by J. R. Rain
I stood there in amazement, watching the scene play out. Tammy then nudged Anthony and pointed to a big stain on the worker's apron and they both giggled.
Together.
Granted, they were laughing at someone else, but at least they were getting along.
Baby steps.
I considered Tammy's question as I sat with the two of them. I was drinking from a water bottle and chewing gum. The gum was nice. It only gave me the smallest of stomach cramps - no doubt from the trace ingredients in the flavor - but it was nice to chew and drink and look like a real mom. I said to Tammy, "Yes. It is a relief, actually. "
"You don't have to keep pretending to eat or to have stomach aches," said Anthony.
"At least, not around you two," I said.
"Or Daddy," said Anthony.
"I don't eat with Daddy anymore. "
"Oh, right. "
Tammy was eating her ice cream thoughtfully. "But when we are around other people. . . "
"Yes, I will still have to pretend to eat, or pretend that I'm full, or pretend that I have a tummy ache. "
She nodded thoughtfully. Somewhere through all of this, my daughter had seriously grown up. Having access to others' minds might have something to do with that. Or maybe it was realizing that her mother was the mother of all freaks, too.
"Remember, what I am," I said to them again, "is a secret. "
"We knoooooow," said Anthony, laying his head on the table. "You told us like a Brazilian times. "
"Bazillion," Tammy corrected. "Brazil is a state. "
"Country," I said.
"Whatever," she said. "The point is, we all have secrets now. We should make a pact. "
"What's a pact?" asked Anthony.
I waited for his sister to ridicule his question, or, at least, to roll her eyes at his simplicity. She didn't. Instead, she surprised me again by turning to him and saying patiently, "It means we all agree to something forever. "
"Forever?" said Anthony, blinking. "But mom's a mimmortal. "
"Immortal," said Tammy, only slightly losing her patience.
"That's what I said. Mimmortal. She lives forever. That's a long time to keep a secret. "
I nearly fell out of my seat. Listening to my kids discussing something so casually that I had tried so hard to keep secret from them was just too surreal. I didn't know if I should smile, weep, or fear for the mental health of all of us.
"Okay," I said. "We'll make a pact to keep our secrets forever. Deal?"
"Deal," they said together.
We all looked at each. Anthony voiced what was on all of our minds. "So, how do we make a pact?"
"I honestly don't know," I said.
"A blood pact!" said Tammy.
"I don't wanna make a blood pact!" screamed Anthony.
"No blood pacts," I said, shushing them. The Cold Stone worker had looked over at us.
"How about an ice cream pact!" said Anthony, although I was pretty sure no one knew what he was talking about, least of all himself.
I said, "How about a pinkie pact. "
"Yes! A pinkie pact," shouted Anthony.
Tammy nodded, too, and we all held our pinkies over the slightly sticky table. We interlocked them. Theirs were warm. Mine, not so much.
"Pinkie swear," I said.
"Pinkie swear," they said together.
"To keep our secrets to ourselves. "
They both nodded solemnly, and we unhooked our pinkies and Anthony was about to go back to his ice cream when he paused and said, "Tammy can really read my thoughts?"
"Yup," she said.
"That is so weird. "
"No weirder than you being half vampire. "
"I'm not half vampire. I'm just strong like a vampire. Like Mom. "
"That's the half part, buttface. "
"You're the buttface, buttface. "
"You can't say buttface twice, buttface. "
"You just did!"
I rolled my eyes and checked my watch. They had gotten along for all of two hours.
Better than nothing.
Chapter Thirty-nine
The Pacific Ocean at sunset.
It was beautiful. Expansive. Tinged with so much color that one's soul sang. Even souls trapped in immortal bodies.
As I drove north along the Pacific Coast Highway toward Malibu, I realized that today was the first day that Kingsley had not tried to call me or text me. I had always kept Kingsley at arm's length. I had done so for a number of reasons, and one of them was because I suspected he would do something like this. The man was an infamous womanizer.
