Ordinary Problems of a College Vampire (Vampire Innocent Book 7)

by Matthew S. Cox

  The thought of playing blackjack or some other casino card game with the ability to read minds makes me smile. Not that I have the first clue how to play, though the basics ought to be easy enough to pick up with a bit of research. I could see myself ‘vampire cheating’ at cards for a laugh, but using my abilities to steal money would make me feel too damn guilty. Yeah, so what if I fail at vampire. Though, if ever my butt wound up stranded in Vegas and I seriously needed cash for an emergency, I’d probably do it.

  Grr. Enough distractions. Back to proofreading.

  Parents around me read their Kindles, chat on the phone with their significant others, or—as in the case of the two cougars—talk about gambling in Vegas. Mrs. Snow sits there in silence with an eerie not-all-there smile. Pretty sure some part of her is still watching her daughter, Alexis, in the class and wanting to scream at her for not being unattainably perfect. Fortunately, I hit her brain pretty hard. Her ‘valium calm’ face is coming from my compulsion, not because she took a sleeping pill then drank ten espressos. Her spaciness almost makes me feel bad, but the smile on her daughter’s face—the kid is sincerely enjoying the class now—kills any guilt.

  Aurélie told me that vampiric compulsions generally last as long as it takes a mortal to complete whatever task. A command/compulsion of the kind I gave to Mrs. Snow may or may not be permanent since there’s no specific end to that task, but even if it does wear off, that girl will be an adult before it happens.

  I largely tune out the blur of small bodies spinning back and forth doing jumps and pirouettes and focus on rereading my school assignment. This paper kinda makes me understand how a normal (not-Innocent) vampire must feel if they force themselves awake before sundown: it takes every bit of willpower I have not to fall asleep. This topic bored me to death and it shows. Reading is usually fun for me, but no one in their right mind reads technical manuals for enjoyment.

  A pale pink blur catches my eye because it’s going somewhere it shouldn’t: straight up.

  What the hell?

  I peer over the top of the laptop at the class, my jaw dropping open at the sight of Megan—the slightly chubby girl that Sophia befriended—floating well off the floor, still in a pose like a leaping ballerina. Only her enormous eyes give away that she knows something isn’t quite right.

  Sophia’s standing right beside Megan, her expression like she just stumbled and dropped a whole birthday cake on the floor. Uh oh. When she makes eye contact with me, I don’t even need telepathy to ask ‘what the heck did you do?’ My sister flashes a brief ‘help me’ look before grabbing the other girl’s waist and tugging her back down. By some complete miracle, no one else in the room notices her breaking the law of gravity. My sister lets go, but Megan begins gliding upward again—until she grabs on and struggles to keep herself oriented in a standing position. Her body seems to be trying to float up horizontally. Whatever’s going on here, she’s not negatively buoyant enough to lift Sophia into the air with her.

  Her feet slide out from under her and she winds up half-sideways, clinging to Sophia… but it almost looks like they’re doing a dance maneuver where scrawny Sophia is lifting Megan off the floor.

  My sister stares at me mouthing ‘Help!’

  If I get up and walk out among the students, that’ll draw attention, so I make this ‘what am I supposed to do here’ type face while sorta-shrugging at her. Good grief, Megan is ten. She’s not supposed to be getting high yet.

  After a few seconds of looking around in a mild state of panic, Megan recovers her balance and gets her feet back on the floor, but it’s obvious—at least to me—that they aren’t supporting any of her weight. Sophia takes her by the hand and tows her across the room to where I’m sitting. Two of the dance instructors look over, but neither makes a move to intercept her. Guess they’re doing freestyle practice. Nothing obvious appears to be out of the ordinary, except that the padded floor mats squish a little under my sister’s feet, but remain perfectly flat under Megan’s.

  “Sare!” whispers Sophia.

  “You did something.”

  She bites her lip.

  “What?”

  “Umm. Meg was having a little trouble with the jumps, so I wanted to help, only I helped a little too much.”

  Megan gives her side eye. Perhaps the only thing stopping her from screaming ‘what the heck did you do to me?’ is not wanting to become the center of the entire room’s attention.

