City of Fallen Angels

“Yeah.” Jordan stared blindly into the past. “When I woke up the next morning, I knew what I’d done. I tried to go to her house, to explain. I was halfway there when a big guy stepped into my path and stared me down. He knew who I was, knew everything about me. He explained he was a member of the Praetor Lupus and he’d been assigned to me. He wasn’t too happy that he’d gotten there too late, that I’d already bitten someone. He wouldn’t let me go anywhere near her. He said I’d just make it worse. He promised the Wolf Guard would be watching over her. He told me that since I’d bitten a human already, which was strictly forbidden, the only way I’d evade punishment was to join the Guard and get trained to control myself.

“I wouldn’t have done it. I would have spit on him and taken whatever punishment they wanted to hand out. I hated myself that much. But when he explained that I’d be able to help other people like me, maybe stop what had happened to me and Maia from happening again, it was like I saw a light in the darkness, way off in the future. Like maybe it was a chance to fix what I’d done.”

“Okay,” Simon said slowly. “But isn’t it kind of a weird coincidence that you wound up assigned to me? A guy who was dating the girl you once bit and turned into a werewolf?”

“No coincidence,” Jordan said. “Your file was one of a bunch I got handed. I picked you because Maia was mentioned in the notes. A werewolf and a vampire dating. You know, it’s kind of a big deal. It was the first time I realized she’d become a werewolf after I—after what I did.”

“You never checked up to find out? That seems kind of—”

“I tried. The Praetor didn’t want me to, but I did what I could to find out what happened to her. I knew she ran away from home, but she had a crappy home life anyway, so that didn’t tell me anything. And it’s not like there’s some national registry of werewolves where I could look her up. I just … hoped she hadn’t Turned.”

“So you took my assignment because of Maia?”

Jordan flushed. “I thought maybe if I met you, I could find out what happened to her. If she was okay.”

“That’s why you told me off for two-timing her,” said Simon, thinking back. “You were being protective.”

Jordan glared at him over the rim of the coffee cup. “Yeah, well, it was a jerk move.”

“And you’re the one who shoved the flyer for the band performance under her door. Aren’t you?” Simon shook his head. “So, was messing with my love life part of the assignment, or just your personal extra touch?”

“I screwed her over,” Jordan said. “I didn’t want to see her screwed over by someone else.”

“And it didn’t occur to you that if she showed up at our performance she’d try to rip your face off? If she hadn’t been late, maybe she even would have done it while you were onstage. That would have been an exciting extra for the audience.”

“I didn’t know,” Jordan said. “I didn’t realize she hated me so much. I mean, I don’t hate the guy who Turned me; I kind of understand that he might not have been in control of himself.”

“Yeah,” said Simon, “but you never loved that guy. You never had a relationship with him. Maia loved you. She thinks you bit her and then you ditched and never thought about her again. She’s going to hate you as much as she loved you once.”

Before Jordan could reply, the doorbell rang—not the buzzer that would have sounded if someone had been downstairs, calling up, but the one that could be rung only if the visitor was standing in the hallway outside their door. The boys exchanged baffled looks. “Are you expecting someone?” Simon asked.

Jordan shook his head and put the coffee cup down. Together they went into the small entryway. Jordan gestured for Simon to stand behind him before he swung the door open.

There was no one there. Instead there was a folded piece of paper on the welcome mat, weighed down by a solid-looking hunk of rock. Jordan bent to free the paper and straightened up with a frown.

“It’s for you,” he said, handing it to Simon.

Puzzled, Simon unfolded the paper. Printed across the center, in childish block letters, was the message:

SIMON LEWIS. WE HAVE YOUR GIRLFRIEND. YOU MUST COME TO 232 RIVERSIDE DRIVE TODAY. BE THERE BEFORE DARK OR WE WILL CUT HER THROAT.



“It’s a joke,” Simon said, staring numbly at the paper. “It has to be.”

Without a word Jordan grabbed Simon’s arm and hauled him into the living room. Letting go of him, he rooted around for the cordless phone until he found it. “Call her,” he said, slapping the phone against Simon’s chest. “Call Maia and make sure she’s all right.”

“But it might not be her.” Simon stared down at the phone as the full horror of the situation buzzed around his brain like a ghoul buzzing around the outside of a house, begging to be let in. Focus, he told himself. Don’t panic. “It might be Isabelle.”

“Oh, Jesus.” Jordan glowered at him. “Do you have any other girlfriends? Do we have to make a list of names to call?”

Simon yanked the phone away from him and turned away, punching in the number.

Maia answered on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Maia—it’s Simon.”

The friendliness went out of her voice. “Oh. What do you want?”

“I just wanted to check that you were okay,” he said.

“I’m fine.” She spoke stiffly. “It’s not like what was going on with us was all that serious. I’m not happy, but I’ll live. You’re still an ass, though.”