Samantha Moon: First Eight Novels, Plus One Novella

by J. R. Rain

  Yeah, I’m a freak.

  I donned the white robe I had left draped over the railing and stepped back into my room. I was just tying the terrycloth belt when I paused. My inner alarm didn’t necessarily go off, but it perked up. A slight buzzing just inside my ear.

  Someone’s here, I thought.

  A shape appeared in my thoughts, something glowing—and it appeared, I was sure, directly behind me.

  I was moving in an instant, turning, swooping low to the ground, and slammed into whoever was behind me so hard that I drove him into the drywall.

  There, I held them up while plaster dust rained down over his shoulders and down onto my raised forearms.

  A man. A very beautiful man.

  Who gazed down at me with a bemused expression. He was, of course, not a man at all. He was an angel. My one-time guardian angel now turned rogue, so to speak.

  I eased my grip and Ishmael dropped lightly to the floor. He shook his head and dust and smaller chunks of wall fell from his long, silver hair and broad shoulders. “Do you greet all your guests this way, Samantha?”

  I dusted off my own arms. “Well, let’s just say I haven’t had a lot of luck in hotel rooms.”

  If not for a slight prickling of my inner alarm, I would have been completely off-guard. And these days, with my ever expanding extra-sensory perception, someone catching me off-guard was getting harder and harder to do. Unless, of course, that someone was a rogue angel, who seemed to be making a habit of catching me unaware.

  “Not as unaware as you might think, Samantha,” he said. Unlike other immortals, Ishmael had access to my thoughts. No surprise there, since he’d been my one-time guardian angel. He finished dusting himself off and looked at me. “For the first time, you sensed me nearby. That’s quite an accomplishment, and a credit to your growing powers.”

  Still, I didn’t like the implications of that statement. “So you’re around me often?”

  “What can I say, Samantha? Old habits die hard.”

  “So, you’re often around me?” I repeated, digesting this news.

  He nodded. “Myself, and others.”

  “What others?”

  “You know some of them.”

  “Sephora,” I said, recalling the entity I had communicated with last year through automatic writing.

  “Yes. Her and others like her.”

  “Spirit guides,” I said, recalling one of my conversations with Sephora.

  “Spirit guides, deceased relatives, angels. What some would call your soul group.”

  “And you.”

  “Not officially,” he said. “Not anymore.”

  “Not since you fell.”

  His eyes flashed briefly. “Not since I chose a different path.”

  Although I couldn’t read his thoughts—which seemed damned unfair to me—I could clearly see his aura. And it pulsated around, intermixed with rich color...and deep blackness.

  What had once been pure white light—loving light—was now being slowly overrun with coils of blackness so deep that it gave even me the creeps. Even now, something dark and slithery wound around his narrow torso. I watched, fascinated, as it worked its way, around and around, to eventually plunge into his heart region. I was reminded of something monstrous rising up from the ocean depths, something that had no business seeing the light. I shuddered.

  “I repulse you,” he said. The sadness in his voice was obvious.

  “What gave it away?” I said.

  I suddenly wanted a cigarette. Needed a cigarette. I headed over to my purse, found the pack of Virginia Slims, and lit up.

  Ishmael watched my every move closely. I sensed that he was used to watching me closely. That he had always watched me closely. From either afar, or nearby. He had been, after all, my guardian angel.

  Of course, I use that term loosely.

  That he failed his job miserably was an understatement. That he had done so purposefully was reprehensible.

  “Reprehensible is such a strong word, Samantha,” he said. “I needed you to be immortal. It was, after all, the only way we could be together.”

  “You put me in harm’s way. You put my kids in harm’s way. You put anyone who ever crosses paths with me in harm’s way.”

  “Only if you do not learn to control who you are, Samantha.”

  “And I suppose you’re just the one to teach me?”

  “I can help you, Sam.”

  “Didn’t you cause this mess?”

  “I did it for love—”

  “Shove it,” I said, shaking my head.

  His clothing, I noted, seemed to shift in color. One moment, his slacks were beige, then brown, then tan. Or maybe I was just going crazy.

  “Not crazy, Sam. My clothing is an illusion, of course.”

  “Of course. That doesn’t sound crazy at all.”

  I exhaled, and looked at him through the churning cigarette smoke. He was a beautiful man. Perhaps the most beautiful I’d ever seen. Too beautiful.

  “And what about the rest of you?” I asked.

  “Illusion, of course. But I see I have chosen a favorable form.”

  “Why are you here?”

  He continued smiling, and the darkness that swarmed around him—the black snakes and worms and creepy-crawly things—seemed to grow in numbers. It was as if I was seeing evil multiplying before my very eyes. Deepening, propagating. I shivered.

  “I’m here to give you news of your dog.”

  I looked at him sharply. He was, of course, referring to Kingsley. “What about him?”

  “He’s not a very loyal dog, now is he?” Ishmael smiled broadly. Wickedly.

  “What the fuck do you mean?”

  “When the vampire’s away, the dog shall play.”

  I brought the cigarette up to my lips, but instead of inhaling, crumpled it in my hands. The temporary burn made me gasp, but the pain faded quickly. “You’re lying.”

