A Beginner's Guide to Fangs
Author: Matthew S. Cox
Date: 2018-04-15 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Urban Fantasy; Paranormal; Vampires; New Adult
Description: At eighteen, Sarah Wright never had to cope with a death in her family before―least of all her own. Two weeks after waking up as a vampire, she’s starting to feel comfortable in her fangs. Sarah’s doing okay, if you don’t count wicked mood swings, crushing guilt, and a pervasive sense of existential dread. On the upside, her family is adjusting to the new normal of supernatural in stride and she’s even testing the waters with a new guy. However, something’s changed with her best friend Ashley, who’s not acting at all like herself. To make matters worse, someone’s stalking Sarah. Mom copes with

A Beginner’s

Guide to Fangs

Vampire Innocent Book 2

A Beginner’s Guide to Fangs

A Novel

Book 2 of the Vampire Innocent series

© 2018 Matthew S. Cox – All Rights Reserved.

No portion of this novel may be reproduced without written permission from the author. This novel is a work of fiction. Any similarities to real vampires, mortals, other supernatural creatures, or events is unintentional.

Table of Contents

Blood and Teddy Bears

Samoas

High School

The Archive

Debut

Glim

Waiting Tables

Free Ride

Attachments

Super Powers

Thin Mints

Too Much Information

Lifting Spirits

Unseen

Nothing Suspicious

Taking the Mick

Abaddon

The Vampire’s Pantry

Filching The Stash

Just Say No

The Darkness Watches

Priorities

Two Cougars and a Tiger

Interested Party

Dumpster Diving

Favors

A Life Left Behind

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Links

Other books by Matthew S. Cox

Blood and Teddy Bears

1

Emotional barely begins to describe what I’ve been for the past few days, and it’s really damn annoying―more so than being dead. I mean, don’t get me wrong. All things considered, if somehow I ran into a genie who could wind back the clock and I had the choice to let things go as they went or change it so I didn’t get murdered by my asshole ex-boyfriend… I’m not sure what I’d choose.

Being alive is cool, but… vampires can fly.

And, yeah, there’s that whole living forever thing even if this new all-protein diet I’m on kinda sucks.

On one level, I’m still in awe over these powers and everything. So much so, I can’t really say for sure one way or the other I’d do it if I could ‘wish’ myself back to normal. Like, who would give up immortality, flight, reading people’s thoughts, and the best: being able to soak in a warm bath while totally underwater.

As in, I don’t have to breathe anymore.

And maybe… just maybe, I’ve been abusing that lately―for excessively long amounts of time. Like right now. My nose is three inches beneath a layer of foam from a ‘peaches and cream’ bath bomb. It’s probably been about an hour and a half, and I haven’t broken the surface since I got in except for reaching a foot up to run a little more hot water every so often.

No, I’m not hiding from the world. I’m trying to figure shit out.

It’s not every day a girl has to deal with her boyfriend flipping out and murdering her in the middle of breaking up with him. Well, technically, most girls don’t have to deal with that since getting murdered is usually a ‘game over’ moment. There’s not much ‘dealing with’ anything after the fact. I’d had the luck (good or bad debatable) of having wound up on the dinner menu for a vampire by the name of Dalton Ames. The guy’s nice, I guess, but I wouldn’t trust him with anything seriously important or involving heavy machinery. Anyway, he evidently has this thing about kids being hurt, and he mistook me for like a fifteen-year-old or something.

Instead of being his dinner, I wound up being the second person he’d turned into a vampire. Scott, the ex-boyfriend―very ex-boyfriend that is―had jammed a knife into my chest far enough to pretty much kill me in seconds. My dad always called me a bleeding heart, but he had no idea. Nothing like a giant Rambo knife to make that whole thing literal.

And yes, I do know who Rambo is. My dad’s obsessed with eighties movies.

I still have the scar, though fortunately, it’s only a tiny white line. Dalton decided to do the only thing he could to ‘save’ me, which he called the transference. He hasn’t told me how it works, only that I basically had three or four seconds left to live when he started it.

At least Dalton didn’t get upset with me when he learned I’m eighteen, not a ‘kid’ like he thought. Even if my transformation changed how I look a little bit. As best I understand, when someone becomes a vampire, their body changes appearance based on the lineage they inherit. I’d call it a bloodline but that’s not really true. It’s not automatically passed down from sire to newbie. There’s some kind of cosmic decision-making process that for all I know consists of gnomes tripping on LSD while spinning carnival wheels. Whether or not my age or the circumstances of my Transference (an act of mercy instead of me craving immortality) made the difference, I wound up as what other vampires call an Innocent.

Consequently, I got younger and cuter looking.

Sigh.

Like, the Old Guard become really beautiful and elegant, Furies go all buff and scary, and Shadows… well, umm, never mind them. Let’s just say that people who do manage to see them will never forget it―or maybe they will, with a little help. That’s so damn handy.

But, back to the appearance thing. At least in the face, I could pass for sixteen again. My mother certainly seems to think so. Great. I get to be the ‘cute kid next door,’ not like Aurélie. She’s so damn beautiful I think she could make a robot drool. Heck, I’m CIS, and if she suggested we go mess around, I might actually do it. Though, only some of that is actual physical beauty (or cuteness in my case―ugh) and at least half a mental effect. Especially for Aurélie’s. She’s constantly radiating some kind of energy that makes people around her believe she’s the most beautiful woman they’ve ever seen.

What do I get? Cute and harmless. But, I suppose it could come in handy. People don’t pay me as much attention, and they’d never expect how dangerous I can be. It’s the hand I’ve been dealt, and no amount of complaining will change anything, so I’m gonna use it to my advantage as much as possible. And hey, the best part is, I can tolerate sunlight in small amounts. Only the Innocents can function during the day from what I’ve learned, and it’s costly. As one might expect, vampires have to drink blood. For anyone who’s ever played a video game, the best metaphor I can think of for it is mana points. The more stuff I do that’s über, the faster I burn up my blood reserves and get hungry. Standing in sunlight and not going Roman candle takes up a lot of power so to speak, and I still can’t tolerate bright sunlight, only moderate or gloomy.

Good thing we live in Cottage Lake, Washington. Rain is our state animal.

“Oh, dammit. Who left the tub full?” asks Dad.

Despite lying under a layer of opaque foam, I blush like hell. My father just barged in on me when I’m in the bathtub naked. Fortunately, he doesn’t lean into the tub to pull the stopper, and continues past me. Okay, no worries. Stay calm. I’ll just wait him out. And… if he does find me hiding here, I can wipe any memory of seeing me wearing nothing but soap foam from his head.

Unfortunately, I can’t wipe my own memory of being mortified.

The toilet seat clanks and a belt buckle jangles.

Oh, no.

Dad grunts as he sits down.

Damn. I am not going to just lay here while my father reenacts Hiroshima.

I lean just my face up past the surface of the water. “Dad, you mind―”

“Gah!” shouts Dad. “Jesus Christ!” He wheezes and gasps. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

Sometimes, having a vampire’s keen sense of smell is a curse. That old adage ‘scare the shit out of someone?’ yeah… It’s got some basis in fact. I gag and duck back underwater, trying not to listen to the sounds of battle going on out in the world of air.

“How long have you been in there? What are you doing totally under the water like that. Good grief, Sarah…” Dad breathes hard a few times. “Well, this is awkward.”

Ya think?

“Hang on a sec. I’ll get outta here as fast as I can. Don’t sit up.”

As if he had to tell me that. I raise an arm and give him a thumbs-up.

“Geez, that’s unnerving. I kept checking the room thinking you or your mother drew a bath and never got around to hopping in. You’ve been in there for over an hour.”

I tilt my hand back and forth in a ‘yeah about that’ gesture.

“That’s not normal.”

That’s Dad. Master of understatement. And cheesy eighties movies.

A flush happens. “Okay, hon. Sorry about that. Next time, lock the door. Thought the room was available.”

I raise another thumbs-up.

Dad walks out and shuts the door behind him. The sound of his footsteps grow faint for a few seconds, then the rumble of him going down stairs follows. I give the air about ten minutes to clear, but still hold my breath when I sit up and take a quick warm shower to get rid of suds. Another perk of vampire-ness? I can ‘heal’ the wrinkles from soaking so long.

I throw on my robe and hurry back downstairs to my basement room. That’s another thing this whole transformation caused: loss of bedroom. Well, loss of that particular second-story space. My old room had been my sanctuary my whole life, until I developed a sun allergy. Though if I want to split hairs, saying it had been my sanctuary for my whole life is not wrong. Technically, I’m no longer alive. We moved all my stuff downstairs to a side room off our finished basement that’s about the same size as my former room. I set everything up by memory, recreating the layout as much as possible. The only real (and important) difference is solid cinder block walls without windows. Mom stole some resources from her job, using one of their big-ass printers to spit out a life-sized picture of my old bedroom window during a sunny afternoon, which I hung over my desk where it used to be when I lived upstairs. Only, I can’t stare out at my younger siblings playing while doing homework anymore. Or sit at my desk watching it snow.

If I try really hard, I can pretend nothing’s happened. Still, staring at that photo of a window triggers memory after memory of a life I no longer have. Yeah it’s sad in a way, but I wouldn’t have stayed a kid forever. I had been planning to move out to go to school in California so I would’ve said goodbye to that bedroom anyway. And, now I can fly!

Once I shut my door, I fling the robe off and grab a towel. Soon, the body’s dry and the hair’s wrapped up in a separate towel. I pull on sweat pants and a T-shirt, then flop on my bed amid my army of stuffed animals, including the teddy bear I got for Christmas when I turned five. At the time, he had been slightly taller than me. He’s enormous: about the size of a seven-year-old kid. His fur isn’t perfect snowy white anymore though, but he’s not damaged.

At some point when I was fifteen or sixteen―as opposed to looking it―I packed all my stuffed animals (they are legion) in a box and put them in my closet. I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of them, but having them out in sight was ‘uncool.’ Two days ago, I randomly decided I needed them, and spent a good hour clinging to them all and crying into Mr. Snow’s face. (That’s my teddy bear.)

It really freaked me out. Kinda like I’d imagine those weird pregnancy mood swings would be like―not that I’ll ever know. One minute I’m sobbing, the next I feel embarrassed for doing so. Five minutes later, I’m clinging to them again.

No, I’m not regressing to an actual innocent. And yes, I had been worried about that and called Dalton right away. It’s incredibly difficult to ask about that while simultaneously trying not to say anything he can hold over my head as embarrassing blackmail material for the next several centuries. So, I basically wound up telling him I’d gone full emo, crying at every little thing. And no, for the record, I am not doing the ‘oh poor me, I miss the sun and want to be mortal’ thing. Being a vampire is pretty damn cool. Even if it didn’t exactly come with an instruction manual. No, what’s happening here is my raging emotions all decided to jump in a rollercoaster cart and throw themselves over a cliff. I get sad for no reason at all, then happy, then terrified, then I feel like I rule the world. It’s really annoying.

The mood swings threw me off. He didn’t really know what to tell me, and blamed it on ‘girl stuff.’ Fortunately, Aurélie had a better grip on it―and no, ‘girl issues’ have nothing to do with it. I don’t even have ‘girl issues’ anymore.

That alone is probably worth the price of admission.

Anyway, Aurélie thinks some kind of subconscious grieving process for the life I might’ve had is crashing headfirst into the general shittiness of being eighteen. As in, I’m an adult and a kid at the same time, and whenever I see something (like the teddy bear or my bedroom) that reminds me of my childhood, I get nostalgic. As if. It hasn’t been that long. And I’m not looking back fondly on being told to go to sleep at like nine, or not being able to drive, or not being allowed to watch the good movies. One minute, I’m happy to still be around my family, the next I feel like I’m a ghost haunting the place I used to live, watching my childhood run away without me. This has nothing to do with being undead, and everything to do with another sort of transition: not being a kid anymore.

Granted, Dad had always been a bit liberal in regard to the ‘good’ movies. Except for gratuitous sex scenes, he pretty much let me watch R-rated movies from like eleven up. Now, Sophia? She’s stuck on PG. Mostly because she can’t handle scary or gory. Major nightmares. Even a scene with guys screaming at each other gets her uneasy. Sierra on the other hand yawned through Friday the 13th. She’s seen worse gore in some video games.

So yeah, I’m quite done with being a kid.

But my stupid brain still won’t let it go.

Hence, I’m sitting cross-legged in an army of stuffed animals in my room at almost-midnight. I have no explanation for this clinginess to my old bedroom, my bear, or the part of my life that’s over. Okay, sure, I had been terrified of leaving home to go to college. As much as I hadn’t wanted to admit it even to myself, and covered my nerves by acting over excited about going to California, deep down inside I’d been a giant chicken. In a way, part of me is relieved that I get to stay home with the parents and don’t have to deal with a thousand mile move away from familiar surroundings. Unfortunately, it’s simultaneously frustrating. Wimping out and staying home for the free ride is one thing, but not having a choice kinda pisses me off. I mean talk about literally dying to stay home. But, no, I’m lying to myself again. I could leave if I wanted to.

I just don’t want to.

Maybe I’m still freaking out over what happened with Scott. No, not that he killed me. More that I killed him―again. Dalton had already killed him for what he did to me, but Scott’s the kind of guy who doesn’t take failure well at all, and he really had a problem with the word ‘no.’ I dumped him, so he jams a giant knife in my chest. Dalton killed him, so he gets back up. Real reasonable guy, right? Apparently, something went wrong with the whole Dalton-killing-Scott deal, and a bit of supernatural energy leaked unintentionally. The bastard got back up as a half-vampire creepy thing. Talk about not getting the message: I tore his head off (not a figure of speech) but that still didn’t stop him.

I thought sitting there watching his ‘unconscious’ body burn up in a car fire would’ve given me a sense of catharsis or whatever. Maybe it did. It also gave me nightmares. I mean, sure. I’m a vampire, and he kinda-was a vampire too, but nowhere near as human as me. (Not that he really ranked that high on the humanity meter before.) My destroying what he’d become had been a kindness, even for him, and a definite help to the world at large. Eventually, he would’ve advanced from feeding on deer to people, and I’m told creatures like he was―other vampires call them Scraps―don’t have the control necessary to feed without killing.

So, yeah. He deserved it and I’m not sorry I did it. I’m not really sorry I watched him burn up either, even if it is going to take me a while to get over that. I’ve always kinda been the ‘good girl,’ but nowhere near as to the degree my sister Sophia takes it. Maybe bashing a guy’s head open with my bare hands and then lighting him on fire crossed the line of what my psyche’s capable of laughing off. Who knows?

Bottom line is: Scott’s beyond dead, I’d do it again in a heartbeat, and I’m a badass.

A badass clutching a giant white teddy bear.

Both arms and legs wrapped around Mr. Snow, I rest my chin atop his head and pout at myself for being a huge marshmallow chicken. What vampire in their right mind clings to their old life like this? I couldn’t do it to my family. By ‘it,’ I mean let them think I’d died. Yeah, so I’m a big softie. Maybe that’s why the gnome’s carnival wheel came up on ‘Innocent’ for me. Something tells me I’ll never really understand why that happened. I’m also not sure if I should be jealous of the other vampires. Some of their powers sound cool, but the downsides can be pretty brutal. Example: Shadows. They look like ghouls.

I cuddle my bear for a while, going back and forth between missing my old life and feeling über. At least at this hour, none of my family will see me hugging stuffed animals. Eventually, it occurs to me that I probably look like a giant child. My emotions swing once more from wistful to ashamed of myself for acting like a kid. Before I can let go of the bear, my stomach growls.

Great. I need some blood.

I play bite Mr. Snow on the head, not hard enough to puncture his fabric. Bleh. Mouth full of fake fur. Teddy bears don’t have a circulatory system.

So yeah. I’m a vampire. I’m stuck living at home with my parents, and I’m trapped on an emo rollercoaster without a seat belt on.

Bah, screw it. I’ll figure it out, and I’m not worried.

Did I mention I can fly?

Samoas

2

The next afternoon, I wind up getting roped into escorting my sisters to the nearest supermarket: the Safeway in Woodinville. The day’s not exactly gloomy, but it’s overcast enough that it only feels like it’s a hundred degrees to me. In actuality, the temp’s in the low sixties, fairly average for the first week of July. With the help of a hoodie, sunglasses, and Dad’s Nissan Sentra, I’m good to go.

I just ate last night, but I’m going to need to grab a snack again tonight. While it’s awesome being able to go out in the daylight (sort of), it comes with three giant pains in the ass. One: whenever I’m exposed to the sun, it takes all my power to not go foom like a dried out Christmas tree. Aurélie thinks the sun steals my powers, but in my opinion, I still have them, but every ounce of effort is going to avoiding fireball time. In short, if I’m standing in daylight, I can’t fly, read minds, affect other people’s minds, grow claws or fangs, or do anything cool. Second: if I get hurt while I’m like this, the injury won’t heal. Kinda like how Scott’s little present of a knife wound left a permanent mark on my left breast. If something ‘kills’ me when I’m out and about in the day, that’s gonna be a real ‘game over’ moment for me.

So basically, if I have the sun touching any part of me (even through clothes) I’m not too much different from a normal human. No powers, no super strength, no speed, and I’m squishy.

The third major pain in the ass is how it makes me hungry so fast. If I’m a good little vampire girl and stay in the dark and don’t get into fights or use my powers, I only need to eat about once a month. If I behave myself. Yeah right.

Hopefully, we’ll be able to find a shady spot at the Safeway to stand in.

Why am I taking Sophia and Sierra to the store? Three words.

Girl Scout Cookies.

Yeah. They’ve got to take over their troop’s table at the store from 6 p.m. to 9 p.m., the last set of girls to do so. A few minutes to eight, their troop leader’s supposed to come by and pick up the table and stuff. Not that I plan on waiting around for her. At nine on the dot, we’re out. In fact, I’m probably going to call it a night closer to 8:30. No one racing to the store between then and nine is going to be interested in buying cookies anyway.

“Ugh. This is so lame,” says Sierra from the passenger seat. “I look like such a dork.”

Her mouse-brown hair’s down to her waist and she’s using it to cover half her face and her khaki vest, which is supposed to hold those activity badges or whatever, but she’s only got a few. Sophia, in the back seat, has so many patches on her green vest she’s going to have to hire one of her friends to wear a second vest for the rest of her badges.

“It’s the uniform,” says Sophia. “Not like anyone… oh. Wait. They are forcing you to wear it. Sorry.”

Sierra sighs and folds her arms. Of course, my eleven-year-old sister would much rather be home playing video games. “I can’t believe you don’t hate it. There’s no pink anywhere on it.”

Sophia sticks out her tongue.

“If you hate it so much, tell Mom you wanna stop going,” says Sophia. “Sarah quit when she was twelve.”

