Chapter three 3 страница

behind her, displaying finely spun gold spirals that spread

out in delicate patterns, glittering. They were considered by

some to be the sexiest wings of all time. “Vivian’s publicist

would neither confirm nor deny, but the rumors are swirling.

Together or not, they remain, easily, the hottest Angel

couple on the planet!”

55/587

The kitchen had gone quiet. Kris raised her eyebrows

knowingly. Mark turned toward Jacks with a pregnant expression.

Jacks sighed.

“We’re just friends,” he announced to the room. “We

are not getting back together.”

“Well, we like her very much, son,” Mark said. “You

know that.”

“Yes, that has been made abundantly clear to me,”

Jacks said with a laugh.

“Jacks, we would so get along,” Chloe said pleadingly,

coming around the kitchen island to pull on her half brother’s

arm. “Now that I’m older, I can totally see her and me

being best friends.”

“Let’s give the young Angel a break for now,” Mark

said, winking at Jacks. “He’ll be seeing her this week.”

Feeling suddenly tired, Jacks put his glass in the sink.

He went out to the foyer.

Keys hung on a rack under the security camera monitor:

Jacks’s Ferrari, Mark’s M7, Kris’s hybrid Lexus, and

Chloe’s Porsche—which, Jacks thought, was a little ostentatious

for such a young Angel. He grabbed his keys and returned

to the kitchen, where he kissed his mother and

56/587

snatched a final piece of toast off the cart before heading toward

the door.

“Jackson?” Mark called after him.

Jacks turned in the doorway.

“Good luck this week,” Mark said.

“There’s no need for luck when there are Angels in the

world,” Jacks replied.

“Who taught you that?”

Jacks smiled. “You did.”

With that and an approving nod from his stepfather,

Jacks disappeared out the door and into the blinding southern

California sunshine.

• • •

Jacks cruised down Sunset Boulevard in his cherry-red Ferrari,

passing the famous boutiques, restaurants, and rock

clubs of the Halo Strip. It was going to be a busy day, as

usual. In an hour he was scheduled to make an appearance

at the Angels Weekly style lounge, where he would share his

thoughts about his Commissioning in an exclusive interview

and then pose for pictures with lucky fans. He wasn’t a fan

57/587

of the magazine— AW was one of the most notorious Angel

gossip rags—but Darcy, his publicist, had more or less

forced him to do it. Keep them happy, she had told him,

keep them off your back.

From there he would make a quick stop at the Lexus

Angel’s Flight VIP room, where he would do another interview

and would most likely have to decline an offer for a

free Lexus LF-A. Again. He had already told them—and it

was the truth—that there just wasn’t any more room in the

garage, but he knew that wouldn’t stop them from offering

again. Maybe he could donate it to charity, he thought, and

made a mental note to do so. Then he would rush over to

the EA Saved! 2 video game launch party. The new version

gave players the option of being Guardian Jackson Godspeed,

and experts were predicting it would easily become

the best-selling game of the year. As part of the endorsement

deal, he would be giving ten awestruck contest winners

the chance to play against him during his agreed-upon

one-hour appearance. Finally, he would try and make it to

his own Halo Magazine Pre-Commissioning party.

Taking the turn onto Melrose, Jacks passed the Pacific

Design Center and flipped a quick U-turn into the valet

58/587

for Urth Caffe, an Angel City landmark and hot spot for Immortals.

Girls screamed, people shouted, and paparazzi

reached their cameras over the car’s hood as Jacks eased the

Ferrari into the sudden human swarm.

“JACKS! JACKS! JACKS! OVER HERE, JACKS!” A

barrage of camera flashes erupted as Jacks stepped out of

his car. “WHO’S GOING TO BE YOUR FIRST SAVE,

JACKSON?” one of the photographers shouted. “ARE YOU

BACK TOGETHER WITH VIVIAN?” another yelled. “ SAVE

ME, JACKS!”

