I’ve been out four times looking for Mom. But I haven’t gone far, always afraid the angel would wake while I was gone and I would miss my chance to find Paige before he died on me. Crazy women can sometimes fend for themselves on the streets, while wheelchair-bound little girls never can. So each time, I rushed back from my search for Mom, relieved and frustrated to find the angel still unconscious.

For two days, I’ve been mostly sitting around eating instant noodles while my sister….

I can’t bear to think about what’s happening to her, if for no other reason than my sheer lack of imagination as to what angels would want with a human child. It couldn’t be enslavement. She can’t walk. I shut down those thoughts. I will not think about what may be happening or what may already have happened. I just need to focus on finding her.

The anger and frustration swamp me. All I want to do is throw a tantrum like a two-year-old. I’m overwhelmed by a strong urge to hurl my glass of water at the wall, tear down the bookshelves, and scream my head off. The urge is so strong my hand starts to tremble, and the water in the glass shakes, threatening to spill.

Instead of hurling the glass against the wall, I throw the water on the angel. I want to smash the glass after it, but I hold back.

“Wake up, damn you. Wake up! What are they doing to my sister? What do they want with her? Where the hell is she?” I scream at the top of my lungs, knowing I could be bringing on street gangs and not caring.

I kick the couch for good measure.

To my utter amazement, his eyes open blearily. Deep blue eyes glare at me. “Can you keep it down? I’m trying to sleep.” His voice is raw and full of pain, but somehow, he still manages to inject a certain level of condescension.

I drop down on my knees to look directly into his face. “Where did the other angels go? Where did they take my sister?”

He deliberately closes his eyes.

I slap his back with everything I’ve got, right where the bandages are bloodied.

His eyes fly open, his teeth gritting. He hisses through his teeth but he doesn’t cry out in pain. Wow, does he look pissed off. I resist the urge to take a step back.

“You don’t scare me.” I say in my coldest voice, trying to tamp down the fear. “You’re too weak to even stand, you’re practically bled out, and without me, you’d already be dead. Tell me where they took her.”

“She’s dead,” he says with absolute finality. Then he closes his eyes as though going back to sleep.

I could swear my heart stops beating for a minute. My fingers feel like they’re freezing. Then my breath comes back to me in a painful heave.

“You’re lying. You’re lying.”