Through the Moon Gate and Other Tales of Vampirism

by Jacqueline Lichtenberg

  She knew it beyond any doubt. “But what’s an astrophysicist doing—you’re not a dealer, too? A rival?”

  They stopped in the bedroom door as Titus raked the display of suitcases, the empty closet and drawers with shocked eyes, but said, “No! Please believe me, Gabby. I wouldn’t ever get mixed up in dealing.”

  The patent absurdity struck her like a douche of cold water. “But you are mixed up in it. Just look at you!” Suddenly, the world took on the bright, hard edges of normality. The sharp contrast was frightening. Everything she’d just done for Titus seemed like some kind of bizarre charade, a mere pretence of help.

  Once again, his voice lowered and hit some resonance that set her bones humming, leaving his words indistinct but his meaning perfectly clear. She answered what she thought he’d said with dramatic sincerity, “No, Titus, of course I won’t tell anyone what you’re about to tell me.”

  “Good. You see, I’m a real vampire. But I try very hard not to hurt people. I’m here to chase down a vampire who enjoys killing. He is mixed up in drugs. He was about to kill a woman who had infiltrated his organization, a police spy, so I tried to stop him. I got caught, but she got away. Then the police arrived and in the fight, my man escaped and so did I. You’re going to protect me in your closet until sundown, and by then I’ll be healed. We’re safe here until then, so don’t worry. After that, we’ll go our separate ways, and you’ll never see me again.”

  A large bubble of hysteria rose into her throat but could not erupt past the invisible choker that paralyzed her tongue. Delivered with a straight face, that story would easily have won the “Most Humorous” category in the Dracula contest.

  At his behest, she brought him the two pillows off her bed and he made himself comfortable on the closet floor. As he closed the door, he flashed her an engaging grin. “Sundown.”

  She stared at the thickly layered paint on the old door. I’ve got a vampire sleeping in my closet.

  She glanced at the window. Trees were etched against the brightening sky. It was 6:39 a.m. and she had a vampire sleeping in her closet. A very polite vampire who said please and thank you, hadn’t sucked her blood and hadn’t ravished her in her own bed.

  She was suddenly possessed of a violent urge to yank the door open, certain there would be nothing there.

  Her hand froze on the knob, and for all her will, all her years of discipline, she could not turn that knob.

  In a pleasant, conversational tone, Titus said, “I won’t be sleeping very deeply, Gabby. But I do need to rest. I know I can trust you.”

  Her bones ached. Her stomach churned. She let out a strangled sound that might have been agreement and plunged out of the bedroom. She ended up in the kitchen, leaning on the table, watching the red ball of fire rise into the sky. An astrophysicist was a little like an astronomer, and probably worked nights, too.

  As the sun cleared the horizon of city buildings and haze, she remembered the purely physical feel of her hand on the closet doorknob, the locked resistance in her muscles, not the knob itself. No. Not in her muscles. In her mind.

  She dragged in one sobbing gasp and slumped into a chair, burying her face in her hands. Her whole world conception turned inside out. Her breath exploded from her in a thin wail. “No. It can’t be. Hypnotism. Illusion. Whatever. It’s not what it seems.” No real vampire would just calmly admit to it and settle down into a closet for the day. What about the “native earth” requirement?

  But he had said he wouldn’t sleep deeply.

  Lips compressed, she shoved herself to her feet and went into the living room to retrieve the phone handset. She tiptoed into the bedroom, grabbed up the jeans and shirt she’d intended to drive in and eased the bedroom door shut.

  She’d call her sister and confess she’d ruined the Halloween costume she’d borrowed. She always felt better after talking to Marlene.

  Fully intending to tell her the whole story, she poked the number into the phone, triumph stretching her lips into a grin as she met no resistance. The phone rang once, twice, then a pleasant voice recited the time, date, and weather report, suggesting another number to call for air travel weather, domestic and international.

