”

There was a pause, and Tom laughed. “Now, now. Don’t be greedy. You know you have to be in your human form for that. . . .”

Snape backed away from the door slowly, his head spinning in confusion.

Angels feeding off humans?

The idea was ridiculous — unthinkable.

The angels were here to help people; he knew that firsthand.

They hadn’t only changed his life; they had saved it.

Tom must have been joking.

The angel had an acerbic sense of humor sometimes, and Snape knew that he didn’t always catch the nuances of it.

He had just gotten it wrong.

That was all.

Snape sat down at his desk and gazed at the open document on his screen.

Hearing the word cattle in his mind again, he somehow didn’t feel quite as enthusiastic about organizing the celebration as he had a few minutes ago, even if Tom had only been speaking in jest.

He saved what he’d done and closed the screen, logging onto his e-mail instead.

It was a relief to see that he had several new messages that needed to be taken care of.

He began to type:

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]; [email protected]

Hi, thanks for copying me in on this.

We’ll look forward to hearing what the outcome is in regard to the couple staying at the motel.

If it’s them, please don’t hesitate; take appropriate action immediately.

Blessed in the Angels,

Severus Snape.

~~~~~~~~~

Remus was flying.

Even in his sleep, he smiled to himself.

What an amazing feeling, to be so weightless, so free.

Spreading his gleaming wings, he hovered above his slumbering body in the motel room.

Sirius was asleep in the next bed, lying on his stomach.

Remus could see the light of his energy, his tousled dark hair, the tattoo on his bicep as he lay with his head on his wrist.

Part of Remus just wanted to stay there, gazing at him, but Remus knew that he couldn’t wait — he had something he needed to do.

Slowly, moving his wings, he started to lift.

Going through the ceiling was like passing through a ripple of water.

Remus passed through the room above, too; it was empty, with unmade beds.

Traveling faster now, he soared through the motel roof.

It was midmorning; Remus burst out into strong sunshine.

Spiraling once, he glided downward, feeling the warmth on his wings.

And then Remus saw him.

There was a man looking in through their motel room window, wearing tan pants and a short sleeved plaid shirt.

He had a camera.

He was trying to take photos, but Remus could feel his frustration —it was too dark in the room.

He didn’t know who was in there, and he had to find out; it was urgent.

As Remus watched, he aimed the camera again at the inch or two of open curtain.

In a dizzying rush, Remus flew back to his body.

He woke up with a jerk under the crisp motel sheets.

He was in the room; it felt like morning.

Relief swam through him as he exhaled.

It was just a dream.

He'd been flying, and he'd gone outside —

Remus stiffened as he heard a noise: a slight shifting, like someone standing nearby.

Slowly, hardly daring to breathe, he rolled his head sideways on the pillow.

The curtains were open a crack, just like he'd seen.

And there was the dark outline of a man, standing on the walkway outside.

Oh, God, it wasn’t a dream; it was real.

Remus lay there, his pulse echoing in his ears.

Could he see them? Could he see who Remus was?

Remus watched, too scared to look away, as the man tried to peer in, his head moving behind the curtain.

Finally Remus heard the sound of a car approaching, and he abruptly left.

The room lightened a fraction as a slit of sunshine angled in through the window.

Flinging his covers back, he lunged across to Sirius's bed and shook his shoulder.

“Sirius! Sirius, wake up!”

“Mm?” He stirred, lifting his head from the pillow. “What is it?”

“There was a man looking in our window.”

He came awake in a second, sitting up. “When? Just now?”

Remus rubbed his arms; he felt cold suddenly.

“Yes, I saw him. He was looking in through the crack in the curtains. Then a car came, and he left.”

Sirius swore, glancing at the window.

“I’d better close the curtains —” Remus started to get off Sirius's bed; he stopped Remus with a touch on the arm.

“No, don’t — then he’ll know we saw him.” He sat silently, gazing at the window and tapping his fingers on his knee.

“OK. Whoever it is can’t know for sure it’s you, or else he wouldn’t have been trying to look in. But he’s going to be watching the room now — we’ve got to get out of here somehow without him seeing you.”

