Moon Shadow (Vampire for Hire Book 11) (23 page)

Chapter Fifty-two

I paced the small sitting room.

And the more I paced, the weaker I felt. And not just weak, but my stomach hurt like hell, too. That was new. Oh, and something else that was new: the beginning of a headache. A doozy of a headache, too.

Meanwhile, my inner alarm was growing in volume, but not obnoxiously so, not like it had when I found myself on the wrong end of a monster mash. No, these warning bells were meant to just get my attention, to let me know that no good would come from being here for very much longer. But, if I knew my alarm correctly—and I think I did—there was no imminent danger to me... yet.

So, what had set off the alarm? Any number of things. The potentiality for harm was everywhere. I was, after all, surrounded by a sea of Lichtenstein monsters, undead humans housing the lost souls of the lowest of the low dark masters. Perhaps ‘master’ was being too generous. The walking husks that I had seen barely exhibited life, let alone intelligence. And thinking about all this only seemed to make my head hurt more.

I continued pacing, wondering where Kingsley had been taken, wondering why my inner alarm had picked up, and wondering why I felt so damn... weak.

I nearly paused and sat down, but I continued pacing, alternately running my hands through my thick hair and holding my upset stomach. I tried the sitting room door, and found it locked. Generally, locked doors take about as much time to open as an unlocked door. But, as I turned the handle, this lock felt heavy, impenetrable, eternal. I released the handle and continued pacing, now rubbing my temples.

Silver,
I thought, releasing my hand, which now burned. The handle was made of silver. Probably not the locking mechanism itself, but the handle sure was.

I told myself I could just sit and wait and relax and try to feel better. Yeah, let’s do that. Let’s sit and relax and maybe the pain will subside, a pain that had now spread to my arms and legs and chest. I sat, breathed, held my head and stomach, and anything else I could hold.

I felt drugged. I also felt as if I had been run over by a truck. A thought that left me feeling panicked all over again. After all, how could I save Tammy, feeling like this? How could I save anyone, let alone myself, feeling like this?

I shot up out of the chair. I stumbled over to the door and gripped the handle and turned with all my strength, even while my hands burned and smoked and hissed. Nothing much moved. No cracking of tumblers, or breaking of the doorjamb itself.

From behind the door, I heard footsteps.

A single set of footsteps, that is.

I released the damnable lever and stepped back, hands burning. I gasped, breathing hard, and waited for the door to open...

***

Dr. Lichtenstein was alone.

“Where’s... where’s Kingsley?” I gasped. I suddenly needed to sit. I stumbled back into a straight-back chair, holding my chest.

“I see the colloidal silver is taking effect. Good. Shame you didn’t drink more of the wine, Ms. Moon. Let’s just hope you ingested enough to play nicely.”

Sold in many health food stores, I knew the stuff. It was meant to aid health by ingesting traces of silver. Or, perhaps, it was meant to stop vampires. “Where’s... Kingsley?”

“Oh, he’s not very far at all. Lucky for us, he drank more than his fair share. Much, much more. He didn’t put up much of a resistance at all.” The doctor chuckled and swept through the sitting room and over to the hanging tapestry.

“You, you drank it, too,” I gasped.

“I did. I am immortal, like you and your werewolf friend. So are all my children. But, alas, we are neither vampire nor wolfman. Nor are we alchemists, although we are closest to the latter.”

“The boy... Luke...” I gasped. “Is he alive?”

“Really, Ms. Moon. Does it matter? The life of one boy? I suppose there might be some life in him, but I suspect we are reaching the point of no return. He is worth more alive than dead, but the alchemists have a way of zeroing in on their own. Better to get what I can from him, then dispose of him.”

“Monster...”

“I prefer... harvester, Samantha Moon. Is the farmer a monster for leaching nutrients from the soil? I don’t think so. And this boy in particular is so very rich in nutrients, Sam. The richest. A powerful young man, really.”

“The dark masters... are... using... you...” I gasped.

“I see you know your history, Ms. Moon. Yes, the so-called dark masters—although I am not beholden to anyone—provided me with the final clue. The final piece of the puzzle, if you will. A man, in fact, who claimed to be the dragon prince himself, Dracula. And, yes, they thought they could use me, to help bring back their own into this world. But little did they know the power of my mind. The control I have over every neuron and synapsis. Indeed, even now I can feel one of their dark entities within me, trying to escape. But I won’t allow it. And neither will my children; at least, those who are advanced enough to understand. I train each in the power of the mind. In truth, it is I who use the dark masters. Use them to create my children... and to live forever. While they reside only in shadows.”

