by J. R. Rain
“No.”
“Do you drink blood?”
His tone was challenging. I felt like a daughter confronted by her father about smoking weed or drinking booze.
“I have to,” I said, looking away.
He stared at me so long and hard that I wanted to crawl under a rock.
“Please don’t judge me,” I finally said. “I never asked for this.”
“I’m not judging, Sam. I’m just trying to wrap my brain around all of this. I mean, a part of me suspected something was up, and perhaps even a very small part of me began to believe...this. But to hear it now, from a pretty young investigator I’ve grown to admire, is something else entirely.”
“I’ll deny everything, Detective. So let’s get that clear now.”
I wasn’t looking at him but I felt him grin. I sensed only confusion and compassion and more confusion from him. And also a steady sense of alarm. But not for his own health or well-being. We still had a missing boy out there, after all.
“And I’ll never admit to watching the Twilight movies,” he said.
“I’ll take your secret to my grave,” I said.
“I thought vampires were immortal,” he said.
“We’ll see.”
“So what do we do about Eddy?” said Sherbet. “The kidnapped boy?”
“If it’s a ransom,” I said. “Then I’ll be hearing from his abductor.”
Sherbet nodded. “Makes sense. And his abductor...would he also be a vampire?”
“More than likely,” I said.
“And what’s this about a relic?”
I reached inside my jeans pocket and removed the medallion. I didn’t trust it anywhere except on my person. He turned on the car’s interior light, and I showed him the golden disc.
“It’s a necklace with ruby roses,” he said.
“Your observational skills are second to none, Detective.”
“Don’t sass me, young lady. What’s so special about this?”
“It’s reputed to reverse vampirism.”
“Ah,” he said. “And that’s a good thing?”
“For some.”
“And you don’t want to give it up?”
“I can’t,” I said. “Under any circumstances.”
“Even to save a little boy?”
I put the medallion back in my pocket. Just having it out made me nervous.
“I need it,” I said.
He heard the anguish in my voice, and since Sherbet also happened to be a helluva detective, he looked at me sharply. “Your son,” he said.
I buried my face in my hands.
“You need it to change your son back, don’t you?”
Now I was rocking in my seat and crying, and talking incomprehensibly about saving my son, and doing all I had to do to keep him from dying, and knowing I was a horrible mother, but what else could I do? I loved him so much, and I had a chance to save him, and I had to take it, I had to take it...
And as I babbled nearly incoherently, Detective Sherbet reached out and put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me in close and told me that everything was going to be okay. Somehow, someway, everything was going to be okay...
Chapter Thirty-six
Mary Lou arrived an hour or so later with Tammy.
They had stopped at McDonald’s and had sneaked in a Big Mac for Anthony. I told them Anthony was probably too weak to eat, but boy was I wrong. He devoured the sandwich in a few quick bites and was looking for more. He next pounded his sister’s fries, and I waited for what I was sure was coming next:
Upchuck city.
Food, for me, lasts only a few minutes before it comes up violently. But Anthony never did vomit. Instead, he complained slightly of an upset stomach and I realized what was happening. Although only a half inch or so above his skin, his aura was still there. His humanity was still there. For now. Until the change overcame him completely. By contrast, his sister, who was sitting on the edge of his bed and playing “Angry Birds” on my sister’s cell phone, shone like a beacon in the night. Pale yellows and reds, streaked with silvers and golds, surrounded her body many feet or more, sometimes flaring like mini-nuclear explosions on the surface of the sun.
But not Anthony. His aura was only a fine dusting of light. Almost an afterthought.
Shit.
His last meal, I thought. Or close to it.
I was, admittedly, torn. I knew I had to find Archibald Maximus asap, especially since his book had given me an intriguing clue. From what I gathered, he lived in the mountains above San Bernardino, Lake Arrowhead or Big Bear, one of those, both popular ski resorts. With Anthony getting better, and simultaneously losing his mortality, now was as good a time as any to set out for the mountains and Mr. Maximus.
But the missing boy was tearing me to pieces. An innocent family had gotten caught up in my insanity, and now their boy was missing, having been abducted by a true monster.
Who was Bow Tie? A vampire? I had no doubt, unless the medallion could reverse other supernatural curses, which it very well might. That he jumped from a third-floor hospital room, leaving behind no evidence—it turns out he had thrown a chair through the window—could mean anything. I suspected someone like Kingsley could withstand such a fall. After all, I had seen him in his wolf’s form leap nine stories without missing a beat. Whether or not Kingsley could perform such an act in his human form, I didn’t know. There was so much I didn’t know.
There was a family not very far from this room who had been torn to pieces. All because of my actions. I had to do something.
I looked again at the faint aura around my son’s body. I still had time. Not much, granted, but at least a day and a half, maybe two.
I stood and paced and my daughter ignored me. That her little brother was suddenly doing much better didn’t seem to matter much to her. The faith of children. No doubt she always assumed he would get better.
