by J. R. Rain
“It is, Sam. But I suspect you are going to need a little help.”
I tapped the picture. “Any suggestions on where to find him?”
Max shook his head. “Sadly, I haven’t a clue. But he is real, I know that much.”
“Otherwise, he wouldn’t be in The Book of All Known Beings.”
“In a word, yes.”
“This temple with the pillars. Any idea where that’s located?”
“I don’t, Sam. I’m sorry.”
“Well, fat lot of good you’ve been, Mr. Maximus.”
He gave me a small smile. “I apologize, Sam. You’ll discover that most creatures in this book are rather difficult to find, let alone archangels.”
I tapped the page opposite the Angel of Death. “Like this guy,” I said, who looked nothing more than an amorphous shadow, although I could vaguely make out it was humanoid. In fact, I thought I was just able to make out two massive wings.
“Ah, yes. Death’s Shadow. At least, that’s how I think of him.”
“You don’t know?”
“The page appeared not too long ago. There’s no description.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“The creature, you’ll note, has not fully formed.”
“Then how do you know he’s called Death’s Shadow?”
“I don’t. But if you’ll look, they appear as exact opposites.”
He was right about that, only the shadow was without shape. “Maybe that’s just how it looks.”
“No, Sam. It’s been taking shape over the years.”
“When did it first appear?”
“Within the past decade, I would say.”
I watched the misty shadow shift and move, form and reform, all very slowly. He, too, appeared to be sporting a shadowy sword, but it was hard to tell. It could have been a hockey stick for all I knew. And the wings... they could have been something else too.
No, I thought, they’re wings. And they’re massive. Nearly as massive as the Angel of Death’s own wings.
“Another thing. Entities aligned or connected are always found grouped together in this book.”
“So, he really is Azrael’s shadow,” I said.
Archibald Maximus nodded, and I thought about that as I continued studying the shadowy being, feeling oddly intrigued by it.
And terrified, too.
Chapter Nine
We were all at Kingsley’s manor, where we’d been for the past three days. Kingsley had insisted, and I had agreed. There was, after all, safety in numbers.
With that said, the massive estate was feeling a bit like a frat house, which I didn’t mind so much. Truthfully, I did feel safer surrounded by Kingsley and his massive manservants, each of whom just so happened to be variations on the Frankenstein monsters. In this case, the Lichtenstein monsters. Luckily, there was more than enough room for all of us. As an added treat, Allison came by nightly and sometimes stayed over too. I think she enjoyed being around all this masculine energy, even if some of the energy had literally been dead and buried.
“I heard that, Sam,” came her voice from the kitchen. “And no.”
“Love you,” I said, raising my voice.
“You’d better.”
“What did she hear?” asked Kingsley above me, since I just so happened to be snuggled deep in his arms.
“There was a small chance that I might have insulted Allison.”
“You tend to do that a lot.”
“What can I say? It’s how I show love.”
He thought about that. “So, every time you call me a big lug, what you are really saying you love me?”
“Sure,” I said. “Let’s go with that.”
We were in Kingsley’s family room, which was big enough to move into. Kingsley and I were snuggled on one end of the U-shaped couch watching Anthony play on the Xbox. Tammy was seated opposite us, apparently texting her life story, judging from the way her fingers flew over her phone keypad for the past half hour.
Without looking up, she stuck out her tongue at me and continued texting.
In the background, lumbering and limping, although some were surprisingly fleet of foot, were the Lichtenstein monsters. They prowled Kingsley’s spacious home, cleaning, cooking, or just wandering. It would have been creepy if I wasn’t used to it—
Never mind. It was still creepy, although my kids didn’t so much as blink an eye when one of these things appeared in the room, or when they bowed and tried to smile, or when they picked up our empty dishes.
It’s creepy, Sam, came Allison’s thoughts.
I nodded. Thought so.
But not to my kids, who had more or less grown up with the strange and weird, even if the strange and weird had been primarily me. To my kids, these lumbering, hulking, scarred and misshapen monsters—who were stronger than even Kingsley—were just an everyday, run-of-the-mill norm.
