Angels do not speak of their birth planes, but many have theories. Tir liked to believe that he was tied to a universe of perfect squares forming larger squares forming still larger squares, building a perfect, beautiful, rational universe. That would explain his constant unease in his home plane. He was trapped on a lopsided planet whirling dizzily around the vaguely ovoid reaches of space. The whole idea made Tir want to hole up in a cave somewhere and probe the secrets of the forces which had made him, and he spent approximately one thousand eighty five years, three months, five days, and seven hours doing just that.

The pounding on the door only took two minutes twenty seconds to become intolerable.

“What do you want?” Tir asked, in the ancient tongue he favored, although the humans had long since abandoned it.  His voice creaked with disuse.

“I knew you were in there, you old scumbag,” a heavy voice answered in English.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me!”

“That’s a rather vague answer.”

“Who else would drag their sorry bones all the way to this flea trap to see you, I’d like to know.”

Slowly, Tir unfolded himself from his chair, waded through stacks of paper and used pens that covered the apartment floor, and opened the door.

The visitor leaned against the door frame and smiled lazily. He had the practiced scruff of a man who always looked like he hadn’t shaved in exactly two days and his clothing had perfectly maintained wrinkles. Aside from the faint yellow glow he cast on his surroundings, he looked to all intents and purposes like a human male in his late twenties. Tir, of course, knew better.

“What do you want, Altair?”

“Just to make sure you’re still breathing, Dhruva. And would you stop talking like that? It gives me a headache translating.”

“That’s your problem, not mine,” Tir continued in his preferred language. However, in English, he continued, “Come in if you must.” He returned to his desk. Altair followed in and shut the door.

“You always say the same thing. Even when you were back in that damn cave.” The yellow glow spread until the room was brighter than it had been in years. “Eh…I think I preferred the cave.” There was a crinkle of papers being stepped on.

Tir glared over his shoulder at his uninvited guest, who was now shining too brightly to look at without squinting. “Don’t step on anything.”

“There’s nowhere to sit.”

“Then levitate.”

“You know I haven’t been able to since Vega was born. She sends her regards, by the way.”

“No, she doesn’t.”

“No,” Altair agreed, “she doesn’t.”

“She still resents the experiments.”

There was a loud crunch as Altair sat on a paper-covered chair that had been left by the apartment’s previous occupants. “Yes, well,” he said with a chuckle, “she hates to be made into a fool.”

About the time Columbus declared the world was round—a fact Tir had been painfully aware of long before even the ancient Greeks—Tir’s general calculations of the multiverse and his place in it became Angel theory. While his studies confirmed many long held beliefs of the functions of Angels, namely as energy conduits meant to preserve the conservation of energy on a universal scale, it still did not answer the big question: why? Why should a mere conduit have sentience? Why were chaotic creatures the masters of order?

Altair yawned like a lion. Tir had seen a lion once. He hadn’t thought much of it. “You’re thinking again. I can feel it.”

“No, you can’t,” said Tir.

“Really? I’d swear your brain was…glowing.”

“If I ever started ‘glowing,’ I would end my existence there and then out of shear embarrassment.”

Altair threw his head back and laughed.

Research took experiments, and experiments need subjects. Most Angels had no respect for his studies. They did not care did not care about the beauty of symmetry, or the voice of numbers, or the song of reason. Their minds were filled were too filled with the rush of flight and the thrill of power. Angels were creatures of chaos and irregularity, apparently without purpose and glaringly—in the old days—without names.

Humanity, on the other hand, was useful upon occasion. Tir still shivered at the memory of the day he had learned of algebra, geometry, square roots. Humans, imperfect as they were, understood perfection. But they were useless as test subjects. It had been Altair—already an irritatingly regular visitor to Tir’s cave—who volunteered himself and his siblings for study.

“I’m trying to recall,” Tis said slowly, “how I ever made a fool of your sister.”

“You asked her to transfer her power to me, remember?”

Tir remembered that with his usual flawless recall. He’d told Vega to try to funnel some of her power to her older brother.

“That doesn’t make sense,” she’d said. “His power is his, mine is mine.”

“You don’t understand,” Tir had said, in what he’d thought was a patient tone. “Altair’s power grew steadily until to you were born, when they dropped suddenly. If you recall, you both experienced a power surge in the years before Deneb’s birth, when your powers decreased.”

“Yes, yes, I was there,” Vega had said sharply, a surprised to Tir who had thought everything was running smoothly. “What of it?”

“Your experience would seem to indicate that siblings—along with a birth plane—share the same power source. Therefore you should be able to redirect the energy flowing through your array back through your brother’s.”

“Well, I can’t.”

“Try.”

Vega had sighed dramatically and closed her eyes. The cave was silent as they waited.

“Nothing,” she said eventually.

“Can I try?” Deneb had asked. He was still a fledgling then, less than fifty years old. Not expecting any real results, Tir had agreed.

“Give it your best shot,” Altair said with a grin, patting his brother on the shoulder. Deneb nodded seriously.

Vega tapped her foot on the cave floor. “It’s not going to work. Let’s just…”

She was cut off by a flash of light so bright they were all half-blinded for the next ten minutes. All except Altair, who stood laughing in the middle of a scorch-mark on the floor. “Talk about a blast from the past! I haven’t felt anything like that in ages!” Altair congratulated Deneb, who denied he’d done anything much, while Tir checked numbers.

It took them some time to notice that Vega had left.

“If she was a fool, she was one of her own making,” said Tir.

Altair laughed. “How Deneb ended up with any sense, I’ll never know. Did I tell you he finally converted his wings?”

“No.”

“That’s right, it was since my last visit. You remember what we were betting on?”

“You were betting, I was surmising. Lightning, correct?”

“He didn’t go for it. Guess what he went for? Actually, you’ll never guess. He pulls water out of the air.”

“A balance for Vega.”

“That’s not the point. I thought he had more power than that!”

“You’re disappointed.”

When Altair didn’t respond, Tir turned around to face him. “Your brother’s strength is different than yours. In terms of control, he ranks far above any other Angel I have encountered.”

“And how many is that? Four?” Altair shook his head. “No, thank you, that’s…comforting.”

“It’s fact.” Tir turned back to his work.

“What are you working on, Dhruva?”

“I go by Tir, now.”

“What? No, you didn’t change your name! Did you?”

“It’s a good name. Straight lines and right angles. Better than Polaris.”

Altair laughed. “Admit it. You finally gave up on Sanskrit.”

Tir did not deign that with a response.

Altair’s laugh died away. “Speaking of names, have you heard the news?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you’re a hopeless old man, no matter how you young look. Do humans still mistake you for a child?”

“The correct modern term is ‘teenager.’ I find shaving takes valuable time, and I will not tolerate facial hair.”

“Forever the beardless youth. I’m afraid I have bad news.”

“Which is why you are here.”

“Partially. I was also concerned. About you.”

“Why should you be?”

“Angels are disappearing.”

“Seclusion is common.”

“I mean siblings.”

Tir set down his pen. “Explain.”

“You know Gemma, sister of Nusakan?”

“I know of her, yes.”

“A few months, she found me and said her brother and their new sister had disappeared. She could not sense them anymore.”

“That’s impossible. She’s connected with them—”

“Through the birth plane, I know. Well, I helped her as best I could. Last she knew they were somewhere in Australia. We couldn’t find anything. No one had seen them.  Then, one day, she left. Didn’t say a word.”

“She reconnected?”

“We thought so, but then I got word she’d allied herself with the humans.”

“To do what?”

“They blame us for the state of the world—they’re calling it the apocalypse, have you heard?”

“So soon? I thought they were still recovering from the disappointment of 2013.”

Altair shrugged. “You know how humans are. But this time…I think they might be right.”

“Don’t be absurd.”

“Have it your way, then. The point is they blame us, and from their point of view, it is quite suspicious. Angels are panicking and revealing themselves, and to humans, the discovery of Angels is coinciding with the so-called apocalypse. You can’t hold their ignorance against them, really. But they have formed a group, something for the ‘Restoration of Humanity.’ They hunt Angels.”

“And Gemma is helping them.”

“Yes.”

“She is a traitor, then.”

“That’s what troubles me. She claims, so I am told, that an Angel killed her siblings.”

“That would explain how she lost contact with them.”

“I agree, that would make sense, but she says that she was cut off from her siblings while they still lived. Their wings were removed. Now, you’ll tell me that’s impossible…”

“I wouldn’t waste my time. All the data in this room could tell you that it’s impossible. All my years of study and yours of personal experience could tell you that it’s impossible. But I would be willing to entertain notions that it is.”

Altair looked at him. “What?”

Tir grabbed a stray piece of paper and a pen. “If sufficient energy was directed in the proper form between an Angel and their birth plane, it’s conceivable that separation could occur.”

“Is there anyone who could do that?”

Tir glanced up. “You.”

“You’re accusing me?” Altair sounded genuinely hurt.  “After two millennia, that’s what I get?”

“I was merely stating that you would be capable of it. Any sufficiently powerful Angel with a raw-energy array—yours for example, or possibly even Vega’s—would be able to accomplish the task. Assuming it was possible.”

“Gemma gave us a name.”

“Then why are you wasting time here?”

Altair shook his head. “It didn’t mean anything. She just said that as her sister died, she said their attacker was called ‘Michael.’”

“Michael? That doesn’t fit the naming scheme.”

In a desperate attempt to impose order on the wayward Angels, Tir had developed the Angelic name system in the last century BC. Previously they had all identified each other by sensing birth planes, a practice Tir found tiresome and inaccurate. It meant siblings could be virtually indistinguishable from each other, and continuity was a struggle. They had scoffed at his attempt to instate the system. Their kind had existed since time immemorial and had never required anything as human as names. Then an Angel—whom Tir recognized as the newest heir to an increasingly powerful birth plane—had shown up at his cave entrance.

“They say you want to give Angels names.”

“Yes.”

“Human names.”

“Names originated by humans, yes.”

“What do you want to be called?”

“Dhruva.”

The Angel looked at him curiously. “The polar star? Why?”

“It’s the only fixed point in a spinning sky.”

“We’d all get a star.”

“If that’s how you choose to think about it.”

The Angel smiled. “What star should I claim?”

“It’s your decision.” For whatever reason, he added, “There’s the eagle star. Bunjil or Totyergil, as they call it in the south.”

His visitor made a face. “Those are both a mouthful.”

“Altair, then.”

“Altair….that’s not bad.”

“It’s your decision.”

“Well then, I’ll take it. Very nice to meet you, Dhruva.”

“You as well, Altair.”

“You’re distracted,” Altair said, calling Tir back to the present. “Michael is not the first Angel to disregard your system.”

“Gabriel was a unique case,” Tir said before the thought processed. “Oh. Are you suggesting this Michael might be Gabriel’s heir?”

Altair shook his head. “Always a step ahead. It’s been suggested, of course. I admit, the idea doesn’t sit well with me.”

“You don’t like the idea of the Messenger killing Angels.”

Slowly, Altair nodded.

“Perhaps it is the end of the world.”

“You think so?”

“No. I do not think ‘Michael’ is the heir of the divine plane.”

“You never believed in the divine plane anyway,” Altair pointed out.

“That’s beside the point. I find it much more likely that he is an Angel who has changed his name.”

“I’ve never been one for science, but something tells me you’re right.”

Tir nodded and returned once again to his work.

“I’m going to find him,” said Altair.

Once more, Tir turned to him. “Why?”

“To stop him, of course.”

“Oh, of course. And when he kills you?”

“Dhruva, you know me better than that.”

“Do I?”

Altair shook his head. “When the time is right, Deneb will transfer his power to me.  It will be over quickly then.”

“If Michael gives you the chance. He may be expecting you.”

“Save your paranoia.”

“Only if you save your foolishness.”

Altair grinned. “Never.” He got up and crunched across the floor to the doorway.

“Altair,” Tir said, and his guest stopped. “I understand Gemma’s decision. I could see myself doing the same.”

Altair looked confused. “Why?”

Tir opened his mouth to speak, and then hesitated. “I’ll tell you when you visit next.”

Altair shook his head. “All right, you old bastard. I’ll be here to interrupt your work again all too soon.”

With a wave and a grin, he shut the door behind him and was gone. Without his glow, the apartment felt cold as well as dark. Tir sat for a time, staring at the door, before he turned away to his numbers.

“Goodbye, my friend.”

The world moved by disconcertingly fast. Ross wished it would stop. Red light reflected off sand, searing his eyes. He could feel his brain rattling in his skull. With a slight sucking sound, he peeled his sweat-soaked face off the window. That helped with the rattling. A little.

Outside the window was the same old sight he’d seen every day of his life: flat-wasteland dotted with occasional dunes left by the last sandstorm. Any think dumb enough to try to live out there had the fluids burned out of it by the sun, the skin stripped off it by the wind, and the life crushed out of it by the dirt. Kansas, pure and simple.

Ross’s immediate surrounds were a bit more surprising. He looked blearily around the car, dimly aware of the fact that he should be surprised about something. Maybe that he was in a car at all, laid out in the backseat like a very cramped corpse. But he’d been here for some time; it was too late to be surprised. He shifted his neck with audible crack and groaned.

“Hey, man!” said a cheery voice. Ross looked forward and saw a pair of eyes examining him in the rearview mirror. Toby was at the wheel. “You back in your head?”

Before Ross could answer, a woman leaned around the passenger seat. “How are you feeling, dear?”

“Y-you!” Ross sat up with a start, slamming his head against the ceiling. The world went white from pain. When his eyes cleared, he saw the woman still watching him, her concern increased.

“Oh dear,” she said.  “Toby, can you pull over?”

“We’ll lose our lead.”

“Just for a minute, please.”

The car slid to the side of the road and jerked to a stop. Ross just barely managed to keep from being thrown against Toby’s seat.

“Sorry!” Toby said, but Ross could hear the smile in his voice. Damn that kid.

The door beside him opened and the woman leaned in, dust blowing around her. “Can I take a look at you?”

Ross just stared at her, blinking in the light and grit.

“I am a licensed doctor,” she said, as if that made any difference. Her voice had a lilt to it that he’d never heard outside of a game. Some sort of accent, he couldn’t recall what.

“You’re…” The name was escaping him, but he knew who she was.

“Dr. Sadria. We met at the hospital, albeit not formally. How are you feeling?”

“You’re the Angel.”

She drew back from him. “Yes, I am. Is that a problem?”

Ross was confused. “No…”

“Good. Now, does your head hurt?”

Ross tried to think about her question, but his head was throbbing too much to focus. After a moment, he realized that was his answer.

“Yes.”

“Nausea?”

“No.”

“Can you remember how you were hurt?”

A long pause. “No.”

The doctor sighed. “Looks like a concussion after all. Here.” She reached into the pocket of her white lab coat and pulled out a small vial. “I brought these from the lab. It looked like you’d be needing them. Take one now and we’ll see if it helps. Toby, do you have a canteen?”

The small chalky pill went down with some difficulty and lukewarm water. Dr. Sadria returned the bottle to her pocket. Ross noticed her lab coat had been suffered some damage: the sleeves had been almost completely torn away. Thin green cords wrapped around her slender arms. The woman, apparently seeing his gaze, held out an arm to him. Up close, Ross could see tiny leaves sprouting from the cords. They were vines, twisted around her arms. He stared, fascinated.

“Does it bother you?” she asked.

Ross shook his head, which was pulsing a little less violently. Whatever she’d given him worked quick. “What are they?”

The Angel withdrew her arm. “It’s a long story.”

“We better move,” Toby prompted. Dr. Sadria nodded and got back to the passenger’s seat. Once they were on the road, Ross caught Toby’s eye in the rearview mirror.

“Talk,” he said.

“You don’t remember what happened, man?”

Ross shrugged.

“Wow, you’re more borked than I thought. But I guess that makes sense. You took a blast to the head, after all.”

“What?”

“Dude, do you remember anything?”

