Moon Music (58 page)

Of course not
. Poe continued to press her.
Tell me about the
feathered Indian headdress.

Alison had this headdress in her car. She said something about
me liking her bird bit, but I don't know what she meant.

Poe thought about the feathers he had pulled out of the sinkhole. Lots of feathers, more than would have been found in a headdress.

Patricia still talking….
rambling, sir. Just talking nonsense.
But real scary stuff. I'd only say this to you…because you went
through the same thing. But she was truly terrifying. I've never
been more frightened in my life.

I understand.

Then she switched the subject. Poe relented, listening to her talk about her current cases. When she spoke about them, her face took on an animated glow. Excitedly, she started her sentences with
Oh, let me tell you about this one
. Or
You
won't
believe this!

Whatever Patricia had seen, it hadn't freaked her out…not like him, anyway.

Or maybe it had and she just wasn't talking.

Poe stared at the fuzzy outlines of the items on top of his kitchen counter—a basin which contained soaking dishes, this morning's newspaper, a mug, a twelve-ounce bottle of sparkling water, a few pieces of loose paper…maybe a pencil. Licking his chapped lips, he realized he'd become very thirsty. His throat begged his legs to get up and fetch that water, but the rest of his body was too bogged down in torpor.

He closed his eyes. A big mistake. The dream's image visited him, this time stronger than ever, with a face detailed in its clarity. Again it spoke to him, though this time he couldn't understand her words. Still, he answered her back.

"Alison, you fiendish waif," he whispered. "Did you know all along about your mother and my father?"

He sighed.

Poe's father had always been a mystery to him. And he would probably remain an enigma. Certainly he wasn't going to broach the subject with Emma. She had just finished her last bout of chemotherapy back in Reno, back with Remus where she belonged. The therapy had been pronounced a great success, and the doctors had cheerfully announced that she was in full remission. Poe had promised to visit this weekend, but Dad would not be a topic of conversation. Some stones were better left unturned.

It was easier for Poe to think about quenching his thirst. So he thought about that cool water, about moving his legs, getting up, and pouring the clear liquid down that parched throat of his.

His mouth tasted like sandpaper—gritty, dry, and hot. If he didn't drink something soon, his tongue would start flaking off. He stared at the evil sparkling water bottle a few yards from his grasp. He stretched his hand out.

C'mon, you little sucker. Just grow some legs and walk over to
Papa.

At once, the house jerked and the bottle bulleted across the room and landed smack in the palm of his hand, his fingers encircling the glass. Poe was so startled he opened his grip and the bottle dropped to the floor with a clunk. Water started spilling out as he bolted up from the bed, bent down, and snatched the bottle from the floor.

His heart was hammering in his chest, his knees felt weak, and his head was sparkles of light. He had to sit down, drop his head between his knees.

He screamed out, "
Alison!"

His response was the echo of his own voice.

Get a grip on it, Poe, get a grip on it!

Naked and clammy, he realized he was rocking like an abused child.

Stand up, you idiot!

He forced himself to stand on shaky legs. Slowly, he downed the remaining contents of the water bottle, then put on a pair of scrub pants, slipped a tank top over his head.

The house had jerked. Earthquake. Not uncommon here. Made the bottle fly. That was it, that was it.

With shaky hands, he reached for his cigarettes and stuck a smoke between his lips. Hunting for matches. Where were the damn matches? Probably on the counter. He snapped his fingers, but the matches didn't move.

He wiggled his fingers and said, "Fly to me, matches. Fly to me, fly to me."

Nothing happened.

Poe rolled his eyes, retrieved the matches, and sat down on the edge of his mattress. Lighting the cigarette, he inhaled deeply, letting smoke drift out of his nose and mouth.

What a
relief!

He was imagining things. Just like that night. All in his head.

Or so they told him.

He stood up, went to his cooler, and downed a beer in one gulp.

A dream, Poe, simply a dream.

But
deep
down…in his heart…he knew that tonight
wasn't
a dream. Alison had appeared to him. And Patricia's ambiguity, coupled with her failure to find any rational explanation for her kidnapping, made it even clearer.

He hadn't imagined a damn thing, either then or now.

What Poe had witnessed at NTS—Alison's transformation from human to animal—had been
real
! And no one would
ever
convince him otherwise.

Of course, he'd never be able to convince anyone else otherwise, as well. They'd say things like…that his mind was playing tricks because he had been under such duress, that he was…imagining things!

Just like the water bottle flying mysteriously into his hand.

I know what I saw.

He was trembling now: uncontrollable spasms of his hands, arms, and legs. He couldn't move without shaking.

Alison, Alison, Alison.

What were you
doing
to me out there? Were you trying to kill
me? Or were you trying to
transfer
your powers to me by biting
me?

What
powers?

Y's prescient words:
Insanity is often inherited. And like you
said…Linda Hennick wasn't crazy.

Going nuts, Poe, are you?

But that water bottle hadn't fallen off the counter. It had flown into his palm.

And Lewiston had tripped when Poe willed it. Both he and Rukmani had seen it.

