Gasping, my back burning, I turned to see Allison slumped against the wall, her hand outstretched, a deep cut over her eye. One of the tiles, I suspected, had hit her. Her hand dropped down. Allie was out.

  Pain lancing through my back, I had just started clawing my way back to her when the demon reappeared at the entrance, screeching like a banshee. And, for all I knew, it was a banshee.

  I moved away from Allison, keeping the freaky bastard focused on me.

  The devil had made a doozy. The thing before me was hooded, but the hood was also a part of it, too. Its head shifted and jerked, like a bird’s head—but unlike a bird’s head, his appeared both flat and three-dimensional simultaneously. The demon—if that was what this was—towered over me, just missing Kingsley’s twelve-foot ceilings. Its body, like its head, formed and reformed before me. Sometimes I saw through it, too. Other times, it was the blackest black I’d ever seen. It seemed, if anything, composed of living smoke. Most telling were the eyes. Leaping, crackling twin flames. Real flames, too. Not the flames I saw behind Tammy’s eyes earlier. No, these suckers were burning with a fury, trailing smoke, and leaping out from its face like pilot lights gone amok. The two strange-looking spikes rising above its back were, I knew, its folded-in wings.

  I continued moving away from Allison and—thank God—it locked onto me, not my defenseless friend.

  It turned, shifted, tracking me—and our little “sizing each other up” party was over. It lunged forward, swiping both claws. I ducked, spun, rolled, and ended up under the little kitchen nook table where Kingsley and I had sat and drank—and watched it get cleaved into thirds by claws that just missed my face. I crab-crawled backward, and found myself pinned against the china cabinet at one end of the kitchen. Three clawed spikes came at my face and there was nowhere to duck or roll toward. My attacker could have been the Wolverine himself, minus the wife-beater tank top, muscles and yummy sideburns. Oh, and minus the laws of physics, too. It moved effortlessly, instantly, and I suspected it was somehow both in this world and another, simultaneously. It was the only way to explain its herky-jerky, mind-bending movements. Now, its claws were before me, slashing, trying to take my head off. I ducked instinctively—everything I did was instinctive. There was no planning, no calculating, not when something was this fast. Glass shattered over me. I was pretty sure my head was where it should be.

  I was pinned, which was a terrible place to be, and as its hand rose for another swipe at me, I did the only thing I could think of...

  ***

  I summoned the single flame, and saw within it the open space directly behind the demon.

  I felt myself rush toward it just as air passed over me. Correction, not over me—directly where my head had been. I stumbled, blinked, and nearly lost my balance. I reached down for the secret pouch I had been given by Azrael. I missed it at first attempt—the damn thing was invisible, after all. The demon spun, poison flinging from its claws. Or maybe it was my own blood.

  It swiped again, seemingly faster than before. I ducked as the claws whizzed over me, then pulled back as they came back from the other direction. My own movements were supernaturally fast. They had to be. At the least, I was getting used to the demon’s speed.

  That was, until the other hand seemingly came out of nowhere, and raked through my neck and shoulder and sent me spinning to the ground, crying out louder than I wanted to admit. But damn, those claws hurt.

  The demon obviously saw an opportunity and hurled himself at me recklessly. What it didn’t see was that my left hand had found the hidden pouch and withdrawn a long, black sword. The Devil Killer. Or, in this case, the demon killer.

  Or so I hoped.

  I just brought the obsidian blade up as the demon descended down. I was surprised at how easily the sword slid into its chest, with seemingly no resistance at all. And I was most certainly surprised to discover that, in a puff of black, swirling smoke, the demon disappeared altogether. Hell, the sole indication that a demon had been here was the unholy mess of the place, and the burning wounds covering my body. The breakfast nook was demolished beyond recognition. A gaping hole was in the wall where the sliding glass door had been.

