Hi, Fang. :(
There was a slight delay, perhaps a minute. Texting wasn't as fast as IMing.
Why are you sad, Moon Dance?
It's my son.
You mentioned he was sick. Is he not better?
Worse, I wrote, paused, and then added: He's dying.
That was all I could write. And even writing those two words was nearly impossible. The words seemed so unlikely, implausible, unreal. More so than my own vampirism. How could my healthy, happy, quirky little boy be dying?
Outside the room, a doctor rushed quickly by. I heard shouting from somewhere. Two orderlies quickly followed behind. Doctors risked their lives more than people realized.
You would never say that lightly, wrote Fang. So it must be true.
I spent the next few minutes catching him up to date on my son's health and the black halo surrounding his body.
There was a long period of silence from my phone, which I had set to vibrate. I adjusted my weight on my hip and reached out and stroked my son's face. He was burning up.
The phone vibrated. Do the doctor's know what's wrong with him?
They're saying it could be Kawasaki's Disease.
Hold on.
And I knew Fang was looking up the disease. I ran my fingers through my son's hair for the next five minutes. My phone buzzed again.
There's only a 2% mortality rate, Fang wrote.
2% is enough, I wrote.
I'm sorry, Moon Dance. I wish there was something I could do.
I was about to write to him, when another message appeared from Fang. It was simple and to the point:
Actually, Moon Dance, I think I know of a way to save your son.
Don't go anywhere! I'm calling you.
Chapter Forty
I was outside of St. Jude's, huddled under the eve of the main entrance, as deep in the shadows as I could be. Still, I could literally feel my skin burning.
I could give a damn about my skin.
Fang answered my call immediately. "Hello, Moon Dance."
I found myself pacing, turning small circles in front of the hospital entrance. The automatic door kept sliding open. The information nurse working the front desk gave me a nasty look. I ignored her.
"Talk to me, Fang."
"I'm talking," he said, and I could hear the excitement in his voice. "There is a way to save your son."
"What way?"
And the moment I asked the question, I knew the answer. Fang and I were deeply connected and I either picked up on his thoughts or intuited his meaning. I think I gasped and nearly choked.
"No," I said. "No fucking way. I'm not doing it."
"You read my mind, Moon Dance."
"Of course I read your fucking mind. I have to sit."
There was an alabaster bench just inside the shade that I would risk, and as I sat, I regretted doing so almost immediately. I could practically smell my burning skin, despite my long sleeves and heavy sunscreen.
I ignored the pain and buried my face in my hands. People were looking at me, sure, but a grieving mother outside of a children's hospital wasn't anything new.
But a grieving mother contemplating giving her son eternal life was another matter altogether.
I said, "I can't do it, Fang. I could never do that to him. How could you even suggest that?"
"You didn't let me finish. Or, for that matter, speak, since you read my thoughts."
Yes, I knew there was more. I knew he was eager to continue with this, but my own wildly spinning emotions prevented me from picking up on his additional thoughts. In fact, they still did.
"Go ahead," I said.
"The medallion, Moon Dance."
And that's all he needed to say; in an instant I knew what he meant and what he was getting at.
The medallion, or amulet. Or whatever it was. Worn by my attacker six years ago, and hand-delivered to me by the vampire hunter who killed him.
The medallion, that, according to Kingsley, could reverse vampirism.
Fang was speaking, but I was having a hell of a time focusing. He said, "Heal him with vampirism, Moon Dance, and then return him to mortality with the medallion."
"But how?" I said. "How does it work?"
"I don't know...but someone out there does."
"I gotta go," I said suddenly, and clicked off.
Chapter Forty-one
Kingsley Fulcrum had a new secretary. No surprise there since I watched the last one die a few months ago, shot to death by none other than Detective Sherbet. And, since killing together has a way of bonding people, perhaps that's why the good detective and I got along so swimmingly.
It was a working theory.
This new secretary wasn't as sexy as the last. Which was probably a good thing. Maybe after a century or more, the big bad wolf was finally learning to keep it in his pants, or tucked away in his fur.
Anyway, this slightly older and plainer secretary (although still cute in her ruffled cardigan sweater) told me that Kingsley was with a client. Kingsley's clients were often murderers with a lot of money.
I could give a fuck about his clients.
As I marched past her and down a hallway, I heard her rapidly punching buttons on the intercom. She must have successfully buzzed Kingsley, because as I threw open his door he was just reaching for the phone with what appeared to be a look of irritation. The mighty attorney didn't like to be disturbed, apparently. The look of irritation quickly turned to one of dumbfounded shock when he saw me.
The big guy cleaned up well. He was looking absolutely debonair in a black Armani suit, a pair of over-the-top and beyond stylish Berluti shoes, and hair so slicked back that a girl might break a nail scratching behind his ears.
Unless that girl, of course, was a vampire.
"Sam," he said, standing slowly from behind his desk. "This isn't a good time."
His client turned to me. Another man dressed in a nice suit. A man who looked bored and rich and entitled. Okay, it's hard to look entitled, but that was the feeling I was getting from him. I also got a very strong hit that he was a murderer. A cold-blooded murderer. I got another hit...he had strangled his own wife in her sleep. I heard her last strangled gasps as I stood there in the doorway and he sat there looking bored.
Sweet Jesus my hits were getting stronger and stronger.
I walked over to the guy and pulled him out of his chair. He didn't go willingly. He tried to push my hands away but couldn't. As I pulled him out of his chair, Kingsley ran from around his desk, his Armani suit swooshing.
"Hey!" shouted the guy as I held him in front of me.
Kingsley shouted something similar.
The guy tried again to shove me away, but I wasn't going anywhere. I had him by the collar of his nice suit. And now that he was on his feet, I slammed his face hard onto the table.