Vampire for Hire (9 page)

 
      
 
I was babbling, I knew, but these were thoughts that had been plaguing through my mind for years, and since my relationship with Fang had gone to another level, a physical level, I could ask him these questions.

 
      
 
I continued:
It was a turn-off for my husband. Once he vomited. No joke. He tried to lie about it, but I heard him retch and could smell the vomit on his breath. It’s always nice when your husband vomits when making love to you. That was early on in my vampirism, of course. He never touched me again. Well, not in an intimate way. I never touched me, either. Transference, I believe the psychologists call it. I was unlovable in his eyes and so therefore I was unlovable in my own eyes. Yes, I know, I put too much weight into what he thought, but what was I supposed to do? I didn’t know what was happening to me? Everything was all so new. His love meant everything to me. I needed it so bad and he wasn’t there for me.

 
      
 
I stopped writing and sat back. Ashes from my cigarette dropped onto my blouse. I always forgot to tap off the ashes. Smoking was still new to me. I wasn’t sure how much I liked it, but it was at least nice to do something with my hands.

 
      
 
I guess I’m here to tell you that I don’t want to lose what we have, Fang. But I’m not saying no to anything more, either. I guess I’m just not in any place to make decisions right now...and now my poor son is sick, and every alarm bell I have is ringing loudly. Something is wrong with him, Fang. But maybe that’s just me worrying. Just a mom worrying.

 
      
 
I dashed out the last of the cigarette and looked at the blocks of words that filled the IM screen. Fang would have some reading to do once he wakes up.

 
      
 
The sun was coming. I could feel it. A deep tiredness was setting in and I stumbled to my room where my shades were always drawn tight, and collapsed in sleep.

 
      
 
The sleep of the dead. Or undead.

 
      
 
Chapter Thirteen

 
      
 
I need an alarm clock—a very
loud
alarm clock—if I want to awaken any time before sunset. Left to my own devices, I awaken naturally just moments before the sun actually sets.

 
      
 
It’s a nice system...unless you have kids.

 
      
 
It’s very rare that I awaken on my own. But I did so now, and I awakened to find my son sleeping next to me. It was
noonish
. He had come in here on his own, to sleep next to his mommy. I wrapped my arms around his burning body and pulled him in close, feeling his forehead and was profoundly relieved that he didn’t seem as hot.

 
      
 
Then again, I was barely cognizant. I was hardly in a place to make any sort of expert mommy inspections. Still, he seemed cooler and he was sleeping contently next to me.

 
      
 
As I fell back into my dreamless sleep, I probably should have realized my son barely stirred, if at all.

 
      
 
* * *

 
      
 
My alarm went off at 2:00 p.m., my normal time to get up and get ready to pick up my kids.

 
      
 
As consciousness grudgingly returned, I listened to my son’s even breathing next to me. Even, yet shallow. I turned on my side and touched his cheek. Shit. He was burning up again. Not quite as hot as last night, but my little boy was clearly sick.

 
      
 
I lay there for as long as I dared, alternately running my fingers through his hair and lightly touching his cheeks. He had my dark hair and Danny’s broad-
cheekboned
looks. He had my long eyelashes, of which his sister was eternally jealous.

 
      
 
Finally I slipped out of bed and checked my email. Nothing of importance, although it did appear that I had been hand-picked to help a wealthy and desperate gentleman from Nigeria transfer his funds to the United States. His plan was genius: He would send me a whopper of a check, and I would send him a much smaller check in return. And get this: I get to keep the difference. Boy, what could go wrong with
that
idea?

 
      
 
I then spotted something blinking in the lower right-hand corner of my screen. An instant message from Fang. I
squee’d
and eagerly clicked on it. I might have gasped, too, and my heart definitely slammed hard against my third or fourth rib bone. Funny, I never reacted like this to Fang before.

 
      
 
His message was simple and to the point and it brought a big smile to my face:

 
      
 
I dreamed about you, Moon Dance. I always dream about you.

