by D C Young
“Yes, but the manner in which you did so and the person with whom you trusted that information showed prudence and decorum.”
“I take it that you were also impressed with Miss Moon?”
“Extraordinarily impressed, Mister Telfair,” she replied. “Jade and I have made a lifetime friend of her and she has earned the great respect of all those here in the Big Easy.”
“I am glad to hear it.” The smile on my face was stretching my lips to the point that it was almost painful.
“I must go, Mister Telfair, but once again, thank you.”
“You are very welcome,” I replied.
When the call ended, I scratched out a simple note upon the stationery, addressed the envelope to Sam, dropped it in my outgoing mailbox and then reclined in my desk chair with Kentucky’s finest mixed with Coke on my proud and contented lips.
Epilogue
Two days after catching a sea spirit in a bottle off the coast of Barbados, I was home. The kids were at a friend’s birthday, and I took to my desk to go through the mail. There were the usuals; the water bill, electric, US Weekly magazine and Tammy’s InStyle, all of which I pushed to the side but soon enough a few interesting envelopes popped up.
I read through the thank you notes and was overcome with emotion. Although I’d avoided doing so during the whole encounter with the Louisiana witches, I cried.
Happy tears.
A pleasant surprise had been a postcard with a picture of the Roman Archway tomb at Bonaventure Cemetery; the ‘The Gateway to Heaven’. It was from Dani. ‘I hope your vacation was one to remember. I hope to see you again in Savannah.’
Boy, would she like to know.
Then, it came down to a pretty mint green envelope. The return address read: Hilton Head Island, S.C. but that was all I’d needed.
Dear Miss Moon,
I cannot begin to say how much of a pleasure it has been to have met you and to give what insight I could into yours and Mr. Fulcrum’s cases.
I’ve had news that the crisis in New Orleans was expertly diverted and that your help in the matter was an overall blessing. I am particularly pleased that you have formed a connection with the Louisiana factions; everyone there speaks so highly of you and the Western Elders. It says much about our California community.
As for Mr. Collins, his spirit has left Seagull Point. It seems that his satisfaction with the outcome of both Mr. Ambrose’s trial and the capture of Yemaya has put his soul at rest. Should that change I will be sure to alert you, of course.
I implore you, Samantha, please don’t hesitate in the future to contact me should you ever need my help.
I am now and forever your friend,
Rennie Telfair.
The End
The Chronicles of the Immortal Council returns in:
Vampire Reflections
by D.C. Young
(coming soon!)
~~~~~
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Mother, wife, private instigator... vampire!
The first book in Amazon’s #1 bestselling vampire mystery series:
Moon Dance
Vampire for Hire #1
by J.R. Rain
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Also available:
Vampire Apocalypse
by J. Thorn
(read on for a sample)
1.
Samantha Moon always found her conversations with the dead to be much more interesting than those with the living.
“The perp’s name is Juan. Blue bandanna and a teardrop tattoo beneath his left eye,” she said.
“Height? Build?”
Samantha closed her eyes and placed her hand just above the chest of the still-warm corpse.
“Five-ten. Stocky. He wore a black leather vest.”
Detective Braden scribbled into his reporter’s notebook, a massive hand swallowing the yellow pencil. His red mustache twitched as he wrote. His eyes were tight and black in the shadows of the nightclub’s storeroom.
“Anything else?” Braden asked.
“Nothing relevant,” Samantha said. “That should be enough to get you an ID and possibly, a warrant. I guess I don’t have to tell you the murder weapon.”
Braden stopped writing and turned his head sideways. He shoved the pencil behind one ear and the notebook into the back pocket of his khakis. The detective sighed as the beat cops continued working on the crime scene.
“Let me guess. A knife.”
Sam smiled and crossed her arms. The open wound in the victim’s back meant it could have only been a knife. Or a shark attack. “Buck knife. Probably twelve inch.”
“Someday, it’s going to get out that the Fullerton PD keeps a psychic on retainer.”
“I’m not a psychic. How many times do I have to tell you, Detective?”
“Maybe until I understand how you’re able to come up with enough information on a perp to get an arrest. I know you’ve been working with Detective Sherbet, but that doesn’t mean he has any idea how you do it either.”
