by Scott Speer
“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.
Jacks was led down a backstage hallway snaked with cables and positioned behind a door at the back of the auditorium, where the other nominated Angels were already waiting. They were being formed into a line. The Churchson siblings were near the front, standing side by side. Jacks looked sidelong at Sierra as he passed, his thoughts moving back to what she had said the night before about his star.
Had she known about the killer? How could she have already? It hadn’t become public knowledge until this morning. His mind began tracking rapidly, but he was brought back to the present by a hand on his shoulder.
“We have an order. So you’re standing here, Jacks,” the man in the headset said, putting Jacks at the end of the line. Steven glared back at Jackson, who looked away uncomfortably.
Through the door he could hear the murmurs of the crowd as they waited patiently for the commercial break to end. The ceremony, of course, was being watched live all over the world and so had to work within the confines of the television broadcast. Finally, Jacks heard the disembodied female voice through the door. She announced grandly,
“Ladies, gentlemen, and Angels, welcome to the 102nd annual National Angel Services Guardian Commissioning. And now, please welcome the nominees for Guardianship.”
Right on cue the door opened, the music swelled, and the twenty nominated Angels began walking into the Temple, single file. The female voice announced each name as they emerged into the grand auditorium.
“Jackson Godspeed.” At this, cheers erupted, almost overpowering the announcer.
Jacks stepped forward, the last of the Angels. He had been in the Temple many times before, but he couldn’t help feeling a stir of excitement as he walked down the aisle, surrounded by applause. He looked around the massive main hall with its double row of columns that led toward the altar on a raised stage. This had once been a sanctuary but had long since been converted to a modern theater with state-of-the-art lighting and sound. Two huge screens on either side of the stage magnified his dramatic entrance.
To his right and left, every last seat was packed with the most famous Angels, prestigious politicians, and richest potential Protections. An eager, expectant energy mixed with the applause and cheers that filled the enormous room.
Everyone seemed to be waiting for the envelopes to be opened and the names of the Protections to be read. Jacks’s gaze flickered to a row of familiar faces in the seats. There they sat, the Angels he had known his entire life. Kris and Chloe. Mitch gave him a subtle thumbs-up. Vivian was there too, and her parents. With the swelling music, the cheers and excitement of the crowd, and the glittering Temple, Jacks found it impossible to ignore the happiness burning inside him. Over the past few days had he forgotten what it meant to be a Guardian? Had he forgotten what he’d worked so hard for? As he felt the exhilaration of the moment, he knew, without a doubt, this was where he belonged.
Jacks followed the other nominees, ascending the steps to the stage. On the platform stood an exquisite altar of red and gold, to the side of which stood four rows of five chairs, one for each nominee. On the walls above the stage, towering stained glass windows told the story of Angels on Earth: from their hidden beginnings, to the Great Awakening, to a Guardian flying grandly over the Angel City sign.
Jacks reached the altar and stopped. He gazed down. Sitting on a red satin cloth were the twenty Divine Rings. One of them was his Divine Ring. Next to the rings sat a small stack of envelopes. And inside each of the envelopes, Jacks knew, was a list of names. The Protections.
For some reason, Maddy’s voice flashed across his mind: “Why don’t you get to choose who you’re going to protect?” He banished the memory and took his seat.
The music ended with a flourish and there was a moment of charged silence. Then the disembodied voice came over the speakers again.
“And now, please welcome the NAS Archangels.”
The music swelled again. Applause filled the Temple as a group of Archangels in red robes entered from behind the stage and took their seats in the first two rows of the audience. Jacks looked down at some of the most famous Angels of all time. Mark was, of course, with them. His stepfather’s face was drawn and serious, but his eyes glimmered with that same hint of a smile.
Once the music and applause had quieted again, the lights dimmed in the auditorium and the enormous screens flickered to a dramatic title in bold type: THE NEXT GENERATION OF GUARDIANS. Each of the other nominees had a brief clip, showing their faces as they smiled at the camera and then a quick shot of them in action, no more than ten seconds each. Jacks was notably absence from the footage. . and he began to feel vaguely anxious. He could guess what was coming.
After this series of quick clips, the music swelled and a huge title arose:
THE JACKSON GODSPEED PHENOMENON.
