“You are not nuts.” I ruffle her hair. “Where did you get that idea?”
“Counselor at the school thinks I’m ‘emotionally distant’ because I don’t have a billion friends and don’t laugh at random stupid crap. It’s fine. He’s a tool.”
I snicker.
“He is. He thinks everyone who isn’t a copy paste of everyone else is broken.”
“This guy Greg from my class always used to say schools were merely factories to produce people smart enough to run the machinery but dumb enough not to question authority.”
“Are you quoting George Carlin?” calls Dad from his office. “Kinda sounds like it.”
“Who?” we ask at the same time.
Her widening eyes function as a visible progress bar for her growing realization our father heard the entire conversation. She goes beet red and stares at me in a ‘please erase his memory’ way. Danger Wilhelmina Robinson—the parental unit has heard Child Two claim to ‘kinda like’ a boy.
“Ack. I have failed in my duties as a parent!” He laughs. “Okay, maybe his stuff is not exactly for little kids, but none of you are little anymore. I shall rectify this grievous failure of my parenting as soon as possible.”
“Umm, okay.” I shrug.
Weird purple light and a rushing noise come from the kitchen.
What the…?
I leap to my feet and run down the hall past the dining room. Upon reaching the kitchen archway, I skid to a stop, staring in awe at a three-foot-wide circle of dark purple glow hanging in the air by the cabinets. It kinda looks like a tiny version of a magical portal from video games and fantasy movies—however, it’s a bit small to summon the Orcish hordes. A small demonic hand reaches out of the swirl, opens the cabinet door, and rummages for snacks. Within seconds of me seeing it, the clawed hand claims a bag of Doritos and recedes into the mini-portal, which promptly vanishes.
Oh… just Blix.
“What’s on fire?” asks Dad from the hall behind me.
“Strange light. Nothing to worry about. The little demon wanted snacks.”
Dad blinks. “Sam’s got magic, too?”
“Not that little demon. Blix.” I snicker.
He grins, then hugs me, his grip a little firmer than usual. “Happy birthday, hon.”
I’m sure the ’rents are going to be dwelling on almost losing me all day, so I let him squeeze me as much as he needs to remind himself I’m still here. “Thanks, Dad.”
“How’s it feel to be nineteen?”
“The same as it did to be eighteen. It’s only a year. Going from seventeen to eighteen is a much bigger deal.”
“True.” He releases the hug, leaving his hands on my shoulders.
“Aww, Dad. Don’t go emo on me. You’re getting your wish, way more than you ever wanted. I’m going to be in your hair forever. Never moving out.”
He chuckles. “At least your mother and I won’t need to end up in a care home when we’re elderly. We’ll have you to take care of us.”
“Are you trying to scare me off? Not gonna work.” My turn to get a little emo. “I’m kinda dreading watching you guys get older, but I’m definitely gonna be here for you.”
“I’ll help out, too,” says Sierra in a quiet voice, right behind him. “Probably not gonna move too far away. I will be getting my own place as soon as I can though.”
“Having your own place means you get to do all the cleaning.” I fold my arms.
Sierra bites her lip. “Isn’t that what husbands are for? Why else does anyone get married?”
Dad coughs into laughter.
True, he used to do more housework than Mom given the vast difference in their work hours, but I’ve been absorbing most of it lately. No big deal. I’ve got time on my hands.
Sam thunders down the stairs, trots up to us, holding his hands up like a surgeon after scrubbing. His arms are covered almost to the elbow in red sticky goop. “Guys, we have a small problem.”
“You’re not allowed to do sacrifices in the house,” says Sierra. “You’re gonna get grounded.”
He shakes his head. “No. Not sacrificing anything.”
“Why are your hands all slimy?” asks Sierra.
“If you don’t stop, you’re gonna go blind.” I smile.
Sam looks at me like I spoke Greek. “I didn’t do anything.”
Dad snort-laughs. “What happened?”
“Ro got attacked by something in the mirrorverse on his way over. It tried to eat him, but Blix killed it.” Sam points at the stairs. “He’s covered in this gunk and can’t move.”
“The gunk paralyzed him?” asks Dad. “Why did you touch it?”
