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

by Cox, Matthew S.

  Since Aurélie doesn’t visibly react to him acknowledging me before her, she must have been expecting it. No one is throwing off vibes like I screwed up, so it’s possible for me to stay somewhat calm. Never did like having to go see the principal, so to speak.

  “Hello, Mr. Wolent.” I freeze, unsure if bowing, curtseying, or something else is appropriate.

  Turns out, he’s happy with a handshake.

  After letting go of my hand, he faces Aurélie. “Good evening to you, Miss Merlier.”

  “A pleasure, Arthur.”

  He ceremonially kisses her hand. Yeah, I’m totes cool with the shake. His small group of hangers-on still make faces at me in varying degrees of pity, mockery, or ‘give me a break.’ It’s the outfit, mostly. This dress is so totally extra.

  “Sarah,” says Wolent, approaching me again. “I’d like you to do a slight favor for me, bring you into the community in an official sense. You’ve had six months to get a feel for this new life, and it’s time for you to be considered a full member.”

  Unicorns and bunnies!

  “Okay. Great.” I manage a brittle smile, concentrating on cute things so neither Wolent nor Aurélie catch me being underwhelmed at what should probably be a big deal.

  Maybe I shouldn’t be unenthusiastic about this. Becoming a ‘full-fledged’ vampire is an entirely political thing having no bearing on my abilities. I’m not a character in a video game where achieving ‘full-fledged’ status unlocks some new power. No matter what I do, it’s not going to change the truth of what I’ve become. I’ve spent so much energy focusing on the human-slash-family side of my life, I can’t really claim to be trying to walk in both worlds.

  In all honestly, it’s been like eighty-twenty. I don’t dislike or resent being turned, so perhaps I ought to pay a little more attention to the other part of my reality.

  Stefano and his group, likely in a constant state of eavesdropping on everything Wolent says whenever they can, edge closer. They look as though they’re contemplating a demand for me to disassociate myself from my mortal family in order to claim ‘full’ status among the vampires. I’m sure Wolent knows I’d have no problem remaining on the sidelines, especially if the price of admission to the ‘cool kids club’ is breaking off contact with my parents and siblings. Hell, the area has plenty of Lost Ones who couldn’t care less about vampire politics.

  Case in point: Dalton never goes to these soirees.

  Though, I’m not sure he counts as a ‘Seattle vampire.’ He tends to move around a lot. Though, after the recent problems in LA, he’s been sticking close to enjoy a presumption of Aurélie’s protection. She hasn’t said anything officially about him. Dalton’s hoping anyone who might give him a problem will assume by virtue of his being connected to me, Aurélie would be upset if anyone messed with him in her territory.

  “Of course,” I say. “Hopefully, you’re not going to ask me to hurt anyone.”

  A few of those watching us ‘aww’ at me. Unlike Sophia, I don’t adore being thought of as cute and harmless. Yeah, as vampires go, I’m overly squishy—as in I hate hurting people or animals. One of Paolo’s cretins actually called me a ‘social justice vampire’ a few weeks ago because I actually have empathy for humans and don’t get off on being crappy to people who are different. Whatever. Sure, every group has those who take things too far, but anyone who uses ‘social justice’ as an insult is almost certainly a selfish, entitled prick. I’m not out there screaming at people because plastic straws make seagulls cry. I just think people shouldn’t be shitty to each other, and humans—despite what some vampires think—are still people.

  Oh, the horror. Seriously dude, go punch a kitten or something if it bugs you so much I care about people other than myself.

  Wolent chuckles. “Nothing of the sort. I’d like you to deliver a message on my behalf to Cassandra Upton. She is, for lack of a more official term, the vampire in charge of the San Diego region.”

  Whew. Just a Fed Ex run? No problem. Oh, wait. How many other angry vampires are going to want to intercept this message?

  “You seem nervous.” He raises an eyebrow.

  “Wondering how sensitive the message is and if I should be on guard for problems.”

  “Ahh.” Wolent nods once. “A wise thought. Truly beyond your apparent years.”

  “Nah. I just watch a lot of movies.” I flash a cheesy smile. “Figured you were sending something sensitive if you didn’t want to e-mail it.”

