Blood Moon (Vampire Vigilante Book 1)

by Nazri Noor

  “I – I wouldn’t look too closely,” I said.

  Yeah, that was way too near his face. I held my breath, waiting for the inevitable zap when he tased himself with Susanoo’s blade through sheer proximity. The god of storms didn’t mess around when it came to enchantments. But nothing happened.

  “Beautifully smithed,” he said, eyeing the edge of the sword. “Hmm. But were you planning on cleaning it off?”

  He reached for the blade. I stretched out an arm, shouting. “No!”

  Again: nothing happened. He stroked two fingers along the flat of the sword, admiring, then grimacing when he found smudges of dried blood closer to the tip.

  “See, this is what I mean,” he said. “From the craftsmanship alone you can tell this thing is expensive. Priceless. If you’re going to collect weapons of this caliber, you’re going to need to maintain them better.”

  I scratched my scalp, looking at the ground, confused. “I’m sorry? I think?”

  He chuckled, carefully propping the katana back up against the wall. “I’m not even going to ask where that blood came from.”

  I chuckled back nervously, hoping that mirroring his mannerisms and body language would put him at ease and help him forget about the bloodstains. “You into weapons yourself?”

  He shrugged. “I dabble here and there. It’s boring up here in the mountains, you know? Nothing much for a guy to do but polish his shaft. Sword shaft. You know what I mean.”

  This son of a bitch.

  “Anyway,” he said, collecting his toolbox, “I should get going. Man’s gotta eat and I’m starving. Gonna head home and cook myself up something nice and filling.”

  When Roth strode past me as he headed for the door, I caught a whiff of him, inside and out. A faint, warm scent of soap, something that might have been pine needles, and underneath his skin, a hot, blistering font of strong blood. Delicious blood.

  I shoved my hands in my pockets, eliminating the possibility of latching my fingers around his throat and pulling him in for a quick drink. “Yeah,” I said, very much aware of how my mouth was so dry. “Something nice and filling.”

  Roth turned the doorknob, hovering at the threshold. “You boys need any more help, you just give me a call. Maybe I’ll see you around town. Your man’s got my number.”

  It came bursting out of me, a defensive excuse. “He’s not my man.”

  He gave me a strange smile, tilting his head. “Okay? Good to know. See you around, Sterling.”

  The door clicked, and he was gone. I looked down at my hands. What the fuck was all that about? I’d been reduced to a blushing moron. He’d just come and gone like a thunderstorm. And what was all that business with the katana? Was it broken? Roth made contact with the blade like it was nothing. I stomped over to where it rested against the wall, touching the metal closest to the hilt with one finger.

  I jumped. I screamed.

  “Fucking hell,” I croaked, wrenching my hand away. “Okay. Still works then.”

  The door clicked, then swung open again. I turned in place, hiding my hands behind my back, like I’d been caught doing something dumb, but it wasn’t Roth this time.

  “Sterling?” Asher said, one eyebrow cocked. “What’s wrong with you? You look shocked.”

  “Very funny, you little bastard.”

  “Whatever.” He thumbed over his shoulder. “Who was the stud? Drove away in a truck.”

  “Electrician. He worked so fast, it’s like it was nothing.”

  Asher threw his hands up to the ceiling. “I didn’t even realize. The lights are back on. Sweet. Glad that’s done with.” Then he gestured at me. “But you look like hell. Didn’t Gil say to get dressed? He’s waiting in the car. We need to head into town.”

  “Sure,” I muttered. I ruffled up my hair, still a little confused from meeting Roth, and definitely still a little disoriented from electrocution. Don’t try that at home. You need waking up, just make yourself a cup of coffee.

  Asher wrinkled his nose. “Be sure to wash up a little, you look like hell. Can’t believe you let the electrician in looking like that.”

  I bared my teeth at him. “Okay, Mom. Fine, Mom.”

  “Brush your teeth, too. Yikes.”

  Some ten minutes later – lightning fast for getting ready by my standards, believe me – I was dressed in a fresh shirt, fresh jeans, fresh everything. Blood had been washed off, teeth flossed and judiciously brushed. I reached for my jacket, then Asher and I headed out.