“I was too busy with other stuff.” I shrug, but wink at Sierra. I know how she feels. No slam against the Girl Scouts, but it’s super annoying to be forced to do something when you’re not into it because ‘that’s what Mom did at that age’.

“You drive like Grandma,” says Sierra. “This isn’t Bree’s mini. You can go faster than I can run.”

I laugh. “I’m not going that slow. Just driving with care. I’ve got you two in the car, so I don’t want anything to happen.”

“Yeah, Mom would totes kill you if you got us hurt,” says Sierra with a giant grin.

“Mom can’t kill her. She’s immortal.” Sophia huffs.

I catch the last half of her eye-roll via the rearview mirror. “Not at the moment I’m not. Sun, remember?”

“Oh, right. Fangs are offline.” Sierra pantomimes some kind of robo-vampire thing.

Sophia yawns. “The Girl Scouts are fun. I don’t mind going. We have to sell cookies to raise money for all the stuff they do. It goes to a lot of good causes.”

“Yeah,” says Sierra, deadpan. “Like to the CEO who exploits child slaves to push highly addictive drugs”―she holds up a box of Thin Mints and shakes it―“on an unwitting population.”

I blink at her. “Wow… When did you get so jaded?”

Sierra drops the cookies back in the giant cardboard box between her feet. “I’m not jaded. I’m realistic. And besides, I’m a ‘cadette’ now”―she makes air quotes―“we’re not even supposed to sell cookies anymore.”

“You’re mentoring me,” says Sophia. “I won’t be a cadette ’til next year. I’m still a junior.”

Sierra raspberries at the windshield. “In this mentor’s opinion, we both look like total dorks.”

“Seriously, who pairs a white polo with a khaki skirt,” I mutter.

Sierra glares at me.

The guy behind us beeps when I stop for a yellow light.

“You totally could’ve made that,” says Sierra.

“She’s driving right.” Sophia shakes her head. “Yellow means get ready to stop, not stomp on the gas.”

“How long do we have to stay there?” Sierra gives me the side eye. “Can you like make Mom think we were at the store for the whole two hours?”

Sophia emits a long, “Ooooh!” before gasping. “She’ll get in so much trouble if she mind controls Mom. You know that.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Yeah. No mind control on the parental units. I promised.”

The nanosecond the light goes green, dipshit behind me beeps. I decide to give him a ten count before moving.

“Sare, it’s green,” says Sierra.

“I know. Just messing with the idiot behind us.”

Sophia turns around in the seat. “Holy crap, Sare. He’s huge.”

I’m about to say ‘so what’ when it hits me that I’m pretty damn vulnerable at the moment. Grr. I signal and make the left onto the road by the Safeway. Fortunately, the impatient guy in the pickup goes straight―though he gives us the finger.

Which Sierra returns.

Ugh. My little sister flipping some guy off is both hilarious and unnerving. If Mom saw that, she’d kill me… again. She glances at me, no doubt waiting for my reaction. Of all the things a kid could do wrong in this world, rude hand gestures are tame. I chuckle, shaking my head.

She smiles, proud of herself, but winds up rolling her eyes a moment later. “Do we really have to do this?”

“Sierra’s just in a bad mood ’cause she’s got a boyfriend,” says Sophia.

“I do not!” yells Sierra.

Sophia giggles. “Elijah Lucas is totally in love with you.”

“Not,” says Sierra, her face reddening in either anger or embarrassment―though I’m betting on anger. “He just asked if I’d go to a movie with him.”

“Oh wow,” I say while pulling into the Safeway lot. “He asked you to a movie. This time next month, you’ll be married.”

Sierra points at me. “If you say ‘it’s adorable’ or anything like that, I will end you.”

I pat her on the head after parking.

She snarls and glowers.

That lasts about three seconds before Sophia bursts into laughter. I try my best to keep a straight face, but can’t. As soon as I crack up, Sierra laughs with us. Once that dies down, we hop out of the car. The girls shiver as a gust of wind goes up their uniform skirts. Me? I’m ready to melt. The parking lot feels like I’m trying to cross Arizona on foot in mid-August. Fortunately, I’m not sweating. Maybe it would happen if the temperature actually became warm. My vampiric nature does everything possible to appear lifelike, so I probably can sweat. This heat isn’t real heat, only the sun being a fiery little ball of bitchiness in the sky.

My sisters each grab a large cardboard box of cookies while I get the biggest one from the trunk. Sierra, having a functioning brain, puts it back down and runs to grab a shopping cart instead of us all lugging this crap over to the storefront. We load the cookies in the basket. Head down, I avoid looking up at the sky while shoving the cart across the pavement.

Three other girls from their troop are at the table with two moms. My sisters dart over and the kids explode into a frenetic flurry of conversation while the adults give me a look mixed of gratitude and pity. They’re happy to get out of there and sympathetic to me being stuck here.

“Where’s your mother?” The taller, somewhat heavyset mom blinks at me.

“Busy with work stuff,” I say.

The other woman winces, like she wants to leave but thinks she might be stuck here. “You’re a little young to be on your own, watching the kids.”

“I’m eighteen,” I mutter.

Both women stare at me.

“Oh. Poor thing. You’re going to get asked for ID until you’re forty.”

I sigh in my mind.

“Don’t be jealous, Kim.” The short woman pokes her friend before waving at one of the other kids. “Come on, Andrea. Time for dinner.”

The women whisk their charges off into the parking lot, leaving the three of us to set up shop on a scratched-to-hell brown folding table like from a school cafeteria. Sierra begrudgingly sets a bunch of cookie boxes out on display while Sophia prepares a clipboard and order forms. People on their way into and out of the store are about evenly split between warm smiles and gnawing their own limbs off to avoid eye contact.

Sophia exploits the hell out of her blonde hair and green eyes, attempting the ‘too cute to resist’ smile at passersby while Sierra employs the lesser-known technique of a ‘buy cookies or I’ll pound you in the face’ stare. The girls get their first victim after maybe ten minutes, a little old lady in a blue sweater. She commits the mistake of asking what they have.

Like a little pro, Sophia launches into an explanation of the different types of cookies. She oozes so much cute, Sierra leans away as if afraid of contagious adorableness. The old one promises to buy some cookies on her way out and wobbles into the store. Sophia grins at us.

“What are we doing here?” drones Sierra. “I feel like such a dork.”

“People who buy our cookies are supporting the next generation of women business leaders,” chirps Sophia.

“Ugh.” Sierra shakes her head. “More like supporting some executive’s next Beemer.”

I smirk at her. “You’re awfully cynical for eleven.”

“It’s the big corporations taking advantage of”―she overacts a childlike face―“little innocent girls to push their cookies. It’s just like Globix Corporation.”

“Huh?” I ask.

Sierra launches into an explanation of the bad guys from one of her video games, some kind of cyberpunk dystopia thing where the corporations own everything. While she rambles, Sophia sells a couple boxes of cookies. Eventually, I can’t help but chuckle. I’d say something about it only being a game and whatnot, but sometimes it really does feel like we’re slipping into a scary world.

Time drags on. A little after seven, a guy about Dad’s age pushing a full wagon out of the Safeway glances over at us, specifically at Sierra, and pauses.

“Selling cookies?” asks the guy.

Sierra looks over at him. “Actually, we just set up this table so people can see them.”

The guy grins. “Duh. Here’s my sign, right?”

“Huh?” asks Sierra.

I snicker.

Sierra gives the guy a ‘just shoot me’ look.

“You got any Samoas?” asks the man.

“Probably in the box labeled ‘Samoas.’” Sierra pats one.

Sophia fires a ‘what are you doing?’ glare at her.

He pushes his cart closer, out of the path of traffic emerging from the door, and leans over the table, perusing the boxes. “You look so happy to be here.”

“I’m thrilled,” deadpans Sierra.

The man glances at me.

I raise my hands. “Don’t look at me. I’m just the big sister.”

“Heh. I love this kid. She reminds me of how I feel at work.” He pulls two boxes of Samoas over in front of her. “I’ll take these.”

She ‘enthusiastically’ takes his money, makes change, then mutters, “Thanks.”

He smiles at the three of us and heads off into the parking lot in search of his car.

After a while more of no one looking at us, Sophia starts trying to say hello to people when they go by. She reels one woman with a baby in by the guilt technique, but most people continue fast-walking around the table.

Sierra catches a glimpse of her reflection in the store window and sighs. “Gawd, we look like such complete doofuses. These uniforms are so lame. Why do we even have to do this?”

I pat her on the head again. “It makes Mom happy. You know she’s big into the Girl Scout thing. Besides. You can’t spend your whole life playing video games.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “Challenge accepted.”

A guy in a suit and really noisy dress shoes goes by, ignoring Sophia’s cheesy smile. I fold my arms and lean against the wall, maybe two steps behind my sisters. Not that I’m expecting any kind of trouble, but I’m still close enough to intervene if anything weird happens. For about another hour, shoppers mostly ignore us, which puts Sophia into a bad mood. And by bad mood, I mean she’s upset and sniffling. Sierra goes through a few minutes of guilt at that, then gets pissed off at people making Sophia cry by ignoring her. She sets aside her attitude and starts trying to do the smiling, approachable little Girl Scout thing. Aww. I keep my mouth shut and observe from behind. Sophia’s mood improves, and they tag team a few people into some Thin Mints.

At a sudden upwelling of energy inside me, I whirl around to face the wall and bow my head. Red-orange light flares and fades on the concrete, a sign that my eyes give away the moment I ‘go online.’

“Hi,” chirps Sophia. “Would you like to buy some Girl Scout cookies?”

“Piss off,” says a man.

I spin back around at the same moment a heavyset guy in a Seahawks T-shirt swats the box of cookies Sophia was holding up to him right out of her hands. It lands on the sidewalk a few feet away.

Sophia gasps and jumps back.

“Hey!” yells Sierra, leaning toward him.

“You kids need to get out of here. Can’t go to the damn store anymore without some little kid sticking their hands out and begging for money. Last week, softball. Week before that, gymnastics. Don’t your parents have jobs?”

“That’s no excuse to hit her!” says Sierra.

The man looms at Sierra, and knocks a few more boxes off the table.

I shove off the wall and walk up to the table. “Hey, shithead.”

He glares at me. “You got a prob―”

“Yeah. I do. Pick those up. And I think for being so rude to such cute, innocent girls, you should apologize by buying all the cookies you knocked over.”

The man blinks. His aggression wanes to an expression like a scolded schoolboy. “Okay. Sorry.”

Sophia tucks up beside me, clinging, while Sierra goes wide-eyed.

After the jackass picks up all six boxes he’d knocked over―including the one he smacked right out of Sophia’s hands―Sierra totals it up on an order sheet, and the guy pays cash. The Safeway had been generous enough to give the prior girls at the table a stack of plastic bags. He stuffs his haul in one, and walks into the store without another word.

“Dude…” Sierra grins at me. “Did you?”

“He hit Soph,” I say. “He got off light.”

“I thought he was gonna like really hit me,” whispers Sophia.

“Oh wow.” Sierra notices the sky. “It’s after eight… sun’s going down.”

I lock eyes with a well-dressed woman on her way into the store. “Hi. Can I interest you in some Thin Mints?”

As soon as the Sentra comes to a stop beside Mom’s Yukon, Sophia flies out of the car like a little blonde missile. She races inside yelling and waving her clipboard.

Sierra still hasn’t stopped giggling. She’s a little more sedate, and walks beside me as we follow the multicolored stone path to the door. Sophia’s orbiting Mom, waving the clipboard and cheering.

Mom looks at us, eyebrow raised. “Where are the cookies?”

“We sold them all,” says Sierra.

“All of them?” Mom blinks.

“Yeah!” Sophia bounces on her toes. “And we got more orders!”

Mom looks over the three filled-up sheets, her eyebrows ticking up little by little. “That’s amazing.”

Sophia squeals in delight.

Perhaps too innocently, I walk past them on my way to the basement stairs.

“Sarah?” asks Mom as I pass. “Can I talk to you a moment?”

Crap. Busted.

I freeze. “Uhh, sure.”

“All right, you two. Well done.” Mom hugs them both. “Go get ready for bed.”

“Aww, Mom…” Sierra whines. “I’m not even tired.”

Sophia runs off without protest.

“At least get ready for bed,” says Mom.

“Okay.” Sierra starts taking the ‘lame’ uniform off before she’s even on the stairs.

Mom folds her arms and gives me ‘the look.’

“So, one guy got a little rude with them.” I explain the Seahawks fan who knocked the cookies right out of Sophia’s hands.

“You helped.”

“Well, yeah. Didn’t you ask me to take them because you had some court stuff?”

Mom sighs. “No, I mean you helped.” She leans toward me making weird-eyes.

I bite my lip and fidget. “Maybe some assistance of the inexplicable variety occurred, but you should’ve seen them. Sophia was in tears because no one would even look at her, and Sierra…”

“I know she’s not too thrilled with the whole thing, but that’s no excuse to mind control people into buying cookies.”

“But Mom―”

“No ‘buts,’ young lady. Not only is that unethical, if those people learn you’re doing that, they might take you away.”

Head down, I sigh. “Mom… I doubt the PIBs are gonna care about something like that.”

“What the heck is a PIB?”

“Umm. Persons or People In Black. You know, ‘Men In Black’ is kinda sexist.”

Mom shakes the clipboard at me. “How am I supposed to explain this? They’ve got over $400 of cookies ordered here. What happens if those people snap out of your… your… voodoo whatever and don’t remember buying them?”

I look back up at her with a grin. “It won’t, but I can always go with them to drop the orders off and make sure the people, umm, remember that they wanted cookies.”

She frowns. “I can’t believe you did that. It’s basically stealing.”

“It’s a box or two of cookies a person. No big deal. Besides, my powers weren’t the strongest mind control going on out there.”

“Oh? You’re going to tell me Sophia’s smile did this?” She sets the clipboard on the table and gestures at the order forms. “I really don’t know how to handle this. Okay. I’ll bite.”

“That was bad.”

She smirks. “What’s more powerful than your mind control?”

I hold my arms out to either side. “Samoas!”

High School

3

So, maybe there’s a traveling carnival set up at Cottage Lake Elementary, and maybe Hunter asked me on a date. Of course, as soon as I said anything about that, two things happened that varied greatly in their awkwardness.

First, and not all that awkward, my siblings all demanded to go to the carnival.

Second, and massively awkward, my parents pulled me aside to ask me why I even wanted to date a guy considering my ‘condition.’ As if discussing dating with the parents didn’t make my skin crawl enough as it is, that whole ‘he’s alive and you’re a vampire’ thing pushed us well beyond awkward into somewhere else.

“Well, this conversation just went to plaid,” says Dad.

Mom and I both stare at him.

“What?” I ask.

“You never saw Spaceballs?” Dad gawks at me.

I shake my head. “Do I even want to know why someone made a movie about testicles in orbit?”

Mom goes scarlet in the face.

“Hah!” Dad laughs so hard he flings himself into his recliner before he collapses.

I glance at Mom. “No idea. I didn’t think it was that funny.”

She smirks at him. “It wasn’t.”

Once Dad finally regains the ability to breathe, he offers his most comforting smile. “Look, hon, we’re only trying to keep your best interests in mind.”

“Did you tell him?” asks Mom. “It wouldn’t be fair to him if you kept it from him.”

I flop on the couch and hide my face behind a wall of hair. “Mom… I’m a vampire. I don’t have a STD.”

They both squirm. Hmm. Weird that I hit a nerve considering how Dad can talk about the times he caught me having sex with Scott with a straight face. Though, to be fair, he’d only caught us going for broke once, and we had sheets over us. The other three or four times, he surprised us before we got much past making out.

“I haven’t told him yet. Hunter’s had a crush on me ever since freshman year. He never acted on it. Who knows if he even likes me? We might go out once and he realizes what a dingbat I am and changes his mind.”

“Just be careful,” says Mom.

“Allison…” Dad chuckles. “I sincerely doubt she’s got anything to worry about. If he tries anything, she’s more than capable of handling herself.”

I raise a hand and wiggle my fingers. “I’ve pretty much been ‘handling myself’ since Scott’s out of the picture.”

Dad’s turn to blush.

“Sarah…” Mom glances around to make sure none of the sibs heard that. “Don’t kid yourself. Even if you wind up married, you’ll still need to attend to matters yourself now and then.”

Dad sputters.

I fall over sideways on the couch, laughing.

“Oh, come on, Jonathan,” says Mom. “Like you don’t.”

“I’m not having this conversation with our daughter, Allie.” Dad coughs.

My little brother, Sam, jogs down the stairs and zooms over to the bathroom door next to the kitchen. It rattles, locked.

“In use,” yells Sophia from inside.

“It’s all right.” I sit up, gasping for breath. Wow, I needed that. “Just a date, and I’m not planning on doing anything weird with him. I guess I’m only trying to feel normal again for a little while.”

They nod, but give me sad stares.

Sam runs back across the room like he’s got a brick in the seat of his pants, and hurries up the stairs.

“Oh, none of that, you guys.” I bounce to my feet. “I’m fine. But, like any young woman with superpowers, sometimes I just want to go on a date like an ordinary person.”

“I’ll never get used to this,” says Mom.

Dad chuckles. “Sure you will. It’ll just take time.”

Sierra’s scream fills the upstairs hall.

“Well, either someone’s threatening our daughter with a knife, or foul play is afoot.” Dad glances up at the ceiling. “Sierra? You okay?”

“Dad!” shouts Sierra. “Sam invaded the bathroom and I’m in the tub. I’m naked!”

My father gives me a guilty look.

“Not peeking,” yells Sam. “I gotta go.”

Ahh, family.

“Maybe we should find a place with three bathrooms?” asks Mom.

“Get out!” yells Sierra.

“I can’t!” shouts Sam.

“Mooooom!” wails Sierra. “Tell Sarah to make him forget seeing me!”

“I didn’t see you. My eyes are shut!” yells Sam.

“Four women in this place,” says Dad. “It’s amazing the boy or I even know what a toilet looks like.”

Mom shakes her head, though I can’t tell if she’s going to laugh or hurl a pillow at him.

Sierra appears halfway down the stairs, soapy, wet, and wearing a towel. “He just walked in on me!”

“You should’ve locked the door,” says Mom.

“We’re not allowed!” Sierra glowers.

“When you were little.” Mom stands, sighing. “In case you slipped or hurt yourself or something. You’re old enough to lock the door now.”

The doorbell rings.

“That’d be Hunter,” I say.

Sierra shrieks and runs upstairs.

I dart to the door, eager to get out of here before the bathroom war escalates. Sure enough, Hunter Lawrence is on the stoop. He’s kinda got that oddball charm going with an old blue-and-white flannel shirt and beat up jeans. His light brown hair is thick and disheveled, the look on his face is a mixture of genuine happiness and getting away with something.

“Hey,” says Hunter, his thumbs hooked in his pockets. He almost even looks me in the eye.

