Natural Born Angel (Immortal City 2)

Sitting down at the couch, he turned on the small TV he sometimes pulled out from the cupboard. He’d had to buy the digital-to-analogue converter in order for it to work any more. Somehow it seemed more sensible than getting one of those flat screens. He took another sip of his drink.

As it warmed up, the TV showed footage of people huddled under blankets, being ushered away from a scene by emergency workers.

“. . . and officials worry that at least fifty have died in a train-derailing accident at St Pancras Station in London. This comes just a day after an electrical storm in Northern Germany caused a series of fatal accidents along the Autobahn outside Hamburg.”

Sylvester was watching the TV with one eye, the other on the case file in front of him. A correspondent was reporting from inside St Pancras Station, which was a combination of sleek, futuristic European styling and lighter neo-Gothic arches and details. The reporter was standing on the platform in front of a twisted and crumpled Eurostar train. It didn’t look strange for a derailment, although the reporter was saying that these modern trains had an impeccable safety record.

But Sylvester suddenly stiffened.

Standing up with the glass in one hand, he took a sip while turning the volume up with the other hand, all the while his eyes fixed on the screen. He got closer to the television and peered as the woman continued speaking.

“Experts say they have little evidence for technical failure in the high-speed train, and forensic investigators are working to find some cause for the terrible accident in London today.”

Sylvester leaned even closer, almost as close as he could to the screen. Behind the woman standing on the platform, behind the train wreck itself, along the red brick walls, were marks. Deep in the brick. They were so consistent as to almost look like stripes – or claw marks. Sylvester studied the image on the screen until it cut back to the anchors in the studio.

In a daze, the detective walked back to his couch and sat down.

The voice from the TV prattled on:

“And up next: how Angels and Protections in the Immortal City are taking Senator Linden’s latest jump in the polls only five weeks before the election and after the Council threatened to retaliate against the Immortals Bill. Is the senator as dangerous to Angels as many claim?”

He reached for the remote and turned the TV off.

Sylvester drained his glass and pulled his laptop – a piece of technology he’d begrudgingly allowed the department to give him – out from under a stack of papers. After opening the computer, he searched for “St Pancras”, and dozens of hits came up. He began scanning the images of the accident.

The clear, hideous gashes in the brick walls of the train station appeared again and again in the images. No one on the Internet seemed to comment on them; apparently they assumed the crashing train had made them. But the detective knew better.

He had seen marks like that once before.

Last year on a prison cell wall, dripping with blood.

CHAPTER 10

Jackson looked out of the tinted car window and took a breath. A dull sound could be dimly heard from outside, almost like being underwater. He looked over at Maddy, who anxiously peered out of the window. She took a big breath. Jackson wondered if she’d ever really get used to it. He’d been born into it, while the attention and chaos was being thrust upon her suddenly.

The valet opened the door, and any sense of quiet dissolved into shouts, hollers and screams. Jacks and Maddy stepped on to the red carpet to the event on Santa Monica Boulevard. A mass of photographers pressed against their barricades, shouting, their cameras flashing, their voices competing with a throng of die-hard Angel followers who screamed in delight as they saw Jackson and Maddy pull up.

The red carpet correspondent for A! gleefully announced to her viewers back home: “Angel City’s ‘It’ couple, Jackson Godspeed and Maddy Godright, have arrived at the event tonight!”

The whole mess was held back by a cluster of security personnel who kept things in line for the Angels as well as Protections who were arriving.

Maddy and Jacks took their first steps along the carpet, adjusting to the blinding flashes.

Taking a deep breath, Jackson tried to summon the memory of what it had been like. Before the injury. He began walking down the carpet, trying to hide his still slightly noticeable limp. The crowd could sense something was slightly off – this was one of just a handful of official public appearances he’d made since he’d been injured. Nevertheless, Jackson turned, looked out into the adoring crowd, and waved, getting a large cheer from the fans. He smiled widely in appreciation.

Suddenly he heard a cheer just as big, if not bigger, as the one he had received. He saw that Maddy was no longer by his side – she had stopped and was signing some autographs.

“Maddy! Maddy!” the photographers screamed. “How was your first day of training? Jacks! Jacks! Jacks! Are you giving her any tips? Jacks, when do you think you’ll be back as a Guardian? Maddy, when are you going to get your wings?!”

Maddy and Jacks just smiled and lightly waved at everyone, making their way down the red carpet.

“Over the shoulder! Over the shoulder!”

Maddy had enough experience to know by now what this meant. She cocked her body slightly away from the photographers on the edge of the carpet and looked back over her shoulder at them.

“Who are you wearing?”

“It’s a new designer named Fluxe from Paris,” Maddy said. She smiled as widely as she could as Darcy and her new assistant, Christina, met them and shepherded them through the on-carpet interviews.