Garcia crossed himself.
“I didn’t even know it could.”
“Walk with me,” Sylvester said gruffly. They rounded the corner, and Sylvester stopped in front of a darkened souvenir shop. It was Sylvester’s turn to question the sergeant.
“Garcia, are you going to be able to handle this?” Garcia considered, then nodded weakly.
“Okay, then I’m only going to explain this once. There are two kinds of Angels in the world. True Immortals and Born Immortals. True Immortals are, as the name suggests, truly immortal. Born Immortals can become mortal if their wings are removed and their supernatural powers are stripped. This is normally done for disciplinary purposes, by the Archangels, at the order of the Council.” Sylvester looked into Garcia’s eyes. “But last time I heard, Theodore Godson hadn’t missed a save. He’s not even in the Guardian ranks anymore; he stepped down from that a couple years after he was promoted to Archangel. Although judging by his recent behavior with women and drinking, he’s been a bit of an embarrassment to the Archangels. Anyway, it wouldn’t be like this.” He motioned toward the boulevard.
“Not this brutal. The Council is much more. . civilized.
This would be impossible to do, except for the most powerful Angels.”
“Another Angel?”
“Only an Angel can kill another Angel,” Sylvester said.
“We’re looking for an exceptionally strong, exceptionally powerful Immortal. Get on the horn with the Archangels and start taking statements from their people. Try to find out if Godson has any enemies among the bigwigs.”
“There’s an ex-wife. It’s all over the gossip shows,”
Garcia said.
“Bring her in. Find out if she has a new man,”
Sylvester said. “And we need immediate saturation patrols for Angels in the area tonight. We need to talk to everybody.”
“They won’t like that,” Garcia scoffed. “I know you haven’t been on the front lines in a while, so let me just tell you, the Angels pretty much pretend we don’t exist. I mean, they think they’re above the law.”
“Well, tonight they’re not,” Sylvester said flatly.
Garcia nodded and walked back to his cruiser to radio in the request. Sylvester stepped back to the darkened Walk of Angels and looked down the long, empty boulevard.
The whole thing felt unreal. Garcia was right to be afraid. Sylvester struggled to remember the last time an Angel had been mortalized. It had been a long, long time ago.
And if it was happening again. .
Garcia walked back over, his radio crackling. It echoed in the night air.
“Detective, lucky for you they’re all in one place tonight. There’s a big party down the street.”
“Party?” said Sylvester. “What for?”
Garcia grinned. “You don’t have a daughter, do you, sir? It’s a Pre-Commissioning party for Jackson Godspeed.”
At the name, a moment of recognition flickered across Sylvester’s face.
Garcia’s radio squawked again, and he held the speaker close to his ear. “Okay. Everyone’s accounted for. Actually, wait, everyone except one. He was spotted leaving in a hurry without talking to anyone. No one knows where he went.”
Sylvester’s eyebrow raised. “Okay, let’s find him, and let’s begin questioning those other Angels at the party. And start knocking on Angel doors up in the Hills, too,” Sylvester said. “As for the one who left the party in a hurry, consider him a person — well, Angel — of particular interest. And before we hear otherwise, let’s consider him potentially dangerous.”
Garcia paused and looked at Sylvester. “You’re not going to believe who it is,” he said. Sylvester looked at the sergeant.
“Who?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Jacks’s Ferrari spun through the crisp Los Angeles night, the city twinkling all around him. He headed east on Sunset, just driving. He felt himself becoming more real, more free, with every mile he put between himself and the party. Was this disconnected sensation going to chase him all his life?
He needed to get over it. He was Jackson Godspeed. It wasn’t like he could just move somewhere and be anonymous. And, he reminded himself, he didn’t want to. He’d been looking forward to saving people since he was a little boy.
After ten minutes his phone rang over the car’s Bluetooth. Jacks checked the caller ID. It was Mark.
“That didn’t take long,” he murmured before picking up. “Hey Mark, I’ll be home in a bit. I wasn’t feeling well, so I decided to—”
“Never mind that now,” Mark said, cutting him off.
“Where are you?” His tone was urgent.
“Somewhere in Angel City. Why?”
“Get off the road.”
Jacks sat up in his seat, alarmed. “What?”
“Something has happened. I’ll explain later, but right now I need you to get off the road, go somewhere out of the way, and just blend in.” His voice sounded almost panicked.
“Make sure no one knows you’re an Angel. And don’t talk to any police. Do exactly as I say, all right?” “Is Mom okay? Is Chloe? What’s—”
“Don’t ask any more questions,” Mark snapped.
“They’re fine, but this is serious, young man. Do as I say.
When you’re somewhere safe, give me a call and I’ll come meet you.” With that he hung up.
Jacks’s pulse quickened. He had never heard Mark so upset. What was going on? He took a hard left and zig-zagged up side streets, through an Angel City he rarely saw, with modest homes and small, neglected lawns. Making a hard right, Jacks slowed and looked around, trying to get his bearings.
He had never been in this part of town before. He saw only one sign lit up, up on the left, a diner called Kevin’s.
His heart racing, he drove forward and pulled into the tiny lot. He parked, took off his suit jacket, and threw on a dark hoodie from the backseat. Then he looked at the diner again through the windshield. The place looked deserted. He wondered if this could all be about Vivian. No, he decided, it had sounded more serious than that. He should do exactly as Mark had said. He got out and pulled his hood up, locked the door, and walked toward the diner’s front door.
Maddy was running a mop over the floor when the door jingled open and someone she had never seen before stepped into the diner. It was past closing and she realized, with regret, that she had forgotten to click off the neon Open sign in the window. Standing in the doorway was a boy Maddy thought looked to be about eighteen or nineteen.
He was oddly dressed in tailored formal pants and a hoodie, and he had the hood pulled up over his head. Stabs of straight brown hair cut across his eyes. Maddy picked the mop up and set it back in its bucket. He looked out of breath and confused, unsure of himself even, and after a moment of what Maddy guessed was contemplation, he turned to leave.
“Hey,” Maddy called after him. He turned around.
“Can I help you?”
“Um, yeah,” he said. “A table for one, please? If it’s not too late?”
Maddy looked around at the nearly empty diner. Just a couple of regulars finishing up, one paying the check. By his tone she knew she could tell him they were closed, and he would accept that and leave. Still, it was her fault for not shutting off the sign. “No, of course not. Right this way.”
She pulled a menu from behind the counter and led him to a booth by the window. As they walked to the table, Maddy realized that even dressed as he was and hiding under a hood, he was absolutely, strikingly beautiful. It was strange how it seemed to radiate off him. She could almost feel it, could almost taste it on her tongue. Maddy’s head swam. Where was this coming from? She was around her share of what everyone would consider “cute boys”: at school, at the diner, even just around Angel City. And sure, maybe they were attractive, but she had never felt herself gushing he’s beautiful. That was Gwen’s job. Maddy was supposed to be the levelheaded one.