Moon Child (Page 14)

"Look," I said. "I don’t know much about much, but I know one thing: I’m a mother first. I am a mother and that is my baby in the hospital. He was sick and I had an answer. It might not have been the best answer, and I sure as hell don’t expect to win any ‘Mother of the Year’ awards. I also don’t understand what the hell happened to me, or what the hell even happened to you. I have no clue the power and magicks behind what keeps us alive. But if this fucking curse, this disease, that I live with every day can somehow save my son, somehow keep my life from spinning completely and totally out of fucking control, you damn well better believe I’m going to utilize it, because it sure as hell has taken a lot from me, Kingsley."

He was nodding. "Okay, now that you’ve justified turning your son into a blood-sucking fiend, what are you going to do now?"

"I’m going to find someone who can help me."

"Help you how? With the medallion?"

"Yes. I have a name."

"Where did you get the name?"

"It doesn’t matter," I said, and debated storming out of the office. Instead, I kept my ego in check for my son. "Have you ever heard of someone named Archibald Maximus?"

There was no recognition on his face. "No," he said. "You don’t forget a name like that."

"Do you know anyone who could help me?"

"I pointed you to the only person I knew who could help you," he said.

That had been Detective Hanner. I sensed Kingsley’s hesitation. Did he know someone else? I sensed that he might, but he didn’t say anything else. Instead, he was now looking at me like I was the biggest piece of shit he’d ever seen. Probably with the same expression I had been wearing just a few minutes earlier.

"I don’t know who else to turn to," I said, biting the bullet. "I know you don’t agree with what I’ve done. Quite frankly, I don’t agree with a lot of what you’ve done, either. But let’s put aside our differences for now, okay? I made the best choice I could. I did what I thought was right. There’s a chance, a very small chance, that I can return my son to mortality without any lasting repercussion or effects. But if I hadn’t done what I did, there was a hundred percent chance that I was going to lose my son. I gave him a chance at life, Kingsley. Was it selfish for me to keep my little boy alive and expose him to something he never asked for? Yes, it was. I agree. I’m horrible. But my son is alive, and there is a chance to return things to normal. Normal is all I’m asking for, Kingsley. Please help me."

He looked at me for a long moment, and the fact that he had to decide whether or not to help me, crushed my heart almost completely. I didn’t want a man who had to decide whether or not to help me, even if he didn’t agree with my choices.

Finally, he sighed and nodded, and said, "I’ll see what I can do, Sam. But I make no promises."

I smiled even as my heart broke. "Thank you, Kingsley."

As I left his office, Kingsley wouldn’t look at me. I said goodbye and he merely nodded. If I was a betting woman, I would bet that our relationship was over.

Forever.

Chapter Twenty-one

I was driving north on the 57 Freeway.

I checked with my sister and my son was still sleeping contentedly. The doctors seemed pleased that he was stable, but there was still mild concern, most notably that his body temperature had now dropped to 97 degrees, one degree lower than normal.

This didn’t worry me. My son was going to make it, and the doctors were going to have a conundrum on their hands, much as they had with me, in a different hospital, over six years ago.

My sister asked what I was up to, and I told her that it was a very important case, a matter of life and death. She understood, but just barely. Her husband, who was watching Tammy and her kids, would be picking her up soon. I made it a point to be there when the sun set.

After all, tonight would be my son’s first night as…something far different than he was before.

I exited on Orangethorpe and worked my way over to Hero’s in Fullerton. I checked the time. Fang should just be showing up to work. I was right.

As I dashed in from the blistering heat, gasping and clutching my chest, I saw the tall bartender doing something very unbartender-like. He was texting. Just as I stepped into the bar, my cell phone chimed.

I paused just inside the doorway and fished out the cell. It was a text, of course, from Fang. It read: Good afternoon, Moon Dance, how are you?

I wrote: I could say I’m fine, but that would be a lie. By the way, the guy at the end of the bar needs another beer, so quit texting and start working.

I hit send and waited.

Fang had just spotted the guy at the end of the bar, who had just motioned him over, when his cell phone vibrated. Fang paused and read the screen, and I watched with some satisfaction from the doorway as his mouth dropped open. Then he started looking around until he spotted me. I waved, and he shook his head.

"I was beginning to think you were everywhere, Moon Dance," he said.

"Is that a bad thing?"

He winked. "Not for me. Hold on." He drew the guy a draft of beer and came back. "I think our connection is growing stronger."

"How so?" I asked.

"I was texting you as you came in."

"Could have been a coincidence, and is texting even a word?"

"If not, it should be," he said. "Anyway, there are no coincidences, Moon Dance."

I grabbed a stool at the far end of the bar. Privacy, for me, is always good. I said, "That would sound deep if it wasn’t bullshit."

"Bullshit, huh? Then how do you explain that for the past half hour I’ve been feeling increasingly…troubled."

"Maybe you had some bad Chinese."

"Not bad Chinese, Sam. And how would you explain that I’ve felt incredible grief coming from you. Wave after wave of it. I sensed that something profound had ended."

I thought of my relationship with Kingsley. "Ended?"

He shook his head. "Crazy, I know. But, to me, I felt a finality to something, as if something emotional and tragic had ended. Of course, I assumed it was something to do with your son."

Jesus, my connection with Fang is growing. "My son is fine," I said.

He narrowed his eyes. "How fine?"

I nodded, confirming his suspicions.

His jaw dropped. "You really did it?"

I nodded again.

"And how is he?"

"He’s fine. He’s great, in fact."

Fang leaned on his elbows. The grisly teeth around his neck – definitely not shark teeth – clacked together with the sound of knuckles striking knuckles.