“Hey.” I step outside and pull the door closed behind me, and not a moment too soon.

Sierra and Sam launch into a screaming match upstairs. Well, it’s nice to know my almost-death bought us at least two weeks of peace where everyone got along.

“So, uhh, I guess you’re ready?” asks Hunter.

“Yeah. I hope it’s not too awkward, but my parents are going to be bringing my brother and sisters to the same carnival.”

He shakes his head. “Nah, it’s cool.”

“I mean, it’s not like a chaperone thing. I said ‘carnival’ and they lost their little minds.”

“Yeah. Little kids and rides, right?” He leans his weight back onto his heels for a second and rocks forward. “So, umm… you’re still okay with the carnival?”

“Of course. I’m standing here, aren’t I?” Okay. I cheat a little and peek into his thoughts. He’s super nervous. Ugh, this is a little embarrassing. He’s freaking out like I’m some kinda celebrity, and still can’t believe I agreed to date him. “Let’s go?”

He nods. “Right. Umm. Sorry about the car.”

I peer around him at an old… something. His car’s a giant beige land boat with more than a few dents and some duct tape patches. “Don’t worry about it. It’s still better than my car.”

“Really?” He blinks at me before eying the Sentra and Mom’s Yukon.

“Really.” I take his hand and stare into his eyes. (No mind games, I swear). “I don’t have one. Those are my parents’ cars.”

“Oh.” Hunter tenses up, but my utter casualness puts him at ease after a moment. “Cool. It’s an old Buick, but I only really need it to get back and forth to work.”

We walk down the driveway holding hands. He opens the passenger side door for me, and it emits this spine-bending loud creak of metal. The interior reeks of old person and coffee with a hint of spearmint. Fortunately, not cigarettes. I hop in and he closes the door for me. While he walks around to get in, I glance back at the house and catch the parents watching us from the narrow window by the front door. Aww. They have this adorable look on their faces like they’re having one of those precious moments burned into their memory, their eldest daughter’s first date or something like that.

For a brief few seconds, I feel like I’m in a Hallmark commercial. At least until Dad, with a totally sincere face, holds up a yellow Post-It note. I stare at it until I make out the words, ‘Don’t eat him’ written in black marker.

Dad! I say in his mind. I’m not gonna bite him.

He grins.

Hunter hops in. His door creaks louder than mine did, and closes with a heavy whud that shakes the car.

“Wow, this thing is a tank,” I say.

“It doesn’t look like much on the outside, but it won’t let you down.”

I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, unsure if he’s talking about his car or himself. “Oh, I dunno. The outside looks fine to me.”

He can’t hide the surprise on his face for a second or two before he grins and starts the engine. True to his word, it doesn’t at all sound like the clunker it appears to be. Shocks creak and groan as he backs out of the driveway, turns around, and accelerates out of the cul-de-sac. We drive in silence for a moment. “So, umm, the weather’s good for a carnival.”

“Yeah. What kind of music are you into?”

“The radio’s dead.”

“Hunter,” I say, putting a hand on his leg. “I’m not asking you to turn on music. I’m trying to get to know you.”

“Oh. Umm. Well. I like a lot of stuff. I’m actually kinda into classic rock, you know, old stuff like Metallica, Overkill, Anthrax, Iron Maiden, and that stuff.”

“Not really sure. I’ve heard of Metallica but not the others. That’s cool.”

“Even sometimes listen to country. Pretty much anything that’s not someone just talking over someone else’s music.”

I laugh. “Don’t like R&B?”

He smiles as we turn at the end of the street. “All R&B isn’t like that. Depends on if it’s artistic. If it’s just some dude talking about how bad-ass he is, or what he does to women, I can’t stand it. What about you?”

“Taylor Swift, Evanescence, maybe a couple of gothy things. Basically, nothing too screamy.”

“That’s cool. I can’t stand it when the singer sounds like they’re trying to swallow the mic.”

When I stop laughing, we chat about various bands and artists for the few minutes it takes to drive to Cottage Lake Elementary. My dad would probably know all the bands Hunter’s into. Most of them are like old, and the more recent stuff he likes, I’ve never heard of… like ‘Avenged Sevenfold.’ Like, that’s actually a band? I’ll have to ask Sierra. She’s into that ‘metal’ stuff. Maybe she’s heard of them.

The carnival people have set up a bunch of rides and booths in the parking lot as well as this giant paved area behind the school, and the crowd is already fairly big. We have to drive a ways off down Avondale Road to find a place to park, and walk back to the school along a row of cars all halfway up on the grass. The smell of fried food drifts by on the wind, growing stronger the closer we get. By the time we reach the portable fences set up by the parking lot entrance, it’s overwhelming. Breathing tastes like I’m licking the sides of a deep fryer.

Within a few minutes of wandering among the booths and games, the oddest feeling that someone’s watching me comes out of nowhere. I glance around, but don’t spot anyone obviously checking me out. Hmm. My gaze goes back to the line of cars parked along the street. Bet Agent Kendricks or Han are keeping tabs on me.

“Something wrong?” asks Hunter.

“Nah.” I spin back to smile at him. “Just kinda felt watched.”

He looks around. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t even think… after what happened, maybe a big crowd wasn’t the best idea.”

“Oh, I’m fine.” I smile at him. “I’m not worried about Scott. He’s not as tough as he acts.”

Hunter’s laugh sounds more nervous than amused. “Yeah, he’s probably hiding in his attic, terrified the police will find him.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’s crashed somewhere out of sight.” I smirk off in a random direction.

“So, umm”―Hunter scratches at the back of his head―“He always seemed like kind of a bad dude. Never understood why nice girls always wind up with jerks.” A strong wave of anger and fear comes off him.

For a second, I’m a little freaked out at him being that upset at Scott for stabbing me. He’s not looking at me, and startles when I squeeze his hand. “He didn’t start off that way, and please don’t worry about him. I’d be happy to never think of him again as long as I live.” I bite my lip at my bad choice of phrase. Thinking of Scott ‘as long as I live’ is pretty much a done deal. My last mortal thought was totally about him. Something along the lines of: ‘Ow! I can’t believe you… thud.’

“You wanna grab something to eat?” asks Hunter.

I don’t bother mentioning that I popped out last night around three in the morning for a bite. Even the few hours of sun I had to deal with selling cookies made me ravenous. Still, I revel in my ability to eat as much junk as I want and not have it go straight to my ass. Well, it will, but not in the sense of gaining weight. What comes out is pretty much exactly what went down. Though, I didn’t really have that problem before, thanks to Dad’s silly metabolism. Mom swears her three girls are going to stay skinny until like thirty or so then blow up. Honestly, I have no idea why she’s worried. She’s nowhere near overweight.

“Sarah?” He nudges me when I don’t reply right away. I’m still looking around for the source of my ‘watched’ feeling.

“Oh, umm. I wasn’t expecting them to have food here, so I ate before.” I don’t want him to waste money on food that’ll only wind up going down the drain later. Maybe it’s not technically wasting it if I enjoy eating it. Not like anyone eats funnel cakes or deep-fried Oreos for nutrition.

Hunter nods. “You sure? They have like cotton candy and stuff. Not real food.”

“Well, if you insist.”

He tugs me along deeper into the crowd. The shouts of carnies trying to lure people to games all around us mixes with the squeals of children on the rides set up all the way in the back, and a mind-numbing electronic piano melody coming from a dinky merry-go-round. Random bursts of perfume, after shave, and a loaded diaper assault me from all angles. My ears hone in on snippets of conversation from people hundreds of feet away, wherever my mental focus settles. Gah! That’s distracting as hell.

We swing by one of the vendors and grab cotton candy before moving on to the game booths. I stand there nibbling on the gauzy sugar puff while Hunter wastes a couple bucks throwing darts at balloons. Whenever he hits one, it bounces off. On the last dart, he gets mad enough to really hurl the thing, but only drills it into the backboard.

“Damn.” He shifts his eyes toward me with a look of determination. “I’m gonna win you something before we leave.”

“You don’t have to, but okay.” I smile over the cotton candy

He leans close like he’s going to kiss me, but takes a bite out of the sugary mass. Oh, wow. I’m so glad Sophia didn’t see that. She’d go bonkers at the cuteness. I giggle a little and pull the cotton candy down so it’s not between our faces. We stare at each other for a while. He starts to lean in to kiss me, but hesitates. It’s so not like me to kiss a boy less than twenty minutes into our first date, but I’m not exactly the same girl I was three weeks ago. A small part of me wishes I’d learned how fleeting life can be before I lost it, but I’m too happy right now to dwell on bad thoughts.

I lean up and press my lips into his. At the instant of contact, it’s as if he finally convinces himself he’s not dreaming. All the tension in Hunter’s body melts away and he commits himself to a reasonable effort for his first real kiss.

We are, after all in public, so I keep it on the tame side.

“Wow,” says Hunter, a bit stunned afterward. “This is gonna sound creepy, but I’ve been dreaming of that moment for a long time.”

“From most guys, that would’ve sounded creepy.” I grasp him by the back of the neck and pull him in for another round. “I think it sounds sincere.”

A few minutes later when a couple of throat-clearing old people embarrass him enough to stop kissing me, he plunks down another three bucks and takes the darts from the carnie. This time, his third toss pops a balloon and a little bit of paper flutters to the ground. The carnie picks it up, looks it over, and hands me a goofy stuffed rabbit that’s about eight inches tall.

“Congrats,” says the carnie. “You guys are a cute couple.”

“Thanks,” says Hunter before looking at me. “Do you like it?”

“He’s adorable.” I hug the stuffed rabbit.

We wander on down the row of booths to a ‘knock the bottles over’ one. A small boy hurls the ball, walloping one of the stacks, but only knocks the top three off. To my sharpened senses, it’s pretty obvious the bottom group of three bottles are weighted. Meh. I could probably throw hard enough to knock the whole table over, but no sense making a scene. Instead, I gravitate to a ladder climb game that has three rope ladders with wooden rungs spanning a ‘pit’ full of cushions. The objective appears simple enough, climb to the top and push a big red button. The problem is that the ladders are only attached at a single point at the top and bottom, which makes them prone to twisting around.

I lean against Hunter, watching a group of kids ahead of us try climbing it, but they always flip over and fall off about halfway up. It doesn’t look cheated, only difficult. Here I can have fun and not make people start drinking heavily to erase a sight they can’t explain.

“I want to do this one.” I smile up at Hunter and pull out a couple singles.

He puts his arm around me. “I’m sure you’ll go straight to the top. You’re as agile as Black Widow.”

“Who?” I ask.

“Uhh.” He flashes a cheesy smile. “Character from a comic book.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah.” I nod. “I think I saw that movie.”

When my turn comes up, I hand the carnie two bucks for the attempt and he points me at the middle ladder. Since I can fly close to 140 MPH, keeping myself upright while pretending to climb this thing is super easy. I zip straight up to the button and whack it, then let myself flip over and drop onto the cushion.

“Wow,” says the carnie. “You made that look so easy.”

“Black Widow,” says Hunter.

I laugh while getting up and walking back around to the counter to pick a prize. The guy has this adorable fat unicorn with a pink mane. “Oh, I need that for my little sister.” I point at it.

Hunter pretends to wipe sweat from his brow. “Whew. For your sister.”

“Didn’t picture you as the stuffed animal type,” I say, clutching the unicorn.

Again, that weird feeling of being stared at comes out of nowhere. I spin fast, perhaps too fast to appear human, and catch a fleeting glimpse of a figure in a dark coat ducking behind a ring toss booth.

“Hold this.” I push the unicorn into Hunter’s chest and weave among people to run over there.

I stop on the far side of the booth, searching the crowd, but there’s no sign of my secret admirer. It might be another vampire, but he didn’t obviously move faster than a person could, and the crowd is pretty thick. So, who knows? Could just be a run of the mill creep. If it is a creep, I hope he tries something.

Hunter’s sneaker scuffing comes up behind me. “What’s wrong?”

“Thought I saw someone staring at me. He’s gone.”

“Do you wanna get out of here?”

I take Sophia’s unicorn back, and shake my head. “Nah. I’m okay.”

The problem with winning a stuffed toy for one sibling is, I have to win two more. Though, I don’t think Sam would fancy a pink-maned unicorn. He’s into dinosaurs. We scope out a few more of the game areas until spotting a plush T-rex at the ring toss booth. Fortunately, I have insane dexterity.

On my first set of five rings, I land three on the necks of bottles, and get a dark look from the carnie.

“Is that good enough for the stuffed T-rex?” I ask.

It’s not massive, only about the size of a housecat. He looks back and forth from it to me, then shrugs and hands it over. It’s probably too nice a prize for three rings, but he’s afraid I’ll cost him way more than that if I stick around. “Yeah. Good throwing.”

We make our way toward the big lot behind the school where most of the mechanical rides are. My parents are hanging out by a portable fence, watching the sibs going around and around in a tilt-o-whirl thing. Sam’s cheering and waving his arms over his head. Sophia’s got a death grip on the rail, screaming and begging them to slow down. Sierra looks bored. Hunter follows me over to my parents and I hand off the unicorn and T-rex.

“Still working on something for Sierra,” I say.

“Oh, this is adorable! Sophia’s going to love this.” Mom hugs the unicorn. “I’m tempted to ask you to go get me one.”

I wink. “I’ll try my best.”

“So, this is the young man.” Dad looks Hunter up and down.

“He’s into your music.” I elbow Hunter.

The two of them start talking about eighties metal, and it’s like Mom and I drift off to an entirely different dimension for a while. Dad redirects the conversation after maybe five minutes, and shoos us off to “go have our date.”

We hit a ride or two, though they don’t quite have the same magic they did now as they had when I was little, and a few of them we can’t even fit on. I head back to the game booths until I spot a plushie I think Sierra would like―or at least not hate. It resembles that green soldier guy from Halo. Alas, it’s at the bottle toss game. I wind up buying in twice, since the first time I’m mostly feeling out the minimum amount of force I need to put behind the throw to take out the weighted bottles at the bottom row without looking too superhuman.

My second toss of the second set smashes the stack straight off the table. The carnie running that game squints at me, clearly astounded that a girl my size had an arm like that. I give him my best innocent smile and ask for the Halo plush.

He hands it over, still giving me a weird look. I fiddle his brain a little so he thinks Hunter actually won it. Disbelief and suspicion melt away to a genuine smile. “For the little lady.”

“Thank you!” I take the stuffed space trooper and grin at Hunter. “Okay, prizes done.”

He whistles. “Wow, you’re pretty good at these games.”

“Lucky, I guess. I haven’t been to one of these things since I was like twelve. Wanna find a quiet spot?”

“Sure.”

We head back toward the lot full of rides. The back corner on the right side sits tucked nicely against a grove of trees. The operator’s booth for a merry-go-round creates a shadowed alley between the ride and the mini-forest that looks like the perfect place to have a romantic moment―until the stink of cigarette smoke makes me gag.

As soon as we walk around the corner of the booth, we attract the stares of a group hanging out by a bunch of empty metal boxes the carnival people must’ve keep their rides in after they take them apart. I recognize the guys from school. Two of them, Kevin and Walter, used to be part of Scott’s ‘crew,’ and they’re gonna be a problem.

“Come on,” I say in a low tone. “Let’s find somewhere else to go.”

Kevin pushes off the box he’d been sitting on and saunters up to us, mostly in my face. “That didn’t take long. Not even two weeks after Scott dumped you, and already you’re hookin’ up with the weird kid?”

“He tried to kill her,” says Hunter, leaning forward, clenching his fists.

“Yeah.” Walter approaches and flicks a cigarette at him while staring at me. “Why you hanging out with this loser? Just ’cause Scott traded up doesn’t mean you gotta settle this low.”

The other two chuckle, but don’t get up.

Hunter twitches.

“Come on, weird boy,” says Kevin, grinning. “Do something.”

“High school’s over, assholes.” I tug Hunter back from the pair of idiots before anyone throws a punch. “Grow the hell up.”

Oh, yeah. I’m a badass. ‘Grow the hell up’ is the best I can come up with? Geez, could I possibly sound any more like a total dork?

Fortunately, neither one of them do much more than laugh as we walk away from the secluded spot at the back of the carnival. I should’ve expected someone would’ve already gone there to drink or whatever.

“Don’t mind those jackasses,” I mutter.

“Scott didn’t dump you. Don’t listen to them. He traded down.”

A vision of Scott falling into Hell makes me grin. “Yeah, he traded way down.” I squeeze his hand. “Thanks, but do me a favor?”

“Anything.” He smiles.

“It’s kinda lame talking about boys ‘trading’ girls like we’re comic books.”

“Oh.” Hunter “Sorry. Well, he made a dumb mistake losing you.”

“Dumber than starting a land war in Asia?” I ask.

He laughs. “Yeah.”

“Don’t worry about what happened back there, okay?” I stop and peer into his eyes. It doesn’t even require vampire stuff to tell he’s feeling small for not defending me or some macho bullshit like that. “I don’t need a big tough guy.” Anymore…

“But those guys…”

I lean up a little and give him a quick kiss. “Really. I don’t need the big tough guy. It’s your sincerity I’m attracted to.”

He stares at me for a while, probably debating calling me beautiful and changing his mind because he’s afraid it’s too basic. “Sorry I never tried to talk to you before. It’s almost like it’s my fault Scott happened.”

Ugh. I rest my forehead on his shoulder. “It’s not your fault. And if I never hear that guy’s name again it’ll be too soon.”

“Right. Got it. Wanna go someplace quieter and like stare at the stars or something?”

I grin. “That sounds lovely.”

We meander away from the back end of the playground, walking along more stacked boxes and small trailers positioned against the trees. It’s fascinating how the carnival people can cram all those rides and things away into boxes like that. The parking lot full of people and booths stands between us and Hunter’s car, parked like a quarter mile up the road. I almost want to stay where we are so I don’t have to go through all the light and noise.

Right as I hesitate, I wind up locking eyes with a guy in a dark coat half-hidden at the corner of the balloon-dart game. He’s got a big lens pointed at me, some kind of telescope or camera. Before I can even think what the hell, a body comes sailing out from behind a trailer and plows into Hunter.

My reaction is fairly normal: I jump back and yell in surprise.

Walter lands with a knee on Hunter’s chest, and punches him square in the face. Hunter barely reacts to the hit, and wrenches his body in a twist that throws Walter off him. Kevin leaps off the top of a metal container, launching himself into the most uncoordinated attempt at a flying jump kick I’ve ever seen―and my dad loves cheesy martial arts movies. It’s obvious he’s going to miss, so I don’t do anything but watch.

Hunter rolls out of the way and scrambles to his feet, only to catch another fist to the jaw as soon as he’s upright. Kevin lands like a drunken goose and trips into the wall of empty boxes. Laughing, Walter moves in for another punch, but Hunter springs forward, quite a bit faster than expected. His knuckles crash against Walter’s cheek, staggering him, but before Hunter can follow up, Kevin grabs him from behind, holding his arms.

