Moon Child (Vampire for Hire #4) (10 page)

Hurry, dammit.

Next to me, my son stirred.

“Mommy?”

“Hi baby,” I said.

“Mommy, I had a bad dream.”

I had no doubt. “I know, honey. I know.”

Chapter Twenty-eight

I stayed my son’s side for many hours.

My ex-husband sent me a text, asking how our
son was doing. I told him he was improving, and Danny sent a happy
face and an “XO.” As in hugs and kisses.

I didn’t reply. Receiving X’s and O’s from
Danny felt all kinds of weird. We were long, long past the days of
X’s and O’s.

Now we were just “ex’s.” Period.

My son’s illness had somehow brought me
closer to Danny—or, more accurately, brought him closer to me.
Except, I didn’t want him closer. Not anymore. I forgave, but I
didn’t forget. How could I forget getting banned from my own kids?
How could I forget the blackmail and the heartlessness? How could I
forget the blatant cheating?

I couldn’t. Not ever.

In fact, I went back into the message and
erased his “XO,” shuddering as I did so.

Anthony slipped in and out of consciousness.
Doctors and nurses came and went, as well, drawing blood, checking
his vitals, seemingly impressed by his progress. Everything, that
is, except his lowering body temperature.

Anthony described one of his dreams to me,
and as he spoke, my heart broke. He described a dark room. In the
room was something calling to him, asking him to come closer. He
didn’t want to get closer. He wanted to turn and run but he was
trapped. In fact, there was no door in the room. No door and no
light, but something was in there with him, asking him again to
come closer. Afraid and crying and screaming my name, he finally
turned and faced what was calling to him.

Except he couldn’t see it. The voice told him
he was a good boy and to step just a little bit closer. He did so.
The voice had told him: good good, that’s a good boy, now come
closer still. And he did so. One tentative step at a time, and each
time he drew closer to the voice, he was praised. And when he was
certain he was standing in front of whatever was calling to him,
hands seized him, squeezing him, hurting him, and, while he told me
this story, he burst into tears and so did I.

Nurses came running. I assured them that
everything was okay. And when we were alone, I hugged my son tight
and he lapsed into a deep sleep.

As he slept, I cracked the ancient book open
with excitement and trepidation. I had no clue what it contained,
and I had waited until this moment to scan the contents. The title
had given me hope that the book would be written in English, but a
part of me still feared that it was in Latin, Greek or even
Hebrew.

Dust sifted down from the cover, catching
some of the light from the lamp near my son’s bed. Outside the
door, two nurses hurried past. Someone was weeping not too far
away. The weeping could have been a mother.

There was a title page...in English, thank
God. According to the title page the book had been published...this
couldn’t be right. What the hell was going on? Had Fang set me up?
Was this some kind of sick joke?

Hands shaking, I read the copyright date, and
unlike most books that gave copyrights years, this one gave an
exact date.

Today’s date.

I stared at it long and hard.

Surely someone was playing a joke on me, and
the only person who knew I was at the library was Fang, and that
was impossible since I was privy to most of Fang’s thoughts—

There was, of course, another who knew I was
in the library.

The tall man with the bow tie. He knew I was
there. Or, at least, had followed me there. Had he planted the
book? And then inserted the corresponding card into the card
catalog system?

So weird.

There was only one thing left to do...I
turned to the first page and started reading.

Chapter Twenty-nine

It was full dark by the time I pulled out of
the hospital.

Danny had come by bearing gifts. He brought
Anthony a milkshake from McDonald’s and me a bottled water. Danny,
of course, knew of my dietary restrictions. He was in a good mood
and I didn’t appreciate the overly familiar hug he gave me. Also,
with Anthony’s marked improvements, he was being transferred from
the intensive care unit to the immediate care unit, where his team
of doctors could still keep an eye on him while he continued to
recover.

I didn’t know much about anything but
immediate care sounded a whole hell of a lot better than intensive
care.