  A murmur of laughter goes around the vampires close to us.

  “It is a traditional message which is hand-delivered.” Wolent turns to retrieve a scroll from a younger man standing behind him, like something straight out of the way old days. Wax seal and all.

  “Oh. Wow.” I accept the scroll. It’s about the size of the cardboard tube paper towels come on. “This is seriously old school. Are you going to warn me not to try opening it or a demon will pop out?”

  Wolent grins—good sign. Speaking with Furies is always a nerve-wracking experience. Sometimes, the slightest wrong thing can set them off in anger. It doesn’t necessarily mean instant doom. If I can survive long enough for their rational mind to take over again, I’ll be fine. Better still not to poke the sleeping bear in the first place. “No demons. It’s a simple yearly catch-up message. Think of it as a long-distance handshake. Routine political make nice type stuff.”

  I nod. Great, I’ve been promoted to undead intern. No point arguing. Even if this means I’m technically becoming part of Wolent’s ‘crew,’ better to have allies than be alone right? He wouldn’t be giving me a task unless he meant it as an overture of invitation. Not sure why I keep reaching for Mafia comparisons, but this totally feels like the first little job someone gets to show loyalty to the Don. My future invariably involves associating with vampires. Might as well make it official and align myself with Arthur Wolent.

  “I’ll deliver this message for you.” Say one thing, mean another. Yes, I’m taking my place in ‘vampire world’ and accepting the invitation to your… for lack of a better word, political party. I watch too many movies, don’t I? This is probably far less formal than the scenario playing out in my head. “You said bring it to Cassandra…?”

  “Upton. It is unlikely you’ll meet her directly.” Wolent waves for the man who brought the scroll to step forward.

  The guy approaches, handing me a purple business card for ‘Delirium,’ a night club in San Diego. Someone wrote a phone number in sharpie marker on the otherwise blank back.

  “Look for an Old Guard named Jermaine Warwick. That’s his number.” Wolent gestures at the card. “He’s Cassandra’s… what is the term they use nowadays? Personal assistant?”

  The other vampires around us chuckle again. Can’t tell if they’re humoring him or amused at how society has changed the term ‘secretary’ to personal assistant. One annoying part of being among vampires is having no idea how old anyone really is. The face of a handsome twenty-year-old guy might conceal an attitude like my Uncle Hank. Seriously, I hope never to see someone who appears young use the term ‘whipper snapper.’ I’d lose it and laugh in their face.

  And yeah, I still have trouble wrapping my head around Aurélie’s true age.

  “I can do that.” I bite my lip. “Would it be too much of a problem if I did it this weekend so I don’t miss classes? San Diego is kind of a haul.”

  The idea of me trying to ‘be normal’ by attending college doesn’t bother anyone the same way staying at home does. Aside from temporary mind-reading, becoming a vampire doesn’t allow a person to instantly obtain knowledge. Several of the people around me have, at one time or another, partaken of university courses or even inserted themselves into corporations. It does, however, garner another murmur of ‘aww how cute’ from the older ones. It’s more pity than derision, since they know I’m only doing it to feel normal. Most of them think I’m in denial, pretending to be human.

  Maybe they’re right. But… if the opposite to
pretending humanity is turning into an arrogant asshole like Paolo Cabrini, I don’t care what they think of me.

  Wolent smiles. “Yes, of course. I understand you’ve been left in charge of your siblings.”

  Paolo frowns at me. Yeah, he’s butthurt I’m ‘getting special privileges’ for having mortal family aware of my existence. Normally, if Arthur Wolent asks someone to do something, they go do that something right away. Vampires shouldn’t have mortal attachments, and so on. Whatever. Despite his fearsome reputation, Wolent’s a decent guy. At least, he’s being quite decent and friendly to me. Then again, he’s from the old world and I’m a young woman, so it’s normal for him to treat me a certain way. Even better, I’m a young woman with zero political aspirations and no desire to do anything to get on his bad side.

  “Thank you. I’ll make sure Jermaine gets this message as soon as possible.”

