Natural Born Angel (Immortal City 2)

“We’ll begin with Archangel Archson,” Kreuz said.

“Recommend,” Susan said brightly, smiling at Maddy.

“Phil?”

“Recommend,” Philip said, coughing into his hand.

“Trueway?” Kreuz said, narrowing his eyes.

Maddy looked at her flight instructor, former Agent Trueway. He eyed her without emotion. Maddy’s heart was pounding up through her throat as she waited for him to speak.

“Recommend,” he said.

Silence hung in the room as Maddy looked at Louis Kreuz, who for once didn’t have a cigar in his hand. It needed to be unanimous in order for her to move to Commissioning.

Kreuz looked at Maddy and began addressing her. He was strangely much more formal, as if he felt the gravity of the situation.

He cleared his throat.

“This is exceptional in our history in the training of Angels. A half-Angel, half-human, brought to our facilities for training and Guardianship. And now promoted to nominee after only a short period of training. Unknown territory. We have no idea how she will react in a save. If her inner Angel will truly win out during the save . . . or if her weaker human side will prevail.”

He cleared his throat again, loudly. He continued: “It looks like the minds of the other members of this board are to recommend,” he said. “And I have no choice but to go along with their view.

“Madison Montgomery Godright, you are recommended for Guardianship.”

CHAPTER 22

Sylvester awoke from a strange dream, sitting up in bed. In the dream he had been following someone down a fetid, dark alley, the buildings reaching to the top of the blue-black sky. The alley never ended. It just kept extending and extending, Sylvester never getting any closer. The figure in front of him always remained the same distance away. Every once in a while, the figure would stop and turn around. Sylvester couldn’t see his face.

“Hey! Hey!” Sylvester would yell. He would reach for his gun, but it wouldn’t be there. And the figure would continue running. And Sylvester would keep going down the never-ending alley.

The only thing that changed in the alley was that it got hotter. A lot hotter.

The ring of his landline woke him. The old-school telephone rang again. And again. In his white undershirt and boxers, the detective fumbled for the light, and then the telephone.

He looked at the clock: 4:34 a.m.

“This is Sylvester,” he grumbled into the phone, rubbing his eyes.

“You were looking for me, detective?” a strange voice said on the line in a hushed tone.

Sylvester sat up straight.

“Could be. Who’s this?” Sylvester scrambled to put his glasses on, along with getting a pad of paper and a pen.

“It’s about the bombing. Minx . . . he told me about you. That you might be able to help me.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Sylvester said. “I can help. Now where are you?”

There was silence on the line. Sylvester could hear the man breathing. “No. It’s too dangerous. We need to meet somewhere public.”

“The train station,” Sylvester offered.

“No, they’re watching. The Angel Wax Museum. In the lobby. Noon. Come alone.”

“How will I recognize you?”

“I’ll know you, detective. Noon. Come alone, or you’ll never hear from me again.”