Hollyweird

  “Dude,” Des barked. “What’re you afraid of? Obviously we’re not prejudiced against PNs.”

  “Yeah,” Aly said in a hurt tone. “Haven’t we proven ourselves?”

  “You have,” I rushed to assure them. “It’s just … against the rules.”

  “Rules?” Aly asked.

  I rubbed my hands over my face before looking at them again. “I have a strict code of conduct I’m required to follow.” And I can’t screw up my one chance at getting back in good graces with the big guy.

  “And if you don’t follow the rules, what happens?” Des asked. “Do you belong to some kind of magical mafia? Will your powers, whatever they are, get whacked?”

  That wasn’t too far off. “I’m sorry,” I said, kicking a rock across the sidewalk. “He’d totally—”

  A burly biker with a beard and a crossbones do-rag walked out of the shop behind us with a Saran Wrapped arm just as Aly gasped, “It is the mafia.”

  I nodded at the dude and gave a heh-heh laugh until he passed by. “No!” I said, horrified at her inadvertent comparison of my boss to Al Capone.

  “Then are you part of a clan, a pack, a coven?” Des pushed.

  “Stop,” I said in exasperation. “It’s not like that.” A little help here, I silently pleaded.

  “Why so super-secret then?” Des asked. “You’ve had no problems telling us about weres, fangs, sirens, hags, and succubuses.”

  “Succubi,” Aly corrected. “Not buses.”

  “Succubi,” Des repeated, then asked me, “What makes you so special?”

  Aly gave me a quizzical look. “Does everyone of your ilk keep themselves secret?”

  “Ilk? Ilk?” Des repeated, stepping onto the base of a lamppost and then hanging off it by one arm. “Who says that?”

  “What?” Aly said in a haughty tone. “It works perfectly well in this context.”

  “Whatev, word nerd.” Des hopped down and turned back to me. “So, how ’bout it? Is everyone of your ilk”—she leaned on the word and gave Aly a cheesy grin—“required to keep a super-secret identity?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “But? But how are we supposed to trust you if we don’t even know what you are?” Des asked.

  “Clearly he’s a good guy,” Aly said, and I felt grateful for her defense. “He wouldn’t be trying to stop Dakota if he wasn’t.”

  “You can’t know that,” Des argued. “He could have his own agenda. He’s asked us to believe him and everything that he’s shown us, but he’s unwilling to reveal himself.” She crossed her arms over her chest and gave me an evil eye. “Seems awfully suspicious to me.”

  “She’s got a point.” Aly bit her lip.

  “Rules are meant to be broken,” Des said.

  “Oh, Des.” Aly gave a long-suffering sigh. “You’re always wanting to break the rules. Even when it’s unwarranted.”

  “It’s not unwarranted here. We need to know exactly what we’re involved with.”

  “Believe me,” I said, arms held wide as I tried desperately to re-steer this careening conversation. “I’d tell you everything, but—”

  “You’re being hypocritical,” Des accused me.

  I felt caught in a freakin’ tornado of feminine force. My head started to pound. “I … I … ” I stammered, not knowing if I’d snap under pressure and spill everything or run while I still could. Then I heard the haunting strains of a six-string guitar and Robert Plant singing about a lady and gold.

  “Excuse me,” I said, stepping away and digging in my pocket for the phone. It was HIM. My hand trembled as I flipped it open and saw the little envelope icon indicating a text message. My gaze skittered to the girls, now whispering amongst themselves and staring at me, before pressing okay.

  From: God

  It’s all good. U better tell them the truth.

  CB: 777-777-7777

  10:07 PM

  Permission granted. Sagging in relief, I blew out ten pounds of tension and then sent up a silent thank you.

  “You can quit scowling, Des.” I stepped forward with a happy grin. “I just got permission to tell you everything.”

  She looked at the phone I held up in my hand. “ ‘Stairway to Heaven’?” she asked, in reference to my ringtone.

  “Yeah, that’s what I couldn’t—”

  “You’re an aaaangel,” Aly said, and not with the reverence you’d expect. Her voice sounded somewhere between doubtful and distressed.

