Moon Shadow (Vampire for Hire Book 11) (17 page)

Chapter Thirty-nine

“And Franklin is such a revival?” I asked.

Kingsley nodded. He had long ago sat back in the client chair as he recounted the tale of the mad doctor Lichtenstein. “He and his many brothers.”

“He considers them his brothers?”

“Just one big happy family, Sam.”

“Are you being facetious?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Franklin has many, many brothers, as he calls them. He seems to have fondness for them.”

“All of them?”

“Most of them. One or two turned out to be particularly dastardly, particularly evil.”

I waited. I heard muffled voices outside Kingsley’s door. Nothing too excitable, but I noticed Kingsley cock his head slightly, pause and listen in on the conversation. What was muffled voices to me, was surely clear as day to him.

We are both so freakin weird it hurts.

“You probably have work to do,” I said.

“Soon. I am, after all, an ace defense attorney.”

“So you say,” I said.

He grinned. “And as far as Franklin and his family, most turned out respectable enough. Many are leading normal lives.”

“How many, er, offspring—for lack of a better word—did Dr. Lichtenstein create?”

“Ninety-two.”

“And all are still alive?”

“Most. After all, they can be destroyed. Most often by fire, but a silver stake in the heart works for them, too, as is the case with most immortals.”

I drummed my fingers on Kingsley’s oversized desk. I would say he was overcompensating for something, but I knew better. Boy, did I know better.

“Let’s back up here. Were Dr. Lichtenstein’s experiments a success because he used true science, or because the dark masters found their way into the corpses?”

“I would say a little of both. As you know, there needs to be a transfer of blood. From one immortal to another. Be it vampire or werewolf or, in this case, Lichtenstein’s monsters.”

“I’m listening.”

“After many failed attempts at reanimation, Lichtenstein was called upon by a monster of a different kind; your friend Dracula, in fact. To Lichtenstein’s horror, the Count came bearing gifts. Three corpses, in fact.”

“Let me guess: werewolf.”

“Good guess, my dear. Three recently killed werewolves, in fact. Turns out, Dracula doesn’t much like my kind, as you well know.”

Indeed, Dracula had helped me kill an entire werewolf pack just last year, a werewolf pack that would have surely killed me or, in the least, ripped me to shreds. But, yeah, the Count had seemed to kill with reckless abandon, and, I think, no small amount of pleasure.

“Lichtenstein was told, or perhaps even compelled, to use the corpses. To use liberally from the corpses. Something in each of the three killed werewolves needed to be in his reanimated corpses. Something, anything. A heart, lungs, a leg, a foot, fingers, toes. Anything.

“It was only then that Lichtenstein found his first success. It was only then that Lichtenstein raised the dead.”

“And these are reanimated werewolves?”

“Not quite, Sam. Although it is the werewolf flesh within them that gives them the spark of life, these are truly a new breed of monster. They are, first off, far stronger than any of us. Yes, Sam, even me.”

“Franklin?”

“Especially Franklin. He was one of the most successful of the creatures.”

“But he is so... well-spoken.”

Kingsley nodded and checked his watch. I could only imagine how disruptive this impromptu meeting had been to his usually hectic days. And to his bottom line.

“Many turned out very well-spoken. Many had no ability of speech whatsoever. Many turned into true monsters that had to be destroyed, lest they wreak havoc upon the world. Some even escaped.”

“And each contains the soul of a dark master?”

“Indeed, Sam. I would hesitate to say that most contain a very low-level dark master, with a few exceptions, notably Franklin. The thing that attacked you last night would have been closer to monster than man.”

“And you think it is one of Lichtenstein’s creations?”

“I don’t know for sure. But my best guess is yes.”

“Perhaps we should discuss the creature with Franklin,” I suggested.

“A good idea.”

I’d never had a good heart-to-heart talk with Kingsley’s butler before. Truth was, Franklin was a bit of a snob. I didn’t relate too well to snobs. Even undead, reanimated snobs.

I said, “I understand that these creations are vessels for dark masters, like you and me. But, unlike you and me, Lichtenstein’s monsters didn’t have an original soul. Unless I’m missing something here. The souls of the deceased would have been long gone.”