The other two wander out from hiding and head my way. They don’t seem intent on attacking me, but they look like they might try to hold me back from getting in the way of the beating they intend to give Hunter. I wanna say the ginger in the black leather jacket is named Jimmy or something like that, but I never talked to him or the other one in the four years I went there. Jocks aren’t my thing. I’m still not sure how the hell I wound up with Scott.

“Knock it off,” I say.

Ignoring me, Walter rushes in to take the cheap shot. Hunter kicks him in the gut and struggles to get out of Kevin’s grip, but can’t. When I take a step toward them, the other two move in front of me.

“Just watch, sweetie,” says Jimmy. “Don’t want you gettin’ hurt.”

Hunter lets the strength out of his legs. Dead weight is too much for Kevin, and they collapse backward together in a heap. Walter pounces, and the three of them whirl into a blur of grabbing, kicking, and punching.

I glare into Jimmy’s eyes. “Go home.”

With a sudden look of mission, he pivots on his heel and hurries off. The other kid grabs my arm when I try to walk past him. I glance down at his hand. The thumps and thuds of a fistfight continue off to my left.

“Your hand is on my arm.”

He―I half remember his name as Trent or Trevor or something like that―grins. “Should I grab somewhere else?”

I reach across and seize his wrist with my left hand. “Didn’t your parents teach you not to grab girls without being invited to?” First, I try a gentle tug with normal human strength.

“Aww, come on. Don’t be like that,” says T-something. His other hand starts going for my butt.

Eyes narrowed, I squeeze until his wrist breaks. He screams in agony, or maybe he tried to shout, “What the F,” but it’s not even words. I grab him by the neck and pull him close, giving him a memory of tripping and breaking his wrist when he landed, then I throw him into one of the open containers.

His body hits the metal with a deep, resonant boom, which startles Kevin and Walter long enough for Hunter to land a perfect right hook into Kevin’s nose. I hurry over, grab Walter by the scruff of his jacket collar and his belt, then hurl him over the wall of boxes into the trees.

Sprawled on the ground, Hunter stares at me in shock as I drag Kevin to his feet and swing him around by a two-fisted grip of jacket and shirt, pressing him against a metal cargo box. Kevin grabs my shoulder and arm, trying to peel my hands away, but it feels like I’m wrestling a four-year-old. A little part of me wants to snap bones, but I’m not that vicious.

Instead, I lean in until our foreheads almost touch, and snarl, “Get the hell out of here while you can still walk on your own power. And stay away from us.”

Kevin gurgles and slams his knee into my side.

Sigh. I hate stubborn boys. That’s what I get for daring to simply try and talk first.

Let’s try that again. This time, as I order him to go away and leave us alone, I do it with a compulsion instead of a simple verbal threat. He goes limp and stops struggling. I shove him into the same cargo box with Walter, and turn around to check on Hunter.

He still hasn’t gotten up. Trickles of blood run from his nose and lip, and he might have a facial bruise.

“You okay?” I ask, crouching beside him.

“Yeah, no big deal.” Hunter wipes blood from his lip. “What the hell was that?”

“Two idiots who still think they’re in high school,” I say.

He sits up, dusts himself off, and stands. “No, I mean…” He gestures at the box where Walter and Kevin lay, still moaning in pain. “That.”

“Oh.” I sheepishly look down at my sneakers. “Remember when I said my life’s kinda complicated?”

“Uh huh.”

I fidget and bite my lip. “Well, yeah. It’s really complicated.”

The Archive

4

So, my date with Hunter didn’t go too badly.

After the fight with those jocks from school, we wound up in the woods by Bassett Pond, staring at the stars and talking. I chickened out and didn’t tell him everything. Or anything really. I did promise to tell him everything when ‘the time is right’ or something lame like that. He didn’t push, though he did get a little weird about the fight. I mean, it’s like in a guy’s natural instinct to be tough for the girl. For now, he’s assuming they ‘let’ me break up the fight because they didn’t want to hit a girl.

It also surprised me, in a good way, that he didn’t try anything sexual. The boy just wanted to be with me. I’ve been the good girl so long, I can’t really say with any certainty how I would’ve reacted if he suggested we do more than make out. And, okay, so I cheated a little by knowing what’s going on in his head, but he genuinely adored simply spending time with me no matter what we did.

Wow. Wish I could’ve read minds before. That would’ve made dating so much easier.

I almost feel bad for him, in the sense that I’m not quite what he’s expecting. The longer I take to spill, the worse it’ll hit him if my being not-quite-dead is a deal breaker. Still, I kinda don’t want him to leave. So I chickened out. If I wait too long and the truth crushes him, I could always make him forget I ever existed… but would that be any better than what Scott did with Bree?

After a while of debating if erasing myself from his memory would be a kindness or a deep violation of his personal space, I drag myself out of bed and wander upstairs. My day outing has another side effect―it left me tired enough to sleep until almost eight. Or maybe it’s unrelated and I wanted to sleep.

Mom’s in her study doing work while Dad and the girls are finishing cleaning up in the kitchen. Sam’s nowhere to be seen, which means he’s probably in his room on the computer. Soon, we all wind up around the dining room table playing a board game. Sierra’s initially grumbly about it, but when she realizes that we can compete without my newfound abilities giving me an unfair advantage, she takes a much keener interest in ‘the boring pre-technology’ game.

“Where’s Sam?” I ask. “Isn’t he going to play?”

“He’s having a sleepover,” says Sierra.

“Nuh uh,” chimes Sophia. “Sleepovers are for girls.”

“Wouldn’t that technically be a pajama party? For girls I mean,” I ask.

“Wow. There’s a term I haven’t heard in a long time.” Mom chuckles.

“Daryl’s parents had to go out of state for a funeral or something. Distant aunt or whatever and the boy didn’t want to go. So he’s spending the night here,” says Dad. “And they invited, uhh…” He snaps his fingers a few times. “Joey?”

“Jordan,” says Mom.

We settle into the game, each of us trying to move our piece to the ‘treasure’ in the middle of the board. It reminds me a bit of that Dungeons & Dragons thing Dad was into as a kid, only way simpler. It occupies only about forty minutes before ending a little faster than anyone expected when Sophia gets like four lucky rolls in a row and makes it into the vault.

“That was short,” says Sierra. “But, okay, not boring.”

Sophia grins. “Can we play again?”

“We could… or we could fix a problem,” says Dad.

“I didn’t do it.” Sophia goes wide-eyed.

He laughs. “No, not with this game.” Dad points at me. “With her education.”

I fake roll my eyes. “What movie are we watching?”

“The Lost Boys,” says Dad.

“Can we watch it, too?” asks Sophia.

“I dunno.” Mom fidgets. “Is that one safe?”

“It’s rated C for cheese,” mutters Sierra.

Dad gasps at her. “Heretic!” He chuckles, then nods to Mom. “Yeah. It shouldn’t be too much for them.”

“Soph scares easy,” says Sierra. “It’ll give her nightmares.”

Sophia points at me. “Sarah can make me forget it if I get bad dreams.”

“No way, kiddo.” I hold up my hands. “You guys are off limits to the weird stuff.”

Anxiety in Mom’s posture fades. “All right.”

Soon, we’re all on the couch, except for Sam, who’s in his room upstairs with his friends. Sophia insists on planting herself between Dad and me. She’s wearing her new nightgown, some amazingly soft felt-like material in pale pink. She’s also painted her nails a blinding shade of fuchsia. Sierra, not a fan of frilly, is swimming in her Adventure Time PJs. She’ll probably be able to wear them until she’s fourteen. If she jumps too hard, those pants are falling straight off her.

Dad approaches The Archive, what he calls his shelf full of eighties movies. With the exception of foreign films, I think he’s got everything produced from 1980 through 1990 in there, even the obscure ones like Strange Brew and Buckaroo Banzai.

Once he finds the DVD, Dad loads it up and our enormous television comes to life.

“I can’t believe you’ve never seen this,” says Dad as he resumes his place on the couch.

“What’s it about?” asks Sophia.

“Vampires,” I say. “But they’re the bad guys.”

“But you’re not a bad guy.” Sophia grins.

“Some vampires are.” Sierra shifts to lean against Dad.

It sounds weird to say, but I’m glad Bree blindfolded my sister when she kidnapped her. That spared Sierra having to see what remained of Scott. The memory of that makes me shudder. I still can’t believe I ripped his head off. That should’ve been way beyond my tolerance for disgusting, but I was so damn pissed off at the time. Looking back at it, I almost find it funnier than gross, especially how he wobbled while carrying his detached head off into the woods.

Wow, my life has gotten weird.

We settle in, all absorbed by the movie―even Sierra.

“Maggots, Michael,” says the film vampire.

“Eww!” Sophia squeals and buries her face against Dad’s arm at the close up of writhing maggots in the Chinese food box.

“Did he change them into maggots?” asks Sierra.

“No, it’s a mind trick.” Dad pauses the movie, then tickles Sophia. “He’s making Michael think he’s been eating maggots.”

Sierra leans forward to peer around Dad at me. “Can you do mind stuff like the maggot thing?”

“I dunno. Never tried. Next time we get Chinese, I’ll try it out.”

Mom grimaces. “Perhaps something a little less nauseating? Like making your father see my sweater as green instead of blue.”

Hmm. I grin.

“Dad?”

He looks at me. “Yes, dear?”

“Mom’s wearing a green sweater, right?” I give his brain a little poke.

Dad shifts his attention to Mom. “Yeah.”

“It’s blue,” says Sophia. “Mom’s wearing a blue sweater.”

“Gotta be a trick of the light.” Dad reaches over and tugs at the sweater. “Looks green to me, like that Jeep you used to drive when we first met.”

Mom laughs.

“Wow.” I grin. “I have fully programmable parents.”

“Wait, did you…” Dad stares at me. When I think about canceling that mental implant, he blinks and does a double take at Mom. “Cripes. It is blue.”

Sophia goes pale. She looks up at me, seeming likely to throw up at any moment. “Please don’t make me see gross stuff when I’m eating.”

“Cross my heart. I won’t.” I ruffle her hair.

“If you mind control any of us without permission, you’ll be grounded for thirty years,” says Dad with a straight (mostly) face.

“Thirty years?” I stare at him. “Are you serious?”

“Well…” Dad waves about randomly. “It’s relative to your new relationship with time.”

I laugh.

“Dad?” calls Sam from the stairs above and behind the sofa. “Daryl stopped up the toilet again.”

Mom facepalms. “That’s the second time today. The boy’s not human.”

“What do they feed him?” asks Dad with a chuckle. He scoots forward to get up, but pauses, looking at me. “Hey, since you can hold your breath for infinity… would you mind dealing with that?”

I groan. “Yeah, sure.”

We stand at the same time.

“I’m kidding,” says Dad. “I got it.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Wright!” yells a boy, probably Daryl.

Dad heads upstairs. “It’s all right. These things happen.”

During the break, Sierra runs to the downstairs bathroom while Sophia goes to make popcorn. After a few minutes, Dad returns, and we resume watching the movie. It’s kinda cool in a campy sort of way, even if the vampires are portrayed as more monstrous than people.

Sierra looks up at Dad. “If you kill Dalton, will Sarah go back to normal?”

“Umm.” He makes a face at me.

“I don’t think so. In fact, I’m pretty sure there’s no such thing as half vampires.” I shrug. “Besides, that mirror stuff and the garlic are total made up stories.”

“So what’d you think?” asks Dad, smiling in anticipation.

I grin back. “It was actually kinda cool… except for the mullet.”

“Oh, everyone had mullets in the eighties. Well, most of the guys anyway.” Dad laughs.

“Did you?” asks Sierra.

“Nah. Your grandparents wouldn’t let me grow it out.” Dad runs a hand up over his hair, which isn’t all that long. “If they saw it like this, they’d call me a long-haired hippie.”

Okay, so it’s like super cheesy, but I kinda liked spending time with the family watching a movie. “You know, I kinda missed movie night.” As soon as I say it, a pang of sadness stabs me like a wooden stake. It might be uncool to ‘hang with the fam,’ but I’m going to need these memories to last a really long time.

Dad gestures at The Archive. “We can certainly bring that back.”

“Do we have to watch old stuff all the time?” asks Sophia.

“Of course not.” Mom yawns. “Next time, you pick the movie.”

I picture myself sitting on a random couch somewhere, flanked by two elderly women and an old man: my siblings. Right as I start to get sad, my brain slaps VR goggles on old-lady Sierra and covers elderly Sophia with cats. Yeah, she’s totally going to be the crazy cat lady obsessed with unicorns. And I can picture Sierra sitting in a room at the nursing home startling the other residents whenever she screams ‘bullshit’ at a video game. That’s probably how she’s gonna pass away too, having a heart attack from getting mad at her PlayStation 20.

The thought started off depressing as hell, but I burst out laughing―which of course gets everyone looking at me like I’ve gone nuts. No way am I gonna let my family rot away in a place like that when they’re old. I’m a vampire, dammit… if I wanted to, I could make myself rich pretty easily. I don’t need rich, but I’m not above using my talents to live comfortably and take care of my family. Then again, who knows what the future will bring. Sophia might get married and have a dozen kids and be well loved and cared for. Sierra’s either going to live in a trailer and work at Burger King her whole life―or get a job for the NSA. Then again, maybe she’ll hit her teen years and suddenly realize boys exist.

Argh. So many what-ifs.

“You okay, Sarah?” asks Dad.

I shake off the heavy thoughts and smile. “Yeah. Fine. Just having one of those moments when I’m too happy.”

“Too happy?” asks Mom.

“Yeah.” I cross my fingers. “You know, you’re feeling too happy, so the Universe must take measures to correct that and something invariably goes wrong.”

“Bite your tongue,” says Dad.

Sophia gasps.

“It’s only a figure of speech. Nothing’s going to happen.” Mom yawns. “And on that note, I think I’m going to bed.”

My thoughts drift back to the guy at the carnival who’d been following me. Maybe that’s why I’m on edge. Call it a hunch, but I have a feeling there’s a pretty good chance something unpleasant is coming my way soon.

Debut

5

After the movie, I head down to my room and stare at my computer screen, trying to figure out what to do with myself all night. There’s always video games. I kinda like them, but I’m nowhere near into them as much as Sierra. Dad sometimes jokes that Mom made my sisters by taking a clone of me and dividing her in half.

I’m right about in the middle between the two of them with Sophia on the extreme girly end and Sierra on the other side. It wouldn’t be accurate to call her a tomboy―she has her occasionally girly moments―but she’s all about video games and fighter jet models and stuff like that. And she hates dresses. I think Sophia would blow a gasket if she ever got forced to wear pants. The frillier, the better as far as she’s concerned.

Sometimes I embrace the fancy; sometimes I like the plain. Most of the time lately, I do the sweat pants thing. It’s not like I have to dress up to sit around the house.

My iPhone tweeps with a text message.

‹Where are you?›

Hmm. I don’t recognize the number, so I reply with: ‹Who is this?›

‹Aurélie. You were supposed to be here at ten.›

Dammit! I totally forgot. Tonight’s that… thing. “Shit.” ‹Crap. Sorry. Family stuff. I’ll brt. What should I wear?›

The giggle I imagine her making echoes in my head. ‹It does not matter. Come nude if you want. I have a dress for you already picked out.›

Thanks but no. I’ve already exceeded my lifetime minutes for running around outside without clothes. I glance down at my Smashing Pumpkins T-shirt, grey sweat pants, and bare feet. If she’s got a dress picked out for me, that probably means shoes too. Screw it. ‹OMW›

I skip socks and rush upstairs. I’m moving so fast, when Dad emerges from the ground floor bathroom, he appears to be walking in slow motion. I weave around him and race over to the front door in seconds. He doesn’t scream in alarm until I’ve already got my sneakers on and I’m outside. Once I’ve gotten enough altitude to feel safely out of general eyesight, I shoot Dad a text apologizing for nearly crashing into him.

After pointing myself toward Seattle, I lean into my flight, pushing myself as fast as I can. Wind goes down the neck of my T-shirt, shocking me with cold. It’s annoying more than anything since frostbite won’t really do much to me. In the midst of contemplating immortality and feeling weird about it, the air blast gets into my sweat pants and rips them down. They wind up trailing off my sneakers like one of those banners small airplanes drag across the sky for a second before the 140 MPH wind yanks them clear off. My pants flutter downward, leaving my underwear on public display.

“Eep!”

I circle back and dive in pursuit, catching the drifting fabric before flying too close to the ground. Hanging in midair, I scramble back into them, fighting to get them on as fast as possible, but my sneakers have other ideas. The harder I pull, the harder the fabric gets stuck on rubber soles. I’m certain my face is as red as a fire truck. Eventually, I pull them back where they belong, and for the rest of my flight to Seattle, I keep a death grip on the waistband.

Argh. The relationship between my wardrobe and flying is starting to really piss me off. Dresses and skirts suck, because of flap-up issues, and apparently, sweat pants like to come off entirely. I grumble for a moment, but my need to hurry soon distracts me.

Aurélie laughs at me when I walk into her penthouse. “My dear you look so… ordinary.”

“It’s called comfortable.” I sigh. “I’m sorry. I totally forgot this was like my debutante night.”

She glides around me. “Oh, the event is not for you. It occurs once a month, though they sometimes skip them.” She tugs at my shirt. “Come then, let us attend to your gown.”

I’m about to ask if she really expects me to change right in front of her, but something about her presence pushes my embarrassment aside. I strip to my underwear, draping everything on the little divan beside me.

“She tsks at me. Those common smallclothes won’t do. Put them with the rest of your common things and I’ll find you something more appropriate.”

It isn’t until I’m standing in front of her stark naked that I feel a little conspicuous. Of course, it doesn’t help that I’m not far from the same bed she and my best friend Ashley spent almost two hours in doing things to each other.

Aurélie orbits me, rubbing her chin.

“Hope this isn’t going to get weird,” I say, adding a nervous chuckle. “At least, any more weird than it already is.”

“When I was your age, I had a full staff who attended me in the bath and helped me dress. You Americans are so fixated on nudity equating to sex. So stodgy.”

“Well, you did do it with my best friend.”

Aurélie caresses my cheek. “She is quite energetic. But I do not prefer women. And our relationship is of an entirely different type.”

Well, that’s something. She’s giving off maternal vibes more than checking me out. But more than simple vibes waft off her though. Something is keeping me from freaking out while she measures every inch of me with her eyes. I’d feel super awkward being nude in front of my actual mother. Or maybe I’m still standing here calmly because this woman is not my mother. Suppose I’ve wound up somewhere between adopted daughter and cute kitten plucked off the street. Seeing as how Dalton didn’t really teach me much, lost kitten about sums me up. Though, to be fair, he only bailed because I wanted to go home to my family. If I’d ‘stayed dead,’ I probably would’ve wound up moving in with him.