  The ringtone sounded again and I absently pressed okay.

  From: God

  Maybe Zeppelin was a little obvs?

  CB: 777-777-7777

  10:09 PM

  Great, just great.

  I huffed out a frustrated breath and decided to get everything out in the open. “Yeah, I’m a fallen angel”—as their jaws dropped at the word “fallen” I rushed to finish my explanation—“but I’m trying to earn my wings back by messing with Dakota’s plans. He’s got something big and bad going down, and I have to find out what it is ASAP and put a stop to it without blowing my cover.”

  “He doesn’t know—” Des halted herself. “Stupid question. If he knew, he wouldn’t have you working for him. Why can’t he tell you’re a feather but that vamp could?”

  Damn smart girl, that Des. “Vamps and weres can pretty much identify any PN because of their heightened sense of smell,” I told her. “Dakota doesn’t have that ability, but he’s got plenty of others.”

  “Do you?” Des asked.

  “I can hear better than most, but that’s about it.”

  Aly’s face looked whitewashed. “But that means … if you’re an angel … that means you’re dead?”

  Oh, hell, I thought. Her mother’s passing had really hurt her. I didn’t want to add to that. Yeah, technically I was the walking dead. But not like a vampire. When a human is bitten by a vampire, their sire brings them to the edge of darkness, a place where they teeter between the living and the expired. If medical help reaches the victim in time, they can be fully revived, but if they’re left in that netherworld between breath and death, they turn into a vampire. Not quite dead, not quite alive. Angels, on the other hand, are people in good graces who’ve actually died, and now are working at the right hand of God.

  As for me, specifically—well, “I’m in purgatory, until I hopefully earn my way back in,” I finally said. “I did pass away, but I’m not like a ghost. You can see me, hear me, feel me. I’m as real as you are, but … ” I grasped both Aly’s hands in mine so she could feel my warmth, my living flesh. “I have no heartbeat.”

  Her eyes crinkled in sorrow and disbelief. Sliding her hands from mine, she laid them on my chest, over my heart. For just a moment, I could swear on a stack of Bibles that I felt it thunder, heard it ba-boom.

  “Why did you fall?”

  I laid one hand over hers, my other hand still gripping my phone. As I looked into her eyes, the rest of the world dissolved away.

  “I used to be a troublemaker—cocky, convincing, cute; just ask me, I would’ve told you—and like a lot of people our age, I thought I was invincible. I wasn’t. When I died so young, I—”

  “Are you really nineteen?” she blurted out. “Or more like one hundred nineteen?”

  “I’m really nineteen,” I assured her. “I died about nine months ago in a hit-and-run accident. And I was pissed. Really freakin’ pissed. Despite being a handful, I was let into heaven, but I didn’t look at it as the gift it was. Instead, I tried to raise hell in heaven and promptly got my wings clipped, a makeover so no would recognize me, and my butt booted down here. It wasn’t until I got assigned to Dakota that I understood what a real bad-ass was and I didn’t want to be anything like that. I’ve been here just over six months, working undercover, paying penance.”

  “I’d say you’ve been doing a good job,” she said. “You’ve protected us.”

  “Thanks,” I said, touched by her words. “Let’s hope He”—I pointed up with my phone—“agrees.”
/>
  “So, you don’t really look like this?” she asked as she gently tugged her hands free and then playfully plucked at the spiky ends of my hair.

  I smiled. “Close. My hair was a lot longer and a tad darker. My eyes were blue instead of green. And I had a scar through my eyebrow.” I pointed over my left eye. “But otherwise, this is pretty much me.”

  “You’re just different enough that you won’t scare anyone you once knew?”

  “I might give them pause, but—”

  “But they’d rationalize away the similarities,” she finished.

  “Right. And this way, I still feel like me.”

  “So, is there like a whole extreme makeover department up there?” Des asked. “Cosmetic surgeons, dentists, beauticians … ”

  “Not exactly,” I said with a laugh, turning my attention to her. I’d been so wrapped up in Aly I’d completely forgotten Des for a moment. I pointed my phone at her. “It’s more presto change-o than that.”

