Midnight Moon Read online

  Except this woman looked so real, so very real.

  This confused her mother, too.

  And Tammy saw why. Boy, did she see why.

  Mommy’s gonna be busy tonight, she thought. She also knew her mother had secretly emailed the book to herself, without telling her client. And, further, that she had emailed the book to Allison, as well. Her mother was such a sneak.

  Speaking of whom, her mother paused just outside her door. Tammy could sense her mother collecting her thoughts before pushing aside her thoughts to give herself fully to her daughter. Tammy liked that about her mom, who always gave Tammy her full attention. And when her bedroom door cracked open, she knew what her mother was going to say before she said it.

  “I’m—”

  “Heading out. I know, Mom.”

  Silhouetted in the light of the door, she saw her mother’s head dip, noting her mom’s hair was slightly askew. She knew her mother couldn’t even see her own hair—part of the curse of that devil woman inside her. Tammy surprised herself by swinging her legs out of bed and hurrying over to her mother and throwing her arms around her.

  “Be careful tonight, okay?”

  Her mother blinked at that, then nodded, and smiled. “Of course, sweetie. You okay? Have you been crying?”

  “It’s nothing—”

  “You want to talk?”

  “No, no. You need to get to that guy’s house before midnight. The ghost and all.”

  “You know about that, huh?” asked her mom.

  “I know about a lot.”

  “What else do you know about the ghost?”

  “I know she’s not a ghost.”

  Her mother nodded. “Yeah, I’m thinking that maybe she’s not either.”

  Her mother smiled at that, but then the smile wavered, and Tammy knew her mother was thinking about what she’d seen today: her vision of paradise. Tammy wondered if catching a glimpse of heaven was worse than never experiencing it. Her mother said, “Not much escapes you, huh?”

  “No, Mom.” Tammy paused and then reached out and fixed her mom’s hair. The jeans and sneakers were beyond fixing, but there was at least hope for her hair.

  “Better?” her mom asked.

  “A lot better. But you’re still a dork.”

  “That goes without saying. You are to stay here, with your brother.”

  “You mean the Fire Warrior who can, like, kick seven or eight werewolves’ asses all by himself? Him?”

  “Yeah, him. Keep an eye on him, and an ear.”

  “A telepathic ear?”

  “Yes. I’m worried about him.”

  Tammy nodded and watched her mom move back through the hallway and open her brother’s door to let him know she was leaving. Tammy knew that her brother was in the middle of an internal conversation with their dad, a man who turned out to be a royal sleaze, for which Tammy wasn’t sure she could ever forgive him.

  When her mother was gone, Tammy went back to her bed and lay there, and relived heaven all over again.

  Again and again...

  Chapter Twelve

  I had a lot on my mind.

  Enough that I was certain I had gone through three of four red lights with nary a memory of passing through them. And was nary even a word? It was, I was certain of it. Okay, ninety percent certain. Maybe eighty.

  Anyway, it wasn’t often one met God. Then again, I had met him twice, hadn’t I?

  I had.

  I think.

  The homeless man on the street, yes, after much thought, I was certain I had seen him before, at a Denny’s years ago. A homeless man who had known everything about me. And I mean, everything.

  God, certainly.

  Then again, from what I could tell of my vision of heaven, God was in all things. In heaven, everything pulsed with light. God’s light. And everything was connected. The light touched everything and was everything, wove through everything, pulsated with everything, and I knew now that light was God. Or whatever you wanted to call him. Or her. Of course, the person I had met today was a man. But it could have just as easily been a woman. Or a floating ball of light. Or a voice from the sky. From what I understood, he appeared as we expected him to appear, which apparently made it easier for all involved.

  The devil, I knew, possessed his followers.

  God probably did the same. Or not. If you were the creator of all that is and will forever be, conjuring up a temporary flesh and blood body wouldn’t be much of a big deal. Besides, I was fairly certain angels did just that.

  But not demons. They were bodiless, I knew.

  Until they possessed a willing human. Or mostly willing. Or the cursed.

  The nature of God was a heady subject, and I had been given a glimpse of his magnificence. Then again, wasn’t the earth around me a glimpse of it as well? It was, and it was more than a glimpse.

  You can make heaven on Earth, Sam. Now, in this place.

  I thought about that as I drove steadily on into the night, toward a home with a ghost that wasn’t a ghost. I was pretty sure of that.

  And so was Tammy. My freakishly powerful daughter who knew way too much.

  No. Was exposed to way too much.

  Except, of course, there was nothing I could do about that.

  Although that might not be true.

  I suspected space might lessen her power. As in giving her some. When I was in New Orleans, my daughter let it be known that her telepathic powers had wavered somewhat. At the least, they had not expanded. My very proximity gave her power, and that was a difficult concept to wrap my mind around. The further—and longer—I was away from my daughter, the more normal she would be.

  I thought about that as I drove through another intersection.

  God, I hoped the light was green.

