Angel Fever: 3 by L. A. Weatherly

Author:L. A. Weatherly [Weatherly, L. A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ePub Bud (www.epubbud.com)
Published: 2013-11-02T16:00:00+00:00

The garage door swung open when I tugged at it, and the 4 × 4 started on the first try. I backed it down the drive and grabbed what I needed from the Toyota. “Thank you, whoever you were,” I murmured once I was back in the truck. The house gave no response.

I let out a breath and glanced at the boy in the photo. “Ready, Timmy?” And Timmy said he was.

When the snow came an hour later it wasn’t as bad as I’d feared; the 4 × 4 took the inch or so of white easily. It was a relief to feel how solid and reliable it was as I travelled down the main street of the next dark town: Scottsbluff, Nebraska.

A Payless ShoeSource gaped vacantly. Festive Flowers had pots of dead plants in the window. I couldn’t sense any people – this time of year, they’d probably headed south, or given up and gone to Omaha Eden.

I knew exactly what I was looking for. When I saw it, I smiled and turned right onto First, and then right again. There was a small parking lot at the back; I pulled in.

Stray snowflakes fell softly in my hair as I swung open the truck’s rear door. I got out the cardboard box and one of the cartons of bottled water – and then, with my pistol safe in the pocket of my parka, I locked the truck and walked up the short flight of concrete steps to the back door.

The fading gold letters read: IMAGES SALON.

The door was locked, but this time I had no compunction about sending my angel in. In seconds, I was standing inside a supply room; through an open door was a room filled with mirrors and black curving sinks.

I found a bottle on one of the shelves: Peroxide for hair. The memory of Alex’s reaction when I’d dressed his gunshot wound came back, and I almost smiled. “Different peroxide,” I told his ghost in my head. “And it was the right thing to do, you know.” I stripped off my parka and V-necked top, and put on a black plastic cape. Then I settled into one of the swivelling chairs and started applying peroxide to my long, dyed brown hair, combing it through.

My angel hovered overhead, casting a gentle light.

Twenty minutes, the bottle said. I watched in the mirror, observing with satisfaction as my hair grew lighter by the second. I’d hated the brown so much – it had never felt like me. When the timer went off, I rinsed out the peroxide with bottled water in one of the sinks, and then opened up the box of Clairol Summer Blonde.

Less than an hour later, I was a blonde again.

I smiled at myself in the mirror as I combed my hair out. A little darker than my natural shade, but only slightly. Oh god, the relief – I felt like myself again. This was how I wanted to be when I faced Raziel: exactly who I really was.

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