Vampire Innocent_Book 3_The Artist of Ruin

by Matthew S. Cox

  Wow. Tonight’s not going well for her. First that mess with River, now someone’s about to rob her house? Seriously, Universe, give her a break.

  I put a hand on her shoulder. “Wait here. I got this.”

  She pulls her handbag around and reaches in for her phone. “Cops?”

  “Probably. Give me a few minutes though, I could use a snack.”

  “Okay.”

  I trot across the street, over her lawn, and walk up behind the guy. “Little trouble with the lock?”

  “Gah!” He jumps, fumbling a couple of thin metal tools which clatter to the porch.

  “You know they have these things called doorbells.”

  The man presses himself against the house, a manic look in his eyes. He pulls a gun from the back of his pants, but before he can point it at me, I dash in closer and kick it aside. His arm snaps to the left like a noodle, the gun whizzing off into the trees. The dude crumples to the floor cradling his smashed hand.

  I drop on him, one knee in his chest, and grab a fistful of shirt beneath his chin. As soon as he makes eye contact, he’s mine. His recent memories unfurl to my awareness. He’s not here to rob the place. He’s got four large gasoline cans in that van. What the eff? I burrow deeper and run into a gummy barrier across his mind.

  Ooh! That bitch. She’s gone over the line. As soon as this doll crap is straightened out, I’m going to deal with her. Going after Ashley—or Michelle—is way too far. She’s looking for loopholes in Aurélie’s protection. Technically, neither of my friends are ‘family,’ and she’s probably planning on using that as an excuse if Aurélie goes after her.

  Anger and protectiveness toward my best friend give me the strength to blast through the mental wall, revealing images of this guy meeting Petra at a club. She programmed him to torch Ashley’s house, preferably with her mother home. This poor dude isn’t even a criminal, merely a locksmith. Damn. Is she going to be even more irrationally upset with me for preventing her from ruining this guy’s life, or is he only a tool as opposed to another ‘project?’

  Since I’ve demolished her mental wall already, I wipe out the compulsion driving him to burn down my best friend’s house, and do my best to make him forget ever seeing Petra. I also give him a half memory that someone at that nightclub wants to kill him. Hopefully, that will protect him from bumping into her again.

  Mind surgery done, I go in for a bite.

  Grilled steak. Okay. That probably came from thinking of fire.

  Ashley squats nearby, watching me feed like she’s found a dead deer on the side of the road and is simultaneously fascinated and repulsed by the bugs all over it.

  I shift my gaze left, toward her. Do you mind?

  Her eyes flutter at my telepathic question. “Sorry. It’s still kinda weird seeing you do this stuff. Not bad weird. Just weird.”

  It’s even stranger for me.

  “I’ll bet. So, umm… want me to call the police?”

  I hold up a ‘wait’ finger. A few more sips, and I seal the wound, sit back, and wipe my mouth. “Nah. This guy’s a tool.”

  “So?” She tilts her head.

  “I mean a literal tool. Another vampire programmed him to do this.” I lick the blood off my hand.

  “Oh.” Ashley goes bug-eyed. “Seriously? Some other vampire’s coming after me and Mom?”

  Head bowed, I put an arm around her. “No. They’re after me. And they know we’re close. This is my fault. And I’m going to fix it.”

  “What about Sam?”

  “Yeah. I need to fix him, too. The vampire problem can probably wait long enough for me to help Sam. This bitch plays a long game.”

  She pokes the semiconscious arsonist in the head. “What about this guy?”

  “He’s no threat now. I have to help my brother, but I really don’t want to leave you alone after that River thing.”

  Ashley hugs me. “It’s okay. I know Sam needs you. I’ll be okay. Mom’s here. I’m more freaked out than heartbroken. I… didn’t really invest in that guy since I kinda believed you all along. Just didn’t want to let myself see it.”

  “What am I doing here?” asks the man I’m still sitting on.

  Oops.

  I blank him again, and carry him over to the van. After propping him up in the driver’s seat, I give him a compulsion to go home. He stares into space. It’ll be a little while before his head clears, so I slip out, shut the van door, and walk back over to Ashley, who’s still on her porch.

  “He’ll go home and forget ever being here,” I say.

