Samantha Moon Phantasm, page 111
part #9 of Vampire for Hire Series
“And if someone doesn’t summon it?”
“It waits, calling to you sometimes, haunting you other times, beckoning, waiting, vibrating.”
“Waiting for someone to get ready?”
“Yes, Sam.”
“And what happens when someone is ready?”
“The thing desired—whatever it might be—begins flooding to you. First with ideas, then with smaller manifestations, until it fully manifests.”
“And then what?” I asked.
“Enjoy it, revel in it... and get ready for the next manifestation. It never ends, Sam. Every day, all day long, you are asking and yearning and hoping, and God is listening and expanding and holding your desire for you. You need only to...”
“Get ready for it.”
“Exactly.”
“Who wouldn’t receive the blessings?”
“Those who doubt, Sam. Those who hate. Those who focus more on the not having of something, than the having of it. Those who speak of ill instead of health. Those who speak of lack instead of abundance.”
“And what if someone had never been taught such concepts? What if someone only knows pain and suffering?”
“Such concepts are not hard to understand, Sam. There is enough literature to show the way, from the Bible to other holy books, from inspired leaders and coaches, from enlightened friends who might say just the right thing at just the right time. The truth is, Sam, we all learn from watching others. It is not very hard to hear a successful woman talk and note she speaks of only the good in her life. It is not hard to hear the blessed holy man speak of love and good health only. It is not a challenge to note that the healthy among you speak only of health. Such clues go far.”
“And if someone still doesn’t pick up on such clues?” I asked.
“Oh, they will. One way or another. That is one of the purposes of the guardian angel. To show the way to better-feeling choices, to happier-leaning thoughts.”
We turned a corner, and I headed for the parking lot where the momvan was located. “I never asked to be a vampire,” I said. “I never asked to have heaven ripped out from under me. So explain that.”
“I have limited access to what is in your heart, Sam. But with every manifestation in the world, there was a vibrational connection to it, even if it was unwanted. It benefits the human greatly to keep thoughts positive, eager, and hopeful. Basically, to stay as happy as possible, for as often as one can. Happiness is not so hard to find, is it? You are alive. You are free. You can explore this amazing world. Your imagination knows no bounds. Create and play, and bask in the joy of life, and you will see blessings rain down upon you.”
“Um, I’m not sure that answered my question.”
“It did, Sam. On some level, you wanted more. On some level, you wanted to be empowered. On some level, you asked to see the magic in the world.”
In that moment, an older lady pushing a wire basket, looked up, gasped, and held her heart. Azrael smiled down at her, and tears sprang from her eyes. We moved past her.
“Just like these people have asked to see a miracle.”
“Yes, Sam.”
“But a vampire? C’mon. I never asked for that.”
“No, Sam. But you asked for the essence of it. You wanted to be a hero at work. You wanted to be a hero for those in need. A hero for your children. Think back, Sam.”
A heroine. I nodded, nearing the parking lot. That I was being followed by a hulking, beautiful, blond-haired Angel of Death probably should have excited me more than it did. But it didn’t, not now. Now, I wanted answers.
I shrugged. “I wanted to see miracles, too. I mean, it wasn’t something I ran around saying to everyone, but I was always interested in the world behind the veil, so to speak. As a kid, I always tried to fly. I was always jealous of the birds of the air. I thought for sure, if I just willed it enough, I would fly.”
“And now you have wings.”
“All kids want to fly,” I said.
“Think, Sam. In how many dreams were you flying?”
“Many,” I said. “Dozens. Hundreds, maybe.”
“And in these dreams, did the flying feel natural?”
“Yes. But, and I can’t emphasize this enough, they were just dreams.”
“Dreams operate two-fold, Sam. One, they can remind you of what’s active in your vibration. And two, they can be an indicator of what is to come.”
“Still, I’m sure many people dream of flying.”
“They do, Sam. And these people do so in their own way. In planes, in hang gliders, in parachutes, high-diving, bungee-jumping, and other creative ways humans have found to soar through the air. Yours might be one of the most creative.”
“My wings?”
“Indeed.”
“You’re saying I attracted all of this... vampirism, blood-sucking, Elizabeth, Talos, wings, the Devil Sword...”
“Yes, Sam. All of it. Quite simply, becoming a vampire was the best way for you to allow all your dreams to come true.”
“But heaven was stolen from me.”
“Immortality was given to you. It is all in your perception, Sam.”
“But there is so much more going on to why I became what I became. The dark masters, Ishmael’s betrayal... some of this has been going on for centuries, many, many lifetimes.”
“And so it has, Sam... and it’s culminated in this one. It’s called momentum. And to answer you your heart’s greatest desire, the earth had to move mountains and shift realities to make it happen. But happen, it did.”
“All for me?”
“All for everyone. All creations, everywhere, get the same attention from the Source Entity.”
“But I am kinda special, though, aren’t I?” I said, winking, getting my car keys out.
“Yes, Sam. But so is everyone.”
“You couldn’t throw me a bone, could you?”
Azrael smiled and paused at the minivan. That my old hunk of junk could occupy the same space as this radiating, pulsating, hunk of angel magic was proof that God had a sense of humor.
