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

by Cox, Matthew S.

  “Yeah. So, I might as well go over the basics since you are clueless.” I explain the basics of how to mind-fog and feed from people. “… as easy as wanting them to forget seeing you. It’s difficult to explain in words, but as soon as you make eye contact with someone, it will feel as second-nature as breathing.”

  Brady holds his hands up in a ‘back off’ gesture. “Hang on. I don’t want to bite anyone. It’s wrong.”

  “Uhh, you were a big-time goth in school. You guys basically pretended to be vampires. That one kid you always hung out with even wore fake fangs. Now that you are one, you don’t want to be?”

  Brady offers a helpless shrug and a humorless laugh. “Lame, right? Just an act. We never wanted to hurt anyone. Not too sure about the others, but I was never obsessed with death or dark crap. Just, uhh, liked the music.”

  “Cool. Look, you are obviously still hungry. I haven’t fed yet tonight. Let’s go grab a bite.”

  “But I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

  “Listen to me. Blood isn’t like an addiction we can beat by simply not having it. It’s going to drive you legit crazy if you don’t feed. If I didn’t randomly feel hungry tonight and go out for food, and randomly pick this area to hunt in, you would’ve mauled some security guard.”

  He shakes his head. “No way. I’d never hurt anyone.”

  Glim reappears in a cloud of black non-smoke between us. Brady jumps so bad he nearly falls over. To be fair, I jump, too.

  “Everything all right here?” Glim fails to hide a smile for having startled us.

  “Yeah.” I grab Brady’s arm. “Still need something to eat myself, and he’s not done being hungry yet. Went way too long without feeding.”

  Brady tries to tug his arm back. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. Why would you think I’d go out with you and randomly attack some stranger?”

  “You will hurt someone if you’re out of your mind with hunger.” I stare into his eyes. “You damn near killed a security guard tonight. Doesn’t matter what you ‘want,’ your subconscious isn’t quite the same as it used to be. Starving it won’t work. If you don’t want to hurt anyone, you need to take blood when you’re rational. C’mon.”

  Brady looks down. “This is so wrong. How do you just bite people?”

  I tug him toward the door. “Chill out. Trust me. They don’t feel a thing.”

  10

  No One Suspects the Cute Girl

  Alas, Brady can’t fly.

  He didn’t even know the possibility of vampires flying existed. Can’t even tell him he might grow into it. Any vampire who is lucky enough to have the ability can do it within hours of being turned. It’s as subconscious as breathing. In fact, without even knowing vampires existed at all—or I’d become one—my sheer revulsion at falling into a puddle of brackish water propelled me airborne. There’s not much difference between refusing to fall and flying. Some vampires simply ‘refuse to fall’ really well.

  “Flight is a fairly rare ability among Scions,” says Glim.

  Brady looks over at him, then at a group of people walking past us on the sidewalk. Once they’re out of earshot, he asks, “Not to offend, but why didn’t any of them even look at you?”

  “Because they didn’t see me.” Glim smiles.

  I’m used to him, so I recognize his smile. Some people mistake a Shadow trying to smile for a sneer or a sarcastic baring of teeth.

  Brady leans away. “Sorry.”

  “He’s smiling.” I nudge him.

  “What the heck is a Scion?” mutters Brady.

  “A relatively recent bloodline. They first started appearing in the early 1980s.” Glim sidesteps an oblivious mortal walking in the opposite direction. “If the Old Guard is ‘dad,’ the Scions are the spoiled trust fund kids too enamored with computers, cars, electronics, and other toys to care about the old ways. Why fly when you can get a sports car? And so on.”

  “Oh. You sure I’m one of those?”

  “Mostly.” Glim smiles again—this time Brady doesn’t flinch.

