by Scott Speer
It was Jacks’s face.
Suddenly, it was as if Jacks was there in the room with her. She could touch him. Smell him. Feel his presence. Maddy pulled herself away from Ethan.
“I’m so sorry, Ethan . . . I can’t do this,” she gasped, her face twisted and confused. She ran out of the room and rushed down the hallway blindly, fighting tears, Jacks’s presence still lingering in her ears, in her nose, and on her tongue. She could hear Ethan’s footsteps behind her after a moment, hustling to catch up.
“Maddy, wait!” he called after her.
She found the living room and pushed through the crowd. People glared at her as she shoved past, but she didn’t care. She needed to get out of the party before anything else happened, before she embarrassed herself any further. She reached the front door and fumbled with the knob.
“Wait, Maddy, I’m sorry, did I do something?” Ethan panted, finally catching up to her. “You don’t have to go!”
“Yes, I do,” she said as she threw the door open. “It’s not your fault, Ethan, I just need to go.” She grabbed her hoodie off the rack and stuck her arms in the sleeves.
Ethan sighed. “Okay, if you say so. I’m really sorry if I rushed things. At least let me drive you home? It’s getting dark out.”
“No, honestly, it’s all right,” she said, zipping up her sweatshirt. “Besides, you can’t leave your own party.
“Bro, she’s right,” a drunk voice called. “You can’t leave your own parrrry!”
It was Simon again. He came over and threw his arm sloppily around Ethan’s shoulders. “We’ll drive the famous Maddy Montgomery home, right, Jordan?”
The boy with the buzz cut sat up from where he had passed out on the couch.
“What? No!” Maddy said, alarmed. “I’m going to walk.”
“No no no, we totally got you,” Jordan slurred. “There’s a killer on the loose; we can’t let you just walk around.” He laughed, as if he had made a joke.
“I think she’s right, man,” Ethan said diplomatically. “And besides, should you two really be driving? I’ll drive her.”
“Dude, I told you we got this!” Simon said. “Just let me get my keys.” He stumbled into the kitchen. Jordan tried to follow and tripped over something. Maddy turned back to Ethan.
“Look, I’m going to go before this gets any messier,” she said. “Really, I’ll be fine walking home. Thanks, Ethan, for having me, and again, I’m—”
“No more apologies,” he said, and pulled her into a quick hug, speaking into her hair. “I’ll see you soon.” Maddy hugged him back, then hurried out the door, passing Tyler coming up the walk. He gave her a dirty look, but she ignored him.
The cool ocean wind had turned blustery and biting now that the sun was down, and Maddy thought it might start raining soon. She pulled her hood up. The streetlights blinked on one by one as the night fell. She had almost made it to the end of the block when she heard the laughing and hollering behind her. It carried down the street in the otherwise quiet evening.
“Maddy? Maddy? Where’d you go?!” a voice called out. It sounded like Simon. Maddy paused to listen.
“I told you I saw her leave,” another voice said. She heard a question being asked but couldn’t make out the words. She thought it was, Where are you going?
“Picking up the Montgomery girl!” Simon yelled.
Then the other voice— Jordan—answered. “Not if I find her first! Good luck keeping up!” Drunken laughter rolled down the street as car doors slammed and two sets of headlights cut into the dark. Maddy started walking again, more quickly this time. Her head throbbed. She wanted nothing more than to put as much distance between her and the party—between her and this night—as possible. If she could get around the corner of the block, they probably wouldn’t see her.
Tires squealed behind her and light from the headlights danced down the street. What are they doing? Maddy thought. She hazarded a glance over her shoulder and saw the vehicles swerving back and froth, barely missing each other as they rocketed toward her.
They’re racing, she realized with a spike of nausea in her stomach. She had to get around the corner. Breaking into a run, she headed for the corner and the light post she could safely hide behind. She could hear the snarl of the car engines gaining on her. Kevin’s warning echoed in her mind, about how high school parties were dangerous, about how they were “just dumb kids and alcohol.” What had she been thinking in coming tonight?
