by Scott Speer
• • •
Sylvester’s unmarked cruiser turned onto Outpost Road and wound up into the Angel City Hills. The sky over the city was clear and dark, the stars winking in the night. Houses with driveways were quickly superseded by tall hedges obscuring Angel mansions set back from the road. “Always get lost on these roads up here,” Sylvester grumbled as he wound deeper into the private retreat of the Angels’ perfect lives.
When they arrived at Ryan Templeton’s sprawling modernist residence, which hung over the hill, two additional ACPD units were waiting. The officers seemed jittery. Sylvester pulled into the narrow drive.
The house looked like someone had stacked enormous building blocks one on top of the other. Sylvester had never understood the attraction of this so-called style, but now that he was standing right below it, it did have a certain striking appeal. He walked to the front door flanked by two officers. They had their guns drawn. He motioned for quiet. Calm.
He rang the call box. From deep inside the house, he could hear the bell. He looked at the video camera staring down at him from the eave. Silence. Nothing.
“Ryan!” He yelled through the door. He tried again, louder. Empty. He glanced over to the silver Mercedes McLaren in the narrow drive.
“Okay, let’s go,” Sylvester said.
Drawing a deep breath, the detective touched the doorknob and jumped back as if it had been a snake. The metal handle was scorching.
“Why’s it so hot?” he barked, shaking his hand. Carefully, he pushed his toe against the door. It swung open on the hinge, and a wave of stifling air rolled out. Sylvester drew his Beretta 92 FS and signaled wordlessly to the officers. Then he pushed the door open and stepped into the darkened house.
The heat was suffocating. It shimmered in the dark, like a reflection off a hot summer road. Sylvester and the officers moved swiftly and silently into the hallway. Flashlight beams danced in the dark. The walls were lined with framed magazine covers of the home’s owner. Ryan Templeton was a sturdy, handsome Angel with sleek hair and serious eyes. The hall opened up into a large, unobstructed living area. The architecture was clean and striking. Paintings. Designer furniture. Marble countertops. The windows looked out onto panoramic views of Angel City, downtown, and beyond. The officers fanned out to clear the rooms.
Sylvester moved passed the kitchen and through an open doorway to the right. He discovered a movie theater. Plush leather chairs. Framed newspaper articles.
A dead end.
He backtracked toward the bedrooms. Rounding a wall, he discovered a pale blue glow filtering through the cracks of a door. Condensation formed on his glasses as he prodded the door with the toe of his shoe. He flipped the Beretta’s safety off and slipped inside.
The room was like a sauna, impossibly hot, the air dense with steam.
And something else. The room seemed to be filled with a kind of primal presence. An animal presence. Like fear itself.
At the center of the room, an indoor pool glowed blue-white. The water lapped lazily, sending shimmering reflections across the walls and roof. The windows were fogged. His weapon leading him, Sylvester moved to the edge of the pool.
What remained of Ryan Templeton floated facedown in the water. Where his wings should have been remained only two bloody holes of shredded skin, surrounded by the remnants of his Immortal Marks. Sylvester placed a hand on the fogged window to steady himself. Garcia entered the room. Seeing the body in the pool, he stopped short.
“Oh my God.”
The two police officers stood there in silence.
“Rest of the house is clear. I’ll get forensics up here immediately,” Garcia said after a moment. Sylvester removed his glasses and polished the condensation off the lenses, still not speaking. Garcia couldn’t take his eyes off the sight of Templeton’s body as it floated in the cloud of bloodred water.
“I mean, an Angel serial killer?” Garcia said. “Is that even possible?”
Sylvester returned his glasses to his face and turned to the sergeant.
“Has to be. Only an Angel can kill an Angel,” Sylvester said. “And even that’s near impossible to do.”
Garcia holstered his weapon.
“But what Angel would want to kill another Angel? They’ve got everything they could want,” Garcia said.
“From what I understand, there are some Angels in the upper ranks that aren’t too happy with some recent NAS decisions,” Sylvester said. “We need deep background investigations on Templeton and Godson. See if we can find a common thread besides their stars.”
