Moon Angel

by J. R. Rain

  “By necessity, yours will appear as tattoos.”

  “I can see that. But they are, in fact, wings?”

  “Wings in waiting, yes. Wings that need only to be summoned.”

  “After I disrobe?”

  “Not quite, Sam. These are angel wings.”

  “So, I will be part angel, after all!”

  “If it helps you, yes. As angel wings, they will not be part of your physical body.”

  “You lost me.”

  “Observe,” he said, and he turned his back to me. As he did so, his glowing neon tattoo in the shape of a magnificent pair of wings, caught fire. Or so I thought. What it did was flare brightly and erupt into a beautiful set of golden wings. He flapped them lightly, lifting off the ground a foot or two. “Look again, Sam.”

  I did, and saw what he meant. The joints of the wings were not attached to his skin, or what passed as his skin. The wings sort of hovered just above his skin. A part of him, yes, but separate too. I saw the genius of it immediately.

  “Means I don’t have to disrobe every time, doesn’t it?”

  “Indeed. The wings will hover over skin or clothing.”

  I nodded, relieved. I didn’t want to battle demons and devils with my goods hanging out. The mental image of it nearly made me chuckle. That was, until I focused on the part of battling demons and devils.

  He settled back to the floor and his wings once again folded in on themselves in a manner that suggested I’d long since gone nutso. “Now, let’s see yours, Sam.”

  “What do I say?”

  “You don’t say anything. Imagine them there behind you. See them in your mind.”

  I imagined a pair of wings rising up behind me as beautiful as Azrael’s, except mine were black and kind of bad-ass. But I felt nothing. I imagined harder. I imagined the shit out of those wings... but still, nothing.

  “Don’t hurt yourself, Sam. The wings are there, waiting.”

  I tried to really picture them in my mind. I saw myself flapping around in them, like a giant vampire tooth fairy. Nada. And while Azrael waited patiently, I realized he didn’t know how to help me. Not really. The beautiful Angel of Death had been flying, perhaps, for all eternity. Sprouting wings came second nature to him. I wondered if he’d ever had a girlfriend. Or had made love.

  Focus, Sam.

  I considered what to do, growing more frustrated, until I realized growing frustrated didn’t help. I calmed my mind, took a few steadying breaths, and the image of a flame came to mind. Not the actual flame that I summoned, but the idea of it. Could it work? I didn’t know. Worth a shot.

  And so, with the archangel gazing serenely upon me, I summoned the single flame, and within the flame, I saw a pair of beautiful black raven wings. I saw them flapping. And as they flapped, I felt myself rush toward them, and them to me. I gasped and stumbled.

  Behind me rose a shadow. No, two shadows.

  Two massive and beautiful shadows.

  “Very good, Sam. Now, shall we fly?”

  ***

  The wings unfurled instantly, catching the wind like sails.

  The feeling of their sudden appearance was unlike anything I’d experienced before. Although brand new, they felt like old friends. In fact, I would learn during my flight training with Azrael that the wings were an extension of my own soul. Even wilder, I would learn—and experience—the wings responding instantaneously to my thoughts. I was truly one with them.

  Perhaps most reassuring of all was that I wasn’t running out here bare-breasted.

  Thank God for that.

  Now, to either side of me stretched uncommonly long, infinitely black wings, a fusion of physical and spiritual. Wings that were in this world, but not of this world. And if there were feathers, I couldn’t see them. Truth was, I wasn’t one hundred percent sure how I felt about sprouting feathers.

  As I ran, I felt the wings catch the air, and divert it down. The force was undeniable and soon my running legs were only lightly touching Kingsley’s crushed-shell driveway. And then only my toes were tapping—and then I was airborne...

  And then, I was stumbling again, scraping a knee, momentarily dragging both my feet. I nearly did a barrel roll but somehow kept it together. My wings instinctively tucked in as I tumbled. Thank God for that. I would hate to damage them already.

  I rolled up to my feet and was running again, but this time, I gave the wings a mighty flap, and now, I really was airborne. A foot off the ground, another foot. And I was flying.

