Vampire Fire

by J. R. Rain

  Before us, the fiery creature dispatched the last of the werewolves with a final, diagonal slash of its blade, a cut that severed the creature in half from one hip and up to the shoulder. I tried to ignore the splash of guts hitting the floor.

  The burning entity held both hands out, both swords crossed before it, and seemed to be satisfied that it had vanquished the monsters. Now, it turned slowly—ever so slowly—in our direction.

  “Samantha, what do we do?” asked Allison.

  I swallowed. I hadn’t the faintest idea.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Allison took my hand.

  The two Lichtenstein monsters had stepped aside, their faces aglow in white light. Their hair, I noted, lifted and rose from an unseen wind. The burning entity spun his swords deftly, easily, and re-sheathed them along his back. What, exactly, he re-sheathed them into, I didn’t know. From here, I could see the burning handles of each blade rising over its shoulders, ready for quick access.

  “Sam...” said Allison.

  “Be cool,” I said.

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Sam, I’m going to pee my pants.”

  “That’s not being cool.”

  The thing approached us slowly, cautiously, curiously, carefully. And the closer it got, the more Allison danced next to me. I thought she really was going to pee herself. There was something about the way it moved, about the way it seemed to be looking at me...

  “Wait here,” I said, and released her hand. “And don’t pee yourself.”

  ***

  It could have been a mini-sun.

  So much heat, and wind, too. Hot, dry wind that smelled of burning sulfur. And the sound coming off it... I was reminded of sizzling bacon, or sizzling skin.

  I approached slowly, working through more emotions than I thought was possible to feel at one time. I had once heard that a person couldn’t feel love and fear at the same time. But I wasn’t so sure that was true. At least, not now and not in this situation.

  The faceless entity seemed to be watching me, following my progress toward it, angling his head slightly as I approached.

  Although it appeared to be made entirely of fire, it had to have a core, some physicality. Indeed, something with weight and heft had wielded the sword... surely there was a physical body there somewhere beneath the flames, although it really didn’t matter in this moment. Not when the thing before me slouched in a familiar way, shoulders hunched, arms hanging down awkwardly at his waist.

  I shook my head and didn’t fight the tears. The smell of blood and singed hair was in the air, and something else, too. Something foreign to me. The smell of molten rock, perhaps. Or molten metal. A white tongue of flame erupted along the fire entity’s bicep, snapping and crackling, and then disappeared again. Like a solar flare. The entity didn’t seem to notice, which was really no surprise as smaller such flares were continuously erupting over its burning surface.

  Sweat from the heat broke out on my brow, and, with the sizzling sound of frying bacon drowning out every other sound in the warehouse, I said, “Hi, baby.”

  ***

  The entity nodded. No, my son nodded.

  “You can hear me?” I asked. “Understand me?”

  Another nod. Long and slow and purposeful.

  “Did they... did they hurt you, baby?” I asked.

  The entity—Anthony—seemed undecided, then finally shook his massive, burning head. He wasn’t hurt, but something had happened. They had tried to hurt him, maybe. But they couldn’t, not really. Still, I wanted to kill them all over again. But slowly.

  “Are you scared, baby?” I asked.

  After a long moment, the burning head nodded. As it did so, a liquefied drop of molten fire dripped from its chin and evaporated halfway to the ground.

  “You’re afraid,” I said, and he nodded again, and more burning drops of fire sprang free, raining down around me. Burning up before they actually hit me.

  I wanted to hug him, but the fire was real—the intense heat of it was enough for me to believe that. I reached out a hand, then dropped it again; instead, I took a step forward.

  “It’s going to be okay, baby...”

  He hung his head, and more molten drops dripped from his chin. And now, he covered his face with his hand—and face and hands were briefly indistinguishable.

  I understood his pain. It didn’t matter that they were going to kill him or, or that they were monsters of the worst kind, I knew my boy, and the emotions of the day, the evening, of fighting for his life, of killing, were overwhelming to him. Would have been overwhelming to anyone.

  I let him weep his liquid fire, and still, I inched closer to him, as close as I dared. My hair blew back. Some of it even melted, I suspected. Maybe the loose strands. I felt my own T-shirt sticking to my skin, felt the buttons of my jeans heating to a nuclear temperature. At least, that’s how it felt against my skin.

  My son, I thought. What have I done to you?

  I suspected what had happened—and now, it was time to undo what had happened.

  ***

  “Anthony, baby, I need you to look at me.”

  He did, dropping his hand from his face and standing straighter. He seemed to inhale, although I doubted he needed any air. Not in this form.

  “You saw the single flame,” I said.

  He tilted his head one way, then the other.

  I elaborated. “You saw the single flame in your thoughts. And you also saw the fire man inside the flame.”

  Now, Anthony was nodding, slowly.

  “Good, sweetie. Now, I need you to think about the flame again—that is, try to imagine it again. Try to do it now, okay, sweetie?”

  He tilted his head again, but then, finally nodded.

  I waited a moment or two before saying, “Do you see the flame now?”

  Another nod.

