Magick – Angelverse Episode 3

[Introducing Michael and Ace, the central characters of the Angelverse stories. Don't worry, Ross from "Sleeping Beauty" and Vega from "Phoenix Rise" still have parts to play in the larger story, along with a lot of characters that hav'e been intorduced yet. I have my work cut out for me...

This story was inspired by the song "Magick" by Ryan Adams. Hear it here.]

The beat of the drum pulsed through Michael’s chest as he took in his surroundings. Flailing bodies surrounded him, either dancing or writhing in agony; it was difficult to tell. Lights shone through random pieces of colored plastic, casting disconcerting shades of red, orange, and blue on the twitching mob. At the far end of the warehouse, Michael could just make out a band on a makeshift stage, leaping about and bashing at their instruments.

“Ace,” he tried to shout above the music, if you could call it that. She didn’t reply, and Michael was startled to realize she wasn’t beside him. “Ace!”

“Over here!” He looked towards the sound of her voice and saw her waving at him from behind a pair of dancing teenagers. Now that he noticed, the entire crowd was quite young. Probably all runaways from nearby compounds and communes, not unlike Ace herself. The girl was certainly in her element, grinning ear to ear and bouncing to the beat. Michael signaled at her to come back and she reluctantly pushed through the press of bodies to rejoin him.

“You’re absolutely certain they’re in here?”

Ace closed her eyes and seemed to hold her breath for a moment before replying. “Yeah, they’re here, but…” A crash of cymbals blocked out her words.

“What?” Michael shouted, his throat already beginning to ache. He wasn’t used to all this screaming.

“They’re either inactive or not very powerful!”

“Alright, stick with me.”

Ace bit her lip. “Actually, I think we should split up.”

“Absolutely not.” Michael wouldn’t even entertain the idea, not in a place like this. They’d had to hide the bike in a cave a half-mile out of town, their gear buried under a pile of rocks.

“We’ll find them faster,” Ace insisted. “And this one isn’t anywhere near as bad as the last one.”

“The last one nearly killed you.”

“But he didn’t! Come on, Mike, let me do something for once!”

“I…You…Fine!” Michael said, giving up. “But,” he added, grabbing Ace’s wrist before she could leap into the throng, “as soon as you find the Angel, you come get me. Do not approach them on your own. Understand?”

“Sure,” Ace said with a smile before squirming out of his grip and disappearing. Michael stared after her even though she was no longer in sight before turning away with a sigh and searching for any hint of their target.

Ace could not contain her excitement. This was the sort of thing she’d thought she was signing up for when she’d agreed to join Michael: excitement, danger, and—most importantly—people. She hadn’t seen so many people in longer than she could remember. And, best of all, there was music. In all the years she’d scrounged for batteries and solar cells to keep her radio alive, she’d never dreamed that she would one day see an actual band perform. But these guys weren’t any band, they were Damian and the DieHards, one of the hottest post-‘lypse groups. Ace listened appreciatively to “Burned Tuesday,” one of their biggest hits, as she tried to make her way across the room. Why couldn’t more Angels hang out in places like this?

With a blast of drums and bass, the band concluded a song and Ace joined in the general cry of approval. The lead singer, a slender young man with brilliantly blue hair who must be Damian, accepted their cheers with a nod, and then signaled to the drummer. After tapping out a recklessly fast beat, the drummer burst into the next song, with the bassist hot on his heels. Ace recognized the opening of “Sunbird,” one of her favorite songs. She could already feel the rhythm humming through her when Damian put up his hand a shouted something indistinct. The band crashed to a halt. A palpable restlessness rippled through the crowd, but the singer seemed oblivious to their displeasure. In fact, it seemed to Ace like he was smiling, his eyes fixed on some point near the back of the room. Ace looked around, trying to follow his gaze. Maybe the Angel had revealed himself. Or herself. But her attention was quickly drawn back to the stage as Damian took the mike.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said with a smirk, “it’s not often we get an audience like you. So we’re going to wrap up the show with something…special.”

