Natural Born Angel (33 page)

The woman in the studio looked in disbelief at the professor. The bedlam was still occurring on screen behind her in the studio.

“What does it mean, the ‘Darkness’?”

The professor cleared his throat.

“That has been debated for some time among scholars. But after last year’s incidents with the demon in Angel City, it has been considered almost conclusive that it would be some kind of Dark Angel contingent. And from my confidential sources in both the Angels organization and the ACPD, we are almost certain it is demons. I just spoke with President Linden and urged him to focus all our available military resources, and those of all our allies, on meeting this threat. But conventional weapons will have limited effect on our supernatural enemies. Given the rapid growth of the hole, I would say we have twenty-four hours at most before the full attack begins. And we still have no idea what its form will take, or who or what is leading it.”

The anchor posed a question:
“What would you have viewers do?”

The professor almost laughed, but then just shook his head slowly, sadly.
“Do? I would say it is an important time to be with your loved ones. That’s what I will be doing.”

Maddy heard a small voice, distant. She realized it was Tom on the phone still.

“Maddy? Maddy?”

She slowly lifted the phone back to her ear. “I’m here, Tom.”

“We just got the order from Linden.” His voice was tense, focused. “I’m on my way to the carrier. We’re deploying within the hour, Maddy.”

“But the professor just said that conventional weapons won’t do anything against the demons. You don’t know what you’re up against!” Maddy protested, her voice quaking with emotion as she remembered once again the terrible sight of that demon careening along the freeway, and then atop the library tower. Smoke, fire and the emissary of hellishness. She imagined an army of them and shuddered.

After the destruction last year in Angel City with just one demon, what was an army of thousands upon thousands of demons going to do?

“We have to, Maddy. The war on Angels is over. Now we’re just fighting for our survival,” Tom said. “I’m doing my duty.”

“Tom,” she said, tears streaming down her face. “I’ll come see you. Before you leave. To say goodbye.”

“I would” – she could hear the fighter pilot’s voice quavering slightly – “I would love that. I will see you there, then. I need to go now, Maddy. I’ll be at Dock 2.”

The phone went silent. “Tom’s going to fight them, Kevin.”

“Sit down for one minute, Maddy,” Uncle Kevin said, putting a kind hand on her shoulder as she sank down to the couch. He came back shortly with two cups of tea. The warm smell of the tea filled the living room, a stark contrast to the darkness they were feeling.

“There are still the Angels,” he said. “They can fight. For earth.”

Maddy looked up at her uncle with uncertain eyes.

“Well, they can’t just stand by. How could they?” Kevin said.

“The demons, they’re here for the mortals. Not the Angels,” Maddy said. “The Angels know that. According to the prophecy, this coming of the demons has one purpose: to overtake the world and enslave mankind. Now, after we were at the brink of war, the Angels . . . they’ll be too proud to help us now.”

Maddy’s mind cast back to her final meeting with Jackson. His bitterness. Her heart ached.

Suddenly, from the kitchen, they heard the faint tinkling of glasses in the cupboard. The pictures on the mantle started to shift slightly under the vibrations. The windows rolled under the trembling. Maddy steadied herself by putting a hand on the side of a chair. It was another small earthquake, and it quickly faded. But Maddy could only assume that it wouldn’t be the last.

Maddy and Kevin faced each other.

“Tom’s waiting for me,” she said.

Squeezing Kevin’s hand, she stood up. Here, in this incredible time of uncertainty, doubt, and darkness, she was sure of one thing, at least: she had somewhere to be, someone to see.

*

The last tremors of the quake had faded by the time Archangel William Holyoake recorded the brief video statement to be released to President Linden, the GAC and the worldwide media. Simple, to the point and brutal:
“We regret to inform you that we will not intercede on the humans’ behalf in this conflict with the demons.”

Just behind the Archangel, to his left, stood Jackson Godspeed, wearing his advanced, matte-black battle armour. His daunting wings remained sheathed for now. Jackson’s eyes remained neutrally focused forward towards the camera as Holyoake spoke. Emotionless. Other Guardians were also collected near the podium, including Mitch, Steven Churchson and Emily Brightchurch, in a show of strength and solidarity. Emily stood just beside Jackson in black leggings and a loose, low-cut tank top, and, on her right wrist, a ton of bracelets that matched her Divine Ring.

The statement was being recorded and transmitted from what looked like little more than a glass cube perched in a grove of trees in the middle of the Angel City Hills. The glass cube was simple: it had a marble floor and an elevator. An elevator that led down to a complex underground system that humans had never laid eyes on. A contingency plan for something exactly like this.

