Angel Burn Read Online Free PDF Page B

feeding touch causing the very cells inside of her to wither up and die. Or MS, so that she’d eventually lose the use of her limbs and end up in a wheelchair, until finally she died of it. Or Parkinson’s or AIDS or any other ailment you could think of — there was no telling with angel burn; the only certainty was that she’d been inexorably poisoned, and no matter what form the damage would take, the quality of her life would go firmly downhill from now on. And ironically, she would never see the connection between this and the angel. In fact, she’d probably think that the angel had been sent to
help
her in her time of need.
    Cully reappeared. “She’s on her way home, happy as a clam — for now, anyway. Come on,” he went on, dropping his hand on Alex’s arm. “Let’s go find your brother, so you can brag you got your first solo kill. Might even brag on you a little myself.”
    “Why?” Alex asked raggedly. The words felt like sand in his throat. “I did everything wrong! I waited too long to shoot. I looked into its eyes. I —”
    His headache threatened to blind him as Cully lightly cuffed the back of his head. “None of that, boy,” he said. He draped an arm around Alex’s neck as they started walking back to the Jeep. “Didn’t I just tell you that it’s hard when they look at you? You did good. You did good.”
    Now, five years later in Aspen, Alex stared out the window at the Rocky Mountains, seeing the dry, rugged hills of New Mexico instead. As it turned out, only a handful of angels had ever seen him again; it had just been sheer bad luck that it had happened his first time on his own. But it hadn’t mattered. He’d gotten over his nerves, and now he had brought down more angels than he could count — especially since he had long ago stopped bothering to keep track. There hadn’t seemed much point anymore once Jake was gone, taking with him the friendly competition between the two brothers.
    The thought winced through Alex before he could stop it.
No. Don’t go there.
    “Here you are,” said the waitress, appearing with his breakfast. The plates clinked against the table as she set them down in front of him. She produced fork, knife, and spoon from her apron, and clattered those down as well. “Would you like some more coffee?”
    “Thanks,” said Alex. She refilled his cup and bustled off, and he eyed the food tiredly, wondering why he had wanted so much. But he needed to eat for the fuel, if nothing else. He might get another text any minute, sending him off to God knows where. Or it could be as long as a week from now. A week full of long, pointless hours that he’d somehow have to fill — which usually meant boxy motel rooms and crap TV shows.
    Ignoring the happy families sitting all around him, Alex lifted his fork and began to eat.

“HI — COME ON IN,” I said to Beth.
    It was Thursday afternoon after school, and she was standing on our front porch, looking around with wide eyes. My aunt Jo lives in an old Victorian house on the south side of Pawtucket, and she very, very kindly (as she keeps reminding us) allows Mom and me to live there with her — which is good, since Mom doesn’t have a job and couldn’t work, anyway. It’s a great old house, or at least it used to be, once upon a time. Now it’s sort of in need of a paint job. Not to mention all the little deer statues and windmills and tiny flying kites that Aunt Jo has in the front yard.
    Beth tore her gaze away from a gnome with a red hat. “It’s very  . . .  colorful,” she said weakly.
    I stood back to let her in. The inside of the house looks more normal, apart from the piles of clutter everywhere. Aunt Jo is a hoarder. She saves whatever she comes into contact with but can never
find
anything because it’s always buried under a foot of mess. So she ends up buying two or three or six of everything.
    Beth came in hesitantly, clutching her purse. She looked perfect as usual, in a pair of black