The fact that Sirius already seemed to be planning what they should do helped Remus's own mind to clear, and his panic faded slightly.

“The bathroom window?” Remus suggested.

His dark eyebrows rose as he considered it. He nodded. “Maybe — I could kick the screen out —”

They both jumped as the phone rang.

Their eyes met, startled, as it shrilled through the room again.

Finally Sirius leaned across the bed and picked it up. “Hello?”

Remus couldn’t believe how relaxed he sounded, as if he’d just woken up and was still half groggy. There was a pause; Remus could hear a man’s voice.

“OK,” said Sirius finally.

“Thanks. I just got up; I’ll be there in about an hour.”

He looked at Remus as he hung up. “The garage, supposedly. They said that the car’s ready.”

Remus's eyes flicked to the gap in the curtains. “It — it could be someone trying to lure us out of the room.”

“Yeah, it could,” Sirius said.

They both stared up at the digital clock on the TV.

It was ten twenty.

“He said the car wouldn’t be ready until around noon, but . . . ” Sirius trailed off, his face intense, thoughtful. “It sounded like him, though. And he seemed OK to you, right?”

Remus shrugged, not really wanting their lives to depend on this. “As far as I could tell, but . . . ”

“I think we’ll have to take a chance.” Sirius moved suddenly, throwing his covers back and getting out of bed on the other side from Remus.

“Keep out of sight while I get dressed, OK?”

He grabbed his things and went into the bathroom.

Shakily, Remus went and sat down at the table; it was close enough to the outside wall that no one would be able to see him.

He heard Sirius take what had to have been the fastest shower in history, and a few minutes later he was out again, dressed in jeans and a gray T-shirt, his hair damp.

Remus watched as he moved around the room, throwing clothes into his bag.

Finally he took his pistol from the dresser and tucked it into his holster; Remus caught a glimpse of toned, flat stomach.

“I’ll go get us some breakfast,” he said.

“What? Sirius, I’m not exactly hungry right now.”

He smiled slightly. “No, me neither. But if he sees me coming in with breakfast for both of us, he’ll think we’re staying in here for a while.”

He looked at the window again. “Get dressed while I’m gone, OK? But make sure you’re not seen.”

Remus rose from the chair, his legs feeling weak. “Sirius, be careful.”

“I’ll be fine. No one’s going to do anything until they know it’s you. Just keep out of sight, all right? Lock the dead bolt when I go, and check the peephole when you hear me knock.”

Remus nodded, determined that he was going to at least pretend to be as calm as he was. “Yes, all right.”

Sirius's gaze lingered on Remus for a moment. “Don’t worry. We’ll be OK,” he said softly.

And then he left, his body language casual as he went out the door and closed it behind him.

Remus locked the door, then grabbed his clothes from the day before and scurried into the bathroom.

Knowing that Sirius would be gone at least five minutes, he jumped in and out of the shower and then got dressed, putting his wet hair up under the baseball cap.

Then he finished packing, shoving his clothes and their bathroom things into Sirius's bag as well.

When he came to the picture that his Mom had taken of him, he wrapped it carefully in tissues and tucked it into his drawstring bag.

Just as he was fastening the bag shut, a knock sounded through the room.

Even though he knew it was probably Sirius, his heart leaped into his throat.

He edged over to the door, craning on his tiptoes to look out the peephole.

“It’s me,” said Sirius's voice at the same time.

Remus could see him standing outside, balancing two cups of coffee and a napkin full of donuts.

Remus undid the lock, then shut the door hastily after him as he came in.

“Did you see anyone?”

He nodded as he dumped the food onto the table.

“Yeah, there’s a guy at the far end of the parking lot, sort of hanging around outside his car.” He took a quick slurp out of one of the coffees, glancing at Remus. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Remus looked at the small pile of white-powdered donuts and thought he'd never felt less hungry in his life.

“Good, then let’s get out of here.”

Remus followed Sirius as he went into the bathroom.