A few security personnel managed the paparazzi and

fans. These guards were also useful for the occasional

weirdo stalker like the one who’d followed Jacks’s every

move last year, who was now in jail, or for the wacko anti-

Angel activists who arrived at the cafe every few months or

so and started making a ruckus. Jackson waved the photographers

and fans off with a friendly smile as he ran up the

steps to the patio, where Angels sat at tables sipping lattes

and socializing. All eyes turned to the brightest star in the

Immortal City as he made his way through the tables.

He found Mitch sitting at a table drinking a green tea

latte and eyeing the female Angels at the next table.

59/587

“There he is!” Mitch said, getting out of his chair.

“Ready for your big week?”

“Not you, too,” Jacks said, groaning, and the two

friends embraced. Mitch was short for an Angel but stocky,

like an athlete. He had rich brown eyes and a dimpled smile

for which he was famous. They sat and Jacks ordered coffee

from a gawking waitress, who brought it promptly.

“Check it out,” Mitch said, nodding toward a female

Angel with long black hair who had just sat down at a

nearby table. She was stealing glimpses at Jacks as she chatted

with her friends.

“That’s Elena. She just did the new Versace

campaign.”

“Mm-hmm,” Jacks said absently, enjoying his coffee.

“And check out by the steps.” Mitch said.

Jacks glanced over and saw a tall, striking platinumblond

Angel looking in his direction.

“I’m just saying, look at those Marks. I mean, perfect,

man.” Mitch whistled. The Angel turned and Jacks could see

she was wearing a backless shirt that revealed her Immortal

Marks. They were feminine and ornate, with curlicues and

shimmering, delicate lines that reached all the way down to

60/587

the small of her back. She looked over her shoulder to see if

Jacks had noticed, but he was back to drinking his coffee.

“You should go talk to her,” Mitch encouraged. “She’s incredibly

hot.”

“I forget her name,” Jacks said, uninterested. Mitch

sighed.

“Kelsie Godchild? The face of Burberry? She’s on the

entire side of that building at La Cienega.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Mitch just shook his head. “So how excited are you for

this week, man? This is going to be like a weeklong party.

Last night was just a taste. Here, let me read you your

schedule.” He grabbed Jacks’s iPhone from the table and

pretended to scroll through it. “Party. Party. Party. Get

drunk. Get drunk. Get drunk. Then get Commissioned. And

then get drunk again.” He leaned back in his chair as if visualizing

it. “I don’t know about you, dude, but I can’t wait.”

Jacks put his hands behind his head and looked at his

best friend. Mitch loved the Angel way of life, and it loved

him right back. He always seemed to be turning up on the

pages of Immortal and Angels Weekly at various events and

parties, always with a new Angel beauty on his arm. But the

61/587

truth was, he was a genuinely nice guy, and a bit of a class

clown. They had become close friends their first year of

training, ever since Mitch had started making fun of Jacks’s

wings, and had stayed that way ever since. Though the public

knew very little about Angel training, the NAS released

tidbits about Jackson and Mitch’s progress over the years,

playing up their friendship. One photo in particular of them

was famous: two cocky thirteen-year-olds with their arms

crossed across their chests, Jacks with his luminescent

wings behind him, Mitch’s wings showing intricate mazelike

patterns. Together the two had gone through the mindnumbing

math of Basic Aerodynamics, all the way up to

courses such as Multiple Frequencing and Advanced Flying

406, until a few months ago, in a shock, the NAS announced

that Jacks would be jumping a year in his class to become

the youngest Guardian ever Commissioned. Mitch had been

a good sport about the whole thing, but sometimes Jacks

wondered if he still hadn’t been hurt by it.

“I don’t know, man,” Jacks said, taking his iPhone

back. “I’ll go to some events, sure, but I don’t want to get too

crazy.”

62/587

Mitch looked stunned. “Are you insane? Everyone

knows the whole point of becoming a Guardian Angel is the

parties. The females. And this is pretty much a once-in-aneternity

thing here, your early Commissioning. This is supposed

to be the best week of our life, and you’re going to

miss it?”

Jacks ran a hand through his hair and took a swig of

coffee. “I just... I’ve got to focus, Mitch.”

