Moon Shadow (Vampire for Hire Book 11) (22 page)

Chapter Fifty

The lab resembled a morgue; that is, if a morgue was in the monster-making business.

I counted no less than fourteen corpses stacked around the room. All men. All pale and stiff. Some had fabulous wounds: missing limbs, missing sections of skulls, concaved chests. There had been, I recalled, a mining accident not too long ago, and not too far from here, either. An underground explosion at a clay and shale mine that had resulted in a tunnel collapsing and nine miners being killed. Rescue efforts took days. Big news. Some of these fourteen corpses showed signs of an explosion, while many had been clearly crushed. The remaining bodies had no discernible markings. Correction, the closest body to me, lying prostrate on a metal table, had a smallish bullet wound directly over his heart.

Some of the dead were stacked ingloriously upon each other, arms hanging to their sides, looking miserable even in death. Most notable was what I didn’t see: the boy, Luke, was nowhere to be found, which, I think, was a good thing, considering that this room seemed reserved for the dead.

The recessed center of the room, accessed by a four-step descent, featured only a single, metal table. Upon the table was a dead man. Standing next to the table was a living man wearing a surgeon’s magnifying goggles and holding a scalpel. Oh, and he was also holding a severed hand, which he casually dropped into a metal bin. As he did so, he looked up at us, smiling, his big fish eyes bright behind the goggles.

“Am I really seeing this?” I asked Kingsley.

“I’m afraid so.”

I really wanted to freak out, knowing to do so was the proper reaction. But the more I saw of the bodies, the wounds, the cutting instruments, the splatters and pools of blood everywhere, the more interested I became. So very interested...

By all counts, I should run screaming from the room. But there I stood in the doorway, transfixed. My stomach, curse it to hell, growled.

“Jesus, Sam, was that you?” whispered Kingsley.

“Don’t judge me, mister. I’ve seen what you eat when the moon is full.”

“That will be all, Rufus, thank you,” said the man in the goggles. He carefully set aside his scalpel, pulled free his gloves and pushed up his goggles which, admittedly, made him look less like a homicidal maniac.

Our ferryman guide—apparently named Rufus—nodded once and exited, and never once, from the boat ride to the elevator ride to here, looked our way or acknowledged us. The door shut quietly behind him, leaving us alone with the mad scientist.

“Samantha Moon and Kingsley Fulcrum, welcome to my house of horrors. Or, perhaps, my castle of corpses.” He chuckled at this, speaking in a surprisingly strong French accent.

I nearly said “domicile of the dead,” but held my tongue, reminding myself this was no time for my sometimes adorable wit.

He made his way up the steps and greeted us with firm handshakes. He did not sport an aura, always a sure sign of strangeness. His hand, I noted, was warm. I would kill to be warm again.

He bowed slightly. “Victor Lichtenstein, at your service.”

Lichtenstein was not very tall, which ruled out werewolves, who tend to creep up in size over the decades and centuries. He did, however, look like a reject from
The Big Bang Theory.
Nerdy, off-putting, awkward. He said to Kingsley, “Franklin is one of my better creations.”

“He doesn’t take kindly to being called a creation.”

“Which is exactly why he is such a success. Most of these brutes you see lumbering through this castle, or wailing in their cells, are incapable of caring what they are or why they are here.”

“You’re creating more.”

Lichtenstein chuckled. It was the chuckle of a proud and modest father. And, perhaps, that of someone who had completely lost his mind, too. Hard to say for sure, as the bastard presented himself fairly well. “I’m always tinkering, looking for better and better ways to bring my children into the world.”

“Children?”

“Do not scoff, Mr. Fulcrum. Some of us hunger for companionship.”

“And some of us make friends and get married or join online chat groups.”

He might have glanced my way. “And for some of us, none of those are easy. Some of us suffer tragic, overwhelming shyness. And some of us have loved and lost, and have decided to never love again.”

“You are speaking of Mary Shelley,” said Kingsley.

“Mary Wollstonecraft to me, but yes. I loved her and she betrayed me.”

“
Frankenstein
.”

“An atrocious book, and wildly inaccurate. Fiction at its best. She had, after all, seen but a glimpse of my experiments.” He took in some air, which seemed to be his first breath since joining us. “But where are my manners? Would either of you care for a nightcap?”

