Chapter fifteen

S ylvester 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

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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.

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“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.

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“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.”

“More could end up hurt, Mark,” Sylvester said. “This

isn’t about Angel publicity anymore. Something much more

serious is going on here. Don’t be a fool.”

“There are those who don’t live amongst us. Those

who have taken, well, how does one say it? A different

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path?” He turned and studied Sylvester for a moment.

Sylvester ignored the implication.

“Sure. Could be. The Archangels have made enemies.

But whoever is doing this is ripping off their wings, in some

kind of twisted version of the Council’s punishment.” Mark

raised his eyebrow, but Sylvester went on. “We could consider

the possibility that someone feels law and order isn’t

going far enough, a zealot among the Archangels who wants

more control. More of their... justice. ” He cleared his

throat on the last word.

Mark stared directly at the detective. When he spoke,

his voice was cold and sharp: “What’s past has passed,

David. We Archangels didn’t make these rules, we simply

administer them for the Council. The fact that the ACPD

even has you on a case of this nature, due to...” Mark

trailed off.

“Due to what, Mark?” The detective stared at him

coldly.

“I think you know what I’m saying.”

“I’m not sure I do, Mark.” Sylvester pushed his glasses

up the ridge of his nose. “Do you mean to say I’m unfit for

this case due to the fact that I had my own wings taken by

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the Archangels?” Sylvester almost seemed to shake as he

spit out the words. They hung in the conference room,

heavy.

After what seemed like an eternity, Mark Godspeed

turned to the window. His voice was calm and even.

“Bringing up the past will do no good. That you’re implying

any one of my colleagues is involved in this bloodshed is

outrageous. I hope you’re not spreading such filth around

the ACPD. That would be unfortunate.”

The detective didn’t blink.

“The HDF has also been more active than usual recently,”

Sylvester said. “Three armed operatives were arrested

on their way to a safe house yesterday. Do you think a

disgruntled Angel could’ve defected, be working with

them?”

Mark shrugged.

“Or it could be something worse,” Sylvester continued.

He placed his coffee cup on the table in front of him.

“The severity of Ryan’s wounds... and the fact that this is

potentially two Angels now in the same week... I think we

should consider another possibility, too.”

“Yes?” Mark said.

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“We could be dealing with a Dark Angel, Mark,” the

detective said. Mark looked at Sylvester incredulously.

“A demon?”

“It’s happened before,” Sylvester replied.

“Yes, thousands of years ago. You’re talking about

stuff from the Bible,” Mark said. “They were wiped out. The

blood of our ancestors, David, don’t forget.”

“Maybe not all of them. And of the two of us, I’m the

one who hasn’t forgotten,” Sylvester said.

“I just find it hard to believe that some ancient

creature that hasn’t been seen in millennia comes out of

hiding now and starts killing Angels.”

“Whatever you believe, do the right thing, Mark,”

Sylvester said. “Spread the word, and postpone any Commissioning

until we know what’s going on.” He pointed a

finger toward the gilded display case in the corner of the

room. “I believe that armor stood for something once, represented

certain—”

“Don’t lecture me, Detective,” Mark said sharply, cutting

him off. “I know exactly what that armor stood for then

and still does now. Need I remind you that I’m the one who

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has stayed and done his duty?” He walked over to the door

and held it open. “This conversation is over.”

Detective Sylvester sighed as he stepped past Mark,

buttoning up his jacket.

“The next star after Lance’s has yet to be installed. But

it’s ready. We made a call.” He paused. “It’s your own

stepson’s. It’s Jackson’s star, Mark. He’d be next.”

The Archangel said nothing.

“I’ll show myself out,” Sylvester said, and disappeared

down the hallway toward the lobby.

Mark listened to the murmur of the assistants for a

moment, then turned back and looked out the glass wall to

the city. The door closed, leaving him alone in the silent

conference room.

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Дата добавления: 2015-11-14