“Oh,” Mitch groaned. “Here we go again. Why does

everything always have to be perfect with you?”

“It’s not that it has to be perfect —”

Mitch set down his cup. “Highest grades in school.

Top of the class in simulation training. First to fly in Basic

Flying—”

“Okay, I get it,” Jacks said, mildly embarrassed. “But

that first save does have to be perfect. You know what they

say—you never forget your first save. It’s someone’s life. It’s

a big responsibility. I just want to make sure I get it right.”

Mitch leaned forward. “As your best friend, let me tell

you something you already know. You’re talented. Like ridiculous.

Way more talented than me—”

“That’s not true—”

63/587

“That is true. And I can tell you, whoever your Protections

are going to be, they’ll be in great hands. So please. Do

me a favor and at least try and enjoy yourself this week.”

Jacks held up his hands in surrender. “I promise. I’ll

enjoy myself.”

A Mercedes G550 pulled up to the valet at the curb. As

much as the attendant was clearly trying not to stare, he

couldn’t take his eyes off the driver—and neither could anyone

else. Emerald-green eyes, flawless features, and glossy,

dark brown hair: Vivian Holycross was without a doubt the

hottest female Angel on the planet. Compared to her, the

human supermodels at the next table looked downright

plain.

Being only seventeen, Vivian wouldn’t be Commissioned

for another two years, but she was already everywhere

in the media. She came from one of the older, more

powerful Angel families, and her life up to that point had

been nothing short of charmed and effortless.

Fans and paparazzi swarmed as security guided her

up the sidewalk and onto the patio. She wore a pair of

leopard-print Miu Miu shoes and a red jersey tank dress

that revealed her bra and Immortal Marks. Her outfit was

64/587

perfectly accessorized with a Louis Vuitton bag and Bulgari

sunglasses.

“Don’t look now, man,” Mitch said as he watched the

chaos of Vivian’s arrival, “but we have an unexpected visitor.

Vivian’s here.”

Jacks stiffened. “Great. Any chance she won’t see

me?”

“I don’t think so,” Mitch said. “She’s coming this

way.”

At that moment Vivian noticed Jacks and Mitch—or

pretended to—and sauntered over. She made sure to put a

hand on Jacks’s shoulder as she arrived.

“Oh hey, boys, didn’t expect to run into you,” she said

in a seductive, soft voice. She turned her face toward Jackson.

“Hey, Jacks.”

“Hey, Viv,” Jacks said casually. There was no bad

blood between them, but run-ins with Vivian could get

tricky. He didn’t have anything against her; he had just had

gotten tired of playing the role of the “It” Angel couple—the

events together, the ravenous photographers, the magazines

covering every supposed change in their relationship. It was

exhausting, and even though Vivian would seem outraged

65/587

every time a piece of gossip about their private life surfaced,

Jacks sensed it was mock outrage and that she was secretly

into it. It had caused his feelings for her to gradually fade,

and they’d broken up that past summer. But since news had

broken about Jacks’s early Commissioning, Vivian had resurfaced

with a vengeance.

“What time are you guys going tonight?” she asked.

“You know, I hadn’t decided if I’m going,” Jacks said.

Vivian blinked at him.

“It’s your cover and you haven’t decided if you’re

going?”

“You know how those things go.” Jacks shrugged.

“They’re all the same.”

Vivian smiled mischievously. “Well, if it would make

you feel better, I’ll go with you and keep you company.” She

looked deep into Jacks’s eyes.

“That’s okay, Viv,” Jacks said, backpedaling. “But if I

end up making it, I’ll see you there, right?”

“You absolutely will,” she said, her green eyes twinkling.

Vivian bent over and gave Jacks a kiss on the cheek. As

she did, what sounded like thousands of shutters clicked

from behind the hedges. Jacks knew she had done that on

66/587

purpose—she had maybe even called the paparazzi and set

the whole thing up. Vivian was a nice girl, but Jacks felt like

she somehow tried too hard. After going out with her for

five months, Jacks had started to feel more and more like

she was with him just because he was Jacks and what that

meant to the outside world. It was hard for him to explain

even to himself, but sometimes when she was holding onto

his arm, it felt like he wasn’t actually there. That he could

have swapped in a Jacks look-alike and Vivian wouldn’t

even notice.

