The house feels like it’s over a hundred degrees. Fortunately, I’m not on fire. Lack of spontaneous combustion is a definite plus, but I’m going to need to eat someone later. Tolerating sunlight burns a lot of, umm, ‘calories.’ I emerge from the stairway in the kitchen, where my parents are both getting started on dinner. We all know it’s useless for me to eat real food, but I usually have dinner with them anyway. One, my being an Innocent lets me still taste and enjoy it, even if it does nothing for me nutritionally. Two, it makes everyone feel normal. And I like spending time with them.
Sierra’s on the floor in the living room, an apple stuffed in her mouth, PlayStation headset on. She does the apple thing on purpose when she reaches a certain level of anger. It’s a tactic so she doesn’t scream words that’ll get her grounded. Don’t let her innocent eleven-year-old face fool you. The girl knows all the words. I think she can even imply someone has carnal knowledge of their own mother in Russian. If not for the threat of punishment, she’d be screaming them.
“What’s up?” I flop down next to her.
She’s so enraged, she scowls at me for a few seconds before calming down enough to mentally process that I’m not the cause of her issue. Sierra thrusts the controller at me. As soon as I take it, she plucks the apple from her mouth. “Please take over, and own this ass—I mean idiot, DeltaForce92. He’s cheating.”
“Actually cheating, or just made you so angry you’re playing like crap?”
She glowers. “Whatever. Just will you please abuse him? He’s picking on me.”
It’s disconcerting to see a kid crying because they’re that furious. And, I’m also more than happy to share a little bonding time with my kid sister. That thing where people sometimes visualize an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other? Yeah, those are my two kid sisters. Sierra’s closer to the devil, but she’s not evil. More like my tiny demon of not giving a shit. Sierra wants to be nice to everyone and have the whole world love her. Sierra couldn’t care less what anyone thought of her.
Except, perhaps, for DeltaForce92.
“Okay, okay.” I throw an arm around her and squeeze. “One idiot, owned, coming up.”
The Call of Duty match is only about halfway done. Since the controller is wireless, I head across the living room and hide in the closet with the door pulled to, just enough to let me see the TV. In here, I’m shielded from the sunlight leaking through the curtains over the front window that my supernatural nature comes back online.
Video games like this—first-person shooters—are stupid easy when I can speed myself up so much the world feels like slow motion. It’s fairly simple for me to read the nameplates over the enemy team, something few mortal players can pull off in the middle of a hail of virtual bullets. I start going out of my way to hunt down this guy and abuse him. Sneak him with the knife, follow him for a minute or so without him realizing I’m there, and shoot him in the back an instant before he can ambush kill a teammate. Once I run at him dodging around his shots before lobbing a brick of C4 into his face when he tries camping.
In all fairness, I’m not that good at this game, but with my reflexes supernaturally accelerated, any twitch game would be easy for me.
Sierra twists back to peer into the closet, and pulls the mic down from her face. “Holy crap, Sare. If Mom heard what this guy is saying, she’d never let me play this again. He’s stringing curses together into entirely new Frankenswears.”
I giggle. About ten minutes after I take over, the match ends. Our side barely won by points, though I didn’t do much to help in that regard. However, I did basically neutralize DeltaForce92. Between Sierra’s time playing and mine, we got forty-six kills and died fifteen times (which is the highest kills and death count on our side). No wonder Sierra’s mad. She doesn’t usually die more than five times a match.
Since I’m no longer concentrating on playing, my tweaked out hearing picks up an adult male voice screaming in her earbuds. More or less a continuous stream of profanity with the occasional ‘cheating’ thrown in for good measure.
“No. This is an out-of-the-box PlayStation,” says Sierra in her snidest tone. “I don’t even know how to cheat. You just got owned by an eleven-year-old.”
More guys, and a woman or two, laugh in response. Someone asks Sierra if she’s really a kid.
“Duh. Yeah.” She says with an epic eye-roll. “I don’t like have a huge tank of helium.”
As soon as they start laughing, an anguished scream comes back over the chat, and DeltaForce92 drops the game.
“Ooh,” says Sierra, grinning at me. “Rage quit. We win.”
