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

What frightens me isn't that I'm killing someone. What frightens me is how easy it is

The Resistance has started their attack

Careful with that, archangel,” says the giant as he stalks toward Raffe. He says the word “archangel” with much venom.

I recognize his voice. It is the voice of the Night Angel who cut off Raffe’s wings the night we met.

What games are you playing, Beliel?

You don’t even like me, remember?” That’s what I try to say. What actually comes out of my mouth is closer to a baby’s first attempt at babbling

“Why didn’t you run like I told you?” He whispers against my hair. “I knew from the start that your loyalty would get you killed