by J. R. Rain
My consciousness returned quickly; my eyes snapped open.
Whoa.
I hung a right and followed a row of books to the south wall. Once there, I headed north and soon came across the very same doorway I had just seen in my mind’s eye.
Unbelievable.
The sign above said “Occult Reading Room,” and as I stepped through the open door, I was distinctly aware of the faint sound of an elevator door opening.
Chapter Twenty-six
The Occult Reading Room was surprisingly bright.
A young man with bright blue eyes and a short beard that came to a point was manning the front desk. He looked up from the pages of an old book that looked like it belonged on the set of a Harry Potter film. I glanced down at the open page and saw various diagrams and words that I was certain were not in English. Then again, I was never very adept at reading upside down.
“I’m looking for information about a man.”
He pointed to a card catalog on a nearby wall. “We’re still in the process of computerizing the card catalog, but everything we have is in there.”
“Sure, um...”
He smiled warmly. “You have no clue how to use a card catalog.”
“I haven’t used one since high school, and even then I didn’t know what I was doing. Mostly I just needed a place to hide my gum.”
He shook his head. “You’re not chewing any gum now, are you?”
“No.”
He grinned. “Then come on.”
At the card catalog, he patiently showed me how to search under “subject.” I thanked him and he had just returned to his epic tome, when I heard footsteps approaching in the outer hallway.
From my position at the card catalog I had a view of the entrance into the Occult Reading Room. No one was there. Indeed, the footsteps seemed to be receding now, perhaps heading down a side aisle.
I debated following, but remembered the reading room would be closing in just a few minutes.
The creep in the bow tie had me on edge. Had he been the same tall man I had seen in Kingsley’s building? I didn’t know, but I could count on one hand the number of men I had seen wearing bow ties this last year. Hell, in the last five years.
And now I had seen two in one day.
Coincidence? I think not.
And, yes, I thought back to Fang’s words: “There are no coincidences, Moon Dance.”
Although my sixth sense was always a little sketchy during the day, I wasn’t picking up on any danger. Still, I stepped briefly outside and scanned the hallway. No one there.
Back at the card catalog, I found the drawer labeled “Ma-Mi,” and started flipping through the ancient cards, my sharp nails and heightened dexterity making it easy to whip through them rapidly.
My blurred fingers stopped on a name that I wasn’t entirely prepared to see. In fact, I had already given up the search as a lost cause. But there, on the yellowed piece of paper, were the words: Archibald Maximus: My Life as a Mystic, Alchemist and Philosopher.
“Unbelievable,” I whispered.
Dazed, I jotted down the Dewey Decimal Numbers and proceeded to hunt through the reading room. The energy in the Occult Reading Room, I noticed, was off. I wasn’t sure why, truth be known, but I wondered if it had something to do with the room’s darker contents. Indeed, as I read some of the spines of the books, I could see why:
A Compleat History of Magick, Amulets and Superstitions.
Vampires: Alive and Well and Living Among Us.
Magick in Theory and Practice.
Curse Tablets and Binding Spells.
Lycans: Our Wolf Brothers.
Additionally, there were countless books on alchemy, magic, demonology, divination, Satanism, freemasonry, Middle Eastern magical grimoires. Books on East Asian magical practices, Tibetan secret practices, books on the Tarot and raising the dead. Some of the books looked ancient, so old that I was afraid to touch them. Many of them were surrounded by a darkness visible to my eyes, similar to the darkness that had surrounded my son. Sometimes I heard whispering as I went down the aisles, as if I were not alone.
One book in particular radiated a blackness so dark that I gave it a wide berth. Even still, as I stepped past it, I heard whispering in my ear, “Sister, come to us...”
Sweet Jesus.
Shaking, I finally reached the aisle I wanted. Ignoring the slithering, psychic chattering that now seemed to come from everywhere, I quickly ran my pointed nail along the books’ spines, praying like hell that the book I needed would be there.
Not this row. I scanned the next one and the next.
And there it was. I literally breathed a sigh of relief.
I carefully removed the narrow volume. The book was clearly ancient, bound in leather and written in what appeared to be vellum, sheep skin. The title was clear enough and written in modern English, which surprised me since the book was obviously bound centuries earlier.
But I didn’t have time to think about it.
The young man behind the desk was now carefully stacking his books. As he turned away from me, I quickly slipped the narrow volume down the front of my jeans.
I made haste, exiting via a different route, ignoring the beseeching cries from some of the darker books. At the desk, the young man smiled and asked if I had found what I was looking for.
I said maybe, smiled, and exited the Occult Reading Room, noting for the first time that the aura around him was violet and utterly beautiful.
On the way out of the library, walking a little funny, I didn’t see the man with the bow tie.
Chapter Twenty-seven
I was sitting by my son’s side.
The sun was setting and I was feeling excited and nervous and guilty as hell. I thought back to my first few nights as a vampire, and I was certain that I wasn’t aware that a drastic change had occurred. Not yet. It would take a few days.