A few of the other nominees shifted in their seat irritably. Jacks felt his cheeks growing hot, but he kept a composed look on his face. Mark’s words from last night rang in his head and now that he knew that his met-eoric rise had been the Archangels’ plan all along, attention that wouldn’t have fazed him a week ago made him feel exquisitly uncomfortable. A lengthy montage played, showing Jacks through his youth, achieving at school, and spending quality time with Mark and Kris. Footage of an eight-year-old Jacks making a funny face into the camera sent a ripple of good-natured laughter through the theater. Then the images changed to the beginnings of the Jackson Godspeed hysteria, from the first few magazine covers, to photo shoots, television interviews, and crowds of screaming girls on the streets. His famous luminescent wings featured prominently in a lot of the shots, leaving no doubt that it was Jacks in action. A shot of Jackson taking Kris as his date on a red carpet elicited ahhhh s from every woman in the audience. Finally the montage finished with a dramatic shot of Jackson flying through the sky. Then, almost as an afterthought: THE NOMINEES. Applause filled the auditorium.
The screens went black, and then an image slowly appeared. Twelve figures sat in a semicircle in what looked like a small chapel. It was the Council of Twelve True Immortals, the original Angels to bring the Angel services public, begin Angel fa
milies, and found the NAS. They were watching the Commissioning from another location. They rarely, if ever, were seen in public anymore. On-screen, the Council’s faces remained hidden in the deep shadows of the gorgeous chapel. One of the True Immortals stood up and stepped to where a light shone down. His face resolved from the darkness. It was Gabriel. He wore a golden robe that seemed to glow all on its own. He was tall and handsome, with a shock of white hair and sharp, piercing features. Gabriel had looked like this for as long as any Angel could remember.
“You, young Angels, have our blessing,” he said simply, his voice booming through the loudspeakers and in-to the Temple.
The crowd began applauding. On-screen Gabriel returned to his seat in the shadows with the rest of the Council. The screens faded to black again. The lights went up and the applause quieted as Mark rose from his seat and ascended the stairs to the stage, approaching the altar and the microphone on a slim stand. Mark adjusted it and stole a look at Jacks before beginning.
“Before us is the next class of Guardians, those who are about to swear their lives and Immortal abilities to serve their Protections under the NAS. Each one of them has fulfilled their training and proved ready to take on this greatest of responsibilities: that of another’s life.”
Mark began calling each of the other nominees up one by one, swearing them in as Guardians and presenting them with their Divine Rings. Jackson sat in wait, knowing he probably would be last. He was surprised to find his pulse beginning to beat harder as they reached the end: he was nervous. Mark’s voice seemed to be in a distant tunnel as he called each of the remaining Angels up, including Steven and Sierra. At last all the other Angels had been announced, received their rings, and sat down again.
Mark turned to Jacks.
“This is the best and the brightest we have to offer.
Jackson Godspeed represents the best in us. He is not only one of the most talented and powerful Angels, but is an Angel dedicated to the ideals of the Council and the NAS.” The Archangels in the front rows nodded in approval. “Step up here, please.”
Jacks stood and walked toward his stepfather. Everyone in the Temple seemed to hold their breath in delicious anticipation as he stepped to the altar to be Commissioned at long last. His footfalls echoed in the suddenly silent auditorium.
“Jackson Godspeed,” Mark began, “do you offer yourself in the service of mankind?”
Jacks looked into Mark’s eyes. He knew the vows by heart.
“I do,” he said.
“Do you swear to keep safe, at all times, those under your protection?”
“I do,” Jacks said.
“Do you take this burden of your own free will, to do this good work on this Earth?”
“I do.”
Mark picked up the ring and slipped it on Jacks’s finger. “I commission you Guardian Jackson, of the Godspeed Class.”
Jacks could feel the weight of it. He looked down and watched it glimmer on his finger. It was all he had ever wanted. The ring of a Guardian. The ring of a hero. A close-up of the ring on his finger towered, sparkling, on the two screens behind them. In a moment Mark would read the names of the Protections, and Jacks’s destiny would finally begin.
“Congratulations, Jackson,” Mark said. “Turn and be recognized.”
Jacks didn’t move.
He stood very still. His mind had suddenly been transported far away from his stepfather before him, from the other new Guardians, from the crowd, from the Commissioning. His face blanched white. His eyes became unseeing and distant.
“Jackson?” Mark said, his face darkening in concern.
The entire Temple sat in charged silence, waiting.
“Jacks?” Kris said, getting up from her chair.
What occurred next happened so quickly it could not be seen. The glass in the windows of the Temple rippled like water — like a wave moving from the front of the hall to the back — and then exploded. Stained glass rained down on the crowd like multicolored diamonds as the doors to the temple were blown open. Wind howled down the aisle, vicious and twisting like jet wash. The crowd outside fell to the ground, some of them covering their ears in pain.
Mark looked up from the floor of the stage, where he had been knocked over.
Jacks had flown out of the Temple and was gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Maddy’s eyes snapped open. Her head spun, throbbing with an unknown pain. Stumbling backward, she felt something hard and cold cut into her back. She reached behind her and felt its smooth surface.
The light pole.
