by J. R. Rain
“Are you Professor Gunthrie?” I asked.
“For you, I’ll be anyone you want.”
Whoa. There was still some pep to his step. I smiled, perhaps bigger than I’d intended. He smiled, too, and showed me a lot of coffee-stained teeth.
“Professor Gunthrie, I’m a private investigator and I’d like to ask you a few questions about a shipwreck on Skull Island.”
He blinked, absorbed what I said, then accepted my proffered business card, which he looked over carefully. He said, “You sound very official, Detective Moon.” He winked. “I supposed I’d better invite you in, then.”
“Thank you,” I said.
And as I stepped past him, the old guy might have—just might have—checked out my ass.
The interior was as warm and cozy as the exterior promised. A fire burned energetically in the fireplace. Pictures of kids and grandkids adorned the wall. An elderly woman was in many of the pictures. The photos were of his deceased wife, I knew, because her spirit was presently standing in the room as well, watching us silently.
I’d gotten used to such spirits. Mostly, they didn’t expect me to see them, and mostly, I pretended not to see them. In this case, I gave her a small nod and smile. The woman, who was composed of hundreds, if not thousands, of particles of white light, seemed to do a double take, then slowly nodded toward me.
“Beautiful home,” I said, noting the maritime theme mixed with the family photos.
“Made more beautiful now,” he said, winking at me. Slightly embarrassed, I looked over at his departed wife. She simply shook her head and appeared to chuckle, although it was hard to tell because her features weren’t fully formed.
“Well, thank you,” I said.
“Would you like some tea, Ms. Moon?”
“Water would be great.”
“I can do water. Have a seat.” He gestured toward a well-worn couch with a colorful afghan blanket thrown over the back.
Professor Gunthrie shuffled off into the kitchen, where I next heard water dispense from a cooler. Shortly, he returned with two glasses of water, which he set before us on little doily coasters at the coffee table. I sipped from my glass politely. He seemed pleased. In fact, he seemed pleased just to have any company at all. Even vampire company.
A model of a clipper ship stretched across the length of the coffee table. Tammy and Anthony would have broken that in two hours. Maybe one hour. Maybe instantly.
“So, what can I do for you, Ms. Moon?” he asked, glancing at my business card again. He seemed impressed. Or maybe that was wishful thinking on my part.
“I’m looking into a shipwreck that occurred on Skull Island in the late nineteenth century.”
“The Sea Merchant,” he said, nodding.
“What can you tell me about that shipwreck that, well, didn’t make it to the papers?”
“Or onto the Internet?” he asked, winking.
“That, too,” I said, grinning.
“Perhaps the most interesting would have been that The Sea Merchant was transporting a small amount of treasure.”
“Treasure?”
“Of sorts,” he said, and drank long and hard from his own glass of water. “A man by the name of Archibald Maximus lost his fortune. Lots of gold, and other valuables. Apparently, he was quite the collector. Are you okay, Ms. Moon?”
Had I any color in my cheeks, I’m sure it would have drained. As it was, I’m fairly certain my mouth might have dropped open. I tried to recover valiantly. “Any idea what this treasure might have contained?”
“Gold, from the reports. Not a king’s ransom, granted, but certainly enough to keep the treasure hunters searching, which they continue to do to this day.”
“I see,” I said. “Thank you.”
“Is there anything else I can do for you, Ms. Moon? Would you like something to eat? I just made a wonderful quiche—”
“No, thank you. I appreciate your help.”
I stood to leave. He stood, too. “Do you have to leave so soon?” He was lonely and I knew it.
“I’m afraid so.”
He looked briefly pained, and then nodded. As he walked me to the front door, I reached out to the female spirit watching us from the corner of the room.
“Your wife is here with you, Professor Gunthrie,” I said.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m a sort of...medium. Your wife is here, in this room.”
“Why would you say—”
“Her name is Helen, and she says she will always love you.”
He blinked rapidly, and actually looked toward the area where the spirit of his deceased wife was presently watching us. “Well, you’re a private eye, I’m sure you could have found that out—”
“She wants to thank you for planting the roses in her honor. She knows you think of her every time you see them.”
His mouth opened, and then closed. He tried again, and then closed it again.
I continued. “She loves you now more than ever, and is with you always.”
“Samantha...I don’t understand.”
“It’s okay if you don’t understand, Professor. She wants me to tell you that when you lie in bed and feel all alone that you are never alone. Not ever. She’s lying right there with you, in spirit.”
He rubbed his eyes. “I...I feel her, sometimes.”
“When you see her in your dreams, she wants you to know that’s her, coming to you.”
“I dream of her all the time.”
I smiled sweetly at him. “And there’s something else she wants me to give you.”
“What?”
I leaned in and kissed him ever-so-softly on the corner of his mouth. “That’s from her.”
He broke down for a minute or two and I waited, checking my watch. I nodded toward Helen, who had drifted over and was now standing nearby.
She thanked me, and I smiled at her, then squeezed Professor’s Gunthrie’s hand, and left him weeping in the doorway.