The crowd barely got a chance to complain about the show ending before the drummer started pounding out a new beat, a guitarist countering with pulsing energy. Over the surface of the rhythm drifted a second guitar line, chords as heavy and warm as the winds over the desert back home. Ace felt the music wrap around her and envelop her until nothing else existed in the world. The singer’s voice, rough and smoky, flowed around her and she could not resist its beguiling tones.

Let your body move, said the captivating voice. Let your body sway, listen to the music play: it’s magic, it’s magic.

The Angel long-since forgotten, Ace did as the song commanded and joined in the movements of the crowd. A spark of curiosity remained, and her eyes sought out the singer on the stage. His skin was dark and seemed to glow with an inner light. Life spilled out of him like a fountain of energy. He could not be more different from pale, cold Michael, whose ivory skin and white hair made him seem more of a ghost than a living being. Ace wondered if in fact he was a ghost…and then found she could not recall who she was thinking of. It troubled her for a moment, but the trouble quickly vanished. Why should she feel troubled? There was nothing wrong. There was nothing that could be wrong. All that existed was the music.

She barely realized the singer was looking back at her.

Michael skirted the edge of the crowd, dodging thrashing limbs. The energy and life rolled over him like a wave and passed on, leaving him alone and adrift. He should’ve kept Ace with him, Michael now realized. Seeing her swept up in the lights and music for that brief moment before she left reminded him of everything he should be feeling. It was so easy to forget all he had lost. The missing memories no longer troubled him; they may as well have happened to someone else. But the absence of emotion hit him like a physical blow every time he remembered. And Ace and her never-ending dramas were constantly reminding him.

Based on the drummer’s increasing frenzy, Michael judged the song was nearly ending. He could still not sense any Angelic activity and he once again cursed his inability to sense their presence when they were inactive. He was left gazing into the tumble of bodies, trying to judge who might be something more than human.

As might be expected, the song did eventually end. Another began and was quickly cut off with an indignant squawk. Michael had been zeroing in on a girl in an open-backed top—an outfit potentially meant to accommodate wings—but he glanced up at the stage to see what had happened. The unhealthily slender young man at the microphone was staring right at him.

Michael looked around, wondering what had drawn the singer’s attention to him. He hardly stood out among the neon, plastic finery of the partiers around him, who had finally ceased dancing. By comparison, his white shirt and black jeans, even with their swirling blue pattern, seemed all but invisible. Perhaps it was his very invisibility that made the man on the stage look his way. Or perhaps it had something to do with the half-naked woman he’d admittedly been watching intently for the last minute.

A wicked smile spread across the singer’s face. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, but then his words were drowned out by a low buzzing that seemed to pass through Michael’s skull. He felt a knife in his back, like someone whittling away at his shoulder blades. Michael gritted his teeth.

“Found you.”

The Angel was active. And they were targeting him.

As the drums began to pound, Michael pushed his way through the crowd, trying to find the source of the persistent buzz he did not hear so much as feel. It was difficult to concentrate through the barbs of fire encircling his spine. He told himself it wouldn’t last much longer; once the Angel saw that their attack had no effect on him—aside from severe pain—they would give up.

The attack dissipated within seconds and Michael took a shaky breath. Not for the first time, he wondered why he couldn’t have lost physical sensations rather than emotional ones. He was getting better at ignoring the pain, but he couldn’t afford such a handicap while facing Angels.

In his relief from the agony, it took Michael a moment to realize that the droning of the Angel’s powers continued. Michael tried to follow, but it was like finding a sound in an echo chamber; it was everywhere and nowhere. The band played on, the crowd was pulsing. No one seemed to notice when Michael pushed past them in his search.

With an inaudible roar, the echoes of the Angelic power converged until the source was directly in front of Michael. Grabbing the shoulders and arms, Michael wrenched people out of his way until he saw her.

The Angelic power was centered on Ace.

