Samantha Moon: First Eight Novels, Plus One Novella (51 page)

I glanced up and down the hall, took hold of the locked doorknob, and turned steadily until the inner mechanisms shattered in my hand. The knob broke off.

God, I’m a freak.

I pushed the door open, and, after wiping the knob with the hem of my shirt, tossed it in the corner of the stairwell. Next I stepped over a low gate and quickly headed up a metal flight of stairs, taking them two at a time and noticing how strong my legs felt. The door at the top of the landing was locked as well. But not for long.

As pieces of the broken door knob fell away at my feet, I stepped out onto the roof.

Immediately, wind buffeted me. The waning moon was higher now and shone through a thin layer of pathetic-looking stratus clouds. Mostly, though, the sky was clear, and I could even see a star or two.

At the service door, I quickly removed my clothing and naked as the day I was born, moved across the dusty roof, avoiding, of all things, a broken beer bottle.

Hell of a party up here.

Now standing at the roof’s edge, I stared down at the city of Brea, which shone before me like a brilliant constellation, providing me a view that the heavens could not. At least, not the heavens here in Southern California. Thousand of lights winked and sparkled. Some were brighter than others—street lamps, perhaps. Others were barely discernible—bathroom nightlights and perhaps the glows of Kindles and Nooks.

Whatever those were.

The wind was at the edge of the building. It rocked my naked body. But I had no fear of falling. My hair whipped around my head like so many serpents. Medusa would have been proud. Or envious. I breathed slowly, deeply, each intake spiced with exhaust and tar and the sage from the nearby foothills.

The world lay at my feet. The normal world. Where people prayed to God and Jesus, where people worried about their kids’ health and Charlie Sheen’s career, where life went on steadily and predictably.

Life hadn’t gone so predictably for me. Life had hung a hard right turn at “predictable” and detoured through a forbidden forest where the Headless Horseman was real, where werewolves existed, where a mother of two could be changed forever into something nightmarish.

I took in more air and lifted my face toward the heavens. The day’s latent heat rose up from the roof’s surface, warming my eternally cold buns. I heard honking and tires squealing. The crash of a fender-bender.

Oops.

I heard a baby crying from the hotel below and the steady hum of a hundred or so air conditioners powering through the warm night. The building beneath me seemed alive, vibrating and swaying slightly. Or perhaps that was just my imagination.

I stood there for a heartbeat longer.

And then spread my arms wide and jumped.

Chapter Six

The drop down from this hotel was always a little dicey, although jumping from the roof gave me some extra wiggle room. But not much.

I arched up and out over the roof...and seemed to pause briefly at the apex of the arch. From here I had a glimpse of an ambulance flashing down Birch Street, heading away from me. But there was no sound. No sirens. No honking. Nothing. Time and sound always seemed to subside in these moments.

These wonderful, exhilarating moments.

Now I tilted forward, arms outstretched. A falling, inverted cross.

I picked up speed.

Hair whipping behind me like a failed parachute. Wind thundering over me. The hotel rushing past me.

Someone was standing at the hotel balcony, smoking a cigarette. He never saw me. Or maybe I didn’t register in his conscious brain. Maybe tonight he would dream about a curvy, black-haired woman plummeting past his balcony, arms outstretched, and naked as all get out.

I was rapidly running out of floors.

A single flame appeared in my thoughts. The flame burned bright, seemingly in the center of my forehead, no doubt in the region the New Age gurus call the Third Eye. In the center of the flame was a winged creature that would have given anyone nightmares.

Except that winged creature was me.

It was my monster familiar. It was my monster alter-ego. It was one hell of a wicked-cool looking creature.

And it was me.

It waited in the flame, its wings tucked in, elongated head cocked slightly to one side. It always waited for me, ready at my beck and call. My own personal flying demon.

Except
I
was that flying demon.

As the floors swept past me and the concrete sidewalk rapidly approached, I felt myself being pulled to that creature, drawn to it powerfully, supernaturally, miraculously.

The metamorphosis happened in an instant.

The flame disappeared in an explosion of light and when I opened my eyes again, a pair of massive leathery wings—which attached to my wrists and ran down below my knees—snapped taut, slowing my decent. The gravitational force on my wings was incredible, but this new body of mine was more than up to the task. My arms held strong.

I adjusted my arms and angled forward, sweeping nine or ten feet over the ground and just missing a handicap parking sign. It rattled angrily in my wake.

Now I flapped my wings. Yeah, I know. A crazy statement. But these are crazy times.

At least, for me.

I flapped my wings and quickly gained altitude. I found the effort of flying easy. My shoulders were powerful. The thickly membraned wings caught the wind and forced it down and behind me. The sound of my beating wings thundered everywhere at once. Anyone nearby would have heard me. They would have looked up...and seen something they wouldn’t soon forget.

My body was aerodynamic and pierced the wind effortlessly.

I continued rising above the glittering city of Brea. Yeah, it was cold up here, but I was perfectly adapted for that, too. Thick skinned. Insulated. Perfectly adapted or perfectly created?

I didn’t know which. And I didn’t care.

I rose higher and higher. The thrill of weightlessness was so exhilarating that it drove all thought from my mind. Wind whispered over me, seemed to part for me, opened for me new sights few people would ever see or experience.

And still I climbed.