“A good point, Sam, which is what makes these creatures different from you and me. However, as you are well aware, departed spirits do, in fact, hang around their dead bodies. You saw it with your husband a few years ago.”

He was right. I’d found Danny’s spirit hunkered down next to his buried body, deep beneath the Los Angeles River, within a forgotten cavern. His spirit had been confused and unable to move on, for reasons I would never know. I’d always felt like shit that I’d forgotten him down there. That is, until I remembered the bastard had tried to set me up. Anyway, long story short, I’d help Danny’s spirit move on.

“So, what are you saying?” I asked Kingsley. “That the original spirit was, in fact, able to return to its deceased body?”

“I didn’t say that. Not quite. Liechtenstein’s experiments, aided by the werewolf blood sources and body parts, enabled, well,
any
spirit to enter the galvanized corpse.”

“Franklin had been someone else entirely?”

“In short, yes. Although, I believe, his is the original head.”

Maybe this news should have turned my stomach, but I found myself intrigued. And I don’t think it was because of the entity within me. After all, one didn’t study criminal justice and not have an interest in the darker side of life.

A thought occurred to me. “Can there be multiple souls?”

Kingsley held my gaze, raised his bushy-ass eyebrows, cocked his head a little toward some raised voices in the hallway beyond, then eased out of the client chair far too easily and swiftly. No one his size should be that fast, that skillful, and that much in control of their bodies. But there it was, right before my eyes, the natural and supernatural blending into one perfectly oiled, if not hairy, machine. He moved around the desk and offered me a hand. I didn’t take it, not yet. I generally left when I wanted to leave. Anywhere. Not because one of Kingsley’s clients was throwing a hissy fit outside.

Kingsley saw that I wasn’t going anywhere and retracted his hand and exhaled and said, “From what I understand, Sam, one of Lichtenstein’s monsters can have as many souls as it does different body parts.”

“So, if one of his monsters was cobbled together with, say, four body parts...”

“It could theoretically have four souls.”

“Plus the intrusive dark master,” I added.

“Right.”

“And how many does Franklin have? Souls, that is?”

“Two. Plus the dark master.”

“Does the second soul ever, ah, make an appearance?”

“Often.”

I thought back, my mind temporarily blown. But I could find no discrepancies in Franklin’s personality. He was always icy, snobby and efficient. I said as much to Kingsley.

“The second spirit will generally make an appearance when the conversation turns to politics.”

“Since when do you talk politics with Franklin?”

“He’s my most trusted friend, Sam. We talk often and about everything.”

“But he calls you Master Kingsley.”

“You’re going to be an ace detective yet, Sam.”

“Don’t patronize me. You know what I mean.”

Kingsley sighed and resisted an urge to look at his watch again. Good thing, because I just resisted the urge to rip it off his wrist and throw it
through
his office door.

“Although Franklin’s spirit is the primary spirit, his secondary spirit, who goes by Spartus, was once a house servant, and prefers to remain so, to this day.”

“And Franklin?”

“He was a common criminal, Sam. A pickpocket, I believe.”

Mind. Blown.
I stared at Kingsley, who was loving this more than he should. Since he couldn’t kick me out of his office, he was enjoying blowing my mind far too much.

“Then why isn’t Franklin, say, a pickpocket? How did the secondary spirit override the first?”

“They reached an agreement, Sam. If Spartus would mostly remain in the shadows, Franklin would appease him by performing his duties.”

Mind not so blown. That made sense. I was beginning to understand that two competing spirits could, in fact, come to an agreement. I said, “And the dark entity within him?”

“Mostly keeps to the shadows. It seems content to simply exist in this world. At least, for now.”

I thought about it, and thought about how Franklin never did seem to be very good at his job. He was often moody and cranky, and this would explain why. I still had one objection, “But he calls you Master Kingsley, for crissake.”

“Oh, he’s just being facetious, Sam, while still honoring his agreement with Spartus.”

“And this man who attacked me at the lake...”

“Sounds very much like one of Lichtenstein’s monsters.”

“And just how strong is he?”

“Stronger than you and I combined. Maybe even three or four of us.”

“Is Franklin that strong, too?”

