Yes, Ishmael is beautiful. Too beautiful for words, in fact. The Archangels Azrael and Michael had both been beautiful, too. Not sure how the others look, but I’m seeing a pattern here.

  And with that last thought, I hear the words, “Hey, Mom,” from behind me.

  I spin around, catching my robe as I do so. “Whoa. You sneaked up on me.” Which is no small task, mind you.

  “Sorry.” My little boy, who isn’t so little anymore, tilts his head to one side, smiling apologetically. As he stands there, he seems to radiate a golden glow, though that could just be in my head. I did have angels on the mind, after all. I note the balcony door is closed, exactly as I had left it.

  I squint. “How did you get out here, Ant?”

  “We all need our secrets, Ma.”

  Ah, angel magic. He’d recently told me that much of what he does is just between him and his celestial mentor, and must remain that way. I don’t even know his mentor’s name. I asked him how long he’d been training, but he only shook his head and smiled. I suspect he trains in his sleep or in his dreams, since I’ve never seen him gone from his room. Nor has Tammy or Paxton.

  “Yes, of course. Sorry.”

  “No need to be sorry, Ma. We’re all learning as we’re going here.”

  “I know, sweetie. Is there a reason why you’re out here?”

  “Two, actually. I’m being told you need to stay away from Ishmael. He’s going through, ah, a transition of sorts.”

  “What kind of transition?” I ask and immediately feel a bit of my own rebellion grip me. I am not the type who enjoys being told what to do.

  Anthony tilts his head some more, staring at me. Pretty sure my baby boy isn’t blinking. “He’s attempting to become human.”

  “Is that possible?”

  “It’s never been done before.”

  “Why do I need to stay away from him?”

  “He’s engaging in dark magic to facilitate his desire.”

  “Since when do you know words like facilitate?” I ask with a half grin.

  “Mom, please. This is serious.”

  “Is it now?”

  The entity who had sat quietly next to me in the passenger seat, watching me rather hopelessly, seemed pitiful. Pathetic even. Without form or thought, he hardly seemed worth worrying over.

  Anthony leveled his gaze at me. His unblinking gaze, mind you. My little boy is looking like a slightly glowing, full-grown man. “First and foremost, he’s a fallen angel. He was derelict in his duties—and yes, I know that word, too. I know lots of words. And I’m learning more every night. My training is extensive.”

  “When, exactly, do you train—?”

  He shakes his head, cutting me off. “When I can, when they can. That’s all I can tell you. The ways of the guardians should not and cannot be known by anyone other than their kind.”

  “And are you part of their kind now?”

  “Almost. I am... becoming.”

  “Are you still my boy?”

  He cocks his head and smiles brightly. “Always, Ma. But I am a lot more, too.”

  “Will you keep growing?”

  “The guardians are not slight entities, ma. They are warriors.”

  Back in the day, Ishmael had been massive. Bigger even than Kingsley. The angels who had fought alongside us in Kingsley’s front yard, back when I fought the devil, had been as big as the demons. I knew my son would someday be too big to exist comfortably on this earth. An eight-foot-tall human did not live peacefully on this physical plane. Or even board a plane, for that matter.

  “Are you going to be a guardian angel?” I ask.

  “It has been discussed, but no. Not quite.”

  “You are going to be a warrior, too.”

  “In many ways, I already am.”

  “The Fire Warrior,” I say.

  “That was the beginning, an expression that I summoned from my future self in ways that the angels themselves weren’t entirely prepared for.”

  “Not all angels can summon such a warrior?” I ask.

  He shakes his head slowly, watching me. He can’t tell me anymore. Some damn angel code. “Let’s get back to Ishmael.”

  “If we must.”

  “He is going down a very dark road in his attempt to ingratiate himself with you.”

  “There you go again,” I say, but he ignores me.

  “He’s making pacts with some dark entities—promises no angel should ever make.”

  “All to be with me,” I say.

  “Yes, Mother. He is changing from one thing into another. He is not the same angel you met. He is becoming something else.”

  “A man?”

  “So he believes. It is the closest approximation to one that he can find.”

  “I will be wary of him, Ant. I promise.”

  Truth is, I can’t help but be flattered that Ishmael thinks so highly of me to want to go through all this. In 2,500 years, when Kingsley has passed on, thanks to his limited immortality... what then? My son will have many thousands of years under his ability as a warrior angel of some type, fighting on the side of good. My daughter will be gone. Allison, too. Pax, as well. All that will be left is a fallen celestial being who gave up Heaven for me.

  My son cocks his head a little to one side. No doubt he’s wondering if his words landed. What my son doesn’t know, and what I’ll likely keep to myself for God knows how long... is the real love I felt—and still feel—from Ishmael. That can’t be faked, right?

  “I’m going to go back inside now,” says my son.

  “I’m going to stay out here a while longer.”

  He nods and smiles, though I see the flash of concern in his eyes. Whatever Ishmael is becoming is worrying these guys like crazy. I half expect my son to slowly disappear from view, but he does the very mundane act of opening the balcony door and slipping into the palatial bedroom, quietly stepping past the snoring Kingsley.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I’ve got a 9:00 a.m. date with a mermaid.

