The Artist of Ruin

by Matthew S. Cox

Her furious glower melts into placid calm. She sits on the ground, shirt askew, one boob exposed, as calm as if she’s in a doctor’s waiting room. With her on pause, I turn back to Hunter and dive into his thoughts.

  The bitch, Petra that is, showed up at the restaurant only an hour ago and ambushed him in the back hall. He’s been conditioned to attempt sleeping with as many women as possible. Find one, work on her until he gets her in bed, then forget she exists and look for the next one.

  Oh, this rampaging c… Sorry. Mom would kill me for even thinking that word.

  Hunter gasps from the force with which I strip that shit out of his brain, like ripping duct tape off a kidnap victim’s mouth—a male kidnap victim who used to have a mustache. Before he can stumble over a ridiculous attempt to explain himself, I make him forget what happened with Charlotte. I wish I could do the same for myself.

  Speaking of her… right as I finish up erasing their make-out session from Hunter’s brain, she launches herself at me. Remember that thing about how people expect tween girls to fight? Yeah. That’s this woman. She goes straight for my hair. Fortunately, I’m a little faster.

  I catch her by the throat and wrist, swing her around, and press her back against the wall of Mi Tierra. Her eyes bulge in shock once she realizes her feet aren’t touching the ground anymore. She strains to look down, then shifts her gaze back to mine.

  Her mind jams to a halt, unable to explain how ‘this skinny chick’ is holding her airborne with one arm. I stifle the urge to make a Terminator joke—thanks Dad—and proceed to work on her head. As soon as the dazing effect of mental surgery kicks in and she goes limp, I let her down. When I’m done poking and prodding her grey matter, she believes she and Hunter were here late together after the shift ended because her car wouldn’t start and he helped her. That done, I fix her shirt back into place.

  I stand there, staring down at the pavement, seething as anger and irrational heartbreak get into a catfight. Charlotte wanders away in a mild daze, thanks Hunter for the jumpstart, and gets into her car.

  “Jumpstart?” asks Hunter. When I don’t react, he walks over and puts an arm around me. “Sarah?”

  That he wants to hold me, no hesitation, is as wonderful as it makes me feel like a horrible person for making him forget what happened.

  “Yeah.”

  “I didn’t give her a jump,” whispers Hunter. “Something bad happened.”

  “Yeah. Something bad happened.”

  “Are you okay?” His arms tighten around me. “Hey, are you crying?”

  I don’t resist as he pulls me in close, my face against his shoulder. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That I’m upset. It’s what she wants. I know what happened and it’s still bothering me.”

  “Well.” He chuckles. “That’s one of us.”

  “Huh?” I lift my head to look at him.

  “Who knows what happened. It must’ve been really bad if you zapped it out of my head.”

  “I’m sorry. That’s why I’m upset. I told you I’d never do that, but I couldn’t help myself.”

  He glances at the little Toyota speeding out of the lot. “You caught us kissing or something, didn’t you.”

  “Yeah. Kinda obvious, huh?”

  “Well, that and I don’t generally wear peach flavored lipstick.”

  I cringe.

  “I much prefer strawberry. You know, when I feel the need to be fabulous.”

  A giggle-sob barks out of me.

  “Hey. It’s fine. Some other vampire forced me to do that, right? I’d have asked you to make me forget.”

  “You’re not upset? Not worried you can’t trust me anymore?”

  “Not at all.” He traces a finger along my jawline. The fragrance of fake-o peach hits me in the nose as strong as a punch. “You wouldn’t be so upset otherwise. I know you only did it for my sake.”

  I reach up and wipe the smear of pale orange from his face. “I don’t want to kiss Charlotte.”

  He chuckles into a wince. “Neither do I. And I’m sorry.”

  “Stop apologizing. I’m the one who messed up.”

  Hunter sways side to side, holding me. “You didn’t mess up, not at all. In fact, I think you got here right in the nick of time.”

  I offer a cheesy smile. “Wanted to surprise you at work.”

  He brushes the tears from my cheeks. “Color me surprised.”

  “Wanna go somewhere and stargaze?”