Giggling, I emerge from the closet into the inferno of the living room and hand her back the controller. Yeah I (or we) technically cheated like hell, but not in any way detectable on the network.
“Thanks.” Sierra leans against me when I sit down next to her.
“No problem.” I ruffle her hair and settle in to watch as the next round starts up.
I’d much rather protect my kid sister from an online idiot than someone trying to kill her for real.
2
Long Term
Late Sunday afternoon, the door to my room opens without warning.
Fortunately, I’m not doing anything more embarrassing than wasting time on a video game.
Sierra struggles to walk in, a worried, urgent look on her face. Sophia’s behind her with a death grip on the waistband of her shorts, heels sliding on the rug. She’s trying to stop Sierra from entering my room, but ‘middle sis’ is determined, and towing her along.
“Sarah,” says Sierra. “Help me.”
“No!” yells Sophia.
Sierra grunts, straining to keep advancing as her bare feet slide over the rug. Sophia’s grip fails, sending the waistband of Sierra’s shorts flying into her with a loud snap. She emits a faint squeak, clamps both hands over the point of impact, and falls flat on her chest, whimpering.
“Ack!” Sophia gasps and covers her mouth. “I’m sorry!”
I can’t take the look on Sierra’s face, and burst out laughing. Sophia hits me with the big blue eyed blonde super innocent stare. Uh oh. She’s scared.
“What happened?” I ask.
Sierra crawls over to me, still rubbing her back. “Make her forget.”
“Please no,” says Sophia in a small voice. “You said you wouldn’t do that to us.”
“But it’s an emergency,” says Sierra.
I stoop down and check her, tugging the waistband down enough to appraise a nice red mark right where a tramp stamp would go. “No blood, but that’ll be sore for a little while. Now, what happened? What’s an emergency?”
“I rammed my toes on the bedpost,” says Sierra. “I said a word Sophia shouldn’t hear. She’s gonna tell Mom and I’m gonna get grounded.”
“You didn’t say a bad word,” whispers Sophia. “You yelled it.”
“Please,” whines Sierra. “Make her forget I dropped an f bomb.”
“I should make you forget those words.” I wink.
“She’ll just get them back from the PlayStation.” Sophia folds her arms. “I’m not gonna tell Mom.”
Sierra twists back to look at her. “Really?”
“You mashed your foot on the bed. Dad says that too when he hurts himself.” She shrugs. “Besides, you yelled it. Mom probably already heard you.”
I squeeze Sierra’s shoulder. “You should apologize to her for thinking she needed a memory wipe. That’s not cool. I don’t do that to you guys.”
Sierra bows her head, faces Sophia, and mutters, “I’m sorry I asked Sarah to erase your mind.”
Wordless, Sophia stares at me.
“No, I didn’t make her apologize.” I stick out my tongue.
Sierra narrows her eyes. “What? I can say sorry, too.”
“Guys…” I scoop them both into a hug. “Please don’t fight. Watch the f-bombs or Mom will run the PlayStation over with the lawn mower.”
Sierra whimpers.
/>
Ashley breezes into my room. “Hey.”
“Hi, Ashley,” chimes Sophia, before pouncing on her.
“Hey.” Sierra waves.
The girls scamper around Ash and run out, heading back upstairs. Ash pads over. She’s doing the black tank top, red skirt, black yoga pants thing today. Gotta be a sandals or flops day, as she’s barefoot thanks to Mom’s ‘no shoes in the house’ law.
“Michelle’s gonna meet us there at seven. She got stuck late,” says Ashley.
I raise both eyebrows. “She’s working on a Sunday? I thought she’s doing some kinda legal internship.”
“Yeah. Lawyers do work on weekends. The firm she’s working at is on some big case. She’s doing BS stuff though. Photocopying, getting coffee. Basically just getting used to being around lawyers.”
“Ahh. How’s your vet thing going? Guess it’s not a job if you’re an intern.”
“No, I’m not an intern. I can’t do that until I’m like halfway through vet school. I’m just kennel help. Cleaning cages, litterboxes, and feeding. Sometimes I help out holding an animal down while they trim the nails.” Ashley’s eyes seem to triple in size. “These kittens! They’re adorable! They let me bottle-feed one of them this morning.” Her squee of ultimate cuteness slam-shifts into a scowl. “What is wrong with people? The mama cat’s owners abandoned her as soon as she got pregnant.”
