Blest Page 5

  “Why . . . are we here?” he groaned through another splinter of pain across his shoulders.

  Just like his dad, Mr. Webb gave him the silent treatment. They walked toward the lab at the other end of the hall. It felt like it took an eternity just to get there. Each step made the pain get worse. He had never felt anything like this. Jim wondered if he was going to die.

  When he got to the doorway of the lab, Mr. Webb ushered them inside, toward the supply closet where he had gotten the frogs for Claire and Jim earlier that day. Maybe yesterday. It had to be close to midnight now.

  “Jim Blest, at last,” Mr. Webb said, ducking into the closet. “I knew it was your time, you and the others. I can always tell.” Taking halting steps, still leaning heavily on Michael for support—though his father hadn’t said a word for quite some time—Jim walked into the closet.

  The closet was huge, almost like an underground bunker. There were science supplies dumped into boxes, beakers and Bunsen burners and other tools twinkling in the light, and shelves full of books. There was another locked door at the back of the closet, which Mr. Webb opened with a key. “Come on,” he said, as he led them down a hunched cement tunnel. It was an underground bunker, Jim realized.

  The tunnel opened into a space that was more cave than room, shining bright with white lights. Rusted pipes poked out of the ceiling and rustier machines leaned against the wall, with beeping screens that reminded Jim of old arcade games. The cement walls were blanketed with photographs. Some of them Jim recognized as famous pictures of UFOs, the Loch Ness monster, Bigfoot. But a lot of them were of shapes of people against the sun or floating in the sky, like they were flying or something. It kind of reminded Jim of his room, and his painting on the water tower. Just a lot creepier.

  In the center of the room stood a long, metal operating table next to a big X-ray machine. His shoulders exploded, like his muscles were on fire, and he screamed. Michael looked away, as if he couldn’t bear to deal with him. Mr. Webb’s thin lips lifted in a smile. “Wow,” he said. “They must really be coming in.”

  “They?” Jim managed, trying not to pass out.

  “Here, here.” Mr. Webb helped Jim up onto the operating table. “I can give you something for the pain.”

  Jim closed his eyes, struggling to sit up straight and eventually giving up and lying on his side. “What are you going to give me?” he asked weakly. He stared around the cavernous room, his eyes traveling over the photos and the machines. “What is this place?”

  Mr. Webb jabbed him in the arm with a syringe. Jim inhaled through his teeth. The pinch of the needle felt like a flick of a finger compared to what was happening to his back. Slowly, the pain receded to a dull burn. He exhaled slowly.

  “Good, that’s good. Just breathe,” Mr. Webb said reassuringly. He pulled up a stool, sat down in front of Jim, and proceeded to peer at him through his thick glasses, like Jim was one of the frogs.

  Jim waited, but Mr. Webb kept staring. “Um . . .” He looked to his dad, but Michael had started patrolling the walls, looking at a big collage of pictures. “Would somebody please explain to me what’s going on?”

  Mr. Webb brightened. “Easy, Jim. You’re an angel.”

  Jim stared at him blankly. Mr. Webb beamed back at him, as if that was all the explanation needed.

  “Your mom and I were angels,” Michael said, his low voice echoing from where he stood against the wall.

  “What?”

  His dad turned around, his face dark, reflecting Jim’s pain. “There are planes of existence beyond this world, Jim. Humans feel them all the time, they just don’t know what they are. The angels—we’re from Glisten, the celestial plane. Some of us go to the Field—Earth—to raise our children here, instead. We’re Guardians. We fight the demons.”

  Jim looked over his shoulder. His eyes skipped back to Mr. Webb and his dad. “If my back is broken, you can just tell me. You don’t have to lie to me. Am I paralyzed? Why aren’t we at the hospital?”

  “Jim!” Michael barked. “This isn’t a laughing matter.”

  “You aren’t paralyzed,” Mr. Webb said, with infuriating calm. “In fact, you’re quite the opposite. You’re in the process of growing wings, so that you can fly.”