  We have a brief discussion regarding how all vampires can sense other vampires. Some, like Shadows, can occasionally discern bloodline. Glim says they ‘smell different.’ His nose is clearly sharper than mine. All I smell on Brady is ‘worn the same outfit for a week’ plus a serious lack of self-esteem. The poor guy’s head must be spinning. He’s acting kinda out of it and slow. Probably a cocktail of denial, shock, and WTF. I’m hardly one to judge him. My first few weeks of being a vampire came with a heaping dose of maudlin navel-gazing, too. In hindsight, I hadn’t gone emo and missed the sun or daytime. Vampirism took my fears and anxieties over transitioning from childhood to adulthood and made them ten times worse. Kinda like twisting my ankle when I’m already entertaining the monthly visitor. Holy shit, am I happy to be free of that. Why the hell do some girls celebrate their first periods? It ought to be more of a funeral than a party. Like, hey, here’s this phantom monster who is gonna sneak up on you randomly once a month for the next several decades and beat you over the head with your uterus until you scream.

  So damn happy to be a vampire.

  Upon reaching a fairly secluded area, we focus on task. Since we’re in the industrial district, convenience brings us to a pair of overnight security guards roaming a massive parking lot on Harbor Island in a little white pickup truck.

  Glim and I walk Brady through the process of applying the mind fog, then feed.

  This security guy’s blood also tastes like buffalo wings. Must be a craving. It’s almost tempting to eat some real ones, but the consequences are not worth it. Maybe if I got mild ones… still, not easy to find wings at almost three in the morning.

  As usual, I give the men a compulsion to go have a cookie and orange juice. After we finish feeding and send the security guys on their way, Brady’s expression looks like we forced him to punt kittens into a wood chipper.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  “Feels so wrong to do that to people.” He sighs, grabs his head in both hands, and sinks into a squat.

  Wow, dude. I think he’s trying not to cry.

  “You’ll get used to it.” I squeeze his shoulder. “Bugged me at first, too. Really, if you do it right, they don’t remember anything and suffer no lasting effects. Don’t feed from the same person twice in six months. Also, you can smell it if they’re already low on blood. Kill-feeding is bad. It’s like the vampire version of turning into a heroin addict.”

  He lets his hands fall away from his head, gawking up at me. “You get high?”

  “In a manner of speaking.” Glim tilts his hand in a so-so gesture. “It’s a rush of power. The crash afterward is pretty heavy. It doesn’t give you a ‘high’ like drugs with hallucinations, euphoria, or altered states of consciousness. Mostly increased strength, speed, and energy for a few hours.”

  “Oh.” Brady nods. “Don’t want that. Hell, I barely want to bite people at all. Just curious.”

  “Most vampires don’t like kill-feeders.” I smile.

  “No kidding?”

  I exhale. “It’s not really a compassion thing. Is for me, but others simply don’t want the attention it brings. Too many weird deaths in an area attracts vampire hunters. And yes, they exist.”

  Brady stands, stuffs his hands in his pockets and stares at me for a long minute, giving off no readable expression. “Wow, Sarah. You totally don’t look like a vampire.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I mean, you’re like some character from one of those silly movies. The little innocent girl who turns into a piranha-faced carnivorous monster, eats someone whole, then goes back to looking harmless.”

  “Umm. Relax.” I poke him. “There’s nothing evil about feeding as long as you don’t take too much. It’s better than being a bear or wolf and having to kill what we eat. Really, the worst thing a responsible vampire does to someone is cost them five to ten minutes of their life they can’t remember.”

  He gazes up. “How do you deal with
never seeing the sun again?”

  Glim chuckles.

  I bite my lip. His emotional state seems brittle. Might not be the best idea to say ‘oh yeah, I can tolerate the sun in small doses just fine.’

  “I mean…” Brady hangs his head. “I’m dead. Only nineteen. My parents have no idea where I am. How the heck is anyone supposed to just accept this? I don’t know if I can handle being trapped in the dark for the rest of my life. I already miss green grass, blue sky, daytime…”

  Glim rolls his eyes.

  “It’s fine,” I whisper to him. “Brady’s been practicing for this role for years. The whole melodrama thing is nothing new.”

  Brady stares at me. “The goth lifestyle is nowhere near the same as being a literal monster.”

  “Oh, come on. This is awesome.” I spin around, arms out. “We’re never going to get old or sick. You don’t need to worry about going to school or getting a job.”

  Brady kicks at the pavement. “Ironic, right? You used to be like the straight girl. Total norm. Now you’re into vampires and the ex-goth is the lame-ass.”

  I shrug. “Death has a weird way of changing a person.”

