And I was worried here. Hella worried, as my daughter used to say. I was worried for my daughter. I was worried about the devil. I wasn’t too worried about getting back home, but I kind of was, too. I knew I was far from home. Really, really far. And, yes, in the back of my mind, I always worried that the teleportation might not work here. That I might never get home again.

  Just a big worrywart.

  Mostly, though, I was spellbound. The openness was on par with a major league baseball stadium... that dizzying, vast, wide-open space where men ran around in long johns and slapped each other’s asses. This hall had that same ability of making me feel small and insignificant. I was a wandering mote in God’s eye, flitting from one column to the next.

  The light grew closer still. Mercifully, it wasn’t a mirage that kept bobbing in the near distance.

  Most definitely not a mirage, because it was also getting so very much brighter, so much so that I could hear Elizabeth whimpering.

  There was no denying this light. I almost felt sorry for the pathetic, dark, evil bitch. Almost.

  I picked up my pace a little. Not hard to do when I thought of my daughter hiding in her own mind, curled into a tiny ball in her guest room. Now, I was jogging, then running faster. I passed column after column, and still, the light grew brighter and now, warmer.

  So warm. And so close.

  And then I stopped and shielded my eyes and felt the glorious warmth radiate from somewhere high above...

  Chapter Fifteen

  He looks up and frowns.

  There’s not much that can pull Archibald Maximus from one of his deeper meditations, but this does.

  He cocks his head a little, wondering what it was that had alerted him, but soon recognizes that it is, in fact, his own intuition, which he has long since come to trust. The question is: why had the image of The Book of All Known Beings floated into his consciousness?

  He doesn’t know, but he has long since learned not to ignore such impulses—or even random-seeming thoughts.

  And so the Alchemist—as he thinks of himself—rolls to his knees and then smoothly onto his feet. The movement used to be easier, in centuries past. Now he can feel the small pain in his knees, the wobble of his legs. He is feeling his age in this moment. His considerable age. He knows that he has, at best, only a few centuries left, and then, even his incantations won’t save him, and he must train another.

  An image appears in his thoughts as he walks through the darkened room. The image is of a familiar young man, Anthony Moon. The Alchemist nods to himself. Anthony Moon, yes.

  He opens the portal door, waits for the sense of disorientation to pass, and steps out into the hallway. His darkened room would have been considered very far from the Occult Reading Room. Very far indeed.

  He moves down the gloomy hallway, and hears the forlorn cries from the adjoining room, the library adjacent. They call to him, beg him, beseech him. They want release. They want help. They want redemption. They want to bargain. Little does Samantha Moon know just how many entities are trapped in these many books. She only hears a small fraction. He hears them all. After all, he is responsible for their imprisonment.

  He steps into the small library and the eternal light awaits. Earlier, he had, of course, shown The Book of All Known Beings to Samantha Moon. Had the vision of the book bubbled up from his subconscious because it had been fresh in his mind? He didn’t know. But he didn’t think that was it, either. He knew the difference between memory and prescience.

  He finds the book and takes it to a reading table, sits and opens it. He makes short work of flipping through it this time; having done so just hours earlier, he knows exactly where he is going.

  Yes, there is the Angel of Death, blond hair wavering ever so lightly, ruling over his marble hall. But nothing about this image stands out to him now. He continues scanning the page... until his gaze falls on the page opposite, to the Angel of Death’s shadow, the amorphous shadow he had shown Samantha Moon earlier.

  Except, of course, it isn’t amorphous anymore. Granted, it’s not exactly clear either, but he can see a shape coming into focus, a shape coming through...

  A shape he knows well.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I wasn’t sure what I had been expecting to see—a burning orb, perhaps, a mini-sun, maybe—but I sure as hell wasn’t expecting to see a winged man dropping down from above, a winged man who emanated light like the sun.

  No, not a man, I thought, shielding my eyes. Anything but a man.

  Wind rushed around me, blew back my hair and slapped my clothing. Had there been dust to speak of, I was sure it would have gotten in my eyes. The entity hovered a few dozen feet off the ground, his wings as wide as two school buses. Okay, maybe the short buses. They undulated the way a hummingbird’s wings might, a bird famous for hovering in space. And now he drifted down, wings at full sail, his body long and muscular, and his torso bare and perfect. He wore loose white trousers tied with a thick cord around his narrow waist. I took in all of this as he settled before me. His wings folded in on themselves—halving smaller and smaller—until they disappeared. I was pretty sure my mouth was hanging open.

  He smiled at my amazement. His smile was radiant and perfect. I was reminded of Ishmael, my one-time guardian angel, but this entity was bigger still. Not by much, but definitely by a foot or two.

  “If that impressed you,” he said, “then have a look at this.”

  He turned and there upon his bare, muscular back glowed two beautiful and iridescent tattoos of wings. He smiled again at what must have surely been wonder on my face. “Only an illusion. The wings are there, but they are hidden in—how should I say it?—another dimension.”

  “I...” I began, then closed my mouth, since I didn’t know what to say.

