Midnight Moon (Vampire for Hire #13)(44)

"Sam, I'm sorry, but that's impossible. I just hired you to investigate a haunting-"

"You've seen her, Charlie," I said. "Kind of."

He opened his mouth to speak but then closed it again, as, I assume, the real possibility that one of his characters might have come to life, truly occurred to him for the first time. "I-I never got a good look at her."

"It's Autumn," said Allison, jumping in. "And she's here for help."

"That's just crazy, Allie." He held up the phone bill. "I mean, yes, this is an uncannily accurate representation of the woman I see in my mind, but that still doesn't mean she's showing up here in my hallway." He paused, looked at me. "Perhaps the stress of this job has been too-"

"The stress of hanging out with my new favorite writer. The stress of relaxing in his beautiful home? The stress of meeting one of my favorite new characters, as well?"

"Well, maybe I misspoke. Perhaps the stress of your job in general is affecting your-"

"Sorry, Charlie. You're my only client." Which was sad but true. Unless one works in a big firm-and Moon Investigations, to be clear, is not a big firm-a private eye generally works one case at a time. Although we may get lucky and a few might overlap, there are usually whole days, sometimes whole weeks, where I wait for work.

"Maybe this job finally pushed you over the edge," he suggested.

"Maybe," I said. "Except you know there's a chance we might be right."

"Just to be clear," said Allison. "The stress of my job hasn't been too much for me, either." We both looked at her, and she sort of sank back into the couch. "Just saying," she mumbled. "But no one asked me, of course."

"How long have you been thinking of the world of Dur?" I asked Charlie after we both ignored Allison.

"Nearly my entire life. My earliest notes on it were when I was eight."

"And you're, what? Thirty-five?"

"Forty-four. And thanks. Still, that proves-"

"You've been living in this World of Dur for more than thirty years," I cut in.

"Well, yes. But not really living..." But he thought about, then retracted. "Okay, maybe I have daydreamed about it. Perhaps even often."

"How often?" asked Allison.

"Usually throughout most days. Maybe before I go to sleep. Maybe when I wake up. In the shower. In the hot tub. Sometimes when I'm jogging and often when I'm walking."

"That's nearly every waking minute," pointed out Allison.

"Well, not when I work. My job is tough."

"Let me guess," I said. "But you find yourself thinking about it on breaks and lunch, and on your drive to and from work?"

He shrugged, crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, yeah. But most writers probably do the same thing, right?"

"I would question that," I said. "I would question the sheer amount of thought you put into your world compared to other writers. I am sure they have only thought of their own stories a mere fragment compared to-"



       
         
       
        

"What about J. R. R. Tolkien?" he said suddenly. "Or J. K. Rowling?"

I let his question sink in, as he had just listed the two authors who, I suspected, were also very much creators. Two authors known for having made extensive notes on their worlds. Whole volumes of Middle Earth history existed. And J. K. Rowling herself had created a veritable gallery of drawing of all her characters, each rendered loving and exquisitely. As if... well, as if she had been doing an actual portrait of an actual living, breathing man, woman, or magical creature.

"I assume I'm only buttressing your point," he finally said, sinking back into his chair.

"You are," I said. "And no one uses buttressing in the real world."

"What's a butt dress?" asked Allison.

"See?" I said.

"Be that as it may," said Charlie, "I refuse to join your crazy little party. I think, maybe, we should call this your last night."

"We could," I said. "And we'll leave right now if you think that's best. But know this, until you get past your writer's block, your ghost is going to keep showing up, right there in that hallway. Looking for help. From you, her creator. C'mon, Allison. Let's go."

My friend didn't like it, but she understood a standoff when she saw one. She extricated herself from the couch and stood with me.

I said to Charlie, "I'll email you my final bill. Also, could you please let us know when the final book is published?"