Vampire Moon (33 page)

 
      
 
I’ve never killed before,
I wrote.

 
      
 
How do you feel?

 
      
 
I sucked on the cigarette and thought about that.
I feel nothing
.

 
      
 
No guilt?

 
      
 
No. Not right now, but it might hit me later.

 
      
 
How did you feel when you were killing him?

 
      
 
Why do you ask?

 
      
 
It is commonly believed that vampires enjoy the kill, that vampires sort of get-off on taking another’s life.

 
      
 
I took another hit, inhaling deeply, and came clean.
I enjoyed it so fucking much that it scares the shit out of me.

 
      
 
Because you might want to do it again?

 
      
 
Exactly.

 
      
 
Did you feed from him?

 
      
 
No. I didn’t have time. But I think I would have.
I paused, then added:
And now tonight feels incomplete.

 
      
 
Because you didn’t feed?

 
      
 
Right.

 
      
 
You hunted your prey...and then lost him to the hyenas.

 
      
 
I shuddered at the imagery.
Something like that.

 
      
 
Can you control yourself, Moon Dance?

 
      
 
I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me nod.
Yes, the feeling passed as soon as I left the cell.

 
      
 
A good thing it passed.

 
      
 
I nodded again. I knew what Fang meant. If the hunger hadn’t passed, if it still gripped me, there was a very good chance that something else—or someone else—would be very dead tonight.

 
      
 
Do you think of me differently, Fang?

 
      
 
Do you think of yourself differently?

 
      
 
I finished the cigarette, stubbed it out in the glass ashtray on the night stand next to me.
I’ve never killed before. Anyone or anything. I always had that to fall back on. Now I don’t.

 
      
 
Now you’re a killer.

 
      
 
Yes.

 
      
 
You killed a bad man who, if given a chance, would have hurt or killed your client.

 
      
 
Yes.

 
      
 
So, in effect, you acted in self-defense of your client.

 
      
 
You could say that.

 
      
 
You had asked him politely to leave her alone, and what did he do?

 
      
 
He threatened me and my children.

 
      
 
So, in effect, you also protected your children.

 
      
 
I’m not sure how serious his threats were.

 
      
 
The man was on Death Row, Moon Dance.

 
      
 
But I still killed him in cold blood, Fang.

 
      
 
That is something you will have to live with, Moon Dance. Can you live with it?

 
      
 
I guess I have to.

 
      
 
An eternity is a long time to carry guilt, Moon Dance.

 
      
 
Our fingers were both silent. I contemplated another cigarette, then decided against it. Now Fang was busy writing something, and so I waited for his response. A minute later, it came.

 
      
 
You did what you had to do. You acted in the best interest of yourself, your kids and your client. You rid the world of an animal who made it his life’s goal to destroy other people’s lives. You ask me, you had a pretty good night’s work.

 
      
 
We were silent for a long time. I gazed out the sliding glass window at the rising moon. I turned back to my laptop.

 
      
 
Get some sleep, Fang.

 
      
 
You know I’m a night owl, Moon Dance.

 
      
 
Yeah, I know.

 
      
 
See you in a week?

 
      
 
My heart pounded once, twice in my chest.

 
      
 
Yes, in a week.

 
      
 
I can’t wait, Moon Dance.

 
      
 
I bit my lip.
Neither can I.

 
      
 
Chapter Forty-six

 
      
 
I was boxing with Jacky.

 
      
 
It was late afternoon and I was tired and my hands kept dropping. Jacky hated when my hands dropped and he let me know it. I was working on a punching bag while he stood behind it, absorbing my blows. Each punch seemed to knock the little Irishman off balance a little more. I had learned not to hit the bag with all my strength, or even half my strength, as such blows would send the little man rebounding off the bag as if it had been an electrified fence.

 
      
 
Even in the late afternoon, with the sun not fully set and my strength nowhere near where it could be, my punches had a lot of pop behind them.

 
      
 
I’m such a freak.

 
      
 
And as Jacky worked me in three minute drills—equivalent to boxing rounds—I was pouring sweat. I sometimes wondered what my sweat would look like under a microscope. Was it the same as anyone else’s sweat? Was my DNA vastly different? Would a lab technician, studying my little
squigglies
under the lens, shit his pants if he saw what I was really made up of?

 
      
 
And what was I made up of?
Who knows.

 
      
 
Still, it gave me an idea. A very interesting idea. Hmm....

 
      
 
“Hands up, wee girl. Hands—”

 
      
 
I hit the bag hard, so hard that it rebounded back into Jacky’s face and caused him, I think, to bite his lip. Oops. He cursed and held on tight, but at least he shut the hell up about my damn hands.

 
      
 
Easy girl. He’s just doing his job.

 
      
 
I was in a mood. A foul mood. I needed to punch something and punch it hard, but I didn’t want to hurt Jacky. A conundrum, for sure.

 
      
 
And as I wrapped up the fourteenth round, finishing in a flurry of punches that made Jacky, no doubt, regret taking me on as a client, Detective Sherbet stepped into the gym. The heavy-set detective looked around, blinking hard, eyes adjusting to the gloom, spotted me, and then motioned for me to come over. I told Jacky I would be back, and the little Irishman, wiping the blood from his lip, seemed only too relieved to be rid of me for a few minutes.

 
      
 
I grabbed a towel and soon the detective and I were sitting on a bench in the far corner of the gym. I was sweating profusely and continuously drying myself. Sherbet was wearing slacks and a nice shirt. There was a fresh jelly stain near one of the buttons. The buttons were doing all they could to contain his girth.

 
      
 
“You sweat a lot for a girl,” he said.

 
      
 
“I’ve heard that before.”

 
      
 
Sherbet grinned. “It’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

 
      
 
“I’ve heard that before, too. So how did you find me, Detective?”

 
      
 
“I happen to be an ace investigator. That, and Monica told me.”

 
      
 
I nodded. “And to what do I owe the honor?”

 
      
 
Sherbet was looking at me closely, and perhaps a little oddly. If I had to put a name to it, I would say he was looking at me
suspiciously
.

 
      
 
He said, “Ira Lang is dead.”