  “I’m already looking at the prettiest thing in the sky, but if you want, we can go look at the drab ones, too.”

  “Okay, now you’re trying a little too hard.” I playfully punch him in the side. “But that was cute.”

  Chuckling, Hunter gestures at his beat up old Buick. “Your humble chariot awaits.”

  27

  Risk Management

  Not taking chances, I insist Hunter comes back to my place when it gets late.

  Unfortunately, he insists on going home because he needs to do a lot of stuff around the house to help his mother out tomorrow. And holy shit. Saturday snuck up on me. Nothing like having an old vampire going out of their way to destroy everything I love to make a week fly by.

  A little past four in the morning, Michelle texts me.

  ‹Yo. There’s some messed up white dude in my backyard kicking his own ass.›

  Okay… That’s only a little weird. ‹Kicking his own ass?›

  ‹Call?›

  I send back ‹sure› and wait, answering as soon as the screen lights up.

  “Hey.”

  “Sare, this dude is like losing his shit on my lawn. Running in circles, like judo-flipping himself. And whoa…”

  “What happened?”

  “Umm. He just like floated off the ground.”

  I think for a moment. “Does it look like someone’s maybe holding him by the throat?”

  “Yeah I guess, but there’s no one there.”

  “Heh. Yeah, there is. Friend of mine. Nothing to worry about. You can go back to bed.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yep.”

  She yawns. “Okay. Night.”

  That’s gotta be Glim. I’m not entirely sure how the Shadows hear stuff, but he’s evidently found out about Petra coming after me. Honestly, I don’t mind the help. Though, that woman is going way too far. Aurélie wants me to ignore her, but she’s not only targeting me, she’s messing with my siblings and friends. The next thing I know, I’m going to find some strange woman in bed with my father right as Mom gets home from work.

  Ugh. No. Brain bleach. I did not just picture that.

  Though the odds of her compelling my dad to do something messed up are pretty low. The man doesn’t leave the house too often. I doubt she’s brazen enough to come here. My mind races with all sorts of things she could do to us that could skate around the ‘harm’ clause of Aurélie’s decree. Get one or both of my parents fired, send social services after my siblings, do all manner of who-knows-what to Ashley or Michelle. No, I can’t let this fester. Ignoring her is not an option. This woman thinks it’s ‘art’ to destroy the lives of mortals, but I’m no mortal.

  It’s on, bitch.

  Tomorrow.

  I roll out of bed at 2:30 or so the next afternoon to a nice gloomy day.

  That doesn’t help me too much yet, since I have no idea where Petra sleeps. In theory, I could break the universe by becoming a vampire who hunts vampires. I could sneak in there during the day. But, she’d definitely wake up if I tried to stake her or something. Besides, the staking deal is a fairy tale. Doesn’t work. Well, barring witchwood and certain bloodlines. But I’m no ritualist and I wouldn’t have the first idea where to get witchwood from.

  My best weapon would be to attempt dragging her into the sun, but that also presents the biggest risk. While she would be on fire, other bloodlines don’t lose all their powers in the daylight like I do. If she got her hands on me when we stood in the sun, I’d die
for real. No, I need to be more careful about it. Or more reckless if I really think about it. She handed me my ass last time, but at least confronting her at night puts us on more even footing. I can’t really die. Maybe I can think about how angry I am over what she tried to do to my sisters that I’ll at least fight her to a stalemate and she’ll think I’m too much work.

  I’ve also got a few hours to try and come up with a better plan than that.

  So, I head upstairs. Everyone’s noticeably unnerved by the events of yesterday. Jordan and Daryl are over, hanging out in Sam’s room. But he’s still a little strange around them. The boys are totally normal, so hopefully, Sam will be okay. My sisters have invited Nicole over here for a change, along with two other girls. The living room is loud. Five tweens in one room… this is the kind of day mortal me would’ve gone to Ashley’s to escape. Speaking of Ashley, she arrives unannounced at three, hoping I’d be awake.

  Good news: no further dangerous goings on with her or her mother.