  But first, I’m to meet again with Captain Chuck Peterson of the Coast Guard, and lead investigator on Roy’s case. Apparently, they found something, and he was kind enough to think of me. With Tammy promising to get everyone to school on time, I head out in the Momvan. Heck, I was already going to the beach anyway to meet with Alexis. The timing couldn’t have been better.

  Morning traffic from Yorba Linda to the beach is no joke, but I’ve given myself plenty of time. Besides, how accurate could Alexis’s guestimate be of her arriving at 9:00 a.m., after swimming all the way from Seattle? I should have some wiggle room here.

  I don’t stop for a Starbucks, but I’m tempted. Time should be of the essence with Roy’s search, except he’s now gone long past the point of dehydration. Mortals can’t go three days without water. I got called in on Day 6. It’s now Day 8. Poor Roy should be dead by now… if he didn’t have access to fresh water.

  And from what Allie tells me, he’s in the belly of something. Last I checked, bellies of anything weren’t active sources of fresh water, except for maybe something found in freshwater.

  This is the ocean we’re talking about. There should be no fresh water in the belly of anything out here. Even if Roy had managed to survive, he would have been deposited into the digestive juices of what must surely be a predator of some type.

  I pull up to the security gate. This time, the gate is manned. I give them my name, and show them my driver’s license. They’ve been informed of my arrival and let me in. It’s just after 8:00 a.m. I park in the same spot and head inside. At the front desk, I’m waved through and head down a polished hallway replete with pictures of warships, probably more than is necessary. I get it. This is a Coast Guard station.

  The door to the captain’s office is open. I step a foot inside and wait for a proper invite. Had I been wearing a ballcap, I would have removed it. He looks up from a logbook of some time, sets his pen aside, smiles, and waves me in. He does this sort of half-stand thing and reaches across his desk to shake my hand. I take it and find myself in the same seat I had chosen yesterday.

  He gets right to the point. “A beachcomber found something of interest this morning.”

  “Please tell me it’s not a body.”

  “It’s not a body.”

  I’m about to say ‘thank God’ when another question occurs to me: “Not a body part, either?”

  “Close. Here, it’s easier to show you.”

  With that heart-stopping lead-in, I’m not surprised when, after reaching down, he hauls up a swimming fin. A mangled swimming fin; in fact, something clearly bit through it. The missing chunk extends from the webbed end all the way down to where a big toe would have been. Ouch.

  “We already confirmed from social media pictures—and even in his latest book—that this is likely Roy Aberdeen’s fin. Have a look.”

  He pushes an open hardback book across the desk toward me. Peering down, I see Roy in a color photo sitting on a buoy in the middle of the ocean. Sure enough, a quick eyeball comparison between the two fins reveals them likely to be the same. Both sport the same red stripe along the sides and a painted web design along the toes. I’ve seen a few swimming flippers, and none like this. Either custom made or rare.

  “It made its way in last night or this morning. The finder says it was just sitting loosely in the wet sand.”

  “Not buried?”

  “She took a pic before touching it.” He shows me a gray picture—clearly taken in the early morning before first light. Yeah, it’s just sitting there on the hard-packed sand, minding its own business.

  “Hard to miss that for the past six or seven days,” I say.

  “Yeah. We’ve been over the beaches numerous times. We think this is proof the poor guy might have been attacked by a shark. We don’t get many out here, but he was sort of, you know…”

  “Asking for it?” I suggest.

  “Hard to be attacked by a shark at a Starbucks.”

  “Good point. Will you be running any tests on it?”

  He points to the open book still in front of me. “You’re looking at it. Thing’s been scrubbed and washed for nearly a week.”

  “You mind if I borrow it for a few minutes?”

  “A few minutes? Sure. But I would prefer it doesn’t leave with you.”

  “It won’t. Just gonna sit with it in my minivan.”

  “Sit with it?”

  “I’m kinda witchy.”

  “Ah, like his sister. Sure, go ahead. Just return it in one piece, please.”

  “I will,” I say.

  “Good luck with, well, whatever you intend to do with it.”

  “Thank you,” I say. “We can all use a little luck.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sitting in my minivan with the flipper across my lap, I slip right back into the water with Roy, pretty much where we last left off.

  Up ahead, through the swells and waves, along the shoreline, I see what I believe is a familiar sight for Roy. Though I don’t have access to his thoughts, I suspect this is the first of the fans who wait for him to swim by. Kinda hard to see across the swells and beach, but she’s standing on the second-story balcony, coffee mug in hand; at least, I think it’s a coffee mug. I’m using his mortal eyes, after all. He seems to catch her eye... and waves just when something bumps into him from underneath.

  I can feel it, too, as if something from under the floor mat has reached out and nudged my knee.

  Whoa.

  My impulse is to look under the steering wheel, but I don’t move, not daring to break this very clean connection I’m having with Roy. Besides, he’s already looking down for me under the ocean surface. He presses his goggles on a little tighter, just as something massive passes beneath him.

  Double whoa.

