Moon Shadow (Vampire for Hire Book 11)

by J. R. Rain

  “And is one of your talents influencing people?”

  “I have been known to influence a client or two.”

  “And juries?”

  “Mass influencing? Never. At least, not that I’m aware of.”

  “That’s a grayish answer.”

  “That’s me. A gray wolf.”

  “An oafish wolf, too,” I said, and sprang off of the desk and over to the big lug. I hopped up on my tiptoes and wrapped my arms around his neck and gave him a big smooch on his oh-so-soft lips. I broke free before things could get too heated—he was an animal, after all—patted him on his hairy face, and was about to throw open his office door, when he took me by the hand and spun me back around. I was expecting more of the horny wolf man. I was prepared to fight him off me. Instead, I found myself looking up into the concerned amber eyes of a man—and beast—who loved me very much.

  “Sam, you can’t go out there alone. Not anymore. Not without me. This thing... you are lucky to be alive, Sam. It would have killed you. And then, it would have feasted on you.”

  “You really know how to ruin a moment.”

  “Sam, these creatures... these monsters... they’re not like you and me. Many have warring spirits within. Many were cutthroats and killers. And many more were absolutely insane. Liechtenstein destroyed the ones he could. Others escaped. Those that remained, he trained and educated and helped.”

  “Well, I have a job to do,” I said. Which was partly true. My job had been to verify the lake monster. Now it had turned into a search for young Luke. Sure, I wasn’t getting paid to look for Luke. But I’d made a promise to Raul. And, well, I would be damned if I was going to allow another kid to wash up on shore; at least, if I could help it.

  “No,” said Kingsley, squeezing my hand. “We have a job to do.”

  “That’s corny, but sweet.”

  He ignored me. “Just promise that you will take me with you the next time you head out.”

  “I promise,” I said, and stood on my tiptoes and kissed his cheeks. His very hairy cheeks.

  Chapter Forty

  I had just gotten to my minivan, when my cell rang. A restricted number. These days, it could be any number of officers, detectives and federal agents. I clicked on, told whoever was at the other end that it was their dime, and waited with some excitement for a response.

  “Samantha. Detective Oster.”

  My breath caught in my throat. “Did you find Luke?”

  I dreaded the answer, and was instantly relieved when she said, “No. Not yet.”

  I exhaled. Better he remain missing than finding his half-masticated body washed up on shore.

  “My thoughts exactly,” said Detective Oster, which was a funny way of putting it, since she had just read my own thoughts. Through the phone. From, like, a hundred miles away.

  “Er, right,” I said, and put up a shield around my mind. Geez, these days I was just leaking thoughts all over the place, like my old Mustang used to leak power steering fluid everywhere. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure, Detective?”

  “We might not have found Luke, but we found something. Four somethings, in fact.”

  I shook my head, knowing what was coming next. I listened as she described the same four men I’d seen. The same four yahoos, all washed up on the south side of the beach, not far from where I’d seen them. All dead, all partially consumed, all missing limbs.

  “Any witnesses?”

  “A few reported some shouts on the lake. Nothing that raised any alarms. It wasn’t until we started receiving a few calls from concerned wives and girlfriends that we conducted a search. We never did find the rowboat.”

  “Dinghy,” I said.

  “Come again?”

  I told her what I knew. No, I wasn’t always so forthright with police. But I liked Detective Oster, and there was nothing here to hide. At least, not yet.

  “Yeah, that would be them,” she said. “Did you say bow and arrow?”

  “I did.”

  I could almost see the detective shaking her head on her end. “The news is having a field day, and the locals are up in arms. Five deaths in under a week. And to top it off, the biggest damn catfish I’d ever seen washed up this morning, too. Similar wounds, partially consumed. What the hell is going on, Sam?”

  “I think you might just have a lake monster, Detective.”

  “Jesus, I was afraid you would say that. Have you turned up anything?”