  Dad’s out back, tinkering with the grill. Guess he’s planning to make dinner tonight. Considering we have half the kids in Cottage Lake in our house, maybe it’ll be a backyard party. Mom’s in mission mode attacking windows. I’d help, but if I stick my face anywhere near a window, my father won’t be the only one barbecuing.

  Sierra pitches in to give her some help, probably still having guilt issues over punching Nicole. She cringes every time she looks at her friend’s bruised eye. I debate taking that pain away from her, but I already did more than I promised by altering the nature of the insult. Some things are better left to work out naturally. Mind control can’t solve everything.

  For the rest of the day, I hover around on high alert. Everyone else has a pretty fun day, and I hide my anxiety well. If not for my rather pronounced sun allergy, I might’ve stopped by Hunter’s to help him with whatever he’s doing at the house. At least he understands why I’m such a hermit during the day. I don’t regret letting him in on my secret. It would’ve been next to impossible to carry on a relationship with a normal person and not tell them. Coming up with new and believable excuses for not being around until dark wouldn’t have been possible for too long.

  I can’t help but laugh to myself when Nicole complains that her mother is forcing her to wear a helmet whenever she rides her bike now. She hates the helmet, but it’s not like it’ll hurt her. Sophia’s a little weepy-clingy with Nicole, which causes a few “what the heck is wrong with you” moments, but after a couple hours, the girls are more or less back to normal.

  Eventually, the food is ready and we migrate to the backyard. By that time, it’s not bright enough to smoke me, but I still haunt the kitchen doorway as much as possible, close enough to feel like part of the goings on—and to keep an eye out for problems—without slow-roasting myself.

  Much later, after all the guests have gone home and my siblings are preparing for bed, it’s show time. I close my bedroom door, strip to my underwear, and stand there thinking about what I could wear that I won’t mind losing. Bad enough that anything I have on when I go out at night already runs a high chance of being shredded, but tonight I’m intending to pick a fight with a vampire, so I know someone’s going to wind up half-naked before the night’s done. Vampire claws are worse than swords in that regard. Five blades per hand plus grabbiness. One of us is going to wind up tits-out before the blood stops flying.

  Hmm. Maybe I should compel a cop to give me a Kevlar vest?

  Ashley swoops into my room. “Oh hey.”

  I glance at her. “Eep. I thought you went home.”

  “Nice rack.”

  I fake a gasp and cover my bra with my hands, but we both giggle.

  “Didn’t leave. Just in the bathroom. Umm. Planning to get a job as a lingerie model? You do show up on cameras, right?”

  “Yeah.” I laugh.

  “So, what’s up? Is Hunter hiding in the closet? Am I interrupting?”

  “No. I’m about to go after that bitch causing all the trouble and I know whatever I wear is probably going to be destroyed. Trying to decide what to sacrifice to the claw god.”

  “Oh. Hmm. Maybe that’s why old vampires wore those elaborate outfits? Much harder to shred off.”

  “Hah. I’m sure they wore them because that’s what people wore back then.”

  “Plain white T-shirt, easy to replace, and those hippie LuLaRoes you wore once?”

  I shiver. Those things are so loud they can be seen from space. “Tempting, but Mom gave them to me, so there’s sentimental value there. Right. Generic stuff with no emotional value.”

  Plain white tee, black yoga pants, short denim skirt. No bracelets, earrings, hairbands, or anything she can grab, rip off, or turn against me. I again wish I had a pair of shit-kickers, but sneakers will have to do.

  “So what’s your plan?” asks Ashley. “Flying in circles until you find her?”

  “Yeah.”

  She raises an eyebrow.

  “Hah! Got you.” I wink. “I do have a plan, but it’s not that much better than random flying. She programmed that dude that tried to burn your house down at this club, Odyssey. I’m going to start there. Scan brains until I find someone who might know where to find her.”

  “Okay. Need help?”

  I grasp her shoulders and stare into her eyes. “I need you to stay safe.”

  “I hate this,” she mutters. “I feel helpless just sitting here.”

