Vampire for Hire: First Eight Short Stories (Plus Samantha Moon's Blog and Bonus Scenes)

by J. R. Rain

  I rocked on my floor and wrapped my hands around myself and thought of my children.

  Lord help anyone who threatened my children.

  Anyone.

  The End

  Return to the Table of Contents

  Vampire Gold

  I was watching Judge Judy tear some loser a new one, when my doorbell rang.

  I’d been doing dishes in the kitchen and glancing periodically into the living room, catching snippets of one small-time criminal being reduced to mush by one badass woman—and loving every minute of it when I heard my client’s vehicle come to a stop outside, heard the door open and close, and then heard his shuffling feet over the cement path. Next, I heard the opening and closing of the gate in the chain link fence that surrounds my property.

  My hearing was, to say the least, as sharp as ever.

  I turned off the faucet and headed to the front door. I left Judge Judy on. All men should be exposed to the rational and justified fury of a strong-willed woman.

  Would do them good.

  I greeted a smallish man standing at my doorway. Introductions were made and I showed him in. My inner alarm remained silent, which was always a good sign. In my office at the back of my house, I asked my potential new client, Adam Rose, if he would like something to drink.

  “Beer?” he asked. I noted the hope in his voice. I also noted the squiggly blue lines over his bulbous nose.

  I said, “I was thinking more along the lines of bottled water or Sunny Delight.”

  “Sunny Delight?”

  “It’s Anthony’s favorite.”

  He nodded as if that made perfect sense. I next asked him how I could assist him. He had mentioned over the phone that he needed my help in locating something. Lucky for him, I was a helluva locator.

  “I want you to help me find a treasure.”

  “A treasure?”

  “Yes, let me explain.”

  “Please do.”

  “My father buried a treasure thirty years ago.”

  “If I had a nickel for every time I hear that...”

  He blinked, waited.

  “Never mind,” I said. “Go on.”

  “Anyway, he thought it would be fun.”

  “To locate a treasure?”

  “Yes. But it’s more than a treasure. It’s my inheritance.”

  “I see,” I said. “I think. What did this treasure consist of?”

  “Gold.”

  “Gold?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was your father Blackbeard?”

  “No, but I think he thought he was.”

  He smiled. I smiled. Just two normal people talking about pirate gold. Of course, one of us was immortal and the other was, well, the verdict remained to be seen...but I was leaning toward crazy as hell.

  I was making notes on the notepad in front of me, as if the man sitting before me was actually telling me something that made sense. “How much gold?” I asked.

  “I would rather not say.”

  I could have compelled him to tell me. I could have also read his thoughts. I could have picked him up and held him by his ankles and shook him until he told me. But I’m not a bad person. Or a bad vampire. I might be many things, but impatient wasn’t one of them. Vampires, in fact, might just be the most patient people on earth.

  And, yes, vampires are people, too.

  I said, “You do understand how crazy this sounds, right?”

  The word crazy seemed to touch off a sore spot. He folded his hands over his chest and sat back. “I have been surrounded by crazy my whole life, Ms. Moon. In fact, this might be one of the least crazy things my father has ever done.”

  He set the manila folder that he’d brought with him down on my desk. He opened it and removed what looked suspiciously like a treasure map. Except this treasure map was laminated and consisted of college-ruled paper, both sure-fire indicators that it was a legit pirate map.

  “My father drew this,” he said.

  “Your father had a lot of time on his hands.”

  “Are you always this condescending to your clients?”

  “I call it playful,” I said. “And you’re not my client yet.”

  “Well, I don’t like it. I can take my business elsewhere.”

  I waited. He didn’t look like he wanted to go elsewhere. In fact, he looked like he was eager to show me the treasure map. Or maybe that was a psychic hit. His aura veritably crackled and churned. Yeah, he was excited.

  Ever the peacekeeper, I said, “Please tell me about the map and hidden treasure.”

  “You’re being condescending again.”

  “In a playful way.”

  “So, you’re always like this?”

  “If I like you.”

  “And if you don’t like me?”

  “I can be your worst enemy.”

  He was about to laugh that off until he caught the look in my eye. Instead, he coughed nervously and shifted in his seat. “Look, can I just tell you about the map, and then you can decide if I’m nuts or not?”

  “Fair enough,” I said.

  And tell me he did.

  * * *

  His father had been crazy.

  He’d just returned home from the Vietnam War where he’d been badly wounded. Disabled and bitter, he had turned to booze and drugs. Until he met The One.

  “My mother,” he said, smiling.

  “Of course,” I said. I’m a sucker for a good love story.

  She’d made an honest man out of him, and soon they started a family. Apparently, his father had done some “bad things” in Nam. So much so that he eventually went over the deep end.

  “You said this sounded crazy, Ms. Moon. Well, you’re right. My father was very, very crazy.”

  I knew I had been right, although I didn’t say anything. Nobody likes a know-it-all. Especially a psychic know-it-all. These days, I trust my psychic hits more than I let on. I had sensed something off about his father—even before words about the treasure map—and the fact that my psychic abilities were extending beyond this room and all the way to his deceased father...which meant only one thing.