  “Right, because I’m an angel,” Jim said flatly. Had Shane somehow put them up to this? Jim’s eyes flicked around the room, looking for a hidden camera. Was someone filming this, to put it on YouTube as a joke?

  “The bravest of the angels choose to come to the Field, as Guardians,” Mr. Webb said, opening his palms to the ceiling, as if he was explaining something to an infant. “They protect the Portal from the demons.”

  “The Portal? Demons?”

  Michael nodded. “Demons come from the plane of Slag, a place of fire, lying, deceit, destruction. They are always trying to get back into Glisten, to gain the powers that they lost when they were banished from there thousands of years ago.”

  “I’ve never seen you fight any demons,” Jim said pointedly. This was too ridiculous. It had to be some elaborate hoax. But for what purpose? Worst birthday present ever, he thought.

  “I haven’t fought in years,” Michael said, looking at his feet. “Jim, I’m not an angel anymore. Just a man.”

  “If you’re a man, then stop lying to me!” Jim shouted. His voice echoed strangely in the underground space. “I just want my back to get fixed!”

  “We can do that,” Mr. Webb said soothingly. He jabbed his thumb at Michael. “I removed your father’s wings ten years ago, when he was ready to retire from the war. I’ve got over two decades of experience doing it.” He noticed Jim’s expression and laughed a sly, annoying little laugh. “I’m guessing you like high places, you’re afraid of the dark, and you’re a pretty fast runner, right?” Jim nodded slowly. Mr. Webb looked satisfied.

  “Jim, I know this is hard to believe, but you are an angel. Your mother and father came here from Glisten, to fight in the Endless War. But like many angels before them, they eventually grew tired of fighting. They wanted to live like humans, to raise a family. That’s why I’ve learned to do what I do, for angels like your parents who want to retire from the war.”

  “Jim . . .” Michael took a step closer, his voice breaking. “I did it for you. You just need to get your wings removed, too, and you’ll be normal for the rest of your life.”

  Jim laughed helplessly. “Dad, what makes you think I’m normal now?”

  “This isn’t funny!” Michael snapped. “You have to get your wings taken out, or the demons will come looking for you. That’s why your back hurts. On every angel’s sixteenth birthday, their wings grow in.”

  Jim looked back and forth between Mr. Webb and his dad, at a loss for words. He still felt the creeping suspicion that they were both playing a trick on him. Angels? His mom, his dad? A war? He remembered the train. The man. His mom and his dad had been running from something. But it had caught up to them.

  “I’ve got a lovely idea,” Mr. Webb proclaimed proudly. He dashed to the X-ray machine. “I can clear this up. Here, Jim. Just turn your back at the camera and say cheese!”

  Jim hesitantly turned on the operating table. Michael stared at him, then at his feet, hands buried deep in his pockets. Jim heard the machine click a few times. Mr. Webb produced an iPad from behind the machine and plugged it in, then tapped a few buttons and summoned green-and-black images on the screen.

  “My own private Angel App!” Mr. Webb laughed. Then he grew serious, gliding his finger along the image of Jim’s back. “You see,” he said, “here’s your spine.” Jim tore his eyes from his dad and looked at the screen as Mr. Webb traced his vertebrae with his fingers. “And these irregular growths on the left and right shoulder blades? Those are wingtips. They grow fast, that’s why it hurts so much. It’s kind of like a baby teething, except the wings cut through muscle and tissue.” He looked up at Jim and ma
de a slicing motion with your finger. “Like you’re being stabbed from the inside out! And then they’ll bloom into all these white feathers, like flowers sprouting. Cool, huh?”

  Jim blanched, not taking his eyes from the X-ray. He could see the bones growing, and could feel the pain in his back matching the picture where they had already grown. “Dad . . .” he said slowly. “If this is true, how could you . . .” He stared at his hands. “How could you keep this from me?”

  “It was for your own good!” Michael protested.

  “My own good?” Jim shot back. “You mean your own good. Just because you’re too afraid to be what you really are anymore, that doesn’t mean that I have to be.” He flexed against the dull piercing sensation in his shoulders. He was finally growing something much more than a spine and now he was going to throw it all away? What would being an angel be like? Could it really be worse than the nothing he was now?