  “Good, baby. You’re doing real good, and it’s going to be okay, I promise. Now, see yourself in the flame. See yourself as the thirteen-year-old boy you were today. Do your best.”

  I waited again, and now, Anthony was nodding, this time excitedly. He saw himself in the flame. I could almost cry. In fact, I was.

  “You are doing so good, sweetie. Now... feel yourself move toward the flame. You can do it, baby. You can do it.”

  He stopped nodding, and had just tilted his head when he seemed to wink out of existence. I found myself blinded by the sudden disappearance of the white light. Black spots swam before me, and as I held out my hands, searching, and found another set of hands. Hands I knew well.

  I pulled Anthony into me and held him tighter than I’d ever held him before.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Minutes later, I saw the interior of the cage within my own internal flame, and, in a disorienting blink, I found myself high above the warehouse floor, swinging and creaking with Mr. Matthews.

  There was a chair welded into place, along with a control panel that sported a couple of buttons and switches. In the far corner, huddled and watching me with wide, crazy eyes, was the man I now knew as Mr. Matthews.

  I delved into his mind, saw what he knew, saw that he’d been able to see auras his whole life, saw his partnership with the local wolf pack, saw all of his terrible efforts in acquiring this abandoned warehouse, acquiring this crane, the lengths he went to in building the staging room, this protective cage, and wiring the control panel. Mostly, I felt his craziness and bloodlust. His hunger was to see suffering, to understand it. He had convinced himself that it was for scientific purposes, but he was just a crazy whack job who had only tried to justify his actions that showed his complete lack of empathy for the human condition. He was a full-blown sociopath.

  The entity within me could understand the man before me. Hell, I sensed her kinship with him. A man who cared little for other humans, who used them for his own sick entertainment. But the mother in me trumped the bitch inside me every time.

  “Ms. Moon,” he s
aid.

  “Mr. Matthews,” I said.

  “You were reading my mind,” he said.

  “I was.”

  “You know everything, I presume.”

  “You presume correctly.”

  “You can’t take any of this to the police.”

  “I know,” I said.

  He nodded. We creaked high in the air. Below, the two Lichtenstein monsters were cleaning up the mess. Turned out that Mr. Matthews had also built a handy, large crematorium on the premises, as well. Allison and Anthony were outside, with Tammy and Sherbet and the third Lichtenstein monster.

  “You are a vampire.”

  “So they say.”

  “And your son?”

  “He’s something else,” I said. “Something in between. Something very special. Something alive and well, no thanks to you.”

  He looked a little embarrassed. “When you say it like that, I sound like a monster. I’m just trying to understand what these creatures are, their habits, their needs, their preferences.”

  “And in return, you get a good show.”

  “I suspect you know what I get in return.”

  “It’s time for you to go now,” I said.

  “Go where?”

  I snatched his hand and he squeaked like a tiny mouse as I summoned the single flame again. This time, I saw within it a place I had never ventured before, a place I’d never thought I would be. A place I had seen once, through a barred window.

  ***

  Kingsley’s cell smelled like wide-open ass.

  It also smelled like something rotting and putrid and about as dead as dead could be. When I regained my balance, I blinked and saw the rotted corpse of what appeared to be a small deer, a corpse that was overflowing with guts and maggots.

  A shaggy, filthy head looked up from its chest cavity, dripping blood and little white worms from his muzzle—a hulking creature that was easily head and shoulders taller than the same such creatures I had seen tonight. Kingsley was, by far, the biggest of them of all. The growl that erupted from him was terrifying, and I might have peed a little, too.

  I knew from experience—and present evidence—that my boyfriend preferred the rotting over the living. I doubted he would consume the math teacher. Render him into a human jigsaw puzzle, yes. Eat him, no. At least, I hoped he wouldn’t.

  I released Matthews’ hands, summoned the single flame again, and saw within it the exterior of the warehouse. I teleported away just as the hulking, filthy creature who was my boyfriend leaped over the bloated deer and lunged at us. As frightening a sight as I’d ever seen.

  Apparently, Matthews agreed. He screamed and tried to grab my hand, but I was already gone.

  Good riddance.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  “What do we tell the press? The community? The school? Parents are going to want answers, Sam. People are scared. This kidnapping has made national headlines. Hell, world headlines.”

  I stood with Sherbet outside his unmarked vehicle. No flashing lights, no other law enforcement. Inside the warehouse, the Lichtenstein monsters were still disposing of the slaughtered beasts.

  Sherbet had been caught up to speed. That’s the good thing with this telepathy business. I needed only to give him access to the memories I wanted him to see; in this case, the memory of Matthews in Kingsley’s cell. Sherbet didn’t like it, but he also knew that he was knee-deep in the supernatural.

  I said, “We tell the press that Anthony escaped his kidnappers. He was found walking along the side of the road.”

  “And the kidnappers?”

  “They escaped.”

  “There will be a nationwide hunt.”

  “Let them look.”

  “Others will want to talk to Anthony... federal agencies, doctors, therapists. He will need to keep his story straight—”

  “My son is no stranger to keeping secrets. I will talk to him.”

