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

by Matthew S. Cox

  Eventually, Dalton emerges from the bathroom. Our mind link tells me he’s uncomfortable being naked together with me, so I don’t look at him. Unlike me, he has no problem putting clothes on while still soaked from the shower. Plastic trash bag rustling comes from my left and behind. A wad of fabric hits me in the arm and flops to the bed.

  I’m dry enough… mostly. So I pick up the bundle. It’s a Starsky & Hutch T-shirt and a pair of khaki cargo shorts. Wow. Sensing that Dalton has already gotten dressed, I peer back at him. He’s wearing a Transformers T-shirt with Optimus Prime on it and an equally awful pair of shorts.

  Predictably, the shorts he gave me are his size. They’re going to fall off me unless I hold them up, but that beats nothing. I pull them on, add the shirt, and stand, feeling like the world’s biggest dork—from 1981.

  “Wow.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Rockin’ threads, what?”

  “Hah. Seriously. We look like the nerds in my dad’s movies.”

  He holds up a finger. “It’s camouflage.”

  “What?” I blink. “Camouflage against what, style?”

  “No one looking for me would dream I’d wear something so ghastly.”

  I smirk. “Where did you get this stuff, Goodwill?”

  “No. It came off the store shelf new… a few years ago. Been stashed here a while.”

  “Oh, just a bit.” I brush at the shirt which smells like wood drawer and plastic bag. Weird to think that I’m the first person probably to wear these clothes. Also, amazing they haven’t dry rotted. Then again, 1980 wasn’t that long ago.

  “So, now what?” I head over to the front window and claw snip some of the curtain cord to make an improvised belt. These shorts are so dweeby they’ve got belt loops. “You know, I think it would be less embarrassing to just go home naked then let anyone who knows me see this outfit.”

  Dalton laughs. “That, my dear, is exactly why they are camouflage.”

  “Yeah, maybe if we went to a con or something. No… wait. We’d still stand out there.” I point at the window. “We have a slight problem. This room isn’t light sealed, and it’s facing east. Great choice by the way.”

  “Couldn’t be helped. It’s the most structurally intact room and still has running water.” He hurries to the door and sets the deadbolt. “The bathroom is sealed off though. We’ll sleep in there.”

  “Ugh. My back hurts already from hearing you say that.”

  Dalton starts to explain how it won’t matter to us, but I raise a hand.

  “Yeah. I know. Still hurts to think about.”

  Dressed like the two least popular kids in school from thirty years ago, we hang out in a motel room for a couple hours, waiting for sunrise. It’s too late to call home, so I send basic ‘we’re okay’ texts to the ’rents and Hunter. After that, we sit on the bare mattress talking mostly about how Dalton’s so good with a sword and knives. While explaining the sort of ‘rogue’s life’ he had as a mortal and for many years after becoming a vampire, he decides to give me some pointers on how to use a cutlass.

  “Katana’s an entirely different style. Haven’t a bloody clue about it.” He picks up the blade and looks at it. “No idea where those wankers got this, but it’s probably a real one.”

  “As opposed to what? Plastic?” I laugh. “Of course it’s a real sword.”

  “No, I mean a cheap 440 stainless knock-off. This is an actual Japanese katana. Probably quite old. One of those cheap ones wouldn’t have sliced clear through a man’s leg like that.” He pauses. “Well, perhaps with a vampire’s strength behind it, but still.”

  “Okay neat. So I’ve got a legit sword.”

  “Probably worth a few thousand bucks, though you should keep it.”

  “Wow. Okay.”

  When the sun starts getting close to rising, we retreat to the bathroom, keeping the swords close at hand. For added protection against any light leaking in under the door, we end up in the bathtub together. Dalton, ever the gentleman, goes in first. I climb in on top of him and try to get as comfortable as possible… which isn’t very comfortable at all.

  Physical comfort doesn’t matter much since once the sun comes up, we’re out.

  25

  Innocent Bystander

  I open my eyes to a featureless wall of grey metal a few inches in front of my face.

