Moon Shadow (Vampire for Hire Book 11) (19 page)

“Remember, Sam, you are a vessel for the darkest of them all.”

“I get it, I get it. So, who selects the children?”

“We don’t select them, Sam. They are born into this business, so to speak.”

“What do you mean born...?” But my voice trailed off as I thought back to the memory Luke’s aura, as seen by Raul, and just recently by Maximus; in particular, the beautiful silver serpent.

“Exactly, Sam. The boy, Luke, is marked.”

“Marked for what?”

“In his case, I fear, death. Had we gotten to him first, it might have been a different story.”

“I really, really don’t understand.” I was also feeling really, really sick to my stomach.

“Luke, as you might have guessed, is from Hermes Trismegistus’s bloodline. As am I. As are you. As are all alchemists or potential alchemists. You, of course, were destined to be on a different path. A witchy path.”

“And you know this how?”

“A little angel told me.”

“Ishmael?”

Max nodded. “You have lived many lives, Samantha Moon. In each, you have gravitated toward the earth arts.”

“Witchcraft.”

He nodded. “Yes. This incarnation was to be different, Sam. In this current and, I regret to say, last incarnation, you were born into the great alchemist’s bloodline.”

“I wasn’t before?”

He shook his head. “Few are reborn into the same bloodline, Sam. A grandfather will rarely return as the grandson, for instance. No, your birth, in this current and last incarnation, is what truly interested the dark masters. Now, for the first time, they had a witchy soul reborn into an alchemy bloodline, and they were veritably licking their lips.”

“So, you’re saying I didn’t have a prayer.”

“You had all the protection we could give you, Sam.”

“We?”

“Myself and others.”

“Other Light Warriors?”

He nodded. “And your guardian angel. His betrayal, you could say, came as quite a shock to myself and my fellow warriors.”

My angel had done it out of love, he claimed. He had done it so that he would be released from his service to me. Until now, I had not known the depth of his betrayal. The bastard had really set me up.

“Yes, Sam. It is true. Had I not put all my trust in him, you would, quite possibly, be one of us.”

“Or a witch.”

“Or both.”

I nodded. “Like Raul.”

“Indeed, Sam. He is both
brujo
and a Light Warrior.”

He waited until most of this sank in. And, of course, he would know the moment it all sank, the moment it all fell into place for me, since the cute little bastard was right there inside my head with me. A moment or two later, he went on: “All those in the Hermetic bloodline boast the silver marker, available for all to see. At least all those with eyes to see. It is, unfortunately, our calling card.”

“But I can’t see your aura.”

“Indeed. Most immortals can’t see each other’s auras. Or read each other’s minds. I suspect it’s for self-preservation. Most of the dark masters were scheming against each other. Most have a built-in shield, so to speak. The moment I became a master, my own aura disappeared from the eyes of other immortals.”

“You hid it.”

“In a way, yes. Truth is, when one reaches the immortal status, there is no longer soul leakage.”

“That sounds terrible.”

“But accurate. When one becomes an immortal, one’s soul is forever sealed in one’s earthly vessel.”

“Wait for it...” I said, and then mimicked my head exploding.

He laughed, perhaps for the first time. Damn, it was a nice laugh. I said, “But you can read my mind. I can’t read yours or Kingsley’s or any other immortals’ mind.”

“To do so took nearly a century of alchemical mastery. To read a vampire’s mind—or a werewolf’s or those things in-between—takes considerable practice and diligence.”

“Let’s put a pin in the ‘those things in-between’ part. So, those born with the Hermetic mark are, well, marked. By both good
and
evil forces?”

“Indeed.”

“So, that would mean my own parents—”

“Your mother, to be exact. And, yes, she was protected by one of us.”

I gasped. “The cross she wears...” I don’t often see my mother, but she’s out there, living her mundane life in Las Vegas. Anyway, I had seen the same cross in every picture. I mean, in every freakin picture, from ages five and up.

“Yes, Sam. One of my own talismans. It renders the silver cord invisible. And, yes, she’s been wearing it ever since our first meeting when she was, I want to say, five years old.”

“So you saved her life.”

“Indeed. And others like her. Keep in mind, some aren’t so lucky.”

“Was she a witch, too?”

He shook his head. “No. And neither was she an ideal candidate for alchemy school.”

I snorted. And then I laughed. Hard. Right there in the Occult Reading Room. The thought of my nagging but sweet mother, working secretly as a Light Warrior was just, well, too unreal. And too damn funny. Wait until Mary Lou heard this one.

“Wait, my sister. Her opal ring—”

The Librarian nodded. “Another talisman.”

