Moon Island (A Vampire for Hire Novel)

by J. R. Rain

  “No,” said Patricia Thurman, looking wet and miserable, and nothing like the socialite I knew she was. Her canvas shoes were soaked through and muddy. The hems of her white pants were muddy as well. Her jacket had kept most of the water off, but her face was still dripping wet. She dabbed it with a bath towel that Allison had given her.

  “I don’t know why I’m here,” she said.

  I knew why she was here, but didn’t say anything. As I’d left the family, of course, I had given her a very strong telepathic suggestion to come see me.

  You devil, thought Allison.

  Our secret, I thought, and turned to Patricia. “Maybe you’re here because there’s something you want to tell us.”

  “You know, get off your chest,” piped in Allison.

  Patricia Thurman, who was probably forty-eight years old, but looked, after all her plastic surgery, forty-six years old, also appeared flummoxed. She really didn’t know why she had decided to come out into the rain to speak with me. But now that she was here, I could see she was warming up to the idea.

  “Well, I’m not in the habit of discussing my family to strangers, you see.”

  “I understand,” I said. “Your niece hired me to help. She felt she had a good reason to.”

  “And, with Cal dying, maybe she does,” said Mrs. Thurman. She tried on a weak smile for size, but it didn’t last. It faltered and her lower lip quivered. “God, not Cal, too. Honestly, that’s still sinking in.”

  “You liked Cal?” I asked, just to get the conversation moving. Sometimes the simplest questions led to a windfall of answers. We would see, especially since I just encouraged her telepathically to open up to me a little more.

  “Cal was always kind to me, always full of laughter. Always drunk.”

  I smiled. “There’s a lot of drinking with the Thurmans.”

  “Not that there’s any problem with that,” added Allison, which earned her a scowl from me.

  “Aw, yes,” said Patricia, ignoring Allison. “The drinking. The endless drinking. Well, maybe that’s part of the curse, too. Had Cal told you about the curse?”

  “He didn’t have a chance,” I said.

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Never mind, I’ve said too much as it is.”

  She made a move to stand and I gently prodded her to relax, sending her a comforting thought that should have put her at ease: You are among friends, it’s warm in here, no one will hurt you, we’re only trying to help.

  “Would you like some coffee, Mrs. Thurman?” I asked.

  “Yes, please, that would be delightful.” She smiled and blinked and then frowned a little, no doubt surprised to hear the words issue from her mouth.

  “Allison?” I said.

  “Yeah?” She’d been sitting at the edge of her seat.

  “Could you make Mrs. Thurman some coffee?”

  “Oh, yeah, right. I’m on it.”

  She got up and headed into the adjoining kitchen, working quickly, but listening, I knew, to the conversation going on in the living room.

  “Tell me more about the curse, Mrs. Thurman.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because the family isn’t supposed to talk about it.”

  “What happens if someone talks about it?”

  “They die.”

  “Because of the curse?”

  “Because of...something,” she said.

  The smell of fresh coffee soon filled the small bungalow, awakening an old need in me, an old craving. I had once loved coffee more than life itself.

  Mrs. Thurman was closed off to me again, and I prodded her further. But first, I wanted to make sure she was safe talking to me. Yes, I needed information, but, no, I didn’t want to jeopardize her life in the process. After all, I had seen the dark snake rise up through Cal’s solar plexus, to strangle the life from him...from the inside out.

  Which, of course, left no mark.

  Just like with George Thurman in the pool. Allison’s thoughts appeared in my mind as she stepped out of the kitchen with two cups of steaming coffee. One for each of them...and none for me. I sighed.

  I nodded. Which could explain why there were no marks on George Thurman.

  And why the coroner could only conclude he’d drowned accidentally.

  As Patricia Thurman accepted the coffee, looking a bit confused as to why she was still here, when, no doubt, her every instinct told her to leave, I gave her another gentle prodding, encouraging her further to tell me more of the family curse, but without divulging so much as to put herself at risk.

  When she was done sipping her coffee, she smiled sweetly at me, crossed her legs, and said, “You were asking me about the family curse?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I was wondering if it’s, well, real?”

  She nodded and sipped more coffee and would have looked very elegant, if not for her muddy pants. “Oh, yes. It’s very, very real.”

  “Does the curse extend to you?”

  “No, not directly. Indirectly, maybe.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It means that if anyone in my family knows that I’m talking to you about the curse, I might not live to see tomorrow.” She smiled at me again then added pleasantly: “And neither will either of you.”

  Allison put down her coffee. That was, apparently, enough for her to lose her desire for the good stuff.

  “The curse is passed down through the blood,” I said. “Which is why you’re not directly affected by it.”

  “Why, that’s very observant, Ms. Moon. I can see why Tara hired you. Yes, the curse has been passed down through the generations.”

  “Dating back to when?”

  “Conner Thurman.”

  I knew the name. “George’s and Cal’s father.”

  “Yes, the bastard who caused this mess,” she said and turned to Allison. “Do you have any sugar, dear?”

  “Um, I dunno. Let me check.”

