Viper Moon Read online

  I took my time in the bathroom, showered, shaved my legs, rubbed on lotion, and dried my hair. Weariness settled in. Since eight o’clock that morning, when Detective Flynn had pounded on my door, I’d been beaten up, healed, faced temptation in the form of gorgeous Michael, and given an enemy one more reason to hate me. I dressed in a shirt that came down to my knees and put on panties, something I didn’t usually wear to bed. I didn’t need thoughts of the hot cop to complicate things even more.

  When I went back into the bedroom, I heard no sound from the living room, so I figured he was gone. I hoped he’d gone. What was the Mother thinking? How could a rational man like Flynn understand the mystical? Horus, Nefertiti, and Nirah weren’t the most exotic of what I knew in Mother’s secret world and her war with what lay in the Barrows.

  I walked back into the living room.

  Flynn sat at the table, intently watching Horus, Nefertiti, and Nirah eating something in saucers.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “I thought they might be hungry,” he said. “All I could find was a jar of caviar in the fridge.”

  “That’s the caviar my cousin sent me.” I’d never eaten caviar, and had left the stuff in the refrigerator until I could get up the nerve to try it.

  I sat in a chair and watched them polish off the fish eggs. Horus finished his, walked over to Flynn, and patted his hand with one paw. Nirah joined Horus. She bumped Flynn’s fingers with her small head. Great Mother! He’d formed a bond with them. As far as I knew, only Abby had ever done that. I found myself both dismayed and pleased at the same time. How was I going to get rid of him now? Did I even really want to be rid of him? He’d shown some compassion for my injuries and complimented me on my hair, but many people do that. If he’d given me any indication that he liked me as a woman, I’d missed it.

  “You’re welcome,” Flynn said. I was afraid he’d try to pet Horus, which would’ve been a mistake, but he didn’t.

  Flynn grinned at me, his eyes bright with mischief. “How long since you’ve had a boyfriend?” he asked abruptly.

  “A few months.” I lied. No woman wants to admit to a sexless year—or two.

  “What happened to him?” He leaned back and his grin grew wider. “He didn’t like snakes?”

  “They made him uncomfortable.” I bit my lip to hold back a laugh. “Man had no sense of humor. He woke up one morning with Nefertiti coiled on his chest. Ran out the door, naked and screaming. She only wanted to be friends. I mailed him his clothes.”

  Flynn chuckled. “So where do I sleep?”

  “Floor or couch. Take your pick. I’ll leave the bedroom door open so you can get to the bathroom. Put the seat back down.”

  Not long after that, I heard him go into the bathroom and close the door. The day had wrung me out like a damp towel, so sleep claimed me instantly. So much for the sharp-eyed, always-on-guard Huntress. A strange man in my apartment and I crash. Nirah, Nefertiti, and Horus had accepted him, though, and that gave me some degree of security.

  I woke during the night and realized someone was in the bed with me. I rose up on one elbow and punched Flynn in the arm.

  “What?” He grumbled, his voice heavy with sleep.

  “You’re not supposed to be here. Sleeping bag. Couch. Living room.”

  “Not comfortable. Need to rest.” He rolled over and turned his back to me.

  I sighed. At least he was dressed—khaki shorts—and I had a queen-sized bed. How odd. I should’ve been terribly uncomfortable with him beside me. Why hadn’t I woken up when he’d lain down?

  Clearly, this guy had the ability to lull me into deadly complacency. In some ways, that made him more dangerous than all the monsters lurking in the Barrows.

  I’d had guys in my bed before. Some were fantastic lovers. I had even asked Nirah and Nefertiti to keep their distance, and they complied. Eventually, though, the guys would leave. But it wasn’t just the snakes. It would take a special, persistent man to accept a woman who jumps up in the middle of terrific sex and rushes out because of a phone call from someone she won’t identify. In the past, some nice men just wanted a night of sex and left the next day. A few of them really liked me and wanted to stay. But my strangeness, my inability to get close, show them my world—it just didn’t work for them. There were no happy endings in those relationships, only pain and loss. I fought to remain aloof, telling myself my duty filled my life and I didn’t have time for a man.