My sister was watching me with huge eyes. She alternately looked at Anthony and I saw her confusion. She suspected something, too. But not enough to confront me about it, and I couldn’t talk to her about it, not now, and not in present company. She was just going to have to keep wondering.
Where would the bastard have gone? Would he be contacting me soon? Had he realized his mistake and simply killed the boy? Would he next be coming after Anthony?
I didn’t know, but I didn’t have long to wait.
After pacing a few more minutes and wondering also what Danny was up to, my cell phone rang. Another restricted number.
I answered with a simple hello.
“Miss Moon,” said a man with a heavy French accent. “I believe you have something I want.”
Chapter Thirty-seven
I stepped out of the room and into the hallway.
“Who is this?”
“Never mind that, Samantha Moon of the Moon Agency. I realize I have made a critical error, but perhaps not all is lost.”
He paused and I could have jumped in with another wasted question. Instead, I waited, breathless, realizing without a doubt that a vampire was on the other end of the line.
He spoke again in his heavy French accent. “The real question here, Samantha Moon, is how much compassion you have for your fellow man. Or, in this case, boy.”
“Go on,” I said.
“Give me the medallion and I give you the boy, alive.”
“You’re a piece of shit.”
“A desperate piece of shit, Samantha Moon. I know what you are, and I know that you know what I am. At least now you do. Who else would want the medallion?” He paused as my mind reeled. He went on: “And perhaps you don’t realize that the longer you live, the harder you are to kill. Has this occurred to you?”
“Fuck you.”
“I see it hasn’t. Well, let me assure you, I am old. Very, very old. And I am desperate to end this existence, Miss Moon. Desperate. I am tired of living, and I cannot die. Not by silver. Not by anything. Do you understand me?”
I said nothing. Thinking was hard. The man’s voice was so damn...hypnotic. Even for me. I could see why anyone and everyone would have given him what he wanted. It took all my effort to keep my thoughts clear. I felt him pushing in, even from a distance, trying to claim my thoughts.
“Ah, I see you are not new at this, Miss Moon. Not everyone, undead included, can resist me. Very well. Let me assure you that I am tired of living, and I will bring this entire fucking planet to hell with me, if I have to. The boy means nothing to me. Your son means nothing to me. You mean nothing to me. Nothing has any meaning except my own death, my removal from this earth. Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” I said, aware that I was indeed speaking on my own free will.
“Nothing can end my life except for one thing, and one thing alone. The medallion. The wonderfully enchanted medallion that I have searched so long for. So very, very long.”
“Where are you?”
“I am not far, my dear.”
“How do I find you?”
For an answer, I suddenly had an image of a rooftop. But this wasn’t just any rooftop. There were stairs leading everywhere. The roof itself had many levels and platforms and turrets. It was the roof to the Mission Inn in Riverside. I would know it anywhere.
“Good, good. You recognize this. Do not speak of it, my dear, or I will kill this little one and fetch another and another and another until you bring to me what I want. Do you understand?”
I thought of my son. I thought of many, many things, all of which I shielded from the bastard who kept probing my thoughts. “I do.”
“Then I will see you in two hours.”
And the line went dead.
Chapter Thirty-eight
I found Sherbet inside the office of the hospital’s public relations administrator. Through the open door, I saw a young couple sitting together. The couple had their backs to me and appeared to be listening to someone in command. No doubt the captain of Orange Police Department’s Investigative Division. The woman mostly had her face buried in her hands, while her husband had his arms around her, comforting her. I couldn’t see their faces.
Sherbet saw me and stepped outside. He read my expression instantly. The man was damn good.
“Our guy called,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
I shook my head. “I have to do this alone or he kills the boy.”
“No way, Sam. I’m going with you, along with some of my boys.”
I shook my head. “He will know, Detective. He’ll know and he’ll kill the boy.”
“How will he know?”
“In ways you won’t understand.”
He didn’t like it. “Maybe he’s bluffing.”
“He’s not.”
“How do you know?”
“Call it a hunch.”
“Not good enough, Sam.”
“Fine,” I said. “Because he’s a very, very old vampire who cares little for anything, if at all. He will kill the boy and find another.”
“We’ll catch him.”
“And risk the boy’s life?”
Sherbet looked away, so frustrated that he growled. He rubbed his bristled face repeatedly. “I don’t like it, Sam.”
“Who would?”
“So what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to get the boy.”
“How?”
“Any way I can.”
“Are you going to hand over the medallion?”
“I don’t know.”
“If you give up the medallion, what happens to your son?”
“I don’t want to think about it,” I said.
He continued rubbing his face. Nervous energy crackled through him. “I don’t like it, Sam,” he said again.
“Neither do I,” I said and turned to leave. “I gotta go.”
“Sam,” he called after me.
I stopped and looked back. The big detective looked sick with worry. “Please be careful, kid.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
And I turned and left.
Chapter Thirty-nine
I was tempted to call Fang, but I didn’t.
Like the detective, he would want to come, too. Unlike the detective, he didn’t know what the hell he was doing, and the last I checked, Fang didn’t even have a weapon.