One such creature—a particularly tall fellow with one side of his head missing—accidentally kicked the coffee table. He apologized and reached down to position it back, and dropped the dishes he’d been holding. Most clattered onto the mohair rug. A knife and fork rattled on the glass tabletop.
He apologized, or tried to, his voice so deep as to be nearly incomprehensible. I had just made out the words “sorry” and “idiot” when Kingsley shot up from the couch to assist him. The creature bowed and apologized and seemed to be close to weeping, when Kingsley pulled him in close and held the back of the man’s head in a deep hug. I heard Kingsley reassure the man-thing, telling him he was doing a good job and that he was Kingsley’s favorite. He said this to all of the Lichtenstein monsters in private: they were each his favorite. I thought that was kind of cute, and not weird at all.
The creature nodded and tried to smile, but I knew the nerves in his face had been long since destroyed, perhaps when his head had been damaged. Dr. Lichtenstein, his creator, had been a true mad scientist. Not content with leaving well enough alone, the doctor had rearranged body parts, too, presumably to find the best matches. Not all had gone according to plan. Some body parts worked well with some of them, with others, not so much. Some spirits remained attached to the various parts; indeed, one monster might have a half-dozen such entities within him, all crowding for air time. Of course, it was the dark master within each of them who actually fueled the dead bodies. Dark masters, it seemed, cared little for which body they inhabited, as long as they got a body. With that said, many of the Lichtenstein monsters contained low-level dark masters. Lower, even, than Danny.
Most interesting was the bonding that occurred between Kingsley and the monsters. Initially, they had all bonded with Lichtenstein himself; that was, until he found himself stranded in a world far, far away. He could just stay there for all eternity, for all I cared.
Earlier, Kingsley had barbecued some hamburgers for us. Allison, Tammy and I had watched in stunned disbelief as the two boys—Kingsley and my son—had eaten what was surely the equivalent of a full-grown wild boar. I hadn’t even finished my chicken breast. Thanks to a magic ring, I could eat, but food still tasted bland. Not terrible, mind you, just not very exciting. Still, just the act of ingesting food with friends and family on Kingsley’s spacious outdoor deck—a deck that looked out onto the Carbon Canyon woods, woods which proved to be fertile hunting grounds for Franklin each month.
Anyway, we had been lavishly served by Kingsley’s massive—and heavily stitched—staff, a staff fit for a king, surely. It wasn’t terrible having our every whim catered to, even if the staff did smell slightly dead. Granted, it wasn’t a smell I entirely minded, even though I often watched Allison fight back the vomit. Tammy, too, for that matter.
Afterward, we had all gone for a small walk around Kingsley’s property. Yes, the rich bastard had a hiking trail around his property, complete with mileposts. It was precisely three miles around his yard. I noted the high walls, all outfitted with not just barbed wire, but deadly-looking wall spikes, each of which could have been found atop a Crusader’s spear.
I wondered what his neighbors thought. Then again, his closest neighbor was a mile away. Probably a good thing.
Now we were all in the family room, waiting on Allison’s signature coffee-bean crème brûlée. And waiting. You’d think a witch would be faster in a kitchen.
Wait for it...
“That’s because I’m not a kitchen witch,” said Allison, stepping through the arched doorway, holding a silver platter containing a half-dozen dishes. “And you know that, Sam.”
I did, of course. Kitchen witches relied on complicated spells and bizarre ingredients, such as eye of newt and all that. Although effective, Allison was a bit more bad-ass than that—although she was quick to remind me that a kitchen witch could make one’s life a living hell, too. Or enhance it beautifully. Spells, after all, worked both ways. Of course, knowing all of this didn’t stop my jabs, barbs and digs, all of which entertained me to no end.
“You’re impossible, Sam,” she said, and began handing out the caramelized desserts, along with little spoons.
