Moon Investigations: Books Three and Four

by J. R. Rain

  Damn psychic ability.

  I clicked on, immediately regretting it because my sunscreen wasn’t applied as thick as it should have been. Already I was feeling the first wave of some serious pain.

  “Samantha Moon?” asked a pleasant young man.

  “You got her,” I said.

  “You removed a book from our library the other day and we would like it returned.”

  “Who is this?”

  “I’m with the university.”

  I frowned. “How did you know about the book? How did you know it was me?”

  But he ignored my question and asked cheerily: “We would like our book back, Miss Moon.”

  I forgot about the heat, about the searing pain. “I don’t have it anymore.”

  “I see,” said the voice, somehow even more cheerily. “Then there will be a fine. We will need that taken care of immediately.”

  “A fine? How much?”

  “I think you know the price, Miss Moon.” And the moment he said that, the medallion in my chest pulsed with heat of its own. “I will be expecting you soon.”

  And he hung up.

  Chapter Fifty-one

  I was back at the university library, and this time I was certain a bastard in a bow tie wasn’t following me.

  Anthony wouldn’t be released for another few hours and Tammy was with Mary Lou. Feeling an odd sense that I was either stepping into a trap, or into something extraordinary, I moved through the busy ground floor, and on an impulse I stopped at the main desk.

  “Who works in the Occult Reading Room?” I asked the flirty young clerk.

  “In the Occult Reading Room? No one. It’s a self-service reading room. But I could help you if you—”

  “Thank you,” I said, and turned away. I headed over to the bank of elevators. In a daze, admittedly.

  At the third floor, which was as empty as the first time I had been here, with my curiosity and wariness growing exponentially, I made my way down an empty aisle, stepping lightly over the dull acrylic flooring. With each step, my shoulder ached. My throat was still raw and red and for now I kept a scarf around it. The air conditioner hummed from seemingly everywhere.

  At the end of the aisle I came to the far wall. Ahead of me was the opening to the Occult Reading Room. Would the same young man be there? The young man with the bright eyes and the slightly pointed beard, a young man I hadn’t thought much about the first time I had seen him, but who was now very much the object of my attention.

  Prepared for just about anything, I moved forward, all too aware that the medallion on my chest was growing warmer and warmer.

  * * *

  The same young man was there, and he was once again sitting behind what I had assumed was an employee desk, but was, in fact, just an oversized reading desk.

  I sat cautiously opposite him, noting that my own inner alarm system was as quiet as could be. In fact, I even felt oddly at peace, perhaps for the first time in a long, long time.

  “You don’t really work here,” I said, as I sat my purse on the floor next to me.

  “Not officially,” he said, dipping his head slightly, apologetically.

  He couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, perhaps even as young as twenty. He looked like a student, surely. Other than the bright twinkle in his eye and his pointy beard, he looked unremarkable.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  “Archibald Maximus, of course,” he said. “You can just call me Max, though.”

  I stared at him a long time. His aura was violet. A beautiful violet unlike anything I had ever seen. “How old are you, Max?”

  He gave me a half smile. “Does it matter?”

  “I guess not,” I said. I liked the way Max looked at me. He didn’t stare rudely. In fact, he seemed to find great pleasure in looking at me, as if he were soaking me up, remembering my every detail. Normally, I don’t like to draw attention to myself and I like to be ignored. But sometimes I make exceptions. “You’re not a student here, are you?”

  He smiled warmly. “No.”

  “And you’re not twenty-something, either?”

  “Let’s just say no.”

  We looked at each other some more. I noticed now how perfectly groomed his beard was. I also noticed that his blue eyes were not really blue...holy hell, were they violet?

  “I...I don’t have your book,” I said.

  “I know.”

  “I don’t know what happened to it.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “Do I still owe a fine?”

  His lips broke into a wide smile, his cheeks rising high enough that the fine point of his beard wasn’t so fine.

  “I don’t think the library would appreciate me taking fines for books that don’t officially exist.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s okay if you don’t understand. There’s lots I don’t understand, too. That’s half the fun: finding answers.” He leaned forward a little and his gaze locked onto the area just beneath my throat, an area that was now throbbing with real warmth.

  “Ah, I see you’re wearing the medallion. Or, more accurately, it’s wearing you.”

  Which should have been a highly unlikely statement, since the medallion was currently concealed beneath my shirt.

  “I...was protecting it. I had no idea it would...”

  “Attach itself to you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you like for me to remove it?”

  “Yes. But I had heard—”

  “The seal was permanent?”

  “Yes.”

  “Normally, yes. But I’m fairly familiar with it. Would you mind?” he asked.

  I shook my head and he got up from behind the desk and stepped around to me.

  “Just try to relax,” he said.

  He put his hands on my shoulders, which sent a shiver of warm energy through me, charging me from the inside. Next he moved his fingers around my throat and slipped them down inside my shirt.

  I gasped and felt a different kind of thrill.

  His searching hands found the medallion, where he rested the flat of his palms over it. There was no pain, just a sense of...release.

  A moment later he removed his hands, and held up the gleaming medallion. He grinned.

