Christmas Moon

by J. R. Rain

"Nope. "

  "You with the feds?"

  "Used to be. "

  "Then what the hell are you?"

  "That's the million-dollar question. "

  They all looked at each other. Two of them shrugged. From the living room, I heard the Jeopardy theme song. I was willing to bet that drug dealers the world over had Jeopardy playing in the background. Nothing so innocent as four hoodlums watching Jeopardy together.

  The Caucasian kid who had greeted me at the door had yet to look me in the eye. He stared down at the table. His wrist was raw and red where I had subdued him. He knew the potential of my strength, and kept his eyes off me and his mouth shut. The fourth guy was another black youth, maybe twenty. He had yet to speak, although he found all of this highly amusing. I sensed he was high as a kite. If I was high as a kite, I would find all this amusing, too. I focused on the Hispanic leader and the talkative black guy.

  I said, "Somebody stole something that belonged to me, and I want it back. " Technically, that was true, since half of whatever was in the safe was now mine.

  "We lovers," said the talkative black guy. "Not thieves. "

  The high-as-a-kite black guy laughed. The Hispanic guy frowned. The sullen white guy kept being sullen.

  "Cut the shit," I said. "I know there's drugs here. " I pointed to a Pillsbury Doughboy cookie jar with a crack running up along its doughy body. "I know there're drugs in that cookie jar over there. I know there're drugs in the toilet bowl, and I know there're drugs down all your pants. "

  The high-as-a-kite black guy giggled nearly uncontrollably. The Hispanic leader sat forward. The energy around him crackled and spat. He said, "What the fuck do you want, lady?"

  "I want the safe," I said.

  "What safe?"

  As I said those words, I watched the others in the room. The talkative black guy blinked. The high black guy continued grinning from ear to ear. The sullen white guy sank a little deeper in his chair. Just a little. Perhaps only a fraction. Not to mention his darkish aura grew darker still.

  I had my man.

  It was at that moment that I saw the old man in the far corner of the living room. Correction, two old men, as another just materialized. And they weren't exactly men.

  They were ghosts.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I jumped off the stool.

  As I did so, the Hispanic guy made a move to stand. He didn't move very far. A casual backhand across his face sent him spinning sideways to the floor. The others stayed seated, which wasn't a bad idea. I told them not to move and they mostly didn't, although the high-as-a-kite guy continued to fight through a case of the giggles.

  I moved past them, slipping the gun inside my waistband. The backhand smack to their leader would keep the trio quiet for a few minutes.

  People don't realize that spirits tend to be just about everywhere. I see them appearing and disappearing almost continuously, sometimes randomly. I'll see them briefly materialize by someone's side, squeeze their hand or hug them, and then flit off again. Usually the object of such affection is left shivering pleasantly. No doubt, the unseen encounter suddenly brought an unexpected memory to the recipient.

  And some spirits, like the old lady and her piano, attach themselves to objects, seemingly for decades, although I always suspected that only an aspect of their spirit attached. The majority of their spirit was elsewhere, wherever spirits might go.

  Then again, I could be wrong.

  As I approached the two old men, they turned toward me. Their attention, I saw, had been centered around something in the far corner of the room, something hidden under a blanket. The spirits themselves were formed of bright filaments of light that coalesced to form shapes. In this case, the shapes of two older men.

  They didn't speak and their shapes were only vaguely held together, which suggested to me that these were older spirits. Older, as in having died long ago.

  Charlie had said that his father had died nearly two decades ago. . . and no doubt his grandfather had died many years before that. His grandfather and father were certainly two spirits who would have been powerfully connected to an object.

  The safe.

  The corner of this room smelled of smoke, or of something burned, and as I got closer, I saw tools scattered around the living room that didn't belong there. Hammers. Mallets. Crowbars. Even a blowtorch. The corner of the couch was blackened, too, but that's what happens when you use a blowtorch indoors.

  I had the attention of both spirits, who watched me closely, silently, as I reached down and pulled back the corner of a stained quilt, revealing a very old-looking and heavy safe, the lock of which had been blackened by the blowtorch.

