Vanessa came around the table and then leaned next to Maddy, taking the picture with her phone. She checked it. “I’m totally tweeting this right now!” she exclaimed. “Maddy, thank you so much!” She threw her arms around Maddy again, and then bounded out of the room, led by Max, who was standing by. The door closed and the room was silent again.
Maddy had her first Protection.
Jackson’s stepfather looked at Maddy: “Are you all right?”
“I am,” Maddy said. “Now who’s next?”
*
Over the next couple of hours, Maddy met five more Protections. They ranged from another wealthy teenager to an older woman who had been married to a man who had started a doughnut empire. All were absolutely thrilled to have Maddy as their Guardian; Maddy was clearly the hottest Angel on the planet right now. There was only one Protection who had any problem with her. His name was Jeffrey Rosenberg. The Jeffrey Rosenberg. The billionaire.
Rosenberg was considerably overweight. His belly rounded underneath his tailored jacket, straining the buttons as he walked into the room, sweat on his brow. He was accompanied by his assistant, a young woman with a short pixie haircut, A-line skirt and white blouse.
“Mr Rosenberg, meet Guardian Madison Godright,” Mark said. “Maddy, this is Jeffrey Rosenberg.”
Mark was being overly nice as he sat Rosenberg down, Maddy thought. Entitlement just oozed from the billionaire’s pores. Maddy found it mildly repulsive, and given enough exposure to it, she might find it very repulsive.
Still, she let herself go and let Rosenberg’s energy wash over her. After having met only a handful of Protections, Maddy could memorize their frequency within seconds now. It was getting easier each time. Even though Rosenberg left her feeling gross. This was her job now.
Settling his girth in the seat, Rosenberg’s eyes drifted incredulously over Maddy, all the way down to her Louboutins, and then back up. She smiled tightly.
“I didn’t want the one that was half,” Rosenberg finally said.
Mark shot a quick glance at Maddy that seemed to say, Be calm.
“I can assure you, Maddy is as capable as any other Guardian, and she possesses skills I haven’t seen in years,” Mark said. “You are in good hands.”
“I want half off my protection plan.” Rosenberg’s voice was flat. Maybe borderline ruthless.
“Jeff, you know that’s not an option,” Mark said, trying to maintain his composure.
The billionaire flared his nostrils as he looked at this part-human, part-Angel across from him, the slightest wisp of an arrogant smile on his face.
Maddy’d had enough.
“If you don’t want to work with me, that’s fine,” Maddy said. “Because the truth is that there are a lot of people out there who need help. And you, sir, don’t look like one of them.”
Silence reigned in the room. Mark sat, frozen. Jeffrey’s assistant was totally silent, her eyes the size of golf balls – she’d probably never seen someone tell off her boss like that. As for Rosenberg, he just sat there, not moving a muscle, looking directly at Maddy, as still as a statue. Ten seconds passed. And another ten. The tension in the room was thick and oppressive.
Then Rosenberg did something Maddy never could have seen coming. He laughed. He came to life, his laughs small and gurgling at first, and then transforming into long, wheezing peals of laughter.
“I like this one. She’s got nerve,” he said, nodding at Maddy.
Rosenberg got up and, without saying another word, waddled back out into the hall, his assistant by his side. His laugher trailed behind him like an eerie echo until it was lost in the general murmur of the office.
“You OK?” Mark asked.
Maddy nodded, but Rosenberg’s presence still lingered in the room, and in her mind.
The final two Protections were a couple in their thirties; the husband had started a popular website, and the wife did a lot of human charity work. They’d just bought their third house.
They were polite enough, and happy to have Maddy as their Guardian, but just like the others, they were rich and entitled.
Maddy felt their frequencies quickly, and after exchanging a bit of chit-chat, they left quietly, thanking her for her time.
Max came in with a printout of the list of all her Protections, along with their contact information, background, et cetera. Maddy felt kind of strange looking at it. Like there was something she was forgetting, and couldn’t remember.