I tried to sit up, but was too weak to even do that. My God, I’d only had a half a glass. Kingsley had, what, two glasses? Maybe three? A whole bottle?

“And you?” I asked, feeling a throbbing pain in seemingly every part of my body. “What are you?”

“I am like my creations, Samantha Moon. Like them, I have died, only to be reborn again. There is a reason I miss Franklin so.”

“He brought you back to life?”

“Of course, Ms. Moon. I drank arsenic and died. I was dead for two whole days before Franklin brought me back to life, using all my techniques to perfection.”

“You killed yourself?”

“It had to be done to be reborn, Sam. Ah, death is a beautiful thing. I saw things that I will never forget. But I knew I must return to Franklin, that I must lead my children forward into a brave new world.”

“You... you gave up eternity for this?”

“I would give up eternity a thousand times over for this, Sam. We are creating a new world, after all.”

“God... complex,” I gasped.

He grinned, and nodded. “Is having one so bad, Sam? It takes a rare creator to forge a new species, does it not?”

“Where’s Luke?”

“Being a particularly rich source of Hermetic blood, he’s being carefully attended to. The other boy, not so much. His blood was weak, diluted, impure, although delicious.”

“You... drink blood?”

“No, Sam. Although I can, and sometimes will. But, like your werewolf boyfriend, I and my children need to consume flesh, albeit twice a month, during full moons and new moons. Animals work nicely, and we have a small farm out back, full of chickens and sheep and other morsels. Only rarely do we feed upon people.”

I imagined a long dining hall full of Lichtenstein’s monsters, all feasting on raw meat. I shook my head, sickened all over again, and tried to sit up. As I did so, I noted some of my strength had returned. Indeed, some of the pain in my stomach had receded, too. The headache seemed to be fading, as well. The colloidal silver was, mercifully, wearing off, albeit slowly. I continued to play it up.

“Where... where is Kingsley?”

“Yes, Kingsley. He and I have a little history, Ms. Moon. After all, he went out of his way to steal away Franklin, my favorite creation. My most successful creation.”

“Seems to me like Franklin... left... on... his... own,” I said, and told myself to tone it down a tad.

“He did. But he had help, too. Most of my creations are incapable of surviving on their own. Even Franklin would need some help, at least initially. Food, shelter. Perhaps a job. Perhaps even legal paperwork. Kingsley provided all of that for him and more.”

“You should be... happy that one of your creations”—It was all I could do to not say monsters—“struck out on his own. You should be proud.” I needed to keep him talking. I needed more information. I needed to regain my strength. I needed to find the boy, find Kingsley, and then we needed to get the hell out of here and save Tammy...

All in a night’s work. I glanced at my watch. It was nearly nine. Three more hours...

“Perhaps I should be proud, Samantha. But I do not see it that way. I see it as betrayal. I see it as abandonment. I see it as worshiping a false god.”

It was all I could do to not roll my eyes.

“Mock me if you want, Sam, but my creations have a tendency to be beholden to their creator—”

And then, I suddenly got it. “And Franklin brought you back from the dead. He is, in essence,
your
creator.”

He smiled sadly. “Now you see the source of my distress, Sam. I am his creator, and he is mine.”

“Then why did he leave?”

“He was always a particularly free spirit. He had probably been so in his first life, too. His bond with me had always felt shaky, even from the very beginning.”

“And now he’s gone and bonded with Kingsley,” I said.

Lichtenstein’s eyes flashed. “Yes.”

“Which is why you hate Kingsley.”

“More than anything, Samantha Moon. More than anything on this fucking Earth.”

“Is it why you moved here?”

“I knew someday I would have my time in the sun. I did not know when that someday would arrive. I did not, in fact, expect to see the two of you enter my restaurant tonight. I knew you were in town, yes. In particular, I knew a vampire was in town. My children are everywhere, you see. They are my eyes and ears. Nothing surprises me in this town, my town. Yes, I knew you were here, and I knew your association with Kingsley, too. And, yes, I have been keeping tabs on the bastard werewolf for quite some time. Ever since he stole my Franklin.”

I sat forward, but that effort nearly caused me to vomit, a reminder that I was still not at full strength. I suddenly had a very, very bad feeling about all of this. Even worse than a few minutes ago, now that I knew the depths of the doctor’s hatred.

“Where’s Kingsley?”