Alone. In theory.
Chapter Forty-one
I was back on Skull Island.
Total elapsed time was just over an hour. I found Allison where I’d left her: in her bedroom lying with the steak knife clutched in her hand. Her bone-white hand. Yes, I’d felt bad leaving her, but trusted our psychic connection to alert me should she be in any danger.
“What took you so long?” she asked, setting the knife aside after virtually prying her fingers open. “I thought super bats made great time.”
I ignored her; instead, I filled her in on what I’d learned.
“And who’s Archibald Maximus?” she asked.
“He’s a librarian at Cal State Fullerton.”
“The University?”
“Yes.”
“What is he, like 215 years old?”
Her math, I suspected, was dubious. I said, “No. He looks younger than you, although that’s not hard to do.”
“Mean, Samantha Moon,” she said. “Very mean. Is he a vampire, too?”
“No. Not quite. He’s something else.”
She read my thoughts. “An ascended master?”
“Or a warrior of the light,” I said. “He’s here to counterbalance the darkness.”
“Is he single?”
“Allison...”
“Sorry, sorry. So, what does all this mean?”
“I don’t know yet,” I said.
“He obviously survived the shipwreck, since only the captain died.”
“Right,” I said.
“And he was transporting a treasure.”
“Right again,” I said.
“What kind of treasure would a warrior of the light have?” asked Allison. “I mean, isn’t he supposed to be above material wealth and all that?”
“Maybe,” I said, and thought of the simple young man I’d met a few times now working in the Occult Room at Cal State Fullerton, a young man who wasn’t so young after all. A young man who had, quite remarkably, reversed my son’s vampirism, using the
first of four powerful medallions.
Medallions he had shown me in a book. Medallions that were created, he’d said, to counter the effects of vampirism, although he had told me nothing more.
Allison had been following my train of thoughts, seeing my memory as I reviewed it.
“Four medallions,” she said, commenting on the book Archibald had once shown me of the four golden discs.
“Yes,” I said.
“And you have had two of them?”
“Yes.”
“Aren’t these, like, rare?”
“Well, there’s only four of them.”
“And one of them is presently on you—”
“In me,” I corrected, and showed her the circular-shaped scar along my upper chest.
“Gotcha. And easy on the vampire cleavage, Sam. Kinda gross.” She faked a shiver. “How did you get the first one?”
“It was sort of hand-delivered to me.”
I gave her the image of the hunky, blond-haired vampire hunter who’d posed as a UPS deliveryman. She nodded. “And why did he deliver the medallion to you?”
“I’m not entirely sure.”
“Sam, perhaps you are not seeing this, so let me spell it out for you: there are only four of these bad boys in the whole wide world.”
I waited. She waited.
“Well?” she asked, exasperated.
“Well, what?”
She rolled her eyes and got up and stood in front of me. “Sam, somehow you are attracting these medallions.”
“Pshaw,” I said, blowing her off. “Only a coincidence.”
“Is it, Sam? And now you are on an island where, quite possibly, one of the medallions is hidden.”
“That’s a leap,” I said.
“Is it? The same entity, the same warrior of the light, lost his treasure over a hundred years ago, a treasure that has never been found—”
“Because it sank off the coast. It’s buried in muck.”
“Or is it?” asked Allison. She was on a roll. “There were fourteen survivors, Sam. They obviously had life rafts of some sort. How easily could our friend Archibald Maximus—the same guy, mind you, who first showed you the book containing the four medallions—how easily could he have hidden his treasure here on this island?”
“You’re crazy,” I said. “There’s no evidence of the treasure being hidden on the island.”
“And there’s no evidence of it ever being found, either. Didn’t the professor say that divers have been looking for it for decades? Well, maybe they’re looking in the wrong place. Maybe they should be looking here, on this island—where, I might add, this entity friend of ours is compelling Tara and Edwin to dig endlessly.”
I opened my mouth to speak. There was a sort of insane logic to what she was saying.
“Insane?” she echoed, reading my thoughts.
“Kinda crazy, kiddo,” I said. “But what makes you think Archibald even had one of the medallions?”
“I don’t know, but it makes sense. A treasure, Sam. A treasure. The medallion would be considered treasure, wouldn’t it? Besides, what else would the entity have Edwin and Tara looking for? The family doesn’t exactly need a few crappy gold coins.”
“I could use a few crappy gold coins.”
“Me, too,” said Allison. “My point is this: there is a very good chance the third medallion is here, on this island.”
“Then why lure me up here?”
“Isn’t it obvious, Sam?”
“No.”
“The entity—and now me—thinks that you can help it find it.”
“Now that’s crazy.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Remember, Sam, you have possessed two prior medallions. By this point, it might be desperate.”
“Fine. Then what does it want with my kids?”
And just as the question escaped my lips, I knew the answer. Allison, in tune with my own thoughts, gasped.
“One of the medallions is in you,” she said. “And the other medallion...”
“Is in my son,” I said grimly.
“Didn’t Archibald break down the other medallion into some sort of potion?”
