Blue Moon Read online

  The spookiest part, though, was the card trick.

  He just stared blankly into the distance as he kept flicking his right hand, making the queen of diamonds appear and disappear over and over again. The fact that he was really good at the trick made it that much creepier.

  “All right, Mr. Costume Connoisseur,” I whispered to Grayson. “What do you make of him? He’s dressed like an undertaker, but he’s doing a magic trick.”

  Grayson thought about it for a moment and smiled. “Maybe he’s a . . . magician mortician.”

  “That’s catchy,” I said. “The Magician Mortician: He makes dead bodies disappear.”

  Even though we both laughed, there’s no way the magician mortician could have possibly heard us or known what we were talking about. The station was way too loud. Despite this, he instantly stopped doing the trick and looked right at me with that same blank stare. He held the look and slowly began to smile until he had a big Cheshire cat grin that gave me chills. Then he started to do the trick again.

  Grayson tried to lighten the mood by playing off his superhero costume. “Don’t worry about him. Chemistry Man will protect you!”

  “Chemistry Man?” I said with a chuckle. “That’s your superhero name?”

  “You laugh, but only Chemistry Man has . . . the equation for justice.”

  “Is that so?” I asked. “Well, what scientific superpower would Chemistry Man use on him?”

  Grayson studied Creep-O for a moment before answering, “I’m thinking a mixture of sodium . . . potassium . . . and salts of fatty acids.”

  “What does that make?” I asked. “Some type of explosive?”

  “No,” he answered. “That makes . . . soap.”

  We both laughed again, but before the psycho magician could give me another death stare, the train arrived on the track between us and blocked his view. Grayson and I squeezed our way into an overstuffed car, and I breathed a sigh of relief knowing Creep-O the Amazing was waiting for a train headed in the opposite direction.

  We found a space to stand at the back of the car, and as the train rattled down the tracks, I stared out the rear window into the black darkness of Dead City. My mind raced back and forth through the events of the night. I thought about the man on the news who had died handcuffed to his subway seat, and I thought about the creepy magician giving me his death stare. But mostly I thought about my mother.

  “Are you okay?” asked Grayson.

  I nodded and answered with a faint but convincing “Yeah.”

  “Really?” he said, not letting it go. “Because you don’t seem okay.”

  (Okay, maybe it wasn’t as convincing as I thought.)

  “I’m just creeped out by the way that guy looked at me,” I explained. “That’s all.”

  Grayson thought for a moment, and I could tell that he wasn’t sure if he should continue to push or just let it go. He decided to push.

  “No, that’s not all,” he continued. “I’m worried about you. We’re all worried about you. You haven’t been yourself ever since you fought Marek on the bridge. And that makes total sense. I’m sure it was the worst thing ever. But we don’t know how to help you, because you haven’t really told us much about what happened up there.”

  I wouldn’t know where to begin, I thought.

  He waited for a moment to give me a chance to talk, but I just looked at him and tried to force a smile.

  “I understand if you’re not ready to talk about it yet,” he said, softening. “But when you are, know that I’ll be ready to listen.”

  “That means a lot,” I told him. “Believe me, you’ll be the first one I tell. But I’m not ready yet.”

  He nodded and smiled. “Okay.”

  We kept the conversation light until we reached Times Square, where we both had to switch trains. Even though I was headed home to Queens and he was going to Brooklyn, Grayson walked with me toward my platform.

  “If you want, I can ride back with you and keep you company,” he offered. “After all, I am Chemistry Man.”

  “Thanks, but I really am fine,” I answered with a laugh. “I’ll see you at school.”

  He flashed a heroic pose and said, “Then I’m off to fight evildoings wherever they may be.” He spun around dramatically, making his cape flutter, and then he disappeared into the crowd.

  I know a lot of people don’t know what to make of Grayson, but I think he’s awesome and hilarious. And, despite his geeky persona, he has an odd ability to be reassuring and protective. In fact, a few minutes later I wished that I hadn’t been so quick to turn down his offer of company. That’s because when I reached the platform for the subway to Queens, I noticed that Creep-O the Amazing was waiting for the same train.

  He was talking to a woman dressed in a black leather outfit like a magician’s assistant. I began to wonder if he really could do magic because I couldn’t figure out how he’d gotten here so fast when he’d been waiting for a train headed in the other direction. They were standing toward the front of the platform, where the first car of the train would stop, so I hung back and waited. When the train arrived I slipped into the back of the car.

  I was so focused on trying to keep track of the magician that I didn’t notice the woman who sat down next to me.

  “How’s your hand?” she asked softly.

  I looked up and saw that it was my mother. I was speechless. For years, I had imagined what it would be like to talk to her. I’d thought of a million things I wanted to say. But now, through some impossible twist of fate, she was actually talking to me, and I couldn’t come up with one.

  I was beyond mad and sat silently for a moment before blurting out, “What are you doing here?”

  “I had to see if you were all right.”

  “Well, three bones in my hand are broken,” I said, my voice rising. “Oh, and my dead mother’s not dead. So no, I’m not all right.”

