I found this story hilarious and chuckled harder than I probably should have. “How long have you been psychic?”

  “Does getting images in my head mean I’m psychic?”

  “I think so, if the images are accurate.”

  “Often, though, I can’t always validate all the hits I get, though there is one I would like to confirm, one that’s been appearing to me ever since we met.”

  “Uh-oh,” I say.

  “Uh-oh is right, and please don’t, like, kill me. But are you a vampire?”

  Okay, wow. It’s pretty rare that someone so openly asks the question. In fact, only a few humans have ever picked up on it, if any. “Why do you ask?”

  Samantha Moon, playing it cool.

  “I see conflicting images. You covered in blood, you flying on dark wings, and you feeding on what I can only describe is a person’s aura.”

  “Have you ever seen such images before?”

  “Never, though once I’m pretty sure I came across a werewolf. But that was years ago when I was in court paying a ticket.”

  “A big guy, hairy?” I ask.

  Her eyes widen. She sits back in her chair. “Yes!”

  “He’s my boyfriend, and yes, he’s a werewolf.”

  “Does that mean you’re a vam—”

  “An energy vampire, yes. Used to be a bloodsucking ghoul years ago, but I’ve changed. Long story. Might tell it to you sometime.”

  She nods slowly, suddenly wary of me.

  “And I won’t hurt you. Even when I did drink blood years ago, I rarely hurt anyone. Drank animal blood mostly, shipped special to me from a butchery in Norco.”

  “They were already dead?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, you were a good vampire?”

  “The best I could be, under the circumstances. Are you getting any more hits?”

  “No, just the three. It’s up to me to interpret them.”

  “Not exactly rocket science, those three images.”

  She chuckles nervously and keeps her eyes on me. “The energy thing threw me. Then I saw an image of my brother swimming... and was pretty sure you were seeing the same thing.”

  “That might be a little closer to telepathy.”

  She shrugs. “Maybe. But it was just a flash. It seemed to coincide with you closing your eyes, which is why I thought it might be something you were seeing, too.”

  “I did see him,” I say. “I have a few other gifts, including those wings you saw.”

  She drops her head and flattens her palms on the table. “No way.”

  “Way.”

  “You can fly?”

  “I can, in more ways than one. Again, another conversation for another time.”

  No, I’m not always this forward with mortals. Except she isn’t your average mortal. No use hiding this stuff from her, if she can just get snapshots from the Universe. Easier to come clean and control the narrative.

  “I see that image of him swimming, too, but that’s all I get. That, and a knowing he is alive.”

  “And movement,” I add.

  She nods. “Yeah. He’s not stationary, wherever he is.” She shakes her head. “These other sensations I get are specific to him. I don’t get them from other people.”

  “You just get flashes from other people.”

  “Right. The connection with him is different. It’s why I know he’s alive.”

  “I believe you. Trust me, I believe you.”

  “You are a psychic vampire who helps people?”

  “That pretty much sums it up.”

  “I... I feel lucky to have your help,” she says, and breaks down, bringing her face to her hands and weeping.

  Unsure how comfortable she is having a vampire console her, I throw caution to the wind. I’m by her side in a heartbeat, arm around her shoulders. I don’t make false promises like, ‘we will find him,’ though I do tell her I will do all I can to find him.

  She nods and weeps, and I might have gotten a little teary-eyed, too.

  Chapter Nine

  The kids are at home, safe and sound.

  Lord help any demon that might decide to attack my kids these days. Anthony can now summon a fire sword at will (thanks to some angel magic), and Tammy can shift into a variety of animals, though her favorite is the black jaguar. On top of that, she boasts some ridiculous fairy magic, having thoroughly mastered it during an alternate childhood timeline. It’s weird thinking my eldest daughter, like legit, had another childhood, one that didn’t involve me. Though she won’t admit it, I suspect she is as attached to Queen Maple as she is to me. I know she visits the queen often, along with her many friends in the fairy realms. She’s considerate enough of my feelings to not go into detail about her visits. But when her bedroom is empty late at night, I know she’s used one of the fairy portals in our backyard to visit her tiny, magical family.

