Christmas Moon Read Free

assuredly, with no judgment in his voice. If anything, there was a hint of humor. He watched me closely, his blazing eyes almost never leaving me. Whoever he was, I had his full attention. I nearly just wished him a merry Christmas and turned and left, but something made me stick around.
    “ So, what’s your name?” I asked.
    “ Ishmael.”
    I almost made a Moby Dick joke, but held back. Truth be known, I was a little freaked out that this guy knew me, and I hadn’t a clue who he was.
    “ Where do you know me from, Ishmael? And give it to me straight. No more double speak.”
    “ I’m afraid you wouldn’t remember me, Samantha. But I can say this: you know my client.”
    Ishmael was an unusual-looking man. He seemed both comfortably relaxed and oddly uncomfortable. He often didn’t know what to do with his hands, which sometimes hung straight down, or crossed over his chest. He radiated serenity, but every now and then, perplexingly, a black streak of darkness, like a worm, would weave through his beautiful, silver aura. Amazingly, my inner alarm system remained silent.
    “ And who’s your client?” I asked.
    He continued to watch me. Now, he held his hands together loosely at his waist. I think the guy would have been better off utilizing his pants pockets. Another streak of blackness flashed through his aura, so fast that I nearly didn’t see it. Then another.
    He smiled at me in a way that few men have ever smiled at me: knowingly, lovingly, comfortably, happily, sexily.
    Finally, he said, “The client, Sam, was you.”

Chapter Four

    We had spent the evening baking cookies and generally making a mess of the kitchen. Flour, cinnamon, sprinkles, and sugar dusted the floor, our three sets of footprints overlapping on the tile, like some mad Family Circus diagram. But what’s Christmas for, if not to bake with children?
    Then we all cuddled up on the couch. I had put in the Groundhog Day DVD and we watched it with a fresh batch of cookies and milk. Of course, I only pretended to eat my cookies, which I promptly spit back into my milk. Ah, but those few seconds of sugary delight were heaven…but I would pay a price for it…Anything not blood, no matter how minute, would cause me severe cramping and the dry heaves later.
    When the kids were in bed and I had gotten caught up on my office paperwork and billing, I grabbed my laptop and curled up on one corner of the living room couch.
    You there, Fang?
    No doubt, other creatures of the night were out running around…doing whatever it was that creatures of the night do. I knew what I did. I worked. And besides, tonight was a school night. And, despite being a professional private investigator who works the late shift, I couldn’t leave my kids alone at night unless I could find a sitter.
    That was why being married had been so convenient. Danny, my ex-husband, would watch the kids while I worked late. That is, until he started staying late himself, for reasons that weren’t so admirable.
    I drummed my fingers along the laptop case, waiting for Fang to reply. At the far end of the hallway, I could hear Anthony snoring lightly, even through his closed door. Along with my condition came an increased perception of many of my senses. Hearing and sight were two of them. I could hear and see things that I had no business hearing and seeing. The sense of taste and touch, not so much, which was just as well. I couldn’t eat food anyway, and I certainly didn’t need inadvertent orgasms every time someone touched my shoulder. The jury was still out on my sense of smell, although it might have increased a little. Not necessarily a good thing with a gaseous eight-year-old around. Anyway, I had always had a good sniffer, so it was kind of hard to tell for sure.
    Ah…there he was. The little pencil icon appeared in the chatbox window, indicating that Fang was typing a response.
    Good evening, Moon Dance. Or, more accurately, good middle-of-the-night.
    Good