Vampire Sun

by J. R. Rain

  Now, I searched within the staticy light particles for something that could be dead. Something that could be watching me in return. But I saw nothing. Just the dancing lights that jived and boogied through my vision.

  The lack of spiritual activity was significant. It meant that someone hadn’t recently passed here. That someone hadn’t, in fact, been murdered. This, of course, was just conjecture on my part and was based on my own personal experience with the spirit world. Murdered souls often lingered, sometimes for decades, in the locations of their deaths. I had seen such souls. Hell, I had seen a few today when I was driving along the freeway, standing by the side of the crowded thoroughfare, and forlornly watching the living drive by. These, I knew, had perished there on the freeway, in car accidents, no doubt.

  Why the dead lingered, I didn’t know, but I had seen my fair share of them. So much so that they were now part of my life. My creepy, creepy life. In my experience, spirits appeared in one of three ways: either as souls visiting the living, as the forgotten dead, lost and haunted, or as a memory of itself, neither alive nor dead, repeating itself over and over.

  I saw none of that here.

  Murder sites also had an effect on the environment. A very obvious effect. At such a location, the swirling light energy was even more chaotic. It would swirl and scatter and explode...reminiscent of an active volcano spewing magma. Often, though, I would see another kind of energy within this disturbance. Spirit energy, too. The murdered victim, in fact. Not always, but often.

  There was no such energy here. Instead, the light particles swept through naturally, peacefully, unhindered by the shock of death.

  I walked the perimeter of the expansive parking lot, which took a few minutes. The east side consisted of a low shrub wall that bordered the Taco Bell next door. At this hour, Taco Bell had more customers than Starbucks, with a line of cars wending through its drive-thru. I spied surveillance cameras above and around Taco Bell. Anyone heading this way would have been picked up by the Bell’s cameras, too. I logged this away for future inquiry.

  I continued around the perimeter. The south-facing part of the lot, opposite the driveway into the parking lot, was interesting. There were lots of places where someone could hide here. A strip of land bordered it, with the freeway itself next to it. Trash and weeds crowded for space, all of which I saw clearly, thanks to the bright streaks of light that illuminated the night. I continued standing there, scanning.

  Sure, there were lots of places to escape to, once a person actually left the Starbucks cafe. So far, there was no evidence of Lucy Gleason ever leaving, only entering.

  I studied the Starbucks from the parking lot, taking it in. It was part of a small strip mall: attached to it was a dry cleaner, and next to that was a Subway. The Taco Bell was in the next parking lot over, separated by a shrub wall.

  I spotted two surveillance cameras, one on each side of the building. Starbucks itself had only one entrance inside, with a rear entrance as well. I frowned and studied the scene, biting my lower lip, but not hard enough to draw blood.

  Next, I went inside the Starbucks. It was a typical ‘Bucks, as Tammy would call it. She was the coffee addict in the family. I was a very different kind of addict. This ‘Bucks had all the sleek, postmodern, industrial décor that one came to expect from a Starbucks. A lot of seating. Open space, with a small hallway that led off to the bathrooms. I examined the women’s. Typical: a single room with the toilet in the far corner. A sink. A metal trash can. Nowhere to hide. A quick peek in the men’s restroom suggested the same.

  I sighed, and then headed out to the lobby. I ordered a venti water, which sounded a lot fancier than it looked. I sat in the far booth and studied the interior, searching for any psychic hits or evidence of foul play.

  I got neither.

  I hate when that happens.

  Chapter Seven

  The three of us were jogging.

  A human, a vampire, and a witch. Yes, I know it sounds like the opening to a bad joke: a human, a vampire, and a witch go to a bar. The human orders a glass of wine. The vampire orders a goblet of blood. The witch orders a magic potion. Or something like that.

  “Well?” asked Allison.

  “Well, what?”

  “What’s the punchline?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I was making it up as I go.”

  “Oh, God,” said Mary Lou, “are you two doing your mind-thingy again?”

