Angel Fire by L. A. Weatherly Page A

We straddled the bike and he revved it; at the sound of the engine, the people nearby gave way. He nudged the Shadow through as fast as he could, honking the horn. Finally we reached the main road and he opened up the accelerator with a roar. As we sped south, I could just see the flock of three, heading away over the buildings. Alex did too; he took off after them, weaving in and out of traffic. They vanished from view and he took an abrupt turn, and then another, sending us hurtling around corners.
    The angels were nowhere in sight.
    Suddenly I could feel which way we should go, throbbing through me with absolute conviction. “That way!” I shouted in Alex’s ear, pointing to a street off to the right. He took it, and soon we were barrelling down a long road that was mostly businesses, run-down and seedy. Behind a faded pink stucco house, the tips of the angels’ wings flashed in and out of view.
    Alex screeched to a halt. In the sudden silence we could hear shouts. Bars covered the windows; a wrought-iron gate stood open, showing the drive. No lights – the place almost seemed abandoned, except for a white van. I felt Alex’s energy lift again, scanning quickly.
    “All three of them are back there,” he muttered, flinging his helmet off.
    I looked at the house...and the moment froze. My scalp prickled as the darkness of the barred windows reeled me in like a black hole. Something was going to happen here – something that would make both of us so unhappy.
    I shook the idea away; it had to just be nerves or something. But the coldness remained, and as the frightened shouts rang through the night, they almost seemed to be coming from inside my own head, dreading whatever was to come.
    Willow stood motionless, staring up at the house with wide eyes. “Come on!” said Alex. He grabbed her hand, and she seemed to return to herself with a start. They raced down the driveway as the shouts grew louder.
    “Get away from me!” yelled someone. The words were in English; the voice sounded American. The faint thud of silenced gunfire came from nearby.
    The drive ended. Alex pressed against the side of the house, deftly screwing on his own pistol’s silencer before peering around the back.
    A chaos of scrambling bodies; three angels swooping about like giant moths to a flame. There were five AKs – two girls and three guys – and they were shouting, waving their guns around. The angels were toying with them, Alex saw grimly – laughing as they darted towards their opponents and then away again, biding their time before they ripped their life forces away.
    They were in a concrete courtyard; there was a back door with a light over it, casting a circle of luminance like a bizarre stage set. A muscular blond guy stood in the spotlight’s centre, grasping a gun with both hands and swinging it wildly.
    “Come on, cabrona !” he screamed at a female angel. “Come and get me!” His accent was pure Texan.
    Alex saw the angel decide it had had enough of playing; it went high and then dove at the guy, screeching. Alex tracked the creature as it moved, aiming for the pure, bright blue at the centre of its halo. Even through his concentration, he was shaking his head. Tex was flailing about so frantically he’d be lucky not to blow one of his friends away.
    “Oh god, one’s about to get that girl,” burst out Willow. With a smooth shiver her angel form appeared; her human body was still crouched at his side, eyes closed now as she concentrated.
    “Willow, no,” he started. “Seriously, stay back—”
    Her angel had already sped away, heading towards the cement wall that bordered the courtyard. Wings outspread, she swooped over a dark-haired girl with a sharp face, protecting her. The attacking angel drew back with a surprised hiss; the girl flinched and gaped upwards.
    “I can’t just let it kill her!” said the human Willow at his side. “I’ll be okay.” Alex gritted his teeth and tried not to worry. Willow’s