The Spinoza Trilogy

THE SPINOZA TRILOGY

All Three Vampire Mysteries

THE VAMPIRE WITH THE DRAGON TATTOO

THE VAMPIRE WHO PLAYED DEAD

THE VAMPIRE IN THE IRON MASK

by

J.R. RAIN

Acclaim for the novels of J.R. Rain:

“Be prepared to lose sleep!”

—
James Rollins
, international bestselling author of
The Devil’s Colony
on J.R. Rain’s
The Lost Ark

“I love this!”

—
Piers Anthony
, bestselling author of
Xanth
on J.R. Rain’s
Moon Dance

“
J.R. Rain delivers a blend of action and wit that always entertains. Quick with the one-liners, but his characters are fully fleshed out (even the undead ones) and you'll come back again and again.
”

—
Scott Nicholson
, bestselling author of
The Red Church

“
Dark Horse
is the best book I’ve read in a long time!”

—
Gemma Halliday
, award-winning author of
Spying in High Heels

“
Moon Dance
is absolutely brilliant!”

—
Lisa Tenzin-Dolma
, author of
Understanding the Planetary Myths

“Powerful stuff!”

—
Aiden James
, author of
Deadly Night
on J.R. Rain’s
Arthur

“
Moon Dance
is a must read. If you like Janet Evanovich’s Stephanie Plum, bounty hunter, be prepared to love J.R. Rain’s Samantha Moon, vampire private investigator.”

—
Eve Paludan
, author of
Letters from David

“Impossible to put down. J.R. Rain’s
Moon Dance
is a fabulous urban fantasy replete with multifarious and unusual characters, a perfectly synchronized plot, vibrant dialogue and sterling witticism all wrapped in a voice that is as beautiful as it is rich and vividly intense as it is relaxed.”

—
April Vine
, author of
The Midnight Rose

Other Books by J.R. Rain

STANDALONE NOVELS

The Lost Ark

The Body Departed

Elvis Has
Not
Left the Building

Silent Echo

Judas Silver

Lost Eden

COLLABORATIONS

Cursed! (with Scott Nicholson)

The Vampire Club (with Scott Nicholson)

Dragon Assassin (with Piers Anthony)

Daughters of Eve (with P.J. Day)

Hear No Evil (with Michele Scott)

VAMPIRE FOR HIRE SERIES

Moon Dance

Vampire Moon

American Vampire

Moon Child

Christmas Moon

Vampire Dawn

Vampire Games

Moon Island

Moon River

SAMANTHA MOON SHORT STORIES

Teeth

Vampire Nights

Vampires Blues

Vampire Dreams

Halloween Moon

Vampire Gold

Blue Moon

JIM KNIGHTHORSE SERIES

Dark Horse

The Mummy Case

Hail Mary

Clean Slate

SPINOZA TRILOGY

The Vampire With the Dragon Tattoo

The Vampire Who Played Dead

The Vampire in the Iron Mask

GRAIL QUEST TRILOGY

Arthur

Merlin

Lancelot

ALADDIN TRILOGY

with Piers Anthony

Aladdin Relighted

Aladdin Sins Bad

Aladdin and the Flying Dutchman

WALKING PLAGUE TRILOGY

with Elizabeth Basque

Zombie Patrol

Zombie Rage

Zombie Mountain

HUNTRESS TRILOGY

with Elizabeth Basque

The Vampire Who Knew Too Much

The Vampire in the High Castle

The Vampire With the Golden Gun

FRANKENSTEIN REBORN TRILOGY

with Elizabeth Basque

I, Monster

Of Monsters and Men

Prometheus Rising

BROTHERHOOD OF THE BLADE TRILOGY

with Eve Paludan

Burning

DRACULA BEGINS TRILOGY

with Jackson Stein

The Vampire King

SPIDER SERIES

with Scott Nicholson and H.T. Night

Bad Blood

Spider Web

NICK CAINE SERIES

with Aiden James

Temple of the Jaguar

Treasure of the Deep

Pyramid of the Gods

Curse of the Druids

GHOST FILES SERIES

edited with Scott Nicholson

Ghost College

Ghost Fire

Ghost Soldier

Ghost Hall

Ghost Tattoo

SHORT STORY COLLECTIONS

The Bleeder and Other Stories

Vampires Rain and Other Stories

The Santa Call: A Christmas Story

SCREENPLAYS

Judas Silver: The Screenplay

Lost Eden: The Screenplay

Spinoza: All Three Vampire Mysteries

Published by J.R. Rain

Copyright © 2013 by J.R. Rain

All rights reserved.