The window there was only half the size of the ones in the bedroom, but still large enough to climb through.

Beyond, there were some pine trees and a road; Remus could hear cars going past.

Sirius slid the window open and balanced himself up on the toilet.

A short, hard kick to the screen, then another one.

It fell out with a clatter, landing on the ground below.

And even though it seriously wasn’t the time to be noticing it, for a second Remus found himself just . . . admiring the way Sirius moved.

His muscles were so fluid, so confident.

Sirius jumped back down and went and got his nylon bag, which he lowered toward the ground outside, then let drop.

Remus's drawstring bag followed after it. “Can you climb out?” he asked Remus.

The window was sort of high up, almost at chest level.

“If you help me up.”

Now that they were actually getting out, Remus felt almost calm.

He put his hands on the sill, and Sirius gave him a boost, lifting him up by the waist.

Remus went through the window and twisted around.

Holding on to the sill, he dangled his legs down and then dropped to the ground, stumbling a little as he landed on the screen.

Remus shoved it out of the way, along with their bags.

The window was more of a squeeze for Sirius, but a few seconds later he had squirmed out and jumped down beside Remus.

“Can you close the window if I lift you up?” he said, looking back at it. “Just in case he gets in— he might think that he somehow missed us going out the front.”

Remus shook his head, almost smiling. “You think of everything, don’t you?”

Sirius's mouth twitched. “I try. Here, get on my shoulders.” He bent down.

Resting a hand on the hardness of his shoulder, Remus straddled his neck; he looped his arms over Remus's legs and lifted him up as lightly as if he didn’t weigh a thing.

Stretching upward, Remus slid the window shut, trying not to notice how it felt to be so close to Sirius.

When Remus was on the ground again, Sirius glanced out toward the road.

“You’d better stay here while I go for the car. Will you be OK?”

They were in a small grove of pine trees, partially hidden.

Remus nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”

Sirius hesitated as he gazed down at Remus, his eyes troubled.

“I don’t suppose you’d take my gun if I gave it to you, would you?”

The thought sent chills through Remus.

His eyes flickered to Sirius's waistband, where he knew the gun lay under the gray T-shirt hanging loosely over his jeans.

“Uh — no. I seriously couldn’t use a gun on anyone, Sirius.”

He sighed, shoving his hair back.

“No, I didn’t think so. Look, just keep out of sight, OK? Keep safe. I’ll be back as fast as I can.”

“Be careful,” Remus said.

His throat felt dry suddenly. “I mean — please, be really careful.”

“I will.” Sirius turned and walked out toward the road, his hands shoved casually in his back pockets.

A few minutes later, he had turned the corner and was gone from sight.

The trees seemed to fall very still.

Remus put his sunglasses on and sat leaning against the outside wall of the motel with his arms wrapped around his knees, trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible.

It was warm, even here in the shade; he could feel the back of his neck growing damp.

The minutes passed, stretching out.

Remus tried to count them, wondering if Sirius had had time yet to reach the garage.

Oh, God, please let him be OK, Remus thought. Please let whoever was watching them think that they were still sitting in the room, eating too-sweet donuts and drinking awful motel coffee.

After a while his legs started to feel stiff.

He stood up, leaning against the rough gray bark of a pine tree as he stared anxiously out at the road.

Sirius must have gotten there by now.

What was taking him so long?

Across the road, a woman wearing a bright yellow sundress sat waiting for a bus.

There was a baby stroller next to her; as Remus watched, she peered into it, laughing and shaking her head, and then reached in as if she was adjusting her baby’s blanket.

She looked so happy that his nervousness faded slightly.

The woman glanced up, her expression startled.

Remus followed her gaze, and his heart faltered.

There was an angel flying toward her.

The bark dug into his cheek as he pressed against the tree.

He didn’t want to watch, but he couldn’t stop.

The angel appeared female, with long hair that flowed past its shoulders.

