Angel Burn by L. A. Weatherly Page A

his eyes  . . .  and saw the radiant form of an angel hovering above the girl’s sleeping figure.
    Instantly, his gun was at the ready. But even as his finger started to pull the trigger, his mind was balking at what he was seeing. This wasn’t right; there was something wrong, something missing —
    As he realized what it was, his eyes widened. He stepped around the coffee table, keeping his gun trained on the creature before him. It floated peacefully with its wings folded behind its back, its head bowed slightly, as if in sleep. It wasn’t his imagination: the angel didn’t seem aware of him.
    But more than that, it had no halo.
    Alex shook his head blankly. He had to be seeing things. The angel’s face was lovely, serene, a magnified version of the girl’s own. Yet where there should be a halo framing its head, there was simply  . . .  nothing. An angel’s halo was its heart; without one, it couldn’t survive. His eyes flicked again to the sleeping girl. The image was obviously a part of her; the two were linked somehow. So what did
that
mean, when angels couldn’t maintain their human form and their ethereal one at the same time?
    Alex stared at the girl, troubled. Distantly, he realized that his gaze was lingering on her face, taking in the faint gold of her eyebrows; her eyelashes against her smooth cheeks. His head snapped up as he heard a car pull into the drive. On the sofa, the girl stirred, snuggling deeper into her pillow. Alex moved to the window. Parting the curtains the barest inch, he watched an old yellow Corvette park behind the Toyota. The engine fell silent, and a thin girl with brown hair and lots of eye shadow got out. Alex quickly scanned her. She was wholly human.
    As she headed toward the front door, he let the curtain fall again and slipped into the dining room, pressing himself against the wall to one side of the French doors. The door knocker rapped softly — two short, hesitant knocks. “Willow!” called the girl’s voice in an undertone. It sounded like she was looking up toward the bedroom windows. “Hello, good morning. . . . Are you awake yet?”
    There was a groan from the other room as the girl started to wake up. Craning his neck slightly, Alex watched in amazement as the shining angel image wavered and began to fade.
    “Willow!” hissed the girl on the front porch, knocking again. “Open the door. I forgot my phone!”
    The girl — Willow? — lifted her tousled head and peered blearily toward the front door. Yawning, she threw the afghan off, then stood up and headed for the dining room. Alex drew back against the wall, his heart quickening. She shuffled through without seeing him. As she went into the hallway, he saw that she was wearing pink pajama bottoms and a light-gray T-shirt. She was petite, only five three or so, but obviously close to his own age — slim, with a small, perfect figure.
    There was no longer any sign of the angel. No indication at all that there was anything nonhuman about the girl.
    He heard the front door open. “Nina, what are you doing here?” the girl said groggily. “It’s hardly even light out.”
    Nina’s voice sounded strained. “I know, but I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about Beth — all that stuff you told me yesterday.”
    There was a pause, and then he heard Willow sigh. “I didn’t get much sleep either; I must have fallen asleep in front of the TV. Look, wait here. I’ll go get us some coffee.”
    “Wait here?” Nina sounded surprised. “Aren’t I allowed in the house anymore?”
    “Not at ungodly o’clock, you’re not,” said Willow shortly. “I don’t want to wake up Mom and Aunt Jo, OK? We’ll sit on the front porch.”
    Alex pressed against the wall again as she came back indoors. Thankfully, she didn’t turn on the dining-room light as she passed through again on her way to the kitchen, and he remained hidden in the half shadows. There was the sound of a cabinet opening and of running