  I considered what to tell her, and decided that I really didn’t have anything to add, at least not yet. Yes, I had seen the four yahoos out on the lake. Yes, I had even seen the catfish in its last moments. Granted, I had seen it in the mind of one of the now-dead yahoos. But none of this would have really shed much light on the investigation, other than to confirm that a reliable witness (me) had seen something black and scaly in the water. And I sure as hell wasn’t ready to discuss the Lichtenstein monster. At least, not yet. Still too many questions with too few answers.

  I told her I didn’t have anything more for her. She held the phone longer than was probably polite, letting me know that her police instincts were aware that I might, just might, know more than I was letting on. I decided to throw her a bone.

  “Actually, I have one question, Detective. Who owns the castle by the lake?”

  I could almost see her blink on her end. “Why do you ask?”

  “Call it professional curiosity.”

  Now, I could almost see her squinting at me. Finally, she said, “A young guy. Someone pointed him out to me a few months ago.”

  “What’s he look like?”

  “Tall, handsome, pale.”

  That didn’t sound like the hulking creature that had attacked me. “Where did you see him?”

  “He owns a restaurant in town. Ravioli’s. He’s there some nights.”

  “Do you know anything else about him?”

  “No. From what I understand, few do. And, quite frankly, fewer care. Had he not purchased the castle, I know the city was thinking of purchasing it and turning it into a tourist attraction. But that was, what, ten years ago.”

  “And you said he was a young man?”

  “I did.”

  “The desert sun must be good for his skin.”

  “Maybe. Why do you ask? And if you say ‘professional curiosity,’ I’ll have you arrested for pissing me off.”

  I grinned and said, “Oh, I have my reasons, Detective,” I said, and reached out to her through the phone line, and gave her a mental suggestion to let it go, to trust me, and that I was doing all I could to find the boy. Then I told her, audibly, to have a good day and that I would be in touch. She said nothing, simply clicked off.

  I always felt strange when bypassing someone’s mental defenses and going straight to their subconscious. It was surely a violation. Doing so invited the demon bitch inside me to grow bolder. I didn’t want her to grow bolder. I wanted her to wither and die inside me.

  Anyway, I never felt bad withholding info from the police, even from Sherbet. Keeping my cards close to my vest was sometimes best for all involved. It kept my own investigation on course, and kept the key players exactly where they needed to be. I didn’t need anyone descending on Raul’s home, or even the castle. Not until I had a closer look. And not without Kingsley by my side. I had felt that thing’s power. I wasn’t much of a match for it. Hell, I hadn’t been any match to it at all. It had taken Talos to get me out of there safely.

  Answers, I thought, as I plugged in my iPhone and started up the minivan. I need answers.

  These days, everything was an app, even proprietary data bases accessed only by law enforcement, some attorneys, and private investigators. I brought up the app, typed in my passcode, which just so happened to be Fang’s old AOL screen name, and plugged in the castle’s address. Hard to forget 111 Castle Drive.

  A short list of names appeared on the iPhone screen. The castle had had only three owners, the last being Carl Inglebright. I did a search on the name
, and didn’t get any satisfactory hits. My guess: fake name.

  Was Carl the monster? I doubted it. The creature that had attacked me had barely sounded coherent. I had a hard time imagining the monster making a deal for the castle and signing all the necessary paperwork and shaking hands with the real estate agent and arranging for movers and paying his young lawn mower.

  No, the thing that attacked me was more of... a guard dog, in a sense. A guard monster. As soon as I’d gotten too close, the damn thing had appeared out of nowhere, pouncing, attacking. Anyone else would have been killed by any number of his punches.

  “I know what you are,” it had shouted at me, over and over again. Allison had pointed out the thing sounded angry. I thought it had sounded afraid. And, if it was a fellow immortal—albeit created by a mad scientist—he would have seen that I didn’t have an aura. He would have known I was different.

  So why attack me? Why attack a fellow immortal? What were they hiding? What were they afraid I would find?

