Lunar City Read online

  Oh, God, her chipper voice was like nails on a chalkboard. She always went into that tone when we were kids and one of the adults caught her doing something wrong. It was the ass kissing voice.

  “If you’re so concerned about Grandma, where were you last summer when she needed help renovating this place?”

  “Having a social life.”

  “Yeah, that obviously worked out for you,” I mumbled under my breath. She wasn’t even thirty and had more failed relationships than I had pairs of socks.

  “Now, girls, let’s not fight. There’s plenty of me to go around,” Grandma said with a gigantic, blissfully unaware smile on her face. There was always somebody there to swoop in and stop Melanie and me from arguing, and it was usually not to back me up. Grandma pulled away from Melanie and said, “Now, can someone please get that damn rat out of my living room?”

  “Grandma, it’s not a rat,” I said, irritated. I reached my hand behind the couch and felt his fur, but couldn’t get a good grab. So I pushed the couch forward to give myself room and when I peeked behind the couch I came face to face with a buck toothed, beady eyed rat, squeaking and blinking at me. “Jesus Christ, it is a rat!” I yelped and jumped onto the couch.

  Grandma put both hands on her hips. “Maybe you’ll listen to me next time.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  An hour later and I was finally finished packing the boxes of Grandma’s things. I was ready to cartwheel out of this house after having to endure an hour of the mindless ramblings of Melanie as she talked about her ex-husband, how she would spend the money Grandma was giving her, and how she really, really wanted to go out barhopping.

  I didn’t even know how much money Grandma was willing to give me, or if she was giving me any at all. My mind hadn’t quite gone there yet. Truth was, I couldn’t stop thinking about how badly I wanted to get out of here so I could go see Max. The time spent packing in silence gave me a lot of rehearsal time to figure out what I was going to say to him. I imagined I’d roll up to his place, knock once at the door, and when he’d answer I’d apologize for ever leaving and explain that I only did so out of fear and because it was what I thought he wanted from me. And then maybe, just maybe, we’d get that first kiss.

  “Hey, Cora, who do I look like?” I turned and saw Melanie slipping a cardboard box on her head and then opening the flaps on the bottom so I could see her face trying to squeeze through towards me. “Remember?”

  How could I forget?

  When I was eight years old, I went up to my aunt’s house and Melanie was there, and somehow, someway, convinced me to crawl through this incredibly tiny doggy door. Because I was young and stupid, I did just as she asked, not realizing I would never fit. I got stuck, Melanie laughed her ass off, and she created a new song just for me:

  Cora, Cora

  Stick your head in a door-a.

  She repeated this horrible song to me throughout our entire childhood, so much so that she even got people to join in with her. It only stopped when she got drunk and drove her car onto High School property, and I came up with a song of my own as a defense:

  Melanie, Melanie

  Driving gives her felonies.

  It was a victorious day for me.

  Melanie pulled off the box and began cackling like some drunken frat boy, pointing her finger at me like I should be amazed or something. “Remember?” she said again.

  “Shut up,” I snapped. Like clockwork, Grandma walked in just in time to hear me barking at Melanie, like I was the bad guy. Amazing what a day with Melanie can do to you. I felt like I was ten years old again.

  “Children, let’s be nice,” she told us, and I could see Melanie grinning at me from the corner of my eye. God, I hated her. “You girls decide on anything you want to take home?”

  “These,” Melanie said and held up a jewelry box. Of course she’d go for something extravagant and actually worth money.

  “How about you, dear?”

  I honestly hadn’t thought about anything I wanted to take. Maybe it was the artistic side of me, but I never cherished materialistic things. My apartment was extremely simple and bare minus the photographs I had taken, which I blew up and framed to hang on my walls. The only jewelry I owned were items someone else bought for me.

  But then, suddenly, I had an idea. “How about the wind chimes hanging outside?”

  “I have wind chimes?” Grandma asked, looking completely perplexed. Those pills must not have fully kicked in today. “Well, I’ll be damned,” she said with a knee slap.

  “I take it that’s a yes?”

  “Of course, dear.”

  The wind chimes had been in her tree since, at least, last summer and taking it home with me somehow felt like I’d be taking a piece of this place with me as well, the place where I met so many wonderful people. These chimes clinked and sang during a period where they were all alive. It was all that was left of them.

  Max sprung into mind, and I knew I had to leave promptly.

  “Grandma, if you don’t mind I think I’m going to get going,” I told her.

  “Oh, how come, dear?”

  “Since I’m in town I thought I would swing by and see how Max was doing.” I hoped I sounded nonchalant. I didn’t want her, or especially Melanie, to sense the desperation in my voice over wanting to see him. I didn’t want them to see my hands shaking, either. I was so nervous thinking about seeing him again after all the changes he had inevitably gone through. I think I was the most scared wondering if he’d even want to see me. It had been nearly a year since we were in contact. He could be married for all I knew. That thought just made me even more nervous.

  Grandma cocked her head to the side in response to my statement. “Max hasn’t lived here in months.”

  My heart sank.

  “Wait, what?”

  “He’s been gone for a while, dear.”

