The Phantom Oracle (Vampire Innocent Book 5)

by Matthew S. Cox

  I’m early, so I have my pick of seats. I wind up again going for one near the middle of the room. More students—again mostly adults—trickle in over the next few minutes. The room’s only about half full when the professor walks in. She kinda looks about Mom’s age, though her face seems a bit young for all the grey streaks in her long dark brown hair. She introduces herself as Doctor Chelsea Mercer, and proceeds into this spiel about how she knows most of us here are only taking calc because it’s required for our curriculum paths. She claims her class is tough but fair and she’s willing to help anyone who struggles.

  And she goes straight into a lecture, like we’re midway into the school year and this isn’t the first day. Hey, isn’t day one supposed to be easy or something? Ugh. At least she’s easy to follow… she speaks in a slow, precise manner, close to over-enunciating every word.

  I take notes as best I can, trying to capture what’s probably important to remember.

  Over the course of the next hour, my mood swings wildly back and forth from ‘I can do this’ to ‘I’m a vampire, screw college’ over and over. No, really, I can do this. Question is do I want to? Yeah, I think so. While I can’t say I ever adored math, I didn’t mind it. Calculus is taking things a bit far, but I’m sure I can handle one intro course. Not like I’m a math major going for a PhD. Dad might be able to help me out at home and there’s always visiting Doctor Mercer for some one-on-one coaching if I fall behind.

  Or I could just mind control her to give me a B.

  Nah. That’s the opposite of normal. The entire point of me being here is to feel normal.

  As if.

  Dr. Mercer keeps right on lecturing past nine. Unrest stirs among the students, growing louder until at about ten after, when she pauses.

  “I realize we are a little past time, however I’d ask you to bear with me a little longer to wrap up this concept.” She resumes lecturing, picking up the pace to normal human speed. The squeak of her dry erase markers sound like screams for mercy.

  Everyone—me included—scrambles to copy the formulas down since we’re apparently going to need them for the homework.

  At 9:28, Dr. Mercer finally caps the marker. “All right. Thank you everyone for bearing with me. Going late shouldn’t be too much of a habit, though I do admit to perhaps speaking a bit more slowly than most of you are used to. For Friday, please read chapter three and complete the worksheet at the end.” She smiles. “See you all in two days.”

  People shuffle around, repacking their bags, standing, and hurrying to leave. I toss the book into my backpack, sling it over one shoulder, and follow the crowd out the door, feeling pretty much the same as I did in high school other than the age gap. A group of men in their later thirties, who appear to know each other, chat amongst themselves, complaining that Mercer talks too slow and her classes always run long.

  Great. I have the feeling this class is going to be fun. Note to self: don’t make plans on Wednesday or Friday nights until this semester is over. The rain’s backed off to a light drizzle, which is no big deal. Doesn’t matter if I get soaked now, I’m only going home. Still, it’s not exactly raining hard, so I don’t rush.

  Once I’m out of the Science and Math building, I hang a left and make my way down Harvard Ave toward the parking deck. A spot of black catches my eye on the right, across the street. Goth Girl is sitting on the steps of this church-type building. The place looks kinda old and maybe in need of some renovation. No idea if it’s still a functioning church, but she doesn’t look so out of place in front of it.

  She stares at me as I go by on the other side.

  Screw it.

  I stop only a step past her, turn, and head straight across the road. She doesn’t flinch or make any effort to go anywhere as I stroll right up to her. No one in all twelve years of my prior school career would ever have accused me of being shy. However, approaching a random person I’ve never met before to start a conversation because they looked at me is a bit unusual. Then again, I can’t help but think she’s been following me… somehow.

  Up close, I’m certain she’s not too far off in age from me. A year or three older perhaps. Despite the formerly heavy—and now drizzling—rain, she doesn’t look like a drowned rat, barely damp if anything. All the multi-layered tiers of her dress are pristine, black, and new. It’s a pretty sweet attempt at recreating clothing from the turn of the century with a more modern gothic tweak.

