Moon Dance

25.



I don't sleep in a coffin.



I sleep in my bed, under the covers, with the blinds drawn. I go to bed the moment the kids head off to school, and wake up a couple of hours before they get out. Ideally, I could sleep through the entire cycle of the day, but I'm a mom with kids and ideally is out the window.



My sleep is deep and usually dreamless. It's also rejuvenating in ways that I can't fully comprehend. Prior to closing my eyes, usually minutes after my children have left for the day, I am nearly catatonic with fatigue. So much so that I sometimes wonder if I am dying�Dor perhaps nearly dead¨Dand the deep sleep itself revives me, rejuvenates me, rebuilds me in supernatural ways that I will never understand.



And the moment my head hits the pillow I'm out cold. That is, until my alarm goes off at its loudest setting. I awaken grudgingly and exhausted, fully aware that I should still be sleeping, and that I should never, ever be seeing the light of day. Nevertheless, I do get up. I do face the light of day, and I keep trying to be the best mom I can.



My sleep is usually dreamless. But not always. Sometimes I dream that I am a great bird. I fly slowly, deliberately, my powerful wings outstretched, flapping slowly. I never seem to be in a hurry.



Sometimes I dream of my kids, that I infect them with my sickness and they become like me: Hungry for blood, shunned by society, living a secret life of fear and confusion and pain. I usually wake up crying.



Today, I did not wake up crying. Today, I woke up with a smile on my face. Yes, I was still exhausted and could have used a few more hours of sleep, but nonetheless I woke up with a happy heart.



Today, I dreamed of a man. A great hulking creature of a man with the broadest shoulders I'd ever seem and a mane of hair as thick as any wild animal. A man whose eyes glowed amber under the moonlight and whose grin was more wolf than human. In the dream, Kingsley had been stalking me in the deep dark woods. Sometimes he was half-man, and sometimes he was all wolf. The biggest wolf I'd ever seen.



In the dream, I was hiding from him, but it was a game, and I had no fear of the man-wolf. I was hiding behind the trunk of a massive pine tree as he searched the forest for me.



We seemed to do this forever, playing, and I had a sense that we could do this forever, if we so desired. That nothing could stop us. Ever. Finally, I stepped out from behind the tree and just stood there on the wooded path. Kingsley, the man, came to me, hunger in his amber eyes. I had forgotten about such hunger. Pushed it aside. I had assumed such a look would be forever lost to me, replaced only by Danny's disgust and horror.



But not with Kingsley. He hungered for me.



More important: He accepted me.



Then he was upon me, pouncing, taking me up in his great arms and lowering his face to mine. And as he did so, something flashed out of the corner of my eye. The golden amulet, the same one worn by my attacker years ago. I tried to ask Kingsley about the amulet but he lowered his face to mine and took me completely and wholly to a place I had never thought I would go again.



And that's when I awoke, smiling.



Wow.



A minute later when I had regained my senses, I got out of bed and, averting my eyes from the light sneaking in through the blinds, made my way into the living room. There, under the china hutch, I found the box and opened it. Inside was the medallion with the three ruby roses.



I reached in and turned it over. There was blood on it. A tiny speckle that I had missed.



Why had Kingsley refused to discuss the medallion in my dream? Then again, how could he have even known about the medallion?



Then again, I reminded myself, it was just a dream.



Better yet, why are you dreaming of another man? You are a married woman. Dreams like that could lead to trouble.



A lot of trouble.



I returned the medallion to the box, closed the lid and smiled again.



It had been, after all, a hell of a dream.



26.



Before I became a full-time creature of the night, I was a federal agent for the Department of Housing and Urban Development, or HUD. Although its acronym was not as sexy-sounding as the FBI, my ex-partner and I busted our fair share of bad guys; in particular, real estate scam artist and loan swindlers and those who preyed on the poor.



Anyway, Chad Helling and I had been partners for just over two years when I had been forced to quit and find a night job. He understood. Or, rather, he understood the given reason.



He and I were still close, and through him I used the federal government's resources for all they were worth. In exchange, I did some pro bono investigating work for him.



Chad answered his cell on the third ring. "Hey, sunshine."



"Sunshine?" I asked.



"Sorry. Poor choice of words. What's up?"



"I need some help," I said.



"What else is new?"



I ignored that. "The name's Rick Horton out of Tustin. I need to know if he has a twenty-two caliber pistol registered to his name."



"Anything else?"



"No, that's it."



"You got it, Sunshine."



"Asshole," I said, but he had already hung up.



It was late evening. I tried Kingsley at his office number, but was not surprised to discover that Kingsley had called in sick since this was the night of the full moon. I tried his home number. It was answered immediately.



"Tonight's the big night," I said. "Arooo!"



"Who's this?" asked a stuffy voice.



Whoops!



"I'm, uh, Samantha Moon. May I speak to Kingsley?"



A pause on the other end. I thought I heard a noise from somewhere in the background. Perhaps my imagination was playing tricks on me, but, son-of-a-bitch, I thought I had heard the howl of a dog.



Or a wolf.



"Master Kingsley is...indisposed at this time. I'll tell him you rang."



Master Kingsley?



"Please do," I said, trying to match the upper crust voice. I think I warbled perhaps a little too long on do. The line was disconnected, and not by me.



Almost immediately my cell vibrated in my hand. I looked at the face-plate. It was my ex-partner.



"Yup, a twenty-two caliber pistol is registered to one Rick Horton," said Special Agent Chad Helling. "If you knew that why did you need me?"



"I didn't know that," I said. "I surmised."



"That was a hell of a surmise. We could use someone like you at HUD. Too bad you keep such strange hours."



"Thanks, Chad. I owe you one."



"Or two; I've lost track."