“So, I ask again, why in god’s name did she think anyone could help her? Few people on this planet could do anything with that story. Most would hear it and shrug. But not you, Samantha Moon.”

  “Nope.”

  “You hear her story and start thinking of ways to help her.”

  “Or her boy, as she calls him.”

  “Seems like there’s something bigger at work here,” says Fang.

  “Like a celestial jailbreak?”

  “Yeah, kinda.”

  “Question,” I say. “How is it that the kid spent a lifetime believing his afterlife would look one way, only to find it completely different? Meaning, I doubt he grew up believing much in the Underworld. Heaven and Hell, yes. Hades and the Underworld, no.”

  “I think his personal belief got trumped by the deal he made; in particular, the demigod he made it with.”

  “Who makes these rules?” I ask.

  “I think the rules sort of work themselves out, Sammy. Dis Pater—or shall we call him Rex Infernus?—offered the young man a deal. The young man took it, and thus, his fate was sealed. Perhaps the lad’s own angels and guides and loved ones arrived to usher him into the afterlife, only to be reminded by Infernus Rex that a blood pact had been made.”

  “So that’s it, then?” I ask. “The young man must suffer for all eternity?”

  “Who says he’s suffering? The Underworld isn’t exactly Hell. In Greek mythology, it is simply that which is under the surface world. Admittedly, it’s creepier, darker, and attracts monsters of all sorts, but it’s not designed, necessarily, for torture. Granted, Mr. Infernus might run his version of the Underworld similar to the Christian Hell, but there’s no way of really knowing. And I want to remind you that you were hired to remove the ghost from the stadium, not save a teenage matador from the Underworld.”

  “Except,” I say, “I can’t have one without the other. She’s not leaving until he’s free.”

  “You don’t have to do this, Sam.”

  “Do what?”

  “Journey into the Underworld to save this kid.”

  I shrug. There are lots of things I don’t have to do, but I do them anyway because I think they’re right. To Fang, I say, “The deal doesn’t seem very fair. The boy likely didn’t know what he was getting himself into. Plus...”

  “Plus, what?”

  “Plus, she loves him.”

  “Okay, fine. She loves him. Her story got to you. And now, you feel obligated to somehow save this Ferdinand kid. I emphasize the ‘somehow’ part. Any idea how you plan to journey to the Underworld, short of making a deal with Infernus himself?”

  I drum my finger on the shiny bar counter. “Not exactly sure—”

  “Wait, Moon Dance. Didn’t you say your boyfriend fought a minotaur a few years back?”

  “He did, yes. And that sounds so weird hearing it out loud.” And yeah, I caught the slight emphasis on the word ‘boyfriend.’

  “Sammy, did you know that, according to legend, one of the many tunnels in a minotaur’s labyrinth always leads to the Underworld?”

  “I did not know that. Interesting. Very interesting.”

  Chapter Twelve

  I’m flying over Los Angeles.

  I don’t always teleport. Sometimes I like to jump on my wings and go. My beautiful dark wings. I control them easily through no physical effort of my own. My intention is enough to get them flapping. Never do they tire, nor do I. I can fly around the world forever, which sounds kind of fun, minus the forever part. Maybe someday I’ll just take off and head east and see the world from a mile above, and likely end up on countless TikTok videos as the mysterious winged woman.

  Fang doesn’t think that Anthony, as an angel-in-training, is permitted to cross into the Underworld. Makes sense to me. Or as much sense as any of this makes. A tunnel into the Underworld? Hard to believe something like that could exist. Then again, I really had faced down a minotaur. To say that Kingsley had tussled with it was an understatement. The two monsters had caused a complete cave-in.

  Below is a sea of red taillights. These are the evening rush hours, and cars are flowing away east from Los Angeles, toward Orange County. The sky is dark with few stars. Too much light pulsing from below to see them, anyway.