The sounds had not lead Michael to the source but to the new target. He barely had time to realize his miscalculation before Ace started to walk away. No one got in her way, in fact the crowd seemed to part before her, like an old story Michael had once known.

“Ace!” he shouted. He tried to reach her, pushing between the tightly packed bodies. Something latched onto his arm. Michael turned and saw a young woman with almond eyes and makeup smeared across her face like war paint had grabbed hold of him. He could feel her neon-colored nails through his leather jacket.

“Let me go!” Michael demanded, but she looked right through him with a vacant expression and did not respond. Before Michael could push her away from, a man in torn jeans and a grease-stained t-shirt seized hold of his other wrist. Hands came from all directions, grabbing his arms, his legs. Michael looked around for some sort of escape, but all he could see were empty faces blindly staring back. Then an unseen attacker threaded a hand though his hair and yanked his head back, directing his gaze to the stage, where Ace was dancing beside the lead singer.

She’d lost her oversized coat and was bouncing around in just her tank top and shorts, both several sizes too small for her. Her long hair swirled around her too much for Michael to make out her face, but he was sure it would be as blank as those surrounding him. Ace would never behave like that by choice. Well, she might. But she would never leave her coat behind. Michael had to reach her. He struggled against his captors but more hands grabbed him. The singer on stage smiled lazily at him while continuing to sing.

Listen to the magic, magic, magic, magic. Listen to the magic…

And suddenly Michael understood. The singer was the Angel. Michael groaned. It was all so obvious now. The ringing in his ears should have clued him in the Angel’s powers were sound-based. Apparently, the Angel could reach out with sound to control people. Make them dance on stage, say, or grab hold of a passerby. The Angel had used the sound of the band to spread out his power. It was right there in the lyrics. The music was magic. Or close enough.

The song came to an end.

Michael, who had not even realized he’d been lifted from the floor by the multitude of hands, was dropped unceremoniously to the ground. No one seemed troubled that they had just been restraining a stranger. The girl with the neon nails offered Michael a hand up. He looked her in the eyes. They still seemed glazed over, but then she blinked and smiled at him. He took her hand.

“You ok?” she asked once he was standing. Michael nodded and looked around the room before giving her a sidelong glance.

“What did you think of that last song?”

She looked confused for a moment, as though lost in thought. Then her face lit up. “Bangin’, wasn’t it?”

Michael gave some sort of noncommittal response. Up on the stage, the singer had disappeared. Ace seemed mildly interested in how she came to be up in front of such a crowd. Then she looked down at herself.

“Okay,” she said, loud enough for Michael to hear her over the growing din of voices. “Who the hell has my coat?”

Someone tapped Michael on the shoulder. He swung around, preparing to fight off another attack, and found himself faced by a young man with gel-spiked hair and a yellow vest. After a moment, Michael recognized him as the drummer from the band. “Hey,” he said in a flat voice. “Damian wants to see you backstage. Bring your girlfriend.”

“You! Give me that!” Michael turned to see Ace take a flying leap off the stage to tackle a guy twice her size. Either he was still recovering from the influence of the music or he was dazed by his sudden collision with a hundred-ten pounds of furious female, because Ace rose from the floor triumphantly holding her jacket. Michael thought it was almost a shame. The coat was probably the man’s size. Ace shrugged it on as Michael approached her.

“The nerve of that guy,” she said with a huff.

“Are you okay?” Michael asked.

“Of course I am! Hey, were you talking to a guy from the band?”

Michael quickly relayed the drummer’s message.

“Really? Damian?” Ace looked ready to start bouncing off the walls.

“I take it he’s the lead singer?”

“The one and only!” She really was bouncing now. Michael put his hands on her shoulders and tried to hold her down.

“Stop that.”

Ace winced but stood still. “Ow! Okay, okay. Jeez, Mike, what’s your problem?”

“Don’t you remember what happened during the last song?”

“Well, yeah.”

“How did you end up on stage?”

