“Since when are you superstitious?”
I wag my eyebrows. “I’m not. This is me merely not taking the chance superstitions are real. Won’t take long. But… I’m going to visit Hunter after. Probably won’t be home until after you guys are asleep.”
Dad walks over to hug me. “All right. Be careful. Oh, tomorrow’s Saturday. Escape from New York and Escape from LA.”
“Heh. Going for a theme.”
“Nah. I merely heard something Russeling in the bushes.”
Head tilt. “I sense a great disturbance in the force. As if a horrible pun occurred, but I missed it.”
“Ooh, young padawan. Your skills are rusty. Kurt Russel?”
“Oh, gawd, Dad.” I bonk my head on his shoulder twice. “Awful.”
“It’s not awful until you realize where I put the DVDs.”
My eyebrows form a flat line. “You did not.”
“I did.”
“Literally in the bushes out back?”
Dad whistles innocently. “Only long enough to take a photo.”
“I’m going to randomly think about this pun for a century and groan about it every time.”
“My work here is complete,” says Dad attempting an Emperor Palpatine voice.
I head for the door out to the deck. “Another one like that, and I might just start throwing lightning out my fingertips.”
“Isn’t the whole lightning from the fingertips thing Sophia’s job?”
“Ugh!” I roll my eyes. “No, Dad. Lightning is dark side. She’s beyond light side. Sophia is ‘cute side.’ She’d throw pink bunny rabbits from her fingertips, and pelt the bad guys into submission under a machine gun fire of squeaky nerf bunnies.”
Dad laughs himself to tears as I step outside and leap into the air.
Six minutes later, I’m standing on top of the Space Needle.
Might as well get it over with.
There’s no real way to strip naked in public in any manner even close to dignified, so I don’t bother caring how I look and go as fast as possible. Soon, I’m atop the Space Needle in my birthday suit, fists against my hips in a Wonder Woman pose.
“Well, okay, Universe. I escaped the tree, so here I am, just like I promised. Embarrass away if you care to.”
It’s probably a lame jinx bet considering no one can see me up here at night unless they happen to be in a passing helicopter, but the skies are quiet. In hindsight, making a jinx bet with the Universe probably would work better if the offered unpleasantness has an actual effect. Like, I hate Brussels sprouts. Struggled with a chemistry test my sophomore year of high school, so I made a jinx bet with the Universe to eat a big portion of them if I passed the class with a B or better.
I got an A-.
Mom laughed at my request for Brussels sprouts, but I ate them.
And yeah, they still sucked. But a deal is a deal, right?
The view of the Seattle cityscape is breathtaking. I stand there for a few minutes looking around, waiting for something to happen. It’s not so late at night no one’s in the restaurant below me, but unless some maintenance guy is here to do after hours work and comes up to the roof, it’s about as private here as my bedroom. So, not the riskiest jinx bet I’ve ever made. Does having supernatural powers matter? Like, if I mind-controlled someone to forget seeing me streaking, does it invalidate the power of my jinx bet?
I didn’t promise not to.
And how long, exactly do I need to stand here in my birthday suit to satisfy the conditions of the bet? In a purely literal sense, my promise was ‘I get out of this alive, I’ll stand naked on top of the Space Needle.’ I am presently standing naked atop the Space Needle. Fulfilled. Didn’t say I’d stand here for an hour.
Okay, cool. I’m considering myself done.
Time to go see Hunter.
Before I can crouch to pick up my underwear, the iPhone in my jeans rings. Sigh. I fish it out. Caller ID says ‘stepmom.’ Eep. This is probably important, so I answer.
“Hello?”
“Allo, mon cherie,” says Aurélie. “What are you doing, dear?”
Busted. Umm. Or maybe she’s generally asking. She isn’t Dalton. We don’t have a mind link capable of reaching halfway around the planet. She’d totally get the concept of a jinx bet. However, for my dignity’s sake, I’m going to pretend she means it in a general ‘hey, what are you up to’ not a ‘why the heck are you on top of the Space Needle with no clothes on’ way.
“Not much. Paying off a small debt. Was about to go visit Hunter. Two cretins ambushed us the other day and he got hurt.”
