Moon Shadow (Vampire for Hire Book 11) (20 page)

Chapter Forty-five

I poked my head into her room.

“Hi, sweetie.”

She looked up from her phone and might have smiled. Her room, I noticed, was a pigsty.
Choose your battles
, I told myself, knowing full well that my daughter was in my head, even as I came into her room.

“Mind if I come in?” I asked.

“You’re already in.”

“Funny how that works. Mind if I sit next to you?”

“Kinda.”

“Scootch over.”

“Grrr.”

“Did you just growl at me?”

“Mom, I’m talking to someone.”

“No, you’re texting with someone. You see, the beauty of texting is that it’s not instant.” I snatched her phone in a blink of an eye and tossed it onto her pillow.

“Hey—”

“And I’m your mom and we’re going to talk.”

“You suck,” she said.

“Don’t I know it.”

“I’m not talking about blood, Mom,” she said, picking up my playful meaning. “You suck at being a mom.”

“I’m not going to lie, that kinda hurt.”

She shrugged, folded her arms under her chest, and looked away. My daughter was fourteen and developing slowly, which was fine by me. I had developed slowly, too, which seemed to keep the boys away. For a bit.

“But I also know how fourteen-year-old girls are, and I know someday, you are going to regret saying that to me. And someday, you are going to come up from behind me and surprise me with the mother of all hugs and tell me from the bottom of your heart that you are sorry for saying such mean things to me. You will probably also tell me that I’m the best mother in the world, and that you are lucky to have me. So, my future self says thank you, sweetie. That means a lot to me.”

“Are you quite done?”

“Not by a mile.”

“Grrreat.”

“Don’t roll your r’s at me.”

“You’re impossible.”

“I’m improbable, you mean.”

“Mom, are you trying to be irritating?”

“I irritate you when I’m not trying, so I might as well do it right. To do it for realz, as they say. And that’s with a ‘z’, I might add.”

“This isn’t happening, and you can’t keep me locked up in here all night, Mom. That’s not, you know, cool.”

“And since when have I ever been cool? Actually, don’t answer that.”

And, shocker of all shockers, that elicited a grin from her and the smallest of giggles.

“You don’t think I’m very cool, huh?” I asked.

“Nope.”

“But I can fly.”

She shrugged. “Not really. Talos can fly. You just sort of, you know, remote control him.”

“But I can beat up most men.”

“So can Rhonda Rousey.”

“But I don’t, you know, age.”

“Neither does Tom Cruise.”

Tom Cruise a vampire? Stranger things had happened. “So, I really am a dork to you?”

“Of course, Mom. All moms are dorks, except for Angelina Jolie. Now
she’s
cool.”

“Oh, brother. Who were you texting?”

“A friend.”

“Which friend?”

She shrugged. “Just a friend.”

“I hereby ban you from shrugging ever again.”

Tammy shook her head, rolled her eyes, and shrugged. “You can’t stop me from rolling my shoulders, Mom. And you can’t stop me from having friends, either.”

I knew where she was going with that. And she knew that I knew where she was going with that. “Those visions are real, Tammy. They are not dreams, and they are not made up. They do not exist for me to punish you or ground you or keep you locked up in this house.”

“Or in Kingsley’s cell,” she added.

“I’m sorry about that, baby. Kingsley and I were just thinking out loud. You have to understand how desperate I am to keep you safe.”

“I know, Mommy,” she said, and, I’ll admit, I will never, ever get tired of hearing her call me Mommy. “I mean Mom.”

“Too late,” I said. “You said it!”

I got the teenage trifecta: sigh, eye roll and head shake.

“I heard you and Aunt Allie talking. I understand.”

“You understand what? And since when have you heard Aunt Allie and I talking?”

She giggled. “Her shield isn’t as strong as she thinks it is.”

Now I sighed and shook my head. Jesus, just how powerful was my daughter? I took her hand and she let me. I held it tight, and she let me do that, too. “You understand what, baby?”

“I understand that I have to see this through. The accident.”

I took in some air. “And these friends of yours?”

“I met them inside the movies the other day. They’re Sophia’s cousins.”

“And they drive?”

She nodded.

“Are they the ones I see in the vision?”

