by Nazri Noor
Blood Moon
Nazri Noor
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This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
BLOOD MOON
First edition. May 28, 2021.
Copyright © 2021 Nazri Noor.
All rights reserved.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
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Also by Nazri Noor
About the Author
1
A werewolf and a vampire walk into a bar.
A setup with no real payoff, a joke with no punchline, mainly because it wasn’t much of a laughing matter. I was the vampire in question – Sterling, as in silver, pleasure to meet you – and the bar was the only one for miles around. We’d been driving for hours through what had felt like trees, and trees, and more trees.
Silveropolis, California was the kind of town where you could get lost in the woods and no one would ever find you. Just the right place for ritual murder, the very thing we’d been sent to investigate. Because who do you send when the humans can’t find the dead? That’s right: two guys with heightened senses, anger problems, and blood issues. I kid, though. Vampirism never felt like an issue for me. As far as I was concerned, it was a bloody gift.
Too bad the bloody gift couldn’t make me any less achy or cranky, though. My legs were stiff from all the driving. I was running out of cigarettes. Also, I was starving.
But we had to keep it subtle. No sense lifting the veil. Outing yourself to normals is risky business, small town or no. I didn’t want to be catching any heat from any side, not from our leaders, and certainly not from arcane authorities. Damn magic cops.
I sucked on my teeth, taking in the locals, making no effort to hide my disdain. The place smelled like old, stale tobacco had seeped into the floor and walls. Vile, in short. And I’m a smoker. It usually takes a little more than ashtray smell to turn me off, but I had to look at the locals, too.
“Sterling,” said the werewolf, nudging me with his elbow. “Will you not put on that face?”
I frowned at him. “What face?”
“The one that’s going to get us beaten the fuck up.”
I could barely hear him over the garbled music streaming from the ancient jukebox, its busted neon and the blinking lights from two pinball machines in the corner the only real illumination in the place. Not unless you counted the large sign above the bar that loudly announced “Beer on tap,” or the very tasteful poster of a topless cowgirl next to it.
“Oh, now I see why they call this place Jugs.” I gestured around with one finger. “Don’t see any ladies in the place, though.”
The bartender was shaped like two kegs of beer stacked on top of each other, someone who probably got into a lot of fights in his youth and probably still did. Probably.
“Can we help you gentlemen?”
Gil – the werewolf, presently in the shape of a handsome, hirsute Latino man – cleared his throat. “We’re just looking to get some help with directions is all.” I thought I caught a bit of a twang in his accent all of a sudden, my good buddy, code-switching for the win.
Quiet laughter went up around Jugs from the half dozen patrons encrusting its counter. It was the kind of laughter that generally preceded the words “We don’t take kindly to your type around here.” I rolled my eyes. How the fuck had we walked into such a stereotype?
“You look like city boys to me,” the bartender answered, his mouth tight set under an impressive mustache. He wiped a towel over a dry spot of nothing disinterestedly. “Can use your apps and find wherever it is you’re headed.”
“Not on them,” I said, hands stuck in the front pockets of my leather jacket. “It’s why we’re asking.”
Whatever distrust and dislike the bartender and his regulars held for us went up a couple of notches as they turned to the sound of my voice. I bit down on the inside of my lip to keep from smiling. That’s the problem with being undead, see? You learn to stop being scared of anything.
I held my hands up, grinning, to show that I wasn’t armed. “Hey, just being honest.”
Gil pressed his thumb against his temple. He was going to give me such a talking-to once we got out of the place. Whether we were going to leave behind a bunch of broken furniture and a trail of jacked-up bodies, though, was all up to the guys at the bar.
“We’re looking for the Everett House,” Gil said, keeping his voice as even as possible. “That’s all we need. Place is probably so old and out of the way that nobody bothered to put it on a map.”
A younger man with a mop of dirty blond hair slapped his knee and laughed. “You mean the Everett Hut. Did you boys buy the place? You just bought yourself a nice little pile of twigs.”
“Just in town for business,” Gil said, exchanging a quick, dark glance with me. So our temporary residence was common knowledge to the yokels. Sorry, locals. We’d have to install some good old arcane security, then, lay down some wards.
A burlier guy up front got off his stool and folded his arms, standing with his legs astride. “You boys aren’t together, are you?”
I lurched forward, but Gil caught me by the scruff of my jacket. I was fast as hell, but we’d known each other long enough that he could predict just where and when I was likeliest to fly off the handle.
“He’s got a girlfriend,” I said, staring the man down. “And so what if we were?”