“Wait here a moment.” Aurélie glides across the bedroom to one of five massive wardrobes, all painted white with gold trim.

Tapping my foot, I nervously glance around at the fancy furnishings, feeling vulnerable. I swear, this whole vampire thing is not for anyone with body image issues. The bed’s an explosion of white and pink frills, and she’s got over a hundred dolls arranged around the room. Some of them look older than the United States. Sophia would utterly lose her mind if she ever saw this place.

Aurélie returns, handing me silk underthings in pale pink. “Those should fit you. The dark red isn’t quite right.” She grins and flicks a finger at my chin. “Mon petit Innocent.”

I waste no time putting them on. Back and forth, Aurélie drifts from me to the wardrobe, with a whole host of various pieces of clothing I don’t even know the names for. A tiny plain dress, then a longer plain dress, then a fancy skirt. The whole thing is some elaborate gown, but the bodice part isn’t even attached to anything―she has to pin it on with literal pins. When she finishes, I wind up staring at this Disney Princess in a full-length mirror who kinda resembles Sarah Wright. The ensemble is mostly white with pink roses here and there, plus trails of pearls dotting the darker cream lines that form the ‘stems.’

Holy crap. This dress has to cost more than most cars. I’d say it’s comfortable, but I’d be lying. Calling it ‘not uncomfortable’ is closer to the truth. At least she skipped the corset, not that I need to breathe, but my body keeps doing it, part of that whole Innocent thing.

Last, she offers a choice of shoes. One pair is pearlescent white, the other pale rose pink.

“Oh, screw it,” I say. “Might as well go with the pink ones. I’ve already turned the girlie dial up to eleven.”

She spends a few minutes fussing with my hair. Considering her arms have become a blur even to my enhanced senses, it’s probably equivalent to an hour or more of work. By the time she’s done, I’ve got this crown braid thing going on and I smell like an apricot vanilla air freshener.

I’m totally channeling Sierra at the moment. How she felt in her Girl Scout uniform is exactly me right now. This outfit is way extra. In fact, this might be too much girly for even Sophia to tolerate. Oh well. Much like neither me nor my sisters dared protest Mom’s decision to do the Girl Scout thing, I’m not about to do anything to offend an older-than-hell vampiress who’s decided to take me under her wing.

Aurélie gives me a sly, girlish wink as if in response to that thought gliding across my brain.

“I’m surprised you’re not making me wear elbow gloves.”

She dangles a set of white gloves from her fingertips.

I hang my head, but obediently hold out my arms. “You’re taking this beyond Disney Princess. I don’t even know what to call this.”

“Adorable,” says Aurélie.

Out of the corner of my eye, I get the sense the dolls are watching me. Great. I meet the crazy cat lady of vampires, only it’s dolls not cats, and I’m next.

Aurélie bursts into giggles.

“You are reading my mind…”

She snugs my left glove on, fusses at my dress, and gives me a final nod of approval. “It is more that you are broadcasting than I am trying to listen. And no, my little friends are simple dolls. I am not trapping souls.”

“That’s reassuring.” I eye one of the dolls that appears to be staring at me. “Though that black-haired one is creepy.”

Aurélie winks. “I said I am not trapping souls. Not that souls have not been trapped.”

I gawk at her.

She giggles. “Oh, ton visage! Précieux.”

“I’m sorry, what?” I ask.

“The look on your face. Precious.” She fake-pinches my cheeks. “Some may be haunted, but I do not think any dark magic happened. I could not stand such things in my presence if that were the case, though I do believe Daphne is jealous.” Aurélie crosses to that doll and whispers to it in French.

I hope she’s messing with me and isn’t expecting the doll to respond. If that thing moves, I am so out of here.

“Very well. Are you ready?”

“Think so. Do you have a guy with a hand truck to transport me to the car?”

She tilts her head in confusion.

I take a few steps around. “It’s hard to move in this thing.”

Aurélie laughs.

On the way down the elevator, she tells me all about the dresses she used to wear as a mortal. From the sound of it, this one’s basically the ‘sweat pants and T-shirt’ of super-fancy gowns. That is to say, comfortable. Of course, comfort is a matter of relativity. I’m either going to turn heads or get laughed at. And forget sneaky. Moving in this thing sounds like an army of field mice having a battle royal in a box of tissue paper.

There’s a white limo waiting outside, and a guy in a black uniform to open the door for us. Aurélie is wearing one of those super-rigid gowns that takes a team of servants to put on. The thing would probably kill me all over again if I had to spend more than five minutes in it. It’s mostly a shiny goldenrod color with cream ruffled trim and bronze fleur-de-lis on the bodice. Guess after a few centuries, she’s gotten used to it. She kinda resembles a lemon meringue pie that a faerie godmother turned into a princess.

The ride is fairly short, and we stop at the Fairmont Olympic Hotel. Evidently, one of the Old Guard has influence over the people who run it. Aurélie takes me by the hand and leads me in the front door, across the lobby, and around toward like convention type rooms. I suppose it’s probably cheaper to rent them at midnight than during the day, assuming vampires even bother paying for stuff like this.

Aurélie heads over to a set of double doors where a seriously massive dude in a jet-black suit stands guard. He kinda reminds me of Maui from Moana, only with a buzz cut and no tats. People are not supposed to be this buff. His mere existence defies biology. He grabs the doorknob with fingers as thick as Sophia’s wrist, and pulls it aside for us.

The room beyond is nothing at all like what I’d expected. Tables along the left side have trays of hors d’oeuvres and snacks. Most of the room is open space except for faux-marble columns, and maybe twenty or so people stand around in clusters talking. It looks like a tiny version of the holiday parties at Boeing that Mom used to drag me to, only without the decorations.

Really, I’m not sure what I was expecting… like some big brooding ‘head vampire’ guy on a throne in a castle type room with a bunch of Dracula wannabees hanging around and skeletons chained to the walls. This looks so… corporate and normal. I don’t even feel like Average Girl who went through the wrong door and walked into a Goth convention.

“Aurélie Merlier,” says a thin blond man in a purple-and-white suit as equally ridiculous as my dress. He, too, looks like he stepped straight out of a reenactment of Louis XIV. “And introducing Sarah Wright.”

Oh great. Thanks for calling attention to me. And how did that guy know my name?

Duh. Aurélie probably told him already.

One or two people had looked over at the mention of Aurélie’s name. When he says mine, everyone stops their conversations to stare at me―except for nine people in ordinary street clothes. While the gazes of two dozen or so vampires drill into me, two things become obvious simultaneously: those nine people are the only ones here not dressed to the hilt, and they all look foggy, as though they’d each smoked a whole bag of weed.

I glance at the snacks, finally noting how bizarre it is to have food out at a vampire event―until realization smacks me in the face. Those foggy people stumbling around in street clothes are the real snacks. That food must be for them. Chances are, I may be the only vampire in the room who could even eat anything on the table and not have it come flying out of their mouth in seconds. In more ways than one, I’m definitely the youngest person in the room. Most of the vampires look to have been at least in their late twenties when they turned. A little less than half are women, two of whom have been staring cattily at Aurélie since we arrived.

Yeah, okay, they’re gorgeous, but they’ve got nothing on her. Geez, really? Vampires get jealous over looks? Ugh. Neither of them even spares me a two-second glance. Guess ‘cute’ doesn’t register as a threat. About a third of the vampires appear older, including one guy who kinda looks like that dude from that beer commercial. I guess he’s the most interesting vampire in the world―or at least the most interesting vampire in Seattle.

“Greetings, everyone,” says Aurélie, holding my hand up. “May I present Sarah as my protégé. She is new among us, and Innocent.”

The group mostly nods or gives me the kind of looks one reserves for fluffy white kittens wearing pink bows. However, one guy who has the look of a Mafia don shoots me a glare. He’s clearly not on board with ‘team cute.’ Right. Considering I’m only here as a courtesy and I’m not really keen on inserting myself into vampire society, no big deal. And him, I’ll avoid entirely.

Once the attendees stop staring at me and go back to their conversations, Aurélie guides me around the room from cluster to cluster for more direct introductions and social pleasantries. We first interrupt a pair of Academics from their discussion on philosophy and astronomy.

“Eleanor St. Ives,” says a thirtyish woman in an elegant but simple white dress, blonde hair up. Her striking grey eyes fixate on me for only a second before she diverts her stare to Aurélie. The woman radiates a fish-out-of-water vibe like she’d much rather be in a lab underground somewhere and has little time for socializing. “A pleasure.”

“Thanks,” I say.

“Pascal Ivanov.” Her conversation partner offers me a noticeable but weak smile. The man’s younger with wild light brown hair and an Adam’s apple sharp enough to kill. “You are quite fetching.” He glances at Aurélie. “Are you certain she is one of us? She looks like one of the canapes.”

His utter lack of any accent makes me think he’s been around for a long damn time. I offer a polite smile, baring my fangs.

“She’s an Innocent, dear,” says Eleanor. “Quite rare. Charming as well as the pity.”

“Pity?” I ask, hoping not to sound too rude.

“Being darling and lifelike will only take you so far.” Eleanor clucks her tongue like she feels sorry for me. “You’ll never truly come into the power our kind deserves.”

Pascal taps a finger to his chin. “There are advantages nonetheless. Don’t be so quick to discount. I’ve been studying the different strains of vampirism for some time now, and it’s a misconception that the Innocent are useless.”

My eyebrows flatten. Gee, thanks bud.

Eleanor flashes a ‘go to hell’ smile at him. “Well, I shall take your word for it then.”

“Nice to meet you both,” I say.

Aurélie exchanges pleasantries with them, then pulls me along to the next group consisting of two rather attractive guys plus one of the women who’d stared daggers at her when we arrived. The guy on the left is as pale as the walls with shoulder-length black hair, the other African American. All three of them appear to be in their twenties. The woman’s wearing her red hair long and straight, and locks her green eyes (yeah, that’s appropriate) on Aurélie. As soon as we get close enough to converse, the hostility melts out of her, which morphs into a ‘please like me’ expression.

Wow, my mentor must’ve whammied her with the juju pretty hard. Well, that’s one way to deal with jealousy.

“Hi,” I say.

“Aww, you shouldn’t have,” says the pale man. “How did you know I wanted a kid sister?”

I let out a nervous laugh, hoping he’s making a crappy joke.

“Ashton James.” The pale man nods at me in greeting. “A pity you were taken so young. Are you even of age yet?”

“Do not mind him.” The other man offers a hand and bows. “Henry Arnold. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Hello.” I shake hands with him.

He looks a little strange. Despite being quite handsome, undeath did bizarre things to his African American complexion. Right before my eyes, the grey blotches fill in, and he takes on the appearance of a normal person. Yeah, ‘looking alive’ is something I take for granted. Other strains have to turn it on.

Ashton takes my hand as if to kiss it, but doesn’t. “Satisfy my curiosity, I beg. Who suffered such a lack of decency that they bestowed the Transference upon a child?”

“I’m older than I look.”

“Ashton, dear,” says Aurélie, “you know it is impolite to ask a lady her age.”

“True, true.” He releases my hand and offers an apologetic bow. “Forgive me this indiscretion.”

It’s beyond weird to see a guy who looks like he’s twenty-five or so speak like some dude from an old movie. Then again, for all I know, he could’ve been around in the 1900s.

“Vanessa. How are you?” asks Aurélie in a tone more than a little patronizing.

“I’m fine,” says the redhead. Her right eye twitches.

“Please contain yourself dear. I would most appreciate you not making a mess of Sarah’s first gathering.”

The unnatural calm recedes from Vanessa. Her eyes go steely. Hands on her hips, she smirks at me, clearly unimpressed. “Why did you do that to her?”

I shake my head. “Aurélie didn’t do the Transference.”

Vanessa gestures at me. “No, I mean putting her in that ridiculous outfit.”

That myself, Aurélie, and the guy with the fluffy collar by the door are the only ones in the room not wearing modern clothes becomes glaringly obvious. Also, it’s pretty evident that most of the vampires have been watching me since I walked in, politely looking away only when I turn in their direction.

“Oh, c’est le plus mignon!” squeals Aurélie, sounding like a big version of Sophia. “I mean, she is the cutest!”

I shift my eyes to her, and back to Vanessa.

The woman makes a sympathetic face at me.

“We must continue,” says Aurélie, pulling me along.

“Nice meeting you.” I wave at the three of them.

“Why would Vanessa ruin this party?” I whisper.

Aurélie smiles to herself. “She is a Fury.”

Well, obviously, that should explain everything. I guess that means she’s got a hell of a temper and probably ridiculous strength on top of it.

We walk the rounds having brief conversations with other vampires. Eventually, I make the acquaintance of the ‘most interesting vampire in the world.’ He looks fiftyish with traces of silver in his black hair, thickest in two light spots above his ears. His suit makes my dress feel cheap. It’s iridescent and either dark blue or black depending on how the light hits it.

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” says the man. “I am Arthur Wolent.”

Unlike Ashton, this guy does take my hand and kiss it.

“Hi.” Unsure if I’m supposed to wave, curtsey, or what, I stand there like a tool.

“She is not yours?” asks Arthur, eyeing Aurélie.

“It’s a bit of a mess what happened to me.” I manage a weak chuckle. “I don’t want to bore you with it.”

“Oh, do indulge me.” Arthur smiles a kindly, grandfatherly smile. Something lurks behind his eyes, green as emeralds and as fierce as a dragon’s. I get the distinct impression making him angry would be a major mistake.

“Well, I’m sure you’re not at all interested in teen drama, but my former boyfriend cheated on me. When I told him we were done, he flipped out and stabbed me. A vampire happened to be following me, intending to bite me, but when he saw Scott kill me, he decided to do what he could to save me.”

“Ahh.” Arthur nods. “Interesting. And you are not with the one who gave you the gift?”

I shake my head. “No. When I woke up, I had no idea what happened and he wasn’t around, so I went home.”

“Home?” His eyebrows go up. “To your mortal family?” He appears stunned for a second, but smiles. “Interesting.”

“I felt too guilty letting them think I was dead, so I went back.”

The room falls silent.

“Her mortal family bears no risk to us, and they are under my protection,” says Aurélie.

“That is extraordinarily reckless,” says the guy who looks like a Mafia don. He strolls over, left hand in his pocket, right hand holding a wine glass of blood. “This girl should have disavowed all ties to mortal society. They are too great a risk and should be dealt with as soon as possible.”

“Now, Paolo,” says Aurélie, “you cannot know that.”

Dealt with? Before my brain catches up with reality, I get in the guy’s face. “Don’t you dare threaten my family!”

“Control your protégé.” The man glances pointedly at Aurélie. “What steps are you taking to clean that situation up?”

“My family is not a situation to be cleaned up,” I say, almost shouting. “Leave them alone.”

Aurélie barely has time to open her mouth before I’m sailing across the room to a face-first encounter with the wall. The next thing I know, I’m lying in a heap of ouch, the whap of my impact echoing in my head. Somewhere in the blurriness of the room behind me, people shout at each other. I’m in so much pain, I don’t even try to move for a few seconds until the fogginess clears enough that Aurélie’s shouting becomes actual words instead of mere sound.

“How dare you!” Aurélie’s eyes glow red.

“You should have spent time teaching your child manners rather than dolling her up,” says Paolo.

When I try to push myself upright, my left forearm bends like a noodle. Ow.

I’m pretty sure my jaw broke. Probably my face, too. And yeah, left shoulder’s a mess. I think I flew like Supergirl. My side aches as well, in the distinct bruise pattern of a hand. Grunting from the pain, I pull myself up with my right arm, letting the left one dangle limp. Oh, look at that… my right foot is pointing the wrong way―and my shoes are missing.

I sit up a little more and notice both shoes are still standing in front of the shithead who threw me across the room. Crunching and cracking fill my head as my bones begin knitting back together.

Something changes in Aurélie’s presence. “You forget who you speak to, Cabrini.”

She may be white as snow and look like a five-foot-five porcelain doll, but all her supernatural beauty warps in on itself. To my eyes, she looks no different, but she’s as terrifying as if a legit dragon loomed over him, ready to breathe enough fire to melt down a whole village. Even the dazed mortals react to her, cowering and scurrying to the sides of the room. Arthur Wolent raises an eyebrow.

Paolo leans back, the blood in his wine glass shaking.

“I will not tolerate such violence against an innocent girl seeking only to protect her loved ones. A minor infraction upon your ego does not equal their lives.”

“I…” Paolo cringes away from her.

My right foot rotates to point forward with a snap. I grab the edge of the table and pull myself upright as my jaw squishes back into place. Miraculously, I haven’t gotten any blood on this dress, though a grimacing facial expression is pretty clear in the splat I left on the wall.

Henry Arnold walks over and offers me a handkerchief.

“Thank you.” I take it, and wipe my face free of bloody plaster dust.

Content that Paolo’s delicate ego has been torn to ribbons in front of everyone, Aurélie ceases throwing off terror and goes back to her usual self. The guy backs away from her and hurriedly walks out of the room.

“I will say it again so everyone is perfectly clear.” Aurélie turns in place, gazing around at everyone. “Her family has my trust. I will vouch for their secrecy. Anyone who harms them will answer to me.”

After a long, awkward silence, the din of conversation gradually resumes.

I pad back over and step into my shoes. Or the shoes I’m borrowing for the night. Aurélie starts fussing with my hair, which exploded out of her braid when I smooched the wall. We wind up just letting it hang loose. She also pulls two pins out of me, straightens the warped metal by pulling it through her fingers, and replaces them in the dress after tugging the detached bodice back in place.

“Ouch.”

She shakes her head. “The man’s not even three hundred years old and you’d think he was sneaking up on five centuries.”

I blink. “Umm. Is he going to be a problem? Should I be worried about my family?”

“I doubt it.” Aurélie pats me on the shoulders, adjusting the dress. “I trust that they will not do anything to call undue attention.” She raises her voice enough that it becomes obvious she wants everyone to hear her. “Many of us employ mortals as helpers and assistants. That you happen to be related to yours is of no consequence.”

“Okay. Umm. Sorry if I embarrassed you yelling at that guy. This whole ‘society’ thing is new for me.”

“It was a faux pas, but not a great one. The man did threaten your family. Normally, at these events, it is poor form to raise one’s voice at someone who is your elder. Though, only the older Traditionalists bother to be offended whenever the etiquette is disregarded.”

“Traditionalists are the same as Old Guard, right?” I ask in a whisper.

She twitches. “Yes, though, the term ‘Old Guard’ is what the younger ones refer to those of us who have been around for a while. I dislike the phrasing. Thank you for using ‘Traditionalist.’”

I nod. “Is it rude to ask someone what, umm, kind of vampire they are? Like Fury or whatever?”

“It’s a topic better reserved for private conversation, not polite company.”