  His dad’s voice was low and urgent. “I was trying to protect you,” he said. “Don’t you see? You need to get them removed. Otherwise, you’ll be recruited for the Endless War, and you’re not even trained.” Tears gleamed in his eyes.

  “What if I don’t want to?”

  “Jim!” Michael roared. “You have to get them taken out, NOW!”

  Jim turned to face his dad, his mouth open. He had never heard Michael raise his voice like that before. But all of his dad’s anger bounced off of him. He couldn’t help wondering what his mom would have wanted. If she were still alive, would she force Jim to get his wings removed?

  “You’re trying to force me into a decision without all the facts,” Jim said quietly. “You’re taking away the only real choice I’ve had since—”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Webb?” a woman appeared at the edge of the doorway.

  “Gloria, perfect timing!” Mr. Webb said. “Come on in, we’re just having the Big Talk.” He waved at the woman and she entered slowly.

  “I already told them in the car,” Gloria said in a whispery voice, pointing subtly behind her. Two very familiar-looking figures appeared after her. Claire and Gunner. I knew it was your time, you and the others, Mr. Webb had said. Even though his back still hurt, Jim broke out in a smile. Of course Claire and Gunner were angels. They were different from everyone else at Pearlton, just like him.

  He noticed Claire clutching her back, her eyes watery. Gunner tried to stand up straight, like he was defying the pain, but Jim could tell from the way his arms and shoulders tensed that he was starting to feel the slicing sensation of his wings against his skin.

  Claire blinked at Jim as she stepped inside. “You?” she whispered, a faint smile forming on her face.

  “You,” Jim mimicked, smiling. He slid down from the operating table and stepped forward to take her hand. Gloria and Michael didn’t look at each other. Gloria was blinking back tears.

  “So she told you?” Jim asked, his eyes darting from Claire to Gunner.

  Gunner nodded. “Yeah, man. If my back didn’t hurt so much, I’d think someone was screwing with us.” He clenched his teeth and rubbed his shoulders. “I’m freaking ready to believe anything, if it makes this feeling go away.”

  “But . . .” Jim fumbled for words, his heart pounding. He looked at the pictures plastered on Mr. Webb’s wall. “Don’t wings mean that we can fly? And we’re just going to let them be taken away from us?”

  “Our mom says it has to be done,” Claire murmured. “That, otherwise, our lives are never going to be the same.”

  “So?” Jim challenged.

  Gunner’s eyes shifted to Mr. Webb, Gloria, and Michael, who were now conferring in low voices. A grin appeared on his face. “I like that attitude.” He leaned closer. “But she says that the wings are painful when they grow in. Like, this is just the beginning.”

  “Mr. Webb says it’s like being stabbed from the inside-out,” Jim said flatly.

  “Um, ouch.” Claire blew a few loose strands of her hair out of her face. Her brown eyes focused on Jim and he shivered a little. “You still want to see what it’s like?”

  Jim considered for a moment. His dad had lied to him his whole life about who he was. About who his mom was. Could this bring him closer to her? Maybe if he became an angel, he could understand his memories of her just a little more. The train crash. Michael had always told him that it had been a freak accident, some tornado that tore the train from the tracks, but Jim wasn’t so sure. He straightened, defying the pain lancing his back. “I’m doing it,” he whispered. Otherwise, he would be left wondering what it would have been like for the rest of his life.

  Claire and Gunner glanced at each other, then nodded at the same time.

  “Our mom hid this from us our whole lives, what else hasn’t she told us?” Gunner’s eyes glinted. There was a hardness to his voice that Jim hadn’t heard before.

  “Right,” Claire said, giving Gunner a sidelong glance. She sounded uneasy. “We should do it. We just need to be careful and—”

  “Now!” Gunner hissed. Without waiting, he dashed for the tunnel. Jim and Claire stared after him in shock for a split-second, before hurtling to follow. Michael stumbled forward, reaching out to try to block his way, but Jim easily dodged him, fueled by a new kind of energy he hadn’t known he possessed. He ignored the screams from the operating room, Michael’s curses and Gloria’s wailing. His feet pounded on the cement in time with Gunner’s steps. For once, it felt like he was finally running in the right direction.