Maddy was so preoccupied with the drunken race behind her that she didn’t even see the Range Rover approaching from the opposite direction. Apparently, the two boys didn’t either. Until it was too late.
The Rover’s horn roared as it swerved to avoid the oncoming vehicles, its headlights illuminating Maddy just as she reached the corner. The front tires jumped the curb right in front of where she was standing, stock-still and frozen with panic. For a split second she saw herself in the reflection of the SUV’s windshield, her face transformed into a mask of surprise and horror, before she was thrown back by the force of the impact.
Maddy was hit hard.
There was almost no pain as her bones snapped and her internal organs exploded. She didn’t even hear herself scream as the Range Rover crushed her fragile body against the light pole.
The vehicle’s front crumpled around her as it heaved to one side, then the other, and, finally, came to rest.
It was strangely peaceful afterward, lying with her face resting on the warm hood of the car. Maddy could feel her body surrendering her life, and there was a kind of sublime peace to it. A release. She could feel the breeze playing with the ends of her hair. Somewhere far away, a voice was yelling. It sounded like that boy, Simon, but it was getting farther away now. The world receded. Maddy thought of Uncle Kevin, and Gwen, and Ethan. As her eyesight dimmed, she thought of Jacks. The first few raindrops of an autumn storm pattered on her cheek. Then everything went dark.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
News choppers swarmed overhead, looking down with their telescopic eyes at the thousands of tourists and fans crowding the boulevard below. Traffic in the city had come to a standstill for what was always the event of the year in the Immortal City—the annual Commissioning and the reveal of the Protections. But the mania rose to fever pitch specifically for what was being called the “event of the century”—the Commissioning of Jackson Godspeed.
The preparation had begun before daybreak, with crews bolting together rows of bleachers, laying down hundreds of feet of red carpet, and setting up giant marble sculptures of Divine Rings at the entrance to the Temple of Angels. Teenage girls were camped out along the barricades, where they had slept for days. And, seemingly everywhere, there was security. Crews from A!, ANN, and Angels Weekly laid cable, set up cameras, and double-checked their satellite linkups. The feeds would be going live all over the world.
As dawn broke, the city was gripped with excitement, a strange combination of both festivity and fear. The media coverage was nonstop, alternating between Jackson’s Commissioning and the Angel murders. The atmosphere inside coffee shops and restaurants was celebratory despite the dark news about the Angel disappearances. Commissioning was always the biggest unofficial holiday of the year, and the scandal around the unprecedented murders only added to the thrill. Many stores around Angel City had shut early, with hastily written signs in doorways reading Closed for Commissioning. By the time the shadows had grown long on the letters of the Angel City sign, the crowds at the Temple of Angels were roaring. They stomped their feet and chanted, waving signs that read PICK ME! and SAVE ME, JACKS! The news choppers had arrived shortly thereafter, eager to capture every possible angle of the story of the decade, or century.
Tara Reeves looked striking in a low-cut silver gown as she covered the lead-up from her exclusive A! stage at the start of the carpet.
“The fans have descended on the Temple of Angels, the red carpet has been rolled out, and the cameras have been turned on as the moment w
e have all been waiting for has finally arrived. That’s right, it’s the Commissioning of Jackson Godspeed and his nineteen other fellow nominated Guardian Angels! The guest list is elite. The most famous Angels in history are here tonight, along with the hottest Angel men and their lovely lady Angels. The mayor, the governor, congressmen and senators, luminaries of business and the arts have all been scrambling for tickets, looking for their chance to mix with the flawless Immortals. Stay with us as we bring you the Commissioning, live!”
On the Angel Boulevard sidewalk, a black cover was neatly laid over the section where Jackson’s and the other Angels’ stars would be unveiled. ANN threw their coverage to a special investigator who was kneeling at the sight of Jacks’s star. The network was doing a special story there. The reporter spoke into the camera.
