Moon Mourning

by J. R. Rain

  “Something on the night shift?” He leans his head against mine. “They never really bother showing that in any of the movies, do they? Vampires always seem to be, you know, wealthy and live in huge castles in the middle of nowhere. Or run through graveyards and whatnot.”

  I laugh. “I’m not really the castle-dwelling type, and if this transformation is supposed to come with a Transylvanian estate, I haven’t gotten the paperwork yet.”

  “What about being a private investigator? You could set your own hours with that.” He shrugs. “Or maybe you could try writing books!”

  “Writing books?” I peer up at him. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m trying to come up with something we can live on, bub. And yeah, right… me, a PI?”

  “Well, you’d be good at it. You’re a hell of an investigator already. It’s not so different from what you’ve been trained to do. Plus, I wouldn’t have to worry so much about you.”

  I pick at the bullet hole in my shirt. I’m not in danger anymore… everyone around me is.

  “Moon Investigations,” says Danny. “Has a nice ring to it.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I’ll think about it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Dream in Ashes

  Friday morning, I drag myself out of bed after a mere hour of sleep.

  The sunblock and makeup process is becoming routine, and I breeze through it before helping Danny get the kids dressed and fed. The whole time I’m watching them eat, I debate my need for sleep versus it being some kind of aspect of being a vampire that demands my body be idle during daylight hours. Do I actually require rest, or is it merely a way to pass time when the sun’s out there waiting to burn the crap out of me?

  I figure after weeks of forcing myself to be active during the day while being unable to rest at night, if it was a requirement that I rest, I’d have already cracked and gone insane by now. Or suffered some kind of malady. As it is, I’ve got the usual grogginess, but nothing worse than that. And even the leaden feeling is less than normal. I suspect it may have something to do with my feeding on Dale. His blood sure tasted a damn sight better than beef or sheep.

  Danny offers to take the kids to Mary Lou’s on his way to the law firm. Sounds like a decent idea since my eyes are still sensitive. No sense I insist on doing it out of clinginess when it puts them at risk. Protecting my children includes not exposing them to a car accident because I have crappy reaction time and poor eyesight during the day.

  Since I won’t be with them for the ride, I spend the last ten minutes before Danny leaves, holding both of my children and telling them over and over again how much I love them. I carry them out to Danny’s old-but-perfect-looking Beemer… which lacks child car seats.

  “Hang on. You don’t have car seats.”

  He grumbles. “They’re in the garage.”

  “I know, I know. It doesn’t look ‘professional’ to the clients.”

  “Sam, it’ll take too long to move the car seats right now.”

  “Then I’ll take them… or you drive the van.”

  “You take them, and I’ll reinstall my car seats tonight.”

  He sounds begrudging about that, but I know it’s not any resentment toward the kids. He’s afraid car seats won’t look professional.

  “People like a lawyer who shows a little humanity.”

  Danny chuckles. “All right, that’s a good point.”

  I move around the car and kiss Danny quick before darting over to the van and pulling the side door open. Argh, this sunlight burns like a bastard. The kids climb up and I buckle them in place.

  So, I drive like a little old grandmother, but I’m super-extra-careful. After dropping Tammy off at preschool and Anthony at Mary Lou’s, I head to the hospital. Chad’s somewhat awake, but on painkillers to the point of being high. And, for once, funny.

  He’s lucid enough to recognize me, but starts babbling about banana fudge cake when I ask him how he’s doing. It’s good to see him conscious, at least. I step out into the hallway and give Nico a quick call to let him know I’m going to be late, due to visiting Chad. He’s perfectly okay with it. For about an hour, I sit by the bed, telling him over and over again how sorry I am that I didn’t see the gun coming out in time to react.

  Chad mutters and waves dismissively.

  Around nine, I leave and head to the office. The mood is somber, though I get back-patted and ‘it’s not your faulted’ by everyone. Once at my cube, I hang the stupid hat and scarf on a peg and sit, tucking up to my workstation. Might as well get started on the reports of the shooting. There’s going to be another round of interviews coming up after the investigation’s done.