  “Okay. No need to panic. Think about what you did, and want it to stop.”

  Sophia closes her eyes for a few seconds, concentrating.

  Megan’s weight sinks onto her feet again. The poor girl looks so relieved that I feel better. “So weird.”

  “Sorry.” Sophia flashes a cheesy smile at her friend before fake-wiping sweat from her forehead at me. “Thanks.”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “You gave me the idea to cancel it instead of trying to do the opposite thing. That might have squished her.”

  Megan raises a hand. “Umm, I would like not to be squished.”

  “Girls?” asks Ms. Ramirez, the head instructor. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes!” chime the kids together.

  They run back to their positions and resume practicing.

  Holy crap. Sophia just used magic in public at dance class and nearly sent her friend up to the ceiling. I am so not equipped for this level of weird. Keeping one eye on her every few minutes makes my tedious proofreading even more frustrating. After a little while, I’m fairly sure she’s not going to try doing anything else supernatural.

  Whew.

  About fifteen minutes before the end of class, the instructors gather the kids in lines and guide them through a controlled rehearsal of the technique they’d been practicing. From the look of it, only about half of them are doing it right. I smile a bit at seeing Sophia, Megan, and Alexis all getting nods of approval from the teachers. Another cool thing happens around then: the sun decides to call it a night early thanks to some clouds.

  This girl is online. Aww yeah.

  A few minutes later, boots scuff up to the front door, and the metal emits a painfully loud—to me—squeak. I don’t pay it much attention until all the parents fall silent at the same time, even the two talking about Vegas. Naturally, I’m expecting something super freaky like a giant imp, maybe a vampire with their fangs out, or heck, it wouldn’t surprise me to see a huge black pom-pom monster. Considering Sophia hasn’t started screaming, safe bet Fuzzydoom isn’t floating in the door.

  I finish reading the paragraph in front of me, then glance over at the source of the parental silence. This giant dude in a black biker jacket, blue bandana on his head, beard, and jeans is standing near the entrance like the Hells Angel version of Paul Bunyan. Seriously, he looks like he’d walk into a burger place and flip a coin to decide whether or not he wanted the meat cooked first.

  The parents are all staring at this guy like they’re expecting him to pull out a gun and rob them or start punching people at random—except for the two cougars. They’re looking at him in a slightly different way. Oh, ick. And no, I don’t have a problem with women in their late fifties being interested in guys. I’d feel every bit the same level of ick watching an old guy check out a woman that could be his daughter.

  None of the kids seem to care one bit about the guy.

  He shifts to the right so he’s no longer blocking the door, folds his arms, and focuses his attention on the kids, a hint of a disapproving bend to his lips. The instructors aren’t freaking out so I’m guessing this isn’t some random dude showing up at a dance class to stare at little girls. His body language isn’t throwing off creepy vibes, so I content myself to observe for now. Though, pre-vampire me would’ve been petrified of annoying this guy and probably would have walked rapidly in the other direction.

  The big biker continues watching the kids with an unsettling frown. Okay, that’s past my limit of tolerance, so I peek into his head. He’s foc
used on one of the two boys in the room, specifically the white kid who’s so thin and flexible he could pass for an elf—and he’s annoyed that his son is still doing the same technique they worked on last class instead of learning new stuff.

  Oh, okay. Wow. Looking at this guy, the last thing most people would expect is that he’s totally cool with his son taking dance class. Right, so this guy’s a non-issue. No threat. I resume proofreading. With the sun down, I squeeze roughly forty minutes of work into the twelve or so left in the class’ time.

  Eventually, the kids give off a group cheer of encouragement to each other and come running over in a mob toward their respective guardians. I’m not terribly surprised to see a maybe fourteen-year-old who could pass for twenty approach the cougars. I’m also not surprised to hear her call the black-haired woman ‘grandma.’ Evidently, the blonde is the woman’s friend and doesn’t have a kid of her own in this class.

  Sophia runs over to me and starts pulling on her puffy raspberry-colored winter coat, then hugs me before whispering, “Should Megan forget floating?”

