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 this was and into the streets. Streets made of cobblestone. Again, I looked up before glancing left and right.
Light-headed, I blinked a few times to clear my vision. Although I didn’t see angels flying above me, nothing looked familiar, and the sun had set. I knew enough to know I shouldn’t be walking around at night. I didn’t know where to go other than forward.
I moved down the street, taking in the city threaded with narrow streets and glued-to-each-other two-story houses. It looked more like a town than a city, and the more I walked, the scarier it became. The buildings weren’t the same as in LA, the houses weren’t the same, the streets weren’t paved with asphalt. The saving grace? The angels, bare-chested and winged, left me alone.
Shivering, seeking warmth, I stuck my hand into my pocket. Why was it cold in August?
White dust started falling from the sky.
I extended my hand.
Not dust. A snowflake melted on my palm.
Why is there snow in south Cali? Winds swept the street. Cold seeped into my bones. In a tank top and loose torn pants, I nearly froze. Everyone walking past me was bundled up. I felt as if they’d all been here all along, and I’d just arrived.
But the glass in my arm…
It remained. The pain. My backpack and torn jeans. The image of the beautiful angel I’d seen kept coming up. I couldn’t unsee him, forget him.
Dizziness made me sway on my feet, and I leaned against someone’s door. When my legs wouldn’t hold me, I slumped. If I passed out, I’d freeze to death. Even knowing I had to keep moving, had to get home, didn’t make my body move. I could barely keep my eyes open. So I closed them.
As the door opened, I fell back and stared up into the most frightening pair of eyes I’d ever seen, shaped like cat’s, slanted at the corners, one deep brown and the other deep green. The urge to flee overcame me, and I tried to sit up, but couldn’t.
The man stared down at me and quirked his lip—like the golden angel had—showing no fang. Despite the scary eyes, the man was exceptionally beautiful, and completely human. No wings.
“Welcome, Julia. Crawl in.”
As if on strings, I sat up, holding my arm. A wave of dizziness hit me. The wind outside blew right through my bones. How did he know my name?
“Close the door, dear. Winter is not a season that makes me jolly.”
Chapter Two
If I left this house, I would die. I didn’t understand how I knew this, but I knew it with certainty. A tear escaped my eye. My parents would worry. Dad and I were supposed to raid the two homes, then meet back on the street. Mom and Nathan, my little brother, expected dinner. I hoped Dad got lucky at the house next door. There is no house next door, my brain supplied.
“You are bleeding on my rug,” the man said.
With a shaking hand, I pushed against the floor and tried standing. I couldn’t. The backpack slipped off my shoulder, and I moved it to the side, then crawled to my left into the living space and straight toward the fireplace. I lay before it, breathing hard and cradling my injured arm.
“And now you are bleeding on my Persian carpet.”
The door slammed closed, and I jumped. Who the fuck closed it? There must be another person in the house. Eyes on the hallway, I expected someone to come in or walk by, but saw nobody. The man cleared his throat and drew my attention back to him. He wore a black turtleneck sweater over black pants, sat on an oxblood Chesterfield couch, and propped his black boots on the wooden table before him. He held up a cup of hot liquid, steam licking his handsome face.
I swiped my tongue over my dry lips.
He looked from me to the tea, then shouted, “Evangeline!”
Soft footsteps descended the stairs, and a brunette about my age walked into the room. Her large brown eyes widened when she saw me, and she rushed back upstairs.
“You left the medical kit in the kitchen,” the man deadpanned. “Why am I always stuck with forgetful people, hm?”
Expecting an answer, he stared at me.
“Because memory is a tricky bitch,” I said, thinking only half an hour ago, the entire city had changed and nobody seemed to give a shit. Once my arm got better, I’d figure something out. For now, I’d sit here with the only stranger who offered me a warm place. I didn’t have a choice.