by J. R. Rain
As you wish.
I surveyed the landscape before me. It was a helluva landscape—and, if the creature could smile, it would be doing so now; it couldn’t, so I settled for an inward smile instead.
I was high up on a frozen rocky crag. In fact, I wasn’t very far from the peak itself, which was about where I had tried to “land,” as I’d come to think of this last step. It was true night, and the crescent moon was farther to the south, but there it was, shining down, along with, exactly, one trillion stars, all winking at me, the flirts. I was really here. I was not in Southern California, but in the far north, far away from it all.
In a blink of an eye. I could, it seemed, go just about anywhere, including the moon. I had a thought. Talos, could I someday return home with you?
Not yet, Sam. You would need a visual image to hold onto. You need to see clearly where you will “land” as you put it.
But you could help me to see? I asked.
Yes, Sam. Someday.
I nodded, pleased, thrilled. That I was now high upon a forgotten crag in the dead of night, surrounded by wind and snow and the distant howl of something forlorn and forgotten, was exhilarating. I didn’t belong up here. I shouldn’t have been up here. But here I was. A mother of two. A private investigator, a sister, a daughter. Sitting high atop a frozen piece of rock at the far north of nowhere. Out of sight, out of mind. Alone and happy.
I didn’t want to think. I didn’t want to feel. I didn’t want to worry. I just wanted to exist. I just wanted to be.
And so I sat on the rocky overhang, my great talons clinging to the rock edge, even as snow and ice began to form around them.
Ice wasn’t much of a match for the great beast I had become. Neither were these extreme conditions. The beast laughed at arctic blasts of frozen air. At least, I think it did. I know I did.
Now, I tucked my wings in tight and sat high upon the world, looking down into swirling mists and billowing gusts.
And I was happy.
Chapter Twenty-five
The wonders of the Internet.
I was deemed an asset by Detective Sharp’s bosses and he was given the green light to email me two weeks’ worth of surveillance video in heavily encrypted, password-protected files.
A busy homicide detective didn’t have time to go through two weeks’ worth of surveillance tape. Hell, even a week’s worth of surveillance tape, fast-forwarded, is still three or four days of mind-numbing work. Luckily, my mind didn’t get numb, and my back didn’t hurt, and I could sit still for hours on end without peeing or eating or drinking.
Of course, the good detective with the pointed nose and chin didn’t know that.
Still, I was the best candidate for the job, and I threw myself into it as soon as I plugged in the various passwords, and opened the files.
They were separated into days, and they had been provided by Starbucks’s own security team, their loss-prevention department. Coffee was serious business, after all.
Of course, this “loss” didn’t look good on Starbucks either. I knew they had been cooperative in helping the police, but there was only so much a company could do. Or anyone could do.
Hopefully, I could do a little more.
I got to it, settling in for the night.
* * *
The next day, I had made the kids mac n’ cheese for dinner. Again. One of my four or five go-to dinners. Tonight would be Anthony’s second boxing lesson with Jacky, and it had been all the boy could talk about on the drive to school, when I picked them up, and all through dinner. He had even completely forgotten to torment his sister, which was surely a sign of the impending apocalypse.
It was also a Monday night, which meant, of course, The Voice. Tammy ate up the bromance between Adam and Blake. And since Usher reminded me a bit of Russell, my most recent of flames, I tended to be an Usher fan. And a Shakira fan. Just loved her and her accent. With that said, there was no way in hell we were prying Tammy away from that TV. At least, not tonight. Or tomorrow, which were The Voice results. Damn Adam and his delicious smile. And Blake with those ah, shucks dimples.
Anyway, I had an hour to kill before heading out to Jacky’s gym, and I killed it the best way I knew how, by plopping down in front of my computer screen and working my way through the rest of that first day of surveillance, the day Lucy Gleason had gone missing.
I was in my office, with the door closed, but I could still hear Anthony in his room, working on his footwork, breathing through his nose. He was probably quickly mastering all that Jacky had already taught him. I was prepared to watch Jacky’s mind get blown tonight.
On the screen before me, the video played and customer after customer came and went. Cars came and went. Starbucks, from all appearances, appeared to be a rather profitable establishment.
As I scanned the many faces in fast-forward, Archibald Maximus’s words suddenly came to me again:
“Your son’s reaction to the medallion was unexpected.”
“And you suspect...something else might be involved?”
“In a word, yes.”
These words had been bothering me ever since they were first uttered by the ageless Librarian. What the devil did he mean? Who the hell might also be involved with my son?
I considered Jacky. My son and Jacky clearly had a bond that went beyond time, but I didn’t think that was who—or what—the Librarian had been referring to.
I pushed the worry out of my mind as best as I could and went back to the video. Time slipped past, almost as fast as the people on the screen in front of me, who were depositing their hard-earned money into the bank of Starbucks in exchange for slightly burnt coffee and that Starbucks experience.
