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  “Comfort food and comfort pills, perfect,” Gunner said sarcastically.

  Claire laughed a little and threw open the car door. She didn’t wait for them, plunging into the rain and across the parking lot into the store.

  After grabbing three pints of ice cream, three plastic spoons, and a bottle of Advil, Claire threw some wadded dollar bills onto the counter without bothering to count them. She sprinted back to the car. Her mom had said that the growing pains usually started the night before your sixteenth birthday, but the wings grew in from midnight to dawn. They had a few hours before things were going to get bad, but she didn’t really trust anything her mom had told her. She had lied to them this long, how could Claire believe anything she said?

  She got back into the car and Gunner hit the gas, taking them through the wet, gleaming streets of the fancier Pearlton suburbs and veering up the hill to Lakewood Drive. He cut to the right and drove to the other side of the lake, where there were fewer houses, and turned into a little beach surrounded by big pine trees. The car crunched onto the gravel parking lot and Gunner stopped, still clutching the steering wheel.

  The lake glowed silver from the moon, and the wind skimmed the waves. The rain had faded to a drizzle, whispering outside the car windows and plunking onto a sad little picnic table growing with patches of green moss and sprinkled with orange pine needles.

  “Is this where we make our last stand?” Gunner asked.

  “Hey,” Jim said. “It’s a first stand. We’re standing up for something we believe in.”

  “What, wings?” Gunner gave him a sidelong glance.

  Jim laughed. “No. I barely believe that part. But if it’s real, I just think we deserve to choose.”

  Claire nodded. “I don’t get it. Our parents were all . . . not human. But they’re frantic to get us to go to Mr. Webb’s creepy lab so we don’t turn out like them?”

  “Mom’s doing what she’s always done—run from the things she’s scared of instead of facing them,” Gunner said, an angry edge to his voice.

  “She was trying to protect us,” she said slowly, then turned to Jim. “I’m sure your dad was, too. But you’re right. This should be our choice.”

  Gunner turned off the ignition and there was a sudden silence. “Yeah. Finally, one thing Mom can’t take away from us.”

  “Cheers to that,” Claire said, uncapping the bottle of pills and shaking two into her hand. She passed the bottle to Gunner. When they had all taken some, they wordlessly got out of the car and headed to the edge of the lake. She and Gunner walked to the shoreline and stopped where the water met the earth. Claire watched it roll across the rocks and dirt and sand, nearly reaching the tips of her shoes before pulling back, as if the lake was breathing steadily, in and out.

  “She can’t take this away from us,” Gunner said again, almost like he was muttering it to himself. His fist was clenched.

  “She was just trying to do what she thought was best for us. That’s why she was running.”

  “No, it wasn’t.” Gunner’s voice was cold. “Jim and his dad stayed in Pearlton their whole lives, right? No, the running was for something else, something about our dad. Some other kind of secret.” He kicked a rock and it skipped across the sand, plunking into the water. “I just thought, all these years . . . I thought that eventually, she would tell us who he is.” His voice broke, and he turned away. “I guess we’ll never know.”

  Claire reached for his hand. Gloria, Gunner, and Claire never said the ‘D’ word. Talking about their father was strictly off-limits. Neither of them remembered him. Their mom refused to talk about him. Claire could only imagine Gunner’s disappointment, if he had thought that this would be the day Gloria finally told them something.

  “I’m done with that,” Gunner said bitterly. “From now on, we stay in Pearlton, no matter what. And we figure out what it means to be d—” He abruptly shouted in pain, doubling over and trembling.

  “Gunner!” Claire gripped him by his shoulders as he snarled and spit.

  “Just leave me alone!” he hissed, tearing away from her and staggering along the water. Claire jumped back and stumbled directly into Jim.

  “Whoa.” Jim caught her. “You okay?”

  Claire stared at Gunner, who was panting raspy breaths a few feet away. “He’s just . . . he’s . . .”

  “Not okay?” Jim asked.

  She turned and looked up at Jim as he held her in his arms, keeping her steady. “We’re going to get through this,” he murmured. “I mean . . . you got us ice cream. What else do we need?”