  While Allison went searching for the sugar, I asked Patricia to elaborate on Conner’s involvement with the curse. Which she did.

  And what a curse it was.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  “It all began ninety years ago,” Patricia revealed.

  “Conner Thurman was an ambitious businessman. Perhaps too ambitious. He’d always looked for an edge over his competition. He’d come upon a secretive club of elite world leaders, corporate leaders, politicians and celebrities. Not exactly the Masons or the Illuminati, per se, but certainly a group of rich and powerful people who enjoyed their elite status. They called themselves ‘The Society’.”

  Admittedly, I was riveted to Patricia’s unfolding tale.

  “Conner Thurman wasn’t quite in their elite status yet. Yes, he’d had some success in the hotel industry, but certainly nothing that would have given him a golden ticket into The Society. After all, few ever got the golden ticket.

  “Conner was enamored by them. He wanted to rub elbows with them. And he did, sometimes. Just enough to whet his appetite further. The occasional golfing trip. The occasional dinner with some of the others. Always occasionally. Never was he fully immersed. Never was he truly one of them.”

  This was getting good. I nodded at her to go on.

  “And, yes, he very much wanted to be one of them. Joining The Society meant that nothing would stop him or his business. He would crush his competition. He would gain the only competitive edge he would ever need: he would have The Society on his side.

  “That’s all he would need.

  And so, he hung around. He accepted their meager offerings and not-so-secretly wished for more. He wished very hard for more.”

  “As we all do,” I said.

  “Be careful what you wish for,” said Patricia, raising her empty cup, indicating that she wanted more coffee. I looked at Allison. Allison looked at me.

  “Fine,” said my friend grumpily. She snatched Mrs. Thurman’s mu
g from her hand.

  “Your assistant has a bit of an attitude,” said Mrs. Thurman, and not too quietly.

  A coffee cup banged. The coffee pot banged. The refrigerator slammed.

  “Here, madam,” said Allison a moment later—and a little bit too sweetly.

  “Thank you, dear,” said Mrs. Thurman, rolling her eyes.

  “You were saying,” I said, prodding her mentally. “Something about wishes...”

  “Yes, Conner Thurman would get exactly what he wanted...and his family, even to this day—and perhaps forevermore—will continue to suffer because of it.”

  She went on. “Conner had been invited to a secret ritual. He had been told that it was an initiation ceremony. Conner was beside himself. Was he really, finally, truly going to be one of them? He hoped to God—and so he went with great expectations.”

  Initiation ceremony? Now it was starting to really sound like a creepy cult.

  “And then?” I said expectantly.

  “The ceremony was held outdoors at a private retreat. A gated, private retreat, complete with armed guards. It was the first time Conner had ever been to the Retreat. He would never divulge its location. But it was somewhere in upstate New York.

  “Excuse me,” said Allison, breaking in. “How do you know all this?”

  “Because I’m one of them, dear. I may not be blood, no, but I am very much one of them.”

  She smiled sweetly and drank her coffee. Actually, not so sweetly. There was a darkness in her eyes. This woman, I suspected, had a cold-hearted streak in her.

  She went on as I shuddered slightly.

  “The ritual quickly got out of hand. There were dozens of men in various stages of dress. Naked prostitutes. An altar covered in blood. Fresh blood. Conner felt sick and turned to leave but was not permitted to. No, he had already seen too much. His choices were simple: become one of them, or join the fate of the others.”

  “He still wanted to be one of them?” I asked.

  “Badly. After all, what were a few prostitutes?”

  Sick, I thought.

  Patricia Thurman continued, “One such prostitute was splayed out on the altar. Naked. Screaming. Begging for mercy. Conner was given a stone blade that he was told was imbued with supernatural power. He was told to use it to kill the screaming woman, to silence her, to sacrifice her.”

  I had a good idea what had happened from that point on. Patricia kept talking.

  “He had looked at her only briefly, and then turned his face away as he drove the dagger deep into her chest while she shrieked and fought and finally died. His hands were soaked with her blood and he wanted to break down and weep. He wanted to plunge the dagger into his own heart, too. How could he do this to an innocent human being?”

  Patricia was on a roll now. I don’t think she could have shut up if she’d wanted to.

  “Next, he was quickly pulled into a cabin, and over to another kind of altar. He had passed their test, apparently. They were well-pleased with him. They had him shower and dress in fine robes.

  “He didn’t feel like showering. He didn’t care that they were pleased with him. He wanted to turn himself in to the police. He wanted to run away forever. He wanted to drop to his knees and weep.

  “But everything was happening so fast. So very fast. The shower, the robe, and now kneeling before the new altar.

  “Others were there, too. Others who seemed pleased with him. Others who were hooded and robed just like him.”

  Allison looked at me with chagrin. Patricia kept going.

  “He was told it was time to become one of them. He shook his head and said no, that he no longer wanted to become one of them. He was told it was too late. The process had begun.

  “They spoke of untold wealth and power. They reminded him what a privilege it was to be one of them, The Society. Still, he continued to shake his head, weeping into his hood. Listening again to the woman who had begged for her life.”