  Hard to imagine asking my own daughter to journey with me down there... if it even exists, which I’m sure it does. Everything else in this world seems to exist with enough belief around it. That said, no way Tammy is coming with me down there, no matter how strong she might be. There’s just a point where a mother puts her foot down. Plus, Tammy has to get ready for graduation. Still has classes to attend. Can’t screw that up so close to the finish.

  Wait. Am I really going down there?

  A good question. At times, I might appear fearless. Truth is, I act without thinking. I see a wrong, I do my best to make it right. Always been that way, even when I stole fruits and veggies from our nearby farming neighbors. I kept a receipt of how much I stole, and when I started working as a waitress in town, I repaid the amount I stole times two, leaving an envelope at my neighbor’s front door with a note apologizing. I didn’t sign my name, but I suspect he knew it was me. The last time I saw him alive, he gave me a rare smile and nod in his passing truck.

  But that doesn’t mean I can save everyone, especially those who’d made a serious error in judgment. And making a deal with the ruler of any underworld, past or present, is a serious error in judgment. Then again, he had only been sixteen, the same age as Anthony. Well, Anthony wasn’t a good example. Tammy might be a better one. Two years ago, she tended to think the world was against her and was prone to outbursts. Then again, she could also read every mind within five square miles. Life hadn’t exactly been normal for her. I could see her making an unfortunate deal to remove the maddening mind reading altogether. Luckily, Queen Maple had come through with a magical necklace that had done just that.

  Should an ungainly kid with dreams of grandeur be so punished? Surely, there are greater injustices than that in the world. And we’re talking an eternity of punishment here. Not even Hell was an eternity. Once a soul realizes they can leave and that heaven awaits, they can do just that. Perhaps the Underworld is similar. Or not. From what I understood, it isn’t a private hell. It’s open and occupied by any number of beings, but god, demigod, demons and human prisoners.

  So, yeah... I certainly don’t have to help. But I do have a job to do, and I take my job seriously, and I do my best to help all involved. In this case, helping the ghost move on and, perhaps, to be with the love of her life, means looking into this Underworld business.

  I shake my head.

  My life.

  I languidly follow the 10 Freeway as it snakes its way east from Echo Park. I’ve been stuck in that traffic often. Sometimes I don’t mind it. Usually I do. If I can, I teleport into and out of Los Angeles. Sometimes I fly on my dark wings. Sometimes I use Talos’s massive body. The point is, I have options. The people down there, sitting in traffic, not so much. They likely do this every night, five days a week.

  People do it until they can’t stand it anymore. Then serious life choices are made. A lot of home-based businesses are being hatched in the minds of many drivers down there even now. Or moves to the country, or out of state.

  Fang had some other thoughts, and these were confirmed by his dark master, Edward. My old friend didn’t think anyone ‘alive’ could enter into the Underworld. Only the dead. He also didn’t think that just any immortal could enter; in particular, semi-immortals like werewolves, mermaids, and Lichtenstein monsters would be barred.

  No, only vampires—as in, those of us who’d truly died during our transitions. Kingsley just turned hairy way back in the day. Sure, his body went through a massive transition, but he hadn’t flatlined. I had, and other vamps like me had, too.

  As such, unless I can convince another vampire to help me out, I am heading alone into the bowels of the earth. Well, if I choose to go.

  And it’s looking more and more likely that I might.

  Fang hadn’t volunteered to help. In fact, he’d done quite the opposite. At one point in the conversation, another voice entirely had come from him, a voice tinged with an English accent.

  “I will not allow him to join you, my dear. The Underworld is no place for a sophisticated vampire entrepreneur. Besides, there is no guarantee anyone comes out of there alive, immortal or not. I think you are either very foolish or very brave to even contemplate helping the miscreant escape. Methinks you are a little bit of both, but what do I know? I hardly know you. Anyway, the young matador is likely just another lost soul in a forgotten realm, plaything to the ancient gods.”

