A Nighttime of Forever (Vampire Innocent Book 1)

by Matthew S. Cox

  The MIBs are in the living room when I get home. Agent Kendricks is chatting sports with Dad, who’s faking it as much as a computer geek can fake something he’s got no interest in. Mom picks up the slack though… she’s a huge Seahawks fan.

  “Oh, hi,” I say, while pulling my sneakers off near the front door. “What’s up?”

  Agent Han taps a cardboard box on the sofa beside her. “We recovered your things from the police department. Everything except the clothes you had on at the time.”

  “My phone!” I dart over to the box and pull the lid off. Purse, keys, shoes, earrings, and my iPhone―though the battery’s dead. “Awesome! Thank you!”

  “So, it seems our initial opinion of your being an Innocent have proven correct,” says Agent Kendricks.

  I fake an angelic pose. “Yeah. Everyone keeps saying it, so I must be innocent.”

  “You? Innocent?” asks Dad with a wink.

  I smirk.

  Both MIBs raise an eyebrow.

  Okay, he wants to embarrass me? Two can play that game. I roll my eyes. “Dad walked in on me with my boyfriend like three times.”

  Without missing a beat, Dad holds up four fingers.

  Mom goes crimson in the face… and so do I.

  “Don’t challenge me at this game,” says Dad, smiling. “I have toddler photos.”

  Oh gawd. I shrink in on myself. He wouldn’t dare show those to the MIBs.

  “So, you guys have any idea what to do about Scott? Sierra thinks he’s going to try to hurt my family. The asshole blames me for what happened to him.”

  Agent Han nods. “Please understand, Miss Wright, that though we are aware of your kind and deal with matters of this nature, our department is not large. We’re doing what we can.”

  “We have adjusted your records,” says Agent Kendricks. “And smoothed everything over so that you are no longer legally deceased.”

  “Cool. Thanks!” I whistle. “Being legally dead would’ve been a pain in the ass when I apply for night school. I’ve planted a story in a couple heads about a Jane Doe dying and the hospital mistaking our names and notifying the wrong family of a death. A detective came by looking for my missing body, so he thinks there’s some other girl.”

  “Clever.” Agent Han chuckles. “We can work with that story.”

  “Our resources are somewhat limited. However, if you decide to deal with the issue of Mr. Deacon yourself, we can offer you protection from too many prying eyes. Provided you don’t do it in a way that makes it impossible to cover up.”

  Mom sits forward. “Are you suggesting my daughter go out hunting the man who killed her?”

  “Mrs. Wright,” says Agent Kendricks, “your daughter is not a helpless teenage girl. She’s a paranormal entity with rather dangerous capabilities. Quite literally, someone could run her over with a tank, and she’d get back up.”

  “Eventually,” mutters Agent Han.

  “I’m not dangerous,” I say in my best little girl voice. “I’m innocent.”

  Everyone except Mom chuckles.

  “We do not expect you to be a great cause of concern given the nature of your kind,” says Agent Kendricks.

  “Innocent,” adds Han.

  “However, we may be in touch regarding the agreement.” Agent Kendricks smiles at me.

  “What agreement? I haven’t agreed to anything.” I look back and forth between them.

  Agent Han shakes her head. “Not with you personally; with your kind. Sometimes, favors are exchanged.”

  “Oh. Right. Aurélie mentioned that.”

  Agent Kendricks gets a lovesick look in his eyes.

  Han swats him on the arm, snapping him out of it.

  “Umm. Okay. I’m not looking to cause any trouble. Just… be as normal as possible.”

  “What does this agreement entail?” asks Dad.

  Agent Kendricks glances at Dad. “We don’t exactly have a brochure, but suffice to say certain parties inside the government have agreed to help certain parties who possess retractable teeth whenever problems arise within our power to address. In exchange, we occasionally call in favors to cope with situations beyond mortal hands.”

  “Umm, right,” I mutter. “But, I’m not much of a fighter.”

  “We know.” Agent Han smiles. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

  Kendricks hands me a business card that’s blank except for a phone number: 206-555-1234. “We’ve already added your phone to our system.”