He also knew how much Mark wanted to see them together,

and though he was usually anxious to please his

stepfather, in this case, conversely, it made him even more

hesitant.

Jacks let out a long breath and glanced at Mitch, who

gave him an encouraging look. Vivian tucked her hair behind

her ear.

“So then,” she said, “I’ll see you tonight?”

67/587

CHAPTER FOUR

“T here have always been Angels among us.”

New History of Angels, McGraw-Hill, 2nd ed., p. 1

• • •

Maddy sat curled up in her desk with her history textbook

open in front of her, trying to keep from dozing off while

taking notes on Mr. Rankin’s History of Angels in America

lecture. The early-morning shift at the diner was starting to

catch up with her, and she shifted in her seat, willing her

eyelids to stay open.

“I hope you all did the assigned reading over the long

weekend,” Mr. Rankin said as he paced down the rows of

desks. “And no, having read Angels Weekly does not count.”

A laugh rippled through the class. Mr. Rankin was a

small man of about forty with a trim beard and balding hair.

He held their AP U.S. History textbook aloft as he spoke.

“To those of you who didn’t do the reading, staying silent

will not help you. The less you participate, the more likely I

am to call on you.” The class let out a collective groan.

Maddy might not follow the Angels, but she had done the

required reading. However, she was always quiet in class. As

Mr. Rankin got started, her eyelids grew impossibly heavy.

“So, who can tell me about the history of Angels before

the National Angel Services formed?” A hand shot up in

the front. Mr. Rankin pointed.

“Well, in the beginning, miracles were performed anonymously,”

a boy said. Mr. Rankin nodded.

“And how were Angels on Earth governed?”

“There was a royal class?”

“Legend has it, yes,” Mr. Rankin said. He paced down

Maddy’s row. “As with much about the Angels, they will not

confirm or deny many things about their existence here on

Earth, including much about their early history. Some historians

speculate there was even a battle long ago between

the Angels and Dark Angels, or demons, for supremacy on

the planet, a battle won by these royal classes.” Maddy sat

up in her chair again, trying to look as awake as possible as

69/587

he passed. “So the Angels were anonymous. Then what

happened?”

“The Civil War,” someone in the back called out.

Maddy felt her eyelids closing.

“The American Civil War, correct.” Mr. Rankin went

to the board and wrote Civil War. “After the awful bloodshed

of that conflict, brother killing brother, Angels decided

there was no longer any point to staying hidden and serving

man out of kindness.” He paused. “To put it bluntly, we

didn’t deserve it. So the original Angels, the True Immortals—

twelve Archangels, mostly male, but we’ll talk more

about that when we discuss the suffragette movement—

came forward and presented their case to the U.S.

government. They were led by Gabriel and came to be

known as the Council of Twelve. With the help of President

Grant, Angels made their power into a service and entered

American capitalism.”

Mr. Rankin wrote American capitalism under Civil

War and circled it. He began slowly pacing in front of the

room again. “The Angels organized themselves into classes,

formed families, and started having children. These Born

Immortals matured to adulthood at a human rate, but then

70/587

their aging almost came to a halt. Born Immortals do appear

to slightly age over a very long span of time, although

the Council officially claims they are immortal. They, in

turn, had more children. As their numbers grew, the National

Angel Services was formed. Now, who can tell me

about the NAS?”

No takers. Mr. Rankin’s eyes scanned the room and

fell on Maddy curled up in her chair, her head nodding.

“Maddy?”

Maddy looked up, surprised. “Yes?”

“We’re waiting.”

“I’m sorry, could you repeat the question?”

Mr. Rankin gave a tight smile and walked toward her.

“Repeating the question won’t do any good if you haven’t

done the reading.”

Maddy sat up and cleared her throat. She felt confidence

flare in her quiet gaze, and the small history teacher

stopped walking and stood where he was.

