Page 34 of Gladiator Moon

I close my eyes. Normally, when I teleport, I focus on a single flame. That flame becomes a doorway of sorts. A bridge between places. Any place. But that path has been severed. Violently.

And I really don’t want my head catching fire. I rather like my cute head.

With that ridiculous thought, I remember something Ishmael once told me. At the time, I hadn’t fully understood it: angels do not travel the way mortals do. Neither do prayers.

So I open my eyes and stare into the rushing water.

“I really hope he wasn’t being metaphorical,” I mutter.

I close my eyes again and try to quiet my mind. Not an easy task for a vampire mama with ADHD survival instincts.

Naturally, my mind immediately goes to Tammy. Anthony. Paxton. Kingsley. Moon Investigations. Fullerton. The Coffee Bean. The Momvan. And, strangely enough, a blond guy standing in line at a small community grocery store.

He looks familiar. I have seen him once before, in a Starbucks, years ago. Pretty sure that is J.R. Rain, a writer and creator. Maybe even my creator. And the creator of all this craziness. Except he doesn’t look particularly powerful. He just looks like another person standing in line, mildly bored, with a basket full of far too many frozen burritos.

My mind wanders again. My minivan, the Momvan, as we have come to call it.

Focus, Sam.

I inhale deeply, even though technically I don’t need air. Old habits die hard. I let the sounds of the brook wash over me. Water over stone. Wind moving through the trees. The distant buzz of insects. Somewhere nearby, an owl hoots softly.

And beneath all of it... something else: a faint, loving warmth. Tiny at first. Like standing near a candle.

Ishmael? I whisper inside my mind.

The warmth around me flickers, like a candle flame caught in a gentle breeze. My pulse quickens, despite my technically dead heart.

“Ishmael...” I say aloud, my lips barely moving.

Nothing happens at first, but then...

A single white feather drifts down from above; it lands silently on the surface of the brook and floats there, caught in a slow-moving eddy without ever sinking. My chest tightens because I recognize it immediately. One of Ishmael’s feathers. A piece of my former guardian angel.

Then comes the strangest sensation of all: the feeling of someone turning toward me from impossibly far away. And then I hear a thought wrapped in light.

Samantha...

Relief nearly makes me gasp. “Ishmael?”

You were very difficult to find.

“Apparently I’m in Gladiator Hell.”

A pause. Then, surprisingly, he says: I know.

“I need your help.”

The warmth dims slightly.

I cannot cross fully into this realm, Samantha. It is replete with its own angels, demons, and a powerful devil.

“Yeah, I know.”

But perhaps something else can help.

I stare at the floating white feather... and suddenly, I know exactly what he means.

Chapter Twelve