  I dashed to Allison’s side. She was out cold, the wound from her head still bleeding. I was momentarily distracted by all her blood. But I powered through, took her up in my arms, and over to the massive U-shaped couch. I hoped like hell she was okay, but the screeching coming from the foyer had my attention.

  I set off down the hallway.

  Chapter Twenty

  The foyer was mayhem.

  The devil dog might have thought better about bursting into Kingsley’s home, as the wolf and his monsters were holding their own. Indeed, the half-dozen Lichtenstein monsters veritably swarmed over it. The hellhound, easily as big as a rhino, was missing a partial head. Indeed, the left head had been cleaved in half, but you would never know it. Despite missing half its jaw and one of its burning eyes, it still snapped furiously. I watched it grab hold of Kingsley’s gardener, a huge creation in his own right, and toss him head over ass across the foyer and into a table that had once sported a Ming Dynasty vase that had long since been smashed to smithereens.

  My son was nowhere to be found.

  I was just about to shout his name when something flashed outside. Something massive and burning, and bringing down a flaming sword hard into what I could only assume was another demon. My son had left Kingsley and the monsters with the devil dog to fight the attacking demons. Alone.

  I dashed through the melee, dodging the bodies of two Lichtenstein monsters who had been torn from limb to limb. As I ran, I watched Kingsley leap forward and engage one of the massive heads. A deep gash had opened along his left side. Blood poured free, as did hanging chunks of meat. Three mute Lichtenstein monsters, along with Franklin, hurled themselves at the other dog heads, and as I ran, I saw an opportunity.

  I hopped over a dismembered arm and dove toward the devil dog’s widespread front paws. I rolled to my back and, sliding in a pool of blood, and drove the Devil Killer deep into the creature’s chest. Black blood poured down on me and, as each of the creature’s three heads screeched loud enough to wake the dead—which they just might have done—it disappeared in a puff of oily smoke.

  The three Lichtenstein monsters tumbled down, their quarry having disappeared, and the sudden silence in the foyer was immediately filled by the racket outside. I dashed through the damaged wall...

  And into hell.

  ***

  The Fire Warrior—my son—who stood nearly fifteen feet tall, had been single-handedly holding off the demons. By my count, there were eight in total, although I was also highly aware the bastards could pop in and out of existence, too. How many there truly were, I didn’t know.

  And where the devil was, I didn’t know that, either.

  Nor did I care. Not right now.

  My son, after all, had been taking the brunt of the attack. I watched even now as another demon dive-bombed at him, wings stretched wide, claws extended. I screamed his name, but my son was already moving, jumping and flipping, slashing with his fiery sword, a blow that sent the demon spinning away into the dark of night.

  More demons came, and my son fended them off, a true expert in the sword, unlike me, who had just learned the basics. Then again, I had learned the hell out of the basics, too.

  I also noted that Anthony’s second swipe, an expert arching slash that should have cleaved the next attacking demon diagonally in half, only sent it tumbling over Kingsley’s once-perfectly manicured lawn, tearing deep furrows in it as it went. My son could only fend the demons off. He could not kill them. Just like Kingsley and his monsters—they could only fight the devil dog, not kill it.

  No, that was my job. My new job.

  Samantha Moon, Demon Killer.

  As I ran toward my son, and as he fended off another demon that had managed to rake its claws along the side of his head, an attack that clearly wounded my son, I summoned the single flame.

  But this time, I didn’t see Talos in it—or where I might next jump. No, this time, I saw within it a pair of beautiful black wings.

  ***

  “They are my gift to you,” said Azrael, when the Archangel Michael had disappeared. I was sad to see him go. “Then again, they sort of come with the territory.”

  “As Death’s Shadow?”

  “Yes.”

  “Like the sword and secret pouch,” I said.

  “Indeed.”

  “Are mine glowing too?” I asked, pulling open my collar and trying to get a look behind me. I could see nothing. No, wait, there was something... a curved line just under my shoulder blade, but that was all I could see. But there it was. For the first time in my life, I was tatted up. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

  “By necessity, yours will appear as tattoos.”