  I’m noticeably less groggy today, a fact I again attribute to consuming Dale’s blood. Believing that I’m an actual honest-to-goodness vampire is still a bit much for me to accept. The memory of sucking at his chest is simultaneously repulsive and fond. Daydreaming about still-hot blood gushing down my throat should not make me salivate, but my mouth tingles anyway. That achy pressure in my facial bones returns, and my fangs extend.

  Oh, crap.

  I probe around my teeth with my tongue. Sure enough, I’ve got a pair of elongated canines, top and bottom, with painfully sharp tips. Makes sense to me now how a man could’ve done so much damage to my throat so fast. Human teeth wouldn’t be capable of that… at least not in the few seconds he had to chew on me.

  That makes me shiver. A vampire attacked me and drank so much blood from me that I died. Or nearly died. Or something.

  Still, it’s an indescribably bizarre feeling to have fangs, much less retractable ones. Out of curiosity, I pick up a sheet of scrap paper and bite it. My teeth puncture it with ease, barely hesitating. Wow. Four holes, the inner two a touch smaller than the outer ones.

  I find myself wondering if some higher power does exist. Did some manner of intelligence design vampires? The retractable teeth probably happened because it would be awkward to talk with these sabers in my mouth. Or maybe they retract for stealth. Hard to prey on peasants when you’re obviously a visible danger. Better to save the weapons for the best moment when the unsuspecting victim has been lulled into a state of complacency. Ooh. I need to go check these bad boys out in the mirror.

  Or not. Damn.

  If I’m a vampire, and I’m dead, that means… I rub my stomach. I can’t have kids anymore. My emotions start to run haywire at that thought, but I catch myself. If I’m honest, I hadn’t been planning on any more additions to the family anyway. Tammy and Anthony are here already and they’re perfect. Okay, crisis averted.

  “Sam?” asks Nico.

  Eep! I look to my right, hiding my (probably visible) fangs. “Hmm?”

  “Got a minute?”

  “Mmm. One thec. Be right there.”

  Nico chuckles. “Sorry, didn’t realize you were eating. Whenever you finish, pop in my office, okay?”

  I nod. “Mmm’kay.”

  Retract! Damn you.

  As soon as Nico walks off, I grab my right top fang and try to push it up. Away! Put thyself away! I try to concentrate on how it feels to have fangs, picture their position in my skull, and focus on the concept of relaxing. Evidently, I’ve also developed a new set of muscles to move them, muscles no normal human has. It takes me about ten minutes of focused trying, but I finally manage to work out the controls, so to speak.

  I wonder if their initial extension as a reaction to the thought or sight of blood is a bit like a man’s reaction to the sight of a beautiful woman… as in, gets longer without any conscious control. Well, experimenting with the teeth can wait.

  Once I’m sure they’re safely back to unassuming size, I hop out of my chair and hurry to Nico’s office.

  “Come in,” he says, after I knock.

  Nervous, I ease past the door, half-expecting a group of investigators, but it’s only my boss. “What’s up?”

  “How’s Helling doing?”

  “He was awake. High as a kite so we didn’t get much c
ommunication done, but he looks better. We’ll need to get him a banana fudge cake when he’s back.”

  “That’s good.” Nico smiles, not really hearing me. His voice turns somber. “Please, sit. Tell me how it all went down.”

  “The shooting?” I ask, while sitting.

  “Yes.”

  I nod and try to clear my mind from the fatigue of being awake during the day.

  Minutes later, I hear myself saying, “…and when we made entry on the premises, we observed the four individuals holding military hardware. I drew my Glock and ordered them to drop the weapons and get on the ground. One man complied right away, the two on the far left and dropped the M16s but made no move to get down. The homeowner tossed the M16 but also remained on his feet and appeared to be reaching for a weapon. I pointed my Glock at him and again ordered him down. The next thing I know, the man on my left, the one with long hair, is shooting at us. He fired twice, one bullet striking Agent Helling. We returned fire and neutralized the suspect. I should’ve been watching them all, but Joey had me too distracted. I should’ve been faster.”

  Nico nods.