  When Fang blinked and returned front and center, he immediately apologized but confirmed he would not be helping me. Fang had, of course, made the unfortunate choice of letting Edward out early on in their symbiosis. As such, Edward can exert control over their shared physical body. Thank God I never did the same with Elizabeth. Seriously!

  Anyway, having a friend with me in the Underworld would have been nice, but there are few candidates to choose from, if any.

  Or are there?

  Chapter Thirteen

  It’s late at night as I lay in bed, hands folded behind my head.

  I’d purposely avoided Kingsley tonight, even though he invited me and the kids over for dinner. The big oaf is quite the family man these days, god bless his oversized heart.

  I knew he would ask about the case and I would blab on and on about what I was intending to do, and he would insist on coming along. And from what I understand, he can only go so far but not inside the Underworld, so why bother? Just seems like a whole series of conversations and events that are best avoided.

  The only other vampire on my radar is the OG bloodsucker, Dracula himself, who just so happens to live in a kinda-sorta castle just up the road. The problem with Dracula? He is basically controlled by his own highly evolved dark master, Cornelius, the one-time lover of Elizabeth. Yes, it made for a weird dynamic. But something tells me that Cornelius, like Fang’s own dark master, would be even less inclined to help out. After all, from what I observed, Cornelius had abandoned Elizabeth and her merry band of dark masters in her hour of need. Her hour of need, by the way, was me vanquishing her.

  No, I’m thinking of one being in particular who might be willing to help out. And yeah, I very much want his help on this mission. After all, I’m considering venturing into a realm of gods and monsters, a place where I could very much use an extra set of eyes and ears...

  And muscle.

  With that thought, I sit up in bed and decide to summon the one entity who meets all the prerequisites: immortality, powerful, and willing to do just about anything for me.

  Who better to accompany me into the Underworld than a fallen angel?

  My fallen angel.

  Ishmael.

  ***

  There’s a knock at my bedroom door. Ishmael? No way he can be here that fast. Besides, I’m not entirely sure I summoned him. I’d been thinking about summoning him.

  “Mom,” says my son from the other side of the door.

  “Come in, sweetie,” I say, and sit up all the way.

  When I blink, he’s at the foot of my bed. Literally less than a second has passed. In the least, I should have seen him crossing my room to stand where he’s at now. There’s a soft light emanating from my boy, so soft most people might miss it... or believe they’re imagining it somehow. In fact, I rub my own eyes, though I have seen the phenomenon before, just a few weeks ago, in fact, when my son appeared to me on Kingsley’s balcony. Interestingly, I had also been thinking of Ishmael at the time.

  The more I look at my son, the more he glows, as if it’s taking my eyes a few seconds to get used to the muted energy emanating from his skin.

  “You’re here about Ishmael,” I say.

  “Yes, Mom,” he says a little more formally than I’m expecting.

  “You’re concerned about him.”

  “We all are.”

  “You and the angels?”

  He nods without blinking. Geez, did angels not blink? I guess they wouldn’t need to, unless they had manifested as a human and wanted to pull off the illusion.

  “Where were you just now?” I ask.

  He doesn’t answer, as he is wont to do when I meddle with his training.

  “Just give me a hint,” I say. “I’m still your mother.”

  He cracks a half smile. “Nearby.”

  “Not in the house?” I had checked on him before settling into bed, and he had been under his covers, sound asleep, based on his breathing. Of course, that didn’t mean it was really him. Angel magic.

  He gives me the smallest shake of his head. Yes, of course they have taken him somewhere. How do you go through angel training in a suburban house? But he had said he was nearby, which suggests a sort of parallel world. And if not a world, a parallel realm of sorts. Clearly one with easy access back into this reality, which makes sense. Angels need to bebop around, especially if they are in the business of saving their human charges.

  “Ishmael is very far from what he was, Mom. I’m being told to tell you this.”

  “So far that he can’t help me?” I ask.

  “That, I do not know. But he has participated in darker magic to be what he is now.”

  “And what is he now?” I ask.