“I remember finding the Angel, I mean, the doctor.”

“Just call me Sadria, dear.” British, that’s what the accent was called.

“And then,” Ross tried to focus, “and then Sam came in. He had a laser gun.”

“That’s the last thing you remember?” Toby laughed. “Aww, you missed the best part!”

Ross waited.

“Get this, you jumped Sam. He was so freaked, you wrestled the gun right out of his hand. You remember any of that?”

“Nope.”

“Damn. The most badass moment of your life, and you don’t even remember it? Shit like that doesn’t come along often.”

Ross cleared his throat, prompting Toby to continue.

“Right, well, Sam got a shot out, and those things ain’t quiet. Next thing, the whole place runs riot. Everybody shouting and shit. That’s what woke up Sadria.”

Echoes flitted around Ross’s head. “Finn was the first to get there.”

“That’s right! He saw Sadria and pulled his blaster. You jumped in front of him and wham! Straight to the skull. You went down like a dead horse, we thought he’d killed you. Shoulda’ seen the look on Finn’s face. Then Sadria was moving and she and I figured we should get the hell out of there. There was an emergency exit down the hall. I, um, I had to shoot Finn, and Marty too. Basic blast to the legs, they were fine.”

Ross detected a question in Toby’s words, as if he was seeking affirmation that he had done right. He wanted to reassure the boy, even though he wasn’t sure that Toby had done right at all. “They’ll recover.”

Toby nodded, mollified. “Sadria and I carried out you of the building. You’re heavy, you know that?”

Ross shifted uncomfortably. His family had done pretty well when he was a kid. Not so much as his siblings arrived, but he’d gotten a good head start.

“I mean, jeez,” Toby continued, oblivious, “how tall are you? Two meters?”

“Not even close. What happened next?”

“Anywho, we got this car off one of the scientists, we were able to make our get away! Lucky, huh?”

Ross looked around the vehicle. Aside from the upholstery—which looked like it had once been blue—the car had been stripped of all comforts. The back window was missing entirely. The engine was making desperate whirring noise. The whole thing seemed one step away from the corpse cars—or ‘scars, as most of the guys called them—which lined the roads, especially in places where the forty-day plagues had hit fast.

“Yeah, lucky. Where are we going?”

“North, dude.”

“North?”

“Straight outta Kansas like a bat outta hell.”

Ross had enough of his brain functioning to see the problem. “That’ll put us in the Northern Quadrant.”

“And into GloCo territory. I know.”

“Is that a problem?” Sadria asked.

“You didn’t tell her?” asked Ross. Toby made a non-committal noise.

Sadria looked at Ross, impatience on her face. “What did he not tell me?”

“We’re VIKING operatives, ma’am.”

“And?”

“And,” said Toby, “VIKING doesn’t exactly get along with GloCo.”

“By GloCo, I take it you mean the Global Coalition for the Restoration of Humanity.” Both soldiers nodded. “I understood they were increasing their presence in the North. Do they feel threatened by VIKING?”

“Nah,” said Toby, “we just bug them. They’ve already got the East to back them up. We just have the Kansas territory.”

“We’re not a threat,” said Ross, “we’re just next door.”

“So what does that mean?” Sadria persisted.

“Well…” said Toby.

Ross kicked the back of Toby’s seat. Lightly, because he was driving, but forcefully enough to get the point across. Toby yelped and swerved a bit. “We’re not allowed into the North.”

Ross could only thank his lucky stars that the look Sadria shot Toby was not directed at him. “You should have told me this sooner.”

Toby gave a shaky laugh. “I figured we’d cross that bridge when we came to it.”

Ross leaned forward. “She wanted a ride into the North?” Ross asked.

Toby’s laugh became even more panicked. “It’s a bit worse than that.”

“Tell me, Toby.”

The boy swallowed. “She wants to go to the Angel Hunter base.”

Ross sat back. “Toby, stop the car.”

“I can’t.”

“Why in God’s name not?” Ross barely restrained himself from shouting.

“Because they’re following us. Well, me and Sadria.”

“Who is?”

“VIKING, Ross. Sadria’s an Angel on the run, I helped her escape, and we kidnapped, sorry, abducted you. Doesn’t look to good for us.”

“Why did you help her?”

Toby looked at Ross in the mirror. “Why?”

“Yes. Why did you help an Angel escape VIKING soldiers and then agree to take her to your common enemy?”

“Well, it…it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Stop the car, Toby.”

“Ross—”

“Stop the goddamn car!”

The car lurched to a halt. This time, Ross could not avoid a collision and so slammed into Toby’s seat. Ignoring the lingering pain in his skull, he wrenched the door open and clamored out to stand on the pavement. The ground was rocky here, and the dunes had turned to hills. A dark, oily stain spread across the ground some distance off. It appeared to be something akin to water. Ross faced Toby. “Out of the car. Now.”

“What’s wrong with you, man?”

“What’s wrong with you, Toby? All day, didn’t you even think the things you were doing weren’t making any damn sense?”

Toby blinked at him, not comprehending. “What?”

“The Angel in the car beside you. She’s the one making you do all this.”

“Ross,” said Sadria. “I assure you that…”

“Hey,” Ross cut her off. “I don’t want to hear it.”

Toby shifted uncomfortably. “Ross, man, I helped her for you.”

It was Ross’s turn to be confused. “What?”

Toby leaned out of the car window. “You took a blast to the head, and almost a bolt to the gut. I figured you must’ve had some reason. And when you were knocked out of your skull, I thought to myself, well, if he wanted that bad to help her, least I can do is give him a hand.”

Ross rubbed his temples, trying to escape the nagging pain. “It doesn’t make sense. Why did I do that?”

Toby frowned and got out of the car.  “How should I know? Come on, man. Let’s get you back in the car.”

The pieces clicked. “Shit, she got me too.”

“What’d you say?”

Ross pushed past Toby and rushed at the car, each step sending a spike of pain through him, but the boy grabbed his arm as he passed. “Ross, settle down!”

“She got me too!” Ross repeated.

Comprehension dawned on the younger soldier’s face. “You mean…”

The passenger door opened with a rusty squeak and Sadria stepped out onto the buckled asphalt. She looked over the top of the car at Ross and held up a blaster.

“Toby, get down!” Ross pushed the boy away from him. Toby sprawled on the ground.

“Sadria,” Toby said, shock in his voice, “what are you…”

“Please,” she said in her clear, elegant voice, “wait.” She closed her eyes and raised her left hand. Something green pooled between her fingers as the vine around her arm twisted and tightened. A single leaf spread across her palm, unfurling in the desert winds. The Angel opened her eyes and pointed the blaster at her left hand.

“Stop!” Ross shouted.

Her cool gaze focused on him. “Why?”

At that range, the blast would break every bone in her hand. VIKING operatives were all too familiar with such injuries. But even in his current state, Ross could tell that wasn’t what she was asking. Not why she shouldn’t shoot herself. Why he stopped her.

After a long silence, Sadria smiled. “That should be enough proof. Still,” she looked at her hand, “just to make the point clear…” The blaster fired.

Her arm should have snapped back, straining muscles and ripping tendons. Her fingers should have snapped. She should have screamed in agony. But nothing happened. Sadria turned her hand towards Ross and Toby. Aside from a small scorch mark in the center, the leaf was unharmed. There was no apparent damage to her hand.

“I absorb energy,” she explained patiently. “A laser bolt could damage my body, so I thank you for your heroism on that score, but the blast could not have hurt me.”

Ross struggled to make sense of her words. Toby didn’t appear to be doing much better.

With a dispassionate tug that made Ross’s skin crawl, Sadria pulled the leaf from her hand and let it drift to the ground. “What I mean to say is, even if I had the ability to control you, Ross, I would have had no need. If you still do not believe me, I have no further means of convincing you.” She folded her arms and watched him, waiting for his response. Ross looked away and saw Toby staring at him.

“What?” Ross asked.

“What do we do?”

“So it’s ‘we’ now,” Ross muttered. A glance around the wasteland revealed no further options. “Why the hell are you running straight to the enemy?”

“They have transport,” said Sadria.

“So do you, more or less.”

“That’s not what I mean. They have a way to distribute their agents across the globe, faster than cars or boats, and I have seen so sign of trains or air transport. I wish to use their method as a means of escape.”

“You mean you’re…” It took Ross a moment to process the idea. “You’re running to them to run away from them?”

“Essentially, yes.”

“Huh. Well, that’s a new one.”

“Eh, Ross?” Toby tapped him on the shoulder and pointed. On the far horizon from where they had just come, a cloud of smoke rose above the road. “That’ll be them.”

“Them who?”

“VIKING, that’s who! We’re deserters, remember?”

“Speak for yourself.”

Toby looked as though he had been struck. “Okay. Okay, fine. We’ll just leave you here. You can tell them we kidnapped you, and we’ll just go on without you.”

“Thank you,” Ross said with exaggerated politeness. “That’s all that I ask.”

“Right, yeah.” Toby walked slowly back to the car. With a final look at Ross, Sadria took her seat again.

After a moment, Ross sighed. “Hell. Toby?”

The boy perked up and turned to him. “Yeah?”

“How are you going to cross the border?”

Toby hung his head. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“I, um, figured we could cross that bridge when we came to it.”

“You don’t have a plan.”

Toby glanced up at him. “I thought maybe you could handle that. Like that time with the gunners in Dodge and we lost McKinley and you got us through without anyone even getting hit, remember?”

“Toby.” Ross rubbed his eyes, were the last bit of the headache seemed to be lodged. “I only know how to do that because it was just like a level out of a game.”

“So think up a game like this.”

“This isn’t a game. Get that through your head. You go across the border looking like that,” he gestured towards Toby’s green-and-brown VIKING gear, “with her and you die. No do over, no restart.”

Toby shifted awkwardly in his seat. “Then we go off-road.”

Ross laughed grimly. The ‘scar was shook badly enough on the open road. Cross-country would tear it to pieces. “Might as well turn yourself over to VIKING.”

“No way!”

“What’s the worst they could do?”

“I don’t know, let me think, send us to the salt mines!”

Ross crossed his arms. “That’s where I grew up.”

“Oh, really? Sorry, man. I just meant…”

Ross held up a hand to stop him. Home was home, but there was no way he’d wish it on scrawny Toby. “No, you’re right. That is a fate worse than death.”

“So what do we do?” Toby looked terrified. Ross knew that look. It was the same look his younger brother Joshua had given him when they got caught in a storm between home and the mines. Josh was a good deal younger than Toby, but the look was the same. Ross knew it was a stupid, clichéd thing to fall for, even as he fell for it. He looked over his shoulder at the distant road. A car was visible now, less than five kilometers away.

“Fine.”

Toby looked surprised. “What?

Ross walked back to the car and climbed into the backseat. “It’s been a shitty enough day, but I’ll bet you can still make it worse.”

Toby laughed nervously. “You’re coming with us?”

“Don’t make me think about it.”

Toby hopped in the driver’s seat and slammed the car. Whoever was following them was getting close. “So we keep going?”

“Guess so.” Ross lay back on the seat as best he could. He wondered how pre-lypse folks could stand these things.

“Maybe you’ll think of something!”

“Hmmm,” was Ross’s non-committal reply. His fingers tangled in the frayed upholstery and he looked down at the offending fabric in distain. An idea glimmered in the back of his mind. A very, very stupid idea.

“What are the Angel Hunter colors?”

“Same as GloCo, blue and black. Why?”

Pieces were slotting together. “Alright, don’t get your hopes up, but I’ve got something. How long do you think we have?”

“No idea. Whatcha got?”

Ross pulled his jackknife out of a cargo pocket. The unofficial motto of VIKING was “Take everything everywhere.” With perhaps a little more aggression than was necessary, he began hacking away at the car bench.

“It’s not going to work and we’re all going to die, got it?”

“Whatever you say, dude.”

“Then keep driving and listen up.”

…

Sunset spilled across the sand. A faded sign lay partially collapsed in the sand. The sign read “Welcome to,” the final word obscured by dunes. Beyond the sign, a squat cinder-block building lurked moodily. A sagging roadblock of yellow two-by-fours crossed the road, a GloCo flag draped over it. The flag’s black field with blue circle was repeated on the shoulders of the armed guards who came pouring out of the building as the car approached.

“I’m not sure I can do this,” Toby said as the guards waved at him to stop.

“Just pretend you can,” Ross said from the seat beside him. He took another pill from the bottle Sadria had entrusted to him.

“What does that mean?” Toby demanded, but before Ross could answer the guards were around the stopped car. Toby rolled down the window.

“Evening!” he said cheerfully.

“State your name and intention,” a helmeted guard ordered. Tinted goggles covered half his face.

“Hey, calm down!” Toby said with what Ross assumed was supposed to be an easy laugh but sounded more like a hiccup. “We’re all on the same team here.” He shrugged, drawing attention to his black t-shirt with blue lining on the arms. They’d even gone through the trouble of affixing a blue circle to the front of his shirt, although it was held on by static cling and sweat. Ross only had an armband; there hadn’t been time for more. “Look, we’re in a hurry. We have an Angel in the back and we need to get her to base.”

The man stepped rapidly back from the car. Toby snickered until Ross elbowed him.

“Open the door.”

“Are you crazy? You wanna let her out?” Toby was warming up to his role.

The guard nodded to a woman in uniform. She edged close enough to the car to look into the back window. Even from his distant angle Ross could see the laser gun in her hands.

Vines poured out of the window and the woman jumped back in surprise.

“You really don’t want to make her angry,” Toby warned. All the guards looked shaken.

“It doesn’t seem contained.”

“It’s all in knowing how to handle them. But we gotta hurry. Wanna let us through before she gets frisky?”

The guard nodded and barked orders. While the other scurried to move the barricade, Toby whispered, “I can’t believe that worked.”

“It hasn’t,” said Ross. “Not yet.”

When the road was clear, the guard waved them through. Toby began to roll up the window, but Ross stopped him.

“Hey, excuse me,” he called, his own voice jarring in his skull. “Could you tell this clown here that I’m right? He keeps saying we just have to go North on this road and we’ll hit the base.”

The man looked at Toby suspiciously. “Something wrong with you, kid?”

Toby looked genuinely startled—he probably was—but he managed to look sheepish. “I’m…not good with directions.”

With some muttering about newbies, the guard pointed down the road. “You head straight for fifty kilometers, then you head east.”

“See?” Ross said to Toby. “I told you so.”

Toby grinned apologetically. “My bad. Thank you, sir.”

The man nodded and backed away. Toby hit the gas. None of them spoke for the next half-kilometer.

“Shit,” said Toby, breaking the silence. “That was…”

“Close,” said Ross.

“I was gonna say genius. Where’d you get that, man?”

“My brain. I don’t know.” Ross turned to look at Sadria. She was barely visible through the vines. “You all right?”

“Yes. A little tired, I suppose.” She shifted the nest of plants and began fastidiously pulling them off her and throwing them out the window. “I won’t be able to do that again, I don’t think.”

Ross nodded and turned to Toby. The boy seemed sunken in his seat, his eyes were half open. “What about you, soldier?”

“Oh, I’m fine.”

“How long have you been driving?”

“Uh…six, seven hours?”

“Eight,” said Sadria, “at the very least.”

“Pull over,” said Ross. “I’ll drive.”

“Like hell you will!”

“Come on, Toby. Like this, you’re hardly any better than me.”

Night had settled over the barren hills. At Ross’s instruction, Toby found the switch for the lights. By some miracle, one headlight flickered on. Ross let Toby go another ten kilometers before he fished out his blaster and pointed it at the boy’s head.

“Are you crazy?” Toby shrieked, swerving on the road.

“Pull over the car, Toby.”

“You’re not gonna shoot me, Ross!”

“Might as well. You’ll kill us if you keep driving.”

“I’m pulling over! I’m pulling over!”

After more cajoling and gun-waving, Toby got into the backseat, where he almost immediately fell asleep. Sadria took the passenger seat again.

