Vampire Innocent | Book 12 | Ancient Vampire Death Cults & Other Annoyances

by Cox, Matthew S.

  Pretty infuriating how men always blame us for their lack of willpower. As if all women have magical powers of charm men are helpless to resist. Okay, so I do happen to have charm powers mortal men can’t resist, but that’s not the point. Hmm. Maybe some guy a thousand years ago survived an encounter with a lady vampire and figured out what happened… so all women in his mind became devils.

  Bleh. Whatever.

  I’m not out to change the world, only get these stupid slash marks to stop burning.

  Back to daydreams. Now I’m picturing a sarcastic lady vampire in the 1800s not giving a crap what anyone thinks of her, going out to kick ass, and spending a week rattling around her lavish manor house in her birthday suit because she’s been torn up. Can’t bear the pain of touching fabric and she has no F’s to give who sees her parading around.

  Of course, I don’t have a large manor house, or servants. I do have parents and siblings, so that’s a big no on sitting around shirtless for a week. I ended up borrowing one of Mom’s super-soft bathrobes. She didn’t mind me using it and the plush material made the idea of moving simply unpleasant rather than dreadful. Can’t wait for these rips to finish closing. It’s damn annoying, but one of those things to deal with.

  Live by the claw, die by the claw as they say. Or, ‘if you’re gonna play with claws, expect to be scratched’. I can’t help but laugh at both phrases since I first heard them from Ashley, and she was talking about having cats, not being a vampire.

  Also, my wounds are taking longer than usual to heal. Aurélie thinks it’s due to Oblivare having much darker, more malignant energy. So yeah, it sucked. Even after a week, I still have a cross-hatch pattern of thin red lines all over my chest. The constant stinging pain and itching are bothersome, like getting trapped behind a slow walker in a narrow aisle at Target or having a four-year-old kid sister who just got a toy karaoke machine for her birthday.

  On a more pleasant note, it seems being chained to a tree during sunrise had an effect on my ability to resist sunlight. Dad compared it to someone trying to build up a tolerance to spicy food by eating a Carolina Reaper pepper whole when they’re only barely able to handle jalapeños. And no, there’s no way in hell I’m touching a reaper pepper. Spicy chicken nuggets burned like a medieval inquisition torture involving a red-hot iron being poked somewhere red-hot irons do not belong. While I don’t know which type of pepper the Brass Tap uses in their hot sauce, I am almost certain it’s not a reaper. Probably habanero, but still. I’m not going through that again. I’d rather get into another claw fight.

  As far as the sun goes, my earlier theory about my resistance to it counting as a ‘power’ or skill appears to be correct. Being forced to endure exposure to sunrise basically exploited my vampiric survival instinct to smash down the mental barrier created by my fear of the sun. Wanting to avoid painful daylight whenever possible didn’t make it easy to practice tolerating it. Mom compared it to how a little kid is afraid to jump in a pool… until they get pushed in, then realize it’s not as scary as they thought.

  So, yeah, I’ve somewhat renegotiated my contract terms with the ball of fiery ouch.

  Not a drastic shift, but it’s noticeable. My butt still isn’t going to be anywhere near California beaches in July, unless it’s at night. Gloomy days no longer bother me at all. The formerly nuclear Seattle ‘nice’ weather that kept me locked up in my basement room is now ‘annoying.’ I can tolerate direct sunlight from a clear sky—at least in the Pacific Northwest—for a little under an hour before it starts to hurt. One could say I’ve given up smoking. Combustion would probably still happen if I pushed it too far, like going to Nevada or standing too close to Ashley in a bikini on a sunny day. I’d crack a joke about her being so white she looks like a vampire, but legit vampires have mistaken her for undead by paleness alone.

  I thought about attempting a normal school schedule next semester instead of night school, but sun resistance hasn’t affected my sleep and wake times. Even though it’s possible for me to put up with daylight more easily, my butt still refuses to become conscious any earlier than around 2:30 p.m. So much for day classes. Not happening. College in general is not particularly beneficial to me. I’m doing it mostly for two reasons. One, I spent the past four years of high school expecting to go to college, and two, my parents really wanted me to go. Getting past my expectations isn’t too difficult, but I don’t want to disappoint Mom and Dad. Becoming immortal really made me aware how precious little time we have together.

