Metal Angel

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Book: Read Metal Angel for Free Online
Authors: Nancy Springer
not care. That was the hell of it.
    So okay. Instead of his father the city had offered him a kid with wings. Even drunk or crazy, how many people ever got—
    He had to be going crazy.
    Feeling a need to relax and clear his head, Texas took his time finding a drugstore that suited him, one with a lunch counter where he got himself coffee and a greasy two-egg breakfast before he bought a spray can of antibiotic and a tube of ointment for Volos. At the cash register he counted his change twice, suffering mild disbelief. Everything in California was so god-awful expensive, his money was going fast. That worried him a little, but not much. There were worse things in life than being without money.
    He got back to the room late in the morning, half afraid that Volos would be gone and half hoping it would be that way so he could stop being crazy and just get on with normal misery. He had told the kid to stay put, and he had meant it, but finding the youngster gone sure would solve a lot of problems. Nevertheless, when he entered the room Texas felt a smile take charge of his face. The kid was still there, on his feet, leaning toward the window like a sapling toward sunlight.
    His smile faded when Volos turned toward him. The youngster was staggering.
    â€œSo small!” Volos gestured wildly. “How can you humans live in rooms so small?” It was true that his wings, if he had spread them, would have touched the walls on either side. No wonder his eyes had gone wide as a spooked colt’s and he sounded half-panicked. “I want to go out of here. But my legs seem not to work right.”
    His wing feathers had turned turgid brick-red again. His frightened eyes, Texas saw with a shock, were dark, hot brown, when only hours before, they had been cerulean blue—but if the wings changed colors, why not the eyes? What was more ominous was that the kid’s tawny face looked flushed. Texas set down his paper bag, strode over, and reached up to check his forehead. He said, “Cripes. Volos, you’re burning up with fever.”
    Suddenly Volos was calm, interested. “Is that what this shivery feeling is? Fever?”
    â€œYes. We got to get it down. Dammit.” Texas mentally cursed himself for lingering over coffee, for staying away so long. Should have known somehow that Volos would need him. Wings had to be delicate things. That was what was causing the problem, infection in the wing. He didn’t have to take a look, because he could see the swelling from where he stood.
    â€œOut of those pants,” he ordered.
    He noted in passing that the kid wore no underwear. Have to get him some. Have to get a job at this rate, to pay for everything. He started the shower—no tub in this sorry excuse for a hotel, and the cracks in the bathroom tile were growing moss, but at least the damn shower worked. He adjusted the water temperature and hustled Volos in.
    â€œCold!” Volos exclaimed.
    Actually it was tepid, almost warm. But the kid’s skin was as hot and dry as the Mojave. “Got to cool you down,” Texas explained, and he saw with a squeezing feeling in his heart that Volos took his word for it without question. For God’s sake, the—he could not yet bring himself to say or think, angel —the stranger had to feel like humans were trying to kill him, yet he could trust.
    Texas turned away and went to pester the desk clerk for more towels.
    â€œVolos,” he said later, after the kid was dried off and lying on the bed again, or rather in it, blanketed to the waist, with his wings drying atop the cover, “Volos, tell me something here. Seems like everything’s new to you. Did you just—” How the hell was he going to say this? “Did you just get here?”
    â€œI have been here several hours.” Volos sounded peevish. Perhaps the fever was making him irritable. “I came prepared for most things. It is just that I have not had occasion

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