  She checked to make sure we weren’t attracting any attention and warned, “You need to keep it quiet. If any undead see us together, you’ll be in danger.”

  I gave her a disbelieving look and held up my cast. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I already am in danger. I . . . I . . .” I was too angry to form a complete sentence.

  “Molly, I know you’re upset. . . .”

  “Upset? You don’t know anything about how I feel,” I said, trying to keep my emotions together. “I was at your funeral. I listened to Dad cry himself to sleep. And it was all a lie. You’re still alive.” I shook my head.

  “I don’t know how to describe what this is,” she said. “But it’s not alive.”

  When we reached the next station, she stopped talking and checked out the faces of everyone who got on or off our car. I waited until the train started back up and we reentered the darkness of the subway tunnel before asking, “If it’s not alive, then what is it?”

  “It’s a way to look out for you.”

  “You look out for me?” I asked, still disbelieving.

  “Yes,” she said. “To make sure you’re safe.”

  “If you’re so concerned with my safety, then why did you leave me at the top of the George Washington Bridge? I was injured. You know how scared I am of heights. Oh, and I’d just come face-to-face with the mother who’d died two and a half years earlier.”

  “I wanted to stay, but it was too far from the Manhattan schist,” she explained. “I could already feel my body changing. I couldn’t have lasted any longer without degenerating into a Level 3. As it was, it’s taken me this long just to regain my strength.”

  Actually, this thought had occurred to me. While we were on the bridge, I’d noticed her weakening. I paused for a moment and asked, “Then when do you look out for me?”

  “I watch you go to school. Some days, like today, I follow you when you leave the campus and stay in Manhattan. Just like sometimes I hang out near your dad’s fire station so I can see him for a second or two.”

  I was trying to stay calm, but inside I was freaki
ng out. It was all more than I could handle, and it only got worse once we pulled into the Fifth Avenue station. Over the loudspeaker, the conductor announced that our next stop was Lexington Avenue, which is the last one before the train leaves Manhattan. My mom would have to get off there, or she’d wind up like the guy they’d found on the train that morning in Brooklyn. I could tell that she was thinking the same thing, because she started talking faster.

  “How’s Beth?” she asked. “I see you at school, and I see Dad at the station. But I don’t have any way to know when she’s coming in from Queens. I haven’t seen her since I was sick at the hospital. How’s she doing?”

  “Well, she thinks her mother’s dead,” I said coldly.

  Mom sagged, and for the first time in the conversation I felt something other than anger and confusion. I felt bad for her. “She’s doing well,” I offered. “Really well.”

  She smiled. “Are you guys getting along?”

  I laughed and asked, “Do you want me to tell you the truth or what I think you want to hear?”

  Before she could answer, I saw the magician mortician again. He had made his way back through the train, going from car to car, and now he was in ours. At first, I thought he was looking for me, but then I realized that he was performing magic tricks for the passengers while his assistant held out the top hat for people to give them money. The tricks were actually very good, but the creepy factor and his lack of showering made it so that few people made donations.

  “Can you focus for a second?” Mom asked. “Lexington Avenue is next, and that’s where I have to get off.”

  “I can get off with you,” I offered hopefully. “We can talk about everything.”

  She shook her head. “I’d love nothing more, but it wouldn’t be safe for you. Just tell me something about you, your father, Beth. Tell me anything.”

  It’s amazing how when you have to think of something on the spot, your mind is a total blank. It took me a moment to come up with any news about the family. “Beth made varsity cheerleading and is thinking about going to NYU. Dad’s still dopey as ever. He made lasagna for my birthday; it was delicious. And I’m an Omega. But I guess you already knew that.”

  She smiled proudly. “Molly, you’re not just an Omega,” she said. “You’re amazing. . . .”

  It was right then, just as my mother was about to compliment me on my Omega awesomeness, when I began to realize something was wrong. The magician had now reached our end of the car and stood only a few feet away from us as he did a trick with a pair of handcuffs.

  His assistant cuffed him behind his back and then covered them with a black handkerchief. Somehow he managed to slip out of them and escape. It was impressive, and this time a few of the passengers clapped and even tossed money into the hat.

  That’s when I remembered the news story about the zombie whose body had been discovered that morning. The victim had been handcuffed to the subway seat.

  I was still putting it together as we pulled into the Lexington Avenue station and the magician smiled right at me. Unlike earlier, this time he showed his teeth, which were bright yellow and orange. Before I could even react, he’d used his magician’s sleight of hand to slip one of the handcuffs around my mother’s wrist. . . .

  I Reconnect with Mom

  The magician’s plan was simple. He had one handcuff around my mother’s wrist and was trying to lock the other onto the frame of her seat. If he succeeded, there was no saving her. She would be trapped on the train, unable to get off before it left Manhattan. Considering she’d already died on me once, I was not about to let it happen again.

  My first move was to club him across the face with my cast. I’d accidentally hit myself with it enough times to know it could cause some damage, but I was pleasantly surprised when it completely dislocated his nose. It also dazed him long enough for me to shove him away and break his grip on the handcuffs and my mother.

