Vampire Fire

by J. R. Rain

  “Who are they?” I asked.

  “They are the true earth angels, but they are not ready to show themselves to you, Sam.”

  “My daughter says she’s seen them...”

  “And so she has.”

  “Is it because I am what I am... that they don’t show themselves to me?”

  But the angel didn’t respond; instead, he sat there, emitting heat and a gentle solar breeze. I could almost hear Anthony now: “I emit wind and heat, too, Ma!”

  “Your son is amusing,” said Ishmael. “You have captured his spirit perfectly.”

  “You mean I have captured his guy humor perfectly. I think, officially, one hundred percent of all males like fart humor.”

  The angel next to me cocked his head a little, and smiled. He didn’t understand the statement, which was fine.

  “Let’s get back to this sun business... do you live in the sun?”

  “We can return to the sun, Sam. Mostly, I find myself here, on Earth, watching over your own son.”

  He didn’t say any more, or hint that there was more to say, but I suspected there was something further he wanted to add. I had no sense of his mind, although I knew he was deep within my own.

  “You are correct, Sam. I am here to give you news.”

  “Then give it.”

  He paused, then said, “I am here to inform you that my services are no longer needed.”

  “Come again?”

  “Your son is perfectly capable of taking care of himself.”

  “My son is only thirteen.”

  “Your son possesses talents that even I can’t match, Sam.”

  I opened my mouth to protest. But then, closed it again.

  Ishmael went on. “Anthony is an anomaly on this planet, Samantha Moon. Although it’s too soon to tell, I have reason to believe he is an immortal.”

  “And you know this how?” I asked.

  “I have seen low-level toxins get destroyed in his bloodstream at an atomic level. I have seen the strength of his heart, and it is a strong heart indeed, Sam. As strong as I have ever seen. I have seen his cells regenerate at a phenomenal rate. All of which are indicators of...” He let his voice trail off, and I sensed his hesitancy.

  “Immortality?” I said.

  “Perhaps, Sam. Or perhaps something else. Perhaps something closer to the werewolves of your world, or the Lichtenstein monsters, of which you are acquainted now. Each has a prolonged lifespan.”

  “But not quite immortal,” I said.

  He nodded. “Additionally, his strength has grown considerably since the years I’ve been watching over him. It is obvious he needs no further assistance.”

  “But—and I can’t emphasize this enough—he’s only thirteen.”

  “Within your son lies a great warrior, Sam.”

  I opened my mouth to protest some more, but then closed it again. I wasn’t going to beg Ishmael to watch my son. And I wasn’t going to tell him about the terrible premonitions I’d been having about my son. Except vampires were not known for premonitions—or, rather, I wasn’t known for them, outside of the occasional prophetic dream. This was no dream. Just a feeling in my gut. A feeling I hated. But maybe these were just natural feelings a mother had for her kids. Except I hadn’t been ‘natural’ in eleven years. Was it a mother’s instincts or a psychic hit? I didn’t know.

  “Your son can take care of himself, Sam. You need not fear.”

  “So, what then?” I asked. “You’re going to go on your merry way? Back into the sun, or wherever the fuck you came from?”

  I was surprised by my own vitriol. Yes, the bastard had sold me out, thrown me under the bus, but he’d done it for love, apparently; and, ultimately, I couldn’t hold it against him. At least, not for all eternity. Look at me, forgiving the very entity who got me into this mess.

  Ishmael didn’t reply. He sat and emanated warmth and a wind and, dammit, a gentle peace. Still, his silence was telling. I said, “You’re no longer welcomed home, are you?”

  His head cocked a little to one side. “Your perception is on target again, Sam Moon.”

  “You haven’t been welcomed since you abandoned your, ah, post,” I said, not knowing a better word.

  “My charge,” he said. “My human.”

  “Seems a harsh penalty,” I said. “Exile.”

  The energy flowing from him seemed to pick up a little. I watched my own bangs rise and fall on the supernatural solar winds.

