Moon Investigations: Books Three and Four Read online

  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?”

  He opened his eyes again and now that his psychic shell was cracking, I saw something monstrous about the man. A darkness appeared around him, swirled briefly, and then disappeared again. The man was possessed by something dark. Of that I was sure. Something that required the years of the living to sustain it.

  “Or your son can live forever,” he said. “The choice is yours, my dear.”

  The air in the room had grown agitated. The calm, beautiful lights had been replaced by crazed, dancing butterflies of all colors.

  “And what are you offering me in return? Do you know how to unlock the medallion?”

  “I know of one who does. An alchemist older than even me.”

  “So you are not a vampire?”

  He grinned wickedly. “No. At least, not the blood sucking kind.”

  “And that’s all you’re offering me? The name of an alchemist for three years of my son’s life?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what, exactly, does that mean? Three years of his life?”

  “Your son’s life, should he become mortal again, will be cut short by three years. Years which will then be transferred to me.”

  “You’re sick.”

  “No,” he breathed. “I’m alive, as I plan on being for many years to come.”

  He explained further: my son’s life would not necessarily end tragically. It would simply end as it was meant to end, only three years earlier.

  Lord help me.

  “Where do I find this guy?”

  “I know not, my dear. In fact, no one knows. And those who have seen him claim that he has found them.”

  Great. I closed my eyes and took in a lot of air, and held it for seemingly an eternity. “One year,” I finally said.

  “Three!” he hissed angrily.

  Sweet Jesus. I was bargaining with my son’s life. His years. “One,” I said. “Only one.”

  “Two,” he screeched. “Two! And no less!”

  “Okay,” I said weakly. “Two.”

  He clapped his hands thunderously. “Then it is done!”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Before crawling into bed, I called the hospital. According to the doctor on staff, Anthony was sleeping quietly and showing signs of marked improvement. I could hear the relief in his voice.

  I thanked him for everything and hung up. My daughter, I knew, was with my sister. I was alone and exhausted. My body was shutting down. I sent texts to Danny and my sister, too weak to call. I told them the good news, that Anthony was miraculously recovering. I didn’t explain the miraculous part. I hoped I would never have to, either. I told my sister to tell Tammy that I loved her, then set my alarm for noon. I had just slipped into bed when I felt the sun rise, felt it in every fiber of my being.

  Oh, what a night.

  And just before blackness overcame me, I thought of the name I had been given.

  Archibald Maximus.

  * * *

  I awoke sluggishly, reluctantly, painfully.

  During the day, I felt mortal. During the day, I felt less than human. I dragged my tired ass out of bed, hopped in the shower, where I stood under the scalding hot spray until I used up all the hot water. In the bathroom mirror, other than a few beads of water that seemed to be floating in mid-air, I saw nothing. Neither follicle nor fingernail.

  Nothing.

  How is that possible? What the hell is happening?

  My son would see nothing, too. Forever nothing, unless I found him a cure. And with that thought, as I gazed at nothing in the mirror, I realized that I would forever be undead.

  Forever.

  Jesus.

  Recently, I had held out hope that I might someday use the medallion for myself, the thought never occurring to me that I would need it for my son instead.

  An eternity on this earth.

  Alone.

  I continued standing before the empty mirror, dripping on the bathroom floor. I looked down at the puddle forming below me...there was no reflection there either.

  I don’t exist, I thought.

  Panic gripped me. It had been quite a while since I had had a full-blown panic attack, but I was close to having one now. I circled the bathroom, slipping in the puddle once. There was no image pacing alongside of me in the bathroom mirror. Nothing.

  Not seeing yourself in a mirror, or window, or fucking puddle has a way of playing on one’s nerves. And my nerves were shot.

  Completely fucking shot.

  I circled, breathing deeply, trying to calm myself, until I realized that breathing deeply didn’t calm me. Breathing deeply didn’t do shit.

  I broke out in a sweat.

  Maybe I really don’t exist. It’s a fear I’ve had over the years. A fear that I was still back in the hospital, recovering from my attacks so many years ago. In a coma. Or worse. Maybe I was dead. Maybe all of this is happening in my dead mind. Was that even possible?

  I continued sweating, continued pacing in the bathroom. I looked to my right, in the mirror. Nothing except a ghostly, wet outline of a curvy woman.

  That’s just not right. That’s just fucked up. I mean, who can’t see themselves in mirrors?

  Vampires can’t, Sam. Vampires.

  Calm down. Relax. You’re okay. You’re here. You’re really here.

  Naked and still dripping, I found myself in my living room, at my house phone. I called the only number I trusted to call. My sister Mary Lou answered immediately.

  “Hi, love!” she said excitedly. “I’ve been waiti
ng for you to wake up. Such great news about Anthony!”

  I agreed and her excitement buoyed me, but I was far from better. I was far from thinking reasonably. A great panic had taken hold and I was a woman drowning in her own fear.

  “Mary Lou,” I said, and her name caught in my throat.

  “Sam? Is everything okay?”

  “Mary Lou, I don’t understand.”

  “Understand what?”

  I tried again, my mind racing, my heart beating faster than it had in quite some time. “Mary Lou, is this really happening?”

  “What do you mean, Sam?”

  I started crying, so hard that I could barely hold the phone. I was losing it. You would, too. Anyone would. Trust me, there’s only so much a person can take. “Am I really here, Mary Lou...please...I need to know. Is this real? Is this really happening to me?”

  “Is this about Anthony? But he’s okay, Sam. He’s—”

  “No. It’s not about Anthony. Please, Louie. Please.”

  “What do you need, Sam? What is it?”

  “I don’t understand what’s happened to me, Louie.”

  “Oh, honey...sweetie...”

  I wept harder than I had wept in a long, long time. I sank to my knees. It took a full minute before I could speak again. “Is this all a dream, Louie?”

  “It’s not a dream, honey. This is real. Everything’s real.”

  I thought of the empty mirror and shook my head even though my sister couldn’t see me shaking my head.

  “No, it can’t be. It’s impossible.”

  “Honey, listen to me. Something very bad happened to you, but you’re going to be okay. I promise. And now Anthony’s going to be okay, too.”

  I thought of Anthony and what I had done to him, and found myself sobbing nearly hysterically. The last words I heard from my sister was that she was coming right over.

  Chapter Fifteen

  My sister is one of the few people on earth who know about my “condition.”