Samantha Moon Phantasm, page 108
part #9 of Vampire for Hire Series
Fuck the Red Rider.
I was coming for him.
Chapter Nineteen
I needed to clear my head, which was why I was boxing.
These days, Jacky only emerged from his back office to watch me spar or hit the heavy bag. Rarely did he speak, although he mumbled to himself, with the occasional, “Keep your hands up” outburst. A quick dip into his mind revealed confusion and chaos and a love for boxing, exactly in that order. His love for the sport gave him clarity. While in there (his head, that is), I did a little maintenance. I walled up some static, chaotic thoughts that I knew to be associated with dementia, brought on by real brain trauma from years of fighting. Decades, actually. I also gave him a gentle suggestion that all was well.
Once done, he spoke a little clearer and sometimes walked over to me and other boxers and showed them how to deliver a quick jab, of which he did expertly. Sadly, the dark aura around him had grown since the last time I’d seen him. But not wildly so, which meant he still had some time here on the planet, although not a lot of it.
He mostly remembered my name, although sometimes he called me Sal and asked how the old gang was. I dipped into his brain and saw a group of Irish ruffians patrolling a street corner. Not a real gang. In fact, they were the opposite. They were there to keep the streets safe from the real gangs. And there was a much younger Jacky, full of spunk and spit, ready to take on all comers, afraid of no one and nothing. Sal, I saw, had been his good friend... a friend who had died decades ago, according to a flashing, fleeting memory. I told Jacky the old gang was good, keeping the streets safe, and that he owed me a dinner. Yeah, I saw that in his memory too... a dinner gone unpaid to Sal, a dinner Jacky regretted never paying up on. Jacky had smiled and wiped his tears, then shook his head, blinked, and seemed to come back to his senses.
“Hands up, Sam!”
“Yes, sir.”
At present, Jacky had gone back to his office and I was shadowboxing alone when a real shadow emerged from the floor and rose up before me. The shadow shifted and wavered and I realized it was little more than paper-thin. I paused and dropped my hands. Sweat poured off me, which was undoubtedly a credit to the sheer amount of water I drank. Undead or not, immortal or not, a body needed freakin’ water. Cells needed water. Everything needed water. No, I didn’t crave water, but I gave it water, whether it wanted it or not.
The amorphous shadow took on some shape, but not a lot of it. It had once been humanoid. Maybe. It wasn’t a ghost either, as its body was not composed of the electrified static energy that I see everywhere, the energy that ghosts can draw to themselves to give shape. No, this was not a ghost nor anything I was familiar with. The red eyes, of course, I had seen before. At the home of my sire... my one-time father. Was it one of the entities I’d seen crawling over the walls of his home and hiding in its shadows, those entities that fled from the floating candelabras? I didn’t know, but it looked damned close.
Whatever it was, it hovered a few inches from the ground, its red eyes unblinking. Had I not been so tough, I might have run in terror. But I’d fought the devil, his demons, and his three-headed dog. A strange shadow with glowing red eyes put only a small amount of fear in me.
“What are you?” I asked, certain no one could overhear me.
Jacky’s gym was big, occupying the bottom floor of one of Fullerton’s oldest buildings, and I was in a far corner, alone. There had been a bank here once, I was told. It had also been nearly robbed, with both robbers being shot and killed, or so Jacky had told me. Interestingly, two spirits—both male, both wearing fedoras—often watched the ladies box. Unfortunately, whoever they were, they were little more than scattered energy, with only hints of their former selves. Their souls, their true souls, were long gone. These were nothing but memories. Still, enough of them were still here that I’d always meant to ask about their story. Were they just common robbers? Or were they part of a big Prohibition gang? I sensed their story was important, but I never knew why I sensed it. Luckily, they were always here.
“I am nothing,” came a voice that was more felt than heard. Indeed, I could see the vibrations of the sound reverberate around it, emanating out like cracking waves.
“You are something, or I wouldn’t be able to see or hear you.” I lowered my voice and continued slowly bobbing and weaving, casually punching the air around me. The movements were mostly to cover the fact that I appeared to be talking to myself.