  I held my hand over his bare shoulder, close, but I didn’t touch him. He radiated warmth that had nothing to do with the temperature. My mind formed a fantasy vision of snuggling up to him. He might make love to me if I wanted him to.

  Get a grip, Cassandra.

  To get involved with a man, particularly this man, would lead to disaster. I drifted off to sleep and didn’t wake again until morning.

  I rose first, grabbed my clothes, and went to the bathroom. I didn’t want to be tempted to actually touch him. He was still asleep when I came out. I stood and watched him, his steady breath, that kissable mouth. A cop. The man. Authority figure. I went to make coffee. Today would be a long day.

  chapter 9

  August 6—9:00 a.m.

  “This wreck doesn’t even have air-conditioning.” Flynn had griped about my car since we left the apartment. He didn’t seem genuinely irritated, but he significantly contributed to my foul mood. The blast-furnace heat didn’t help.

  “There’s air coming through the window,” I said. “Pretend it’s cool. Are you a stoic cop or a wuss?”

  Not that he’d had a good morning. He woke up with Horus sitting on his face. Nefertiti lay coiled in his clothes, and when he picked up his shoe, Nirah fell out. Then I told him he’d have to buy a case of caviar. I also bitched at him for getting in my bed uninvited. He told me I snored, which is an absolute lie.

  I stopped the car at a light. A Duivel PD patrol car pulled up beside us and Flynn hunched down in the seat. I slugged him in the shoulder. “You ass, you’re ashamed to be seen with me.”

  “I’m ashamed to be seen in this rolling disaster.” Disgust etched lines in his face.

  I waved at the patrol car, then pointed at Flynn. I could see them laughing. Made me feel a lot better.

  The day’s egg-frying heat cooked both of us, even though the sun had barely reached its noon height. Actually, my car does have an operable AC, but with so many holes, it uses too much gas to lower the temperature even a few degrees. For the price of a tank of gas, I could sweat a little—or a lot.

  I wore the lightest clothes I had, jeans and a cotton shirt. Flynn wore a T-shirt, jeans, and a light leather vest that partially covered his gun. I left my gun at home.

  “Where are we going?” Flynn asked.

  “Avondale Manor.”

  “The asylum? You’re checking in? Excellent move.” He chuckled. “I’ll feed your snakes and water your plants if you like.”

  “I want to talk to someone.” Might as well make use of him if I had to drag him along. Maybe I could have a flat tire. Make him change it. “You got your badge with you, right?”

  “Yeah, but I’m not going to play the bully cop for you.”

  We’d developed a relationship of mutual mistrust. “Even for Selene?”

  He sighed and stared straight ahead. “Who are we going to see?”

  “Elise Ramekin.”

  “And she is?”

  “Michael’s mother.”

  Flynn frowned but didn’t say anything. I turned down Twenty-fifth Street. I didn’t know what to expect of Michael’s mother, but he wanted me to meet her. Of course, he’d made me curious.

  “Tell me about Michael’s record,” I said. I remembered Flynn’s accusations.

  “Rape, murder, and aggravated assault,” he said. “Five years ago. Arrested, but his expensive lawyer got him off. Not enough evidence. He owns major property. A warehouse on the river, and . . .”

  “And what?”

  “Half interest in the G
oblin Den.”

  Now that was a stunner. I managed to keep the surprise out of my voice. “Who owns the other half?”

  “Pericles Theron.”

  I gritted my teeth. Michael had lied. Now I’d have to go see him and try to kick his pretty ass. Rape, murder, assault? I’d seen his instant violent reaction at the Goblin Den the evening before. Whatever his actual crimes, he’d concealed them well. He left only rumor as evidence. Evidently, the police had the same problem. If I could point to one event of particular evil, I’d probably be angrier. Being lied to was personal.

  The hiss and rumble of traffic eased as Twenty-fifth Street morphed into a residential haven of spacious lots. I’d driven by Avondale a few times, but I’d never been inside the ten-foot white block wall surrounding the place. No guard at the black iron gate, but there was a call box. As we arrived, the automatic gate slid open to allow a plumbing repair truck to enter. I hit the gas, closed the distance, and followed the truck inside the wall.