“Jesus, you’ve been here with us, all along.”

“Yes, Sam.”

“And my daughter?”

“I have not approached your daughter. We figure she is well protected by you, at present. As is your son.”

And as he spoke those words, he held my gaze, perhaps longer than he had intended to... or exactly as long as he had intended to. But the meaning was damn clear to me.

“Oh no,” I said. “You can’t have him.”

“We don’t want him now, Sam, but Anthony would make a very, very fine Light Warrior.”

I protested some more, shaking my head and mostly mumbling to myself, but I couldn’t deny the obvious: my son would, undoubtedly, make the best Light Warrior ever.

“Can we change the subject?” I asked.

“To whatever you want, Sam.”

“Fine. Okay. Let me catch my breath. You know, so to speak.”

“So to speak,” he repeated, nodding.

“Okay, so if I was marked by the baddies from an early age, why did they wait so long to turn me?”

“I imagine they waited for you to reach peak age.”

“Peak age?”

“The age my mother would have wanted to be again. An age when you were fully mature, and naturally at your strongest. Her own supernatural propensities would only make you stronger.”

I found myself pacing the small area in front of the help desk. As I did so, I ignored the hissing from the books, the beckoning calls. There was something else pulling at me, something from my unconscious mind that was itching to rise to the surface. As I paced, Max continued, “Unfortunately, the young ones are an obvious target for the dark masters, too. Many do not make it to our schools. Many do not make it to their teens. Most perish, murdered, and often slowly.”

Now, I was really sick. “What do you mean, slowly?”

“Their blood is highly valued, Sam. The children are drained, usually of every drop. The blood of Hermes Trismegistus can increase a vampire’s power considerably, and often for quite a long time after.”

“Then why drain them slowly? Why kill them at all?” My words were coming in short gasps. The thing that had lain hidden just below my subconscious was creeping up, as the pieces were falling into place.

“Because most vampires are afraid of them. Afraid of what they will become. Afraid that other Light Warriors will come searching for them, and we have, when possible. Better to do away with them as soon as possible. That is, after capturing all their magically-enriched blood.”

I pressed my cold palm against my cold forehead. I continued pacing, continued ignoring the increasingly urgent hissing from behind me.

“Why do your books call to me?” I said irritably.

“They call to her, Sam.”

I nodded. I should have known that.

“It is a rare day that I allow, pardon me, someone of your kind into this room. The books, and the demons sealed within many, are understandably excited.”

I nodded, my mind already back onto Luke. “You say they are drained slowly. How slowly?”

“The process, from what we understand, usually takes a week.”

Which might explain why Johnny had shown up seven days after his disappearance, drained of all blood. Of course, he had also been partially consumed by, from all appearances, a lake monster. He could have bled out through his many gaping wounds... or he could have been bled out before.

Jesus. I continued pacing, now running my hands through my hair.

“Yes, the first boy,” said Max, clearly followed my train of thought. “His connection to Hermes was not as strong, the silver serpent merely a thread; indeed, he might not have made a very good alchemist, but a vampire wouldn’t have cared. To a vampire, the boy would still have been a prize. And two such boys in the same small city, almost unheard of.”

“And why didn’t you get to them first?” I said, turning on the Librarian, who was watching me closely from behind the desk.

“We were unaware of them, Sam. Some children slip through the system, so to speak. Those we find, we protect.”

“Do all go to your school?”

“Only those who have the most promise.”

“And the others?”

“We do what we can to protect them. Often for the rest of their lives. We give them talismans to protect them. We watch over them often. Of course, if your son or daughter chooses to join us, they won’t need such protection. They will be safe with us. Indeed, someday they will be providing the protection for others.”

“And continuing the fight.”

He bowed slightly, not taking his eyes off me. “The battle has been won, Sam. We see ourselves as guardians.”

“They’re just kids.”

“Of course, Sam. Some enter our school at young ages. Some when they are nearing adulthood. We tailor their education and training for their needs and goals.”

“Or your needs and goals.”

He nodded once. “Maybe a little of both.”

I resumed pacing. I could not wrap my brain around my kids going away to some secret school for alchemy training. I paused, took some deep breaths.

Finally, still bent over and breathing evenly, I turned my head and said, “So, more than likely—at this very minute—Luke is being drained dry by a vampire who knows what he is.”

“Or something.”

“By one of those in-between things you were talking about?”

“Perhaps.”

“Luke has been missing for four days.”

“He has, at best, a few days, depending how quickly the draining process is. The body can only withstand so much loss of blood. You have some idea where he is, I see.”

“Some idea.”

“Will you be needing some assistance?”

