Little Moon: A Samantha Moon Story Read online

  Are you suggesting you were a glorified babysitter?

  The thought crossed my mind. Except I believe the kid. I believe the pictures, and I even believe the mom. The bike rack was there, and then it wasn’t. And this happened at least twice.

  Twas easier when you could read minds, eh?

  Yes. Damn easier. Then again, there wasn’t much mystery left for me. Truth be told, it’s kind of fun investigating again, digging deeper, discovering clues. I sort of forgot the joy is in the search.

  Are you enjoying searching now?

  I am, but there’s also a sense of anxiety. There is, after all, no guarantee I will find the answer I was hired to find. And I really don’t want to disappoint little Bri. She kinda looks up to me.

  She’s going to be fine, either way, Sam. Though her love for the investigative arts is undeniable, I suspect she understands some mysteries are unsolvable.

  You think this one is unsolvable?

  With your mind and my wings, I have no doubt we’re going to find the answers you seek.

  Thank you for your belief in me.

  In us.

  I smile at that. Long ago, in another lifetime, Talos and I had been an us. But that’s another story for another time.

  Do you have any thoughts on a disappearing and reappearing bike rack?

  I do. But I wouldn’t want to deprive you of all the happy hunting.

  Oh, you’re terrible.

  9.

  It’s been a while since I spent an entire night flying, and I savored every minute of it.

  I had to give up my wings, the Devil Killer sword, and demon hunting. As it turns out, demons are rather vindictive and proactive. Meaning, they showed up at my house one night and even went after little Paxton. I just couldn’t let that happen again. Let someone else out there take over my job, someone who doesn’t live in the suburbs and have three kids.

  Three kids. Wow.

  I shake Talos’s great head and note the purpling of the sky. It’s coming on morning. I’ll have to return home soon. Talos’s black wings stick out like a sore thumb in the light of day. At night, not so much.

  Kingsley lived in Yorba Linda. Would he have noticed random bike racks? Or were they generally so random that very few people indeed saw them? Yet the little detective had noted the anomaly. Were they somehow related to her, or was she just an excellent detective in the making?

  There’s about two miles as the dragon flies between the two known locations of the bike racks. I spent the night circling in and around the two spots, sometimes zigging, sometimes zagging, sometimes flying in a figure 8. Always I kept my eyes to the ground, looking for movement in the dark... or the sudden appearance of a rusted old bike rack.

  But as the sky continued lightening—and as I legit started feeling guilty for keeping Talos away from his own life for so long—I saw it.

  A flash of light.

  It was in a canyon between two housing tracks, inaccessible for most people. One would have had to scale a backyard fence, then hike down a steep rock wall... only to be met by thorny briers, thick weeds, and beavertail cactus. A lot of beavertail cactus. In fact, it nearly covers the entire length of the canyon.

  Which is why a bike rack—and the man standing next to it—couldn’t have been more out of place.

  I turn to starboard, flapping Talos’s mighty wings hard, and angle down.

  10.

  The figure is that of a young man, perhaps in his mid-twenties.

  He doesn’t see me, of course. Talos’s black wings would still be mostly camouflaged against the backdrop of the plum-colored morning sky. But what I’m seeing is bizarre, to say the least. And this is coming from someone who’s seen a lot of strange crap.

  Below me, the young man is calmly unlocking a mountain bike—a very odd-looking mountain bike—from a familiar-looking, round-looped rack. Three loops, just like in Bri’s pictures. I’m still too far away to see if the bike rack is also rusted, but I have no doubt it is. (Talos’s eyes are good but not that good.) Still, I’m willing to bet this rack looks exactly like the one in the pictures, copies of which are now saved on my computer.

  I circle over him about fifty feet, edging closer. Yup, I see the rust now.

  Same bike rack. Here in the middle of nowhere. No way little Bri could have spotted it here, so that suggests it’s not somehow connected with her. She’d just been observant enough to spot it.