By my reckoning, I had only three days to
find an answer for Anthony before my son realized what his mommy
had done to him. With father and son chumming it up, I gave Anthony
a kiss, nodded at a beaming Danny, and left the hospital with my
book.

Now driving, I couldn’t help but feel so damn
alive and strong. So unstoppable. It was all I could do to sit
still in the driver’s seat. There was so much energy surging
through me that I could have burst into flames. I wanted to fly. I
wanted to take flight. To where, I didn’t know. Just somewhere.
Anywhere. I wanted to be free and feel the wind on my face and
watch the earth sweep far below me.

Soon, I thought. Soon...

* * *

Twenty minutes later, I was back at Hero’s in
Fullerton. After all, Fang had directed me to the university
library, which had led me to this strange book, and I needed to
know what the hell was going on.

The bar was hopping. I spotted Fang working
like a madman behind the bar. He seemed to be making two or three
drinks at once. He might be a wanted man, but he was also a helluva
bartender. I was tempted to march over to him and demand to know
what he knew about the book, but now wasn’t a good time. I could
wait for the crowd to die down or for him to catch his breath.
Because he had a lot of explaining to do.

He caught my eye through the sea of people,
and I think that was a testament more to our psychic connection
than dumb luck. I was a small girl, and the chances of him seeing
me through the crowd and dim light were slim to none.

And yet there he was, pausing, staring,
smiling.

Hello, Moon Dance.

The words appeared in my thoughts as surely
as if he had been standing next to me. I nearly jumped and he
laughed lightly from across the room.

I didn’t mean to startle you, Moon Dance.

Vampires don’t get startled. We get even.

He chuckled again. So what brings you back?
Do you have news about your son?

Yes, and we need to talk.

Can you give me a few minutes? There are a
lot of people who need to get drunk tonight.

Inelegantly put.

I do try. Let’s talk in a bit, okay?

But we’re not talking, we’re thinking. We’re
freaks.

No, you’re the freak.

Fine, I thought. Think at you soon.

And from across the bar he winked and got
back to work. I stepped outside and looked up at the waxing moon. I
reached into my jeans pocket and pulled out a stick of sugar-free
gum. Recently, I had discovered that I could chew gum without any
ill side effects—other than the occasional minor stomachache—and
you can damn well better believe I was going to chew all the gum I
could.

I marveled at the juicy fruit flavor as my
taste buds sprang into action.

I could also smoke without any adverse side
effects, like pesky lung cancer. I did that often, too, but tonight
the gum chewing was enough.

A glance at the moon invariably conjured
thoughts of Kingsley Fulcrum and his own freaky condition. Was this
really the last I had seen of the big lug? It felt final. It felt
empty.

And yet...

I cared for the big oaf. But maybe it was
just a classic example of rebound love. He was the first man I had
grown close to after the dissolution of my marriage. All my
emotions—and maybe even a small amount of love—had been erroneously
dumped onto him.

Confusing him and me.

I had just blown the mother of all bubbles
when Fang appeared in the doorway. The bubble burst.

“So let’s talk,” he said. “I only have a few
minutes. And you’ve got gum in your hair.”

Chapter Thirty

We were in my minivan as I caught Fang up on
my trip to the college, about twice seeing the gaunt man with the
bow tie, and about removing the book from the library—

“You mean you stole it?”

“Big picture, Fang.”

“Right.”

I next told him about the copyright date, and
his eyes narrowed in what I took to be disbelief, and so I reached
into the glove compartment to show him the book...but it was
gone.

I frantically riffled through the overstuffed
glove compartment, pulling out a clump of napkins, insurance
papers, bills I still needed to pay, some of Anthony’s drawings
and...nothing.

“It was here, in the glove box. I just put it
in here an hour ago.” Stunned, I now looked through the backseat
and on the floor between Fang’s feet. Had someone broken in and
stolen just the book? Did I ever even have the book? Was I losing
my friggin’ mind? “I don’t understand what’s happening.”