When they retire, I’ll explain necromancy to them. Right now, they’d never believe I’m a vampire, let alone a vampire with the ability to talk to the dead.
“We always get a DNA match. You arrest the bad guy, right?”
“I guess we do, P.I. Moon. That doesn’t mean it’s any easier for me to deal with you. You know how I feel about all that hocus pocus b.s.”
“It’s not magic. I have a way of seeing the crime scene that you and your officers don’t. It’s not any more magical than listening to a radio or a podcast over a wireless RSS feed.”
Detective Braden whistled and pushed a hand through his smoldering red hair. He rested the other on his service revolver that stuck out from a waistband holster beneath a short-sleeved polo shirt.
“My teenage daughter has a smartphone and three tablets. She’s always doing something techie on those damn things. Probably listening to podcasts, like you.”
Sam smiled again, her bright red lips glistening.
“Yeah, I’m sure she’s spending all her time doing that. Not chatting with boys.”
Before Detective Braden could reply, a uniformed officer stepped between them. He looked at Samantha, his eyes traveling from her flowing dark-brown hair down to her shiny patent-leather boots. The man tried to hide his admiration of her full breasts and curvy hips. The boys at the precinct had told some pretty wild stories about the stunning brunette private eye, Samantha Moon.
“Sir, we have a hit in a CJSC database.” He turned his back to Samantha. “Should I put out the APB?”
“What’s his name?” Braden asked.
“Juan. Juan Ortizo. Known associate of the 18th Street Gang, one of the Sureños. They run drugs from Long Beach to Anaheim.”
Sam crossed her arms over her chest and rocked back on her heels while winking at Detective Braden.
“Got a mugshot?” he asked the officer. “Oh, and let her see it.”
The officer held his phone out and turned it so Samantha could see the screen, but he kept his body facing Detective Braden.
I wonder what those guys say about me in the locker room after their shifts. I’ll bet it’s all true.
“Short. Stocky,” Samantha said to Braden.
“That’s our man,” he said to the officer.
Braden waited for him to walk away before taking a step toward Samantha. He stood a foot taller and could easily fit two of her inside of his frame.
“I’m serious. I don’t know how long Sherbet and I can keep the mayor in the dark about your involvement with our PD. The guys, they fear you. Worse yet, they don’t trust you.”
“Do you?” Sam asked.
“Fear you?”
“No. Trust me. Do you trust me?”
she asked.
“What choice do I have? I can’t let these drug lords destroy my hometown. I grew up here. My family is here. This is all I know. If I have to get my intel from a witch, so be it.”
“A witch? Is that what you think I am?”
“No,” Braden said, his eyes darting left.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” she said. “If you want the crimes solved and the violent criminals put away, I can help you but—”
“I know, I know. Sherbet told me I have to trust you and not ask questions. Yeah, I got it.”
“The first time that the DNA evidence doesn’t match the suspect I hand you, fire me,” she said.
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” said Detective Braden. “Nobody’s perfect and I wouldn’t let an innocent person go to jail if you messed up.”
His words stung. She’d never ‘messed up’ a case for the Fullerton PD.
Samantha couldn’t recall how many crimes she’d solved. Since turning six years ago and becoming a vampire, things were different. Harder. She’d decided that it would be better for her kids if she somehow kept up appearances in the community of some semblance of normalcy. A normal life. A normal mom. She could go out during the day, but it was painful—she had to cover up with protective clothing, a hat, and sunglasses. The notion of sunlight burning vampires alive had come from Hollywood—they’d almost gotten it right.
Once the kids went to sleep, Samantha had all night to solve crimes. Even if that meant talking to the dead to find their murderers.
***
The coroner arrived and unfolded the black body bag. Several officers helped to position the body of the young thug so they could zip it up and remove it from the basement of the nightclub.
“You have a drug war on your hands,” Sam said to Braden. “In the past six months, nobody involved in this violence has been innocent. Neither the living nor the dead.”
Braden nodded and rubbed his mustache. He shrugged to concede the point to Samantha. It would be hard to argue that Fullerton was not in the midst of all-out gang warfare.
The officers lifted the body and carried it up the steps while the coroner followed, tapping on the screen of a tablet computer. He nodded at Detective Braden but did not look at Samantha.
“They love me,” she said.
“They’re scared to death of you.”