  “I can see that. But they are, in fact, wings?”

  “Wings in waiting, yes. Wings that need only to be summoned.”

  “After I disrobe?”

  “Not quite, Sam. These are angel wings.”

  “So I will be part angel, after all!”

  “If it helps you, yes. As angel wings, they will not be part of your physical body.”

  “You lost me.”

  “Observe,” he said, and he turned his back to me. As he did so, his glowing neon tattoo in the shape of a magnificent pair of wings, caught fire. Or so I thought. What it did was flare brightly and erupt into a beautiful set of golden wings. He flapped them lightly, lifting off the ground a foot or two. “Look again, Sam.”

  I did, and saw what he meant. The joints of the wings were not attached to his skin, or what passed as his skin. The wings sort of hovered just above his skin. A part of him, yes, but separate too. I saw the genius of it immediately.

  “Means I don’t have to disrobe every time, doesn’t it?”

  “Indeed. The wings will hover over skin or clothing.”

  I nodded, relieved. I didn’t want to battle demons and devils with my goods hanging out. The mental image of it nearly made me chuckle. That was, until I focused on the part of battling demons and devils.

  He settled back to the floor and his wings once again folded in on themselves in a manner that suggested I’d long since gone nutso. “Now, let’s see yours, Sam.”

  “What do I say?”

  “You don’t say anything. Imagine them there behind you. See them in your mind.”

  I imagined a pair of wings rising up behind me as beautiful as Azrael’s, except mine were black and kind of bad-ass. But I felt nothing. I imagined harder. I imagined the shit out of those wings... but still, nothing.

  “Don’t hurt yourself, Sam. The wings are there, waiting.”

  I tried to really picture them in my mind. I saw myself flapping around in them, like a giant vampire tooth fairy. Nada. And while Azrael waited patiently, I realized he didn’t know how to help me. Not really. The beautiful Angel of Death had been flying, perhaps, for all eternity. Sprouting wings came second nature to him. I wondered if he’d ever had a girlfriend. Or had made love.

  Focus, Sam.

  I considered what to do, growing more frustrated, until I realized growing frustrated didn’t help. I calmed my mind, took a few steadying breaths, and the image of a flame came to mind. Not the actual flame that I summoned, but the idea of it. Could it work? I didn’t know. Worth a shot.

  And so, with the archangel gazing serenely upon me, I summoned the single flame, and within the flame, I saw a pair of beautiful black raven wings. I saw them flapping. And as they flapped, I felt myself rush toward them, and them to me. I gasped and stumbled.

  Behind me rose a shadow. No, two shadows.

  Two massive and beautiful shadows.

  “Very good, Sam. Now, shall we fly?”

  ***

  The wings unfurled instantly, catching the wind like sails.

  The feeling of their sudden appearance was unlike anything I’d experienced before. Although brand new, they felt like old friends. In fact, I would learn during my flight training with Azrael that the wings were an extension of my own soul. Even wilder, I would learn—and experience—the wings responding instantaneously to my thoughts. I was truly one with them.

  Perhaps most reassuring of all was that I wasn’t running out here bare-breasted.

  Thank God for that.

  Now, to either side of me stretched uncommonly long, infinitely black wings, a fusion of physical and spiritual. Wings that were in this world, but not of this world. And if there were feathers, I couldn’t see them. Truth was, I wasn’t one hundred percent sure how I felt about sprouting feathers.

  As I ran, I felt the wings catch the air, and divert it down. The force was undeniable and soon my running legs were only lightly touching Kingsley’s crushed-shell driveway. And then only my toes were tapping—and then I was airborne...

  And then, I was stumbling again, scraping a knee, momentarily dragging both my feet. I nearly did a barrel roll but somehow kept it together. My wings instinctively tucked in as I tumbled. Thank God for that. I would hate to damage them already.