“I don’t either, Moon Dance. Tell me more
about the book.”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

I sat back in my seat, completely shaken.
Maybe I shouldn’t have been so worked up, especially considering
the contents of the book. It was, after all, not so much a book,
but a personal message to me. And so I told Fang about it, about
how the author appeared to be speaking directly to me. About the
advice it contained.

“It was all very spiritual stuff,” I said.
“It seemed to apply to me directly.”

Fang was looking at me through narrowed eyes
again. Dubiously, as some would call it. “How so?”

I shrugged. “A lot of advice about staying in
the ‘light,’ about not giving into my ‘dark nature.’ That those who
have been granted premature power have a special challenge in
keeping that power in check, to use it for good.”

“He’s talking about you being a vampire?”

“Not in so many words. The book was very
vague about what kind of powers, but it seemed to be directed to
anyone who had found themselves in my position. But it could have
just as easily been written for a—”

“Werewolf.”

“Sure. Or anyone else who suddenly finds
themselves in a position of power or authority.”

“Wild. But why do you think it was written
for you?”

“Hard to pinpoint. It just felt directed at
me. It gave a lot of advice, too, too much to talk about now in
your ten-minute break.”

“And it was copyrighted today?”

I nodded. “Fang, you said that a young guy
came in and told you about the Occult Reading Room.”

“Right.”

“Tell me more about him.”

“Like I said, he was a young guy. He came in
and soon we were talking about Cal State Fullerton’s baseball team.
They’re in the finals again this year—how their program can
consistently put together some of the best teams in college—”

“Focus, Fang.”

“Yes, right. He finished his beer and
mentioned he had to get back to work in the Occult Reading Room at
Cal State’s library.”

“He said it like that? Not, ‘I have to get
back to work’?”

“Yeah, you’re right. At the time, I thought
it been a little specific, but I blew it off because he had my
interest.”

I knew about Fang’s interest in the occult.
His knowledge of the arcane had come in handy more than once.

He went on, “So, he told me more about the
collection; in particular, its thoroughness on nearly all esoteric
subjects.”

“And he wasn’t wearing a bow tie?”

Fang smiled. “Hardly. He couldn’t have been
more than twenty-five.”

“Blue eyes and a pointy beard.”

“That’s him.”

I was thinking about that when my cell rang.
I fished it off my van’s charger. Danny. “I have to take this,” I
said to Fang.

“No prob,” he said, and leaned over and
kissed me on the cheek. “I have to scoot anyway. Love ya.”

And before I realized what I was saying, I
said, “Love ya, too.”

When he was gone, I answered the phone, and
Danny didn’t waste any time getting to the point. “What the fuck
did you do to our boy, you goddamned monster?!”

Chapter Thirty-one

“Calm down, Danny.”

“Don’t tell me to calm you down, you goddamn
freak! You changed him, Sam. You fucking changed him. That’s why
he’s so cold. That’s why his body temperature is dropping.”

“And that’s why he’s alive, Danny.”

“Fuck you, Sam. This is too much. This is
just too fucking much. Unbelievable. I hate you, Sam. I hate you
more than I’ve ever hated you.”

He went on like this for a few more minutes.
I tried to speak, but couldn’t get a word in edgewise. Finally,
when he took a breath, I said, “He was dying, Danny. He was dying.
Do you understand? He would be dead now.”

“You don’t know that. How could you know
that? You didn’t give him a chance. He could have pulled
through.”

“No, he wouldn’t have. I saw his death,
Danny. I saw it as plain as day.”

“Better he dies a human than be a freak like
you.”

“You don’t mean that—”

“Go to hell, you bitch. I will never forgive
you for this or forget this, and I am going to make it my life’s
fucking mission to drag you down to hell where you belong.”

He clicked off, no doubt angrily, just as I
received another call. It was from a restricted line. Restricted
lines often meant one of two things: telemarketers or cops. In this
case, it was the cops. In particular, Detective Sherbet.