smooth, curving surface of a beer can. He pulled it out and leaned back, letting the remains of its contents dribble into his mouth and over his chin. Then he tossed the can back at the trash. He missed and the can rolled across the sidewalk and into the gutter.
He didn’t bother picking it up. If the Angels wanted their boulevard to be clean, he told himself, they could come and do it themselves. They’d be cleaning a long time to get the dirt off this city.
He walked over and sat heavily in the doorway he had picked out for the night. It smelled vaguely of urine, but that didn’t bother him. It was out of the wind, and out of the way of the shop owners and the straggling tourists who would still be walking by. With any luck, he wouldn’t be kicked out tonight. He leaned drunkenly against the doorway and watched the glittering lights of the Immortal City spin around him. He smiled. If you had to be homeless, you might as well be homeless in the glorious City of Angels.
His eyes closed, and before he was even aware of his exhaustion, he fell asleep.
When he woke again, he wasn’t sure how long he’d been out, but the boulevard had gone eerily silent. Even at night he could usually still hear the birds in the trees or the occasional stray dog looking for scraps. Tonight, nothing was making a sound. Nothing seemed even to move, apart from the palm trees trembling in the breeze. He sat up and blinked.
Something was wrong.
He was still drunk, that was for sure, but less so now. He could tell he was coming out of it because he could feel the first twinge of what would be his usual headache. This wasn’t an alcohol-induced paranoia, he was pretty sure; something just seemed . . . off. He tried his best to focus his bleary eyes and looked around.
He saw only darkness. Nothing. But something was definitely wrong. He didn’t know it consciously so much as instinctively. As his eyes searched the dark he was suddenly reminded of something he hadn’t thought about in years. Even decades. He remembered being a kid and being afraid of the dark. That’s what it was. It was a
feeling
. A feeling coming from the dark itself. The night around him seemed to be full of a feral, primitive presence, a gnawing, sweating animal instinct, like fear itself.
Then he heard the breathing and realized he wasn’t alone.
“Hello?” he said nervously.
Someone was out there. In the dark.
“Is someone there?”
There was no response, but the breathing continued. A deep, rattling respiration. His eyes looked around wildly.
Then he saw it.
Even at his drunkest, he could never have imagined something so horrific. He opened his mouth, and the boulevard filled with the echoes of his screams.
CHAPTER SIX
M aseratis, Lamborghinis, and limousine car services jammed Sunset Boulevard, stacking up in a long line in front of the Chateau Marmont Hotel, bringing traffic on the glittering Halo Strip to a standstill. Dozens of personnel scrambled to control the scene, directing traffic, holding back the crowds, and coordinating the arrivals. Ranks of spotlights illuminated a red-carpet arrival area and a large white wall with the
Halo Magazine
logo repeated over and over on it. Nearby was an oversized blowup of the
Halo Magazine
cover featuring Jackson Godspeed crouching on a rooftop, wings out, the wind in his hair, under a caption that read “HOT HERO:
Jackson Godspeed prepares to make the leap into Guardianship
.”
Directly across from the wall and the display, an army of photographers, reporters, and journalists waited. Jamie Campbell, the life and style correspondent for ANN, set the glamorous scene as she stood breathlessly in front of her camera.
“We’re here, live at the
Halo Magazine
Commissioning Week release party, one of the hottest events in the Immortal City this week, so much so that word is Angels are stuck up and down Sunset Boulevard just waiting to get in. Jackson Godspeed and his famous wings are on the cover this
He didn’t bother picking it up. If the Angels wanted their boulevard to be clean, he told himself, they could come and do it themselves. They’d be cleaning a long time to get the dirt off this city.
He walked over and sat heavily in the doorway he had picked out for the night. It smelled vaguely of urine, but that didn’t bother him. It was out of the wind, and out of the way of the shop owners and the straggling tourists who would still be walking by. With any luck, he wouldn’t be kicked out tonight. He leaned drunkenly against the doorway and watched the glittering lights of the Immortal City spin around him. He smiled. If you had to be homeless, you might as well be homeless in the glorious City of Angels.
His eyes closed, and before he was even aware of his exhaustion, he fell asleep.
When he woke again, he wasn’t sure how long he’d been out, but the boulevard had gone eerily silent. Even at night he could usually still hear the birds in the trees or the occasional stray dog looking for scraps. Tonight, nothing was making a sound. Nothing seemed even to move, apart from the palm trees trembling in the breeze. He sat up and blinked.
Something was wrong.
He was still drunk, that was for sure, but less so now. He could tell he was coming out of it because he could feel the first twinge of what would be his usual headache. This wasn’t an alcohol-induced paranoia, he was pretty sure; something just seemed . . . off. He tried his best to focus his bleary eyes and looked around.
He saw only darkness. Nothing. But something was definitely wrong. He didn’t know it consciously so much as instinctively. As his eyes searched the dark he was suddenly reminded of something he hadn’t thought about in years. Even decades. He remembered being a kid and being afraid of the dark. That’s what it was. It was a
feeling
. A feeling coming from the dark itself. The night around him seemed to be full of a feral, primitive presence, a gnawing, sweating animal instinct, like fear itself.
Then he heard the breathing and realized he wasn’t alone.
“Hello?” he said nervously.
Someone was out there. In the dark.
“Is someone there?”
There was no response, but the breathing continued. A deep, rattling respiration. His eyes looked around wildly.
Then he saw it.
Even at his drunkest, he could never have imagined something so horrific. He opened his mouth, and the boulevard filled with the echoes of his screams.
CHAPTER SIX
M aseratis, Lamborghinis, and limousine car services jammed Sunset Boulevard, stacking up in a long line in front of the Chateau Marmont Hotel, bringing traffic on the glittering Halo Strip to a standstill. Dozens of personnel scrambled to control the scene, directing traffic, holding back the crowds, and coordinating the arrivals. Ranks of spotlights illuminated a red-carpet arrival area and a large white wall with the
Halo Magazine
logo repeated over and over on it. Nearby was an oversized blowup of the
Halo Magazine
cover featuring Jackson Godspeed crouching on a rooftop, wings out, the wind in his hair, under a caption that read “HOT HERO:
Jackson Godspeed prepares to make the leap into Guardianship
.”
Directly across from the wall and the display, an army of photographers, reporters, and journalists waited. Jamie Campbell, the life and style correspondent for ANN, set the glamorous scene as she stood breathlessly in front of her camera.
“We’re here, live at the
Halo Magazine
Commissioning Week release party, one of the hottest events in the Immortal City this week, so much so that word is Angels are stuck up and down Sunset Boulevard just waiting to get in. Jackson Godspeed and his famous wings are on the cover this
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