by J. R. Rain
Now she bowed her head and held her fingertips to her lips, and now I was certain she was praying. A second or two later, she turned around and walked away, disappearing within a few steps. And just like that, she was gone.
Chapter Six
I was in Detective Sherbet’s office, and I had just given him Charlie Reed’s address and he didn’t seem too happy about it. He mumbled something about ghost hunting, and that he was a real detective, and that he wasn’t paid enough for this shit.
“You know I can hear you, right?” I said.
Sherbet shook his blocky head, and took his mumbling internally.
“Every thought, too.”
He input the address and clicked the mouse harder than he had to. He squinted at the screen and blew air through his nose that whistled if you listened hard enough. The screen reflected off his glasses, making his eyes appear bluer than they were. Sherbet and I had a wide-open channel. He couldn’t lie to me to save his life. We were tight like that.
“Too tight,” he said. “And my head isn’t blocky. My wife says it’s proportionate to my body.” He caught my next thought before I could barely think it. “And, no, my body isn’t blocky, either.”
“I like blocky men.”
“You’re one weird chick. Okay, got the address. There’s nothing here.”
“No murders? No deaths?”
“Nothing at all, Sam. Wait. A domestic disturbance call was made in ‘92. But that’s it.”
“What were the names?”
“Helga Antigone reported her two sons fighting in the yard to police. Apparently, she hosed them down before the police got there. My kind of woman.”
“Two brothers fighting in thirty-five years? That’s it?”
“’Fraid so.”
I said, “Just because nothing was reported, doesn’t mean there wasn’t a murder,” I said.
“That’s my girl. Always looking on the bright side.”
“You know I’m right,” I said.
“I’d like to believe a girl wasn’t murdered there, but, yeah, you’re right.”
“Except...” I began.
“Except she didn’t look like a murder victim,” said Sherbet.
“No, she doesn’t,” I said.
“I can see her there in your thoughts. She’s, um, quite the looker. She is dressed oddly.”
“How well can you see her, Detective?”
“Well, I’m relying on your memory. And, like the memory of the giant Sasquatch on top of you last night, it’s a little blurry, thank God.”
I would have blushed if I could. Maybe the detective and I were a little too tight.
“You can say that again, sister. Anyway, the image kind of comes and goes as you think about other things. But I can see her there in your thoughts.”
I nodded. Telepathy was weird. Seeing my memory had the transverse effect of creating his own memories. Sort of a watered-down memory. In effect, he now had a memory of something that he had never seen.
“About as weird as it gets,” he said.
“What do you make of her?” I asked.
He leaned back, closed his eyes, either accessing his own memories or mine. To help him out, I brought her up in my own thoughts and tried like hell to keep her steady for him. Harder than it sounds.
“Beautiful, buxom. Nice figure, although kind of hard to tell in that gown. Little feet. Big lips, small ears. Eyes about as round as I have ever seen. Seems distraught. She also looks like she’s praying.”
“Praying. People still do that, you know.”
I thought about that as he continued, “Mostly, she seems a little too perfect, if you ask me. Like she’s not really real. I mean, no one looks like that, right? It’s a bit like that movie... what’s it called...”
“Weird Science,” I said.
“Don’t act so smug, Sam. You saw it there on the tip of my tongue. The point is, the beautiful woman in the movie, Kelly Le something or other—”
“Le Brock.”
“Yeah, her. Anyway, she represented the ideal woman to two teenage boys.”
I nodded, recalling the entity’s eyes again. Her figure was hidden mostly in a nightgown of sorts, but I suspected it to be perfect under all those layers. “She did look like a walking, talking Barbie.”
“Or praying,” he added. “But yes, she’s beautiful, but off. Not quite of this world.”
“So, what are you saying, Detective? That she’s not real?”
“Not in our world.”
His words hit home, and I found myself nodding. Not real in our world, but perhaps another world? As crazy as that statement was, I’d lived through enough crazy stuff to know there might be some truth to it.
“Or maybe she was a hologram or something. You said he was an electrical engineer. Maybe he gets his jollies creating, you know, computer programs or holograms or robots and shit. Maybe he was testing something on you? And being a ‘paranormal investigator’ made you an easy target.”
I opened my mouth to laugh it off, but the truth was, Sherbet’s logic made sense.
“And you yourself said you didn’t dip too far into his mind,” he added.
He was right. I hadn’t, if at all.
“Well, there you go,” he said, picking up the thought instantly. “Maybe you missed something. Maybe he was pulling a fast one on you. Testing out some new technology.”
“Then why did my inner alarm go off?”
“Barely went off. You said it yourself. Just a small blip or two.”
I nodded. Sherbet, as always, heard and remembered everything. “Yeah, I don’t know what to make of that.”
“Maybe your inner alarm thingy goes off if you find yourself in a middle of a prank.”
I blinked at that. “Yeah, maybe.”
“Well, I’m guessing it does. And I’m guessing your new client was having a little fun with you. Think about it, he had all the time in the world to set up that hologram in his hallway. Or whatever it was.”
