One: Sophia is no longer asleep. She’s up, dressed except for shoes, and sitting on the bed next to me watching television.
Two: a woman in a cleaning service uniform stands near the bed, gazing into space, her mouth wide open.
I’m going to assume the hotel doesn’t employ robots to clean rooms, and this one happened to run out of power in the middle of singing an aria. Something unusual must have occurred.
“Umm…” I sit up. “What happened? Why is there a catatonic hotel employee in our room?”
Sophia looks over. “She walked in, saw you sleeping, and started screaming.”
“Damn. I’m not getting worse, am I?”
“No. Same as always. But you do sleep like the dead.”
“Hah.” I poke her in the side. “So, umm… you petrified her?”
“No. She’s on pause. I stopped the flow of time around her.”
I rake two hands through my hair. Argh. Well, if she’s frozen in time, she’s not seeing anything. I hop off the bed, drop the towel, and hastily dress. New jeans, pretty much the same style as my old ones, and an emerald green babydoll top. Guess I had dryad on the brain.
“Okay, unpause.”
Sophia flicks her gaze to the woman—who resumes screaming, but trails off to silence, staring at me. Thanks to the heavy-duty curtains here, I’m online. I start to go into her head to erase the sight of me as corpselike, but the woman’s already disregarding it since I appear totally normal now. She’s convinced she’s working too much overtime and imagining things.
Well, saves me some work.
“Sorry. I didn’t realize you were still in the room.” She retreats for the door.
“It’s fine. We’re checking out now. Do your thing if you want. We’ll be out of your way in a minute.” I smile at her and grab my sneakers.
Our flight takes off at 3:50 p.m., right around sunset. It’s presently 2:39 p.m. and too bright out for me to go online. Fortunately, I don’t really need to. Sophia puts her shoes on and we leave the room. I don’t need to deal with the checkout desk since the hotel isn’t going to screw me over for staying in the room past eleven in the morning. They may try to charge for a second night, but it’s a comped room not associated to any credit card traceable to me or my family.
A convenient shuttle service gives us a ride to the airport. The hotel’s basically at the edge of the airport property so it’s not like we’ve got too far to go. Still, riding is nicer than walking. The day’s clear but gloomy, pretty much perfect weather for me. Since we’ve got time, we stop at a salad place in the airport for Sophia to eat. She hasn’t had food all day. It’s painfully overpriced, but we are the demographic they’re trying to exploit—people about to hop on a plane who don’t have the time necessary to go elsewhere, and need food.
I order a salad with grilled chicken, mostly to feed Klepto. Kitty eats her fill, and I finish the rest, even though doing so condemns me to needing to use the airplane bathroom before the flight ends. Ordinary food does not stay inside me for nine hours.
Klepto teleports past the security checkpoint to avoid the x-ray machine or anyone questioning why an un-crated animal is in the airport. She hides behind some trash cans adjacent to a bathroom while waiting for us to get through the passenger line. I’m a little nervous how the security guy’s going to react to a pouch of gold coins in my handbag, but he doesn’t bat an eyelash. Hmm. The pouch appears to be empty from the outside, so maybe machines can’t see the coins in it. Good thing I spat out Jonathan’s bullet. Wouldn’t want to set off the metal detector.
Klepto teleports into Sophia’s arms once we’re away from the security station. Soon, we take seats in the waiting area by the terminal from which our flight will roll out. The room is saturated in orange thanks to huge windows overlooking the runways letting the imminent sunset in. Giant airplanes fascinate me less than most people since I’ve grown up with a mother who worked for Boeing. I’ve toured the plant, seen them being put together and even gotten to play with the controls of a partially built 737 when I was really little.
At 3:28 p.m., the sun decides to be a bitch and give a last dying gasp before it sets in like a half hour. A bright orange flood turns up the temperature to about 350. Or at least, it feels like it. I do my best to shield my bare forearms under my loose top and try to flip my hair around in front of my face. C’mon cloud. Move back in front of the sun. Ouch. Stop it.
A man sitting behind me in the adjoined row of seats grumbles.
“Now what?” asks a woman who sounds on the older side.
“Signs are bloody everywhere, but some tosser is still smoking in here,” says the guy.
