Vampire Innocent (Book 10): A Vampire’s Guide To Adulting

by Cox, Matthew S.

  Glim chuckles when the door closes. “It’s strange to me to see your siblings taking everything so casually.”

  “Did you let her see you?”

  “Of course not. Isn’t it obvious? She didn’t scream.”

  I shake my head. “No. This is Sierra we’re talking about. She’d think you are amazing. Sophia might flinch at first, but she’s super brittle. Sam’s got a freakin’ imp living in his room. You wouldn’t shock him.”

  “Perhaps.” Glim glances at me. “Are you going to eat the cupcake?”

  “In a bit. I just came back from feeding. Still kinda full.”

  “Ahh yes. Good call. Bad to mix cake and blood.”

  “I saw on the internet you can use blood to replace eggs in cake mix.”

  He laughs. “Do you believe everything you read on the internet?”

  “Didn’t say it’s true. Just that I saw it.”

  “Technicalities.” He flashes a toothy smile.

  “Hey, do you think it’s silly to care about birthdays anymore?”

  “Not for you.” He gazes off at the stars. “Personally, I gave up caring about birthdays around your age. Used to think they stopped meaning anything when it no longer became all about the presents. I wasn’t a child anymore, so no point making a big production out of it. Didn’t want to inconvenience everyone by making them feel like they needed to get me anything. Nowadays, I’ve come to realize birthdays aren’t really for the person who’s getting older. They’re for everyone around them. You still have family. Of course you should care.”

  I lean against him. “Didn’t you say I shouldn’t be sad today? Grr. Is this a vampire side effect? Why do I keep thinking about a depressing future like sixty years away?”

  “Teenagers don’t normally think about the future so far away, but you’ve also cheated death. Tends to re-frame priorities. Besides, it’s normal to lose one’s parents. Happens to everyone for the most part. Except in tragic circumstances.”

  The look in his eye tells me he saw ‘tragic circumstances’ happen right in front of him while serving as a soldier in Iraq. Adult children go to their parents’ funerals. It’s the natural order of things, not the other way around. Dammit. There I go thinking sad thoughts again.

  “Yeah. You’re right. Birthdays don’t really age well. Once you’re no longer a kid, they’re way less cool.”

  “Easy fix for that.” He nudges me. “Don’t grow up.”

  “Okay, I won’t. I’ll stay eighteen forever.”

  He laughs.

  A flash of purple-blue light accompanies a pop and fizzle on the deck beside me. I look down at Klepto—Sophia’s kitten ‘familiar’—who’s appeared out of thin air. She’s got a large (compared to her) plush Siamese cat in her mouth… or as much as something six times her size can be ‘in her mouth.’

  “Mew,” says Klepto.

  “I believe she said happy birthday.” Glim squats and skritches her behind the ear.

  I crouch, pat her on the head, and take the plush. Klepto sits, peering up at me, her sparkling teal eyes overflowing with hope. At least, she looks as if she’s desperate for me to like the birthday gift she got me. Probably reading too much into a kitten face, but damn if she doesn’t give off serious hopeful vibes. Given her habit of randomly acquiring items from nearby homes, I’m a bit guilty over the possibility I’m holding some kid’s purloined stuffed animal. However, this plushie looks brand new, so I’m hoping she yoinked it from a store. Yeah, it still smells like Target or Walmart.

  It’s still stealing, but depriving a giant corporation of a dollar or two doesn’t bother me.

  “Aww, thank you!” I scoop the real cat up and hug her.

  She makes a tribble noise and nuzzles up to my neck.

  Dalton re-emerges from the house. “Dear, you should probably head back inside. The young lad is about ready to mount a search party to locate you.”

  I chuckle. “Yeah. You guys are welcome to join us.”

  “Would, but I’ve got an engagement.” Dalton winks.

  He’s not blowing me off. Being the one who gave me the Transference, he can see into my head. It’s less mind reading and more like standing in the same room as my consciousness while it loudly narrates my life. He knows I am sincere about inviting him in, but also want some alone time with Hunter.

  “As do I.” Glim shocks me by initiating a brief hug. “You’ve still got a few hours of birthday left. Enjoy them.”