  Claire laughed and nodded a little. Jim motioned at his gray sweatshirt, which he had laid across the rocks and the sand. He helped her sit down and handed her a pint of mint chocolate chip and a spoon. “I was just thinking about what an awesome painting this would make.”

  He pointed at the sky, where stars prickled the night canopy, winking down at them. Slowly, Jim lowered his finger, guiding Claire’s eyes from the sky to the middle of the lake. The glassy surface of the water rippled with waves, reflecting the stars and the half-moon like a dream. A hesitant breeze stirred tree branches and carried the sounds of crickets chirping from somewhere nearby.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Jim asked quietly. He flinched, clutching at the small of his back, and took a deep breath before continuing. “That’s what I like about art. It forces you to look at a moment, to get inside it and really live there. And life is really just about moments. A long, long series of moments we’re usually too busy to appreciate.” His hand clamped down on hers, holding it tight. Claire felt stronger from his touch, able to face anything.

  They sat like that for what seemed an eternity, watching the dark waves, the lights of houses on the other side of the lake. At one point, Jim slipped his notebook from his pocket and started to sketch, pausing every now and then when the pain became too much to bear. Claire watched in awe as he slowly brought shapes to life with his pencil.

  When he was done, Jim held up the drawing to show her a picture of the lake at night. The paper shimmered with the moonlight. Two figures sat in the clouds above the beach, holding hands.

  “That’s us, sitting above the world.” He tapped the lake he had drawn. One half was white and one half he had shaded to a shadowy black. “Claire, I don’t really . . . I don’t really trust people, but I feel like I can trust you. No matter what happens tonight, we can survive it. As long as we stick together.”

  Claire nodded. He tore the page from his notebook and gave it to her. “Here,” he said. “I want you to have this one.”

  “Thanks,” Claire said breathlessly, her heart racing. She took the page from him, folding it and putting it in her pocket. They locked eyes. Jim leaned a little closer—

  And then Gunner screamed and fell to the sand, violently writhing back and forth, tearing at his clothes. Claire and Jim jumped up, running to him.

  “Gunner!” Claire cried. Seeing her strong, stable brother like this terrified her more than anything. She dropped to her knees to comfort him, but Gunner hollered and roared like some kind of wild animal. Abruptly, he jumped up and ran straight into the woods, halfway out of his shirt.

  Jim and Claire gaped after him, stunned.

  “That doesn’t seem promising,” Jim said with a gulp.

  Claire wanted to smile, to laugh, but a searing pain shot up her back and exploded across her shoulders. She wanted to act strong in front of Jim, to show him she could handle the pain, but suddenly she was stumbling across the beach in a daze, too disoriented by the pain to even know where she was going. It sounded like someone was screaming, shrieking in agony right in her ears, but she realized it was her. She tripped on her foot and her hand sliced across a rock, drawing blood. Claire curled into a ball, trying to keep all of the pain inside her. And failing.

  6

  Claire’s screams split through the quie
t night, piercing and terrifying. Jim ran toward her, but he fell and cut his hand on one of the rocks jutting out from the shore. He ignored the gash, scrambling to his feet. All he wanted to do was to stop Claire from feeling the pain of her wings, even if it meant taking on the pain himself. He dropped to his knees beside her. “Claire,” he said desperately. “Claire, I’m here.”

  “Jim,” she said through tears. “I’m so afraid, don’t leave. Don’t leave!”

  “I won’t, I promise.”

  “Promises get broken all of the time,” she sobbed, babbling. “People just keep coming and going and my mom will make us leave again, or try to, and I can’t trust promises. I can’t lose you, not when I just found you.” She waved her hand weakly and he realized that she was bleeding, too. She reached out, and he clasped her hand between his without thinking—and something shot through him.

  They both jumped at the contact. It felt to Jim like his blood was on fire, his skin rippling with flames. He bit his tongue to keep from crying out.