“No, this stuff is only mega sticky. It shot him with a quill.” Sam cringes. “He flew out of the mirror and stuck to the wall. I couldn’t get him down.”
We rush upstairs to the bathroom.
Ronan, covered completely in raspberry jam—rather a substance surprisingly similar to it in appearance—hangs on the wall above the bathtub, upside down. Dark striations in the red slime kinda makes him look like a newborn foal mere seconds after falling out of a mare. He’s still breathing, but looks far too pale. A six-inch porcupine-style quill sticks out of him, above his left collarbone. The poor kid is making a face like Freddy Kreuger offered him pickle-flavored ice cream. I’m sure he would’ve run screaming from whatever he saw if he hadn’t been paralyzed.
Blix, perched like a gargoyle on the sink nearby, rambles incomprehensibly at Sam, who nods.
“He’s gonna be okay. It’ll wear off.” Sam approaches the sink.
The imp glances at the faucet; the hot water turns itself on.
My brother begins trying to wash his hands, but the soap bar sticks to his hand.
Dad grabs Ronan at the hips and tries to peel him off the wall. He struggles for a little while, but gives up before the tiles—or the boy’s jeans—fail. “Wow, this is… strong. Umm. Dammit.”
“He can’t let go, can he?” asks Sierra.
“Aha! Here it is.” I snap my fingers. “This is the weird I’d been expecting. At least it’s something relatively tame.”
“Tame? He looks half dead.” Sierra steps into the bathtub and crouches to eye level with Ronan. “Are you awake? Blink once for yes.”
Ronan closes his eyes.
“He didn’t blink.” Sierra peers up at Dad. “He just closed his eyes.”
“Ro probably tried to blink… and his eyes got stuck,” says Sam. “I can’t even wash this stuff off.”
Sierra stands. “Are you gonna give him a bath?”
“Not sure how… I can’t even let go of him. We’d have to throw him in the tub, clothes and all.” Dad leans back, face reddening, but gives up trying to pull away in a few seconds. “I’m going to lose skin. Hate to say it, but he’s probably going to have to hang out here until Sarah’s strong enough to pluck him loose… and tile’s going to break off the wall.”
“Cover the window and close the door,” says Sam. “She doesn’t need sunset, only dark. Soap isn’t working.”
I lean out into the hall. “Soph?”
“Doing homework,” yells my younger sister.
“Can we borrow you for a minute? It’s important.”
She peeks out of her room. “What’s up?”
“An excuse for you to try doing magic that won’t get you in trouble with Dad.”
“Ooh!” She scampers over.
I point at Ronan.
Sophia screams and grabs onto me.
“Relax. He’s okay. Just paralyzed. Can you get the goop off him?”
“Eww. What is it?” Sophia continues clinging to me.
Sam waves his hand, trying to get the soap bar to fall back into the sink. He waves his hand so damn fast I expect there to be two soap bars when he stops. But we’re not in a Bugs Bunny cartoon. My life makes less sense. Alas, the soap bar is truly adhered to him. It’s not going anywhere. “A giant slug thing tried to eat him in the mirrorverse.”
&nb
sp; “He’s been using mirrors to go back and forth for months and nothing like this happened.” I guide Sophia into the bathroom. “Did he do something careless?”
Blix shakes his little head, rambling at me.
“No,” says Sam. “Stuff moves around in there. The slug got him before he noticed it. It wouldn’t have been a problem if Ro understood demonic. He didn’t realize Blix was yelling at him to look out.”
The imp flails his arms and babbles. Pretty sure he said something like, “I tried to tell him.”
“Open the window,” says Sophia.
Sierra maneuvers around Dad, climbs up to stand on the toilet, and opens the small window behind it.
After a few minutes of making faces, Sophia raises her hands—a needlessly theatrical gesture from what I understand. The red slime undulates in response. She focuses on Ronan for a little while before pulling her hands at the air like she’s peeling the wrapping paper off a giant present. The slime stretches forward, losing its grip on the boy as well as my father’s hands. Dad keeps holding him so he doesn’t fall straight down onto his head in the bathtub. Ronan’s arms flop downward, his body as limp as a life-size silicone doll.