Lichtenstein grinned—maniacally, I might add. “Better I show you.”

And with that, he stepped over and, like a shower curtain, yanked aside the heavy tapestry. Behind it was a floor-to-ceiling window. I blinked, confused. That is, until Lichtenstein flipped a switch near the glass.

“See for yourself, Samantha Moon.”

I stood on still wobbly legs and headed over to the glass. Turned out it was actually a window that looked down into what could only be called an arena. A dirt arena, like a miniature bullfighting ring. And there, hunched over on all fours and vomiting violently, was my Kingsley. Sweat poured from his forehead and glistened off his forearms. He ducked his head away from the light, blinking. He’d been sitting there in the dark this entire time. Admittedly—and I hated myself for thinking this—he looked like a big, wet, shaggy, miserable dog.

“Your Kingsley is full of the colloidal silver, Ms. Moon. Look at him there, so sick and helpless. The silver should stop him from shape-shifting—just as it should stop you from shape-shifting, too. Yes, I know of your pet dragon.”

He would, of course, have known about Talos. After all, I’d transformed to escape his brute. “Why is he in there?”

“Like God, I love all my children. But also like God, I will strike down those who fail me... and recycle the best of them, always hoping to create a better man, a better servant, a better worshiper.”

I wasn’t entirely sure he had this God-complex business pegged, but the key here was that he believed it. Every word. I turned and looked at the man who stared down through the glass window, a man who gave crazy a whole new meaning, a man who just might have lost his mind not just decades ago, but whole centuries ago. A man who was too smart for his own good, too driven for his own good, too talented for his own good, too lonely for his own good. Combine all of that, and this was what you get: a castle full of lurching monsters, and a creator who demanded to be worshiped. A creator who loved his creations. A creator who punished them, too.

Lichtenstein pressed his hand flat against the glass. “And Kingsley’s been a very bad creation, Ms. Moon. Very, very bad.”

Chapter Fifty-three

As Kingsley continued vomiting—I think he was well into the dry-heave stage at this point—a panel near him slid open.

He didn’t notice at first, but I sure as hell did. And it was what stepped out of the panel that made my own mouth go dry. The biggest of Lichtenstein’s creations stepped out of what appeared to be a monster-sized cubbyhole. It occurred to me that this creature was always there, always waiting to be summoned. That it, in fact, lived in that cubbyhole.

Jesus.

“What is that thing?” I asked.

“That
thing
, Ms. Moon, is my most powerful of creations. He represents the best, the strongest, the most agile, powerful, and obedient of all my children. Nigel is the punisher. Nigel is the executioner, too. Nigel is all the things I have done right, and none of the things I have done wrong.”

“Ah, fuck,” I said, and pounded the glass. Except Kingsley was still hunched over, still dry-heaving. Probably dizzy as hell, too. He didn’t look up, even as I continued pounding, half-expecting the glass to shatter under the force of my blows. That is, until a hand seized my right wrist.

“Don’t make me subdue you, Ms. Moon.”

I was about to tell him he could fuck off when I saw that someone else had taken hold of my hand, someone who’d entered the room quietly. Someone with undeniable strength. I turned, slowly, and looked up into a nightmare. It was the same terrible security guard—Gunther, I believe he was called—who had beaten me to within an inch of my eternal life. I might have squeaked. Then I nodded to Lichtenstein, who, in turn, nodded to Gunther, who, in turn, begrudgingly released my wrist. I got the impression that Gunther would have preferred to continue the beating he’d started a few days ago. With one eye on Gunther, I turned my attention to the events unfolding in the arena.

Mercifully, Kingsley had, by now, spotted Lichtenstein’s gladiator. The hairy beast, who was inexplicably named Nigel, had found his feet and was presently swaying. He looked like he might topple over at any minute.

“This is hardly a fair fight,” I said, moving closer to the glass and now thoroughly ignoring Gunther behind me.

“Who said life was fair, Ms. Moon?”

Lichtenstein grinned and eased himself down into one of the straight back chairs, which swiveled to face the glass. He motioned for me to do the same, and I did, slowly. Jesus, the bastard had made watching his animals tear each other to pieces a recreational sport. I glanced back one last time at Gunther, who stood close enough behind me to reach out and snap my neck.

I took in some air. The silver was wearing off. I was shaking less. Feeling stronger. Now, I looked out through the glass, and down into the arena, where the games were about to begin.

***

The monster was butt-naked.

