Jacks felt exquisitely uncomfortable. He shrugged self-deprecatingly. “Oh, come on—”
“—no really, how does it feel to know every lady Angel and woman on the carpet is worshipping you?”
“If you say so, Tara,” Jacks said.
“So, the question on everybody’s mind, and the speculation of girls and their moms across the nation, is, are you single? The big buzz this week is that you and a certain Angel are back together.”
“Well, I’m not in a relationship, if that’s what you mean.”
Tara took a quick breath. “Can you characterize your relationship with Vivian Holycross, then?”
“She’s a great Angel. I think she’ll make a wonderful Guardian.”
“But will she be wearing your Divine Ring one day?”
Jacks glanced at Darcy. She was glaring at him, stern and expectant. Tara’s eyes narrowed.
“Well, I have to get it first. Then we’ll see,” he said finally.
“So it’s still a mystery!” Tara shrieked into the camera.
“Jackson and Vivian, are they secretly back together?!”
Jacks looked back at Darcy again. Her expression had transformed into relieved approval. She gave Jacks a thumbs-up. He felt that pang again, just for a moment. As though he wasn’t even here.
Darcy led Jacks toward the throng of Angels sipping drinks, talking, and laughing in the lobby. He recognized a few of the other Angels who were going to be commissioned this week, like Milo Trinity and the Churchson twins. They’d been a class ahead of him until this year, so he didn’t know them all that well, but it seemed they had shown up at his party despite the fact that the attention around Jacks had basically taken over their own Commissionings. Jackson had just pulled out his phone to text Mitch when he saw Vivian eagerly waving to him across the room.
“Good job,” Darcy said while pounding the keys on her phone. “I’ll leave you here. Go have fun, okay?”
“I will,” he lied.
Jacks sighed as he watched Vivian walk toward him.
They entered the lobby together and Vivian took hold of Jacks’s arm. Despite his attempts to disengage, she made herself inseparable from him, and they worked the party together. They chatted with the Archangels. They posed for pictures. It looked like they had never broken up. Finally they walked out to the patio to get some air.
“I just wanted to tell you I’m glad we took this break,”
Vivian said as she led him to a quiet corner.
“Great, Viv,” Jacks said. “Me too.” Maybe he had worried unnecessarily. Maybe she was starting to move on after all. Had she started to understand how he felt about the whole thing?
“You’re young still,” he said encouragingly. “You should, you know, see what else is out there.”
Vivian stepped in front of him and put a hand on his chest, stopping him. Her flawless brow knitted together.
“I know what’s going on, Jacks.”
Jacks paused. “What do you mean?”
“I know this whole breakup thing is just for the press, a little publicity stunt before Commissioning, right? I get it.”
Jacks blinked. He could feel the shock on his face.
“Vivian, I told you I needed time to focus before my Commissioning, and that’s the truth,” he said.
“Jacks, I get it.” She smiled coyly. “I’ll play along, even though, seriously, like you need any more publicity! With your wings and early Commissioning, you’re going to be the biggest Guardian ever. I just want to hear you say we’re getting back together after you get your Divine Ring.”
He said nothing, too startled to be diplomatic. Vivian took a step forward and moved her body against his. “We’ll surprise everyone. They’ll discover our secret romance on some beach somewhere. Do you have any idea how much press that will get? The media will eat it up. And it will totally help sales for my fashion line.”
“Vivian,” Jacks began, but she put a finger against his lips. Her emerald eyes had becoming piercing and seductive. “You’re Jackson Godspeed. I’m Vivian Holycross,” she said. “It’s just. . right. Right?”
Jacks’s gaze drifted desperately to a restroom sign with an arrow hanging on the wall. “Viv?” Jacks said. “Will you excuse me? I’m just going to use the restroom.”
“Okay,” she said, her eyes dancing, “But don’t be too long.”
He turned quickly and left. Her coy smile was still in place, but she watched him go, dissatisfied.
Jacks made his way down the narrow hallway that led to the bathroom. But he passed the door labeled Gentlemen and went instead through a back door leading to the parking lot. One of the valets was standing by the Dumpsters, smoking.
“Hey man,” Jacks whispered. The valet’s eyes grew wide when he saw Jacks. “Would you mind pulling my car around?” He held out his valet ticket and a hundred-dollar bill. “And would you mind being discreet about it?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
The sanctuary of the Blessed Sacrament Catholic Church on Sunset Boulevard was nearly empty. Detective David Sylvester, who, at forty, looked ancient already, sat alone in a sea of empty pews. He wore unremarkable clothes, wire-framed glasses, and a near-constant scowl. He sat hunched, as if the weight of the world were on his shoulders. His hands were clasped, fingers laced together as if he were im-mersed in prayer, but the detective’s eyes remained open.
They drifted up past the stained-glass windows of the sanctuary, to the vaulted ceiling, and beyond. They were intent, the eyes of a man more in conversation than prayer.
The classic cathedral glowed with beauty, lit only by soft candlelight from the altar. In the grotto, votive candles danced and flickered, illuminating the gentle and ever-smiling face of the Virgin Mary. It all suited Sylvester fine. He preferred an old, imposing church where you could feel the presence of God Himself whispering to you through the walls. He believed in the things of yesterday. He still listened to records, and his home phone still had a cord.
Sylvester believed in the Angel City of yesterday, and, if truth be told, he believed in the Angels of yesterday too.
The silence was interrupted by the chime of the detective’s cell phone, an unfortunate necessity for police work. His fished the thing out of his pocket and looked at the number.
“This is Sylvester,” he said into the phone tersely.
“Sorry to disturb, Detective,” an officer from headquarters said. “But we need you on a scene. Right now.” Sylvester frowned. He hadn’t been on a real case in years. He looked around the empty church.
“I’m a little busy,” he said, “Are you sure you need me?” The officer seemed to grunt.
“Jones or Chu would be more qualified, if you ask me, but the captain wants you on this one. Said something about your special background.” Sylvester considered this.
“What’s going on?” he said after a moment.
“You better just go down there and take a look.”
Sylvester took down the address and pocketed the phone. He lingered for a moment, looking at the altar and its shimmering candlelight. Why was he being called? And why now? He wondered what could be going on. Then he stood without crossing himself and walked unceremoniously out of the church.
Sylvester’s unmarked cruiser made its way toward Angel Boulevard, passing closed stores and shuttered cafés.
Dark palms above shuddered in the night breeze. The city seemed naked, raw, without the neon, double-decker buses, and throngs of visitors. A pocket of drunken tourists staggered down the sidewalk on a side street. They had all bought matching SAVE ME! T-shirts and were taking pictures of each other. The detective shook his head. The Angels could only protect a few, but every year millions still dreamed it was somehow going to be them, that they were going to be on ANN with the Angels and other Protections, that they would be saved, and everyone would see it. They believed the lottery would come through. Or they’d make their millions and then have their own Guardian in no time, taking their rightful place among the Immortal City’s beautiful and glamorous elite. The detective knew better. He had spent too many years observing the dirty truth about Angel City to get taken in by what he considered a fairy tale.