  “What about his gun? Some kid’s gonna find that. And it might like trace back to him.”

  Crap.

  It takes me about two minutes to spot it in the undergrowth next to the house. Hooray for sharp vampiric eyesight. I use a twig to pick it up and carry it back over to the van. Since the guy isn’t an actual criminal, this is probably his gun. Or maybe Petra gave it to him to ruin his life more. Hmm.

  The van’s still there. Bet the guy’s trying to figure out where he is and why he’s here.

  I walk around to the driver side door, open it, and dive once more into his head. Drat. Option two. Petra strikes again. This guy doesn’t remember owning a gun at all. Okay, no problem. I shove the door closed, add the memory that he made a wrong turn on his way home, and return to Ashley’s porch.

  “Got a plastic baggie or something I can have?”

  “Yeah sure.” She unlocks the door and goes inside.

  Speaking of… I pick up the lock picking tools the dude dropped. Before I can take one step toward the van, he drives away. Hmm. Oh well. Maybe I’ll keep these. Couldn’t hurt to learn how to pick locks, right? I have the distinct impression Dalton would be able to teach me.

  Ash reappears at the door with a baggie. I put it over my hand like a glove and grab the gun with it. Much better than balancing it on a twig.

  “Okay. Gotta go. I’ll call you as soon as I can.”

  “Sure.” She hugs me tight. “Thank you.”

  “Hey. Sisters. No thanks necessary.”

  She grins, waves, and stands there watching me until I shoot skyward again. Even a few hundred feet away in the air, the soft thump of her door closing reaches my awareness. Damn detours. Argh! Anyway, I zoom over to Woodinville and cruise around for a minute or two until I spot a police car sitting in a parking lot. Probably a speed trap… or the dude’s taking a nap.

  I use my shirt to wipe the gun down—not wanting to get Mr. Locksmith in trouble—and place the weapon on the sidewalk a few feet past the corner of the nearest building. Then, I find a nice dark patch of shadow and stare at the cop until he feels watched and starts looking around. The second he’s looking at me, I will him to get out of his car.

  He does, a look of confusion on his face.

  That’s it. Walk a little forward. Look to your left… aha!

  As soon as he spots the gun lying on the sidewalk, I take off.

  It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.

  My dad has that saying on a T-shirt. And in this case, I think I’m going to live by those words. I can’t envision any scenario in which Mom gives me the green light to fly Sam to Seattle to meet an elder vampiress, even if it’s a step toward de-possessing him. Okay, maybe I could make the argument, but I don’t feel like wasting the half hour it would take.

  So, I sneak into my own house, slip into my li’l bro’s room, and essentially kidnap him from his bed. The doll’s nowhere in sight. I peek in on Sophia. No doll there either, but she’s curled up in a ball in the middle of her bed, completely under her covers like a terrified cat hiding from a thunderstorm. Sierra’s room is also Rebecca-less, though my other sister is unfazed by the thought of a cursed doll in the house. She’s sprawled on her bed like a college student after a night of hard drinking, big stereo headphones askew.

  Not gonna peek in on the ’rents. They might be awake still, and seeing me carry Sam around would start that argument I’m trying to avoid.
Besides, I only need to ask forgiveness if they find out about it, right? And the only reason I’m doing this at all is to help Sam.

  Hmm. He’s still barefoot in his pajamas. Maybe I shouldn’t take him out of the house like this, even in summer. After a quick stop in his room to grab his blanket, I carry my burritoed brother out the kitchen patio door, and leap into the sky.

  A few minutes later, I walk through the doors of Aurélie’s apartment tower, Sam wriggling in my arms.

  He woke up during the flight and got into a war with himself. Sam adored being in the air, while the doll’s spirit expressed her displeasure at me removing him from our house. Fortunately, this place doesn’t have a security guard in the lobby to question why I’m clamped onto a struggling boy who doesn’t appear to want to go with me.

  At least he’s not screaming.

  I duck into the elevator and push the button for Aurélie’s floor. As in, the whole floor is hers. I don’t even want to know how much her rent is. Downtown Seattle, entire floor of a new, super-modern building? Yeah. Probably makes our house look cheap.