“Perhaps even more so.”

“Even stronger than you in your werewolf form?”

Kingsley grinned, somewhat wolfishly. “Let’s call that a wash.”

“Can Franklin shape-shift?”

“No. At least, not that I’m aware.”

“And the others?”

He shook his head. “I doubt it. Shape-shifting is generally reserved for the higher-level entities. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a client to meet.” Kingsley stepped over to the door and turned the knob.

“Wait. One last question: Can you read minds?”

He gave me a lopsided grin. “Most immortals can, Sam. Even the Lichtenstein monsters. Of course, we all have our own individual talents, usually based on the original talents of the entity within us.”

“And is one of your talents influencing people?”

“I have been known to influence a client or two.”

“And juries?”

“Mass influencing? Never. At least, not that I’m aware of.”

“That’s a grayish answer.”

“That’s me. A gray wolf.”

“An oafish wolf, too,” I said, and sprang off of the desk and over to the big lug. I hopped up on my tiptoes and wrapped my arms around his neck and gave him a big smooch on his oh-so-soft lips. I broke free before things could get too heated—he was an animal, after all—patted him on his hairy face, and was about to throw open his office door, when he took me by the hand and spun me back around. I was expecting more of the horny wolf man. I was prepared to fight him off me. Instead, I found myself looking up into the concerned amber eyes of a man—and beast—who loved me very much.

“Sam, you can’t go out there alone. Not anymore. Not without me. This thing... you are lucky to be alive, Sam. It would have killed you. And then, it would have feasted on you.”

“You really know how to ruin a moment.”

“Sam, these creatures... these monsters... they’re not like you and me. Many have warring spirits within. Many were cutthroats and killers. And many more were absolutely insane. Liechtenstein destroyed the ones he could. Others escaped. Those that remained, he trained and educated and helped.”

“Well, I have a job to do,” I said. Which was partly true. My job had been to verify the lake monster. Now it had turned into a search for young Luke. Sure, I wasn’t getting paid to look for Luke. But I’d made a promise to Raul. And, well, I would be damned if I was going to allow another kid to wash up on shore; at least, if I could help it.

“No,” said Kingsley, squeezing my hand. “
We
have a job to do.”

“That’s corny, but sweet.”

He ignored me. “Just promise that you will take me with you the next time you head out.”

“I promise,” I said, and stood on my tiptoes and kissed his cheeks. His very hairy cheeks.

Chapter Forty

I had just gotten to my minivan, when my cell rang. A restricted number. These days, it could be any number of officers, detectives and federal agents. I clicked on, told whoever was at the other end that it was their dime, and waited with some excitement for a response.

“Samantha. Detective Oster.”

My breath caught in my throat. “Did you find Luke?”

I dreaded the answer, and was instantly relieved when she said, “No. Not yet.”

I exhaled. Better he remain missing than finding his half-masticated body washed up on shore.

“My thoughts exactly,” said Detective Oster, which was a funny way of putting it, since she had just read my own thoughts. Through the phone. From, like, a hundred miles away.

“Er, right,” I said, and put up a shield around my mind. Geez, these days I was just leaking thoughts all over the place, like my old Mustang used to leak power steering fluid everywhere. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure, Detective?”

“We might not have found Luke, but we found something. Four somethings, in fact.”

I shook my head, knowing what was coming next. I listened as she described the same four men I’d seen. The same four yahoos, all washed up on the south side of the beach, not far from where I’d seen them. All dead, all partially consumed, all missing limbs.

“Any witnesses?”

“A few reported some shouts on the lake. Nothing that raised any alarms. It wasn’t until we started receiving a few calls from concerned wives and girlfriends that we conducted a search. We never did find the rowboat.”

“Dinghy,” I said.

“Come again?”

I told her what I knew. No, I wasn’t always so forthright with police. But I liked Detective Oster, and there was nothing here to hide. At least, not yet.

“Yeah, that would be them,” she said. “Did you say bow and arrow?”

“I did.”

I could almost see the detective shaking her head on her end. “The news is having a field day, and the locals are up in arms. Five deaths in under a week. And to top it off, the biggest damn catfish I’d ever seen washed up this morning, too. Similar wounds, partially consumed. What the hell is going on, Sam?”

