by J. R. Rain
“Not on an Indian burial ground, I hope.”
“No,” she said, smiling oddly. She seemed to smile at me oddly, and often. A big smile that seemed to painfully stretch her lips. “But we do have the family mausoleum nearby.”
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“The family mausoleum. The island has been in my family for nearly a century, and, well, we’re all buried in the mausoleum.”
“I see,” I said, although I wasn’t certain I did. Private islands and family mausoleums reeked of a lot of money. If I wasn’t so scrupulous, my daily rates might have just increased.
Damn morals.
Tara slipped back to her seat across from my desk. As she did so, I studied her aura. It had bright yellows and greens, mixed with a pulsating thread of darkness that could have been anything. I suspected that it indicated grief.
I said, “You loved your grandfather.”
She nodded and looked away. She tried to speak but instead tears suddenly burst from her eyes. I snapped out a tissue from the box on my desk, and handed it to her. She dabbed her eyes and looked away. Finally, when she’d gotten control of herself, she said, “Yes. He was so much more than a grandfather, you know? My best friend. Always there for me.”
As she spoke, the dark threads of vapor that wound through her aura bulged slightly, expanding, engorging. Her grief, I suspected, ran deep.
“Do you live in Southern California?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Have you spoken to the police in Washington State?”
“No. Not yet.”
“Why not use a private eye in Washington State?”
“Because Detective Sherbet recommended you.”
“How do you know Sherbet?”
“He’s a friend of a friend. I was told he was someone who could help.”
I nodded. Something about her story wasn’t jiving. And perhaps more interesting, my inner alarm began to gently ring just inside my ear. I said, “Why do you think someone killed your grandfather?”
“Because he was very rich.”
“That’s a reason,” I said. “But that’s not enough for me to take this case and to take your money. Who was there when he died?”
“We were all there.”
“Who’s we?”
“The entire family. We use his house and island for our annual reunion.”
“You said he died a year ago.”
“Right,” she said, nodding. “It’s coming up again. The family reunion. This weekend, in fact. And I want you to come with me.”
Chapter Two
My sister and I were jogging along the boardwalk at Huntington Beach. It was midday, Saturday. My kids and her kids were with her husband at Disneyland. I wondered what her husband did to deserve such cruel and unusual punishment. I said as much to Mary Lou.
“Oh, he loves it. He’s a big kid himself, you know.”
“Does your husband know about me?” I asked suddenly.
Mary Lou shot me a quick look. We were both dressed in workout pants and tank tops. We both swished as we ran. Mary Lou’s expansive upper half bounced furiously, despite her tight sports bra. Her crazily bouncing chest reminded me of two cats trying to escape a paper bag.
“Of course not,” she said. “I haven’t told anyone.”
I nodded and frowned. I had gotten a sudden hit of her husband isolating my kids to ask them questions about me. Then again, you try living with a secret that could ruin you and see how suspicious you might become. A husband taking not only his own kids—but mine as well—raised some questions.
“Does he suspect anything?” I asked.
“No.”
“Has he ever mentioned me?”
“Mentioned you how?”
“In a way that might make it seem like he was digging for information.”
“Nothing that I can remember. C’mon, Sam. He’s just doing something nice for us so that we can spend the day together. It’s been so long since we could just be sisters and nothing more. And now we can spend days together. Glorious days. Not just nights. Okay?”
I nodded. “Okay.”
But there was something here. Unfortunately, I couldn’t read family members, although I could read their auras. I felt guilty as hell searching my own sister’s aura to see if she was telling me the truth, but that’s exactly what I did as we spoke. The verdict: I thought she was telling me the truth. Something suspicious had passed through her aura as she answered my questions. A ripple of sorts. What that ripple meant, I didn’t know. Reading auras was still new to me. Having psychic abilities was still new to me. Being a blood-sucking fiend...not so new to me.
I let it go. For now.
Mary Lou and I continued along the boardwalk at a steady clip. She was huffing and puffing. I don’t huff or puff, although Kingsley might blow your house down. The big bad wolf that he was. Granted, I was much weaker during the day, but not so weak that I would need to stop jogging.
It was late spring and the days were growing warmer, but not so much by the beach. Mary Lou and I didn’t live by the beach. We lived about ten miles inland. So a trip to the beach took planning and driving. Therefore, we planned and we drove. I probably would have preferred to sleep—okay, I most definitely would have preferred to sleep—but I could tell my sister needed some Sam time.
Hey, I was nothing if not an awesome sister.
Now Mary Lou’s boobs seemed to be the main attraction on the beach. One guy stared at them for so long that he just missed running into a trash can. Mary Lou and I giggled.
These days, I could continue jogging into infinity. I was pretty sure my body didn’t need to jog, that I didn’t need exercise. I was pretty sure my body was a self-sustaining machine. But jogging felt...normal. It reminded me that I wasn’t very far removed from the human species. I mean, I still looked human. I mostly acted human.
Mostly.
I am human, I thought. Just...different.
Yeah, different.
As we jogged, I told Mary Lou about my business trip this weekend, and that I would need her to watch the kids for a few days.