  “Hi,” says the girl.

  “Hey.”

  “I’m Coralie Hall.”

  “Sarah Wright… just started this week. Freshman.”

  She giggles. “That’s obvious.”

  “Umm, saw you in English Lit on Monday. Sorry for staring. Your dress kinda stands out.”

  “Oh, it’s all right. I don’t mind.” She plays with the ruffles on her skirt. “I’m quite fond of it.”

  Yeah, obviously… or she wouldn’t wear it every day. Of course, I’m not obnoxious enough to say that. “It had to be expensive. So fancy.”

  “It didn’t cost that much, really.”

  Two guys walking by us give me a weird look. Their expressions are intense enough that I glance down to make sure my clothes haven’t spontaneously vanished. I’m good. Hmm. Oh, this girl has to be like the school weirdo or something and I’m getting the ‘why’s she talking to the basket case?’ reaction.

  “So, umm… What’s your major?” I hook my thumbs in my jean pockets.

  “I’m only auditing the more interesting classes. I don’t care about credits.” Coralie stands up off the stairs—she’s about an inch taller than me—and gives me a head-to-toe appraising glance. “I’m rather surprised to see you taking classes here.”

  “Yeah well…” I shrug, pausing to stare-joust at a dark-haired girl going by who’s also looking at me like I’ve got a screw loose. “Life got a little complicated, so I have to take night classes.”

  Coralie covers her mouth and laughs. “I imagine so, since the sun would kill you.”

  I open my mouth to reply to what I thought she said, but wind up gawking when what she really said sinks in.

  “Don’t be so shocked. Your secret’s safe with me. I can’t tell anyone.” Coralie reaches out and sticks her hand right through my chest, causing a tingly cold feeling. I think she’s tickling my heart. “You’re the first person out here to make eye contact with me in almost a century.”

  Oh, holy crap! No wonder people are looking at me funny. I’m not talking to the weird girl everyone avoids—I’m talking to a damn ghost! And geez, hasn’t anyone ever heard of Bluetooth headsets? Seeing someone talking to thin air isn’t exactly that strange anymore. Okay, talking to thin air while reacting to invisible people in front of a—possibly—decommissioned church is a bit weird.

  “Umm. Wow. That explains why no one stared at your dress.”

  She sighs. “Yeah. I’m not wearing it for attention. It’s what I died in.”

  “Sorry. That sucks.”

  Coralie makes a blasé face. “It is what it is. Happened long before you existed. Well, long before you look like you would’ve existed.”

  “Probably. Just happened to me last summer.”

  “Oh, you’re a baby!” Coralie attempts, rather unsuccessfully, to hug me. “You poor dear.”

  I look around and try to stand in a way that makes me seem less crazy while talking to no one. “Did it happen around the school here? Is that why you’re haunting the place?”

  “No, nothing like that. I’m kinda stuck here. I can’t leave.” She looks off to the side and down, wearing perhaps the saddest expression I’ve ever seen on anyone ever.

  Well, maybe not the saddest. That time Sophia somehow convinced herself we were getting a puppy or a kitten and it turned out not to be true beats it. Still, looking at this woman is making me want to cry.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  Coralie’s mood brightens back to normal. The tears running down her cheeks vanish like a special
effect being removed from video. “I don’t think so, but thank you for asking. It’s really just nice not to feel so alone anymore. I rarely get the chance to talk to anyone.”

  “Well, I don’t really have anywhere pressing to be for a little while…”

  Her smile widens. “That would be lovely of you to spend time with me to talk.”

  “Least I can do…”

  I have no idea if all vampires can see ghosts, though Glim seems to think so. Guess that means we don’t typically hang around the school. Coralie’s range is somewhat limited, so we can’t walk too far. We wind up heading back toward the Science and Math building to hang out in the courtyard between it and the main building. A row of large block stones forms a bit of a wall around an area with a tree and tiny bushes. Beyond it, only bike racks. So, I make do with the stones for a seat.

