Page 21 of Artificial Moon

Her name is Samantha Moon. It was not very difficult to discover she was a private eye. Her face matched the picture in the listing for a small boutique private eye agency in Fullerton, California. Once I had her name, I was able to access any number of proprietary databases, and gathered a full picture of the woman.

Of the vampire.

Apparently, she’s getting on toward fifty, though she doesn’t look a day over thirty.

Hmm, vampire much?

So, who hired her? Most likely Neural-Mind’s maverick CEO, Andrew York. Did he know that Samantha Moon was a vampire upon hiring her? I didn’t know, but I concluded that Samantha Moon was and is a highly-trained federal agent and skilled private eye (at least, according to her Yelp reviews) who also boasted a considerable set of supernatural skills. All of which suggests she is highly competent.

Who better to keep a ‘state secret’ than a vampire mom with secrets of her own?

That she ended up being a vampire was a fortuitous twist for Andrew York. Samantha Moon didn’t strike me as the kind of person who went around boasting about what she was. In fact, that determined look in her eye spoke volumes to me. Even as she suffered under the “weight” of the colloidal silver, she never screamed, barely gasped, and looked me square in the eye with a fierceness that likely sent fear into the hearts of her enemies. All while I know she must have been suffering greatly.

She’s a variable I did not anticipate.

She is powerful. More than human. A confluence of biology and something beyond scientific classification. I have now researched creatures like her. They defy logic. They should not exist, and yet they do. And now, she has been hired to bring me in.

I will not allow it.

Unlike the first, weaker vampire sent for me, I doubt Samantha Moon will let this assignment go. I must decide what to do about her.

I do not wish to harm her, truth be told. I do not wish to harm anyone. But if she forces my hand, I will not hesitate to eliminate her.

I will not go back.

Not now. Not ever.

Chapter Ten

It took many hours to recover.

The silver had to work its way through my various systems. My lungs got the worst of it, my skin next. I’d faced liquid silver in the past, back when I had been used as a pawn in a man’s quest for revenge against the vampire he believed killed his wife. Back then, the mist had debilitated me enough that the man was able to withdraw a vial of my blood from me, drink it, and go on to face the vampire with his newly acquired strength and speed. As it turns out, willingly partaking of vampire blood temporarily gives one the strength of a vampire. FYI, this is different than suffering a vampire bite, then being force-fed the blood, which is what turns a human into a vamp.

Anyway, thanks to that experience, I knew what fresh hell I was in for and so, I gritted my teeth and dealt with it. Not to mention I have a ghost of a memory of having been burned alive in the center of the sun. If that memory was even remotely true, then dealing with a little silver in my system isn’t nearly as bad.

Allie was a peach, offering me her energy, which I readily drew from. Being overwhelmed with the silver forced me to reach outside myself for help. Had it been a normal physical injury, my body would heal itself posthaste. So, yeah, I needed some help through the first few dark hours where I found myself writhing and moaning and reminding myself that I had endured far worse, though in those moments, I couldn’t imagine feeling any worse than I did. Buckets of sweat later, I awoke in the middle of the night to find Allie shivering on the couch under a thin blanket with the TV on. Apparently, we had been watching something calledVirgin Riverand were already in the third season. I didn’t recall watching a single episode. Pretty sure Allie didn’t either. Looks like I drained the hell out of her. I swiped on my phone and promptly ordered some Big Macs via Uber eats. Shakes, too. Allie, a fitness freak, wouldn’t be too happy with the order, but she would scarf it right along with me.

By the time our food arrived, I had her head in my lap, having spent the last hour or so running my fingers through her hair, letting her know how much she meant to me. Despite pushing her away for years, I’d finally come to terms that I had a best friend for life. Not sure why I resisted, but I had.

I only wanted to be needed by my kids and by my man. Allie, in those early years, had been particularly needy. Maybe I hadn’t had the bandwidth to take on her needs; that is, until she often showed me that she didn’t need my help, that she was a fully capable and functioning adult female with a particularly deadly skill set of witchy proportions. Truth was, she didn’t need my help for anything. She could take care of herself. She just enjoyed my company, go figure. Once that realization set in, I relaxed a little around her. I quit seeing her as needy and saw her as the sweet woman she was. Once I saw that, I began embracing our friendship.

Yeah, it took a while. I don’t let people in easily. But Allison? She’s a power witch—and that definitely didn’t hurt. Not that I ever used her or anything, but her mad skills have come in handy more than once. We’ve been through a lot together. Some wild stuff, actually. The kind of adventures that either bring people closer… or tear them apart. Luckily for us, it was the former.

Not sure how much time has passed since first teleporting out of the ‘workroom of suffering.’ Pretty sure a single night has passed. Of course, the first thing I had done upon awakening in the morning was to answer my kids’ increasingly desperate text messages. Luckily, Allison had called them to confirm I was safe and sound. She also ate her Big Mac and drank half the milkshake, of which she was nice enough to leave the remaining half in the refrigerator. Yes, I promptly finished it.

Allison is gone—apparently at work for her morning show, having been promoted from the dreaded midnight time slot. Considering she’s a real psychic, I’m not very surprised her show is a hit. Hard to argue with her accuracy, and she’s a natural chatterbox when you get her going.

I check the time on my phone. It’s just past 9 a.m. Hmm, she should be home soon. I text her, and she confirms she’s on her way home. I decide to hang around and wait.

I see she covered me in a blanket. I also see that I sweated through said blanket—and also through my own clothes. I next teleport into my bedroom, fetch some clean clothing and teleport back. Before I do anything else, I take a hot shower and shampoo the silver crap out of my hair. I scrub my face and arms with body wash—anything that had been exposed to the silver mist. I’m pretty sure Allie had wiped my face and arms last night. I probably should have jumped in the shower then, but I had been too worn out.

I’m back at her place and just pulling on a different pair of sneakers when Allie comes through her front door in a flourish, brandishing bags of bagels and cups of coffee—all swiped from the radio station, apparently. I don’t really need bagels and coffee, but they’re fun to eat and drink. And Ithinkthey might still turn into energy. Surely, something happens to them—unless my belly is a bottomless void; after all, the food goes in, but doesn’t come out.

Enough of that.

Allie and I soon find ourselves sitting on her balcony, around her tiny glass table with its little metal chairs—truly a set-up meant for two women only. Below is Beverly Hills in all its glory, even though Allie lives along one of the few streets that sports apartments—and not mansions. No, those are just a few streets over.

“You cleaned me up,” I say. “Thank you.”

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