Moon Child (Vampire for Hire #4) (12 page)

Sherbet was referring to the time a month or
so ago when I had punched through a bullet-proof piece of glass to
grab a piece of shit named Ira Lang, and proceeded to let him know
what I thought of him threatening me and my kids.

“You killed him, Sam.”

I said nothing. I wasn’t admitting anything,
especially to a homicide investigator.

“You nearly ripped his head off.”

I kept saying nothing.

“Of course, I should arrest you. For his
murder, and for anyone else who’s gone missing or been killed on
any of your other cases.” He turned his shoulder and propped a
meaty elbow up on the seat’s head rest. “Just tell me one thing,
Sam: do you kill people for blood?”

“No.”

“Do you drink blood?”

His tone was challenging. I felt like a
daughter confronted by her father about smoking weed or drinking
booze.

“I have to,” I said, looking away.

He stared at me so long and hard that I
wanted to crawl under a rock.

“Please don’t judge me,” I finally said. “I
never asked for this.”

“I’m not judging, Sam. I’m just trying to
wrap my brain around all of this. I mean, a part of me suspected
something was up, and perhaps even a very small part of me began to
believe...this. But to hear it now, from a pretty young
investigator I’ve grown to admire, is something else entirely.”

“I’ll deny everything, Detective. So let’s
get that clear now.”

I wasn’t looking at him but I felt him grin.
I sensed only confusion and compassion and more confusion from him.
And also a steady sense of alarm. But not for his own health or
well-being. We still had a missing boy out there, after all.

“And I’ll never admit to watching the
Twilight movies,” he said.

“I’ll take your secret to my grave,” I
said.

“I thought vampires were immortal,” he
said.

“We’ll see.”

“So what do we do about Eddy?” said Sherbet.
“The kidnapped boy?”

“If it’s a ransom,” I said. “Then I’ll be
hearing from his abductor.”

Sherbet nodded. “Makes sense. And his
abductor...would he also be a vampire?”

“More than likely,” I said.

“And what’s this about a relic?”

I reached inside my jeans pocket and removed
the medallion. I didn’t trust it anywhere except on my person. He
turned on the car’s interior light, and I showed him the golden
disc.

“It’s a necklace with ruby roses,” he
said.

“Your observational skills are second to
none, Detective.”

“Don’t sass me, young lady. What’s so special
about this?”

“It’s reputed to reverse vampirism.”

“Ah,” he said. “And that’s a good thing?”

“For some.”

“And you don’t want to give it up?”

“I can’t,” I said. “Under any
circumstances.”

“Even to save a little boy?”

I put the medallion back in my pocket. Just
having it out made me nervous.

“I need it,” I said.

He heard the anguish in my voice, and since
Sherbet also happened to be a helluva detective, he looked at me
sharply. “Your son,” he said.

I buried my face in my hands.

“You need it to change your son back, don’t
you?”

Now I was rocking in my seat and crying, and
talking incomprehensibly about saving my son, and doing all I had
to do to keep him from dying, and knowing I was a horrible mother,
but what else could I do? I loved him so much, and I had a chance
to save him, and I had to take it, I had to take it...

And as I babbled nearly incoherently,
Detective Sherbet reached out and put his arm around my shoulders
and pulled me in close and told me that everything was going to be
okay. Somehow, someway, everything was going to be okay...

Chapter Thirty-six

Mary Lou arrived an hour or so later with
Tammy.

They had stopped at McDonald’s and had
sneaked in a Big Mac for Anthony. I told them Anthony was probably
too weak to eat, but boy was I wrong. He devoured the sandwich in a
few quick bites and was looking for more. He next pounded his
sister’s fries, and I waited for what I was sure was coming
next:

Upchuck city.