  Really flying.

  ***

  “Good, Sam. Good. Bank left. Now right. Very good.”

  I did as he was told, still reeling from the rapturous, glorious, heady high of actually flying. Yes, I had flown with Talos often. But those had been his wings, his body. Although the sensation had been mind-blowing in its own right, it did not compare to flying in this body. This human/vampire/angel hybrid of a body. Me, Samantha Moon. Me, mother of two. Me, a private eye in Orange County. Me, a daughter and sister and friend and coffee addict. Me, flying. Here, in this hallway between worlds.

  The Archangel Azrael watched me from below, calling out his commands.

  “Now stop.”

  “I don’t know how to stop.”

  “Stop flapping your wings.”

  “I don’t know how to stop flapping my wings.”

  Indeed, I felt a bit like an out-of-control skier on the kiddie slope for the first time. Except this kiddie slope was many dozens of feet off the ground, and I was going far too fast.

  “Stop, Sam.”

  “I don’t know how—”

  I veered off a pillar and spun out of control, slamming into the floor, tumbling and skidding. As I picked myself up, a glorious, massive, white silhouette appeared above me, smiling down.

  “That is one way to stop. Are you okay?”

  “I’ve been better.” I stood, noting my wings were unscathed, despite my inglorious landing. I tasted blood in my mouth, although the wound was already healing.

  When my head had cleared, I tried again, this time flying slower and more cautiously. Later, with more practice, I was able to stop. Not in midair. Not even Talos could stop in midair. But I could stop flapping, and glide, and learn to alight on my feet smoothly. Which I did, over and over.

  Azrael also taught me how to run and fly, like an airplane on a runway. He also taught me how to leap up and gain altitude from a standing position. I had done my best to be a good student. Whether or not I lived through the night remained to be seen...

  ***

  Trial by fire, I thought, as I gained altitude.

  After all, this was my first flight in the real world—and it just so happened to be in the middle of a showdown with the devil and his spawn.

  I counted eight of them, each as big as the next, and each sporting burning eyes and their own set of black wings. Had Kingsley had any neighbors, I suspect the police would have been called out long ago. I also suspected there might have been a heart attack or two in the neighborhood. As it was, Kingsley was a mile away from his neighbors’ prying eyes.

  From up here, I could see the deep grooves in his manicured lawn, the destruction of trees and hedges, and a demon shape burning in his backyard. How long my son could hold off the bastards, I didn’t know, but there he was, slashing at yet another and another, sending each tumbling through the air. One landed on Kingsley’s golf cart, obliterating it. Another crashed in the driveway fountain, shattering it.

  Now, my son seemed to see me, and his sword paused momentarily, and as it did, a demon raked across his face. My son roared and shook his head. He was wounded, that much was clear. But with all the fire, it was hard to tell. Another demon dashed toward him, its black claws extended. Aimed at my son’s exposed back.

  I knew this wasn’t my son’s back. It was the Fire Warrior’s back, the warrior he became. But should the warrior perish, I knew my own son would be trapped in whatever world he temporarily found himself in.

  Which
, of course, wasn’t going to happen.

  I wasn’t sure just how fast these wings could take me, but I was about to find out. In a blink, I found myself flying faster than I had ever before, so fast that I was completely out of control. And still, I flapped harder, holding the sword in my right hand. I felt like a jousting knight, except my opponent was a demon flashing toward my son, claws outstretched, ready to kill or maim, and I couldn’t have either.

  Not ever.

  ***

  “I think you are ready, Sam.”

  “To fight the devil and his legion of demons?”

  “You are stronger than you think, and the angels will be watching over you.”

  “Helping me?”

  “When possible. We cannot intervene directly.”

  “If you can’t intervene between the devil and mankind, when can you intervene?”

  “I’m sorry. This is not our fight. But we will be there, helping in subtle ways.”

  “I guess I’ll just have to take what I can get.”

  “Yes. Now, you should go.”

  “Because we are done here?” I asked.