  And my clothes are gone. Although, nudity is probably a style upgrade over what I had. Still. Ugh. Someone found us and I’m in a morgue cooler… again. I check my arm and sure enough, there’s a plastic bracelet. Oh, seriously!? They put me down as Jane Doe with an age of fifteen. Sigh. My life is teenager hell, constantly being thought of as a kid younger than I am. Grr. Might as well get this over with.

  I brace my hands against the wall behind my head, rear my legs back as much as I can move in the tight space, and mule-kick the door. Escaping is much easier than the first time, mostly because knowing I’m a vampire lets me skip all the confusion, and I’m not freaking out at being trapped in a small space with no clothes.

  The cooler door flies open with an echoing bang. I shove the sliding tray out and hop down to stand on a frigid tile floor in a relatively bland ‘medical type’ room. The whole wall behind me is covered in square cooler doors. Not much stands out as unusual except for a trail of small bloody barefoot prints leading from the counter on the left out the room’s only door. They’re not too little. Smaller than my feet, definitely not Dalton’s. Clearly not from an adult either.

  Uh oh.

  This doesn’t feel like a normal morgue. Did the Persons In Black grab me? Or maybe thralls working for another group of vampires? I creep along the trail of footprints, careful not to step on them since they appear wet. The plastic swinging door opens at my touch without a sound, revealing an immaculate hospital-white corridor marked with more red footprints.

  I pad out, bizarrely at ease with not having anything on. Soon after leaving the cooler room, soft suckling noises draw my attention to a left offshoot from the corridor not far ahead of me. The footprints lead around that corner. Pretty sure a freaky sight is waiting for me, but I keep going anyway.

  Hesitant, I stop at the corner to gather my nerve, then step around.

  Two tween girls, one blonde and one with light brown hair, kneel on either side of a big guy in medical scrubs who appears dead, his vacant stare upturned at the ceiling. The blonde girl’s in an overly elaborate doll dress while the other kid’s wearing a T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. The barefoot prints lead right to the life-sized doll, but her gown is so voluminous it covers her feet.

  “Crap,” I whisper.

  Both girls detach from the man’s neck and look at me.

  My little sisters grin, blood dripping off their fangs.

  Sierra points at a catatonic guy slumped against the wall to the left. “We saved you one.”

  “I’m dreaming.”

  “Yep!” chirps Sophia.

  My eyes snap open again—for real this time. I’m still on top of Dalton in the bathtub. He makes for a really bad mattress. Even more so when he’s all grey and corpselike. Sunlight leaks in under the door, but it’s not too bad to me. Kinda feels like a space heater running a few feet away. Even the glare reflecting off the old linoleum floor would probably cause Dalton’s skin to smoke. Despite my curiosity, I don’t test the theory. He probably appreciates that.

  I get up out of the tub and sit on the toilet with the seat fully closed, turning it into an uncomfortable chair. My claw wounds still sting, but the pain has lessened enough that it doesn’t occupy ninety percent of my brain. According to my iPhone, it’s 4:58 p.m. Considering the beating I took, waking up this early is pretty remarkable.

  With nothing else to do but suffer a few crappy hours of boredom trapped inside a tiny motel bathroom, I check texts. The ’rents replied. Sam (and his friends) are back home, safe. Dad comments that he’s happy I played mind games with them. Guess that means he figured out they don’t remember certain details that no
kids their age should witness. Kinda obvious given the bloody mess on Daryl and Jordan’s clothes.

  It hits me that the boys knew they’d been abducted by vampires. That means the gang hadn’t made any effort to conceal themselves. While it could imply they planned to erase memories, more likely, it had been their intention to kill the boys all along as Coralie said. Whatever guilt I had at slicing them up dies fast. In fact, if I could tolerate going outside right now, more of them would get sun baths.

  Hopefully, Armand woke up for a few seconds as the daylight burned him off the face of the Earth… like a laser removing a wart from someone’s ass.

  My fingernails click on the screen as I send a text to the group chat with Hunter and my parents. ‹I’m okay. Will be going home as soon as we can catch a flight. Kinda stuck at the moment due to a little light problem.›

  ‹Understood,› replies Dad.