  He finishes unlocking his bike (really, it needed to be locked out here, in the middle of a cactus patch?), and proceeds to reattach the lock to the center post of his future-looking mountain bike. This thing has all the bells and whistles, including what looks like jet packs of some sort attached above the rear tire. In fact, white smoke is still emitting from the mini cylindrical turbines.

  What the eff is going on?

  As silently as possible, I land behind a nearby oak. The thing is... nothing Talos does is silent. He kicks up a veritable dirt cloud, and the branches in the tree sway and crack. The young man gasps at the ruckus. Luckily, the young man hasn’t a clue what’s going on. It’s still dark enough to keep me in shadows.

  I summon the single flame, and soon I’m standing naked behind the stunted oak, my knapsack in hand. Sweats, t-shirt, and a pair of slip on Vans later, I step out from behind the tree.

  11.

  “Who’s there?” says the young man. “I’m armed.”

  “Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!” I cry out with feigned alarm.

  The glare of a cell phone flashlight hits me in the face. Not quite a beam, but bright enough to distract me for a second or two. “What was all that noise?”

  “Just the wind.”

  He’s holding up what looks like the bear spray in his other hand. “Sounded like a pterodactyl had landed.”

  I chuckle to myself and flap my arms. “Nope, just lil ol’ me.”

  “What are you doing down here?” he asks.

  “I was in the neighborhood, saw a flash of light. Hurried down to see what it was.”

  He looks around, perplexed, knowing the closest house is up a fairly steep canyon wall... a wall covered in pokey stuff that would tear most people to shreds. “I find that hard to be—”

  Back in the day, of course, I could just shut his brain off, make him forget seeing me or remembering my dramatic entrance. Also, I could have just dipped into his mind to see what the hell was really going on, but all that has gone the way of the Dodo... or the way of Elizabeth.

  “What I find hard to believe is,” I say, “is that there is a bike rack at the bottom of this canyon, complete with a bike with two smoking engines.”

  “They’re not engines. Well, not just engines.”

  “Oh? Care to explain?”

  He clams up. “Look, I don’t know you. I don’t owe you anything.”

  We stand there staring at each other, alone at the bottom of a godforsaken cactus-filled canyon—two people who really had no business being there at all—with the morning sky turning from purple to gray. I fold my arms. “How about this. I’ll tell you how I really came down the canyon if you tell me what’s going on with your bike and what that flash of light was.”

  He thinks about, scratching his head. “Fine. You go first.”

  The young man, with his neat Joe Manganiello swoop haircut, narrow shoulders, and frumpy clothing, leans a little closer. He’s still gripping the handles of his suped-up mountain bike. Honestly, he looks like someone Tammy might date... even if he might be a few years too old for her. And, before I lose the thought... Joe Manganiello.

  Focus, Sam.

  “I flew in on dragon wings,” I finally say.

  He hangs his head, exhales. “Well, that’s just not true.”

  You ready, Talos?

  Ready, comes a distant echo in my head. I’m just happy to hear him at all, considering his voice is not only traveling between worlds, but from one dimension to another. And knowing he’s always there, waiting... yeah, it’s reassuring.

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; A moment later my perspective is that of a dozen or so feet off the ground, even taller than the pathetic oak tree behind me.

  Dang, forgot about my clothing. I don’t travel between worlds with clothing on, which is weird, but a fact. Oh, well. We’ll worry about covering up later.

  Meanwhile, the young man screams bloody murder. He scrambles away from me, falling, crab-crawling. I can’t talk to him in this form, but making a calming gesture with Talos’s clawed hands.

  The kid screams louder. So much for the calming gesture.

  He finds his feet again, stumbled again, then races to his super bike. He leaps on, flips a switch and starts pedaling. The mini-turbines ignite and now the kid is racing along a narrow trail, pedaling faster and faster, in a blaze of bicycling glory. Honestly, I’d never seen a bicycle move that fast. I leap into the air, flap hard a few times, gain altitude, and trail behind him.