  Azrael kept his gaze on me, his beautiful unwavering gaze, and said, “No, Sam. Because the devil is coming.”

  ***

  The demon and I converged.

  Lucky for me, the demon had been intent on his target—my son. Unlucky for the demon, my sword was true. As it prepared to deliver a blow, the black emptiness of its chest was exposed, and I drove the sword deep within it. I caught a brief glimpse of its fiery eyes flaring, then extinguishing before it disappeared in a cloud of smoke. I smashed into the grass so hard that I was sure I had been broken a bone or two. Or three.

  When I was done skidding on my face, I rose up on my knees, spitting sod and grit and blood. A quick check confirmed that my collarbone might be broken, but already, it was healing.

  I stood on shaking legs, my wings providing me balance. My son had turned and moved toward me. In fact, he was reaching out a hand toward me. Thank God he could still see. But I was reluctant to grab his oversized hand, mostly because it was burning continuously. Hell, I could feel the heat. How the grass around his feet didn’t catch fire, I didn’t entirely know. No one knew. It was a mystery in and of itself. Kingsley had tried to explain it away that my son existed within a sort of gravitational field, a sort of bubble. If that was true, then how could I feel the heat of him now? And where was the damn bubble? His striking sword sure as hell sent the demons tumbling.

  Anyway... a moot point.

  My son watched me—and, for all I knew, stared at me. He was seeing my wings for the first time and I sensed his wonder. Something flashed above us, and he spun faster than something that big and burning had any right to spin. His sword came around in a great, sweeping, blazing arc, and the attacking demon was driven straight into the ground—and very close to me.

  With a yell that would do the Amazons of Themyscira proud, I leaped high and plunged my sword with hands down into its demon’s black, swirling chest. It screeched, contorted, and disappeared.

  Another appeared behind me—either materializing out of thin air or swooping down without detection. Luckily, my own inner alarm blared so loud that I automatically ducked without knowing what was happening. A rush of wind passed over me. In fact, I think it passed through my wings themselves. Luckily, my wings were there but not there.

  I spun, swinging my sword blindly, and clashed loudly with spiked claws. Unfortunately, my sword didn’t do any damage to the claws. In fact, it only seemed to anger the demon, who literally grew in size before me.

  I endured a hellish barrage from its hacking, swiping, cutting, slicing claws, some of which landed home, sending me spinning and tumbling and crying out. The demon claws burned worse than silver. Hell, maybe they were made partially with silver.

  Another swipe, and I felt a chunk of flesh hacked off my chin. Another swipe and I watched some of my dark hair flutter to the grass. Another swipe, and this time, I parried nicely. The second set of claws came and I ducked, and spun on a knee, saw my opening, and drove my sword up into its chest, and watched with satisfaction as its furnace-like eyes died out.

  Nearby, my son backhanded another demon so hard that he sent it through a fence. Soon, my son and I were working in tandem, him using his brute strength and unparalleled skill to send the demons if not quite back to hell, definitely down into Kingsley’s much-maligned and once-beautiful front yard landscaping.

  And that’s where I waited, plunging with glee, not feeling bad at all that most of the demons were dazed and a little confused. They attack my son, Fire Warrior or not, and they are going to die. It was the simplest pop math quiz ever. Attacking my son equaled death.

  We did this, over and over, until there were none.

  Both my son and I scanned the heavens, the shadows, anywhere and everywhere, but nothing materialized. Near the house, I watched some of the Lichtenstein monsters approach; the wolf, too. Kingsley had been damaged. Or, rather, his inner wolf counterpart had. I could see the bloody gashes from here. It was a wonder that the wolf was alive. The thought of losing Kingsley was terrible to comprehend. I knew that Kingsley and the wolf were truly one. There really was an inner wolf within him. He didn’t summon it from another world. If the wolf was hurt, he was hurt. Perhaps even too hurt to transform. I knew the feeling; my own wounds were reluctant to heal.

  The wolf made an effort to come to us, but Franklin put a hand on it, keeping it at bay. Not a bad idea. Kingsley was too hurt to do much. Besides, the demons appeared to be gone. For now.