  “This is a bogus number,” I say. “The 555 thing is for movies.”

  The MIBs both nod at the same exact moment. Eerie.

  “If you call it from your phone, you’ll get through,” says Agent Han.

  They stand.

  “Please accept our condolences on your death,” says Agent Han. “And we look forward to working with you in the future.”

  Agent Kendricks nods to me, then hands a mug to Dad. “Thank you again for the coffee.”

  Mom walks them to the door and returns looking shell-shocked.

  “What?” I ask.

  “That whole thing just sounds bad. Some group more secretive than the CIA is potentially going to tap Sarah for… things?” asks Mom.

  “I wonder if there’s any way to fight that?” Dad scratches his head. “Can you think of anything legal? Sounds almost like a draft.”

  “Dad, they’re not gonna send me to Iraq or anything.” I fold my arms. “No way. Hello? Sunlight.”

  Mom sinks into a seat on the sofa beside me. “I’ve never seen any laws on the books about vampire rights.” She laughs, though it sounds manic rather than humorous.

  I lean against her, my brain bombarding me with images of Scott walking away carrying his head. “Don’t worry, Mom. It’s not like I can die… again.”

  My parents stare aghast.

  “Sorry. I was aiming for funny. Guess I missed.”

  Mom presses her hand over my chest, which makes me aware of my heartbeat. The nervous tension in her fades. “Would you mind if I pretended that never happened and you just like got bit by a radioactive spider or something?”

  “No problem.” I grin, then point at Dad. “And no, Dad. Relax. I am not going to wear spandex.”

  Oops

  24

  You know what feels weird? Undigested food on the way out.

  Within minutes of me waking up the next afternoon, an urge I haven’t felt in days sends me scrambling for the bathroom. It’s all at once painfully normal and wildly bizarre, not to mention an all-too-real reminder that I’m not having a nightmare.

  Though I can’t call it a nightmare anymore. I’m not even totally sure I’d do it if given the chance to go back in time and not be killed. I know it breaks every law of vampire society, but I’m kinda happy with the new me.

  While I’m in the bathroom, I lift my shirt to check on the knife scar, and it’s still there. Darn. Guess it’s permanent. At least it’s small. I frown at it, and it goes away.

  Say what?

  Okay, not arguing.

  Oh, wait. Maybe it’s like one of those things… it’ll come back every time I sleep and I have to consciously get rid of it. Wow. Good thing I shaved the Thursday morning before my murder. Waking up with hairy legs and pits every single day would totally blow.

  Sophia’s voice comes through the ceiling. She’s freaking out about a summer camp my parents are talking about. She’s not what I’d call painfully shy, but being away from home for a week with fifty some strange kids is past her threshold. Sierra’s also not too thrilled with the idea, since it means a week of no technology or contact with her friends.

  I head upstairs and glide into the living room where whine-mageddon is going down, and say, “It might be a good idea to keep them close until the Scott situation is dealt with.”

  Both girls stare adoringly at me.

  “Oh, good point.” Dad rubs his chin.

  “Dad?” I ask. “When you were a kid, did Grandma and Grandpa send you to summer camp?”r />
  “Yeah.”

  “Did you like it?”

  He laughs. “Nope. I hated it. I’m not an outdoors type.” He gestures at Sierra. “I was like her. All about video games.”

  “So why are you inflicting that on them?”

  “My parents said kids needed a dose of nature, but I suppose since all three of you are shooting it down”―he tosses the brochure on the table―“might as well skip it.”

  The girls bounce on their toes, grinning.

  It’s gloomy and raining today, so… “How ’bout we go get ice cream? Like go to a place and have it.”

  Dad puts on his ‘ugh, you want me to leave the house?’ face.

  “I’d drive them, but I don’t have a car. Speaking of which… I might need one to go to classes coming up.”

  “Nice try. You can take mine for school. Besides, can’t you fly? And you won’t get a ticket for speeding that way.”

  “She won’t get a ticket for speeding in a car either,” says Sierra. “She drives like an old lady.”