“I can drive, you know,” she said. “In your condition, you should be resting.”

“Well, I’m not good at resting.” He got in the driver’s seat and took another pill.

“What are these, anyway?” he asked, starting the car.

“Paracetamol. It used to be a common painkiller. We just approved them for distribution but haven’t begun producing them yet. Those are the remaining test samples.”

“So there’s no more.”

“To the best of my knowledge, no.”

“Take them back.” Ross held the bottle towards her, keeping his other hand on the wheel.

“No, you need them.”

“Not so bad that I need to take the only pills on Earth.”

“That’s what they were meant for, Ross.” There was a tone in her voice that made it clear the argument was over and that was that. Ross had not heard that tone since he last spoke to his mother. Resigned never to use them, he dropped the bottle in the cup holder.

“Why’d you do it?” he asked. “Become a doctor?”

“To help people, Ross. The same goal as most medical practitioners.”

“But you’re not most medical practitioners.”

“No,” she said slowly. “I’m not.”

“Are you a…guardian Angel or something?”

Sadria laughed, a clear, ringing sound. “Don’t be ridiculous. Guardian Angels, there’s no such thing.”

“Well, excuse me.”

She sighed. “No, I apologize. It’s not right of me to expect you to know anything.”

“I know some things.”

“No, you don’t. And we’ve worked hard to keep it that way.”

“Who?”

“Angels.”

“So you mean, you’ve been secretly helping humanity?”

“Hardly! No, most Angels ignore humanity. As a rule, we care as little about you as you do about us. And you’ve been unaware of our existence for millennia.”

“You’ve been around that long?”

“Well, I haven’t. I’m only one thousand seven hundred and fifty-six. Give or take a few years, depending on what calendar you’re using.”

“I see.”

There was silence in the car for a few minutes before Sadria spoke again. “You thought we were another plague.”

“Most people do.”

“Yes, I know. Troublesome things, people.”

“Then why do you bother with us.”

She took a deep breath and exhaled. “Guilt, I suppose.”

“For?”

“I’m not sure yet. The apocalypse, as people have dubbed it—and really, what else could it be called—well, there was Angelic involvement. Somehow. Humanity became aware of us not because we were new but because we were suffering as much as you. The balance of the multiverse was toppled, affecting our powers. It’s complicated, to say the least. But the long and the short of it is…I’m dying.”

Ross waited in silence for her to continue.

She began to speak very quickly, as if she wished to get the conversation over with. “An Angel is the connection point between two universes. We are meant to maintain a balance of power, the conservation of energy as you scientists called it. Ordinarily, we can utilize power from our birth plane, the dimension we are ties to, in our home plane, the dimension we physically exist in. That transfer is counter-balanced by an equivalent Angel in our birth plane who is tied to our home plane. Does that make sense?”

“I’m not sure.”

“I can’t imagine it would. In any case, my problem seems to be that my birth plane is losing energy, forcing me to pull energy from this plane. I was not meant to transfer such massive quantities of power that direction. My body, which is as fragile as yours, is finally failing me. I am forced to draw in extra energy just to keep my organs functioning. When you found me this morning, I was using photosynthesis out of desperation. Absurd, I know, but I had to try. It worked, thank God, but at the cost of reveling myself.”

Ross grasped at the one piece of information he felt he understood. “You said Angels were involved in the apocalypse?”

“They must have been. No one else could tamper with the energy levels of other dimensions.”

“Why?”

“Why indeed. Part of me would very much like to know. But there are more important things to worry about, I believe, namely you humans. At least three billion of you have died already. Most Angels don’t care, from what I’ve heard. But if our kind caused this, we have some duty to prevent further damage.”

Ross had never given much thought to what had created the world he lived in. He’d heard about the Forty-Day Plagues and the Last Act, but not since he was a child did he question where they had come from. At the age of seven, he’d asked his mother why none of their extensive array of video games took place in the real world. She’s explained—tearfully, he remembered that all too well—how the world had ended, forty days at a time.

“Why?” Ross had asked again and again, like a child half his age.

“Because,” his mother had finally said, “humans made a lot of mistakes. For hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of years. And those mistakes added up.”

“Ross,” said Sadria, interrupting his thoughts. “This is the turn.”

After they’d been on the road east for some time, Sadria said quietly, “Is something troubling you?”

“Did it have anything to do with humans?”

“I’m sorry, did what?”

“It. The apocalypse.”

“I don’t know. It may have. Perhaps humans discovered Angelic power.”

“I hope so.”

“What do you mean, you hope so.”

“If didn’t have anything to do with us, the whole thing seems sort of pointless.”

“I’m afraid I’m not following. What seems pointless?”

“A lot of things. Maybe everything.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her looking at him. “Ross, please remember your condition. Are you sure you’re fit to be driving?”

“Doesn’t matter. Look.” He nodded at the horizon. There was light reflecting off the clouds. Orange, artificial light. “That’ll be the base.”

Ross drove as close as he dared, then parked the car behind a low hill. “You stay here,” he said. “I’ll go see what I can find.”

“This is no time for chivalry,” Sadria snapped at him. “Just because I’m a woman…”

“Ma’am, to be honest, I don’t care if you’re a woman. You’re an Angel. I don’t know much about Angel Hunters, but from what I’ve heard, they can sense the presence of Angels.”

“Not many of them have that ability. But, yes, some of them do.”

“You stay here and keep an eye on Toby. Please.”

“I will. But only because you asked nicely. What are you going to do?”

“Whatever I can. If I’m not back in two hours, drive back the way we came. Take Toby’s blaster. Anyone but me comes around that hill, blast ‘em. Understand?”

Sadria regarded him for a moment. “Why risk yourself? Why not let Toby go?”

“I don’t know. Because I had nothing better to do today.” He slammed the door against any more questions.

As he walked towards the lit compound, he took a quick mental inventory: a blaster with half charge, an extra power cartridge, a laser gun capable of about five shots, a switch blade, a small flashlight, and a fake Angel Hunter uniform. Everything else was in his coat back in the car, but Ross resisted the urge to go back. He’d run levels on less; he’d manage.

The base was a surprisingly small compound, surrounded by wire-fences, which may or may not have been electrified. Within the fence was a small collection of low cement buildings with tin roofs. In two opposite corners stood watchtowers—shoddy affairs on spindly legs. The whole set-up seemed distinctly post-lypse, a detail which struck Ross as strange, but his attention was diverted. The road led to a simple gate in the fence, outside of which stood a lone guard.  No one else was in sight but as Ross approached the gate, a light in the closer tower swiveled to focus on him.

“Who’s that?” shouted the person at the gate. He pointed a weapon at him, but whether it was a blaster or a gun Ross could not tell.

Ross took a deep breath. There’d be no turning back now. “Oh, thank God!” A terrible opening line. He winced as he stumbled forward toward the gate. The left leg, he decided, would be easier to fake a sprain.

“Identify yourself!” the Angel Hunter ordered.

“Come on! It’s me!” He stopped twenty yards or so from the gate. The light was directly in his eyes.

“Yeah, and who are you?”

“Who are you?” Ross returned. This was harder than it looked. “I don’t recognize your voice.”

“Sergeant Andrew. I’ve been stationed here for three months.”

“Oh, that explains it. I haven’t been through here since then. Name’s Toby.”

Andrew took a step towards him, still aiming at Ross’s chest. “What’s the matter with you, Toby?”

“There was an accident. Our car…We’d captured an Angel, but she got free…”

“We’re not scheduled for Angel transport this month.”

“I know, but we had to go around a dust storm. Threw us off.”

“Where’s the Angel now?”

Ross hung his head waved a hand in the general direction of the desert.

“You let it escape?”

“Look, my partner is terribly injured. He needs help. He’s still back out there. And with my leg like this, I can’t carry him by myself.”

Hesitatingly, Andrew lowered his weapon—Ross was fairly certain it was a standard blaster. “How far?”

“Less than a kilometer.”

Andrew nodded. “Hey, Steph!”

“What?” A voice called from the watchtower.

“Keep an eye out, I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Gotcha.”

“Lead the way,” Andrew told Ross. Careful to keep the same leg injured, Ross took Andrew in the direct of the hill.

“Not a bad night,” said Andrew.

Ross looked around. “No, I guess not.”

“Where’d you say that storm was?”

“South.”

“Not VIKING territory?”

That was it, he’d blown it. Ross was reaching for his blaster when Andrew said, “I’d heard they’d be sending Hunters down there. Tough luck. Who’d you offend to get assigned that job?” He laughed. Ross tried to laugh with him.

When they reached the hill, Ross held back. “He’s back there. I…I can’t…”

Andrew looked at him. In the distant light of the compound, Ross though he saw concern on the older man’s face. “How bad is it, son?”

Ross just shook his head.

“I see. Wait here.”

With a nod, Ross let the Angel Hunter pass. Then he waited for the sound of the blaster. When he rounded the hill, Sadria turned to point the blaster at him. She was wide-eyed and breathing heavily. Andrew lay at her feet.

“It’s me,” said Ross.

“I see that,” she replied, trying regain her composure. “And who, pray tell, is this?”

“An Angel Hunter,” Ross said, knelling beside the man.

Toby stirred in the car. “Wha wazzat?”

Sadria swept to the side of the car to speak to him.

“Andrew?” Ross tapped the man’s shoulder. His face was frozen in shock, a common effect of a good blast. He was breathing, at least. A few minutes or so at the most and he’d be able to speak.

Sadria spoke quietly to Toby, explaining their situation. The moon passed between clouds. Ross stared blankly around at the desert, seeing nothing. Possible strategies and plans whirred in his head. The headache was returning.

Andrew coughed. Ross looked down at him. “Back with us, Andrew?”

“What in God’s name are you doing?”

“We’re VIKING operatives, here to infiltrate GloCo.”

“What’s wrong with you people? The Coalition is working for the good of humanity, and you want to pick a fight over territory?”

“I’m following orders, same as you. We need your help getting into the facility.”

Andrew choked out a laugh. Ross held up his laser gun.

“You know what this is?”

Andrew’s eyes went wide. “Now just hold on a second…”

Ross pushed the gun against the man’s head. “Sorry, we’re running out of time. All we want to know about is your transit system.”

“I don’t know anything?”

“Really?” Ross pressed the gun harder against Andrew’s skull. “Nothing?”

Andrew’s face screwed up and he looked at Ross with undisguised contempt. “In the building in the center of the compound.”

“What about it?”

“That’s where they keep it! That’s all I know! Things go in there and they don’t come back out. People leave that we’ve never seen before.”

Ross looked at Sadria. “Well?”

“It’s possible.”

“Thank you for your assistance, Andrew. There’s just one final thing we need from you. Toby, get out here and help me get his uniform off him, then you and Sadria find some way to restrain him.”

“Yes, sir, boss!”

“And be quiet about it.”

…

Ross pulled the blue-and-black cap down to cover his eyes as he approached the gate. Andrew’s jacket was tight around his shoulders but fit well enough to fool anyone who saw him from a distance. He hoped. Steph shone the light on him, but then quickly moved it away.

“How bad is it?” she called down.

Ross tried to imitate Andrew’s gruff tone. “Not good. He needs medical attention.

“The doc’s asleep, you know how he is. But you can get the medipack.”

Ross nodded and approached the gate. There was no hum of electricity, and no lock, so he pulled the gate to the side and entered the compound. From this angle, he could see Steph, a youngish woman in a uniform too large for. She nodded to him briefly, then turned back to face the desert.

He was in.

The layout of the buildings was jumbled and haphazard, making navigation confusing. It wasn’t until he spotted the “Authorized Personnel Only” sign that Ross was certain he’d found the center building. The door was locked. Ross scanned the area. The window in a nearby building was on, but otherwise there was no sign of life. That was reasonable, it was after midnight. A quick look around the building showed a larger garage-style door on a side wall, also locked. One quick blast to any of the locks would be sufficient, but the noise would alert others to his presence. Ross wracked his brain, trying to think, but he was fighting a losing battle against the returning ache. He needed those pills. Desperately, he searched his pockets, hoping he was misremembering leaving the bottle in the car. That was brought him to the knife.

“Why the hell not,” he muttered to himself as he jammed the knife between the smaller door and frame and began to pry it open. With a snap and a lurch, the door sprang open. Surprised, Ross looked at the lock. It was pathetic, really. Clearly stolen from some pre-lypse building. He probably could have just pushed the door open with brute force. Too late for that now. He turned on his flashlight and looked around at the inside of the building. It was empty,  except for a small, blinking panel on the wall facing the garage door.

Ross stepped towards the panel and examined it. A small green light labeled “Available” blinked persistently, aggravating his headache. Beside it, a yellow button read “Activate.” Knowing he should think first and act later, Ross hit the button.

The room filled with a low whine that forced him to cover his ears. Lights flashed on and for a moment Ross believed he had just activated an alarm. Then his eyes adjusted and he realized the lights were coming through a doorway which had opened in the wall. But there had been no door there a moment ago.

Before he could stop himself, Ross began to laugh. That’s how Angel Hunters did it: they had portals.

“You desire transport?” a girl’s voice flowed out of the portal.

“Uh…”

“You’re not a Hunter, are you?”

Ross put a hand on his blaster, but the voice continued.

“I don’t mind, though. Is there somewhere you want to go?”

“Well, I…my friends are about a kilometer from here. They’re the ones who want to go anywhere. Can I go to them and then…”

“No, I cannot place a gate there. This is the only spot in the region I can open.”

That explained why the Angel Hunters had built here. Ross had wondered why GloCo would build these shanties when they could have any pre-lypse building they wanted. They needed this location.

“If I go get the others and bring them here, it will take a while.”

“I understand. I will leave the gate open.”

“Um…thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Ross opened his mouth to speak again, but shut it again. It was hard to argue with a voice so polite.

…

“Hey, did you get the medipack?” Steph called after Ross as he ran through the gate.

“Nah, couldn’t find it!” he shouted back, racing for the hill. He didn’t dare look back or slow down, even though each step jolted his head, making the headache worsen.

This time it was Toby who greeted him with a raised blaster

“Whoa, settle down,” Ross said, grabbing the weapon from him. “And for God’s sake, learn how to hold this thing. I shouldn’t be able to take it from you like that.”

“Shut up and tell us what happened!”

“Where’s Sadria?”

“Here.” She got out of the passenger seat where she had been sitting.

“And Andrew?”

“The trunk,” said Toby.

“There should be a lever in there that can release the door.”

“Oh. Well, I didn’t know that.” There was a scuffling sound inside the trunk. “And neither did he, I guess.”

“Toby, sit on the trunk. Good. Okay, so, get this, they have a portal.”

Ross waited for their reaction. Toby yawned. “A what?”

“You seem quite excited about this,” said Sadria.

“Well, it’s…never mind.” He took a deep breath. “They have a gate, and it’s open, but I don’t know for how long.”

“So what’s the plan?” said Toby. “How do we get in?”

Ross groaned. “I don’t know.”

“The pills are in the cup holder,” said Sadira.

“I don’t need your damn pills! Toby, you think of something. I’ve had it!”

Toby nearly fell off the car but managed to keep his seat. “Well, couldn’t we just plow through? Make a run for it?”

Sadria shook her head. “Absolutely not.”

“Let’s do it,” said Ross.

“Have you lost your mind?” Sadria exclaimed.

“No, and you know how I know? Because it feels like my head splitting in half.”

“Jeez,” said Toby, “somebody’s cranky.”

“Shut up and drive.”

“Alrighty, boss.”

Ross climbed into the backseat. “Just aim for the gate and try to stop before you hit a building.”

“This is insane,” Sadria said, even as she buckled her seatbelt. “You’re going to kill us.”

“Toby, pop the trunk and let Andrew out.”

The man climbed stiffly out and collapsed on the sand.

“Sorry, dude,” Toby shouted out the window. With a laugh, he hit the gas. “Now this is more like it!”