“Ugh. People are shitty.”
“Yeah.” She flops on my bed. “The clinic is pretty cool. Everyone there’s super friendly. I’m starting to think I’m gonna go veterinary. Only thing holding me back from being sure is the whole ‘putting to sleep’ thing.”
I cringe. “Aww, yeah. That sucks.”
“I dunno if I’ll be able to basically kill an animal, even if it’s really better for it not to suffer.”
“Well, you’re giving it the only comfort possible at that point. The animal’s already going to die and you’re helping it not suffer.”
She fidgets. “I guess, yeah. Maybe I’m just sad about animals dying in general. Better they don’t suffer. Everything dies, right?” Ashley shifts her gaze to me. “Well, everything except you.”
“Hah.” I lean back, giggling.
Ashley grins, laughing along with me. Wow. She’s not sad or even jealous. No, the sadness is all me. But I’m going to keep it in a box until she actually gets old and I lose her. Sorry, but at whatever point in the future I have to deal with her death, I will be a total mess—but that’s hopefully like seventy or more years away, so I refuse to think about it now.
We hang out for a little while longer until it’s time to go meet Michelle at this knock-off TGI Friday’s type place that opened a month ago in Woodinville. ‘Harvey’s’ or something like that. Somewhere between them understanding the need for a ‘girl’s night out’ and the last hurrah of the ‘summer of eighteen,’ I don’t get any static from the ’rents about missing dinner here to eat at a restaurant. Though, I’ll probably only get something small if anything more than a drink. One downside to not having a job is I’ve only got a little bit of money left from last year. It would be one thing if I actually needed food, but… yeah.
On second thought, ambushing someone in a restaurant bathroom is kinda like my version of going out for dinner.
I borrow Dad’s Sentra, which more and more, is becoming mine. I think when he finally decides to get himself something newer, he’s going to let me keep this one instead of trading it in for the couple hundred bucks he might get for it. Ashley hops in the passenger seat and attacks the radio, plugging in her phone before even closing her door.
For another brief few seconds, my life almost feels normal.
The place turns out to be named ‘Harry’s,’ but it’s totally ripping off Friday’s. They didn’t go so far as to use the stripes, but the walls are covered in junk. Michelle’s in the waiting area, and from the look of her (still in a nice grey skirt suit) she came straight from the lawyer’s. I guess she’s not technically an intern either since she hasn’t even started law school yet. So, my two best friends are Photocopy Girl and Cage Cleaner Girl. But hey, at least they’re in the environment they want to eventually work in.
“Hey guys.” Michelle throws an arm around each of us, glances left at Ash, right at me, then lets her head hang with a heavy sigh. “Girl, you totally need to help me order a drink tonight.”
“That bad?” I ask.
“Damn… so busy. I don’t think my ass touched chair for more than two minutes all day. And I’m kidding. Dad would kill me if he smelled anything on my breath.”
Since the place hasn’t been open that long, there’s no wait. The host is a super-happy guy in a black polo and pants with shoulder-length dreads. He’s gotta be close to 400 pounds, but moves like a dancer around booths, chairs, and tables leading us to our seat. The whole time, he chats about how our day’s been going, if we’d been here before, and the specials. He’s throwing off so much positive energy, by the time we reach our seat, I’m half tempted to hug him.
Michelle and Ashley start chatting about their respective jobs while we all savage the complimentary chips. Had my life not gone off the rails, I’m sure I’d be grumbling about whatever rude individual I ran into at whatever crummy job I had, but… yeah. Mostly, I spectate.
A waiter arrives, introduces himself as Tim, and asks if we want anything to drink.
“Pff. After the day I’ve had, I really need a Blue Moon,” says Michelle, as casual as can be.
I can tell she’s kidding, but Tim nods, jots that down, and gives me a don’t even try it face. “What about you two?”