  “Hello, chéri!” chimes Aurélie from an overhead speaker.

  A beep follows as she approves my request to come up.

  Sam goes still, staring at the spot where her voice came from. A little of him comes through, and he struggles to cling to me. I’ve kinda wrapped him up in the blanket the way vet techs use towels to contain uncooperative cats.

  “Where are we?” asks Sam.

  “We’re going to visit my friend Aurélie. She’s really nice and wants to meet you.”

  His wide eyes, the same shade of dark brown as his hair, throw off fear in buckets. It’s strange and alarming to see him obviously emotional. I’m sure it’s not being here as much as it’s him knowing something’s gotten into him he can’t control.

  “It’s gonna be okay, Sam.” I squeeze him. “No one is going to hurt you. That new friend of yours isn’t bad. She’s just lonely.”

  The doors open, and I carry him into Aurélie’s lavish home. The sight of a television almost as big as the entire wall of his bedroom makes his jaw drop open. Since he’s kinda contained in here what with the elevator and all, I set him down on his feet and unwrap the blanket. He gravitates straight to the television, staring up at it like some ancient tribal primitive finding a statue of his god.

  “There you are, chéri. Oh, he is completely adorable.” Aurélie glides in from the double doors. Her white dress drags on the ground, its silver floral pattern glinting in the light as well as the rose-shaped pins in the corset. It’s elaborate, but this is her version of lazing around the house in sweat pants.

  Sam gawks at her. He’s way too young for her charms to trigger any carnal desires, but it’s obvious her ridiculous beauty has derp-slapped him senseless. He does manage a whispery, “Wow…”

  She swoops around the sectional and crouches eye level to him, and proceeds to dote on him like Ashley finding a box of kittens. He stands there stiff as a mannequin, wide-eyed, and totally unsure how to react to her. For a moment, I almost feel like he’s a baby field mouse staring up at an eagle.

  “Your little brother is so cute,” says Aurélie, offering him a hand. “Please, Sam. Follow me. I have something to show you.”

  He takes her hand, despite an expression that says he expects to be led off and baked into a pie.

  I follow the two of them through the double doors and into the hallway beyond, trying not to step on the gown. Yes, my patron is wearing a dress with a train in her apartment. Probably for the lols. She leads him past several guest bedrooms, a dining hall, two sitting rooms, library, and finally into the room adjacent to her master bedroom full of dolls.

  Sam scrunches up his nose in an expression of ‘dolls, really?’ A moment later, he appears dizzy, and his pronounced disinterest becomes awed curiosity.

  Aurélie again crouches beside him and peers into his eyes. “Hmm. Oui. Rebecca is quite fond of him.”

  My brother regards her with the most adult expression I’ve ever seen on him. Almost a ‘why are you looking at me like that’ face. Subtle eye motions and faint smiles give away an unspoken conversation occurring over the next few minutes.

  “Let your brother stay with me for the time being. You will find Rebecca in his closet. Please go retrieve her.”

  “Okay. Oh…” I scowl at the wall. “Petra sent someone to burn down Ashley’s house.”

  Aurélie springs up to her full height and gasps. “What?”

  I’m not entirely sure how to take her sudden spike of protectiveness toward my best friend, but I nod and explain what we found with the locksmith and his van full of gasoline cans. She paces back and forth, quietly fuming.

  “Be careful,” says Aurélie, her voice low and tinged with anger. “The others know of the protection I have given your family. Alas, I neglected to specify non-blood family.”

  “Yeah. I already thought of that. She’s skating on technicalities.”

  “If we act against her, it could worsen the situation. However, if this Stanovaya woman harms Ashley, or your other friend, I will cease caring about niceties. Alas, were I to make an official statement extending my protection to your friends, it would create the appearance of weakness or impermanence, suggesting I could not make up my mind. That could lead to greater risk for your parents and siblings.”

  With Sam here, I can’t use the words I really want to. “I’m not going to let that woman nearly burn Ashley’s house down and not answer for it. I’m going to… to… do something!”

  Aurélie glides over and grasps my shoulders. “Remember what I told you before. Try to ignore her as much as you can. Her goal is to drive you to despair or madness.”