“I do not know what I am.”
“Were you alive once?” I asked.
“I suspect so, which is why I often take this shape.”
“What shape do you take other times?”
“No shape at all, Samantha Moon.”
I paused in my sparring. “You know me?” I asked, my voice rising a little. Some heads turned my direction and I cracked my neck and shook out my arms and legs and mumbled some lame pep talk. The heads turned away as the shape drew closer, wavering and flapping on winds unseen and unfelt.
“You are the master’s offspring.”
“Kinda sorta,” I said under my breath. I didn’t think telepathic communication would work since I didn’t think the thing in front of me had a head. “But yeah, close enough.”
“The master is dead?”
“That, I can confirm.”
The shadow wavered and rippled in front of me. Sometimes, his red eyes winked in and out of existence, then back again, and I realized, amazingly, the thing was blinking.
“He left my brothers and sisters bound to his home.”
“And why were your brothers and sisters bound to his home? And what the hell does that even mean?”
But the thing didn’t answer immediately, and I resumed shadow punching, picking up my pace, soon punching in a blur while a free standing, paper-thin poster of death fluttered and wavered nearby.
“I do not remember, Samantha Moon.”
“But you remember my name.”
“I only just heard it, but that, too, will soon be forgotten.”
“You have been dead a long time,” I said.
“I suspect so.”
“You never moved on to heaven or hell.”
“No, Samantha Moon.”
“Were you dark masters?”
“I... don’t know. The concept feels familiar.”
I nodded, wondering if these were one-time, low-level dark masters who’d escaped the devil upon death, and had been running ever since. Not all dark masters made it safely into the Void: take my own dumbass ex-husband for example.
“Why did the master bind your friends to his house, and how did you escape?”
The thing before me rose and fell on the currents of space, or non-space, and watched me for a long minute or so. I watched it watching me, wondering why the hell it would need to blink, and figuring it was probably only acting out a distant, perhaps forgotten memory.
It occurred to me then that I, Samantha Moon, lived in the cracks and fissures of space and time, those nooks and crannies that lie outside the standard cycles. So did this thing before me. So did Kingsley—who, by the way, I had a date with tonight. So did, really, everyone I knew. We were all outliers, strangers in a familiar land. I was just absorbing this revelation when the shadow spoke.
“He kept us safe. I recall him saying that. Yes, he said it once or twice. Or maybe more. He said he was keeping us safe from the fires of hell.”
“Why does he keep enchanted candles in the house?” I asked under my breath, nodding at a woman who grabbed a spare yoga mat from nearby. She didn’t smile back. A quick dip in her mind and... yup, she’d heard me talking to myself and thought I was a big weirdo. I encouraged her to forget I was even here and to not be so damn judgmental in the future. I wasn’t sure how long that last suggestion would stick.
“We have a tendency to gravitate toward humans. We love humans. We want to... I dunno... be part of them, live with them, become one with them.”
I nodded. “Possess them.”
The thing nodded eagerly. “Yesss.”
“But you’ve forgotten why or what your purpose here on earth was.”
“We have forgotten most things, Samantha Moon.”
“How did you escape the master’s house?”
“His spell weakened over time. I am the strongest of my brothers and sisters. They were too afraid to break it, but I was not.”
“What is it you want from me?” I asked. I nearly called it Thing #1.
“I seek the release of my brothers and sisters,” he said.
“So that you may possess humans later? I don’t think so.”
The thing shook its head vigorously. “I do not know why I say these words, or what they really mean, but I know we are not ready to possess, nor can we possess. No, Samantha Moon, we seek release.”
“And then what?”
“There is no ‘then what,’ There is only release.”
I thought about the thing’s request. I also considered why my one-time father had bound the entities. I said, “Go back to the home and I will consider your request.”
“Very well.”
“Wait. How did you find me?”
“I’ve been following you, ever since your departure.”
“Okay, that’s not creepy at all. Okay, go.”