Its robes swayed gently as it landed, its glorious wings spread.

The angel folded them behind its back and started forward.

Light streamed from its fingers as it rested its hands on the woman, who was gazing up at it with awestruck wonder.

And then it began to feed.

The woman’s life energy came into Remus's view.

He could see it draining, collapsing in on itself, fading from a vibrant pink and violet to a dull gray.

But the woman just sat there on the bench, staring up at the angel with an expression of such love and gratitude that Remus had to duck his head away, screwing his eyes tightly shut.

From what seemed a great distance, Remus heard her baby start to cry.

The sound of a car approaching, then slowing down.

Remus forced himself to look.

It was Sirius, pulling over to the curb.

Across the street behind him, the angel was still feeding, its wings slowly opening and closing like a butterfly on a flower.

Its halo gleamed; its beautiful face was tipped back, smiling.

Move! Remus shouted at himself. You have to!

His legs felt wobbly and unsure of themselves.

Ignoring them, he grabbed their bags and ran for the car.

As he came out of the shade, the angel seemed to explode into brilliance, sunshine bursting off its white wings.

Sirius leaned across the seat, opening the door for Remus; he shoved the bags in, and Sirius swung them into the back.

Remus threw himself into the seat and slammed the door.

“Hurry — let’s get out of here,” he said, his voice shaking.

Sirius pulled away from the curb, looking sharply at Remus.

“What is it? Did you see someone?”

Remus shook his head.

And he didn’t want to, but he had to — he twisted to look over his shoulder.

The angel was gone; there was a woman standing in her place with long black hair and a pretty white top.

As Remus watched, she touched her victim on the shoulder and drifted off down the sidewalk.

The woman blinked, looking dazed.

As they rounded the corner, he could see her reaching for her baby, and then she passed from view.

“Remus? What is it?” asked Sirius.

“Nothing,” he managed, turning forward again. “So, you made it to the garage OK.”

Sirius nodded, shifting gears as they came to a stoplight.

“Yeah, it was fine. I think we got away clear — I saw the guy still standing there watching our room as I drove past.”

“Thank God.” Relief rushed through Remus, followed by something almost like guilt, that he could feel relieved for himself after what he'd just seen.

Sirius was watching Remus; he frowned in concern.

“Remus, come on, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

Remus didn’t want to say it.

His fingernails dug into his palms as he let out an unsteady breath.

“There. . . was an angel, feeding on a woman across the street from the motel.”

Sirius winced. “Oh, Christ. No wonder you looked so upset. Are you OK?”

“I’m fine. I doubt that the woman is.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said in a low voice.

There was a pause.

Remus gazed out the window, still seeing the angel’s wings moving back and forth and the woman’s life energy fading away as she sat there smiling.

“How come I’ve never seen that before?” Remus asked thinly. “Up in Pawtucket?”

“There aren’t that many angels in upstate New York,” said Sirius. “I don’t know why; there seem to be some regions they like better than others.”

“But — the Church of Angels in Schenectady is huge.”

“It only had one angel, though, from the sounds of it. They kept mentioning our angel during the service.”

Remus went cold. “One angel and . . . all those people?”

Sirius glanced at him.

Sounding reluctant, he said, “Some of them really like variety. They might feed on a dozen different people a day.”

The light changed to green; they started forward.

Remus sat in silence, and then he felt Sirius's gaze on him again.

“Listen, I know how hard it is when you see it happening, but try not to think about it, OK? There wasn’t anything you could do.”

The words burst out of Remus.

“Yeah, and how exactly am I supposed to not think about it? Sirius, do you know how I knew there was someone outside our room? I was having a dream that I was flying, and I knew I had to go outside, and I saw him — I had wings, just like that thing back there. Except that it wasn’t a dream at all, was it? I did have wings. I —” Remus broke off, his mouth tightening.

No, he wasn’t going to cry. He was not.