She nodded again.

“They’re going to pick you up tonight, aren’t they?”

“Nothing is planned for sure,” she said, looking at me, her eyes wet and searching my face, “but I am beginning to think that they will. I’m scared.”

I was about to say she didn’t have to go with them, but that would go directly against what Allie and I had been discussing, and now with Tammy, too. I could tear out the engine of the car and lock the cousins away, too. But I knew that, at some point in time, she would get in a car with them. Whether tonight or another night. It was going to happen. It was seemingly pre-ordained. Or pre-destined. The question was: how much did the dream have to play out before I was allowed to step in? My only other experience with this was the girl at the bus stop. I had saved her right before the bus had crashed, in true superhero fashion. But had the girl gone on to suffer a fatal bus accident, say, a week from then? I didn’t know. I hadn’t known her name, and I hadn’t followed up. I suspected, though, that the majority of the dream, as I saw it, had to play out. The pieces of the puzzle had to come together, to be, once and for all, disbanded. It did no use to disband them too soon, for there were still mysterious forces at work bringing them together.

“You’re making my head hurt, Mommy—Mom.”

“I’m sorry, and I heard that. You still don’t have to go with them, baby.”

“I think I do.”

“Allison will be nearby. She will have some friends with her, too. They will help her.”

“And you will be looking for the boy the bad man is hurting?”

“Yes. But I will be with you, in an instant, no matter what.”

She nodded. She knew, better than anyone, the extent of my new powers. After all, she could relive my memories at will. Indeed, very little was hidden from her probing mind. I was, in a sense, an open book to her.

“You promise you will save me, Mommy?”

Her question broke me up more than I was expecting. “Of course, baby.”

“But you need to find the missing boy, too.”

“I do.”

“They are bleeding him to death.”

“I think so, yes.”

She nodded and looked down and didn’t seem to know what to do with her hands, so I returned her phone to them, and they clasped around it comfortingly. I then clasped my own hands around her comfortingly, too. She lay her head on my shoulder, and I felt her shuddering every few seconds. With fear, I suspected. Cold fear. She didn’t want to die tonight. I didn’t bother fighting my tears.

“This sucks, Mom,” my daughter said after a while.

“I know. But look at the bright side.”

“What bright side?”

“You’re not going to die tonight, baby.”

“You swear?”

“I swear.”

Chapter Forty-six

We were at a restaurant in Lake Elsinore called Ravioli’s, the same restaurant where Detective Oster had spotted the present-day owner of the castle.

Admittedly, I wasn’t very hungry and was way too anxious to eat anything, but Kingsley had convinced me that there wasn’t much we could do until the sun went down, anyway. He’d gotten off work early to make the trek out to Elsinore with me. Good man, considering the thousands he’d given up. Then again, I liked to think time with me was priceless. At least to the man who loves me.

Unlike vampires and their constant need for blood, Kingsley was a testament that twenty-nine days out of thirty, werewolves ate just like regular folk. Boy, did they. In Kingsley’s case, four regular folk.

Anyway, I was sitting at what had to be Lake Elsinore’s nicest restaurant, surrounded by good people talking idly, as if this was just another fine evening, as if a teenage girl wasn’t about to get into a fatal car accident, and as if a local boy wasn’t presently being bled dry for his magical, alchemical blood.

“We should go,” I said again.

“The food’s not here, Sam. We barely got our drinks. Trust me. We should be here. I have a good feeling about it.”

“Good feeling, why?”

“We’re being watched.”

I nodded. My own inner alarm was tingling mildly. No direct danger, but something was brewing in the background.

“Fine,” I said. Then added, because I am such a peach, “This has to be the worst date night ever.”

“It’s not a date night. For you, it’s a work night. Besides, I haven’t eaten all day. So, think of this as a refueling station.”

“Then why are you all dressed up?”

“Because I’m not an animal... most of the time.”

“Fine. Whatever. Maybe I can get them to hurry—”

He reached his big paw across the table and took my hand. I almost pulled it away, but I let him think he was comforting me. “Relax, Sam. I’m no good hungry, and you’re no good until the sun goes down.”

“The boy could be dead by the time you’re done slurping up your linguine.”