Indeed, I just remember sleeping and healing, and it wasn’t until a few days later, at home, that the cravings began. Cravings for the red stuff.
I looked down at my son. In a matter of days or hours or minutes—or perhaps it had already happened, he would go from being a sweet little boy, to an immortal with a hunger for blood and a penchant for turning into a little vampire bat. No doubt, a cute little vampire bat.
And be with you forever.
I heard the words again. And again. And again.
I suddenly had an image of me fighting traffic for an eternity, listening to infomercials for an eternity. An eternity of bad hair days, of showering and putting on deodorant. An eternity of drinking blood.
Mostly, though, an eternity alone.
I never feared death. Death was the natural order of things and I was always certain that there was something waiting for us beyond. If so, then why fear death?
But I would never discover what lay beyond, would I? I would never see the face of God. I would never sit across from Jesus or Buddha or Krishna. Instead, I would only sit across from a TV, or whatever passed for a TV in the far future, while yet another infomercial for yet another magic dishrag.
The medallion had been my answer, of course. It had been my way out of the immortality game. The immortality prison. My chance to escape an eternity of doldrums.
But not anymore.
The sun was setting. I knew this because I could feel some of the weight on my shoulders diminishing. Also, there was a small tingling that was beginning to creep up along my spine. A sort of awakening perhaps. An awakening to all that I could be. I ached for the sun to set. Longed for it to do so.
Hurry, dammit.
Next to me, my son stirred.
“Mommy?”
“Hi baby,” I said.
“Mommy, I had a bad dream.”
I had no doubt. “I know, honey. I know.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
I stayed my son’s side for many hours.
My ex-husband sent me a text, asking how our son was doing. I told him he was improving, and Danny sent a happy
face and an “XO.” As in hugs and kisses.
I didn’t reply. Receiving X’s and O’s from Danny felt all kinds of weird. We were long, long past the days of X’s and O’s.
Now we were just “ex’s.” Period.
My son’s illness had somehow brought me closer to Danny—or, more accurately, brought him closer to me. Except, I didn’t want him closer. Not anymore. I forgave, but I didn’t forget. How could I forget getting banned from my own kids? How could I forget the blackmail and the heartlessness? How could I forget the blatant cheating?
I couldn’t. Not ever.
In fact, I went back into the message and erased his “XO,” shuddering as I did so.
Anthony slipped in and out of consciousness. Doctors and nurses came and went, as well, drawing blood, checking his vitals, seemingly impressed by his progress. Everything, that is, except his lowering body temperature.
Anthony described one of his dreams to me, and as he spoke, my heart broke. He described a dark room. In the room was something calling to him, asking him to come closer. He didn’t want to get closer. He wanted to turn and run but he was trapped. In fact, there was no door in the room. No door and no light, but something was in there with him, asking him again to come closer. Afraid and crying and screaming my name, he finally turned and faced what was calling to him.
Except he couldn’t see it. The voice told him he was a good boy and to step just a little bit closer. He did so. The voice had told him: good good, that’s a good boy, now come closer still. And he did so. One tentative step at a time, and each time he drew closer to the voice, he was praised. And when he was certain he was standing in front of whatever was calling to him, hands seized him, squeezing him, hurting him, and, while he told me this story, he burst into tears and so did I.
Nurses came running. I assured them that everything was okay. And when we were alone, I hugged my son tight and he lapsed into a deep sleep.
As he slept, I cracked the ancient book open with excitement and trepidation. I had no clue what it contained, and I had waited until this moment to scan the contents. The title had given me hope that the book would be written in English, but a part of me still feared that it was in Latin, Greek or even Hebrew.
Dust sifted down from the cover, catching some of the light from the lamp near my son’s bed. Outside the door, two nurses hurried past. Someone was weeping not too far away. The weeping could have been a mother.
There was a title page...in English, thank God. According to the title page the book had been published...this couldn’t be right. What the hell was going on? Had Fang set me up? Was this some kind of sick joke?
Hands shaking, I read the copyright date, and unlike most books that gave copyrights years, this one gave an exact date.
Today’s date.
I stared at it long and hard.
Surely someone was playing a joke on me, and the only person who knew I was at the library was Fang, and that was impossible since I was privy to most of Fang’s thoughts—
There was, of course, another who knew I was in the library.
The tall man with the bow tie. He knew I was there. Or, at least, had followed me there. Had he planted the book? And then inserted the corresponding card into the card catalog system?
So weird.
There was only one thing left to do...I turned to the first page and started reading.
Chapter Twenty-nine
It was full dark by the time I pulled out of the hospital.
Danny had come by bearing gifts. He brought Anthony a milkshake from McDonald’s and me a bottled water. Danny, of course, knew of my dietary restrictions. He was in a good mood and I didn’t appreciate the overly familiar hug he gave me. Also, with Anthony’s marked improvements, he was being transferred from the intensive care unit to the immediate care unit, where his team of doctors could still keep an eye on him while he continued to recover.