“That’s not a cigarette, Albert. It’s probably coming from the kitchen. Someone burned chicken.”
Ugh! I get up and walk over to stand behind a giant, round column, putting it between me and the window. Feels like I’ve walked out of the Nevada desert in August to air-conditioning. A few wisps of smoke trail after me, but thankfully no one seems to notice.
Minutes later, a voice comes over the PA, calling boarding for our flight. Sophia runs over to me, but we have to wait for the first-class people to get on before they call coach. Yeah, I technically stole these tickets, but no need to overdo it. Coach is fine. Klepto stops moving, pretending to be Sophia’s emotional-support-plushie to get past the woman checking tickets.
As soon as my butt hits the seat, I recline, and let out a groan of relief.
I swear to the Flying Spaghetti Monster, if someone else kidnaps Sophia before we get home, I am going to kill them.
41
A Strange, Uncharted Future
Parents are the strangest creatures known to humanity.
Once we’d gotten in Mom’s Yukon after leaving the plane, Mom, Dad, and the Littles heard the full story I couldn’t say over the phone or send via text. No one got gory details about what happened to poor Addy, only hearing she’d been ‘entangled’ to the tree. The Littles don’t need to hear it and I don’t want to remember it either.
Sophia and I have been home for a couple days and Dad is still laughing about Klepto attacking Jacob Winton’s balls. You’d think a guy wouldn’t find a story about tiny claws and another guy’s sensitive areas so funny, but apparently, he does. Mom ran the gamut of emotion from screaming to laughing maniacally (in denial at the existence of brownies and leprechauns). I think she had some trouble processing everything since she started yelling at Sophia as if abduction had been her fault. She chilled and apologized soon after, admitting it had, indeed, been the stress of worrying about us so much for several days.
And like most unexplainable, bizarre, otherworldly, or totally strange things to happen in my life ever since I became a vampire, being magically abducted to London to deal with a pissed off ghost got filed away as another day. Months ago, Mom flipped out over me using mind control to encourage shoppers to buy Girl Scout cookies because Sophia cried at people ignoring her. Now, werewolves, brownies, leprechauns, and dryads stir only slightly more of a raised eyebrow than asking ‘what’s for dinner?’
Ashley and Michelle came over the day after our return and hung out like tweens into the wee hours, demanding all the details. I spent the following evening at Hunter’s, at least until he needed to go to sleep. Telling him about the strange fey creatures got him wondering what other legends might have more truth to them than people think. And yes, Ashley dragged me to the mall for some last-minute shopping.
Oh yeah. Today’s Christmas Eve.
I haven’t gotten out of bed yet.
It’s almost four. The whole house smells like cinnamon and apple pie. I’m taking advantage of my family’s new habit of assuming I’m in need of extra vampire sleep if I don’t go upstairs by three. I woke up thinking about the nightmare I had around Thanksgiving where I’d been a ghost haunting my living room watching the Littles have a horrible Christmas, not wanting their gifts. It’s totally unrelated to me being a vampire, but we open gifts tonight instead of in t
he morning. Somehow, none of my siblings inherited my extreme anticipatory anxiety, or maybe it didn’t show itself since my parents decided to move gift-opening to Christmas Eve in order for me to sleep long before they could be anxious about what Santa brought them.
Speaking of Santa, Sam figured the truth out shockingly early, at only seven. Sierra still believed in Santa after Sam stopped, but the boy never ruined it for her. Sophia held out the longest before she surrendered to a more adult perspective (only last year). But, yanno… if brownies and leprechauns are out there, maybe some manner of person-slash-creature exists similar to the Santa legend. Obviously, he’s not exactly the same as we think as gifts do not transubstantiate out of thin air all over the world.
But who knows?
Even though it had been a nightmare, the emotion of me dreaming about my family dealing with losing me is heavy enough to pin me to the bed. Bah. I’m being a dumbass again. No reason for me to get maudlin about anything.
Right. Upstairs I go.
After I change.
