Blood Moon: A Rowan Gant Investigation by M. R. Sellars

who…
Uh-huh… Okay… I’ll see what I can do, but I ain’t makin’ any
guarantees… Yeah… Okay, so when is that? Yeah… Okay… No, I’m
throwin’ down some breakfast over at Chuck’s… Yeah… Prob’ly half
hour, maybe forty-five minutes… Yeah…okay, see ya’ then.”
    “Problem?” I asked as I watched him fold the
phone and tuck it away.
    “No. Not really,” he replied.
    I wasn’t convinced, but then again, I knew
better than to pressure him about that sort of thing. Odds are it
was work related anyway, so I definitely didn’t need to hear it.
Instead of pursuing the topic, I shrugged and reached for the
peppershaker, but as I did, a sharp twinge erupted on the side of
my neck once again. I pulled my hand back and reached up to massage
it as I had done before.
    “Neck again?” my friend asked.
    “Yeah,” I said, wincing. “I must have really
seriously pinched a nerve or something.”
    “Maybe you should have it looked at,” he
said, while liberally salting the mound of food in front of
him.
    “I don’t know. Maybe.”
    “Or then again, maybe it’s somethin’ else,”
he suggested, a mildly cryptic tone in his voice.
    “What do you mean?” I asked, shooting him a
puzzled look.
    He slid the saltshaker toward me then reached
for the aspirin. “Ya’ might wanna salt your coffee again.”
    “You didn’t answer my question.”
    “Sure you don’t wanna salt your coffee?”
    “Ben…”
    He shrugged. “Okay, don’t blame me, I tried…
So I know you say you’re retired and all, but lemme ask ya’
somethin’. Whaddaya know about vampires?”
     
     
     
     

CHAPTER 5:
     
    “I get it,” I replied, voice flat and clearly
humorless. “My neck hurts. Vampires. Witches. Very funny for a
Halloween joke. Too bad it’s March and not October.”
    Ben shrugged as he tossed back the aspirin.
After taking a swig of his coffee, he picked up his fork and said,
“Yeah, well tell that to the girl I watched the coroner stuff in a
body bag a few hours ago.”
    I stared back at him without saying another
word. He, however, now appeared to be ignoring me in favor of the
“coronary on a plate” in front of him. Of course, what he appeared
to be doing and what was actual fact weren’t always the same thing,
and I knew that, so I waited in silence.
    After swallowing a bite, without looking up
he repeated the preamble to his question, “Like I said, Kemosabe,
don’t blame me. I handed ya’ the goddammed salt.”
    “So you think your homicide case is why my
neck hurts?”
    He shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe.”
    “It hurts because I slept on it wrong,” I
replied with heavy emphasis on each word.
    Unfortunately, I had a feeling what I said
was for my own benefit as much as his. There was a familiar
peculiarity about the pain that I had been purposely ignoring since
its onset, one that transcended the boundaries of the physical.
Now, of all things, I had a gnawing bother erupting in the pit of
my stomach that definitely wasn’t a mere attack of hunger
pangs.
    “Whatever you say,” he grunted, not even
bothering to try hiding the fact that he didn’t believe me.
    “Come on, Ben… Even if I’m wrong, you aren’t
seriously saying that you think a vampire killed this woman, are
you?” I asked.
    “Didn’t say that,” he replied. “But you’re
the one holdin’ your neck.”
    Out of reflex, I dropped my hand to my side,
even though the pain had become sharper and more pronounced.
“Dammit, Ben. What’s that got to do with anything?”
    “Just two and two, Row,” he said with a
shrug. “That call was a status on the prelim from the medical
examiner. I got an unidentified, very dead young woman with a hole
in ‘er neck and most of ‘er blood gone, but no blood at the scene.
Now I got the king of the friggin’ Twilight Zone —namely
you—sittin’ across from me holdin’ onto his neck. Gimme a break… Do
ya’ really think I’m not gonna at least ask?”
    “Fine, but that really