by J. R. Rain
“Shit.”
“Sam, what the devil is going on?”
I gave him a glimpse of my thoughts, even long distance, and I sensed him shaking his head. “You have got to be kidding me,” he said.
“No.”
“That’s some weird shit.”
“Detective, I think it’s important that you take my kids somewhere else.”
“Where?”
I thought hard about that. “Somewhere I don’t know. Somewhere safe.”
“Somewhere you don’t know? What the devil are you...” And then Sherbet, the only other human being besides Allison who was privy to my thoughts, finally caught on. “I understand. I mean, I really don’t understand. In fact, I’m fairly certain I’m going batshit crazy. But, yeah, I think I understand.”
“You do?” I said urgently.
“Yeah, you don’t want me to tell you where I’m taking the kids because...” he paused, no doubt searching for words.
“Yes,” I said, finishing for him, “because the thing inside me is listening.”
Chapter Thirty-eight
“We need to know why this entity brought me up here,” I said when I’d hung up with Sherbet.
“And why it wants your kids,” chimed in Allison.
Another very cold chill went through me. I began pacing in the bungalow. Who had come to my house? Who was outside of Kingsley’s house? Why did they want my kids?
“I think we know who,” said Allison, somehow following my frantic thoughts. “I’m certain the Thurman clan reaches far and wide.”
I sat on the arm of the leather sofa, ran both hands through my hair. My too-thick hair. Never was my hair this thick when I was mortal.
“He controls them all,” continued Allison, “anyone with a drop of Thurman blood.”
“Jesus,” I said. “So how do we stop him?”
“That,” said Allison, “is why you make the big bucks.”
“Great,” I said, and thought again about the image I’d received from Tara: that of her and Edwin digging on the north side of the island.
“A good place to start,” said Allison, following along. “Except if she doesn’t even know what they’re digging for, what makes you think we would know?”
“That,” I said, “is why they invented the Internet.”
“I thought they invented the Internet for porn?”
“That, too,” I said. “Grab your laptop, and let’s see what we can find.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said my new friend, and did just that.
* * *
It didn’t take us long to find something.
“A shipwreck,” said Allison, pointing to screen. “Over a hundred years ago, right off the north side of Skull Island. Okay, we are definitely venturing into Scooby-Doo territory here.”
“Except Scooby-Doo and the gang didn’t deal with a body-jumping demon who’s after me and my kids. Read the article.”
She did.
In 1896, a shipping vessel hit rough waters just north of Skull Island. Most of the crew of fifteen survived, except for the captain who went down, proverbially, with the ship. The remaining fourteen crew members, via life rafts, eventually washed up onto Skull Island, where they were soon rescued.
“Weird and cool all rolled into one,” said Allison. “But I don’t see how that helps us.”
I didn’t see it either. “What’s the name of the historian quoted in the article?”
“Abraham Gunthrie, college professor from Western Washington University in a city called Bellingham.”
“Where’s Bellingham?”
She brought up the city and college on Google Maps. Bellingham was north of here, about an hour away as the eagle flies. Or, in my case, as the giant vampire bat flies. I bumped Allison rudely out of her seat and, while she protested and rubbed her bruised hip, I brought up one of my proprietary websites and entered in my username and password. A few clicks later and I had the information I needed. The professor’s home address.
“That’s kinda scary how fast you can do that.”
“I use my powers for good,” I said. “Mostly.”
“You do realize that the storm is even worse. No one is leaving or coming to the island.”
“Not everyone,” I said. I logged off the site, got up and began packing myself a weatherproof bag.
Chapter Thirty-nine
I was flying.
Through wind and rain and lightning. Kinda like the mailman, only scary as hell.
Below, the gray, churning sea spread far and wide. The vague shape of a distant land mass was my target. Lightning appeared around me, sometimes just barely missing me. I wondered what it would feel like to be struck by lightning. Probably hurt like hell. Would I plunge from the sky, to sink to the bottom of the ocean?
Maybe. Sinking to the bottom of the ocean didn’t concern me much, since I had little use for my lungs. In fact, I quite enjoyed plunging into the water every now and then and gliding like a great manta ray.
Hanging from one of my scary-looking talons was my favorite Samsonite carry-on bag. I continued about a thousand feet over the churning ocean, buffeted by winds that threatened to knock me off course—threatened, but never succeeding. My wings were powerful in this form. I was powerful in this form. It would take a lot more than a gale-force wind to knock me down.
Shortly, I came upon a rocky shoreline and a few scattered homes. I followed a meandering road that wound along the edge of the land, affording, undoubtedly, wonderful views of the ocean.
More homes appeared as the road angled inland. And there, through the driving rain, was the sparkling city of Bellingham. I circled above it within the clouds, looking for a good spot to land, and found one in a park near the university.
I alighted smoothly upon a bench because, in this form, I seemed to prefer landing on something—rocks, tree limbs, park benches—which I could never quite figure out.
Must be the bird of prey in me.
I tucked my wings in, and once again saw the vision of the woman in the flame—and soon, a curvy but toned mother of two, was squatting naked on the same park bench, a Samsonite carry-on bag looped around her ankle.
Sometimes it’s fun to be me.
Weird, but fun.
Chapter Forty
After dressing and hailing a cab, I was soon standing outside of Professor Abraham Gunthrie’s quaint little home.
A typical Washington home, I discovered: clapboard siding, cute herbal garden, and a stone path through roses. There was a wooden wraparound porch with views of the University and his equally charming neighbors’ homes. I wondered if he ever suspected a creature of the night would be descending upon his idyllic world.
Probably not. Then again, he probably never expected a private eye to come knocking, either.
Which is exactly what I did. Three times, loud enough to be heard throughout the small home. I watched a squirrel make a mad dash out into the storm and cross the manicured lawn. About halfway, it paused, no doubt regretting its decision to leave its cozy, acorn-filled nook somewhere high in the tree. Finally, it continued on, running and hopping alternately.
As it disappeared from view, I heard footsteps creak across a wooden floor and approach the front door. I already had my business card in hand as I waited.
The man who opened the door was older, as I knew he would be. Abraham Gunthrie sported a Van Dyke goatee, pointed at the end, and some errant ear hair. His eyebrows looked bushy enough for that squirrel I’d just seen to hide its acorns in.
“May I help you?” he asked. His voice was stronger than he looked. I briefly imagined him standing before his students, his deep voice easily reaching the back rows.
“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 priva
te 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 medallion
s,” 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.”