Samantha moon phantasm, p.106
Samantha Moon Phantasm, page 106
part #9 of Vampire for Hire Series
Those who live and die leave a celestial imprint. However, those who are immortal—that is, those who are permanently connected to the earth—are beyond my sight, and that’s a damn shame.
But I am getting ahead of myself.
In those early days of my transformation, I was taught much by my own vampire sire. First and foremost, despite the severity of my attack, he was a gentle man, one who had gained dominion over his own dark master by feasting only upon the animals, thus depriving his dark master of the nutrients it needed to take him over. I learned from him and kept my own monster at bay, all these years. Truth be known, my own dark master has long since grown quiet. I suspect he is in a state of stasis, awaiting the moment of my death to be free again and seek a more willing partner.
Or not. Perhaps I have taken the fight out of him and he seeks only release. His release will not come, ever... unless, I, too, die.
And so the weeks passed into months and I grew more comfortable in my new skin. I was shown tricks and techniques, all of which I have utilized to great effects... even while learning even more about my talents. I learned to teleport, which I hope I have passed on to you. As your sire, I have passed along some of my own talents. Bear in mind, you are the result of a heady mixture of talents, Samantha Moon: my own, your dark master’s, your latent witchy abilities, and, most prevalent, your own soul.
As the months piled on, I was eager to set out in search of the Red Rider. I was a new man, after all. More powerful than I’d ever been before—or could ever imagine. My own sire was sad to see me leave, for I had provided him much company in our time together. My education consisted of learning of the dark masters, the other magical creatures of this world, of heaven and hell and the devil, of demons and angels and our place in the world. I would learn that this was my heaven, and to make the most of my time here. I was taught that once I died, I would be reabsorbed back into the Source of All That Is, but that it was nothing to fear. I believed him, and I still believe him. He was, after all, one of the original vampires.
But, alas, it was time for me to leave the still-youngish-looking man, who, I would learn, was over a hundred years old. I was told that I looked like a healthy old man now. Healthy and vibrant and pale as could be. Vampirism doesn’t reverse age, I would learn, although it had given me new life and strength in abundance. Still, I was told I might just be one of the oldest-looking vampires in the world, and that gives me a chuckle. After all, someone has to be the oldest, right?
The key was, I didn’t feel old. I felt powerful and ready to take on the world. Or, in the least, to find the Red Rider. To find him and kill him. Whatever the hell he was. Then again, I wasn’t entirely sure what the hell I was either.
And so I set off again, a changed man, a vampire, but always, first, a father.
A father hell-bent on revenge.
Chapter Sixteen
I looked up from the scroll, knowing there were but a few paragraphs left.
I used my phone and coffee mug as weights to keep the thing from rolling back into itself, and sat back and rubbed my eyes. Truth was, my eyes felt perfect. Never had they felt better. For that matter, never had all of me felt better, either. No aches and pains. No kinks or flare-ups. Just a perfectly functioning system, all thanks to dark magicks... and my own soul.
Lots was going on in this five-foot-three-inch frame.
I’m not a fast reader and a half hour or more had passed. I had paused often and reflected and re-read scenes, soaking them in, acknowledging them, and working through them emotionally.
Those re-born throughout time would, of course, have many fathers. That should be of no surprise. That one of my fathers had given up heaven to find my killer was new to me, and a bit overwhelming, too. Certainly, I had no memory of the life of which he spoke. It was, what, 400 years ago? In Europe, no less.
He’d heard me scream and went running after me, only to discover the horse, rider and me had disappeared into thin air.
He’d searched for me for months after, only to find my discarded body in a pit of other such discarded bodies. I could not imagine the filth of that pit, the stink, the horror of finding your own child atop it. He had not gone into detail about the exact condition of my body, but I suspected, based on his other choice words, that he had found me partially consumed. Or perhaps more than partially. Maybe damn near completely. But he had known it was me, and had buried me, and then, he had spent the rest of his human life hunting for the “elusive” Red Rider, a name he had given the man based on the cloak he had worn.