  “You don’t think they’ll let you in if you ask?” Flynn said.

  “Maybe. But this saves time.”

  “Wonder why they don’t have a guard at the gate.” He studied the place with a cop’s eyes.

  “Don’t know.” I was grateful for no guard. I’m not one for overanalyzing a situation, but this one seemed unusual.

  I followed the truck until it turned at the sign marked SERVICE ENTRANCE. Gravel crunched under the tires like a giant eating stones as I drove into an empty area marked VISITOR PARKING. The drive had led us more than a quarter mile from the main road.

  Flynn made me open the trunk so he could leave his gun behind. An asylum for criminals probably wasn’t the best place to carry one. I used the key and didn’t tell him that his gun storage locker would open with a good hard smack. It often popped up when I hit a bump in the road.

  I had to shade my eyes against the sun reflecting from three stories of blinding white brick as we climbed the steps to the front door. Decorative metal grills covered every window, and created a cage with elaborate bars.

  Flynn stopped before we entered. He stared back across the expansive stretch of green lawn. “No wonder they don’t have a guard. High-tech ground security,” he said. “See the little spikes. Sound, probably motion sensors, too. They know we’re here.”

  This cop’s eyes had seen what I’d missed.

  We walked inside and had to stand blind for a few moments while our pupils dilated. The vestibule contained a single spare desk, and an equally spare woman sitting behind it. Her long, bony fingers clutched a phone receiver and she radiated an unwholesome air, almost like someone worn down by a chronic illness.

  “May I help you?” she asked. Her lips barely moved. “I didn’t get a call from security to—”

  “We’re here to see Elise Ramekin.” I stepped up to the desk and spoke with as much authority as I could muster. She wasn’t a big woman, and that put me in the superior position of towering over her.

  She hesitated, so I rushed on. “I’m a friend of her son, Michael.”

  “May I see some identification?” She lifted her hand from the phone.

  I dug out a driver’s license and Flynn flashed his badge and ID. Her eyes slid over my license, but lingered on Flynn’s. Flynn’s charm wasn’t like Michael’s. He had no hypnotic thing saying, Adore me, worship me. Flynn made a connection on a human level. He asked for nothing more than goodwill and, in this case, seemed to receive goodwill as requested.

  “We don’t permit weapons—”

  “None.” Flynn smiled. He drew back his vest to show he was unarmed. He gave her a dazzling smile. “Social visit.”

  The woman almost smiled back. I probably should have let him sweet-talk her in the first place instead of playing a bully. Damn it! I’m in charge here. I glared at him and he winked. I resisted the urge to punch him.

  Her eyes lingered on him as she spoke into the phone. “Mrs. Ramekin has visitors.”

  A lock clicked and a door to my right opened. Two doors actually, one wood and the other behind it steel bars. A mouse-faced woman with a tag clipped to her white nurse’s uniform entered.

  The receptionist waved her hand in our direction. “This nurse will escort you.” She did smile at Flynn this time.

  The mouse-faced nurse, so low in the pecking order that even a receptionist didn’t introduce her by name, stepped back and motioned us to enter. She closed and locked the door behind us, and we followed her down a silent hall. Her spine was so rigid it allowed only a bare hint of movement in her hips, but practical, thick-soled oxford shoes squeaked faintly with each step on the polished wood floor.

  We went through a metal detector and another barred gate. A few people walked the halls here, nurses, a janitor mopping the floor, a maintenance man with a ladder. After we passed the last checkpoint, the close halls stood empty and silent except for the squeak and shuffle of our shoes.

  “This is the sun room,” Mouse Face said. Her voice carried a nasal whine. “That’s her.” She pointed at a smallish woman sitting at a table beside a vast wall of barred windows. Some designer or architect must have decided that natural light gave the illusion of freedom, but it only illuminated the cage. The nurse walked away, but not far. She stood at attention like a soldier in a milk white uniform, guarding the door we entered.

  The high-ceilinged room had a number of chairs and tables, but Elise was the only occupant. She seemed like a frail child, alone in a sparse lunchroom, ostracized by her schoolmates.