  Why had he killed her? I wondered.

  “But the longer he was with them, and the longer he knelt before the strange altar, the further away the woman’s cries became. He was told that she was nothing. A whore. A test. To forget about her. To think of himself and his family. His legacy. His empire that was to come.

  “Yes, he wanted an empire. They would create it for him. They would help build it for him. They would pave the way for him. No one would stop his empire. No one. Not even God.”

  Patricia had pulled the God card.

  She went on, “He was nodding now. Yes, he desperately wanted it. After all, he had proven himself, right? He had done all they asked, right? Surely he deserved the keys to the kingdom.

  “Yes, it was time. It was time for him to claim his destiny. For himself, his family and future generations.

  “Not yet, they told him. There was still a final step. A final act of loyalty. A final price.”

  I was pretty sure I knew what it was.

  * * *

  Patricia paused in her retelling, looking haggard and drained, and far from the beauty queen she’d once been.

  Years of a family curse will do that to you, came Allison’s thoughts.

  Patricia looked like she wouldn’t go on—couldn’t go on. I respected that. I knew this was hard on her, even with my gentle prodding.

  So, I finished the tale for her, as I suspected I knew the ending. “He sold his soul,” I said.

  Patricia Thurman snapped her head around. Her mouth dropped open a little. The look of shock segued into grim defeat. She nodded. “Yes. And not just his soul. Everyone in the family’s soul. Everyone. Every future generation.” She paused, and seemed tempted to ask Allison for another cup of coffee, but set the mug on the table in front of her instead. She uncrossed her legs, and looked directly at me. “But your real concern, Ms. Moon, should be more obvious.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “Why did they really invite you up here?”

  I opened my mouth to answer. The answer, after all, should have been obvious. I had been hired to do a job. To find a killer. Instead, I thought about her question and closed my mouth.

  She gave me a weak smile, got up, braced herself for rain to come, and then dashed out.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  I was on the phone with Kingsley.

  “I assume you need something?” he asked pleasantly, rich humor in his deep voice.

  “You assume correctly.”

  I was in my small bedroom. The door was closed. Allison was cleaning up in the kitchen. Occasionally, my small bedroom window rattled with the passing wind, which shrieked like a living thing. Or a dead thing.

  I brought Kingsley up to speed, knowing I sounded insane as I did so, and knowing I sounded, perhaps, even a little hysterical. I was, after all, trapped on an island in the middle of a nasty storm—blustery, my ass—with what appeared to be one equally nasty dark entity. An entity that just might have lured me up here. Successfully, I might add.

  Kingsley listened quietly, as he always did. A helluva trait in a man. He occasionally made small, noncommittal noises to let me know he was still there and hearing me—another great trait—and when I was done, he let out some air.

  “Wow, Sam.”

  “Wow what?”

  “That’s quite a story.”

  “Thank you for that completely worthless assessment.”

  “Ouch.”

  “I’m freaking out over here. Tell me what the hell is going on, please.”

  “Calm down, Sam—”

  “I’ve got Allison here with me...and I need to keep her safe, too, and I seriously have no clue what’s going on.”

  “Sam, calm down. You didn’t let me finish. Yes, that’s a wild story, true, but I also think I know what you’re up against.”

  “Oh, thank God.”

  “Don’t thank God me yet, young lady. This thing is about as far away from God as you can imagine. And you and Allison are very much in danger. So much so that I’m heading u
p there now—”

  “Wait, what?”

  “I’m literally out the door, Sam.”

  “Wait, hold on, Kingsley! You can’t be serious. Wait, are you in your car?”

  “Yes.” I heard the zip of a seatbelt being pulled out and a thrumming drone.

  “Is that your engine starting?”

  “Yes. Sam, this thing is old and evil and absolutely delights in destroying lives.”

  “Then what does it want with me?”

  “I don’t know, but it can’t be good. Where are your kids?”

  “With my sister.”

  “Good.”

  “You’re scaring me, Kingsley.”

  “I don’t mean to, but this thing is capable of anything...and it wants you for a reason.”

  “But why did you ask about my kids?”

  “I don’t know, Sam. But they came to mind.”

  “I ask because I’ve been getting a very bad feeling about them, too.”

  “Then do something about it, Sam. Have your kids and sister—and her whole damn family—stay at my house.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “They’ll be safe there with Franklin.”

  “Your butler?”

  “Oh, he’s much more than a butler, Sam. And trust me, they will be very, very safe.”

  “So, how will you get here? The ferries are closed, due to the storm.”

  “I’ll figure something out. See you soon, hopefully. Just be safe, Sam, and don’t ever underestimate this thing.”

  “But, what is it?”

  There was a small pause before he answered. “I think it just might be the Devil, Sam.”

  “The Devil?”

  “Or something close to it.”

  Chapter Thirty

  I clicked off with Kingsley, and just sat there on the corner of my bed.

  The bedroom was small, with a single window to my right that looked out towards the woods beyond. The curtains were open and I watched the rain slanting sideways. They looked like blow-darts from an army of elves.

  Or, much more likely, I was losing my friggin’ mind.