Even from here I could see its many scars and stitchings. To say that Nigel looked like a rag doll on steroids wouldn’t quite be accurate. It looked like a walking, stalking, hulking quilt in human form. It had no genitals. No nipples. Its skin along its torso looked newer somehow, like it had been recently replaced, which lent credence to my theory that Lichtenstein was in constantly rebuilding these beasts.

Kingsley didn’t look like he was in any condition to get in any good shots, let alone survive. Or shape-shift, which was probably his only chance at survival. I had a very, very bad feeling that I was about to watch my boyfriend get torn limb from limb, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. And I happened to love each and every limb.

I was feeling better, stronger, but I didn’t let on, for obvious reasons. Lichtenstein, safe in the knowledge that his hulking security stood watch behind me, leaned forward with obvious glee. The light from the arena below reflected off his pale face, the whites of his eyes, and even his teeth as he grinned.

Below, Kingsley took a shaky step backward. The creature before him was terrible to behold. It had a tiny slit for a mouth, and a strange, misshapen nose that, I swear to God, looked to have been attached sideways. His straggly hair grew only from the right side of his head.

My human side wanted to scream, to run, to hide, to call the Avengers; indeed, what I was seeing was straight out of a comic book, or a horror movie. The demon bitch inside was fascinated by all of it. She had long since stirred. Next to me, I somehow caught the smallest movement from Dr. Lichtenstein: A minor head nod. Down through the window and into the arena, I noted the creature return the same head nod, and charge forward on huge, powerful legs that must have taken Lichtenstein years to find.

The movement startled my boyfriend, who managed only to raise his hands and wobble some more, before the giant in front of him lashed out with a backhand that connected across Kingsley’s face, and sent the big lug spinning sideways. I could hear nothing, but I might have
felt
the impact from the blow, all the way up here.

Oh, Kingsley,
I thought.

I really, really didn’t want to watch my boyfriend get killed before my eyes. Not so for Doctor Strange next to me. He was now sitting on the edge of his chair, a wicked gleam in his eyes, eyes that had seen far too much horror for my taste. Even for the taste of the demon bitch inside me, too.

And that was saying something.

Kingsley didn’t so much recover as stop stumbling. And just as he did so, the monster was on him again, swinging another backhand that rocketed out faster than, I was certain, anything Kingsley had ever experienced before. My boyfriend, the biggest, hairiest, strongest thing I had ever seen, was lifted off the ground by that last punch.

The monster, whether directed by Lichtenstein or not, charged the wounded werewolf, and drove a knee into Kingsley’s chest, and, if I had to guess, no doubt breaking a few of my boyfriend’s ribs in the process. Kingsley fell to his back and the monster leaped upon him, unsealing a ferocious barrage of inhumanly, supernaturally, ungodly powerful blows.

“Stop him!” I shouted.

“Oh, but I can’t, Samantha Moon. My son fights only to the death.”

I tried to stand but was forced back into my chair by a hand that wouldn’t give me an inch. Lichtenstein looked from me to Gunther, then back down into the arena, where Kingsley had managed to roll out from under the hulking beast, and find his feet. A credit to his will to live. Perhaps adrenaline was moving the silver through him, but clearly not fast enough. He still looked punch-drunk, was clearly hurt, and was now favoring one side.

“Please, you have to stop this.”

But Lichtenstein ignored me, and Gunther only applied more pressure to my shoulder, forcing me deeper into the chair.

Through the window, I watched the famous defense attorney try to mount his own attack. He lunged at the approaching monster, grabbed for a leg, only to be unceremoniously swatted away. Kingsley hit the ground, rolled, and was rewarded for his efforts by a swift kick to his ribs that kept him rolling.

I was feeling better, stronger, but I knew, even at full strength, I was little match for the brute behind me, let alone for the beast in the arena. Below, Kingsley had managed to catch one of the kicking feet. He held it, twisted. The creature roared through the slit in its mouth, although I couldn’t hear a sound. Lichtenstein frowned, and I thought there might be hope yet, until the creature pounced on Kingsley, and I saw only flailing limbs and punching hands.

Lichtenstein nodded his approval, and as I thought desperately for a way to help the big oaf, I heard a commotion through the closed door behind us. A commotion that only seemed to be getting louder... and, for the moment, had gone unnoticed by Lichtenstein and his henchman.

And just as Kingsley managed to roll away from a flurry of flying fists, the door into the sitting room—or viewing room—burst open. We all turned in unison to see Franklin standing there, breathing hard, a long and bloody knife in one hand.