  He said nothing, only watched me from the deep shadows of my room, looking supremely pleased.

  I looked at my hand. The red mark in the center of my palm was already fading. I threw the remnants of the cigarette over to the closest ashtray. It missed.

  “You’re trying to drive a wedge between us,” I said.

  “I didn’t have to try very hard, Samantha.”

  I sensed the not-so-hidden meaning in his words. “You set him up,” I said. “Planted someone.”

  “Call it what you want, Sam. But your doggie took the bait.”

  “Who is she?”

  “Does it matter?”

  A familiar sickness appeared in my stomach. Re-appeared. It was a sickness that had nothing to do with the supernatural, a sickness I had lived with for many, many years with Danny. I rubbed my temples and took lots of slow, deep breaths, and when I moved my hand away, I was alone in the hotel room, but I sensed the angel was near. Always near.

  The son-of-a-bitch.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was early afternoon and something was wrong.

  I’d been feeling it all day. The forty-five minute plane ride from Vegas to Ontario had seemed like an eternity. Now, driving home from the airport, an inexplicable fear gripped me. Something was seriously wrong.

  Except I didn’t know what.

  My kids, I thought, pressing the gas harder. Something with my kids.

  But what?

  I didn’t know. Not yet.

  Having extrasensory perception had its benefits, but also its pitfalls. Being keenly aware that something was wrong, but not knowing what, was, if anything, torture.

  A moment later, as the dread in me grew to a fever pitch, my cell phone rang. It was my sister, of course.

  My kids.

  A car blasted its horn next to me. I jumped, jerking my wheel. I had inadvertently swerved into its lane. It continued honking at me even as I snatched up the phone and made an inhuman sound. A squeak, of some sort.

  My kids, of course, were staying with their Aunt Mary Lou.

>   “Mary Lou,” I gasped, pressing the phone hard into my ear. “What’s wrong?”

  “How—never mind.” She swallowed. “It’s Tammy.”

  “What about Tammy? What’s wrong?” My voice had reached a very loud, shrill note.

  “She ran away, Sam.”

  I took in a lot of worthless air. I had expected worse, true. Running away wasn’t the worst, granted, but it wasn’t good either. Tammy was, after all, only ten years old.

  “When did she leave?”

  Mary Lou explained that Tammy had been grumpy all day, irritable. I nodded to myself as Mary Lou spoke. Yes, I’d been noticing this lately, too, although I had chalked it up to her going through some life changes. My sister had assumed Tammy was in her guest room all day, either reading or on the phone. Later, Anthony came out of the very same room and asked where Tammy was. They searched the house and called her cell phone. Her phone was turned off. And that’s when Mary Lou called me.

  “Did anyone see her leave?”

  “No, but we’re pretty sure she went out the back door, then through the side gates.”

  “Did she take a bike?”

  “All the bikes are here.”

  “Did you hear a car pull up front?”

  “No, but we weren’t paying a lot of attention to the front of the house.”

  Shit.

  Although I didn’t have access to my own children’s thoughts, that didn’t mean they completely escaped my extra-sensory perception, which was why I had sensed something was wrong, and why I had seen the dark halo around Anthony last year, when he had been critically ill.

  As my minivan’s speedometer climbed past 110 mph, I told Mary Lou I would be there soon and hung up. I focused on keeping the minivan from flipping over.

  And keeping myself together.

  Chapter Fourteen

  On my way to my sister’s house, I called three of Tammy’s closest friends. No one had seen her or heard from her, although everyone pledged to do all they could to help me find her.

  I also made another call, to an investigator who had a reputation for tracking down the missing, and as I pulled up to my sister’s house in Fullerton, a nondescript Camry was pulling up just behind me.

  Spinoza was a small man with a heavy aura. Not a dark aura. Just heavy. Something was eating away at him, making his life a living hell. I didn’t need to be psychic to know that he’d lost something important to him.

  Spinoza parked on the street behind me and got out. He was a small man. The complete opposite of Kingsley or the beast, Knighthorse. And as Spinoza came toward me, concern creasing his pleasantly handsome face, I suddenly had a whiff of something that made me nearly vomit.

  The scent of burned flesh.

  Sweet Jesus, I thought, as I saw in my mind’s eye a burned hand and twisted metal and broken glass.

  His son’s hand. There had been an accident. Mixed with the smell of burnt flesh was alcohol. Spinoza, I was suddenly certain, had been driving. Drunk.

  Sweet Jesus, I thought again.

  Spinoza took my hand and as he did so, the psychic vision and smell of burning flesh disappeared. He next gave me a small, awkward hug. The look in his eyes was one of only concern. I suddenly suspected why Spinoza was known for finding the missing, especially missing children.

  “How you holding up?” he asked.

  “Been better. Thanks for coming out on short notice.”

  He nodded. “We’ll find her, Sam. Don’t worry.” And his quiet strength and assuredness spoke volumes. It also calmed me down. Somewhat.

  I led the way into my sister’s house, where Detective Sherbet of the Fullerton Police Department was already inside. No, I wasn’t too concerned that a homicide investigator was there since I had called him, too. Detective Sherbet had become a good friend. So good, in fact, that he and I now shared a deepening telepathic link. Granted, the good detective wasn’t exactly thrilled by our telepathic link, but he seemed to be getting the hang of it.