“Max?” Maddy asked as he picked Mark’s empty water glass off the conference table.
Mark’s assistant looked at her expectantly.
“Have you had any word on the status of the Protection charity programmes I wanted to start for the disadvantaged? Jacks was going to have Mark present it to the Archangels?”
“Oh, we’re definitely working on that, don’t worry, Maddy,” Max said, smiling. “Can I fill you up there?” He poured her some more sparkling water. “It’s definitely one of Mark’s big priorities right now. But, as you know, anything involving Guardians and Protections also involves lawyers. We just need to make sure that we’re not infringing on anyone’s contracts and that every i is dotted. You know how these things go. They just take time.” He smiled even wider.
“I actually don’t know,” Maddy said. “But if you say it’s happening. . .”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. It’s definitely one of Mark’s big priorities right now,” Max repeated. “Should I call down so your car’s waiting?”
Maddy was absent-mindedly looking out of the window again, watching the people on the street.
“No, it’s OK,” she said. “I think I want to go for a walk.”
Downstairs she wandered towards the front door of the building, passing the sandwich chain café that was inside the lobby. She thought she recognized someone and paused. Inside the café, Jeffrey Rosenberg’s young assistant was at the head of the line, digging in her wallet for enough money to pay. After a minute she shook her head, blushing, and pushed the sandwich back at the cashier before walking towards the exit, head down.
Maddy felt a cold sensation settle over her body at the sign of the girl’s tightened straits. Suddenly, in total clarity, Senator Linden’s conversation with her at the diner came into her mind. How he believed she would never be able to reform the Angels from the inside. And how she had felt this morning as she’d looked her wealthy Protections in the eye.
She swivelled. The clack of her heels resounded across the lobby as she walked to take the elevators downstairs to her car.
She drove fast, maybe even recklessly, to Jacks’s house, who she knew would be home by now after his scheduled session at the Angel doctors. Chloe was in the living room watching TV when Maddy entered the house with the keys Jacks had given her. Jacks was in the kitchen, making a turkey sandwich.
Chloe’s eyes took in Maddy’s suit. “You look amazing in that, Maddy. Nice choice!”
Maddy tried to smile at her but found she couldn’t. She walked towards Jacks.
“Hey, I wasn’t expecting you ’til later. You done at the NAS already?” Jacks seemed caught off-guard in some way.
“Jacks, you told me things were going to change,” Maddy said.
“What?” Jacks looked over and saw Chloe surreptitiously trying to eavesdrop from the living room. He opened a sliding glass door to the deck, and they walked outside. Jacks slid the door closed so that they had privacy. It was a blustery day, and wind whipped their clothes in gusts as they stood outside on the deck overlooking the canyon.
“Maddy, what’s wrong?”
“My Protections. It’s all the same as it has always been. I know it takes time to bring progress,” she said. “But I was supposed to change it. And nothing has changed.”
“Maddy, calm down,” Jacks said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Now what happened?”
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“Nothing. . .” Maddy said. “I mean, nothing, but everything. You should’ve seen him, Jacks. He was so . . . smug.”
“Who?”
Maddy just shook her head, thinking of Rosenberg. She wanted to cry, but she wasn’t going to let those tears happen. Jacks pulled her into an embrace.
“Mads, the charity programme you’ve been talking about putting together is going to help get Guardians to disadvantaged people across the country,” Jacks said. “But that takes a long time; you can’t change things overnight. Especially with the Angels. When the change comes, it’s going to be huge, opening up Protection to so many more. Just like you wanted. But to pay for that, we also have to keep getting Protections that can afford to pay. You know this.”
Maddy leaned against Jackson’s chest. “But meanwhile, the threats the Council has made against Senator Linden and, well, against humans have been pretty serious, Jacks. It’s changed a lot of people’s minds, and a lot of people are starting to join his cause.” She paused. “What if he has a point? That the Angels do have too much power and influence? That Protection for Pay is ultimately corrupt?”