  Mom sends, ‹What happened? I’m worried.›

  ‹Too much to type. Will explain in person. Hope the boys are okay.›

  My parents and Hunter send multiple rapid texts confirming that the kids got back okay, having emerged from the mirror in Sophia’s bedroom. Glim showed himself to Dad again, and according to him, ‘checked my homework.’ I take that to mean memory tweaking. Jordan borrowed some of Sam’s clothes so he didn’t go home a bloody mess. Alas, Daryl couldn’t fit into my brother’s stuff, so he ended up stuck hanging out in one of Dad’s T-shirts while Mom ran his clothes through the laundry. Glim made sure the boys didn’t remember being covered in gore.

  The motel room’s outer door opens with a loud thud, probably from being kicked.

  Crap.

  I toss my phone back onto the remains of my jeans and grab the katana. If someone opens that bathroom door, I’m probably going to catch fire. Best thing for me to do is back all the way up against the wall behind the toilet, the farthest possible place from any light coming in.

  Multiple people enter the outside room, all talking in Spanish. I don’t understand most of what they’re saying though la droga and mucho dinero are pretty obvious. Great. I’m stuck in a bathroom while a drug deal goes down on the other side of a flimsy wall. Okay, nothing to panic about. Just need to stay quiet. This is merely an abandoned motel. Not like we broke into their house or anything.

  Spanish discussion mutates into Spanish arguing over the next fifteen minutes. Guys start shouting at each other and pounding on furniture. Not sure if understanding them would be scarier or calming. I can’t overhear anything that would get me in trouble for knowing, but that also means I can’t tell what’s going on. Fortunately, it doesn’t really sound like they’re going to get violent, more like guys having an argument over which sports team is better—wait, that sometimes gets violent. Granted, I doubt they’re actually quibbling over football. More likely, the particulars of the deal.

  Pre-vampire me would’ve been terrified being this close to legit drug dealers. Whether or not the stereotypes of what men like this would do to a young woman are true, I’m a wimpy little suburban kid not prepared to be around this level of criminal activity. Or was. They’re still mortals. However, if sunlight really hits me, I’m going to be in deep crap. Even the little bit coming in under the door is almost robbing me of my powers. As in, if I walk three steps closer, I’m back to mortal strength and a too-real vulnerability to permanent death.

  All I have to do is stay quiet until they leave. Drug deals don’t take that long, right? They’ll be gone soon. About ten minutes after I have that tragically incorrect thought, someone approaches the bathroom.

  Dammit!

  As soon as that door opens, I’m nerfed. If the dude sees me holding a sword, I’m probably going to get shot in the face. I stash the katana against the wall to my right, hidden behind the toilet. Still in easy reach if needed, but not waving around in plain sight.

  The door opens in a blinding flash of heat, but it’s not as painful as expected. I don’t smolder, though the bathtub begins filling with meat-scented smoke. A Hispanic guy in his early twenties stops short on his way to the toilet, one hand on his zipper, staring at me.

  Against absolutely everything about my nature, I put on a harmless, sexy face and whisper, “Hi there. Why don’t you close the door and we can have a little fun?” I lick my lips, suggesting a particular activity. Come on, pal. Close the door and get close enough for me to make you forget seeing me.

  He stares at me for a few seconds, then rushes over to grab my arm before dragging me out into the main room. Six other guys stand around the exposed mattress, which contains several bags of what I assume to be narcotics of some kind. Hmm. Guess the 1980s printed T-shirt and shorts don’t exactly work for alluring. Or it’s that ‘looking too young’ thing getting in the way again. Grr. Okay, think, Sarah. Time to put my childish face to good use. Maybe they’ll feel sorry for me.

  The guy holding my forearm rambles in Spanish at the others, gesturing at me and the bathroom. In the brunt of late-afternoon sun partially muted by motel curtains, my odds of doing anything except trying to play harmless are nil. So, I stand there trying to look scared and nonthreatening while lightly tugging at his grip, more out of protest than sincerely attempting to get away from him.

  A scrawny guy with something attempting to be a goatee dangling from his chin walks over and puts an enormous silver-plated handgun to the side of my head. “The hell you doin’ here, chica?”

  “Umm…” I grind my toes into the rug like a kid. “Just hitchhiking up the coast. Found this place and decided to crash here for a while. Didn’t know it was your room. I’m sorry. I don’t know any Spanish, so I have no idea what you guys said before.”