  He did not move or blink. He did not gesture in any way with his hands, head, or body. His presence next to me was vastly... alien. Even the creepiest vampires—and ghosts, for that matter—seemed to exude a humanness. Something to indicate they had, at least at some point in time, been human. Even the devil had his strange, strange smile. Even the devil blinked because, well, his human host needed to blink. His host’s humanness came through, whether the devil wanted it to or not. But the entity before me—the fallen angel before me—gave off none of that. He gave off, if anything, a strange, comforting warmth that seemed both foreign and deeply personal. Then again, if he was from the sun, then that made him the very definition of an alien. And being my former guardian angel probably explained the comfort part.

  “This is weird,” I summed up.

  “Perhaps, Sam. But let’s be clear: I am not a fallen angel. You had it right the first time: I am an exiled angel.”

  “Because fallen angels choose darkness,” I said.

  “Yes, Sam.”

  “And become demons,” I added.

  “It is a misunderstood word... but, yes.”

  “Misunderstood, how?”

  “The connotation suggests that demons are mindless entities of pure evil, commanded by the devil alone.”

  “This is not the case?”

  “They are not so different from me, Sam.”

  “They can think, choose, reason?”

  “Yes. And calculate. They choose the dark path, and they continue to choose. At least some.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “God forgives, Sam. And God welcomes back. Mostly, God understands that the world needs demons and devils, needs the darkness to contrast with the light. God understands such entities are fulfilling a role, and does not punish, and always welcomes home.”

  “That is a lot to take in,” I said.

  “It is,” he said, knowing my thoughts intimately.

  “You are suggesting that even angels and demons are on a sort of evolutionary path?”

  “I am, Sam. It is a longer path, a different path. Our challenges are not the same as your challenges. Our connection to the Creator is different, too. As are our expectations and roles. But there is growth. And, yes, there are always forgiveness and redemption. For us, for everyone.”

  “Mind blown,” I said, and made a small explosion gesture at the side of my head, something I’d picked up from Anthony. Or maybe Sheldon on The Big Bang Theory. Love that nerdy goofball.

  “And there is room for us to love,” he said. “And to be loved.”

  “With humans?” I asked.

  “Sometimes,” he said. “Although it is not very common.”

  I was about to voice my objection to his statement—after all, look at what he’d given up just to make himself known to me—when I read a little deeper between the lines, so to speak. I said, “And it is rarer still for an angel—a guardian angel—to fall in love with his, um, charge.”

  He looked at me, and now I saw his eyes moving, moving, moving. They were looking at me, my face, all of my face, every inch of it. And I saw and felt his love. So much warmth... so much love...

  “It is rare indeed,” he finally said.

  “And to be loved by one’s own guardian angel...”

  “Is the rarest of all.”

  “Because one generally never meets one’s own guardian angel,” I said.

  “It takes, as you can imagine, extenuating circumstances to make it so.”

  “Like making me immortal.�
�

  “Allowing you to be immortal,” he corrected. “But, yes, Sam. And I hope, someday, you can forgive me for allowing it to be.”

  His words were dull, flat, lifeless. The angel Ishmael spoke frankly, with little or no innuendo, with little or no humor. What you saw was what you got. Although I suspected...

  “Yes, Sam. I suspect the same.”

  “That the more you are around me—or humans—the more human you would become?”

  “Close. The more human-like. I will always be what I am.”

  “A creature from the sun,” I said.

  “Yes...”

  My son was taking a break and speaking with Jacky quietly, the way they often did, with their heads together and Jacky holding the back of my son’s head. It was special and sweet. I had seen it a hundred times with boxers and trainers, but seeing Jacky do it with my son... well, it gave me a thrill that was hard to put into words. It was the feeling of relief, joy, and appreciation, all rolled into one good-feeling vibe.

  I looked at the angelic being next to me, an entity who had given up eternity for me, although I had never asked him to—and had never known he existed.

