Moon Child (Vampire for Hire #4) (5 page)

So what would happen if I broke in? Would a
wart appear on my nose? Would a she-devil manifest in a swirl of
black smoke to drag me down to hell? Would Lady Gaga apparate and
give me a make-over? I shuddered. I didn’t know, but now was not
the time to find out.

So I did it by the book, and pushed the red
intercom button above a cobwebbed touchpad. I had no sooner
released my finger when I got a prompt reply.

“State your name,” crackled a
strongly-accented voice through a speaker.

“Samantha Moon.”

The speaker crackled again. “Please turn
around.”

“Excuse me?”

“Turn please.”

I did, turning slowly, knowing there was a
camera somewhere and wondering how well my make-up was holding
up.

“The left side of your neck, just below your
jawline, is missing.”

“Excuse me?”

“It shows up as...empty on my monitors. Are
you a vampire, Samantha Moon?”

I touched the area in question, and sure
enough, I had missed a spot there. Damn. “Now, what kind of
question is that to ask—”

“Are you a vampire or not?”

“Perhaps we can discuss this inside, where we
can have a little more pri—”

“You are alone in the woods, dear girl. Let
me assure you. Again, I ask: are you a vampire or not?”

I rarely, if ever, go around blurting my
super-secret identity. The man in the house, whoever he was, was
obviously privy to the ways of the undead. How much so, I didn’t
know. But I needed help for my son and I needed it asap.

“Yes,” I said. “I guess you could say I’m a
vampire, although I really don’t think of myself as—”

“State your reason for being here, vampire.
And hurry please, you are cutting into my morning rituals.”

Morning rituals? I didn’t like the sound of
that. I suddenly had an image of a bloody forest animal staked
within a pentagram, but this wasn’t a psychic hit. Just my
overactive imagination. In fact, as I thought about it, I wasn’t
getting any psychic hits from the old man. Whoever he was, he was
good at concealing his thoughts.

I said, “I’m here because I need help with my
son.”

“What kind of help?”

“Can we please talk inside?”

There was a long pause, and then the speaker
went dead and the iron gate swung open on silent hinges. I got back
into the minivan and drove through. As I did so, the iron gate shut
immediately behind me.

I was a vampire, dammit. I shouldn’t be
afraid.

But I was.

Chapter Eleven

There’s a reason why they don’t make roads
out of cobblestones anymore.

Teeth rattling and brain turning nearly to
mush, I soon pulled around a massive fountain that featured three
rather robust mermaids, each more endowed than the next. Men and
their damned mermaids, I thought. As I turned off the minivan, I
actually paused to wonder if mermaids were, in fact, true.

Hell, why not?

The house was huge, complete with massive
columns and a wide portico, all befitting a man who may or may not
be a human. My sixth sense was telling me to be wary. It wasn’t
exactly ringing off the hook, but it was letting me know that there
was danger here, perhaps not necessarily of the physical kind,
but...something.

I stepped out of the minivan and into the
cool night air. Crickets chirped nearby and the waxing moon shown
through some of the taller, ornamental evergreens that marched
around the property.

The house was a massive Colonial mansion,
befitting America’s forefathers. Our very rich forefathers. I
followed a cement path through what appeared to be crushed
seashells, and then stepped up on a cement veranda, and found
myself before two massive double doors. My internal warning system
continued beeping steady, neither increasing or decreasing. Nothing
would harm me here, I was sure, but I was being warned to stay
alert and cautious.

No problem with that.

I pressed a doorbell button inlaid within an
ornate brass fixture that seemed about right for a house this
gaudy. A gong resonated from seemingly everywhere, followed shortly
by footsteps on a wooden floor. Soon, the right door swung open and
I was greeted by a wide-shouldered man with a red nose, holding a
tissue. He studied me briefly, eying me along his red nose, which
could have used another wipe or two, but that was probably just the
mother in me. He was balding and what few stray hairs he had were
wildly askew. Was he the butler? I didn’t know, but I suspected so.
My only experience with butlers was with Franklin, Kingsley’s
wildly disproportionate butler.