“Okay. So…”

“Why did I announce you as an Innocent?” She smiles.

“I was about to ask.”

“Because of your appearance.” She caresses my cheek again. “I did not want anyone making the mistake of assuming you a mortal girl I brought along as treat.”

Her ambiguity with treat makes me shiver. That could mean food or something sexual.

“Ou les deux,” mutters Aurélie.

The dazed people have resumed wandering the room, sometimes helping themselves to the food from the table. Every so often, a vampire approaches one and takes a bite.

“Are those people going to die?” I ask, feeling markedly less cool about having fangs.

Aurélie shakes her head, failing to hide her amusement at my distress. “No. They are complimentary, like the hors d’oeuvres. When this meeting is over, they will not remember ever being here.”

I slouch with relief. “That’s good. So, umm, now what?”

She pats me on the back. “Now that you have been officially introduced, mingle.”

And with that, she glides off into the crowd, leaving me to my own devices.

If I were Sierra, I’d probably go out the nearest window and fly home. But, I should probably at least try to fit in. Guess it’s not a bad idea to make friends with people I’ll be seeing often for the foreseeable future. Like the next, oh couple centuries.

Glim

6

With Paolo Cabrini gone, the tension in the air has faded. I couldn’t feel more conspicuous standing in the middle of the room if I had nothing on. Actually, I think I’d feel less stupid streaking this event than wearing a costume ball gown.

Still, we made an entrance, and an impression. I suppose that had been Aurélie’s goal all along, planting a particular image of me in everyone’s head. Coming off as a jeans-and-T-shirt wearing teenager sounds more like something a Lost One would do, and they don’t seem to be keen on these meetings. Note the absence of ‘the Dalton’ here.

Since I’m no longer clinging to my mentor’s skirt, so to speak, the blonde woman who fired off a nasty look upon our arrival walks over to me. She doesn’t appear too much older than I am, probably not past twenty-three if even that. We’re about the same height, though she’s definitely throwing off a ‘this is the girl he cheats with at work’ vibe.

“So, you’re the new kid.”

I look around as if there might be someone standing behind me. “Yeah. Looks that way.”

“Hopefully, you’ll find some dignity soon enough and stop letting her dress you up like one of her dolls.”

“You miss it, don’t you?” I ask.

The woman stammers.

Hah. Thought so. I suppress the urge to grin and say, “It’s not like you think it is. We’re not involved.”

“You’re not her type.” The woman folds her arms. Her hostility gives way to a curious stare. “Did you even make it to eighteen?”

“Yeah. By two weeks.” I chuckle.

She whistles. “Wow. It’s a good thing you’re not short. Bad enough as it is. You could pass for fifteen.”

“This outfit isn’t helping.”

“Seriously.” She offers a hand. “Jen Ruiz.”

“Sarah Wright.”

We shake.

“If you’re not climbing in bed with her, you’re her latest toy,” says Jen. “I suppose you could do much worse for a patron. Just try not to get on her bad side.” She picks at my dress. “Even if she goes out of her way to be embarrassing. She treats those she’s fond of like a crazy old woman with a tiny dog, making the poor thing wear little sweaters.”

As much as I bristle at being thought of as someone’s pet, if making nice with Aurélie protects my family, I’ll deal with it. At least unless things get super freaky. “Just a little. Did you have to dress up like this, too?”

Jen grins. “Only in public. I usually didn’t wear much at all when we were together. The woman can do things with her tongue that I never imagined possible.”

I squirm.

“Sorry.” She pokes me in the side. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. It’s difficult for me not to savor those memories. My nature and all.”

“Nature?” I ask.

“Oh, you are new, aren’t you?”

“About two weeks.”

“A baby!” she coos. “You’re adorable.”

I smirk.

Jen laughs. “So you didn’t get the boring stuff yet, huh, about feeding, etiquette, the types, and so forth?”

“I did.”

“Oh, I bet she left me out. Sounds like her.” Jen rolls her eyes. “I’m a Sybarite.”

“Yeah, they didn’t mention that one.” I lean back. “Do you bite or something?”

She leans close, sniffing at my neck. Out of nowhere, I almost want to jump on her and do… whatever it is girls do to each other. The bizarre sexual attraction stops as fast as it began. “The Old Guard doesn’t like to talk about us. Half of them think we’re useless fluffery. Artists, poets, singers, dancers, that sort of thing. The rest look down on us, even worse than you Innocents.”

“Why?” I fan myself, still reeling from the effect of whatever she did to me.

“My kind value pleasure, as often and as much as we can find it. You, they regard like harmless children. Sybarites are more like the prostitutes lounging about the temple garden.”

I can’t help but giggle. “So you’re a vampire sex fiend?”

She laughs. “That’s accurate… at least for me. Pleasure takes many forms. Some of us are painters who get such a rush from their work that they have no interest in carnality. To them, the stroke of a brush on canvas far surpasses any sensual wonder of the flesh.”

“Okay, that’s only a little messed up.”

“And…” She tries to trace a finger across my exposed collarbone, but I lean back. “Aww. I also rather enjoy being thought of as beautiful.”

Well that explains why she scowled at Aurélie. As soon as we walked in, Jen ceased being the most beautiful woman in the room. This woman is a little freaky, but seems friendly enough. We chat for a little while before she decides to flit over to Ashton and Henry.

Alone again, I decide to drift around the edges of the room, feeling antisocial. I’ve had enough awkward conversations with new people for one night. For however long it takes this shindig to end, I figure on pulling a wallflower, though in a much less literal sense than being smashed into it.

The ‘snack’ people continue meandering around, sometimes stopping by the table of real food to eat something. Speaking of which, having a bunch of bones broken is going to make me hungry, though I do feel too guilty to bite any of these unwilling people. As if anyone I’ve fed from has been willing.

Okay, sneaking up on someone and biting them ‘in the wild’ is a lot less creepy than a bunch of people under mind control standing around like human celery sticks. Besides, they’re all probably getting low from multiple small feedings. Never mind the idea that it would be like sharing a cup with twenty total strangers. I’ll grab a bite after we leave.

The more I watch from the edges of the room, the more it hits me that these people will live forever―just like me. Long after Mom, Dad, Sierra, Sophia, and Sam are old and dead, these vampires will still be around. Well, probably. Assuming none of them have an unexpected meeting with the sun or something like that.

I fidget, wondering if I should force myself to talk to someone. Arthur looks approachable, but before I take a step, I remember that odd sense of danger in his eyes. He’s probably older than hell. For all I know there is a head vampire, and he’s it. But, he didn’t say anything when Cabrini used me for a game of darts. Eh… maybe I shouldn’t bother him. That whole ‘respect elders’ thing. Is it rude to ask a vampire how old they are?

Something dark moves in my peripheral vision. I glance to my right, and barely manage to stifle a gasp. A man with dark grey skin leans on the wall a couple steps away. He’s completely bald with a sharp nose, prominent cheekbones, and a pointed chin. Obvious fangs hang from his mouth, visible even when it’s closed. Glowing yellow eyes peer at me from deep sockets over sunken cheeks. The guy evidently missed the memo about this being a formal affair and came in a T-shirt and black Army pants. He’s got his arms folded over a long black coat, one combat boot against the wall. I get the weirdest feeling he’s been standing here the whole time. I know I’ve looked in this direction more than once, but never spotted him.

“Hey,” says the guy, his voice raspy.

Dalton told me about Shadows, but hearing about them didn’t prepare me for actually seeing one. Despite his inhuman yellow eyes and ghastly appearance, I find myself thinking he looks lonely.

“Hey.” I take two steps closer to him.

His eyebrows tick up. “Welcome to the wall where the extremes collect.”

“Extremes?” I ask.

He grins. “You’re far too human for this gathering, and I’m far too ghoulish.”

Okay, the dude is freaky, but of everyone here, I can’t help but think he’s the most genuine. “I don’t think you’re ghoulish, but you’re probably right about me not fitting in here.”

“Oh, that’ll change. It always does. You may never grow as dark as some, but you’ll turn jaded eventually.”

I shrug. “Maybe after my family’s gone. Figure I’ll be pretty upset then.”

“Mmm.” He nods. “I admire you staying with them. Most wouldn’t bother, too taken with their newfound powers to care about mortals.”

“They’re my family. What happened to me doesn’t change that.”

He looks down at the rug. “Aurélie is fond of you.”

“Seems that way, yeah.”

“At her age, she’s lonely. It’s kind of you to humor her and wear that thing.”

I chuckle. “She’s so into it.”

He lifts his head, staring for a while before the intensity of his gaze softens to amused bewilderment. “Not going to shriek and run away?”

“Why would I?”

“Most do.”

“I’m not most,” I say, folding my arms. “And something tells me you’re a pretty cool guy.”

“So it’s true then.” He brushes at his sleeve, revealing talon-like fingernails.

“What’s true?”

He turns his attention back out over the room, observing the small clusters still in conversation. “Innocents are not common. You’re the first one I’ve met. Rumor says they have a sense about people, even vampires. Who they can trust, who they can’t. Most neophytes take one look at us and run the other way screaming. Except for the poor bastards who wake up as one of us.”

Hmm. I narrow my eyes at Eleanor. Something about her felt a little off. Maybe I should be wary of her after all? “Do you know how it works? How vampires wind up, uhh, sorted?”

“Heh. That’s an apt way of putting it. I imagine it works a bit like that.”

“Like what?” I ask.

“You said sorted. A bit like that hat in those books. Partly what we want, partly who we are, partly who gave it to us.”

“Oh. I can’t say I wanted to be a vampire. If anything, I wanted to not die, to be able to go home again.”

He nods. “I understand. And that makes perfect sense. You wanted to go home, and you are the strain most suited to be able to do that.”

“I’m Sarah.”

“I know.”

My cheesy smile doesn’t help me feel less awkward over a long silence.

“Glim.”

“What?” I ask.

“You can call me Glim. The one who gave me the Transference named me Glimpse, but I prefer the shortened form.”

“Oh.” I smile. “Hi, Glim.” A flicker of emotion dances across his canary yellow irises. Eagerness? Surprise? I’m not entirely sure. “So, umm, guess you find this thing as boring as I do.”

“I don’t necessarily mind it, but our kind seldom bother with these gatherings. The others do as much as they can to avoid suffering our presence. They use us when we suit their purposes, but otherwise ignore we exist.”

“That’s so shallow.”

Glim rests his head against the wall and rolls it to the side to peer at me. “I’m quite surprised you’re even talking to me.” He raises one non-eyebrow. “You didn’t even gasp when I let you see me.”

“I admit you startled me, but anyone appearing out of thin air would have. I dunno. Except for Aurélie, you’re the only one here I feel like I’m really talking to instead of just playing some kind of character in a theater production. Look at them all. Every one’s in a role, putting on a face for each other.”

“Hmm. Except for you.”

I grin. “And you.”

We watch the other vampires talk about boring crap like fashion, property values, or how they’ve inserted influence into this company or that. Arthur’s wrapped up in a discussion with two new vampires about some kind of overseas archaeology trip he sponsored. Both men appear in their thirties. They must’ve walked in after I’d finished going around meeting everyone.

“Are there a lot of us?” I ask. “Is this the majority?”

“Perhaps about half. The Lost Ones have little urge to congregate, some Beasts stay away to avoid fighting, and there are a handful of others who have their own agenda. A few Sybarites as well, too busy with their hobbies to go outside. I’m the only Shadow who bothers.”

“That’s sad, I think. Some of them brag how they’re so much better than mortals, as if they hadn’t once been human themselves… yet they still judge others so much by looks.”

Glim lets out a sharp breath tinged with contempt. “Fairly easy for you to say.”

I shrug. “I never considered myself pretty. I’m no Bree Swanson.”

“You are astoundingly cute.”

The first genuine laugh of the night leaps out of me.

His smile shows off the full length of his non-retractable fangs. “I mean, you’re the kind of girl who makes people want to run over and protect them, not bend over backward to get into their pants.”

“I’m not sure if I should take that as a compliment, laugh, or feel insulted.”

“Take it as you will,” says Glim.

I overact rubbing my chin in thought. “I’ll take it as a compliment.”

He manages a smile. “I suspect before your change enhanced the youthfulness of your features, you were quite the ‘girl next door.’ You understate your looks.”

“As do you,” I say.

“My appearance doesn’t horrify you?”

“No way. You should’ve seen my ex.” I shudder. “That’s gruesome.”

“Your ex?” Glim tilts his head. “Is it something you can talk about?”

Like I’ve known this guy for years, I wind up rambling about what happened with Scott, Dalton saving my life (sorta) and everything that came afterward with the whole Scrap situation. Glim nods patiently along.

“I’m sorry your life was cut short unexpectedly.”

“Thanks. Guess there aren’t too many vampires like me.”

He smiles, shaking his head.

Ack! When did I wind up this close to him? Our shoulders are almost touching.

“There aren’t any vampires like you,” says Glim.

“Hah. I mean made a vampire without wanting it. I didn’t even believe they were real until I woke up in a body cooler.”

He gets a far off look in his eye. “If you could go back and change it, would you?”

“I’ve been thinking about that a lot. Honestly, I don’t know. I guess I did kind of win the vampire lotto. I mean, for someone who wanted to basically stay as normal as possible. But… now that I really think about it. I wonder if it would be better if it never happened.” I tilt my head back to peer up at him. “Assuming that didn’t mean I stayed dead. Mostly because of what my being brought into this world could possibly do to my family. They don’t deserve all the weird random danger. I guess it’s maybe selfish of me that I went back to them, but I just felt too guilty letting them think I was dead.”

Glim picks at his huge nails, claws really. “You are lucky to have had that choice, but that’s an admirable reason for wanting to be human.”

“I know a lot of vampires get emo about it, but I think it’s neat. Danger to my family aside, this is pretty cool.”

He nods.

“Mind if I ask about how you wound up having fangs?”

“I suppose it would only be fair, considering.”

Ashton wanders by, glancing straight toward me, but doesn’t appear to take notice of either of us. I turn my head to follow him as he approaches one of the mortals and helps himself to a few sips from the man’s neck.

“It happened while I was in the Army. We were in Mosul. I’m walking down the street with my unit on a routine patrol. Something grabs me from behind. The next thing I know, I’m on the ground in a narrow alley with blood gushing from my neck. I screamed, even fired my M4 a couple times to make noise, but none of my buddies reacted. I black out, and wake up in a crypt under the desert. I never saw it coming. My sire got lonely, picked a random American.”

“Wow.” I reach over and take his hand, unprepared for his cold, dry skin, though I don’t let my surprise show on my face. “So neither one of us wanted it.”

“Few of my kind do.”

“Dalton said Shadows have some real badass powers. For what it’s worth, I don’t mind how you look. My Dad always says that our outsides change, so we should pay attention to the person inside.”

Glim stares at his hand like it’s been a long time since anyone touched him. “Your father sounds wise.”

“Yeah I guess. He can be a major dork sometimes too, but I love him. I can totally sympathize with the waking up in a crypt thing. At least you had clothes.”

“No one ever found me to take me to a morgue. And they’re not quite as organized about that over there.”

“I can’t remember if being shut in there made me angry or frightened. Angry at Dalton for locking me up and frightened that I’d never see my family again. I had to get home.”

“You do whatever you have to do to be with them.” Glim locks eyes with me. “Protect them. They won’t be around forever.”

“Yeah, I―”

His body transforms to a column of thick, black smoke, which promptly dissipates.

“Glim?” I look around, but don’t see him anywhere.

Huh, weird. I lean back against the wall and sigh at the ceiling. So that’s a Shadow. Honestly, I’d been expecting way worse from the way Dalton cringed while describing them. I look down at my hand, which still kinda feels like I’m holding a clammy corpse.

“The two extremes,” I whisper. “Closest to life and farthest away.”

Aurélie glides over. “There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”

“Sorry. I’ve been here.”

“The party is about to end. Come, we should make the rounds and say our farewells.”

I totally feel like Sierra being dragged to Safeway to sell cookies. However, since I’m eighteen, I handle it in a somewhat more mature way: I stick my tongue out at the wall, but take her hand anyway.

At least I’ll be out of this dress in like an hour.

Waiting Tables

7

Grabbing a bite on the way home has an altogether different meaning for me these days.

Pickings are kinda slim at a little after two in the morning, but I wind up ambushing a guy in the parking lot of a bar not far from downtown Seattle. One whiff of his breath makes me change my mind. If I feed off this guy, I might not be able to fly in a straight line. After commanding him to take an Uber instead of driving, I head around to the back of the building and wait by an employee door, figuring the people who work here won’t be tanked.

A few minutes later, a guy in a black shirt and apron walks out with two huge trash bags. My sudden appearance startles him into jumping back against the wall, a hand over his chest.

“Jesus, kid. Don’t sneak up on people like that.” He recovers his composure and gives me the up-and-down glance. “You runnin’ away from home?”

Guess the T-shirt and sweatpants thing makes me look like a teen who didn’t put a lot of planning into their great escape.

“Nah, I’m on my way home actually.” I stare into his eyes, and blank his consciousness.

For the few minutes it takes me to latch on and drink, he stands there staring into space. After sealing the bite wound, I leave him dazed and zip into the air. He’ll snap out of it in a moment, and won’t remember even seeing me.

I return home and grab a fresh set of pajamas that ooze the awesome smell of fabric softener. It’s so tempting to burrito myself in bed and pray to the gods of warm. It’s like sixty degrees outside, and flying in a thin T-shirt made it way colder.

It’s only three, so I have a few hours before my body will even allow me to sleep. I feed an hour or so to the internet, answering a couple messages from people I went to high school with still asking crap like ‘OMG you’re not dead?’ Eventually, the lure of bed drags me out of the chair and I curl up.

In the quiet non-darkness of my windowless room, I find myself thinking about Glim. His Transference had to be terrifying. I can’t even imagine being attacked like that and then the guy who made him expecting him to stick around and be pals. If Dalton had randomly grabbed me, I’d be pretty effing pissed at him, and that’s without waking up as a walking corpse. Okay, it’s not like Dalton asked me if I wanted to be a vampire, but he didn’t exactly have the time to do that, and if he didn’t, I’d be nothing more than a memory in my family’s heads and a brief ‘local girl murdered by asshole ex-boyfriend with serious anger issues’ headline. Well, maybe that wouldn’t be their exact wording, but yeah.

I grab Mr. Snow, my teddy bear, and cling to him like a six-year-old, crying at the overwhelming weight of thinking about my family going on in the wake of my death. No matter how much I try to switch the channel in my brain, the emotional storm keeps on. Before long, I’m weepy about never talking to Hunter in the four years we passed each other in the hallways at school. As clear as day, I remember him trying to approach me a month into our freshman year, but he was too nervous and walked away without speaking a word.

How many tiny moments like that do people miss that could alter their life so much? If he’d said even ‘hello’ to me, I might not have ever dated Scott and wound up a vampire. What sort of small decision put Glim on that street that night? How did his sire pick him out of the whole group of soldiers?