  I approached cautiously, not knowing what to expect. The chairs appeared to be solid blocks of foam. The tables with rounded corners were bolted to the floor, as if prepared for an act of violence.

  Elise’s short hair was a cap of pure snow in the sunlight. She wore slippers and a dull green cotton dress that matched the room’s walls. It gave the illusion that she might disappear if she stood against one. The papers on the table in front of her had her undivided attention. She bent over them with unwavering intensity. As we moved close, I could see soft charcoal drawings.

  “Elise,” I said softly. I didn’t think it wise to startle someone who seemed so fragile.

  She didn’t look up.

  “Elise.”

  Still nothing.

  Flynn laid a hand on my arm and said, “Elise?”

  Elise raised her head and stared at us. She responded to his deeper, masculine voice. So did I. Kindness and warmth filled it, making a sinfully rich sound. Except for a few furrows on her forehead, Elise’s face was smooth as a woman no more than thirty. Her eyes held uncertainty, but cleared when she focused on Flynn. She immediately stood, laid her tiny piece of charcoal aside, and practically leaped into his arms.

  She surprised him, but he seemed to have the rare ability to discern emotional need and respond immediately. He gently embraced her.

  “How are you today, Elise?” His hand stroked her cap of white hair.

  Elise laughed in a musical voice that sounded so much like a feminine version of Michael’s.

  “I’m so happy you came.” She cocked her head as she studied him. “Ah, the wolf. The Guardian. Yes. Oh, you are a fine one.” True joy filled her voice.

  Flynn drew a quick breath, but he didn’t falter. I bit my lip and kept my face straight. The Guardian. The Earth Mother had called him that. It surprised me, but why did it surprise him?

  Flynn guided Elise back to her chair, had her sit, then knelt close beside her. She ignored me.

  “Elise,” Flynn said. He held her hand. He spoke with care, as if to a child. “My friend Cass wants to ask you some questions. She’s—”

  “The Huntress.” Elise sounded a bit annoyed. “The great holy whore’s bitch dog.”

  I sighed. Holy whore. I’d heard that before, or at least read it in Abby’s history books. The Mother reigned over man- and womankind for thousands of years until the coming of the male sky gods, the gods of anarchy and war. Then mankind repudiated her and turned her daughters into possessions
rather than helpmates. They also applied the vile names they gave her to those daughters, too.

  So I could be on her level, too, I stepped around to kneel at her other side. As I did, I saw her drawings. All were excellent pictures of Michael. One a very young Michael, maybe ten or eleven, but he already had that compelling face that begged women to desire him. I wanted to pick one up for a closer look, but since they and the piece of charcoal appeared to be her only possessions, I left them be. Unstable people often clung to certain objects to solidify their lives.

  Bitch dog, she’d called me. I’d bet Elise had far more functioning brain cells than everyone believed—or was I just in a snit because she called me a nasty name?

  “Those are nice pictures of Michael.” I gestured at the drawings. “Does he visit you often?”

  “Often enough. He looks so much like his wonderful father.” Elise answered the question without looking at me. She raised a thin hand and stroked Flynn’s cheek. The hand showed her age even if the face did not. How old? Sixty? Seventy? Surely not.

  “I tried to save him,” she said. “My beautiful boy. My Michael. I tried to give him the greatest gift. To be with his father.” Her mouth turned down and anger filled her voice. “But that woman came and took my little angel away.” She held out her arm. Small arc-shaped scars decorated her skin from wrist to elbow. “I bit down hard. I didn’t scream. He hurt me, but I didn’t scream. No one should know.” She glanced around as if to see who was listening, then whispered, “I was so quiet.” Elise caught Flynn’s hand with her own. “But when he came out, he cried. I tried, but I couldn’t stop him.”

  She huddled closer to Flynn and said, “I have a secret. The child you seek. Your moon child.” She stared over his shoulder. “You must . . .”

  Two women marched across the room toward us. One wore pale blue nurse’s scrubs and the other a gray suit so tailored it could be armor. The one in scrubs had a needle in her hand and she hurried toward Elise.