  I was relieved beyond words. There was hope again. There was hope my son could live a normal life.

  “Now, Sam, what would you like to do with this?”

  But I was having difficulty speaking. I was so afraid to have hope, so afraid to believe. I tried speaking again: “I had heard that the medallion...” but I couldn’t get the words out.

  “You had heard that it could reverse vampirism?”

  “Yes,” I said, but I was terrified to hear his answer. Oh, sweet Jesus. What if he couldn’t do it? Or what if he said no? What would I do then?

  “Yes,” he said, smiling. “The medallion can do this. Or, rather, the magic encoded within it can.”

  “And you...you can decode this?”

  He nodded. “I can, Sam. And before you ask, yes, I will help your little one.”

  Relief flooded me. So much so that I couldn’t stop shaking. He reached out and took my hand.

  “You’ve had a rough few days, haven’t you?”

  I could only nod as the shaking, the relief, overcame me.

  “You’re never alone, Sam. Ever. As hard as life might seem, there’s always hope. There’s always a way, and there’s always love. Always.”

  I waited before I was certain I could speak, then asked, “How did you know I was looking for you?”

  “How do you know I wasn’t looking for you?” he asked, eyes twinkling. He saw my confusion and smiled sweetly. “Very few call my name, Sam, but when they do, I listen.”

  I couldn’t speak. I could only nod my thanks.

  He said, “Now give me a few minutes. Feel free to peruse the books, but stay away from the ones that call out to you. They’re trouble.”

  I told him I w
ould be careful, and he slipped away into a side room and closed the door. A few minutes later, he returned holding a small glass container with a cork cap, filled with amber liquid.

  “Have your son drink this tonight. He will sleep soundly for twenty-four hours, and will awaken with little memory of the past few days.”

  “And he will be...human?”

  “As human as ever.”

  “And the medallion?” I asked.

  He motioned to the amber liquid. “The medallion is no more.”

  I raised the glass container, mystified. “It’s in here?”

  He winked. “Distilled through, let’s just say, highly-advanced alchemical means. And Samantha?”

  “Yes?”

  “There’s only enough for one.”

  “Somehow I knew that.”

  “Remember, Samantha, there’s always an answer. Somewhere. You just have to look.”

  I hugged the young man as hard as I could, and thanked him. When I finally pulled away, I saw that my own tears had stained his white shirt.

  “I’m always here, Samantha, if you ever need anything.”

  “Here in the Occult Reading Room?”

  He grinned and winked. “There’s a lot to read. Oh, I have one question: How did you come upon my name?”

  I told him about the creepy old gnome who lived in Fullerton. As I spoke, Max pulled on his pointed beard.

  “And he bargained for your son’s life?” he asked.

  “I’m horrible, I know. I was desperate.”

  “Not to fear, Sam. One cannot bargain with another’s life. Ever.”

  I looked at him sharply. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, your son is safe.”

  “And the creepy old gnome?”

  “The creepy old gnome will never bother you again.”

  I hugged him for a second time. Somehow, even tighter.

  Chapter Fifty-two

  It was a week later.

  Summer was in full bloom and I was working a few cases. I had two cheating spouse cases and an undercover assignment working for a shipping company to find the reason for their occasional missing shipments. Two nights ago, I had gone on a date with Kingsley, to the musical premier of Annie in Los Angeles. He had kissed me goodnight and bowed slightly, and I was reminded all over again of his grace and charm and just how old he really was. Yes, we still had our issues, but to his credit he had dropped his loser client once and for all.

  Fang was there, too. Always texting, IMing and emailing. During one of our exchanges, I told him that Kingsley and I were going to explore a relationship together, but I always wanted Fang as my friend.

  He had paused for a few minutes before answering. When he did, he said that, of course, we would always be friends and that he was happy for me. To his credit, he appeared to be happy for me, but I could feel his hurt. We were, after all, still deeply connected.

  Danny had visited the kids once, and although he seemed pleased that his son was alive and well and not a freak, as he liked to call me, I could see that his old suspicion was back. The fear was back. The hate was back.

  Admittedly, I almost preferred Danny like this. I could handle his hate and suspicion. His flirting this past week had just been damn creepy.

  Now it was a Saturday evening and I would work the night shift later. It was dinner time, and I called the kids in from the backyard where they were playing on a Slip N’ Slide. Both were as red as tomatoes from their sun block having long since worn off, and never had I been more happy to see a sunburn on my son. Anthony was showing no ill effects from either the vampirism or the Kawasaki Disease, either.

  My son was back, alive and healthy. Had I altered his soul’s journey? Maybe. Had I played with his karma? No doubt.

  But he was back. Oh, yes, he was back.

  Dripping and arguing, they came running inside, snatching hot dogs and chips. A few minutes later, Mary Lou and her family arrived. My sister gave me a big hug and Anthony an even bigger hug.

  We all settled in with hot dogs and chips—or water, in my case—and put in a movie. About halfway through the movie a strong and foul smell permeated my living room, and that’s when the looks started.

  “Mommy did it!” Anthony cried out, giggling.