  This might be the wrong decision, he thought, but it was still his decision to make. He was going to grow his wings and learn to fly.

  5

  Outside, the rain was still falling hard. “Where are we going?” Claire shouted over the rush of the storm.

  Gunner grinned triumphantly and dug out a glinting keychain from his pocket. Claire squinted and saw one of the keys was for her mom’s Volvo. Of course Gunner would have a key. Well, at least they were technically sixteen now. Sixteen-year-old freaks . . . their mom had told them the whole story about angels and demons and the Field in the car as soon as Claire and Gunner started having sharp pains in their backs, just like Jim. Claire still didn’t believe it. She really couldn’t believe anything that had happened over the past few hours, ever since Jim had passed out while they were kissing, and she’d had to call his dad from his cell phone.

  They reached the car. Gunner flung open the door on the driver’s side and popped the locks. Jim and Claire both went for the passenger seat at the same time, their hands touching. His hand burned through the cold rain. She shivered a little, and not from the cold. “I’ll take the back,” he murmured, and ducked around her. She wished desperately that they could have just shared the seat. Then maybe she wouldn’t feel so afraid.

  Gunner tore out of the parking lot, revving the engine. “It’s a shame it’s not the Range Rover, but it feels good to be riding to our futures, huh?”

  “I can’t believe this was Mom’s big secret,” Claire said, rubbing her aching back. “I thought it was going to be some story about our dad, or that Mom was secretly a criminal, on the run from the CIA.”

  Gunner took a sharp left, which sent her smashing into the side of the car. “Yeah, that would have been more believable.” He sped up a hill and she flattened against the seat. Claire gritted her teeth against the pain. Even the cushion felt like needles against her skin. She couldn’t imagine what it would feel like when the wings came in fully.

  She looked out the window as the world rushed by them, streaks of marble-gray roads and sidewalks, buttery yellow street lights glowing lonely in the rain. Inside the car there was only the sound of the engine beneath her feet, and the soft clinking of Gunner’s keychain as it dangled from the ignition.

  Claire’s eyes traveled to Gunner’s face. His jaw was clenched, and his eyebrows were furrowed. She wondered what he was thinking. She opened her mouth to try and break the silence, bu
t it felt like she had eaten a bunch of cotton. Or maybe sand. It was the first time in her life that she wasn’t sure what to say to Gunner.

  He hadn’t reacted very well to the news. When Gloria came home and found them both on the couch, biting pillows to keep from screaming, she had told them they were growing wings and it was time to get them removed. Gunner had gone a little bit insane. “It would have been nice to have some advance notice!” he had shouted.

  “What if we want things to be different?” Claire had asked quietly. But that had just made their mom cry even harder, and Gunner had looked disgusted. Claire had never seen him treat Gloria like this before. Whenever they got yanked out of a new school and forced to pack up all their bags, Gunner was usually the one who calmed Claire down. Claire and Gloria had a checkered past of screaming at each other or crying with each other.

  Claire turned around to look at Jim, who was quiet in the back seat. He was looking out the window with his chin in his hand, his elbow propped up against the car door. His hair was still wet, hanging over his eyebrows and dripping onto his nose. The next time they passed a light, he turned to her and they both startled, locked onto each other’s eyes.

  As they peeled around another corner, Claire saw the blurry neon lights of a convenience store in the rain. “Wait, stop!” she said.

  Gunner hit the brakes and pulled to the side of the road. He turned to her. “What?”

  “Ice cream,” she said, pointing at the store. Both Gunner and Jim looked at her, open-mouthed.

  “Ice cream?” Gunner asked incredulously, like he had misheard her.

  “Come on,” she said. “Unless you have a better idea, we’re getting ice cream and pain relievers. We’re going to need it.”