And when he had finally come to the end of his existence, he had sought out what he believed to be a vampire. And as death approached, he was re-born again as a vampire, only to continue his search... up to just a few years ago. That was when, of course, Rand the Vampire Hunter had ended my father’s search for justice.
Of course, I use the word “father” liberally here. Perhaps even loosely. I am taking a dead vampire’s word that this was all true. That he had been taught by a master’s master to seek me out in the heavens, and that he had watched over me, life after life, protecting me down through the ages. That he had, in fact, turned me only to save me.
“I need a drink,” I whispered.
Although alcohol had no effect on me, I poured a glass of wine anyway and returned to my study, sipping it, enjoying what I could from it, since my taste buds were mostly dead. Still, I caught a hint of the stuff, and that was enough. Or, rather, it had to be enough.
I moved aside my placeholder phone and pressed the rolled parchment flat, and resumed reading...
***
I would spend many centuries looking for this animal.
Always, I was a step behind, or a mile behind, or months behind. Rarely did I even catch sight of him, but always did I see the destruction he caused in his wake. The distraught families, the wailing mothers, the villages all looking for a missing girl, not realizing she was not only long gone, but that she was, perhaps even at that moment, being consumed by he who once called himself a priest, but was now so very far from God that he might as well have been the devil’s right-hand man.
Maybe he was.
How did he do it? I would learn through many inquiries and my own deduction that the bastard was able to hone in on the most magical. Those with latent abilities, or budding abilities, were of no interest to him; at least, not in this lifetime. Later, as their magic blossomed, so too did their chances of befalling a fate worse than death.
Over the centuries, I would learn more about him. I would discover that he knew I was on to him, and he took extra precautions to throw me off his trails. Sadly, I never knew when he would strike next, and always, I was too late. Never was I able to save those he stalked, for I never knew who might be his next victim.
That is, until I had heard of a girl locked away in a dungeon, a girl the locals had proclaimed to be a real witch, and a nasty one at that. After all, who else was to blame for the pestilence and plague, the disease and sickness, the foul weather and ruined crops? A witch, of course. Personally, I always thought witches had better things to do than to summon bad weather or chicken pox. After all, I’d seen you at work, dear one. I had witnessed firsthand your sweet and beautiful connection to the world around you. Never could I imagine you bringing hellfire upon the crops of your neighbors, even if they had it coming to them.
Then again, perhaps I was spoiled by you.
And so I sought out this witch; after all, if she was as powerful as I believed, surely she would be of interest to the Red Rider.
By now, I had spent many decades being what I am, and it was without incident that I located her in prison, subdued the guards with a few simple suggestions, and snapped open her lock. Immediately, I could see I was dealing with the real deal. She sat upon a nearby bench, surrounded by rats and mice and insects, all of which swarmed over her, through her clothing and hair, and up and down her arms and legs, all while she giggled and spoke to them, ignoring me completely.
When she finally acknowledged me, I was immediately struck by the power of her gaze. A gaze that reminded me so much of your own. Penetrating, calculating and wise. But that was where the similarities ended. First, she was no girl, easily going on thirty. Next, she was tall and robust, sporting thick arms and squarish hands. Her neck and jowls shook and her ruddy skin radiated health and vitality. Her brown hair was long and straight, and I was instantly smitten.
She knew me for what I was before I could think of what to say. I merely nodded, acknowledging her knowing observation, and she shrugged and smiled and turned back to her swarming friends. She smiled at them and said, “Go home, my friends,” and in a blink, her creepy-crawly companions were gone in a scurry of feet, tails, and crackling exoskeletal armor.
She stood and I think I might have involuntarily stepped forward, so powerful was the force of my attraction. There was something unseen but felt around her, and I knew that this woman could not be contained by these bars. No, she had been waiting for me. We stood staring at one another, a witch and a vampire, while the guards slept contentedly outside, and it was of great relief that I saw in her eye a similar yearning, and we came forward together, as one, embraced and locked lips for an unknowable amount of time. And that is all I will say of our physical attraction. You are my child, after all, even if several hundred years removed.