  But the safe was still locked. . . and that's all that mattered.

  Chapter Fourteen

  As tomorrow was Christmas Eve, I thought it a fitting gift when I delivered the safe to Charlie's door.

  Orange County doesn't get snow. Hell, we rarely get rain, but as I approached the door, carrying the safe under one arm, a stiff, cool breeze appeared, and that was good enough. Any weather was good enough at this time of the year.

  I knocked on his door to the rhythm of "Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way" and fat little Rocko jumped from the couch, barking his brains out, until he got a look at me, then he hit the brakes, and scuttled off with his tail between his legs. Thank God Kingsley didn't have the same reaction.

  I set the safe down on the wooden deck, noting how the wood sagged mightily under the weight of the safe.

  Charlie's round face soon appeared and he gave me a big smile. Charlie, I saw, needed some serious dental work. Except he didn't seem to care that he needed dental work, or that his teeth looked like crooked tombstones. Charlie was just happy to be Charlie.

  He was about to slide open his door when he glanced down, and his crooked smile seemed to freeze in place. He blinked. Hard.

  Then threw open the door.

  I shouldn't have been surprised when he gave me the mother of all hugs, but I was.

  * * *

  We were in his living room.

  I had told him that a friend of mine had helped me lug the heavy safe onto his deck, and I made a show of pretending to struggle with the safe as we moved it from the deck to the center of his living room.

  Amid leaning towers of laser jet printer cartridges, 40's science fiction magazines, and enough clipboards to last two lifetimes, we set the heavy safe down.

  Earlier in the night, after my discovery of the safe, I gave the boys ten minutes to clear out before I called the police. Most were gone in five. I kept their weapons and ammunition, which I would hand over to Detective Sherbet of the Fullerton Police Department.

  For now, though, it was just me, Charlie and the safe. And inside, something, neither of us knew what.

  The safe was clearly old. So old that it looked like it belonged on the back of a Wells Fargo stage coach. Part of the safe's dial still gleamed brightly, although most of it was covered in blackened soot from the blowtorch. The handle was badly dented, no doubt thanks to the various hammers I had seen lying around.

  Still, the safe had held fast, and that's all that mattered.

  Charlie stared down at it. So did I. My compensation was in that safe, whatever it might be. Could be gold. Could be old war bonds. Could be jewelry, gemstones or pirate booty, for all I knew.

  I had been tempted to see if my own psychic gifts could penetrate the heavy steel safe, but I had resisted.

  "I guess this is it, then," said Charlie. He didn't sound very enthusiastic.

  "Do you know the combination?"

  He pointed to the upper corner of the safe, where, upon closer inspection, I saw a number etched, 14. Two other numbers were etched into other corners, 29 and 63.

  I said them out loud and he nodded. "Don't think of them as three numbers, think of them as six numbers. One, four, two, nine, six and three. With
that in mind, what are the two lowest numbers?"

  I glanced at them again. "One and two. "

  He nodded. "Good. And the next lowest?"

  "Three and four. "

  "Good, good. And the two highest?"

  "Six and nine. "

  "You got it," he said, giving me a half smile.

  "Twelve, thirty-four and sixty-nine?"

  He nodded. "You're the first person I've ever given the key to. Not even to my own son. "

  "How old's your son?"

  "Twenty-one. But it's too soon to give him the key. My father gave it to me on his deathbed. "

  "I feel honored," I said, and meant it.

  We stared at it some more. He made no move to open it, and I certainly wasn't about to. Somewhere down the hall, one of his piles of junk shifted, groaning, as boulders do in the deserts. The piano, I saw, was gone.

  The light particles behind Charlie began coagulating and taking on shape, and shortly, two very faint old men appeared behind him. I noticed the hair on Charlie's arm immediately stood on end, as his body registered the spiritual presence of his father and grandfather, even if his mind hadn't. Charlie absently rubbed his arms.

  "Well, let's get on with it," he said, and reached down for the safe.

  As he did so, I said, "You really don't want to open the safe, do you, Charlie?"

