Mitch watched the blurry silhouette of the Archangel, sharp wings outstretched, swoop down toward Bryce in a deadly arc. He planted his feet and brought up the shotgun, trying to get a bead on it. He could barely make it out against the night sky.
A shaft of light lanced out, spearing the Archangel in midair. For a split second, Mitch thought he saw the thing’s true form bathed in the light of the pulser. But the image didn’t take, as if his mind blanked it out, the way trauma victims can’t remember things too disturbing to see.
Then the Archangel screeched and tumbled to the ground just behind Bryce. Instantly, it leaped away, shrinking fast into the distance. It glided over parked cars and a FOR SALE sign on somebody’s front lawn. Then it was gone.
Geneva stood next to the Cougar, the goggles covering half her face. She aimed the pulser after the Archangel, tracking it into the distance.
Mitch ran to Bryce. “You okay? Bryce? You okay?”
Bryce bent over, his hands on his knees, wheezing. He looked up at Mitch. “What was that thing?”
“Hell if I know. But that’s the second time it’s tried to kill me.”
“You?” Bryce said. “What about me?”
Geneva walked over to them, the lenses of her goggles glinting in the light of the fire. She pushed them up onto her forehead. “I think it checked out the house before it attacked, then tried to divide us up. It wants the black box. It’ll be back.”
“We gotta find out what that box is,” Mitch said.
“Dude, no way,” Bryce said, straightening up. “Nothing involving a black box is ever good.”
Mitch watched his house burn. The smoke filled his nose. The flames roared out through the gaping windows, scorching the siding, spitting sparks and ashes high up into the night sky. Things popped and shattered inside the house.
Up and down the street, people came out of their houses, pointing. Couples talked and hugged each other. Some people turned around and went back inside. Most just stood there and watched. Sirens grew in the distance.
Mitch tried to think. He had to do something, and do it fast. He looked down at the shotgun in his hands. No wonder nobody was coming running to help. He was standing there in front of a burning house holding a twelve-gauge. Probably none of them even knew he lived there. If anybody had a video camera, he was going to end up in the news.
Bryce wiped at his eyes, and Mitch put an arm across his shoulders. “Hey, buddy. I’m sorry.”
Bryce blinked up at the house. “What do we do now?”
“Geneva and I are gonna go after this thing.” Mitch said it before he’d even thought it through. “But first, we get you someplace safe.”
“Dude. You can’t tell me what to do.”
“It’s too dangerous.”
Bryce turned to face him. “Staying home wasn’t exactly a safe option, either. Where am I supposed to go?”
“Give us a minute,” Mitch said to Geneva.
“You hear those sirens?” She backed up toward her Cougar. “When they get here, I’m gone. You’ve got one minute.”
“Just wait.”
She held up her watch and tapped it with one finger.
“Fine.” He led Bryce over to the Toyota, parked in the driveway. Bits of white ash fell around them like snow. He opened the trunk and started throwing things out onto the ground. Empty grocery bags. Jumper cables. A nasty old blanket he’d forgotten he even had.
“What are we going to tell the cops?” Bryce said.
“Nothing.” Mitch pulled the spare tire out and rested it on the edge of the trunk. “You remember I told you never to get rid of this tire, no matter what?”
“Yeah. One of many weird requests.”
“There’s a reason.” Mitch got the tire iron between the rubber and where it met the rim. Grunting, he pried on it until the rubber popped up over the edge. He dropped the tire iron and got his fingers in the gap, pulled as hard as he could. “Here. Give me a hand.”
Bryce came around and picked up the tire iron, got it in the gap between Mitch’s hands, and pushed. The hard rubber gave away, slipping up over the edge of the metal until Mitch could fit one of his hands inside the tire, then both.
He found the square edges of the plastic-wrapped bundle inside. The tape made a hollow scritching sound as he peeled it off.
He pulled the block of hundred-dollar bills out of the tire and unfolded the plastic. He thumbed out a thick stack and shoved it in his pocket. He handed the rest to Bryce.
Bryce held the money out at arm’s length, like he thought it would bite him. “I’m not even going to ask where you got this.”
“Out of the tire. Weren’t you paying attention?” Mitch folded Bryce’s hands over the money and leaned in close. The sirens were loud now. “Bryce, listen to me. You gotta get out of town. Go someplace where no one can find you. Not the cops, not the FBI, not nobody. Use this cash. Don’t use credit cards. Not even once.”
“Okay, now you’re scaring me.”
“You want to talk to anybody, find a pay phone. Call Ma. Don’t tell her anything. Tell her I said I love her. But don’t, and I mean this, don’t go see her. Don’t tell her where you’re at. They’ll come cuff you and put you away.”
“What did I do? Seriously. I don’t want to be, like, a fugitive or anything.”
“I’m trying to keep you safe. Just take the car and get the hell out of town. And stay low until you hear from me.”
At the end of the block, a fire engine blared its horn. Blue and red lights flickered down the street.
Mitch hugged Bryce, hard. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I keep doing this to you. I gotta go.”
Bryce patted him on the back and let him go. He held the money close to his chest.
Mitch got down the driveway to Geneva’s car when Bryce called out to him. “Dude. Kick some ass, okay?”
Mitch gave him a thumbs-up and climbed into the Cougar. Geneva didn’t even wait for him to shut the door before she hit the gas.
*
They drove for what felt like hours. Without anyplace specific to go, the nighttime streets seemed alien to Geneva. She was used to having a mission. Go here, buy these things or watch this person or count how often cops patrol the area, and then come back home. Now, there was no home to go back to. And no mission, either.