  “Right.” He exhales. “So, what am I supposed to do now? Do you have like a place where you live or hang out?”

  “Yeah. It’s kinda complicated though. It would be a major project to add another vampire to my living arrangements.” I pull my phone out. “You have a phone?”

  “No. I’m dead, remember? My parents don’t know it yet. Phone’s at the house. If I use it, they’ll know.”

  “Okay. We can get you a new one soon. Let me make a few calls and see if I can find someone willing to mentor you, or at least let you crash with them.”

  “Yeah, great. Thanks.” Brady glances off, clearly ‘thrilled.’

  I don’t get the sense he’s annoyed he can’t stay with me. He’s falling back to his goth attitude. Everything sucks, life is a constant slow death, happiness is an illusion, and so on. Great. This is going to be a project.

  My Lost One friends offer to look after Brady for a little while and show him the ropes.

  Since it appears I’ve got the situation handled, Glim leaves me to it and goes off to resume doing whatever he’d been doing before I called. He stays long enough for me to give him a big hug and thank him profusely for his help.

  Amy, Luke, and Dante are presently living in a basement apartment under a high-rise building on 3rd Ave, two blocks away from Antioch University. The space had probably been intended for a live-in superintendent or maintenance worker. Whether or not they displaced said worker or the building management decided not to use it, who knows. It’s not the biggest space, already a tad cramped with three people, but they’ve got an open sofa Brady can sleep on. The place is vampire-proofed. It only had two small half-height casement windows, both of which are blacked out courtesy of spray paint.

  I sneak away to the bathroom to rinse the industrial grime off my feet. Rather do it before going anywhere near home. Last thing I need would be to track some crazy chemical into the house and have Blix grow a second head, or one of the Littles get sick. I’d worry about Klepto, but no one is sure if she’s a real kitten. At least, in terms of being vulnerable to sickness. Otherwise, she’s pretty normal as kittens go if you ignore her habit of teleporting, stealing objects randomly, and having an almost human-like ability to understand spoken English.

  Upon my return from cleaning up, I walk into a conversation about vampire generalities. The guys are a weird combination for sure. Amy had been a fairly innocent unworldly blonde twentysomething when she became a vampire in the late Eighties. Wardrobe and attitude wise tonight, she’s invoking Joan Jett—leather jacket and jeans. Something about Dante makes him feel like he belongs in a Vietnam war movie, or a film about a veteran struggling to cope with civilian life after returning from the war in the seventies. Only thing missing to complete the Sixties look is the giant round afro. Can’t put my finger on what’s giving off the vibe. Maybe it’s the Grateful Dead T-shirt. Luke’s a total long-haired hippie type somewhere between a younger Willie Nelson and Axl Rose before he turned into Throw Momma from the Train. I’m not entirely convinced Luke is aware the Sixties ended. Then again, my dad is stuck in the Eighties, so who am I to criticize?

  Yanno, if my father ever ended up turning into a vampire, he’d totally be like Max from Lost Boys. Outwardly, he’d seem to be this complete milquetoast, ordinary dude.

  As much as I want to go home and do a little studying for end-of-semester exams, it feels a bit rude to bail so fast after dropping Brady off here, like I’m dumping him on them and running. Upon my return from the bathroom, he’s in the midst of explaining to the guys how he has no idea who gave him the Transference. His last mortal memory is going out to buy soda and chips at around 10:00 p.m., then waking up in a basement clutching a note.

  “You think someone’s gone a bit loopy?” asks Dante. “Randomly turning people?”

  “Maybe.” Amy leans back into the sofa, her leather jacket creaking. “I’ve heard of some who select someone for the Transference, do it, and watch the new vampire from afar for a few days to see how they handle it before committing to a sire-progeny relationship.”

  “What, like a test?” asks Brady.

  “Either that or amusement, man.” Luke laughs. “Closest thing we have to reality TV. Turn some dude and set them loose, see what happens. Like watchin’ baby sea turtles try to make it across the beach to the water and betting on which ones swim and which ones the seagulls get.”

  Amy also laughs.

  “Ugh.” Brady leans forward, raking his hands at his hair. “My year of grace period is basically over. Dad started nagging me about a decision.”