Maybe I had been too cautious with him. Maybe I had shut him out of my heart for too long. Maybe I had made it easy for him to be with another woman.
To fuck another woman.
I was pressing hard on the gas again, too hard. I was whipping past other cars at an alarming rate. I eased up and unclenched my grip on the steering wheel.
According to Kingsley, he had been ready for a relationship. He had been ready to settle down, to explore something serious. I hadn't been. I was dealing with a lot of hurt and had no business starting anything new with Kingsley. But he had been persistent, and sexy as hell. . . and unlike anything I had seen before.
But a tiger didn't change his stripes.
Granted, this tiger - or wolf - had a little help from above. Namely from my guardian angel who had set Kingsley up. And Kingsley, being the dog that he was, fell for it hook, line and sinker.
Bastard.
Maybe I should thank Ishmael for showing me Kingsley's true colors. Then again, maybe I should tell Ishmael to go to hell, since he'd caused this mess in the first place.
But didn't he give you immortality? a voice inside me asked. And the gift of flight? And great strength?
Had that been me asking those questions, or the thing inside me? I didn't know. Still, they were valid questions.
So I thought about them as I drove on. Ishmael had acted out of love and selfishness. Tainted love. Ishmael had put me in unparalleled danger. He had risked my life. . .
He had risked his own salvation for love. His love for me.
He had risked everything.
For me.
I thought about that. . . and I continued thinking about that even as I pulled up to Andre Fine's Malibu beach home.
Chapter Forty
The house was gated and beautiful.
It was also difficult to find for anyone who wasn't an ace private investigator. Andre Fine wasn't showing up in my basic records searches. No surprise there. Many celebrity-types were hard to find. Often their properties and homes were in the names of their accountants or managers or other family members. In Andre Fine's case, the home was under a sister's name. It was a nice precaution to keep people like me from looking them up.
Except most private investigators didn't have the federal government's massive resources at their disposal. Or an ex-partner who owed his love life to them.
I wasn't here to interview Andre Fine. I wasn't here hoping he would see me. I suspected there was one way - and one way only - to get a confession from him.
For now, I waited down the street in my minivan, where I hoped to attract little or no attention. Generally, a woman sitting alone in a minivan on a quiet street attracted little attention. A man in a minivan would warrant a call to the police.
Sometimes it's good to be me.
Or a woman.
As I waited and watched, I reflected on the fact that tonight was a big night in the Moon household. After all, tonight was the first night that Tammy and Anthony would watch themselves. Without a babysitter.
Tammy was proving to be surprisingly mature, and Anthony was already stronger than most men. My sister, of course, was on high alert, with her phone nearby. Forty minutes into my surveillance, my text message alert chimed. <
br />
I glanced at the phone, my heart immediately racing. Was there something wrong at home? If so, why would they text and not call? I grabbed my cell and swiped it on.
A single message from Tammy: Ant's being a jerk.
I frowned and dashed off a text: Don't call him Ant. You know he doesn't like that. And kindly turn your TV off for one hour.
But why? she wrote back almost instantaneously.
For calling your brother a jerk.
But Mom!!
Another text came through, this one from Anthony's cell phone: Fanny's being mean.
Don't call your sister Fanny. No TV for the two of you tonight.
Not fair!
You're mean.
This sucks.
Anthony's feet smell.
Tammy's breath smells. So do her armpits.
My armpits do not smell. I'm a girl!
How I got into their loop of name calling, I didn't know. But they continued like this for the next few minutes. . . all while I shook my head sadly. Finally, I put a quick call in for my sister, who told me she was on her way over. I checked the time. My kids had watched themselves for all of two hours.
Again, better than nothing. * * *An hour later, a convertible BMW with its top down came up behind me. It was silver and sleek and probably more expensive than my house in Fullerton. Seated in the driver's seat was none other than Andre Fine. A beautiful blond was in the passenger's seat next to him. Both were laughing as they drove past me. Neither glanced at me. Just another perfect day in Malibu.