Ebook Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

The Vampire With the Dragon Tattoo

The Vampire Who Played Dead

The Vampire in the Iron Mask

Reading Samples

About the Author

THE VAMPIRE

WITH THE DRAGON TATTOO

Spinoza Series #1

Copyright © 2010 by J.R. Rain

All rights reserved.

Dedication

To my sweet sister, Bekky.

Acknowledgments

Once again, a big thank you to Eve Paludan and Sandy Johnston for all their wonderful help.

The Vampire With the Dragon Tattoo

Chapter One

Her name was Gladys Melbourne and she was crying.

We were sitting together in my office, with the door closed. Outside, the street sounds came through my partially open window. A particularly loud Harley rumbled by so loudly that the fillings in my teeth nearly rattled out.

Gladys ignored the Harley. She was looking away and wiping tears from her high cheekbones.

Women crying in my presence wasn’t something new to me, and so I calmly waited it out. Meanwhile, my natural shyness to people in general prevented me from saying the soothing words she no doubt needed to hear.

I waited. She buried her face in both hands. I looked at the ceiling and sat back in the chair, and silently wished I could find it within me to say something, anything.

She continued crying.

Outside, a street person yelled something. I thought I recognized the voice. I knew most of the street people. When I’m feeling generous, especially when work is steady, I usually gave abundantly to the local homeless.

A bird squawked outside my window. I was sure it was a crow, although it could have been a raven. I wasn’t sure which was which, although both struck upon some primal fear within me. Perhaps in a past life I had my eyes pecked out by such a bird. A black, soulless, pitiless bird.

Gladys’s shoulders quaked. A tissue appeared in her hands. She used it to dab her eyes. She looked up at me and I promptly looked away.

Her breathing was harsh and ragged. She was still not ready to speak.

On my desk was a closed laptop, a clear plastic cup of half-finished iced coffee, a pen, my car keys and my cell phone. Next to the laptop was a picture of my dead wife and son. As I looked at them, I smelled again their burning flesh. I would never, ever forget the smell, or the image of their blackened bodies. I kept the pictures up on my desk to remind myself that they were so much more than blackened lumps of charred flesh.

But it never worked. Always, I saw them burning, burning.

I closed my eyes. The smoke stung them all over again.

As I rubbed my eyes, I finally remembered the forgotten dream I had had just this morning, the haunting memory of which had been plaguing me all morning. And so now the memory of it came blazing back into my consciousness, awakened by the woman’s heartbreak and the psychosomatic scent of burning flesh....

I was in a forest with my son, holding his hand. Massive tree trunks punctuated the earth, rising up like magnified hair follicles. A sticky mist lay over the forest and the sound of falling water was nearby. We were heading to the falling water. I sensed our great need for water. For hydration. No, I sensed it for my son’s benefit. He needed the water. Desperately. And now I was recklessly crashing through the forest like a bear drunk on fermented elderberries, dangerously towing my son behind me. I looked down at him but his sweet, angelic face was blank, his lips parched and dry and white. The forest opened into a clearing and there before us was a beautiful waterfall, cascading down through the mist as if falling from heaven itself. And when I looked down again, I saw that I was holding my son’s dead and blackened hand. The water crashed idyllically just a few feet away. I held his scorched hand and sat in the high grass and wept.

The woman in front of me was breathing normally again. When I came back from the forest, when my wet vision cleared again, I saw that she was watching me curiously. I tried to smile, but smiling never came easy to me.

“Can I help you?” I asked.

“
Yes,” she said. “I need help.”

“
I know.”

“
I’m sorry for crying.”

She needed encouragement. She needed to know it was okay to cry in my presence, that everything would be okay. I said nothing. I was never very good at small talk. I was never very good at much, and sometimes nothing was okay. Sometimes things crashed around you, and they kept on crashing for years to come.

“My granddaughter ran away,” she said. “Step granddaughter.”

I sat back. I thought the woman was going to cry again, but she held it together. Thank God. Instead, she gazed at me steadily, her wet eyes unwavering.

She went on, “I was told you specialize in finding the missing. Missing children, in particular.”

I did find them. And sometimes I found them dead. But I did not tell her that. With a runaway, there was still hope.

“When did your granddaughter run away?” I asked quietly, taking out a notepad and a pen from my top drawer.