I fling off the oversized tee I slept in—gawd I missed these while stuck in Europe—and throw on the over-the-top Christmas tree and candy cane nightgown traditionally worn by yours truly for the presents-opening ceremony. Pre-vampire me would actually sleep in it the night before, and spend all of today and Christmas Day wearing it—except for when family showed up to have dinner. Official holiday dinner requires nice clothes.
Everyone’s up and in an energetic mood. Mom’s happier than she’s been in weeks. Dad’s declared the next five days a work-free zone for him. The day goes by in an awesome blur of family time, board games, and of course, an Eighties movie. Even though we’ve all seen it before, Dad puts on Labyrinth. Probably due to the recent talk of magical creatures.
Klepto gets the zoomies and chases Blix around the house for half the movie. It’s hilarious watching the imp try to escape a kitten who keeps teleporting in front of him. More amazing than what happened to us in London, neither one of them takes out the Christmas tree. For sure, I expected complete destruction.
After the movie, Dad puts the DVD back on the shelf, then stands there tapping a finger to his chin. “Hmm.”
“What?” asks Mom.
“I think I’ve forgotten something.” He looks at us kids. “Feels like there’s something we need to do tonight, but I can’t remember it.”
Sam and Sierra laugh.
“Oh well, guess it’s bedtime.” Dad halfheartedly shrugs, letting his arms flap against his sides.
Sam sits there, calmly looking at him.
Sierra smirks.
Sophia’s quiet for a few seconds, then flails. “Dad! It can’t be bedtime, yet.”
I know she’s not at all upset, but she’s acting to cover for Sam and Sierra outgrowing panic at the idea of not getting to open presents tonight. They’re wise to Dad’s wily ways and realize he’s kidding.
“Aha!” Dad snaps his fingers. “You’re right. You three need to take a bath before bed.”
Sierra folds her arms.
“It’s Christmas Eve, Dad,” says Sam. “I believe you are forgetting the redistribution of wealth and the ceremonial unboxing.”
Mom covers her mouth to hold in a laugh.
“Hah!” Dad pretends to ‘remember’ and snaps his fingers. “You’re absolutely right. Time to open presents!”
The Littles cheer and scramble over to the tree, sliding to a halt on their knees. Oh, hell. Adulting is for losers. I run after them and flop on the floor. Amid the crinkle of wrapping paper and the sappy Christmas music Mom insists on playing in the background, the kids pounce on the gifts arranged under the tree. At least Sierra’s calmed down enough in her ‘old age’ of eleven to look at the name on a box before tearing the paper.
Gawd, she made Sophia cry so bad one year for opening half her stuff. Wasn’t trying to be mean though. As soon as she realized a gift belonged to Sophia or Sam, she handed it over.
Sam basks in an assortment of loot: model kits, a few video games, action figures, a toy lightsaber, and so on. Sierra also gets some video games—and a surprisingly heavy, long box. At first, I assume Dad’s being weird and gave her a pool cue… but when she gets the thing open, she gasps and extracts a small sword from a shroud of white tissue paper.
“Jonathan…” Mom blinks, obviously caught off guard. “Did you give our daughter a real blade?”
“Cool!” whispers Sophia, wide-eyed in awe. She pulls the sword an inch or so out of the scabbard. “Umm, yeah. It’s sharp.”
“Be careful, sweetie!” Mom gawks at Dad. “You seriously gave her a sword.”
“Yep.” Dad gestures at Sierra. “Look under the tissue paper.”
Sierra gingerly sets the sword on the rug beside her, then rummages the box, holding up an envelope. She opens it, reads the contents, and squeals in delight. “Lessons!”
“Wait, sword lessons?” Mom looks back and forth between Sierra and Dad. “They really have those?”
“Yeah.” Dad braces for impact, catching a flying hug from Sierra. “Oof. They do. Downtown. It’s mostly for film actors, stunt performers, and theater people… but the guy said it’s genuine skill. She’ll need pads and such. And no, they don’t swing sharp blades at each other in the school. Strictly wooden or padded PVC.”
Mom fake-wipes sweat from her forehead, then gives Dad a ‘she’ll be bored of it in three months’ look.
I’m not so sure.
Sophia scores a haul of pink stuff, a couple dolls, some plushies, jewelry, and such.
“Wow, you are such a stereotype,” says Sierra. “But… you do love that stuff.”