Sam runs over, holding his hands up. Sophia de-gunks him, too, adding the slop to the original mass she separated from Ronan, then sends the orb of foulness floating out the window. It hangs in space for a few seconds before rocketing off like a bullet. Ronan, no longer glued to the wall, flops into Dad’s arms.
“Where’d you throw it?” asks Dad.
“Umm. Dunno.” Sophia grimaces. “Sorry. It didn’t want to be moved. I had to get rid of it fast before it did something bad.”
Is it evil of me to daydream about it landing in Mr. Niedermeyer’s backyard? Nah, it’s moving way too fast to come down so close. Hopefully, it doesn’t hurt anyone.
“Hey, his eyes are open.” Sierra points.
“Yeah, the slime glued them closed.” Sam looks his hands over, shrugs, and drops his arms at his sides.
“You had interdimensional slug saliva on you. Wash your hands.” Sierra points at the sink.
My brother again examines his hands, shrugs, and decides to scrub them. “Ro had it all over his face.”
Sophia gags. “La la la la la. Got more homework to do. Stop talking about slug spit.” She runs out.
Dad shifts Ronan upright and eases him down to sit in the tub. After a moment of studying the quill, he plucks it out.
Blix mutters at Sam.
“Dad, can you put him in my room? Blix said he might be able to make the venom wear off faster.”
“Is it going to involve blood?” Dad raises an eyebrow.
Blix shakes his head.
“Okay.” Dad carries the boy out, Sam following.
“Excitement.” Sierra exhales. “Think he’s gonna start riding his bike here instead of taking the mirror?”
“Nah. We’re talking about boys.” I glance at the mirror. “It’s gonna take more than one slug to scare them off from doing something recklessly fun. Walking here on the other side is like going one or two blocks. They live a few miles away.”
“I’m not afraid of slugs.”
“Not even ones big enough to swallow you whole?” I ask.
She mulls. “Nah. They can’t be fast. But I also wouldn’t risk going into the mirror world to skip a couple miles on a bike.”
“Exactly my point about boys.” I wink. “There’s a reason girls live longer.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re all downstairs in the dining room playing the board game Descent. Dad’s tossed a ham in the oven. Whatever Blix did for Ronan worked. The kid’s back to normal and completely unfazed by his near-ingestion. He’d been staring at something shimmery in the air and didn’t notice the giant slug until after it shot an envenomed quill into him. Blix mentions the quill flew about as fast as someone throwing a pencil, so he probably could’ve dodged it if he saw it coming.
Yeah, no one at this table would have any difficulty outrunning a five-foot flesh Twinkie.
And I really hope to death I never again hear or think those particular words in the same order.
A little after six, Mom returns home from work. She and Dad go to the kitchen to get started on dinner, plus whatever they’re going to do party-wise for my birthday. Hopefully, they don’t go nuts. Ashley shows up soon after, followed by Michelle and Hunter arriving almost simultaneously a few minutes after 6:30 p.m.
Hunter doesn’t appear to care my parents are in the next room. As soon as he’s in the door, he’s kissing me. Naturally, this draws teasing and laughing from the Littles. It’s only a tame ‘I’ve missed you’ sort of kiss, far short of what we’d rather be doing. But, not with an audience.
After about an hour, food chases the board game off the table.
Except for having extra people here, it feels more like an ordinary family dinner than like Christmas or Thanksgiving. As expected, Mom is upset, more visibly so than Dad, but I can tell he’s every bit as misty-eyed as she is. Whenever she catches Hunter making lovey eyes at me, she chokes up. Not sure if she’s mourning the grandkids I won’t be able to give her or if she’s happy for us.
It’s a little early to worry yet, but hopefully, my birthday doesn’t become a permanent painful memory for them. It’s not like I died on or even close to it. This is only the first one since everything happened, so it’s understandable for it to be a reminder of almost losing me. Next year, it shouldn’t hit them as hard. Honestly, Christmas hit them harder than today emotionally. Neither one of them is openly crying tonight.
Fortunately, Ashley is like a beacon of positive energy. Between her, Sophia, and Sam, our house is painfully loud.
