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

by Matthew S. Cox

  “This’ll do in a pinch.” Dalton flips the deadbolt on the door, then flops onto the mattress.

  In that strange way of knowing that vampires have, the foreboding feeling that the sun is less than two minutes from rising comes over me. No real time to protest or complain, so mattress it is. I lay beside him kinda like a daughter/sister forced to share a bed. One could say there is zero sexual tension between us, but that wouldn’t be entirely accurate.

  Is it possible for sexual tension to be so far removed the number is less than zero?

  “Ouch,” says Dalton, again reacting to my thoughts.

  I sigh.

  “Teasing. You don’t need to explain your feelings. I can feel them.”

  “That’s only a little creepy.” I stare up at the plain black ceiling, acutely aware that I’m over a thousand miles from home and we’ve broken into a place I’d never have set foot inside of in a million years otherwise. I also have no damn idea what’s going to happen tomorrow. “Is this where I would’ve wound up if I’d ‘died’ and not gone back to my family? Running off with you? Sleeping in a different creepy place every night?”

  “Aye.” He laces his fingers behind his head. “A grand life that would’ve been. Enjoying the city, moving around whenever we cared to. Going all over the country wherever whim took us. Seeing the sights, the finer things.”

  “Truly,” I sigh more than say.

  “You really do prefer the humdrum of home?” He whistles. “Most girls your age can’t stand being stuck under their parents’ roof, having to follow rules, and they’re not even immortals.”

  I shrug. “Guess I’m a wimp.”

  “Naw, luv. I think it’s sweet.” He raises an arm and makes a sweeping gesture in the air. “The grand life is all a matter of perspective.”

  “Perspective…”

  He lets his arm flop at his side. “Aye. In a way, I envy that you can be so happy with such… simplicity.”

  “Have you even tried the simple life?”

  Dalton chuckles like I’d suggested he light himself on fire.

  My parents are probably worried sick. They might still be awake even. I pull out my phone and send the parents a text: ‹Arrive ok. No time to do anything. Zzz.› Then I send Hunter a text to let him know I think we’ve found Ronan.

  “Blix,” I whisper. “Go watch over Sam and his friends, okay? Do whatever you have to in order to keep them safe.”

  The imp starts gesturing and babbling, attempting to explain something relatively complicated… but I pass out under the irresistible weight of sunrise.

  20

  It's Only Grand Theft Auto

  The benefits of being a vampire are numerous.

  One such benefit is the ability to go straight to sleep when the sun says so regardless of how incredibly worried I am about my little brother. It seems as though one second, Blix is babbling at me and the next, he’s gone and some dude is hovering over me with his hand on my neck.

  When my eyes snap open, the late-thirties guy—a cop—jumps back emitting a startled yelp. Another cop stands closer to the door, flashlight pointed at me. She’s about the same age as the guy, and also looks beyond freaked out. Another woman, older but not elderly, hovers in the doorway holding keys. Long, pewter-grey hair half covers her face.

  I sit up and telepathically stab the male cop in the brain, putting him on derp mode. The older woman starts to scream but faints. Miss Cop starts to pull her gun, but I’m in her face before the weapon’s halfway out of the holster, holding her arm down while staring into her eyes.

  Wow. Okay. This is a little more severe than getting pulled over for driving too fast. We legit broke into some place. But, we’re not here to steal, only avoid a fiery death. Also, I’m not above exploiting free take-out. After mentally placing both women on hold, I feed from the male cop. No, his blood doesn’t taste like donuts. More like a turkey club sandwich. Probably the last thing the guy ate; the scent of it is all over him.

  While I’m clamped onto him doing the lamprey act, I grab his dangling arm and check his wristwatch. It’s 2:11 p.m. They woke me a little early, but I’ll deal. There’s all sorts of ways I could get a pair of cops out of my hair, but I opt for the ‘nicest’ one. His memory of walking in here to see a pair of dead ‘overdosed druggies’ lying on the mattress goes into the trash can. Apparently, he’d been trying to check me for a pulse when I awoke. Watching me go from corpse-grey with sunken cheeks to normal and alive looking in a second freaked him out. Go figure.