  “Oh, I’m sure she will enjoy it very much.” Dalton wags his eyebrows.

  Right. Time to blush.

  Glim vanishes in a puff of darkness. Dalton salutes me before zooming into the air. Klepto licks my ear and teleports away—probably back to Sophia’s bed.

  Hmm. It’s a little after ten. Pretty sure I’m going to keep Hunter up past his bedtime tonight. Oops. Oh well. Birthdays are once a year, right? Time to do that ‘act my age’ thing and be a little harmlessly careless.

  5

  The Fine Art of the Ambush

  February brings a cold snap as well as the yearly financial exploitation of cuteness known as the Girl Scout Cookie Empire.

  It’s hard to believe an entire month went by without anything supernaturally crazy happening. At least nothing crazier than taking Sophia to visit the mystics so she can play around with magic. The Peters brothers—Cody and Ben—who I met on our family road trip last summer have been peppering me with questions about vampires via Facebook constantly. They’re still ‘investigating’ their kooky neighbors. I swear the boys have vampire on the brain. Everyone they see who acts in any way slightly off normal they suspect of being a vampire.

  Meeting me has resulted in two changes to the way they deal with undead—at least in their minds. They no longer trust daylight to infallibly protect them from being spied on by vampires, and they also no longer act like every vampire is completely evil. Okay, so I made them excessively paranoid in one regard (merely by existing) but also gave them pause. After seeing me able to go out in the sunlight—to a point—they think vampires could be spying on them all the time. This is also due, in part, to their drastically overinflated sense of self. As if a pair of boys their age would be so great a threat to the undead community, spies would be coming after them.

  Cody and Ben Peters, names whispered fearfully in the shadows on the tongues of vampires from New York to Los Angeles… not.

  They’ve glossed over the finer points of my relationship to the firey ball of ouch, though. As in, they ignore I can only tolerate gloomy days and how it’s only one (fairly rare) bloodline capable of being awake before sunset. As far as they’re concerned, any random vampire might be a threat during the day.

  Another thing I learned from Aurélie: the vast majority of vampires wanted the Transference. Of the people who asked for the change, almost all of them would’ve been disappointed to get ‘stuck’ as an Innocent since our greatest ‘power’ is appearing lifelike. No shapeshifting, magic, mass mind control, Hulk strength or so on. All the cool ‘Hollywood’ abilities are way out of reach. Stands to reason someone chasing undeath for power would turn their noses up at Innocents. Makes me think there could be some manner of ‘sorting hat’ process going on where whatever mechanism the Universe has to choose bloodlines pays some attention to what the person wants. Innocent might be the default for anyone who’s turned without having the vaguest notion of what’s going on. Or maybe the Universe knows me too well.

  Anyway, aside from Cody and Ben’s thrice-weekly doses of neurotic paranoia via FB messenger, my life has, for the past several weeks, been more or less like it would’ve been if I hadn’t become a vampire—with the obvious exception of my sleep-wake schedule and a giant teddy bear in the corner of my room. Can’t do anything about the stupid sunlight shutting me down. Schoolwork, housework, helping the ’rents take the Littles back and forth to taekwondo (for Sam), sword lessons (for Sierra) and dance class (for Sophia) is a pleasant offset from worrying about old-as-hell vampires getting a bug up
their butt about me. The hardcore ones who really don’t like me remaining part of a mortal family appreciate me laying low. At least, I assume they do since nothing’s happened and no nasty messages have shown up.

  Okay, normality hasn’t been entirely total.

  Aurélie requested the Littles and I show up to sit for another painting, which we did the last Saturday of January. Sophia adored the elaborate dress. Sierra tolerated it. Sam got to wear shorts since she painted him as a faun. Honestly, I think Aurélie has taken a liking to interacting with them—to a point. Maybe it’s the reason she’s collected so many creepy dolls. Having some real children around who both know what she is and are cool about it has to brighten her existence. She’s old enough to where most kids and animals instinctively sense her power and often want to run like hell.

  Sophia also adores going to visit her since she’s into the dolls. I don’t know how the girl who gets nightmares at stupid movies can tolerate creepy-pocalypse of the doll room. Any rational person would take one step into a large room where all four walls are shelves containing a thousand dolls, many of which truly feel like they’re staring at you—because they really are—and turn right the hell back around.