 
      
 
Smiling like a goofball, I quickly threw on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. These days, I had quite the array of long-sleeved shirts. My day shirts, as I thought of them. My night attire was cuter. But my daytime wardrobe was all about survival...and staying out of the sun as much as possible.

 
      
 
Anyway, I slathered my hands and cheeks and neck with my heavy-duty sunblock, grabbed one of my many sunhats, carefully scooped my son up off my bed, and headed out the front door.

 
      
 
I dashed across the front yard, which never felt hotter. I threw open the garage door with a quick flick of my hand and plunged into the merciful shadows. Once there, I gasped and caught my breath.

 
      
 
My son barely stirred. He murmured “Mommy” and continued sleeping. I next buckled him into the back seat and wadded up the van’s emergency blanket for a pillow.

 
      
 
And with the window shades pulled down, I backed up into the sunlight, and a few minutes later I was picking up my daughter. A few minutes after that I was at the Urgent Care, with my son in my arms.

 
      
 
Chapter Fourteen

 
      
 
It was four hours later and I was sitting in Detective Sherbet’s office. Mary Lou, my sister, was watching the kids; in particular, keeping an eye on Anthony.

 
      
 
“Is everything okay?” asked Sherbet. He was sitting behind his desk and watching me curiously. He always watched me curiously.

 
      
 
I wanted to make a joke about how odd it was seeing Sherbet without a donut in his hand, but I just wasn’t up to it. Instead, I said, “My son’s sick.”

 
      
 
Sherbet sat forward. He was a father who loved his own son. A son who was as effeminate as Sherbet was masculine. And Sherbet was as masculine as they come. Thick hair covered his forearms and the back of his hands. The hair was mostly gray. His belly pushed hard against his white dress shirt, putting a lot of pressure on the center buttons. In fact, the third button from the bottom was slightly frayed.

 
      
 
It’s gonna blow,
I thought.

 
      
 
The arm hair and rotund belly looked oddly appealing on Sherbet. Really, he was a man who had no business being thin. His body frame was built to hold the extra weight, and he did so in a sexy way. I always figured that if I was twenty years older I would have a serious crush on the man. I must not be the only one, since his own wife had to be pretty young to have a child still in elementary school. A child who, according to Sherbet, was on the fast track to homosexuality. A child who was forcing my detective friend to open his heart and mind in ways he never had before.

 
      
 
“So what do the doctors say?” he asked.

 
      
 
I shrugged. “Apparently the flu’s going around. They told me not to worry.”

 
      
 
“You’re not doing a very good job of it, kiddo.”

 
      
 
I shrugged. “Mostly, I’m worried your button is gonna blow and take out my eye.”

 
      
 
He looked down at his belly. And now that I looked again, I was certain I could see the faint outline of a jelly stain. A jelly donut stain.

 
      
 
He nodded. “Okay, I get it. You don’t want to talk about it.”

 
      
 
“Not really,” I said.

 
      
 
“And to deflect talk about your son, you choose instead to talk about my belly.”

 
      
 
“It’s quite a belly.”

 
      
 
“I like my belly.”

 
      
 
“I never said it was a bad belly.”

 
      
 
He drummed his thick fingers on the wide desk. His fingernails were perfectly squared and seemed almost as thick as my own supernaturally thick nails.

 
      
 
“Can we stop talking about my belly?” he asked. “Besides, I don’t think cops are supposed to say
belly
.”

 
      
 
“And yet you’ve now said it four times.”

 
      
 
He shook his head. “Don’t worry about your boy, Sam. He’ll be fine.”

 
      
 
I nodded and wished I could believe him. Sherbet asked why I was here, and warned me from saying anything about his belly. I told him about
Maddie
and what my ex-partner had turned up. Sherbet listened quietly, and when I was finished he reached over and typed something on his keyboard. By typing, I mean he hunted and pecked slowly with his big sausage-like fingers.