Chapter Seven
“But that doesn’t make any sense,” said Allison. “Why on earth would he invite you over to his home just to prank you? And then give you money?”
“A lot of money,” I said.
“Was his check good?”
“Very good,” I said.
We were working out in Allison’s gym in Beverly Hills, where she sometimes worked as a trainer. Gyms in Beverly Hills consisted of lots of chrome and shiny equipment. Lots of fake plastic boobs, too.
“Seems like an expensive and not a very funny prank.”
“Unless it was filmed,” I said.
“Which might be why your inner alarm was bonging.”
“Hardly a bong,” I said. “Barely a blip.”
“Well, maybe the detective is onto something. Maybe your inner alarm was warning you that something was off—just not something life-threatening.”
I thought about that as I took my turn on the abdominal crunch machine. As usual, Allison slipped the key ring to the lowest hole on the stack. And, as usual, I crunched or lifted or pulled the heaviest weight with casual ease. Truth was, lifting weights did little for me, except getting me to sweat. And I always liked to sweat for some reason. Sweating felt so... human.
When I was done, I’d caught the attention of two older men. Both were chatting among themselves and looking over at us and no doubt working up the nerve to come over and hit on us. I gave them both a suggestion to mind their own business.
“Hey, they were kind of cute,” said Allison.
“And I kinda have a boyfriend. Besides, they’re way too old.”
“How old?”
I slipped into their minds again. “Fifty-five and fifty-one.”
“They sound rich!” said Allison.
“Oh, brother,” I groaned. “Can we get back to the subject of me?”
“Yes, Your Highness. Lord help any of us if we happen to stray from all things Samantha Moon.”
“That’s better,” I said. “An
d lose the attitude. You know you love to talk about me.”
She opened her mouth to protest. Then closed it. “I do,” she said. “Dammit, I really do.”
“I know, sweetie.”
“But I have a life, I swear.”
“I know you do.”
“Don’t patronize me. I’m part of a triad of witches, dammit.”
“I know you are. And it’s a very, very powerful triad.”
“You’re such a bitch sometimes.”
“Just sometimes?”
“Yes, just sometimes. If you were a bitch all the time, I wouldn’t be your friend.”
“Yeah, you would.”
“Yeah, I would. And I hate myself for that. Just be nice to me, okay? Friends like me don’t come around too often.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” I said, and was about to finish off my set, when I yelped and released the rubber grips, both of which had melted in my hands. Smoke hissed off my reddening palms. I looked at Allison and noted the wicked gleam in her eye, a gleam I didn’t see often enough. I kinda liked it. In fact, I liked when she stood up for herself, even if it was standing up to me. Especially when it was standing up to me. White smoke curled up from her index finger, the nail of which still glowed softly.
“You were saying, Sam?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I said. “Nothing at all.”
***
We were having smoothies in the gym juice bar. Mine was heavenly, and I powered through brain freeze after brain freeze—all of which tended to last only a few nanoseconds—until I’d sucked down nearly all the smoothie.
“You didn’t come up for air once,” said Allison.
“Don’t need to,” I said.
“There oughta be a medical review board for people like you,” she said. “I mean, actual verifiable studies.”
I shrugged. “Would take the fun out of it, I think. It’s kind of nice not knowing your limits. And what’s with the ‘people like me’ crack? You’re not too far off the mark, either, you know.”
“I know. But witches are human, Sam. We live and die and make babies.”
“I can make other vampires. Does that count?”
“Nope.”
“Well, I can die, too.”
“I know, Sam. But your death is... different.”
I nodded. “There are some who say we cease to exist.”
“By some, do you mean Fang?”
“Fang knows his stuff.”
“Fang’s a little too creepy for me.”
“So says the witch who melted the rubber off the crunch machine.”
“You had that coming, missy. Be glad I didn’t melt off the tip of your nose, too.”
“You’re kinda badass for someone so needy.”
“Jesus, will you quit saying I’m needy. I like you, dammit. And I like being your friend. Is that so needy?”
“Maybe I never had a friend like you.”
“Well, friends can be needy. Get used to it.”
“Am I needy?” I asked.
“Not often. But you will be, someday. And if so, I will be there for you.”
“Jesus, are you trying to make me cry?” I said.
“Did it work?”
“No.”
“Dammit.”
“Back to the dying thing,” I said. “Can you make heads or tails of it? I mean, why wouldn’t I go to heaven, or even hell? Why would I cease to exist if, as they say, the soul is immortal?”
“I don’t know, Sam. Is there someone you can ask?”
I thought about that. I doubted any of my mortal or immortal friends would have the answers. Ishmael, my one-time fallen angel, might have a clue. Then again, there was always—
“Automatic writing,” Allison and I said together.
The juice bar was tucked away down a side hall, which gave us some privacy. I’d already commanded the juice bar girl to forget anything she might overhear between Allison and me.
“You know that would be a great title: The Ghost in the Hallway.”
“That was random,” I said.
“I was thinking about your case. Hey, maybe I should write it. Do you think I would be a good writer?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“Probably not.”