  My phone rang. My old minivan didn’t have Bluetooth capability. Luckily, I happen to be quicker than everyone else and so I wasn’t too concerned with safety when I snatched up my phone. Also, I had a little something called an inner alarm, which was kind of like auto braking but way cooler. It was Allison calling.

  “Talk to me,” I said.

  “Most people say hello.”

  “Most people don’t have an Allison in their lives.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “That you’re so pretty?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know why I try, Sam.”

  “Because you love me.”

  “Just be nice to me, okay? I’m like the only real friend you have.”

  I thought about that. I certainly had other friends, but it was true: Allison was the only real friend I had who was there for me through hell or high water, and who really wanted nothing from me. Except my time. And attention. And love. Hmm.

  “Maybe,” I said.

  “There’s no maybe about it. I’m your best friend, so deal with it.”

  “Bitch,” I said.

  “No,” she said. “Witch.”

  I laughed and asked her why she was bothering me.

  “Bothering you? Sam—”

  “Just get on with it.”

  “Fine,” she said. “I just finished reading Charlie Reed’s book. Or his unfinished book.”

  “What do you think?”

  “What do I think? What do I think?? My God, I think I haven’t truly lived until now. That story, those characters. I mean, I only just stopped crying a few minutes ago.”

  I knew what she meant. “Pretty good, huh?”

  “Pretty good? It was transcendent. It was life-changing.”

  It would have been easy to say she was overreacting. Except I knew she wasn’t. In between my thoughts of God, heaven my kids and Danny... I found myself back in the book. Back into Charlie’s carefully and perfectly realized world. Back with his characters. Back with their problems and loves and hopes and dreams. Back with Queen Autumn and her search for her kidnapped daughter.

  “Sam, will he be finishing the book anytime soon?”

  “I have no idea.”


  “I kinda need to know what’s going to happen.”

  “I kinda need to know, too.”

  “Sam, there’s something else.”

  “The ghost,” I said, without needing to read her mind, even if I could.

  “Yes, Sam. Of course, I haven’t seen the ghost personally, but I saw her there in your memory, and she’s...”

  “Queen Autumn,” I said.

  “Yes,” said Allison. “I think she is.”

  “You do understand how crazy we sound.”

  “Said the vampire to the witch.”

  “Everything we do and say from here until eternity will sound crazy,” I said, nodding. I kept my phone in my lap, with Allison on speaker. As in most states, California prohibits drivers from using handheld wireless phones. I often wondered where balancing a cell phone on your knee fell into that category. Either way, I could probably telepathically convince a cop to not give me a ticket, but who likes getting pulled over in the first place? Better to keep the phone on speaker and out of eyesight, and hope to someday afford a newer van.

  Of course, I heard a distant voice speaking as if from a deep well, reminding me that I didn’t have to wait for anything, that I could take what I wanted, and compel others to give me what I wanted. I told that voice to go to hell.

  “Did you just tell me to go to hell?” asked Allison.

  “No, sorry.”

  “Elizabeth?”

  “Yes,” I said. “And if you can hear my thoughts, then you must be close by.”

  “Look to your right.”

  I did, and there was Allison in the lane next to me, hunched over her steering wheel like a sea captain in a nor’easter.

  “I heard that,” she said. “I’m what you call a close driver.”

  “Did you just make that up?” I asked.

  “I did,” she said, her voice reaching me through the phone a fraction after her lips had moved. The miracles of science. She shot me a quick, furtive glance. Allison was also what you called a nervous driver. I noted the Bluetooth in her ear. “So, what are we going to do about Autumn?” she asked.

  “We figure out what she wants.”

  “But she’s from the realm of Dur and speaks Durian,” said Allison.

  “We need help,” I said. “Serious help.”

  “Maybe Charlie knows how—”

  “Not that kind of help,” I snapped, and clicked off.

  After all, we had arrived.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The three of us were in Charlie’s study. So far, there was no sign of the ghost. Or Autumn. Or whoever or whatever she was. Then again, it was only 11:30 p.m.

  “And you’re telling me the woman in my story—a book I have yet to finish or publish, and have barely let out of my sight—is our ghost?”

  “We think so, yes.”

  “And you’ve read the book, too?” he said to Allison.

  “I did, yes. It’s very good. I can’t wait to see how it all turns—”

  He whipped his head around to me. “And how did you get the book?”

  “You emailed it to me.”

  “I don’t remember doing that. I’ve been so closely guarding it. I mean, I remember letting you read it here, but...”

  I telepathically eased his mind, told him this was a non-issue and that he was okay with it, because Allison and I were super-special, awesome girls, and he was more than okay sharing his book with us.

  “Boy, I’m relieved you like it! You know, you’re the only two people to even read it.”

  “I feel honored,” said Allison.

  “And I can breathe easier. You just never know if these things are any good.”

  “Is this your first book?” asked Allison.

  “It is.”

  “How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Forty-four.”

  “Why did you wait so long to write your first book?”

  Allison and I were sitting on the sofa. Charlie had pulled around his desk chair. Allison sat maybe a little closer than I was comfortable with. She harrumphed at that, and moved over.