  My son stepped over to me, and lowered his sword. His burning skin crackled and spat. I could have been next to the world’s biggest bonfire. A true Burning Man. We continued scanning the surroundings. Both of us, I suspected, knew that all was too calm. Too quiet.

  Also, my inner alarm hadn’t stopped buzzing. In fact, it had even begun to pick up in intensity.

  Footsteps. Near the front gate. Both my son and I snapped our heads around. Now, the sound of hands clapping. Kingsley’s front gate, amazingly, was still closed. Then again, when demons could materialize in the sky overhead, a front gate became a moot point.

  A middle-aged man in a black suit stepped out of the shadows, still clapping and maybe even laughing. Hard to tell from where we were. He clapped all the way to the front gate. Without missing a beat, he did something with his hands, and the wrought-iron fence exploded inward, wrenching free from its hinges and landing in a pile of twisted metal and dust, literally shaking the earth beneath my feet.

  The devil was here.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  The man kicked aside the gate, and it went skittering over the gravel as surely as if he’d kicked a tin can.

  To my utter surprise, three Lichtenstein monsters charged past us. Like the demons, they protected their master. As they dashed forward, one loping and another flat-out limping, I saw the well-dressed man grin. I also saw him reach inside his jacket and remove something that gleamed dully. Two daggers. Silver daggers.

  The first Lichtenstein monster was upon him. I knew him well. His name was Gerald and he was, perhaps, the politest of all the monsters, and spoke with a crisp English accent. Now, he roared and hurled himself through the air, leaping easily twenty feet or more. Not to my surprise, the man in black dashed forward, too, leaping as well. The two met in mid-air, and the roar I had heard quickly turned to a strangled cry. When the two landed, only one did so smoothly on his feet; the other thudded on his back, unmoving, a dagger protruding from his chest.

  The man in black smiled and adjusted his sleeves, rolled his neck a little. I could hear it crack from here.

  The next two Lichtenstein monsters leaped—both gardeners here at the estate, and both with whom I’d had little contact. Both were obviously devoted to Kingsley to the end. And their end came quickly. With a flurry of feet and hands, a cacophony of grunts and strangled cries, two heads fell free. Both bounced, rolled, and came to a stop, as
their massive, headless bodies finally toppled next to them. The devil had barely broken stride.

  He continued down the driveway, whistling. Another Lichtenstein monster appeared. And another. Both monsters were quickly dispatched. Both had been kind to me. Both had been family, in their own way—especially to Kingsley this past year. Both had died trying to protect him. Enough of this. Enough.

  Kingsley the wolf would be no match for what I saw coming at us, especially in his condition. Neither would Franklin, nor the remaining two Lichtenstein monsters—all of whom would be summarily dispatched.

  “Your son is impressive, Samantha Moon,” said the man, raising his voice as he approached. “You should be proud. Then again, you turned him, didn’t you? Your selfish act made him the monster he is today. The freak he will be for all eternity.” The devil bowed. “I commend you, Sam. In all the history of the world, rarely have I seen a worse mother. In fact, you might hold the crown.”

  Don’t let him get to you, Sam, came Allison’s thoughts into my head.

  I turned and saw her next to Kingsley, holding her head. Blood ran between her fingers.

  Are you okay?

  Don’t worry about me. I’ve got your back.

  “And don’t even get me started on your daughter, Samantha,” said the devil, walking toward me. The possessed man’s tie whipped crazily in the wind. I noted the fresh blood on his shirt. “Now, had you done your job—a job any mother would have done, mind you—you would have spared your family. You would have fled for the hills, or to the graveyards, or wherever your filthy kind congregate. You would have faked your death, or, even better, plunged a silver dagger into your own chest and rid the world of the problem—the very real problem—you have become.”

  Sam, look, came Allison’s voice in my head.

  I turned and saw where she was pointing into the sky. I saw a flash appear and disappear. Many flashes. They were angels, and one of them, I was certain, had been Ishmael. They were nearby. How they were helping, I didn’t know. But I found their presence comforting.