Natural Born Angel (Immortal City 2)

The bar was almost empty at this time of the day, everyone at home, riveted by the terrifying footage of the sinkhole in the Pacific. The coming of the prophecy in The Book of Angels. No one could have seen it coming – except for the detective, of course. Everyone was waiting to hear if the Angels would join the fight, despite their conflict with the humans. The boulevards of Angel City were ghostly, empty, the billboards of the perfect Angels leering over empty pavements and bare streets. The Walk of Angels an abandoned corridor, a brutal reminder of how far things had fallen, and were continuing to fall.

The TV squawked, and Sylvester looked up at it again. President Linden walked to the podium. He seemed to have already aged a couple of years in the past week: a few more strands of grey in his presidential hair, his face drawn and tired, his Brooks Brothers suit slightly rumpled. But he still appeared strong for the people.

“My fellow Americans. I speak to you in a dark hour, perhaps the darkest hour we have yet seen. We have had confirmation from numerous theologians and scientists that the sinkhole many of you have seen in the Pacific Ocean is indeed an opened portal for demons, a fulfilling of the prophetic revelations of The Book of Angels. It saddens me to say that mankind will have to face this terrible threat alone. After sending emergency ambassadors to the Archangels of the NAS, to plead with them about the necessity of joining forces and repelling the demon invasion together, I am sad to say that we have made no headway. The Angels refuse our plea for aid in the inevitable battle against the common threat we are now facing. The battle of all time, between good and evil.

“I have said that this may, in fact, be our darkest hour but I also hope it may ultimately prove to be our brightest, as well. Our military heroes across the globe are preparing to meet this challenge head-on and are ready to make the ultimate sacrifice as we make a stand.

“May God bless you all, and God bless America.”

The screen immediately cut back to live footage of the sinkhole.

Sylvester tilted his glass back, draining it of the amber liquid. Sylvester wasn’t one for daytime drinking, but he was damn well going to try to change that on a day like this.

“Excuse me, can I get another one?” Sylvester asked.

The bartender was just standing there, slack-jawed, as the TV turned back to footage of the sinkhole in the ocean. A graphic read: DEMON SINKHOLE GROWS – ANGELS TO STAY ON SIDELINES.

Without even really drawing his gaze from the TV, the bartender dropped two new cubes in the glass and filled it to the brim with liquor.

“That one’s on me,” he said.

Sylvester just nodded and looked back at the screen.

He had failed.

That’s all Sylvester could think of. Despite everything, despite even getting into the inner chambers of the Council to petition Gabriel himself, he had failed. He had been too late. It had been for nothing.

The humans didn’t stand a chance.

And if the Angels thought the Dark Ones would stop with just conquering humanity. . .

The door swung open again, drawing another bout of noisy complaint from the back corner, before it closed. Sylvester didn’t pay it any mind, still looking at the TV.

The person who entered sat on a stool next to him. Sylvester instantly stiffened. It was an Angel. Although many years had passed since he’d had his wings removed, he could still instantly feel the presence, the energy, of one of the Immortals.

“Get you something?” the bartender asked, before suddenly being drawn up short by the perfect Immortal in front of him. How long had it been since an Angel had graced the bar?

“No, I’m fine, thank you,” a woman’s voice said. “We’ll be leaving shortly.”

“An Angel doesn’t need a drink for the apocalypse?” Sylvester said, his voice dripping with bitterness. He lifted up his glass and took a sip, still only looking at the TV.

“Your partner said I could find you here,” the voice next to him said.

The detective shook his head. “Bill,” he said.

“You shouldn’t be here at a time like this,” the voice said.

Sylvester finally turned his head. He was met by the face of Archangel Susan Archson.

“Susan?” His brow furrowed in puzzlement.

“How long has it been? Fifteen years? Too long,” she said.

The detective’s face darkened. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with the rest of the Angels, getting some popcorn and a front row seat?” He motioned to the sinkhole on TV.

“I’m here to get you, David,” she said. Maddy’s former instructor almost glowed in the dark bar, her red lipstick set against her skin. “We have work to do. It’s not too late.”

“What do you mean?”