  “Yo, you crashed here?” asks the guy with the gun to my head.

  “Yeah.”

  He raises an eyebrow, glancing to his left. “In the freakin’ bathroom?”

  I manage an awkward smile and shrug. “I’ve got a funny thing about windows. Can’t sleep in a room with any.”

  “Yo, that’s messed up,” says the guy holding me.

  “Yeah, it kinda is. So, umm… I really don’t care what you guys are doing here. I’m only trying to get home, okay? I didn’t see anything.”

  The dude with the gun looks me up and down, his lip twitching like he really wants to laugh at my ridiculous outfit but is trying to stay ‘hard.’ After a moment, he pulls the gun away and lowers it. “Fine. Get outta here, kid.”

  “Umm. Thanks, but I really can’t go outside yet. I’ve got a nasty allergy to sunlight.”

  “Heh.” The guy holding my arm lets go and mock-punches my shoulder. “Like a vampire?”

  Holy crap that hurt. His knuckles hit me right where the katana went in yesterday. Guess that’s not fully healed yet. I bite back the involuntary pain tears and force a smile. “Yeah, heh. My friends call me that all the time. Umm, seriously though. If you guys don’t mind, can I just hide out in the bathroom? Really don’t want any trouble and I’ll be leaving California tonight. No problems.”

  “You’re one weird kid,” says the guy with the gun.

  “Yeah. Guess I kinda am.”

  One of the other guys sniffs the air and mutters something about ‘carne asada’ while patting his stomach. Ugh. He smells Dalton roasting.

  “Aww shit.” Arm-grab guy brushes a hand at my face, moving my hair. “Dude. She’s turnin’ red. Girl ain’t lyin’ about that sun thing.”

  The front door flies open, revealing the silhouette of a man holding a briefcase surrounded by nuclear sunlight. “Yo, yo, yo!”

  Next thing I know, I’m standing atop the bed amid a cloud of smoke, snarling, my claws out. Blood spatter decorates the walls in wide, sweeping trails. The front door is closed again, two bloody hand smears leading down to the corpse of a tall black guy in a tank top and jeans. The guy who dragged me out of the bathroom cowers under the little table by the front window, staring up at me. Gun dude who was going to let me go, fainted right where he’d been standing. The other four gang member
s are ripped up and either unconscious or dead. I’m—once again—covered in blood, only it’s not mine this time.

  Arm-grab guy babbles in rapid Spanish, probably praying.

  Fleeting memories come back to me, mere still-image snapshots while I raged out of control, lost to a panic-frenzy of exposure to deadly levels of sunlight. Despite the three or four dead guys around me, my thoughts go back to when Mom barged into my room and made me hiss from sunlight. Had she been in arms’ reach at the time, I might’ve lost control and hurt her. Okay, relax. I’m not a threat to my family. Dad tinted the basement windows. It’s not possible for anyone to send me off on an out of control freak-out while I’m in my bedroom.

  At least one person is dead by my hand, maybe five.

  “Dammit.”

  I jump down off the bed and approach arm-grab guy, the only one in here other than me who’s still conscious. He whimpers, mumbling something about la Diabla.

  “Relax. I’m not going to hurt you.” I lean down and grasp his arm, coaxing him out from under the table. “Just don’t open the outer door, okay? Bright sun gives me panic attacks.”

  The guy looks around at the carnage. “Y-you call this a panic attack? What the hell are you?”

  I usher him to the bathroom. “Maybe not the standard definition, but yeah, I panicked.”

  As soon as we’re in the bathroom, I shut the door and push him back against the innermost wall. The entire area behind the shower curtain is full of smoke from a smoldering Dalton. As soon as I’m online, I dive into the gang dude’s mind.

  And wow. The instant the sunlight hit me, my skin turned grey, my eyes lit up red, and I flew around growling in a deep, demonic tone like an angry mountain lion. That poor black dude walking in died first since he had the misfortune of being between me and the door. Arm-grab guy didn’t see much else before he screamed and dove for cover other than their contact from the supplier collapsing dead against the door and sliding to the ground. He heard me lashing out at his buddies but didn’t look.