“I wondered how it was going to end,” said Sadria. “I’ll admit I never expected to die at the hands of two idiot human boys.”

After that, their words washed over Ross, as meaningless as the screaming of the engine. Steph’s light fixed on the car as soon as they came into view, and blaster shot rained down on them. The windshield shattered. Sadria screamed. Toby drove straight through the gate. The car almost immediately lurched to a halt.

“Everybody out!” Toby shouted , slamming his door shut. Ross struggled to climb out. “Where to now, man?”

“Follow me.” Ross tried to lead the way through the maze of buildings. He heard doors slamming, people shouting, shots firing. His brain seemed to have cut a deal with him: it would focus on two things, no more. One was pain. The other could either be finding the gate…or everything else. He chose the gate and let Toby and Sadria deal with whatever else was going on around them. The building came into view. Ross didn’t even bother with the door handle, just slammed into door. It gave way and he fell into the building. The gate stood open beside him. Stumbling, he threw himself through, crashing to a metal floor. Before he could move, there was a crushing weight on his back. Then a low whine followed by silence.

“Thank God at least the floor is soft.” Toby’s voice came from somewhere above him.

“Dear,” said Sadria, “you’re on Ross.”

“Huh? Oh, shit, sorry!” Toby climbed off him, digging a knee into his back. Ross didn’t bother to react. Slowly, painfully, he peeled himself off the floor and looked around. They were in a large round room—at least thirty meters in diameter—lined entirely in dark, dull metal. Industrial light fixtures dotted the high ceiling, reflecting unpleasantly (to Ross’s eyes, at least) off the metallic walls.

In the center of the room was a raised dias, on which sat a black chair with a back so reclined a person sitting on it would have to practically lie down. Perched on the edge was a girl, with long dark hair and a gray jumpsuit. A black band marked with a blue circle crossed her chest.

“Welcome,” she said, and Ross recognized her voice from before.

“Gemma?” Sadria sounded shocked. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask the same of you,” the girl said, frowning. “I wanted to help the human and his friends, not you, Sadria. If there weren’t all those Hunters chasing these two, I’d reopen the gate and toss you back.”

“Who’s the chick?” asked Toby.

“The girl,” said Sadira, emphasizing the word, “is an Angel.”

“But she’s got a GloCo uniform!”

“I’m well aware of that fact, yes. And I’m curious why she’d wear the colors of her enemy.”

Gemma laughed. “My enemy? The Coalition is not my enemy. I have allied myself with the humans.”

“Against your own kind?”

“Yes, against my own kind.” The girl stood on the platform, looking down imperiously. “Against the real enemy, who killed my brother and sister. Even little Blaze, who was just a fledgling. Kan and I had just found her when they were both killed by the wing thief.”

Ross heard Sadria mutter something under her breath. He didn’t recognize the language but he could gage the intent. She was cursing like a soldier. “So now you help humans hunt down and kill other Angels?”

“Yes. This is my revenge. I…I…” Gemma sank to the chair. “I didn’t know what else to do!” The girl burst into tears.

Sadria hurried to the side of the dias. “Hush, hush, I know.”

Toby turned to Ross. “Where are we?”

“Hell if I know.”

Gemma wiped her eyes. “I wanted to help the humans, too.”

“As did I,” said Sadria. I started a pharmaceutical company of all things. Can you believe that?”

“So Scarcity is yours? I’ve heard about it from people who come through here.”

“What is this facility, Gemma?”

“We’re under the Coalition’s headquarters.”

“New York?”

“Dubai.”

Toby nudged Ross. “I guess we’re not in Kansas anymore. Huh? Huh?” He had that stupid grin he wore when he thought he was being clever. Ross didn’t follow.

“We haven’t been in Kansas for hours. We crossed the border.”

The stupid grin evaporated. “Forget it, man. My genius is lost on you.”

An alarm sounded.

“They know you’re here,” said Gemma.

Toby pulled out his laser gun. “We’ll be ready.”

Gemma laughed. “Stupid boy. They can’t get in here. I’ve sealed all gates for the time being—they’re not happy about that in the East Coast base right now—and the doors to the building above are controlled by the computer core. And he seems to like me, so they won’t get in that way.”

“But what about you?” asked Ross. “Won’t they punish you?”

Gemma gave him a blank look. “They can’t do anything to me.” She turned to Sadria. “Where were you planning to go?”

“Brazil.”

Gemma giggled. “Quite a getaway. Returning to your roots?”

Sadria smiled. “Something like that. Would you like coordinates?”

“I never said I was helping you.” She folded her thin arms and looked down at Sadria. “I’ll help them, though. Humans. I like humans.”

Toby tossed her a salute. She giggled. “You two want to go to Brazil?”

Ross nodded. Anywhere that wasn’t here sounded good.

Gemma looked down her nose at Sadria. “Alright, I’ll help them, but if you want to tag along, I guess you can.”

After listening carefully to Sadria’s instructions, Gemma nodded. “There’s a point near there I can drop you. It’ll be a bit of a hike, but…”

“Beggars can’t be choosers, I understand,” said Sadria.

The girl waved a hand towards the wall. A new portal appeared, green light flooding out of it, like sunlight through leaves. Ross suspected that was exactly what it was.

Another alarm sounded. A flashing blue light lit the room.

“Oh no.” Gemma froze. “That’s Tir. They’re forcing system override. That’s their last resort. He can’t hold the doors much longer.”

“Tir?” Sadria repeated. “You can’t possibly mean the Tir.”

“It’s a changed world, Sadira. Tir volunteered himself after the death of Altair.”

Sadria backed slowly away. “Gemma, don’t lie to me. The Muthallath could not fall.”

High above them, machinery clanked and motors whirred. A door at the top of a flight of stairs Ross had not previously noticed creaked open.  Soldiers in black flooded through like ants out of an ant hill.

“Run!” Gemma shouted as the shots began.

Ross recognized the sound of laser guns. He grabbed Toby and ducked behind the dias, though it made for poor cover as more Angel Hunters entered the room. Sadria took cover beside him. He pushed her towards the gateway. “Run for it! Now!”

She looked at him, then nodded and ran. Ross pushed Toby next. “Come on, go!”

Toby got up and managed a few steps before he fell, screaming. Ross saw the damage immediately. A laser bolt had gone straight through his left leg.

“Go on, Ross!” Toby shouted roughly. “Run!”

Ross took a deep breath. Then he ran. Keeping low, he headed for the gateway as fast as he could. He’s made a deal with his brain this time: no pain, just running. With one important addition. As he dashed past Toby, he grabbed the boy and threw him over his shoulder. Toby croaked his protest.

“Just leave me.”

“Save the drama and shut up!” Ross shouted. They were four steps from the gate. Three. Two.

Ross jumped and landed this time in dirt. With a whine, the gate closed behind him.

They were through.

“Where’s my other boot?”

Ace snickered at the sight of Michael standing one-footed by their tarp shelter.

“I swear I left it here last night.”

With a shrug, Ace turned back to her radio. “Beats me. That’s what you get for sleeping in.”

Michael scoffed. “I’d hardly call it sleeping in. It’s barely dawn. Now where the hell is it?”

Carols were playing on overlapping frequencies, giving a dizzying since of yuletide confusion. Yawing, Ace gave the radio a sharp slap and it settled into “Jingle Bell Rock.” She lay back on the sand, an act which made Michael cringe. Did she have any idea how much grit she carried in her hair?

“I know you hid it.”

His accusation drew no more reaction than a quiet giggle.

With a sigh, Michael hobbled toward the bike, hopping on one foot as much as he could to avoid dragging his sock in the dust. Ace tilted her head back to watch him upside-down and laughed uproariously.

“I’m glad you find me so amusing.”

“Oh, come on. A little dirt never hurt anybody.”

“Wrong,” he said, pointing at her. “Wrong.”

“Name one example of death by dirty sock.”

Michael had no response to that. Ace grinned at him.

A quick search of the bike yielded no results. Frustrated, and wearing a now very dirty sock, Michael stood next to Ace and looked down at her. “Well?”

“Mmm?” She met his gaze with a dopey smile.

“I thought you wanted to hit the next town by this afternoon. I am prepared to wait here all day.”

Ace rolled her eyes. “Well I didn’t tell anyone, but a bird flew by…” She sang the line, hitting something in the vicinity of the correct key.

“What is that?”

“It’s a song lyric, dummy. Florence and the Machine.”

“Yes, I gathered that. But what does…oh.” He closed his eyes. “Oh no. I really don’t want to look up, do I?”

“It’s your call.”

He opened his eyes. He looked up. He groaned.

They’d set up camp at the base of one of the highest ghost trees on the dunes. According to an informational sign Ace had found and Michael had deciphered, these dunes predated the apocalypse. The ghost trees were—so the sign claimed—two thousand year old trees which had been buried in the dunes and later uncovered by the winds.

And now Michael’s left boot swung from the highest branch.

“Get it down immediately.”

Ace looked innocently up at him. “I can’t climb. No upper body strength.”

“Then how’d you get it up there. And don’t tell me it was a bird.”

She frowned at him. Clearly, her cover story was blown. “Fine, I threw it.”

“I thought you had no upper body strength.”

“The wind helped.”

“Of course it did.” Michael took off his other boot and stripped off his socks.

Ace sat up. “You’re gonna do it?”

“Do you have an extra boot?”

“No.”

“Then yes.” He faced the tree. Surely he’d climbed trees before, hadn’t he? There must be some memory buried in there somewhere. He reached for the highest branch he could grab and started pulling himself upward. Muscles screamed in his arms. No, there was no memory here whatsoever.

“Um, are you okay?”

Michael opened his eyes—he hadn’t realized they were closed—and saw Ace was at his elbow. “I’m fine, just give me room.”

“Alright, alright,” she said, backing away. “You can do it!”

“Ha. Right.”

With much unpleasant straining and unnecessary encouragement from Ace, Michael’s finger brushed the laces of his boot. With one hand in a death-grip on the tree, he began untangling the strings.

Below him, Ace was shouting unintelligibly.

“What now?” Michael yelled back. “I’m busy! What are you…oh, God…”

She appeared to be dancing around the base of the tree.

“ACE!”

She stopped and looked up at him. “Don’t you know what day it is?”

Michael starred at her. Then he slapped his face with his free hand. “You must be joking.”

“Look!” Ace cried, pointing up at him. “It’s an ex-Angel on an ex-tree! Just in time for X-mas!”

“You’re going to be an ex-human when I get down there!”

Ace giggled, then cocked her head to the side. “Oooh, they’re playing Bowie!” She dashed off to the radio and turned it up so high, Michael could catch the opening lines of “Little Drummer Boy.”

Michael threw his boot after her, but the wind caught it and sent it the other direction. He watched it land with a resigned sigh.  He’d deal with that when he climed down. When he…

A moment or two passed.

“Ace,” Michael tried to call over the voices of Bowie and Bing. “Ace, how do I get down?”

I should’ve known I was dead the moment I found the Angel. When I was little, they told me angels live in Heaven, so you won’t see them until you’re up there too. That was before they told me I was destined for the pitchforks.

I had just run away from home when I met her. For my first three days on the road, I was graced with good weather, but on my third night came my first storm. There was a barn. Weathered, with peeling white paint. I slipped inside, shaking from cold and wet. My bag was soaked. I dumped it out, draped the clothes over rafters, and tried to find anything dry enough to keep me warm. Only then did I hear her. A clinking, like the crackle of ice on a puddle. Light. Cold.

She was in the corner, her back to the wall. I couldn’t even see her body at first, there were just shapes, jutting triangles. In the beam of my flashlight, they looked like glass. It wasn’t until I was by her side that I saw her, thin and pale, curled up in the rotting straw, under her glass tent. I tapped a panel of glass and it chimed like the sweetest bell. Her eyes snapped open and she rose, panicked. The glass moved with her. Spread out into two wings of crystalline feathers.   Only then did I begin to realize what she was.

I’d never believed in angels. They were like ghosts, aliens, monsters, fairies. Stories, fabrications. I was a voracious reader as a child. I escaped through books for as long as I could, before it became clear that more drastic measures would be needed. I was never one to lose track of reality, though. The world was harsh and all too real. But when I met the girl with the icy wings, I didn’t doubt for a moment I had found an Angel.

She called herself Tureis, although when people asked we always said Therese. She always looked delicate, with frighteningly pale skin and hair so blonde it was nearly white. A strong wind could have carried her off, a fall might cause her to shatter. Or so I thought.

That night in the barn, while she sat wrapped up in my extra shirt—her wings somehow folding away into nothingness—she told me about her past. How Angels existed and always had, how she’d lived for a little over a thousand years, and how she was fleeing for her life.

“I don’t understand what he wants with me.” I remember the way her eyes focused dully on the floor and she seemed to shrink inside herself while her wings fanned out. “Everywhere I go, he follows me.”

She looked at me so strangely when I told her I’d help her. Like she couldn’t process the words.

“He’s an Angel,” she told me. “You shouldn’t get involved.”

But it was already too late. I was a dead girl walking.

Those were the good times, the weeks that followed. We hiked part of the Appalachian Trail—just because we could—stopping in towns along the way to spend an afternoon in their library. It was on one such visit that I discovered the magnitude of Tureis’s memory.  I’d been slowly working my way through The Once and Future King for a week before I remembered that my traveling companion would have been a contemporary of King Arthur, had he existed. Half in jest, I turned to Tureis.

“Did you ever meet King Arthur?”

She looked at me over the science dictionary she was reading. “Just once. I spent most of the middle ages in France. He was decent, for a human.”

“You’re joking.”

“No, I’m not. That whole business with Merlin is entirely made up. And his reign ended for political reasons, rather than romantic. And he only ruled over a very small region of northern England. But yes, he was there.”

“Decent for a human, hmm?”

She put down at her book and met my eyes. “Don’t worry. You’re decent for a human too.”

Such a little thing. Why did it mean so much?

From then on, we didn’t even bother with libraries. Tureis told stories as we walked, as we waited for buses, before I went to sleep. She opened the world before me. And I remember wondering what on Earth I could ever give in return.

“You never talk about Angels,” I said one day as we took a bus headed west. “There are others, aren’t there?”

Tureis looked down at her sandwich. “There are,” she said. “I don’t have much to do with them. We’re very solitary, except for the siblings.”

She told me how dimensions closer to this one have multiple Angels connecting their universe to ours. Those Angels consider each other brothers and sisters. I listened, fascinated, as Tureis spoke of the Pleiades and the Muthallath, two “families” of Angelic siblings she seemed to view with reverence.

“And you’re an only child?” I asked.

She nodded slowly.

Concerned, I said, “It must be lonely.”

She straightened up in her seat, faced straight ahead. “No, it’s perfectly natural. Most Angels are ‘only children,’ as you say. But,” she looked down, “yes, it can be…lonely.”

Slowly, I took her hand. “It doesn’t have to be.”

“Yes. It does. ”

I gripped her hand tighter. “Not right now, it doesn’t.”

She looked at me then, and it was like she was looking at a stranger. Like she’d never seen me before. She didn’t say a word. But she threaded her fingers through mine.

They say it’s like falling, but I never felt that way. The strange became the normal, the normal became the comfortable, and the comfortable became what got me through every waking hour.

We traveled any way we could: bus, hitchhiking, I even stole I bicycle one day. Tureis laughed as I frantically tried to peddle us both up a steep hill to make our getaway. The bike’s owner caught up with us. Running. We were supposed to be taken to the police station. We ran.

To this day, I wonder if that’s how he found us.

It happened in the night, while I slept and Tureis watched television. Police in SWAT gear burst into our shabby motel room. God only knows what he told them we had done. Perhaps terrorism. Whatever it was, it was severe. I woke to a gun in my face. There was a scream and a sound like an explosion. I felt nothing. For a moment, I thought I was already dead. Which of course I was, I still had yet to realize. Then I saw, and understood. Centimeters from my face, a pane of blue-tinted glass separated me from the bullet meant for my head. I turned my head and looked at Tureis. She was breathing heavily, her wings spread behind her. There was a moment of stillness. Then bullets rained.

