Crescent Moon

by Lori Handeland

  We cut down the side of the cemetery, headed for the lights, but when we reached Basin Street we turned in the opposite direction of the increasing number of police cars. A fire engine and an ambulance passed within minutes. They weren’t going to be much help.

  “What do you think they were?” Cassandra asked.

  “You first.”

  “Not zombies. The powder didn’t work and—” She shot me a sideways glance. “As far as I know, zombies don’t explode when they’re shot.”

  “What does?”

  “No clue. But did you see...?”

  “The fangs?”

  She let out a sigh of relief. “I thought I was nuts.”

  “Of course you aren’t. It’s perfectly sane to see dead people with fangs.” And I wasn’t even being sarcastic.

  “I saw the same thing you did,” I continued. “But I don’t know what I saw.”

  “I think I do.”

  “Explain it to me.”

  “Dead people rising, growing fangs, and acquiring superhuman strength. You do the math.”

  I’d never been very good at math, but I could see where she was headed. “Vampires?”

  “This is New Orleans.”

  “You keep saying that. It’s still planet Earth, last I checked.”

  “Ever hear of Anne Rice?”

  “She writes fiction, Cassandra. Vampires aren’t real.”

  “Then what the hell was that?”

  I didn’t know, but I was damn straight going to find out. “What do you know about vampires?”

  “Bram Stoker, Anne Rice, Laurell K. Hamilton.” She shrugged. “I like vampire books.”

  “And you call yourself a voodoo priestess.” We made our way to Royal Street. “What’s the common thread in all of the books?”

  “The undead live forever. Coffins. Crucifix. Biting on the neck.”

  “Charlie was bitten on the neck. By an animal.”

  “According to legend, vampires can take the form of a wolf.”

  “Bingo,” I whispered.

  I couldn’t believe in the short time since I’d arrived in New Orleans I’d gone from searching for an out-of-place wolf in the swamp to chasing zombies and considering vampires. Then again, this was New Orleans.

  We reached Cassandra’s shop.

  “Do you have any books?” I asked.

  “On the paranormal?” She unlocked the door and flicked on the lights. “I think I might.”

  I followed her across the shop, skirting the snake cage, even though Lazarus appeared fast asleep or dead. Considering his name, I doubted either one was a permanent condition.

  Cassandra opened a glass-fronted case and pulled out one, two, three huge old volumes. Dust puffed as she set them on the counter. Then she bent and yanked another from a bottom shelf. “We can start with these.”

  I glanced at my watch. “Okay if I take them with me?”

  “Got an appointment?”

  “Kind of.”

  “Ruelle,” she said.

  I was supposed to head into the swamp with Adam tonight. And while I’d already decided to forgo that trip in favor of researching the vagaries of the vampire nation, that didn’t mean I didn’t want to do other things with him once I was through.

  “Have you ever seen him in the daylight, Diana?”

  I opened my mouth, shut it again. Thought hard. Hell. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Seems odd to me.”

  Now that she mentioned it seemed odd to me, too. Still— “If Adam wanted to hurt me he could have a hundred times over.”

  “Maybe hurting you isn’t what he’s after.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I demanded.

  “I don’t know. You still have the gris-gris?”

  I tapped my pocket. “Yep.”

  “I doubt that’ll work against a vampire. But this should.” Cassandra reached into the display case near the register and withdrew a long gold chain. “Can’t hurt, right?”

  “How will that help, hurt or anything else?”

  “A crucifix a day keeps the vampires away.”

  I stared at the fancy chain. “What crucifix?”

  “Well, not a crucifix, exactly. A cross. Times a hundred.” She held the necklace in front of my nose. The links were constructed in the shape of tiny fleurs-de-lis.

  “This should work even better than a crucifix in theory,” she continued. “The fleur-de-lis is the symbol of the Virgin Mary and, in some cases, the Trinity. Every little bit helps.”

  I hesitated, but in the end, I took the gift and put it on.