Jackson stiffened against her.
“That’s what Linden claims for the Immortals Bill. That it will be temporary while they investigate Protection for Pay. But the ban on all Angel activities would be open-ended. It could take years before anything was decided, and the case would probably have to go before the Supreme Court. And what until then? It’s illegal to be an Angel? For me to be me?” He narrowed his eyes at Maddy. “And, do I need to remind you, illegal for you to be you?”
Jackson gently put his hand up to her cheek. “This isn’t about the money, or any of that,” Jacks said. “It’s about basic Angel rights, Maddy.”
“I’m just. . . I don’t know,” Maddy said, a tumult of emotions fighting inside her. “There’s just so much going on.”
“You’ve been under a lot of stress. Think about that. There’s a lot of change happening. And you’re taking on a lot of responsibility. You just met the people whose lives you may one day have to save. Don’t add more pressure than is necessary. Just enjoy your first year as a Guardian and worry about the other stuff later, once you’re settled in.”
Maddy had to admit she had been feeling a bit more on edge than usual. Maybe Jacks was right. She couldn’t tell any more. For the moment, she just let Jacks hold her to him, the wind lashing against them, sending her hair streaming in all different directions as she pressed in closer. But her mind flitted back to the conference room, to the entitlement of her Protections. And how she was feeling like she was failing at her goal before she’d even begun. She was becoming a Guardian like all the rest.
Jackson gazed down at her. He seemed to be weighing his words. He took a deep breath.
“Maddy, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. . .” Jacks said, his voice trailing off quietly.
The Angel looked down expectantly at Maddy. But her eyes were far off. She was distracted, her mind turning over and over what happened back at the NAS headquarters earlier in the day.
“I just can’t believe how arrogant they were,” Maddy said, slowly coming back to the present. She looked up at Jacks. “I’m sorry – did you say something?”
“No, nothing,” Jacks said stiffly. “It was nothing. I was just telling you it’ll be OK.” He pulled her closer again. “It’ll be OK.”
She wanted so much to believe him.
CHAPTER 26
Detective Sylvester put on the second pot of coffee of the night, stretching his back and yawning as the hot water percolated slowly through the machine. Outside his apartment, the voices of a couple arguing echoed up from the otherwise empty street. It was late already. But he still had hours of work ahead of him.
Some holiday, he thought to himself, shaking his head and smiling slightly.
Pouring himself a cup of coffee, Sylvester walked back to his living room. Stacks of files that Sergeant Garcia had delivered sat on his coffee table and on the side tables. A number of books were scattered next to his couch, with bookmarks and notes poking out. There were two tall stacks of newspapers behind the sofa. In the background, the TV played non-stop on the news channel at a low volume. As a new report came on, he turned the volume up.
“Just days before the election, there have been more calls for investigations into the ties between the violent Humanity Defence Faction and anti-Angel Senator Ted Linden’s presidential campaign. This comes after officials identified the culprit in the bombing of an Angel office as a high-level HDF operative with ties to Senator Linden’s political party. Election officials say this could derail Linden’s bid, along with his Immortals Bill and newly formed Global Angel Commission, for good.”
Sylvester turned the volume on the TV back down. He took a strong pull of the coffee and looked at all the paperwork. The leads. The dead ends. He’d taken some paid holiday time off. Everyone understood, after his work on the bombing case, which was now “solved”.
He’d basically moved his office to his apartment. This way he could work his cases – all his cases – away from the prying eyes of Captain Keele. When was the last time he had slept? He didn’t know. It didn’t matter, anyway. This was too important.
No rest for the wicked.
The detective’s eyes drew to his wall. A large global map, the kind you might see in an old high school classroom, hung there. All across the map were markings in different colours, in different countries and cities. The markings each had a date and a note. There was also a large map of downtown Los Angeles taped to the wall, with a series of notes and red X’s.