  "I do. Really, I do. A deal's a deal, and I want to pay you. Your half. "

  "But wouldn't you rather pass it along to your own boy?"

  "Without you, Ms. Moon, I would have nothing to pass on to my kid. Besides, it's really a silly tradition. "

  "No, it's not. It's about family. "

  "We've been keeping this thing going for years and it's impractical at best, like a joke from beyond the grave. "

  "I think it's an amazing tradition," I said.

  He didn't say it, but his body language suggested he thought so, too. He said, "Well, it is kind of fun not knowing what's in this thing. I mean, it could be anything, right? But I suppose it's time to find out once and for all?"

  He made a move for the safe again, but he didn't get very far, mostly because I grabbed his wrist. He shivered at my cold touch.

  I said, "This isn't right. "

  "A deal's a deal, Ms. Moon. Besides, I have no other way of repaying you. "

  I thought about that, then looked around. "Not true. You have enough junk to stock a dozen houses. There's got to be something in here that I want. "

  "What are you saying, Ms. Moon?"

  "I'm saying, let me pick something out of your junk, and the safe is yours. Keep it in your family. Pass it along to your son. "

  He processed that information, and I saw the relief ripple through him and his shining aura. "Are you sure?"

  "As sure as I've ever been. "

  "But aren't you a little bit curious what's in the safe?"

  "More than you know," and as I said those words, I briefly closed my eyes, and expanded my consciousness throughout the room, and as I did so, two things made me gasp.

  The first was the contents of the safe, which I saw clearly. The second was what I saw resting inside a wooden box deep under a pile of newspapers.

  Charlie was watching me curiously. "Are you okay?"

  "Er, yes," I said, then patted him on the shoulder. "I would suggest you find a much better place for your safe. "

  "I will. "

  "A very safe place. "

  "You think the contents are valuable?"

  I thought of the two old spirits, Charlie's father and grandfather. I thought of Charlie's own son and the unique bond that kept the generations connected. The safe. I also saw in my mind's eye the tightly rolled vellum document that might just be the rarest of all American documents, a document signed by our founding fathers, centuries ago. A document thought to be lost. . . until now.

  Then again, I could be wrong.

  Next, I moved through the piles of junk and headed to the far corner of the room. There, I began moving aside old newspapers and magazines, until I finally uncovered an ornately carved box.

  I picked it up carefully, my hands trembling.

  Slowly, I opened the lid. . .

  Unbelievable.

  Inside was another golden medallion. This time, the three roses were cut from brilliant amethysts.

  Charlie was looking over my shoulder. "Oh, that. I got it at an estate sale a while back. In Fullerton. Get this, some old guy was murdered by some nut with a crossbow. Anyway, it's gold, I think. Probably worth a lot. I've been keeping it for a rainy day. " He paused. "Truth be known, it kind of gives me the creeps. You can have it if you want. "

  I closed the lid and held out my hand. "Merry Christmas. "

  But Charlie had other designs on me. He wrapped me in a huge, smothering hug. "Merry Christmas, Ms. Moon!"

  Chapter Fifteen

  With the box sitting safely on the seat next to me, I had just pulled out of Charlie's mobile home park when my cell rang. It was Fang.

  "Merry Christmas," I said.

  "That sounds odd coming from a vampire," said Fang.

  "Why, because I'm a creature of the night?"

  "Something like that. "

  "I'll remind you that Santa does his best work at night. "

  "Santa isn't real. "

  "I thought the same about vampires," I said. "And someone recently told me that if people believe in something hard enough and long enough, it becomes true. "

  Fang laughed. "Enough about Santa Claus. I've got news. Your watcher friend is likely a fallen angel. "

  "He's no demon, Fang. "

  "Have you ever met a demon, Moon Dance?"

  "I don't know," I said, recalling meeting Kingsley in my hotel room when he had fully transformed into a werewolf. The thing living inside him was as close to a demon as I've ever met. "I just know he's not evil. "

  "At least not yet. "

  "What, exactly, is a fallen angel?"

  "A spiritual being that no longer commits itself to helping others evolve. In fact, quite the opposite. "

  "A being who helps others devolve?"

