"Okay," I said. "That's never happened before."
Chapter Four
"It is common knowledge that vampires can control others with their minds," said Fang.
"But I'm not trying to control you," I said.
"Yet," he said. "But if I find myself suddenly giving you a pedicure, I might suspect otherwise." He winked.
I lifted my hand. "Trust me, there isn't a file strong enough for these nails."
"Let me see your nails, Moon Dance."
"No."
"Please."
I sighed and held out my hands. He took them gently and did not flinch at the extreme cold of my flesh like most do. Indeed, shivering and smiling, he seemed to revel in the iciness. He next tapped the tip of my index finger. I felt like a horse being sold at auction. "You could disembowel a rhino with these things."
"Or a bartender who lets my secret out."
He grinned again. "I didn't realize how feisty you were, Moon Dance."
"We never had this much at stake, Fang."
"We both hold equally damaging secrets. I, too, am trusting you to keep my secret safe."
"You're a convicted murder and an escaped prisoner."
"And you're a blood-sucking fiend."
I studied him. The corner of his mouth lifted in a small smile, along with some of his beard. "Fair enough," I said, sitting back. "So what's this mind control business you're talking about?"
He finished his drink and waved the waitress over. I had barely touched my own wine. When she was gone, he sat forward, resting his weight on his sharp elbows. "You have already mentioned your sixth sense, Moon Dance. You have even mentioned that you felt it is getting stronger."
I nodded; it was.
He went on, "Well, your sixth sense is a little more far-reaching than you have thought; at least, that is my understanding."
"How far-reaching?"
"Telepathy. Hypnosis. Mediumship."
"One at a time," I said. "Hypnosis?"
"You've seen Dracula, right?"
"Maybe."
"Did you read the book?"
"No."
"A vampire whose never read Dracula?"
"I've been busy raising kids and trying to keep a husband happy. At least I'm batting .500."
He smiled sadly. "I'm sorry he hurt you, Moon Dance."
"So am I."
"Want to change the subject?"
I nodded.
"Back to mind control. Dracula, you see, has the ability to induce hypnosis with just his gaze. You might want to look into it."
I shook my head at his silly pun. "Fine. What about mediumship?"
"That's speaking to the dead, either to those who have passed on or still linger."
"Linger?"
"Ghosts, Moon Dance. You should be able to see ghosts."
I scanned our surroundings. The electrified air, usually so alive with light filaments, seemed particularly erratic in here. To my eyes, the streaking lights zigzagged even more crazily, sometimes coalescing into bigger shapes. As I scanned the air around us, Fang continued speaking.
"You are a supernatural being, Moon Dance. A supernatural being in the world of mortals. You should be seeing things I could never, ever imagine."
The squiggly lights in the bar flashed and zigzagged like thousands upon thousands of electrified fireflies. I watched as they whipped crazily around a nearby stairway, a stairway that led up into the black depths. The flashing lights began gathering together, collecting other squiggly lights. I had seen such things before but had dismissed them. They were just strange lights, right? Nothing more.
"Creatures of the night seem to attract each other, Samantha, whether they know it or not...or whether they want it or not. It is not a coincidence that the werewolf came into your life. Soon, I expect others like yourself to make appearances."
"Like myself?"
"Vampires, Moon Dance. You cannot be an island for long. Not in this world of fantastical creatures."
I continued studying the glowing object at the foot of the stairway. More light gathered around it. Now, if I looked hard enough, I could see shoulders, hips, and a head forming. Even what appeared to be longish hair. And then, amazingly, the light creature turned toward me. I couldn't see its features, but I sensed its great pain. And then, buried deep in my mind's eye, I saw a flash of a knife's blade, heard a strangled cry, then weeping, and then...nothing.
"I see a ghost," I said. "There by the stairway."
I saw Aaron turn out of the corner of my eye. "I don't see anything, Moon Dance. But I'm not surprised. This is supposedly one of the most haunted buildings in Fullerton."
And just like that the vaguely humanoid column of light dispersed, scattering into a thousand glowing, fluorescent shards of energy.
Son of a biscuit, I thought, reciting my son's favorite expression.
After a moment, Aaron Parker looked back at me. "So does it feel strange finally meeting me, Moon Dance?"
"Yes and no. A part of me wants to run back to my computer and continue this conversation there. I felt safe there. I felt open. I felt free to be me."
"You don't feel free now?"
"I don't know how I feel, to be honest."
"Do I feel a bit like a stranger?" he asked.
I nodded and I felt the tears come to my eyes. "Yes."
"A stranger who knows your deepest and darkest secrets."
I nodded, suddenly finding it hard to speak.
He said, "Do you regret meeting me, Moon Dance?"
I sat motionless for a long time before I reached out and took his warm hands in my mine. As I did so, he curled his long fingers around mine. "I don't know," I whispered, and it was perhaps the hardest three words I have ever spoken.
He continued holding my hands. Now he rubbed his thumb along my knuckles. His thumb was rough, calloused. He was a grease monkey, no doubt. Tending bar at night, fixing up his classic muscle car during the day.
Fang tilted his head slightly. "Grease monkey is not a politically correct term, Moon Dance. We prefer to be called lubed primates."
I snorted. "Sounds like a bad porno."
"There are no bad pornos, Moon Dance."
"Eww, and you just read my thoughts."
"Yes," he said. "I heard a few snatches here and there."
"So how is it that you can read my thoughts?"
"I don't have all the answers, Moon Dance."
"Well, give it your best shot, big guy."
He stared at me long and hard. As he did so, his tongue slid along his lower lip and seemed to be searching for something that was not there. I sensed his great sadness for what was lost. I suspected I knew the source of his sadness.