Our whirlwind romance began, which was a much-needed reprieve and greatly appreciated. I’d been alone for so long, child. So very long. Her name was Millie, and we were a powerful force, indeed. She took up my cause, helping to search for Red Rider, even offering herself as bait, but never did he show in her lifetime, although we continuously found evidence of his destruction.
She would die in my arms a half-century later, and I miss her every day of my life. Never would I find love again, but I am okay with that, Sam. I had your mother, I had you, and I had Millie. A man should be so lucky.
I suspected Millie’s power was both a beacon and a warning to avoid. She was, after all, a very, very powerful witch. Unfortunately, not even her magicks could find the man, let alone capture him. But I would learn much in our time. I would learn that he feared fully matured witches. His preference was for the young and mostly helpless. He avoided people at all costs, and seemed uncannily adept at detecting traps.
And so I continued my search, alone.
***
Like my sire, I refused the blood of man, and kept my dark master weak and forgotten.
Ultimately, I suspect I was not of much use to the dark masters’ grand plan. After all, I had my agenda and had little use of their own silly war. Yes, I’d heard much about it from my sire, and also from others of my kind that I’d happened upon, including the various were-beasts. Yes, I did say various. Perhaps you have been made aware by now that our world is inhabited by many such magical creatures, all of whom are the result of the dark masters’ dark influence. No, there was no rift in time and space. There was no opening from our world into the next. The creatures in our word are abominations, Sam, plain and simple. We are an abomination, too. We are the result of carefully calculated dark magic, magic so strong as to yank our souls from heaven, and “permanently” encase them here. I put permanently in quotes for good reason. That said, with luck—and with a lack of enemies—yes, some of us might see the end of days of this planet. Some of us might even see the sun extinguish and the earth grow cold. Some, not all. Very few, in fact.
And so the years piled on. As did the decades and centuries. Never did I feed upon a living human. Even when I turned you, I did not feed on you. No... I fed you. With my own blood.
Needless to say, I have made no progress in my hunt for the Red Rider. I know he is here in America, and has been for the past hundred years, hence my own presence. There is a new wave of witchcraft sweeping the land, and I know why. It is, quite literally, thanks to him. He’d extinguished so many magical lives that it took many generations for the magic to re-establish itself, so to speak, to take hold again, to grow again, to flourish again. It might also explain why I had not seen nor heard of him for nearly seventy years. I suspect he’d gone underground, dormant. Perhaps he was in a sort of hibernation mode. In fact, I had truly thought him dead; that is, until the disappearances started again. And they started back in the 1930s. Parents, do you want to know what happened to your children? More than likely, some of them expressed some form of magic. Perhaps even a lot of magic. Perhaps you laughed it off. Perhaps you ignored it. Or perhaps you were afraid of it. But with each charm, each incantation, each expression of magic, your child drew the Red Rider closer.
And then, your children were gone. Just like that. He appeared, snatched them away, and disappeared again, all while whole communities searched for evidence of them, only to find nothing. Want to know where to look? Look deep in the local caves. There, you will find your missing children, partially consumed, like you, dear Samantha.
I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news. But look no further than him. He is often the culprit.
Which brings me to almost the present.
You hadn’t been re-born in many decades, and I was worried about that, too. Where do you go between lives, you might ask? Ah, I’ve seen a glimpse of that, too, in my meditative place there in the heavens, where I can see the comings and goings of all souls. A nice trick, really. If I survive the hunter’s attack, perhaps I will destroy this letter and explain all to you in person, including many of the tricks I have learned. There is a world of pure energy, Sam, although you wouldn’t see it as energy once in it. Indeed, it wouldn’t look very different than the physical world. But it is there, and it is very, very different. I have seen only glimpses of it, but it is enough to know that I have given up something very beautiful indeed in my search for the Red Rider. Likewise, I have stolen it from you as well. I feel the pang of regret every day, even though I know in my heart I saved you from certain death. Perhaps I should have let you move on into the afterlife, to be re-born again, stronger than ever. Perhaps. But I also knew that the stronger you were, the more likely you would have attracted the Red Rider, and the vicious cycle would have started all over again. Then again, perhaps I would have captured the Red Rider by then. Perhaps.