They came to the turnoff for the interstate.

With a shrug, Sirius accelerated as he merged.

“If that’s how you found out, then I’m glad it happened. If you hadn’t seen what you did, we both might be dead right now.”

And Remus knew he was right, but that just seemed . . . too easy somehow.

Remus shook his head, his feelings too tangled to put into words.

For a few minutes, neither of them spoke.

Remus curled up with his head against the seat, staring out at the passing cars and the high green hills.

Then Sirius looked across at him.

“Hey,” he said. “You were right about the air filter, too, you know. It needed to be replaced.”

“Yeah?” Was Remus actually supposed to care?

He nodded, his fingers lightly tapping the wheel. “So, how come you know so much about cars, anyway?”

Remus grimaced. “Sirius, I don’t feel like —”

“Come on, tell me. I’d like to know.” Sirius's eyes met Remus's, and his throat clenched at the understanding he saw there.

Sirius knew exactly how Remus felt; he was trying to help.

“Did you take a class on it in school or something?” he went on.

A few billboards flashed past.

Remus stared out at them, still seeing the woman; still hearing her baby cry. “No, it wasn’t offered.”

“How, then?”

Remus sighed and shifted in the seat.

“Do you really, seriously want to know this?”

Sirius smiled. “Yes, I really, seriously want to know this.”

“OK.” Remus sat up, trying to gather his thoughts.

“It was because of my aunt Jo. See, Mom and I have lived with her from the time I was nine, and she’s always been sort of horrible about it. I mean, she helps take care of Mom, but she’s always complaining about how expensive it is, having us both there. Anyway, one day her car broke down, and she just wouldn’t stop talking about how much it was going to cost. So I went to the library and got a book on do-it-yourself car repair, and I fixed it.”

Sirius laughed out loud, and something hard and tight eased within Remus.

The pain in his hands faded as his nails relaxed from his palms.

“Really?” he said. “Oh man, that’s excellent.”

“Yeah.” In spite of himself, Remus smiled at the memory, too.

“She took a taxi to work that day, and I played hooky from school and fixed it. It was just the alternator; all I had to do was go to the dump and get a new one. You should have seen her face when she got home — I think she’d really been looking forward to a few weeks of complaining.”

“I bet.” He gave Remus a considering look, his eyes warm. “How old were you?”

Remus thought. “Thirteen? Anyway, then I just got really into it. I like engines. They’re not actually that complicated. There’s a real . . . logic to them.”

“Well, it’s about all I can do to check the oil,” said Sirius, changing lanes as he passed a truck.

“So I’m pretty impressed.”

“Yeah, but you’re James Bond,” Remus said. “James Bond doesn’t have to fix his own car.”

He grinned. “True. Plus I used to have a car that was actually from this century, which helped.”

His Porsche.

Remus thought of it sitting in the parking lot in the Bronx.

Except that he seriously doubted it was still there. “Did it bother you, having to abandon it?” Remus asked, propping his feet up on the cracked vinyl seat.

“Not really. It was a great car, but getting killed would have bothered me a lot more.”

“And, anyway, the Mustang’s a great car, too,” Remus said after a pause.

His eyebrows shot up. “You’re joking, right?”

For a second Remus thought Sirius was joking. “No, I’m not, actually. It’s a complete classic.”

“Um, yeah. Is that another way of saying it’s a broken-down wreck?”

Remus felt his jaw drop. “Sirius! Come on, this is the classic American muscle car. A ’69 Mustang is iconic. I mean, think of American Graffiti. Would George Lucas have had Porsches in it? No, he would not.”

Sirius's face twisted as he tried not to laugh. “OK, I sense that I’m losing this argument.”

“Well, at least you admit it.” Suddenly Remus felt a lot more like himself again; it was a huge relief.

They had gotten away; they were safe.

Maybe the dream that had saved them had been more half-angel freakery, but Remus didn’t have to think about that now; he could put it aside.

And Sirius was right — as horrible as it had been to see the angel feeding, Remus couldn’t have done anything to help the woman.

Remus gazed across at him, taking in the firm slant of his cheekbones, his bluish eyes and dark hair.