“That’s right, Jamie, there is a lone black cloud on this seemingly perfect day of happiness. The ongoing investigation into what the press has dubbed ‘The Angel of Death.’ There was some talk that these stars would not be revealed today on account of the investigation into the reported Angel murders. A theory surfaced this morning that the Angels have been disappearing based on the order of their stars—and Jackson Godspeed’s would be next. But I’m happy to report that the ACPD feels like it has the investigation well in hand and that all the stars will be unveiled as scheduled. Still, security has never been so extensive. With the city teetering in fear around the potential Angel serial killer, along with repeated threats from the Humanity Defense Front, the Angels are taking absolutely no risks. Security personnel are everywhere, setting up checkpoints and ensuring the safety of all involved. Back to you on the red carpet, Jamie!”
The Angels began emerging on the carpet, taking pictures and giving interviews, each Angel more spectacular than the last. The crowd was whipped into a new frenzy as the most popular Angels began to step out. On the carpet, correspondents maneuvered for the best Angels—of course having agreed not to bring up questions surrounding the Angel murder investigation on this happy occasion of Commissioning.
“Mitch Steeple, ladies and gentlemen!” ANN’s Jamie Campbell said as Mitch, looking handsome in a Versace pin-striped fitted suit, waved to the crowd. “A close friend of Jackson, as everyone knows, I’m hearing whispers that you’re already a lock for next year’s Commissioning. How does that make you feel?”
“You know, it’s an honor,” Mitch said. “But it’s not about me tonight, and it’s not even about Jacks or the other nominees.” He paused, as if trying to remember something. “A lot of people might not realize it, but being a Guardian, it’s not about the fame and fortune, it’s about the people we protect. It’s about the lives we’re going to change.”
Jamie nodded, already looking for the next Angel.
“Chloe Godspeed,” a reporter for Access Angels announced over shrieks of girls in the bleachers. “Here she is stepping out for her first Commissioning by herself, is that right?”
“Yeah, well, last year I had to come with my dad,” Chloe said. “And he kept stepping on my dress. So I didn’t want that to happen again.”
“And speaking of, this is a mature dress. There’s been some controversy lately about your fashion choices being, how do we say, somewhat revealing for a young Angel, especially showing your Immortal Marks.”
Chloe leaned into the microphone. “I think an Angel’s body is a thing of beauty, and we should celebrate it, not hide it. I know everyone fell in love with me when I was young, but I’m growing up now and I just want to express myself,” she said, and then smiled sweetly.
The sound was deafening as Vivian stepped onto the carpet. “Vivian Holycross, you look beyond stunning tonight, beyond ravishing,” Tara Reeves gushed. “I just, I have no words. Let’s get a shot of the dress, guys.” The A! camera zoomed out, taking in the red, backless Marchesa gown. “And to think, I ran into you during New York fashion week, and you still hadn’t decided what to wear!” Tara exclaimed.
“Thank you, Tara.” Vivian smiled gracefully. “You’re always so kind. I’m just here to support Jacks the way I always have, and the way I always will. He’s a great Angel and he’ll be an amazing Guardian. The world is in good hands with him.” Vivian waved to her fans, setting off another explosion of screams.
“And speaking of,” Tara said, “my producers tell me Jackson is arriving right now with the other nominees!”
The bleachers rocked with the screams of “Jacksaddicts,” and the whole world seemed to tremble as Jackson Godspeed emerged onto the scene. Cameras flashed madly, gobbling up the full force of his charm. The other Angel nominees emerged behind him, smiling and waving, fully aware that this Godspeed, the brilliant Angel about to become the youngest Guardian ever, was also the greatest thunder-stealer of all time. Jacks wore a perfectly cut Armani tuxedo, a straight black tie, and a close shave. His blue eyes shone like beams. Darcy appeared instantly beside him, directing the press and photographers like a general at war.
“Jackson Godspeed . . .” Tara shook her head and steadied herself. “Ladies, have you ever seen such a dream come true? Congratulations on the nomination and tell me, Jacks, how does it feel to be here tonight?”
Jacks felt like his polite smile had been glued on his face. “Oh, this is really exciting. It’s just a great vote of confidence from the Angel community.” Tara hung on every word.
