Archangel Evolution by David Estes Page B

my arm stop bleeding?
    Taylor watched as two demons jumped
effortlessly from the field to the raised seating area. They
carried a fresh segment of metal bleachers. Working quickly with
metal saws, they cut away the section she had destroyed, and
replaced it with the fresh piece. All day the maintenance team had
been chasing her around, cleaning up after her mistakes. Like
replacing light bulbs she had fried, replacing divots of grass she
had torn up, and now, repairing stadium hardware, like the
bleachers.
    Trying to control her simmering frustration,
Taylor hopped down from the seats and strode back onto the field
where Gabriel waited for her. He said, “Flying’s not so easy, even
with wings.”
    “I don’t have wings. At least, not anymore.
It’s like they’ve disappeared.”
    “Trust me, they’re there. The scans showed
them healthy and strong and ready for flight. The first time’s
always the hardest.”
    “But it’s not the first time,” Taylor said,
remembering how she had hovered magnificently in the air before
wreaking havoc on the Archangels. At the time, the experience had
seemed so real, vivid, but now it felt like just a memory of a hazy
dream.
    “The other one doesn’t count. You weren’t
trying then. It’s harder when you’re trying.”
    “Whatever you say, boss,” Taylor said, hoping
he was right.
    “Try again, but this time, don’t think about
flying. Assume you are just going to leap in the air and then come
falling back to the ground, like you would before—when you were
human.”
    Taylor nodded, and without responding, took
off down the field. Two seconds and fifty yards later, she planted
both feet firmly on the ground and propelled herself up. Expecting
to come back down, she kept her knees bent and her stance wide, as
she controlled her body in anticipation of recontacting the field.
She closed her eyes
    There was a pop! and she felt the wash
of wind through her hair. It felt good, as she was still warm and
sweaty from the exertion of the day. The breeze was inconstant,
however, hitting her from behind and then not. From behind and then
not. Like a turning fan, it provided cooling relief one out of
every few seconds. She enjoyed the breeze for a few minutes,
preparing herself mentally for her next attempt at flying.
    She heard, “Way to go, Tay!” It was Gabriel’s
voice, but sounded distant—he was still at the other end of the
field, most likely. He had been sarcastic with her all day, with
comments like Nice one , or Impressive! after each of
her failures. It was really starting to piss her off. Taylor opened
her eyes, ready to yell something like, “Who saved your life when
you got the poo beaten out of you by Lucas?” Instead, she yelled,
“Holy Shnikes!”
    Her feet were dangling beneath her and the
field was getting smaller and smaller. At both edges of her
peripheral vision, there were white creatures flashing about. Angels! she thought. Dionysus had found her and captured her
and was carrying her away. She glanced to the left, ready to kick
and claw at her attacker. Her breath caught in her throat when she
saw what was there. A brilliantly white, feathery wing gracefully
arced high above her shoulders, and then powered down with a whoosh! With each successive cycle, the wing pushed air
across her face, simulating a gust of wind. She was flying!
    But how? She wasn’t thinking about it
and yet the wings performed, propelling her higher and higher, as
if they had minds of their own. Finally, she thought to look up,
and when she did, she saw that she was nearly to the top of the
domed roof. “How do I stop these things!?” she yelled to Gabriel,
who now looked like an ant scurrying across a small rectangle of
grass.
    Faintly, she heard Gabriel say, “You control
them, not the other way around! They are just like legs or arms,
your brain just isn’t fully aware of them yet!”
    Taylor glanced up again; she was getting
dangerously close to the roof, and she didn’t