Read Metal Angel for Free Online Page B

to be beaten, or to be sick.”
    â€œDon’t go making a habit of it.”
    Volos said more quietly, “I have been watching for a long time. This is very much the usual sort of thing, is it not? But I am finding that there is a large difference between watching and living. Being hurt does not seem usual now that I am within this body.”
    His voice softened on the last word, and Texas noticed how he moved a hand so that it touched his bruised lips and cheek, so that it lay where he could smell his own skin. Broken skin. The dirty old world sure knew how to welcome this one.
    Texas asked, “Why did you come?”
    Volos pushed himself up on his fists and scowled at Texas in sudden challenge. “Not to be anybody’s bloody savior, that is for certain! Not to help or guard or deliver or ransom or redeem. If you have any good-angel thoughts of me, give them up.”
    Texas tried not to let the A-word shake him. A longtime cop knows how to keep cool and say soothing things in a good-ol’-boy drawl. “Son, I gave up thinking about the prize in the Cracker Jack box a long time ago. Lie down.”
    Volos obeyed but asked, “Why do you call me son?”
    â€œBecause you seem young.” Texas realized he was being a fool. “My mistake. Sorry.”
    â€œDo not be sorry. I like it.”
    â€œI guess—my guess is you’ve been around a lot longer than I have.”
    â€œMillennia.” Volos spoke into the bedclothes, his voice so low and muffled that McCardle could barely hear it. “But only to watch, to listen, to wait. I have never danced or been drunk or patted a dog or run on the beach or slept with a lover.”
    Texas felt a hunch that the last item on the list was foremost in Volos’s mind, but he said only, “You were not equipped for that sort of thing?”
    â€œMade of ether and worth no more than a stray breeze is in this world.” Anger strengthened Volos’s voice. “To be bodiless is to be less than a gnat. Those who swarm infinitely on the head of a pin, they are expendable.” Volos sighed and turned his head, speaking quietly again. “The Supreme Being has been known to destroy whole choirs if their chanting does not please him. Thousands immolated at a glance.”
    â€œBut I—you mean you could be killed?”
    â€œAnnihilated. Nullified. Snuffed out like candle flame, leaving nothing behind. Now I can be killed.” Volos shrugged, grimacing from the pain that small gesture caused him. “Being killed is better, I think.”
    Texas studied him, worried. Wyoma had always said he fussed like a mother hen whenever a kid was sick, but he felt like he really should get this one to a doctor. That infected wing needed penicillin—but how the hell was he going to get a doctor to treat Volos and keep his mouth shut? He had been around bureaucracy enough to know it ain’t paranoia if it’s true: a phone call, and they would take the kid away, the FBI or the CIA or Immigration or somebody. And then it would be a long time till Volos danced or got drunk or patted a dog or ran on a beach or, Lord help him, slept with a lover.
    The shower had done some good. Or maybe it was the most recent dose of aspirin, Texas thought. Anyway, it looked to him as if the kid’s temperature was down, because, among other things, Volos’s wings had turned fawn-colored, his eyes a quiet blue. The wing wound had opened and was oozing, thanks to hot compresses and maybe dumb luck. Texas had sprayed it with antiseptic, and felt relieved that he would not have to lance it. Wasn’t sure how in God’s name he would explain things to Volos if he had to lance it.
    â€œYou hungry?” he asked after a while.
    â€œHow would that feel?”
    McCardle blinked, steadied himself, tried to explain. “Sort of a pain in your gut.”
    â€œEverything hurts, Texas.”
    â€œI guess so. Well, you ought to