Food, for me, lasts only a few minutes before
it comes up violently. But Anthony never did vomit. Instead, he
complained slightly of an upset stomach and I realized what was
happening. Although only a half inch or so above his skin, his aura
was still there. His humanity was still there. For now. Until the
change overcame him completely. By contrast, his sister, who was
sitting on the edge of his bed and playing “Angry Birds” on my
sister’s cell phone, shone like a beacon in the night. Pale yellows
and reds, streaked with silvers and golds, surrounded her body many
feet or more, sometimes flaring like mini-nuclear explosions on the
surface of the sun.

But not Anthony. His aura was only a fine
dusting of light. Almost an afterthought.

Shit.

His last meal, I thought. Or close to it.

I was, admittedly, torn. I knew I had to find
Archibald Maximus asap, especially since his book had given me an
intriguing clue. From what I gathered, he lived in the mountains
above San Bernardino, Lake Arrowhead or Big Bear, one of those,
both popular ski resorts. With Anthony getting better, and
simultaneously losing his mortality, now was as good a time as any
to set out for the mountains and Mr. Maximus.

But the missing boy was tearing me to pieces.
An innocent family had gotten caught up in my insanity, and now
their boy was missing, having been abducted by a true monster.

Who was Bow Tie? A vampire? I had no doubt,
unless the medallion could reverse other supernatural curses, which
it very well might. That he jumped from a third-floor hospital
room, leaving behind no evidence—it turns out he had thrown a chair
through the window—could mean anything. I suspected someone like
Kingsley could withstand such a fall. After all, I had seen him in
his wolf’s form leap nine stories without missing a beat. Whether
or not Kingsley could perform such an act in his human form, I
didn’t know. There was so much I didn’t know.

There was a family not very far from this
room who had been torn to pieces. All because of my actions. I had
to do something.

I looked again at the faint aura around my
son’s body. I still had time. Not much, granted, but at least a day
and a half, maybe two.

I stood and paced and my daughter ignored me.
That her little brother was suddenly doing much better didn’t seem
to matter much to her. The faith of children. No doubt she always
assumed he would get better.

My sister was watching me with huge eyes. She
alternately looked at Anthony and I saw her confusion. She
suspected something, too. But not enough to confront me about it,
and I couldn’t talk to her about it, not now, and not in present
company. She was just going to have to keep wondering.

Where would the bastard have gone? Would he
be contacting me soon? Had he realized his mistake and simply
killed the boy? Would he next be coming after Anthony?

I didn’t know, but I didn’t have long to
wait.

After pacing a few more minutes and wondering
also what Danny was up to, my cell phone rang. Another restricted
number.

I answered with a simple hello.

“Miss Moon,” said a man with a heavy French
accent. “I believe you have something I want.”

Chapter Thirty-seven

I stepped out of the room and into the
hallway.

“Who is this?”

“Never mind that, Samantha Moon of the Moon
Agency. I realize I have made a critical error, but perhaps not all
is lost.”

He paused and I could have jumped in with
another wasted question. Instead, I waited, breathless, realizing
without a doubt that a vampire was on the other end of the
line.

He spoke again in his heavy French accent.
“The real question here, Samantha Moon, is how much compassion you
have for your fellow man. Or, in this case, boy.”

“Go on,” I said.

“Give me the medallion and I give you the
boy, alive.”

“You’re a piece of shit.”

“A desperate piece of shit, Samantha Moon. I
know what you are, and I know that you know what I am. At least now
you do. Who else would want the medallion?” He paused as my mind
reeled. He went on: “And perhaps you don’t realize that the longer
you live, the harder you are to kill. Has this occurred to
you?”

“Fuck you.”

“I see it hasn’t. Well, let me assure you, I
am old. Very, very old. And I am desperate to end this existence,
Miss Moon. Desperate. I am tired of living, and I cannot die. Not
by silver. Not by anything. Do you understand me?”

I said nothing. Thinking was hard. The man’s
voice was so damn...hypnotic. Even for me. I could see why anyone
and everyone would have given him what he wanted. It took all my
effort to keep my thoughts clear. I felt him pushing in, even from
a distance, trying to claim my thoughts.

