THE SUPERMODEL HAD FALLEN ASLEEP during the last two hours of the flight and awoke to the landing announcement. Within minutes, she hastily applied her makeup, tied back her hair, put on her sunglasses, slung her handbag over her shoulder, and stepped off the plane alongside her manager, Jacob.
The two bodyguards, who had traveled in economy class, joined them in the arrivals area at Heathrow.
— Hide your bad mood and smile, darling. In a few minutes, you'll be bombarded by paparazzi — Jacob whispered.
— Is this good enough? — the Brazilian asked, flashing a broad smile.
— When you smile like that, you make me want to take the chewing gum out of your mouth with my tongue — her manager teased.
— Disgusting! — Jessyca retorted, slapping him on the arm.
The two walked in silence until they reached the baggage carousel.
— I hate this part.
— I don't know anyone who likes it — Jacob replied.
The first suitcases were already making their way along the conveyor belt.
This needs to end soon... — she thought.
BEFORE OPENING THE CAR DOOR, Jacob turned to Jessyca and nodded for her to get in. When they arrived at the hotel, the bodyguards were already standing outside the car in front of L'oscar London. She tapped a finger against the window. That was the signal the Black Angel had been waiting for to open the door.
A barrage of camera flashes struck Jessyca, making her feel dizzy. She tried to remain calm, forced a smile, and stepped out of the car as dozens of paparazzi crowded around the hotel entrance.
Flanked by her bodyguards, Jessyca stopped.
— What's wrong? Come on! — Jacob ordered, following close behind.
— I feel weak, Jake. Help me — Jessyca whispered.
He and one of the bodyguards took her in their arms and moved forward. The flashes continued. She tried to keep the smile frozen on her lips as a reporter broke through the photographers' blockade, thrust a recorder just inches from her face, and fired off a question:
— Jessyca, how do you feel about the return of one of the world's greatest fashion designers?
— She has no comment. The press conference will be held tonight — Jacob interjected.
The hotel security guards helped her inside and blocked the entrance.
— These English journalists are vultures — Jacob remarked.
— I need to rest — Jessyca said with relief.
— Stay here. I'll get your key — her manager advised.
Before long, he returned with the key to the Royal Suite and the porter who would accompany her there.
— Try to get some rest before the press conference — Jacob suggested.
— Call me if you need anything. I'm meeting Meggie for afternoon tea here at the hotel.
— Give her a kiss for me, and don't forget that the outfit you're supposed to wear to the press conference is in your room. If you need any alterations, just let me know. I'll contact the designer.
THE BLACK ANGEL FOLLOWED the two of them to the entrance of the suite, tipped the hotel employee, and turned to Jessyca:
— I'm going to settle in and get some rest. I want you to call me before afternoon tea. Okay?
— Okay — the model replied, locking the door immediately afterward.
She searched the two hundred and twenty-four square meters of the luxurious suite for the mysterious outfit and found an elegant black case beneath the marble fireplace. She untied the red ribbon. A small black envelope fell to the floor, and she set the box aside. The note had been written with a quill, in sepia ink and elegant calligraphy. She checked the signature before reading the message:
Dear Jessyca, tonight, you will become a queen. Consider this tiara your crown. The clothes are in the wardrobe. Kisses, Sammy.
With trembling hands, she opened the case. A white-gold tiara sparkled with hundreds of tiny diamonds, spelling out a single word: Babalon
She looked at the label and saw the famous design of the collection:
Jessyca hurried to the wardrobe and found a long dress hanging from a hanger. It was scarlet. Beside it, she saw a purple scarf with dozens of pearls tied to its ends.
She opened her handbag and took out the Bible she had received from the "priest who spoke funny." She opened it to the page she had folded during the flight and read the passage:
"The woman was dressed in purple and scarlet, and adorned with gold, precious stones, and pearls. She held in her hand a golden cup filled with abominations, the impurities of her prostitution. On the woman's forehead was written an enigmatic name: 'Babylon the Great, the mother of prostitutes and of the abominations of the Earth.'"
She wanted to call Meggie and ask for help. She picked up her cell phone, but felt her strength draining away and collapsed unconscious.