  Our car was parked at the end of the driveway. Gil had one hand on the steering wheel, another pushing his phone against his ear, probably talking to his girlfriend again. He saw us coming, then gave me an impatient glare.

  “Get in, loser. We’re going shopping.”

  14

  I sulked from the passenger seat, annoyed that Gil wouldn’t let me drive. At least I had shotgun. Or I earned it, after wrestling Asher out of the passenger side and throwing him bodily into the backseat. What good was having vampire strength if you didn’t use it to totally dominate the ones you love?

  “Shopping?” I said. “I thought we were heading to the graveyard? We really need to have a chat with Everett’s spirit. Maybe we get to ask him why his house is such a massive pile of shit.”

  Gil gave me a sidelong glance, then focused back on the road. “They’ve got a farmers’ market running in town right now.” The peaks of his cheeks reddened. “Prue mentioned it. Says we should check it out.”

  I rolled my eyes, but silently relented. Prue was short for Prudence, Gil’s girlfriend, a coolheaded chick who happened to be a very strong fighter. I mention that because the two of them happened to meet during a fistfight. Long story.

  “Don’t give me shit for it,” Gil growled.

  I spread my hands out, stifling a grin. “I said nothing. Nothing.”

  “This is a good opportunity for us to mingle with the locals, you know? Maybe we’ll pick up on some chatter, too. The murder near the cabin is fresh. People are probably talking about it.”

  I sighed. “It’s not like we’re going to magically overhear some case-cracking information while we go around squeezing melons. But fine.” I sat up, excited. “Ooh. Speaking of squeezing melons, my girlfriend might be there.”

  Asher laughed from the backseat. “Your girlfriend? That Olivia chick?”

  “Yes, her.” I smoothed back my hair, already preparing. I pinched my shirt, lifting it to my nose and sniffing. Yes. Clean, and slightly perfumed. Perfect. “She doesn’t know it yet, but I’m in love. With her blood. And her melons.”

  Gil snorted, half laughing, half disgusted. “You’re a pig, Sterling. Oh. How was the electrician?”

  “Hot,” I said. “Very hot. And efficient. Didn’t even mention anything about a bill.”

  He shrugged. “He’ll probably send over an invoice at some point. He knows we’re good for it, he only knows where we live, after all.”

  Asher cleared his throat. “Something that Sterling is probably quite excited about.”

  I glared at him from the passenger seat. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “Just saying,” Asher said, grinning. “You looked so dazed when I came into the house. You can admit it, Sterling. You got a crush. Two crushes.”

  I placed one hand flat on the dashboard, my fingers digging. “What I have are two potential thralls, okay? People who may or may not happily donate their blood. Speaking of which, we should really check out a butcher.”

  Gil shook his head, taking a quick glance at his wrist. “No such luck, buddy. Bound to be closed, never heard of a butcher that stays open late. Besides, we’ve checked. They don’t keep any animal blood up here.”

  “Yeah,” Asher said. “We got funny looks when we tried asking. I said I was gonna make some dinuguan, which got some even funnier looks. I don’t think they even have Filipino restaurants here. Or Filipinos, for that matter.”

  I sank into my seat, throwing my neck against the headrest and
groaning in frustration. No pig’s blood? That was a good cover story, too. It’s a Filipino delicacy, made with pork, blood, vinegar, and yes, frequently, a fair bit of garlic. For humans, delicious to eat, especially over rice. It’s doubly delightful for vampires, for obvious reasons.

  “At this rate I really am going to have to hunt in the forest. I hate animal blood. Hate it.”

  Asher poked a finger in my shoulder. “Is this just you being dramatic, or is animal blood not good for you?”

  “It’s just not the same when it comes to keeping your strength up. Blood isn’t just blood, you know? It’s laced with someone’s personality, their memories, their hopes and dreams and nightmares. Everyone is different. You don’t get that from animal blood.” I let my head loll off to the side, shifting my gaze between Gil and Asher, giving them pleading looks with wet, expectant eyes. “If only my friends weren’t so committed to letting me starve to death.”