Archangel Holyoake finished his statement and began walking away from the podium. The low buzz of conversation filled the glass room as Guardians began speaking to each other.

Jackson felt his hand getting squeezed. He looked down and saw it was Emily. She smiled at him.

“I’m with you, Jacks. I’ve always believed in you. No matter what state your wings were in. You aren’t weak. We Angels aren’t weak.”

“Oh,” Jacks said without too much enthusiasm. “Thanks, Emily.”

“Now that Maddy’s not in your life, if you ever need anyone to talk to . . . to keep you company, let me know,” Emily said. “I’m strong. Like you.”

“OK,” said Jacks, but his mind seemed elsewhere, and his stare remained distant.

Suddenly a few Guardians shouted and pointed to the horizon. It was another demon scout, sent to Angel City from the growing sinkhole.

The demon, curled tightly into a ball, an emissary of smoke, fire and death, roared overhead, leaving a contrail of ash to float down in the sky. It smashed into the hillside closer to the Angel City sign. The fireball exploded in a maelstrom of flame, and in the distance one could see the limbs of the demon expanding out from the ball. Fire started spreading up the hill with the wind. The demon screamed, and its screech echoed down across the Angel City basin.

Emily jumped and clutched Jacks’s arm. In the distance, the
thing
began to fly, moving towards the glass cube the Guardians were in. It drew closer and closer, until the terrible shifting shape of fire and smoke hovered above the building, its eyes a window into hell.

The Dark Angel screamed, the glass of the cube shivering under the sound waves.

Emily began whimpering. All her talk of being courageous seemed to be an act. Other Guardians began slowly backing up.

Jackson alone was unmoved at the spectacle of the demon. He had already faced his worst fears on the library tower. Not fighting a demon: losing Maddy. Now he had nothing to fear. He walked towards the demon and looked in its eyes.

“Not now. Get out of here.”

The demon, still hovering, snarled and beat its wings once, twice, and was gone, out across the Angel City basin.

Emily was crying in the corner. Jacks turned back to his fellow Guardians, who had retreated in the face of the demon.

“The scouts are getting more frequent,” he said flatly. “Don’t worry, they won’t be bothering us. They have humans to concern themselves with.”

Guardians began speaking over each other.

“The humans will be massacred.”

“It’s saving us a war.”

“I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

“They signed their own death warrant with the Immortals Bill. They can’t expect us to help them now.”

“But how do we know the Dark Ones won’t ultimately come for us?”

“We don’t, for sure.
The Book
seems clear, but we can’t be positive. We’ll be ready regardless.”

“The humans would never be ready.”

Mitch was shaking his head as he heard the fragments of conversation. He stepped up to Jacks and gripped his forearm. He spoke under his breath. “You’ve seen what those things can do, Jacks. What it’s done to Angels. If we’re prepared, we can handle our own. But the humans, Jacks.”

Jacks nodded distantly. Mitch squeezed his arm.

“Are you listening to me?” Mitch asked. “The humans don’t stand a chance.”

A pained expression crossed Jackson’s face. Just for a split second. “Oftentimes difficult decisions must be made.”

“I know you’re hurt. In pain. I can only imagine, man. But she’s not a decision,” Mitch said. “She’s a person, Jacks.”

Mitch let go of Jackson’s arm and began walking across the marble floor towards the elevator. Jackson watched as he went, his pale eyes flickering.

T
he door to the dark old bar swung open as someone left, letting bright daylight pour into the dusty establishment. Two men in a dim corner yelled in anger as the light invaded. It momentarily illuminated dusty photos of Angels, the worn dark wood of the proud old tables, the empty glasses in front of the two drunks. Once the glamorous meeting place for the Angels in the last century, the bar was now a musty Angel City dive, trading on nostalgia, cheap bottom-shelf liquor, and not too many questions.

Propped on a stool, hunched over the bar, Detective Sylvester peered up at the dusty TV. There was going to be a statement from the president. He brought the glass of whisky rocks to his lips and took a long drink.

The bar was almost empty at this time of the day, everyone at home, riveted by the terrifying footage of the sinkhole in the Pacific. The coming of the prophecy in
The Book of Angels
. No one could have seen it coming – except for the detective, of course. Everyone was waiting to hear if the Angels would join the fight, despite their conflict with the humans. The boulevards of Angel City were ghostly, empty, the billboards of the perfect Angels leering over empty pavements and bare streets. The Walk of Angels an abandoned corridor, a brutal reminder of how far things had fallen, and were continuing to fall.

The TV squawked, and Sylvester looked up at it again. President Linden walked to the podium. He seemed to have already aged a couple of years in the past week: a few more strands of grey in his presidential hair, his face drawn and tired, his Brooks Brothers suit slightly rumpled. But he still appeared strong for the people.