  “That doesn’t go around your neck,” Cassandra said.

  “Where else would it go?”

  Cassandra lifted the thing over my head. “Pull up your shirt.”

  “What?”

  “Haven’t you ever seen a belly chain?” she asked.

  “With a belly like mine? You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with your belly. Pull up that shirt.”

  The idea of draping jewelry across my gut, of accenting a part of me that did not need any accenting, went against everything I’d learned as a big girl. “Can’t I just wear it as a necklace?”

  “Too easy to yank off. A protective amulet is supposed to be hidden.”

  She seemed so certain—and really, what did I know about protective amulets?—I gave in and tugged up my shirt.

  Cassandra quickly secured the chain. The cool links slid across my skin. Looking down, I was surprised the jewelry wasn’t tight, had in fact disappeared below the waistband of my jeans. Knowing it was there, I felt kind of sexy.

  “Thanks,” I said, and really meant it. “What does fleur-de-lis mean?”

  “Flower of the lily. Represents perfection, light, and life. Christian symbolism again—always in threes.”

  “They do that. Do you have a computer?”

  She blinked at my speedy change of subject. “In back. Why?”

  “I want to know if Mrs. Beasly was ever found. I also want to research the name on that tomb.”

  Cassandra smiled. “You are good at this.”

  I wasn’t so sure. I’d never found anything I was searching for. But as dream Simon had told me, I needed to believe. After tonight, I believed, all right. I just wasn’t sure in what.

  However, this time I wouldn’t let anything escape my attention. I was going to find a paranormal entity—be it a loup-garou, a vampire, a zombie, or something I’d never heard of—and expose it to the world. Maybe then Simon could rest. Maybe then I could.

  I followed Cassandra to her office. Huge, old, and slow, at least the computer worked. Arianna Beasly’s name popped up in today’s obituaries.

  “ ‘Heart attack after being bitten by a vicious dog,’ ” I read.

  “Sure she was.”

  “Her maiden name was Favreau, which explains where she was buried.”

  “Although it doesn’t explain how she got dumped in the tomb so fast.”

  I glanced up. “What?”

  “I don’t know how they do things in your neck of the woods, but down here a funeral takes a few days. And that’s if there are no suspicious circumstances to warrant the police or an autopsy.”

  “True. Did you see any bite marks on her?”

  “As many as I saw on Charlie.”

  “I guess that answers my question.”

  “Which was?”

  “They were both killed in basically the same way.”

  “Wound inflicted by a mystery canine,” Cassandra murmured. “With said wound miraculously disappearing before the body rises and takes a little walk. What does that mean?”

  “As soon as I know, you will.” I picked up the books and headed for the mansion.

  I didn’t realize how much I wanted Adam to be waiting for me until I came through the door and discovered the place empty.

  Do not get used to him, Diana. You have to leave, and he doesn’t want you to stay.

  I made
a peanut butter sandwich and coffee—you’d think the way I ate, I’d waste away to nothing, but no such luck—then I settled onto my sleeping bag and began to read. Unfortunately, the events of the evening had worn me out, and I didn’t get much done before I succumbed to sleep. As soon as I awoke, I spent the next day and well into the night researching.

  The books were antiques, worth a small fortune. They were also full of great stuff.

  “Crucifix, holy water, the Eucharist,” I recited.

  All Christian items, which was fascinating considering the idea of night-flying, bloodsucking demons was not only pre-Christian but also a belief held around the world.

  “How did people protect themselves B.C.?”

  Sunlight, salt, and—

  “Garlic.” Of course. “A member of the lily family.” I fingered the fleur-de-lis chain at my waist, feeling better about it already.

  I continued to read, eating another peanut butter sandwich, drinking way too much coffee. I was hyped beyond belief and chattering to myself nonstop.

  “Photos not a problem. However, reflections are.”

  I considered the annoying lack of mirrors at Adam’s cabin. I didn’t really believe the man I was sleeping with was a vampire, did I?

