Angel Fever

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“I can’t!” Willow gasped. She was leaning over the stream, her long blonde hair a slithering mass of shampoo. She shrieked, half laughing, as Alex poured a canful of water over it. “Oh! That is so cold!”

Alex started laughing too. “You’re the one who wanted to wash it.”

“I had to; it was getting disgusting… Is all the shampoo out?”

He grinned as he scooped more chilly water from the stream. “Nope. Not even close.”

As Alex woke up, Willow’s laughter faded into silence.

There was no stream, no ramshackle cabin nearby. He was lying in a sleeping bag in a tent, its nylon walls a deep blue in the predawn light. Even Willow was different. The girl asleep in his arms had short red-gold hair now; it framed her face in untidy spikes.

A dream. Alex smiled as he stretched, remembering that day up at the cabin – and then everything came slamming back and his smile vanished. Christ, no wonder he’d been dreaming about the cabin: back then their biggest problem had been hiding out from the Church of Angels. Now…Alex let out a breath and rubbed his temples with one hand.

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