“Oh, non! I ’ope he is not too injured?”
“Moderate concussion, broken rib, and a ‘chipped elbow’ whatever that is.”
She tsks. “You are in the city, yes? I sensed you somewhat close.”
“Yeah.” I look around. No one is watching me. No cameras—obvious ones anyway—in sight.
“It is good you are close. There is a gathering tonight.”
I stare straight up in frustration. For whatever reason, the Universe decided a night sky should still appear dark to vampires. One might think being able to fly and mind-control people is the most surreal aspect of this whole undead existence deal. It isn’t. Surreal is seeing the world as bright as afternoon on an overcast day under an ink-black, starry sky.
C’mon, Sarah. Get thine hormones in check. Tomorrow is Saturday. I can spend the whole day at Hunter’s. And it isn’t even hormones at the moment, more being worried about him and wanting to be there for him.
“Okay.”
“You seem unhappy.”
Teenage girls from the Eighties had one really big advantage over me. On a phone call like this, they had a cord to fidget with. I laughed my butt off watching Mom try to convince Sierra and Sophia they used to ‘tie phones to walls.’ “Well, yeah. But there’s a lot going on. Not unhappy about the soiree. Merely a little frustrated.” I spend a minute or two talking about how my plans to be with Hunter the other night had a giant turd dropped on them, though I don’t say anything in clear terms. The NSA is always listening, and they don’t need to be aware of vampires.
I mean, they probably are already, but no sense risking it. Even if my Dad is overly paranoid and the NSA isn’t listening to every phone conversation, still better I play it safe than wake up in a CIA lab. That’s right up there with the famous quote by Abraham Lincoln when he said, ‘Don’t believe everything you read on the internet.’
“Do not fret, mon cheri. Tonight’s meeting is not a soiree, but a conference about this exact problem. It will not consume much time.”
“Cool. I’ll be at your apartment in a minute or two.”
“See you soon,” says Aurélie in a cheerful tone, before making a maternal ‘mwah’ kissy noise.
I hang up.
Dammit, Universe. Jinx bet satisfied. Why the second interruption with Hunter? Oh, probably because I had a little hope this wouldn’t be the only time tonight I didn’t have clothes on. Bad Sarah. He’s hurt. We’re not going to do anything in bed for a while. I send him a text message letting him know ‘A’ requires my presence at an important meeting with ‘W,’ but it’s not going to take long and I’ll be there as soon as it’s over.
I scramble into my clothes and jump off the Space Needle.
Now there is a sentence I never imagined saying… or thinking.
To my absolute astonishment, I don’t end up in an elaborate 1700s-era gown.
Something is really wrong with my life when walking into this room in normal clothing—as opposed to being a giant porcelain doll—feels wrong. Aurélie meant it when she said it wouldn’t be a normal soiree. We do, however, go to the same hotel they usually hold the parties in. It’s unnerving to see the other vampires in basically street clothes. There are no snacks, human or otherwise, and the mood coming from everyone is ‘let’s get this over with fast.’
Now, I understand what Mom meant when she described it as bizarre when she ran into Cris
tian Fowler at the mall and saw him in a sweatshirt and jeans. He’s her boss, the VP of legal. Up until then, she’d only ever seen the guy wearing expensive suits.
Wolent’s here, obviously. To him, ‘street clothes’ are the same nice suits he always wears for the parties. Most of his entourage is dressed like me, either in T-shirts and jeans, sweatshirts and jeans, or Abercrombie & Fitch dresses. Except for me, vampires who shop at Marshalls, Target, or Walmart don’t show up for these events.
Stefano and Paolo are here. They—and their clique of traditionalists—are also all wearing black suits or evening gowns. Maybe the reason my mind keeps wanting to associate some of the vampires around here with the Mafia is due to their clothing more than the way they act. If Paolo put on forty pounds and grew a little mustache, he’d almost look like a fortyish Marlon Brando from Godfather. Almost. Maybe his half-brother.
The women who usually spar with Aurélie for being the prettiest in the room are completely different tonight. Both are dressed rather casually. Vanessa, the red-haired Fury, is totally soccer-momming out. As much as a woman who looks mid-twenties can soccer-mom. And no, I don’t really care if ‘soccer-mom’ isn’t a verb. She’s turning it into one.
