Christmas Moon Read Free Page A

middle-of-the-night to you, too.
    He typed a smiley face, followed by: So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Moon Dance?
    Fang was my online confidant. He was also a convicted murderer and escaped convict with serious psychological issues. But that’s another story for another time. Over the years, though, he had proven to be loyal, knowledgeable and extremely helpful. After six years of anonymously chatting, Fang and I had finally met for the first time six months ago. The meeting had been interesting, and there had been some physical chemistry.
    But then came “The Request.”
    Again, six months ago, back when my son was losing his battle with the extremely rare Kawasaki disease, Fang had asked me to turn him into a vampire.
    Now, that’s a helluva request, even among close friends. At the time I was dealing with too much and had told him so. He understood. His timing was off. He got it. We hadn’t discussed his request for a while now, but it was always out there, simmering, seething just below the current of all our conversations. We both knew it was out there. We both knew I would get around to it when the time was right.
    And what would be my answer? I didn’t know. Not yet. The question, for now, was bigger than I was. I need time to wrap my brain around it. To let it simmer. Percolate. Brew.
    But someday, perhaps someday soon, I would give him my answer.
    I wrote: I have a question.
    You usually do, Fang replied.
    What do you know of silver auras?
    They’re common, although they’re usually associated with other colors, why?
    I saw a silver aura today, but a bright one. Perhaps the brightest I’d ever seen. A radiant, glorious silver.
    No other colors?
    I shook my head, even though he couldn’t see me shaking my head. Just silver, I typed.
    Hang on.
    There was a long pause, and I suspected Fang was either thinking or Googling or consulting what I knew to be a vast, private occult library. I knew something of occult libraries…having met a curious young curator of such a library, six months ago.
    I waited. My house was mostly silently, other than Anthony’s light snoring. Was it normal for an eight-year-old to snore? I wondered if I should have that checked. These days, after the ordeal with Kawasaki disease, I was constantly on guard with Anthony’s health.
    Fang came back, typing: Please describe him to me, Moon Dance.
    Tallish , I wrote. Well-built. Narrow waist. Broad shoulders. Smiled a lot.
    What did he say to you?
    I thought about that. Said he knew me, and had known me from way back, that he worked with me…or implied that he had worked with me. He knew my name.
    But did you recognize him?
    No.
    What about your inner alarm system? Did he trigger it? Were you on guard?
    Quite the opposite, I wrote. If anything, I felt at peace.
    There was a long delay, then finally, Fang’s words appeared in the IM chat box:
    Unless I’m mistaken, Moon Dance, I believe you just met your guardian angel.

Chapter Five

    Charlie lived in a single-wide trailer.
    Although the trailer looked old, it appeared well-enough maintained. As I approached the door in the late evening, I realized that I had never been inside a single-wide trailer.
    Somehow, I controlled my excitement.
    The exterior was composed of metal siding, and there was a lot of junk piled around the house. Controlled junk, as it was mostly on old tables and shelving. Lawn mower parts, fan belts, engine parts, and just about everything else that belonged in a garage, except the mobile home didn’t have a garage.
    The front door was, in fact, a sliding glass door. Charlie, apparently, used the mobile home’s rear door as his front door. A quick glance around the home explained why: the front door had no steps leading up to it.
    Leading up to the sliding glass door was a small wooden deck, which I used now. I peered inside. It was the living room, and where the exterior had controlled mayhem, the interior was a straight-up mess. Charlie