Jacks looked around at the adoring crowds, the hungry reporters, the cascades of flashes from cameras, and he remembered Mark’s words the night before. With the story of the murders now out, the whole world was speculating on whether he was a target. He wouldn’t allow them to cast him as the victim. He’d show no fear. He was finally going to be a Guardian. He was Jackson Godspeed.
Jacks smiled more widely, drawing a blush from Tara.
“And will you speculate for us on your first Protections? Everyone is on the edge of their seat for your first save!”
“I really have no idea,” he protested, laughing.
“And, now I have to ask, the girl you brought to your Pre-Commissioning party, she isn’t accompanying you tonight?”
Jacks paused, his expression becoming unreadable. He glanced at Darcy, who stared fiercely back.
“The . . . contest winner?” he said awkwardly.
“Some are calling it a publicity stunt before your Commissioning tonight; what do you have to say to that?”
“I always do my best to give back,” Jacks said. He turned and waved to the bleachers, setting off a hysteric roar of adulation.
“Jacks, I hear they unveiled your action figure today,” Tara said. Jacks nodded.
“That’s right,” he said, smiling. “It’s a little crazy, but it’s great. I’m happy to be buried in the dirt, and stuck up noses, and floating in the bathtub. I’ll take that job.”
Darcy cut the interview short as the carpet had thinned, the other nominees having finished their interviews and gone in. The start of the ceremony was quickly approaching. Before turning and entering the Temple itself, Jacks gave a final wave to his adoring fans, who screamed and shouted for him in the deepening twilight. He gazed up at the Latin words over the door as he walked beneath them.
Do your duty.
Once inside, Jacks was conducted by temple personnel past nineteen identical doors to his own room, where a stylist waited with his ceremonial dress. It was the official uniform of a Guardian, going back hundreds of years, and for once, Jacks would look like the classic Angel of Renaissance paintings. He put on the white tunic and slipped the long white robes over his head. He felt the silken fabric against his skin as the weight of it came to rest on his shoulders. The stylist made final adjustments, then turned Jacks toward a mirror in the corner of the room. Jacks looked at himself for a long moment. The robes hung straight from his body and seemed to wrap his face in a bright, white glow. He looked celestial. A symbol of perfection and purity and good. It was the uniform he had dreamed of wearing his whole life.
There was a knock at the door. Jacks ope
ned it to see Kris standing there. She looked at her son without speaking, then, wiping a tear away, came into the room and took out a gold sash with the Godspeed crest on it. She draped it around his neck.
“This was your father’s crest. He wore it on his Commissioning day, many years ago.” She took a step back and looked at him again. “You look so much like your father, Jacks. He would have been so proud of you.” Jacks’s heart was swelling unbearably. She wiped her face and smiled bravely. “You’ve earned this.”
“He certainly has.”
Jacks turned. Mark was at the door. Jackson eyed him warily, thinking back to what he thought he had seen on his stepfather’s jacket the night before. This was Archangel Mark Godspeed. Angels were the most important thing in the world to him. How could Jacks even consider Mark would be involved with the murders? There obviously had to be another explanation for what Jacks only thought he had seen.
His stepfather had changed clothes as well and wore the ceremonial red robes of an Archangel. He regarded Jacks sternly. “I just wanted to say good luck before we get out there.” Then his expression softened; the slightest hint of a smile crept into his eyes. “Jacks,” he said, “I know it’s been a tough week, it’s been a tough week for all of us. But I just want you to know”—he paused, looking at his stepson—“that I am proud of you. So proud.” Then he gave Jacks a smile so genuine and pleased that Jacks felt an unexpected warmth radiate through him. Mark turned to go.
“Dad?” Jacks said impulsively.
Mark turned.
“There’s no need for luck when there are Angels in the world.”
Mark’s smile widened. “I’ll see you out there,” he said, and was gone. After a good luck kiss Kris followed, and Jacks was left alone in the room again. Things were getting back to normal, he thought. The way they should be. The way they were meant to be. He looked at himself in the mirror one last time. His father’s crest hung handsomely on him. He found it hard to suppress a smile. Then a man wearing a headset appeared in the doorway and motioned for him to follow.