Garcia’s eyes still fixed on the Angel’s gruesome remains. After a few moments the sergeant spoke. “What kind of beast does something like that?”
“I don’t know,” Sylvester said, turning away. “Let’s get to work.”
The sergeant went out into the hall and began barking orders, his voice echoing through the house. Sylvester stood there motionless, thinking about what Garcia had said. Especially that one particular word. He rolled it around on his tongue.
A beast.
The sergeant came back over and stood with him.
“Just came over the radio from the Ventura County police, Detective,” Garcia said. “They just arrested three Humanity Defense Front members, heading north from Angel City. They had weapons. Guns. Knives. Hate literature.”
“HDF?”
Garcia nodded.
Sylvester’s head swam.
“Something serious is going on here. Maybe more serious than any of us could imagine.” He stepped away from the window and looked at Angel City through the space his handprint had cleared in the condensation. “Right now anyone on that Walk of Angels is a potential target.”
“That’s nearly every Angel in the city.”
“I need to go talk to an old friend.” Sylvester’s face tightened. “No Angel in Angel City is safe tonight.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Maddy sat up suddenly in the darkness. The dream she’d been having was so vivid, but now it faded from her mind. Something about an accident on Angel Boulevard. The more she tried to hold on to it, the more distant it became. After a few moments she couldn’t remember any details at all. The only thing that stayed with her was a feeling—the undeniable feeling of being watched.
She let her eyes adjust to the darkness of the room. Something was different, but what was it? Her gaze moved around the four walls that, since infancy, had been her entire world. The nightstand with her old retainer case. The jewelry box Gwen gave her. The small wooden desk Uncle Kevin bought for her at the flea market, now overcrowded with textbooks and financial aid paperwork. There were even a few tween posters on the wall that she hadn’t found the time to take down. It occurred to Maddy that adulthood had been forced abruptly and unwillingly on the little room, and it was doing its best to hang on to the last vestiges of her fading childhood.
A draft caused Maddy to pull the covers tightly around her. That was what had woken her. The window had been closed when she went to sleep.
And now, it was open.
Her eyes darted to the window and, in a breathless, panicked moment, took in the sight of a dark figure crouched on the sill. The letters of the Angel City sign spread out from his shoulders.
“You sleep like an Angel,” Jacks said. The shock of his words in the dark room sent Maddy’s stomach leaping into her throat. She didn’t even realize she had screamed until it came out of her mouth.
“Don’t be frightened,” Jacks said, sounding worried. “It’s just me. I’m sorry, I so didn’t mean for that to sound creepy. Let me start over.”
“I’m not frightened,” Maddy gasped. “I mean, I was, I mean, you scared me to death.” Maddy made a conscious effort to slow her breathing and let the knee-jerk fear bleed out of her. Gaining her bearings, she trained a flinty eye on Jacks.
“What are you doing?”
“Can I come in?”
“No,” Maddy said curtly, “you may not come in.” She sat all the way
up in bed and drew her knees into her chest. Cool night air rushed under the covers and around her legs like seawater. Wearing only her old shirt and underwear, Maddy began to shiver.
“I wanted to talk to you,” Jacks said.
“I don’t understand what was unclear about what I said at school,” Maddy said coldly, “but I want you to leave me alone. I’m not part of your world, and I really don’t care to be.” She paused, waiting for Jacks to jump in with something argumentative or clever, or maybe even with another apology. Instead he simply sat there in his suit and V-neck, listening. The silence lengthened. When Maddy spoke again, her voice was softer.
“Look, I’m sure there are plenty of girls who would kill to have you sitting at their window tonight.” She paused, thinking of Gwen. “But I’m not one of them. If you’re still trying to apologize, then fine, you’ve apologized. Now you should just go home.”
“You’re right,” Jacks said. “You’re not part of my world. You’re not one of those girls. And maybe that’s why.”
“Why what?”