  I throw a small pillow at her. “That wasn’t my car, plus you were there. I had to be extra careful. And I might take a class that starts early evening before the sun goes all the way down. I can’t fly then.”

  “All right, let’s go.” Dad stands. “One of you tell Sam to get his shoes on.”

  We brave the rain, heading into Seattle to hit Molly Moon’s Homemade Ice Cream.

  Even though I could eat this whole store and not gain an ounce, I don’t go nuts, sticking with a modest-sized chocolate sundae. Sophia and Sierra share a large strawberry. Sam and Dad go for Rocky Road. It’s totally worth it despite how weird this is gonna feel later.

  For a couple hours, we do the normal family thing.

  Soon after sunset, I head down to my room and check on my iPhone. It’s charged, which feels like I’ve had a vital organ reattached. I post a couple selfies to Instagram to show my outer-orbit friends that I’m really still alive, people I’ll probably not meet in person again until a high school reunion.

  That done, I grab Dalton’s card and call the number on it. A second before I get dumped into voicemail, he picks up.

  “Oy, luv. How are ya doing?”

  I exhale with relief. “Hey. I got a question for you.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Water drips come over the line.

  “Sounds like you got a leak,” I say.

  “Ehh… crashed in a grotty basement. Miscalculated time and had to dive for cover on short notice. Ask away.”

  “We have a problem,” I say, then explain about Scott.

  “Oops,” says Dalton.

  “What do you mean, ‘oops’? What did you do?” I resist the sudden urge to throw my iPhone at the wall.

  “Well, every now and then if we kill a human, they might get back up.”

  Oh, okay. Since he didn’t intend to reanimate Scott, I’ll forgive him. I sit on the edge of my bed and let out a long breath. “Yeah. He’s a Scrap all right.”

  “Eh, don’t pay it any worry.” Hard footsteps, dress shoes in a concrete hallway, echo over the phone. “Scraps are weak. Without the intention to pass along the gift, the Transference doesn’t fully take. They only get, well, scraps of ability.”

  “I ripped his damn head off and he walked away.”

  A squeaky scrape makes me picture a big metal door opening. Dalton’s voice takes on an echoing quality. “Yes, well, the only way we can die is total destruction of the remains. Burning, acid, sacrifice to the volcano god, that sort of thing.”

  I sigh.

  “It’ll sort out. Scraps are the roaches of the vampire kingdom. Most any of our kind who finds one will get rid of it.”

  “There’s gotta be something easier than trying to trick him into the sun.”

  “Hmm. Well, perhaps. There’s rumors of an enchanted sword that could do it, but the bloody thing supposedly disappeared about 1,700 years ago somewhere in Egypt.”

  I roll my eyes. “You’re not helping.”

  Another heavy door creaks in the background.

  “Where the heck did you sleep? Inside a submarine?”

  He laughs. “Nah, lass. Basement of a corporate office. Crawled into the ductwork to cop some zeds.”

  “So what am I supposed to do about Scott? My sister thinks he’s going to come after us again.”

  “You handed him his head once already,” says Dalton, chuckling. “I doubt he’ll fancy a repeat of that. Bloke’ll probably stay away.”

  “Scott’s not like that. He hates losing, especially to a girl, and he might be smart enough to do something sneaky if he thinks he can’t take me on.”

  “Rip him to pieces and make a bonfire. Just make sure the bits are small enough that they can’t hop out of the flames.”

  “Little help maybe? This isn’t all my mess.” I stare at the ceiling. “Please?”

  “All right, all right,” says Dalton. “Keep your knickers on.”

  “I plan to.”

  “No. I―” He sighs. “It’s just a figure of speech. You’re at home now?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Right. I’ll be there in a tick. Just ’ave a craving for Indian.”

  He did not just go there. “Seriously?”

  Dalton chuckles. “See ya soon, luv.”

  Messy Breakup

  25

  Dad meets me in the living room, trying to hand me a strip of red cloth and a giant knife.

  “What the heck is that for?” I ask.

  “You’re going after Scott, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  He holds up the cloth. “Headband.”