Sophia gathers about nine new plushies in a group hug, grinning at the parents. “Thank you!”
As far as my gifts go, they consist mostly of clothing and a few cute figurines from Mom. The Littles combined efforts and got me a Steam gift card so I can choose a video game or two. Aww. Oh, and Dad hands me a flat, smallish box.
Curious, I slice off the wrapping paper with a claw. Looks like the kind of box a necklace might come in. Excited, I pull the lid off and open the tissue paper inside. Sigh. He gave me a red Rambo-style headband.
“You mentioned you didn’t have one.” Dad grins.
As soon as I hold it up, giving him a ‘really?’ smirk, everyone bursts into laughter. Oh heck, why not? I start to put it on to be silly, but Dad grasps my arm.
“Don’t put it on unless butts need to be kicked. Respect the headband,” says my father in an overacted, solemn tone.
Again, everyone laughs.
He pulls something out of his robe pocket. “Here. Might as well have this, too. Needed the box for the headband.”
Dad hands me a wad of tissue paper. I unfurl it to reveal a gold necklace with a pendant depicting a cute chibi vampire girl. Aww.
“Dad…” I hug him. “Thank you.”
He pats me on the back.
“Oh, hey.” Sam pulls a small, flat box out from under the tree, examines it, then stands. “This is for you guys.” He runs it over to the ’rents.
Mom and Dad exchange a confused look, shrug, and take the box.
“From Sarah,” says Dad.
Mom smiles at me.
He holds the box while she lifts the lid off. They look over the contents and gasp at me.
“Sarah…” Mom gawks for a little while before she remembers how words work. “A seven-day stay in Iceland? With airfare?”
“How the heck did you afford this?” asks Dad, gobsmacked.
“A lot of pizza deliveries,” mutters Sam.
I wink. “Nah. I have a few tricks.”
Mom waves the tickets and vacation voucher at me. “You stole this?”
“No. I kinda got a, umm… gold card.”
Most people might think it difficult to convert leprechaun gold coins to modern cash, but most people don’t rub elbows with Aurélie Merlier. She has connections and set me up with a guy. Yours truly has a bank account. Though, it’s a little diffe
rent. There’s some trick to the way vampires manage their finances so they can avoid scrutiny and detection for existing so long. It’s got something to do with corporate law, but it’s over my head. Aurélie’s going to explain it to me soon. So, yeah, the pouch appeared to be empty from the outside, but held a decent amount of coins. At Aurélie’s suggestion, I only converted a handful of them into modern money. Gold holds value more reliably than digital numbers in a computer somewhere—and won’t disappear if society disintegrates.
“A gold card…” Mom shakes her head.
“Not a credit thing. I’m making a leprechaun joke.”
They both make ‘ohh’ faces at me.
“Straight up. It’s legit. Really paid for. No mind tricks.” I grin. “Merry Christmas, you guys.”
Little footsteps thunder overhead upstairs.
“Did we have another one while I wasn’t looking?” asks Dad.
Mom ‘pffs.’
Ronan runs downstairs in his pajamas. He rushes over to Sam, excitedly telling him about the new PlayStation 4 he got for Christmas. Sam, somewhat out of character for him, cheers excitedly.
“Where the heck did he come from?” asks Mom.
Sierra, Sophia, and I say, “Mirror,” at the same time. The boys keep cheering. Ronan invites Sam over to play video games, but it’s a bit late, and Christmas Eve, so a sleepover is kinda out of the question. They plan on tomorrow after dinner. Sierra is bizarrely responsible and doesn’t start waving her sword around despite adoring it. She does, however, get her hands on an empty wrapping paper tube and goes full samurai. Sophia’s in girly-girl heaven, swimming in plushies and pink stuff.
The joy in the air is so powerful I almost forget entirely about being a vampire.
Yeah, the stupidity attack I had in London, wondering if I made the right decision to stay with my family? Pff. Yeah. Absolutely the right thing. I’d do it again ten times. The future is going to be weird, but I’m going to make it work—no matter who I have to ki—mind control.
Vampire Innocent (Book 9): An Introduction To Paranormal Diplomacy Page 34