We all basically stand in a giant circle like some lame corporate icebreaker exercise my mother’s constantly talking-slash-complaining about. She doesn’t mind doing fun activities with co-workers to build teamwork and camaraderie, but the things HR keeps coming up with are neither fun nor do they build camaraderie. Everyone views them as tedious, patronizing time-wasters. Corporate treating adults like kids in kindergarten doesn’t go over well.
Arthur Wolent starts off by announcing there are problems. He refers to the firebombing of two properties belonging to him, then goes on to mention numerous attacks on other vampires in the room, most of whom are on the older, wealthier side than me. Faces are familiar, but I don’t know any of them even as well as their names until Wolent mentions them except for Henry Arnold. I do know his name. And that he’s probably sweet on Ashton James. Apparently, they co-own a nightclub which suffered a bad case of the Molotovs.
Eleanor St. Ives points at him. “What evidence do you offer these attacks are not being carried out by your direction? And before you point out what gall I have to suggest such a thing, be aware your reputation making it seem ridiculous for you to do something like this might be the best subterfuge.”
Everyone gets quiet… likely waiting for Wolent to remind us all he’s a Fury.
“A vehicle abandoned at the site of an attack on my interests belongs to one of your companies.” Eleanor folds her arms.
I almost interrupt to say leaving such an obvious clue behind decreases the chances of it being legitimate proof of Wolent’s involvement, but her suspicions echo what I’d thought the other night. Making it seem like an obvious attempt to misdirect blame might allow them to pretend innocence. Might. For now, I keep quiet.
“It’s not Mr. Wolent,” says Stefano, nodding at Aurélie. “He’s acting through a supposedly neutral party. The pink rose was a nice touch.”
She quirks an eyebrow at him. “My dear Mr. Bianchi, I haven’t the slightest idea of what you mean.”
He narrows his eyes. “Who else in this room could have destroyed Vincenzo so effortlessly? Certainly, not your little doll pet.”
Admittedly, her ‘you’re scarcely worth my time’ tone could easily be misinterpreted as her lying in plain sight and making it obvious… but I know she didn’t send anyone to attack Stefano, his friends, or his business interests. Mostly because she doesn’t really have vampires to send… except me, and yeah—not happening. Again, I didn’t know Vincenzo well. Only that he’d been one of Stefano’s inner circle and over a hundred years old.
About half the room makes faces at us, like they’re wondering if Aurélie’s ‘supposed’ disinterest in political power is really a lie covering her true intentions… just like Wolent’s reputation for being blunt and direct could be a lie covering his scheming in the background. I fully believe if Wolent intended to mess with St. Ives, he’d tell her to her face. Yes, vampire politics demands subtlety, but the man doesn’t strike me as the type to lie. If subtlety failed and his involvement came out, he’d own it.
Vanessa starts accusing Paolo of sending thugs to get revenge on her for not helping him ‘make life hard for the kid.’ I assume she means me. Which also means Paolo definitely tried recruiting support to act against me somehow. Jennifer Ruiz, Stefano, Paolo, and a handful of others all complain about an anarchist uprising. Discussion gives way to everyone trying to shout over each other—except for me and Aurélie. We stand there watching with the same expressions, like a pair of teachers making no attempt to stop a riot of second-graders in the cafeteria while thinking, ‘screw it, they’ll get tired eventually.’
Pascal Ivanov, Eleanor’s close friend—and another Academic—brings the room to quiet by shouting his theory it could be anarchists posing as others to incite chaos.
“To what end?” scoffs Stefano. “What would they gain by this?”
“Anarchy, of course.” Pascal grasps the lapels of his dull green blazer. Dude totally looks like the overly stereotypical ‘nerdy’ science teacher, except for being a little on the young side, barely into his thirties. “Their only goal would be to watch us turn on each other and laugh as society burns.”
“Or it’s what Wolent thinks we’ll assume,” mutters Stefano.
Once again, everyone gets quiet, expecting a fit of rage.