“Why I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Maddy rolled her eyes. “Guys like you don’t say that to girls like me.”
“I’ve never said that to anyone, actually,” Jacks corrected. “In fact, I’ve never done anything like this before.” He let out a little laugh. “How am I doing?”
He swallowed hard, trying to push down his nervousness. He was astonished to realize he was nervous. Somehow being around Maddy just put him in a different space. Jacks felt so present.
Maddy stared at him, letting the anger and frustration surge through her.
“Why are you doing this to me?” she asked finally.
He paused, considering.
“I’m being honest. I know you may not believe me. But I haven’t been able to not think about you. When we were in the back at the restaurant, and . . .” Jacks’s voice trailed off, his face coloring. “I still feel terrible about what I did. I lied to you and, even though I had good reasons for it, it was wrong of me.”
Maddy studied him. Was he telling the truth?
Jacks smiled. “I mean this in the best possible way: I’m not going to leave you alone until you let me make it up to you. I’m serious. I’ll be here every night. You might as well get me some pajamas and a toothbrush.”
Despite her best efforts not to, Maddy laughed. She looked at Jacks and could see the faintest twinkle of light in his eyes.
“So what you’re saying is that I should just give in and let you make it up to me. Otherwise you’ll be tormenting me like this for the rest of my life?”
“Pretty much. Yeah.”
“Well.” She sighed. “What do you have in mind?”
“Come fly with me.”
“Fly? I can’t fl—I mean, I can’t go anywhere with you right now, anyway.” Jacks sat utterly still, framed by the letters of ANGEL CITY on the hill. “It’s totally out of the question,” she protested. “Besides, I have to work the morning shift tomorrow and my uncle would kill me.”
The Angel remained silent.
“Plus school,” she added, her brow knitted. She could tell by his silhouette that he had folded his arms.
“Maddy, it doesn’t matter if you can’t stand me. Just do it to do something. To make the night yours.”
“What?”
“To live, Maddy.”
“I’m living just fine, thank you very much,” she said, haughty.
“Really? By working the morning shift?” He softened. “Maddy, you have the rest of your life to work the morning shift. I’m asking you to come fly with me tonight.”
Maddy opened her mouth to say something, then closed it. He was unbelievable. Still, she was surprised to realize her pulse had quickened, and she could feel her heart beginning to pound in her chest.
“I have applications, too,” she tried feebly.
“Stop making excuses.” Jacks grinned. Maddy eyed her jeans and gray hoodie folded over the desk chair.
“I’m still mad at you,” she said.
“Understood.”
“And you’re not forgiven for what happened at the diner or how you lied to me.”
Jacks nodded. “It’s a deal. I’ll meet you downstairs.” Jacks reached into his pocket and pressed something. A car alarm chirped in the driveway, cutting up through the night air.
“I thought we were flying?” Maddy asked, confused.
“Yeah,” Jacks said, pulling out his Ferrari keys and jingling them. “Flying.”
• • •
The Ferrari roared as Jacks expertly shifted, hugging the turns of Mulholland Drive. The car rose quickly and effortlessly into the Hills. Maddy had promised herself that she would not enjoy this. In fact, she had had an idea to pout the whole time. That would show him that he hadn’t won. But with the warm leather seat vibrating against her legs and the wind in her hair, Maddy felt the thrill of the moment sifting through her defenses like fine sand.
Jacks navigated a hairpin turn. She shrieked with surprise and held on to the door handle. Jacks looked over and smiled. Ahead, the lights of the Los Angeles Basin beckoned. The most amazing thing, Maddy thought, was that Angel City looked different from inside the Ferrari. It really did. It felt different too. Even smelled different. It wasn’t the run-down, dirty city she knew. It was beautiful.
“I like to come up here at night after everyone has gone to sleep,” Jacks said. The car rounded another turn. “Up here it feels like you’re alone, you know? Away from all the bother. Like the whole city belongs to just you.”
“The whole city does belong to you,” Maddy said, looking at Jacks. “It’s a little different for the rest of us.”