  “Rude,” she whispered.

  “What can I say?” I whispered back. “I’m not a close sitter.”

  “Excuse me?” said Charlie.

  “Sorry,” said Allison. “My friend here is a prima donna.”

  Charlie smiled and sat back and nodded as if he cared, but he didn’t. Minor as it was, he and I now had a mindlink, and I could sense him turning her question over and over in his mind. Finally, he said, “I wasn’t ready, I guess. I didn’t feel like I knew the characters enough. I... and this is going to sound strange... I wanted to, well...”

  We waited. Charlie shifted uncomfortably.

  “I’ll just say it,” he said, turning a shade of red. “I wanted to, well, love them first.”

  “Love them?” asked Allison.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “And do you love them now?”

  “More than you know.”

  “I think we know, Charlie,” I said. “It kinda comes across in the story.”

  “Oh, thank God,” he said. “I mean, I knew I loved them, but I wasn’t sure if I was able to convey that to the reader.”

  “You conveyed the crap out of it,” said Allison.

  I nearly added my own praise but figured Allison had blown enough sunshine up his ass. I knew Charlie hadn’t recognized his “ghost” because he hadn’t actually seen her. I had seen her, using the second sight that I had been blessed—or cursed—with. The sight that sees the energetic world side by side with the physical.

  Charlie might have caught a snatch of this thought, because he asked, “How can you two be so sure the ghost is Autumn? I mean, no offense, but you weren’t even here when Sam saw the ghost—”

  “Oh, she described it in great detail,” said Allison. “Sam has an amazing flair for details. It’s what makes her such a great detective. And why she thinks so highly of herself. And why, possibly, she takes her friends for granted.”

  “Um...” said Charlie.

  Allie, cool it, I thought, knowing she could read my thoughts, even if hers were presently blocked from me. At the same time, I instructed Charlie to forget what he was about to hear in the next few minutes.

  I turned to Allison. “Whatever I said to you, I’m sorry.”

  “You say lots of mean things, Sam. Things that make me feel small. I’m not small. I’m just as powerful as you, in my own right. You should see the things I can do now.”

  “I have seen them, and you are powerful, and you are not small. Look, can we have this talk later?”

  “Why not now? In fact, I insist we talk about it now—there you go again!”

  “What?” Except I suspected I knew what.

  “Damn straight you know what. You rolled your eyes. Again. As in, what I think and want isn’t as important as what you think and want.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But your eyes said it!”

  “I can’t help what my eyes do.”

  “Yes, you can, Sam. Just like you can help what you say and think.”

  “Thinking is trickier. And if you look deep enough, you will see I have nothing but respect and...” I hesitated. It was a natural instinct not to give Allison too much. When I gave her an inch, she took a mile.

  “What, Sam? I want to hear it. Or do you have that word permanently blocked from me?”

  “It’s not permanently blocked. You know I do. We’ve been through a lot together.”

  “Then say it, Sam. Say it in front of Charlie too.”

  “Charlie’s not listening to us,” I said. “Not really.”

  “Well, say it anyway.”

  “Do I have to?”

  “Yes.”

  “You shouldn’t make someone say it. It should come out naturally.”

  “Well, naturally for you is like pulling teeth.”

  “I’m not sure that metaphor makes sense—”

  �
�Say it, damn it.”

  “Fine,” I said. “I respect and like you.”

  “Sam...”

  “I respect and adore you?”

  “Sam, you suck.”

  “You can’t make someone say I love you,” I said. “Even friends.”

  “Well, it doesn’t seem like you do sometimes.”

  “You know I do, Allie. You can see it right there in my thoughts.”

  She knew I did, and she obviously saw it there in my thoughts.

  “You really do, Sam?”

  “Of course, now can we get back to—”

  She threw herself on me, hugging me far too hard, and getting way, way up in my personal space. “I love you, too, Sam! More than you know.”

  “I know,” I said, rolling the crap out of my eyes. “I know.”

  “I see that, Sam. There’s a mirror behind you. But I don’t care. And yes, that was you giving an inch, and this is me taking a mile. Deal with it.”

  ***

  “I’m sorry, I seem to have lost my train of thought,” said Charlie. “What were we talking about?”

  “We were talking about how the ghost might just be Queen Autumn from your unfinished novel,” I said.

  “Right.” He shook his head a little. “And what makes you think the ghost is a character from my novel?”

  “We don’t for sure. But we think it might be one and the same.”

  “But a ghost is a ghost... and a character is, well, made up.” He tapped his brain. “In here.”

  “That, admittedly, is the tricky part.”

  Charlie stood and seemed to regain the confidence he’d displayed the other day, when he hired me. “I mean, I would never have believed in ghosts either. But these past few months... it’s undeniable. Just undeniable. Something is here.” I saw in his mind’s eye again the fleeting glimpses he had of movement. Glimpses only. No details. I saw again the flickering blue light, the mist, the sense of being watched. All of this played out in his mind, and all of it was, admittedly, strong indicators of a typical haunting. “And you, Sam? You believe it’s her?”