The silk sheets glide across my bare legs as I roll over. My hand reaches out expecting to find skin but instead meets empty space. Opening my eyes, my gaze is drawn to a lone feather, white except for the grey tip that makes it look like it’s been dipped in paint. The feather is softer even than the sheets wrapped around me and I sit up searching for its owner.
“Come back to bed,” I tell the angel standing at the window.
When he doesn’t react I get up and walk over, my nightgown brushing the tops of my thighs.
“What’s wrong?” I press a kiss to the dark skin of a shoulder blade before trailing a finger down the sensitive skin between his huge, folded wings.
He shudders and in one smooth movement I am in front of him, staring at the world outside with my back against his hard stomach. Fires burn in the city below. The riots are getting worse. I place a hand on the glass, feeling longing for the world that was.
“I will protect you, Natalie.” His deep voice rumbles in his chest, powerful and determined. Feathers brush my arms as his wings unfurl. “No matter what happens.”
*
BEFORE
I knew from the moment I first saw my angel that he was different. He wasn’t gleefully examining the offerings like the rest of them – he was silent and looked like he wished he was anywhere else. I was in a line with ten or so other girls, all of us terrified at what might happen because no one had told us. One moment we were out living our lives and the next we were bundled into a van. Minutes or hours later we were forced into a line and marched into a hall where a group of eager angels were waiting.
After a while an angel stepped forwards and chose a tall blonde, indicating for her to follow as he left the room. There must have been a hierarchy because the angels all waited patiently for their turns. Half of the girls were gone when my angel moved towards us. His expression was blank but his eyes were sad.
I wasn’t looking my best – I had been on my way back from an art class when I’d been taken and my clothes and hands were covered in paint – so I wasn’t surprised that I hadn’t been picked yet. When he noticed the colourful splatters he smiled, something I later learned he rarely did. Then he chose me.
Cassie
NOW
It’s not every day that you walk into your kitchen to find an angel examining the photographs on your fridge.
I’m so surprised that it takes me a moment to react.
“What the hell are you doing?” I growl, raising my shotgun and aiming it at the monster’s head. “Turn around with your hands raised.”
Sighing, yes sighing, the angel faces me. Like the rest of his kind he is extraordinarily handsome, something probably designed to make them seem more trustworthy and less of a threat, but I know better. We all do. Now.
“If I was going to attack you I would have done so already.”
“Yeah, yeah, Feathers, just keep your hands up. Now would you care to explain why you’re in my kitchen?”
The angel winces at the nickname and drops his hands.
“Are you deaf? I said hands up.”
“You’re not going to shoot me.”
“Oh yeah? Are you willing to bet your life on that?” I stare down the sight, my finger getting ready to squeeze the trigger. I don’t know if bullets can kill angels but I’m hoping it will at least sting like a bitch.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Cassandra.”
I feel like someone has dumped a bucket of cold water down my back.
“How do you know my name?”
“Put the gun down and I’ll tell you,” the angel replies calmly. He’s been so damn calm this whole time like he knew things wouldn’t go south.
“Fine.” I lower the gun so that it’s pointed at his foot. My finger itches to send a ball of metal flying at him but instead I ask, “So, Feathers, how do you know my name?”
Taking one of the photos off the fridge door, he holds it up. “Are these your parents?”
The couple are standing by a lake. They’re both young and are gazing into each other’s eyes. The woman is heavily pregnant, the man’s hand resting on the bump that will someday turn into me.
“They were. They’re dead.”
“You live alone?” Something like concern crosses his face.
“Yes but I can take care of myself.” I glare.
Feathers’ eyes narrow at the shotgun. “So it seems.”
“You were answering my question,” I prompt, wanting to get this over with so that I can gather all my things and leave. If this guy managed to find me then I need to find somewhere new to wait out the apocalypse.
“Cassandra Wu, Cassie to her friends, twenty years old, daughter of Alice and Jin Wu.” He sounds as if he’s reading details from a file out loud. “Suspected psychic.”
My eyes nearly pop out of my head.
“What? Psychic? Where did you hear that? Where did you hear any of this?” I realise that I’m shouting and lower my voice, not wanting to attract any more angels. “You better give me some answers, Feathers.” I wave the gun threateningly.
“You knew when your mother had died.” The angel tilts his head, his sandy blond hair falling across his eyes. “You knew that she had cancer. You told her to see a doctor.”
“You’re wrong. I didn’t know it. I saw that she had symptoms, I . . .”
“Don’t lie to me,” Feathers interrupts, sounding annoyed for the first time. “I can tell when people are lying just like you know things before they happen.”
“Fine,” I snap, breaking the promise I made to my mum when I was a child. “I’m a psychic. So what?”
The angel’s lips draw into a smug smile. “I have a deal for you.”