  “Gimme that,” Des said, yanking the cell out of my hand.

  “Holy shit-ake mushrooms!” she cried out, even as she self-censored. “A Seraphone. This ain’t no Verizon or T-Mobile model; you actually have a celestial cell.” She scrolled through my texts. “A direct line.” Her hands shook as she peered at my phone in beatific astonishment. “This is like Ellen Degeneres’s old ‘Phone Call to God’ skit my mom has shown me over and over again.” Her thumb hovered over the buttons. “Can I?”

  My ringtone sounded again, startling Des into a yelp.

  When she looked to me for permission, I nodded. She clicked okay on the message and a rapturous smile spread across her face. “He said: Hello, Desdemona. Thank you for helping Jameson.”

  Desi hugged my Seraphone to her chest, but Aly’s eyes were swimming with unshed tears.

  “Aly?” I asked.

  She swallowed several times, trying to regain composure, and when she couldn’t, she walked away.

  Catching up to her, I gently grabbed her arm and turned her to face me. “Your mom?”

  She nodded and a lone tear streamed down her face. “It’s been two years since I lost her. I’ve tried to imagine her in heaven, watching over me, but I … ” She grabbed my shirt front. “If you can be here, why can’t she?”

  “I’m here because I was stupid. She wasn’t. She’s up there.” I looked heavenward. “Where she belongs.”

  Her gaze followed mine to the smog-shrouded ceiling of California. Not your most impressive view of heaven, or the best way to give a girl comfort. But then, despite a still, breezeless night, the pollution parted to reveal a black, diamond-encrusted sky. Aly gasped at the clear perfection.

  “Watching over me?” she asked.

  “Always,” I answered with complete certainty.

  “Wow,” Des said. “God is truly cinematic.”

  I chuckled and took my phone from her. “If he can’t be dramatic, who can be?”

  “True enough,” Aly said, with the first smile that I’d seen radiate throughout her entire being.

  “I’m almost tempted to think you spiked my drink,” Des said with a tonsil-baring yawn. “There’s a whole freakin’ society we never knew about, Joan Rivers is a hag, you’re a naughty angel, and the Lord almighty just texted me. By the way, he’s the only one besides my mom who can get away with calling me Desd—that other name, so don’t go getting any ideas. Man, I couldn’t make this sh—stuff up if I tried.”

  “No kidding,” Aly agreed. “It’s all so … life altering. What do we do from here?”

  What she should do and what I wanted her to do—totally different things. I wanted to take her in my arms. I wanted her to stay forever. I wanted her to be mine.

  “I hate to say it,” I replied, “but you guys should cut your trip short and go home before Dakota can get to you or Missy.”

  “No way,” Des scoffed. “You dump all this on us and then expect us to just go home like nothing’s changed?”

  “What else are you going to do?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” Aly said, and then exchanged a knowing look with her best friend. “But Desi’s right. We don’t leave for another four days and … and I think we’re supposed to be here. God did thank her for helping you.”

  Now she gets faithful! My cell seemed to ring in answer to her statement and I fought the urge to roll my eyes.

  “What’s he say?” Aly and Des asked in sync.

  They’re right. They’re meant to stay.

  The girls cheered, and a part of me did too, but I couldn’t help thinking they had no idea what they were getting involved in. Before I could say as much, Aly’s phone sang the first bars of Paranormal PI’s theme song, and she stared at it in disgust. “I so need to change that.”

  “Uh oh,” she said after reading the text. “It’s from Missy.”

  Des grabbed the Blackberry and held it up so we could read the message.

  911! Get back here ASAP!

  ALY

  “Think this is a Missmergency?” Des asked from the front passenger seat.

  A Missmergency is when Missy sends out a dire page that really means “I want your attention. Now!” rather than an actual 911 sitch.

  I shrugged. “Hard to say.” I’d tried calling my sister to find out what the deal was, but naturally she hadn’t answered. “Knowing her, probably. Still, considering everything, we better check on her.”

  Des twisted around to look back at me. “What about

  … you know? Do we tell her everything?”