  “What were you gonna do, hon?” Amy leans forward, elbows on her knees.

  He gives her an odd stare. Probably confused why a girl who looks only a year or so older than him is calling him ‘hon.’ Takes a while to get used to age as a vampire. She’s really like fifty, older than my parents by a few years.

  “Umm. Look at my outfit. What choice did I have? My parents were willing to pay for school. All I had to do was turn into the mass-produced society-ready clone they wanted.” Brady flicks at his fluffy, black mop. “Got into a little argument over my hair. Dad wanted me to cut it, to look ‘respectable.’ I was probably going to cave in and do it.”

  “Aww man, no way.” Luke, whose hair is down almost to his waist, shakes his head. “Hate that conservative bullcrap. You gotta do you, man. Ain’t no law says a dude’s gotta have short hair. That’s some bull.”

  “Too late now.” Brady continuously flicks a finger at his pants, making a soft swish-swish noise. “Maybe I should at least call them or go see them one last time. Last time we talked, we argued. Feels wrong to just leave them never knowing what happened to me.”

  “Probably better not to.” Dante gestures at me. “Less you wanna wind up like her.”

  Brady twists to look in my direction. “What do you mean like her?”

  “Sarah went back to her mortal family.” Amy gives a wistful sigh. “It’s sad and adorable, but it’s turned into a hairy mess.”

  “It’s not that bad.” I roll my eyes.

  “Not that bad?” Amy raises both eyebrows. “Like a third of the city’s society vamps think you’re a risk for doing it and want to kill your family. Only reason they’re not is you have the creepy doll queen ready to go all Wednesday Addams on anyone who messes with them.”

  “You’re overstating it.” I lean on the sofa. “They wouldn’t simply attack my family. They’d tell me to leave and probably—just to be assholes—force me to be the one who makes them forget I exist.”

  Dante and Amy cringe simultaneously.

  “Still, though.” Luke winks at me. “You have all sorts of issues… and your ‘society’ vampires all think of you as a baby.”

  “Hah.” Grinning, I hold my head high. “It’s all part of my master plan to make everyone under
estimate me.”

  The guys laugh.

  Brady stares. “You seriously went home to your parents?”

  “Yeah.” I topple over the sofa back and land seated between Amy and Dante. “It’s a loooong story…”

  11

  Not For Children Under Twelve

  Baggy pajama pants and a loose T-shirt didn’t make for the best sword-fighting attire, but Sierra settled.

  Trying to sneak a few minutes of practice in her room before bed demanded certain sacrifices. Wary of her bare feet discovering another Lego or some equally horrific trap lurking in the carpet, Sierra went through the motions of practice strikes. She left the scabbard on for safety reasons, even if it threw off the balance. Unlike Sam’s friends, she didn’t love having a sword because it looked cool—like something out of a D&D game—and felt no need to show it off or play with the blade out. Her desire to have a sword came entirely from the want to defend herself and her family if need be.

  She slashed the sheathed sword at the air, went up on one foot, spun, then stabbed at an imaginary vampire behind her.

  Sometimes, Sierra wondered if she’d traded one fear for another. Ever since around second grade when an active shooter drill at school fooled her into thinking it really happened, she’d lived in a near-constant state of dread. It kind of annoyed her how Sophia, by all accounts a giant chicken, showed such little reaction to the idea they might not come home from school one day. She probably thought the adults overreacted and ‘most people are way too nice’ to do something so horrible.

  Sierra didn’t feel too much shame since only Sarah knew the true extent of her fear. Outwardly, she refused to show it as much as she could. Throwing up from anxiety a few times on the way to school over the years, she easily blamed away on ‘not feeling well.’

  Before all the vampire stuff happened, her worries had already started to change from some random stranger showing up at school to kill all the kids to the shooter being one of the kids. That’s what the news showed, and it sorta made sense, as much as something so horrible could. Crazy adults would target a school full of little kids to maximize tragedy. The news never mentioned a grown-up attacking a high school. Even in sixth grade, she already watched her classmates, looking for signs they might be the one to snap sometime. Ironically, keeping distance, not talking much, and randomly staring at people all the time made her seem like the crazy kid.