“Can we talk to you for a minute?” Angela grabs Mom’s arm and pulls her away from Wendy, who looks confused and somewhat offended as we walk away. “There’s a man,” she whispers. “He was staring at us, and Clara just . . . she just . . .”

“He’s so sad,” I manage.

“Where?” Mom demands.

“Behind us,” says Angela. “I lost track of him, but he’s definitely back there somewhere.”

Mom zips her hoodie and pulls the hood up to cover her head. She walks back to Wendy and tries to smile.

“Everything okay?” asks Wendy.

“Clara’s feeling sick,” Mom says. “We should go.”

It’s not a lie. I’m hardly able to put one foot in front of the other as we make our way quickly toward the department store.

“Don’t look back,” Mom whispers close to my ear. “Walk, Clara. Move your feet.”

We hurry through the cosmetics department and the lingerie, past the formal wear section where we started out the day. Within moments we’re in the parking lot. When she sees our car, Mom breaks into a full run, towing me after her.

“What’s going on?” asks Wendy as we run.

“Get in the car,” Mom orders, and we all scramble in.

We gun it out of the parking lot. It’s not until we’re a few miles away from Idaho Falls that the sadness starts to dissipate, like a curtain lifting. I take a deep shuddering breath.

“Are you okay?” asks Wendy, still looking wildly confused.

“I just need to get home.”

“She has medicine at home,” chimes in Angela. “It’s a med-ical condition she has.”

“A medical condition?” repeats Wendy. “What kind of medical condition?”

“Uh—”

Mom shoots Angela an exasperated look.

“It’s a rare form of anemia,” Angela continues smoothly. “Sometimes it makes her feel sick and wobbly.”

Wendy nods like she understands. “Like that day when she passed out at school.”

“Exactly. She needs to take her pills.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” says Wendy. She glances at Angela and then back at me, as if she’s really saying, “How come you told Angela about this and didn’t tell me?” She looks hurt.

“It’s not usually a big deal,” I say. “I’m feeling much better now.”

Angela and I share a glance. Especially given the way my mom reacted, we both know that it’s a very, very big deal.

When we pull up to the house three hours later, after first dropping Wendy at the Lazy Dog, Mom says to us, “All right. Go up to your room. Wait for me there. I’ll be a little while.”

Angela and I go into the house. It’s not dark yet but I have the urge to turn on all the lights as we retreat to my room. We sit down together on my bed.

We hear Mom knock on Jeffrey’s door.

“Hey,” she says when he answers. “I thought I’d drop you off at a movie in Jackson, since I’ve spoiled your sister all day. It’s only fair.”

After they’re gone, Angela puts her arms around me and pulls my quilt around us both, because I can’t stop shivering. And we wait. Mom’s car crackles up the driveway about an hour later. The door slams. We listen to the careful creak of her feet on the stairs. Then she knocks, very lightly.

“Come in,” I croak.

She smiles when she sees us huddled together.

“You shouldn’t have taken Jeffrey away,” I say. “What if that guy’s out there?”

“I don’t want you two to be scared, okay?” she says. “We’re safe here.”

“Who was he?” Angela asks.

Mom sighs, a resigned, tired exhalation. “He was a Black Wing. Chances are he was only passing through.”

“A fallen angel hanging out in the mall in Idaho Falls?” says Angela.

“When I saw him, I . . .” I start to choke up, remembering.

“You felt his sorrow.”

“His sorrow?” repeats Angela.

“Angels don’t have the kind of free will that you or I do. When they go against their design, it causes them an enormous amount of physical and psychological pain. All Black Wings feel this.”

“Why didn’t you or Angela feel it?” I ask.

“Some of us are more sensitive than others to their presence,” she says. “It’s actually an advantage. You can feel them coming.”

“And what should we do, if we see them?”

“You do what we did today. You run.”

“We can’t fight them?” asks Angela, her voice higher-pitched than normal. Mom shakes her head. “Not even you?”

“No. Angels are almost infinitely powerful. The best you can do is escape. If you’re lucky—and today we were lucky—the angel won’t consider you worth his time.”

We’re all quiet for a minute.

“The surest defense is to stay undetected,” Mom says.

“So why didn’t you want me to know about them?” I can’t keep the accusation out of my voice. “Why don’t you want Jeffrey to know?”

“Because your consciousness draws them, Clara. If you’re aware of their existence, you’re more likely to be discovered.”

She looks steadily at Angela, who meets her gaze for a few seconds before she turns away, her fingers tightening on the edge of my quilt. Angela was the one who told me about the Black Wings.

“I’m sorry,” whispers Angela.

“It’s all right,” says Mom. “You didn’t know.”

Later I crawl into bed with Mom. I want to feel safe next to her radiating heat, but she’s cold. Her face is pale and pinched, like she’s worn out trying to be the brave and knowing one, trying to protect us. Her feet are like blocks of ice. I put my feet against them, hoping to warm her.

“Mom,” I say into the dark. “I was thinking.”

“Uh-oh.”

“In my vision, when I suddenly feel so sad, is that a Black Wing?”

Silence. Then another sigh.

“When you talked about the sorrow you felt, the way you described it, it seemed like a possibility.” Mom grabs my waist and pulls me closer. “Don’t worry, Clara. You won’t help it by worrying. You don’t know your purpose yet. You’re still working with a few very small pieces. I don’t want to fill your head with preconceptions before you see everything for yourself.”