Vampire for Hire (29 page)

 
      
 
Although I wasn’t looking at him, I knew he had narrowed his eyes. Kingsley was nearly impossible for me to read psychically. I wondered if it was like that for all other immortals, too.

 
      
 
He said, “That’s the legend about it.”

 
      
 
“What else do you know about it?”

 
      
 
“I know that a lot of people are looking for it.”

 
      
 
“People? Or vampires?”

 
      
 
“Vampires are people, too,” he said, grinning easily. And then he grew serious. “Why, Sam?”

 
      
 
The smell of blood wafting up from the desk was diminishing. The growling in my stomach subsided accordingly. I told Kingsley about my plan, minus any references to Fang. There was no need to make the big werewolf jealous. Fang might be a freaky dude, but he was no physical match for Kingsley. At least, not presently.

 
      
 
Make me into a vampire, Moon Dance.

 
      
 
Yeah, I still haven’t forgotten those words.

 
      
 
Anyway, I laid the plan out to Kingsley, and as I did so, he leaned a meaty elbow against the chair’s arm and took me in, watching me closely as I spoke. And as I spoke, I couldn’t help but notice that the slight amber in his eyes caught some of the office lighting and reflected it back to me twofold. Tenfold. He can look so wild sometimes.

 
      
 
When I was done talking, Kingsley’s reply was instant and heart breaking: “I don’t like it, Sam.”

 
      
 
“What’s not to like?” I said, jumping up. I paced behind him. “I save my son and later, I return him to being human. It’s perfect.”

 
      
 
He was shaking his head, and the amber glow was gone from his eyes, replaced with something close to alarm. And also something else. Concern. “Unless it doesn’t work, Sam.”

 
      
 
“But why wouldn’t it work?” I heard the desperation in my voice, which had risen an octave or two. I spun on Kingsley, standing before him.

 
      
 
“Because it’s just a story, Sam. A legend.”

 
      
 
“All legends have some basis of truth. Look at us. And quit looking at me that way.”

 
      
 
“What way?”

 
      
 
“Like I’ve lost my mind.”

 
      
 
He stood suddenly and towered over me. “I don’t think you’ve lost your mind, but I think you’re desperate, and dangerous, and if you would for one second listen to yourself you would see how scary you sound.”

 
      
 
I looked up at him as he looked down at me. He was breathing hard, and I could hear his heart thumping through his wide chest. “Who do I need to talk to?” I asked. “Who would know more about the medallion?”

 
      
 
He looked at me long and hard. “Sam, please.”

 
      
 
“I’m going to do whatever it takes to save my son, goddammit.”

 
      
 
“Even if it means turning him into a monster, Sam? Even if it means draining the blood from his body? And what if you can’t turn him back? What then, Sam?”

 
      
 
I heard footsteps just outside Kingsley’s office door. His new secretary was there. How much she’d heard, I didn’t know, but I suspected his doors were quite thick. If anything, she was concerned for her boss’s welfare.

 
      
 
I said nothing. How could anyone answer that question? Hell, has that question ever been posed before? Ever? In the history of mankind?

 
      
 
Kingsley continued, “I’ll tell you what would happen if you
can’t
change him back, Sam. Your son will be undead, like you. He will feed on blood, like you. He will be a monster.”

 
      
 
“Like me?”

 
      
 
“For all eternity, Sam. Your boy. Your little boy. Don’t do this to him, Sam. You can’t take this chance.”

 
      
 
I held his gaze long and hard. “Who do I talk to, Kingsley?”

 
      
 
He took in a lot of air, crossed his arms, and looked away. “Let me ask around, Sam.”

 
      
 
I nodded and felt a combination of joy and dread, fear and hope. “Thank you,” I said.

 
      
 
But he didn’t answer me or look at me, and shortly after that I left his office.

 
      
 
Chapter Forty-three

 
      
 
I had just slipped into my car after practically sprinting across the baking asphalt when my phone rang. Gasping and in real pain, I looked at the faceplate:

 
      
 
Caller Unknown.

 
      
 
Heart thumping and still reeling from my singed skin, I clicked on the phone.

 
      
 
“Hello,” I said. My face and hands were on fire, despite the copious amounts of sunscreen—and a sunhat that was wide enough to shade a small Balkan country.

 
      
 
“Hi,” said the tiny voice, a voice that was somehow even tinier than I remembered.

 
      
 
“
Maddie
!”

 
      
 
“You know my name.”

 
      
 
“Of course I know your name, honey.” But as much as I wanted to comfort her and reassure her, I needed information. “
Maddie
, honey, how many people live with you?”

 
      
 
“Two grownup men now.”

 
      
 
“Are they black or white?”

 
      
 
“
Bofth
. The white man is new. He’s really mean.”

 
      
 
Maddie
had a slight lisp and it was the most precious sound I had ever heard. I absently started my car and turned my air conditioner full blast on me, while huddling as far away from any sunlight as I could. My van’s side windows were equipped with pull-down shades, which I rarely, if ever, pulled up. The windshield sunshade was still in place, blocking most of the sun, although laser-like beams still found their way through here and there.

 
      
 
So there was a black guy and a white guy. The white guy, I knew, could have been Hispanic or even Asian.
Maddie
was only five. I doubted she saw race and color like an older child would. Or as an adult would.

 
      
 
Sherbet had confirmed the worse, that some kind of children swapping was going on. Children for drugs. Children for money. Children for sex. A slave trade where lives meant little, and no doubt most kids disappeared or ended up dead. Along with the mothers.

 
      
 
“
Maddie
, honey, are you in a house?”

 
      
 
“A house?”

 
      
 
“Or is it an apartment?”

 
      
 
“Peoples live here. We take the
vader
.”

 
      
 
The
vader
? My head was swimming. Jesus, I had had my questions rehearsed for when and if I heard from
Maddie
again, but now all my questions had gone out the window.

 
      
 
Think. Focus.

 
      
 
“Honey, what can you see from the window? Can you see anything?”

 
      
 
There was a slight pause. I heard her pushing aside what sounded like blinds. “I see a big house.”

 
      
 
“Where?”

 
      
 
“It’s high on top of the biggest mountain I’ve ever seen!”

 
      
 
My heart started hammering. I knew Simi Valley. The federal agency I had worked for, HUD, used a facility outside of the city to hold seminars and training. The facility was away from prying eyes, up against the base of a majestic, sweeping mountain range. Or, perhaps, a very big hill. Certainly big enough to call a mountain if you were a small girl from the streets of Buena Park.

 
      
 
And at the top of the hill, majestically overlooking the city was a museum. Not quite a mansion, but it looks like one from a distance.

 
      
 
The Ronald Reagan Museum.

 
      
 
The Moon Feather Indian casino, if I recalled correctly, wasn’t too far away from our training facility, either.

 
      
 
She’s in Simi Valley.
I knew it. I felt it in every fiber of my being.

 
      
 
I also sensed something else. Or, rather
someone
else. And from somewhere over the phone line, I heard what sounded like a door slam followed by a man’s yell. The yell sounded drunken and angry.

 
      
 
“I have to go,” said
Maddie
, whispering into the mouthpiece. Her whisper sounded nearly as loud as her little voice.