  “That might be the first time I heard anyone call telepathy a thingy,” said Allison. For the most part, Allison and my sister, Mary Lou, got along marvelously.

  Except...

  Except Mary Lou, as the only one of us without any obvious extrasensory abilities, felt like the odd woman out. I suspected she might be a little jealous of my friendship and easy communication with Allison. I reminded my sister that, as of yet, I had no ability to read her mind, which was the case for all of my blood relatives. It was no slight on her, and it didn’t mean I loved her any less. My daughter, of course, was a different story; she could read family members’ minds, mine included.

  Your daughter, thought Allison, telepathically following my train of thought, is going to be powerful.

  I’m not sure what to think about that, I thought back.

  But it’s not going to happen for a while still, came Allison’s reply.

  Oh? Is that a psychic hit? I silently asked my friend, whose own psychic abilities were getting scarily strong.

  Scary?

  Scary as in unknown.

  Nice catch, thought Allison. And, yes, that is a psychic hit. I do, after all, work for a prestigious Psychic Hotline.

  I grinned. In fact, Allison was one of the few legit psychics who worked at the Hotline, as she called it. Recently, her cases had become...interesting, to say the least.

  Only if you consider removing a demon from the world’s most haunted house as interesting, she thought.

  Oh, I do, I thought. And you can quit bragging.

  Yes, my friend was growing more and more powerful. And apparently, her head was growing bigger, too.

  I heard that, she shot back. And it’s not. I still have nightmares about that night.

  As she thought those words, I saw the image that flashed through her mind, the image of a man killing himself before her, a man who had been demon-possessed himself.

  I should have shuddered at watching the image of the knife being drawn across the man’s own throat. I should have been horrified by the blood that spilled down like a crimson waterfall. I should have been shocked, revolted and scared. But I was none of that.

  I was intrigued.

  I was interested.

  I was...excited.

  You scare me sometimes, Sam, came Allison’s words. I mean, really scare me sometimes.

  I scare myself, too.

  “Oh my God,” said Mary Lou. “You two are so rude. I’m right here, you know.”

  “We’re not talking about you, Mary Lou,” I said.

  “Well, then, how about talk to me? As in, include me in your conversation. It’s seriously rude to think behind someone’s back. Or whatever. You know what I mean!”

  I looked at Allison and she looked at me and we both snorted.

  “It’s not funny, you guys,” said Mary Lou, slowing down. As she slowed down, her massively heaving chest slowed down, too. And so did the bouncing eyeballs of any and all guys that we passed. “It’s rude to us immortals.”

  “Mortals,” I corrected, and did all I could to stifle a giggle. I heard Allison giggling in my head. “I’m immortal. You’re mortal.”

  “Well, whatever. You’re still my sister and you’re still being rude.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

  “I mean, I’ve gone through just as much shit as you guys. Maybe more so. I think I deserve, at this point, to be let in on all your secrets.”

  “Some of our secrets,” I said. “Trust me, there are some things you don’t want to know.”<
br />
  “Well, let me be the judge of that.”

  I shook my head as we continued to jog. Yes, Mary Lou had had a rough time a few months ago, of that there was no doubt. She’d been kidnapped by Rachel Hanner, a homicidal vampire who happened to be a Fullerton PD homicide cop—a vampire who had been my one-time friend. Although Mary Lou had been threatened, and Fang had held a knife to her throat, she hadn’t been hurt. Still, I could only imagine her fear when she’d been attacked and taken hostage. Yes, it had been a bad day for my sister. But that didn’t mean she should know every deep, dark secret that I had.

  “We’ll see,” I said, and left it at that.

  My sister didn’t like that answer, but mercifully, let it go.

  Although the sun had set an hour ago, the western sky was still aglow with oranges and yellows and reds. I loved that glow. It meant the damnable sun had finally moved on. It meant the worst part of my day—the part just before the sunset—was finally over. It meant I could relax. It meant I could be all that I’m capable of being. It meant I could be who I was meant to be.