  I turned and looked into the far corner of my office where super-bright particles of light were currently gathering, coalescing slowly into the form of a man. That the coalescing part was taking so long meant a couple of things. One was that the ghost had been departed for quite a long time. Another was that the ghost might have lost its marbles during life—and even in death, it hadn’t quite found itself yet.

  For now, the spirit was having a difficult time forming anything other than a vaguely humanoid shape. My potential new client wasn’t aware of the spirit in the far corner of my room. Few ever were. Few but the most sensitive mediums were aware of the spirits around them. And perhaps a vampire or two.

  More than anything, I sensed the spirit’s great love for the man sitting before me. His father, indeed.

  I said, “In a way, Mr. Rose, we’re all a little nuts. Some of us just do a better job of hiding it.”

  He chuckled and seemed to relax a little. In the corner of the room, his father was currently fading in and out of existence. The poor guy was having a devil of a time making an appearance. “Well, my father didn’t bother to hide it. That’s just the thing. He seemed to almost embrace it. It sort of became his identity: Crazy Rose, they called him. Others called him eccentric. Those in the family called him something far less polite.” Adam Rose looked away, took in some air. “Truth was, we should have celebrated him, living a life unique and true to himself. I’m afraid we were less than kind to him.”

  He told me more. After living a life where clothing and shoes were optional, his father’s psychosis steadily worsened until he’d finally died of a stroke, after having suffered years of dementia.

  “Rough life,” I said.

  “Maybe,” said Mr. Rose. “Then again, my dad seemed to love every moment of it. Most of all, he seemed to love us.”

  “Love conquers all,” I said.
“Or so I’ve heard.”

  He nodded absently and glanced into the corner of my office, his eyes lingering on the spot where his father’s amorphous spirit was currently trying its best to make a full appearance, but failing miserably. I suspected that a part of Adam knew his father was nearby, the part of him that had one foot in the spirit world. The part most of us ignore. Unless, of course, you were a freak like me.

  I pointed to the map. “And your father left you this.”

  “Well, all of us kids.”

  “How many of you are there?”

  “He had five kids.”

  “And he left behind a map to all of you?”

  “Yes.”

  “The same map?”

  “Yes.”

  “Winner take all?”

  “He didn’t specify, but us kids all have an agreement to split the money.”

  I got a sudden sinking feeling in my stomach, and I sensed that Adam Rose’s intentions weren’t quite as honorable. I could be wrong, but I suspected he had no intentions of splitting the inheritance. Or, more likely, to not split it evenly.

  “When did your father die?”

  “Almost ten years ago.”

  “And your family has been looking for the treasure ever since?”

  “Well, in the beginning, we did. Most of the kids have given up.”

  “But not you?”

  “I gave up, too. The map and riddles seemed nonsensical. Most of us couldn’t make heads or tails of them.”

  “So, why hire me?” I asked.

  “Why not? You’re a detective. Maybe you can see the map differently. Maybe see what we’re missing. It’s time this damn thing was found.”

  “You believe your father really hid a treasure?”

  “I do. Some of my siblings don’t, but my father had some money, and now it’s gone.”

  “Gone and buried?” I suggested.

  “I think so,” said Adam Rose. “And I could use it, trust me.”

  I sensed his desperation. I also sensed he’d gotten himself into some trouble. I said, “Were there any instructions given?”

  “No. Just a map. You can imagine our frustration, especially since...” He paused, thinking better of what he was about to say.

  “Since what?” I prodded.

  “Since we know that my father had cashed in his life savings for gold.”

  “And you think that’s what he buried?”

  “Yes. It would be just like him. He was obsessed with pirates.”

  “Of course,” I said. “Who isn’t? So what do you want me to do?”

  “I want you to find the gold.”

  “Using this map?”

  “Yes. So, do we have a deal?”

  I tapped my pointy fingernail on the map, and then shrugged. “Aye, matey.”

  “Aargh,” he added, pirate-like.

  “Somebody please shoot us.”

  * * *

  I was sitting with my sister at Hero’s in Fullerton.

  Hero’s had a lot of bittersweet memories for me. This was, after all, where I’d gone to escape the world, often with my sister, where I pretended to drown my sorrows away since alcohol has no effect on me. Mostly, it was nice to be lost in a sea of slightly inebriated humanity, while chatting with my sister about everyday things, pretending to be normal, pretending to be like everyone else.

  That is, until I’d discovered that I had been watched nearly the entire time. Fang had found his way to my hangout, after cross-checking various careless references by me. He’d found his way here...and gotten a job.

  Exactly. The balls on him, right?

  He had then proceeded to watch me from up close and personal for many years, befriending me and, no doubt, studying me.

  I hadn’t known all of this, of course. My psychic sensitivities hadn’t been quite as attuned as they are these days. Anyway, Fang was gone now. To where, I hadn’t a clue.

  “You look cute today,” said Mary Lou, after she’d finally emerged from her glass of wine.

  “With you,” I said, “my clothes tend to get cuter and cuter as you drink more and more.”