“Get behind me!” she shouted over the gun fire and a rolled out of the bed towards her. Her wings burst apart, the panels whirling around the room, blocking every shot.  The TV exploded, the sheets were shredded, but she and I were untouched. We locked ourselves in the bathroom, where there was—miracle of miracles—a small window. She slipped though easily. It took me a little more time, with my additional height. But we made it. We ran into the woods behind the motel, barefoot, in only the clothing we slept in. We never looked back. We couldn’t.

I don’t know how we survived. We got better at taking stealing food and supplies. Tureis was used to taking what she wanted from humans. She said I was becoming more Angelic. I just laughed and told her, “It can’t get much more human than this.”

We stopped staying near towns, pitching a tent as far out in the woods as we could.  I picked up a pocket knife along the way and kept it with me at all times. Once a ranger found our camp—the poor man, just doing his job—and, thinking he was police, I attacked him.

“You did what you had to do,” Tureis said when she found me. “He would have reported us.”

“You don’t understand.” I remember sobbing as I spoke.

She tried to sooth me, but in her effort, out slipped the words, “He’s only a human.”

Her otherness terrified me just as much as it drew me to her.

“I’m only a human.” My voice felt like ice in my throat.

“No,” she said, taking my hand. “You’re not.”

I had to wait until she was asleep before I returned to the man and did what I could to save him. I dragged his limp body to the nearest town and left him inside the entry to the small clinic.

I never told Tureis. I didn’t get the chance. He found us at dawn.

Wind tore at the tent as we scrambled out. A black helicopter hovered above us. Guns pointed at us from every side.

We did what we could.

I slashed and stabbed, most of my attempts rebounding off protective clothing, but I got a few hands, even one neck. Tureis kept me safe, causing her shields to fly between me and danger, moving them with great sweeps of her arms. One man dropped his gun and I grabbed it, retreating to Tureis’s side. I’d never fired a gun before, but my desperate stream of bullets kept them back from us, while Tureis’s wings wove an undulating dome around us.

Then he came out of the helicopter. Jumped, really. We didn’t see him until he was just above us. He had a knife, blacker than void. It cut right through our protection. Tureis screamed. The panels of her wings fell. The knife in his hand melted and became a rope, which coiled itself around her. I leapt at him, only to smash into a wall of darkness. I was surrounded on all sides by walls.  There was no escaping. When the walls finally melted away, everyone was gone.

Tureis was gone.

I had no choice. I never had a choice. My choice was gone the moment I set foot in that barn. I had to find her.

I went into town, to the police station. I told them to arrest me, to report me, to do anything to me. They looked confused. Then, of all things, apologetic.

There was some confusion. It wasn’t me they wanted. They’d received a less than hour before saying that the criminal had been located. Who made the call? A private security agency.

“Who are they?” I demanded. “Just give a name!” I made up a story, said I wanted to sue for damages or something ridiculous. At any rate, it got me a name: Iota Carinae Security, based in New York, half a country away. I didn’t think, I didn’t ask questions, I just went. No other option. I stole enough money for an interstate bus line and spent the next few days not eating, not sleeping, just willing the bus faster.

I was half-delirious when I realized the bus was stopping in my hometown. I got off and let the bus leave without me as I wondered the streets of my childhood. Without even knowing what I was doing, I arrived on the porch of a friend of mine from high school. He’d never left town, just stayed put. Another choice I had been denied. I knocked, he answered. There were no questions, just food and a bed. I would have called him an angel had I not known better. When I told him what had happened, he was the one to bring up the name of the company. We checked Wikipedia.

Iota Carinae was the name of a star. Also called Tureis.

“It’s a setup,” Ralph told me. “It has to be. Don’t go, Viv. You need to stay out of…whatever this is.”

I nodded and said I wouldn’t go. We both knew I was lying. I took the first bus into the city.

According to listings, there was a warehouse in Brooklyn leased to Iota Carinae Security. When I arrived at the address, it was clearly abandoned. I broke a window and climbed inside. The building was empty. Almost empty.

In the center of the open floor was a black cube, tall enough to fit a person standing. It was made of the same material that had trapped me.

I ran to the box and banged on the walls. I screamed her name.

She answered. A hand pressed against the other side of the wall. I had thought the black was completely opaque, but as I focused, I realized I could see through it. She stood there, as small and wary as the first night I met her. Something was different, though. It took me a horrible moment to realize just what: her wings had changed. No longer where they translucent crystal, now they were feathered. White. Proper angel wings.

I didn’t hear him until he spoke. “The pet follows her master. How touching.”

He stood there, a young-looking man, well-dressed with dark hair hanging in his eyes. And the face that filled my nightmares.

“Let her go,” I said.

He laughed and shook his head. “How clichéd. Well done, human. Your role is beautifully rehearsed.”

“Why do you want her?” I remember the whole conversation verbatim.

“Why do you?” He gave a sly smile. “There are far more important things than you’re petty human feelings. Run along and enjoy the rest of your precious mortal years.”

I did what I could. Desperation is a powerful force. As is fatalism. He pulled knives from the air and whipped them at me. I dodged and ran, but they still managed to catch me. A hundred small cuts darted across my arms and legs. I should have realized he was playing with me. He could have killed me in an instant. Instead he waited. Waited until I collapsed next to Tureis’s cell. I swear she reached towards me before he pulled me up by the front of my shirt and lifted me towards him.

“Beg,” he said.

I did.

“Please, please, please, just let her go.”

“And what, keep you in her place? I believe that is your next line.”

“Yes. Please.”

“No!” Tureis shouted.

He laughed. “Too bad you’re of no use to me, human. But,” his face turned serious, “she means that much to you?”

“Yes.”

“You want to be with her?”

“Please.”

“Well then,” he set me down on the floor, “if that’s the case, I’ll give you your wish.”

Before I could move, before I could even understand what was happening, walls sprung up around me. I was in a box just like Tureis’s. Our cells shared a wall. On the other side, I could see her eyes, dull and beaten, focused on me. I put a hand against the wall, like a sick parody of the old mime routine. She raised her hand toward mine, then she let it fall listlessly.

“I told you. You shouldn’t get involved.”

She didn’t understand. My fate—this fate—was sealed before she ever spoke those words. It was always going to end here.

He said he would return in forty days. Apparently Angels can survive that long without food or water. When I told him I was a human and would die, he answered, “I fail to see the problem. You got what you wanted. Do you mean to say you no longer wish to be with her?”

I looked at Tureis but she wouldn’t meet my eyes. So I said nothing. There was nothing to be said.

He left.

And here we are. It’s been nearly three days—three days without water—so my time is running out. My throat is dry, my voice is gone. This is my last chance. At anything.

I’ve had this notebook on me for some time. I had visions of being a writer a long time ago. Before I realized you can move and breathe and still be dead.

Something is happening to Tureis. She won’t tell me what it is, but I think these walls hurt her somehow. She thrashes around, beating at them with fists and wings. Then she’ll huddle in the center of her cell, wrapped in feathers. Then she gets up and tries again. Every so often she breaks the cycle, looks my way, sits beside our shared wall. We wait together in silence.

Those moments become fewer with each passing hour. Soon they will stop altogether. But soon it won’t matter anymore.

If you are reading this, perhaps my corpse will enough to lend some credibility to my story. But I hope you don’t have to believe my story. I pray the world you inhabit remains untouched by these events.

But if this is you, Michael, you who have promised to return on the fortieth day, I wish you every horror this world might offer.

Halloween (which was two weeks ago, I know) brought a nasty yet beautiful surprise for the New England: the first snowpocalypse of the year. Considering there were at least three last year, I expect more to come. I probably won’t witness any more this winter as I’ll be in Scotland from January to June, but that is a story for another day. And another block.

My friends and I were on our way to see the Rocky Horror Picture Show at midnight when the power in the entire region went out. What happens when you have a bunch of nerds all dressed up with no place to go and no internet to retreat to? A photo shoot, of course! We found a location with emergency lighting and no refugees and went to work. One of my friends made an amazing Celty (a character from Durarara!!) cosplay this last summer and she just happened to have some caution tape for just such emergencies.

The funny thing about caution tape is…

…it has a tendency to lead to chaos…

…which is a bit ironic, when you think about it.

I see you noticed our fabulous Pokemon group.

And we sort of had a Mindfang from “Homestuck”…

Except she was really there as part of the amazing Angelverse group.

Meet our lovely Angel Hunters! As you may know from my last blog post, previous Angelverse cosplays were so good, that I promised my friends I would base characters on their costumes.  From let to right we have: Trigger (cosplayed by me), a sadistic cutie who joined up for an excuse to kill things; Nyx (Mollie), the boss of the group who wants a a clean, glamorous life away from the dirt of the desert; Mel (Moo), the mechanic and only person who joined the Angel Hunters out of a desire to help humanity;  and the Unnamed Bounty Hunter (Magga), a mysterious women who may or may not be an demi-Angel and whom Nyx may or may not be blackmailing.
And we have our resident (self-declared) emo kid, Jet (Kiki), a demi-Angel who was given the choice between death or life as an Angel Hunter and is still sulking about it.

Kiki is a beautiful model, but she’s also the most talented photographer in our circle of friends, so pictures of her were tragically few.

I’m very excited to write about these new characters, who were made up over the course of evening, through the picking of outfits and the posing of photos.  And through the boundless imaginations of my friends. I wouldn’t say the characters came to life. It was more like the waltzed into my home,  grabbed a drink, settled on my couch, and pointed a gun in my face.

Although, admittedly, I did most of the gun pointing.

So don’t believe what the skeptics say, kids these days can live without the internet.  They just find analog ways of trolling each other.

And don’t forget the magic of friendship! Dear lord, did I make that the point of another post? Oh, just have a cuddle puddle and be happy, you nonbelievers!

“Alright, shopping!” Ace leapt into the air in her excitement. Michael, however, remained firmly planted on the cracked asphalt. To say he regarded the mall with skepticism would be an understatement.

“Ace, this place hasn’t been open since the apocalypse. What kind of shopping could you possibly hope to do here?”

“Okay,” Ace said, turning toward him and holding up a finger, “first, it’s post-‘lypse. You sound like an old person.”

“I am an old person. Being.”

“And second,” she said over him, raising a second finger, “only the best kind of shopping. You know what they say, ‘the early bird gets the apple, but the smart bird gets the worm.’”

“No one has ever said that. It doesn’t even make sense.”

“Shut up,” Ace said good-naturedly. “Do you have your list?”

Michael took out the strip of canvas on which he’d copied Ace’s dictated list. “Batteries, water filters, new muffler for the bike, Geiger counter, more batteries…No food?”

“Don’t be silly. Like there’d be food in a place like this.”

Michael looked from the list, which read like a child’s fanciful requests from Santa, to the cement shell of a building.  “Right. Silly me.”

“You start at the mall, I’ll go get gas.” Ace put up the kickstand and started wheeling the bike towards a gas station at the edge of the blistered parking lot.

“Can I have the flashlight?” Michael called after her.

“Pansy,” Ace taunted and she stuck her tongue out at him. She unclipped the light from her belt and tossed it to him. “That’s another two batteries you better find.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Michael saluted.

Ace giggled. “Roll out!”

It was a glorious day. The sky was clear of smog, the ground was coated in a vibrant orange power that glowed in the sunlight, and Ace could be sure of a full take of gas. Such a special occasion called for music. Ace fished her precious radio out of the bag secured to the bike, plugged in the tiny solar cell, and set them on the rusted roof of a sedan outside of the gas station. Waves of static parted as she fiddled with the dial and the distinct tones of David Bowie emerged from the chaos. Oh yeah, today was a good day.

Humming along with the song, she took off her coat and settled into the exasperating yet rewarding process of convincing long dead pumps to help her out, free of charge.

Light filtered in through dust-covered skylights in the center of the mall’s winding hallway, listlessly reflecting off the benches, dry fountains, and shop signs. Apparently Michael had been in at least one mall in his previous existence; he found he could identify likely contents of the stores based on their names. Some of the clothing stores in particular, for reasons Michael could not fathom, drew up long lists of items and corresponding prices in his head. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the worthless trivia, and pressed onwards through the rubble and general aura of decay.

His feet left distinct prints in the carpet of dust. No other footprints could be seen. The shops had all been looted—metal grates were pried open, windows smashed—but goods were scattered across the floor. Michael thought it odd the place had not been cleared out long before. Surely someone could have made use of a thick sweater, or a good pair of sneakers. Yet there they lay. Whatever had driven people from this place had been effective.

A stained red-and-white sign caught Michael’s eye, the name “Radio Shack” reminding him of Ace. It was as good a place to start as any. There was a jagged hole where the display window had once stood. Michael switched on the flashlight, stepped gingerly through and began picking his way through the mounds of crushed cardboard boxes and broken plastic. The futility of the task was oppressive; how could people live like this, picking away at the dry bones of a dead world? He was about to give up and move on, when copper-colored metal glinted in the beam of the flashlight. Michael dug out the small package of batteries. Double A’s, Ace’s favorite. Michael scanned the area, looking for more of the precious power cells when he saw a dark shape out of the corner of his eye.

There was a person standing at the shattered window.

Michael swung the light towards the opening, but it was clear.  He rushed towards the window, tripping over a collapsed shelve and almost falling. By the time he reached the hallway, there was no one in sight. More agitated than he’d like to admit, Michael examined the floor outside the shop. Around the window, the fake marble floor was clear of dust for about a two meter radius. Beyond that, a trail of prints left by bare feet led to the spot. They were small, the size of a woman’s foot. Tracing the trail to its origins led to another dead end of cleared floor.

A rustling sound slid through the silence.

“Hello?” Michael called. The dust muted his voice. “Who’s there?” He took a few steps in the direction of the sound. There was a crunching sound. Michael lifted his foot; something metallic caught the light of the flashlight. He knelt down and picked up the object. Two pieces of metal had been pushed through a small square of cardboard. There was something familiar about the curve of the metal. Michael rubbed a bit of the grime off the card and a name printed in silver shone in faint light. He recognized the logo of a manufacturer of cheap jewelry. The ground around him was littered with similar cards, attached to an assortment of accessories, all spilling out from a nearby shop. What he held in his hand was an eight dollar pair of earrings: two flat, crooked pieces of metal dangling off of tiny hooks. Michael let them fall from his palm, and then snatched them out of the air before they touched the ground. The shape, he knew what that was. One of the earrings had been crushed under his shoe, but the other was still in its original form. It was a stylized design, but for what? He closed his eyes and probed the dark corner of his mind where centuries of knowledge lay mostly dormant.

White light flashed across a black sky like a crack in the heavens. He knew the name: lightning. It meant something, but as Michael tried to recall, he felt his mind slipping away, random flashes of images darting through his vision, even when he opened his eyes. It was the same whenever he tried to recall his lost memories. Lightning was important, but nothing in the vast cavern of knowledge could tell him why.

A rush of wind sent a cloud of dust whirling around Michael. It caught in his throat and tore at his eyes. He gripped the earrings and stumbled backwards, trying to escape the storm. As suddenly as it began, the wind quieted and the dust in the air drifted slowly back to the floor.

Michael coughed and resisted the urge to rub at his eyes. He felt a sharp pain in his hand and realized the earrings were digging into his skin. Still uncertain about the significance of what they symbolized, he slid them into his pocket. The rustling sound returned. Michael suspected that Ace, in her enthusiasm for shopping, had neglected to check the area for Angelic activity. But no matter, he would handle it. He didn’t need Ace and her flashy gun slinging. He’d do this the civilized way.

“Excuse me,” he called, and had to cough a few times before his voice came out as anything more than a croak. “I’m sorry if I’m encroaching on your territory. I didn’t realize you were here. But since you are here, would you speak with me? I have a few questions that only you can answer, Angel.”

