“Oh my God,” I whispered.
One corner of the angel’s mouth quirked, showing a fang.
Oh no. From my back pocket, I grabbed a knife, then bent at the knees and threw.
The knife stopped midair, spun, and hovered in the air pointing toward me.
Oh, hell no. Gonna make a run for it. Cuts and bruises were nothing compared to what this guy could do to me. I'd seen angels pick us up off the streets and drop us from thousands of feet.
I jumped on the kitchen counter and crashed through the window, landing awkwardly on my side. Ignoring the pain, I ran across the lawn, along the driveway—which I swore was ten miles long this time—over the gate and…and nothing. My pants caught on the pointy finial of the iron gate. With one arm, I struggled to free myself, but that only made the pain in my other arm worse.
I tugged at my jeans, but couldn’t rip them. I swore I’d wear tights next time. I tugged my jeans again. They tore. I slid, stopped, and grabbed the gate with one hand so I didn’t bust my head open. If the hole ripped all the way, I was gonna hit the ground headfirst and probably break my neck. I couldn’t move my right hand. Listless, it hung upside down like the rest of me, a giant piece of glass sticking out of my bicep. Warm blood trailed down my skin and dripped onto the pavement. It hurt so bad, I could cry.
Stuck upside down, hanging from the gate, my backpack over my head, I prayed he’d kill me fast, and not the way I’d seen them kill other humans. Where the hell had the damned angel come from?
Ah crap. There he was. Holding a sword longer than my leg in his hand, he walked out of the house. The sword was thick, golden, and looked like it weighed a ton, with elaborate blade markings and an even more elaborate hilt that curved around the angel’s powerful arm.
The angel locked eyes with me and smiled the way a tiger might at a helpless rabbit. He came for me. I was gonna die. Like a butterfly trapped in a spider’s web, I hung from the fence. I didn’t even attempt to wiggle. What was the point? He’d catch me anyway. His golden eyes glowing, a strange chant pouring from his lips, he lifted his sword and plunged it into the earth.
I sat in the mud at the edge of the lawn, near the tall wall made of stone. The finest, softest patch of California grass ever was all gone. I grew up in LA. I knew fine grass. Where was the fine grass?
Voices drifted to me, and I looked up. The daylight waned as the sun set, announcing the night. But just seconds ago, it had been the dead of night. And that wasn’t all that had changed. The gate had disappeared. A muddy lawn with frozen edges and evergreen trees now replaced the driveway, the house, the bushes. Maybe I’d died? This could be heaven or hell or something in between.
Scrambling up, I snatched my backpack—yes!—and slung it over my shoulder. The other arm hung listless, glass still sticking out of it, and thank God for that, because the pain kept me grounded, told me I hadn’t dreamed up the angel. I’d jumped out the window and hurt myself.
And yet, before me stood the largest structure I’d ever seen. A modern castle, something one would find in England, except England was on the other side of the pond. This looked as if four random structures of different shapes and sizes had been joined together to make one.
On the property, angels walked along with humans, going in and out of the massive front door as if this were normal. The angels carried swords, spears, bows, and other ancient weaponry. The humans wore white uniforms with golden trim. They also carried weapons and fell in several lines as soldiers would in an army parade. Then they started marching like one. As they exited the walled-off property, I crept along the wall and peeked around.
And dear God, I had no idea where I was and what had happened. I am not dead and it wasn’t my imagination. I actually had seen an angel stab his sword into the ground and…and change the neighborhood. I couldn’t linger. I needed to get out of here and find my Dad. He would be looking for me. He’d never go home without me. Maybe I’d fallen on my head, gotten up, and wandered off, and now I was regaining consciousness.
Pretending as if I belonged here, I followed behind the marching people. Outside one gate, I discovered another courtyard, this one mostly paved with cement and filled with angels shouting orders at the paired-up humans fighting with wooden sticks. They appeared to be training, and nobody was dying, so that was good.
Thinking about Dad, I walked toward the house next door, where I found no house next door. Turning back, a few feet away, I discovered a man stirring a steaming pot over a flame. I avoided eye contact, pretending as if I was just strolling along.
“Civilian,” he called out, “you should get that healed.”
I spun around, looking for the civilian he spoke to. Pretty soon, I realized he meant me. Everyone else wore white uniforms. I still wore torn jeans and a tank top.
“What?” I asked.
“Your arm.” He pointed his ladle at me. “Get it healed.”
“Right.” My arm. I held it tight against my side and moved past him across the second yard, past the second gate, and entered a different yard littered with pitched tents and people striking stone against stone until they started a fire. Weaving through the campground, I searched for my dad until I reached another gate and walked through, realizing it was actually a tunnel that led me outside of wherever