“I…well, I…” Ace stopped and looked confused. Then realization dawned. “Oh…”

Michael nodded. “Right”

“And so he…Oh!”

“Yup.”

“ Oh.” Her voice dripped with disgust. “That bastard.”

“Good, you remember now.”

“Where is he?” Ace demanded. “Come on, let’s go get him.”

“Ladies first,” Michael said, stepping out of her way.

With a muttered “Damn straight,” Ace marched past him.

Under a poorly concealed “Exit” sign was a heavy metal door on which someone had scribbled “Backstage” in permanent marker. Ace shouldered it open and stepped out into the gloom of night. A plastic canopy of the sort Ace often found moldering in the back of abandoned hardware stores stood just outside the warehouse. Stings of light bulbs were hung underneath, their light reflecting off the white plastic and onto the DieHards. The band was in a sort of huddle, apparently deep in conversation, but at the sound of the door, Damian turned and saw Ace and Michael.

“And here they are,” he said, approaching them. “Hi. Damian. Nice to meet you.” He held out a gloved hand to Michael, who stared at it for a moment accepting.

“Michael, and this is…”

Damian interrupted him with a hoarse laugh. “I know who you are. Come on, sit down.”

He ushered them under the canopy where an assortment of plastic milk crates and what appeared to be the back seat of an old sedan had been haphazardly arranged. Damian took the car bench and gestured towards the crates. Ace and Michael looked at each other; she shrugged, he nodded and they sat. The singer studied them with a lazy smile and lounged on the dilapidated bench like a king on his throne. The man who had spoken to Michael joined him. If Ace hadn’t been told he was the drummer, she wouldn’t have recognized him. He looked like a pale, faded version of the person she’d seen on stage less than five minutes ago. His face was blank—blanker even than Michael’s—and his eyes vacant. He looked empty.

“So,” said Damian, and Ace’s attention was drawn back to him with a start. The drummer may as well have faded out of existence. “You guys here to kill me or what?”

Ace sighed and rested her head on her hand. “Why do they always think that? We’re not Angel hunters, they’re just a rumor.” She was aware of the other two DieHards moving behind her, but she willed herself to stay still and they walked past her. The bassist took a milk crate nearby and a cigarette and lighter out of a pouch on his belt. Ace wondered if he’d accept anything in exchange for that lighter.

“Some rumors are true,” said Damian, crossing his legs to rest one ankle on the opposite knee, a maneuver Ace would not have believed possible in such tight jeans. “I heard a rumor I should watch out for you two.”

“Really?” Ace brightened up. She never thought she’d be famous. Her eyes drifted back to the bassist and his invaluable lighter, but the lighter was stowed once again. The bassist exhaled a puff of smoke and Ace saw he had the same absent look as the drummer, as if he was not really there. She looked toward the final band member, expecting the same look on the guitarist face. He was standing behind car bench, close to Damian. Very close, like a body guard. His hands were in his pockets and he was slumped forward. Ace looked up at his face and was startled to see him glaring back at her. His eyes were clear and alert, their dark gaze intensified by his eyeliner. Unlike the other two DieHards, the guitarist was very much there.

“Who told you about us?” Michael was asking Damian as Ace rejoined the track of the conversation. “What did they say?”

“Easy, easy.” Damian held up his hands. “I have questions for you too.” He set his hands down and tapped idly on his boot. “You’re only the third Angel I’ve met.”

That struck Ace as strange, somehow. Something was wrong. But she said nothing. It wasn’t that important after all.

“You are an Angel, aren’t you?” Damian asked with a grin. He had a surprisingly charming smile that lit up his entire face. Ace tried not to stare and instead looked at Michael, waiting for his reply. His forehead was creased in a frown and he was studying Damian as if confused by something. Ace couldn’t imagine what he was confused about, it was a simple question and Damian was just curious.

“Sorry about him,” said Ace. “He gets like this sometimes. Most of the time.”

Damian looked at her. “Ace, right?”