In front of her shone the headlights of two approaching cars. Where was she? And what was happening? Fragments of memories swirled in her mind. The party. Talking with Ethan. And kissing him? Had that really happened?
Then there was some boy named Simon, and. .
“They’re. . racing,” she whispered to herself. It wasn’t a statement of fact so much as the recollection of a memory. Like trying to piece together the remnants of a fleeting dream. The headlights grew closer. The cars swerved. She thought she could hear someone laughing.
What the hell is going on?
She forced her mind to function. She had left the party, she had been walking home, and — A single, terrifying idea rapidly emerged, slicing through all the other muddled thoughts like a shriek.
The Range Rover.
It all came back in a rush. The impact, the sound of her bones breaking, the way the SUV’s grill felt as it embed-ded itself inside her. It was all too real to be imagined, too horrific to be make-believe. There was only one possible explanation.
She’d had another premonition. The grisly vision was the most intense she had ever experienced. Because it was her own.
Watching the headlights bear down on her, Maddy suddenly knew one thing more absolutely and completely than she had known anything in her entire life: she had just foreseen her own death. And unless she did something in the next second to change the outcome of events, she was, without any doubt, going to die.
Light blazed at her, but from the other direction now.
She snapped her head around and saw the headlights of the Range Rover. There it was, like the carriage of death itself.
Like the reaper’s coach. The SUV’s horn roared, and she watched helplessly as it swerved in her direction and the tires jumped the curb. With almost detached clarity, Maddy knew it was already too late. It was over for her, and there was nothing left to do but watch it happen. Once again she saw her reflection in the windshield, but this time her face wasn’t surprised, or even horror stricken. It was strangely calm. Peaceful even. She closed her eyes and waited for the impact.
She was hit hard.
Pain shot through her body, but not from the direction she was expecting. Whatever struck her didn’t feel like the grill of the SUV. What it felt like simply didn’t seem possible.
It felt like a hand.
The next thing Maddy knew, she was lying on the pavement looking sideways across the road as the Range Rover plunged into the light pole. The scream of collapsing metal filled the air as the hood exploded, sending deadly pieces of car and windshield tearing through the night. The back end of the Rover jumped off the pavement, fishtailed around, and sailed in her direction.
“No,” commanded a voice above her. A voice? There was a sound like a hole hammered straight through the night, a flash of all-encompassing white light, and then, silence. When Maddy opened her eyes, what she saw was beyond anything she could have possibly imagined.
The world had frozen.
Everything had just stopped. It was as if Maddy had been watching a movie of her death and had simply pressed pause. The Range Rover hovered in front of her with its back end off the ground like some kind of automotive ballerina. Pieces of exploded hood and windshield swam like a sea of destruction all around her. Shards of broken glass hung like twinkling stars. The world held its breath, poised on the knife tip of time, and waited.
Maddy lifted he
r gaze. In the hard cast of the streetlamp she thought she could make out the silhouette of a figure crouched over her, shielding her with his body, holding onto her hand. Pain was radiating through her now, dimming her already reeling consciousness. She felt her eyes 3start to close again, but just before they did, she looked at the silhouette and thought she could make out the distinctive outline of wings.
She went into shock. Everything went black.
Maddy didn’t know if she was alive, dead, or simply dreaming. She had the vague sense she was flying; the wind and the cold on her face were almost unbearable. A jumble of strange, inexplicable images swirled in her head like pieces of a nightmare. Charging headlights and distorted screams, a floating car and a mysterious, shadowy figure. She didn’t know if it was real or imagined. About the only thing she was sure of was the pain. A terrible ache throbbed in her lower back, and there was an intense burning in her left shoulder. In the murky neverland of her semiconsciousness, Maddy tried to find something real to hold on to. She forced her eyes to open and focus.
She saw wings. She watched the way the raindrops hit them and beaded instantly off, the lightly glowing wings staying dry. Whatever kind of hallucination she was having, it was undeniably vivid. Then the cold numbed her mind in-to unconsciousness, and she blacked out again.
The next time Maddy opened her eyes, she found herself sitting with her back against some kind of concrete wall.
It was raining, the smell of it everywhere, and she listened to its steady patter on a canvas awning over her head. Not ten feet beyond her shoes the floor ended, and the lights of Angel City glowed in the soggy night. She had to be sitting on the roof of a tall building. She looked up and saw the words DIVINE RECORDS glowing on a huge curving sign.
Above that, a white spike reached up thirty feet up into the air and pierced the churning sky.
She tried to sit up, and only then did she become aware of the heavy arms wrapped around her. They were so hot they were almost searing. She turned and her eyes traced the contours of a perfect, dripping face. She saw his pale blue eyes.