I shook my head. “No,” I said. “I have my own one-wolf army.”

Chapter Forty-four

I was at home in my office, sitting with Allison.

The door was closed and she had a shield of silence around us. At least, that’s what I called it. The silence, of course, only pertained to telepathy. Anyone with ears to hear could have overheard our conversation. Hence, the closed door. Most important, Tammy was in her room, watching TV. It was Friday afternoon. I’d just returned from my meeting with Kingsley and the Librarian, and, it was safe to say, my world had been rocked by the information revealed to me. By both of them. I had relayed such information to Allison, because she was my bestie, even if she herself was still closed off to me, which, in hindsight, wasn’t so terrible. In fact, I rather enjoyed not slipping in and out of someone else’s thoughts. Other people’s thoughts were messy and often infused with depression, sadness, hopelessness, or, in the case of most men, perversion bordering on the criminal.

“So, now we’re dealing with Frankensteins, too?” she said.

“I’m afraid so. But, to be politically correct, Frankenstein was the mad scientist who created the monster. Hence, Frankenstein’s monster. Or, in this case, Lichtenstein’s monsters.”

“Fine, whatever, and when did you start using the word ‘hence’?”

I shrugged. “I hang out with a lot of really old people.”

She shook her head. Yes, she could still dip into my thoughts. It just wasn’t a two-way street, which was fine with me, for now. She said, “And there’s, like, ninety of these things out there?”

“Something like that.”

“And Franklin is one?”

“He is, yes.”

“And just when I thought my world couldn’t get any more rocked.”

I knew the feeling. We were both drinking steaming hot breve lattes with cream, because breve lattes have no equal. Anthony was at the gym, boxing his heart out and, I suspected, bonding with old Jacky in ways that were both sweet and profound, ways I didn’t need to be part of, but heartily approved. My sister would pick him up for me. My sister knew that tonight was going to be a busy night for me.

“Are you sure you don’t want my help, Sam? I mean, this thing is off the charts strong, according to Kingsley.”

“Where there’s a will,” I said.

“Kingsley’s got quite the will,” she said, nodding, although that hadn’t been entirely what I was talking about. She smiled, and her eyes might have swum a little dreamily. My witch friend, to this day, still had a healthy crush on my boyfriend. Hard not to—that is, if you liked the powerful, hulking, muscle-bound, hairy types. And, apparently, a lot of women did.

“Besides,” I added, “tonight might be the night.”

She knew what I meant: the night of my daughter’s impending fatal accident. Just thinking those words and seeing the images all over again, was just too damn terrible to deal with. No mother should ever, ever have to see what I have seen.

The truth was, it should have been me who watched over my daughter. Except that I knew Allison was perfectly, wonderfully, powerfully capable of helping, especially with the help of her witchy friends (who, from what I understood, would be swinging by tonight to help out, and, yes, one of them was a ghost, and, yes, my life is really damn weird). Besides, she and I had a plan. And if all worked out well, I would be there to protect my daughter. But first...

First, I had to find Luke.

Regarding Tammy, we had already decided that the dream needed to play out, once and for all, and that my daughter needed to be saved, perhaps even at the last minute. I knew she could be saved, of course. I had saved someone else in a similar situation. Of course, the person I had saved hadn’t been my daughter, and I hadn’t had an emotional connection. And this all just sucked the big one, but what could I do? There was a missing kid being bled dry by a bastard in Lake Elsinore—undoubtedly, a vampire who was now hopped up on powerful, magical, hermetic blood, all guarded by the biggest, baddest, son-of-a-bitch I’d ever seen. Perhaps many such creatures. All while dreams of my daughter’s impending death were growing more and more detailed.

“We will watch her, Sam. Closely.”

“This needs to play out,” I said. “I’m sure of it. If not tonight, it will be another night or another night. Or another.”

“We can’t stop it too soon, I get it.”

She nodded, sipping her coffee. My friend, a part-time personal trainer and full-time psychic telephone operator, was looking her age these days. No, she wasn’t immortal. Most witches weren’t. I had known her now for a few years, getting closer to her each year, and I had watched her life blossom into the legendary. She, along with her two witchy sisters—who formed a powerful triad—had had some wicked close calls recently. Emphasis on wicked. She was forging her own path, a very magical path. One that I knew would lead her on to many adventures, and many more close calls.

“Hopefully, not too many close calls,” she said. “Close calls suck.”

“Just be careful out there,” I said.

“You, too, Sam Moon.”

I smiled and finished my coffee and got up. I went around the desk and gave her the biggest hug I could without breaking her scapula. And then, I headed out of the office and to my daughter’s bedroom.