  Sherbet took in a lot of air... and blew it out loudly through his mouth. “Jesus, Sam.”

  “I know.”

  I looked past him, to my son sitting in the back seat of Sherbet’s unmarked white sedan. With head bowed, my son, if anything, looked miserable.

  Lots of therapy, I thought. Lots and lots of therapy.

  Except... who could he talk to?

  “And what about Angie Sanderson’s parents?” asked Sherbet. “We found her killers. We now know what happened to her. Now, her parents could have closure... except...”

  Except it wasn’t the kind of closure they could know about—or anyone could know about. I nodded. I had been thinking about them, too. They deserved closure. I said, “I’ll talk to her parents, too.”

  “And tell them what?”

  “I’ll let them know that their daughter’s killers were found and dealt with. I’ll tell them she died peacefully.”

  “But she didn’t.”

  I shook my head. “Her parents don’t need to know that.”

  “Let me guess,” said Sherbet. “And they won’t remember talking to you, either.”

  “No, they won’t.”

  “How will this work, Sam?”

  I shrugged. “I’ll tell them that they need never discuss her abduction again. Others will honor it.”

  “Will you take away their pain?”

  “As much as possible.”

  ***

  “Hi, baby,” I said, slipping into the seat next to him and closing the car door behind me.

  “I’m not a baby, Mom.”

  “Do you want me to stop calling you baby?”

  He thought about it, scrunching up his face the way he sometimes did, and then shrugged. “Maybe someday.”

  “But not today?”

  He glanced at me. “No, not today.”

  “Let me see your stomach again.”

  He sat back, lifted up his shirt. The wound had scabbed over, but it was still significant. Already it was better than when I’d first seen it about an hour or so ago.

  “Sweetie, how long have you known about...”

  “The fire warrior?”

  “Yes, him.”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t. Not until I saw the flame.”

  “How did you know what to do next?”

  “Daddy told me,” Anthony said, smiling. “Well, the voice of Daddy told me.”

  I blinked and suddenly felt very, very cold. “Daddy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you often hear Daddy’s voice?”

  Another shrug. “Not at first. I mean, not right after he was killed. But more and more lately.”

  “Do you think it’s really Daddy?”

  Anthony looked at me, and his pupils dilated a little, and behind them, I thought I detected a glimmer of fire. Then, he smiled broadly and said, “Of course not, Mommy. It’s just my imagination.”

  Chapter Thirty-six

  “You rang, Samantha Moon?”

  I hadn’t. I had shouted out into the night for the bastard to meet me here, at the Amtrak station in downtown Fullerton, where it was bustling and lively, with lots of places to sit and chat. Although I intended to do a lot more than chat with him.

  The man I now knew as the devil sauntered through the crowded courtyard, past waiting passengers, young professionals, and students—all of whom were staring down at their smartphones—oblivious to the devil in their presence. I was sitting near a gurgling fountain, which should give us enough cover to talk.

  “Good work finding your son, Ms. Moon. You are indeed an ace detective.”

  “Apparently, you found him first.”

  “Not so much found him as was led to him.”

  “By your hellhound.”

  “He’s a good doggie.”

  “How long have you known about Anthony and his dad?”

  “Not very long, Samantha Moon. Shortly before your own arrival at the warehouse, in fact.”

  “How did you find him? Danny, that is?”

  The devil studied me, then shrugged. “Your ex-hubby
has been revealing himself more and more to your son. Speaking to him, whispering to him, helping him. By rising up through the depths to speak to your son, your ex-husband was no longer in hiding.”

  “And your dog can hear him?” I asked.

  “Dogs. And in a way, yes.”

  “Fine,” I said. “My son said you helped him. Why?”

  “Ah, a sticky point, Samantha Moon. I don’t like sticky points, truth be known. I lean toward neat and clean and easy. But, yes, your son is a rare breed.”

  I didn’t like where this was going.

  “Then I will just remove Danny,” I said, “and you can just go back to hell.”

  “Will you now, Sam?”

  I opened my mouth, but then stopped short. I would remove Danny... if I could. Except I’d never had access to my own son’s mind. Nor did I have access to other immortals’ minds, if that was what my son was. A double whammy.

  “Your conundrum is only now occurring to you, I see. Sadly, you can’t remove Danny Moon from your own son. You see, I know a thing or two about vampires, what vile creatures they are. Present company excluded, of course. I know, for instance, they don’t have access to other immortals’ minds.”

  A train came to a screeching, howling stop, horn blowing, brakes squealing. People boarded, and even more unloaded. Many swept past us toward the parking lot beyond. Many looked like they had places to go. Others not so much. Others looked like lost souls. I was reminded of Dracula’s blood servant, whom I had fetched earlier in the evening. The woman—her name was Constance—was presently sound asleep in Allison’s guest bedroom in Beverly Hills. We would figure out what to do with her tomorrow. For now, she was safe.

  “Your ex-hubby has plans for your son, Sam. Big plans. And I assure you, they are not good. No, not at all. In fact, I quite admire the direction he is taking things. But there’s another wrinkle. Ah, I see you know where I’m going with this.”