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

by Cox, Matthew S.

  Maybe I will make it to my bed before the sun knocks me out this morning.

  Right before I get out of the chair, I decide to take a quick look at Facebook.

  The ‘36’ on the messenger icon for Cody Peters catches my eye. Ugh, really? Only out of concern they’re going to do something stupid, I open the window and catch up on messages. He’s freaking out about the strange people living down the street from him. He and his brother are convinced the neighbors are ‘evil vampires’ and need to be stopped. A long string of comments like ‘someone’s carrying a suspicious bundle into the house’ or ‘he’s outside again, I think they’re dumping a dead body’ proceed in a tone of escalating panic. According to the timestamp, they sent me those messages the other night while Hunter and I made love.

  The text barrage stops around midnight, probably because their mother or father caught them awake. Hmm. They’re fourteen and fifteen—possibly fifteen and sixteen now, no idea when their birthdays are—so their bedtime might be midnight. Probably earlier. Heck, their parents seemed kinda laid back, so they might not even have one.

  More messages start up today:

  4:03 p.m. ‹No activity at the house during the day. Gotta be Vamps.›

  4:08 p.m. ‹Do you know any vamps down here?›

  4:11 p.m. ‹Sorry to blow up your messenger. Are you mad at us?›

  4:23 p.m. ‹If we’re bugging you, say something and we’ll stop.›

  4:40 p.m. ‹One creepy old man is trimming the bushes. We think he lives there. Possibly not a V since he’s outside in the sun.›

  4:43 p.m. ‹Duh. Sorry. You were probably sleeping.›

  6:19 p.m. ‹Operation Vampire Watch complete. We have eyes on target.›

  6:21 p.m. ‹Activity inside the house. Camera mic picked up a scream. Ben thinks it’s a movie.›

  6:22 p.m. ‹Thinks the scream came from a movie, not that we are in one.›

  9:07 p.m. ‹Two big guys just left in a van. We’re going to check on the house.›

  9:39 p.m. ‹Old dude almost caught us. I think he heard us, but he didn’t see us. We’re safe.›

  10:03 p.m. ‹Sarah! Deffo vamps. They’re grabbing people. The news is blowing up with missing persons around here.›

  I whistle. Those two are going to get themselves hurt or arrested. I totally should’ve removed the idea of vampires from their consciousness. Ugh. This is partially my fault. Hmm. What’s the best way for me to respond? Don’t have much time to carefully craft a reply. Here goes nothing.

  ‹Hey, guys. I’m still here. Sorry for not responding to you. My parents are on vacation so I’m juggling everything right now. Super busy. Not ignoring you and you guys haven’t made me mad. We’re cool. I’m just swamped and haven’t looked at the computer. Look, be careful. Don’t get involved. Your neighbors are most likely weirdoes, but I doubt they are Vs. No way would multiple Vs buy a house together and drag people back there. Too much risk.›

  ‹Hey! Wow, you’re up late… or early. Sun’s almost out. This is Ben btw. Cody’s not up yet.›

  I glance at the clock. Got maybe five minutes before I face-plant my computer desk. ‹Yeah, just about to go to bed. Had a sec to look at FB. Can’t talk long now, need to zzz.›

  ‹Cool. Did you see the news? Thirty-nine missing people over the past four months within a fifty-mile area around here. It’s crazy. We’re totes sure vampires live at the end of our street.›

  ‹You guys have any real evidence?› I type so fast the keyboard makes a buzzing sound.

  ‹Not really. Just seeing weird stuff going on at the house. Looks like they’re carrying bodies inside.›

  I sigh. ‹Why would vamps bring dead people into their house? They don’t eat people.›

  ‹Might be unconscious, not dead.›

  ‹You saw them lugging actual people inside?›

  ‹Not exactly. Suspicious bundle over the shoulder. Hard to see at night. Large dark things. Looks like bodies wrapped up. Unless they’re buying a ton of carpet at night, what else could they be carrying but people?›

  Sigh. Come on… come on… I need to go to bed. ‹You guys don’t have any real evidence, do you?›

  ‹Umm, no… not really. But this family is really sneaky. Their butler dude is hella creepy.›

  ‹Being creepy and strange isn’t proof they’re vamps. You guys went through a weird experience at the L&C Caverns. Trust me, if a pair of high school boys caught onto them, they aren’t vampires.› I stare at the screen for a second before hitting send. On the remote chance the people the Peters brothers are spying on are vampires, they’d have to be the absolute most careless idiot vampires on Earth.