  He smiles, then proceeds to make routine small talk, asking me how things are going. It’s pointless to leave out details when speaking to a guy who’s easily capable of seeing the contents of my head. I’m not terribly comfortable talking about Sophia’s gift and Sam’s new friends with Stefano and Paolo—and worse, Eleanor St. Ives—listening in, even if any of them could mine the information straight out of my head if they really wanted to. It might be naïve of me, but I don’t have a problem with Wolent knowing about them. For one thing, he’d find out anyway. For another, he doesn’t seem likely to try using them… at least not until they’re adults. Besides, I don’t think Blix would be of much use to a serious vampire trying to do serious things. Dalton might use him in a manner similar to an old-timey burglar throwing a bag of marbles at the cops chasing him, but yeah… an imp’s ‘serious’ applications are limited. Fortunately, the last three months have been painfully normal. Nothing for the ‘forces of evil’ to use against me. I’ve been doing exactly what I promised: staying under the radar.

  Our conversation shifts from my recent lack of interesting existence to the war between the Aurora Aurea and Serene Lodge over in London. Curiously, Eleanor St. Ives walks right up to me, asking numerous questions about the conflict. This woman is talking to me like we have no prior history, and by that, I mean, she’s acting as if she never sent vampires to kick my ass, threaten my sister, and steal some special spyglass Dalton stole from another group of vampires—long story. Could probably write a whole book about the spyglass affair.

  St. Ives appears to be a few years shy of forty, with short blonde hair and the completely mirthless presence of an East German research scientist. She looks like the host of a TV talk show trying to make people feel bad about life or conducting random painful experiments on the studio audience.

  Her approach puts me instinctively on guard, but there is no way in hell she’s going to try anything in person right in front of Wolent and Aurélie.

  Whatever. She’s an Academic. According to Aurélie, most of them have an emotional range somewhere between Spock and a Fabergé desk lamp. She came after me months ago because she wanted something, not due to any anger, jealousy, or contempt. Probably the same reason she hasn’t pursued any revenge for me refusing to give her the old telescope. Tonight though, she’s behaving as if none of it happened. The instant being cordial with me can get her what she needs, she’s cordial. So damn creepy, like an AI. Again, whatever. I much prefer neutral parties to enemies, so I deal and talk to her. She’s probably doing the Jane Goodall thing and wanting to study mystics. As far as I know, she’s at least two centuries old and not in possession of any mystical skills. Generally speaking, when vampires possess magical talents, they’re Academics… but it’s rare.

  For the better part of the next twenty minutes, I explain as much as I can remember about the mystics without mentioning Sophia doing actual magic. As far as Eleanor gets to know, my sister broke a soul jar and the mystics needed her to be part of the ritual to get rid of the angry spirit.

  I’ve definitely got the feeling Aurélie wanted me here tonight specifically so Wolent could ask me to deliver his message. Such a trivial thing, I can’t understand why almost everyone attending this event paused to watch him give me this scroll to carry. It’s probably akin to a vampire’s coming out party, though—despite my outfit—I’m hardly a debutante being introduced to society in hopes of securing a husband from a powerful family.

  Since I don’t have pockets—or a purse at the moment—I have no choice but to hold the scroll like a fashion accessory for the rest of the night.

  They say small revenges taste the best, and in one case, it’s literal truth. Stefano and Paolo can’t bear to watch me pluck a few macarons from the actual food set up for the mortals. The faces they make, you’d think I ate cat poop off the sidewalk. Heh. It’s so petty, but making them squirm feels awesome.

  Hey, if I’m going to officially join this club, I might as well enjoy myself.

  13

  Up to No Good

  I make it home from the vampire social a few minutes shy of three in the morning.

  Thankfully, the rain stopped at some point during the event, considering the scroll didn’t come with any sort of protective covering. This thing is totally like the way people sent letters back in medieval times. Guess I’m the young scout sent off on horseback to a foreign land, carrying the king’s words. Sounds much cooler to think of basically running a Fed Ex quest in terms of epic fantasy, right?

  The Littles are fairly good about not invading my room and rummaging. I mean, they freely come in here whenever they want, but they’re not a destructive force. Still, it’s probably a good idea to put this letter in something to protect it. A Pringles can would be ideal, though perhaps greasy. If delivering old timey messages becomes a habit, I might have to make a scroll carrier out of PVC.