  I didn’t know, but I was going to find out.

  Chapter Forty-one

  After calling Allison and checking up on Tammy for the tenth time that day, I went through my mental checklist of resources:

  There was Kingsley, who had been at this immortal game for quite a while, although from the werewolf point of view. His general knowledge was vast, and his information about Lichtenstein had been invaluable.

  There was Fang, who had a broad general knowledge of all things vampire. Not much of it was firsthand experience. Most of what he knew had been gleaned through rare texts and a personal obsession. These days, of course, he was gathering his own personal data. Of course, I had him edged out by nearly a decade in that department.

  There was Allison, my confidant. Or, rather, my one-time confidant. Now, I was mostly shut out of her mind, so that the entity within me would not be privy to Allison’s witchy plans, whatever they were. I knew that Allison and her witch sisters battled some very dark entities on their own, some of which were aligned with the dark masters. I now know that while I sleep, Elizabeth, my own dark entity, finds temporary release. Where she goes or who she meets with, I don’t know. But I understand that she herself would forever be privy to my own plans, my own thoughts.

  No secrets, I thought.

  Of course, she and I were in this together, perhaps for all eternity. If I got rid of her, without the help of, say, the Librarian and his powerful alchemical potions, then I would mostly likely die, too. I didn’t want to die. I enjoyed this life, strange as it was. I enjoyed watching my kids grow older. I enjoyed my friends, and I even enjoyed my job. I liked helping people find answers, especially answers to tough questions. So, I wasn’t exactly conspiring to remove the entity within me.

  Moving on. There was Sherbet, who had one of the sharpest investigative minds I’d come across. And now that he’d been introduced to all things supernatural, he was a great guy to bounce ideas off of, whether he liked it or not.

  There was my angel, Ishmael, who rarely made an appearance these days. I suspected Ishmael, whether he wanted to let on or not, was still bound by some ethereal code of conduct. He wasn’t too forthcoming with information, either, which was just as well. He might know things I didn’t really want the answers to. Or not. Hard to say. Still, he would come if I called him. I rarely did.

  There was Talos, my dragon alter ego, who seemed wise in all things. His knowledge was often universal and metaphysical in nature. Except, I needed answers directly related to the strange happenings at Lake Elsinore.

  There was now Dracula whom, I suspected, might be a profound source of information. After all, he had tallied up over five hundred years as the walking dead. He had the perspective of history. Hell, he was history. Living history. But I hadn’t yet formed that kind of connection with him.

  Then there was, of course, the Librarian, Archibald Maximus, who was my sort of catch-all go-to person for all things vampiric, supernatural and historical. A man I trusted with my life—hell, with my son’s life, too. A man who had given much to me, and had never once asked for anything in return.

  To understand the strange happenings in Lake Elsinore, I thought my choice was obvious.

  ***

  Which was why I found myself at Jacky’s gym.

  No matter how crazy things got, and no matter how busy one seemed, there was always time to unload on a punching bag, all while your trainer urged you to keep your hands up. Up, up, up.

  Oh, I kept them up, and as Jacky held onto the bag for dear life, absorbing my onslaught of punches, I did my best to keep the lake monster out of my mind, as well as Lichtenstein and his own monsters and, especially, Tammy’s impending accident.

  It was just me and the bag and sweat and Jacky barking orders and the sound of boxers working out with their own trainers.

  I did this until Jacky finally raised the white flag, so to speak, begging for a break. I didn’t let him off immediately and instead, unloaded a flurry of punches that surely knocked the Irish out of him.

  And after he stumbled away, punch drunk and rubbing his neck and muttering in something that sounded like ancient Gaelic, I tried to feel bad as he disappeared into the men’s shower. He would be fine. He was old, yes, but he was tough as nails. And I thought he secretly liked taking my punishment.

  I grinned and grabbed my stuff and headed to my next appointment. Cal State Fullerton.