  When the message began repeating, she held the handset at arm’s length and stared at it. She knew no such service number. Had never dialed it before. And she knew she’d dialed her sister’s number correctly. Surely they couldn’t have jiggered her phone line to divert her calls?

  She hung up, got a dial tone, and carefully re-entered the number. The same urbane synthesized voice came on again.

  She hit the off button. She tried her mother’s number and was connected to a religious message service.

  She was only dialing a local number. She hadn’t dialed enough digits to get toll service numbers.

  Or had she?

  When she put the phone down, the world seemed normal. But when she picked it up, her memory became hazy. She didn’t notice it until she’d given up trying to tell people about Titus and put the phone away. Only after her mind cleared did she realize it had been clouded.

  As she struggled into her clothes, she thought, Maybe it’s not the phone.

  She decided to call and cancel her gyn appointment since she would be gone by then. She looked up the number on the slip of paper tacked to the wall, and carefully poked it into the phone. The gyn’s answering service came on, and using her phone buttons as instructed, she told their appointment computer to cancel her appointment. She hung up, called back, and checked to make sure her name was no longer on the schedule. It’s not the phone. It’s me. Him, rather.

  Numb, she dropped onto the sofa.

  The numbness wore off to leave stark terror, sharp edged and real, in its wake. The sun rose and the shadows of neighboring houses crept into the windows.

  Finally, her mind began to work again. She made herself some coffee and toast, and spread out her Tarot cards to consider what to do.

  Whatever he was, he had power over her. But, politely, he had used it in a very limited way. He had only protected himself. She was able to handle her personal affairs routinely. He had seen her packed bags and promised that she’d be free to go with the coming of sunset.

  She believed him. Maybe that was his power. But if he hadn’t meant it then why had he left her able to cancel her appointments? If he’s going to kill me, he’d want no one to be looking for me for a while.

  To test that, she decided to call her mother and ask for the loan she needed, make an appointment to pick up the check tonight. She entered the number. Her mother answered promptly.

  “Mom. You were right.”

  “About what this time?”

  “This is a dead end job. There’s absolutely no future for me here. I’ve decided to go to LA, get a job, then reapply to UCLA. They accepted me before. No reason they wouldn’t accept me again, especially as a California tax payer. But I need some money. If I leave tomorrow, I can be settled and establish residency in time to apply next year.”

  Since most of the plan had been her mother’s idea originally, she had no trouble negotiating the loan, a check tonight and a more substantial sum when she had opened a bank account in California.

  She solemnly promised to call her mother every day she was on the road, using her mother’s phone credit card number.

  Not one word stuck in her throat.

  She called her sister and told the answering machine to look for the costume, in lamentable disrepair, at their mother’s, and sketched her itinerary.

  She called her boss, resigned with deep regret, telling him he had inspired her to go back to school. It was the literal truth. She didn’t, however, give any hint of where she intended to go. She said she’d pick up her last check in the morning. The words didn’t stick in her throat.

  What I do tomorrow is no threat to Titus. He’s not going to kill me.

  She changed her mind and had her boss send her last check to her mother’s post office box.

  She called the bank
and told the computer to close her savings account, dump all the money into her checking account and suspend all automatic payment of her bills.

  She called a friend in LA and arranged herself a place to stay when she got there. She could sleep on the floor for a few nights. She even gave an estimated arrival time.

  Everything she did regarding pulling out and arranging her future went without a hitch. The times she was tempted to say anything about a vampire, even in jest, her throat closed over the words in a way that made the reality of the unreal too believable.

  When she’d done everything she could think of, she went back to the cards. The theme this time was the Tower, the Devil, the Chariot reversed, and the Magician reversed laced through with minor arcana indicating risk, combat, and anger. She’d seen worse readings about going to the dentist. But floating through the layouts, she kept noticing the Knight of Swords and the Knight of Wands.

  Well, she was going to just up and leave, and that would probably upset a lot of people. Staring at her notebook where she’d jotted down the three layouts, she wondered why nothing seemed to define Titus. And then she saw it.