“Ravioli,” he corrected. You don’t order linguine in a place called Ravioli’s. Anyway, we don’t know where the boy is yet. We don’t know who has him or why—and whether he’s been harmed or not. We need answers first and a cool head.”

“He’s being harmed. He’s being drained.”

“That might be the case, but we are still not at full power here, Sam.”

“And raviolis will put you at full power?”

“My kind needs food. And lots of it. Trust me, I am far weaker when hungry.”

“Fine, whatever.”

“Hey, what the devil are you doing? I know that face.”

“Nothing.”

“Out with it, Sam.”

“I just lit a small fire under our waiter’s ass to get him moving.”

“He’s already moving, Sam. It’s a busy night.”

“And I might have told him to give us priority.”

“Sam...”

“It’s called compromising, you big goofball.”

“Fine. I promise, we’ll get to the boy, if we can. And we’ll save him, if possible.”

“Not if we’re sitting here waiting for your molten lava cake.”

“Tell you what, I’ll skip dessert tonight. See? We both can compromise.”

And before I could say something snarky and undoubtedly mean, our salads came. I didn’t want salad. I wanted the boy to be safe. I wanted my daughter to be saved, too. I wanted to punish whoever would hurt a little boy. I wanted to punish my daughter, too, for sneaking out late at night and almost getting herself killed. Of course, that hadn’t yet happened. And there was hardly any sneaking being done at this point. But she would have sneaked, had I not warned her.

“Relax, Sam. What’s on your mind?”

I shrugged. “What isn’t on my mind is the question.”

“Didn’t you say your daughter’s future accident didn’t happen until much later at night?”

I nodded and picked up my fork. Allison had helped me scan my dream last night, noting anything I might have missed—it was nice, after all, to have a friend who could read your mind—and she had spotted the time at a nearby bank, displayed in a digital marquee. I had missed it. Indeed, the details of the time were new. After all, with each night, each new dream, details of the accident were growing sharper, more poignant. More real.

The salad was good, dammit, although I still wasn’t very hungry. After two or three listless bites, I saw the puppy dog look in Kingsley’s eyes and gave him the nod that all men wait for. Yes, he could have my food. And, of course, I didn’t have to tell him twice. In a blink, my bowl was gone from in front of me and plopped down in front of him, and he was working it hard with his fork, which looked tiny in his ogre-like hand.

As I watched him eat—or inhale—I knew the big oaf was right. I sure as hell was no match against whatever it was that had pummeled me into Sam Moon pulp. And whatever condition the boy was in would certainly not get much worse waiting, say, two hours. And my daughter’s accident—or future accident—didn’t seem to be scheduled until around midnight. And whoever had scheduled her impending death could kiss my vampire ass.

If push came to shove, I would be at my daughter’s side in an instant. Yes, I had come to care about the boy, even if his own mother didn’t. No boy should be left alone, to bleed out in a monster’s dungeon, or wherever he was. Besides, the boy wasn’t alone, was he? He had Raul, who cared for him deeply. And, I think, he would have the Librarian, too, now that Max knew of the boy’s existence.

But first, we had to find him, and get him out alive.

That was my job.

I’d learned from Max earlier in the day that the Hermetic mark—that is, the silver cord interlaced in the aura in all those descended from Hermes Trismegistus—did not act as a homing signal; meaning, there was no way for anyone to actually zero in on the boy. The mark had to be seen with the eyes, by those who knew what to look for. In fact, a person could go their whole life without knowing he or she was descended from Hermes. That was, if they were fortunate enough to never cross paths with a vampire. Or something similar.

Anyway, it was unfortunate for the two boys that a monster of some sort had moved into the old castle. A monster who had hired the boys to, of all things, mow the estate’s massive lawn. A monster who, undoubtedly, had licked his chops when he saw the gleaming silver cords in one of their auras. Perhaps the beast’s hunger had gotten the best of him. Perhaps he had seen an opportunity to grow stronger than ever before, and had pounced on the boys. I’d only recently learned that Johnny—the first missing boy and the boy who had washed up dead—sometimes helped his friend Luke cut grass.