  The two of them said nothing, clearing their throats and gazing nonchalantly through the windshield.

  I planted one booted foot against the dashboard, kicking it halfheartedly for good measure. “You guys suck,” I grunted.

  “Technically, it’s you who sucks,” Asher said. “And you need to figure that out before you turn on one of us in our sleep.”

  “No nibbling,” Gil growled. “I swear, Sterling, we established that rule years ago, and it stands. No nibbling.”

  “No nibbling,” I echoed, pressing myself against the car door, sulking.

  We arrived a few minutes later, pulling into an immense parking lot, about half of it occupied by a huge variety of stalls. I lit up a cigarette as we strolled over for a closer look. The night market wasn’t just farmers, which made it all the more interesting to peruse. The evening was cool, the air filled with neighborly conversation and the faint strains of competing genres of music, depending on the stall. Plenty of country, a little bit of jazz, and the occasional local indie rock band.

  You had local artisans selling their handiwork, which meant anything from fine leather belts to intricately carved smoking pipes. Sweet old ladies sat at tables laden with baked goods, little signs advertising which cause they were raising money for. One stall dedicated itself exclusively to rows and rows of essential oils in little phials, another to tacky costume jewelry. Yet another, for whatever reason, sold leggings. Leggings for days, in all the garish, eye-scratching colors of the rainbow.

  I took a last drag of my cigarette, blowing a stream of smoke up into the starry Silveropolis sky as I slowly quietened my senses. The thrum of activity – light, sound, laughter, chatter – was plenty enough to handle for your average human, but it could be nigh on sensory overload for someone like me. Or for someone like Gil, for that matter. He was standing still, out of the way of foot traffic, eyes shut and ears pricked as he focused. Asher lingered nearby keeping guard, in a sense, making sure we didn’t bump into anybody or stood in someone’s path.

  This was what Gil had meant by listening in on the locals. Finely honed senses are among the few things that vampires and werewolves have in common. Both Gil and I had made interesting use of our gifts, sometimes quite literally playing with them. A stupid little contest, to see who could figure out the secret ingredient in another one of Asher’s culinary creations.

  But there were much more practical, and much more useful applications, too. It wasn’t the easiest thing to pull off, but sniffing out magical artifacts was certainly a nifty trick. The circumstances differ, of course. Sometimes it’s a tang in the air that I can almost taste, an indistinct hum, a delicate vibration along the fine hairs on my forearms. It was how we knew that the Filigreed Masque wasn’t hidden somewhere in the Everett House. A thing imbued with so much alleged arcane power would have had our senses pinging left and right.

  For this to work, though, I would have to tune everything out. Eyes shut, which was why Asher stood guard. You never know, really. I breathed with my mouth, a makeshift way to disengage both taste and smell. My hands stayed in my pockets, held stiff and away from the cold. The point was to redirect all power on the Starship Sterling towards sound, and sound only.

  “Two for the price of one, gotta get rid of these fast.”

  Someone peddling vegetables. Or was it old magazines?

  “I hear it’s all the rage in Santa Monica.”

  Could have been skateboarding, could have been designer drugs. Give me something to go on, people.

  “Did you hear about the Jensens? Three new puppies. Adorable.”

  Good to know. But I wanted more. Where was the really juicy stuff? “Did you hear about the dead body?” I expected these people to have murder on their minds, not vintage wares and baked goods. Surely Silveropolis wasn’t already numb to all the killings.

  I listened in, picking up on more and more snatches of conversation. A vampire probably coined that phrase, honestly. It’s what we do, after all, embarrassing as it is to admit. We steal bits and pieces of other people’s lives, whether it’s blood or stories or coin. It was the truth, at the end of the day. Why sugarcoat it? We were snatching words, phrases, rumors, thieves in the dark of night.

  Or fine. Maybe it was a werewolf. Can’t take credit for everything.