  Hmm. “Yeah, probably.”

  My sister’s friend isn’t too far away in a teal coat, waiting patiently while her mother puts her—matching—coat on. I stare at the girl until the weight of my mental influence makes her look toward me. It only takes me a few seconds to eliminate her memory of magical levitation. Of course, that leaves her staring into space like a zombie for three-ish minutes while her mother’s trying to get her to follow her to the door.

  “All set.”

  “Thanks.” Sophia grins. “Sorry about that. I thought it would just help her a little without being obvious.”

  I pat her on the head. “Finesse like that takes practice.”

  “Yeah.” She kicks at the padded floor. “Sorry. I won’t do that again.”

  The slender, almost elven, boy—one of only two boys in the class—breaks off from a small group of kids who’d been talking, and runs up to the giant biker dude.

  “He must be so proud of his son,” whispers a thirtysomething man, father of a pair of twin girls, the two littlest ones in the class at about six. He looks like an extra from the movie Office Space. Total cube dweller. “Poor kid.”

  Ryan glances over, evidently having heard that. Initial shock gives way to shame and the sort of embarrassment that only comes from frequent teasing.

  “Actually, I am.” The big guy—who I’m now sure is Ryan’s dad—takes a few steps closer and looms at the man. “My son’s doing what he loves, and he’s good at it. You’re damn right I’m proud of him.”

  Ryan’s mood does a one-eighty and he stands there grinning.

  “I… uhh…” The polo-shirt-guy peers up at the biker like a mouse watching the eagle coming for it. If that man could open a mirror and crawl out of reality, he probably would do it right now. “Nothing against him dancing, just… you, umm, didn’t look like the kinda guy who’d approve.”

  Okay, I admit I had the same initial thought about him. I bite my lip and bonk myself on the head with the laptop twice. Bad Sarah. Shouldn’t assume things about giant bikers.

  “Why are you being a dork?” asks Sophia.

  “Hey, you usually hit Starbucks after this. Wanna?” I smile.

  “Aren’t you going to be late for school?”

  I throw my coat on, grab her hand, and head out the door. The Starbucks shares the parking lot with the dance place, all the way on the left end of the huge U-shaped strip mall. “Cutting it close, but I have forever to repeat classes. You won’t be a kid forever.”

  She squeezes my hand tight the whole way across the lot. As soon as we join the line at Starbucks, she hugs me.

  “What?” I pat the back of her puffy coat.

  “What you said. Guess I’m still clingy.”

  “Aww, it’s okay.”

  “I could if you wanted me to.” She peers up.

  “Huh?”

  “Stay a kid forever.”

  A shiver runs down my body, remembering the dream. “Please don’t joke about that.”

  She strikes a pose. “What? I’d look totally adorable as an eternal tween, wouldn’t I?”

  Her tone and posture makes me laugh despite the somberness of the thought. “You would, yeah. But don’t you want to grow up and stuff? Spending eternity having to go to bed at nine would suck.”

  “Bedtimes wouldn’t really work. I dunno. Mom always complains about how much ‘adulting’ sucks. That’s not exactly a ringing endorsement to growing up.”

  “Hah!” I grin. “True.”

  The kid might have a point. Our mother does often complain endlessly about how stressful her life is. For a person who wouldn’t mind remaining dependent on others and having no freedom, I suppose an eternity without any responsibilities could be appealing. No job, no worries about taxes, insurance, and so on. Just sit around at home, play, read, do whatever. Though, it would have to get old eventually, right? At some point, the eternal child would surely start to resent being treated like a kid all the time. But I suppose that depends on how the mind reacts to vampirism. Would Sophia’s personality remain permanently that of a ten-year-old, or would she turn into an adult woman trapped in the body of a child?

  Ugh. I don’t want to think about that.

  “So why were you acting like a dork?”

  “Oh. Umm. Just bonking myself for thinking poorly of that big guy. Thought he’d give Ryan attitude for being into dance.”

  “Nah, Mr. Bowman’s pretty cool. Ryan said his dad even built him a little dance studio in the basement so he can practice at home. They also go rock climbing together.”