Arthur Wolent remains calm, though he isn’t making eye contact with anyone. No, it isn’t guilt. He’s totally vibing like the Mafia boss who’s smiling and joking with a guy who’s not going to see another sunrise. Or, maybe in the case of vampires, a man who will see the next sunrise.
Oh, hell. Here goes nothing.
I storm across the open space in the middle of the circle, right up to Stefano. “Twice, I’ve been attacked by people claiming to have been sent by you.”
He sighs out his nose while frowning at me, then makes a face at Aurélie like a manager would give a woman whose toddler is trashing the store.
“No, I’m not going away. I have something to say here.” Must resist jabbing my finger into his chest despite wanting to real bad. Don’t need any more broken bones this week. “Both times vampires attacked me, they claimed to be working on your orders… and I believe they lied.”
He seems ready to bite my head off, but stops himself, head tilted in a ‘do my ears deceive me’ stare. The man looks me up and down.
“Sorry, skipped the fancy gown tonight. Look, everyone knows you think I’m being disrespectful to ‘tradition’ by not cutting ties with my family—but I also know I’m nowhere near important enough to be the reason all the elders start trying to kill each other. Sure, I’m living with my mortal family… who cares? Paolo’s hair helmet is more offensive to vampire tradition than me.”
About half the vampires in the room chuckle.
“Two nights ago, a pair of vampires attacked me and left me chained to a tree to hug the sun. They said Stefano ordered them to ‘teach me the meaning of respect.’”
Everyone—except Aurélie, Stefano, and Paolo—gasps.
Aurélie already knew. The other two guys are just dickheads.
Stefano’s angry glower backs off to the sort of expression one would make when watching an idiot pull on a push door.
“Exactly.” I gesture at him. “You know why it’s stupid. If you really wanted to destroy me, you wouldn’t have done that… and I don’t think you want to destroy me.”
“One does not murder a child for being insolent,” says Stefano. “It is an overreaction.”
“And men like you used to consider women who wore pants as ‘insolent.’ My family is not hurting anyone.” I look around the circle of vampires. “I’ve been attacked by someone pretending to be working for Stefano. It’s a lie. Someone, maybe even a vampire among us, is trying to set off a bomb. They hoped I’d freak o
ut and go crying to Aurélie to tell her you tried to kill me, expecting she’d come unglued and effectively throw Seattle into open war. But… if the guys who attacked me lied about it, there’s a really good chance the guys who have attacked all of you are also lying about it.”
Murmuring starts.
“St. Ives, too!” I yell.
She raises an eyebrow at me.
“You are accusing her of doing this?” Stefano scoffs. “What evidence do you have? Other than you stealing from her twice.”
“Argh.” I facepalm. “No. I’m not accusing her of anything. And I didn’t steal from her. Another group attacked my home. Mortals under mental command. Dalton looked in their thoughts and found memories of being programmed by people who discussed working for St. Ives.”
“Oh… Dalton Ames.” Paolo laughs. “Did you ever stop to think he’s the one behind all of this? Not only is he an anarchist, he doesn’t even have a home territory. Did you look into their minds or are you taking him at his word?”
“No.” I scowl at him. “I never stopped to suspect he’s behind all this. I know him better than that. And, as you so imperiously pointed out, he doesn’t consider Seattle his territory. Why would he give a toss what the elders here do?”
Know what’s awkward? Having two dozen vampires all stare at me in total silence.
I face Eleanor. “Can you make zombies?”
“No,” says Eleanor, without hesitation or emotion.
Stefano laughs. “Are you serious? Zombies? Child, you’ve been watching too much television.”
“Okay, fine. Technically, they weren’t zombies… merely reanimated puppets remote-controlled by a vampire master somewhere else.”
Eleanor raises a ‘wait’ hand to Stefano. “Don’t laugh, Bianchi. Such things are possible. However, I do not dabble in esoteric ridiculousness. The methods are inexact and the results unpredictable, dangerous, or wholly inefficient. I am strictly a woman of science.”
“Thought so,” I mutter.
“Body puppets?” asks Vanessa. “Sounds horrifying.”
Vampire Innocent | Book 11 | How To Stop A Vampire War In Six Easy Steps Page 19
