Natural Born Angel (Immortal City 2)

Swallowing his doubts and pride, Jackson walked over towards the cheerful balloons and table, where some people were waiting.

A teenaged girl accompanied by her dad was at the front of the line. She had a pink cast on her broken wrist. She introduced herself as Aimee. Smiling, she had her dad take a picture with Jacks and had him sign her cast.

“Thank you,” the girl said, starting to turn away. “Before I go, one last thing, though,” she said bashfully.

“Yes, Aimee?” Jacks asked expectantly.

“Can you tell Maddy hi for me?” she asked hopefully, looking up at Jacks with batting eyelashes and her broken arm.

“Oh. Uh, of course,” Jacks said, forcing a smile. “She is pretty great, isn’t she?”

The next person in line was even more blunt as Jacks signed a Nike Wings poster from his campaign a couple of years ago. The young man asked point blank: “What’s it like being with Maddy?”

“Maddy’s going to be a great Guardian someday,” Jackson answered through set teeth. This was getting a little too personal. “Next?”

The rest of the event continued pretty much the same way, Mr Rahimi standing behind Jacks and shaking hands with potential customers. And Jacks getting asked by everyone about Maddy.

“You were great out there,” Christina said as she walked Jacks back to his car after he finished his contractual hour appearance.

His shoulders and neck taut, his entire body feeling just wrong, Jacks came to a firm decision. “I’m not doing one of those again.”

“But— ” Christina started.

“I don’t care what Darcy says. No,” he said. “This isn’t what I’ve been working for my entire life – to be a. . .” He couldn’t even finish the sentence as he waved his hand towards Rahimi’s car dealership. “No,” he repeated, slamming his car door shut, wheels squealing as he peeled out of the lot.

“So you’ll watch me this time,” Tom said to Maddy. The array of gauges, dials, lights and meters in the cockpit was dizzying. She had studied the instrument panel from the book the pilot had given her, but facing it right now was a daunting prospect. Still, she thought this time she’d get a chance behind the controls.

“But this is our second lesson already. How am I supposed to— ” she blurted.

“Maddy. This is my show. I know you’re used to getting your way everywhere else out there.” His hand gestured over to the hills that stood between them and Angel City. “But here, what I say goes. If you don’t like it, you can get out right now.”

Maddy bit her tongue, although it took everything she had. Something about this pilot just got under her skin. She wanted to impress him, but he was making that impossible.

“OK,” Tom said. “So I have one

commandment: Do. Not. Touch. The. Controls. Full stop.” Tom looked at her.

“But what if we’re, like— ”

“Even if I have a heart attack and I’m keeled over the controls and we’re plunging to our deaths, don’t even try it.”

“I can fly on my own, you know. I have wings,” Maddy said defensively.

“I’ve read the report. I think that depends on your definition of ‘flying’.”

A slight smile broke through the pilot’s normally serious expression, and Maddy felt suddenly better. His words might sound mocking, but underneath, it was as though he understood what she was going through.

“Let’s go.” The propellers suddenly roared to life, a raucous whirlwind outside Maddy’s window. After a brief taxi, Tom lined the plane up along the small runway. In fact, now that Maddy thought about it, the runway seemed really small. She realized she’d never flown in a plane this small before.

“Are you sure this is long enough to— ” Before she could finish her sentence, she was pressed back in her seat as the aircraft began speeding forward. Her nails dug into the side of the seat as the end of the runway approached.

With a quick lurch, the Cessna lifted off the ground, and then, after a quick ascent, it levelled off. The weightlessness lifted Maddy’s stomach up into her chest for a moment. She peered down as the earth receded below them.

She looked over at the young pilot. His eyes flipped from instruments to the sky in front of him and then back again. His hands moved quickly, smoothly. It was simple, automatic for him, manipulating the controls. He looked like he was just tying his shoes. It just seemed so effortless. Maddy couldn’t explain it, but as they banked to the left, it seemed almost like he and the plane were fused somehow. She began to see why he had come so highly recommended from Professor Archson. After their first lesson, Maddy had done a Google search on “Tom Cooper fighter pilot”, and dozens of results had come up: he had graduated summa cum laude from the Naval Academy in Annapolis with a degree in history, had been selected for the prestigious Navy Strike Fighter Tactics Instruction Programme, and had got many accolades for his flight prowess. She even found some of the navy message boards, and they were calling him the greatest pilot of his generation.

“When reaching sufficient altitude, you have to decrease the— ”

“Angle of attack,” Maddy said, finishing Tom’s sentence. “That’s the way to ensure stability.”