  We’ll find her, Sam, he thought, nodding, his words appearing softly just inside my ears.

  Thank you, Detective.

  Mary Lou came over next with tears in her eyes, looking so distraught that I was the one doing the reassuring. “Not your fault,” I said over and over as she completely broke down.

  Once she’d gotten control of herself, I planned our course of action with the detectives. At ten years old, Tammy would have fewer choices available to her. She couldn’t drive and she didn’t have a lot of money. She wasn’t addicted to drugs and didn’t have a boyfriend. At least, as far as I knew.

  Truth was, I had a hard time getting a psychic handle on my own kids. I could read their auras, but that was about it. It was the same with my sister and with her kids; and the same with my parents, although these days I didn’t see them very often.

  Mary Lou had confirmed that some toiletries were missing, along with her gym bag. We even confirmed that a jar of peanut butter and some saltines were gone, too. Tammy’s favorite snack.

  Still, a child walking the streets alone with a gym bag was trouble, and it was all I could do to stay calm. Running outside and screaming for my baby wouldn’t help anything, although that’s exactly what I felt like doing.

  Easy, Sam, came Sherbet’s words. A child walking around with a gym bag would just as easily get the attention of police. And I have my best men out there looking for her.

  “Does she have a cell phone?” Spinoza asked. We were grouped around Mary Lou’s living room.

  “It’s off,” I said.

  Spinoza and Sherbet winced. We all knew that a phone had to be on to be used as a tracking device.

  “Laptop or tablet computer?” pressed Spinoza. “Anything with GPS?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “Does she know anyone with a car?”

  “She’d better not.”

  “Does she have access to a bike? Anything she can move quickly on?”

  “The bikes are at home.”

  Spinoza glanced over at my sister. “And all bikes are accounted for here?”

  “Yes. Bikes and skateboards.”

  I was having a hard time concentrating, focusing, and remembering what I should do in an investigation like this. But it’s not an investigation, I thought. It’s my daughter—and she’s gone.

  Sherbet glanced at me again and then looked over at my sister. “Do you have any recent pictures of Tammy?”

  “I do, yes. On my cell phone.”

  “Can you print me out a half dozen?”

  She nodded eagerly and dashed off to where I knew her husband had his own office at home.

  While she was gone, we finalized our plan. Sherbet would work with the local beat cops and cruise the streets in a coordinated effort. Spinoza would hit every Starbucks, fast-food restaurant and store within two square miles. I would contact all her friends and head straight to all her known hangouts.

  Mary Lou came back with the color photos. Seeing her photo, with her happy, smiling face made me almost lose it right there.

  Easy, Sam, came Sherbet’s soothing voice.

  The detective next instructed Mary Lou to email the same image to his department. An APB had already been sent to all units with a description of my daughter, including her current, assumed clothing. Now they would have a corresponding photo.

  It’s real, I thought, listening to Sherbet instruct his department. She’s really missing.

  I fought to control my breathing. To control myself. Finally, Sherbet clicked off his phone.

  “That’s all we can do on this end,” said Sherbet, turning to us. “Let’s hit the streets.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  After we split up, I sat briefly in my minivan, searching for a psychic hit that wasn’t there. Despite the many abilities I’d been given, a psychic connection to my own kids was not one of them.

  For now, I was just a mom with a missing daughter.

  I had just put the vehicle into gear, mentally going through
a list of her friends and where they lived, when my cell phone rang. I gasped and swerved a little and reached for my cell.

  Kingsley Fulcrum.

  Shit.

  I switched on my Bluetooth. “Hey.”

  “Sam! I just got your text. Have you found her?”

  I had indeed sent him a text, but now I regretted doing so. Kingsley Fulcrum was the last person I wanted to think about now.

  “Not yet,” I said, as I turned right onto Commonwealth. My sister lived closer to downtown than I did. People were everywhere. I scanned the streets.

  “I’m coming out now. Where are you?”

  “No,” I said. “Don’t come.”

  “What—”

  “I sent you that text an hour ago. Where were you?”

  He paused only briefly, but tellingly. “I was with a client.”

  “I’m sure you were, big guy. And don’t worry, we’ve got it handled.”

  “Sam—wait! Are you saying you don’t want my help?”

  “That’s what I’m saying,” I said.

  “Sam—”

  But I had already clicked off.

  I sat back and gripped the wheel and wound slowly through downtown Fullerton, knowing that I could have used Kingsley’s help, and knowing that I was allowing the hurt in my own heart to possibly get in the way of such help.

  But I just couldn’t see him. Or talk to him.

  Not now. Perhaps not ever.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I tried her cell phone for the tenth time.

  And for the tenth time, it went straight to voicemail. Her voicemail message was the generic electronic one. I didn’t even get the benefit of hearing her little voice.

  I even checked once or twice to make sure I was calling the right number. Crazy, I know. It said “Tammy” right here in the “Contacts” list, the same Tammy I had called countless times since she had first gotten her cell last Christmas.