  Interpreting the layouts as Titus’s readings, which was legitimate considering how she’d been concentrating on him as the problem, she knew with one of those clear, intuitive leaps that had begun coming to her at the party, that Titus’s enemy, the killer vampire, had already traced Titus to her, had found out where she lived and would probably attack. Maybe tonight.

  Her first impulse was to jump in the car and go. But again, the wordless compulsion seized her, leaving her glued to the kitchen chair. She had to protect Titus all day.

  She stared at the cards. A reader couldn’t really read for themselves without running grave risks, and she’d gone as far as she could go. She knew from experience that she’d get no more from the cards herself. She needed help.

  She picked up the phone again to call her teacher.

  Her hand froze on the phone as it had on the doorknob.

  He’s reading my mind!

  The shriek of irrational panic subsided, and she realized it could just be the suggestion he’d implanted. After all, he’d said he didn’t believe in the cards. Imagine, a mind reading, hypnotizing vampire who rejects the psychic world!

  But if he didn’t accept psychic abilities, he wouldn’t believe that Shawna would throw the cards a time or two and have the whole story before her. Gabby might not use the word vampire to Shawna, but she could describe the essence of Titus. Shawna was that good, and Gabby knew it, and so denied herself the help she most needed. I can’t make Shawna a target too.

  After another cup of coffee, she put the cards away in her handbag and returned to packing boxes. She had rented this place furnished, so there wasn’t much that actually belonged to her. She labeled boxes for her mother to ship later, and some to take. She was pulling down the shower curtain when there was a knock at the door.

  In a panic, she ran to the door and started to shove an empty book case in front of it. “Who—“ Her voice squeaked. “Who is it?”

  “Marlene. Who else at this hour?”

  It was nearly three in the afternoon. With a sigh, Gabby shoved the bookcase back and opened the door. “What are you doing here?” She couldn’t help it when her eyes darted to the bedroom.

  Marlene swept into the room. She always entered a room with a sweep, and this time it was enhanced by the lush fake fur coat she flourished and dropped onto the vinyl sofa. But the theatrics were such second nature to Gabby’s baby sister, that she didn’t miss the panicked glance at the bedroom.

  Pulling an envelope from her purse, Marlene waved it and sidled toward the closed bedroom door. “Mother asked me to bring you this check. This is such a lovely time of day in this apartment. You should keep the bedroom door open to let the sun in from that window.” She shouldered the door open, leaning on it just right to un-stick it. But the glance inside was anything but casual.

  Disappointment turned to grim disapproval as she saw the pile of luggage in the middle of the bed. “Mother told me about your harebrained scheme. What’s the family going to do with you so far away? You could just as easily go back to Columbia.”

  “I hated Columbia, and they hated me. Look, let’s not rehash old arguments. My mind’s made up.”

  “Can’t be. Yesterday, you were planning to help me make a New Year’s party for the whole family, and today you’re leaving tomorrow. That’s not a decision, it’s an impulse.”

  Sorely tempted to tell all, Gabby found her mouth stuck shut, and a rising urgency to get her sister away from the bedroom fought with an insane need to lie to protect Titus. She’d given up lying when she’d taken up the Tarot.

  She took her sister’s elbow and dragged her across the living room into the kitchen. “Come on, we can argue over coffee, and clean out the refrigerator.”

  Gabby dropped the check into her purse and spent the rest of the afternoon convincing her sister with lie after lie that just happened to be true. As they talked, they loaded most of boxes into Marlene’s husband’s Audi which she had just picked up from the shop.

  There was a bundle of clothes on the way to the cleaners in the trunk. That was supposed to go on top of the boxes because it had to be dropped off before Marlene went home. Gabby carried the laundry bundle upstairs and shoved it into a dark corner behind the rickety recliner that was missing a leg. Marlene’s husband was about the same size as Titus.

  Over the intervening hours, she genuinely forgot what she’d done and why.

