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The growl is turning into a roar.
I turn from Cal and look ahead. The tweaker is standing frozen, his face pale. Abe is staring slack-jawed,
his eyes wide. I wonder what they see. I think for a moment, my mind disconnecting from the reality in front of me, that what they see must all be blue.
I turn back to the angel. I reach up with my free hand and grab his chin, turning his head toward mine. There’s a moment when the sound coming from his throat gets louder, and his eyes get blacker, but then something sparks within him and a semblance of humanity returns.
He can’t have humanity, I think wildly. He’s not human.
“Hey,” I whisper.
He snarls at me.
I shake his chin with my hand. I struggle to free my left arm, twisting as I pull.
He tightens his grip around me, and for a moment, I think he won’t let me go, but I slide my other arm loose and he moves his hands to my back, clutching me tightly. I reach up and cup his face in my hands. He tries to pull away and I dig my fingers into his skin.
“Hey,” I say again, louder. “It’s okay.” Cal shakes his head. “He needs to go into the black!” he roars, his voice far deeper than I’ve heard it. His breath is hot against my face, contrasting with the chills down my spine. “He will suffer for trying to take what’s mine!”
“No,” I say, trying to ignore the way his words slam into me. “You need to listen to me. Can you do that?”
I think he’s going to refuse, he’s going to pull away and launch himself at the gunman, sending him into the black, whatever or wherever that may be. He surprises me then, as a shudder rolls through him, rippling up through his body and extending through his wings. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, and when they open again, they are dark, but the overpowering black is gone. He nods.
“You are not the judge,” I tell him. “You are not the jury. You are not the executioner. Since you are none of those things, what are you?”
“I am the protector,” he whispers.
In the distance, a bell rings, but we ignore it.
“And you have protected me,” I tell him, relaxing my grip on his face, tugging gently on the auburn hairs on his face. From up above, bright lights swirl and the wings begin to fade.
His face grows dark again. “But… but he—”
“No,” I tell him. “Me. You and me. Okay?”
He watches me for a moment. I don’t look away. He sighs and the lights above grow brighter, obscuring the feathers, which are growing fainter. He hugs me tightly, his face going to my neck. He breathes me in and lifts me, my feet leaving the floor. He trembles again before he sets me back on the ground. The wings have almost completely disappeared, the blue lights flashing, but growing dim. A moment later, they’re gone completely.
“You had your wings,” I tell him, almost laughing at the absurdity of the sentence.
His eyes flash. “Your thread is very bright. And very loud. I heard you screaming my name. I was angry.” This last comes out heatedly, as if he’s getting riled up again.
“At me?”
He shakes his head. “No. At myself. I should have been here sooner. I got distracted. You must forgive me.” He reaches out and grabs my hand, clutching it in his own. His eyes search mine, pleading.
“There’s nothing to forgive,” I say, entwining my fingers in his.
He looks like he doesn’t believe me, but I don’t know what else to say. Today has been a very weird day. Getting shot at can do that to you, I guess. I’m ready to go home and it’s not even two in the afternoon.
I look back out to the store. The gunman is gone.
“Looks like we’re about to have some company,” Abe says from the window, his voice thin. “People must have heard the gunshot or seen the guy running. Rosie’s marching her way down with a shotgun. She looks determined.”
“She probably just wants to make sure I made you eat the sandwich,” Cal says. “She was really insistent about that.” He looks worried at the thought of Rosie with a shotgun. Hell, I’m worried about Rosie with a shotgun.
“Abe,” I start, unsure how to finish.
He waves his hand at me. “Boy, I’ve known you since you weren’t nothing but a twinkle in your father’s eye. I may not completely understand what I just saw, and I may not even believe it, but it’s not mine to tell. Though, if you can, I’d like to hear more about it later. I think you’ve got one hell of a story.”
