Immortal City (Immortal City 1)

“Mark, what’s going on?”

Mark picked up the remote off the kitchen island and turned the TV off.

“We don’t have long. A detective from the ACPD will be here soon. Just let me do the talking.”

Jacks looked between them.

“Would someone please just tell me—”

A buzz echoed in from the foyer. Mark stepped over to the security cameras and looked at the image of the police officer waiting in his unmarked car at the gate. Mark studied the face. It was different now, he thought. The years had dulled the edges of David’s features. His eyes, though, still burned with that same righteous fury, and in that way, he was undeniably the same.

Mark activated the gate and watched on-screen as the vehicle pulled up the drive. Jacks gave Mark an expectant look when he returned. Mark looked at his stepson evenly.

“There’s been an incident on Angel Boulevard. There’s reason to believe an Angel was attacked. And mortalized. Perhaps even murdered.”

It was several seconds before Jacks could fully absorb what his stepfather was telling him. Of course he knew Angels could be made mortal—he and every other Angel were warned relentlessly in Guardian training about the consequences for certain actions—but killing them wasn’t something that happened. Not in modern times. Not in Angel City.

“What . . . how . . .”

The doorbell echoed.

“Remember,” Mark said, placing a hand on Jackson’s shoulder, “let me do the talking.”

Mark walked to the door and opened it.

“Mark,” Sylvester said.

Mark nodded. “David.”

“It’s been a long time.”

“Yes, it has,” Mark said. “Come in.” The Archangel stepped out of the way and Sylvester entered with another policeman. “I thought you had retired,” Mark said. Sylvester took a quick glance around the expansive house before returning his gaze to Mark.

“This is Sergeant Garcia,” he said.

The two shook hands. Mark gestured toward the living room. Sylvester took a seat on one of the leather sofas across from Jacks and Kris. Garcia stood near the back.

“I’d like to know what you thought you were doing trying to arrest my stepson,” Mark said as he came in and sat with them.

“I could bring Jacks downtown right now, Mark,” Sylvester said. “I could detain him up to forty-eight hours. I’m here out of courtesy. And respect.”

“How could you suspect him of anything in this matter?” Mark barked. “It’s an outrage.”

“Jackson left the party in a hurry at the probable time the crime was committed, he was in the immediate area, and no one had seen him. Simple. We needed to bring him in for questioning. He resisted, attempted to abduct a young lady, and one of our officers was compelled to discharge his weapon.”

Jacks stood up in protest, but Kris pulled him back down on the sofa. Mark dismissed Sylvester’s words with a wave of his hand.

Juan, eyes bleary with sleep, pushed a tray in from the kitchen. Hot coffee, peanut butter sandwiches, cookies, and milk.

“Thank you, Juan,” Kris said, and set out the late-night snacks. Sylvester pulled out his notepad.

“This will only take a moment. Jackson, please, can you just tell me why you left the party and where you went afterward?”

Jacks looked at Mark, who nodded.

“I just left to get some air. I was driving on Sunset, and then I stopped at the diner. Two officers came in, and you know the rest.”

“They reported you were in the back, with a waitress.”