  I blink, focus my thoughts, willing myself to stay awake. “The man on the far left also went for a weapon. Somehow, Chad noticed him, despite being hit, and shot him before he could fire on me. When I engaged him, Joey and the other suspect bolted out the back door. Since Agent Helling had been wounded, I stayed with him and called for medical assistance.”

  “Well, that doesn’t sound like you two did anything glaringly incorrect. I probably would’ve waited for the ATF to arrive unless you saw them taking the box of suspected weapons back outside.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Nico leans back in his chair, steeples his fingers together. “So, Moon… still wearing the hat?”

  “It’s looking more and more like I’ve developed that condition I was telling you about, xeroderma pigmentosum.”

  “The one that causes your skin to blister after only brief exposure to sunlight?”

  I nod, let out a long, slow sigh. “I’m starting to have doubts that it’s going to improve, boss. It’s possible that it could interfere with my functions here at HUD… unless you stick me on a desk job where I don’t have to go outside. I just don’t want something like this to happen again. Chad’s hurt because I couldn’t react fast enough.”

  “Moon…” Nico raises a hand. “The investigation’s barely started yet. Don’t hang it all on yourself. But, that skin condition might be an issue. I’d like you to get a medical evaluation, and see what the doctors have to say about it.”

  I nod, holding back the tears.

  Nico leans forward, his expression comforting. “Give it more time, though, Agent Moon. I don’t want you reacting on emotion, based on what happened to Chad. I don’t say this lightly, but I consider you one of our better investigators. We’d had the Brauerman thing going on for years, and you’re the only one who caught on.”

  I shrug. “I got lucky. Noticed the business cards. Any of the other agents could’ve done that. I just happened to be in the right place.”

  He chuckles. “And humble, too. I suppose people who want glory go to the FBI.”

  I grin. It’s an old HUD joke, the FBI glory hounds. My smile doesn’t last, though, and I sit there looking at fingernails that are, in all likelihood, growing sharper and thicker. Like, seriously? As if I needed more strangeness.

  Quitting is probably the best thing I can do for everyone concerned, but it feels so damn wrong to just walk away from all the ass-busting work I’ve put into this. Maybe Nico’s right. I could be overreacting with emotion after what happened with Chad. Like any other situation, it takes acclimation. Feeding appears to reduce the grogginess, so my problem could be simply that I’ve been resistant to accepting what I am and not taking proper care of my new self. I need blood. If I stay nourished, I might not be so useless during the day.

  “You’re right. Maybe I am reacting too emotionally.”

  Nico smiles. “Just keep your head on. Get checked out, and let me know what the doctor says.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Ugh. What the heck am I going to tell a doctor?

  He asks more about the current case, so I talk for a little about Joey and the other unidentified man who fled the property. We’ve had local cops watching the place since then, but Joey hasn’t returned. Odds are quite low he will. The ATF took possession of the weapons, which they traced back to a theft from the National Guard armory at San Bruno that occurred two months ago.

  Nico excuses himself to call his buddy at the FBI and prod them about finding Joey and the other man.

  Speaking of… I have pictures to develop. Unease at my staying with HUD hounds me all the way back to my desk. Excuses and justifications flow like water, leaving me more confused than ever. I have no idea what I am or where I belong, but I do know at least one thing.

  I open and close my hand, staring down at my unnaturally sharp nails. Sharp, thick, and ghoulish. Yes, I know at least one thing…

  The sons of bitches responsible for Chad being hurt will pay.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Handoff

  Bryce goes by my cube offering donuts. Tempting, but, I think I’ll pass on the feeling that my shoes are about to come flying out of my mouth in a few minutes.

  “Your loss. More for me.” He wags his eyebrows and roams off.

  Electronic digging on Joey Bell doesn’t turn up much useful information but there’s no way his job as a security guard’s covering a $4,000 TV. Somewhere in the notes I took during the crime scene investigation after the shootout is the serial number. Once I find it, I call Sony corporate and try to get someone to tell me what retailer received this particular serial number.

  Forty minutes later, I’m on the phone with another vampire in a Circuit City store in LA. At least, I think she’s a vampire because she sounds about as awake as I feel.