“Ah, I see you are not new at this, Miss
Moon. Not everyone, undead included, can resist me. Very well. Let
me assure you that I am tired of living, and I will bring this
entire fucking planet to hell with me, if I have to. The boy means
nothing to me. Your son means nothing to me. You mean nothing to
me. Nothing has any meaning except my own death, my removal from
this earth. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” I said, aware that I was indeed
speaking on my own free will.

“Nothing can end my life except for one
thing, and one thing alone. The medallion. The wonderfully
enchanted medallion that I have searched so long for. So very, very
long.”

“Where are you?”

“I am not far, my dear.”

“How do I find you?”

For an answer, I suddenly had an image of a
rooftop. But this wasn’t just any rooftop. There were stairs
leading everywhere. The roof itself had many levels and platforms
and turrets. It was the roof to the Mission Inn in Riverside. I
would know it anywhere.

“Good, good. You recognize this. Do not speak
of it, my dear, or I will kill this little one and fetch another
and another and another until you bring to me what I want. Do you
understand?”

I thought of my son. I thought of many, many
things, all of which I shielded from the bastard who kept probing
my thoughts. “I do.”

“Then I will see you in two hours.”

And the line went dead.

Chapter Thirty-eight

I found Sherbet inside the office of the
hospital’s public relations administrator. Through the open door, I
saw a young couple sitting together. The couple had their backs to
me and appeared to be listening to someone in command. No doubt the
captain of Orange Police Department’s Investigative Division. The
woman mostly had her face buried in her hands, while her husband
had his arms around her, comforting her. I couldn’t see their
faces.

Sherbet saw me and stepped outside. He read
my expression instantly. The man was damn good.

“Our guy called,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Where is he?”

I shook my head. “I have to do this alone or
he kills the boy.”

“No way, Sam. I’m going with you, along with
some of my boys.”

I shook my head. “He will know, Detective.
He’ll know and he’ll kill the boy.”

“How will he know?”

“In ways you won’t understand.”

He didn’t like it. “Maybe he’s bluffing.”

“He’s not.”

“How do you know?”

“Call it a hunch.”

“Not good enough, Sam.”

“Fine,” I said. “Because he’s a very, very
old vampire who cares little for anything, if at all. He will kill
the boy and find another.”

“We’ll catch him.”

“And risk the boy’s life?”

Sherbet looked away, so frustrated that he
growled. He rubbed his bristled face repeatedly. “I don’t like it,
Sam.”

“Who would?”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to get the boy.”

“How?”

“Any way I can.”

“Are you going to hand over the
medallion?”

“I don’t know.”

“If you give up the medallion, what happens
to your son?”

“I don’t want to think about it,” I said.

He continued rubbing his face. Nervous energy
crackled through him. “I don’t like it, Sam,” he said again.

“Neither do I,” I said and turned to leave.
“I gotta go.”

“Sam,” he called after me.

I stopped and looked back. The big detective
looked sick with worry. “Please be careful, kid.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And I turned and left.

Chapter Thirty-nine

I was tempted to call Fang, but I didn’t.

Like the detective, he would want to come,
too. Unlike the detective, he didn’t know what the hell he was
doing, and the last I checked, Fang didn’t even have a weapon.

Which was probably a moot point anyway, since
according to the vampire, nothing could kill him, silver included.
“And I am desperate to end this existence, Miss Moon. Desperate. I
am tired of living, and I cannot die. Not by silver. Not by
anything.”

Sweet Jesus.

Of course, that’s if he was telling me the
truth.

I merged onto the 57 North, slipping into the
fast lane, and gave the minivan a lot of gas. I loved my little
minivan. Sure, it screamed soccer mom, but it was so handy and
smooth and comfortable that I just didn’t give a shit what people
thought.

Traffic was light and fast, which is the way
I liked it. Brake lights, blinker lights, headlights and street
lights all mostly blended together with the zigzagging streaks of
energy that filled my vision, the glowing filaments that made it
possible for me to see into the night.