Page 1 of Gladiator Moon

Chapter One

He is a most peculiar man, this one.

He wears a floppy green hat, white gloves, and riding trousers. Strangely, I don’t quite remember him even coming into my office, though I have a vague memory of him standing outside my glass office door, hands propped up on a cane. The next moment he is seated in front of me, smiling. More than once I catch myself yawning, though, weirdly, it is against my nature to ever get tired. I have to continuously keep reminding myself who he is. Sometimes, I even look down at my notepad, hoping to find some indicator of who he is and why he is here.

Unfortunately, there are only the letters “B-A” written on my pad, followed by my pen trailing off sleepily. Looks like I have made this attempt a few times, as there are no less than six such “B-A” attempts.

“I’m sorry,” I say again, yawning and covering my mouth. I haven’t yawned this much in over a decade. Even the polite gesture of covering one’s mouth has been lost on me during the intervening years. I raise my pen over my notepad. “What’s your name again?”

“Baltazar,” the man intones patiently.

“Can you spell it for me?”

I press the point into the paper, determined to write it to completion this time.

“B-A-L-“

Another yawn hits me, and I set the pen aside. “I’m so sorry, I’m just so tired for some reason.”

“Perhaps you’ve had a long day.”

“Perhaps. I really don’t remember.”

Indeed, my memory of the day is nearly nonexistent. If anything, I have a better memory of what happened yesterday, which was my daughter’s wedding, a grand affair that lasted into the wee hours of the night. To think my daughter and her new husband are on their way to their honeymoon shakes me, as if the notion has only now occurred to me. Surely, I have had this thought before, but it seemingly hits me all over again: my daughter, on her way to her honeymoon.

To where?

Oh, crap. I can’t remember. Where are they going? Are they flying, driving, or sailing? A moment of panic grips me. Wait. A city emerges from the fog. They were heading to Seattle, and to save money on flights, I teleported them into an empty conference room at their hotel. How do I not remember that? In fact, I am certain it happened just a few hours ago.

Oh boy, this day is just one long blur. Maybe throwing together a last-minute wedding did something that fighting monsters, artificial intelligence cyborgs, my own dark twin, and dark fairies never could: maybe it exhausted me.

Maybe, but I am not buying it, in particular because of the way my brain currently feels like mush. And who is this strange man sitting in front of me, smiling and waiting patiently? I look again at his smile. Normal, not too big, casual even. Okay, not a demon.

Have my memory issues begun with his arrival? And just how long has he been here? And why have I written B-A-L on my notepad?

“Excuse me, who are you again?” I ask.

“I’m an emissary from his royal highness, Domarack the Third of Grandar.”

“That makes no sense. What’s your name?”

“I am known as Baltazar the Magician.”

“Can you spell it for me, please?”

“Sure. Perhaps I should start after the B-A-L already on your papers.”

I look down. He is right. There is a B-A-L on my paper. How did he know that?

“Okay…” I can’t hide the suspicion from my voice. Luckily, my inner alarm isn’t going off. Also, what the hell is an inner alarm? Ugh, my brain.

“Please continue with a T-A-Z-A-and an R.”

“Baltazar,” I say, reading the name on my paper.

“Yes.”

“That’s your name?”