The bartender put down his towel, reaching under the counter for something. “Hey, now, he doesn’t mean no harm. You boys came to ask a question. He got to ask one in turn. Everett House is half a mile down the road and to your left. Signpost along the way. Can’t miss it.” He placed something long and cylindrical on the counter. Lead pipe. Nice. “And now that everybody’s got their answers, I think it’s time for you boys to go.”
“Gladly,” I said, shaking Gil off my back, giving the gentlemen one last glance over my shoulder as I strode for the doors. Double, swinging, like a saloon. “Fucking stereotypes,” I grumbled to myself.
I zipped up my jacket as we stepped into the colder night air. The cold didn’t bother me very much, but I’d learned my lesson early on. Vampires have consistently low body temperature, and there’s always the risk of freezing solid in less hospitable situations, especially when we haven’t fed. Think rigor mortis. Moscow, 1973. They had to thaw me out in a jacuzzi. Long story.
; My boots crunched in a carpet of dry leaves as I made a beeline back for the car, but I stumbled when Gil shoved one huge hand against my shoulder. I bared my teeth at him, hissing on reflex. Guy was one of my best buddies, but old habits, you know?
“What the fuck was that all about?” he growled. “The Everett House is a pile of shit, but it’s basically a landmark. They know where to find us. You wanna get staked while you’re sleeping? Because I’m not watching over your sorry corpse.”
“They were assholes.” I kicked at a clump of leaves, sulking. “And also I’m hungry.”
He wagged one thick finger in my face, his eyebrows connecting in an angry V in the middle of his forehead. “I told you to have a snack before we left, but you were a little baby about it, so here we are. You need to learn to play nice, Sterling. Where were you planning to find your next meal?”
I stuck my fingers in my jacket pockets, staring at the ground. “I brought some bottles, drained a couple of my thralls before we left.”
“Great. And how long is that going to last you? We’ll be here for several weeks at least. Months, if we’re unlucky. You’re going to have to find thralls in the local community, and you preening and making a target of yourself is not going to make that any easier.”
I wrinkled my nose. It was slightly annoying how Gil was pretty much spot on about our situation. You’d never guess that the guy who transformed on full moons and had to be restrained to prevent killing sprees would be the sensible one in our dynamic.
“You’re right,” I mumbled.
Gil waved his hand at the sign above Jugs. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you ended up having to use one of those guys as a juice box.”
I shrugged. “The blond one wasn’t so bad-looking.”
Gil scoffed.
“What? I’d rather partake from someone I’m not repulsed by. Sue me.” I chucked him in the shoulder. “And I mean, if it comes to dire straits, I could always get a tasty donation from my good old friend Gilberto Ramirez.”
He sighed and shook his head. “You’re a piece of shit, Sterling.”
But you know what? Gil was that good of a friend. I probably wouldn’t ask unless I had zero choices left, but if I truly was starving, I had no doubt that Gil would let me have a taste of his hairy ham hocks.
Call me a connoisseur, but to vampires, the world was a buffet, or more appropriately, a delectable wine flight. Humans were nice, and shapeshifters were an exotic treat. But you know what were really delicious? Magic users. Well, magic users, and gods, but that’s a whole different story entirely.
Gil’s chuckle was low and rumbly as we headed back to our car. “Maybe Asher will be happier to donate to the Bank of Sterling.”
I lit up. “I have no objections whatsoever.”
“I have objections. Several.”
Asher Mayhew, the potential donor in question, was leaning against our car, hands tucked into his hoodie, a grimace on his face. He was the lankiest of the bunch, but the kid’s leaner frame was a deceptive front for his deep wells of terrifying magic: necromancy, one of the rarest talents of all. One that was quite valuable in our line of work, too, for obvious reasons.
“Asher,” I said, rushing at him, ruffling his hair. “My best, most generous, and sweetest friend. Emphasis on sweet.”
He shoved me off, frowning even harder. “No. No way in hell. We had to pry you off my arm with a crowbar that one time I offered. Never again.”
“My friends, I call you people,” I said. “Some friends you are. I may as well duck into the woods and hunt for rats.”
“You may as well,” Gil said. “And Asher, didn’t we tell you to stay in the car?”
He stamped his foot, making a little whine. “I’m not a kid anymore.”
“Very convincing argument,” I said.
“Kid or no,” Gil said, “there was no way we were taking you in there with us. Sterling’s already made a couple of friends.”
Asher rolled his eyes. “I guess that means I have to set up some wards, then.”
I winked at him. “You’re the best. Didn’t I tell you?”