“The National Angel Services opened in 1910 in Angel

City, and a group of Born Immortal Archangels was created

to oversee it. The original Council of Twelve male True Immortals

granted the NAS powers to regulate the

71/587

employment of Guardian Angels all over the world, and the

system was called protection-for-pay. The governing body of

Archangels spread Angels across the globe, but everything

stayed headquartered in Angel City.”

Mr. Rankin’s eyebrows rose. He opened his mouth to

speak, but Maddy continued: “Still, no one knew where the

Angels came from. Every religion and culture has their own

stories of supernatural protectors and messengers, guides.

According to the Council, and then the NAS, this was who

the Angels were. Beyond that, where they came from depends

on what church you attend—if you attend church at

all. The Council left the debate to the scholars and preachers,

keeping most of their secrets from the public. Most

people just accepted the Angels, like you accept the sun

coming up in the morning.”

“That’s right, Maddy, very good—”

“The Angels charged a lot of money for what turned

out to be a priceless service, and as they got richer, they

charged even more.” Then she stopped and added, “Not that

I care, but it seems like a pretty lousy thing to do.”

72/587

The classroom went dead silent. Mr. Rankin opened

his mouth to reply but was cut off by a sound coming from

the hallway, a sound that made Maddy’s blood run cold.

It was a scream. Raw and terrified.

Frantic footsteps echoed down the hall, followed by

more horror-filled shrieks. A blond junior, Samantha Cellato,

burst into the classroom, sobbing. Her shirt and hands

were covered with dark crimson stains.

Blood.

Mr. Rankin blinked, then rushed to the girl. Maddy

just stared, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.

“It exploded. It just exploded,” Samantha mumbled

over and over. “I think she’s dead.”

More muffled screams rang out down the hall. Maddy

looked through the door to see kids running for the front of

the school as smoke began to fill the corridor. Somewhere in

the building a fire alarm wailed.

Reacting more than thinking, Maddy leapt up and ran

out of the classroom. She wasn’t even sure where her feet

were taking her, but she could see smoke pouring from the

biology lab at the far end of the hall and headed in that

73/587

direction. She burst through the doorway to the lab and

nearly gagged at the grisly scene in front of her.

The remains of an exploded propane tank lay on the

ground. Mrs. Neilson, the bio teacher, was lying on the floor

next to several other kids. Dark pools of blood were spreading

out underneath them, reflecting yellow licking flames.

Both of Mrs. Neilson’s hands were gone.

“Maddy?”

Maddy’s eyes popped open. She was panting, as if out

of breath, and she could feel dampness on the nape of her

neck. She looked up at Mr. Rankin, who seemed to be patiently

awaiting a response. That tight smile back on his

face. Maddy remembered what she was going to say.

“The National Angel Services was formed, and...”

Maddy trailed off. A shaky, clammy sweat had broken out

all over her body. She trembled.

“And?” Mr. Rankin looked confused.

All at once Maddy leapt to her feet and dashed down

the row of desks. In a flash she was past Mr. Rankin and out

the door. She knew she would have no more than a few

seconds. She could only hope she wasn’t too late.

74/587

Running as fast as her legs would carry her, Maddy

sped toward the biology lab at the far end of the hall. She

burst through the door.

“Excuse me, young lady!” Mrs. Neilson shrieked,

standing over her Bunsen burner. Maddy had already focused

her eyes on the gray metallic lighter in Mrs. Neilson’s

hand.

“Don’t!” she screamed.

Mrs. Neilson raised the lighter as she opened her

mouth to respond, and in one fluid movement, Maddy

lunged at her. She tackled Mrs. Neilson, linebacker style,

and sent them both tumbling to the floor. Mrs. Neilson’s

head hit the tile with a vicious crack, but she seemed to be

okay because she began punching and kicking Maddy in an

uncoordinated frenzy.

“Oh my God, help! Help! I’m being assaulted!” she

screamed. Several of the students stood up, but no one

made a move toward the front of the class. They all just

stared at the bizarre sight of a teacher and a student wrestling

on the ground. Maddy batted away Mrs. Neilson’s slaps

and punches as she wrestled the lighter out of her hand,

75/587

trying desperately to avoid creating any sparks. Mr. Rankin

came running into the classroom.