“They have islands in Washington?” she asked.
“That’s the rumor.”
“Sounds far,” she said. “And cold.”
“I think you and I need to buy an atlas. Or get out more.”
She waved her hand at the sunny beaches. “And leave this? No thanks. Tell me about your case.”
I did, easily and smoothly—and never sounded winded. Speaking as if I were sitting across from my sister at a Starbucks. Sipping water, of course. Always water.
When I finished, Mary Lou said, “Sounds dangerous. I mean, there might be a killer among them.”
“Or not,” I said. “My client could be delusional. The police already ruled it an accident.”
“The island is isolated, right?”
I thought about that, nodding. “I think so, yeah. There’s a ferry service to the island, I think.”
“So, if it was isolated, perhaps the evidence had been well tampered with far before the police could come out.”
“Good point,” I said.
“And how long would it have taken the police to get there?”
“Another good point.”
“So perhaps their assessment was wrong, or based on false information.”
I looked at my sister. “You would make a good investigator.”
“But a terrible vampire,” she said.
I winced a little and looked around. We were alone on this segment of the boardwalk. Our shadows stretched before us. Mary Lou’s shadow involved a lot of bouncing.
“Who says I’m a vampire?” I said.
She looked at me. “Still in denial, Sam? What else could you be?”
“I don’t like that word vampire. I’m just...different.”
She shook her head. “Whether you like that word or not, I’m pretty sure you’re one, Sam. I mean, I never believed in them until you got attacked...but I sure as
hell do now.”
“Fine,” I said. “So, why would you be a bad you-know-what?” I still couldn’t say the word.
“Vampire?” she said again.
I cringed again.
She laughed and said, “Well, it’s not that I would be a bad vampire. I would be a bad vampire, if you catch my drift.”
Now I laughed. “Like an evil vampire?”
“Sure,” said my sister. “I mean you can’t go to hell, because you don’t die. You can be as evil as you want. I think I would probably kill off most men.”
“Most?”
“I would leave the pretty ones.”
“Oh, brother,” I said.
Chapter Three
We were on our third date.
Russell Baker was twenty-four and a professional boxer. I wasn’t twenty-four. In fact, according to my driver’s license, I was thirty-five. Thanks to the vampire in me, literally, I looked twenty-eight and possibly younger.
We were at Roy’s Restaurant in Anaheim, a bustling place that consisted mostly of Disneyland tourist spillovers. Still, a nice restaurant with great ambiance and just enough background noise to make it seem like we were alone.
Russell Baker was dressed in tight gray jeans and wore a tight black Ralph Lauren shirt open wide at the collar, revealing some of his muscled upper chest. He wore his own type of medallion. It was a golden scorpion inside a golden disk, in homage to his birth sign. I’d heard about Scorpios. I’ve heard they could be the best lovers. The thought, perhaps not surprisingly, sent a shiver through me.
“You okay?” asked Russell.
“Just a little cold,” I said, which was a half-truth. I was always cold. Always.
Russell seemed especially perceptive of me, and I was beginning to suspect the reason why. By our second date, I was certain he was picking up stray thoughts of mine here and there. Faster than what usually happens with most people who get close to me. After all, it had taken Detective Sherbet nearly a half a year to get to this point. Then again, Russell and I were getting close, fast.
Russell stood and plucked his light suede jacket from the back of his chair and came around the table and slipped it over my shoulders. He sat opposite me again, smooth as a jungle cat.
“Better?” he asked.
His jacket smelled of good cologne and of him, too. Essence of Russell. For me, it was a wonderfully exhilarating scent.
Despite the jacket doing nothing for me, I said, “Yes, much better.” Which, again, was a half-truth. I loved his scent, and I loved his concern for me.
For me, dinner dates were a challenge. Salads were great to order for someone like me. They scattered nicely about the plate and gave the impression and appearance that I was eating my food. The wadded-up napkin in my hand contained half-masticated lettuce and carrots and beets. Anytime Russell headed for the bathroom, or checked his cell, or called over the waiter, that wadded-up napkin was gonna disappear into my purse. Lickety-split.
And so it went with me. A creature of the night—yes, a vampire, I supposed—attempting to date in the real world. Cold to the touch, unable to actually eat real food, and giving away her thoughts as if they were free.
“You’re not like other girls I’ve dated, Sam,” said Russell.
“Oh?” I wasn’t exactly delighted to hear this. Lord knew I’d tried to be just like the other girls. Perhaps too hard.
And once again, I thought, Geez, what am I doing?
It was so much easier to be a single mom. Kingsley Fulcrum had quit calling—or trying to win me back—although I suspected I hadn’t heard the last of him. Fang was gone, having disappeared with Detective Hanner, a fellow freak of the night herself. To where, I didn’t know. According to Sherbet, Hanner had requested a three-month leave from the Fullerton Police Department.
Three months to turn Fang into a monster.
That thought alone turned my stomach. Then again, it could have been that stray bit of vinaigrette dressing escaping down the back of my throat. Yeah, that was gonna cause me some cramps later.
