I repeat what Christian said.

“Good.” Mr. Anderson looks impressed that I had the whole thing memorized. He moves on, and I relax. I smile at Tucker, who’s looking at me like he can’t believe he landed such a genius for a girlfriend.

Thanks, I say to Christian silently. I look over at him. He nods slightly.

My empathy blinks on like one of those fluorescent bulbs that takes a minute to charge up. Sorrow descends on me like a cloud moving over the sun. Loneliness. Separation, always this sense of separation from everything good in this life. The field where Samjeeza stands is full of sunshine, but he can’t absorb its warmth. He can’t smell the new grass at his feet, the fresh rain from this morning’s spring shower. He can’t feel the breeze. All of that is beauty, and it belongs to the light. Not to him.

I should be used to it by now, the way he pops up and plays with my head.

He’s here again, isn’t he? Christian again. Now worried.

I give him the mental equivalent of a nod.

What should we do?

Nothing. Ignore him. There’s nothing we can do.

But it suddenly occurs to me that maybe that’s not true anymore. I sit up. I raise my hand and ask Mr. Anderson for a hall pass, suggest in a vague way that I need to use the restroom, possibly for female reasons.

Where are you going? Christian asks, alarmed, as I gather up my stuff. What are you doing?

Don’t worry. I’m going to call my dad.

I call my house from the phone in the office. Billy picks up.

“Trouble?” she asks immediately.

“Can I talk to my dad?”

“Sure thing.” Silence as she sets the phone down. Muffled voices. Footsteps.

“Clara,” Dad says. “What do you need?”

“Samjeeza’s here. I thought maybe you could do something.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “I’ll be there in a minute,” he says finally.

It literally takes him a minute to get here. I barely have time to sit down on one of the hall benches to wait for him before he comes striding through the front door. I stare at him.

“Did you fly here?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Wow.”

“Show me.” There’s a fierceness in his eyes that strikes me as familiar, like I’ve seen this look on his face before. But when? I lead him outside, across the parking lot, to the field. I hold my breath as he steps without hesitation over the fence and onto unprotected ground.

“Stay here,” he orders. I do.

Samjeeza is standing, in human form, on the far edge of the field. He’s afraid. It’s his fear that I’m remembering, I realize, from the day of the fire. Mom suggested that someone was going to come looking for her, and Samjeeza pictured two white-winged angels, one with red hair, the other blond, glowing and fierce, holding a flaming sword.

My dad.

Samjeeza doesn’t move or speak. He stands perfectly still, his fear radiating out of him along with the sorrow now, and humiliation, that he would be so afraid.

Dad takes a few steps toward him, then stops. “Samyaza.”

The man suit Samjeeza wears seems transparent, false, next to Dad’s solid radiance. Dad’s hair glitters in the sunlight. His skin glows. Samjeeza wilts before him but tries to sneer. “Why are you here, Prince of Light? Why do you care about this weak-blooded girl?”

He’s going to be playing the part of super-villain in today’s performance.

“I care about her mother,” Dad answers. “I warned you about that, before.”

“Yes, and what is your relationship with Margaret, I wonder?”

Dad’s joy wavers. “I promised her father I would look after her,” he says.

Her father? Good grief. So there’s more stuff I don’t know.

“Is that all?”

“You’re a fool,” Dad says, shaking his head. “Leave this place, and don’t bother the child, or her mother, again.”

“Don’t you mean the children? There’s a boy too, isn’t that right?”

“Leave them be,” Dad says.

Samjeeza hesitates, although I know he has no intention of fighting Dad. He’s not that crazy. Still, he lifts his chin, meets the quicksilver of Dad’s eyes for a few seconds, and smiles. “It’s hard not to fall in love with them, isn’t it? There’s a Watcher somewhere in you too, Michael.”

The glow around Dad brightens. He whispers a word that feels like wind in my ears, and suddenly I see his wings. They are enormous and white, a pure sweet white that reflects the sun so it’s hard to look directly at them. I have never seen anything so magnificent as my father—my throat closes on the word—this creature of goodness and light, standing there protecting me. He is my father. I am part of him.

“I will crush you under my heel,” he says in a low voice. “Go. And do not come back.”

“No need to get excited,” Samjeeza says, taking a step back. “I’m a lover, not a fighter, after all.”

Then he simply closes his eyes and disappears.

Dad’s wings vanish. He walks back across the grass to me.

“Thanks,” I say.

He looks sad. “Don’t thank me. I’ve just put you in more danger than you know. Now,” he says in a completely different tone of voice. “I would like it very much if I could meet your boyfriend.”

We wait around until the bell rings. People flood the halls. They part around us, giving Dad a wide berth, staring at him.

Dad looks a bit strained.

“Are you okay?” I ask. I wonder if that bit that Samjeeza said, about Dad being like a Watcher, got to him.

“Fine,” he says. “It’s just that around so many people I have to work harder to hold back the glory. Otherwise they might all fall down on their knees and worship.”

He sounds like he might be joking, but I know he’s not. He’s completely serious.

“We don’t have to stay here. We can go.”

“No, I want to meet this Tucker kid.”

“Dad. He’s not a kid.”

“Don’t you want me to meet him?” he asks with the hint of a smile. “Are you afraid I’ll scare him off?”

Yes.

“No,” I say. “But don’t try to scare him off, okay? He’s been pretty cool with all the crazy stuff so far. I don’t want to push it.”

“Got it. No threatening his life if he doesn’t treat my daughter right.”

“Dad. Seriously.”

Jeffrey appears at the end of the hall. He’s talking with a buddy of his, smiling. He sees us. The smile fades from his face. He spins around and walks the other way.

Dad stares after him.

“He’ll come around,” I say to Dad.

He nods absentmindedly, then says, “So, lead the way. I promise I’ll behave.”

“Come on, then. His locker’s this way.”

Down the hall we go to Tucker’s locker. He’s there, as I thought he would be, fumbling around with his notes. Last-minute studying for a makeup test in Spanish.

“Hola,” I say, leaning up against the locker next to his. I’m suddenly a bundle of nerves. I’m about to introduce my dad to my boyfriend. This is huge.

“Hi,” he says, not looking up. “What happened in government? You just left.”

“I had something I had to take care of.”

“What’s the Spanish word for slacker?” he says wryly. “Mi novia, la chica hermosa que huye.” Translation: My girlfriend, the beautiful girl who runs away.

“Tuck.”

“Sorry,” he says, still not looking up from his notebook. “I am panicking over this test. I swear, my palms are sweating and my heart’s going and I’m this close to an anxiety attack. I think. Never had an anxiety attack before. But I have under three minutes to fill my brain with useful information.”

“Tuck, can you just stop for two seconds? There’s someone I want you to meet.”

He glances up, sees my dad standing behind me. Freezes.

“Tucker, this is my dad, Michael. Dad, this is Tucker Avery.”

Dad smiles, holds out his hand. Tucker swallows hard, staring, then shakes it.

“Sir,” he manages. He looks at me. “Your dad?”