  “This isn’t your issue, Ash. You’re tangled up enough in this mess just from being part of my life. You know what I can do. This bitch is a little stronger. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m too low level.” She raspberries at the wall. “Hey. Send me a text every fifteen minutes. If you miss one, I’ll call Aurélie.”

  “Okay. Good idea.”

  We bump fists. She manages a nervous smile and sets up our ‘vampire command center’ at my computer desk. I’m scared, but I’m also more pissed off than I am afraid. Fists clenched, I make my way upstairs and take off. I know two things for sure about this ‘game.’

  One, I can’t keep letting Petra make all the moves.

  Two: this is going to hurt.

  Club Odyssey occupies a giant, lavender building in the south part of Redmond. The place looks like an enormous square cake, if cakes had multicolored lights around the outside. Two large bouncers flank the door, attending to a modest line of twentysomethings waiting to get in.

  Not wanting to create a scene yet, I add myself to the line and wait.

  A few minutes later when I reach the end, the huge, bald guy stares at me, blinks, and laughs.

  “Nice try, kid. Come back in six years or so.”

  If they made the T-800 an African American guy, the other bouncer would’ve been perfect. He peers at me over his sunglasses and shakes his head. “Kid, there ain’t any fake ID in the world good enough to get your butt in this place. At least wait ’til you’re in high school before you try.”

  My eyebrows narrow. I don’t care if he really thinks I’m still in eighth grade or if he’s insulting me on purpose. I hold up an empty hand. “Guys, knock it off. I’m twenty-one.”

  “Oh. Wow. You look young,” says the bald one. “Go on in. Sorry.”

  “Damn. Some serious chemicals in the water around here.” The black Terminator waves me by with a smile and reaches for the next person’s ID.

  Cool. Figures I get the ability to fake my way into any bar while underage after drinking no longer works. The place is pretty big, almost a single humongous room. Dance floor on the left, tables in the middle portion, and the left side is basically a bar. Well, might as well get started. Spacey electronic music pulses from speakers above the dance floor, which swims with gyrating rainbow-colored lights in little spots. Whoa… staring too long at that half of the room gives me vertigo.

  Blinking away the floaty rainbow spots, I head left toward the bar, earning a ‘yeah right’ stare from the tall brunette pouring drinks. I ignor
e it since I have no intention of trying to buy anything to drink. However, I still check her head for any knowledge of Petra. She’s seen the woman, but doesn’t know her or where to find her. No one seated at the bar does either.

  At the end of the bar area, I find a hint of her in the head of a guy wearing a cheap suit. He’s either a used car dealer or an insurance salesman based on his outfit, and fiftyish. He thinks her name is Anastasia and he’s gearing up to leave his wife for her. Other than a phone number, he has no idea where she lives. I pause long enough to type that phone number into a note file on my phone in case I need it later. While I have it out, I send Ashley an ‹I’m okay› text.

  I also try to fix this poor dude, but without the added emotional boost of protecting my friends or family, I’m not quite powerful enough to dislodge Petra’s work on a complete stranger. Grr. After a few minutes, I give up mashing my face into a wall of gummi bear stuff and keep searching the room.

  Upon reaching the tables, I catch a surprising break.

  The three vampires I met at the Foo Fighters show are there, doing pretty much the same thing the Portland Lost Ones did: hanging out with humans who get drunk, and sipping from them to inherit the buzz.

  I hurry over to their table and fall into the only empty chair. “Hey.”

  “Oh, wow. They let you in the door?” asks Amy. She’s added a blue streak in her blonde that wasn’t there last time.

  “We’re above IDs,” I say, parodying her line from the concert.

  “Hey kiddo.” Luke winks.

  Dante mumbles while giving me a thumbs-up, since he’s got a woman’s wrist in his mouth.

  “I’m trying to find someone. Do any of you know where I can find Petra Stanovaya?”

  “Oh, yeah, that messed up chick,” says Luke.

  Amy shakes her head with a clearly displeased throat noise. “I really hate arrogant people. Please tell me you’re not like trying to suck up to her or anything?”

  “Yo, that bitch is weird,” says Dante.

  “No, we’re having a bit of an… issue. I need to convince her to forget I exist.”