“I think you might just have a lake monster, Detective.”

“Jesus, I was afraid you would say that. Have you turned up anything?”

I considered what to tell her, and decided that I really didn’t have anything to add, at least not yet. Yes, I had seen the four yahoos out on the lake. Yes, I had even seen the catfish in its last moments. Granted, I had seen it in the mind of one of the now-dead yahoos. But none of this would have really shed much light on the investigation, other than to confirm that a reliable witness (me) had seen something black and scaly in the water. And I sure as hell wasn’t ready to discuss the Lichtenstein monster. At least, not yet. Still too many questions with too few answers.

I told her I didn’t have anything more for her. She held the phone longer than was probably polite, letting me know that her police instincts were aware that I might, just might, know more than I was letting on. I decided to throw her a bone.

“Actually, I have one question, Detective. Who owns the castle by the lake?”

I could almost see her blink on her end. “Why do you ask?”

“Call it professional curiosity.”

Now, I could almost see her squinting at me. Finally, she said, “A young guy. Someone pointed him out to me a few months ago.”

“What’s he look like?”

“Tall, handsome, pale.”

That didn’t sound like the hulking creature that had attacked me. “Where did you see him?”

“He owns a restaurant in town. Ravioli’s. He’s there some nights.”

“Do you know anything else about him?”

“No. From what I understand, few do. And, quite frankly, fewer care. Had he not purchased the castle, I know the city was thinking of purchasing it and turning it into a tourist attraction. But that was, what, ten years ago.”

“And you said he was a young man?”

“I did.”

“The desert sun must be good for his skin.”

“Maybe. Why do you ask? And if you say ‘professional curiosity,’ I’ll have you arrested for pissing me off.”

I grinned and said, “Oh, I have my reasons, Detective,” I said, and reached out to her through the phone line, and gave her a mental suggestion to let it go, to trust me, and that I was doing all I could to find the boy. Then I told her, audibly, to have a good day and that I would be in touch. She said nothing, simply clicked off.

I always felt strange when bypassing someone’s mental defenses and going straight to their subconscious. It was surely a violation. Doing so invited the demon bitch inside me to grow bolder. I didn’t want her to grow bolder. I wanted her to wither and die inside me.

Anyway, I never felt bad withholding info from the police, even from Sherbet. Keeping my cards close to my vest was sometimes best for all involved. It kept my own investigation on course, and kept the key players exactly where they needed to be. I didn’t need anyone descending on Raul’s home, or even the castle. Not until I had a closer look. And not without Kingsley by my side. I had felt that thing’s power. I wasn’t much of a match for it. Hell, I hadn’t been
any
match to it at all. It had taken Talos to get me out of there safely.

Answers,
I thought, as I plugged in my iPhone and started up the minivan.
I need answers.

These days, everything was an app, even proprietary data bases accessed only by law enforcement, some attorneys, and private investigators. I brought up the app, typed in my passcode, which just so happened to be Fang’s old AOL screen name, and plugged in the castle’s address. Hard to forget 111 Castle Drive.

A short list of names appeared on the iPhone screen. The castle had had only three owners, the last being Carl Inglebright. I did a search on the name, and didn’t get any satisfactory hits. My guess: fake name.

Was Carl the monster? I doubted it. The creature that had attacked me had barely sounded coherent. I had a hard time imagining the monster making a deal for the castle and signing all the necessary paperwork and shaking hands with the real estate agent and arranging for movers and paying his young lawn mower.

No, the thing that attacked me was more of... a guard dog, in a sense. A guard monster. As soon as I’d gotten too close, the damn thing had appeared out of nowhere, pouncing, attacking. Anyone else would have been killed by any number of his punches.

“I know what you are,”
it had shouted at me, over and over again. Allison had pointed out the thing sounded angry. I thought it had sounded afraid. And, if it was a fellow immortal—albeit created by a mad scientist—he would have seen that I didn’t have an aura. He would have known I was different.

So why attack me? Why attack a fellow immortal? What were they hiding? What were they afraid I would find?

I didn’t know, but I was going to find out.