I looked at Kingsley. He looked at me. Of one thing I was certain: we had obviously seen too much here in Castle Lichtenstein. I doubted the good doctor had any intention of allowing us to leave.

So, hell, I might as well enjoy a stiff drink.

Chapter Fifty-one

We were in a smallish room.

A massive tapestry hung before us. The tapestry looked old enough to belong in a real castle. The scene woven into it was that of a fox hunt, with dozens of hunting dogs, horsemen, and one solo fox legging it out. I hoped the little guy made it.

The sitting room wasn’t quite a library, but almost. A number of books filled some shelves on one side. Most of the books were, predictably, ancient-looking, but I did spot one or two Stephen Kings and Michael Crichtons. No surprise there.

A lush carpet was underfoot, so deep and comfortable that I nearly removed my sneakers. What I would give to run my toes through it.
Big picture, Sam.
We sat in high-back chairs made of the softest velvet I’d ever had the pleasure to rub up against. Each of us had a glass of wine, a French syrah and the deepest red I’d ever seen. I enjoyed the crap out of it. A dry wine, I tasted hints of blackberry and maybe even cherry. That it also looked like blood was something I was trying to ignore.

“You were hired to find a lake monster, am I correct, Ms. Moon?” asked the doctor. This was the first time Lichtenstein had addressed me.

I blinked and set the glass down on a claw-foot side table. There was no coaster, just a richly embroidered doily. “I was, yes.”

“And how is your investigation proceeding?”

“It’s ongoing,” I said.

“Any leads?” he asked.

“There appears to be something there.”

“I imagine so. That poor boy. Those fishermen. Terrible.”

“I’m surprised I didn’t see the fishermen in your laboratory,” I said.

“Oh, they were far too gone to be of any use to me, although I suppose I could have parted them out.”

“Jesus,” said Kingsley, shaking his head and taking a healthy chug from his wine.

“It is a dark business, Mr. Fulcrum, I agree. But a rewarding one, nonetheless.”

“Rewarding, how?”

Lichtenstein stared blankly at Kingsley. “I create life, Mr. Fulcrum. What could be more rewarding than that?”

“You create monsters.”

“Say that to Franklin. Say that to my other successful creations. You met one such creation at Ravioli’s. Pierre is a world-class chef, and I couldn’t be more proud of him. For every ten simpletons I create, there is one monumental success.”

“And what do you do with the, ah, simpletons?” I asked, rather enjoying my own wine. It had a hearty, earthy, slightly metallic taste.

“You see them here, on the grounds. I have use for them, obviously. Some are strong as oxen. And I apologize, Ms. Moon, that you had to experience that firsthand. Gunther is house security who patrols our grounds.”

I realized Gunther was the one who had beaten me so badly.

“What if I had been, I dunno, someone lost and needing directions?” I asked.

“I sincerely doubt someone lost and needing directions would have scaled a fifteen-foot high fence. But, to answer your question, Gunther is trained to look for auras, or the lack thereof. He is trained to snuff out any supernatural threats.” He didn’t say it, but I suspected I knew of which threats he meant: alchemists. He continued, “I’m pleased to see that you’ve made a full recovery from the ordeal.”

If anything, he seemed more pleased that his bodyguard monster had performed his job astonishingly well, even if it meant giving me the beating of a lifetime. Ten lifetimes. Lichtenstein finished the last of his wine and asked if we’d like another round. Kingsley seemed all too happy to do so. My boyfriend seemed to be enjoying himself entirely too much. Last I checked, this wasn’t a social visit. There was a kid missing, possibly dying, and the big oaf was drinking our host under the table. Suddenly irritated, I declined another glass. Truth was, the wine was upsetting my stomach a little.

“Is the wine not to your liking, Ms. Moon?”

“I’ve had enough, thank you.”

Kingsley sat forward, almost spilling his recently-topped glass. “So, how many of your creatures work in town?”

“Many of them, Mr. Fulcrum. I own many shops and restaurants, many of which provide working opportunities for my children.”

“But why?”

“Why not? Those who are capable of working need to be stimulated. Many of them have been with me from the beginning and have learned valuable trades.”

Kingsley studied the doctor for a moment, eyes narrowing. He wasn’t quite buying the explanation. Neither was I.