  Hey, it’s a small price to pay, knowing she’s now safe for the rest of her life. Worry for her and Anthony had been a full-time job. With them now safe enough—or at least able to protect themselves—I can turn my attention on Paxton, my adopted daughter. So far, she’s shown only a little bit of psychic ability, though not much. Certainly not enough to weaponize in any way. So, for now, the three of us—me, Ant, and Tam Tam—will have to collectively keep an eye out for her. Thank God the demons seem to have lost interest in me for now.

  I’m driving the Momvan to Los Angeles to meet Allison. Though it’s late evening, traffic hasn’t gotten the memo: heavy and crawling. As I drive (read: sit in traffic), I spend the time thinking about my case.

  I’m still not entirely convinced Roy is alive. I mean, I’m almost there. That twin connection thing is real, but I can’t quite get myself all the way there. Allie hadn’t been able to nail down a connection to him. Granted, she hadn’t much to go on: just a picture of him. The journal should do the trick, I hope.

  The fact that I hadn’t made a psychometric connection isn’t a surprise. Something needs to be directly related to his disappearance for my own abilities to kick in. Artifacts of his normal, everyday life aren’t connected to the trauma of an attack or the fear of being lost at sea. When he left his home (and his Jeep), things had been hunky-dory. As such, I get hunky-dory readings from things he’s touched and was connected to.

  I only got the case yesterday, but time is of the essence. Sure, he’s been gone now for a full week, but I need to kick things up a notch, even if I am intruding on Allison and her night gig as a radio disk jockey. Allison works weird hours. Not to mention, she still does her personal training, which I’m pretty sure she doesn’t need to do anymore. Her late night radio show is a hit, owing to her penchant to be, you know, a real psychic, witch, and remote viewer. People love her and she’s able to give them real answers.

  But yeah. Enough is enough. Roy seems to be beyond my normal investigative means. From all appearances, if Roxy is to be believed, the man is somewhere on or under the high seas, and no amount of background research or social media stalking is going to find him.

  Which is why I have the slightly tattered journal sitting on the seat next to me. His sister didn’t hesitate to let me borrow it. Should do wonders to help Allison’s process. Again, we’ll see. It’s not like she didn’t get a hit last time. But it had been faint and not very encouraging. For all I know, she will get the exact same hit with the journal.

  Though I lost the ability to see ghosts when my night vision shifted from seeing energy to a more normal, infrared type of night vision, I still see... things. Not the coalescing of energy that forms spirits... but hints of things. Small movements here and there, flashes of light, though when I turn to look, they’re gone. These could be stronger spirits making their way into my psyche.

  A few days ago, I started catching something bigger from the corner of my eye, as if something human-sized was trying to manifest. When I turn to look, it is gone, but the sheer size of it makes me wonder. Could it have been my ex-guardian angel, Ishmael? Either that, or the spirit of Andre the Giant is messing with me.

  I mention this now because I’m presently catching a glimpse of something sitting in the passenger seat next to me as I close in on Los Angeles. Could be all the streaking lights flashing across my windows screwing with me. But I don’t think so. When I look ahead, yes... I can just see something—or someone—sitting next to me. Then again, the fallen angel would be too big for the passenger seat. Well, in his natural form. I know such beings can take any corporeal form they choose.

  I stare ahead, focused on La Brea Boulevard, famous for its tar pit and television show into alternate dimensions, and continue sensing something sitting next to me. As I pass the MOCA museum, now closed and subdued in the late evening, something shimmers again in my peripheral. I almost turn, but I don’t. I stare ahead at the red light in front of me.