  Anyway, living in Seattle has moved a big notch closer to normal for me. I’m still totally offline when in contact with daylight, but it has to be really bright to reach the point of uncomfortable. Granted, resisting sunlight drains power fast, forcing me to feed every day or every two days if I go out in it.

  In other Earth-shattering news, Sam’s turning ten next week on the nineteenth of June. Speaking of my little brother, his demons have kept kinda quiet. Blix, of course, has become a permanent part of the household. He’s cool around the parents, allowing them to see him and even lending a hand sometimes with chores, hobbies, or fixing stuff. I had to laugh the other week when Blix chased Dad away from the kitchen sink. My father insisted he could fix the disposer, but the imp agreed with Mom.

  As for his other demons, Olmaz, the hellhound, and the succubus he nicknamed Mel, they’ve been pretty much out of sight. The dog is still basically living in our backyard. He’s invisible, so he doesn’t bother anyone. Never thought I’d think this, but having a demonic dog around makes me feel safer. If Robert or Albert somehow managed to find where I live and showed up for revenge, they’d have a really bad night. Hopefully, if they realized we destroyed their four friends, they aren’t in any great hurry to come after me. Even if I’m not scary, they’d worry about retaliation from Wolent. Guess ‘becoming official’ ended up being beneficial to me after all.

  My brother doesn’t even know why or how the hellhound showed up. His best theory is he simply wanted a dog but didn’t bother asking the ’rents since we all knew Mom would say no. Not sure why she’s so against pets. Suppose I could find out. Nah. Can’t break my promise about mind-reading my family. Besides, it’s not important. Sophia’s got a kitten—sorta. And Sam’s got the hellhound, plus two frogs.

  It’s a good thing the bigger ones aren’t obvious. I’m sure Mom wouldn’t appreciate Sam inviting demons over. His friends Daryl and Jordan are close enough. No, they’re okay kids. Just… boys that age are deafeningly loud engines of destruction. Another good thing: my brother hasn’t sprouted any additional body parts. It’s fairly safe to assume at this point Olmaz didn’t turn him into a half-demon or something weird. Amazingly, the ’rents handled his wings in stride. Mom’s stride in this particular case involved a large glass of wine, but she handled it. As Dad said, kids are eventually supposed to spread their wings.

  Mom didn’t appreciate the pun.

  What made the difference is the wings aren’t like permanently part of him. Once we put it in D&D terms—a spell that summons them temporarily—Dad understood and all became cool.

  So, yeah. Peaches and Cream is my world at the moment.

  My stomach growls.

  Damn. Figures. Great timing. Another irritating part of recovering from claw wounds is how I’ll get hungry out of the blue at strange times. It’s kinda like being pregnant, only without the accompanying random urges to kill. Healing hunger is harder to put off than ordinary hunger, but right now? It can wait a little while.

  Don’t wanna waste the bath bomb.

  8

  Even Vampires Get Hangry

  Figure an hour and twenty is enough to get my money’s worth out of the bath bomb.

  It appears to have helped. Wrapping myself in a towel doesn’t feel like I’m rubbing alcohol-soaked sandpaper over my skin. It’s been a week. About damn time for it to heal. Know what was not fun? Sitting in class wearing a long-sleeved, high-necked top and feeling like I’d wrapped my torso in barbed wire. Twice
, I came close to compelling the teacher to think I’d stayed all night and going home. Alas, Follows Rules Girl chickened out.

  Once downstairs in my bedroom, I trade the damp towel for a pair of jean shorts and a loose-fitting long-sleeved Seahawks shirt. Sports aren’t really my thing, but the accessories are comfortable. Yeah, I know. Why wear a long-sleeved shirt with shorts. Looks kinda strange, but whatever. Going for comfort, not warmth. Besides, it’s June.

  Out of laziness—not wanting to take the few seconds to cross the house and grab shoes from the cubby at the front door—I skip them and go out the patio door. Won’t be staying out long, only enough to find someone to eat. If I keep my internal machinery happy, maybe the claw marks will disappear faster.

  Note to self: don’t let an Oblivare scratch you again.