“My fellow Americans. I speak to you in a dark hour, perhaps the darkest hour we have yet seen. We have had confirmation from numerous theologians and scientists that the sinkhole many of you have seen in the Pacific Ocean is indeed an opened portal for demons, a fulfilling of the prophetic revelations of
The Book of Angels
. It saddens me to say that mankind will have to face this terrible threat alone. After sending emergency ambassadors to the Archangels of the NAS, to plead with them about the necessity of joining forces and repelling the demon invasion together, I am sad to say that we have made no headway. The Angels refuse our plea for aid in the inevitable battle against the common threat we are now facing. The battle of all time, between good and evil.

“I have said that this may, in fact, be our darkest hour but I also hope it may ultimately prove to be our brightest, as well. Our military heroes across the globe are preparing to meet this challenge head-on and are ready to make the ultimate sacrifice as we make a stand.

“May God bless you all, and God bless America.”

The screen immediately cut back to live footage of the sinkhole.

Sylvester tilted his glass back, draining it of the amber liquid. Sylvester wasn’t one for daytime drinking, but he was damn well going to try to change that on a day like this.

“Excuse me, can I get another one?” Sylvester asked.

The bartender was just standing there, slack-jawed, as the TV turned back to footage of the sinkhole in the ocean. A graphic read: DEMON SINKHOLE GROWS – ANGELS TO STAY ON SIDELINES.

Without even really drawing his gaze from the TV, the bartender dropped two new cubes in the glass and filled it to the brim with liquor.

“That one’s on me,” he said.

Sylvester just nodded and looked back at the screen.

He had failed.

That’s all Sylvester could think of. Despite everything, despite even getting into the inner chambers of the Council to petition Gabriel himself, he had failed. He had been too late. It had been for nothing.

The humans didn’t stand a chance.

And if the Angels thought the Dark Ones would stop with just conquering humanity. . .

The door swung open again, drawing another bout of noisy complaint from the back corner, before it closed. Sylvester didn’t pay it any mind, still looking at the TV.

The person who entered sat on a stool next to him. Sylvester instantly stiffened.
It was an Angel.
Although many years had passed since he’d had his wings removed, he could still instantly feel the presence, the energy, of one of the Immortals.

“Get you something?” the bartender asked, before suddenly being drawn up short by the perfect Immortal in front of him. How long had it been since an Angel had graced the bar?

“No, I’m fine, thank you,” a woman’s voice said. “We’ll be leaving shortly.”

“An Angel doesn’t need a drink for the apocalypse?” Sylvester said, his voice dripping with bitterness. He lifted up his glass and took a sip, still only looking at the TV.

“Your partner said I could find you here,” the voice next to him said.

The detective shook his head. “Bill,” he said.

“You shouldn’t be here at a time like this,” the voice said.

Sylvester finally turned his head. He was met by the face of Archangel Susan Archson.

“Susan?” His brow furrowed in puzzlement.

“How long has it been? Fifteen years? Too long,” she said.

The detective’s face darkened. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with the rest of the Angels, getting some popcorn and a front row seat?” He motioned to the sinkhole on TV.

“I’m here to get you, David,” she said. Maddy’s former instructor almost glowed in the dark bar, her red lipstick set against her skin. “We have work to do. It’s not too late.”

“What do you mean?”

Susan studied the detective’s face for a moment. Her eyes suddenly sparkled. “The girl.”

Adrenaline pumped in Sylvester’s veins. “Maddy?”

Susan nodded.

“You think she has a part to play?”

“I’m positive,” Susan said.

“And what about him?”

“We can’t say,” Maddy’s professor said. She looked towards the door. “They don’t know I’m here. A car is waiting outside. Louis is there.”

“Kreuz?”

“Yes. There are . . . some who do not agree with the Council, David.”

A look of comprehension suddenly came across Sylvester’s face. “It wasn’t DeWitt or Minx who sent me the anonymous emails about the demon attacks . . . it was you.”

Susan’s silence was all the confirmation he needed.

“We need to go. Now,” Susan said.

Sylvester pushed the almost untouched drink away from him on the bar. Susan put a hundred-dollar bill on the bar, but the detective put his hand over hers and forced her to pick it back up.

“I can buy my own drinks,” he said, slapping a twenty down and moving to leave.

In astonishment at the Angel who had just come in, the bartender spoke: “What should I do?”

Both Sylvester and Susan stopped at the threshold, the door half-open. The detective was silhouetted by the plentiful sunshine outside, hands buried in the pockets of his overcoat.

“I would recommend praying,” Sylvester said.