  I can just make out a head, shoulders, arms, and hips. My peripheral, from this vantage, doesn’t reveal legs... if they even exist. Last I checked, ghosts don’t make a habit of moving around from location to location. They tend to be anchored either to the place of their death, burial, or something else of note. Pretty sure no one died in my minivan... or that it had killed anyone, especially since I bought this sucker new all those years ago.

  The light turns green and I apply pressure to the gas. Whether man or woman—or angel or ghost—I don’t know. But I take a stab in the dark, and say, “You’ve been following me for the past few days, Ishmael. Why?”

  I still don’t turn—doing so will cause the apparition to dissipate instantly. But I do keep my side eye on him. I note movement. Pretty sure whoever it is turned to look at me. If this was Ishmael, this would be the equivalent of a gasp. The angel—as do all angels—doesn’t startle easily. Or at all.

  “It’s you, isn’t it?” I say, staring ahead. My peripheral vision can only do so much, but I’m pretty sure he’s transparent. “And why aren’t you fully manifesting? If it’s you, of course.”

  The entity continues gazing in my direction. Ishmael is about three feet taller than whoever this is—and wouldn’t be able to fit in my minivan in his natural state. So, why do I think it’s my one-time guardian angel? Having met him face to face, there is a surreal sense of familiarity that wafts off him when he’s near.

  “Since you don’t seem inclined to answer, I’ll do it for you,” I say, turning my left blinker on at the light on Sunset Boulevard. “It’s not in your nature to frighten your charges at the worst possible time... like when driving in heavy traffic, even at this late hour.”

  The entity continues staring at me.

  “But I suspect there’s a second option,” I say. “There are certain rules governing your kind. I know this because my son might someday join your ranks... or what had been your ranks. My son isn’t being given a lot of information, but it’s coming in piecemeal from those who have taken an interest in him. Of course, you had once offered to keep an eye out for him. An offer I appreciated, back when my kids were fairly helpless. They’re not so helpless these days.

  “I have an adopted daughter that you undoubtedly know about. She’s mortal and would have her own guardian angel, as I suspect Tammy does, too. Then again, she pulled double duty in the fairy realm recently. Meaning, she relived her childhood. I’m sure her guardian angel relived it right along with her.

  “Back to the rules... I suspect you are not fully manifesting because you can’t manifest... at least, not in my presence. Am I right?”

  I snap my head around faster than fast, and just catch an entity disappearing. Damn, still can’t make out who it is. I look forward again as I continue down Sunset. “You can come back. I won’t try to catch you again.”

  Slowly and steadily, something manifests in the seat next to me again.

  “There you are,” I say without looking. “I suspect I’m right. You’ve lost the ability to manifest in my presence. Nod if I’m right.”

  The entity next to me nods ever so slowly.

  “Probably took a little time. Maybe the other angels gave you a chance to repent, so to speak. To ask for forgiveness. To accept, perhaps, a lesser duty. But you refused. You had made your decision to give up eternity... for me, of all people. And by doing so, you are suffering further indignities, like losing your ability to manifest, teleport, and perhaps even speak. Am I right?”

  This time, the nod is a tad more pronounced.

  “You’ve been regulated to the shadows, to barely living at all.”

  A slow nod.

  “And yet, here you are now, doing your damnedest to see me, to sit with me.”

  No movement, just a steady stare in my direction. I can feel his eyes on me. I can also feel his love for me. And if it’s not love, it’s damn close to it. His emotions, I suspect, are different enough that I may never quite understand them. Which is scary to think about for Ant. Would the core of who he is change? Maybe... just as long I can feel some semblance of my son’s heart, whatever that might look like.

  “Why do you love me so much, Ishmael? What am I missing? I don’t deserve this kind of attention. I never asked for it. I don’t know how to return it, or if I ever could or should.”

  He continues staring at me... and slowly fades away.

  As I pull into Allie’s radio station parking lot, I can still feel Ishmael’s love permeating my van. It’s enough to make me shiver...