“That’s me.” She couldn’t help feeling pleased he knew her name.

“Tell me Ace, is he an Angel or not?”

“Not. Not anymore, at least.”

“Ace,” Michael hissed at her. Ace looked at him in surprise. Surely there was no harm in telling Damian, he just wanted to know.

“Not anymore?” Damian repeated. “He’s, what, an ex-Angel?”

“You could say that,” Ace replied, keeping a wary eye on Michael, who was staring at her for some reason.

“So then how’d he block me?”

“Stop it,” said Michael.

“He doesn’t block Angel attacks; we think he kind of absorbs them, like a walking black hole. He says it hurts like hell—”

“Enough!” Michael leapt at Ace and suddenly everything became muffled. His hands were over her ears.

“Michael! What the…” Her words cut off when she saw Damian over Michael’s shoulder. He was still tapping on his boot and smiling, but she saw now that his grin was devious. Her desire to tell him all about Michael was long gone. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me!” Ace shouted. Her voice sounded strange with her ears covered. “Again?”

Michael said something and Damian responded but his tapping fingers slowly went still. Michael uncovered Ace’s ears.

“You got me with tapping?” she asked, furious. Michael would never believe she was ready to face Angels if she kept falling for their tricks.

“I can use any sound,” Damian said. “I’m trying to get a snapping thing down, you know? Just snap and I get what I want done. Like,” he snapped his fingers at Ace, “start dancing again. I was enjoying that.”

Ace crossed her arms. “Nice try.”

Damian gave a crooked smile. “It’s a work in progress.” He sounded like he was bragging and Ace hated him for it. Among other reasons.

“Is that why your music is so popular?” she asked with venom. “You just brainwash people into liking it.”

“Oh, ouch,” Damian said haughtily. “It only works live. I have to be in the same physical space.”

“That’s what you say. Wait…can you do it just by talking?”

Damian sighed and closed his eyes. “No, it takes too much concentration.” He looked at Michael. “From what I hear, you’re the dangerous one, Mr. Black Hole. What do you want with me?”

Michael gave him a cool look. “We’re looking for information. On Angels. We wanted to know what you knew.”

“What I know?” Damian put both feet on the ground and leaned towards them, his elbows on his legs. “I’ll tell you what I know. This.” He held out his hand, his fingers and thumb meeting to form an “O”.

“Zip, zilch. I asked the Angels I met before, but they acted like there was something wrong with me. Like I should know all this shit.”

Ace leaned towards Michael. “Did he lose his memory?” she whispered.

“Could be,” he answered.

“I can hear you,” Damian said, annoyed.

Michael paused and then asked, “Do you still have your wings?”

Damian stared darkly at him. “Is that a threat?”

“No. What? No!” Michael almost looked surprised. “How do you know about wing removal?”

“From those rumors about you.” Damian stood up and took off his red leather jacket. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and turned his back to them. Ace heard a faint humming sound.

“Michael?” she whispered.

“Shh…” He was focused on the singer before them.

The humming sound grew louder and the air around Damian began to ripple. Slowly the ripples converged into shapes. Six semi-circles formed along his spine, three on each side. They elongated until they stretched to points over a meter from his body. They were colorless and transparent, visible only by the haze in the air. The humming had picked up harmonic tones and Ace could feel slight vibrations through the milk crate and her boots.

Back at the warehouse behind them, someone slammed a door. Damian’s wings spiked violently before returning to their original shape.

“Whoa,” said Ace, “did you see that?” She watched in wonder as the wings pulsed in time with her voice. “Is that…are we seeing sound?”

“Looks like it,” said Michael. The wings pulsed differently at his voice than at Ace’s.

“Okay, you have to admit that’s cool.” She looked around at the DieHards, looking for any sort of reaction from the empty men. But the bassist and drummer stared blankly at the ground. Only the clear-eyed guitarist was focused on Damian. His expression, though considerably softened, was unreadable. He shifted his gaze up to the canopy above them and Ace realized it was shaking. The tent poles began to rattle, sending pulses or ripples through Damian’s wings. The singer seemed oblivious; he was in another world.

