The Angel Killer by Lisa Voisin

Author:Lisa Voisin [Voisin, Lisa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

Though I no longer carried part of Michael’s soul, the network was as available as I needed it to be, which meant I could tune in and listen whenever I wanted, like a police radio. I was just glad I didn’t have to hear it droning in the background anymore. My enhanced sight hadn’t changed, either, so I’d have to get used to seeing flyers and creatures on people—I wasn’t sure if that was a blessing or a curse. But at least I still had a halo, albeit smaller, to flame them with.

The other angels gave Michael several full days and nights off to allow his healing to fully set. So, for the next few days, we spent every moment together. In our spare time, he continued training me to fight. Now that he’d seen me throw a punch, he said I’d need lots of practice. No longer having his memories attached to mine, I managed to learn how to block, kick, and punch without being distracted. Michael even brought out gloves and padding so I could really let go.

My mom worked every night, so after our sessions, Michael would heal my aching muscles, and I’d fall into bed exhausted, finally able to rest without disturbing dreams or flashing to wake me. Well, his halo still flashed, but he was the one attached to it, not me. When the shimmering woke me, he’d whisper an apology in my ear and hold me tighter.

I wouldn’t have given up those moments with him for the world.

On Monday, Michael drove us both to school for his first day back. I realized I’d left my Latin text in his car and went to get it. As I crossed the parking lot, I caught Farouk by himself and stopped to wait for him. Heavy shadows hung over his shoulders, but as far as I could tell, they were emotions, not sentient creatures feeding on his soul, at least, not within the school grounds. I hated to think what happened to him outside the protected space.

“Where’s Fatima today?” I asked, as we made our way through the throngs like salmon swimming upstream.

“She’s sick,” he said with a frown. The front of his T-shirt was rumpled under his jacket, as though he’d slept in it, and the deep, dark rings circling his eyes were stark by daylight.

“Since when?” I asked, but I already knew the answer. Guilt pricked my skin. Maybe she had been acting strangely the last I’d seen her because she was sick. Come to think of it, I hadn’t seen her since I’d developed the ability to see minions on people. “Is it serious?”

“My parents have called in the imam.”

“A priest?” His news turned my stomach into a block of ice. I drew in a sharp, involuntary breath. “Why? Is she—?” I was going to ask if she was dying, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it.

“No. Our parents are just really devout.” He opened the glass door leading into the school’s huge foyer.

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