The temperature dropped exponentially. I plunged into a roiling cumulus cloud and the world briefly disappeared. I was surrounded in ice crystals which was at once serene and mildly disorienting. I shook my great head where the crystals had collected. They broke free and fell away.

The cloud opened and soon I was flying parallel with it, rising and falling with its amorphous contours, like a fighter plane over a desert floor. The movements of my wings were minute, so minute I wasn’t consciously aware of making them. The moon shone over my shoulder, reflecting brightly off the cloud’s pale surface. My shadow kept pace, rising and falling. A monster’s moon shadow. Wings outstretched, flapping almost lazily, I was a massive creature.

The sky above me was clear, filled with millions upon millions of glittering stars. I focused on one such star and flew toward it. What would happen if I just kept on flying? No doubt the deep vacuum of space would wreak havoc on my flying. With no air, I would float aimlessly and endlessly.

I shuddered at the thought.

The cloud dispersed and a great sweeping hillside appeared beneath me, dotted with brightly lit homes. I thought of Fang. The man was a killer, of that there was no doubt. He was also a fugitive. Once, long ago, I had made an oath to uphold the law and bring such fugitives to justice.

But that was then....

...and this was now. Now, I had some dirty secrets of my own, didn’t I? Now I had taken one life and was responsible for a second.

Victims of circumstance,
Fang had said. I agreed to an extent. Victims were not given a free pass to hurt others.

I flapped my wings languidly, riding along a powerful jet stream, which propelled me forward powerfully, effortlessly. Fang, aka Aaron Parker, aka Eli Roberts (his assumed name) was a beautiful man. There was a reason my sister seriously had the hots for him.

I nearly laughed at the thought that this flying creature could have a sister. And then I almost laughed at the thought that this flying creature could laugh.

Life is weird.

The clouds below opened and I saw a small plane flying beneath me, buzzing laboriously even as I flew effortlessly and silently. Its lights flashed, in accordance with aviation law. There were no laws for giant flying monsters. I was beyond law. I could give a damn about laws, anyway.

To an extent.

I still had a life to live and children to raise and food to put on the table. By necessity, I had to play by the rules of man.

Yes, Fang was a beautiful man. He was also my closest friend. But everything had changed, hadn’t it? He was no longer my anonymous friend who I could open up to about everything. He had a face. A history. A
troubled
history.

He was also, of course, a world-class stalker.

And a killer.

Shit.

Below, I spotted the Hollywood sign, the word so tiny that by all rights I shouldn’t have been able to read them. But I could. Giant vampire bats had eagle-like vision.

I dipped a wing and turned to starboard slowly, a great arching turn that took a full minute. The sky was my playground. The clouds my jungle gym.

I completed my turn and innately headed home, following an inner guidance system that was so inherent that I didn’t doubt it or question it.

It’s good to be me sometimes.

I headed back to the Embassy Suites.

Chapter Seven

I was answering emails on my laptop and watching Judge Judy emasculate this deadbeat dad when my cell phone rang. I picked it up from the coffee table and looked at the faceplate:
Caller Unknown.

I almost didn’t pick up. By nature, I don’t like
Caller Unknown
calls. What are people hiding?

The phone rang a second time. And as it did so, an electrical sensation crackled along the length of my spine. As if a ghost had run an ethereal finger down the center of my back.

I shivered. I knew to pay attention to such sensations. Such sensations were strong indications that something important was going on.

The phone rang a third time. Yes, I use old school rings, even for my cell phone. Phones are supposed to
ring
, dammit. Not sing Christina Aguilera’s failed national anthem attempt.

Now Judge Judy was really laying into this asshole again. Reminding him he was the child’s father. That he had responsibilities. She also let him know what she thought of him. Trust me, she didn’t think very highly. I loved every second of it.

The phone rang a fourth time. My phone will ring five times before it goes to voicemail. The buzzing along my spine continued to crackle. The fine hair on my forearms was also standing on end.

Something’s wrong,
I thought.

My email was unfinished. Judge Judy continued her verbal berating. I looked at the time on my phone. I had to pick up my kids in a few minutes. Normally, I would have let the call go to my voicemail.

Normally.

“
Answer the phone.”

The words came from behind me. Except behind me was a wall. I jumped off the couch, screaming and gasping. The voice was soft and whispery and it scared the shit out of me.

I answered the phone, still scanning the room, still scared shitless. Who had spoken to me?

“
Hello,” I said, feeling my heart beating somewhere near my throat. I was alone in the house. I was sure of it. I would have heard someone enter. I would have
sensed
someone entering.

There was no response from the other end of the line. I headed for the hallway. Scanned it. No one was here. Now from the line I could hear faint breathing. And as I searched the bedrooms and bathroom, I said hello again. And when I got to my own bedroom, a voice finally answered.

And it was the tiniest voice I had ever heard.

“
Hi.” A girl’s voice. Maybe five. Maybe less.

I paused, doing a quick mental rundown of all my nieces and nephews. Although I was not as close to some of my sisters and brothers as I wanted to be, I rarely received a call from any of their children. Still, I could not think of a niece this young.

“Well, hello,” I said. “And who is this?” I asked, my own voice rising a friendly octave or two. I glanced in my room. My house was completely empty.

So who had spoken to me?

I didn’t know. But I let it go and wrote it off to stress. After all, these past few weeks had not been without their trials. And last night....

Yes, last night.

Last night still had me reeling. Had it really happened? Had I really met Fang?