  “Dad, you’re a jackass.” I hug him. “I’m not in an eighties action movie… and that’s a necktie.”

  “Can we help at all?” asks Dad.

  “Get a flare gun and make sure Scott doesn’t hurt anyone here.”

  I frown at the shoe pile. Ballet flats, flip-flops, Uggs, or sneakers. I have a couple pairs of cute boots in my room, but they’ve all sorta got heels. Not what I want to wear to a fight. I really ought to get something heavier. Sneakers it is. They’re white, but my T-shirt and jeans are both black. I don’t know if Scott can see in the dark, but better to assume he can. If so, dressing dark won’t help, but it will hide me from normal people.

  “A flare gun?” He chuckles.

  “Yeah. Burning hurts a lot, and it would probably make him run away.” I tie my second sneaker and stand. “Back soon.”

  “Be careful,” says Dad. “You sure you don’t want the headband? Go full on Rambo?”

  “Who?”

  He gasps. “Young lady, your movie education is sorely lacking. We’ll have to fix that.”

  “Okay.” I’ll sit through an hour and a half of cheese if it means Scott’s no longer a threat. Lost Boys was actually pretty cool, mullet notwithstanding. I close my eyes and promise the universe I will watch that movie with Dad if I can send Scott to hell. “Deal.”

  A soft knock tells me Dalton’s arrived.

  I open the door and find him standing there in a grey suit and expensive shoes, like he’s dressed for a fancy restaurant. “Thanks for coming. Interesting outfit for dealing with a Scrap.”

  “Who’s that?” asks Dad.

  “Umm, this is Dalton.”

  “You know this guy?” Dad glances at him with a raised eyebrow. “He’s a little old for you.”

  “Dad, this is the guy who saved me. He’s gonna help deal with Scott.”

  “Cheers, mate.” He waves at Dad.

  “Do you want a headband?” asks Dad, offering the tie.

  “My father is desperate to have someone put one of his neckties around their head.” I push Dalton away from the door and follow him out onto the porch.

  “What, like Rambo?” Dalton chuckles.

  “See?” yells Dad. “He understands.”

  “Bye, Dad! We’re going now.” I pull the door closed.

  “Right, so where is he?” asks Dalton.


  I shrug. “No idea.”

  “I thought you had a plan.”

  “Nope. That’s why I asked for help.” Thumbs hooked in my jean pockets, I tap my fingers on my thighs. “I was kinda hoping you could figure out where he is.”

  “Hmm.” He cradles his chin in one hand.

  “Is that supposed to be Sherlock Holmes?”

  “No. I’m thinking.”

  “Oh.” I look around at the cul-de-sac. It’s quiet except for the rustle of wind in the wavering leaves. At least no undead ex-boyfriends are trying to sneak up on my home.

  “Where’d you see him last?” asks Dalton.

  “He’s not a lost cell phone.”

  He smiles. “I’m serious.”

  “Uhh, the cabin.”

  “Right. Let’s go ’ave a look. Lead on.”

  I shake my head and jog a couple steps before leaping into the air.

  A while later, after an annoyingly long time of zigzagging around the area past Lake Margaret, I catch sight of the smashed cabin below the treetops and dive. Dalton follows me down through the thick tangle of branches. Dead leaves crunch under my feet as I land. The area’s quiet, heavy with the scent of wet forest and dirt.

  “Criminy,” says Dalton. “When you said you smashed up the place, I thought you were being figurative.”

  “Not really.” I walk up to the wall that fell outward. “This place is going to collapse the rest of the way pretty soon.”

  “Unless whoever owns it fixes it.” He circles around the property, eyeing the ground. Eventually, he stops and points down. “Is this about where he toddled off?”

  Seems like it, so I nod.

  “Right, then. These are his tracks. Come on, and try to stay quiet.”

  I stay a couple paces behind him as he creeps through the woods. Every so often, I manage to spot a mark on the ground or a broken vine, but Dalton’s going so fast it’s as if he’s following a painted line. It’s hard for me not to get distracted by the wow factor of being able to see so far into the forest at night, but I don’t exactly have to pay attention to the trail, only keep up with him.