I said, “Who invited us to visit tonight?”

“I did, of course. Some of my more competent creations are quite adept with modern technology. I was called immediately when two of the soulless entered the restaurant. A quick description was sufficient to know who, exactly, was at my establishment. You can imagine my pleasure and delight. I thought it only fitting to invite the two of you over for a nightcap.”

Absolutely none of this was making sense, and to top it off, my stomach was gurgling with, I assumed, anxiety. Although that would be a first for me.

“And they all live here?” I asked.

“Of course. They are my children, Ms. Moon. Do your children not live with you? Now, a small handful have left the fold. And I miss each tremendously.” He let his words hang in the air. He didn’t look at Kingsley; then again, he didn’t have to.

“There is such a thing as free will, doctor,” said Kingsley. “Franklin made his choice.”

Lichtenstein nodded at that, pondered it, and said, “There is also such a thing as gratefulness. My other children are grateful, so much so that they...” He let his voice trail off.

I deduced the direction he was going, and so did Kingsley. “That they worship you,” said Kingsley, who didn’t bother disguising his contempt. Kingsley and the not-so-good-doctor seemed to have some history, and I let it play out. Why should I intrude? Besides, it wasn’t every day that one got to see a real-live werewolf and, for all intents and purposes, the real Dr. Frankenstein, work out their grievances.

“Perhaps some see me as...”—he tried to look humble—“... a sort of god, yes.”

“And do you remind them that you are only a lonely scientist looking to make friends. Emphasis on
make
.”

“Oh, I am looking to make much more than friends, Mr. Fulcrum.” The doctor reached over and refilled his glass of wine. “I’m looking to create a whole new race. Emphasis on
create
.”

Kingsley rolled his eyes. Perhaps a little drunkenly.

“Yes, I might sound crazy, Mr. Fulcrum. I might even sound like the world’s loneliest man. But I have been given the keys to the kingdom, so to speak. I have been given the ability to create life where there was none before.”

“And you would be their god.”

“Is that so bad? My children have a natural affinity to me. I haven’t quite understood that. It is a rare offspring who leaves the fold completely.”

A sudden thought occurred to me. “You use your own blood to help galvanize them back to life.”

“Of course, Ms. Moon. My blood and another. All combined under the right conditions, with the right science, with the right intent.”

“Intent?” I asked.

“A powerful intent can move mountains, Ms. Moon. In this case, help spring forth life.”

Coming from anyone else, this would have sounded like quackery at its best, but I had seen his monsters. I had seen their apparent loyalty as well. What else would explain the compound filled with freaks? Indeed, Dr. Lichtenstein was clearly onto something. Whether he was onto something worthwhile or not, I didn’t know.

“Why here?” asked Kingsley. “Why in Lake Elsinore?”

“Why not? It’s a fairly quiet town. Most people keep to themselves. Most people stay away from the castle, too. Those who don’t, get run off.” He glanced at me.
Or beaten to a bloody pulp
, his glance seemed to say. He continued: “We’ll pick up shop someday, when the time is right. For now, we have our space, and I am very, very at home here in this modern-day castle. Fitting, if you ask me.”

“Cliché, if you ask me,” said Kingsley.

“Perhaps, but this home gives me pleasure, and so do my children, and so do all my future children. Speaking of which, I have something of Franklin’s that I’ve been meaning to return to him. Something I am sure he would appreciate having.”

I was wondering what the devil it might be. An arm? A foot? Photos from his past? Maybe information on the family he’d left behind?

Kingsley arched a caterpillar-like eyebrow. “Very well. I’m sure he would appreciate it.”

“Well, it’s something I’ve been meaning to give him, something I know he would want, even if he doesn’t remember. Perhaps it’s better that I show you? And you can decide.”

“Very well,” said Kingsley, and as he said those words, my inner alarm, which had been pinging mildly this entire time, picked up its tempo.

I grabbed my wolf’s hand. “Maybe I should go with you.”

Lichtenstein laughed heartily at that. “There’s no one here interested in your werewolf boyfriend, Ms. Moon. I assure you, he will be back in no time. Please, stay seated. We will return.”

And with that, Kingsley leaned down, kissed me on the cheek, promised he would be okay, and then left with Dr. Lichtenstein.

I was alone in the sitting room, and not liking it.

Not one bit.