  Yeah, he doesn’t need to remember that. There’s going to be a report somewhere that the older woman called the police about us, so I can’t make them forget entirely about being here. I need to give them a dead end. Hmm. Idea. The number of people I don’t care for firmly embedded in my mind enough to create believable memories of is a short list. And by ‘short list,’ I mean one. Scott.

  I dredge up a mental image of the asshat and leave the cops thinking that they found my dead ex-boyfriend crashing here. When they disturbed him, he pushed the male cop on his ass and ran off. Once I finish the mental implants, I carry the cops one room over—making them think they’d been there all along—and leave the guy on the floor like he’d been knocked down by a fleeing suspect. The woman cop, I drape on that room’s sofa, giving her a memory that ‘Scott’ shoved her, too.

  The older woman is evidently the owner of this place. She’d found us while doing a quick check of the rooms upon arriving here to start her work day. I also give her a memory implant of seeing Scott’s less-evil twin in the other room, and reinforce that the room Dalton and I are hiding in is empty. Also, she will spend the next twenty-four hours believing there’s a nasty ghost in the basement and not wanting to be down here.

  I head back to our room, ease the door shut, and wait.

  Roughly three minutes later, both cops scream ‘whoa’ like they’re in the middle of falling over… and run down the hall shouting ‘Stop, police!’ Not sure how long they’ll spend chasing a literal ghost, but it should keep them away from us. As soon as I can’t hear them anymore, I poke my nose out into the hall. Looks like the owner ran upstairs, too. Good.

  Well, not really. She won’t find us, but the leaden feeling in my bones tells me the world outside is nuclear. A quick trip down the hall to the stairs confirms it. Pretty sure I’d literally burst into flames even staying inside the building on the upstairs level. Grr.

  So damn frustrating.

  I jog back to our room and shut the door, locking it to keep surprise visitors from coming in. No idea what sort of hours night clubs keep, but it’s doubtful they’re going to let people in the door this early in the afternoon. I step over Dalton and take a seat on the couch. He’s pretty much a dried-out corpse in terms of appearance. Wonder how much of that is due to age vs. bloodline? When I’m over a hundred, will I look that bad? The cop still had a little hesitation as to whether or not I’d died, hence checking for a pulse. That tells me my appearance isn’t as ghastly as Dalton’s while sleeping.

  That should make me feel better, but it doesn’t. I’m too worried about Sam.

  I check my phone. Sure enough, there’s about a thousand text messages from the parents and the beginnings of a novel from Hunter. He stopped by the house soon after Dalton and I left, and the parents filled him in on what happened. Every other message from him starts with ‘I know you’re asleep and can’t reply, but…’

  To save time and window-hopping, I create a group chat for both parents and Hunter, to which I send: ‹Just woke up. Am safe. Located boys via paranormal means. Didn’t have time to do anything last night except find shelter. Too hot out there to do anything yet.›

  Mom sends me an explosion of emojis, several OMGs and ‹why r u waiting?›

  Dad sends ‹Will explain 2 Mom about too hot. Keep us posted. Btw—wear a headband.›

  I chuckle despite wanting to scream out of worry.

  Hunter asks ‹How is Ro?›

  ‹Not sure yet. Hav
en’t seen them. Going ASAP.›

  We trade texts for a while. Both girls stayed home from school today ‘sick’ with worry. Obviously, Mom called out from work, too. Dad would’ve been home anyway, but he’s not developing program code, too focused on my missing brother. While understandable, asking constant questions about Sam and the other boys is sending their extreme nervousness over the internet and into me. Texting them is making me freak out more and more.

  Argh! It’s like I’m stuck in a jail cell while my little brother is being gradually tortured to death. I think I understand why some cats claw the crap out of things when they’re stressed. That sofa is looking mighty scratchable.

  Mom sends: ‹Sophia wants me to tell you Coralie says you can relax. Is that good news? What does that mean? Why would you relax while Sam’s in danger?›

  Normally, telling someone as upset as I feel to just ‘relax’ always backfires. However, when the suggestion to chill out comes from a precognitive oracle ghost, it does help a little. I send back a few texts explaining that if she’s telling me to calm down then Sam’s okay for now.