Finally, he nodded and wiped his nose—thank
God—and said, “This way, madam.”

And like Franklin, he didn’t sound very happy
about being roused to service in the middle of the night. But like
a trooper he led me down hallways and around corners, past marble
sculptures and fine works of art. The deeper we got, the more I
realized that something was off. Something was different. Very
different.

It was the energy in the house. It was moving
slowly, spiraling oddly. Normally, energy zigzagged randomly,
illuminating my night world nicely. But this energy spiraled in
seemingly slow motion, as if the very house itself had slipped out
of the normal flow of time. And the particles themselves blazed in
multiple colors of oranges and blues and violets.

What the hell?

I stopped and stared, feeling like a teenager
at her first laser light show, minus the funny mushrooms.

“This way,” said the butler, and I followed
him deeper into the house.

Chapter Twelve

The man looked like a gnome or something out
of Xanth.

But it was hard to tell, since he was sitting
cross-legged on a cushioned mat in the center of an empty room. I
saw that a similar cushion had been placed before him. Was that for
me?

He was wearing a white robe and a peaceful
expression. He wasn’t a vampire, I knew, because I could see his
aura around him, and I was getting minor psychic hits, too, which
is not the case when I’m in the presence of Detective Hanner. And
it hadn’t been the case when I had faced off with Captain Jack,
whose mind had been completely closed to me.

But that wasn’t the case here.

As I stood in the doorway, I began picking up
on some fairly random thoughts. Almost as if someone were switching
the channels to a radio. But no, not quite. These thoughts were on
a loop, repeating over and over.

What the hell was going on? I focused on the
words, trying to make sense of them, but couldn’t:

“Tread carefully,” came one repeated phrase.
“The Great Cosmic Law is unerring,” came another, and “Life is a
continuous circle,” and, “You cannot give without receiving, and
cannot receive without giving.” And still more, “Thine evil returns
to thee, with still more of its kind,” “Here be monsters,” and
others that were far stranger and completely incoherent. At least,
incoherent to me, such as: “Thus humidity or water is the body, the
vehicle and tool, but the spirit or fire is the operator, the
universal agent and fabricator of all natural things.”

They were esoteric sayings, surely. Spiritual
sayings. The kind of sayings that might randomly flit through a
highly-evolved mind. Or one who practiced the Kabbalah.

But the words, repeated over and over,
created a sort of buzz. A white noise that was almost deafening, to
the point where I was having a hard time thinking, or hearing my
own thoughts.

“Please sit down, young lady,” said the
little man, motioning to the cushion before him. I noticed he
didn’t open his eyes. “At least, I assume you’re young. With
vampires, you just never know.”

The air in the room was filled with more of
the swirling, colorful particles; somehow, these particles were
moving even slower in this room.

“I’m fine right here,” I said.

He nodded. “Forgive the voices you might be
hearing; that is, if you can hear them. Not all creatures of the
night possess this skill.”

“What...what are the voices?” I asked.

He cracked a smile, although he still hadn’t
opened his eyes. “Ah, you can hear them. Very interesting. Yes, the
voices are my defense.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You see, it is impossible to close off your
thoughts to a vampire, especially a powerful vampire, but one can
provide a sort of ‘white noise.’ Clutter, if you will.”

I nodded as if I understood—which,
disturbingly, I think I did.

The old man continued, “Of course, I cannot
penetrate your thoughts; at least, not yet. Not until we’ve
developed a deeper bond or relationship, and I don’t see that
happening unless you have an unflagging desire to become chums with
a very old man.”

I smiled despite the strangeness of the
situation.

“How old?” I asked.

“Old enough not to answer that question.
Anyway, I will not bother to ask how you came to find me, as I’m
generally always found by your kind. Indeed, the how is not
important. It is the why that I’m after. Why are you here?”

“I need help with my son.”