I had the video going at two times the speed, not so slow as to be real-time, but not so fast as to miss anything suspicious. Yesterday, I had started the video where I had left off with Detective Sharp. Now, it was getting past closing time, and the steady flow of customers dwindled, and then finally stopped. A few minutes later, I watched all the lights turn out. A few of the workers talked in a small huddle in the parking lot, no doubt talking about the strange day in which the lady disappeared and the cops came. And then they were gone and Starbucks was finally, mercifully dark.
“Okay, Mom, time to go!”
Only my son could sneak up on me. How he had managed to open the door without me hearing it, I didn’t know. I squeaked and jumped and he grinned from the open office door.
“You have to quit doing that, Anthony.”
“Doing what?” he asked, not so innocently.
“Sneaking up on me.”
“But I thought you were a vampire with bat ears!” he laughed, and from down the hallway, I heard Tammy laugh, too. Great, now I was the butt of their joke.
“Just knock next time, okay?”
“Okay, sheesh!”
“Don’t sheesh me.”
“Shee—”
“Anthony, I’m warning you.”
“Fine. Let’s go already. Please.”
“Give me a minute. And by give me a minute, I don’t mean standing in my doorway and looking at me that way.”
“What way?”
“Anthony...”
“Fine.”
He turned and left, but only stepped a few feet into the hallway. I could still see his shoulder. “Better?” he said.
I sighed and was just about to pause the video when I saw something interesting.
A light had turned on, from deep within the coffee shop. And, if I had to guess, it had turned on down the hallway, where the bathrooms were.
And then it turned off again.
And all was quiet.
“Mom! Jacky’s waiting!”
I rolled my eyes, and shut down my computer, making a mental note to return to this spot in the video.
Chapter Twenty-six
I got a quick workout in, too.
I was fairly certain I didn’t need to work out. I was fairly certain that my heightened skills just s
ort of “kick in” when necessary. Of course, working out made me feel normal. And feeling normal, I knew, was half the battle to fighting the demon within. Feeling human meant keeping the demon at bay for another day.
Now I worked on a punching bag at about half speed. Not too long ago, I watched Captain America in The Avengers send a punching bag sailing clear across the gym. Once, I’d knocked the punching bag clear off the chain, sending it tumbling a few feet. But flying across the room? Not so much. I’d leave that for the movies. I threw a final punch, sending the bag swinging, and then grabbed my towel.
I often wondered what Jacky thought of me. He, better than most, knew there was something odd about me. If being freakishly strong was odd.
And it was.
To date, I hadn’t gotten very far into his thoughts, nor had I tried. I knew Jacky’s own brain was muddled from years of taking hits. Punch drunk, they called it. He had brain damage, of that I knew for sure, and I thought his damage was sufficient enough for me to not gain much access.
It was just as well. Some people could keep their secrets.
Now, as I sat on the floor with my back against the wall, my towel around me, and the punching bag still swinging next to me, I watched the old Irishman work with my son, one on one, in the ring.
It was late, and so the gym was mostly empty. I checked the time on my cell. Almost closing time, in fact. Jacky had said that was okay. He was going to work with my son after hours, if it was all right with me. I told him I specialized in after hours. He gave me an odd look and shook his head. I got that a lot.
Now, as I sat and watched my son go over the footwork and handwork, I marveled again at my boy’s skill. He was only ten, but he already moved with the ease and precision of a seasoned fighter. His punches were accurate, fierce, rapid-fire. I saw Jacky wincing here and there as he held up the practice mitts.
As I watched my son, as the minutes slipped past and I was almost lulled into a meditative state by the staccato sound of his punches, all punctuated by Jacky’s Irish twang, a twang I never got tired of hearing, I saw something out of my peripheral vision, something that existed not quite in this world. It was standing near the gym’s now-closed front door.
No, not a ghost. It was something else.
An angel.
It was Ishmael.
Chapter Twenty-seven
As I approached the angel, it all started making sense to me, or some of it. Okay, maybe none of it, but I knew the angel, Ishmael, would have some answers. He’d better.
He saw me coming and glanced over at me. Then again, I suspected he knew I would come, since he had partially revealed himself to me now. He was also one of the few supernatural beings who had access to my thoughts. No surprise there, since he had once been my guardian angel.
At the door, I said to him, under my breath, “Let’s talk outside.”
I turned the handle and two things happened simultaneously: something snapped loudly, and Jacky was calling to me.
“The door’s locked, Sam—ah, bloody hell.”
“Oopsie,” I said, holding up the broken handle. Yeah, I’d snapped the thing clean off. Old locks and a pissed-off vampire mama didn’t go well together. “Sorry.”
“You broke it,” he said, staring at me from the corner of the ring. A single spotlight shone down on him and my son. Behind them, at the back of the gym, a young kid was mopping the floor. Another was wiping down the equipment. Other than that, the place was empty. That is, if you didn’t count the seven-foot angel glowing next to me. And I didn’t, since the others didn’t seem to be able to see him, including my son. “You broke it,” said the retired boxer again, this time with more awe in his voice. “Right off the goddamn door.”
“I said ‘oopsie.’”
“You’re a freak, Sam.”
“I know.”
“And so is your son,” he said, but as he said it, he turned and mussed Anthony’s hair, and, for the moment, the Irishman forgot about his broken door handle. Anthony grinned from ear to ear, something he did far too little of.
