Vampire for Hire: First Eight Short Stories (Plus Samantha Moon's Blog and Bonus Scenes) Read online

  VAMPIRE FOR HIRE

  FIRST EIGHT SHORT STORIES

  PLUS SAMANTHA MOON’S BLOG

  AND BONUS SCENES

  by

  J.R. RAIN

  Acclaim for the novels of J.R. Rain:

  “Be prepared to lose sleep!”

  —James Rollins, international bestselling author of The Doomsday Key

  “I love this!”

  —Piers Anthony, bestselling author of Xanth

  “Dark Horse is the best book I’ve read in a long time!”

  —Gemma Halliday, award-winning author of Spying in High Heels and Viva Las Vegas

  Other Books by J.R. Rain

  STANDALONE NOVELS

  The Lost Ark

  Elvis Has Not Left the Building

  The Grail Quest

  The Body Departed

  Silent Echo

  Winter Wind

  VAMPIRE FOR HIRE

  Moon Dance

  Vampire Moon

  American Vampire

  Moon Child

  Christmas Moon (novella)

  Vampire Dawn

  Vampire Games

  Moon Island

  Moon River

  Vampire Sun

  Moon Dragon

  Moon Shadow

  SAMANTHA MOON

  SHORT STORIES

  Teeth

  Vampire Nights

  Vampires Blues

  Vampire Dreams

  Halloween Moon

  Vampire Gold

  Blue Moon

  Dark Side of the Moon

  JIM KNIGHTHORSE

  Dark Horse

  The Mummy Case

  Hail Mary

  Clean Slate

  Easy Rider (short story)

  Night Run

  THE WITCHES SERIES

  The Witch and the Gentleman

  The Witch and the Englishman

  The Witch and the Huntsman

  The Witch and the Wolfman

  THE SPINOZA TRILOGY

  The Vampire With the Dragon Tattoo

  The Vampire Who Played Dead

  The Vampire in the Iron Mask

  THE VAMPIRE DIARIES

  Bound By Blood

  SHORT STORY COLLECTIONS

  The Bleeder and Other Stories

  Vampire Rain and Other Stories

  The Santa Call and Other Stories

  Black Rain: 15 Dark Tales

  Blood Rain: 15 Dark Tales

  SHORT STORY SINGLES

  The Bleeder

  Co-Authored Books

  COLLABORATIONS

  Cursed (with Scott Nicholson)

  Ghost College (with Scott Nicholson)

  The Vampire Club (with Scott Nicholson)

  Dragon Assassin (with Piers Anthony)

  Dolfin Tayle (with Piers Anthony)

  Jack and the Giants (with Piers Anthony)

  Judas Silver (with Elizabeth Basque)

  Lost Eden (with Elizabeth Basque)

  Glimmer (with Eve Paludan)

  The Black Fang Betrayal (with Multiple Authors)

  The Indestructibles (with Rod Kierkegaard)

  THE OPEN HEART SERIES

  with Rod Kierkegaard

  The Dead Detective

  Ghosts of Christmas Present (short story)

  NICK CAINE ADVENTURES

  with Aiden James

  Temple of the Jaguar

  Treasure of the Deep

  Pyramid of the Gods

  THE ALADDIN TRILOGY

  with Piers Anthony

  Aladdin Relighted

  Aladdin Sins Bad

  Aladdin and the Flying Dutchman

  THE WALKING PLAGUE TRILOGY

  with Elizabeth Basque

  Zombie Patrol

  Zombie Rage

  Zombie Mountain

  THE SPIDER TRILOGY

  with Scott Nicholson and H.T. Night

  Bad Blood

  Spider Web

  Spider Bite

  THE PSI TRILOGY

  with A.K. Alexander

  Hear No Evil

  See No Evil

  Speak No Evil

  VAMPIRE FOR HIRE: FIRST EIGHT SHORT STORIES

  Published by J.R. Rain

  Copyright © 2014 by J.R. Rain

  All rights reserved.

  Ebook Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Dedication

  Once again, to all the moms out there who are overworked and understaffed. We appreciate you more than you know, even if we don’t say it enough.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Vampire Nights

  Vampire Blues

  Vampire Dreams

  Halloween Moon

  Vampire Gold

  Blue Moon

  Dark Side of the Moon

  Samantha Moon’s Guest Blog

  Teeth

  Vampire Moon: Deleted Scene #1

  Vampire Moon: Deleted Scene #2

  Vampire Dawn: Deleted Scene

  About the Author

  Vampire Nights

  It was late and I was at a Denny’s.

  Other than a creepy old man sitting alone at the counter who occasionally glanced at me, no one seemed to notice that I had been crying. I ordered a steak, very rare, and was now using a spoon to sip some of the blood that had pooled around the meat. I left the meat itself untouched.