And though Remus never would have believed it their first few days together, it struck him now how kind Sirius was. How really, truly kind.

“Thank you,” Remus said.

Sirius's eyes narrowed as he glanced at Remus. “You’re welcome. What for?”

“You know what for,” Remus said. “That . . . really helped. Thanks.”

He shrugged, looking embarrassed.

“You just can’t let it consume you when you see something like that,” he said finally, running his hands along the wheel. “It’s hard, but you have to let it go.”

Outside, Tennessee glided past, the dramatic hills becoming gentle and rolling.

They skirted around Memphis, and by five o’clock they'd crossed the Mississippi River, curving wide and vast below them.

Halfway over the bridge, they were into Arkansas, where all at once the land flattened, turning into broad fields dotted with trees.

In the driver’s seat, Sirius shifted, flexing his shoulders.

“You know, I could drive for a while,” Remus suggested.

His eyebrows lifted as he glanced at Remus. “You want to?”

“Yeah, I do, actually,” he said. “It’ll give you a break and get us there a little faster. Besides, I’ve never driven a Mustang before.”

He grinned. “Well, I know you won’t believe me if I say you’re not missing much. But yeah, thanks — I’ll take you up on that.”

He pulled over to the side of the road, and they got out to switch sides.

The late-afternoon sun beat down on us.

It was so strange that it was still almost summer here; back home they'd all be wearing sweaters and jackets.

Remus paused in front of the car, looking out at a field of crops.

Short, twiggy-looking bushes with heavy balls of white on them, like snowfall.

Remus did a double take as he realized what they were. “Is that actually cotton?”

Sirius stopped beside Remus, his hands in his back pockets.

A slight breeze ruffled his dark hair.

“Yeah, you get a lot of it down here. Rice, too.”

Remus gazed at him, thinking that even if he’d never been to school, he knew so much more than most of the people Remus had ever known.

“Where did you learn to speak Spanish?” Remus asked. “At the camp?”

He nodded. “A couple of the AKs were Mexican — I just sort of picked it up. Plus we weren’t far from the border; we used to go over into Mexico sometimes.” He looked down at Remus with a smile.

“Hey, are you trying to get out of driving?”

His eyes were warm, full of laughter.

Suddenly Remus had an insane urge to just step forward and slip his arms around Sirius's waist.

He shook it away.

“Nope,” Remus said, holding his hand out. “Here, give me the keys.”

Slowly, they crossed through Arkansas.

The Mustang was great to drive.

The tracking was a little off, but the wheel under his hands just felt amazing, like holding a piece of history.

As he drove, the sun gradually vanished below the horizon, so that by the time they got to Oklahoma, it was so dark that he couldn’t make out the countryside at all.

Remus peered through the windshield. “Another state that I’ve only heard about before, and now I can’t even see it.”

Sirius was lying back in the passenger seat, his eyes half closed.

“This part of it’s just like Arkansas, pretty much,” he said. “Don’t worry: you’re not missing anything exciting.”

From what Remus could see in the headlights, he was right. “What do you think will happen when we get to the camp?” Remus asked.

Sitting up, he propped a foot onto the dash, his expression thoughtful.

“We’ll need to get all the AKs together and regroup, and then set up on our own again without the angels knowing. I don’t know how many AKs there are in the field now — hopefully Peter will have some idea, so we can decide what our next move is.”

Remus really wasn’t sure how he was supposed to fit into all this or why the angels were so certain he was a threat to them.

It didn’t matter, though — as long as his family might be in danger, there was no way he was going home.

Mixed feelings swirled through him: a sharp stab of sadness at the thought that he might never see his Mom again, but also a sense of relief that whatever the future held, it sounded as though he would be with Sirius.

He swallowed as he realized just how important that had become to him.

God, when had that happened?

“Do you want me to drive for a while?” Sirius asked, glancing over at Remus. “You’ve been at it for hours now.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Remus said after a pause.

And he pulled over so that they could change sides.