Samantha waited for the coroner to disappear up the steps. Despite the active crime scene in the basement, the DJ kept the incessant club music thumping on the dance floor above their heads.
“I think I am, too. There’s only one way you can know what you know.”
“Not true,” said Samantha. “I could be God. I could know everything.”
The last of the uniformed officers climbed the steps, leaving Samantha and Detective Braden with nothing but yellow crime tape and the coppery smell of spilled blood that had pooled and splattered on the floor.
“Enough. I’ll tolerate your dark arts to catch the bad guys, but I won’t tolerate blasphemy.”
If you only knew , she thought. God isn’t the only immortal force in the universe.
“I guess we’re done here,” she said. Her stomach was growling with the sudden onset of blood hunger, but far be it from her to contaminate an active crime scene by dipping her pinkie into the pooled blood after he left.
“Yes, we are done,” said Braden. He grabbed his navy blue windbreaker with “POLICE” across the back and pulled it over his polo shirt. Braden walked to the staircase and reached the third step before turning around and facing Samantha. “Thanks for your help,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Of course, Detective. Anything to help the boys in black.”
Samantha waited for Detective Braden to leave before she sat down on a crate of wine. She pushed her long, brown hair from her oval face and exhaled. She felt tired, but she wouldn’t sleep. At least, not the way she used to. Samantha tried to remember what it felt like to wake rested from a good night’s sleep and yet, the memory slid by like a lone leaf pulled by a river’s current.
She dragged her boot along the concrete floor and looked up at the cobwebs dangling from the beams overhead.
What am I doing?
Samantha was no longer sure that her role in the ongoing gang war was worth it. She had previously assisted detectives Sherbet and Braden on several cases, mostly on domestic violence disputes that had turned fatal. The husband always did it. Braden didn’t need a vampire necromancer to tell him that, although Sam was happy to put the scumbags in jail. This gang war felt different, as if the “eye for an eye” mentality meant she’d be constantly arriving at crime scenes, implicating one felon for the slaughter of another. It felt pointless.
It’s what I do. Some of the creeps I find on my own, evil men without a criminal record or arrest warrant. I feed if I have the time and opportunity and clean up the scene. Nobody gets hurt except the wicked.
Samantha stood and brushed the dust from her black jeans. She looked around one last time before walking up the steps. The voices of men and the flashing lights of police vehicles replaced the thumping bass and strobe lights of the club.
Braden had enough of that , she thought. Probably threatened the DJ with a disturbing the peace citation.
The forensics team arrived as most of the beat cops left, but a few stood next to the bartender, taking notes as the man relayed what relevant information he had on the murder that took place beneath his nightclub. Samantha walked past them, catching snippets of thoughts like the melodies of popular songs.
“…sorceress.”
“…in league with the devil.”
“…witch.”
She smiled at the men as she walked past and through the empty dance floor toward the back door. Samantha pushed the bar on the door and stepped into the alley. The smell of stale beer and fryer grease filled the air and she thought it was probably better than the smell of dead flesh, but only slightly.
Her black minivan sat behind the dumpster and the parking lights flashed as she unlocked the door with her remote. A white streak illuminated the sky and a roll of thunder followed a half-second later.
Samantha looked up where a thick haze hid the face of the moon. It glowed like a light bulb wrapped in cotton. She opened the door and slid into the bucket leather seats. Sam wirelessly connected her phone to the minivan’s stereo system as AC/DC came alive through the speakers. She raised the volume to ten in hopes of drowning out the voices in her head. Her ability to snag thoughts and speak to the dead allowed her to keep the city from erupting into an all-out drug war, but at the same time, it gave her no relief. She didn’t expect to gain such powers when she’d first turned, but then again, there wasn’t a manual on transitioning into a vampire. Like the thousands of immortal beasts before her, Sam would have to find her own way through the world of the undead.
The first drops hit the windshield, reminding Sam of blood dripping onto pavement. She flicked the windshield wiper and within minutes, the rain came down so hard that the wipers did nothing but smear water and light across her field of vision. She waited, listening to the water drumming against the roof.
Samantha put the minivan into drive, swerved past the dumpster and headed out on to the 57 Freeway, directly into an unusual and ferocious Southern California thunderstorm.
Vampire Apocalypse
is available at:
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