The wind picked up again and Michael was blinded. He covered his mouth with his shirt and tried to keep from choking. A skylight shattered above him and shards of glass rained down. Michael ducked his head and tried to cover his neck with his jacket, suddenly aware of how vulnerable his pathetic human body was. The Angel could kill him in uncountable ways but only needed one.

Ace kicked the eighth gas pump in frustration. Just a little more and the tank would be full. But the machine had settled into its pace and could not be coaxed to go any faster. It took half of Mott the Hoople’s “All the Young Dudes” but finally the nozzle gave a final click-clonk, signifying the tank was full. It was victory dance time. Ace’s celebratory moves were cut short by the sound of shattering glass. She looked towards the mall and saw a dark shape come hurtling through the roof before diving back in.  Ace checked the building for Angelic activity.

“Well, shit.” She replaced the nozzle, grabbed her gun, revved the bike, and headed for the mall. Looked Mike needed some help.

Michael opened his eyes and blinked away the layer of dust on his face. Directed sunlight flooded the corridor and illuminated the particles in the air. “I’m still here, Angel,” he said as he tried to see through the haze.

“What do you want, human?” The voice echoed off the concrete walls, imperious and cold. Michael looked for the speaker in vain.

“I just want to talk,” he said, choosing to ignore the “human” comment. They’d get to that later, if the Angel proved helpful.

“I have no interest in talking to you. Get out while you still can.”

Michael clicked his tongue. “What a clichéd line. Does that really work on the poor saps that come through here?”

Another gust of wind battered at him. Pieces of grit stung his skin. The pricks of pain called Michael’s attention to the pain he was not feeling. Here he was, under attack by an Angel, and all he could feel in his back was the bite of sand. Either the Angel was nigh on powerless, or this whole wind business was unrelated to its power. Michael waited for the wind to subside before he spoke.

“Quit beating your wings at me and show yourself.”

Judging by the ensuing silence, he had guessed correctly.

“What do you wish to ask me, human?”

“I’m trying to learn about Angels.” When he got no response, he continued. “Where do you come from? How do your wings function? Why is it that some Angels do not even appear to have wings?”

“What business is it of yours?”

“My…my sister.” Ace had coached him on how to deliver this line; their cover story hinged on it. “She’s become a demi-Angel and I want to help her.”

“A what?” Unless Michael was completely misreading the voice—which was possible—the Angel sounded startled.

“She was born human but now has angelic attributes.”

“That’s impossible.”

“You haven’t heard of it?”

“Never.”

“How old are you?”

“I have lived for centuries.”

“Yes, but how many?”

“That’s not important!”

The dust had settled enough that Michael could see a distant figure perched on a rafter. “Come down here and talk to me. Enough of the ‘voice from on high’ act.”

The figure shifted, and then fell almost soundlessly to the ground. Out of the shadows emerged a thin boy, pale and slight. He looked haughtily at Michael as he spread his wings. They were dark and leathery, except the top edge, which glinted metallically in the sunlight.

“Impressed, human?” the boy said, his mouth twisting into a smile.

“Yes,” Michael said, honestly. “They’re quite intriguing—did you choose the, ah, style yourself?”

“Of course.” The Angel flexed his wings, the sweeping motion sending little dust devils swirling away from him. “It’s called an array.”

“Array,” Michael repeated. “What does that mean, exactly?

“Ha! You haven’t been at this long, have you?”

“No, I’m just terribly incompetent.”

The Angel’s smile faltered and faded as he tried to discern Michael’s tone.

“You were saying,” Michael prompted.

“What was I…oh, ‘array’ is the term for wings that have been converted.” He crossed his arms and looked down his nose at Michael, an impressive feat considering he did not even reach Michael’s shoulder. “I’ll bet you don’t know what that means.”

“You’re right. Enlighten me.”

“It means,” the boy said, drawing the word out in a condescending tone.  Then he stopped. “No, I’ve told you something, now you tell me. What is a demi-Angel?”

Michael’s reply was cut off by the roar of an engine. “Oh…no.”

“Michael!” Ace’s voice rose above the sound of her bike. “Where are you?”

Michael turned towards the Angel to explain, but found the boy gone. He scanned the hallway with his eyes as Ace pulled up behind him.

“Mike,” Ace shouted over the idling engine. “There’s an Angel!”

“I know.”

“You know? Where is it?!”

“Treed.”

“What?” Ace asked, switching off the engine.

Michael pointed upwards. Ace followed his finger and spotted something in the rafters above them.

“Okay!” She pulled out her blaster and aimed for the Angel. “I got it.”

“Wait.” Michael grabbed her wrists in one hand. “Don’t threaten him; he was actually talking to me.”

“Oh, talking? Really? Because from what I saw…”

“Michael…” hissed the Angel. Ace and Michael looked at him.

“Hey, hello up there!” Ace called. “Sorry about the whole gun thing.” She put the blaster back in its holster and held up her hands. “We come in peace! Uh…” she turned towards Michael. “We come in peace, right?”

“Michael!” The Angel howled.

“Down!” Michael grabbed Ace and pulled her down towards the floor as the Angel swooped down from the ceiling and passed just above them.

“What?” Ace shouted in disbelief. “What did you do to him?”

“Nothing.”Michael stood up again. “Everything was fine until you came in, guns blazing.”

“Sure, blame me!” Ace got up and looked around wildly for the Angel. “It was your name he was screaming!”

The Angel touched down on the dusty floor ten meters in front of them. He looked to Ace like a little boy, twelve years old at the very most, scrawny as the kids back on the farm. He pointed at Michael.

“Are you Michael, the Angel?”

Michael tilted his head a bit to the left. “Yes?”

“Well,” Ace began, but Michael shushed her.

“Yes, I am an Angel.”

The boy launched himself at Michael, leathery wings unfurling and lifting him into the air. Ace pushed Michael down and threw herself to the floor. Dust whipped at her face as he passed over. Ace leapt to her feet, intending to find better cover, and felt her coat sag oddly. She looked around, trying to see her back, and managed to complete a little semi circle before she finally whipped the coat off. There was a cut across the lower back of her coat; the fabric had been cleanly sliced.

“Uh, Mike,” Ace said, sliding her jacket on and taking another look at the Angel. “You know how his wings are kinda shiny at the top? Stay away from them.”

Michael looked at her jacket and nodded.

“Michael!” The Angel turned and faced them. “Where is your array? Why don’t you fight me?”

Michael did not answer the Angel, but instead whispered to Ace, “You take left, I’ll take right.”

“Got it.” She looked down at her hands, trying to recall which direction was which.

“Ace, just head for the bike.”

“Got it.”

The Angel suddenly laughed. “You’ve lost your array, haven’t you? I can’t sense it at all.” He flared his wings behind him.

Ace cracked her knuckles. “Down for the count?”

“Conscious would be good. And,” Michael grabbed her wrist, “don’t do that.”

Ace shook him off with a laugh and ran for the bike just as the Angel took off once again.

Michael sprinted past vacant shops. He leapt over flipped benches. His burst of energy lasted approximately thirty seconds, but with the Angel hot on his heels he had no choice but to push on. All he needed was a way to lose the Angel, but every time he turned a corner, he heard the flap of wings behind him.

“Mike, this way!”

Michael turned blindly towards the sound of Ace’s voice. There was a corridor to his left which lead back in the general direction he had come. The second floor walkway lead across the corridor, creating a bridge. Beneath one of the supports, he saw Ace dart her head out and wave to him.

“Keep running!” she shouted at him.

“What are you doing?” he shouted as he ran past her.

“This!” Ace darted across the entrance to the corridor, dragging a bolt of cloth with her.  The fishnet fabric glittered green in the thin light from above. One end of the fabric had been tied around the bridge support. Ace dropped the rest of the bolt to the ground and pulled the cloth tight. “Now stand there!”

“What?”

The Angel rounded the corner and had to loop around in the air to make the sharp turn. He charged under the bridge, directly at Michael, and straight into the net.

His wings sliced straight through the fabric.

Ace let her end of the fabric go. The slack netting pooled around the Angel’s limbs and he struggled to get up.

“Don’t just stand there!” Ace grabbed Michael arm and pulled her after him. The bike was parked outside a mostly empty fabric store a few shops down. Ace jumped on and started the engine. Michael climbed on behind her. “At least that bought us some time,” she shouted as they sped through the mall. “You got a plan?”

Michael looked around. “We have to get him on the ground.”

“The stores have lower ceilings. If we could corner him in one…”

“Good, we’ll go for that.”

“Um, how?”

“Improvise.” He jumped off the bike and ran to a rusted escalator. “Good luck,” he shouted after Ace, but he wasn’t sure she heard.

Ace stopped when she saw the “Do Not Enter” sign. It had been her experience in her scavenging days that a sign like that really meant “You Probably Want What’s In Here.” One shot with the blaster took out the lock. A couple of kicks defeated the age-fused hinges. Belatedly, Ace realized she’d given the flashlight to Michael—and if he’d dropped it, she’d kill him—so she turned the bike around and used the headlight to illuminate the room. Switches shone invitingly on the wall. Ace threw all of them. With an ear-piercing whine, light filled the tiny space. Emergency lighting. Ace whooped with joy.

She was about run back out of the room when she saw a hulking machine covered in dials. How could she resist something like that? Plastic boxes lay around and on it. Ace picked one up curiously. He hands began to shake as she realized what it was: a CD. They were all CDs. Which meant that the mysterious equipment in front of her…

There was no need for further thought, only action. Even the flap of Angel wings as he flew past could not tear her away from this project. She was fully prepared to hook up the bike to the machine, lack of ventilation be damned. But the mall was in a sufficiently powerful anomaly zone that any device could practically power itself. In less than two minutes of fiddling and guesswork, her baby was ready to go. She selected a CD at random and popped it into the appropriate slot.

Electric guitars poured out of every speaker in the mall. Ace raced out into the hallway and looked up and down the illuminated hallways, giddy with excitement. There was music everywhere. Pleased with her work, she ran back and grabbed as many CDs as she could cram into her pockets before hopping on her bike. She thought she heard someone shouting in the distance, but it was quickly drowned out by George Harrison bursting into “Roll Over Beethoven.” Still grinning, Ace revved the engine and took off.

“ACE!”

The Angel, who had landed out of apparent confusion when the music began, looked at Michael as though impressed a human male could shout so loudly.

Michael gritted his teeth. Only Ace could do something so ridiculous. He looked over at the Angel. The boy looked back. Michael shrugged. The Angel shook his head. And then they were off again.

Michael did not select the store because it had an easy escape route. In fact, it looked like the only thing harder than getting out would be getting in. Shelves and racks lay toppled, unwanted clothing flooded the floor, mannequins reached out of rubble like corpses rising from the grave. It gave the general impression of a retail minefield.  Throwing caution and sanity to the wind, Michael dove into the store. He clawed his way across sweaters and coupons until he reached the back of the store, where he ducked behind the cashier counter.

Judging by the sounds, the Angel did not follow him. Michael willed himself not to look. Any chance of hearing the Angel was drowned out by the Beatles which, if he recalled the track correctly, should be winding down at any moment.

“Michael!” The Angel was barely audible over the final refrain of the song. “You’re trapped!”

Michael did not deign to respond to the all too obvious statement. He needed a plan.

“Help! I need somebody!”

He jolted upright at the start of the next song. Any thought of a plan was immediately crowded out by two simultaneous thoughts. The first was simply that whoever had compiled this mix of songs had only had a cursory knowledge and appreciation for the Beatles at best. The second was a memory of a shaggy haired man strumming the basic melody of the song and remarking that he liked the tune but wasn’t sure what to do with the lyrics.

He really needed to train himself not to have episodes like this at critical moments. Or even better, to do away with them entirely.

The sounds of an engine cut through the music.

“Mike!” Ace called. “Where are you?”

Michael closed his eyes. What was she thinking?

“Oh, there you are! Good, you got out!”

His eyes snapped open.

“It’s a good thing you found the way out of the back of the store and lost him!”

Michael held his breath. She was an idiot. A brilliant idiot.

“You take the bike and head for the entrance we came in! I’ll meet you there! Just hide in a shop until I find you! Go, go, go!”

Michael heard tires squeal and the Angel howl with rage and take off. He stood up and started picking his way back out of the store while John Lennon sang on.

It was all too easy, really. The Angel landed beside the parked bike and looked into the hole-in-the-wall accessory boutique. Pale hair peeked over the countertop, betraying whoever was crouched behind. The Angel charged inside and turned in alarm when the metal grating slammed down behind him.

Ace rolled out from behind a trashcan, whipped out her multitool, and jammed it into the grate’s lock. The Angel looked at her, stupefied. Ace waved cheerily and held up the rope she’d used to pull down the grating. After a moment, the Angel leaned over the counter and pulled out the moody-eyed female mannequin Ace had stashed behind it. The Angel threw it against the wall in disgust and slammed his body against the grating, trying to break out. It held firm.

“Human,” he spat at her, “why are you helping him?”

“Hey.” Ace pulled out her blaster and poked his nose with it. “Human’s got a name. I’m Ace. You?”

The Angel looked at her darkly. “Saiph.”

“Scythe?”

“No, Saiph!” he shouted at her, enunciating. Ace took a step back and put her gun away.

“Okay, sorry, Saiph.” She looked him up and down. “No offence, but jeez, how old are you?”

“Two-hundred and thirty-six,” he said in as pompous a voice a boy could manage.

Ace squinted at him. “Then why do you look twelve?”

“Because I want to!”

She shrugged. “Can’t argue with that.”

Saiph knelt down and tried to lift the grating, but the multitool held it in place.

“Settle down, or you’ll get a time out.”

He glared at her. “You will not address me as a child.”

“Hey, whose fault is it you look like one?”

Saiph found a corner to sulk in until Michael arrived.

He found them just as the first lines of “Hey Jude” were playing. He’d expected, well, just about anything but Ace sitting beside her bike, fiddling with something or other in its workings and whistling along with the song in entirely the wrong key.

“Where’s the Angel?” Michael asked, panting. There had been all together too much running for one day.

Ace nodded towards a high-end purse store, still whistling. Peeking through the metal grate, Michael saw a hunched figure in the back of the shop. He turned back to Ace. “Interesting choice in music.”

She grinned up at him. “Isn’t awesome?”

“A bit of a limited selection.”

“Yeah. I prefer ‘Happiness Is a Warm Gun’ myself.”

Michael sighed. Of course she did. He returned to the grating. “Angel.”

“His name’s Saiph, and he’s cranky today.”

“Thank you. Saiph, I’d like to talk to you.”

The boy looked over his shoulder and past a folded wing at Michael. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“Why not?”

“No offence, Mike, but it’s pretty obvious he hates you.”

“Thank you, Ace, I gathered that. I’m curious to know why.”

Saiph turned to face him. “What do you mean, why?”

“Well, Saiph, as you so astutely noticed before, I don’t have an array. When I lost my wings, I lost my memories with them.” The Angel looked furious but Michael continued. “I remember centuries of the world, possibly millennia, but nothing about myself or Angels.”

“You’re saying,” the Angel said through gritted teeth, “you don’t remember what you did.”

Something flickered in Michael; not a memory, it was too thin and fleeting. He reached for it and found himself grabbing the grating, leaning in towards the Angel. “Did I do something?”

“Did you do something?” the Angel repeated. He pointed at Michael. “It was you!”

“What?” Michael demanded. The grate rattled and he realized he was shaking it. “What did I do?”

“You’re the wing thief!”

Michael’s hand fell limply to his side. “The what?”

The Angel flew across the shop, landing less than a meter from Michael. “You’re Michael, the Angel killer!”

“That doesn’t make sense! If I was, why would this have happened to me?”

Saiph folded his arms. “Justice.”

“Who did this to me?”

“How should I know?”