  Claire went limp, her eyes fluttering closed. Jim trembled as he pulled Claire into his arms, cradling her head in his lap and looking at her. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered to her. “You’re so beautiful, and strong, and warm, and wonderful. I’m right here, Claire.” He ran his hand through her hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  The night slowly turned to a gray dawn, clouds flicking like passing ghosts above. The wind grew stronger over the water, and the pine trees swayed violently. Jim felt like he was stuck in place, holding Claire, staring at her, watching as she took deep, slow breaths.

  Finally, when the sky was starting to light up with the silver hue of dawn, Claire slowly opened her eyes. “It’s over,” she breathed. She sat up and Jim leaned away from her, excited. What was an angel going to look like? And why hadn’t his wings come in yet? Was that going to go wrong, too?

  Claire took a deep breath as a pair of wings unfurled behind her, spreading at least three feet in each direction. They shadowed her from behind, catching the awakening sunlight. The feathers were crimson, blood-red, glinting in the muted sunlight. Red feathers. Hadn’t Mr. Webb said that angels had white feathers? “What . . . what are you?” he asked cautiously.

  She cocked her head, looking at him. Her wings flapped a little. “What do you mean? I’m a demon, just like you.”

  Jim jumped to his feet. “What!”

  “Jim? What did you think I was?” Claire asked, getting to her feet, but he could tell from her face that she already knew.

  Demons were the things that the angels were supposed to be fighting. Demons were the reason that his dad hadn’t wanted him to become an angel. How could Claire be a demon? And Gunner, too? Didn’t that mean Jim was supposed to hate her?

  “Jim?” Claire repeated, more insistently.

  He opened his mouth, but then the pain hit him in full force, and he fell to the sand, blinded by the sudden agony as it ripped through his back and shoulders. The sand whirled in front of him as the wind grew stronger and louder.

  “Claire, you did it!” A familiar, horrible voice shouted across the wind.

  Blinking back tears of pain, Jim saw Claire turn to face someone. The wind kicked up sand, sending it flying around her. “Shane?” she asked, confusion etched across her face.

  Shane appeared overhead, peering down at Jim. Another shock of pain sliced through Jim’s back and he squirmed in the sand, trying not to scream. Through his blurry vision, he could see that Shane had a pair of red wings, too. He was a demon. How had Jim never noticed the wings before?

  “Looks like the Blest boy decided to grow a pair, too.” Shane nudged Claire with his elbow, chuckling at his own joke. “Get it?”

  She gave him a disgusted look, her arms crossed. Her eyes dropped back to Jim.

  Shane raised an eyebrow. “He’s an angel, you know. Not one of us.” He unsheathed a knife from somewhere, a weapon with a black blade. “If you just give him a little jab in the wings, we won’t have to deal with him later.”

  He offered the knife to Claire.

  She looked down at it. “Why would I do that?”

  “Angels are our enemies, Claire.” He frowned. “Trust me, this will solve a lot of problems. Just a quick prick.”

  “Why don’t you do it?” Claire challenged.

  Shane flushed and rolled his big shoulders. “Well, I—”

  “Hey!” Another voice called. “What are you doing? Shane, you know you can’t break the Pact!”

  “I can do whatever I want!” Shane snarled. Jim closed his eyes, grinding his teeth against the pain and wishing he was somewhere, anywhere else. With Claire. His spine felt like it was twisting out of place, growing like a tree right through his skin. He opened his eyes again and saw Sydney Lumen yelling something at Shane, motioning at the knife. What was Sydney doing here? Was she a demon, too? Shane still had his ugly grin on his face. When Jim looked back at Claire, all he saw was her look of fear and confusion and hurt.

  Then he blacked out.

  7

  Jim groggily rolled around on top of the stiff covers of an unfamiliar bed. Something itched on his back. A lot. He went to scratch his shoulder with his hand and felt feathers. Wings. He had wings.

  “They’re always itchy when they first come in,” a girl said, appearing above him. He blinked against the blinding white light streaming in from a window. The girl’s long blond braid hung over her shoulder. Behind that, he could see a pair of beautiful white wings reflecting the morning sun.