  He was gone? And I didn’t get to say goodbye? I could feel my stomach twisting and tingling from the inside, almost to the point of feeling close enough to throw up. Or pee. I couldn’t be sure which it was leaning towards.

  “Where did he go?” I asked.

  “Not sure, dear. He packed up and moved, that’s all I know.”

  Max was really gone. My mind immediately went into overdrive. Where did he go? When did he leave? Why did he leave? Was staying here simply too dangerous? Was he just as haunted as I was? I couldn’t get over the sinking feeling that my leaving could have factored into all of this, and that he somehow felt I had abandoned him. Being cursed as he was and all alone couldn’t have been easy.

  But we weren’t a couple. We weren’t even dating. I probably wasn’t even important enough for him to feel that brutally impacted by my absence. Right?

  One thing was certain, I needed to leave. I didn’t want to show just how much this was bothering me in front of Grandma and Melanie, and truthfully I needed a moment to reflect and figure out my next move. Sure, my goal in coming to see Grandma was to help her out, but Max was always in the back of my mind and I secretly hoped we would run into each other again. Finding out he didn’t even live in the area was a blow. Did this really mean Max and I were over and that we were a closed chapter? Was that it? I just go home and forget he ever existed?

  I hugged Grandma goodbye, gave Melanie the cold shoulder and then left.

  When I returned to my hotel, I had to shove Biggie into one of my bags so the receptionist didn’t see me smuggling my cat into the building. Every hotel I found was very much anti-pet, but Biggie didn’t like being left alone, so I was going to have to break a few rules. I was such a stick in the mud when it came to rules, but I was willing to break them all when an animal was involved. To some, this may sound lame, but Biggie was my best friend and he had always been there for me when I needed someone. Helps that he can’t talk back.

  It was a swanky hotel with a large lobby that had a seating area near the entrance with a couch and a couple sofas circulated around a coffee table and a flat screen TV.
Each end table situated between the sofas had a vase of freshly picked orchids and a white snowflake doily placed underneath. It was getting late into the evening and one of the janitors was vacuuming the main entrance while the receptionist was watching a reality show on the TV and devouring a bag of potato chips.

  My room was on the second floor, so I headed to the elevator. I could hear a bunch of kids yelling and laughing from the indoor pool area down the hallway. They must have been running up and down the hallways before I got here because I could see wet bare footprints on the gray carpeting, and the smell of chlorine was in the air.

  Once the elevator dropped me off, I unlocked my door and kicked it open. Biggie flew right out of my bag and went running toward the hotel window. He smacked the curtain about five times, spun in circles, and then finally relaxed on the window ledge with his orange legs sprawled out, ready for a nap. I threw my purse on the bed and then strode to him, petting the little white patch of fur on the top of his head and then kissing each side of his face five times each.

  I pulled away and grimaced, “Your breath smells like a dead person.” He looked up at me, unamused. He wasn’t fond of my commentary.

  I peered out the window at the busy city streets under a fading sun, watching the cars stopped at red lights and the people dashing across the street to the lit up bar with a thousand cars in the parking lot. I had to say it felt good to be back in a busy city. With Grandma all moved out of her place, I had no reason to ever go near a forest again and that brought me a lot of relief.

  Unfortunately, it didn’t erase what I knew; that werewolves were not a myth, and they were not just a scary story made up by screenwriters or older siblings trying to spook their little sister. I could pack up my things and live in the heart of New York City to get as far away as possible, but I would still know the truth, and still know what was lurking in the shadows. I had goosebumps just thinking about it.

  I opened my purse and found the wind chimes jammed inside. I pulled it out to untangle the strings and the bells bumped into each other creating a soft tune. I carried it over to the window and hung it above Biggie, who glared at the chimes like they were a cat toy he needed to swat, and then listened as the breeze from outside made the wind chimes sing. I threw myself onto the bed, closed my eyes, and let the wind chimes sooth me into an almost catatonic state.

  Out of nowhere, there was a knock at the door.

  I sat upright, both perplexed and curious about who could be at my door at this hour. It wasn’t quite nightfall, so visitors wasn’t a completely out there theory, only no one knew I was here except Melanie and Grandma. I knew it couldn’t be Grandma, since she was on the road, and it was a safe bet Melanie wasn’t dropping by for a visit. I had considered it was housekeeping, but they didn’t work this late at night. Was it the receptionist? He looked pretty engaged in the show he was watching, but maybe that was all a ruse so he could catch me in here with my cat and have me thrown out or arrested. Can you get arrested for having an animal at a hotel?

  The knock came again.

  Whoever it was must have known I was here to keep knocking so persistently. My curiosity got the best of me and before I knew it I was at the door, unlatching the lock and popping open the door just a few inches.

  There was a man standing there, perhaps in his mid-sixties, with salt and pepper sprinkled hair that was noticeably receding in the front, and he had deep wrinkles on his forehead and around his eyes. He looked a lot like this actor, Lance Henriksen who was in a lot of horror movies as well as The Terminator. It was so uncanny, I was tempted to ask for his autograph. I supposed asking his name was more appropriate.

  I stared at him, waiting for him to say he was from maintenance or housekeeping, or that a neighbor made a complaint about me making noise or stowing away a cat. But he said nothing.

