Free Unearthly by Cynthia Hand

what I was going through. Like she knew that she was unraveling everything.
    I couldn’t get enough air in my lungs.
    She was crazy. That was the only explanation that made sense. My mom, who up to that point seemed like the best mother ever, my own personal version of the Gilmore Girls , the envy of all my friends with her beautiful auburn hair and fabulous dewy skin and quirky sense of humor, was actually a raving lunatic.
    â€œWhat are you doing? Why are you telling me this?” I asked, blinking back furious tears.
    â€œBecause you need to know that you’re special, too.”
    I stared at her incredulously.
    â€œI’m special,” I repeated. “Because if you’re a half angel then that would make me what, a quarter angel?”
    â€œQuarter angels are called Quartarius.”
    â€œI want to go home now,” I said dully. I needed to call Dad. He might know what to do. I needed to find my mom some help.
    â€œI wouldn’t have believed it either,” she said. “Not without proof.”
    At first I thought that the sun must have come out from behind the clouds, suddenly brightening the ledge where we stood looking out, but then I understood, slowly, that this light was stronger than that. I turned and shielded my eyes from the sight of my mom with light beaming off her. It was like looking at the sun, so intense my eyes watered. Then she dimmed slightly and I saw that she had wings—enormous snowy wings unfurling behind her.
    â€œThis is glory,” she said, and I understood the words she said even though she wasn’t speaking English, but a strange language like two notes of music played on every syllable, so eerie and alien it made the hairs stand up on the back of my neck.
    â€œMom,” I breathed helplessly.
    Her wings extended like they were literally catching the air and pushed down once. The sound they made was like a single heartbeat low in the earth. My hair blew back with the force. She lifted off the ground slowly, impossibly graceful and light, still glowing all over. Then she suddenly shot out over the tree line, tucking her body up and moving fast across the entire length of the valley until she was only a bright speck on the horizon. I was left stunned and alone, the rock ledge empty and silent, darker now that she wasn’t there to light it.
    â€œMom!” I called.
    I watched her circle around and glide her way back to me, more slowly this time. She swept right up where the mountain dropped off and hovered, treading the air gently.
    â€œI think I believe you,” I said.
    Her eyes sparkled.
    For some reason I couldn’t stop crying.
    â€œHoney,” she said, “it’s going to be all right.”
    â€œYou’re an angel,” I gasped through the tears. “And that means that I—”
    I couldn’t get the words out.
    â€œThat means you’re part angel, too,” she said.
    That night I stood in the middle of my bedroom with the door locked and willed my wings to appear. Mom had assured me that I’d be able to summon them, in time, and even use them to fly. I couldn’t imagine. It was too wild. I stood in front of the full-length mirror in my cami and underwear and thought of the Victoria’s Secret models in the Angel commercials, their wings curled sexily around them. No wings appeared. I wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of the whole idea. Me, with wings sprouting from my shoulder blades. Me, part angel.
    The thing about my mother being a half angel made total sense—as much as my mother being some kind of supernatural being made sense, anyway. She’d always seemed suspiciously beautiful to me. Unlike me with my brooding stubbornness, my flares of temper, my sarcasm, she was so graceful and even-tempered. Perfect to the point of being irritating. I couldn’t name one flaw.
    Unless you count lying to me for my entire life, I thought, allowing myself a flash of bitterness.