He smiled again. “A vampire with
children?”

“Yes.”

“Tragic,” he said, making small noises and
shaking his head.

“Why?”

“Because you will inevitably outlive your
son, only to spend an eternity being barren.”

“Barren?”

“Vampirism is the ultimate
contraceptive.”

I hadn’t thought about having more kids. I
hadn’t realized that I would never, ever have children again. My
heart sank. No wonder Hanner was so distraught.

“Ah, I see that this is news to you,” he
said, and still he had not opened his eyes.

I nodded. “Yes.”

“You can see, then, the tragedy. There is but
one way to overcome this, of course.”

I suddenly knew the way, because despite his
looping gibberish that filled my thoughts, I had caught a quick
glance into his mind.

“Yes,” I said. “The medallion.”

His eyes shot open.

Chapter Thirteen

He said nothing at first, but I saw the
suspicion on his face, especially in his strange eyes, eyes that
seemed devoid of color. I knew he was wondering if I had read his
thoughts, or if I had simply made a supposition based on his last
statement.

“What about the medallion, my dear?” he
asked. He closed his eyes again, and it was just as well since his
colorless irises were creepy as hell.

I told him about my son, opening up to the
strange man and telling him secrets that I told few mortals. He
might hold the answers to my son’s return to mortality, and that
was enough to keep me talking, to keep me babbling until I finally
caught him up to date.

As I spoke, he sat quietly, no doubt watching
me in ways that I couldn’t quite fathom. When I was finished, he
said, “You have spared your son from death. Is that not the goal of
most parents?”

“The goal of most parents is not to turn
their children into blood-sucking fiends.”

He nodded. “So you’ve turned your son, and
now you wish to turn him back?”

“Yes.”

“You are playing God, Samantha. Granting
immortality and then taking it away.”

“I’m using the tools I’ve been given to save
my son. No more, no less.”

He nodded. “The medallion. Is it in your
possession?”

“It is somewhere safe.”

“And you seek to unlock its secret?”

“I seek to give my son a normal life.”

“Normal lives are overrated.”

The energy in the room had shifted a little.
It was moving a fraction faster. I think my own anger and
frustration was charging the room. The old man continued sitting
still, while his looping white noise continued filling my brain.
What kind of secrets was he keeping from me? Perhaps it was better
that I didn’t know.

“I do not have strength to argue the point,”
he said. “Keeping you out of my thoughts is highly taxing. Tell me,
what exactly can I do for you?”

“I need help in unlocking the medallion.”

“And reversing your son’s vampirism?”

“Yes.”

He sat quietly. He was tiring. The whispery
phrases that cluttered my thoughts seemed to be faltering, skipping
words here and there. His defense was breaking down, and I idly
wondered what mysteries might be lurking in his brain.

“There is a way, of course,” he said.
“There’s always a way. But for my services I always requirement
payment.”

My eyes narrowed. Any woman’s eyes would
narrow when she hears a creepy old man utter the words: I require
payment.

“What kind of payment?” I asked warily.

“Life, of course.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that for my service I require life,
usually in the form of years removed from yours and added to
mine.”

So he was a vampire, after all. Or a type of
vampire. One that sucked life, not blood, no doubt through the use
of arcane magicks.

He went on, “But you have no years to remove,
my dear, being immortal. To remove years implies that one’s life
has an ending point.” He opened his eyes and looked directly at me.
“You, lass, will live forever, if you are lucky.”

Indeed. For creatures who are immortal, we
tend to die easily enough if we find ourselves on the wrong end of
a silver dagger.

My eyes narrowed. “So what are you getting
at?”

“Your son’s life, of course, Samantha. For my
help, I require three years from your son’s life, that is, of
course, if you are successful in your bid to return him to his
mortality.”

“How will this be done?”

“Delicately, my dear. Your son will not be
harmed.”

I felt sick all over again. Jesus, what had I
gotten Anthony involved with? “He will lose three years of his
life?”