It said nothing, but bowed low, and kept on bowing until it had merged with the floor. I had only a brief flash of it moving off into the corners and up the wall and scurrying from wall to wall, until it found an air conditioning duct and disappeared.
I resumed shadow boxing, although the term had taken on a whole new meaning for me.
Chapter Twenty
Before my date with Kingsley, I had managed to pull together another meeting, one that had literally fallen into my lap. Sometimes a case—even a very strange case involving a witch killer that spanned centuries—caught a break. This was such a break.
Before heading to the gym, I’d reached out to a man of interest. A man I was certain I would not hear back from for many months. A man who wasn’t just any man, but the man who had ended the life of my one-time father. Rand the vampire hunter was not only in Southern California, but he was free for a quick drink.
Which we were having now.
Like I said... a break.
I’d showered and changed at the gym’s locker room and briefly wondered how I looked. Luckily, there was no one else in the locker room to catch sight—or not catch sight—of the freak who didn’t show up in the oversized mirror. I assumed I looked presentable, shrugged, and headed out to Rockin Taco, literally next door to Jacky’s gym. Like I said, sometimes I catch a break. I wasn’t complaining.
A dueling piano bar might not be the first place one would imagine a vampire and a vampire hunter to meet. Then again, maybe it was the perfect place. Maybe the dueling nature of the pianos perfectly symbolized the dueling nature of my own love/hate relationship with Rand. Or maybe I just liked the cute piano players.
Indeed, as our drinks were served, the raucous crowd and energetic pianists (yes, I can hear Anthony laughing at that one), were having a great time. Although the brick walls looked like they might not survive the next earthquake, the massive wooden bar itself appeared to have been carved from a single giant redwood. How they got that sucker in here, I hadn’t a clue. Maybe they’d built the bar around the fallen tree. It was a working theory.
Admittedly, I wasn’t sure how I felt about Rand. Truth was—if that crazy scroll written by the crazy vampire was to be believed—he had ended the life of the man who had been my father 500 years ago. I should hate Rand. Hell, the man had almost ended my life, too. Amazingly, we had gone on to become friends, including an adventure in Europe that I didn’t talk about much.
Anyway, Rand was as I remembered: blond-haired and hunky. My first memory of him had been, of course, when he had delivered the ruby medallion to my front door. I would learn later that it had been a sort of recon mission for him. At the time, I had only remembered him in his too-tight tan shorts, walking away from my house after delivering the package. There was a good chance I might have made a double-entendre joke or two about his package and signing the log. Not my best material, but at least I had entertained myself. Anyway, he had been impersonating a UPS driver at the time. Recon mission or not, he had delivered something very special to me. Something that, quite frankly, had saved the life of my son... and set my son on a path of no return, so to speak. My son, who had been briefly transformed into a vampire. My son, who had entertained his own dark master, even for just a short time. My son, who would grow into what could only be described as a superhero.
Says the woman sporting wing tattoos.
Tattoos that were oh-so-much more than tattoos.
And all because of Rand’s special delivery that day. He didn’t have to hand-deliver that ruby medallion, but he had... and had inadvertently set in motion a chain of events that had changed my life—and that of my son’s life—forever.
Our drinks had just been delivered. Old-school Budweiser in the can for him and house zinfandel for me. Although my food ring is nice, I still feel mild discomfort when I stray too far from the vampiric basics, aside from blood. And the basics were white wine and water, both of which went down smooth, without a rumbling in the tummy, and I liked that.
Ring or no ring, the alcohol had no effect on me, which was sometimes a damned shame. I liked letting loose every now and then. A good buzz was... nice.
“First things first, Rand,” I said. “Still hunting vampires?”
“I am.”
“And how do you feel about a vampire sitting across from you now?”
“Kinda like those dueling pianists sitting across from each other.”
“We’re not dueling,” I said. “At least, I don’t think we are.”
“No, we’re not. But sitting with you now... goes against my nature.”
“And what is your nature?” I asked.
He picked up his pale lager, took a sip. “It is hard to put into words, Sam.”