Kingsley held his delicately with his paw-like hand and had me giggling in no time. Same with Tammy and Allison. Anthony, not so much. He kept his head in the game and ignored her dessert. Kingsley hammed it up, a true showboat, sticking out his sausage-like pinky. We laughed some more, and when I looked back at Anthony, his dessert was gone. Just like that.
“Any more?” he asked over his shoulder, still smacking his lips, still playing his video game.
“Anthony...” I began, since Allison had just sat down next to me.
“No, it’s okay, Sam,” she said, getting up again. “I have like a dozen more.”
“Bring me four! No, five. Six!”
“And I’ll have the rest,” said Kingsley, his voice deep enough to make my eardrum tickle. “That is, if everyone is okay with that?”
I had taken, precisely, two bites of my own dessert. Tammy had just dug into hers. And Anthony and Kingsley were already divvying up the rest. Yup, just another night with the gang.
As I ate, and while Allison was busy handing out the rest of the desserts, my daughter shot me the occasional look. She had, of course, long since read my mind—and had long since known—that, more than likely, she had been duped into making a deal with the devil. I had tried to talk to her about it, but she wasn’t in the mood. And she might never be in the mood.
But to get to her, the devil had to get through us, and that just wasn’t going to happen. Not on my watch, Allison’s watch or Kingsley’s watch. Or all his hulking, patchwork monsters’ watch.
Indeed, there was strength in numbers, but when dealing with the devil, anything was possible. I suspected there was also a very good chance that the devil let us think we were safe. Surely, he had not brought his full arsenal of demons to Santa Ana that night.
So far, the devil had stayed away, and I was beginning to think that this was all one bad dream. How could the devil be connected with me? And was he really using my kids to get to me, to incite a reaction? A few days ago, it had all seemed plausible, so much so that Kingsley had taken us all in. Now, three days later, I felt a bit silly. After all, why would the devil have an interest in me? Who was I to him? I was just a mom with a hankering for blood.
“You’re more than that, Mom,” said Tammy suddenly, standing. She took up her crème brûlée, with all its fancy accent marks and macrons, and headed out of the family room. She sidestepped a Lichtenstein monster who had been waiting patiently to collect our empty dishes. He nodded as she passed. She ignored him.
“Excuse me,” I said to the room, and Kingsley nodded at me. Allie, who had been following my thoughts, made to stand, but I gestured for her to stay. I needed to speak to Tammy alone. It was time.
She was just starting up the curved stairway that led to the bedrooms upstairs when I stepped into Kingsley’s massive open foyer which featured an antique table with a Ming Dynasty vase in the center of it, a vase that he’d paid far too much for. High above was a crystal chandelier. I was pretty sure most of my house would fit in his foyer, too.
“I want to be alone,” Tammy shouted behind her as she continued up the stairs.
“I heard you say ‘alone,’” I said, starting up the stairs behind her. “But what I really hear is: ‘Mom, I want to talk.’”
“Oooh, you’re impossible!” she shouted to me from the top of the stairs, then marched away, her little hands balled into fists.
She was just about to slam one of Kingsley’s oversized guest bedroom doors with its crystal doorknobs when I stopped it. “I didn’t raise a daughter would slam a door in her mother’s face, and so, I will assume that you forgot just how fleet of foot I am.”
She spun around. “Fleet of foot? What are you talking about?”
“It means fast. Like a fox.” I slipped inside and shut the door behind me.
“There’s nothing to talk about. You can just leave. And there’s crème brûlée on your chin.”
“I’m leaving it there until you talk to me, young lady.”
She had long since stuck out her lower lip, as she’d been doing since she was a little girl. But now, that lower lip quivered, then broke into a laugh. “You look ridiculous, Mom.”
I made a show of trying to find the pudding, but kept barely missing it.
“It’s right here, Mom,” she said, pointing.
I swiped again. “Did I get it?”
“No. And you are doing that on purpose.”
My next swipe came away with a dab of crème brûlée. “C’mon, baby. Let’s sit down and talk.”