Sam... many thoughts had gone through my mind as you lay in my arms, bleeding and dying. It is no great surprise to you that you would have died in minutes, if that. Your throat was torn open. Blood was pumping into the grass around us, soaking into the dirt.
But as I held you... ah, the tears. They spring forth even now. Hang on, child.
Okay, back again. I am jumping ahead of myself again. Let me backtrack a smidge.
After nearly sixty years since your last death—you finally appeared again. With the help of the master’s master, I’ve been locked onto your soul signature for quite some time. Think of it as a tracking device. Sometimes—not always—in my meditative state, I caught sight of you in the world of energy. Playing and laughing and exploring the cosmos. These flashes of insight always made me smile, and, conversely, weep. The weeping always jerked me out of the meditation, which was fine. I knew you were safe in the world of energy, and I was content.
Ah, but thirty years ago, deep in my meditation, I found you elsewhere. I found you in a womb in northern California, and I literally pulled up shop and headed there right away. Your parents were... interesting, and I couldn’t help but be jealous of the time they spent with my little girl, but it is what it is, and I had long since accepted that you would never remember, which was fine. Is fine. I was not here to reconnect with you. No, I was here—I existed—to kill the Red Rider, plain and simple. But if I could catch a glimpse of you... oh, it would lift my spirits up and keep me ever vigilant. As you can imagine, after so many years of failure, my hopes of catching the Red Rider have dimmed. But seeing you reborn again, alive and well, healthy and cooing and laughing and playing, ah... my spirits were lifted high indeed and my determination renewed.
I kept watch over you from a distance. In my meditative state, I could find you anywhere, particularly in the physical; that is, here on earth. Want to know a curious fact? Oh, you do? Sorry, it is my lame attempt at playfulness. Okay, here is the curious tidbit. In one of your lives, you were not even born on Earth. Once, you were born on a planet inhabited by what I could only call dragons. There, you were one of these beautiful creatures, flying lazily, contemplating life, and mating with another such creature. A beautiful, epic, brilliant, powerful creature in his own right. Interestingly, I sense him in you, somehow... a connection that has not yet been broken. Perhaps you sense him, too. Perhaps not. Either way, he is there... watching.
Moving on. While watching you from afar, I continued my search for the Red Rider. Twice in the last twenty years, I caught sight of him. Both times, he was leaving his cave of choice, somehow aware that I was on to him. He is a fiercely magical being by this point, Sam. Perhaps the most magical of all. Had he wanted to, I suspect he could do away with me, but he has chosen not to. I suspect he is a coward, Sam, unwilling to fight another man at full strength. Rather, he would prey on the magical children of the world.
That said, I believe he tipped off the hunter who, even now, is stalking me. I sense the man nearby. I can see him, feel him. The hunters are a strange breed, Sam. They are skilled at remaining mostly undetected, especially by those of our kind. Only, our own inner warning system can detect them. Trust you me, mine has been going off continuously these past three months. Even now, as I write these words, my inner alarm is pinging softly just inside my inner ear. He is near. I can feel him. It is why I hastened to write this letter.
Yes, the Red Rider is as magical as they come, but he needs magic to live, too. I believe he uses it up, depletes it. That is when he is the weakest, between victims. It is not much to go on, but it is something. No, I am not asking you to take up my mantle, for, in many ways, this has been a fool’s quest. How many years have I wasted in my pursuit? Hundreds, Sam. I’ve wasted many, many lifetimes.
