Moon Child (Page 7)

Hanner, who had known about my plans to help my son, did not know about the medallion. Wrong or not, I trusted my new friend, and so I told her about it, and about what I needed: answers to unlocking its secret.

"Where did you get the medallion, Sam?"

"From the vampire who attacked me."

"Amazing. Others have been looking for it for a very long time. Others like us."

"There are that many who seek to end their lives?" I asked, confused.

She shrugged. "Or there are others who seek to end the lives of other immortals."

"I don’t understand," I said.

"There are some immortals who are so old, so powerful, that they cannot be killed by any means, Sam."

"And the medallion could kill them?"

"Perhaps. That’s the theory at least."

I shook my head, amazed all over again. "I just want my son returned to me."

Pain flashed briefly over her face, and although her thoughts were impenetrable to me and her aura was non-existent, I was still a mother and an investigator and I could read her like a book. She was thinking of the loss of her own son who had died years ago.

Tears filled her eyes and, perhaps embarrassed, she changed the subject. "You must be famished," she said, standing.

I was. I hadn’t eaten tonight and it was hitting me hard. Not to mention I had given copious amounts of my own blood to my son.

Hanner disappeared into her impressive home, and while I waited the electrified particles of light in the sky seemed agitated and frenzied, but that could have been my imagination. Or a reflection of my own inner struggles. I was having a hard time holding onto a thought for long, before it slipped away into the ether, to be quickly replaced by an equally chaotic thought.

She mercifully appeared a few minutes later, holding two full wine goblets that were filled with anything but wine. She handed one to me, which I eagerly accepted.

The glass was warm. "Fresh blood," I said.

"Of course."

"But where?"

"I have an arrangement with a mortal, Sam. A few mortals, in fact. Most of us do. It makes our lives easier."

I nodded but was soon drinking hungrily. Hell, I nearly bit through the glass. As I drank I was aware of Hanner watching me from over her own glass, her eyes as wild as I had ever seen them. I could only imagine what my own looked like.

Like an animal. A hungry animal.

I didn’t savor the blood. In fact, I barely tasted it, so quickly did it pass over my lips and down my throat and into my stomach, where it interacted on some supernatural level with my own supernatural body.

When you don’t need to come up for air, one can quickly down a glass of blood, and shortly it was finished but I was hesitant to return it. After all, there was still some blood pooling in the bottom and coating the inside of the glass.

"Thank you," I said, then motioned to the empty glass. "And thank…whoever provided this."

"Oh, I will." And she said that with such enthusiasm I briefly wondered what other kind of arrangement she had with her donors.

The hemoglobin had an immediate effect, no doubt due to its freshness. Rarely had I drank blood so fresh and pure. Even the stuff provided by Kingsley had no doubt been days or weeks old, and stored in his refrigerator.

This was different. This was straight from the source, and it was so damn good. Unable to control myself, I tilted the bloody goblet up and waited for the last few drops to crawl down, where I eagerly lapped them up. Once done, I used the edge of my index finger to scrape the inside of the glass clean.

"I’m a ghoul," I said, embarrassed.

"No different than licking brownie batter from a whisk. At least, that’s what I tell myself."

"I’ll tell myself that, too, but I think I’ll pretend its chocolate chip cookie dough."

She smiled and sipped her own drink much more lady-like than I had. I set my glass down and secretly wished for another.

Such a ghoul.

Hanner said, "You should consider getting your own donor, Samantha. They are terribly important. I cannot imagine what you have been feeding on these past few years."

"You don’t want to know."

"No, I suppose I don’t."

We were silent some more and I finally set aside the glass, which had now been completely scraped clean. I found myself idly sucking under my nail.

"You are in an interesting situation, Sam."

"I don’t know if I would use the word interesting," I said. "Frightening, perhaps."

"You misunderstand," said Hanner, and not for the first time I detected an odd lilt to her voice. "I mean, you have been given an interesting choice regarding your son."

"You mean I had been given," I said. "I already made my choice, remember, and now I must turn him back before it’s too late, before he realizes what his mother has done to him."

"You misunderstand again, so let me explain clearly: Sam, you have a chance to be with your son…forever."

Her words didn’t immediately sink in, but when they did, when the full realization of them hit, I was left speechless and my mouth hanging open.

"Eternity is a long, long time, Sam. Too long to be alone. Now, you will never have to be alone. Ever…" Her voice trailed off and she looked away and somewhere in the far distance a coyote howled. At least, I think it was a coyote.

Chapter Ten

I parked my minivan in front of a high, wrought-iron fence, where I sat and studied the grounds beyond. Even to my eyes, which could penetrate the darkest of nights, I couldn’t see much. A long winding road that led away from the fence plunged into some deep, dark woods.

Well, as deep and dark as they got in the hills above Fullerton.

I understood Detective Hanner’s heartache. I understood how much she missed her own son, but I wasn’t about to sentence my own son to a lifetime of blood-drinking adolescence. Not if I could help it.

According to Detective Hanner and her neighbors, the old man’s property was not only protected by a high fence but also by dark magicks. I asked her what, exactly, she meant by dark magicks, and she shrugged and said she was only reporting what she’d heard from her neighbors. Hanner added that she wouldn’t put anything past the creepy old man who may or may not be immortal.

What the hell kind of neighborhood was this?

Except this really didn’t feel like a neighborhood. Not anymore. Not out here in the dark and surrounded by trees and high fences and apparently black magicks. In fact, I felt like I was in a fairy tale. A Brothers Grimm fairytale, as twisted and dark as they come. And there was no prince waiting for me at the end of this cobblestone drive. No, only an ancient master of the black arts, who may or may not be a vampire. Who may or may not be undead.