  The young man looks over his shoulder, and, with the coming of dawn, undoubtedly sees the hulking black mass that is Talos rising up behind him. He pedals still faster, and flips another switch on his handlebars, and something swings out from under his longish-seat.

  Wings.

  Tri-folded, they swing out, then swing out again, and soon they are half-again as long as Talos’s own wings. The kid now twists his handlebar grip, which, apparently, doubled as a throttle. The squeal from the turbines increases. Except... he’s fast approaching the end of the trail and a steep drop off into canyon below.

  I’m just about to dive to save his scrawny ass when, instead of plummeting like a rock, the young man rockets up into the sky in a blaze of spewing fire.

  12.

  With my black wings and his sparking turbines, anyone looking up would see us. Thankfully, we were still over mostly unpopulated terrain.

  As impressed as I am by the flying bike, I’m more concerned the kid is going to fall off the damn thing. I didn’t exactly see him buckle in. Plus, he’s flying terrified, looking back at me erratically, hanging this way and that as he maneuvers through the air.

  With each wild turn, my heart drops.

  Well, Talos’s heart. Whatever.

  Got to get him down—and clam him down.

  I have an idea, Sam.

  Lay it on me, big guy.

  Talos does, and I shake my head. Okay, that’s a helluva idea. But I’m not sure my flying skills are up to par.

  Care if I take over?

  Please do.

  13.

  Talos’s flying is second-to-none.

  Then again, I’ve never flown with anyone else, so I wouldn’t know. Still, his ability to stay on the young man’s tail is uncanny. Zigging for zagging, twisting and turning, plunging and rising. Soon, we are right on the kid’s tail when Talos shouts: Now!

  I summon the flame, see my nakedness eagerly waiting within, and rush toward her...

  And I’m flying—me, Samantha Moon. Not Talos with his wings.

  Me, with no wings to speak of, hurling naked through the cold morning air... to land directly behind the kid on a bike seat that’s made for one.

  Luckily, I’m a fast healer, because my lady parts scream.

  So does he, looking back at me with terror in his eyes.

  Whatever control he had over the bike is gone, and we plunge down, down, down.

  I scream, too.

  ***

  Thankfully, he pulls up hard out of the nosedive. Still, we’re racing down toward some rooftops.

  I see he’s trying to pull the handlebars up, and so I reach around him, boobs smacking him to either side of his face, and grab what I can of the handlebars. I pull up, too—and just in time. We skim over the top of the roofs... the rear tire even hitting a chimney. Soon, we angle back up into the air.

  I sit back down and lean around him and look him in the eye. He looks at me, though he seems scared to hold eye contact.

  “Feel like some coffee?” I ask.

  “Are you naked?”

  “I am.”

  “Oh, god.”

  14.

  We’re not terribly far from Kingsley’s house, itself located at the northern edge of Yorba Linda. I direct the young man there.

  After a surprisingly smooth touch down in my boyfriend’s backyard, I tell the guy to not turn around. I might be immortal and as weird as it gets, but I’m bashful as hell. No way he’s gonna see me in my birthday suit. And, no, I’m not worried about him leaving. He knows I can hunt him down.

  When I’m confident he isn’t peeking, I dash off the bike. A few short strides later, I’m around the house and heading toward the servant’s entrance. Along the way, I grab a dusty blanket from the back of a patio chair.

  Yes, Franklin and his crew of stitched-together misfits still keep the house running. Franklin—i.e. Frankenstein—is a product of a mad scientist named Lichtenstein (long story). Now, for reasons that only the Creator can explain, they are all bonded with Kingsley... likely forever.

  Of course, that didn’t mean they were bonded to me... or even fond of me. In fact, Franklin—the highest functioning of the monsters—held a mild disdain for me. Knocking on his door at 6:00 am-ish in the morning didn’t help my standing with the loyal servant.

  He yanks it open—wearing long johns and an old-school nightcap (he is, after all, many hundreds of years old), and stares at me for what feels like a half minute before finally saying something. “You’re naked under that blanket, I presume.”

  “You presume correctly.”

  “A wild night out?”