  ‹We’ll try to get better evidence. Can we send u pix?›

  ‹Don’t break the law. And you guys shouldn’t get involved. Probably only some crazy people, and you’re going to get in trouble. On the one-one-thousandth of a percent chance they really are vampires, you and Cody are going to get yourselves killed. I can’t see vamps being this obvious or reckless, but if they are, it will attract the attention of experienced hunters. Please be careful and don’t do anything stupid.›

  ‹Okay.›

  ‹GTG. Feels like daytime’s coming.›

  I fling myself out of my chair using flight, and crash face-first into my pillow.

  Don’t even have time to roll over onto my back before I’m out.

  14

  Soft Spot

  Not sure if being responsible for my siblings is stressing me out, but it feels like I went to sleep on Wednesday and woke up on Friday. Yes, I’m aware my schedule makes me ‘go to sleep’ the following day compared to when I get out of bed, but I consider one period of wakefulness to be entirely the same day of the week.

  The morning I chatted with Ben started off Wednesday afternoon, so it had been my Wednesday until sunrise knocked me out. Thursday went by fast, probably due to the lack of craziness. I took Sierra to her sword class again. No one got into a smack talking contest at least. I’d been half tempted to claim Sierra gave me a few pointers and duel Jim, but nah. Better for me to remain unassuming and forgettable. Can’t make myself stand out in anyone’s memory.

  When we got home, I found my brother in the kitchen covered in mud. At first, I thought he wore jean shorts in March, but they’d been full-length jeans when he put them on. He needed an emergency trip to the store for new sneakers. I have no idea what happened to the old ones beyond him saying something chased him through the little patch of woods he cuts across between home and Daryl’s house.

  Whatever ran him down managed to shred his pant legs and sneakers without causing serious injury. Don’t have the faintest clue what the hell happened to his socks. They simply ceased existing. Probably went into the same vortex that steals them from the dryer, but I dunno. Socks only commit suicide one at a time, not in pairs—certainly not straight off someone’s feet. He only has a few cat scratches on his legs, which may have actually come from his running bare-legged through the underbrush. Figure it’s about time for the weird to rear its head again. We’ve had a good three months of quiet. I couldn’t come up with any explanation for why anything would go after Sam or how it destroyed his pants and shoes without hurting him. He said it felt like a man tackled him and held onto his legs as he struggled to crawl away. When he finally escaped and twisted to look back, his jean legs and shoes were in tatters, but no giant creature or person remained in sight.

  Something capable of exploding sneakers like they’d gone through a wood-chipper grabbed him and Sam’s only got a few scratches?

  Does not make sense.

  At least, it doesn’t make sense in any way but one I’m hesitant to think about. Something came to ‘play’ with him. His description of what happened sounds way too much like a giant dog unaware of its own strength trying to play a little rough. Only, I’m sure we’re not dealing with a dog here. Can I have a nervous breakdown yet, or is there a minimum age requirement on those? His total calm about the situation made me e
ven more anxious.

  Anyway, we ran to the store to get him new sneakers. Replaced the jeans, too. Hey, why not? We were already out.

  Thursday night meant philosophy. Since the class starts at eight, I had time to fly in, so I made dinner. Once my parents are back, I really should do something super nice for Ashley as she’s been such a huge help.

  Right, so it’s Friday afternoon.

  I’m not as fried and panicky as expected after an entire week pretending to be Mom, but it will definitely be cool when my parents are home. Speaking of them, Mom has been sending me a steady stream of photo texts updating me on their vacation. They are having an awesome time. Well, at least awesome for them. Mostly relaxing in hot springs, checking out historic sites or beautiful landscapes. They don’t really do the adrenaline vacation thing. However, serenity is exactly what they—mostly Mom—needed. Dad’s a pretty sedate dude already, and a work-at-home programmer doesn’t have a quarter of the stress my mother deals with.