  I sense panic as he jerks up his head. But it’s not all-out panic. This isn’t his first rodeo with creatures in the sea. Apparently, he writes about all sorts of aquatic encounters: sharks, dolphins, orcas, baby whales, giant manta rays, and even a whale shark.

  He continues swimming, clearly rattled. His strokes are not as smooth. He’s splashing more, breathing louder.

  Twenty seconds later, he dips his head again. Something is passing beneath him again.

  He makes a squeaking sound. I would have, too. In fact, I think I just did.

  To me, it feels like an entire skyscraper is passing under him, one made of glistening, corrugated flesh. Followed by the mother of all flukes. It’s the biggest thing I have ever seen—and I’ve seen legit dinosaurs in Loch Ness. Well, in primordial Loch Ness.

  I don’t know what sort of impression it’s making on him, but he pauses, swimming ever-so-slightly. I can feel his heart rate pick up, too.

  Now he turns toward shore. A smart move, surely. Then again, not being out there in the first place would have been a smart move, too. Though he’s now pointed toward shore, he dips his head beneath the waves once again, scanning the blue-black depths beneath him.

  He sees nothing and continues forward. Heartbeat throbbing in his head, he breathes faster now. Faster and faster. I catch the woman on the deck in his peripheral vision. She’s turning back to go inside, her morning mission a success. She doesn’t know he might be in trouble.

  Roy pauses and looks down again.

  Don’t pause! I want to scream at him. Get to shore dammit!

  He catches movement from far below, down where the sunlight barely registers.

  Big movement.

  Like an entire land mass has come alive beneath him.

  It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before. I want to say it’s a cross between a whale and a dinosaur. Perhaps the biggest dinosaur ever. It’s definitely nothing that’s been documented, though I suspect people have caught glimpses of it for ages.

  It rises from the depths like a nightmare and opens its tooth-lined jaws to form a bottomless black maw.

  Roy has paused, watching it.

  I’m no longer screaming at him to swim. There’s no escaping this thing.

  But I see what Roy’s doing, and I am amazed he had the clarity to even think of this, let alone act on it. Instead of trying to swim away, Roy dives down.

  Straight into the creature’s open mouth... just as the jaws snap shut.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Roy

  My name’s Roy Aberdeen, and I thought I’d seen it all.

  As a non-competitive long-distance, open-water swimmer, I had seen everything from great white sharks, to tiger and mako sharks. I once had a twenty-foot great white swim directly beneath me in the waters off Mexico.

  I once swam the Bering Strait; that is, the distance between Alaska and Russia. I had done so with some fanfare. This was a decade or so back, back when relations between the two countries had been cordial enough. I even wrote a book about it. It did well, spending some time on the L.A. Times bestseller’s list. I’ve written a few other books on swimming. Though not quite as popular, they did earn me a few fans, some of whom like to wave to me from shore during my morning swims.

  Crazily, I make more money off my book cover designs than I do from my own books. Books on swimming, after all, is a bit of a niche market, though I do have my fans, God bless them all.

  A simple life, to be sure. No kids, no wife, not even a girlfriend at present.

  During my swims, I’ve had just about everything swim beneath me. Even a whale shark. Those suckers are big—and weird. I’ve never seen a blue whale in person. Definitely on the bucket list. Not too long ago, I had a gray whale come up from underneath and nudge me playfully. Feeling the water surge up is always alarming, and it had then, too. Once I saw that barnacled four-foot long jawbone, relief had swept over me.

  Yes, one has to have nerves of steel—or something else of steel—to open-water swim. Mostly, I had such nerves. I liked seeing the wildlife, even the sharks. Well, the smaller ones. The bigger ones gave me pause. But so far, so good.

  Of course, that had been my thoughts prior to today’s swim, prior to where I found myself even now. But I’m getting ahead of myself...

  My day went from good to bad in a span of ten seconds.

  This is what happened...

  ***

  I was a half hour into my swim.

  I don’t consider swimming in the ocean for an hour or two as distance swimming. I call it waking up. Distance swimming is crossing the English Channel or the Bering Strait, or between islands in the Bahamas, all of which I had done.

  This was just a morning dip in the ocean, as far as I was concerned, though I still like to keep my strokes to about sixty a minute. Hey, good form never hurt anyone.

  Though, in my case, it might have attracted something.

  There I go again, getting ahead of myself.

  At half past six in the morning, with the sun rising in the east behind me, I felt the first hint of a surge. I recall pausing briefly and assessing my situation. My verdict: all is well and proceed forward.

  Which I did.

  Until the surge came again. I went from barely sensing it to being overwhelmed by it.

  Something’s coming, I thought. Something big.

  I stopped swimming and watched the water swell up around me.

  This is it, I thought. Fun and games are over. Nature wins and Ol’ Roy loses...

  There was no denying whatever was happening. There was also no denying it was coming directly for me. What else could I think?

  I risked looking down. At least I would see what my killer looked like... or even what it was. Surely the mother of all great whites. There had been rumors of a few sniffing around out here. And, no, rumors are not enough to stop my morning workout.