  “Can I help you?” I asked, keeping the door ajar.

  “Cora Nash?”

  “Is that a question or a statement?”

  “You are Cora Nash, yes?”

  “What do you want?”

  A very faint smirk appeared on his face when he realized I wasn’t going to make this easy. He pulled something—a piece of paper it seemed—out of his back pocket and said, “You were in the area last summer during the… incident, correct?”

  Incident? Is that what they’re calling it these days? Who was this man and why did he know about it? More importantly, how did he know I was here? And my hotel room number as well?

  “I was here last summer, yes,” I answered, deciding vague was the best option to go with. I didn’t know who this man was or what he wanted, and until he told me, I wasn’t going to spill any of my information he may have needed.

  The man unfolded the piece of paper and lifted it up to my face for me to see. “Then you would recognize these two,” he said. It was a printout with two images on it—a man and a woman. The woman had shoulder length blonde hair, and after a couple seconds of eyeing the picture, I recognized her as Dana, the girl Max and I had found in the middle of the street bitten by a werewolf. I had to clock her in the face and stash her in a car to stop her from transforming into a beast and killing us on the spot. That was a face I never thought I’d see again, yet here it was, shoved right in mine. My eyes trailed away from her picture long enough to look at the other person on the paper, and my heart dropped.

  It was Max.

  Max’s beautiful, 90’s grunge rock self, stared back at me. Another face I thought I’d never see again, but desperately hoped to. Why was he on this piece of paper? Why was this man asking me about him?

  “Did something happen to them?” I asked, playing innocent.

  “That’s what I’d like to know.”

  “Huh?”

  “These two are of special interest to me, and I happen to know that you were in contact with them the night of the incident.”

  He kept calling it the incident, and all I wanted to do was ask him if he was calling it that to be discreet about the truth and keep it under wraps, or if he really didn’t know what happened. If he knew the truth, we could be a lot more out in the open with our conversation, but as it stood, I was not about to be the first to use the W-word. I didn’t need another person thinking I was crazy.

  “Are you still in contact with them today?” the man asked.

  “What is this about? Why are you looking for them?”

  “Ma’am, I’m going to need your cooperation.” He called me ma’am. Now I know it’s serious. “If you’re hiding them—”

  “I’m not,” I blurted out. “I just want to know what’s going on. Who are you, and why are you here asking me these questions?”

  “I’m leading an investigation and these two are crucial.” He still wasn’t giving me the answers that I wanted. What did he mean hiding them? He made it sound like they were outlaws.

  “Have they done something wrong?” I asked, again playing dumb.

  He folded the paper up and slid it back into his pocket, giving me an all knowing stare. “You know exactly why I want to talk to them.” I felt a lump grow in my throat. He knew what they were.

  How did he know about Dana and Max? And what the hell was he planning to do when he found them?

  I didn’t know who this man was, but I was certain I needed him away from me. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know anything,” I told him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…” I practically shut the door in his face, ignoring his pleas for me to keep the door open and answer his questions. I promptly locked it and remained behind the door waiting for the sounds of his feet walking away from my room and down the hallway. After a couple seconds, the man left and I was able to breathe a sigh of relief.

  What the hell was that all about?

  My mind went wild. There was someone looking for Max and Dana; someone who knew what they were, my connection with them, and had managed to track me down in my hotel when barely a soul knew I was returning.

  I didn’t know what else to do, so I grabbed my cellphone
and dialed up the one person I knew lived close enough to come over when I needed them, and the one person who knew exactly what I was going through.

  When they answered I asked, “You free tonight?”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Sounds like a scuzzbag,” she said, leaned back in one of the wooden dining room chairs that were set up in the hotel. Her foot was kicked up against the side of the table to tip the chair back a few inches and her arm rested on top of her knee that was pinned to her chest, as a lit cigarette dangled between her fingers. Nearly a year in the city and Priscilla Devereux had already taken up smoking.

  “After everything I tell you, that’s the conclusion you come to?” I asked, disappointed. I wanted her to tell me that the man at my door wasn’t trying to hunt down Max and Dana to kill them, but was putting together some kind of fundraiser for starving children and that Max and Dana were needed for whatever reasons. “Aren’t you supposed to know everything that goes on?”

  Priscilla dropped the chair down back to balancing on all fours and shrugged. “I haven’t been back to that butthole town in over six months. How am I supposed to know anything?”

  “Usually, you’re on top of this stuff.”

  “There’s only so much snooping I’m willing to do these days,” she said and then blew out a large puff of smoke.

  I waved my hand back and forth in front of me to break up the cloud of smoke that was threatening to blast me in the face. “You know smoking isn’t allowed in here, right?”

  “Neither are rodents,” she rebutted and then nodded to Biggie who was napping on the pillow of my bed.

  “All right, point taken, but my cat isn’t making a smell that can creep through the cracks of the walls and get me in trouble.” I stopped and thought. “Well, not today, at least.”

  “What’s with the cat, anyway? You and Max don’t work out, so you’re eager to get that cat lady title you’ve always dreamed about?”

  “Loving and owning a cat doesn’t make me a cat lady.”