I nodded, feeling so sick that I could vomit. A potion that my son drank. “Yes.”
“A medallion which reversed your son’s vampirism?” said Allison.
“Mostly.”
“So, in effect, one medallion is in you, and one is in him, and the third...”
“Might just be on this island,” I said, and held my stomach, thinking of my son.
“But why does he want the medallions?”
“I don’t know.”
It was at that moment that a God-awful loud wolf-howl blasted through the blowing wind.
Allison jumped. “Jesus, was that a wolf?”
“Yes,” I said, feeling some relief.
“Here on the island? I thought there were no predators.”
“Not of the mortal kind,” I said. “Get dressed.”
Chapter Forty-two
We found him in the back woods, dripping wet.
“Don’t say it, Sam,” said Kingsley.
“Say what?” I asked innocently enough.
“Anything about a wet dog.”
“I would never say anything about you looking just like a wet dog caught out in the rain.”
Kingsley shook his great, shaggy head and looked over at Allison. Only someone oblivious would miss the way his eyes reflected amber. Damn beautiful eyes.
Yes, I used to enjoy staring into those eyes, especially on nights when my sister had the kids. I had just been falling in love with the big oaf, when he decided to unzip his fly at the wrong time.
Bastard.
“Don’t look at me that way, Sam,” he said.
“What way?”
“Like you want to take a chainsaw to my balls.”
Allison snorted. She was, I sensed, quite smitten with Kingsley Fulcrum. No surprise there. Hard to resist someone who stood six and a half feet tall, and had shoulders wide enough to see from outer space.
Down girl, I said to her telepathically.
I think I’m in love.
No, you’re not.
To Kingsley, I said, “I’ll add that to my to-do list. Might teach you a lesson.”
“If it keeps you from hating me, then do it.”
“You two are funny,” said Allison.
“Who’s the broad?” asked Kingsley, jabbing a thick thumb her direction.
“Broad?” she laughed. “Do people really talk that way?”
“They do when they’re almost a hundred years old.”
“Sam!” snapped Kingsley.
“She knows everything, you big ape.”
“I’ve never met a werewolf before,” said Allison, stepping around him. Kingsley, I noted, lifted his upper lip in what might have been an irritated snarl. “Are they always as big as you?” she asked.
“Sam...” growled Kingsley. His wet hair hung below the collar of his soaking-wet jacket and jeans. He was also—I could hardly believe it—barefoot.
“There are no secrets between Sam and I,” said Allison. “At least not many. We’re blood sisters, so to speak.”
Kingsley growled again and shook his head, just like a wet dog. Allison and I squealed and took cover.
“Oops, sorry,” he said, and I caught his impish grin.
“You can trust her,” I said, wiping my face. “It’s you who I can’t trust.”
“Low blow, Sam. I came all the way out here to help you, not take abuse.”
“You deserve some abuse,” I said.
“Fine,” he said. “Then are we done?”
“Maybe,” I said. “And that reminds me...how did you get out here? No ferries or boats are out in this weather.”
“I can still swim, Sam.”
“Dog paddle?”
“Ha-ha.”
“Okay, I’m done,” I said, until his words hit me full force. “Jesus, did you really swim?”
“No
t all of us can fly, Sam.”
I recalled the churning waves, the white caps. The sea was angry. Kingsley, I knew, was no ordinary man. Or even an ordinary werewolf. Mortal or immortal, few could have made that swim, especially in these conditions.
“We need to get you dry,” I said.
“No,” he said. “We need to keep you safe. What’s going on? Bring me up to speed.”
And so we did, there in the forest, while the big hulk of a man occasionally wrung out his hair, all while the treetops swayed violently. Finally, when we were done, he said, “I agree with Allison.”
She beamed.
I said, “What part?”
“All of it. The medallion must be here. It’s the only thing that makes sense. And I think we should beat the bastard to it.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. I was pretty sure my eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“Let’s find the medallion first.”
“And then do what with it?” I asked.
“We’ll cross the bridge when we get there.”
I opened my mouth to protest. I wasn’t as entirely convinced as my two friends—one of whom was, of course, an ex-boyfriend and just barely in the “friend” category. Still, I couldn’t think of a reason to protest. Hell, maybe they were right. Maybe I was, somehow, attached to the medallions.
If it’s even here on the island, I thought.
It’s here, thought Allison. I’m sure of it. I’m psychic, too, remember?”
I sighed and nodded, and was about to suggest that we go back for shovels when Allison pointed out that there was probably equipment on the other side of the island. I nodded again, recalling my flight over the north end of the land mass. Yes, I had seen what appeared to be sheds and outbuildings. All abandoned. No doubt, Edwin and Tara kept their equipment in there, or nearby.
As I worked through this, thinking, I caught Kingsley’s amber stare. The brute wasn’t even shivering, but his heart was hurting. I could see it in his anguished eyes. Yeah, he missed me. He also should have thought about that before breaking my heart.
Still, he had come all the way out here for me. So, I reached out and ran a hand over his beefy shoulder and said, “Thank you for coming.”