It simply said,
Maddy’s mouth went dry.
Gwen leaned in to look. “That thing gets texts messages?” Maddy whipped the phone away and held it on the other side of her body.
“It’s not a text,” she blurted. “I mean it is. But it’s nothing.”
“OMG, is it a
“No! Okay, yes. Could you just leave me alone?”
Gwen looked shell-shocked. The very idea of not shar-ing boy information was a fundamental violation in Gwen’s mind.
“I’m, like, your best friend!”
“It’s just. .” Maddy’s mind raced. “It was a wrong number.” It was a terrible lie. Gwen’s eyes flashed with suspicion.
“You’re acting strange. What’s going on, Maddy?”
“Wrong number, Gwen, honest, I swear. Just seemed like it was from a guy. Not a. . girl wrong number. Guys are stupid like that, right?”
Gwen flipped her blond hair, annoyed and suspicious.
“. . Right.”
The bell rang.
“See you later,” Gwen huffed, and disappeared down the hall.
Maddy focused on taking steady, controlled breaths.
When Gwen was safely out of sight, she pulled the phone out of her pocket and read the text again. Could she back out? Yes, she thought, she could. Like a complete coward.
And worst of all, then she would be proving him right.
About her. And all that “living life” nonsense. She wondered where he would be taking her, and what they would be doing, and if she would know how to act. And what was she going to wear? Not her jeans and hoodie, and all that pretty much left was her waitress uniform. She couldn’t borrow anything from Gwen without raising even more suspicion, so she didn’t even consider it. There was one other option, something she hadn’t thought about in a long time.
Maddy sighed. Gwen was right. She
She looked at Jacks’s text and simply texted back:
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Sylvester drove his unmarked cruiser drove down Wilshire Boulevard, passing the designer stores, luxury car dealerships, and upscale office buildings of Beverly Hills.
Though once located at the Temple of Angels itself, the corporate offices of the Archangels had long since been moved to a sleek, ultra-modern building off Beverly Boulevard.
Palm trees swayed gently in the breeze overhead as Sylvester drove. The sky was a perfect, cloudless blue.
He turned right at Beverly and pulled into the parking garage entrance under the dark glass monolith of the NAS building. The ramp led him straight to the valet-parking booth. There was no self-park option. He grumbled to himself as he waited for the attendant to make his way over.
Having to pay someone just to park your car for you seemed like a crime.
After receiving his ticket, Sylvester called one of the sleek stainless steel elevators and rode it up to the lobby.
The architecture of the NAS lobby was striking and minimalist, with dramatic full-length windows and near- futuristic furniture. On the walls, large flat screens played footage of recent saves on a continuous loop. Against the far wall was a glowing reception desk and, to the left of that, a hallway led back to the offices of the Archangels.
Sylvester crossed the lobby to the reception desk and smiled sheepishly at the impeccably groomed girl with perfect skin and blond hair who looked up at him. She eyed his rumpled coat and scuffed shoes incredulously before pasting on a plastic smile.
“Can I help you?” she said in a chirpy voice.
“It’s Detective Sylvester to see Archangel Godspeed.”
“Is he expecting you?” she asked with a flip of her hair.
“Yes,” he said, irritated.
“Have a seat, please, and I’ll let him know.” She gestured toward the couches while taking a sip of her latte.
Sylvester shuffled over and sat awkwardly in a too-fluffy couch. He watched the saves play over and over on the flat screens. After ten minutes, a young assistant appeared.
“Mr. Sylvester?” he asked. “This way, please.”
Sylvester was taken past the reception desk and down the hall, passing rows of assistants on headsets busily rolling calls for the Archangels. At the end of the hall the assistant opened glass double doors to the conference room and ushered Sylvester in.
The room was breathtaking. A long, thin conference table with twelve chairs sat in front of a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking Angel City and the entire Los Angeles Basin. In the corner of the room, in a glass display case, stood the armor and sword of an ancient Battle Angel. A reminder of a distant past. Sylvester looked at the armor, then turned and admired the view. After another ten minutes, Mark Godspeed appeared in a crisp, expensive suit.
“I’m sorry, David,” Mark said, coming quickly into the room, “I was on a post-save conference call with a Protection. You know how those go. I had my assistant make some coffee; would you care for some?” The Archangel motioned to a coffee service tray that had been set up in the center of the table.
“Yes, thank you,” Sylvester said. Mark picked up the carafe and filled a cup with steaming black liquid. He handed it to Sylvester, than began pouring one for himself.
“There’s been another incident on the boulevard,”
Sylvester said. “I wanted you to hear it from me first.” Mark paused, then finished pouring his coffee and carefully set the carafe back on the tray. “Another pair of wings was discovered last night. This time we recovered the body in the victim’s swimming pool, at his home.”
“Who?” Mark asked.
“Ryan Templeton.” The detective tipped the cup back, taking a pull of coffee.
The Archangel was quiet for a moment. “Good Angel. I know his family.” Sylvester nodded silently.
“The wings were found on his star. Right next to Theodore Godson’s star. Although we haven’t recovered the body of Godson, it’s likely he has also been murdered. We have reason to believe the order of the stars is determining the targets. Lance Crossman’s star is next. And sure enough, he’s also missing.”
After a few moments, the Archangel spoke.
“Angels killed in the order of their stars?” Mark asked.
Sylvester nodded. Mark took a seat on one of the sleek chairs. “Does the press know yet?”
“No. But we won’t be able to keep it quiet very long.
People stand up and pay attention when Angels start disappearing.” He paused. “We need to act, Mark.”
Mark stared out the window at the city moving silently beyond the glass. “What do you want me to do?”
“Call an emergency session of Archangels, then bring it straight to the Council. Put the Angel community on alert.
Afterward, we’ll hold a press conference and announce the killings to the media. The whole city needs to be warned.”
“Absolutely not,” Mark said insistently. “The public cannot know about this. Can you imagine what it would mean? Angels dying? How could the public trust us? We deal with this internally. Period.”