  A killer.

  I shook my head as we jogged. Those words, of course, were not mine. They were hers. The demon that possessed me, although demon wasn’t quite the right word. She had been human once, mortal once. But now, she was so much more.

  A highly evolved dark master.

  A fancy title, I thought, for a murderous bitch.

  Her words appeared in my mind only rarely. But when they did, I always got a jolt, followed by a cold chill. And, trust me, it was damned hard to give a vampire a cold chill. Anyway, I was certain I would never get used to her words in my head.

  In fact, I never wanted to get used to her words. Hell, I was doing all that I could to eradicate her from my life, forever.

  I get the heebie-jeebies, too, Sam, came Allison’s own distinct voice in my head. A softer voice, and maybe a little nasal.

  Nasal? Now that’s just rude.

  But true, I thought.

  Whatever.

  Mary Lou stopped running, although her chest didn’t get the memo. It jiggled and settled for a few long seconds afterward. “You two are doing it again.” My sister might have sounded exasperated.

  You are entirely too focused on your sister’s chest, thought Allison.

  Quiet, I hissed mentally, I think we’re in trouble. And I’m not focused on her chest. It’s just, well, so big. How can you not focus on it?

  “Unbelievable! The two of you are actually still doing it while I’m standing here pissed. I’m going home.”

  “Wait, Mary Lou,” I said, grabbing her shoulder. She had turned off the boardwalk and was about to cross some random parking lot. We were at least a mile or so from where our cars were parked. “I’m sorry. Really, I am. Telepathy is just, well, easy. And this one—” I jabbed a finger at Allison “—always seems to be in my mind.”

  “Well, you’re always in my mind.”

  I ignored her, although we both knew that wasn’t true.

  Speak for yourself, she thought.

  “Unbelievable,” said Mary Lou. “Please tell me you aren’t still doing it. Please tell me you wouldn’t keep disrespecting me like that.”

  She was about to storm off when I caught her elbow. She yanked her arm free—or tried to—and only succeeded in hurting herself. She yelped and I released her. She now stormed down the boardwalk. At least she was going in the right direction. Allison and I watched her go.

  “Well,” I said, “what a fine mess you got me into.”

  “She’ll be okay,” said Allison.

  I sighed. My sister could hold a grudge with the best of them...and she was only now coming out of her shell over the traumatic events of a few months ago. No, she hadn’t seen my husband get killed, hadn’t watched the dagger plunge into his chest, as I had. But she had heard him die. She had heard him scream out...and she had heard his ragged breathing as the blood from the wound had filled his lungs.

  Yeah, she had been traumatized, perhaps even for life. I took in a big lungful of worthless air and watched her go, walking as fast as she could away from me.

  I sighed again and grabbed Allison. “Let’s catch up to her.”

  Chapter Eight

  I was alone in my garage.

  Not too long ago, I had broken up with my last boyfriend in this very garage. That something like me could even have something so normal as a “boyfriend” was almost laughable. But I had tried. And I had tried with a mortal, someone who wasn’t a bloodsucker.

  I swiped open a packet of cow and pig blood with a fingernail that was too long and too sharp to be normal. Concealing my hands was one of the many drags in my life. Drinking from these filthy packets was another.

  Yes, a few months ago, my relationship had come to an end when I had finally realized that my boyfriend, Russell, was, in fact, a love slave. No, not a sex slave. There’s a difference. He was devoted to me unerringly, irrationally, supernaturally. I didn’t so much as break up with him as release him.

  Instantly, the strong, coppery, putrid smell of nearly rancid animal blood wafted up from the open packet. Mercifully, the butchery had delivered a cleaner-than-usual batch of blood, with the last few packets being nearly contaminant-free. In fact, I had almost—almost—enjoyed the packets.

  Okay, that might be pushing it. But at least I hadn’t gagged.