Russell was looking at me, frowning. “Who’s Fang?”
My heart leaped. “Pardon?”
“You said something about a fang. I’m sorry, I’m lost.”
“Oh, right,” I said, thinking fast. I hadn’t said anything about Fang, of course. Russell had officially picked up on my thoughts, unbeknownst to him. I said, “Oh no, I said ‘dang.’ As in dang this salad is good.”
“You said dang and not fang?”
“Uh-huh,” I said, looking away and shielding my thoughts. Too early to shield my thoughts from Russell. We were connecting—and deeply.
“Could have sworn you said something else.”
“Well, it’s kind of loud in here. So, you were saying I was different than the other girls?” I said, praying like hell we would change the subject.
That is, of course, if God heard my prayers.
“Right,” he said, looking at me sideways a little. He then looked down at his food and played with his fork a little. Russell had very big hands, and heavily scarred knuckles. He had already told me he’d spent a childhood fighting on the streets of Long Beach. Finally, he said, “I guess it’s because I feel like I can open up to you. Tell you anything.”
“Is that a good thing?” I asked.
He reached across the table and took my hand. And to his credit, he didn’t flinch at the cold. In fact, he never flinched at the cold. “A very good thing.”
As he continued holding my hand and looking into my eyes, I think something inside me just might have melted.
I hated when that happened.
Chapter Four
The kids were at Mary Lou’s and I was packing for my weekend trip when my cell rang.
“You’re going on a trip,” said the voice on the other end when I picked up.
I dropped my folded tank top in the suitcase. “How the devil did you know that?”
“I’ve been feeling it all day,” said Allison. “A strong feeling that you were going away and that you needed me. I’m kinda psychic, you know. Not the full-blown type, but I think spending time with all of you vampires has sort of rubbed off on me.”
I had met Allison on my last case, the girlfriend of another boxer. A murdered boxer. Allison and I had shared a...moment. A highly unusually moment.
Two moments, in fact, I thought.
She and I had connected, or bonded instantly. She had quickly seen through my façade, having dated a vampire herself. And the next thing I knew, she was allowing me to drink from a wound in her hand. A wound that had quickly healed once I was done drinking.
My life is so weird.
We’d talked often since, although we had yet to meet again. She had quickly become like an old girlfriend to me. A sister.
A blood sister.
“Yes, I’m going on a trip,” I said, now reaching for some jeans in my closet, cradling the phone against my shoulder and ear.
“See? I knew you were going on a trip. I’m coming with you.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am, Sam. You need me.”
“Need you how?”
“This is a business trip, no?”
“Yes, but—”
“I sense very strongly that you are going to need my help, if you know what I mean.”
Actually, I did know what she meant. I stopped reaching for my jeans as I stood there in front of my open closet. A closet, I might add, that was quickly filling up with clothes. Now that I could actually go into the light of day, I needed a whole new wardrobe, right? Like that tank top I had just dropped in the suitcase. Many cute tank tops, in fact. And shorts. And sandals.
Allison was, of course, referring to fresh human blood—fresh, as in, straight from the source. A living, human source. Such blood energized me unlike anything I’d ever had before. Yes, I’d had human blood—but never hemoglobin straight from a willing source.
And Allison had been very, very willing. Apparently, she loved the
experience.
I said, “I don’t think my client will allow you to come.”
“Say I’m your assistant.”
“I doubt she’ll—”
“She will, Sam. Trust me. And trust me when I say you will need me. I’m here now at the airport.”
I think my mouth dropped. Correction, I know my mouth dropped open. “What airport?”
“LAX. The 4:40 flight. Lucky for me they had one seat left.”
“Let me guess...” I said.
“Row 17, Seat C.”
I glanced down at my ticket next to my suitcase. Row 17, Seat B.”
“You’re freaking me out,” I said.
“I get that a lot,” she said. “Now, chop-chop.”
And with that, she hung up.
Chapter Five
I was halfway to LAX, fighting traffic on the 105 Freeway, when a text message came through.
Oprah had a point about not texting and driving. Oprah, as far as I knew, wasn’t a vampire with cat-like reflexes and an inner alarm system that alerted me to danger.
I glanced down at my iPhone, and was not very surprised to see that it was Kingsley. Secretly—or perhaps not so secretly—I had hoped it was Fang.
Jesus, Fang...where are you?
Still, seeing the text from Kingsley warmed my heart a little. The guy was trying soooo hard to be nice. He knew he’d screwed up and screwed up royally. He also knew there was probably a very good chance I would never even see him again.
Still, he kept at it. Kept being sweet. And the big oaf was worming his way back into my life. One sweet text at a time.
Full moon tonight, his text read. Franklin and I are gonna get our freak on.
I shook my head and texted back: I don’t even want to begin to know what that means, goofball.
Hey, I’ll take goofball, he wrote back a few minutes later. Better than what you’ve called me in the past.
You’re still a jerk.
I know. And soon I will be a hairy jerk.
Just try not to rob any graves tonight, I wrote, texting rapidly. Supernaturally fast, I might add. That’s really, really gross, by the way.