  “I will forgive you someday,” I suddenly said. “I think. But maybe not now, and maybe not any time soon.”

  “That is all I can ask, Samantha Moon.” He paused. “There is something else on your mind.”

  “There is,” I said, and took a big, worthless breath. “I met the devil yesterday.”

  “You did, Sam.”

  “So, he’s real then?” I said.

  “What do you believe?”

  “I believe it to be so.”

  “I believe you did, too, Sam.”

  “Shit.”

  “The devil performs a role, Sam. And he does it well, but one need not fear him. After all, hell is only an illusion, a construct of the mind.”

  “Say that to the people suffering in it,” I said.

  “An illusion as well. When they are done suffering, when they have experienced what they need to experience, and what they created, they will move on to something better, something greater. They will move on to the peace they seek, the forgiveness they seek. Hell is only real... until it isn’t.”

  “Until people stop believing,” I said.

  “Correct, Sam.”

  “Just how powerful is the devil?” I asked.

  Ishmael studied me a moment longer, then answered, “As powerful as you allow him to be.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Then why don’t you have that same creepy smile, too?” Allison asked.

  “Because my possession isn’t temporary. It is who I am.”

  Allison, of course, had experienced such temporary possession, having been distantly related to the Thurman clan, and thus, susceptible to the entity that haunted them. Or, rather, their bloodline.

  “As in, your body accepts it more?”

  “Maybe,” I said. We were at Alicia’s, a restaurant in Brea. “Or maybe it has to do with blood. Or, more accurately, the transfer of blood.” I’d been thinking about her question, too, which is probably why she had brought up over lunch. I said, “Vampires and werewolves, as you know, are created through bites. In effect, through a physical opening into the body.”

  “Unlike a psychic opening.”

  “Right. Not to mention, the entity that possessed your family—”

  “Distant family.”

  “Fine, yes, distant family. Anyway, the entity also seemed more demonic in nature, did it not?”

  “As in, not your typical highly evolved dark master?”

  “Right,” I said.

  “So, you’re suggesting the more demonic—”

  “Or more non-human,” I corrected.

  “The more non-human the entity, the more the body rejects it?”

  I nodded. “Exactly. The less the body can accommodate it, assimilate with it.”

  “Which is the reason for the extreme expressions, the grinning and the frowning?”

  “It’s a working theory,” I said, shrugging.

  “Does it even matter?” asked Allison.

  “Perhaps only in identifying other such entities.”

  She nodded. “Or the devil himself.”

  “Bingo,” I said.

  “Why does the devil even want you?” asked Allison. “I mean, why doesn’t he just sic his big, bad, three-headed dog on Danny?”

  “Danny—surprise, surprise—was further along in his, ah, studies than any of us could have imagined or, quite frankly, guessed.”

  “Which means...”

  “Which means he’s particularly well hidden.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Allison. “Why is the devil going after him and not, say, you? Or the thing inside you?”

  “Elizabeth,” I said, and I did my best to explain to Allison how dark masters—especially highly evolved dark masters—had escaped the death cycle—and slipped beyond the devil’s radar.

  She seemed to follow. “While mid-level masters, if that’s what Danny was, haven’t yet escaped the reach of the devil.”

  “Right,” I said. “Such entities are in a sort of limbo. They know just enough to avoid the devil, but not enough to escape him—or hell—altogether.” Calling Danny an entity was just... so... damn... weird.

  “It’s almost enough for one to seek to become a dark master,” said Allison.

  “That, or not buy into the concept of hell,” I said. “Or lead a life that you believe you will be punished for later.”

  Allison picked at her Caesar salmon salad. And as she’d ordered, I said something to the effect of, “Say that three times.” In which both Allison and the waitress proceeded to rattle off “Caesar salmon salad” three and even four times, until I finally waved the waitress away. Show-offs.