  I wasn’t so lucky with this bag. As I looked at the opaque bag, now swollen with blood—like a fat, wingless mosquito—I saw the hair and flotsam. Bits of bone and dirt and muscle and sinew—whatever had been collected as the pigs and cows bled out.

  As I watched the particles drift within the bag, I realized something disconcerting. There were, if anything, even more particles. Perhaps the other bags had been cleaner, but I doubted it. I had assumed they were cleaner because I hadn’t gagged, because I had, in fact, quite enjoyed the bag of filth. No, not as much as I enjoyed drinking from Allison. Drinking from her was...heavenly.

  But the past two bags had been quite...tasty.

  Uh oh, I thought.

  Now, as I raised it before me, careful not to spill the precious contents and watched the constellation of filth rotate slowly, I knew I was in trouble.

  Real trouble.

  But I didn’t care. This was blood, after all. Precious blood.

  Delicious blood.

  Not as delicious as Allison, but it was good enough.

  “Good enough,” I whispered, and a small part of me tried to rebel when I licked my lips. “Yes, good enough.”

  Now, with my children doing homework in the house adjacent to the garage—and, no doubt, sneaking in time on the Xbox One—I tilted the bag of filth to my lips...and drained every last drop. I even tore open the bag and licked it clean.

  Lord help me.

  Chapter Nine

  You there, Fang?

  It was the same question I asked night after night, for the past three weeks, logging on to my old AIM instant message account. The same account Fang and I had first connected through. The account where I had told a complete stranger all of my secrets. Secrets he had used to eventually find me.

  I often wondered if I had wanted Fang to find me. If I had, in fact, purposely dropped enough clues for him to eventually locate me in my small part of the world.

  Fang, at the time, had been my only connection to the supernatural. Although not supernatural himself at that time, he had been my source of all things vampiric. His knowledge had been deep and accurate and I missed our easy word play and mild flirtation. In short, I missed my confidant.

  Sometimes, I wanted to believe that he had been stolen from me, but I knew that wasn’t the case. He got exactly what he had always wanted: immortality. He had simply taken matters into his own hands...and had joined the wrong team.

  But what was done was done. Fang had gotten his wish, and a whole lot of people were dead because of it. No, my ex-husband’s murder wasn’t a direct result, but the turning of Fang had caused a domino effe
ct that was still reverberating in my life to this day.

  And, yeah, there was the small matter of those joggers Fang had killed. Those and surely others. Perhaps many others.

  I couldn’t think about that.

  Suddenly depressed, I sat back in my office chair and looked at my cell phone. No texts. No missed calls. Not even a Facebook update. The world was asleep at this hour. The mortal world. My kids were sound asleep. Although Anthony was showing some disturbing vampiric tendencies, one of them, thankfully, was not sleeping during the day.

  Thank God.

  Sure, I had plenty of work to do. These were, after all, my working hours. I knew that most freaks like me were out partying or hunting or running through graveyards, or whatever the hell it was that vampires did together. I had a car payment due next week, not to mention the taxes on the house were due in two weeks. I didn’t have time to run through graveyards. I had to make some money.

  I looked at the stack of printouts next to my computer. One of my jobs was to run background checks for various companies. I had, for instance, a deal with the Hyundai dealership down the road. When they got new prospects, they provided me with their job applications, and I checked out their criminal histories.

  A stack of names. With addresses, including social security numbers, phone numbers, and all their pertinent contact info. With a little digging, I could find out if, say, they lived alone. A Google Maps search would let me know if, say, they had neighbors nearby or far away, neighbors who might hear them scream, or not.

  I drummed my long nails on the stack of prospects, most of whom were probably waiting anxiously to hear if they got the job or not. Not one suspected that an honest-to-God vampire was looking a little deeper into their private lives.

  I wondered how they would feel about that.

  Would they be nervous? Or scared?

  I suspected both. I also suspected they didn’t believe in vampires. But they would believe, oh, yes, if I showed up on their doorsteps. Then they would be very, very nervous. No, frightened.

  Terrified.

  Yesss, good.