Which was probably a moot point anyway, since according to the vampire, nothing could kill him, silver included. “And I am desperate to end this existence, Miss Moon. Desperate. I am tired of living, and I cannot die. Not by silver. Not by anything.”
Sweet Jesus.
Of course, that’s if he was telling me the truth.
I merged onto the 57 North, slipping into the fast lane, and gave the minivan a lot of gas. I loved my little minivan. Sure, it screamed soccer mom, but it was so handy and smooth and comfortable that I just didn’t give a shit what people thought.
Traffic was light and fast, which is the way I liked it. Brake lights, blinker lights, headlights and street lights all mostly blended together with the zigzagging streaks of energy that filled my vision, the glowing filaments that made it possible for me to see into the night.
I gave the van more gas and thought about the medallion. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do. Whoever Bow Tie was, he surely wasn’t going to accept anything less than the medallion.
One problem: As noted by Detective Sherbet, I needed it to give my son back his mortality.
My phone rang. Another restricted call. At this point, it could have been anyone, from a vampire kidnapper to Sherbet. It was neither.
“Hey, Sunshine,” said Chad Helling, my ex-partner, a man who did not know my super-secret identity...only that I had a rare skin disease.
“Hey, Romeo.”
“I heard about the shitty business at the hospital. Is your son okay?”
“My son’s fine, which is more than I can say for another little boy.”
“You need me to come down?” he asked. “Once a partner, always a partner.”
“Thanks, Chad, but I’ll manage.”
“I know you will. You always do.” He paused.
“You have news about Archibald Maximus.”
“Yes, how did you—never mind. You could always read my mind.”
I grinned to myself. He was right, and there was nothing psychic about it. I said, “Once a partner, always a partner.”
He chuckled. “Anyway, no luck with Mr. Archibald Maximus, although something strange did turn up.”
“How strange?”
“Oh, it’s nothing. Never mind.”
“Tell me, dammit.”
“Easy, girl. Okay, fine. There was an Archibald Maximus who died fifty years ago.”
I did find that interesting, but Chad didn’t need to know that. “And this helps me how?”
“Well, the strange part is that his family and friends reported seeing him on two other occasions.”
“After his death?”
“Right.”
“And how do you know this?”
“The wife filed a report. She wanted his body exhumed.”
“Did they?”
“No.”
I chewed on this. But Chad didn’t need to know I was chewing on this. Instead, I said, “Well, thanks for wasting the last three minutes of my life.”
“Anytime. Be safe, Sunshine.”
“Jerk.”
And he clicked off, laughing.
* * *
The 57 North merged into the 91 East. I was soon shooting past the 80 mph mark—and still there were drivers riding my ass. You can never go fast enough in southern California.
I was cruising at 85 mph and had just settled in for the hour-long drive to Riverside when my cell phone chirped. A text message. I rummaged through my purse, swerving slightly into the next lane, until I found the iPhone. A text from Fang.
Something’s wrong, he wrote. I can feel it. What’s going on? Where are you going?
Je
sus, our connection was growing stronger. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, but maybe there was something greater at work here than I thought. Maybe Fang was destined to be something more. Much more. I didn’t know, but I certainly couldn’t think about it now.
I rapidly typed out my reply: Just getting ice cream with Tammy. On our way to Cold Stone now.
Bullshit, Sam. Why do I feel a tremendous sense of...dread.
Maybe you had some bad Chinese.
A car horn blasted next to me, and I straightened out my minivan. Apparently I had given the guy next to me a fright. I waved an apology and he waved back with his middle finger.
Enough with the bad Chinese, Sam. Please. What’s going on? I’m worried sick over here.
It’s better if you don’t know, Fang. I’m sorry.
Let me help you. Please. I’ve never felt this way before.
Welcome to my world, I thought. Instead, I wrote: I’m sorry, Fang. I’ll call later. Love you.
Love you? Now what the hell had gotten into me?
Chapter Forty
The Mission Inn is a national treasure.
And it’s found right here in downtown Riverside, a city that isn’t much of a national treasure. For me, Riverside conjures images of heat and gangs and neighborhoods that aren’t so nice. A false image, surely, as its downtown is actually quite nice, and boasts some cool bars and nice restaurants. But, most importantly, it boasts the Mission Inn, getaway to presidents and celebrities alike, where thousands have been married and many tens of thousands have passed through.
After negotiating through some heavy downtown traffic, in which I passed exactly three prostitutes and a guy dressed like Lady Gaga, and parked in a small parking lot across the street from the inn. There I sat quietly, closed my eyes, and tried to get a feel for the place. Eyes closed, I sensed lots of movement, lots of happy people, lots of great moments. The Mission Inn is a special place.
I next tried to get a sense of any danger, of what I might be up against, but the place was just too big for me to get a feel for it. Either that, or my thoughts were too scattered to focus correctly. Then again, I still didn’t entirely know what I was doing.