  Most of our conversation is about me, since she seems intrigued about how a girl my age wound up as a vampire. After I explain that I wound up as a vampire by accident, wanting to stay with my family, and attending night school because of sun reasons, I ask how she died.

  “Kindred souls of a sort,” she mutters in a tone like she’s angry with someone else. “Late May, 1849, I’d been married for barely three months. My former husband had a wonderful surprise for me—a beautiful necklace. He also gave me something to drink that he said would make our wildest dreams come true. A magical potion, if you believe in that sort of thing.”

  I bite my lip, thinking back to Garrett Alder living in the caverns. Part of me wants to chuck that whole experience aside as one giant nope, but I do kinda hope the potion he wanted to make works. Existence as a Beast sounds so damn lonely.

  “Let’ just say I don’t not believe in them. Guess it didn’t work… unless his dream was being single again.”

  Coralie rolls her eyes. “Not entirely. It did exactly what he wanted it to, but it didn’t quite work out for him the way he hoped. Yes, it killed me, and yes he expected that would happen.”

  I gasp. “What an asshole. Did you know?”

  “No. It rather surprised me.”

  “Guessing he’s already dead.”

  “Oh, quite.” Coralie looks up with a decidedly non-innocent gleam in her eye. “Alas, I did not cause his death. Perhaps I may have been able to warn him of it, though I chose not to do so. The man didn’t linger around for very long. I suspect he tired of my being able to once again slap him. But, please… enough about me. Would you indulge me and tell me more of your family? So curious that you remain with them.”

  “Yeah.” I smile at my lap. “I guess it is strange, but I couldn’t do it to them, yanno? Let them think I died. And maybe I panicked a little and wanted the security of home, too.”

  “There is nothing wrong with that. If I hadn’t been trapped here, I would have done the same, even if they couldn’t see me.”

  Putting my arm around her shoulders doesn’t work too well, and we both wind up laughing.

  “Please don’t feel sad for me. There’s nothing you can do.”

  “Are you sure?” This woman sitting next to me looks so forlorn it feels wrong to just not do something.

  Coralie nods. “You have already done the best thing anyone has done for me in a hundred years. I would be thrilled if we could talk again sometime.”

  “Yeah, no doubt. I’ll be around here for the next couple of years a lot… and I usually head into town for food, so it’s not a big deal to stop by.”

  “Thank you, Sarah Wright.” She stands.

  I get up too, tiling my head in confusion. “I didn’t really do anything.”

  “Of course you did.” She leans in close, whispering, “You saw me.”

  And with that… Coralie Hall fades away.

  8

  F The Universe

  Cops leave me alone tonight on the drive home.

  I sit in the car for a few minutes checking over all the text messages that came in while I was chatting with Coralie. Normal updates from Ashley and Michelle, who are both no doubt asleep by now. Hunter sent a few ‘how’s class going?’ and ‘I love you’ messages along with the occasional funny remark about annoying customers at the restaurant. This one guy sent his food back for not being seasoned enough. He left it under a warmer lamp for five minutes and brought it back to the guy—otherwise untouched—and it was fine.

  Guess I’ll go out for a snack and then deal with this calculus homework.

  Without the burden of a car slowing me down, it only takes me a few minutes to get back to center city Seattle. I land in a dark alley and spend a little while exploring until I find a solitary guy in a black raincoat yelling at someone on the phone about marketing spend and throwing too much money at Europe. He’s so into his conversation he doesn’t notice me until I accidentally-on-purpose walk into him.

  “Hey, watch where you’re—”

  The man’s eyes glaze over the instant I invade his thoughts. He follows me like a good little mind puppet to a shaded alley between two high rises, standing motionless while I float up high enough to sink my fangs into the side of his neck. A rush of steak flavor fills my mouth. I’ve never actually had filet mignon before, but I think I’m tasting what I imagine it would be like. The guy reeks of money, and I’m really just glad I have no frame of reference for caviar. Blech.

  A voice from his earbud repeats, “Mr. Strickland?” a few times before the line beeps off.