  Anthony cocks his head, as if listening to someone, or perhaps considering my question. I do not know which, nor do I expect him to tell if I asked. “He is far from being celestial.”

  “He is a fallen angel, I know that. Does that make him demonic?”

  I recall the vague impression I had of Ishmael last week, when he had appeared to me in the Momvan. I couldn’t see him directly, but could sense him in my peripheral. He had been smaller than I remembered, though still bigger than most.

  “He is becoming human,” I say.

  “An aspect of human, Ma. Mostly, he is something else. Something we have not seen before.”

  “He makes you nervous?” I ask.

  “Not me,” says Anthony. “Nothing makes me nervous.”

  I nod and smile at that. Spoken like a young man full of fire. “I promise I will be careful around him.”

  “Thank you.”

  Of course, what ‘being careful’ entails, I haven’t a clue. I say, “I need him, Ant. He is, as far as I can tell, the only being who can and will—I think—journey with me into where I need to go to save a young man.”

  “They are in agreement with you, Mom. Ishmael is... a wild card. Who or what he is isn’t known. How powerful he is, that isn’t known either. Nor are his alliances, if any.”

  “Got it, sweetie. I will be careful.”

  What I don’t say, and what the angels may not know, is just how much I feel Ishmael’s love for me.

  He’s doing it all for me, I think.

  All for love.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Not quite sure how to summon Ishmael, I decide to go for a jog. Besides, I’m pretty sure having an angel-in-training and a fallen angel in the same house might set off some celestial fireworks.

  So, I lace up my sneakers and throw on a hoodie and old-school sweatpants that are far more comfortable than today’s yoga pants or joggers. Hair tied up and keys in hand, I head out the front door and soon find myself on Harbor Boulevard.

  It’s just after midnight, about the same time it had been fourteen years ago when my life came crashing down... only to rise up from the ashes in ways I never thought possible. Who knew there was a whole world of crazy out there? I just needed to be introduced to it. Turning vamp was all it took to let the crazy in, and boy, did it come pouring in.

  Truth is, I kinda like it. I probably shouldn’t say that.

  But, wow... outside of being removed from the wheel of reincarnation and facing the very real possibility of being forever absorbed back into the Origin upon death, I wouldn’t change a damn thing. Yes, I would save Ant all over again. Okay, yeah, I would have tried to save Danny, too.

  But yeah, I had no clue any of this existed, though I had a whiff of it as a kid, when I saw a fairy (that my mother later convinced me was all in my imagination). That scrubbing of my brain led to a few decades of denying anything supernatural existed. I even led a somewhat normal life. I graduated high school, moved to Southern California on a scholarship, graduated from Cal State Fullerton with a masters in criminology, and soon found myself on the East Coast training with the feds at The Farm. Unlike many of my classmates, I skipped the FBI, DEA, and even the CIA, and ended up working with HUD, a lesser-known agency whose agents also carry guns and arrest people.

  I thought I could stand out with HUD; whereas, with the more popular agencies, I thought I would just disappear into the system.

  I was right, too, having accomplished much at a young age; that is, until an unfortunate late-night jog landed me in the hospital... and a neck that had been literally torn open.

  Fourteen years ago. A lifetime ago, really. Ant had been two, now sixteen; and Tam-Tam had been four, now eighteen. I’d been a vamp for most of their lives.

  And here I am, jogging toward the very same park, while mentally calling out to the very creature who had helped facilitate this madness... all in the hopes of untethering himself to me because, alas, he had fallen in love with me over the eons together.

  The thing is... I don’t hate Ishmael for what he did. I thought I did, years ago, but without him abandoning his post, so to speak, I would never have been able to save Anthony, whose imminent death had been coming, no matter what. My tainted vampire blood and the use of a magical medallion had kept my son around. And that is worth everything to me.

  Ishmael loves me, or so he said. The weird thing is, I had never actually had any sort of heart-to-heart conversation with my one-time guardian angel, who seemed to prefer staring at me more than opening up.