  “You don’t understand. Not surprising. I barely understand the concept myself.” He faced me again, and all I could see was his abdomen that rippled up into a muscular, square chest, a chest that wasn’t just for show. There was real power there, as well as in his arms, which were surely as big as Kingsley’s. No mean feat.

  Keeping his eyes on me, and surprisingly, smiling warmly for someone who I assumed was the Angel of Death, he opened his hands before me, wiggled his fingers, then slipped them into something invisible, all the way down to his wrists, all of which disappeared from my view. For all intents and purposes, his hands were gone. But out they came again, along with what appeared to be a tunic. He shook it out, grinned at me again, and then tossed it over his shoulders, his arms smoothly finding the sleeves. And just like that, the muscular, knotted torso was gone. And so was that chest. Mercifully, the tunic’s sleeves were short, revealing most of his arms.

  “Am I dreaming?” I asked.

  “Very few vampires dream, Samantha Moon.”

  “You know me?”

  “Of course. I’ve been waiting for you. Whether or not you showed up was another story. But here you are.”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but words failed me.

  He smiled. “Although I go by many names, you can call me Azrael.”

  “The Angel of Death,” I said.

  He bowed deeply, and his long, golden hair dropped down off his shoulders and hung nearly to the floor. “At your service.”

  I didn’t recall having someone bow so formally to me, and I was taken aback. If I could have blushed, I was sure my cheeks would have been crimson. To hide my embarrassment, I said, “Where are we?”

  “My home, of sorts. Truth is, I’m rarely here. There is, after all, too much to do.”

  “Too many dead to take care of?”

  “Yes and no, Samantha. My role as the Angel of Death is a temporary one. I am, first and foremost, an angel.”

  “An archangel,” I said.

  He gave me a lopsided grin. “I didn’t want to boast, but yes.”

  “Are all archangels so informal?”

  “Most are pretty uptight. Take your one-time guardian angel, Ishmael.”

  I nodded, agreeing. “He kinda takes himself too seriously.”

  “There is that,” said Azrael. “Truth be known, your angel hasn’t been exposed to human interaction. He doesn’t know how to act any different.”

  “But he’s been watching over me, he claims, for eons.”

  “And so he has, from afar. Remember, I am not a guardian angel. I do not keep in the shadows. I am among men, and among the immortals, too.”

  “And you speak perfect English.”

  “I speak every language perfectly, Sam. And someday, so will you.”

  I frowned at that but let it slide. “Can you read my mind?”

  “No. Only one’s own guardian angel can do that.”

  I nodded. “So where are we, exactly?”

  “We are between worlds, between realities. We are in a place very similar to where your dark masters venture off to when you sleep.”

  “You know of them?”

  “Of course, Sam. Like your devil, I seek them as well.”

  “Why?”

  “Unlike your devil, I do not seek to entrap them in their personal hells. I seek to liberate them into the light.”

  “Return them to the Creator.”

  “You know of this?”

  “I do,” I said.

  “Then, yes. It is time for them to go home. And someday, Samantha Moon, it will be time for you to go home, too.”

  “You will be there to see to it?”

  He looked at me with eyes that seemed to soften. “Yes.”

  “What, exactly, do you do?”

  “I escort them, Sam.”

  “And you will escort me, too?”

  “I will, Sam. Someday.”

  “Back to the Creator?”

  “Back to the light.”

  “Where I will be re-absorbed.”

  “A not-very-pleasant way of putting it. Where you will come home and be more free than you have ever imagined.”

  “I like that,” I said.

  “You will. Do not fear death.”

  I took in some electrified air, held it in my lungs, then let it out. This conversation had gotten more emotional than I was prepared for. I decided to change the subject. “Do you live alone?”

  “Death is a solitary business, Sam.”

  “You were waiting for me,” I said. “Why?”

  He looked at me, and some of his jaunty demeanor slipped away, and I saw, perhaps for the first time, the stoic angel he might have once been. “I am not omniscient, but I can see into the future. Not far, but enough to do my job. The real question is, why have you come?”

  I opened my mouth to answer, then closed it again. To speak the answer seemed so... presumptuous—and so murderous. It also seemed ludicrous. Then again, I was in a great hall, located somewhere between worlds, talking to the Angel of Death himself. Either that, or I was babbling incoherently in a padded room somewhere, as I secretly suspected, even after all these years.

  Stark, raving mad or not, I still had a devil problem, and so I said, “I want to kill the devil, and I want you to show me how.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “An admirable ambition, Sam. Most people use other means to defeat the devil: through prayer, through ritual, through angelic protection. But you seek to not just stop him, but destroy him.”

  “No, I seek to kill him,” I said.

  “I see. Few mortals or immortals have ever uttered such words. Most assume he cannot be killed, only cast into a lake of fire. Or destroyed by Jesus. Or by God. No one thinks, nay, assumes, they can do it themselves.”

  “Look,” I said. “I just spent the last minute or so questioning my sanity, and you are only confirming I’m a lost cause. I’m nuts, I get it. I’m as wacko as wacko gets. But that bastard is doing all he can to make my life a living hell and one of us has to go, and I don’t plan on it being me. And if it is me, so be it. At least I will have died trying to rid my family of this fucking puke, pardon my language.”

