"Dee?" It was Rebeckah.

I yawned as I switched on my intercom. "Present and accounted for. Sorry about the little nap. I ran into a bit of trouble and had to go deep."

She had no sympathy. "Deep? I'd say you went deep. You were totally unresponsive. You're damned lucky you didn't wake up in a Dumpster, Dee. I thought you were arrested."

As if in response to the tone in her voice, all the aches and pains of deep LINK work suddenly assaulted me. Sweat tickled the short hairs at the back of my neck. I desperately wanted to pull off the restrictive helmet and grab a breath of fresh air to clear my pounding head.

"Mouse has an angel infestation." I stifled another yawn. "What do you make of that?"

There was a beat. Rebeckah's voice was tightly controlled, as she asked, "Is the meeting set?"

I nodded. Then, I realized Rebeckah couldn't see me; I was still invisible. Despite the fact that my mouth felt filled with cotton, I managed to say, "Yeah. All set."

"Good. Now, I'm warning you. If you fuck around like that again, Dee, that's it. You understand me? We pull out; you're on your own."

"Got it," I said. I heard a soft click in my left ear as Rebeckah changed to a private channel. I ground my teeth in anticipation. I was about to get my head served to me on a platter. I cringed, waiting tor the scathing words.

Instead, Rebeckah's tone was soft, almost tender. "You've got a serious problem with the wire, Dee."

"What? Fuck you," I said through clenched teeth. "Just what the hell you do you mean by that, Rebeckah?"

"You know what I mean." Her voice was a hoarse whisper. "When this is done, I want you to see someone. Join a twelve-step program or something. Promise me."

"I'm not a junkie."

"Most people can handle it, Dee. They can walk around, live normal lives, all the while hooked into the LINK. Why is it you come out loopy every time you LINK up? Why is it you pass out cold?"

"It's not every time ... only Mouse's -"

Rebeckah cut me off before I could continue. "I'll tell you why," she said. "You're too into it." She jabbed her finger too fast for the holographic armor to keep up, and a wave of rippling skyline punctuated each word. "Too into it. You get wrapped up in every sensation; you have to follow every info stream. You always had that tendency – hell, I'm sure it's part of what made you a great vice cop, but now it's out of control. You're out of control, Dee."

The truck's engine rumbled and sputtered like my mind. I looked around the truck, searching to connect with her invisible eyes. I needed to see if she really meant what she said. Futilely, I scanned for a trace of her face in the emptiness.

I had to admit that Rebeckah spoke some truth, but the LINK wasn't the cause of that slow, twisting feeling that haunted the back of my mind lately. It wasn't the old desperation to know everything – to be a part of it all – that drove me away from reality this time. Now it was the complexity of real life that scared me.

My mouth worked as I tried to find a way to explain everything, to absolve myself, but no words came. I frowned at the corner where I imagined Rebeckah sat. Something more than her fear of my old habit was eating at her. I pressed the switch in my glove to hail her on the private channel again. When I heard her connect, I asked, "Have you lost people to the wire lately, Rebeckah?"

The line hissed quietly.

"You have, haven't you?" I said. "What happened?"

"It was ugly. I don't want to talk about it."

"Ugly?" I repeated, surprised. When I was on the LINK-vice squad, I saw all of the worst forms of wire-addiction from blank coma cases to fried burnouts. Drooling, shivering, emaciated, unwashed junkies were unattractive, sure, but so ugly that Rebeckah, woman of steel, didn't want to talk about it? "What do you mean, 'ugly'?"

"I said no, Dee."

I sat up straight. My palms pressed into the uneven surface of the truck bed as we bounced down the street. Old cop instincts tingled. Somehow this rash of wire-addiction among the Malachim was connected to something bigger. Despite her adamancy that I leave her alone, I had to press her for details. "This is important."

Rebeckah's voice was as brittle as ice. "We had to put him down."

"You're saying you killed a man?" I repeated stunned.

"Yes." Rebeckah's answer was simple and to the point, and gave away nothing.

The intercom crackled as I waited. Smog hung thickly in the air, and no stars were visible. The black of the night sky reminded me of Phanuel's wings – dark and impenetrable.

"There was no other choice," she said, finally. "I should have thrown him out the door when it started. Kicking him out would have saved his life, but I screwed up. He was a good hacker once, a good man, and I wanted to respect that. I thought the way to do that was to let the decent man inside fight his demons. I should have known that with a junkie, that's a fool's hope. He became obsessed. First the lying, then, hiding his use ... the list goes on. Typical, really. Finally, he crossed the line. He came to me, demanding an upgrade to feed his addiction. When I refused, he threatened to expose us all. I thought he was bluffing. Two seconds later, he hot-LINKed our location to the police frequency. When he started naming names, I shot him."

"Jesus Christ."

"My mistake cost a man his life. I'll never tolerate a wire-head in my ranks again, you got that?"

"Got it." A sane person would have stopped there. After all, my college roommate had just admitted to murder. Instead, I added, "How many others did you expel after him, Rebeckah?"

"Two more, all in a matter of months."

"Huh." I'd asked the question mostly out of the old habit of leaving no hunch untried. "Do you think maybe they came across something on the LINK that changed them, infected them?"

"Like what?" Rebeckah's voice was curious.

"This is totally off-the-wall, but Daniel and I were working on a tech-theft case involving software that manipulates the brain's pain and pleasure centers. I've been thinking ... maybe whoever discovered those parts of the brain came across others, like: obsession ... lust ... maybe even the awe of seeing an angel."

"I don't understand," Rebeckah said. "What are you saying exactly?"

"I'm not sure yet, but I think there's a connection between the tech-theft case and the LINK-angels. Maybe the person who stole from the Jordan Institute is using the emotional aspect of the tech to cause the mass euphoria ... or the fear," I added, thinking of Phanuel, "that the angels' cause. Maybe this person can also heighten other emotions, like the ones that cause wire-addiction."

"How is that possible?"

"That's the part I'm not sure of yet. I'm just running on a hunch right now. And, I suspect the angels are a construct" – I smiled although I knew Rebeckah couldn't see it – "just like you always thought they were."

"So, you think my hackers ran afoul of the LINK-angels?"

"If they're not for real, it'd make sense that they'd target you," I said. "After all, that's part of what you do, isn't it? Debunk their magic?"

The truck rumbled to a stop. Unprepared, I slid into an invisible Malachim. The toolbox opened up seemingly on its own. Rebeckah said, "We'll talk more about your theory later. On the belt pack there's a sonar. It's approximately two fingers from the buckle on your left. You might want to turn it on; otherwise, you'll lose us when we enter the stadium."

I mumbled a thanks, feeling for the switch. A loud ping sounded in my ear when I found it. The helmet's visuals sprang to life, widening to a 360-degree view. At every ping, a ripple of light moved around me, illuminating the shadowy figures of the Malachim.

A queasy disorientation threatened to blur my vision, until I noticed the glowing crosshair moved as I moved my head, distinguishing "ahead" from "behind." Despite the focus point, I nearly stumbled when I took my first hesitant step. This was going to take some getting used to.