  “Fashion goggles,” she said, holding up her wine and giggling. “So, tell me what you’re working on these days.”

  I told her while she sipped often from her wine glass. when I was finished she said, “An honest-to-God buried treasure?”

  “Buried something,” I said.

  Mary Lou motioned for the waiter to refill her glass. He did so, but didn’t smile. Not the way Fang used to, back when I hadn’t known he was Fang. Back when he had just been a bartender who had seemed to take a keen and flirtatious interest in us.

  “Like a pirate treasure?”

  “Except his dad wasn’t a pirate,” I said. “That’s the key here. His dad was, by all indications, a nut job.”

  “A nut job who buried real gold.”

  “Right.”

  “Where?”

  “Catalina,” I said. “According to the map.”

  “Oh my God, I want your job.”

  “No, you don’t. Too many bad guys.”

  “You’re right, I don’t. But...how fun!”

  “Maybe.”

  “So, do you get a cut of the treasure?”

  “Yes, plus my standard fees.”

  “I want to be you for one week.”

  “Even with all the blood?” I asked.

  “Scratch that,” she said, shivering.

  “Anyway,” I said. “His dad was nuts.”

  “I think his dad was adorable.”

  “Last time you drank, you said chest hair was adorable.”

  “I did?”

  “You did.”

  “Eew.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Still,” said my sister, “his dad sounds like he was a lot of fun.”

  “His dad sounds like he was a lot of crazy.”

  “Either way, it’s good for you, right?”

  She had a point. Had the world been filled with devoted husbands, honest employees, and no crime or craziness, I would be out of a job.

  “Insanity is good for business,” I agreed.

  She started eagerly on her second glass of wine, bringing it to her naturally full lips—lips that had always been fuller than mine, which annoyed me to no end. She took a healthy sip—and I used that word loosely—then said, “Piece of cake for you, right? Just use your magic to find the treasure...and voilà!”

  “It’s not magic,” I said, lowering my voice. Mary Lou not only got more complimentary as she drank, but she also got louder, too. Louder wasn’t a good thing in my line of business—or for my kind.

  “Oh, it’s magic, all right,” she said,

  “Well, let’s keep talk of magic to a minimum in public, okay?”

  “Whatever you say, Houdini.” She giggled some more. “And you didn’t answer my question. Finding something lost should be easy for you, right? You found those magic charms—”

  “Medallions,” I said, reaching over and pulling her stool closer to me, since my dear sister seemed determined to spill my vampire beans tonight. “But I was connected to those, remember?”

  She frowned, processing that. “So, it would be hard for you to find something you’re not connected to?”

  “I think so, yes. But I’m still learning how I, uh, work. Besides...” Except I didn’t finish my thought. I thought I’d just seen someone who looked remarkably like Fang. He’d stepped into the bar briefly, looked around, and then stepped out. I had swung my head around just as he’d exited. But he looked like Fang, at least from behind.

  Jesus...had it been him?

  No, it couldn’t have been. After all, my inner alarm had remained calm. Unless, of course, Fang didn’t pose a threat. In fact, he had never triggered my inner alarm, even when he’d been stalking me.

  Which meant Fang hadn’t been a threat to me.

  I thought about that as I nearly got up.

  Nearly ran after him—or whoever it was.
r />   Nearly.

  My heart, which usually thumped slowly in my chest cavity, had suddenly picked up its pace, beating, perhaps, as fast as a normal person’s heart.

  “You okay, Sam?”

  “Yes.”

  “You were saying...” she prodded.

  “I was saying what?”

  “You said ‘except,’ and then you looked like you saw a ghost, which, for you, is saying something.”

  A ghost would have been easier to deal with. Ghosts I saw every day. Someone who looked like Fang...Jesus...

  I took a deep breath, willed myself to calm down.

  It wasn’t him.

  Couldn’t have been.

  Or was it?

  I looked at my sister. “Except,” I said, continuing my thought from a few minutes ago, “except I want to find the treasure without the use of my, ah, magic.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The map is a puzzle,” I said. “A mystery.”

  “And you want to solve it on your own.”

  “I do,” I said. “It is, after all, what I do best.”

  “That, and kick ass.”

  “You’re a good sister,” I said.

  She raised her glass of wine. “I can drink to that.”

  “You can drink to anything.”

  “I can drink to that, too.”

  And she did.

  * * *

  I was studying the map again.

  I was also drinking idly from a packet of pig and cow blood. I was never sure which. As I leaned over the map, with the kids sound asleep and my office door locked, I tilted back the foul-smelling stuff as I tried once again to make heads or tails from the scribbles along the college ruled paper.

  That the map was old, I had no doubt. Adam Rose had told me the truth about his father, that much I knew. I hadn’t sensed any deception coming from him. Whether his dad’s treasure map was something other than laminated scribblings remained to be seen.

  I itched to call Fang, to consult with him, to send him a scanned copy of the map and ask for his input. That seeking Russell Baker’s opinion never crossed my thoughts concerned me.

  He’s too young, I thought, thinking of my sexy ex-client and current love interest. He’s too fresh. Too green. Not experienced.