  In particular, the Occult Reading Room.

  Chapter Forty-two

  Months ago, I had discovered a small loading dock behind the Cal State Fullerton library.

  This was useful since, being neither student or faculty, I didn’t have a parking permit. Nor was I going to shell out $90 for one. Parking in the loading dock was a surefire way to get one’s vehicle towed unless one had a cache of magnetized door signs stowed in their minivan. Signs such as “AAA Catering,” or “Acme Auto Detailing,” or “J&J’s Plumbing,” or “Mobile Blood Drive.” Yes, that last one always made me giggle.

  Now, as I parked confidently in the loading section, I admired my latest sign: “Express Espresso Coffee Delivery.”

  I spotted two students making out in the shadows, and thought that was a pretty good idea. The shadow part, that is. As in, getting out of the sun and into the shadows. Of course, making out is fun, too, with the right guy. Sometimes even the wrong guy.

  Anyway, I hopped up onto the loading dock and into the blessed shadows. Yes, I could have lasted a lot longer in the sun, but why do so when I didn’t have to? Shade equaled a happy vampire mama. I nodded at the students who were now openly staring at me. I frowned until I caught their thoughts: they had both seen me jump up onto the dock, about six feet straight up. Maybe even higher. I smiled and wiped the memory from their thoughts and commanded them to resume their snogging session. I didn’t have to tell them twice.

  It was mid-afternoon and the sun was out, and so were approximately ten thousand students, nearly all of whom were on their cell phones. And those who weren’t on their cell phones were about to get on their cell phones. I remember when cell phones first became available. Most were used primarily for business. Important business. I remember taking a call on my department-issued cell phone. I remember thinking how important I must have looked. Hell, I remembered feeling important. It was a big day for me. I was an important person, taking an important call, on a staticy flip cell phone the size of a man-purse.

  Now, as I hung a right and headed for the main library doors, passing students exiting and staring blankly down at their phones, or talking blankly on their phones, I realized what a dope I must have looked like.

  A world of dopes, I thought, and pushed my way into the library.

  Chapter Forty-three

  At the third floor, I exited the elevator, hung a right, and moved along a long corridor with a windowless wall on one side and rows upon rows of research books on the other. The rows extended nearly as far as the eye could see. Even Talos’s eyes. I was fairly certain this is
where books went to die.

  I passed quite a few ghosts. At least a half dozen. Some were fully formed; others were nothing more than globs of multidimensional silly putty. The few that I could make out were moving down aisles with heads bowed, staring at the floor, their feet a good two or three inches off the floor. One sported a bullet wound in his temple. I got the psychic impression this was self-inflicted. Another nearby ghost continuously vomited frothing ectoplasmic sputum. A drug overdose, surely. Or bad tacos. I suspected these two had died here in the library, or very close to it. A large university with over a half century of history was bound to have a few fatalities... and suicides. And no doubt, murders, too.

  I walked past the vomiting ghost and cringed. A puddle of sticky ectoplasm clung to my shoes, then snapped off in a puff. Okay, that was gross.

  About halfway down a blank section of wall, a doorway began to form, expanding exponentially the closer I got, like a magic portal into another realm, which it just very well might be.

  By the time I reached it, a doorway was waiting for me, complete with a scuffed door that could have used some paint. There was a rectangular window in it that afforded a limited view of the help desk and a hallway beyond. Over the doorway was an etched plastic sign that read: Occult Reading Room. In smaller letters that I hadn’t noticed before was another line: Maximum Occupancy: At the Discretion of the Librarian.

  I giggled at that and looked over my shoulder. I was alone in the corridor. The ghosts had dispersed, too, as ghosts are wont to do. Once inside, I closed the door behind me, and wondered once again what the scene would have looked like from the outside: a woman stepping into a wall, perhaps? Or would they have caught a brief glimpse of the door; indeed, would they have caught a brief, if not forbidden, view of the Occult Reading Room itself?