On the world map, there was a marking in the blue of the Pacific Ocean off California. It had the earliest date of any of the markings: “F-16 Downed”.
There were marks all over the map, even Antarctica, where an electrical accident with a generator at an observation station had killed ten workers. The map also included one neat marking on London – the St Pancras derailment – and another on Beijing – “Apartment Fire/Collapse”.
There was one other marking, this one with a question mark, directly in the middle of Angel City: “Bombing of Angel Administration Affairs Offices”.
After Sylvester had learned of DeWitt’s death and that the FBI found incriminating evidence of the bombing and Humanity Defence Faction materials, law enforcement had considered the case solved. The investigation now moved to a higher-level investigation into the HDF on conspiracy charges. It was time to infiltrate the leadership with undercover officers and confidential informants. The Angels were special counsel for the operation. William Beaubourg would likely be drawn in. It could get ugly. But it was out of Sylvester’s hands now.
Captain Keele was happy just to get one more case solved. It was good for stats. And what was good for stats was good for the captain’s promotion to police commander.
The only problem was Sylvester didn’t consider the case solved. Not at all.
He didn’t voice these doubts to Keele before going on “vacation” – the captain would have a meltdown if he knew Sylvester was still investigating a closed case. Only Garcia knew. Every day he brought the detective new photocopies of documents and files from headquarters to chew through.
Something wasn’t adding up – a constant knot in Sylvester’s stomach was telling him that. Almost every day Sylvester was putting another red mark on the wall map. Dark Angel sightings that the media attributed to religious hysteria. Terrible accidents with no precedent. And then the continuing trickle of homeless disappearances downtown. Captain Keele had decided there was no pattern, no evidence of murder. The cases had been kicked over to Missing Persons. The files would probably sit there for months before anyone got to them.
And now the pinning of the bombing on the HDF. It had to be a set-up. But for what? And for whom? How did it all tie together?
Still sipping his coff
ee, Sylvester looked at an article he had printed off the New York Times website and then walked to the map with the marker. He made a new mark on the map, just off the coast of Brazil: “Ferry Accident”.
Yawning, Sylvester walked over to the couch and extracted a liquorice container from underneath some files. The tub was empty. Shaking his head, Sylvester walked to the coat rack by the door and put on his overcoat. He left the light on; he’d only be gone a few minutes.
It was a cool Angel City evening, the streets quiet and nearly empty this late, except for the occasional homeless person or drunk club-goer stumbling her way back home. A black Maserati suddenly roared past on the quiet street and was gone as quickly as it came. A light mist hung in the air, seemingly swirling around the street lights. Sylvester reached the corner news-stand. He nodded to the familiar, overweight man working behind the counter as he walked in. The detective grabbed a bag of liquorice, along with the early edition of the Angel City Times – sometimes he still liked to have the physical paper. All kinds of Angel tourist merchandise and trinkets were crammed around the store: little teddy bears with “I Angel City” sweaters, maps to Angel houses, little mugs with the Angel City sign printed on them.
“Late night, detective?” the man behind the counter asked in a thick accent. He wore a brown polyester shirt, unbuttoned, with a white wife-beater under it.
“Something like that, Chas,” Sylvester said. “How’s business?”
“Oh, you know, can’t complain.”
Sylvester nodded, tucking the liquorice and paper under his arm as he walked out of the store. The arguing couple had disappeared, and the street was almost totally silent as Sylvester reached his apartment building and walked up the stairs to the second floor. His hands automatically found his keys in his pocket and unlocked the deadbolt.
It wasn’t until he opened the door and stepped into the pitch-black apartment that he realized the light had been turned off.
Sylvester’s hand instinctively went for his gun.
“Looking for this, detective?” a voice from the dark said. Straining his eyes, Sylvester could see the metal of his gun glinting in the reflection from the street light shining in the window. He cursed himself – he’d taken his holster off earlier in the night. “Turn on the light,” the voice said.