“Could a small compromise work?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I engaged the services of a not-very-bright master.”

  “A dark master.”

  “I will not and cannot say it.”

  “Are you indebted to this not-very-bright master?”

  “I am not. She was paid for her services.”

  “Is her tainted blood in your blood now?”

  “No, Sam.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I am acutely aware of evil and darkness. I am naturally repelled by it.”

  “But you are a fallen angel. Perhaps your nature changed.”

  “A fair assumption. Except my nature hasn’t changed, of that I can assure you.”

  Because he fell for me, literally. And dammit. I really don’t like that he used a dark master for his transition from angel to human. “How is it that you still have angel wings, then?”

  “The same reason you do. They were given to me and, as of yet, not taken back.”

  “Who was the dark master?”

  “I don’t think her name or location is of any concern, Sam. I am not connected to her or in debt to her and will likely never see her again.”

  “What did you give for your humanity?”

  “I wish not to say, Sam.”

  “Please do.”

  He looks away, his super-long fingers drumming on the chair piled with the grandma afghans. “Very well. I gave her exactly one ton of gold.”

  “Whoa! Where did you steal a ton of gold?”

  “Not stolen, Sam. I journeyed to other planets where gold is as common as sand on the beach.”

  “So, really... it cost you nothing.”

  He gives me a slightly devious smile. “Nothing at all.”

  “You might need to show me this planet.”

  He winks. “Maybe. Shall we talk about your case now?”

  Ah, he changed the subject. “Very well.”

  And with that, I catch him up on everything I know so far, speaking well into the night. He listens attentively, rarely blinking, and asks few questions.

  “What do you think?” I ask.

  “I think I might just qualify for the task at hand.”

  “You would help me?”

  “Until my last breath.”

  “You breathe?”

  “It was metaphorical.”

  “This might sound lame, but are you still immortal?”

  “My immortality was never taken from me; more importantly, it can’t be taken from me.”

  “But you are a man of flesh and blood.”

  “And you are a woman of flesh and blood. One does not exclude the other.”

  “Fine. You’re immortal, and you’re no longer an angel. That apparently qualifies you to journey down into the underworld. You’re totally okay with that?”

  “The realm is rarely visited by beings like me. It does give me pause, but I am up to the task. Besides, someone has to keep their eye on you.” He winks. “It is safe to say, I am quite used to that.”

  I don’t say ‘except for that one time.’ I think I need to let it go. He made his choice. Apparently, I was his choice. Whether or not he ‘gets’ me remains to be seen. Certainly, not anytime soon. Anyway, I need to accept him for who he is: a flawed, lovestruck fallen angel who isn’t hard on the eyes. And yeah, it’s a good thing he no longer has access to my thoughts.

  “Samantha,” he says, “have you considered the possibility that the lad deserves to be where he is?”

  “I have, and I don’t buy it. I’m not a god and don’t make these rules. But two hundred years in what’s essentially hell, compared to three months of being the best matador in the world, hardly seems fair. I think Ferdinand has served his time. Besides, there’s a ghost girl waiting for him.”

  “You want them to be together again,” says Ishmael.

  “I want everybody to play fair. I want the lad not to suffer for a brief foray into greatness, and I want a ghost lass not to have to haunt a freakin’ stadium in the middle of nowhere. If they can find a way to be together, that would be nice. If they can move on together, I would be happy.”

  “And every day he’s down there is another day of suffering.”

  “If he’s suffering,” I say. “I have no idea what to expect in this Roman god’s underworld.”

  “It is a nasty place, from what I hear, Sam.”

  “And you are not afraid?” I ask.

  “Are you afraid, Sam?”

  “A little.”

  “But you would have gone alone if I hadn’t agreed?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “But I wouldn’t have liked it.”

  “The thing about angels, Samantha, is that we have no fear.”

  “But you can die now. Doesn’t that give you fear?”

  “I guess we’ll see. One thing is certain, dear one, I won’t let anything happen to you, even if it means the death of me.”