“Well, you know what I mean,” he said.
“And what’s the bother? All the little people getting in your way all the time?”
Jacks’s eyes roamed over her face. “Look, you seem to think I live this charmed existence. And I guess in some ways I do. But the truth is, I have to go through a lot of the same things you do. I have pressure on me. I have expectations. And I’m not perfect. I struggle.”
“Yeah, right,” Maddy groaned, her tone rebellious. “The kid in the hundred-thousand-dollar sports car is telling me about struggle.”
“I’m just trying to say we have more in common than you might think.”
“You don’t know the first thing about me!” Maddy exclaimed. Jacks downshifted hard, the gears grinding in protest. His blue eyes flashed.
“Why won’t you give me a chance, Maddy?”
“Because,” she nearly yelled, “you think you just get to have anything you want, don’t you? You want something, it’s yours. That’s the way life works for you. Well, that’s not how it works for me, so it’s not how it’s going to work with me. I don’t fall for the money and the charm and the car. It takes a lot more than that.”
Jacks nodded, suddenly thoughtful. He flipped on the car’s turn signal.
“Okay, let’s ditch the car.”
He pulled the Ferrari onto a gravel turnout next to an overlook and killed the engine. “Will you be warm enough?” he asked. Maddy looked out to the bench framed against the twinkling cityscape.
“I think so.”
The wooden bench was cracked and worn smooth, yet was surprisingly comfortable as they sat. Just beyond their feet, the earth sloped down gently at first, then dropped off dramatically into a deep canyon. Cut into the hillside like temples, the Angel houses glowed in the night. Jacks took his jacket and draped it around Maddy’s slender frame.
“Thanks,” she said. No one had ever put a jacket around her before.
Jacks’s presence inside the jacket was almost overwhelming. His smell was intoxicating. Maddy took a deep breath, steadying herself. Silence overtook them as they looked at the city together. A cricket chirped nearby, stopped, then started again. Jacks spoke.
“You said I wasn’t forgiven for lying to you. Well, it wasn’t all a lie.” He paused. “I was only two . . .
when my father . . .” He trailed off.
Maddy chose her words carefully. “I thought Angels couldn’t die.”
“True Immortals can’t, but there are only twelve of them. Born Immortals can be . . . made mortal.” Jacks traced a circle in the dirt with the toe of his shoe. He stared at it, thinking for a split second of the policeman’s visit to his house and the mutilated wings that had been found on the boulevard. “I don’t even really know what my dad looked like, aside from a few old pictures. He died fighting the rebel terrorists.” Jacks looked away, his blue eyes reflecting the lights of the city.
Maddy raised an eyebrow—that’s something they definitely hadn’t covered in Angel History. But there were a lot of things the Angels kept to themselves.
“Well, I know what he looked like,” Maddy said. “He had dark hair. And pale, blue eyes.” Jacks laughed a little, shaking his head.
“I have my mother’s eyes . . .” he said. “And, I’m told, my father’s wings.”
“His wings?”
Jacks nodded. “Broad and strong. A Battle Angel’s wings.”
The question came out of Maddy so fast she didn’t have time to stop it.
“Can I see them?”
“My wings?” Jacks asked about his most famous feature in disbelief. “You don’t know—” he cut himself off, holding his tongue. Not wanting to come across to this girl as conceited.
“Yeah, your wings,” Maddy said, now embarrassed but unable to take it back. “I mean . . . what’s the big deal? Can’t I see them?”
Jacks got to his feet and pulled Maddy up with him. Maddy watched the muscles move under his shirt. Suddenly, the quiet night filled with the shrill tearing of fabric and Jacks’s wings expanded out of his back. Razor sharp, they pierced the night sky, knifing out from behind his shoulders with such force it blew her hair back. The sound of the whoosh was deafening. The wings reached out six feet in both directions, then settled, powerful and muscled, awaiting the command to fly. They glowed with their trademark blue luminescence, casting light on Maddy’s face. She was breathless.