  “Cool.” It’s nice to feel like we’re not the only family in the world with a good dad. Thinking of Hunter’s father makes me cringe. And yeah, I know there are worse parents out there than even that, but still.

  We stand in line for a few minutes discussing the floating Megan situation in obscure terms so the other people around us don’t think we’re crazy. Framing the discussion in terms like we’re talking about fictional characters in a nonexistent book series allows us to discuss weird stuff without breaking secrecy. Sophia’s not really sure how trying to help her friend jump resulted in the girl ‘becoming floaty’ as she puts it.

  “Well, in that setting, people who can do magic have to keep it hidden because society isn’t ready for it.”

  “Yeah.” Sophia kicks at the floor. “That’s true.”

  When we’re third from the register, the mom-aged woman at the head of the line begins asking the clerk all sorts of questions about what’s in the various coffees. Ugh. This woman is apparently vegan, anti-GMO, says she’s avoiding gluten because ‘it’s what people do’ and doesn’t want anything with high-fructose corn syrup, processed in a place with peanuts, or made with ‘bad vibes’. She’s even got the classic ‘I want to talk to the manager’ haircut.

  People behind us fidget in annoyance as two minutes become six. The poor girl behind the counter, who can’t be much older than fifteen, looks like she’s about to scream and quit her job to get away from this woman grilling her over every little ingredient. I’m already playing it close with the clock. There’s no time for jackassery of this magnitude.

  I lean around the man in front of me and tap the indecisive woman on the arm. As soon as she looks at me, her brain is mine. Once confident the woman has no legit health concerns and merely decided to be super picky because she’s super picky, I narrow my eyes. “Order something.”

  She rotates to face the kid behind the register and gets a matcha latte.

  The blonde teen gives me a grateful smile, then rings the woman up.

  “Did you?” whispers Sophia.

  “Yep.” I rock heel to toe.

  “Nice.” She grins.

  The guy ahead of us gets a cappuccino plus a hot sandwich. Finally, I step up to the girl.

  “Hi. Welcome to Starbucks.” She smiles at me, then blinks. “Oh, you’re that kid everyone thought died, right?”


  “Police messed up. I didn’t die.” I emit a fake sad sigh. “Some other poor young woman did and we kinda look alike. But yeah, that’s me. Can I have a skinny mocha latte? And… umm, whatever she wants.”

  Sophia smiles. “Grande white chai? But only if it’s got good vibes.”

  The clerk and a few people behind us chuckle.

  “Cool,” says the girl, Mindy according to her name tag. “Did you know my sister, Bree?”

  I blink. “Mindy Swanson?”

  “Yep.” She grins. “Go ahead and swipe your card or phone whenever.”

  Sophia’s expression hardens, but she’s far too sweet to comment that my ex-boyfriend cheated on me with Bree.

  “I know Bree, but we didn’t exactly hang out in the same circles.” I pull out cash, hoping the math won’t confuse this kid. Oh, that’s bitchy of me. She might be blonde, and related to Bree, but she can probably count. Or at least type in numbers. And really, I don’t blame Bree for what happened. Scott lied to her about us breaking up.

  “Oh, cool.” Mindy takes the $20 bill and makes change.

  “How is she doing anyway? Haven’t seen her since graduation.”

  Mindy shrugs one shoulder. “I miss her. She’s doing okay. Went to Texas A&M. Kinda worried about her, too. She had a really bad break-up with her last boyfriend that left her all spacey and weird for a while. Like, her whole personality changed. Far as I know, she still isn’t dating anyone and for Bree, that’s bizarre.”

  “Yeah. Sorry, that situation was kind of a mess.” I step to the right so the woman behind us can order. “Next time you talk to her, let her know I hope she’s doing okay?”

  Sophia blinks at me.

  “Sure.” Mindy smiles, then faces the woman. “Hi. Welcome to Starbucks.”

  I head to the end of the counter to wait for our drinks.

  “Sare, that girl kidnapped Sierra. And cheated on you.”

  “Nah. Bree was under the influence.”