  Okay, wow. Wasn’t prepared for such a solemn oath.

  After I absorb his words that literally get me buzzing from head to toe, he asks me what the plan is, and I tell him it starts with the labyrinth under Carbon Canyon. Oh, and a minotaur. A very big and hulking minotaur. An angry one, too. So very angry.

  He grins at this and says, “Shall we go, then?”

  I check my cell phone. It’s a little past 2 a.m. The kids should be asleep. No better time to save a young bullfighter and help a young ghost than now.

  “Yeah,” I say. “Let’s do this.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  I take Ishmael’s oversized—and oh-so-warm—hand, and teleport us out of his hunter’s lodge and into something nearly as dark and dank.

  An underground tunnel.

  A space I have been before and can see clearly in the dancing flame.

  “This is the realm of the minotaur?” asks Ishmael, intrigued.

  “It is, and it’s not too terribly far from the stadium in question.”

  “I have never faced off against a minotaur,” says my one-time guardian angel.

  “With any luck, we won’t have to. Trust me, it did not go well last time. There was a cave-in. Kingsley got gored. A whole mess.”

  “Did you dispatch the minotaur?”

  “No, I actually saved him.”

  “Ah, true to your spirit, Samantha Moon. Well, then, perhaps he will show favor toward us and let us pass through without incident.”

  “Umm, he was pretty grumpy afterward, but I guess we’ll see.”

  “The tunnel appears empty.”

  “Oh, this is just one of hundreds of tunnels. The minotaur keeps busy down here.”

  “Then there is a chance we may not even come across him.”

  “A chance, but I think he knows when someone is in his labyrinth. Likely, it will be a race to find the entrance into the Underworld.”

  “If such an entrance exists down here.”

  “I hope so,” I say. “Because it’s all I’ve got.”

  “And should this Ferdinand fellow remain in his eternal prison, would it be so bad?”

  I think about that. Then I think about Annabelle and the sacrifices she made. Truly, I am a part of her journey—and their journey. Likely the Universe, and whatever forces are at work behind the scenes, brought us together for a purpose. I really can’t imagine anyone else willing and capable of helping this young couple. True, I don’t have to do it. But I choose to help a young man damned to an eternity of hellish torture, and to try my best to reunite him with his one-time fiancé.

  Hey, a gal can dream.

  “It would be bad, yeah,” I say. “I’m part of this now. And so are you. And we’re going to do our best to help fix this.”

  “Very well, Samantha Moon. You have my undying allegiance. I will fight to the bitter end.”

  “Yeah, yeah, thanks. Let’s go. Up on our wings, big guy. If we’re going to get through this massive maze, we’re going to need to fly through it, not walk or run. Ready?”

  “As ready as ever, Sam.”

  “Right. Let’s go.”

  Watching his white wings spring forth is nearly overwhelming. I don’t get to have such a view of my own dark wings and... wow. His truly appear out of nowhere, though I do detect a dark opening of sorts that appeared between his shoulder blades. And yeah, watching white wings appear above a colorful poncho is about the weirdest thing I’ve seen today.

  But it was about to get a whole lot weirder.

  Sorry. Getting ahead of myself.

  We can’t fly side by side. The tunnels aren’t that wide. But we can flap our wings single file, with me leading the way. I’m already noticing my ex-guardian angel defers to me, which is fine. I’m used to men deferring to me. Kingsley doesn’t love it, but when I’m leading an investigation and he’s helping, he knows to fall in line. That said, I’ll happily let my man pick our tables, our restaurants, etc. He needs that, I think.

  The thing is... I think Ishmael is used to following me. Granted, he does it invisibly, invoking whatever angel magic he used. He follows me and protects me, his job for eons. Flying behind me in the physical world isn’t so different for him; the male ego isn’t involved at all.