  I don’t mind covering for the ’rents as a limo driver so my sibs can get to after school activities. Feels normal and it doesn’t inconvenience me at all—except for the occasional too-sunny afternoon. Two parents can’t shuttle three kids to three different places at the same time. Driving’s comparatively slow and tedious, but I can’t fly when the sun’s up.

  And again, it feels normal.

  Speaking of shuttling the kids around, as I said, with February comes Girl Scout cookies. Sierra’s not part of it this year partly due to it being ‘lame’ and partly, I think, because the supernatural stuff going on in our lives is bothering her way more than she lets on. However, she still wants to come along to the supermarket while Sophia sells cookies by the door. She doesn’t mind helping her little sister out as long as she doesn’t have to wear a ‘stupid uniform.’ Bear in mind, to Sierra, most clothing other than T-shirts and jeans is ‘lame’.

  On a bleary Wednesday afternoon, the three of us show up outside the Safeway in Woodinville a little after four, joining two other Girl Scouts (Madison and Ariana) plus Madison’s mom, Trish. They’re both younger than my sisters. Madison is eight, her friend Ariana, nine. All four girls erupt in chatter while I unload Sophia’s cookie inventory from the Sentra to the sidewalk, then go find a parking space. By the time I’ve walked back, my sisters have stashed the boxes under the tablecloth and set up their display. Madison and Ariana have their own stock. Even though they’re in the same troop as Sophia, they’re sorta competing here, but the kids don’t really care who sells the most cookies. Some girls go completely insane trying to rule the sales charts and ‘beat’ the rest of their troop. Ninety percent chance those girls grow up to be middle managers whose employees daydream about setting their cars on fire.

  Sophia’s all smiles whenever someone enters or leaves the store. She’s a little shy so she doesn’t call out to anyone, rather hoping the supernatural allure of Girl Scout cookies does the work for her. Some people resent the ambush marketing by the Safeway door and refuse to even look at us. Others seem to appreciate her silent ‘cookies are here if you want them’ approach.

  Sierra leans on the wall next to me, a few steps behind the table since she’s not doing the Girl Scout thing anymore. “You gonna help her out again?”

  “Can’t until the sun’s down.” I shrug. “Might encourage a few sales if she’s way under quota before we leave.”

  “Hmm.” Sierra folds her arms, bracing one foot against the wall. “Is it technically stealing to make people buy cookies?”

  No argument there. “Yeah, but it’s not quite as bad as just stealing. I only gave people who almost bought them a little nudge. It isn’t the same as forcing people who can’t afford it to buy them.”

  “You’d make a lousy paladin.” Sierra grins.

  Dad’s run a few D&D games for us, but it isn’t exactly something we do all the time. “Notice I’ve never played one? They’re more concerned with law than doing what’s right.”

  “Depends on what god they follow.” Sierra starts rambling about some of the different fictional deities, some of which would want their paladins to do what’s ‘right’ rather than follow manmade laws.

  Pretty sure mind-controlling people to buy cookies would still bother those gods.

  See, she’s way more into D&D than I am. Or Pathfinder. I forget which one they like more.

  Maybe one in three people heading into the store stop at the table to say they’ll be back on the way out, somewhat better than last year. Of people leaving the Safeway, roughly half pick up at least one box of cookies. Hmm. Way more than usual. Sophia’s wearing a cat-that-got-the-canary smile. Ooh, is she using magic somehow? I mean, beyond her adorableness?

  Probably because she’s blonde, cute, and skinny enough to look like a starving orphan, she got the part of ‘child Cosette’ in her dance school’s adaptation of Les Mis. The instructor coaching Sophia on how to make a sad, lost, alone, and begging for help face probably counts as being guilty of a war crime. It’s as good as mind-control on anyone who isn’t a sociopath. However, I suspect she’s using magic beyond acting right now.