I didn’t know much about anything but immediate care sounded a whole hell of a lot better than intensive care.
By my reckoning, I had only three days to find an answer for Anthony before my son realized what his mommy had done to him. With father and son chumming it up, I gave Anthony a kiss, nodded at a beaming Danny, and left the hospital with my book.
Now driving, I couldn’t help but feel so damn alive and strong. So unstoppable. It was all I could do to sit still in the driver’s seat. There was so much energy surging through me that I could have burst into flames. I wanted to fly. I wanted to take flight. To where, I didn’t know. Just somewhere. Anywhere. I wanted to be free and feel the wind on my face and watch the earth sweep far below me.
Soon, I thought. Soon...
* * *
Twenty minutes later, I was back at Hero’s in Fullerton. After all, Fang had directed me to the university library, which had led me to this strange book, and I needed to know what the hell was going on.
The bar was hopping. I spotted Fang working like a madman behind the bar. He seemed to be making two or three drinks at once. He might be a wanted man, but he was also a helluva bartender. I was tempted to march over to him and demand to know what he knew about the book, but now wasn’t a good time. I could wait for the crowd to die down or for him to catch his breath. Because he had a lot of explaining to do.
He caught my eye through the sea of people, and I think that was a testament more to our psychic connection than dumb luck. I was a small girl, and the chances of him seeing me through the crowd and dim light were slim to none.
And yet there he was, pausing, staring, smiling.
Hello, Moon Dance.
The words appeared in my thoughts as surely as if he had been standing next to me. I nearly jumped and he laughed lightly from across the room.
I didn’t mean to startle you, Moon Dance.
Vampires don’t get startled. We get even.
He chuckled again. So what brings you back? Do you have news about your son?
Yes, and we need to talk.
Can you give me a few minutes? There are a lot of people who need to get drunk tonight.
Inelegantly put.
I do try. Let’s talk in a bit, okay?
But we’re not talking, we’re thinking. We’re freaks.
No, you’re the freak.
Fine, I thought. Think at you soon.
And from across the bar he winked and got back to work. I stepped outside and looked up at the waxing moon. I reached into my jeans pocket and pulled out a stick of sugar-free gum. Recently, I had discovered that I could chew gum without any ill side effects—other than the occasional minor stomachache—and you can damn well better believe I was going to chew all the gum I could.
I marveled at the juicy fruit flavor as my taste buds sprang into action.
I could also smoke without any adverse side effects, like pesky lung cancer. I did that often, too, but tonight the gum chewing was enough.
A glance at the moon invariably conjured thoughts of Kingsley Fulcrum and his own freaky condition. Was this really the last I had seen of the big lug? It felt final. It felt empty.
And yet...
I cared for the big oaf. But maybe it was just a classic example of rebound love. He was the first man I had grown close to after the dissolution of my marriage. All my emotions—and maybe even a small amount of love—had been erroneously dumped onto him.
Confusing him and me.
I had just blown the mother of all bubbles when Fang appeared in the doorway. The bubble burst.
“So let’s talk,” he said. “I only have a few minutes. And you’ve got gum in your hair.”
Chapter Thirty
We were in my minivan as I caught Fang up on my trip to the college, about twice seeing the gaunt man with the bow tie, and about removing the book from the library—
“You mean you stole it?”
“Big picture, Fang.”
“Right.”
I next told him about the copyright date, and his eyes narrowed in what I took to be disbelief,
and so I reached into the glove compartment to show him the book...but it was gone.
I frantically riffled through the overstuffed glove compartment, pulling out a clump of napkins, insurance papers, bills I still needed to pay, some of Anthony’s drawings and...nothing.
“It was here, in the glove box. I just put it in here an hour ago.” Stunned, I now looked through the backseat and on the floor between Fang’s feet. Had someone broken in and stolen just the book? Did I ever even have the book? Was I losing my friggin’ mind? “I don’t understand what’s happening.”
“I don’t either, Moon Dance. Tell me more about the book.”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me.”
I sat back in my seat, completely shaken. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so worked up, especially considering the contents of the book. It was, after all, not so much a book, but a personal message to me. And so I told Fang about it, about how the author appeared to be speaking directly to me. About the advice it contained.
“It was all very spiritual stuff,” I said. “It seemed to apply to me directly.”
Fang was looking at me through narrowed eyes again. Dubiously, as some would call it. “How so?”
I shrugged. “A lot of advice about staying in the ‘light,’ about not giving into my ‘dark nature.’ That those who have been granted premature power have a special challenge in keeping that power in check, to use it for good.”
“He’s talking about you being a vampire?”
“Not in so many words. The book was very vague about what kind of powers, but it seemed to be directed to anyone who had found themselves in my position. But it could have just as easily been written for a—”
“Werewolf.”
“Sure. Or anyone else who suddenly finds themselves in a position of power or authority.”
“Wild. But why do you think it was written for you?”
“Hard to pinpoint. It just felt directed at me. It gave a lot of advice, too, too much to talk about now in your ten-minute break.”