After dinner, Mom brings out a cake. Naturally, the Littles plus Ronan go ballistic. Ashley darts into the kitchen. Initially, I assume she’s going for silverware or plates, until the scrape of the patio door opening proves otherwise. I sit there, eyebrow raised, wondering why she’d go out onto the deck in January. She comes back in right away, closing the door suspiciously hard—like she shut it using her foot.
I’m about to get up to ask her what the hell she’s doing when she backs into view lugging a five-foot tall teddy bear.
“Happy birthday!” yells Ashley. “I’d have gotten you a bigger one, but they didn’t have any.”
“He’s adorable!” yells Sophia. “Can I hug him?”
Ashley drags the giant teddy bear into the living room and sets him seated on the floor beside the sofa. “Sarah should get first dibs since it’s her birthday.”
“Okay, okay…” Mostly so Sophia stops staring ‘please’ at me, I get up and hug the bear.
Whoa. This thing is so soft. If I wasn’t a vampire, I’d probably have been unable to get back up, lulled off into a nap by the awesome plush-ness.
“Did you enchant this guy with consciousness drain?” I ask. “It’s trying to put me to sleep.”
“Seriously?” Mom shakes her head. “What is Sarah going to do with a giant teddy bear?”
“Exactly what I’m doing right now. Hug him. Maybe sleep on him.”
Sam laughs. “You gonna name him Hunter?”
Hunter’s face reddens.
Dad finds his cake highly interesting.
To my horror, Mom bursts into laughter. Sophia and Sierra giggle conspiratorially.
Ashley stares open-mouthed at Mom. Ronan and Sam either don’t understand or ignore it.
Right, so… I scrape the tattered bits of my dignity up off the floor and slink back to the table. Sophia saves me by leaping onto the teddy bear in a flying tackle while squealing in delight. Michelle gives me a little box wrapped in gold paper containing a couple cute bracelets. The Littles all present me with handmade birthday cards.
“Welcome to adulthood,” says Dad, handing me a pink envelope.
Laughing, I open it to find an ordinary birthday card containing a Starbucks gift card—and a handwritten message under the printed ‘Happy Birthday.’
You
were our first, and did such a good job we had to have three more. The calendar might say you’re all grown up now, but you’ll forever be our little girl. Every minute we have together is a precious treasure. Love, Mom and Dad.
Okay… my turn to cry.
“Aww, guys. You got sappy.”
“Lemme read it!” Sophia reaches for the card.
“All you got her was a card?” asks Sam. “It’s her birthday?”
Dad coughs away the lump in his throat. “It’s why I said ‘welcome to adulthood.’ All grown-ups get for their birthday is another year older. Maybe a gift card or a pair of socks.”
Mom silently walks over and hugs me.
“But Sarah’s not a grown-up.” Sam flails his arms. “She’s still eighteen. Like forever.”
Mom squeezes me harder.
“Eighteen is legally a grown-up.” Sierra adds herself to our hug.
“Depends on who you ask.” Hunter shrugs. “Some people think thirty-year-olds are still kids.”
Somberness hangs over us for a moment before Dad produces a gift-wrapped box. “Okay, I suppose she still has some kid left in her. Couldn’t resist.”
“Yay!” Sam cheers. “Presents!”
“Aww, Dad.” I drag the Sierra-Mom hug over to him.
“Go on, open it.” He smiles.
I take the box, slice the wrapping paper open with a claw, and peel it back to reveal a mini Nintendo NES. “What the heck?”
“It’s got like 150 games in it. All the original ones from the Eighties.” He beams.
“This gift is so Dad it hurts.” I chuckle.
“Well, you are both immortal and have superhuman reflexes. You might actually be able to beat Ghosts & Goblins.” Dad makes a weird arcane hand sign as if trying to banish demonic powers.
Sierra sets her hands on her hips. “She already has.”
“We haven’t seen goblins… yet.” Sam wags his eyebrows.
I point at him. “Don’t jinx me.”
Everyone laughs.
“What do you want to do with the rest of your birthday?” asks Dad. “Movie? Party games? Board games?”
“Movie works. Anything really… just something we can do together.” I squeeze Mom’s hand.
Vampire Innocent (Book 10): A Vampire’s Guide To Adulting Page 4