  Madison and Ariana have no qualms over approaching people and asking them if they want cookies. In the moments when no one is close enough to tempt, they explain to Sophia some techniques one of the other moms taught them about the best ways to metaphorically pounce on people. Try getting their attention on the way in rather than out since people entering the store aren’t in as much of a hurry to get home for example. Or when someone doesn’t notice the table, don’t say anything before they’re too close to avoid it without being obvious. Some people might be self-conscious at being visibly rude to smiling kids in public. Apparently, the woman who spoke at the troop meeting about this works in marketing and came up with a bunch of advice on how to commercialize cuteness.

  “Whenever someone buys cookies, you gotta be really happy and smile a lot,” says Madison.

  “Yeah.” Ariana demonstrates the giant grin. “Old people like seeing kids smile.”

  Madison holds up a finger. “If someone keeps walking by, look sad. It might make them feel guilty enough to come back when they leave the store. Try to make eye contact so they know you’re sad at them.”

  “Wow,” whispers Sierra. “They might as well skip right to pickpocketing.”

  I chuckle. “They’re NPC merchants, not rogues.”

  Sierra snickers.

  “The sad face doesn’t really work.” Sophia sighs. “Everyone ignored me last year. Some even gave me nasty looks. I ended up crying for real and it didn’t help. This year, I’m trying to be as non-annoying as possible. If someone wants cookies, they’ll stop. Everyone knows what Girl Scout Cookies are. Besides, you guys are talking to everyone anyway.”

  “Soph’s playing ‘good cop,” I whisper to Sierra, who snickers again.

  We hang out watching the girls sell cookies, chatting about random things like how weird it is she’s too shy to talk to people walking by but will dance and (sometimes) sing for a recital. She’s not a huge fan of being in front of a crowd, but evidently enjoys the theatrical part enough to cope. Helps it’s kinda dark and she can’t really see the audience in a proper theater. Far as I know, she’s still wanting to go into cinematic cosmetics and/or special effects, so being around performers is somewhat related. Cookie sales are noticeably better than last year prior to when I decided to help. The day isn’t terribly bright nor gloomy, but the covered sidewalk along the storefront is reasonably comfortable. Gazing into the parking lot is a little painful to my eyes due to the brightness, but at least I’m not smoldering.

  The table gets a fair amount of business as well as the usual assortment of people who hurry by pretending not to notice us.

  “That mom who gave the kid
s the marketing advice set up her daughter’s table outside a pot dispensary. Kinda evil if you ask me.” Trish glances at her phone to check the time.

  “Evil would be putting a table outside a Weight Watchers place,” says Sierra. “Waving snacks at potheads is smart.”

  “What’s a pothead?” asks Madison.

  Trish gives me a dirty look.

  I shrug at her. “Don’t look at me. I’m the older sister, not Mom.”

  “Oh, come on.” Sierra sighs. “Your kid’s talking about ambush marketing and you’re gonna be upset with me for saying ‘pothead’?”

  A mild sense of warning comes over me for no obvious reason. Can’t be anything supernatural since it’s daytime.

  “Umm. Shit,” mutters Sierra.

  I raise an eyebrow. “Huh?”

  Sierra flicks her gaze to the left, indicating two people taking a shopping cart from the rows lined up by the store. They’re in their forties and relatively normal looking. Danger doesn’t click with me until the guy pulls the cart loose and turns so I can see his face: Mr. and Mrs. Deacon… Scott’s parents.

  Time feels like it grinds to a halt, the entire world stopping around us. Oh, awkward. As soon as he spots me, he freezes in place and goes from seeming annoyed at being dragged off to the store to giving me this glare like he wants to wring my neck. Neither of them move for a moment, entirely focused on me. Mrs. Deacon scowls accusingly, as if her son’s death was my fault. It’s like we’re a pair of gunslingers having a showdown. A tumbleweed rolls by in the distance behind them.

  Just kidding, it’s a stray toddler. We don’t have tumbleweeds in Washington.

  I swear Mrs. Deacon is a total ‘Karen.’ It’s hilarious her name actually is Karen. She’s even got the ‘let me talk to your manager’ hairdo with bleach-blonde tips. The only thing keeping me from biting her head off (verbally) is slight confusion about the extent of my responsibility. No, I don’t blame myself whatsoever for him cheating on me. Breaking up with him was the right thing to do. My error came in not heeding the warning signs and ending it long before I did. Also, picking a secluded place turned out to be a mistake, too.