Angel Burn Read Online Free

she could answer, I had gathered up my things and stalked off.
    “Fine, be that way,” she called after me. “You know I’m right, though. See you tomorrow. Thanks for fixing my car, you lunatic.”
    I waved at her without turning around. My own car was a battered blue Toyota; I climbed in, piled my stuff on the passenger seat, and started the ignition. It purred like a kitten, of course. I might get awful grades, but I am
good
with engines.
    I pushed a blues cassette into the tape deck as I pulled out of the parking lot — OK, so the twenty-first century hasn’t quite reached my sound system yet — and headed down Highway 12 toward home. The conversation with Beth tugged at my mind, refusing to let go. She had seemed so anxious, as if getting a reading was the most urgent thing in the world.
    Choices. That’s exactly what I need help with.
    Unease flickered through me, and I frowned, wondering why I felt so apprehensive. Being psychic isn’t like everyone thinks — I’m not some all-knowing, all-seeing guru. No, I can’t predict the winning lottery number, and — ha, ha — yes, I get caught in the rain just the same as everyone else.
    The truth is, I get flashes or feelings sometimes, but I don’t tend to get anything too specific unless I have some sort of connection, like holding someone’s hand. Plus, I have to have the mental space to relax and clear my head. If I’m upset or excited, then I don’t usually get much — and, anyway, it’s not the kind of thing that you could go around doing all the time, at least not without going seriously insane. So in general I just live my life like the rest of the world, without really knowing how things are going to unfold.
    But I do get some pretty strong intuitions at times  . . .  and I was having one now, about Beth. I bit my lip as I slowed down for a crossroad.
    Whatever her choices were, I had a very bad feeling about them.
    “Pancakes,” said Alex, gazing down at the menu. “And scrambled eggs and bacon, with a side of hash browns. And toast.” He was starving. It was always like this after a kill; he felt as if he hadn’t eaten for a week.
    “Coffee?” asked the waitress. She was plump and bored looking.
    He nodded. “Yeah, and orange juice.”
    The waitress moved off, and Alex put his menu back in the holder and stretched. After he left Spurs, he’d cruised around until he found an all-night gym downtown. He’d bought a pass and worked out for hours, pumping the weight machines as if they were the enemy, doing reps until the sweat poured down his face and shoulders. And slowly, he’d felt the adrenaline that was shrieking through him begin to fade, giving way to a welcome, trembling tiredness.
    Finally he’d stopped, his head slumped against the crossbar of the abs machine. “Good workout?” asked an attendant. It was almost six in the morning by then, and the place was starting to fill up. All around Alex were the clatter of the free-weight machines and the sound of grunts, of feet pounding on treadmills.
    He had lifted his head and stared at the guy, hardly knowing where he was for a second. Then he nodded and managed a smile. “Yeah, great.”
    Mopping his face with his towel, he stood up. His muscles felt like water. He used to go running after an angel encounter, but it was never enough; it didn’t exhaust him. This was good. He might actually manage to get some sleep sometime in the next day or two now.
    “Man, I was watching you attack those machines,” the man said cheerfully, squirting disinfectant on the seat of a stationary bike. He wiped it down. “You were like something possessed.”
    Alex had grinned suddenly. “No, that’s everyone else,” he said. “You know — the ones I
don’t
get to in time.” And leaving the bewildered assistant staring after him, he’d draped the towel around his neck and gone to take a shower.
    Now he took a gulp of dishwater-tasting coffee and gazed out the plate-glass window at the