  Ringing comes from his suit jacket pocket.

  I hurry things along by sucking on the wound a little more than I usually do. Once I’ve had enough, I seal the puncture and blank myself from his memory. By this time, the phone’s stopped ringing, but it starts again two seconds later.

  An alley between two tall buildings is the perfect place for me to zip straight up without drawing too much attention to myself. Soon, I’m cruising back toward home—but an idea hits me. Calculus can wait an hour or three.

  Minutes later, I glide in to land beside Glim on his favorite roof. As usual, he’s sitting on the edge, feet dangling, gazing in the window of his ex-wife’s apartment across the parking lot.

  “Anything good on?”

  “Ana’s watching Pretty Woman again. I’ve seen it a hundred times.” Glim leans back, turning his head toward me with a smile that would make most people (and some vampires) cry out in shock. Maybe I’m weird, but his overly pointy teeth don’t bother me at all. They look ‘right’ for him. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Just some questions about ‘how to vampire.’”

  He chuckles. “Okay… Dalton’s shirking his responsibilities again?”

  “Well, one thing I sorta asked him and he avoided the question.”

  Glim holds up a finger. “I reserve the right to do the same if he had a good reason not to give you an answer.”

  “Fair enough.” I sit on the edge of the roof next to him, let out a long, sad sigh, and explain how Sierra asked me to turn her into a vampire if something else killed her. Merely talking about it chokes me up.

  Glim rubs my back. “That is quite a conundrum. The gift can do strange things if the recipient is too young. Have you wondered yet why you haven’t run into anyone younger than yourself?”

  “I just figured it was a really awful thing to do to an innocent kid… mostly the whole ‘you have to die’ part.”

  “Many feel as you do, yes. There are some places in the old world where our kind have organized themselves into a political system of sorts.”

  “Politics among vampires?” I fake gasp. “You’re joking.”

  He grins. “Over there, it is considered forbidden to share the gift with one who has not yet reached physical maturity. Here in the States, third world countries, and the Middle East, not so much. However, it is still rarely done as it can have unexpected complications.”

  “Such as?”

  “Ever see Pet Sematary?”

  I blink. “They turn into little demonic psychos?”

  Glim lets out a laugh that echoes over the
parking lot and startles a stray cat. “It’s a possibility, though perhaps my example was flawed. Most will freeze as if in time, never maturing mentally from the state they’re in at the time. One I became aware of in Iran had the mind of an adult man trapped in a boy’s shell. Drove the poor bastard nuts having a body that couldn’t accommodate what his brain wanted to do.”

  I cringe. Of course, being eighteen, I take that sexually. Which then results in me having altogether horrifying thoughts about my siblings as they appear right now with fully adult minds. No. Brain bleach please. I whack myself in the side of the head like I’m trying to knock the idea physically out my left ear.

  “Most would consider it cruel,” says Glim. “I’m inclined to agree.”

  “Yeah.” I pull my legs up and wrap my arms around them. “Would it be crueler to lose them?”

  “That’s a comparison I don’t think anyone can make. However, you shift the burden of cruelty from yourself to them. Instead of your loss, they potentially face a dichotic existence.”

  “But there’s still a chance they could get like mentally stuck and remain a kid forever?”

  He nods. “So I am told.”

  I swallow hard. “Look, I’m not at all going to turn anyone I know—or anyone I don’t know for that matter—into a vampire just for the lols.”

  Glim pats me on the shoulder. “I believe that. You know, I’ve been thinking about what you said the other day on… bloodlines I suppose is the best word for it. Perhaps the circumstances of the Transference do have some effect on the type of vampire we become.”

  “Act of mercy?” I mutter.

  “It’s only a theory. Intent on the part of the existing vampire is important. Saeed El-Amin wanted a protégé, someone he could mold into an assassin. He said he chose me because I had the least fear among the entire platoon that night. The man took me like he selected the sharpest sword on the rack, and the blade had no say in the matter. He, too, was a Shadow, though some of our kind pass the gift on to others who do not join our numbers.”