  “Your reasons are compelling, Samantha Moon. Of that, I have no doubt. There is one hitch in your plan.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “The devil is in the middle of an exit window. A small window, granted. But it is here, upon us. He knows and I know it. And now, you know it, too.”

  “Then what’s the hitch?” I asked.

  “I can’t kill the devil. I am not a warrior. I am a carrier only.”

  “You only escort the deceased to the light.”

  “Yes.”

  “And someone else does the dirty work.”

  “If you prefer to call it that. In truth, you would be doing the devil a favor.”

  “You lost me.”

  “He has chosen this exit point.”

  “Chosen it, why?” I asked.

  “Each and every life is given opportunities to return to the light. He is no different.”

  “Are you saying the devil wants to die?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. For all I know, he very much wants to live at this point in his existence, and has no plans to die.”

  “Then why did he pick a fight with me?” I asked. “He could have done nothing, and his exit window would have passed and I would have been none the wiser.”

  “Funny how fate works. What first led the devil to your doorstep?”

  “He was looking for Danny, and we met at a Jamba Juice.”

  “The devil is not omniscient either, Sam. But he would have recognized his destiny when meeting you.”

  “He didn’t know about me beforehand?”

  “An inkling only, Sam. He would have known the time, the place, and a sense of who you were. But upon meeting you, it would have all become abundantly clear.”

  “Then why not attack me then... wait. I know. Because he couldn’t.”

  “Nor would he have wanted to. The devil enjoys games, and he enjoyed drawing you out. And he will enjoy his final battle, for not even he—nor I, nor anyone—knows the final outcome.”

  “And he wants to prove that he can kill me.”

  “Perhaps. Another possible explanation is momentum. He would have known his exit window was opening, was approaching, and he would have been preparing for what he might have thought—and rightly so—was the battle of his life.”

  “Does the devil actually fight?” I asked. “I’ve only seen him as a shadowy piece of black tissue paper, flitting from body to body.”

  “The devil is an unknown quantity. No one has seen him at his full power. Indeed, he’s never had to use it.”

  “He’s never fought for his life?”

  “No, Sam.”

  I said, “So are you helping me or not?”

  He threw back his head and laughed, and it was the perfect sound—smooth, rich, deep—even if I didn’t know why he was laughing. “I see the Universe has made no mistake with you, although I knew it hadn’t.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It will take fire to beat the devil. And it will take drive. It will take hate, too. But most of all, it will take heart, and of that, you have an abundance.”

  “Well, I’m glad you are enjoying this,” I said. “But that doesn’t help me remove the devil from my life.”

  “No, it doesn’t. But this will.”

  It was in his hands before I could blink. In fact, I was pretty sure it had materialized out of thin air. Or perhaps it had been in that magical pocket of his. Either way, an obsidian sword lay across his palms, black as night, although it was flecked with what appeared to be silver. The weapon pulsated slightly, as if with an inner light, or inner life.

  “A sword?” I asked.

  “Not just any sword, Sam. The Devil Killer.”

  ***

  “Before you accept the sword, Samantha Moon, you need to know a thing or two.”

  “Don’t run in the house with it?”

  Azrael looked at me, cocking his head to one side. He was easily three feet taller than me, and as beautiful as they come. I wanted to run my fingers through his golden hair, just to see if it was real. He smiled down at me, and said, “Amusing, but no. First and foremost, the sword cannot be given back or abandoned or lost.”

  “Say again?”

  “The sword is bound to you always, Sam. Forevermore. Should it be lost, you will seek it out until you find it. Should it be stolen, you will be compelled to recover it. And should it be seized in battle, you will have long since died. It is a soul artifact. In essence, it will become an extension of you.”

  “I really only plan on using it the one time.”

  “Your plan is misinformed. You are familiar with the term deputizing?”

  “I am,” I said. That I knew the term from watching Bonanza as a kid, I kept to myself.

  “Good. In essence, I am deputizing you, Samantha Moon. Except, in this case, it is for all eternity.”

  I suddenly recalled the amorphous picture opposite the Angel of Death in Max’s Book of All Known Beings. I also recalled the name under it. “Death’s Shadow,” I said.

  The entity before me lifted and fell, his sandaled feet never really touching the polished marble floor. Hell, maybe mine didn’t either. I looked up to his face, and saw that the pleasant and excruciatingly handsome features had darkened, and I suddenly could imagine him taking souls. The Angel of Death was here. A thought popped into my mind. He looked grim and haunted. I sensed he did not enjoy his job, but he did it out of obligation. The Grim Reaper, indeed.

  “You have been well-informed. Yes, Death Shadow. An agent of mine. But only if you accept the sword.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Then it will remain with me until another comes.”

  “And the devil will have his way with my family,” I said.

  “There’s always another answer, Sam. The devil is not without vulnerabilities. Nor are any of us.”

  “But the best answer is the sword,” I said.

  “It is the final answer.”

  “But if it’s the final answer, why am I bound to it?”

  “Because the devil has been busy over the millenniums, Sam. He has saturated the world with his creations. Not all are demons.”