  “Sydney?” he asked. Sydney Lumen was an angel? He wanted to laugh. The number of times Sydney’s group had teased him and bullied him didn’t seem to qualify her as angelic. He sat up and saw that all of Sydney’s usual group was in the room, too. Lounging around on a couch and a chair in a room where the cushions, blankets, and carpet were all cream-colored, as white as clouds. He recognized Leo, Miles, and Nora from school. But now they all had white wings. “You’re all . . .”

  Sydney beamed, helping him up. He rubbed his sore back, but his hand met the wings again: hard bones covered in soft feathers. “This is . . .”

  “Amazing?” Sydney asked. “I remember last year when I got my wings, I was so excited.”

  “Sure, yeah,” Jim said slowly. The words ‘messed up’ had come to mind, but Sydney’s blue eyes were shimmering with excitement. Was she actually excited that he was an angel? She had barely even looked at him before.

  “What happened? At the beach?” he asked.

  Sydney’s face darkened and she walked away from him. “Freaking Shane Morrisey. That’s what happened. I don’t think he would have done anything, but—”

  “He was trying to get Claire to cut my wings,” Jim said quietly.

  Sydney turned around. “That used to be an old demon initiation ritual. Kill an angel to get acceptance. But not here, not on the Field. Not since the Pact, at least.”

  “The Pact?”

  Sydney nodded. “The angels and demons have a truce on the Field right now. We don’t kill each other. It’s been that way for ten years.”

  “Ten years?” Jim asked. “What happened ten years ago?”

  “Whoa, bro,” Leo said, his big face looking up from his phone. “Your dad didn’t tell you anything, did he?”

  Sydney waved her hand dismissively. “Everyone knows Michael Blest is a coward. He’s been trying to forget he was ever an angel. It’s pathetic.” The harsh words wheedled Jim’s ears. She turned to him, her face stony. “We thought you were going to go down that road, too.”

  “Is that why you guys always, uh . . . treated me . . .”

  “Like crap?” Leo asked, grinning.

  Jim nodded.

  Sydney sighed. “You have to understand, Jim, there’s nothing worse than being a Wingless. Humans are kind of ignorant and, yeah, they get trapped in their own tiny, selfish worlds.
But Wingless like your dad, they just . . . they’ve given up on their duties in the Endless War. They turn their back on their people.”

  “Most of ’em actually pretend their kids have a deformity or something and get their wings taken out, without the kids ever knowing,” Leo said. “It’s sad.”

  Jim shook his head. “My dad told me the truth.”

  Sydney pursed her lips. “And you chose to be an angel, after all the things he told you?”

  “I just thought it was my choice to make.”

  “You made the right one.” Sydney flashed a smile at him. “Now you’re part of the Pearlton Feather.”

  “Feather?”

  “That’s a group of angels,” she said. “We’ve only had four, but you’ll be five. You know Leo, he just got his wings this summer.” She motioned at Leo, who had one leg up over a futon, his head lying on a pillow as he looked up into his phone. Leo was a big guy with a black buzzcut, a little overweight but with muscled arms and a square jaw. Jim recognized him from a few classes from freshman year. Leo mostly made farting noises when the teacher wasn’t looking.

  “I’m glad you made it, buddy,” Leo said, winking.

  “Then Nora got her wings last year, like me, and Miles last winter.” She pointed to two redheads who were obviously brother and sister. Jim had seen flashes of them in the hallway. Nora was a junior, like Sydney. Jim had heard that both Nora and Sydney were good at soccer, but he had never seen them play. He wondered if the wings gave them an unfair advantage. Miles was in his history class, but Jim had never spoken to him.

  “Welcome to the Feather, Jim,” Nora said. She got up from the couch in the corner of the room and shook Jim’s hand so hard that he felt like it almost broke off. She looked him up and down. “Hope you’re ready to fight some demons.”

  “Well, Nora, we’re not technically supposed to—” Sydney started.

  “Dude, Blest, I never thought you’d be one of us!” Miles said, shoving his way past Nora. He high-fived Jim’s open hand. “That’s awesome. Hey Nora, maybe he can help you with your mind-numbing research. We can make it a hazing ritual!”