  Chapter Ten

  Allison’s office isn’t much, though she’s made it as cute as she could.

  Her window looks out on the 101 Freeway and not much else. Since she’s on the first floor, a view of a cement on-ramp is the best she’s going to get. That, and some particularly bad graffiti. As in, no one but no one is going to make out any of that.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” she says, stepping around her desk and hugging me.

  “Literally,” I say. Mine and Allison’s mental connection might just be a forever one, thanks to our one-time, creepy blood-sharing program. I know, a little weird. But back in the day, I couldn’t get enough of fresh human blood... until it had nearly been too late. I hadn’t realized that I had been, in fact, empowering Elizabeth. Luckily, I stopped in time, though a neighbor’s cat would beg to differ. Meanwhile, my own magical hemoglobin put Allie on an accelerated path toward witchery, so I guess some good came of it.

  Anyway, long story short, we’re sort of blood-bonded now... and telepathically connected, too.

  Honestly, I’m not entirely sure how I feel about that, but it is what it is.

  “Hey,” she says. “There’s worse people to be bonded with.”

  “I know, sorry. You’re not so bad.”

  She looks up at me as she sits, studying more than just my face. “That’s like the best compliment you’ve given me in weeks.”

  Before this goes off the sappy rails, I say, “And what was I thinking?”

  “That this place is small and crappy.”

  “I didn’t think crappy. The view maybe is. But I like what you’ve done with the place.”

  “Really?” she says. “Not too witchy?”

  “Maybe for some. The Ouija Board mouse pad might be a tad too much.”

  “But my mouse is a see-through planchette. Isn’t that cool?”

  “Cool for some. Creepy for others.” I didn’t really see it as creepy. When you’ve fought real demons, something that might summon ‘voices from the other side’ doesn’t exactly shake me to my core. Plus, I can see a green, healing aura surrounding the mouse and pad. She’d cleansed it.

  “Is that a real cauldron?” I ask, pointing to the iron monstrosity in the corner of her office.

  “It was a gift from a fan.” She looks at her phone. “Okay, I go on the air in 45 minutes. You’ve got fifteen minutes, then I’ll have to start prepping for my show.”

  “You only need a half hour to get ready?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “Called the producer on the way in and we went over the show. Only a few segments tonight. Mostly, it’ll just be callers calling in. I gave him a list of music I want to play, and we went over any new public service announcements and underwritings I’m required to mention. But yeah, just got to load up the songs and make sure my guest tonight is going to be available. Okay, let’s see what you have.”

  I hand her Roy’s notebook and her eyes literally roll up into her head. She blinks and they roll back down, reminding me a bit of a slot machine. “This is the guy lost at sea?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Give me the rundown on him again.”

  I do. Missing a week, possible disappearance at sea, no witnesses, no evidence of an accident or foul play, no trouble with the law, or any unsavory types. Most would think he’d been tangled in some fishing line at the bottom of the ocean. Or shark food. Or crab food.

  “I would think that, too,” I say. “If not for the sister.”

  “The twin?”

  “Right. A bit of an armchair psychic. Convinced her brother is still alive.”

  “Wishful thinking?”

  “Possibly, but she also got another strange hit: she feels he’s moving.”

  “Like on a boat?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “But I can’t find any evidence or reason for him to have run off or to have purposely disappeared. Doesn’t owe money. Doesn’t have kids or even an ex-wife. No one saw a boat that day in the area he disappeared. Newport has its fair share of boats, granted, but not many come close to the beaches where he swims maybe fifty yards off the shoreline.”

  Allison, a truly beautiful woman—yes, her eyes flash with pleasure at that compliment—purses her full lips and steeples her long fingers. “Well, if you’ve hit a wall, then let’s not waste any more time. Let’s get psychic!”

  “Gag,” I say. “Is that like a new catchword for the show?”

  “Yeah, do you like it?”

  “Err...”