“Fine,” I said. “Have you seen God? And not just his physical incarnation here on Earth. And no boring shit—crap—like we see him every day, in everything. I mean, the real God.”
“I know what you mean, Sam. The Creator dwells at the highest levels of vibration and the highest dimensions of thought.”
“Well, good for him.”
“Good for us all, Sam. If not for his desire to expand, we would not be here.”
“So how does one reach the Origin?”
“For those outside the reincarnation loop—that is to say, immortals like you—they will meet him someday should they perish here on Earth.”
“Where they will be reabsorbed or something.”
“Yes, Sam.”
“I don’t want to be reabsorbed,” I said. “I don’t want to die. But I want to meet him. Or her. Or it.”
“For the sake of simplicity, the masculine works fine.”
“Yeah, yeah. Except I did meet him, though, didn’t I?”
Azrael studied me, and as he did so, the hair on his wide shoulders lifted and fell gently, as if he alone were hovering at the bottom of the ocean. Finally, he nodded. “The entity you met was not the Origin, nor could it be, for the Origin is...”
“Without body, yeah, yeah. I get it. Then who did I meet?”
“You met the incarnated version of the entity who plays the role of God.”
“Say again?”
“You’ll recall that the entity who was the devil came into being because he was, quite literally, summoned into existence. The version of God you met face-to-face is also such a being. One who has come forward to fulfill a role.”
“The role of God?”
“Yes.”
“That’s quite a role.”
“Yes, Sam.”
“Have you met this God?”
“Indeed.”
“He’s God, but he isn’t God?”
“In a way, yes.”
“Is he a creator?”
“Yes.”
“Is he a fake?”
“No.”
“But he’s not the Origin Entity?”
“Not by a long shot.”
“But he can perform miracles?”
“He can create planets. Is that miracle enough?”
“Er, yes.”
I paused, jangling my keys, both wondering why the Angel of Death even bothered to show up, and, conversely, trying to rescramble my beliefs. This was a lot to take in. “And what of other gods? You know, other religions, other belief systems?”
“If the belief is real and without doubt, the entity will manifest.”
“So this planet is swarming with gods and devils?”
“And angels and demons and everything in between.”
“Mind... blown. Again.”
“The devil was just one such entity created to fulfill a role. And, as we speak, another is coming forward to answer the call.”
“The call of the devil?”
“Yes.”
“Then why bother killing him?”
“You tell me, Sam.”
“He was after my family. My daughter, in particular.”
“That is how I see it, too. You didn’t have to kill him. You could have negotiated, you could have come to a truce. There were other options.”
“He wanted to die,” I said. “It was his exit point.”
“There were many factors in play. It is what it is, as they say.”
“Years ago, deep in meditation, I caught a glimpse of the Origin.” That had been on an island in the Pacific Northwest.
“And so you did.”
“Why are you here?” I suddenly asked. “Now, in this parking lot?”
He paused.
“Let me guess...” I began.
“Yes, Sam. One such demon is nearby and is wreaking havoc in the life of a young artist. He has prayed for help. You can be the answer to his prayers.”
“You’re giving me my first assignment?”
“Indeed, Sam.”
“Fine,” I said. “First, I see you have more questions.”
“Fire away.”
And I did, and the beautiful creature did his best to answer them all, and when he was done, an address appeared in my thoughts. And just as it did, Azrael disappeared.
Poof, just like that.
Chapter Twenty-three
Okay, now I know what it must feel like when I disappear in front of others. My poor brain. It’s stuff like this that seriously makes me question my sanity. One moment, a tall, beautiful angel, the next moment, gone.
Yeah, yeah, I thought. Get over it. Disappearing people are the least of your worries.
That said, having taken down the devil just months ago, I wasn’t too terribly concerned about one little old demon. Then again, the demons I had fought in Kingsley’s house had been nasty as hell... and as ferocious as can be.
I took in some silly air, let the silly air out, took in some more, then stepped into my car. I plugged the still-fresh address in my thoughts into the Garmin on my dashboard, nodded to myself encouragingly, then started the minivan and headed off to fight a demon.
***
I’m a mom, I thought, as I drove south along Harbor, in the opposite direction of where I lived. Not a demon slayer.
Then again, I wasn’t previously a devil slayer, either, but now, here I am.
Personally, I adhered more toward the “live and let live” motto. But, if a young person’s life was in imminent danger, well, I’d just take a look and see what the situation was. Then again, hadn’t I signed up to be the Angel of Death’s assassin for, like, ever? I thought I had. I think. I was so desperate to beat the devil, some of the details of my first meeting with Azrael were a bit sketchy.
“Yup,” I said, drinking from my water bottle and thinking back. “I agreed to it. At least as long as those demons are around.”
Of course, I didn’t have to accept the Devil Killer sword. I could have bypassed it and, as the glorious creature had suggested, negotiated my way out of my conflict with the devil.
Yeah, right. The devil had his sights set on my daughter and her ability to read any creature’s mind, mortal or immortal, angelic or demonic. Yeah, the devil had to go, and if I had to slay some demons in the process... so be it.