  The tunnels are a bit longer than I remember—back when Kingsley and I tried to uncover the truth of what had been lurking down here. It didn’t take long before we came across the hulking giant. Interestingly, it was the first time Kingsley summoned the wolfman within without it being a full moon. Prior to that, he had only been able to shift into a four-legged canine. Which was fortuitous. At the time, we needed to fight fire with fire, and the giant wolfman was needed. And yeah, wolfman versus minotaur had been an epic battle. Can my angel take on the creature as well? And in his current human form? I don’t know. In fact, I don’t have any clue how strong Ishmael currently is.

  Hopefully, we don’t have to test it. Of course, the minotaur probably has something to say about that.

  So far, no bullman has appeared.

  We whip around a corner and rocket down another stretch of passageway, all of which had been bored by the minotaur himself. His magic, I know, includes the removal of the dirt. To where, I don’t know. But his massive horns do most of the digging. His legs, too, no doubt. Not so much his tail. Yup, the minotaur has a cute little tail.

  Dirt swirls in our wake, kicked up by the beating of our wings. I know for a fact my own wings generate quite a disturbance. I can only imagine how much Ishmael’s generate, considering his are longer and wider than my own. They do, after all, have to lift a man three feet taller and a few hundred pounds heavier.

  Despite the size discrepancy from his angel form, he still looks like the same Ishmael. Whatever black magic had rendered him from angel to human, he’d somehow retained his appearance and his general all-around build. Now that he’s flesh and blood, he somehow looks more appealing, and far sexier. No, I shouldn’t think such thoughts. Merely pointing out the obvious. Or so I tell myself.

  No more thinking of Ishmael as sexy.

  Just an above average-looking guy.

  Uh-huh, I think. Riiight.

  We rush down another tunnel, flying faster and faster. So far, no minotaur, but it’s also clear we haven’t a clue where we’re going. Every tunnel seems the same. We’re going to have to come up with a different plan.

  I raise a hand and slow down, eventually settling to the dirt floor. The tunnels all look the same—the same width, height, and shape. A domed arch and flat floors, just wide enough for our wings.

  “Is there a problem, Samantha?” asks Ishmael, settling next to me, his own wings folding in on themselves, as do mine. Not quite disappearing, but tucked back the way a bird’s might.

  “I don’t think we’re making any headway. How on earth can we know which of these tunnels eventually leads to the Underworld? Maybe some of the tunnels lead to other places, too? Heck, we might be under a Starbucks now.”

  He nods, and I see him trying to follow my train of thought. Undoubtedly, he had found himself in a Starbucks, though by no choice of his own, having followed me in back in the day. On the one hand, he seems devoted and simple, but on the other, I see him working through new thoughts and ideas with aplomb. Were angels intelligent? As far as I can tell, yes. As intelligent as anyone else.

  “Yes. Or many of the tunnel lead to dead ends, as is the nature of labyrinths, though we have not come across any such barriers. Some could lead to natural destinations, like pools of water or stashes of food. What would a minotaur eat?”

  “Hay,” I say, and almost giggle. Not sure the minotaur would appreciate that.

  “Perhaps we should consider marking the tunnels. Like this.” He walks over to the wall and carves in it a deep X with his index finger. We both watch in dismay as the dirt fills itself in again, erasing the X. “I was not expecting that, Sam.”

  “Nor I.”

  “Any other suggestions, Ms. Moon?”

  As I considered his question, we both feel the first shudder. Then the second. Not in an earthquake sense, but rhythmically, as with the thudding of one footfall after another. Having been down here before, I’m pretty sure I know what that means.

  “The minotaur, I presume?” asks Ishmael, raising a narrow eyebrow and looking behind us.

  Apparently, my new/old angel friend can see in the dark, too. Never thought to ask him, just assumed. Obviously, he can, having just followed me through tunnel after pitch-black tunnel. Also, his lodge had not been lighted and was dark as heck. Probably why I assume he can see in the dark.

  “Pretty sure, yeah.”

  As the words leave my mouth, something massive appears at the far end of the tunnel. Strangely, it appears to have turned a corner. Wait. We hadn’t passed a side hallway in that spot. The minotaur next shakes his massive head and piles of dirt fall free from his impossibly wide shoulders. The implication is obvious: he’d just dug through that section of earth, forming, I assume, a new intersection of tunnels.