“Because someone has to!” Both his hands were on the grating now. What was this? What was happening to him?

A look that may have been fear crossed the Angel’s face and he backed away towards the furthest corner of the shop. “So that’s why you came here. You’re looking for an Angel who can tell you.”

Words rushed to Michael’s mouth, but he closed his lips against them and pressed his forehead against the cool, sharp metal before him. Ace spoke up behind him.

“We didn’t mean to find you; that was an accident. But we do look for Angels most of the time, yeah.”

The Angel kept backing away. “How did you enslave the human?”

“Hey!” Ace protested, but he ignored her.

“You know, Michael, I was wrong. It cannot be called justice that you lost your memories of the horrors you enacted. So justice will find you in a different way.”

Michael barely had time to throw himself to the floor when the Angel launched towards the grate. Metal screamed as the razor wings cut through the hinges.

“Ace! Look out!” But he could already see it was too late. The Angel seized both her arms in his childish hands and gripped them behind her back. Ace fought back furiously, stamping oh his feet and attempting to head butt him, but then the Angel wrapped a wing around her, holding the silver edge against her neck. Michael’s fingers twitched. The Angel’s powers were almost completely contained in his wings, so Michael could not absorb his attacks. There was nothing he could do.

“Oh you have got to be kidding me!” Ace roared with fury. “You listen here, you little brat! Let me go, or you will be sorry”

“Silence, human!”

“I told you, my name is Ace!” The Angel’s wing burst away from her and he howled in pain. Ace leapt away from him, pointing her blaster at his chest. “You try anything, and I’ll hit you again!”

Snarling, the boy leapt at her, but Ace blasted him again, straight to the chest. He went flying backward, crashing through a plasterboard wall. Michael watched the proceedings from a safe distance, his sense of helplessness roiling inside him. This wasn’t how it should be, standing by while Ace fought for him. She looked at him, breathing heavily.

“That guy,” she said, waving her gun towards the new hole in the wall, “is an asshole.”

“A fair assessment.”

Ace nodded and looked back towards the wall just in time to see the Angel emerge. Her face twisted into a snarl as she raised her gun, but he was already in the air, closing in on her, the razor edge on his wings reflecting the mall lights.

Time stopped. The two of them hung in space, motionless.

The sky cracked. Michael reached for the memory. A thin white line of pure energy crossed the heavens. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He was standing there, watching lighting as it struck the ground again and again. A rumble like the growl of an animal, impossibly distant and unimaginably huge, rippled rolled around him. The flash came again, and his finger tips twitched. He could sense power, a well of energy so close he could touch. He called to it and felt it respond faintly. He pulled and the energy shifted. He raised his hand and the sky cracked.

Ace barely had time to realize the Angel was still conscious let alone attacking before he was already in the air. She tried to aim, but he was too quick, only ten meters from her. Five meters. Two.

Lightning shot across the corridor, blinding Ace. Instinctively, she shut her eyes and covered her face. Then, over the crackle of electricity, she heard screams. Blinking away the lines scarred into her vision, she saw a crumpled figure lying on the floor. The Angel was cowering, wrapped in his wings, hands over his head. Another bolt flashed.

“Stop!” Saiph begged. “Please!”

Again the flash of light filled the space. Ace stared into the brightness, trying to make sense of what was happening. The bolts seemed to be emanating from the Angel. When her eyes cleared enough, Ace turned towards Michael and saw that he stood with his arm outstretched, reaching towards the Angel. Another bolt flashed towards him and seemed to disappear into the palm of his hand.

“Mike!” Ace shouted, but her voice was lost in the pleas of the Angel and the crack of lightning. She ran to Michael and grabbed his other arm. “Michael, stop it!”

He opened his eyes—she had not realized they were closed—and looked at her. “Stop?”

Ace pointed at Saiph. The boy lay shivering on the floor. His wings lay limply on the floor beside him, as though the bones had melted into putty. The metallic edge no longer glinted into the light.

Michael looked from Saiph to Ace and then down at his own hand. “I did that.”

It was not a question, more a blank statement, but Ace responded anyway. “Yes, you did. But what was that?”

“I’m not sure.” He looked confused. “Ace, I…” He seemed lost for words. “Did I, I mean, is he still alive?”

Ace walked over to the Angel and knelt beside him. “Saiph,” she said softly. “Hey, can you hear me?”

He stirred and looked up at her. She smiled at him. His expression remained unchanged. “Only a human would ally itself with a monster like that.”

Ace stood. “If you weren’t already half-dead, I’d blast you into next week for that comment.”

“Why are you with him? You want power, is that it? Or do you want him?”

Ace pulled out her blaster, but he continued.

“ The little human girl, swept off her feet by the mysterious angel boy. You wouldn’t be the first. You wouldn’t be his first.”

“Listen, you little punk, my trigger finger’s getting real itchy.”

The Angel squirmed, rolling to his side and lifting himself up on shaky arms. “Or maybe it’s not even love. There can’t be many options for you in this day and age. You’ll take what you can get, and that ageless body of his must seem like a gift from the heavens.”

Ace lunged towards him, pushing the barrel of her blaster right against his nose.  The Angel went cross-eyed looking at it.

“You’re giving me way too much credit. And never talk like that again, if you’re going to look like an eight-year-old boy, act like it. Girls are gross and don’t you forget it.”

He looked up at her over the blaster. “Are you going to try to kill me, human? Shouldn’t you ask your master’s permission first?”

“You act so high and mighty.”

“I can’t help what I am.”

“I guess not.” Ace lowered her gun and stepped away from him.

“What are you doing?” asked the Angel.

“No one said I was gonna kill you.” She put the blaster back in its holster on her leg. “You talk like you’re some all-powerful whatsit, but you’re just as clueless as the kid you look like. No use to me, or to Mike. So enjoy your rotting little Angel kingdom, and say hello to the end of the world for me. It should stop by any day now.”

Michael looked up from his hands as Ace walked resolutely towards him. “Let’s get out of here.” As they passed the hole in the wall, she stopped. “Wait! I think that’s a rat nest!” Before Michael could stop her, she’d clamored through the hole.

“Ah ha!” she said excitedly once inside. “Jackpot!”

Michael looked through the hole and reeled back when he found himself nearly face to face with a mummified corpse. He leapt backward. “What the hell?”

“Oh, don’t mind him,” said Ace. “Stiffs are harmless. Here, take these.” She dumped an assortment of unidentifiable objects into his unready arms. “I wonder if there’s a sewing kit, I need to fix this damn coat.”

Michael glanced towards the Angel, who was beginning to rise from the floor. “Ace, now is quite probably the least tasteful time imaginable for thievery.”

She dropped a box on top of the pile in his arms. “Huh?”

“We need to go. Now.”

“Okay, okay, hold on.” There was a rattle, a clack, and the sound of an entire shelf of fragile objects collapsing. “Shit!” Ace shouted. She emerged from the hole flustered and over loaded. “Ok, let’s go!”

How they managed to get all the strange items to the bike and then to the gas station was beyond Michael. Ace was clearly well practiced.

“Rat’s nests are, what’s the word, bunkers? Places people got ready for the apocalypse. Gathered up rations and technology. Get it? Rat. Nine times out of ten, they didn’t make it. It’s a great resource for scarce supplies!”

“So you steal from the…stiffs?”

Ace laughed. “They’re dead, it’s not like it’s doing them any good!”

The girl clearly needed a speech about the sanctity of life, but Michael was probably the last being on Earth who should give it to her.

“Ace,” he said as she pawed through cans of food and organized by an indecipherable system, “I think he was right.”

She looked up at him. “Who?”

“The Angel, Saiph. I think he was right about me. I mean, look what I did. What else am I capable of?”

“Just because you figured out how to reverse shoot lightning doesn’t mean you’re a wing thief.” She leapt up, sending cans flying. “And I meant to tell you, that was so awesome! You were just standing there making lightning come out of nowhere! It was amazing!”

“I really hurt him, Ace.”

Her smile faded. “Yeah.” She looked back at the mall and crossed her arms. “That was pretty horrible. Poor kid. I hope he’ll be alright.”

Michael focused on a can of dog food that had rolled to his feet. “I won’t let it happen again. This power, I won’t use it.”

Ace sat on the ground beside him. “Hey, don’t say that. You didn’t know what you were doing. Maybe you can learn to control it.”

“Maybe.”

She ruffled his hair and smiled at him.

“I still think he’s right.”

“Hey, you can think whatever you want, but I know what I think. I think there’s something screwy with the whole thing. Everyone just happens to think it’s the guy who lost his memories? Maybe you were set up! Maybe, I don’t know, you have an evil twin or clone or something!”

“Oh right, my clone. Silly me.”

Ace sat back and thought. “The day I believe you are the wing thief is the day I ditch you forever, but until there is real proof, you’ve got to believe that they could be wrong about you.”

“I’ll try, but no promises.”

“Of course not.” She got up and looked around at the newly discovered gear. “Alright, I got me some work to do.”

Michael became aware of something poking his leg. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the lightning bolt earrings. They glinted bright pink in the sunlight. Michael held them for a moment. Then he got up and walked to Ace.

“I know one of them is bent, but here.” he said, and he held it out to her.

Ace’s eyes went wide. “For me?”

“It’s just something I picked up.”

She accepted it with cupped hands and held it up to examine it. “I love them! Thank you!” She went to hug him, then stopped herself in time and messed his hair up instead. “Maybe I can make them into…hold on,” she said digging around in her pockets and the bag on the bike. As she fished out a small pair of pliers and a bit of string, Michael smoothed down his hair and looked around at the sunlit afternoon. For a barren, post-human wasteland, it was oddly pure, in a way, and simple.

“What do you think?”

Michael looked back and saw Ace had fashioned the uncrushed earring into a pendent on a rudimentary necklace.

“I’ll try and scrounge up a better cord, maybe even an old chain, but I think it looks pretty good.” She flashed him her wide, honest grin. That she could look at him like that after what she had seen him do, she was either highly resilient or a complete fool. Or perhaps something else altogether. He certainly could not claim to understand humans, especially this particular human.

“It looks very nice,” Michael said of the necklace and she beamed even brighter. He would never understand how she managed that, but he didn’t particularly care. All that mattered was the absolute happiness the girl seemed to exude.

Ace’s expression changed suddenly, the smile evaporating. “Michael, did you just…”

“Did I just what?”

She shook her head, the smile returning. “Nothing. Do you know how to sew?”

He considered it. “In concept.”

“Great, fix this.” Her black coat hit him in the face, blotting out his vision. He heard Ace laugh.

Ace had heard of people seeing all kinds of weird things out under the post-lypse sun, but she would have been willing to swear on a field of mega grain that she had just seen Michael smile.

Oh, hello readers! Just wanted to let you know about some changes happening her at Nerdflight.

First of all, check out the banner! No more of that “Just another WordPress site” crap. However, I’m not quite sure what to do with my new-found freedom. If you have a suggestion for a banner tagline, plunk it down in the comments below. If you do, I will send you a cupcake. Via email.

Second, Phoenix Rise has finally been reformatted! Yay! The giant plot issue in Eagle Fall has yet to be filled! Boo…
(But while it’s still there, see if you can spot it!)

Finally, the Angelverse stories are now listed as episodes. This is for two reasons:

1. to get it into everyone’s heads that these things have an order to them. It is not chronological, it is not even logical, but it is still important. Heed my words, readers. Especially you crazies who think The Magician’s Nephew is the first Narnia book.

2. the plot of Angelverse is meant to work like a TV show, specifically like an anime. There will be two seasons for the two major story arcs. So I figured this new set-up would be in the spirit of the thing.

So there you have it. Hopefully, I’ll have more regular posts but…yeah, we all know that’s not going to happen.

That’s me as Pinkie Pie from My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic with my friend/platonic wife Magga as Party Rock Gamzee from Homestuck.

Yeah, we’re cool.

This weekend was our annual nerd party. Costumes recommended, crazy dance moves a must. In the past, our costumes (especially mine) have been last minute affairs, but this year everyone looked amazing!

Magga got glitter EVERYWHERE

Mollie, our very sexy Rarity (Check out those heels!)

We also had a Fluttershy, but she was very, well, shy. Just take my word for it, she was adorable. During the costume contest (our Pony group came in second, much to the bronies’ dismay, to an amazing Doctor Who group cosplay some more of our friends put together), she hid her face in Rarity’s hair rather than introduce herself.

Every girl in the room went “Awwwwwwwww!” in that distinctive way that only fangirls can manage.

Finally (and, in some ways for me, most excitingly), two of my friends cosplayed Angelverse!

Gabby approves

They were originally just supposed to be in the style of Angelverse, but Maggie looked so cute in her green hair, and Gabby was just so generally awesome that I decided to base characters off them. So be on the look-out for a green-haired DJ and a scrounger with a fondness for Pokemon.

Pokemon (henna) tattoo of win

Oh, and another friend was there as Dave, another Homestuck character. I don’t know the series, but I though she was adorable.

My hair was a hot mess by this point in the evening, but Dave still looked cool. Ironically.

The next night we went out an partied like normal people, but we all thoroughly enjoyed our evening of geektastic fun. My Little Pony isn’t kidding about that “Friendship is Magic” thing. My outfit was entirely comprised of things my friends had given me or made for me, and even though I was covered in pink (not my most favorite color), I felt awesome. Thank you everyone for a wonderful night!

Alright, enough cheese.

I always worried I’d end up in Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff, which is a shame because they’re very good houses. Ravenclaw is clever and Hufflepuff is everyone’s best friend (and they’re very good finders!) but neither seemed quite right for me even though I value cleverness and friendship very highly. In retrospect, Slytherin makes a lot of sense for me. I’m not saying I’m evil (it depends on who you ask) but I am very ambitious. Slytherin can help me on the way to greatness? Cool, I’m there.

In other news, it looks like the Hunger Games ARG (more info here) will be starting up soon! A friend of mine was selected to be a district recruiter today. What does that mean? We have no idea. But we’ll take it as a sign something’s about to happen!

It had been two centuries since Vega had last flown. At the time, she’d traded her feathers for flames without a second thought. But now, as the wind caressed her skin and the sunlight reflected off the ocean of clouds below her, she wondered how she ever could have given it up. Soaring just above the cloud layer, she reached down a hand to graze the glowing surface. Her skin, she saw, was still on fire. Or rather, it was fire. There was no distinct point at which flesh became flame; instead, the two blended together seamlessly. The evening sun cast her shadow some distance ahead of her, and so Vega had to rise high above the clouds to make it out. A vaguely humanoid shape surrounded by a flickering transparent haze ghosted over the sea of white.

At long last, this was her array in its pure form, the dream worth the conversion of her original wings. The power was as exhilarating as the sensation of flight. She knew her limits, and flying without true wings should have been far beyond them. Where the sudden energy had come from she did not know. The same was true of her destination, although she had a guess. Every fiber of her being was pulling her onwards; she could not have stopped if she wanted to. Only her connection to her brothers could affect her like that, and she was desperate to find them. It had been forty days, one hour, and eleven minutes since they had disappeared, for the first time in their centuries-long existence. This sensation pulling her now must be a sign of their reappearance.

Vega tried not to think of the rumors she’d heard. Or the pain that had racked her body one hour and eleven minutes ago.  After all, her wings were still with her, and stronger than ever. The rumors could not be true.

Nothing in the multiverse could be so horrific.

Vega tried to push such thoughts from her mind as she drifted in the purple shadows between cloud layers. But the opalescent mountains and milky plains had lost their majesty and now looked to Vega as only bringers of storms. And what  storm awaited her, she shuddered to think.

***

Flames licked at Vega’s face as she looked up at the stone spires of the cathedral.  There was no question—this was the place. She closed her eyes and concentrated. In the past, it had been so easy to house the fires within her. She imagined wrapping them up around themselves and storing them on a shelf somewhere inside her chest, neatly contained. But now they were like wild beasts barely within her control. It took great force of will to gather them all into herself.