“Such a bitch.”
I chuckled at that. Truth was, one never knew who might be a writer... much less a good one. I would never have pegged Charlie Reed to be one of the better ones, and yet his book had been so rich, so beautiful, so alive...
“Oh, I want to read this book!” said Allison.
“Join the club. It’s not finished. I’m not finished with it either. Still have a few hundred pages to read.”
“And it’s a fantasy?”
“Yup.”
“Like a sex fantasy?”
I shook my head. “Sword and sorcery.”
“I’m not really into that.”
“You like Game of Thrones?”
“I love Game of Thrones—oh wait.”
“Bingo,” I said.
“It’s like that?” she asked.
“Better.”
“Okay, now I really have to read this book!”
“Get in line, sister. Meanwhile—”
“Meanwhile, you want my impressions of the ghost, too.”
“I do, yes. And why are you smiling?”
“I just love when you need me.”
“Oh, brother.”
Allison grinned and closed her eyes, no doubt probing the crap out of my mind. Her own mind was permanently closed to mine, as one of the witches in her triad considered me—or, rather, vampires—to be their enemy. And she might have a point. The demon bitch inside me was very much their enemy. She was, quite, frankly, everyone’s enemy, which is why I did all I could to bottle her up, especially since Elizabeth herself could hear and see everything I could hear and see. She was dangerous if ever let loose. And each day, while I slept, she was let loose, slipping out of my physical form to join her fellow dark masters... somewhere. Where, exactly, I didn’t know. But it was another world, I think. A parallel world, perhaps.
“Your mind is busy, Sam.”
“Ya think?”
“Okay, I found her. Yes, she is beautiful. Wow. And that nightgown. It’s old, Sam. Real old.”
“How old?”
“Medieval maybe. Either way, her dress isn’t from around here. And probably not from this time, either.”
“Maybe she was killed at a renaissance faire or something?” I asked.
“Maybe.”
“But that doesn’t really explain her unreal appearance.”
“Jealous much, Sam?”
“I’m not jealous. Did you have a look at her eyes, her mouth, those long legs?”
“I did, Sam, and she’s beautiful.”
“Don’t you think they are just, I dunno, a smidge off?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. I am only getting, at best, a now slightly blurry memory from you. Hell, even you are beginning to doubt your own memory of her.”
Allison was right about that. The more I thought about the “ghost,” the more I questioned what I had seen.
“You need to see this ghost again, Sam. And maybe you need me to tag along with you.”
“You’re half right,” I said.
Allison scrunched her eyebrows together, then stuck out her tongue at me. “You’re mean.”
“What do you expect from a bloodthirsty fiend?”
“Fine, whatever. I just think you could use me—wait! You’re going there tonight.”
“I am.”
“And you want to be left alone so that you can read that damn book.”
“You caught me.”
“Let me come, Sam. Pleeeease. I will be good. I just wanna read a few chapters. Puh-lease!”
“You sound worse than my kids.”
“Please, please, please!”
“Fine, you can come.”
She threw her arms around me and gave me a bi
g fat kiss on my cheek.
“Gross,” I said, wiping it off with the back of my hand.
“You’re telling me. It was like kissing a dead—”
“Don’t say it,” I said. “Or I won’t bring you tonight.”
“Fine.”
“Don’t think it either,” I said.
“I already did.”
“Now who’s the bitch?” I asked.
Chapter Eight
With the events of the last few months, events that had made national headlines, Tammy had made it a point to pick up Anthony from school each and every day.
This was both sweet and scary and rewarding for me. Rewarding to see their bond growing. Scary because I was not there to do the picking up part myself. And sweet because it freed up my afternoons. I knew his school had installed even more cameras and added three or four security guards. The security guards were privately keeping an eye on my son. I knew this because I had commanded them to do so. My son was about as safe as a boy could be at school.
Additionally, Archibald Maximus, the alchemist to the stars (that’s a joke) had since forged magical rings for my kids, rings that would render their “silver cord” invisible. A neat trick. Now, the baddies out there who feasted on the pure Hermes bloodline of little Light Warriors, couldn’t find them. Nor would other Light Warriors, too, but that was less of a concern. The bottom line was: my kids were safe, their auras were hidden, and I could breathe easily again.
For now.
And what had become of the teacher behind my son’s abduction, the sick bastard who had planned to watch the whole bloody show from high above? Well, he had disappeared completely... only to reappear in Kingsley’s safe room. And by safe room, I meant safe for the rest of us. Kingsley, with each full moon, was about the biggest and baddest werewolf alive, and the teacher, as far as I knew, had been torn to shreds, since Kingsley preferred his meat rotten, not fresh. Undoubtedly, Franklin had long since burned the man’s remains.
The werewolf pack that had gathered that night to feast upon my son had all met nasty ends, too, thanks primarily to my son—and thanks to the entity my son had summoned, the Fire Warrior. My son still wasn’t right, and I didn’t blame him. After all, he had killed those who wished to do him harm. Werewolves were men, too, after all. And this haunted my son to no end.