  “Samantha,” says Ishmael, “methinks he tunneled his way to us.”

  “Which means he knows where we are at all times.”

  “I think so.”

  “Well, let’s keep going in the direction we were going.”

  “I shall follow you to the ends of the earth and beyond, m’lady.”

  I shake my head at the smarmy chivalry, except I know he believes it to his core.

  We jump on our wings and zoom forward. I look back once over my shoulder. The minotaur, I see, stops in his tracks and is watching us. Wow, he’s so much bigger than I remembered.

  We’d been flying pretty fast, zigging and zagging through the tunnels. That he’d honed in on us to the point of appearing directly behind us, is borderline unreal.

  As in, paranormal.

  No surprise there. We all have talents, gifts, and weaknesses. One of his gifts happens to be zeroing in on anyone in his labyrinth—and find them ASAP. Likely, to eliminate them, based on his epic battle with Kingsley.

  We hang a right at the next t-section, flying even faster. A charging bull has that effect on a person. My wing tips occasionally brush the walls, which means poor Ishmael must be flat out smacking them. Then again, perhaps he’s pulling them in somehow. I don’t know. He’s certainly keeping up with me easily enough. Then again, he’s been at this flying game a lot longer than I have.

  I hear the unmistakable sound of digging/grinding from somewhere next to me. Dirt explodes just as a monstrous hand reaches out from the tunnel, brushing my shoulder. I glance back as Ishmael slams into the arm and shoulder, bouncing off it, and careening into the opposite wall. He regains his balance, runs briefly, and then leaps back onto his wings. The minotaur steps all the way out into the tunnel, clumps of dirt falling from his sharp horns, chest heaving.

  He lifts his mascot-sized head and roars.

  Though the growl is nerve-shattering, I’m sensing it’s also emitting the sub-frequency infrasound—a low growl that had completely disabled my ability to summon the single flame. One of the reasons why Kingsley ultimately had to duke it out with the beast... I hadn’t been able to teleport us out of here. Indeed, as I fly, I attempt to summon the single flame, but can’t. Dang, I had forgotten it had that effect on me.

  When we reach another intersection and make a right turn, an idea occurs to me. I hold up a hand and stop flying, settling to my feet. Somehow, Ishmael stops before hitting me, his extra millennia of flying experience revealing itself again.

  I slip past him in the not-so-narrow passageway, though our wings get briefly tangled. I find myself pressed up against him as we untangle and do all I can to ignore... well, just about everything about him.

  Free again, I run toward what would have been the left turn, had I chosen that option. Leaping onto my wings again, I glance down the previous tunnel, noting the minotaur is gone again, undoubtedly on his way to head us off at the pass, so to speak, except we won’t be there. How long before he re-orientates on us, I haven’t a clue.

  “Ah, hell,” I mutter.

  Twenty yards ahead of us, the wall bulges inward, then explodes in a hail of dirt and rocks and bigger chunks. Out steps the massive minotaur, turning to look at us, dirt cascading off his impossibly wide shoulders and thick chest. Some dirt clods stick to his sharp horns. The debris littering across the tunnel shimmers, then disappears. To where, I haven’t a clue.

  The minotaur, without hesitation, turns and runs at us.

  The irony is not lost on me. Above ground, only a few miles away, is a real, albeit modified, bullfighting stadium, bulls once charged matadors waving with red capes. Though I don’t have a red cape, I do have black wings. This bull doesn’t need to see red to become enraged. He’s already there, likely due to our trespassing.

  Behind me, Ishmael moves to step in front of me, to meet the bullman head-on. Except I know how this story ends, having seen it firsthand with Kingsley.

  A cave-in city.

  The minotaur’s magical digging only extended to carving out more tunnels. He himself had been trapped under the weight of the earth until I teleported him out of there. Yeah, I had saved the very creature presently charging us. At least, I think it’s the same creature.