“Danny,” the guitarist said in a warning voice.

Damian’s head lifted with a start. The wings faltered and faded. “Thanks, man,” he said, clapping the guitarist on the shoulder before collapsing back in his seat. He sounded out of breath. Sweat dripped down through his hair.

“Danny?” said Ace with a smirk. “So much for Damian.”

“Oh, and your name is really ‘Ace.’” He said the name with disdain. Her smile faded and she looked towards the guitarist. Damian followed her gaze. “This guy here,” he said, reaching up to pat the man on the arm, “is my brother Charlie. Now,” he looked at Michael, a grin spreading across his face, “I showed you mine, you show me yours.”

“Wait,” Ace said, cutting of Michael’s reply. She squinted at Charlie. “He can’t be your brother. He’s not an Angel.”

Damian looked at her, apparently forgetting Michael entirely. “Is that how it normally works?” he asked, his gaze intense.

“I don’t know much, but…” Ace bit her lip. “Well, an Angel can’t have a human sibling, right?” She looked at Michael, who nodded. “It’s just impossible.”

“Why?” Damian stood and walked towards her. Ace got up quickly, knocking over her crate in the process, but she held her ground as he came closer. Michael rose soundlessly beside her.

“Because you’d have to have parents then, right? A mother? You’d have to be born like a human.”

Damian stopped, barely ten centimeters in front of her. “Wow,” he said softly. His eyes shifted to Michael and he took a step away from Ace. “Wow.” The syllable dragged out mockingly. “You Angels. Unbelievable. You don’t even consider yourselves human?”

“Of course not,” said Michael. “Because we’re not. They’re not,” he corrected himself.

“I was born human,” Damian snarled at him.

“That’s impossible,” said Ace. She looked at Michael. “Maybe his memories are messed up?”

“His memory’s fine,” said Charlie. Everyone turned to look at him; even the bassist looked up at him for a moment. Charlie looked at Ace and Michael, his heavy gaze like a dare to challenge him. “His memory’s fine.”

Michael scratched the back of his head and sighed, as though resigning himself to something. “Did you grow up near an energy well?” Ace looked at him and raised an eyebrow. He shrugged.

“I think there was one in the local glassworks. Charlie?” The guitarist nodded. Damian turned back to Michael. “What’s that got to do with—”

“Probably nothing,” Michael interrupted him. “What was the name of the town?”

Damian’s easy grin returned. “Chicago. You heard of it?”

Michael did not answer but mimicked his smile back at him. Ace hated when he did that, it was intensely creepy. “I think we’ll leave now. Nice meeting you. Ace?” She nodded and followed him. They were not even to the edge of the tent when Damian called out.

“Not so fast. Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Are we?” Ace whispered to Michael. He shook his head.

“Your wings.” Damian beckoned them back with his hand. “Let’s see them.”

“I don’t have wings.”

Damian blinked. “You what?”

Michael faced him. “I. Don’t. Have. Wings.”

Damian stared. Then he smiled. A nervous laugh escaped his lips. “So when she said you’re an ex-Angel…”

“No wings. Not an Angel.”

Damian chuckled. “Michael lost his wings.” His laughter grew to a gleeful cackle. It was almost a child’s laugh, high and light with a sense of reckless abandon. He threw himself back on the car bench, earning a look of surprise from the drummer.

“What’s so funny?” Michael demanded.

Piece by piece, Damian regained his composure. “It’s just,” he paused to laugh again, “the first Angel I ever met, back when I was a kid—she told me to watch out for an Angel named Michael. She said he knew how to take an Angel’s wings. I was terrified—of you!” Another chuckle. “But now it looks like the only wings you took were your own!” He howled with laughter again.

Michael walked slowly but purposefully towards the singer. “What else did she say?”

Damian just shook his head.