“What the hell is going on in here?!” he demanded.

Gasping for breath, all Maddy could choke out was,

“Check the propane tank.” Mrs. Neilson stopped struggling

and gave an inquisitive look to the large, spherical tank just

a foot away from her. Then she scrambled on her hands and

knees away from Maddy and sat in the corner, wiping her

nose between sobs. Mr. Rankin walked over to the tank and

examined it. He put his ear to the valve, and his eyes grew

wide.

“It’s leaking,” he said with alarm. “We have to evacuate

this classroom. Now.”

• • •

Maddy spent the next period in the nurse’s office, which

smelled of Band-Aids and alcohol, before being called before

the principal’s desk. Mrs. Neilson agreed not to press

charges, and in exchange, Maddy was given lunch detention

the following day. Conversely, she was also thanked for

helping detect the gas leak, although no one could quite

76/587

figure out how she had known. Maddy, who didn’t want to

open the can of worms that telling them the truth could

cause, said she had smelled something walking past the lab.

She was sent back to class and tried to finish out the rest of

the day ignoring the whispers of her classmates.

The day had gone in her mind from hopeful to disastrous.

She felt like a freak, like someone entirely different

and out of step with the world. But that, she told herself,

was nothing new.

After the final bell buzzed, Maddy pulled her hood

over her hair and walked quickly home. She didn’t bother

going inside but hurried across the yard and down the small

hill to the office door of Kevin’s Diner, where she changed

into her waitress’s uniform. Since Tracy had scheduled the

night off, Maddy would be spending the rest of her day

working the evening shift.

“How was school, Maddy?” Kevin called from the kitchen

as Maddy threw her backpack in the office, pinned on

her name tag, and pulled her hair into a ponytail.

“You know, uneventful,” she replied, trying to sound

as convincing as she could.

“Really? Classes were okay?”

77/587

“Yup,” she said, coming into the kitchen and smiling

vaguely. She hated to lie, especially to Kevin, but she

couldn’t see any way around it. She wasn’t going to tell him

about what happened. Being a freak at school she was willing

to accept, but she didn’t want to be one at home too. She

grabbed her notepad and pen and swung into the dining

room before Kevin could ask anything else.

After about an hour, Gwen, Gwen’s friend Jessica, and

Samantha Cellato came in. Jessica and Samantha were both

juniors, and Sam had been in the biology lab for Maddy’s

little performance with Mrs. Neilson. Maddy put them in a

booth in the rear, and they all ordered the hamburger dinner.

They had, undoubtedly, come in to talk over the incident

at school.

“You made the Lunch Special,” Gwen said as Maddy

arrived with their Diet Cokes. Of course, Gwen wasn’t talking

about food. The Lunch Special was the gossip blog of

Angel City High, where a junior named Blake Chambers

dished on the goings-on of the school. Gwen held out the

Berry for Maddy to read.

The screen featured a blowup of Maddy’s hideous

junior-year picture and the headline “MADDY

78/587

MONTGOMERY ATTEMPTS TO TORCH BIO LAB.” She

read Blake’s words aloud.

“‘Dear Maddy, thank you, on behalf of the student

body, for trying to set fire to the school. It would be an improvement,

no doubt. Next time, though, please wait until

the fire starts before beating up Mrs. Neilson for giving you

an A–.’” Maddy winced. Jessica giggled.

“Did you get in trouble?” Sam asked, her eyes wide.

“Lunch detention tomorrow,” Maddy said. “I don’t

really care. It will give me time to work on my applications.”

“Well, I mean, but how did you know?” Jessica asked

as she plopped a straw in her Diet Coke and took a deep

pull. Gwen looked at Maddy, her face sincere.

“Did... it... have to do with what happens?” she

asked quietly.

“Happens?” Samantha asked avidly.

“Nothing,” Maddy snapped, glaring at Gwen. “It’s

nothing. I’ll be right back with those hamburger dinners.”

Дата добавления: 2015-11-14