  One thing I’ve learned over time, though – and I’ve had plenty of time to think on this – is that you get better at something the longer you do it. Painfully obvious, I know, but it makes sense in almost every aspect of existence. Focus on something hard enough, do it enough times, you get better, faster, stronger, whether it’s a muscle, or some new skill. I’m not the most patient person in the world, but to a vampire, time is a flexible resource. Oddly, when you feel like giving up is also around the time you’re almost through to the other side, up to the next level.

  I was glad I waited. There it was. A pattern in the susurrus of the night market, whispered phrases that kept going back and forth between lips sticky with sugar glaze and heavy with secrets. It came up too often to be coincidence. Two words, nine letters in total.

  My eyes flew open, searching for Gil’s face to see his reaction. He was finished checking in, too, eyes smoldering with curiosity. His forehead was creased in confusion and suspicion, his expression very likely a mirror of my own. He mouthed the words at me, confirming that he’d picked up on the same thing.

  “Blood moon.”

  A blood moon, huh?

  What had the locals so excited about it? I’d heard of them before, seen them, even. Just a natural, if visually dramatic phenomenon, a prettier name for a total lunar eclipse. The earth gets between the sun and the moon, like the jerk that it is, and in the process the moon appears red. Just plain science. Nothing mystical there. The three of us pressed into a huddle, Asher glancing hurriedly between us.

  “The suspense is killing me,” he said, meaning every word.

  “Blood moon,” I said. “I didn’t think there was one coming up.”

  “And the context,” Gil said. “Makes it sound like the locals are anticipating something big.”

  Asher frowned. “Superstition, maybe? A town tradition? I should look into this.”

  But my ears pricked again, picking up on another, more interesting sound, a pattern of words that had the hairs at the back of my neck tingling.

  “Mr. Sterling?”

  It was Olivia Everett.

  15

  You could hear my neck crack as I whipped my head towards the sound of her voice. I was a blood hound, out for, uh, blood. There she was, across the way, a vision in a frilly blue dress that exposed only her wrists and her throat. She waved at me, smiling broadly, happy to see her vampire boyfriend, never mind that she didn’t know that I was a vampire, or her boyfriend either, for that matter.

  In the corners of my peripheral vision I could see that her stall was absolutely groaning with colorful spherical shapes that could have been fruit, or decapitated heads, for all I cared. No. Tunnel vision. I sauntered across, not caring even a little that I was bumping into people. I was l
aser focused on the sight of the lovely Olivia Everett, my smile as sticky as nectar.

  “Bonsoir,” I said, leaning my elbow on the edge of her stall, cocking one eyebrow.

  She covered her mouth, giggling. “Oh, bonsoir, monsieur. I didn’t know you spoke French.”

  I waggled my eyebrows again. “I don’t. I’m just trying to be charming.”

  Olivia shook her head, the veins at her neck becoming more pronounced as the curls of her hair tumbled this way and that. “You’re such a tease, Mr. Sterling.”

  “No need to be so formal, Ms. Everett.”

  She giggled again, the line of her neck reddening with a faint blush. Just past her head, I noticed that something else was reddening, too. It was a man, standing with his arms folded, built like a statue and wearing a face that was even stonier. Olivia noticed, then stammered.

  “Oh. This is Timothy, my assistant. He helps me out at the shop, and well, here as well, on market nights.’

  Timothy grunted, the lines of his face creased with distrust. He was handsome, stout, clearly built for carrying large crates of fruit and fighting competing suitors away from his lady love, who clearly didn’t know a thing about his attraction. If she did, then poor Timothy was an even bigger idiot than I thought.

  It’s funny how much you can tell from someone’s expression, their body language, but I was cheating, too. I can’t say that jealousy has a very distinctive smell, but Timothy wore it like his favorite cologne. I nodded at him, grinning as sweetly as I’d grinned at Olivia, letting him know that I knew his secrets. He glowered back, because he knew my secrets, too.

  “Pleasure to meet you, Timothy. Olivia, these are my colleagues and housemates. You didn’t get to meet them when you visited me that day.”

  You could see the cracks in Timothy’s veneer. Oh ho, so he didn’t know about the time Olivia went to talk to a shirtless vampire.