  “I can’t ignore her sending someone to torch Ashley’s place. And maybe kill Mrs. Carter. She’s almost like my second mother.”

  “The woman is poking you in a sensitive place. Go. Find Rebecca in your brother’s room, and bring her back here. I will think on the best way to deal with this succubus.”

  “Wait, she’s an actual succubus?”

  Aurélie laughs. “No, child. I mean that as a metaphor.”

  “Are there actual succubus?” I scrunch up my nose. “Succubuses? Succubi?”

  “Succubi, dear.” She shrugs. “Perhaps. I never involved myself with demonology. Too many risks.”

  “Okay.” I nod. “I’ll try to keep it together. Be back soon, Sam.”

  My brother looks at me like he’s confused at being called by that name. Oh, wonderful. I guess Sam’s not here right now. A shiver runs down to my toes and bounces back up. Yeah. I need to get my brother back before I do anything else.

  23

  Sally Ann

  Aurélie’s building seriously needs patios or something. I’m starting to hate this elevator.

  I dash into the alley behind her apartment tower and hurl myself into the air, flying home as fast as I can will myself to move. It might not be a bad idea to warn Michelle and Hunter to watch out for crap like strange men in vans, but both of them are asleep now. It’s almost too tempting to go check on them, but… Sam.

  Once I get home, I race up the stairs to my brother’s room and go straight to the closet. Aurélie said she’d be in there.

  When I yank the door open, my brain feels like a tomato hitting the windshield of a semi-truck.

  Instead of Sam’s closet, I find myself staring through a doorway at a grassy meadow. All the colors are washed out and desaturated, like an ancient color photograph left in the sun. The scenery is definitely not from around here. It’s so damn flat. Grass and fields as far as I can see, except for a three-story white house in the distance. Okay, this is an entirely new level of messed up.

  Did the doll get into my head? Is this what Sam’s been seeing?

  Distant child voices shout over the meadow. I can’t spot the kids running and playing, but they sound happy. This whole scene is like something out of a Hallmark card—from seventy years ago. I don’t have time fo
r this. I hang my head in frustration, but my exasperated sigh dies in my throat.

  My jeans are gone. I’m staring down at an old-ass child’s dress and scrawny, bare legs. Oh, what the f—hell is going on now? Seconds tick by as I raise and lower my toes, or rather the toes of some long-ago little girl. When I look up again, the meadow is still inside Sam’s closet, but the doorknob is at eye-level to me.

  Great. I’m like five or six years old.

  Nope.

  I try to push the closet door shut, but it’s as immovable as a wall. Everything I’ve ever learned from horror movies tells me not to go in that door. It also makes me not want to look behind me. Somehow, I know Sam’s room won’t be there anymore. I look anyway.

  Sure enough, black void.

  At least there’s no monster ready to chase me.

  Well, Aurélie said I’d find Rebecca in Sam’s closet. Silly me, like I expected to find the actual doll sitting in the actual closet. What was I thinking? Normal? Hah. My reality has driven ninety miles an hour off a cliff.

  I really should’ve bought a squirrel.

  A quick pat-down confirms my suspicions. No boobs. Missing front top teeth. Light brown hair down to my (or this kid’s) waist. She’s almost as skinny as I remember being at this age, but Dad’s genes have hers beat for the whole stick figure thing. Fortunately, around like fifteen, I filled out a bit. ‘A bit’ being the operative word here.

  Standing here isn’t going to accomplish anything.

  “Okay, okay. I’ll play your game,” I mutter, and step into the grass.

  As soon as I’m in the closet (literally, not metaphorically), the weight of a hot, humid summer day falls on me. Some little part of my brain recoils at the brightness, but nothing happens. A vampire can’t commit suicide by dreaming of a sunny day. Or hallucinating. Or whatever the hell I’m experiencing.

  I’m pretty sure this is some kind of dream or vision, since there’s no way that doll has enough power to make a literal time portal in my brother’s closet. No, I’m seeing out of the eyes of someone else. But it’s odd that I have control. More like I’m playing a video game based on this kid’s life. Oh, shit. I wonder if I’m seeing the memories of the old woman who owned Rebecca when she was tiny. Or maybe some other kid from the same time?