We piled into the car, and I sank into the heated seats with a pleasurable sigh. Seriously, being frozen alive was not a fun experience. Gil planted his chin in his hand, gazing out of the passenger window as I threw the car into first gear.
Asher slipped into the nook between our seats. “So did you find out at least? I tried checking again, it’s ridiculous. The place is impossible to find.”
“One of the guys in the bar called it a pile of twigs,” I said. “But yeah, we got directions. At least we got our warning that the place is going to be a certified shit hole.”
“As long as we get wi-fi,” Asher said sullenly.
I chuckled. “That’s why you download your porn. You kids today with your fancy streaming. What if a site goes down or something gets deleted?”
I could feel the heat blistering from Asher’s body as he blushed. “It’s not that, stupid. We’ll need it for research. It’s not enough to commune with the dead, which I already know I’m going to do a lot of.”
We drove on in silence a little longer, until I finally caught the broken-down signpost the bartender had mentioned and taken his suggested left. My headlights shone across what was supposed to be the Everett House. My mood darkened even further.
“Asher,” I said. “Could you maybe raise up some zombies, get them to do some renovation work? Not tonight, though.”
He rubbed at his eyes, leaning closer to the windshield. “That’s so disrespectful to the dead, bro. And what the hell are you talking about, anyway?”
Gil clutched at his face, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Oh. This is definitely not how it looked in the pictures they sent us.”
I felt at my breast pocket for my cigarettes, already stressed out by the sight of our home away from home. I slipped one into my mouth, letting it dangle there for a moment.
“Well, this looks like a great place to get murdered.”
2
The Everett House was barely a house, and it was barely a hut, either. It was a log cabin, except that the logs were so badly weathered. The windows were grimy, the shingles hanging on for dear life like rows of loose teeth.
In the dark, it was hard to tell if the exterior was crusted in moss or some other, more nefarious substance. Black mold, maybe? A sentient, flesh-eating fungus? At least then it would kill us, with any luck. At least then we’d only have to stay one night.
I would have much preferred to be dead – really dead, this time – than have to stay there, is my point. But we were given our job, and this flammable box was HQ, at least for the time being. Yet my mind had made itself up. I wasn’t going to enjoy a single minute being anywhere near the Everett House.
“This place is a fucking dump,” I grumbled, hauling my three designer suitcases up what might once have been a cobbled pathway. Now it was just a scattered jumble of muddy rocks.
Gil carried his duffle bag over his shoulder and lumbered after me. He shook his head, staring pointedly between me and my suitcases. Asher, tugging on the straps of his backpack, wasn’t as subtle.
“Why did you pack three roller bags worth of shit? We’re not moving here. This isn’t a bed and breakfast. And even then – three whole suitcases?”
“Stop sassing me,” I snapped. “It’s called fashion, and caring about yourself. Just because I’m dead doesn’t mean I should stop moisturizing.”
“It’s the same leather jacket and pants every time,” Gil mumbled.
“Except when it’s black skinny jeans instead,” Asher whispered back.
“Jerks,” I grunted, fumbling in a front pocket for a slender white envelope.
I ripped it open, forcing the ancient key into its equally ancient hole in a front door that looked like a home to demon termites. The lock turned, miraculously without the entire cabin crumbling down around it. I pushed the door open, expecting to unleash horrors rivaled only by the co
ntents of Pandora’s box. Instead we were greeted by creaking hinges, musty air, and furniture hewn out of the same logs that gave the cabin its structure.
My lips drew back, but I held my tongue. Gil went through the threshold first, shoulder-checking me as he passed.
“Quit being such a diva. It’s really not that – oh, holy shit, it smells like mothballs in here.”
Asher wrinkled his nose. “Not mothballs. It just smells old. I think I see cobwebs. Do we get black widows out here? Brown recluses? You guys are resistant to poison. Me, not so much.”
Gil hit a power switch somewhere, the house filling with the subtlest whir and hum as the lights came on. It was worse in the light. Moldering sheets covered what little furniture was available. And those were definitely cobwebs. Huge ones.
“If there’s a brown recluse living here, it’s probably the size of your head,” I grumbled, the floorboards squeaking and rattling as I rolled my suitcases in. A rug that might have been from the dawn of time ripped as I stepped on it. “I thought the owner said this was a fixer-upper, not a proper mausoleum. And did we really buy this place?”
Gil poked his head around from what appeared to be the kitchen area. “You know how it is. In Carver’s mind it’s much easier to straight up buy the place. As if money means anything to him. The owner was falling all over herself. Said she’d drop by tomorrow to check on things.”