  “Something like that. Will you, um, step aside?”

  He stares down at me from atop his hawkish nose. “Should I ring Master Kingsley?”

  “No, I’ll ring him myself.”

  “I’m sure you will. Your closet is in the third guest room on the right—”

  “I know where my closet is, Franklin,” I snap.

  I hear him humph behind me as I step around him and pad across the tiled floor.

  ***

  “Am I dreaming?” asks Kingsley, sitting up.

  I might have shown up in his bedroom half-naked, in the process of buttoning up my blouse, which had been hanging on a hook in my personal closet in one of his guest bedrooms. Kingsley has, count them, seven guest bedrooms on the middle floor alone. Franklin and his misshapen cohorts live on the ground floor and in the basement, some with rooms next to the hold (read prison), where Kingsley turns safely once a month.

  “Maybe. Am I floating over your bed, naked?”

  “No. But you are presently unbuttoning your blouse at the foot of my bed.”

  “Sorry, pal. Buttoning.”

  “A guy could hope. Um, Sam?”

  “Hmm?”

  “What the heck are you doing here?”

  “I rode a flying motorcycle here, duh. Well, I didn’t fly it. I was a passenger. A naked passenger, granted.”

  He stares at me. “I’m dreaming, right?”

  I dash over and lay a big one on his hairy lips. “Yes, dear. You’re dreaming.”

  “Wait, don’t go—”

  I know that urgent tone. I pat him on his even hairier cheek. “I’ll explain later, BS. There’s a young man in the backyard that I don’t want to lose.”

  “I’m so lost.”

  “I kinda am, too. Talk later. Muah!”

  Oh, and BS = Big Sexy.

  15.

  I return to the backyard, brandishing two mugs of steaming instant coffee. I already put cream and sugar in both, a judgment call. I find the young man pacing and raking his fingers through his near-perfect hair.

  “Have a seat,” I say, gesturing to one of Kingsley’s many outdoor patio sets.

  The kid nods, drops down into the seat opposite me. He accepts the coffee mug, eyeing me warily as if I might spontaneously combust—or turn into a flying dragon. I don’t need to read minds to know that I’ve rocked his world.

  Join the club, kiddo.

  I address the elephant in the room... or the dragon on the patio. “
Sorry for scaring the bejesus out of you. It just seemed like you needed a little convincing. Sometimes I forget how big and scary-looking Talos is.”

  “You mean that thing has a name?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s not... you?”

  “Yes and no. Yes, it’s me... but only partially. Long story.”

  “I have time. Trust me. I have all the time in the world.”

  “Maybe later. What’s your name?”

  “Bryan. I’d kinda like to keep my last name out of this.”

  “Fine. I’m Samantha. Okay, I showed you mine, now it’s your turn.”

  He looks over at his bike, which is propped up on a very ordinary-looking kickstand. He can’t quite bring himself to talk about it, even though he really, really seems to want to. I decide to help him out.

  “It’s a time machine, right?”

  He flicks his gaze at me, then shakes his head. “Not quite, though there is an element of it.”

  “Explain?”

  “I can’t go forward and backward in time, though I seem to gain time.”

  “You’re losing me, and my dragon friend is getting hungry.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “Kidding. Get to it, Bryan.”

  “Very well. I can travel to other worlds and other dimensions. My comment about having all the time in the world only meant that I can sometimes spend weeks and months in other worlds, only to have a few days have pass in this world.”

  “Okay, go on.”

  “This doesn’t surprise you?”

  “Let’s just say I’ve seen some things. We’ll leave it there for now.”

  He stares at me, then nods. “Okay. Well, as you might have guessed, I’m an inventor. In fact, I come from a long line of them. The bike you see is like the 100th iteration of it, started by my grandfather eighty years ago. My father took up the mantle after him, then passed on to me what they had. Luckily, I had the benefit of computers and artificial intelligence—I have a doctorate in advanced robotics from Caltech—to help me unlock the final pieces of the puzzle. Should I bore you with the specifics of the bike?”