  Now, Allison only picked at it. Me, I had no problem eating my BLT that had just the right amount of B and L and T, along with mayo and a dash of honey mustard. The homemade potato chips didn’t last long either. I doubted—no, I knew—that I derived no nutritional value from my meals. I also knew—or suspected—that my taste buds had been downgraded, so to speak. They had yet to regenerate fully. Still, even at partial capacity, I savored the crap out of my meal. Going eight years without food did wonders for an appetite. Even if my appetite was only mental, and not really physical. Emotional eating is a real thing, even for vampires.

  “So, what are you going to do, Sam?” asked Allison.

  Allison had already lived through most of my memories of the devil, including my encounter with the thing in Sandy. She’d seen firsthand, so to speak, how I’d exorcised the entity from the possessed girl, and the devil and his minions had gathered up the lost soul, dragging him, no doubt, to his own private hell.

  I said, “I was told I could save another life.”

  “Like you saved Sandy’s?”

  “Right,” I said.

  “And since when can the devil take a life?” asked Allison, speaking a little louder than I’d liked. Our telepathic connection had always been particularly strong, thanks to her allowing me to feed from her, a process that both enhanced her witchy skills, and nearly gave Elizabeth enough strength to burst out of me and, probably, fully take control of yours truly, maybe even forever. We’d stopped the feedings, and Elizabeth slipped back down, down, down—made irrelevant once again by a steady diet of cow and pig blood. If BLTs enhanced her strengths, then I’d really be screwed. Or coffee. Or...

  “Focus, Sam,” said Allison, somehow following my mental train of thought.

  I said, “Can the devil kill?” I shrugged. “I don’t know what the cosmic rules are—or if there are any.”

  “There are some rules, Sam. For instance, one such rule is that we are given free will.”

  “Like the free will to believe in any afterlife we choose,” I said. “Even hell.”

  Allison shrugged and picked at her salad some more. “Or the free will to decide to do good in the world. To help, to heal, to ble
ss.”

  “Sure, Pollyanna,” I said. “But we’re talking about in the context of the devil killing humans.”

  “Blech,” asked Allison. “He’s such a downer.”

  I laughed and nearly snatched her salad from her. What had once been a beautiful piece of salmon was now ground down into flaky bits and spread thin. Terrible. Just terrible.

  “Fine. Have it,” she said, and pushed it toward me.

  I might have felt guilty taking it; that is, until I had my first glorious bite. I ate and scanned Alicia’s, the small but cute restaurant. Painted vines on the wall. Also real vines, too, which was an odd mix. A small mercantile store that sold baskets and pots and pans and books and washcloths, and everything a cute little kitchen could need.

  I also spotted the redhead, sitting there in her usual spot against the wall and near the door. If anything, her hair seemed even redder than before. She sported an aura, which meant she was mortal, but she also projected something else, something that always bothered me... or at least intrigued me. It was a sense of knowing. As if she seemed to know who and what we were.

  “She can probably see auras,” said Allison. “Or lack thereof. You’re probably freaking her out.”

  “Or she can read minds,” I said. “Or possess any number of peculiar quirks and oddities.”

  “Or none of them,” said Allison, looking over her shoulder at the redhead, who reluctantly look away and gave a half-assed effort to show some interest in a plant hanging in front of her. “Maybe we just talk too loud. And when I say we, I mean you.”

  I ignored my friend. “One of us needs to talk to her.”

  Then again, she wasn’t hurting anyone. After all, Allison and I were about as weird as they came. Anyone with even a modicum of extrasensory ability was probably able to pick up some strange vibes from our table.

  “Maybe you should stop thinking of yourself as strange or different, Sam. Maybe it’s time to acknowledge that there is far more to this world than most mortals can see or know. Maybe you should start considering how privileged you have been to know such secrets—how honored you are to have had the inner workings of the Universe cracked open for you.”

  “Geez, Louise. How long have you been planning that speech?” I asked, turning my attention back to my friend—and off the mysterious redhead.