  Easier said than done. If I’m aware of having to deal with them, bringing a sword should give me enough reach to stay away from diseased fingernails. Well, not technically ‘diseased,’ but it’s a lot easier to say than ‘claws tainted by vile inhuman necromantic energies no one truly understands.’ The problem here, though, is it’s pretty unlikely any remaining Oblivare in the area are going to call ahead to schedule a fight. If I ever again meet them, it’ll be either Wolent sending us in to clean up or being on the receiving end of an ambush.

  Can’t exactly carry a katana with me everywhere I go. People might start thinking I’m strange.

  Or a weeaboo. Honestly, I’m not one of those ooh katana! people. It happened to be handy when I needed it, and, well, its former owner has no further need of it. A falchion, saber, or cutlass would fit my style better, but real versions of those swords are much more difficult to come by. The ones they sell at renaissance festivals tend to be for show, and largely blunt.

  Use what you have, as they say.

  Suppose I could ask Dad where he got the sword he gave Sierra for Christmas. It’s as real as a sword can get these days. Dalton called it an ‘arming sword.’ Medium sized, straight, two-edged, the sort of weapon knights tended to carry as a backup in case they lost their longsword or broadsword.

  Anyway, not an issue. Maybe I should bring the katana with me, but it creates certain problems of the attention-gathering kind. A girl walking around carrying a sword is kinda memorable. Existence as a vampire is all about blending in and not standing out. Besides, I can run. Only reason I didn’t haul ass after the crash is not wanting to be responsible for Holden’s destruction. Yeah, those four would have destroyed him. Dwelling on the truth of it has helped me set aside my guilt for perma-killing four vampires. Helps they’re not ‘really’ vampires, but some other dark AF thing pretending to be a vampire.

  This girl can kill monsters just fine. They’re like the stevia of creatures—guilt free.

  My shirt flutters from the breeze on the flight from Cottage Lake to Seattle. It’s nice living near a major city, especially a port town. No shortage of strange faces. Feeding works much better when the person I bite is one who’s never seen me before and never will again. Picked up a tip from Amy, one of the local Lost Ones. She suggested cruising around the wharf districts and areas frequented by sailors in town only long enough for their boats to transfer cargo and refuel. If I can take a meal from someone who doesn’t even live in this state, even better.

  A few minutes after leaving home, I’m cruising over Georgetown, a little east of the Duwamish Waterway. It’s a bit late for restaurant traffic, but there should be some bars still open. Odd. Tonight’s fairly quiet out. Not much traffic, either pedestrian or car. City at night can be as beautiful as undisturbed land sometimes. I’m sure it’s been said before, but flying is effing awesome. No one really understands why some vampires can and some can’t. It’s more common in certain bloodlines, but not guaranteed for anyone. Really feel sorry for any vampire who can’t fly. Then again, they can’t miss what they don’t know.

  Inhuman hissing and a man’s panicked screaming floats up from the direction of a giant yard of parked semi-trailers and railroad cars. It’s not an ordinary sort of sound one generally hears in downtown Seattle after midnight unless the Seahawks lost a big game. Curious, I drift toward it, scanning the area below. Doesn’t take me long to spot the source: two men running down a channel between rows of cargo containers. A flashlight beam wobbles rapidly across the pavement from the lead guy. He’s carrying it, but making no attempt to use it—simply running in total panic.

  It’s fairly obvious why… the guy chasing him has sprouted claws, bared his fangs, and his eyes are glowing red.

  Ugh. Newbies. Seriously.

  Still, something more than idiocy is going on. Vampire eyes glow for two main reasons—well, three. The first two are kinda related. If we get extremely pissed off, they light up. We can also make them glow as an intimidation thing. Extreme anger just kinda does it whether we want to or not. Second reason, and more concerning, is when we’re freaking out. Eye-glow freakouts are generally situations where we’ve lost our mind for one reason or another: starvation, sudden exposure to bright sunlight, or watching someone order two Big Macs with a super-size fries and a diet coke.