Like five minutes after I start bawling my eyes out, I wind up furious at Scott. That turns into being angry at Walter and Kevin for giving Hunter a hard time at the carnival. Grr. Now I want to go track down that man who knocked the cookies out of Sophia’s hand. What kind of jerk can be that mean to a hyper-cute ten-year-old?

And… a wave of happiness crashes into me. This bed is awesome. My house is awesome. I love my family. Becoming a vampire is the most awesome thing ever.

“What the hell is wrong with me?” I ask the ceiling.

I’m going through moods like I’m either pregnant or in menopause, and neither one of those options is remotely possible. Still, being content and happy is a good mood to hold on to, so I do my best.

Hmm. I snuggle deeper into my pillow. Wonder if I’ll see Glim again.

I wake a little after two the next afternoon and wander upstairs to find a note from the parents that they’ve taken the sibs to the Pacific Science Center. Okay, cool. House to myself. I grab a shower, enjoying the rarity of not having to rush. After, I retreat to my room to avoid daylight. No sense dealing with that if I’m alone.

Hunter replies to my ‘what’s up?’ text with: ‹at work›

‹Oh. When r u out?›

He doesn’t reply, so I figure he’s either busy or got yelled at. I toss the phone on my desk and hop on the computer. Maybe I should get like online classes or something to fill this serious amount of time I have on my hands. Learning something would be more productive than vegging out on video games. I could wind up studying multiple languages or some stuff like that. Maybe French to understand Aurélie whenever she gets excited.

My phone chirps. ‹Out at ten›

Oof. Guess he just started. ‹Ouch. Okay. Wanna hang out later?›

‹You know it.›

Cool. I send back, ‹Where do you work again? I’ll meet you there.›

‹Mi Tierra. Know where it is?›

Oh, do I. Two weeks plus a few days ago, I walked by the place naked. My face burns with blush. Holy crap. I hope he didn’t see me. ‹Yeah. I know where it is. See you tonight.›

‹Cool. Can’t wait.›

“No way he saw me,” I mutter. “He definitely would not have been able to keep that thought out of his brain in front of me.”

Huh. Maybe I somehow made people not notice me. I wonder if I can even do that? If I ever run into Glim again, maybe I should ask him since he seems to be pretty good at it.

Right, so that whole learning thing didn’t quite happen. Not that I didn’t look. Really, I did. But I don’t have a credit card, nor do I have $600 a pop for online courses. So, I’ll wait for school to start at the end of the summer. The ’rents are still willing to cover tuition, so I might as well do it. They’d probably think the electronic courses are a good idea, but I’m getting my lazy on today.

I binge-watched random movies on Netflix until thundering feet overhead announced the family’s return from their trip to the science center a little after six. Eager to escape my isolation cell, I ran upstairs to help cook, had people food with them to embrace the feeling of normality, and passed the rest of the day with a mix of board games, video games, and general horsing around with my siblings.

At 9:30, I inform the parents about my date to a great deal of “Oohing” from Sophia. After getting dressed―any day where I can wear pajamas until after nine at night is a good day―I head out the door and duck around the side of the house so I can take off without being too obvious. After last night, I’m wearing a hoodie over my T-shirt. That makes flying much less frigid.

A few minutes later, I cruise over the Woodgate Mall, which shares a parking lot with Mi Tierra. Unfortunately, I know the area well, since the little graveyard I spent a night trapped in is like two blocks away. It’s also the only decent spot for me to land in, due to trees that’ll hide me. Also, there aren’t exactly a lot of people hanging out in the cemetery.

I glide in for a quick landing, hop the wrought iron fence, and dart across 132nd Ave straight into the parking lot of the shopping center. Hands stuffed in my hoodie’s pockets, I head past the nail salon to the end of a little alley where two dumpsters stand up against a chain link fence separating it from the next lot. No one pays me much attention as I hop the fence and keep walking. I’m shocked. Imagine that. Walking around fully dressed actually prevents everyone from staring at me.

The restaurant is lit up bright and looks like it’s doing well. About half the outdoor tables are in use. When I head in the main door, a woman a little older than me looks up from a podium with a ‘seriously?’ expression. I can’t say I’ve had a lot of Mexican food in my life, but whatever’s in the air here smells so damn good I experience a twinge of actual hunger. Like for food, not blood.

“We’re about to close,” says the woman. “Sorry. It’s almost ten.”

“I know.” I walk up to the podium, hands still in my sweatshirt pockets. “Not here to eat, though it smells wonderful. I’m looking for Hunter Lawrence.”

“Oh.” The girl jabs her thumb to the side at a little area with chairs. “You can wait for him.”

“Thanks.”

I walk a few steps over, spin, and flop down to sit.

A few minutes later, Hunter emerges from a pair of flapping doors, carrying a big tray. If looks could kill, his eyes would be knocking down walls. Guess he got a big party ten minutes away from closing time.

“Your girlfriend’s here,” says the hostess. “Little young for you, huh?”

Hunter disregards the comment and keeps walking into the seating area.

Of course, I can’t let it go. The woman eyes me as I stand and walk over.

“He’s still working, hon. You’ll have to keep waiting.”

“Yeah, I know. Couldn’t help but overhear you. I’m eighteen, just like him. We were in the same class.”

“Yeah, sure,” says the hostess.

Okay, so I look young due to my particular strain of vampire-ness. Even Mom said I went back to sixteen. I’m about to continue protesting when a raised female voice grabs my attention from the seating area. This fortyish bottle-blonde is going off on Hunter about cilantro.

“Wow, she really hates cilantro,” I say.

“Huh?” asks the hostess. “Sorry, kid. Wasn’t paying attention.”

“Did you know that something like seventeen percent of white people think cilantro tastes like soap?”

Her eyebrows furrow. “No, I didn’t.”

“Well, now you do.”

She stares at me for a moment while the woman continues giving Hunter a hard time, wanting her entire plate replaced and comped.

I pull out my license and hold it up. “I’m not a kid, Charlotte.”

The woman blinks and stares at me, glances at the license, and looks me in the eye. “I never told you my name.”

“It’s on your nametag.” I smile.

Charlotte pats her blank shirt, adjusting the nametag that isn’t actually there, and heaves a sigh of relief. “Oh.”

Hunter pours a bucket of apologies over the woman’s head and comes rushing back with a single plate in his hand and the big empty tray tucked under his left arm. He glances at me with a pained grimace.

“No problem,” I say. “I have all night.”

My micro-war with the hostess done, I plop back in the seat to wait, occupying myself with the iPhone. People head out in groups, the restaurant gradually emptying. A manager type guy approaches the hostess, asking her why there’s a kid in the waiting area two minutes from closing. Her explanation that I’m here for Hunter placates him, and he hurries off to politely shoo people out the door.

Cilantro woman goes by on her way to the bathroom.

Damn, sitting here smelling all this food has made me hungry.

I follow her into the ladies’ room and barge into the stall with her before she can get the door all the way shut.

“Gah! What are you doing!?” shouts the woman. “You…”

She’s mine as soon as we make eye contact. I ease the stall door shut behind me and lean in close. The woman stands there zombie-like as my fangs puncture the side of her neck. I guess I’ve had Mexican food on the brain since walking into the place, since her blood tastes like liquid tacos. She wobbles backward and winds up sitting on the toilet tank while I suckle at the side of her neck. Once I’ve had enough, I seal the wound and clean up a few stray drops.

“Thanks. Oh, by the way… you were a real bitch to your waiter. Mistakes happen. No reason to bite his head off for what the cook did. You should apologize to him and leave a nice tip.”

“Okay,” says the woman in a spacey voice.

I let myself out of the stall and push the door closed. Ugh. Feeding kicked things in motion deep inside me. I hop a few stalls over and get rid of the dinner I had with the family. Mrs. Cilantro finishes before me, and by the time I’m back in the waiting room, she’s at her table, all smiles at Hunter.

Eventually, the place empties out and Hunter drags himself over to me at quarter after ten. “Sorry about that. They came in at exactly the worst time.”

“Not your fault, and like I said, I have all night.”

He winces. “I don’t. Gotta be back here for the opening shift. Can’t stay up too late.”

“Okay. Why don’t we just hang out at your place?”

“Your place too crazy?”

I shrug. “Sibs will be in bed now, plus you’d have to drive home. I can get myself home so you can go right to sleep.”

He scratches behind his ear, then shrugs. “Okay.”

Something’s bugging him, but not enough that he says anything about it. We head outside and over to his Buick war wagon. He spends the whole ride talking about Mrs. Cilantro. Mostly about his theory she must’ve had some kind of ‘transcendent’ experience in the bathroom since her attitude completely changed. Guess that’s a guy thing to somehow relate everything back to bodily functions.

I figure we’re still in Woodinville considering the relatively short ride. We cruise along beautiful tree-lined roads until he eventually turns right down 51st Ave, then pulls another right through a hedge gate.

The house is huge, though it kinda looks like it survived meeting a tornado with a pissy attitude. I think a small section of the roof is basically nothing but blue tarp. The decaying remnants of a boat, falling to pieces upon a trailer with two flat tires stands to the right. He parks beside an older van painted in beige and rust.

“Sorry, the place isn’t much to look at.” He flicks his thumbs at the steering wheel.

Shame wafts off him so thick I can practically see it as vapor. “It’s okay. It doesn’t bother me.”

“My parents don’t make the same kinda money yours do.”

“That’s not your fault, and it’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Hunter looks at me too fast to hide the shock in his eyes. A second later, he grins. “All right. C’mon in.”

The creaking doors scare a stray orange tabby out from under the van, which goes zooming off around the dead boat. Hunter fumbles with keys on the way to the porch. When I go in, the air punches me square in the nose with a mixture of wet dog, cleaning products, beer fumes, and ashtray.

Ugh. I do my best to keep a straight face, though I maybe squint a little while following him down a hall to a stairway covered in thick brown carpet. The upstairs eases back on the smell of wet hair, and the ashtray fragrance emanates from the left side, opposite of where we go.

Hunter’s room is at the far end of the hall on the left. I get a glimpse into a bathroom that looks more like a storage closet for random pieces of laundry and Tupperware. The toilet seat is one of those oversized foam ones all cracked to hell and looks so small my little brother would struggle to fit on it. I’m trying really hard not to be too judgmental, but this place is in dire need of someone giving a damn about cleaning it. I don’t say a word though. His parents are probably both busting their asses at two jobs apiece. Assuming, of course, he has both parents.

Yeah, okay. I feel guilty that mine are doing okay.

He pushes a plain white door open for me, and follows after I scoot past him. His room’s full of comic book character posters and models of spaceships. A shelf on the right has a veritable library of novels that all seem to have the word ‘sword’ in their titles. It smells like ‘boy’ in here more than anything, which is a definite improvement over the rest of the house. Pretty sure he cleans his own space.

“So, umm, welcome to my lair.” He grins and pulls off his Mi Tierra polo shirt, which he trades for a plain white one.

I sit on the end of the bed, looking around at the posters, a desk with an old computer, and mounds of clothes. The décor matches him perfectly. Scruffy around the edges, but charming if not a little awkward.

“Sorry about the posters,” he mutters.

“Why are you sorry about them?”

He shrugs, eyeing the bed next to me. “Just they’re comics and all. Most people think it’s kid stuff.” Hunter spins the desk chair around and sits on it.

“You can sit here if you want.” I pat the bed beside me. “And I don’t think comics are for little kids. My dad’s into that stuff too.”

“Oh, umm.” He fidgets, then leaps out of the chair and flops on the bed, making me bounce. “That’s cool.”

“If one of us should say sorry, it’s probably me for not talking to you years ago.”

“Not your fault.” He scratches his arm. “I never really tried to talk to you or anything.”

I poke him in the arm. “You did. Freshman year. I think it was maybe the third week of school, you walked up to me in the hallway when I was getting crap out of my locker.”

“Wow, you remember that?” His cheeks redden. “I, uhh, didn’t think you even knew who I was.”

“I admit I didn’t really think about that moment at all until like a day or two ago.” I lean against him. “No, I wasn’t laughing at you. It’s really kinda flattering that my mere presence left you speechless.”

He shakes his head, chuckling. “Yeah you did. I thought about trying to talk to you again, but I kept feeling like an idiot for not being able to talk to you, and choked. I didn’t want to look like an idiot again.”

“That’s kind of adorable. A bit sad too.”

Hunter looks up at me.

As soon as our eyes meet, I catch a flood of thoughts from him. Not like I intended to go diving in, but his brain’s on overdrive. Bits and pieces of thousands of moments flash by in his memory, all the times he tried to work up the nerve to talk to me and chickened out. A clear image of a red notebook forms, in which he wrote me letters and even drew pictures of me in class.

I look away before I blush. Talk about a fine line between devotion and obsession. Really, he’s not too far from being super creepy, but the awkward sweetness that makes up the bulk of who he is keeps it grounded in adorable-tragic territory. If Scott hadn’t been a world-class asshole and I wound up married to him, I think it might’ve taken Hunter years to get over me.

Wow.

A rather familiar battered red notebook catches my eye on the desk. He’d probably spontaneously combust if I picked it up.

“So, what do you do when you’re not at school or work?” I ask.

“I read a lot. Novels mostly, some comics. I used to draw, but I haven’t done it in a while.”

We wind up gazing into each other’s eyes again. Despite his four-year-old crush on me, and that I’m sitting in his bedroom, he’s not even remotely close to making a move. He wants to, but he’s way too shy. That, I can totally understand. Usually, I’m the shy one. If I had Sophia’s personality, I’d sit here and we’d both awkwardly pass the time, not quite looking at each other until I had to go. If I had Sierra’s personality, we’d be half undressed by now.

Or maybe, if I had Sierra’s personality, I’d be on his computer playing a game, ignoring him totally.

Hah.

Hunter’s eyebrows go up when I start to snicker. “What?” He looks at the desk where my eyes happened to be pointing when I had that random thought, but nothing there is obviously funny. “What’re you laughing at?”

“A silly little thought.”

He takes a deep breath, lets it out, then puts an arm around me.

Nice! A little confidence finally.

“What thought?” he asks.

“You know I have two sisters, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, one’s really shy. The other is anything but.”

He nods. “Right…”

“I just thought if I was Sierra, we might’ve already done something, but it would be more like her to check out your computer.”

Hunter laughs. “That thing hasn’t turned on in like a year.”

“I’m not worried about your computer.” I reach over and cradle his cheek. Argh! Why am I so nervous here? I’ve never been the forward girl. Never initiated this sort of thing. Oh, hell.

I pull him into a kiss.

For a guy who (I’m guessing) hasn’t had a lot of experience, he’s not bad at it.

He leans back after a few minutes. “Are you sure you wanna do this?”

“Yeah.” I go in for more, but he hesitates.

“My parents could catch us.”

I glance at the door. “So? We’re eighteen.”

“Yeah, but that won’t matter to my father.”

“Do you want to do this?” I ask, teasing a finger at his hair.

“Uhh.” He fidgets. “What are you talking about?”

“Making out?” I send hateful, killing thoughts down at the butterfly in my stomach. I have nothing at all to be nervous about. I’m not a scared high school girl anymore. Why am I coming unglued about being caught by the parents? And when did I become the bad girl tempting the innocent boy?

“Yeah,” He says. “I’ve wanted to be with you forever.”

“Well, don’t worry about your parents.” I scoot back onto the bed and pull him down to lay beside me. “I can smooth it over if we get caught.”

He scrunches his eyebrows together. “You’re that persuasive?”

“I know a few tricks.” Somehow, I latch onto a scrap of confidence that doesn’t belong to me, and climb on top of him. We’re still both fully dressed, but this feels so risky and wrong and like the worst idea I’ve ever had―but it’s so damn exciting.

Hunter looks terrified; he’s shaking, but it’s from holding in his excitement. “You don’t know my father. How will you ‘smooth it over?’”

I plant my hands on either side of his head and lower my face until our lips are a millimeter from touching. “It’s complicated.”

Free Ride

8

I admit, hearing Hunter’s thoughts of ‘holy shit is this really happening?’ or ‘is she really here?’ are a little distracting.

He’s nervous, but gives in to the moment. The kiss is tentative at first, but as soon as he gets over his disbelief, he commits. His hand at my cheek is such a tender connection it sets off a bomb inside me. I’m not used to anything like that. The only thing Scott ever used his hands for was to hold me down or grab on.

Equally distracting is me wondering what I’m doing being the instigator. Then again, I didn’t have to before. And argh! I need to stop thinking about the asshole.

We kiss for a while, writhing and grinding our bodies together. His breath picks up speed, the taste of it fills my mouth.

“I love you so much,” whispers Hunter. “I can’t believe this moment is really happening.”

“Believe.” I flash a coy smile and push myself up to straddle him.

He sprawls on the bed, arms over his head like a murder victim, gazing up at me with a look of total adoration. Wow. Who am I again? I’ve become Opposite Girl. Ignoring that thought, I peel my sweatshirt off and toss it to the mattress beside us.

“It’s a little warm in here,” I whisper.

“Yeah.”

Sitting astride him, I gaze down at his charming, offbeat little grin. He looks like the happiest guy in the world who doesn’t really comprehend what’s going on. I really don’t either―at least as far as understanding why I’m not just sitting here, quiet and innocent, like I used to. Is it the vampire thing? Or have I spent too much time around Aurélie? I mean, I never had any sexual interest in girls, but I’m not sure I’d say no if that woman wanted to go there.

Yeah, she wears some really strong perfume.

I pull my T-shirt up a bit to expose my stomach. “It really is kinda hot in here.”

Since I’m sitting right on top of him, it’s impossible not to become acutely aware of how excited Hunter really is. Amused at the bulge growing under me, I shimmy a little. He makes a face of discomfort.

“You can touch me if you want,” I whisper.

He traces his fingertips over my stomach, sending little spiraling whorls of tingle throughout my body. I bite my lip, goading him on with a stare. Inch by inch, he slides his hand up under my shirt. His touch is definitely masculine, but his skin is softer than―

Argh!

I close my eyes. Must. Stop. Thinking. The. S. Word. I’ll need to kill him again, mentally.

When Hunter cups my breast, my eyes pop open. We’re both breathing hard; he’s got a little sweat beading on his forehead. I stretch back and pull my T-shirt off. There’s nothing at all sexy about my basic-ass bra, but Hunter doesn’t seem to care. I almost lose the mood at the look on his face, like a twelve-year-old who’s caught his first glimpse of nudity in a movie he shouldn’t have been watching.

Grinning to keep from giggling, I work my hands under his shirt and push it up. He sits up enough to take it off, and we collapse on top of each other again, skin on skin. I still have no idea what’s come over me, but if this winds up going all the way, I don’t think I’m going to chicken out.

No… I know I’m not gonna chicken out.

