Samantha Moon 22: Moon Angel by J.R. Rain

Author:J.R. Rain [Rain, J.R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

“What about your customers?” I asked.

“They’re used to me dashing off,” he said over his shoulder, as he led me through a side door behind the bar, then through an unused kitchen, down a flight of rickety stairs. He made a right, then another right, then down a long brick-lined hallway, and then finally into an old room that served, I suspected, as his office. Or his vampiric lair. Had I not been what I was, I might have been concerned. This looked like a murder room if I’d ever seen one. Which I had, once or twice.

Except this murder room had an old desk, a chair, a dented filing cabinet and wall-to-wall bookshelves, all packed with books of varying sizes. Not quite as big as the Occult Reading Room, but damn close. It gave off the same creepy vibe. Luckily, though, no whisperings.

Rather than going to his books, Fang opened a middle drawer in his filing cabinet, thumbed through a few manila folders, all while I watched as a half-dozen ghosts flitted through the room, many dressed in clothing from yesteryear. One watched me as I watched him. He seemed to clear his throat, then gave me a deep bow. There were, I noted, a half-dozen bullet wounds—exit wounds—in his back. I bowed as well and he faded away. My life.

“Ah, here we go,” said Fang. He removed what appeared to be a drawing from a folder. He handed it to me.

“You brought me down here to look at an old drawing of what? A temple?” I asked. In the old picture, a row of Corinthian columns marched down either side of what appeared to be a long, marble hallway. There was a bright light above, which reflected off the marble below. The edges of the drawing were crumbling and the whole thing just looked damned old. If I had to guess, maybe over a hundred years old. A yellowish haze sort of washed out the drawing. Something tugged at me, hard.

“I think it’s a temple,” he said, “although it’s one that I don’t recognize.”

I didn’t either. Then again, I didn’t know much about temples. Or anything about temples, for that matter.

“So, why show me?” I asked.

“Such temples are associated with archangels.”

“Are they now?”

He nodded and proceeded to select a handful of books from his shelves. He flipped through them, and showed me two or three examples. Each depicted a classical archangel within such a temple.

I pointed to the illustration. “How did you get this?”

“Three months ago, a man came in here and gave it to me. He said that I would know who to give this drawing to, and that that the initiate would know how to use it.”

“He said, ‘initiate’?”

“Yes.”

“Did he order a drink?”

“Nope. One minute, I was looking down at the drawing and the next minute—”

“Let me guess,” I said. “He was gone.”

“Not quite, but he was walking out the front entrance.”

I studied the picture, and as I did so, something continued to awaken within me.

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