  I dive after them, swooping in low behind the vampire. Hard to tell under his wild mop of black hair, but he seems kinda young. He’s young in the other way, too. It’s hard to describe the sense, as it’s not one any mortal has. Vampires as old as Wolent and Stefano radiate a certain vibe, a silent conveyance of power that puts me on eggshells in their presence. This guy has the exact opposite feel. He’s radiating anti-dread. Watching him freak out chasing this security guard is almost funny. Ever see a skinny sixth-grader threaten to kick the ass of a high school senior? Same way everyone looks at the little kid, I’m looking at this guy. Also, a bit of ‘hey, are you okay’ in there too, but it’s probably due to me being a softie.

  Neither of them notice me. Baby vampire is focused on his prey, and said prey is pretty damn focused on staying alive. The almost Tasmanian Devil frenzy going on is an obvious clue someone’s not in his right mind. It is kinda funny watching him stumble-run after the mortal, clawing at the air, hissing, growling, and nearly tripping over his own legs.

  The security guard, however, is totally not finding the situation amusing.

  Biggest initial problem to deal with: this newbie vampire is gonna kill this man.

  This is how I always get into trouble. Try to help someone and it ends up biting me in the ass. Maybe reframing it to helping vampires in general rather than one specific security guard will give my butt some Kevlar plates. Hopefully, this nonsense isn’t appearing on any CCTV cameras anywhere. Okay, Sarah, time to do something before we run out of ground. The row of stacked-up cargo boxes only goes so far.

  I lunge forward and shove Baby Vamp—doo doo doo—sideways. He face-plants a metal cargo box, sending a rolling, hollow boom over the whole yard. The sudden loud noise makes the security guard shriek. He screams again when I grab his shoulder and spin him around, but it trails off to a bewildered stare. Poor guy had been expecting a monster, not innocent li’l me.

  Without giving him time to say a word, I dive into his thoughts and compel him to forget being chased around the shipping yard. We got lucky. He’d been so terrified, he hadn’t been able to grab his radio to call for help. Don’t even need to create a memory of chasing a homeless person out of the yard so he can tell the other guards he had a false alarm. It’s easier to change reasons than remove a traumatic event entirely, so dude thinks he had a stray black bear coming after him.

  He gets an instruction to go back to the office, use the bathroom, and resume his night as if nothing supernatural happened. Baby Vamp leaps at us while I’m finishing up the memory overwrite. I flick my right arm out and catch the guy by the neck, holding him back as he tries to shred the security guard. Flailing claws wave back and forth inches from the guy’s shirt. He’s gone full feral—or is as dumb as a brick—and keeps up the futile scrabbling for the ten or so seconds it takes me to send Security Man on his way.

 
As soon as he walks off, I throw Baby Vamp against the nearest cargo container. Not trying to hurt him, merely give him enough of a whack to hopefully snap him out of his crazed mental state. He crashes against the sky-blue painted metal with a subdued whump—guess this one’s full. The guy bounces off it and rushes at me, a momentary flicker of confusion in his eyes. Yeah, he’s probably realizing I’m a vampire too and thus not food, but his brain’s not really present.

  I catch the guy, shove-walking him backward until his shoulders touch the cargo box. Gotta look pretty silly for me to manhandle a guy a full head taller than me, but he’s skinny, too. He struggles, unable to go anywhere despite his height advantage. Feels like I’m holding down a possessed ventriloquist dummy. This poor guy is weaker than one of Uncle Hank’s political arguments. In fact, Sam could probably overpower him. I don’t mean it as an exaggeration. My almost-ten-year-old brother is legit as strong or stronger than him. Baby Vamp here has to be starved for blood.

  “Hey. Wake up. Get a grip.”

  He keeps trying to push me away.

  After a few seconds of us being nose to nose, it hits me I know this guy. At least, he looks super familiar. I’m damn sure I’ve seen him somewhere, but can’t think of where. His clothes are relatively normal, if a bit on the nicer side. My confusion lasts a while, not an immediate problem as I’m kinda stuck here holding him down. When he finally emits an annoyed groan, his voice makes my memory click. This is Brady Welch. The paleness seeming normal threw me off. I didn’t meet him at some vampire event. I knew him before he became a vampire. He’s familiar because we were in the same class all four years of high school. Brady used to be seriously into the goth thing, to the point he wore white face paint and black lipstick to school.