Susan Ee

They’re all shirtless, their muscled forms flexing with every movement. Like their wings, their skin tones vary. The snowy-winged angel that crushed the car has light caramel skin. The night-winged one has skin as pale as an egg. The rest range from gold to dark brown. These angels look like the type to be heavily scarred by battle wounds but instead, have the kind of perfectly unmarred skin prom queens around the country would kill their prom kings for.

The others are blue, green, burnt orange and tiger-striped.

According to Justin, who was our neighbor until a week ago, word on the street is that somebody has put a bounty on angel parts. A whole economy is being created around tearing angels to pieces.

In the long second before everyone absorbs what just happened, I see the angel rolling his eyes heavenward, like a teenager in the presence of overwhelming lameness. Some people just have no sense of gratitude

“How do you know?”

“Because you have the look they’re looking for.”

“What look is that?”

“Beautiful.” His voice is like a caress from the shadows.

No one has ever told me I’m beautiful before. I’ve been too preoccupied with dealing with my mother and taking care of Paige to pay much attention to my looks.

That Raffe is not human

The angels don’t see humans as a threat

Where are we?” Raffe asks from the shadows behind me.

“In hell,” I say.

“Sorry I can’t offer my jacket. When we get closer, I need you to not look cold so no one wonders why I don’t take off my jacket to give to you.”