  For now, I stick the letter in my desk drawer and get going on homework. Ferrying the Littles all over the place has cut into my study time, resulting in a fairly tall pile of work in need of doing. Since comp sci and calculus are coming up again Friday, I need to get their work done first. Everything else can wait until next week. The weekend should offer me enough—aww crap.

  I’m going to burn the entire weekend delivering a damn message. San Diego is roughly 1,100 miles as the crow flies away from Cottage Lake. Flying myself there will consume one entire night. According to the GPS on my iPhone, my normal max flight speed is about 120 miles an hour. I can strain myself and get up to 150 or so, but it’s tiring. Basically lasts as long as I could sprint before as a mortal. Cruising at 120 is as tireless as walking.

  There is no way in hell I’m going to ask Sophia to attempt teleporting us to San Diego. For one thing, neither of us have ever been there before. Second problem: I don’t want to be face-groped by a giant black tentacle again. Long story.

  Hmm. Internet time. The sun’s going down close to six at the moment, at least until this Sunday when Daylight Savings shifts it forward an hour to seven. Grr. So sunset on Saturday is at like seven minutes after six. According to the web, sunrise in San Diego is going to be 6:05 a.m. That gives me about twelve hours of darkness, though more realistically eleven or ten. I need to factor in some time to find shelter. Good chance the San Diego sun is not going to be as forgiving to me as Seattle weather.

  It’s tempting to charm my way onto a commercial flight. Jets fly way faster than vampires. Of course, using mind-control powers to get on an airplane potentially exposes my existence as a vampire to ordinary civilization. I could purchase a ticket, but airlines viciously screw people buying tickets the same day as the flight. Even if I bought them today for a flight Saturday, I’d pay through the nose.

  Do I feel ethically challenged about using mental powers to get on a plane? No, not really. For one thing, the flight is happening whether or not I’m on it, so it’s not as though I’m costing them anything at all. Second, what airlines do with their fares is worse. Like, one time, my mother needed to fly to Colorado on short notice for work. Same-day ticket was over $1,000. If she’d booked it mont
hs in advance, it would’ve been closer to $280. I mean seriously. They might as well straight up rob people while holding a gun to their head.

  Anyway… A commercial flight is a little under three hours.

  Hmm. Tempting, but risky.

  Heck with it. I’ll fly on my own and sprint as much as I can. Sacrifices an entire night to getting there, but at least it’ll give me enough time to find a hiding place before sunrise.

  Right then. Homework time.

  I dive into the comp sci book, reading the suggested chapters. The more I read, the more it’s obvious to me my major is going to change. It’s not overly boring or complicated. Honestly, programming is possible for me to do, just not anything I’m in love with like Sierra adores video games. I can totally see her turning into one of those reclusive programming geniuses who develops groundbreaking video games and becomes a household name among the geek community. Or maybe she’ll do a one-eighty and end up working as a stunt person for fantasy movies. She’s really taking to the sword class. Of all the things she could study… sword fighting is about as useful as getting a PhD in Aramaic.

  Maybe slightly more so. It would be really damn impressive if she could use Aramaic to kill vampires or imps attacking us. I mean useful in terms of earning a living.

  After comp sci, it’s calculus time. Yay. I’m so excited.

  Again, it’s tedious rather than impossibly difficult. Nothing I can’t figure out with a bit of back-and-forth to the textbook and Google. Math has never been my favorite subject, but I don’t hate or even fear it. It just kinda is. Sophia loves it. Sierra dislikes it. The wail is going to be epic the day she realizes computer programming, even for video games, is like all math.

  I manage to finish the calculus homework by 5:49 a.m., roughly an hour before sunrise. Given how crazy my schedule is at the moment, I keep right on working, getting started on the short essay due for philosophy class tomorrow. Since this is entirely coming out of my head—based on opinions and personal mental ramblings—it requires no research and I can write supernaturally fast. Clearing 2,482 words in forty minutes is probably superhuman, even if it is somewhat rambly BS. Then again, philosophy is generally composed of rambly BS punctuated by the occasional profound sentence.