  "Close. A being who spreads fear. Living in fear, any kind of fear, separates the individual from the Creator. "

  My head began to throb. Headaches, for me, rarely lasted more than a few minutes. I chewed my lip and drove and didn't like any of this. I said, "And so, what, one day he decides to turn bad?"

  "It probably wasn't just one day, Moon Dance. It had probably been a long time coming. "

  "He said he's no longer bound to me. . . "

  "If he was your guardian angel, that makes sense. Why should one immortal protect another?"

  "Now that he's not bound to me. . . "

  "Right," said Fang, picking up on my thoughts. "Now that he's not bound to you, he's free to approach me. A sort of metaphysical loophole. " Fang paused. "I had a thought, Moon Dance, and a not very pleasant one. "

  "Tell me. "

  "What if he allowed you to be attacked?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "What if he not only allowed you to be attacked, but he had planned the whole night?"

  "But why?" But even as I asked the question, I knew the answer.

  Fang voiced it for me. "To turn you, Moon Dance. To turn you into that which he could finally approach. Or that which he could finally love. "

  I shuddered as I drove on into the night, wending my way now through the streets of Yorba Linda. "But he said my destiny was to become immortal. To become a vampire. "

  "Perhaps. Or perhaps he wasn't telling you the truth. "

  "But isn't he, you know, obligated to protect me?"

  "I don't know, Moon Dance. We're talking about the spirit world, something I'm not privy to. But I am familiar with the concept of spirit guides and guardian angels. From my understanding, yes, such beings are generally there to guide and protect and nurture. Unless. . . "

&nb
sp; "Unless what?" I asked.

  "Unless they decide not to. "

  "A fallen angel," I said.

  "Exactly. "

  Chapter Sixteen

  Christmas Day, late.

  They were all here. Mary Lou, her husband and three kids. Her three kids were about Tammy's and Anthony's ages, and they mostly all got along. Except when playing video games. Then, all bets were off.

  Kingsley was here, too, and he looked absolutely sumptuous in his thick sweater and scarf, which hung loosely over a chest that should be illegal in most states. Kingsley wasn't a slender man. He was thick and hulking and as yummy as they get.

  Detective Sherbet and his lovely Hungarian wife swung by to say hello. He also pulled me aside and caught me up on another killing. Turns out the city of Fullerton had a bona fide serial killer. This would be the fifth body in as many months. He wanted me to come by the department tomorrow and compare notes, since I was an official consultant on the case. Sherbet was one of the few people who knew my super-secret identity. He and his wife stayed just long enough to drink some hot cider and eat some Christmas brownies, before moving on to another party.

  Danny even stopped by to drop off the kids' presents. As he stood at the front door, peering over me into a home we had once shared together, no doubt taking in the dollar store decorations, the aromas, the laughter and even the corny Christmas music, he looked positively miserable and envious. I had it on good word that his relationship with his secretary was over. I also had it on good word that she was suing him for sexual harassment. Nice. But don't feel too bad for the guy. Apparently, he was now dating one of his strippers. Yes, my ex-husband, besides being an ambulance chaser, was also part-owner of a strip club in Colton.

  Right. I couldn't be more proud.

  As we stood awkwardly at the door, I sensed Kingsley watching us from within the living room, his hulking form backlit by the Christmas tree. Danny, it seemed, was waiting for an invitation to come in. This coming from a guy who was actively trying to ruin me. I thanked him for the presents, wished him a merry Christmas and, against my better judgment, gave him a half-hearted offer to come in, which he pounced on. He pushed past me and immediately went over to kitchen table where he began piling snacks on a paper plate.

  Watching him, I reminded myself that it was Christmas, a day when even porn kings and slimeballs were given a one-day pardon.

  When it came time for dinner, I thought of Fang alone in his little apartment. I had invited him, too, but was secretly relieved when he declined. He and Kingsley in the same room would have made everyone uncomfortable. Yes, Kingsley knew all about Fang. I believe in honesty and openness in a relationship. To a degree. Kingsley didn't need to know about Fang's criminal past.