PETER SQUEEZED THE trigger of a gun that wasn't in his hand. His head swam, and magical lights danced before his eyes, washing over his face in waves of heat. He stuck out his tongue, trying to taste them. They were too far, he knew, and too hot, but he still wanted to know the flavor of light.
There was pain. He touched the back of his head, and his fingers came back wet. That was bad, but he wasn't sure why. He was thirsty and wanted to sleep. Someone was shaking him, grasping his shoulder hard. A frizzy-haired angel was talking to him, but the light was too loud. He couldn't hear the words.
Peter's head suddenly snapped to the side, and he realized the angel had slapped him. Sound came back in a rush, and he recognized the flames spiraling across the room for what they were. The young