“Do we have to?”
“Yes.”
Kingsley’s guest room she chose was simple: a bed, a reading chair, a lamp, a dresser. Nothing too fancy; same with his other eight guest rooms. Yes, eight. We sat on the edge of her bed. A shadow shifted to slip just behind the dresser. It was, I was certain, a long-dead ghost swinging by, but it was so formless and lost that it might as well have been a living shadow. Then again, it could have been one of the devil’s minions.
“Thanks, Mom. As if I wasn’t already having a hard enough time sleeping.”
“I’m sorry, sweetie. Have I told you lately how brave you were to try to help me?”
“Like a million times.”
“Well, you are. And you did your best to try to help me. You couldn’t have known that it was a—”
“Trap? Of course, I thought it was a trap. I just thought there was a chance... that maybe he was telling the truth... and that...”
She broke down, weeping into her hands, sobbing harder than maybe I’d ever seen her sob before. I pulled her into me and held her, and let my own tears flow, and, as she cried, she tried to speak, and, dammit, I understood every word. Every blubbering word:
“I can’t... I wouldn’t know... I can’t lose you. I just can’t. You’re my mommy... my friend... we lost Daddy... but yeah, yeah inside Anthony... not the same... Anthony has really bad BO, like really bad... not normal... I wouldn’t know how to... I just don’t want... can’t lose you. Ever. No. Never...”
She cried some more, and I found her hot tears and breath oddly comforting, maybe even reassuring. I held her tight, and she might have even held me tighter, and when she was finally all cried out, I was certain I heard footsteps just outside the bedroom door. Allison was creeping around again.
“Not creeping,” she said from the other side of the door. “Just concerned.”
“We’ve got this covered,” I said.
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
I heard her pad away, then creak down the stairs. Tammy unraveled herself from around my neck, and wiped her nose.
“She’s a good friend, Mom.”
“I know, baby.”
“She’d do anything for you.”
“I know.”
“Like go to other worlds, fight dragons, and fight demons, too.”
“I ask a lot from my friend, eh?”
Tammy smiled and wiped her cheeks, except the
tears kept coming.
“What’s got you so upset?” I asked.
“The devil wants to kill you, Mommy. I made a big mistake.”
I took her hands and dropped to my knees on the floor before her. I looked up at her and said, “I know things look bad, sweetie. And I know there are some very bad people out there who want certain things from us. But I don’t plan on going anywhere. Not now, nor ever. And I mean that literally. And no one, but no one, will ever hurt you or Anthony.”
“The devil is listening to you, Mommy.”
“How?”
“Through me.”
“Is he close?”
She nodded again. “He’s not very far.”
“Close enough that the two of you are connected?”
She closed her eyes, and more tears appeared. “He’s inside me, Mommy. And I can’t get him out.”
She pulled her hands free from mine and buried her face in her palms. “He’s laughing, Mommy. Says he owns me. He says he will destroy you and everyone you love. He says no vampire is going to take him down. Not now, nor ever. He’s going to enjoy watching you die. He says he’s going to use me to kill you.”
She wept harder and harder.
My daughter didn’t sound possessed. Indeed, she wasn’t. There was no fire in her eye, and no deepening of her voice. She and the devil had a mindlink; of course, that, in and of itself, was a terrible, terrible thing for any mother to come to terms with.
“Can you block him, baby?” I asked.
“I-I’ve tried. He breaks through every time. Except...”
“Except what, baby?”
“There’s still a tiny place in my mind that he hasn’t found yet. It’s like a small box.”
“Can you go in there now?” I asked.
“I-I can, but that means...” She searched for words.
“Means what, sweetie?”
“It means I have to sort of shut down. I can’t do a lot in there. It’s a dark place.”
“But safe?”
She nodded, her lower lip trembling.
“Can you go in there now, baby? And maybe sleep?” I asked her. “Sleep all night long?”
She nodded. “I-I think so. The devil says he’s gonna find me, though.”