  Just then, the train stopped, the sliding doors opened, and both the magician and his assistant escaped into the Lexington Avenue station, hoping to blend into the crowd. Apparently, they were unaware that freakishly tall, unwashed zombies dressed in magician/mortician costumes do not blend in. Anywhere. Even on Halloween.

  My mom and I jumped up and started to follow, but when she stepped onto the platform, she turned around and held up her hand for me to stop. “Stay on the train and get home safely,” she said. “I’ll take care of this.”

  There we were, just inches away but worlds apart, my feet on the subway, hers on the platform. I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t find the words.

  “But there’s one thing you need to know,” she continued. “Something I should have told you on the bridge.”

  “What?”

  She looked at me with the mom look I’d missed so much and said, “You need to know that I love you, Molly. You need to know that you’re my hero.”

  Okay, technically that was two things. But, considering they were the two nicest things anyone has ever said to me, I ignored the mistake.

  I also ignored her instructions.

  We may have some pretty big issues to work out, but there was no way I was going to let the doors close with us on opposite sides. I slipped through just as they were sliding shut.

  “Okay,” I said, pumped and ready to go. “Let’s go get ’em.”

  Considering we were in the middle of a chase with two killer zombies, I assumed she would jump into action. Like right at that very moment. But, of course, I forgot who I was dealing with, because my mom decided this was the perfect time for a lecture on listening.

  “Didn’t I tell you to stay on the train?” she asked. “I couldn’t have been any clearer. I said, ‘Stay on the train and get home safely.’ It’s just like your birthday party at the Central Park Zoo.”

  I slumped in total disbelief.

  “Can we not do this?” I asked. “Can we please not relive the Central Park Zoo story . . . again? I’m sorry you were so worried, but I was five years old. Five-year-olds make mistakes.”

  “And, apparently, they never learn from them,” she said. “Because you still don’t listen to a word I say.”

  It was the same old Mom, like we’d ridden some sort of subway time machine back to one her countless “teachable moments.” And just like she always did, she used her hands a lot when she was trying to make a point. Except now she had a pair of handcuffs attached to one of those hands, and when she gestured, they bounced around in every direction.

  “You might want to hide those,” I said as I motioned toward a transit cop standing just a few feet away. “They’d be pretty hard to explain.”

  She nodded and quickly jammed her hand and the cuffs into her coat pocket. Since I really wasn’t in the mood to continue the lecture, I just started following the zombies again, and she had no choice but to do the same.

  The two of them were headed for the far end of the platform, where they could make a run for the open tunnel and vanish into Dead City. Mom’s mini lecture had given them a pretty good head start, but we caught a break when another transit cop stepped out from behind a column in the middle of the platform. There was no way they could get down onto the tracks and into the tunnel with him standing there. He would have arrested them on the spot.

  They turned back and saw us coming right at them. Unless one of Creep-O the Amazing’s tricks was literally making people disappear, we were about to have them cornered. Out of desperation, they hurried through a maintenance door marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.

  It looked like the door to a storage closet, and when we got there, I was sure we had them trapped. Mom, however, was still in lecture mode. I went to open the door, but she slapped her palm against it and held it shut.

  “We still haven’t settled the part about you not staying on the train.”

  “Yeah,” I said, nodding. “In fact, there are a lot of things we still haven’t settled. But I don’t think we have the time to go through them all right now. So unless
you really want to stand here and argue, I say we take care of the two zombies who just tried to kill you.”

  She considered this for a second and gave me a faint smile. “I go first.”

  “Just be ready for whatever’s on the other side of that door,” I replied with confidence. “I already had to save you on the train. Don’t make me do it again.”

  “Is that so?” she asked, giving the attitude right back at me. “And who saved who on the bridge?”

  “Who saved whom,” I said, correcting her like she always used to do to me. “Just because we’re in the middle of a crisis doesn’t mean it’s okay to use bad grammar.”

  We both laughed. Now we were a team. We’d gone from mother and daughter to Omega and Omega. Okay, one was undead and retired and the other suspended, but after all, the saying is Omega today, Omega forever.

  She checked to make sure neither transit cop was looking our way, and then she opened the door. I think we both expected to find two angry zombies crammed into a storage closet.

  We were wrong.

  It turns out that the Lexington Avenue station was originally built to be twice its current size. This door opened up onto the other half, which was now an abandoned ghost station, complete with dust-covered platforms and empty tunnels. Instead of a closet, the magician and his assistant had found the perfect escape route.

  “It would not be good if they made it back to tell their friends about us,” my mother said as we ran after them.

  “I don’t plan on letting them get away,” I replied, turning up the speed.

  The two of them were about twenty yards ahead of us, but they’d made a huge mistake. They’d already gotten down onto the track bed, and the gravel made it difficult to run. We stayed up on the platform, where the only thing blocking us was the occasional spiderweb. (Although at one point I did get some web in my mouth, which was beyond gross.)