  I thought about it for all of a second. “No, she’d never believe. Or she’d totally freak. Neither would be good.”

  Turning her attention to Jameson, Des said, “Maybe your boss could call and convince her.”

  “Not going to happen.” He shook his head as he whizzed past a pokey Pontiac. “I’ve never seen or spoken to him. Those texts were the first communication I’ve ever had from him.”

  Des shrugged. “So we’ll show her the texts.”

  “She’ll just think we’re cranking her,” I said. “Not like we haven’t done it before.”

  “True ’nuff,” Des agreed with a little chuckle.

  “Besides,” I admitted, “I don’t want to disillusion her.”

  Des chewed on her lip ring for a moment and then gave an understanding nod. “I get it.”

  “I just couldn’t do that to her,” I murmured. “She’s a total PITA, but being an actress is all she’s talked about since Mom died and I don’t want to take that away from her. I’m afraid if we told her the truth, showed her the real Hollywood, she’d be crushed. To her it’s all about making dreams a reality, not reality being the dream.”

  I might not get along with Miss, or even like her most the time, but I couldn’t strip away her tie to Mom. That would kill her. The truth about Dakota—about Hollyweird—would simply have to stay secret.

  Des reached back and gave my hand a tight squeeze. “We’ll stay mum, so she can stay a pain-in-the-ass diva.”

  “Thanks,” I said with a light laugh.

  When Des faced forward again, I caught Jameson’s concerned gaze in the rear-view mirror and my stomach somersaulted. I held his look for three heartbeats, growing breathy with awareness, before I consciously snapped our connection.

  Leaning my head against the cool glass of the car window, I stared up at the night sky. Not only had Jameson changed my entire perspective on life, on the very world, but he’d changed the way I looked at him.

  Everything made sense now—why he’d seemed so conflicted about working for Dakota, his disgust with Chastity, his asking if I believed in angels, and his habit of watching over me so closely.

  Wait … does he really only watch over me because of his job?

  Sure, he looked out for both me and Des, as I’m sure he was duty-bound to do, but was I wrong in thinking he kept an extra-close eye on me? Without turning my head, I glanced back to the rear-view mirror and my gaze collided again with his. Maybe not. With a sma
ll smile on my face and a flush in my cheeks, I turned away and returned my gaze to heaven.

  For the first time in two years I felt a sense of peace, of knowing, of not being alone. When Mom had first died, I’d felt so lost and lonely. Yes, I had Des and Dad, but my mom was a part of me, and me her; without her I felt incomplete. I’d wanted desperately to believe she was watching over me, but I couldn’t. My faith had fizzled away. Now it had been restored. Sure, the world might be populated with vampires and demons, but it also had (fallen) angels and God.

  And even Mom. Somewhere—a star winked at me—up there.

  I still had questions, doubts, and fears, but I also had a new sense of security, hope, and even purpose. Whatever came next, and I had no doubt that Des and I had been called here for something, I would stand and face it.

  The only thing that really worried me was that, like Jameson, I might be falling.

  Falling for him.

  Jameson

  Aly had warned Missy about crying wolf, but that hadn’t stopped her from raising a false alarm. Here we’d raced to the Wilshire only to discover her having a celebratory party-for-one.

  “I rocked my auditions!” she squealed. “And they weren’t just walk-ons. We’re talking real roles with real dialogue. I’ve got another one tomorrow.”

  Any other time her excitement would have been contagious, but we knew Dakota had ulterior motives for helping her. There would be no convincing Missy of that, though. Aly said she didn’t want to disillusion her sister and I understood that—how could I not? For the most part, I’d already told Des and Aly that “I reject your reality and substitute my own.” I’d forever altered their world view, and, while they’d handled it shockingly well, that wasn’t the kind of thing you wanted to repeat if you could help it.

  “Aw, Missy,” Aly said to her hiccupping sister, “that’s wonderful. How much real champagne have you been drinking?”

  “Only one glass, sissy-poo,” Missy trilled, lounging sideways across an office chair in Hello Kitty pajamas and pink sponge rollers. “Or three,” she said as she held up four fingers.