Live and let live... a good motto... until they came for your daughter.
Yeah, I’m a mom first... and a whole lot of other things second, third, and fourth. Might as well add demon slayer to the mix.
If not for my attack twelve years ago, I would be working a crap-ton of cases right now with Chad Helling at HUD. Undoubtedly, we would be out following up on witnesses or checking in on federal housing applicants or contacts. And if we were lucky, we might even find ourselves part of a bigger sting. If we were unlucky, we would show up to empty house after empty house. Then again, some of those moments were the best. The banter between partners was priceless.
I hadn’t wanted to go demon hunting, at least not at this moment. I had wanted to see the Librarian, aka, the Alchemist, aka, Archibald Maximus, aka Max. I had a shit-ton of questions about my father... and about the Red Rider.
So many questions... but here I was, off on my first demon-hunting assignment.
I wanted to curse, but I didn’t. Nope, because the address was coming up and my inner alarm was already pinging softly... and growing steadily louder. I pulled up in front of a small home in Anaheim, just a few miles from Disneyland. The home, with its broken windows and overgrown grass, beer bottles and cigarette butts everywhere, was clearly not the happiest place on earth.
I stepped out of my momvan, my adrenaline thumping in my ears, my heart actually picking up its pace.
The good news, the Devil Killer was always with me, hidden in a secret pouch that kinda existed in an alternate reality, if what I’d heard was correct.
The bad news was... I hadn’t a clue what I was walking into.
Chapter Twenty-four
The young artist’s home was... unique, to say the least.
As I approached the front steps, which led up to a wide front porch, I noted a cartoonish painting of the moon in a window next to the front door. More paintings littered the porch, some of which were broken in half or bent and twisted, like a perfectionist artist was just not happy with his work. I looked at one of the folded paintings... and was impressed. Clearly an original, it depicted a snow-capped mountain, clouds and surrounding forest. Sure, maybe it was a bit simple, but the painting had real pop, and I almost recognized the mountain. Mount Shasta, perhaps? Maybe.
I heard a bang from inside, then a shout. Then another, louder bang.
Gunshots? Fireworks? I hadn’t a clue.
I eased up the wide porch and puzzled over the array of many discarded and damaged paintings—each more beautiful than the next, and all of majestic landscapes—and moved toward the front door. I was about to knock but decided against it. My inner alarm had reached its saturation point, and backed off a little, which meant danger was still high, but it also didn’t want to overwhelm my senses... in particular, my hearing. My inner alarm is cool like that.
These days, I don’t carry a gun. Back in the day, yes. Back in the day, I might have had Chad go around back while I covered the front, each with our guns drawn. Then again, back in the day, I wouldn’t have been given the assignment of removing a demon.
Let’s get real, Sam, I thought, reaching down into that invisible pocket near my waist. You’re not here to remove it. You’re here to destroy it.
True enough.
My groping hand... now feeling oddly cool as it briefly disappeared from view... found the hilt of the sword. I proceeded to pull it free from its invisible, otherworldly sheath. And the sword kept coming and coming, until finally, in all its obsidian brilliance, it flashed dully in my hands, easily three feet long. Had I been mortal, it might have been heavy. Now... well, now it felt just about perfect in my hand. I resisted the urge to toss it from palm to palm. I wasn’t that cocky. There was a real demon here, after all, and if the Angel of Death was to be believed—and my own continuous inner alarm—there was real danger here.
I paused briefly, gathered myself, and did what any demon hunter would do...
I kicked the door open.
***
I saw more paintings, everywhere.
But these were not so lovely, and certainly not so idyllic. These were, and this could be open to interpretation, pictures of hell itself. Not that I would know. But if hell was anywhere close to what I was seeing now, it was surely a terrifying place.
Hells, I corrected, knowing everyone had their own private hell, literally.
The paintings were everywhere, on walls, lined up in rows, thrown over the carpet and furniture. The macabre paintings even covered other paintings, as hellfire and torment overlapped with crashing waves, beaches. In nearly all the paintings, dark, clawed figures huddled around burning humans, chained humans, or dissected humans. Other creatures clamored around the paintings, red-eyed creatures that clung to walls that were not unlike the creatures I’d seen at my one-time father’s mansion.
Not his mansion anymore, I reminded myself. Your mansion now.
Okay, that was a thought for another time. Truth was, I still couldn’t wrap my head around the idea that I was now the proud owner of a very large home in the hills of Fullerton. And I certainly wasn’t going to try and wrap it around it now, not with more banging coming from the back of the house.
I held out the sword before me like I knew what I was doing with it. Well, I kinda did. I’d gotten a crash course in sword fighting by the Archangel Michael himself—the warrior angel, mind you—just a few months ago. But it wasn’t like I went around practicing with the thing. Then again, as I crept through the smallish house, past painting after gruesome painting—(the one next to me featured a severed, screaming head)—I kinda, sorta wished I knew what the hell I was doing. The sword, I knew, had to be driven through the heart of these things, just as it had gone through the heart of the devil himself.