  I rolled up to my feet and was running again, but this time, I gave the wings a mighty flap, and now, I really was airborne. A foot off the ground, another foot. And I was flying.

  Really flying.

  ***

  “Good, Sam. Good. Bank left. Now right. Very good.”

  I did as he was told, still reeling from the rapturous, glorious, heady high of actually flying. Yes, I had flown with Talos often. But those had been his wings, his body. Although the sensation had been mind-blowing in its own right, it did not compare to flying in this body. This human/vampire/angel hybrid of a body. Me, Samantha Moon. Me, mother of two. Me, a private eye in Orange County. Me, a daughter and sister and friend and coffee addict. Me, flying. Here, in this hallway between worlds.

  The Archangel Azrael watched me from below, calling out his commands.

  “Now stop.”

  “I don’t know how to stop.”

  “Stop flapping your wings.”

  “I don’t know how to stop flapping my wings.”

  Indeed, I felt a bit like an out-of-control skier on the kiddie slope for the first time. Except this kiddie slope was many dozens of feet off the ground, and I was going far too fast.

  “Stop, Sam.”

  “I don’t know how—”

  I veered off a pillar and spun out of control, slamming into the floor, tumbling and skidding. As I picked myself up, a glorious, massive, white silhouette appeared above me, smiling down.

  “That is one way to stop. Are you okay?”

  “I’ve been better.” I stood, noting my wings were unscathed, despite my inglorious landing. I tasted blood in my mouth, although the wound was already healing.

  When my head had cleared, I tried again, this time flying slower and more cautiously. Later, with more practice, I was able to stop. Not in midair. Not even Talos could stop in midair. But I could stop flapping, and glide, and learn to alight on my feet smoothly. Which I did, over and over.

  Azrael also taught me how to run and fly, like an airplane on a runway. He also taught me how to leap up and gain altitude from a standing position. I had done my best to be a good student. Whether or not I lived through the night remained to be seen...

  ***

  Trial by fire, I thought, as I gained altitude.

  After all, this was my first flight in the real world—and it just so happened to be in the middle of a showdown with the devil and his spawn.

  I counted eight of them, each as big as the next, and each sporting burning eyes and their own set of black wings. Had Kingsley had any neighbors, I suspect the police would have been called out long ago. I also suspected there might have been a heart attack or two in the neighborhood. As it was, Kingsley was a mile away from his neighbors’ prying eyes.

  From up here, I could see the deep grooves in his manicured lawn, the destruction of trees and hedges, and a demon shape burning in his backyard. How long my son could hold off the bastards, I didn’t know, but there he was, slashing at yet another and another, sending each tumbling through the air. One landed on Kingsley’s golf cart, obliterating it. Another crashed in the driveway fountain, shattering it.

  Now, my son seemed to see me, and his sword paused momentarily, and as it did, a demon raked across his face. My son roared and shook his head. He was wounded, that much was clear. But with all the fire, it was hard to tell. Another demon dashed toward him, its black claws extended. Aimed at my son’s exposed back.

  I knew this wasn’t my son’s back. It was the Fire Warrior’s back, the warrior he became. But should the warrior perish, I knew my own son would be trapped in whatever world he temporarily found himself in.

  Which, of course, wasn’t going to happen.

  I wasn’t sure just how fast these wings could take me, but I was about to find out. In a blink, I found myself flying faster than I had ever before, so fast that I was completely out of control. And still, I flapped harder, holding the sword in my right hand. I felt like a jousting knight, except my opponent was a demon flashing toward my son, claws outstretched, ready to kill or maim, and I couldn’t have either.

  Not ever.

  ***

  “I think you are ready, Sam.”

  “To fight the devil and his legion of demons?”

  “You are stronger than you think, and the angels will be watching over you.”

  “Helping me?”

  “When possible. We cannot intervene directly.”

  “If you can’t intervene between the devil and mankind, when can you intervene?”