“Try.” I was admittedly curious after reading my one-time father’s words on the subject.
“It is a... compulsion. How do you explain a compulsion?”
“You’re doing fine. Keep going.”
“There is within me a need to give balance to the world.”
“What is out of balance?”
“The predators.”
“Are there that many vampires?” I asked.
“It’s not the amount of vampires, Sam. One vampire can alter the balance. One vampire can remain undetected for centuries. One vampire can, over time, ravage a population. A particularly skilled vampire keen on avoiding detection and with a taste for human blood and, worse, with a fascination for killing, is a nearly impossible enemy to kill for the average man.”
“And you are not average?”
“Not quite, Sam.”
“You were born into this.”
He merely nodded and drank more beer. I could sense the silver on him. I could even sense the silver pumping in his blood. I could also sense the garlic, too, which lately had begun to nauseate me. In fact, I was pretty sure it was the reason my eyes were watering now.
“Was your father a hunter?” I asked.
“Yes. And so was my mother, and so is my daughter.”
I remembered his daughter. “Now there’s a female version of you out there hunting vampires?”
“No, Sam. She specializes in the were-creatures.”
“Yikes. Should my friend be alarmed?”
“Your boyfriend,” said Rand, correcting me, “should be fine. After the, ah, incident with your own attacker, my family has, ah, shifted how we do business.”
“Shifted how?”
“We only hunt known killers.”
“You regret killing him?”
“In a word, yes.”
Except I didn’t sense that he really regretted killing my sire, or regretted killing anyone, quite frankly. I sensed within him a love for killing, but that could have been me projecting. No, I didn’t enjoy killing. Elizabeth did, maybe. Not me. Still, there was something off about Rand. I asked about his family, and he told me a little more, not much. There were other hunters like him. Not many, but enough to keep the balance, enough to keep the vampires and werewolves and other such creatures in check. Most, like him, formed killing squads of mercenaries; that is, non-hunters. Meaning, these others were not born into the hunting trade. Rather, they enjoyed a steady paycheck, and killing the undead was as good a gig as any.
“Mind if we switch subjects, Sam? We only just sat down. Truth was, your sire, Mr. Jeffcock Letholdus, didn’t deserve to die, and that was a lesson learned by me—and my family.”
I nodded, repressing my own feelings. To know that the man who sat in front of me was responsible for ending the life of the amazing man who had fathered me and loved me over the centuries was... hard to take. No, I didn’t want to hurt him or attack him. Attempting both would invariably be the end of me. I knew Rand’s reflexes were nearly as fast as my own, and the hunter was armed to the teeth. No, I wanted to hate him. I wanted to hate him and scream at him and beat on his chest and remind him what a bastard he was and what an amazing man J.C. had been, vampire or no vampire. But I didn’t, although I did look away and wipe my eyes.
Luckily, the dueling pianos were drowning out most of this conversation, which was one of the reasons why I’d chosen Rockin’ Taco. That, and maybe the cute piano players.
“Are you wearing garlic?” I asked.
“You are especially sensitive these days, Sam Moon,” he said, and leaned forward and pulled out a bulbous necklace cluster. “Only three cloves.”
“Well, you smell like garlic bread without the bread.”
He chuckled lightly. “Sam, I was wearing the same amount of garlic on the night we met, and you didn’t seem to mind.”
He was right, and I hated that he was right. These days, garlic was affecting me, ever since I’d first noticed its effects in Richmond, Virginia... 150 years ago. Back then (yes, thanks, in large part, to the mother of all voodoo curses), I’d first been made aware of the effects of garlic when confronted with a whole ring of the stuff. Immediately, I’d noticed my system shutting down. I’d felt weaker, slower, and stunted. I’d also lost the ability to read minds. And that had been a whole ring of the stuff. This... this was just three damn cloves. Interestingly, I couldn’t remember exactly where or when I had been confronted with the garlic. The memory was there, but the place and events surrounding it, weren’t. Time travel was damn weird. Either way, since then, garlic posed some problems for me.