  I don’t think either one of them has truly relaxed since before having me. Probably not terribly smart of my mother to bring her cell phone into the water with her at Nauthólsvík geothermal beach, but she did. Seriously, it’s so pretty over there I may have to check it out myself sometime.

  Alas, there is no time for me to sit around being a blob today. I pop out of bed, shower, and do a bit of cleaning around the house. Something had to give, and since leaving the Littles to reenact Hunger Games for food is bad, and I didn’t want to take a week off school, housework suffered. Might as well try to catch it up a bit. My siblings return home from school while I’m scrubbing the downstairs bathroom. Sierra jogs up to the door to see what’s up, realizes I’m cleaning, then emits a belabored sigh while plodding off.

  Sophia pops into the doorway right after. “You do the kitchen yet?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll get it.” She zooms down the hall.

  “I’ll grab trash.” Sam chases after her.

  Okay, now I know aliens have abducted my siblings and replaced them with not-quite-perfect copies. It’s not too bizarre for Sophia to voluntarily help out with housework, but both Sam and Sierra need to be asked. Sam will help sans complaining after Mom asks him to. He doesn’t mind chores, merely never thinks to do them on his own. Sierra will help with a side order of grumbles and mild delay. Of course, I’m assuming she trudged off to clean the upstairs bathroom based on the face she made at me. It’s possible she’s hiding in her room to avoid being conscripted. However, the rattle of an empty bucket going by followed by non-thunderous footsteps heading upstairs (way too soft to be Sam) surprise me.

  Okay, seriously… did whatever the deep voice thing is in Sam’s closet legit swap my siblings out for demon clones? Sam pops into the room with me long enough to change the bag in the wastebasket. Once I finish up in here (the downstairs bathroom is more of a toilet closet) I head to the kitchen to help Sophia out. The floor’s kinda wet and she’s presently wiping the countertop down with Lysol spray. Wow, the kitchen appears perfect already. How in the heck—oh… she must’ve used magic.

  My life has ‘gone to plaid.’

  Sophia twists around to smile at me. “Sare, is it cool if I go with Megan and Nicole in a little while?”

  “What’s up?”

  She swaps bottles and spritzes glass cleaner on the stove door. “Meg’s mom is taking us to the mall. A nail spa. Girl time, you know.”

  I chuckle. “As long as a mom’s going to be there, sure. How long are you going to be?”

  “Right after dinner. I think it’s like forty minutes. Not too long.”

  “Okay. Sounds reasonable.”

  “Sierra doesn’t want to go with us. Too girly.” Sophia laughs.

  “I fail at girl.” Sierra enters, carrying an empty bucket. “Upstairs bathroom is clean.”

  “No, you don’t.” I turn to keep facing her as she passes by on the way to the closet. “You rule at ‘girl.’”

  Sierra stows the bucket and gloves in the closet, then gives me this ‘yeah right’ smirk. “I’m totally not a Barbie doll like Soph.”

  “As if.” Sophia looks down at herself, her pink dress making no secret of the non-shape under it. “Maybe a Barbie made out of popsicle sticks.”

  Heh. “Sierra…” I walk over and grasp her shoulder. “It’s total bullshit about there only being one way to define ‘girl.’ Sitting around at home in sweat pants kicking ass in Call of Duty is as girly as overdosing on pink and unicorns and faeries like Sophia. Writing a hundred thousand lines of computer code or becoming a doctor or whatever is all ‘girly.’ The only thing that makes something ‘girly’ is a girl doing it.”

  “You should work for Hallmark.” Sierra play-punches me in the side.

  “I’m being serious. Don’t get down on yourself for not living up to what other people think you should act like, dress like, or enjoy doing.”

  Like something straight out of a Bugs Bunny cartoon, a floating mass of trash bags sprouting small legs goes by on the way to the patio door. Sam emptied every wastebasket, trash can, and recyclable bin in the house and is taking the whole load outside at once. What the heck is it about boys? Dad’s the same way carrying groceries in from the car. He claims not to be a real man if he takes more than one trip to bring everything inside.