  Gabby never knew how she managed it, but she got Marlene to leave before full dark. Wiping tears of farewell from her cheeks, she went back into the apartment, locked the door, and leaned on it as her eyes watched the slice of sky visible above the bay window. A star appeared.

  Switching on the overhead fixture, she saw the laundry bundle and panic seized her once more. Why—how—did Marlene forget that! Why did I hide it away? Her stomach churned. It had been hours since she’d thought of Titus.

  A deep, male voice said, “My gratitude is as boundless as the cosmos.”

  “My God!” she squealed.

  Titus, still wearing her bathrobe open over his tuxedo pants leaned over her, one hand propped on the wall by the door. He seemed pale, drawn, but the gashes in his side looked like year old scars, and the ones on his face and hands had disappeared. “Gabby, I’m sorry to have given you such a fright last night. You deserved better of me than that.”

  His hand floated out toward her face in an affectionate gesture. She jerked away. He froze.

  “I won’t hurt you.”

  “Get out.” She was surprised she had the ability to voice the order. “Get out and don’t ever come back. The invitation is withdrawn. Get out of here. I’ll—I’ll strew the place with garlic.”

  “Would you? Could you?”

  Deep inside she knew she couldn’t act against him. The imperative to protect him was stronger than she’d realized. “Maybe not, but I won’t have to. Whoever did that to you last night,” she gestured to the scars, “is going to be here soon.”

  He grabbed her shoulders so fast she couldn’t react. Staring into her eyes, he demanded, “How do you know?”

  The rest of the room blurred away, and all she saw were his eyes, all she felt were his hands on her shoulders, neither cold nor hot, just hands stronger than any she’d felt before. What spilled out of her was the absolute truth, though it’s the last thing she’d have said willingly. “I saw it in the cards.”

  His breath gushed out of him in a warm cloud, not the stale stench of the Undead, just breath. Breath he had been holding with tension. He breathed regularly, not just when he needed to speak.

  She slipped out of his loosening grasp and jackknifed over the recliner to fish out the bundle of laundry, turned and threw it at him. “Here! Take these and get out of here. Now! Because I’m leaving!”

  She charged past him into the bedroom to collect her suitcases. Turning back to the doo
r with a case in each hand, she pulled up short. He stood blocking the door. Over one arm lay the shredded remains of his formal jacket.

  “You told everyone you read for at the party that the cards can’t predict the future.”

  “They can’t. But everyone is psychic to some degree, we just can’t access the knowledge of distant events in the present. Discerning them through the Tarot isn’t predicting. It’s not fate. You can be gone before he gets here. Then, too bad for him.”

  “I don’t need Tarot cards to tell me I’ve got an enemy. And it doesn’t take a fortune teller to divine that I need help.” He advanced into the room, still blocking her way out of it.

  She retreated. He stopped.

  With his left forefinger, he rubbed the top of his forehead. “What I’ve already done to you is inexcusable—“

  “I’ll excuse it if you’ll just leave.”

  “I can’t.”

  There was real misery and genuine conflict in his eyes, his tone, his general aura. He was trying very hard to do something he believed to be right, but he wasn’t sure he could manage. Gabby had no idea where that insight had come from, but she’d learned to trust her judgment about people. She edged to the side, trying to get a clear shot at the door. “Why can’t you just leave?”

  He looked at his feet as he whispered, “Hunger.”

  “Hunger?” He’s going to kill me. Then she prayed, Don’t You think that’s an awfully steep penalty for screwing up a temptation lesson?

  “Hunger. I’m too weak to face him again, and I expect he’ll find me before I reach safety tonight. I can’t leave here in this condition, though I’m convinced we’re safe here. At least for a while. Gabby, help me, please.”

  “That’s a strange thing to say to someone you plan to kill.”

  “Kill?” He charged forward, tossing his jacket on the bed and brushed the suitcases out of her hands, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her to his chest all in one motion. “No! No, you don’t understand. All I need is a little of your blood. Less than you’d give to the Red Cross. And I’ll pay for it with the pleasure that is your due for such a precious gift.”