Except, really, there was a mission. Destroy the Archangel.
That had been her mission all along, ever since it had brought her old life to an end. Everything since that night had seemed like some kind of afterlife, a twisted purgatory made up of paranoid fear when she was awake and nightmares when she slept. Sometimes, she wondered if she even knew the difference anymore.
Sure, up until that night, there’d been plenty with her family that was hard and scary. Like the blizzard when she was twelve, when they’d nearly starved. Those were tense days, full of huddling around the wood stove and not talking. But they’d gotten through that. Everything her family had ever faced, they’d gotten through. Except the Archangel.
Michael had never meant to kill the Archangel. She knew that now. He meant to capture it and use it, the way the Conspiracy had. All these years, he’d lied to her. At one time, she thought—no, she knew—she loved him. But was he any better than the Conspiracy?
She loved him. But how wrong was she? About everything?
Everything?
She blinked away tears, hoping Mitch, sitting in the passenger seat, wouldn’t notice. Ahead, a light turned red. She coasted Brutus to a stop, using it as an excuse to turn her head left, pretending to look out the window, so Mitch couldn’t see her face.
Outside, a few people walked through the shadows between streetlights. She could imagine Michael walking among them, his black coat hanging around him like a cloak. Hands in his pockets, looking nonchalant, but watching. Watching everybody, all the time.
“See that guy over there?” he’d said to her once, leaning down and speaking softly into her hair. His body shielded her from the December wind and the glare of the winter sun. She looked past him at a black BMW across the street, pulled up in front of a pay phone. White exhaust plumed up from the car’s tailpipe. The guy stood hunched over the phone, looking over his shoulder as he talked.
“That guy,” Michael said, “is on the phone with his mistress.”
“What? How do you know?”
“Look at him.” Michael smiled, sharing one of his secrets with her. “Just think about it. Look at the way he’s standing. He’s afraid of getting caught, isn’t he? And all dressed up for a fancy evening. A little early for that. And a man dressed like that, with a car like that, why isn’t he sitting inside using his cell phone?” Michael poked her gently with a finger. “Because the number shows up on his bill, and his wife reads it.”
“And he only left home a few minutes ago.” Geneva nodded with her chin. “His exhaust is still steaming. He drove a mile or two, then pulled over to use the phone.”
Michael looked and then hugged her tight, kissed her hair. “Good girl. You’re practically secret agent material. You know that?”
His eyes were bright against the gray winter twilight.
“Hey,” Mitch said, jerking her back to Brutus and the drizzly night. The rumble of the engine. The raindrops on the windshield glinting with light. “It’s green.”
She chirped the tires when she accelerated. She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to be doing this. She wanted to be back in the warehouse with Michael, plotting to get the Archangel, talking about what they would do after. Travel. Go to Mexico. Live on the beach.
She wanted everything back the way it was supposed to be.
She wanted to go home, to the mountains, to the cabin she’d grown up in, miles from the nearest road, safe from the outside world they’d always warned her about. No electricity, no guns, no complications.
Before Michael. Before the Archangel.
Before Mitch’s daughter had showed up half-dead beside the stream and started this whole chain reaction.
Geneva braked hard as a minivan drifted into her lane. She swore and laid on the horn. The minivan braked. She checked over her shoulder and gunned it, squealing the tires as she went around the van.
“Hey, you’re gonna attract some attention.” Mitch put his hand on her shoulder. “Take it easy.”
“Don’t touch me.”
He took his hand away. She could feel him staring at her from the other seat. It was like his gaze had weight, and she had to hunch up her shoulders to hold it up.
He made a noise in his throat. “Listen, kid.”
“Don’t call me kid. I’m not a kid.”
“Yeah? How old are you?”
She’d turned twenty-two in November. A long, long time ago. “None of your business.”
“Listen, it’s one in the morning. Okay? You going to keep dodging cops all night until you fall asleep at the wheel? Or you want to get some shuteye?” He rolled the window down a crack and took a deep breath. “You know, I’d offer to let you stay with me. But I’m fresh out of houses right now.”
She didn’t say anything. The problem was, she didn’t know where to go. There were a couple people she knew how to contact, but she also knew she couldn’t trust them. Besides, that would be the first place Michael would come looking for her.
If Michael was still alive. She pushed that thought aside, concentrated on the road.
Mitch said, “Look, I know a place, not too far from here. A motel. I know the owner.”
He sounded serious. But for some reason, she wasn’t getting a creepy vibe from him. Great. With her track record for judging character, that probably meant he was a serial killer.
He said, “I don’t want you to read the wrong thing into this. What I mean is, I can get us each a room.”
“Why don’t I just drop you off there and go to a different motel all by myself?” Because she didn’t have any money, that’s why. But she wanted to hear what he’d say.
“Because at ordinary motels, you got to show some ID. And I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to show any ID right now. With me?”
She thought about it. She didn’t have a lot of choice. She was running on the shaky outer edge of adrenaline right now, and she knew she’d crash sooner or later.
Besides, if they got separate rooms, she didn’t have a lot to worry about. If this old guy turned out to be a creep, she could pulse him and hit the road.
She took a breath and let it out. She could either trust this guy, or not. She wasn’t sure which was worse.
“Okay,” she said. “I’m with you.”
“Good. When you get up to the next light, make a right.”
“Mitch.”
“Yeah?”
Faces flashed in her mind. Michael. Gabe. Raph. Arthur. The sharp, shining teeth of the Archangel.
She swallowed. “I’m sorry about your home.”
He stared out the window. In the moving light of passing headlights, she could see the age in his eyes.
Slowly, he shrugged. “Forget it.”