The former Angel grabbed him by the front of his t-shirt and hoisted him upright. “What did she say?” he said through clenched teeth.

“What’s the matter, Mr. Black Hole?” Damian sniggered. “Lose your memories?”

Michael pulled the cackling man towards him. “I remember the time before the apocalypse. I remember when your great Chicago was little more than an army fort. I remember when Vespucci and then Columbus found this wrenched continent.”

Ace noticed Charlie approaching Michael. “Wait, don’t do that!” she shouted, but it was too late, the guitarist had already grabbed Michael’s shoulders. He managed to pull Michael off Damian before collapsing to the ground, howling in pain.

“Charlie!” Damian knelt beside his brother. Ace could see the palms of the guitarist’s hands had turned sickly white. As she watched, the skin slowly reddened until it was brighter than a desert sunset. Charlie screamed louder than ever.

“He’ll be ok,” Ace said, standing beside Damian. “That’s just the feeling come back.”

“What did you do to him?” Damian shouted at Michael.

“Nothing,” said Michael.

“I told you he’s a black hole,” Ace explained patiently. “He just sort of…sucked the life out of your brother’s hands. He’ll be fine in a little bit. See, he’s looking better already.”

Charlie had fallen silent and was slowly sitting up, staring at his palms.

“You okay?” Damian asked. Charlie nodded. Satisfied, Damian stood up and faced Michael. “Those things you said—are you immortal?” There was a look of unabashed awe on his face.

“I may have been,” Michael muttered.

“You don’t know?”

The ex-Angel’s eyes focused on the ground near Charlie. “My memories of myself—and of Angels—are all gone.”

Damian’s mocking smile returned, but before he could say anything, Michael’s eyes snapped back to him.

“I lost my emotions as well, so if you get in our way when we leave now, I won’t regret anything I have to do to you.”

Damian held up his hands. “By all means, go.”

Michael nodded at Ace and she followed him out from under the canopy and back towards the warehouse. They were half way back to the building when a thought occurred to her.

“Hold on a sec,” she told Michael and turned back to the tent. “Hey, Danny!”

“What now?” Damian shouted back.

“How about you use your powers for good instead of evil?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“You could start by not brainwashing your band anymore! The drummer and bassist? Give them their brains back!”

Damian was quite for a moment. “Get the hell out of my sight. And,” he pointed at her, “never call me Danny.”

“Whatever you say, Danny,” Ace said under her breath.

“I heard that!”

Ace just grinned.

“Well?” Michael said as they headed out of town and back to where they’d stowed the bike. “Enough fun for you?”

She laughed. “Are you kidding? Parties, Angel attacks, meeting rock stars? I could do this every night!”

Michael didn’t doubt her.

“So,” she said musingly, “where is Chicago?”

“Northeast of us, I think.”

“Alright, let’s go.”

Michael stopped. “You sure? I thought you wanted to keep going west.”

“Meh.” She shrugged. Her expression was difficult to make out in the hazy moonlight, but Michael thought she looked serious. “You asked them about an energy well. Why?”

“Just a thought,” Michael said, quickly walking onwards. Ace had to jog to keep up with him.

“A thought from where? I lived near an energy well too.”

“I know, Ace.”

“So am I gonna suddenly be an Angel?”

“No, I’m absolutely certain you won’t.”

“Damn.” She smiled. “It sounds like it would be fun.”

“Mmm.” Michael looked at the girl bouncing along beside him. She didn’t need to know the thoughts that plagued him about that energy well back on her compound. Ace wasn’t the only one who’d grown up on that farm.

“You thinking about what he said about you?” Ace asked.

“What?”

“Damian. He said you must’ve removed your own wings.”

“Oh, right.” Michael could not imagine why he would commit such an atrocity on anyone, let alone himself.

“Don’t worry,” Ace said with a smile. She took his hand. “We’ll figure it out. Now come on.” She took off running, dragging him after her.

“Ace! What are you doing? It’s too dark!”

The girl just laughed and kept pulling him onward into the night.