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

A woman screams in absolute hysterics. Something about it makes me think of my mother.

Then I see the woman who is screaming. Of course, she is my mother

Archangel Uriel, the politician. He’s the one who secretly orchestrated Raffe’s wing switch to keep him from being a competitive candidate in the upcoming angel’s election.

“There’s some crazy lady on the loose,” says Doc. “Keeps propping open emergency exits. Triggers the alarm. Are you going to let me go?”

Well, at least my mom must be doing okay

Thermo. Flyer. Big B. Little B. And the one holding you is Cyclone.’

Beliel, who apparently is Big B

‘Oh, she could have handled the killing hands like the truest warrior,’ says Raffe proudly. ‘It’s the little naked worms that make her tremble.’