Once outside, I tossed the broken handle aside, and told the seven-foot giant to follow me.
Chapter Twenty-eight
I led him to an alley next to the gym.
“Start talking,” I said, turning around, facing him. That I was ordering around my one-time guardian angel was further evidence of my descent into madness. Or further evidence that the world really is bigger and more fantastic than I’d ever dreamed possible.
“You’re not mad, Sam.”
“Says the seven-foot glowing angel.”
“I’m here, Sam, and so are you.”
“Fine, whatever. Now tell me what the devil you’re doing here. And, yes, I said devil to an angel. Except, of course, we both know what kind of angel you are.”
He was, of course, of the fallen variety. Recently fallen, for that matter. That he had fallen because of me—or, rather, because of his misguided love for me—was a different story.
“Yes, Sam. I know what you think of me. I know you blame me for everything, but I would like to remind you that your son is in there boxing with Jacky because of what I did.”
“Or didn’t do,” I said.
He didn’t respond. My “guardian angel” had permitted me to be attacked on that fateful night eight years ago. He had looked the other way while a very old vampire had sought me out for reasons still unknown to me. Sought me out, hunted me down, take your pick. I knew now that the act wasn’t random. And my guardian angel, I suspected, had played a role in it.
“I’m not as devious as you make me seem, Sam. I was aware of the interest in you.”
“And you saw an opportunity.”
He was beautiful. Too beautiful. Too perfect. Long, silver hair. Shoulders as wide as Kingsley’s. A faint, silvery glow surrounding him. When I’d first met him, he had glowed more. His luster was wearing off, the further he dropped.
“I am not evil, Sam.”
“Never said you were. But if I had to guess, you’ve inched a little closer to the dark side since last we spoke.”
“There is no dark side, Sam. It is the same side, Sam. We are all from God. We are all one.”
“Fine, whatever. Tell me, what the fuck are you doing with my son?”
“I’m protecting him, Sam.”
I nearly snorted. “What do you mean?”
“Think back, Sam. Back to when you saved your boy by turning him into something he wasn’t, something immortal—”
It hit me suddenly. “He lost his own guardian angel.”
“Indeed, Sam.”
“But...” I wanted to refute his statement. I wanted to tell him this was all ridiculous. That guardian angels weren’t real. That those were fairy tales that mothers told their children to give them comfort at night.
Except.
Except that I was standing next to such a creature. A beautiful creature, at that. And what, exactly, were guardian angels? How did they work? Who assigned them? How did they know when to protect you...and when not to protect you? Obviously, there were a lot of people getting hurt and killed in this world. Were all the guardian angels derelict in their duties?
“All good questions, Sam.”
“Either someone starts answering,” I said. “Or I’m going to start knocking some heads.”
Ishmael gave me a rare smile. His mannerisms and gestures were...off. He was not used to holding a normal conversation. I suspected most of his existence had been spent observing humans, but rarely participating, rarely interacting. The truth was, I didn’t know the extent of his abilities. He had told me he could save me from my vampirism. I wondered if that were true. There was so much I didn’t know about him.
“You have lots of questions, Samantha. Perhaps we should start small.”
“Perhaps you should start by telling me why you’re interested in my son.”
He didn’t answer immediately. Not because he was gathering his thoughts, or trying to determine how much
to tell me, or not tell me. No, he didn’t answer me immediately because he was staring at me, through me. Deep into me.
So weird, I thought.
Finally, after an uncomfortable silence, he said, “I made an egregious mistake that night, Sam. I could have saved you. I could have directed you to go elsewhere.”
“Directed me how?”
“With an impulse, with a call from a friend, with a feeling of uncertainty. I could have done something, anything, to save you from what was coming. From what I knew was waiting for you.”
“But you didn’t,” I said, knowing the answer, of course. Knowing it all too well.
“I knew my bond would be broken with you. My covenant, if you will.”
“And so you allowed me to be attacked.”
“Yes, Sam. I did it—”
“I know why you did it,” I said. “You’ve told me before. Now I want to know why other guardians for other people sit back and watch their own charges be harmed. Why? I understand you made a choice to allow me to be forever changed. But why are others doing this? Why are others allowing their humans to be harmed? Why, dammit?”
“The reasons, Samantha, are far-reaching and complicated and involve universal laws of attraction and karma, all wrapped around past lives and previous agreements.”
“Agreements?”
“Yes, Sam. Believe it or not, there are some who have an agreement to kill another. Just as there are some who have an agreement to love another, or to raise another, or to help another.”
“I don’t believe it,” I said. “I just...no, that’s crazy talk.”
“Perhaps, Sam. But it’s true.”
“Fucking nuts, if you ask me.”
“I agree. But I did not create the world, Sam, or its rules. I only tried to uphold them.”
“And failed miserably,” I added.
He gazed at me for a long time. “Yes, Samantha. If you choose to see it that way. Yes, I failed you.”
“So, I wasn’t supposed to be changed that night? I had no past agreement with this vampire who changed me?”