  A rowdy group of high schoolers sat in the far corner of the restaurant. Late night at Denny’s was, as I understood it, part of the partying circuit. Cruise through a handful of parties, then hit a Denny’s late at night and make drunken asses of yourselves.

  Tonight, however, I found their laughing and snorting and general mayhem somewhat comforting. They were buzzing with life and energy, with expectations, hopes and dreams. Granted, the extent of their hopes and dreams might not have extended further than, say, getting laid tonight or their next buzz. Still, a dream was a dream, and these kids were overflowing with them.

  I used to dream.

  The creepy old man slowly got up from the counter, paused as if debating something, and then headed straight over to me. Great. I seriously did not want company tonight. I certainly did not want to listen to the incoherent ramblings of a deranged and damaged mind. I inwardly, and even outwardly, groaned.

  “May I sit?” he asked pleasantly, motioning toward the seat across from me, showing no signs that he had heard my groan.

  He didn’t sound drunk. He sounded, if anything, lucid and friendly. Still, now was not a good night. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather be alone.”

  “Being alone with one’s thoughts is most advantageous, but I will be leaving soon and thought that maybe we could chat for a few minutes before I do so.”

  Leaving soon was good. I looked at him, willing him to leave with my mind, but he didn’t. I shrugged, and he next began the long process of sitting in the booth opposite me. I think one of the kids in the far corner had gotten up to pee and returned again before the old man had finally sat. Yes, that was an exaggeration. No, it wasn’t that far off. I think he might have had a trick hip or a bum knee, or both.

  “My name’s Jack,” he said, smiling serenely.

  “Sam,” I said, not smiling serenely. Or even pleasantly. Or at all.

  There was a hint of body odor to him. Not overwhelmingly bad, but evident. His clothes looked old, too, but not particularly ratty. A smudge of dirt was on his che
ek, and there was a hint of a food stain over his shirt pocket. Ketchup maybe. Or blood. He was either homeless or damn close to it.

  I sniffed. No, not blood. Definitely not blood.

  “So, what are you doing out so late, Jack?” I asked, since he was just sitting there and staring at me. He didn’t make me feel comfortable. Very few people could ever make me feel comfortable. If anything, I tended to make them squirm these days.

  He said, “You could say I’m a creature of the night.”

  My breath caught in my throat and I’m sure my eyes narrowed a little, but he kept smiling pleasantly at me and didn’t seem to intend any double meaning to his words.

  “And what about you, Sam?” he asked, still smiling. “What are you doing out so late?”

  “Oh, I’m definitely a creature of the night,” I said, although I wasn’t sure why I said it. Surely no one would see the truth in my words. I was just making a little joke, pleasantly playing on the old man’s own words. Still, I rarely joked about such things. And why I did now was still a mystery to me.

  He nodded but made no comment. He glanced down at the untouched bloody steak in front of me but made no comment. He then looked up at me with such compassion and warmth in his eyes that my breath caught in my throat. If I wasn’t already cold, I think a shiver might have coursed through me.

  He knows, I suddenly thought.

  He continued looking at me. He continued smiling and holding my gaze. A distant memory tugged at me. Very, very distant. I was suddenly certain that I knew him.

  You’re crazy, I thought.

  “You’re not crazy,” he said quietly. “You’re just confused and hurt and lonely.”

  I sat up, suddenly alarmed. The man, I was certain, had just read my thoughts.

  “The ability to read thoughts is in each of us,” he said. “This ability, sadly, has been forgotten. Or, rather, suppressed.”

  “Who are you?” I asked. My voice sounded distant and weak and scared.

  “Just a friend,” he said. “And you, Sam, are a vampire.”

  * * *

  We were walking outside.

  The night was cool and the partial moon hung just above the nearby Chuck E. Cheese’s. Only a handful of the brightest stars penetrated the Southern California smog.

  “How did you know?” I asked.

  “I know things,” he said. “I know a lot of things. And so do you. So does everyone. The knowledge is always inside us. Forgotten, but there.”

  “I take it you are not a bum.”

  “I am many things, as are you.”

  I’m a vampire, I thought instantly.

  “True,” he said, as if I had spoken the words aloud. “But you are much more than a vampire.”

  “And that does not freak you out?” I asked. “You aren’t concerned for your safety?”

  “If you wanted to kill me, to feed on me, to partake of my blood, I would happily give you my life.”

  We were walking down Harbor Boulevard, about two miles south of downtown, about a thirty-minute walk to where I had been attacked by a gang a few months ago.

  “You would give up your life?” I said.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I would assume you had a very good reason for such a request.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Maybe it’s not time for you to understand.”

  “Who are you?” I asked again.

  “Who do you think I am?”

  I didn’t know. I couldn’t begin to know. I wasn’t sure what was happening, truth be known. One minute, I wanted to wallow in self-pity alone at Denny’s, and the next, I was walking with an old man who knew my deepest, darkest secret.