  “That’s it,” I said, grabbing him and throwing him over my legs, exposing his bony butt to the air. I was soon playing butt bongos off his little tush while he squealed with laughter. Soon Tammy joined in and so did my sister. There might have been some tickling thrown in for good measure.

  It was later, at night, when I was putting Anthony to sleep when he looked up at me and said, “Thank you, Mommy.”

  “For what?”

  “For what you did.”

  “What did I do?”

  “You know, Mommy,” he said, and reached up and hugged me tighter than he had ever hugged me before.

  The End

  Samantha Moon returns in:

  Christmas Moon

  A Vampire for Hire Novella

  Amazon Kindle

  Return to the Table of Contents

  ~~~~~

  Please enjoy the first half of:

  Aladdin Relighted

  Aladdin Series #1

  by J.R. Rain and Piers Anthony

  (read on for a sample)

  Authors’ Preface

  The Arabian Nights tales, supposedly told over the course of one thousand and one nights, constitute a huge and wonderful fantasy collection. Their framework is that a king, enraged by the infidelity of his wife, set up a policy of marrying a woman, spending a single night with her, then executing her in the morning so she would have no chance to be unfaithful. Thus a woman a night, indefinitely. But after a while there was coming to be a shortage of eligible maidens in the kingdom. Something had to be done. But who dared caution the king about his policy?

  Finally the vizier’s daughter Shahrazad or Scheherazade, a lovely and savvy girl, volunteered to marry the king. She had a plan. She had her younger sister accompany her to the bridal suite, and after the king had fulfilled his conjugal duty, the sister begged Shahrazad to tell her a story. The king happened to be restless, so was amenable; stories are great entertainments the world over.

  Shahrazad began her story, full of magic and wonder, but before she finished it the night was over and it was time to commence the day. In the story a demon was raising his sword to kill a merchant. The king was overcome by curiosity to know how that came out. So he spared Shahrazad for another night, so that she could tell the rest before she died. But she did not finish the story the second night, so the king granted another continuance. So it continued for almost three years, and Shahrazad had birthed more than one baby. The king finally realized that she was a fully worthy and faithful wife, and elected not to execute her. Thus the decimation of maidens was halted, and the kingdom prospered.

  This was of course a convenient framework for the vast collection of Arabian folklore. Piers Anthony adapted one of those stories, Hasan, as a novel over 40 years ago, but there are many more. Thus “The Story of Aladdin and the Magic Lamp.” In that one a boy manages to acquire both a magic ring and a magic lamp, and the powers this gave him enabled him to win the king’s daughter and in due course inherit the throne itself.

  One problem. It’s a fake. “Aladdin” was not one of the original tales. Shahrazad never told it to the king. It was written in Paris in the eighteenth century, translated to Arabic, and, taken for a legitimate tale, translated to English.

  Thus the present story, Aladdin Relighted, is a kind of sequel to a fake. Purists may wonder why the characters are not shown bowing toward Mecca five times a day or honoring other Muslim conventions other than token references. Well, the original story was set in China, where Muslim conventions do not prevail and djinni do not circulate; that is perhaps another signal of its fakery. So we felt free to do it our own way. It is fantasy adventure with an Arabian Night’s flavor. We use the terms djinn, jinn, genie and ifrit interchangeably, t
hough in Arabic lore there are sophisticated distinctions. We thought it would be fun to do the tale, relating to Aladdin’s later life, and it was. We trust that most readers will enjoy it as the light-hearted effort it is, and that Shahrazad herself would have found it worthy. We don’t want anyone executing us the morning after.

  Chapter One

  The Middle-East,

  A Forgotten Desert

  She was a fine beauty with almond-shaped eyes, high cheekbones and lips so full they could hardly close. She stepped into my tent and shook out her hair and slapped the trail dust from her overcoat.

  I had been dozing lightly, one foot propped up on a heavy travel chest, when I heard a woman’s voice asking for me. With my foot still hanging over the ornately-engraved chest, I had turned my head with some interest and watched as a dark-haired woman had poked her head in my open tent. My tent was always open. After all, I was always open for business. Once confirming she had the right tent, she had strode in confidently.

  And that’s when I sat up, blinking hard. It was not often that such a beauty entered my humble tent. Granted, there had been a time when I was surrounded by such beauties, but that seemed like a long, long time ago.

  “Do you always sleep during the day?” she asked. As she spoke, she scanned my simple tent, wrinkling her nose. She stepped over to a low table and looked down at a carving of mine. She nodded to herself, as if she approved of my handiwork. She looked around my tent some more, and when she was done, she looked at me directly, perhaps challengingly.

  “Only until the sun goes down.”

  She had been looking at a pile of my dirty robes sitting in one corner of my tent. She snapped her head around. “I hope you’re joking.”

  “And why would you hope that?”

  “Because I will not hire a sluggard.”

  She was a woman of considerable wealth, that much was for sure. She also did not act like any woman I had even seen, outside of the many courtyards and palaces I had once been accustomed to. She reminded me of all that was wrong with wealth and royalty and I immediately took a disliking to her, despite her great beauty.