  “No.”

  The sound of my own voice was getting on my nerves. But it was better than the sound of silence warring with the whirring confusion in my head. I’d discovered how to kill them, how to slow them down; what I hadn’t been able to find was—

  “How do I know for certain I’m dealing with a vampire?”

  A shadow at the corner of my vision made me gasp and spin in that direction so fast my neck cracked painfully. Adam leaned against the wall.

  “You think I’m a vampire, cher?”

  Chapter 21

  I glanced at the door—still closed. Then the windows— broken but not open. How had he gotten in without my hearing him?

  I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. If he was a vampire, did I plan to put a stake through his heart? I was fresh out.

  “How long have you been there?” I asked.

  Adam stalked toward me. His hair tangled when he shoved it out of his face; his bracelet caught the moonlight and sparkled. He wore a powder blue short-sleeved dress shirt, unbuttoned, and his chest rippled beneath a sheen of sweat that should have been unattractive but wasn’t. Combined with the ragged jeans and bare feet... I wanted him so much I couldn’t think straight.

  He stopped directly in front of me. I had a perfect view of his crotch, which didn’t look half-bad, either. Because I wanted to lean forward and open the bulging zipper with my teeth, I stood. On the way up, my breasts brushed his chest, and he hauled me against him.

  “You think I’m a vampire, Diana?”

  The question should have been foolish. We should both have been laughing. But we weren’t.

  His fingers tightened. His erection pressed against my stomach. His blazing blue eyes seemed to pierce my brain.

  “Are you?” I whispered.

  “No.”

  The word came off his tongue sounding French. When he kissed me, there was a lot of French in that too. He tasted of hickory coffee—no, wait that was me. Thick cream, heavy sugar—definitely him. I licked his teeth, wanting more of that taste, since I never dared drink my coffee anything but black.

  With Adam I got all of the flavor and none of the calories. Only later did I realize I’d also been checking those teeth for a razor-edged sharpness. I’m not sure what I would have done if I’d found some.

  We were frantic again, pulling at each other’s clothes. My top flew one way, my bra the other, his shirt slid from his shoulders and onto the floor. Why was it that every time we came near each other we couldn’t seem to stop this from happening?

  I was on fire, barely able to stand still, desperate for a release that I wasn’t going to get from a kiss, when he backed me against the wall. How had he known I was weak in the knees?

  I murmured my approval, circling my arms around his neck as he ran his palms from the outside of my breasts to my hips. He stilled, and stepped back, taking his hands and his mouth with him. I nearly fell on my face without his support.

  “What’s this?” He unbuttoned my pants, and the fleur-de-lis chain spilled out.

  Oops.

  I studied his face, but, as usual, I couldn’t get a read on him. “I—uh—got it today.”

  His eyes lifted from their solemn contemplation of my jewelry. “Why?”

  “Protection.”

  “From vampires?” Adam’s lips curved. “There’s no such thing, cher."

  “Then why did I see Charlie in town?”

  His lips flattened. “Dead Charlie?”

  “Not anymore. Or maybe again. He blew up.”

  Adam glanced out the window, then back. “You’re not makin’ any sense.”

  “I saw Charlie, chased him to St. Louis Number One—”

  “You nuts? Never go there alone.”

  I hadn’t been alone, but that was beside the point. “Charlie released a woman from her crypt. According to the obituary, she died two days ago, but she was walking pretty well last night.”

  “No one gets buried so quickly.”

  “That’s all you’ve got to say?”

  He touched my forehead. I slapped his hand away. “I’m not feverish or insane.”

  “You saw Charlie and a dead woman walk; then they blew up.”

  Okay, when he said it out loud, I did sound nuts.

  “And you think they were vampires?”

  “Maybe. Cassandra said they weren’t zombies.”

  “Who in hell is Cassandra?”

  “Voodoo priestess.”

  He stared at me for several seconds. “My, you have been busy.”

