Angelborn Read Online Free PDF Page A

way. He plows right into me and stumbles back.
    “What the fuck?” he says looking around.
    “Tripping over thin air now, Anderson?” one of his friends jibes. “Maybe that’s why Coach benched you.”
    The guy grumbles, looks around angrily, and stalks off.
    Maia gasps. Sputters. Lets out a sound that holds infinite agony and sorrow. It’s a sound that reminds me of the Wasteland. A sound I remember well.
    She crumples forward, her chest hitting her knees. I rush toward her. I have the presence of mind to become visible, making sure everyone nearby has their eyes averted, and pull her into my arms.
    Her sobs vibrate through me as I wrap my arms around her. Her grief is alive, clawing its way out of her body. I know then that I’m to blame. I’ve made her feel this shame, this loathing. I soothe her, lulling her into a layer of sleep, unnatural but cleansing. She needs time to regroup and shouldn’t have do it here in the middle of campus.
    With another flash of power to avoid the gazes of the nearby students, I turn both of us invisible and hold her close, continuing the soothing, even in her sleep.
    We stay there for a long time. When Genna turns off the light in their shared room, I carry Maia back upstairs and lay her on her bed. With a sweep of my hands, I remove the layers of makeup, revealing a lovely face. Delicately boned. So beautiful without its scowl and fiercely crafted mask.
    I glance at Genna, resting peacefully as ever, before brushing Maia’s hair off her face and retreating back to my post near the ceiling. Hopefully the soothing will bring Maia some solace and sweeter dreams. She deserves them, since it was I who brought the nightmare.

Chapter Four
    T he temperature dropped ten degrees today. The Yard is full of students showing off their summer wardrobes while they still can. Even I put on a tank top, but I covered it with a sweatshirt, which I don’t plan to take off. I need the extra layer of protection after yesterday.
    And speak of the devil, on my way to the cafeteria it’s like the sea of people parts and there he is. I don’t miss a step this time. Half the people on the sidewalk could be dead for all I know. Well, I’m pretty sure about the girl who looks like a Madonna copycat. Teased hair, jelly shoes, elastic bracelets creeping up her arm. It’s not Halloween yet, and while some of the fashion majors could probably pull the look off, the tear-stained makeup and general air of desolation is also a clue. Unless they’ve given themselves a purpose, like protecting a motherless child, for instance, many of the dead seem to be tortured in some way. They look for those they’ve lost or try to enact revenge for their suffering. A chill runs up my spine, and I push away the unwanted memory. My fists clench — well, my right fist clenches. My left hand can’t do much of anything anymore but twitch involuntarily.
    When I pass him, Ghost Boy looks at me significantly. He wants me to acknowledge him, but there is no way that’s happening. Fool me once and all.
    He sighs and stuffs his hands into his pockets. He’s also figured out a way to change his clothes, another new trick. Today he’s got on a noisy red T-shirt that says Petrovsky Family Reunion. It’s snug, emphasizing the muscles in his chest and arms, which is the only reason he doesn’t look like a complete dork. But then I look at his shoes, and they’re these weird black sneakers with a huge Velcro strap on top. Who dresses this guy? His grandma? I snicker and keep going. He leans to the side a little bit and sort of fake trips over his feet and bumps into this stoner kid walking by carrying a skateboard.
    “Sorry, man,” the kid mumbles.
    “My apologies,” Ghost Boy says, then raises an eyebrow at me. His voice is like melted chocolate, with a slight British accent. My knees wobble, but then I remember that I don’t let hot boys with dreamy accents affect me. Especially when they’re dead. Or whatever he is.
    He