He turned into his driveway, waited a moment for his electric fence to swing open, then continued on, disappearing behind a long row of thick hedges.
I waited another half hour, then stepped out of my minivan.
Chapter Forty-one
The gate was six feet high, made of wrought iron that was curled into vines that culminated into spikes.
As far as I was aware, there weren't any security cameras. And if there were, I wasn't worried. Since I wasn't wearing make-up tonight, anyone reviewing the footage would seriously question their sanity, or the equipment. They would see moving clothing, and not much else.
Yup, I'm a weirdo.
I glanced up and down the street, saw that I was alone, gripped one of the iron spikes, and jumped. I was up and over in a single leap, landing lightly on the other side.
There were no guard dogs, although a fat white cat skittered off past the BMW and clawed its way over a side fence. I decided to follow, this time hurdling the side gate in a single bound, no hands needed. I cleared it by a foot or two, and marveled again at my own athletic prowess. I wondered how I would fare in the Olympics.
Maybe Michael Phelps was really a vampire.
Or a mer-man.
Once in the backyard and away from prying eyes, I scanned the side of the house, looking for my opening. No, I wasn't against breaking a window or smashing through a door, but if there was another opening, I would take it.
The house was Spanish colonial and epic. The plastered walls were smooth and tan, and I was beginning to wonder just how much a karate champion made. There, on the third floor, was a wide veranda with an open French door.
I gauged the jump. . . and realized it might be too high for even me. Thirty feet was pushing the limits of what I could do until I spotted a drainage pipe snaking down near the balcony.
Good enough.
I gathered myself, took a breath or two, then leaped as I high as I could. At just over twenty feet up, I grabbed the drainage pipe and used it to catapult myself the remaining ten feet, where I cleared the balcony railing and landed smoothly on the deck.
The balcony reminded me of a particular crime lord's balcony out in Orange County. Same beautiful construction. Stone columns. Marble railings. Epic view of the Pacific Ocean. At the time, the crime lord's night had not gone very well. In fact, he'd ended up dead. We'd see how Andre Fine would fare.
There was a sound behind me. A woman's voice. Humming.
I turned in time to see the same blond woman I had seen in the passenger seat emerge from the bathroom. She was fully naked and surgically enhanced. She was working a towel through her wet hair when she saw me. Her mouth opened to scream.
I was moving. Fast.
Just as a strangled cry escaped her lips, my hand clamped around her mouth. My other hand grabbed her around her waist and now, I was dragging her quickly across the polished wooden floor and into a walk-in closet. I threw her inside and shut the door, but before I did, I saw way too much jiggling.
Far, far too much.
There was a heavy, antique dresser along the nearby wall, and I wasted no time putting a shoulder into it. Heavy was right. It took me a few seconds to move it into place in front of the closet, cleanly knocking off the door handle in the process.
The woman inside found her lungs and let loose with the mother of all wails. Andre Fine, looking cut and chiseled and very fine himself, emerged out of the bathroom with a toothbrush dripping from his mouth.
"Jill?" he mumbled around the brush.
"She's presently indisposed," I said, "but still very jiggly, which, I'm sure, is how you like her. "
He spun at the sound of my voice, the toothbrush flung out of his mouth, splattering foam across the wooden floor. He ignored the toothbrush. I figured I would, too. Instead, he stared at me and was no doubt doing his best to process what he was seeing. Instead of his bodacious and very naked girlfriend, he was looking at a spunky, dark-haired vampire with lots of attitude.
His eyes next went from me to his freshly relocated dresser now standing guard in front of his closet, a closet from which muffled cries and screams and banging could be heard. Andre Fine's face went through a number of emotions then, the most prevalent being disbelief and shock.
I get that a lot these days.