  Boy, do I regret the ‘for now’ part.

  My phone’s going to melt.

  Whistling out in the hall puts me on edge. Minutes later, a short Hispanic woman who obviously has keys barges in on us, pushing a cart of cleaning supplies. She stops short at the sight of corpse-Dalton on the mattress. Before she can scream, I clear my throat. The woman makes eye contact with me—and I promptly make her forget seeing us.

  Oh, I also give her a compulsion to let me borrow her iPhone charger and believe that this room is already done. She backs out into the hall like a zombie and stands there for the minute or three it takes the mental fog to wear off. Whistling resumes, and she goes into the room across the hall from ours.

  I plug my phone in using the borrowed—hot pink—charging cable. Truly, my immortal powers are tools of darkness.

  Hours of super frustrating boredom go by. I’d text Blix if I could, asking him for information, but… he doesn’t have a cell phone or a pocket to keep one in. According to the internet, twilight’s going to start at approximately 5:54 p.m., with actual sunset at 6:23 p.m. That’s not a whole lot of time to work. I didn’t bring a hoodie, but that only means dealing with pain from sunlight. As soon as it’s possible for me to tolerate going outside, it’s time to start.

  The weather app says clear and sunny. There’s a shocker for California. At one point in my life, that sounded amazing. As scary as the idea of moving down here for school had been, part of me did actually look forward to it for being so different. But, yeah, Michelle’s probably right. It’s quite likely homesickness would’ve kicked my ass. While I don’t see myself bailing out and quitting school after two months like she suggested, I probably would have transferred closer to home after the first year.

  For a while, my brain wanders around the idea of if I would’ve missed the littles. Before my death, we’d had a reasonably normal family dynamic. Older sister thinks her younger siblings are kinda annoying but begrudgingly spends time with them as needed. Sierra liked me more than she let on but kept her distance. Sophia made no secret of adoring me, and cried every time I brushed her off. I used to think that came from manipulation, but now I know it had been genuine hurt. Death really kicked me square in the feels, but would simple college have done the same thing? And yeah, I know it’s pointless to ponder, but not thinking about anything is going to leave me constantly worrying about Sam and going more and more stir crazy for being trapped in here.

  At 4:45, I decide to test my luck. Dalton’s still stone cold, so I leave him be and head out of the room. The daylight coming down the stairs no longer glows like the heart of a nuclear power station, but it’s far from pleasant. It does not, however, set off my instinctual sense of panic—which I imagine is quite a bit weaker than other types of vampires. If any sunlight meant rapid death for me, it would be a whole lot scarier.

  I’d compare going upstairs to jumping into a deep fryer, but never having jumped into a deep fryer, it would be a guess. It’s not bright enough that I start smoking at least. Sounds of activity come from doors leading to a staff-only back area, though it doesn’t appear that anyone is out in the ‘public’ part of the club yet.

  Okay. Here goes nothing.

  Clenching my jaw to stop from screaming in pain at the burning all over me, I stiff-leg it across the room to the front door and into a patch of daylight. A little smoke wisps up from my hand, but I’m already in so much pain it doesn’t feel worse. Involuntary tears slip out of my eyes, but I force myself to keep going outside.

  The only chance I have of getting my brother back alive is to deal with this mess in the daylight.

  Blurry shapes bump me from everywhere. It takes me a few seconds to realize they’re pedestrians. None of them seem to care that I’m stumbling around like a drunk who’s also high. More to the point, I basically am a blind person staggering around on fire. Even the waning daylight of a near-cloudless sky is agony to my eyes. The world’s washed out to a painfully bright white glare in all directions… like I’d gone to a nude beach in Ireland.

  A little hand grabs mine.

  Great. Some kid thinks I need help.

  Blix babbles and pulls at my arm. Okay, he has got to be invisible to humans or there’d be mass chaos going on right now. At least one thing is working in our favor. I let him pull me along since I have no better ideas at the moment.

  “You know I’m grounded at the moment, right?” I whisper.