Rather than a shelf, it took the image of a great vault to house her new power. She slammed the door shut and gasped for breath, realizing she had been holding her breath the entire time. The fires disappeared, leaving only her flesh and blood. A golden glow emanated from the center of her chest, hinting at the flame housed within. Vega frowned at it, wondering if her body was up to the task of containing her wings, but now was not the time.

She started for the church door, an ornamental slab of wood and iron, when something caught her eye. A gargoyle sat perched on the very pinnacle of the roof above the door. Vega had never liked humans’ use of such creatures in artwork. They seemed too close in kin to the angels which also adorned the churches of the past. As if angels were only a few steps away from demons.

The church door was locked. Vega backed away and looked around for some other sort of entrance. Her eyes drifted up the sides of the building, wondering if she should just break a window. Then she glanced at the roof. The gargoyle was standing up.

It was not a monster in form, but a person. Vega stared up, frozen to the spot, until it reached its full height and appeared to look down at her. It raised an arm slowly, almost lazily, and snatched something from the air. When the arm returned to the person’s side, it gripped a large scythe. Had she been a human, Vega might have been intimidated by the intentional imitation of the classic representation of death. Instead, she opened the vault door, allowing a little flame to slip out. She meant to only ignite her hands, but instantly her entire arms were ablaze. She’d have to work on control later, if there was a later.

The death imitator cocked his head to the side for a moment. Vega silently dared him to come down and face her. But he turned on his heel and disappeared across the rooftop. Vega braced herself to soar after him, but the call for her to enter the building was too great. She went to the door and placed her hands on it before unleashing the rest of her power. In less than a minute, she was able to batter her way through the smoldering remains.

The vestibule was dark and empty, but surprisingly clean for an abandoned building. Several metal framed signs leaned against the wall. Vega ignited a hand—she’d been aiming for a finger, but close enough—to provide enough light to read the signs. They were from realtors. The church was for sale, not abandoned. The place seemed far less ominous when one knew the last service had been held only two months ago. The pulling sensation nagged at her, so she returned the flames to her center and continued on into the sanctuary.

Vega did not have to search long. The room had been cleared of pews, so the dark shape in the center of the floor was easy to spot. She was torn between the force pulling her towards that shadowy figure on the floor and the primal fear that gripped her. Hesitantly, each step a mighty battle, she made her way across the floor. Before she was even half there, she recognized him. Her little brother lay unmoving on the floor, his wings on either side of him.

She had seen his wings a thousand times—he’d been the last of the three of them to convert to an array—but she’d never seen them like this. Each wing was twice, perhaps even three times the size of his body. Even in the fading gray light filtering through the windows, Vega could make out the glossy shine of his dark feathers. He was magnificent.

Vega moved carefully around his wings and knelt beside his head. “Deneb?” she said softly.

He stirred, his dark lashes parting as he looked up at her. “Vega?” His voice cracked as if his throat was dry. He gave a cough, and then cringed, his face twisted in pain.

“Are you hurt?” Vega asked, trying to keep her voice calm.

“Been better.” His eyes found hers again. “Everything hurts.”

“What happened?”

“Hard to explain.” Before he could say more, he was seized by a coughing fit, accompanied by muscle spasms in his limbs as pain shot through him. Vega cradled his head in her hands so it would not hit the stone floor. “Got any water?” Deneb managed to croak.

“Water?” Deneb’s array had allowed him to gather water out of thin air. Their brother had always teased him mercilessly for choosing such a pathetic power, but there was no denying that even in the driest desert Deneb could do quite well for himself. If he was asking Vega, manipulator of flame, for water, something was terribly wrong. Vega tried to allay her fears by inspecting his wings. They seemed healthy and fully attached to his shoulder blades as far as she could tell. No cause for alarm there.

“Let’s get you out of here,” she said. “We’ll go and get you some water.”

“Wait,” he croaked. “Have to tell…”

“Shhhh.” Vega stroked his mop of dark hair back, the same way she always had comforted him. The gesture seemed so futile in the face of whatever horrors were now driving Deneb to choke out his story. “Wait here and I’ll get water. I’ll come back, I promise.”

She could clearly see the fear in Deneb’s eyes, but he nodded bravely. Vega returned to the entryway, where she had seen a sign for restrooms. Mercifully, water was still running in the building. With no sort of cup in sight, Vega looked around the bathroom until her eyes feel on the soap dispenser hanging on the wall. A bit of brute force snapped the faceplate of the dispenser clean off. Vega washed it and filled it with water before returning to her brother.

Deneb was attempting to sit up. If coughing had caused him pain, the exertion of movement must have been agony. His wings were not making it any easier, catching on the floor and his limbs with every movement. Vega set the makeshift bowl on the ground and tried to help him, but there was really nothing she could do.

“Can you retract your wings?” she asked quietly. “That would help.”

Deneb paused. His expression went from pained to thoughtful to panicked. “I can’t! Vega, I can’t!”

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Vega told him, knowing her words to be a complete lie. Everything was wrong. “Here, I’ve got water.”

Deneb accepted the container without question, his hands shaky but managing. He drank the water down in one go. When he’d finished, he looked at Vega. “Could I have more?” he asked, his voice apologetic.

“Of course, just take it easy.” It took two more trips to the restroom before Deneb had had enough. Then the story came pouring out.

“He caught us and boxed us in for forty days. He was counting. We couldn’t contact you, couldn’t even sense you.”

“Slow down,” Vega interrupted. “Who caught you?”

“An Angel. He never said his name, and I didn’t recognize his array.”

“What was it?”

“He could…make things. I didn’t get it. But he made the walls around us.” When Vega looked around questioningly, Deneb shook his head. “They’re gone now.”

“When you say he could make things, could he make a scythe?”

“Maybe. He made a knife when…” Deneb’s eyes went wide with fear.

“What? What is it?”

He stared at her. “He was after our wings, Vega.”

A chill went up Vega’s spine. “What do you mean?”

“The walls he made, I think…I think they cut us off from the birth plane.”

“That’s impossible.”

“I mean it, Vega! I couldn’t sense anything. It was like it wasn’t there anymore. Just like you.” Vega tried not to look as hurt as she felt, but she must have betrayed some emotion because Deneb hurriedly said, “I didn’t mean it like that. He didn’t catch you, that’s a good thing.”

“You still haven’t explained what you meant about him being after your wings.”

“After a while in the box, our wings started to appear. Our original wings at first, but then more. Our wings were pulled into this plane, entirely.”

Vega looked at his wings, so much larger than she had ever seen before. What had looked beautiful now looked sick, wrong. For an Angel’s wings to exist entirely in one plane, in one dimension, was as unthinkable as an Angel cut off from her birth plane. Wings were a bridge between planes; that was the base of their existence. To try and alter that fundamental element of reality was as unthinkable as trying to make fire burn cold.

“Today, he said our wings were fully here. He took down the walls and made a knife. We tried to run, but we were so slow because of these…things,” he said, giving his wings a half-hearted flap. “I couldn’t get away and he grabbed me, but then…” Deneb cut off as a cry of pain reverberated off the walls.

Vega looked around sharply. “Was that…?”

Deneb drew his legs up against his chest and crossed his arms on his knees, beating his wings once or twice to keep his balance. “Yeah.” He buried his face in his arms. “It is.”

Vega stood up. “I’ll be right back.”

Deneb just nodded, not even looking up.

Slowly, she walked towards the front of the sanctuary. Several meters in front of the steps up to the apse, a smear of blood covered the floor. A trail of red stains and drops led off to the side of the room. Cautiously, Vega followed.

He lay in a heap in front of a heavy wooden door, trying to escape. He appeared dead, but as Vega drew closer, he turned almost imperceptibly to look at her. Vega breathed a sigh of relief. Always the survivor.

Then she saw his back. Under a sheen of blood, two wounds, impossibly deep, streaked down both sides of his back. The rumors were true. The impossible could happen. Someone had stolen his wings.

Vega crouched on the floor beside him trying to meet his eyes. “Brother.”

His eyes flickered towards her, then away.

“Brother, it’s me.”

He looked at her again, his face blank. “Who…are you?” His voice was a rough as Deneb’s had been.

Vega tried to contain her despair. “You know me, I’m your sister. Vega.”

“I don’t have a sister.”

“Do you remember your brother, then? Deneb?”

There was a long silence that seemed to reach into eternity.

“Do you remember anything? Anything at all?”

“I remember…the church.”

“This church?”

“No,” he said, vehemently. “The church of Holy Wisdom.”

Vega understood. “Hagia Sophia,” she said, almost eagerly, trying to jog his memories. “You always liked it. Do you remember the first time you went? It was already almost a thousand years old then and you said it would last a thousand years more. You said you hoped it would outlast you.”

His eyes narrowed. “How could you know that?”

“Because you told me!” Vega closed her eyes and tried to stay calm. “You took me there centuries later, when I was just a fledgling. ”

“I don’t remember. I remember the place but…”

“Do you remember why you’d always go back there, even after it became a mosque?”

“I know I did, but I don’t know why…”

Vega hesitated. “You don’t remember yourself?”

Again, there was only silence. Then he spoke.

“I don’t understand. You have to help me.”

“I will,” said Vega, but he grabbed her hand with surprising force. She could feel the blood on his palm.

“Please help me!”

“I will.” She couldn’t bear to see him like this, begging for aid.

“Help me stand.”

“Brother, are you sure—”

“Help me!”

Vega put his arm across her shoulders and gripped him around his waist and, as slowly and delicately as she could, began to lift him off the floor. She could feel his muscles clench against the pain.

“Take me away from this place.”

“I’ll try.”

They hobbled across the church floor, Vega bearing most of their combined weight. Her brother was nearly a head taller than she was, and broad-shouldered, so their progress was slow. Deneb turned to look at them approaching.

“He’s alive?” Deneb asked.

“That’s my brother?”

“Yes,” Vega said eagerly. “Do you remember him?”

“No, but you told me I have one.” His voice was dull, indifferent. Vega just tried to keep moving forward.

Deneb stood, his wings fanning out around him. The man in Vega’s arms froze. “What is he?”

“He’s an Angel,” said Vega. “Just like you and me.”

“I’m an…Angel?”

“You remember Angels, don’t you?”

Deneb approached them. He was shaky but Vega was relieved to see he was looking better. “Altair?” he asked hesitantly.

“Deneb, he needs some time to recover,” Vega said, not wanting to tell her young sibling the truth, that there would be no recovery. They were still ten meters or so from the young Angel when his left wing shifted suddenly upwards. He was thrown off balance and landed on the floor.

“Are you alright?” Vega shouted.

“I think I’m fine,” Deneb said, examining his wing. Then his voice turned tremulous. “Vega?”

The edge of his wing was blurring, shifting. A scrap of blackness peeled away from the rest and soared through the air. The three Angels watched it as it slowly arced towards Vega. At the last moment, it twisted past her to land on her brother’s injured back. She watched, a sick feeling forming in her stomach, as the flake landed on the wounded skin, and vanished. His body shook.

“Vega!” Deneb screamed. She looked up. A cloud of black particles was now drifting away from the edge of his wing. He flapped his wings frantically, but that only made it worse. A dark stream flowed across the room and into their brother’s tortured back. On this day in which every nightmare came true and every impossibility a reality, Vega didn’t doubt what she was seeing. It was all too simple. Her brother was absorbing Deneb’s wings.

“Deneb, get out of the church!” she shouted. Either he didn’t hear her or couldn’t move, because he stayed where he was. The outer edge of his wing was entirely gone; now the middle was being eaten away. He whimpered as he watched it go.

Vega judged the situation quickly. The process had only begun when the two of them got too close, so she had to separate them to stop it. Deneb had been standing on his own, so he’d be the easier of the two to move. She lowered Altair’s shaking body to the ground as quickly as she could and ran to Deneb. Hoisting the boy up was difficult with his wings, but she put his arms over either of her shoulders and picked him up piggy-back style, as she remembered humans called it. His body pulled away from her and she realized it was the tug of his wings. Still she pushed onwards until they reached the vestibule. “Stay in here,” she told Deneb and slammed the door to the sanctuary. The river of particles flowed unfalteringly through the thick wooden door.

“Vega!” her little brother cried.

“Deneb, listen to me!” she shouted through the door. “Try and fight it!”

“I can’t!”

“Fine, then just stay there!” She dashed towards Altair. He’d always been the strongest of the three of them, maybe he was strong enough to stop this. When she reached his side, he was no longer twitching. Instead, he looked at her with clear eyes. “Vega.”

“You remember?”

“Yes, I remember.” She watched in amazement as he rose from the floor and stood facing her.

“Then can you help us? Can you stop whatever’s happening?”

“No.”

“No?” Vega repeated. “You’re hurting Deneb!”

“It’s beyond my control. The multiverse is trying to repair itself.”

“What does that mean? How can hurting Deneb—”

“There’s no time. Essentially, instead of transmitting energy through the planes as we should, Deneb can now only emit and I can only receive. The multiverse is completing the circuit. That’s my guess, at least. Understand?”

“I think so. How do we stop it?”

“We can’t. Right now Deneb and I are doing exactly what we were designed to do. It won’t stop until all Deneb’s power is gone.”

“So you’re just going to wait?”

“You think I would wait?” he demanded. “Until my little brother is stripped of his wings? You’d probably be next. I would not wish this fate on anyone. I spent forty days cut off from the birth plane. It was like suffocating in open air, perpetually dying and never reaching rest. I had to watch my brother go through the same thing, unable to help him. I thought that was hell. But I was wrong. I still had my wings. Now…” he shook his head. “I won’t tell you what it’s like. I pray you never find out. But unless we stop this transfer, that will be your fate.”

“But you said we can’t do anything!”

“I have an idea. What did I always tell you, Vega? Without wings, an Angel…”

“Would be a mortal,” Vega concluded automatically. He’d always said that when chastising her for looking down on humans.  “You think you’re mortal now?”

“I have no wings, what do I have left? I’m sorry, Vega, I’m truly sorry. But to save Deneb and yourself, there’s only one thing to be done.”

Vega starred at him, disbelieving. The energy from Deneb’s wings flowed past, stronger than ever. Who knew how much longer the boy had before he became like his brother. Still, she could not do it. “You can’t mean it.”

“Did you suddenly find yourself stronger today?” She nodded. “I thought you might. I wondered what would happen with all my old power. It couldn’t go to Deneb, cut off as he was. It all went to you.” He put his hands on Vega’s shoulders. “You’ve got my power now. Use it well.”

“I won’t use it to kill you.”

Altair nodded, as if he expected her reply. “Then run.”

“What?”

“Run. Take Deneb. Get as far away as you can. Don’t stop running. Don’t come back. That should stop it.”

She looked him square in the eye. “Do you mean that?”

“Vega, do as I say. Go.”

She hesitated, and then nodded. Her brother let her go and she turned away from him. After a few steps she broke into a run, willing herself not to look back. In the vestibule, Deneb shivered uncontrollably. His left wing was mostly gone and the right side was beginning to blur. Without pausing for explanation, Vega slung him over her back and ran as best she could. Out the church door and down the street, not caring who saw. Humans had spent millennia almost oblivious to Angels; no reason to think they’d start to notice now. The road was empty, anyway. Night had fallen while she was in the church, and Vega had not even noticed. Apparently the glow from her chest was brighter than she thought.

They were three blocks away from the church when Deneb spoke. “Vega, I think it’s stopped.”

She set him down and examined his wings. They were solid at the edges, no sign of further erosion.

“You want to go back and check on Altair now?” he asked.

“No, he told me to take you.”

“But just to see if he’s alright?”

“Deneb. He told us to run, and what’s we’re going to do. Run and not go back.”

“Well, if he said so…” Deneb paused. “Are you crying?”

“What?” Vega said, quickly wiping her eyes. “Of course not. You steady on your feet now?”

“I think so.”

“Then run.”