  The Littles retreat to do homework or whatever while I get going on dinner, following Mom’s planned meal guide. It’s kind of like a paint-by-numbers, only with food. Tonight is baked chicken with green beans and mashed potatoes. Hmm. I don’t mind cooking. What about culinary school? I could taste test everything as much as I want and not blow up into a walrus. Nah. Bad idea. Might be a fun diversion, but if my future is going to involve any sort of ‘real job,’ it can’t be one requiring frequent interaction with people. Well, interaction with the same people as a matter of routine. Randos I pass on the street won’t realize my age isn’t changing. Going to work every day among the same group will force me to relocate or change surroundings every few decades like Professor Heath.

  Works for him, but I don’t want to bounce around the country. At least not yet.

  Scary to think about in a way. If what Aurélie believes about vampire psyche is true, it means I’m not going to ‘mature’ past where I am now. This clinginess to home is who I am. Guess she would know. After all, she’s spent a few years as a vampire. If her personality is largely the same as she’d been centuries ago, it’s a fair bit of proof. Obviously, some changes happen. Not so much in her case, but the world has plenty of vampires who seem to have forgotten ever being human and regard people like farm animals—expendable food.

  I spend the time preparing dinner debating how much effect our bloodline has on personality. Like, if a kid got turned into a vampire and became an Old Guard, would they have a higher chance of turning into a tiny adult than if they ended up as an Innocent or a Sybarite? Don’t look at me like that. Not all Sybarites are succubus-like sex fiends, merely super passionate about something. Like, I could see Sierra going Sybarite and becoming obsessed with video games.

  It’s too sad to think about child vampires, so I force myself to change course and wonder what sort of creature chased my brother home yesterday. Believing it meant him no harm is the only reason I’m not out there hunting for it. Coralie didn’t pop in to warn me about it, either. Maybe I’m getting lazy and shouldn’t rely on a ghostly oracle warning system so much. Spirits are flighty. As much as she may want to help me all the time now, she might poof on a whim and I’d never realize it.

  At least the Universe waited for me to finish high school before the vampire thing happened. It would have been a real pain in the ass otherwise—though if I had the ability to be awake early in the day, vampire powers would have been so damn fun there. Oh, there’s a stupid thought. I can easily pass for sixteen. Someday maybe when my family is all gone from old age, I’ll reinvent myself and pretend to be a high school student in some other town for a while to kill boredom. Gee, that
sounds like a lame Eighties movie, doesn’t it? Vampire High or something. Dad would love it.

  Sigh.

  Bad Sarah. Stop thinking sad thoughts. I bonk myself over the head with the canister of bread crumbs.

  During dinner, Sam asks if he can sleep over Daryl’s house tonight.

  He’s done so before, usually on a Friday, so I’m fine with it. Ashley hasn’t come back from her job at the vet clinic yet, though she did text me to ask if she could go on a date tonight. She met a girl at school who wants to bring her to a party. No, she’s not asking for permission to date per se. Ash committed to helping me out until the ’rents came home, so she wanted to make sure going on a date won’t mess things up here. Can’t begrudge her the time after she’s been helping me so much all week. Megan’s mother is taking the girls to the mall after dinner… which leaves Sierra.

  Hmm. I have classes tonight.

  How wise or dumb is it to leave an almost-twelve-year-old home alone? I’m not at all worried about what she’d get into. We’re in a nice area, but nowhere is perfectly safe from bad stuff. All it takes is one news story about some eleven-year-old kid home alone when burglars kick in the door, and parents freak out. Worse, Sierra probably wouldn’t be the kid who hides in a closet on the phone to the police. She’d grab the real sword Dad gave her for Christmas and be a dumbass. Fierce as she is, she’s only so big.

  I could drag her to school with me or maybe insist she goes with Sophia and the girls. She’d grump the whole time and ruin it for them, though. Rolling the dice by trusting her home alone for the three-ish hours I’m at school might work, but it’s difficult enough to concentrate on calculus while being serenaded by the wails of the thousand bodily functions of my classmates. Add worry about Sierra to it and I’d learn more skipping class to stay home.