  Hopefully, anyone hearing that thinks I’m on a cell phone call to a friend talking about being punished by my parents and not literally grounded due to sunlight.

  “Eebu nomlen bwoo.”

  “Good point.”

  “Drr’gu,” says Blix, unimpressed.

  He tugs at my hand, so I walk after him for a little while until he rests my hand on the door handle of a white SUV. The vehicle emits a chirp like the car alarm disarmed itself. A click comes from the lock.

  “Seriously?” I whisper.

  “Ooba.”

  Whatever. If I’m going to break the law, why not go big? Stealing a new-looking giant SUV seems like the perfect target for my first moment of deliberate criminal activity. It’s actually kind of amazing how little resistance I have to the idea after spending so many years afraid to break even little rules. I mean, really. It’s not like I’m defying curfew or jaywalking… merely starting off with a little bit of light grand theft auto. Nothing serious. Sam needs me and I won’t allow the police to arrest me. At least, I’ll make them let me go once it’s dark. I climb in, slam the door, and stare at the dashboard.

  “Okay, now wh—”

  The engine starts.

  “Damn, Blix. That’s cool.”

  “Norba Neem.” He grins.

  “How is it Sam can understand you?”

  Blix pats himself on the chest, then makes an injecting motion to his head.

  “You gave him knowledge?”

  The imp nods rapidly, his ears thwapping with a leathery flutter.

  “And you haven’t done it to me because…?”

  He holds his fingers to his mouth like fangs.

  “Can’t do it to vampires. Right.”

  Thumbs-up. “Zodu Norba.”

  “Does that mean follow me?”

  Blix nods, looks at me surprised, then jumps out the driver’s side window.

  Wonder how many credits I’d get for learning demonic as a language elective?

  I pull out into traffic as soon as it’s possible to do so… and drive. It finally occurs to me why Blix picked this particular vehicle after a few minutes when I realize my eyes are only stinging—not boiling. Whoever owns this truck loaded up the windows with tint. Also, it’s got plenty of room for Sam and his buds.

  And ugh. Crap! I didn’t even think about that. Driving back to Cottage Lake, Washington is going to take like twenty hours. Screw that. I’ll take the boys to the airport and mind-za
p us onto a plane. Yeah, I can fly, but not at 600 miles an hour and not carrying four tween boys.

  Blix flies a few feet ahead of me, giving me reasonably ample warning before I need to turn.

  Unfortunately, being a demon—or daemon—from a parallel world, he’s not exactly aware of traffic laws… or the meaning of one-way signs. I nearly have a head-to-head collision with a little old man driving a Prius. The Escalade I’ve stolen would’ve run that thing over like a speed bump. Fortunately, we both stop. And, perhaps his heart did as well.

  Damn. I’m really sorry, but my brother’s in deep shit.

  I leave the guy grasping his chest, back out of my aborted turn, and keep going straight. Blix guides me left at the next possible opportunity onto another one-way, but it’s going in the direction we need.

  At 5:07 p.m., I pull over beside the warehouse we landed on last night, cover my hands with my sweatshirt sleeves, and hit the button to turn the engine off. That done, I wipe down the shifter knob and the steering wheel for fingerprints, then hop out.

  A tall chain-link fence surrounds the abandoned warehouse that’s likely playing home to the vampires I have a particular problem with at the moment. Flying over isn’t possible due to the damn sun. Blix rakes a single claw down the fence, tearing open a slice I can squeeze through. Wow, imps can be damn handy when they’re not using their abilities for chaos.

  Once past the fence, I sneak around the outside of the parking lot. Two of the street-racer type cars are missing, but six remain. Those likely belong to the gang. However, there’s no one outside right now, so I hurry over to the front doors.

  Blix babbles and waves at me to follow him, shaking his head rapidly as if to say bad idea.

  Sure, whatever. I’m as weak and vulnerable as a normal mortal right now. If something happens to me, Sam’s going to die. Gotta trust the imp. He heads into a narrow gap between the building and a solid fence at the back of the property full of chest-high grass, weeds, and a scattering of trash. Ugh. Looking at it makes me feel fleas and bugs crawling all over me, but I only hesitate for an instant.