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“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.”
“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 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 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.
