"You killed her, you worthless piece of shit. You strangled her in her sleep, you fucking coward, and then you lit a Cuban cigar after a job well done. An illegal Cuban cigar."
He struggled to get up, but I held him down on the table and all the anger and frustration and pain and confusion and despair I had felt over the past few days came flooding out of me. I lifted his face and slammed it again into the table. Blood immediately pooled around his eye socket. I had split the skin along his upper orbital ridge. Poor baby.
"I will personally see to it that you rot in hell, you fucking - "
And that's when Kingsley pulled me off the man. Kicking and screaming, I didn't go willingly. But Kingsley happened to be one hell of a strong guy.
Chapter Forty-two
"What the hell was that, Sam?"
I was sitting in an empty side office. Apparently, Kingsley Fulcrum made so much blood money representing rich, murderous scumbags that he could afford to have empty offices.
"What was what?" I asked. I was still fuming, and I was having a hard time looking Kingsley in the eye. The big son-of-a-bitch was really bothering me these days. I had come here for a completely different reason, but I had let my emotions get the better of me.
Hey, I'm only human.
Or something.
"Playing Whack-A-Mole with my client's head, Sam. That's what."
"Whack-A-Mole?" I asked, and I started laughing, nearly hysterically, and then I was crying, definitely hysterically, harder than I had in quite a long time. Kingsley stood apart from me, watching me, and then he came over and gave me a big hug, wrapping those huge arms around me, patting my back and rubbing my shoulders, and telling me everything would be okay.
* * *
I was calmer. We were back in Kingsley's office, minus the murderous scumbag, who had apparently left holding a bag of ice to his face. Someone had cleaned the blood off the table, although I could still smell the sharp hemoglobin radiating off the freshly polished wood surface. Must be the vampire in me.
My stomach growled, and I hated myself for that.
"You can't keep killing my clients, Sam," said Kingsley. His right butt cheek was sitting on the corner of his desk. I was sitting in one of his client chairs. Everywhere around me were depictions of moons: moon photographs, paperweights, lamps. Even a moon screen saver. The moon bookends, each by itself a half moon, seemed to be the newest edition to his office.
Yeah, the man had a moon obsession, which stands to reason. His obsession was also how he had found me in the phone book so many months ago. Under "Moon", of course.
"Well, your clients are scumbags," I said.
"Be that as it may, they deserve a fair trial."
"Whatever helps you sleep at night, big guy."
"Why are you here, Sam?"
I stared at him...no doubt icily. He calmly returned my gaze. We did this for about ten seconds before I finally lowered my eyes and looked away. "I'm sorry," I said. "That wasn't cool. I guess I'm desperate."
"A desperate vampire is a sight to see."
"A desperate mother is worse."
He nodded and eased off the corner of his desk. He sat next to me and adjusted the drape of his pants. Kingsley, as always, smelled of fine cologne and that special something else. Something wild. He waited. As he waited, I gathered my thoughts.
Finally, I said, "The medallion that's in my possession..."
He looked at me sideways, turning his head just a fraction of an inch. "What about it?"
"Is it really true that it can reverse vampirism?"
Although I wasn't looking at him, I knew he had narrowed his eyes. Kingsley was nearly impossible for me to read psychically. I wondered if it was like that for all other immortals, too.
He said, "That's the legend about it."
"What else do you know about it?"
"I know that a lot of people are looking for it."
"People? Or vampires?"
"Vampires are people, too," he said, grinning easily. And then he grew serious. "Why, Sam?"
The smell of blood wafting up from the desk was diminishing. The growling in my stomach subsided accordingly. I told Kingsley about my plan, minus any references to Fang. There was no need to make the big werewolf jealous. Fang might be a freaky dude, but he was no physical match for Kingsley. At least, not presently.
Make me into a vampire, Moon Dance.
Yeah, I still haven't forgotten those words.
Anyway, I laid the plan out to Kingsley, and as I did so, he leaned a meaty elbow against the chair's arm and took me in, watching me closely as I spoke. And as I spoke, I couldn't help but notice that the slight amber in his eyes caught some of the office lighting and reflected it back to me twofold. Tenfold. He can look so wild sometimes.
When I was done talking, Kingsley's reply was instant and heart breaking: "I don't like it, Sam."
"What's not to like?" I said, jumping up. I paced behind him. "I save my son and later, I return him to being human. It's perfect."
He was shaking his head, and the amber glow was gone from his eyes, replaced with something close to alarm. And also something else. Concern. "Unless it doesn't work, Sam."
"But why wouldn't it work?" I heard the desperation in my voice, which had risen an octave or two. I spun on Kingsley, standing before him.
"Because it's just a story, Sam. A legend."
"All legends have some basis of truth. Look at us. And quit looking at me that way."
"What way?"
"Like I've lost my mind."
He stood suddenly and towered over me. "I don't think you've lost your mind, but I think you're desperate, and dangerous, and if you would for one second listen to yourself you would see how scary you sound."
I looked up at him as he looked down at me. He was breathing hard, and I could hear his heart thumping through his wide chest. "Who do I need to talk to?" I asked. "Who would know more about the medallion?"
He looked at me long and hard. "Sam, please."
"I'm going to do whatever it takes to save my son, goddammit."
"Even if it means turning him into a monster, Sam? Even if it means draining the blood from his body? And what if you can't turn him back? What then, Sam?"
I heard footsteps just outside Kingsley's office door. His new secretary was there. How much she'd heard, I didn't know, but I suspected his doors were quite thick. If anything, she was concerned for her boss's welfare.
I said nothing. How could anyone answer that question? Hell, has that question ever been posed before? Ever? In the history of mankind?