  Why did his words sound like a threat? Because I was paranoid as well as crazy. The two did go together like franks and beans.

  “You don’t believe me,” I said.

  “It doesn’t matter what I believe; it’s what you believe.”

  “I don’t know anymore.”

  He brushed my hair from my cheek, and this time I let him. “New Orleans would spook anyone. There are ghosts here, can’t help but be. But those things you speak of...” He shook his head. “I don’t think this little old chain will protect you from them.”

  My chin tipped up. “You have a better idea?”

  “No.” His gaze lowered. “I like this one.”

  In a surprising movement, he dropped to his knees and tugged my jeans over my hips. His breath brushed my thighs, warm and inviting. My underwear followed the same path to the floor.

  “Would you tell me if you were?” I asked.

  “What?” When he glanced up, his eyes were unfocused, his mouth still swollen from mine.

  Having him kneel at my feet, so gorgeous and tousled and aroused, filled my mind with too many possibilities. Nevertheless, I managed to choke out the question. “Would you tell me if you were a vampire?”

  “Of course not, cher."

  Leaning forward, he pressed his month against the fleur-de-lis chain, against my belly, and suckled. Skin, metal, tongue, and teeth—the sensation was exquisite. If he were a vampire, wouldn’t he be—

  Catching fire? Disintegrating into dust? Howling? Crying? Running?

  He did none of them. But he did do other things.

  The chain—both hot and damp, dry and cool—slipped from his mouth. He kissed me again. Lower. My legs wobbled, and he cupped my hips with his big hands, pinning me to the wall as his tongue did amazing things.

  Maybe he was a vampire? Maybe I didn’t give a shit.

  My fingers tangled in his hair, holding him closer, urging him on. How could a tongue be so hard and yet so soft, so clever and yet so tentative? Whenever I was on the verge of orgasm, he retreated just enough so I never came, driving me closer, higher, with the next stroke.

  “I think you’ve had enough.”

  My eyes snapped open. He stood in front of me. I rea
ched for him, and he took my hand, tugging me to the sleeping bag. He gave me a little shove, and I toppled onto the covers.

  As he stood over me in the faint moonlight, I memorized every ripple and curve. Just looking at him made me breathe a little harder.

  He followed me down, brushed a stray strand of hair from my breast. “When you come, it’s all I can do not to come, too, just watchin’ you.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say, so I said nothing.

  “You’re so alive.” He laid his palm against my chest, dark against light, and pressed until I was supine. “So warm and soft and—” He broke off, took a deep breath, and let it out. “I can’t sleep nights thinkin’ of being inside of you.”

  In one swift movement he covered my body with his and slipped within. I bit my lip to keep from making an embarrassing yummy noise at the contact.

  “You’re so tight.” His forehead dropped against mine as he struggled for control.

  “Sorry.”

  “No.” A puff of air that was laughter hit my cheek. “That’s good, so good.”

  I tried to relax, but I couldn’t keep still. I had to have friction. My hips had a will of their own, pumping against him. He cupped my breast in one hand, pressed his thumb to my skin.

  “I can feel your heart beat.” His eyes seemed to reflect the three-quarter moon, glowing silver, fading to blue. “Makes me want to do all sorts of bad things.”

  “Just do me.” I clenched around him. “Now.”

  I could feel his heart beat too, in a completely different place. The pressure, the rhythm, the thud, thud, thud, made me shatter at last. When I could see again, breathe again, we lay side by side, him tracing patterns across my stomach and breasts with one finger.

  “You still want to search for the wolf that isn’t there?”

  “You’re awful accommodating for a man who doesn’t believe we’ll find one.”

  “I’ll be as accommodating as you like, cher, if you keep accommodating me.”

  I pinched his arm and he laughed. I got a warm, squishy feeling right above the fleur-de-lis. This was nice. Too nice.

  I took his hand, meaning to push it away, but something flickered in his eyes, almost a wince. Instead of letting go, I held on.