The waiter swung by with our meals: three orders of ravioli for Kingsley and one normal-sized order of linguine for me. Yes, I’d ordered linguine in a place called Ravioli’s. Hey, I’m not a rebel vampire mama for nothing. The waiter, I noticed was moving with an inspired pep to his step.

Back in the day, I found it morally reprehensible to control others, to bypass their free will. Now, not so much. This change in me had nothing to do with Elizabeth, I think. I told myself that it was because I knew, deep down, I wasn’t hurting anyone. The control wore off quickly. Indeed, the human mind eventually bypassed such control. Except in the case with Russell, my sexy boxer ex-boyfriend. His connection to me ran deep, thanks mostly to the introduction of sex into our relationship. Without my knowing it, the man had become bound to me, perhaps for life. His own will and ego had been buried deep heavy layers of compulsion, so deep as to never be free again. Until I’d released him. Now, I knew, I could never have sex with another mortal; unless, of course, I wanted a love slave.

That should have sounded horrible. But, in this moment, it didn’t. Okay, now that had been Elizabeth. The freaky, kinky bitch.

Kingsley said, around a cavernous mouthful of ravioli, “Have you considered the fact that your drive to save the boy tonight comes back to the fact that he is, however distantly, related to you?”

I blinked. Hard. I hadn’t thought of it that way.

Kingsley continued. “Perhaps you are compelled—perhaps even supernaturally—to help one of your own.”

I thought of that, even while I chewed the linguine, even while Kingsley wolfed down his raviolis, even while my inner alarm began to chime a little louder. Yes, indeed. We were being watched.

I was about halfway through my meal—and losing interest in it rapidly, when the chef himself came out of the kitchen and approached our table. And as he approached, I noticed the limp. And the scar at his wrist. And the fact that he had no discernible aura.

“And how is was your dinner, mademoiselle?” he asked, speaking in a sing-song French accent. His name tag read, ‘Pierre.’ Pierre was not a big man. And, if I was a betting gal, I would say he wasn’t a man at all. A
living
man, that is.

“I’ve had better.” I wasn’t sure why I had chosen this confrontational route. In the least, I was a bit blindsided by seeing what I assumed to be one of Lichtenstein’s monsters here at the restaurant, let alone as the head chef. No, he wasn’t the same brute who’d done his best to wipe me off the planet, but the coincidence of seeing him here wasn’t lost on me. Especially considering the owner of the castle also owned Ravioli’s. Ultimately, it was never a bad idea to poke the enemy. Poking produced results. Often quickly.

He studied me, showing no indication that he’d taken offense. Then again, maybe subtle facial cues were beyond him; after all, he had, at some point, been exhumed from the grave. He turned to Kingsley. “And how about you, monsieur?”

“Hated it.”

There’s a reason why I love the big guy, and this was it. The dude had my back, no matter what, even if he wasn’t entirely sure what my back was up to.

Chef Lurch looked down at Kingsley’s two finished plates, veritably licked clean. “Perhaps, monsieur might enjoy the third plate?”

“We’ll see. But I’m not very hopeful.”

“Perhaps my training at some of the finest culinary schools in France has been a waste of time.”

“You said it,” he said. “Not me.”

He nodded and, I noticed, glanced to his right. I glanced, too. Damned if the
maître d’
wasn’t also a fellow monster. I’d missed it the first time around, but now, I saw it. The big guy seemed awkward in his clothing. No discernible scars, but not all of the monsters would have scars, would they?

“As they say here in America,” said Chef Freak, “you can’t please everyone all of the time.”

“I would say you’re oh-for-two, buddy,” said Kingsley. “So, you haven’t pleased anyone yet, at least here at this table.”

“Perhaps monsieur would prefer rotting flesh? And mademoiselle a goblet of blood.”

“Now you’re talking,” I said. My inner alarm was humming nicely now. Something was either about to go down, or there was an impending swarm of bees coming up Main Street.

“You’re here for a reason,” said Kingsley. “Out with it.”

The man-thing before us, which did not appear to breathe and which emanated a palpable stench—yes, the sickly sweet odor of death—nodded. “Master Lichtenstein requests the pleasure of your company at his hilltop castle residence. He will send a boat for you at seven.”