Andre was a tad under six feet but held himself well. Like a fighter. He balanced easily on the balls of his feet. His body was extremely muscular. His six-pack undulated with each breath. His aura was a vibrant green, flashing with wild energy around him. The faster the energy, the more likely he was to spring into action. More muffled shouts came from the closet.
"What's going on?" he said.
"We're going to talk," I said.
He scanned the room, tilting his head a little, listening hard. He was someone who trusted his senses, his instincts. I could see that. That was probably why he was such a good fighter. Except now the information that was being returned to him had to be a tad confusing. A woman alone. A house broken into. His jiggly girlfriend was imprisoned in a closet, a closet which was now barred by his heavy dresser.
"Who's here with you?" he asked.
"Just little ole me. "
Without taking his eyes off me, he nodded toward the blocked closet. "Who moved that dresser?"
"That would be me. "
He stared at me for another two seconds. "I'm calling the police," he decided.
"No, you're not. "
"Do you have a gun?"
"No. "
This time he actually shook his head, no doubt trying to clear it. "How did you get in?"
I grinned and pointed at the balcony. I grinned because his robe had fallen open and I could see his wahoo. Not very impressive. Then again, I had been dating the hulking Kingsley.
"Your weiner's showing," I said.
He ignored me. "Why are you here? What do you want?"
"We're going to talk about Caesar Marquez. And you're going to put your little wee-wee away. "
He did so, absently, tying off his robe.
"You're here alone?" he said, clearly confused by this notion.
"Yes. "
"Do you have any idea who I am?"
"Yes. You're Andre Fine. Five-time karate champion and, according to some, an expert at dim mak. Or the touch
of death. "
He shook his head some more and walked out into the middle of his room. He turned and faced me. "And you broke into my house?"
"Technically, I didn't break anything. Think of it more as appeared. I appeared in your house. "
"You have a lot of balls. "
"I have a lot of something. "
He stared some more and the energy around him crackled, picking up. His bright green aura turned brighter. Added to the mix were some hot pinks and reds.
"Who do you work for?" he asked.
I shook my head and walked toward him. "New rule. I ask the questions from now on. "
He watched me closely, eyes narrowing. He was also slowly getting into a fighter's stance, perhaps unconsciously. Jill screamed again from inside the closet, banging against the sturdy door.
I stopped a few feet from him. "You're confused as hell, aren't you? Poor guy. A woman comes here. Rearranges the place. Makes your big-boobed girlfriend disappear. Stands here alone, unarmed and unafraid. Confusing as hell, I imagine. "
His eyes continued to narrow, even as he continued lowering into a fighting stance.
"Makes you want to do what you do best, huh?" I said. "To fight?"
He'd had enough. He lashed out with a straight punch that was much faster than I had anticipated.
Chapter Forty-two
But he wasn't fast enough.
I tilted my head to the right just as his punch whooshed past my ear. His hand snapped back immediately and he looked at me comically, blinking rapidly. He hadn't expected to miss. He had expected, no doubt, to knock me out cold.
A woman. Nice guy.
He stepped back, cracked his neck a little and did a little dance to loosen up his limbs. His little pecker poked out again, curious.
I didn't move. I didn't answer. I didn't get into a fighter's stance. I said, "During an exhibition fight two weeks before Caesar Marquez's death in the ring, you delivered what many thought was a cheap shot. "
Andre said nothing. With his aura crackling a neon green, he lashed out again. This time I didn't bother moving my head; instead, I brushed off the punch with a swipe of my hand. My counter-block had been fast. Supernaturally fast, and it sent Andre's forward momentum off to the side, where he stumbled a little, but quickly regained his balance.
"It was supposed to be an exhibition," I said, watching him. "I called the event organizers. No live punches. Just light stuff. Easy-to-block stuff. Entertain the crowd. Great photo ops. Three rounds of laughter and fun and good times. "
Andre was bouncing on his feet now, bouncing and kind of circling me, too. There was no confusion on his face. Just grim determination. I had seen the same look in many of his YouTube videos. He was treating me like an opponent. I felt honored.