  “…so you can’t look up a sale record by serial number?” I ask.

  “Umm.” Computer keys click. Bubblegum snaps. More keys click. “I’m not sure how.”

  “What about model number? Looks like an XBR 52.”

  She snaps her gum again. “Umm. Maybe. When was it purchased?”

  I sigh mentally. “I’m not sure. How many giant $4,000 televisions does your store sell?”

  “One sec.”

  Of course, ‘one sec’ is retail clerk speak for ‘oh, why won’t you hang up already and go away.’ And sometimes, it means ‘there’s someone else I can dump this bitch on.’

  Sure enough, after I sit on hold for a little over a minute, a guy picks up the line.

  “Circuit City, this is Marc with a C.”

  “Hi, Marc with a C. I’m Agent Samantha Moon from HUD. I’m trying to track down a television that a suspect involved in a federal crime may have purchased at your store. Do you have a record of sale for a Sony XBR 52 television, probably within the past few months?” I read off the serial number.

  Vanita from the mailroom swings by and drops an interoffice folder on my desk. I mouth ‘thank you’ without lending it voice. She grins at me and walks off with her cart.

  “Oh, sure, hang on. Sorry about Trinity.” Marc lowers his voice to a near-whisper. “She’s the manager’s kid.” He types a bit and hums. Must be holding the phone with his cheek since his nostril-breaths blast the receiver every few seconds. “Got it. Looks like it was a cash sale. Sorry, Agent Moon. There’s not much of a paper trail. The customer declined the warranty, too. All I’ve got’s a delivery confirmation.” He reads off Joey Bell’s address, which I already had.

  I ask Marc to fax me a copy of the sales receipt, thank him, and hang up.

  Well, that’s something at least. I now know Joey paid cash, and there’s nothing even close to a withdrawal big enough to cover the TV, tax, and delivery. Whatever he’s doing on the side is paying in cash, and he’s not depositing it in the bank. It’s not true evidence of anything, more like the smoke I need to
see in order to justify hunting for the fire.

  The envelope Vanita dropped off contains the photos I took of the men arriving at Joey’s house. I scan them into the system and email them over to Agent Whitaker with the ATF. He’s the guy that took over the firearms part of the investigation. I also send copies over to the FBI. Until someone gets back to me with information―assuming anyone can get back to me with information―I continue staring at endless lines of boring financial information, backtracking Joey’s life as much as I can from a computer.

  Wham.

  My face hits the keyboard hard enough to knock me back awake.

  “The hell was that?” asks Michelle through the cube wall.

  “Whacked my elbow on the desk. Son of a bitch,” I say.

  “Ooh.” She sucks in a sharp breath. “I hate that.”

  Grr. This ‘you need to sleep when the sun’s out’ thing is a royal pain in the ass. Sooner or later, I’m going to pass out at a rather inconvenient moment and get someone hurt. Losing an hour or so at the office in the blink of an eye isn’t so bad, but… what if this happens to me out in the field? I’m clearly not operating under the laws of nature anymore. Can willpower alone override a vampire’s need to be inert during the day? Good grief. Even thinking the word vampire makes me want to cringe, like I’ve gone into serious padded cell territory.

  I tease my tongue around my fangs again. That, of course, makes me think of the would-be rapist back in the parking garage. Fair bet, I fed from him. Better question is: did I kill him? I don’t remember a bit of it. My eyes widen at a sudden realization. When I was in the hospital, an old man down the hall went into cardiac arrest. He had two puncture wounds on his neck and had lost a lot of blood… and I didn’t remember if I was involved in that either.

  Crap.

  No, ‘crap’ isn’t strong enough.

  Shit!

  I set my elbows on the desk and hold my head in my hands. That’s twice I totally lost control and harmed people without wanting to. Well, once. True, I feel bad about the old guy, but the parking garage rapist? Not so much. Ugh. Wait, I’ve blacked out three times… the guy, Dale, at Joey’s house. I don’t feel bad about him either. He tried to shoot me. Okay, two out of three were bad people.