Just pretend it never happened, Rom old boy.

Just don't try to
move
things by mental telepathy and you'll be just fine.

Don't ever, ever,
ever
try it again.

So that was settled.

It was just one big mistake.

Just don't try it again
, don't
try it again.

But he knew that eventually he would try it again.

Well, then, don't try to do it tonight.

He exhaled, snuffed out his cigarette, and threw it across the floor.

Eternally linked by love and blood.

Exhausted, he lay back on his bed.

In his heart, he knew what he'd seen.

In his heart, he knew she was alive.

But she had work to do in a city filled with angels.

So Alison was on her way to Los Angeles.

Out of his jurisdiction.

Let them worry about it.

He closed his eyes.

For once, the images didn't come.

For once, he slept through the night.

About the Author

FAYE KELLERMAN
is best known for her
New York
Times
-bestselling mystery series featuring L.A. cop Peter
Decker and his wife, Rina Lazarus, the most recent of which
was the critically acclaimed
Serpent's Tooth
. She is also tha
author of a historical novel,
The Quality of Mercy
. There are
approximately three million copies of her books in print
worldwide. Ms. Kellerman lives in Los Angeles with her
husband, author Jonathan Kellerman.

Visit
www.AuthorTracker.com
for exclusive information on
your favorite HarperCollins author.

Praise

New York Times bestselling author

FAYE KELLERMAN

"A MASTER OF MYSTERY."
Cleveland Plain Dealer
"SHE DOES FOR THE AMERICAN COP STORY WHAT
P.D. JAMES HAS DONE FOR THE BRITISH MYSTERY,
LIFTING IT BEYOND GENRE."
Richmond Times-Dispatch

MOON MUSIC

"IRRESISTIBLE."
Mary Higgins Clarke Mystery Magazine
"ANYONE WHO LIKES MYSTERIES SALTED WITH THE
GOTHIC WILL EAT UP THIS TALE."
Atlanta Journal-Constitution
"AN ENERGIZING, TERRIFYING,
THOUGHT-PROVOKING INTRODUCTION TO THE LAS
VEGAS OF ROMULUS POE…You'll want to go back often
and stay late…Faye Kellerman's talent for deeply complex
characters, riveting action, and thorough research keeps us
on the edge of our seats, wide awake late at night."
BookPage
"GO FIND A FAVORITE READING SPOT AND ENJOY."
San Francisco Examiner

And praise for FAYE

KELLERMAN's award-winning

PETER DECKER/RINA LAZARUS

Mysteries:

SERPENT'S TOOTH

"READERS WILL BE FRANTICALLY FLIPPING PAGES."
People
"A SHOCKER…A BANG-UP WHODUNIT…The
phenomenally popular Kellerman has produced another
sure winner."
Booklist
"ONE OF THE BEST."
San Francisco Examiner
"A PAGE-TURNER…Lots of action, an intricate plot, and
credible, multi-dimensional characters."
Publishers Weekly

PRAYERS FOR THE DEAD

"FIRST-RATE…FASCINATING…An unusually well-written
detective story."
Los Angeles Times Book Review
"A REAL GEM…BRILLIANT AND STUNNING…Kellerman
proves once again that she is a master storyteller."
Chattanooga Free Press
"THOUGHT-PROVOKING AND COMPLEX."
Seattle Times
"ELOQUENT…
With such a knack for intimate conversation, the author has
no trouble tapping into those domestic tensions that can
turn ugly and cruel, even murderous."
The New York Times Book Review

JUSTICE

"PROVOCATIVE…

A SKILLFUL, SPICY TALE OF TEENAGE SEX, DRUGS,
AND MURDER."
Atlanta Journal-Constitution
"A FRIGHTENING YET COMPELLING BOOK."
San Antonio Express-News
"A GRIPPING READ."
Pittsburgh Post-Gazette
"HARD TO PUT DOWN…ENTERTAINING…Realistic and
well-drawn characters…a plot so tightly woven that its
threads don't unravel until the end."
Austin American-Statesman
"CLEVER…CHILLING…
INTRIGUING AND SATISFYING."
Orange County Register

Books by
Faye Kellerman

T
HE
R
ITUAL
B
ATH

S
ACRED AND
P
ROFANE

T
HE
Q
UALITY OF
M
ERCY

M
ILK AND
H
ONEY

D
AY OF
A
TONEMENT

F
ALSE
P
ROPHET

G
RIEVOUS
S
IN

S
ANCTUARY

J
USTICE

P
RAYERS FOR THE
D
EAD

S
ERPENT'S
T
OOTH

M
OON
M
USIC

J
UPITER'S
B
ONES

S
TALKER

T
HE
F
ORGOTTEN

Copyright

MOON MUSIC
. Copyright © 2007 by Faye Kellerman. All
rights reserved under International and Pan-American
Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees,
you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable
right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No
part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted,

down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in
or introduced into any information storage and retrieval
system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or
mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the
express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

eBook Reader July 2007
ISBN 978-0-06-056609-8

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