Battle Angel (Immortal City 3)

Then, like a flash, it came upon her. She saw Jackson’s frequency. Immediately her mind clouded over with indistinct waves of abstract images and feelings. The vision she was drawing from Jacks was unclear.

And she felt pain.

He needed her. And now she knew where he was going to end up. His final destination. She’d seen it, for a split second. Even if she couldn’t believe it. It was worse than suicide.

Veering left, she set her course toward the Angel City Hills. Her wings pumped powerfully as she tried to gain speed.

Then, in the distance, although it seemed impossible at first, like some trick of the imagination, she saw it. From her soaring vantage point, she watched a fleet emerging from the clouds, flying toward the heart of the battle. It was unbelievable. The Angels! The rest of the Angels were here!

Maybe they could lead her to Jacks before it was too—

Maddy didn’t even realize what had happened until the blow had struck her. A ferocious demon claw swatted at her from the side, crushing her right wing with immense force. She gasped in surprise and pain. The demon had just materialized out of the darkness, like a phantom. A hissing, smoldering nightmare.

Screaming in agony and seared by the touch of dark fire, Maddy crumpled, her body reduced to a lump of pain. She tumbled downward, her right wing useless. Downward and downward she fell, into the pitch-blackness below.

Until all was finally black.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Laptops were packed up, documents shoved into bags, hard drives stacked into boxes. It was time for the resistance to move. If there was still any time at all.

A loud explosion tore through the streets outside. The entire office rumbled, some dust falling from the ceiling tiles.

Detective Sylvester was dumping out the dregs of his coffee into a wastebasket and shredding documents. Pinned on the wall beside him was the enormous map of the Angel City basin. The Angels were broadcasting information through a radio while a woman listened and plotted out the demon attacks, wave by wave, with multicolor pushpins. They were trying to find a pattern. Anything to give them the upper hand to find the head demon and stop the war.

Susan came up to Sylvester, a box in her hands. She was ready to go. “I know it may not seem like it right now,” she said as she looked around at the room of people getting ready to flee, “but this is a victory. The Angels came.”

“A victory, sure, but it might be short-lived,” Sylvester said. “We don’t know if even the entire Battle Angel battalion can hold them long enough for me to figure out how to get at the leader. And on top of everything, our office is right in the line of fire, and now we have to move again.” The detective gestured to the chaos around them as two resistance members started taking down the pin-riddled maps.

“That comes down last!” the detective said.

The two staffers nodded silently and backed away.

“Sylvester, listen to me. They finally came,” Susan said.

Sylvester nodded. “Jackson was the key the whole time. I should have known to focus on him from the start.”

“You know what they say about hindsight,” Susan said.

“That it’s twenty-twenty?”

“Something like that.”

He allowed himself a slight smile at Susan.

“Louis and our other sources say that almost all the Angels have turned,” Sylvester said. “If this is true, then that’s huge. That’s a crucial feather in our cap. But, even so, don’t think it will just be over like that. There are still many factions. Gabriel and the Council won’t stand down quietly. This is just the beginning. But at least the ti

de has shifted.”

“You don’t have to tell me about Angel politics,” Susan said, winking. “I’m an Archangel, remember? Listen, though. Silver linings are pretty hard to come by these days. Can’t you just enjoy this for a second?”

Another loud explosion shook the building. Sylvester smiled grimly. “For you, Susan, I’ll try my best.”

“Archangel Archson! David!” Bill Garcia shouted. The two turned quickly to the sergeant at the door, where people were rushing around, shuttling things out into the convoy of cars.

Garcia was helping someone in. The man was walking slowly, clearly old or injured and in need of Garcia’s assistance. Sylvester saw that he had a jacket thrown over his back, and with dread, he noticed that a tiny trail of droplets followed the huddled figured as he entered the room. Droplets of blood.

The man looked up.