  “I think I might be dreaming,” I finally said.

  “Whether you are dreaming or awake, hallucinating or experiencing, the truth will always be the truth.”

  “And what is the truth?” I asked. We were passing an all-night donut shop. I could see someone partially covered in flour, working in the back. Who knew donut making was so messy? Messy or not, I briefly longed for a chocolate long john. For a chocolate anything.

  He said, “Truth is feeling.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You can feel when something is true. More people should trust their feelings.”

  Jack, I saw, was walking with his hands clasped behind his back, even while his bum right leg seemed to be giving him problems.

  “Are you an angel?” I asked suddenly.

  “Does that feel right?”

  “It feels close,” I said.

  “Good, then go with that.”

  “Then it’s true?”

  “Does it feel true?” he asked.

  “Oh, brother.”

  He grinned again, and surprised me by suddenly reaching out and taking my hand. He had a firm grasp and we stopped on the sidewalk. I resisted a very strong impulse to yank my hand free. I rarely touched people. My skin is cold to the touch and often elicits questions. I don’t need such questions. And I don’t need to be reminded that I feel like a corpse in a cold morgue. I think he sensed I might pull away and gripped my hand even tighter.

  “It’s okay, Sam,” he said.

  I relaxed. His own hand was very, very warm. He gripped me urgently and I felt wave after wave of love radiating from him, through his hand somehow, and into me. I nearly broke down and wept.

  “You do not feel like you deserve love,” he said, perhaps reading my thoughts again, or perhaps sensing my pain.

  “No,” I said.

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m a monster. Monsters don’t love.”

  “Do you love your children, Sam?”

  I was about to ask how he knew I had children, but I think I had accepted that this old man knew stuff about me that he really shouldn’t, and that he was probably much more than just an old man.

  I nearly pinched myself to see if I was awake, except that pinching myself no longer had the same effect it might have had back when I was mortal.

  “Yes,” I said. “More than anything. But that’s different.”

  “How so? Love is love.”

  “I do not feel like I can be loved in return.”

  “Do your children love you, Sam?”

  “Usually.”

  “Always,” he said, correcting me gently. “I promise you that.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Who do you think I am?”

  “Never mind.” I pulled back my hand and we started walking again.

  “But I know what you mean, Sam. You do not think you are worthy of romantic love.”

  “Of course not. Who would love me?”

  “No one,” he said, “in your current state of mind.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that being loved is up to you.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “When you love yourself, others will follow. Perhaps even a very special someone.”

  We walked in silence. The old man didn’t so much walk as shuffle and drag. I slowed my pace. The night was quiet. Just a few cars. A sliver of moon hung in the sky above The Olde Spaghetti Factory near the downtown Fullerton train station.

  “Am I immortal?” I suddenly asked.

  “Do you feel immortal?”

  I thought about that. “Yes.”

  He nodded. “Yes, I imagine you do.”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” I said.

  “Sometimes we already know the answers, Sam. Some questions don’t need to be asked.”

  “But how am I immortal? How? What’s keeping me alive?”

  He was walking with his hands clasped behind him again. “There are many things in this world, Sam, that defy explanation. As it was designed to be.”

  “That doesn’t help me.”

  “Some of life’s mysteries are not meant to be known.”

  “But I am now one of life’s mysteries. I want to know.”

  �
��To know what?”

  “What’s keeping me alive?”

  “You are always alive, Sam. All of us. Our souls never cease to be.”

  “How does this physical body stay alive?”

  He nodded. I knew he knew what I meant, and I suspected that he enjoyed making me work toward clarity. “Ah, it’s in your blood, Sam. It’s always in the blood.”

  “My tainted blood.”

  “Why do you call it tainted?”

  “Because it is.”

  “I see,” he said, and nodded, “and if it is tainted, as you say, would such a thing make you any less than who you are?”

  We started walking underneath the overpass, where Harbor dips down below the train tracks. I heard rustling from somewhere nearby and knew that we were being watched by those who lived under the bridge. A very different kind of creature of the night, the mortal kind, the homeless kind.

  “Perhaps not,” I said, “but it has changed my life considerably.”

  “Change is good.”

  “So, being changed into a vampire is a good thing?” I asked, looking at him sideways.

  “You have been given a chance—a very rare chance, I might add—to express yourself in ways that many people will never, ever experience. You could choose to see this as an opportunity or as a curse.”

  Suddenly, and with little warning, I erupted into tears. I buried my face into my hands as the old man reached around my shoulders and held me close. It was the first real compassion I’d felt in a long, long time. I turned and hugged the old man back, and I suddenly, in the deepest part of my being, knew who he was.

  When I finally got control of myself to speak, I did so into his shoulder. “So, I am not evil?”

  “No, sweetheart.”

  “And I have not been forgotten?”

  “By who?”

  “By God.”

  “Who could forget you, Samantha?”