Great. He must think I’m the little sister. Zero effort on my hair plus T-shirt plus jeans equals looking too young to drink. Of course, my particular strain of vampire does that enough already. Though, I suspect if I’d been in my thirties when I turned, I wouldn’t look like a fourteen-year-old. Oh well. Lucky for me I never really got into the whole drinking deal. Without my powers of mental influence, I’d never be able to buy alcohol. It’s kinda funny really. In a couple years, if I show someone my legit ID, no one would believe it.
“Iced tea,” says Ashley.
Michelle blinks, but keeps quiet. Guess she figures her father won’t smell one beer.
“Same as her,” I say, nodding to Ash.
“Need a few minutes to order?” asks Tim.
“Yeah.” Ashley finally picks up her menu for the first time. “Please.”
Tim nods, smiles, and hurries off.
“Dude,” says Ashley. “You like totally ordered a beer and didn’t even get checked.”
Michelle shrugs. “Oops. I was kidding, but what the hell. One won’t kill me.”
“Must be that sharp ass outfit.” I grin. “You look all grown up and stuff. How sad is it that I’m going to have to get a fake ID eventually so people believe me.”
“Huh?” asks Ashley.
“Twenty years from now, if I show my real one, they’ll think it’s fake. I’ll need to lie about my birthday to make myself younger.”
Michelle laughs. “Yeah, you’re gonna look like you’re sixteen for forever. Actually, I’m kinda jealous.”
“Ooh.” Ashley nods. “Yeah, wow. That’s weird. But you don’t even need it. You can just zap people in the brain.”
“Did you?” Michelle points back at where Tim went.
“Nope.” I hold my hands up. “Swear. You totally look like an adult Gotta be the skirt suit.”
Ash and Michelle snicker.
The drinks arrive in a few minutes. We order food, though I get a garden salad since I feel no guilt about wasting a giant pile of lettuce. I’d debate if it’s really ‘wasting’ if I’m enjoying eating it, but I have more important things to do like count Ashley’s freckles.
Once Tim walks away, Michelle starts prodding me with questions about Hunter.
“Spill,” says Ashley.
There’s not too much to tell, though I do let them in on what happened when I went to his
bedroom. Michelle fidgets throughout the story, unusually nervous.
“What’s up?” I glance at her.
“Okay, so there’s this guy at the office I met.”
Ashley gasps.
Michelle smirks at her. “Cool your jets. He’s my age, not one of the lawyers. Corey’s doing the same thing I am, running copies and messages, carrying files back and forth, looking crap up online, donut/coffee runs and such. Anyway, I’m tempted to call him back, but he’s like too perfect.” She shifts her gaze to me. “Would you check him out for me?”
“Huh?” I lift an eyebrow. “Like a private investigator or something?”
“Too perfect?” asks Ashley.
“Yeah.” Michelle sighs. “He’s educated, smart, polite, seems interested in me, too.”
“Who wouldn’t be?” Ashley pokes her in the side. “You’re like hot.”
We all crack up giggling. Michelle practically chokes on a chip while Ashley snort-laughs. Since Ashley got a veggie burger, her order included a cup of chili (also vegetarian). Tim drops it off, grins at us despite having no idea of what we’re laughing at, and keeps going.
“So, he’s like too perfect. Figure something’s gotta be wrong with him.” Michelle bites her lip at me. “I’m thinking you could take a peek and make sure he’s on the level. Like, let’s double date or something and you give him the sniff.”
“We could triple date,” says Ashley.
“Whoa.” Michelle glances at her. “You hook back up with what’s her name, Tammie?”
“No. His name’s River.” Ashley offers a brittle smile that I don’t like.
I fight the urge to leap into her thoughts, tempting as it is. She hasn’t talked about this guy too much, which is a bad sign all by itself. Normally, a new romantic interest for her monopolizes any conversation for at least two weeks. Though, whenever she had a girlfriend, she tried to keep that kinda quiet. ’Cause people are assholes. Like that one guy, Chris Drake. A few months after Ash broke up with him, he caught her kissing this other girl Julie. His friends teased him for being such a horrible date that he made Ash ‘change teams’ or some patriarchal bullshit like that.
Vampire Innocent (Book 3): The Artist of Ruin Page 2