His hands slide down my back and go into my jeans, squeezing my butt. He grunts, squirming at the tightness in his pants. I drag a kiss off his mouth and put my lips to his ear.

“Undo the clip.”

“Wha?” he whispers.

“In the middle of my back.”

He freezes still for a second or two, then reaches around me to open my bra. I really do hate these things. Whoever invented them must’ve worked for the Spanish Inquisition. Probably a man.

When the clip pops apart, I sit up again, clutching the cups to my chest with both hands. Hunter grins, watching as I do a pathetic little striptease wiggle, tugging the torture device down bit by bit until my breasts pop free.

Hunter’s expression is basically Indy seeing the Lost Ark.

Well, okay, maybe that’s a bad metaphor. That thing did melt faces off people and my chest isn’t that epic. He groans as I grind my hips into his. I lean down again, my hair falling into a tunnel of dark chestnut brown around his face. While he’s distracted with my hanging boobs (hey, they’re not huge, but they can still dangle), I rake my nails over the lump in the front of his jeans.

“Ngh.” He grunts. “You’re half naked.”

I kiss his chest. “So are you.”

He moans with pleasure.

“Did you say that in surprise, or because you think I should be all naked?”

He cradles my chest, rubbing his thumbs around my nipples. Oh, wow. That feels so weird. Good thing I’m lying on top of him; I think my legs have turned to jelly. I can’t help but gasp a little and squeak. As if inspired by a phantom muse, Hunter rolls us to the side and climbs on top of me. He starts to lower his mouth to my breast, but freezes, staring at me.

“Sarah, you’re so beautiful, I could just look at you for hours.” He reaches down and fusses at my hair, which has fanned out around me on the bed. “I have to draw you, exactly like this.”

I grab the front of his jeans and pop the button. “That sounds so romantic… but I can pose for you again.”

He looks down. “Umm. I don’t have a…”

“Condom?” I ask, smiling up at him as he kneels over me.

“Yeah, that.”

“It’s fine. You won’t get me pregnant.” I tug his jeans down, exposing his briefs.

He gulps. “Umm. Are you sure?”

I open my jeans. “Yes, and it’s complicated.”

“Why do you keep saying that? You’re not complicated; you’re perfect.”

With a little shimmy, I begin working my jeans down. As soon as my hips come into view, I think he’s going to pass out. Hunter picks at the waistband of my panties. I give him a ‘go ahead’ nod.

The instant he curls his finger under the strap, his bedroom door flies open and slams into the wall like a gunshot. A wiry/muscular guy with a biker beard and a brush cut looms in the door, glaring at us.

“Gah!” shouts Hunter, fumbling to pull his jeans up off his thighs.

I let out a yelp and sit there staring at the guy as if my boobs aren’t totally exposed.

“What the hell are you doing?” bellows the man. He stomps across the room, leaning into Hunter’s face.

“Dad…” Hunter backs up.

The initial shock gone, I hike my jeans up and button them.

“I expected better from you,” shouts the man. “Not to come home and find you with a whore in your room. Under my roof!”

Oh hell no.

“Excuse me?” I gawk at him. “What the hell did you just call me?”

“Is this how I raised you?” bellows the man, utterly ignoring I even exist. He advances, forcing Hunter to retreat until his back hits the bookshelf, knocking several novels to the floor. “This house is no place for you to bring your little whores.”

“I’m not a whore!” shouts the girl who’s still tits out. I grab the sheet and pull it up to cover myself.

Hunter shrinks back from him. “Dad, she’s not what you’re calling her.”

The guy’s throwing off a strong smell of motor oil and beer. He doesn’t appear to be drunk, but I get the feeling he’s a professional alcoholist. His white shirt is stained here and there with dark spots, probably the source of eau-de-engine.

“Things are gonna change around here,” barks Mr. Lawrence. “As you have failed to learn respect.”

Hunter scowls.

His dad grabs him by the throat and rams him against the shelf, knocking several more books to the desk and rug. “Don’t you dare give me that eye, boy.”

Motion out of the corner of my eye draws my attention to the left.

A skinny blond boy about the same age as my brother, in blue pajama pants and no shirt, hovers by the doorway, staring in terror at the scene. A nasty bruise wraps around the side of his head. Seeing that―and how thin he is―pulls at my heart, but also gets me pissed off. He looks at me, silently telling me to run away. Before I can open my mouth, he dashes out of sight.

At the distant slam of a door, Mr. Lawrence stops throttling Hunter into the bookshelf and yells, “Ronan, we talked about slamming doors!”

I slide toward the edge of the bed, still clinging to the sheet.

“You sit your whore ass down, little missy,” says Mr. Lawrence. “I ain’t done with him yet.”

“Don’t call her that!” yells Hunter.

The man slaps him. “Backtalk now? What’s gotten into you, boy? This whore working her charms? Well, your free ride is over.”

“Leave him alone,” I say.

Hunter tries to shove his father away. The man overpowers him with ease, and throws him down beside the desk. His body hitting the floor shakes the whole house.

“Now, you listen to me.” Mr. Lawrence stalks over and points down at him. “Your ass is gonna straighten up and fly right. Enough of this fantasy nonsense.” He sweeps a whole row of books off the shelf in one swipe. “Your ass is comin’ back to the real world. You are gonna straighten up and fly right. Step one: no whores in my house. Step two: your ass is gonna pick either the Army or the Marines and enlist.” He scoffs. “I suggest Army since you’re a pansy.”

“Leave him alone,” I yell.

As if finally noticing I’m an actual person, Mr. Lawrence whirls to face me. “Get your whore clothes on and your whore ass out of my house.”

“She’s not a whore!” yells Hunter, while rolling upright. He leaps into a grab, trying to drag his father away from me.

They spin around with a brief exchange of punches ending with a stiff jab to the cheek that sends Hunter sprawled over his desk. His forehead smacks the computer, breaking the faceplate off it. He bounces away and crumples to the floor, dragging notebooks and random junk with him.

No wonder his PC doesn’t work anymore. Grr.

Fuming, I slide off the bed to stand, still holding the sheet over my front. “Call me that one more time and your balls are going down your throat.”

Hunter waves his arms around, trying to get up, but he’s too disoriented.

Mr. Lawrence shoves him back to the floor, then stomps over to me. He’s at least a foot taller than me, but skinny. And he thinks he’s intimidating. “Oh. We got a whore with a smart mouth? Guess I just throw you out half-naked, but you’d probably like that, wouldn’t ya?”

Growling, I haul off and slug him in the jaw.

Mr. Lawrence flies across the bedroom and goes headfirst into the wall by the door, sticking in it like a human arrow.

“Holy shit!” yells Ronan out in the hallway.

Hunter gawks at me.

I’m so pissed off it takes me a second to realize the girls are out. I glance down at my boobs, sigh, then snag my T-shirt off the bed and wriggle into it as fast as I can. Screw the bra.

Mr. Lawrence groans and pulls himself out of the hole. Bits of drywall tumble to the floor. White dust covers his head, face, and shoulders, making him look like the world’s most severe coke fiend. His glare has gone from domineering to legit murderous. He lunges at me with a wild punch, but he’s only human. Ducking around his fist is pretty easy since he appears to be moving in slow motion. The force he put into it pulls him off balance and he winds up on the bed, shrieking in rage from either missing or looking foolish.

Hunter’s gaze flashes back and forth between his father and me, almost as if he can’t figure out which one of us he should protect from the other.

Mr. Lawrence hurls himself back to his feet and spins to face me again. Before he can raise an arm, I pound my fist into the side of his head, right about where Hunter’s little brother had a bruise. I hold back enough so I don’t crush his skull, but judging by the hollow thump, that’s gonna leave a mark.

He collapses in a heap, not quite unconscious, muttering incoherently about whores.

“Ooh!” I scowl.

Hunter runs over and grabs my arm. “Sarah… what the hell just happened?”

I look at him.

“Please don’t say ‘it’s complicated’ again.”

“He hits your mother, doesn’t he?” I ask.

Hunter looks down.

“Yeah,” whispers Ronan from the door. “I told him to stop. That’s why he hit me.”

“You want this guy around anymore?” I ask.

Ronan goes wide-eyed.

“No, I’m not going to kill him.” I smile at Hunter. “Just convince him to live elsewhere and leave you alone.”

Hunter kicks at the rug. “I dunno. He’s still my father.”

I point at the door. “Look at what he did to your brother. Look at him. Does that man let this kid have food?”

“Yeah…” Hunter can’t peel his stare off the rug at me. He paces into the back end of the room. “He’s always been like that. They’re actually divorced, but he keeps coming back.”

Mr. Lawrence staggers upright. “Where’s that damn whore?”

A spike of anger takes me. I grab him by two fistfuls of shirt and swing him around, ramming his back against the wall, glaring down at him. “Listen to me, asshole. You’re gonna go the hell away from here and leave these people alone.” My will invades his mind, saturating it with the notion he doesn’t want to be in this house―or anywhere near it.

“Umm, Sarah,” asks Hunter. “Do you realize you’re floating?”

I look away from Mr. Lawrence at the two-ish feet of distance between my sneakers and the rug. “Oops. Sorry, got a little pissed off.” After settling back to stand, I fling the guy flat on his chest. “He won’t bother you again.”

Ronan stares at me with a mixture of awe and terror.

“C’mere,” I say, smiling at him.

He stands transfixed, slightly shaking his head ‘no way.’

I beckon him with a wave, and a little mental nudge.

The boy approaches me, shaking from the war between his fear and the compulsion to approach me.

“It’s all right, kiddo.” I take a knee so we’re more or less eye level. “You’re safe now.” My thoughts plunge into his like a demon-possessed cleaning lady. By the time I’m done staring into his eyes, he believes Hunter stood up to their dad and sent him packing. There’s so many bad memories of that man hitting his mother, trying to erase them would make a giant mess. Besides, I don’t want the kid to blindly trust this guy if he ever shows back up. So, as much as it pains me to leave all those memories of abuse in there, I do. Maybe I get rid of the really bad spots though.

Ronan’s eyes flutter and he faints into my arms.

“What happened to my brother?” Hunter rushes over, and plucks him away from me.

“He’s tired.”

Hunter gives me a flat look.

“Put him to bed and I’ll explain.” I smile. “Really, he’s fine.”

“All right.” Hunter picks Ronan up and carries him out.

Mr. Lawrence wobbles upright. He looks around at the room with an expression like he doesn’t understand where he is. When he spots me, he recoils in fear, and staggers into the hall. A moment later, he tromps heavily down the stairs. The front door slams.

I glance around at the empty room and flop seated on the end of Hunter’s bed, staring at the hole in the wall.

“Well, that’s not exactly how I expected the night to go.”

Attachments

9

Minutes pass in awkward silence. A chill seeps into my butt from the hood of Hunter’s car.

He’s leaning on it next to me, both of us staring down at the ground. I fidget at my bra, stuffed in the front pocket of my hoodie. This is probably it, the moment he’s either going to accept what I’ve become or I have to make him forget ever knowing me. I don’t want to tell him what I am. The longer I keep the truth away from him, the more time I get to spend with him. What if he freaks out?

I mean, really… it could never work. He’ll grow old, and I won’t.

But I don’t want him to go away. I don’t want him to believe I never existed either.

“You weren’t kidding about complicated,” says Hunter.

“Yeah,” I mutter.

“So… Ronan thinks I beat Dad up.”

“Yeah,” I mutter.

“Are you gonna tell me why my kid brother thinks that?”

“Maybe.”

Hunter slips his hand through my arm. “Cool. But I can’t stand up to him. I know I shouldn’t be afraid of him. I’m basically an adult now, but whenever I look at him…”

I glance at his hand gripping the inside of my right elbow. He initiated contact! He’s not gonna run screaming. The crying butterfly in my stomach blows its nose and starts flying around again. “He’s your dad. You’ll always be a little afraid of him. Heck, I’m scared of mine when he gets angry and he’s a geek.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“I am.” I pull my hand out of my pocket and grasp his. “In your head, you’re still a little boy looking up at him. But you’re not a little boy anymore.”

Hunter emits a sad chuckle. “You should be a psychiatrist.”

There’s a thought. A vampire therapist. I wonder if anyone has done that. Maybe a bad idea because it would attract too much attention. I’m afraid to look up at him, dreading he’ll shrink away from me, but I force myself to. At seeing his usual crooked smile and disheveled mop of hair, I can’t help but grin.

While I’m gazing into his eyes, I implant a mild compulsion. He’s no longer afraid of his old man. If I do it right, he won’t even notice anything unless that man comes back to start trouble. I’m not going to think of him as ‘Hunter’s father,’ since the guy doesn’t deserve that title.

“So, about this complication,” says Hunter. “Ronan’s in bed, and he seems okay.”

“He’s fine. Sometimes, people pass out if I whammy them too hard with a mental tweak.”

Hunter rubs his thumb back and forth over my hand. “So, you’re like a psychic? For real?”

“Something like that. Look, I’m sorry you had to grow up with a man like that in the house. I can’t even imagine what that must’ve been like.”

“Hey, it’s not your fault. Don’t feel all guilty about having a great dad and a perfect house. I’m not at all jealous or anything. I really just kinda feel out of my league.”

“Well, don’t. I’m not perfect.” My gaze falls to the ground. “Far from it.”

“You probably can’t see it from the inside, but I think you are. I mean, compared to me…”

I lean against him. “Stop putting yourself down. And I’m a lot more messed up than I look. Something… happened when Scott stabbed me.”

“What, you had like a near-death experience and woke up with super powers?”

“Yeah, basically.”

“That’s pretty awesome, if not a little hard to believe.” A sudden breeze throws my hair in his face. He sputters, cringing back. “You have weather control, too?”

“No.” I laugh, then try to mimic the old wise teacher voice from Dad’s Kung Fu movies. “Sometimes, the wind is just the wind.”

“Right.” He clasps his hands in front of himself and bows. “I understand.”

I sigh. “Sorry for ruining the mood.”

“Oh, my old man did that. Totally not your fault.”

Blush creeps over my face. At least he barged in before my underpants came off. “Look, I get that he’s your father. If you want, I can go find him and undo that making him not want to be here thing.”

“No, you’re right. It’s better he stays away. Mom doesn’t want him around, but she’s too afraid of him to kick him out again.”

I nod. Guess we both got bad spins on the Wheel of Life. He gets an abusive shithead for a father, and I get murdered half a month after my eighteenth birthday. Though, I admit this vampire stuff is growing on me.

“He gave Ronan a black eye when he was only three.” Hunter scowls off to the right. “Didn’t lay a hand on me ’til I was like eleven or so. Guess that didn’t bother Mom enough. She finally called the cops after he knocked Ro out.”

“What?” I gawk at him. “He knocked a three-year-old out? I should’ve broken more than his jaw.”

“Yeah. We took him to the hospital. Dad actually sat in jail for almost eight months over that. They got divorced. Took him about two years to come back. Promised not to hit us anymore, and she believed him, so she never called the police.”

“And it started up again…”

“After a while, yeah. Mom doesn’t make a lot of money teaching, so she put up with getting knocked around for the extra income. As long as he left Ro alone, she didn’t care what he did to her.”

Crap. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about money. Sending him away―”

“It’s cool. He didn’t pay much anyway. Every now and then, he’d take care of a bill, but the child support, taxes on the house, all that stuff, he ignored.”

Ways I could use my abilities to help him swirl around in my head. I could compel his mother’s boss to give her a raise. Or Hunter’s boss. Granted, both of those are a little more extreme than convincing people to buy a box of Girl Scout cookies. If I start doing stuff like that, Kendricks and Han will most likely pay me a visit. Not that I’m terribly worried about them―they are still humans after all. Realistically, I should probably be more concerned about what the other vampires think of me. Ticking them off would be bad. Really, I only want to keep my head down and be as normal as possible.

But sometimes, a dude needs to have his head put through a wall.

“So… about the complicated. You got stabbed and developed superpowers?”

Here it is. That moment. Guess he didn’t catch it when I said ‘murdered.’ I make the mistake of eye contact, and wind up crying.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m scared.”

He puts an arm around my back, pulling me close. “Of what?”

“My butt freezing to your car.” I giggle-sniffle.

Hunter laughs. “I could try to warm it up?”

“I’d like that, but I don’t think tonight’s a good idea. The mood’s a bit trashed.”

He nods.

“No, I’m scared you’ll freak out.”

“I won’t.”

“Yeah, easy to say. If I tell you the truth, you might flip out and then I’d have to make you forget you ever knew me.”

He stares for a long few minutes. When he speaks, his voice is barely over a whisper. “You can do that?”

“I dunno. Never tried to erase anything that deep before, and I think I’m kinda deep in your head.”

“You have no idea.” He blushes a little. “I’ve thought about you every day since that time I couldn’t talk to you.”

“Heh. You know that sounds creepy as hell, right?” I rest my head against his shoulder. “But you’re so, like, I dunno… honest, it’s romantic.”

“Umm, thanks?”

“I’m afraid to tell you because I like being with you. And I know it sounds crazy. We’ve only been on two dates and we like barely know each other and you probably are worried that you’re a Band Aid on the Scott wound and it won’t last long.”

He tenses. “I didn’t think that.”

“Well, good. I’m a mess inside, but you’re not like a rebound hook up or anything. I… guess I just saw how you really feel and it blew me away. And now, I don’t wanna tell you the truth because I’m afraid you’ll think I’m a monster.”

“You don’t like have tentacles hidden down there or anything, do you?”

“No.”

“Teeth?”

I push him away enough to stare at him in disgusted horror. “I do not have teeth down there. Where did you even come up with that?”

“Umm. There’s some really freaky movies out there.”

A shudder runs down my back. “Promise me you will never trick me into watching that one.”

“Swear.”

“Okay.” I fidget at the bra hidden in my hoodie pocket. “Now or never, right? It wouldn’t be fair to take us much farther unless you knew. And I’m sorry, but if you can’t handle it, I have to make you forget.”

“Some kinda superhero secret society thing?” he asks.

“That’s a way to put it.” I take a deep breath. “You know Scott stabbed me when I broke up with him for cheating. But, he didn’t just cut me. He killed me.”

“People technically die all the time and come back.”

I squeeze Hunter’s hand. “It’s a little more than that.” After a look around to make sure no one’s watching, I half-whisper the story of what happened. He listens with an unreadable expression until I finish up with a brief explanation of how as an ‘Innocent,’ I’m basically perfectly lifelike.

“Wow. Seriously?” he asks.

“Yeah.” I open my mouth and extend my fangs.

“Whoa.” Hunter reaches up and touches a finger to one. His blank expression twists into a silly little smile. “Those fangs are so cute.”

I stare at him, jaw still wide, in disbelief. “Cute?”

“Yeah. There’s just something about you that got into my head.”

“I’m not charming you.”

“You charmed me already, four years ago.”

“I was normal then.”

“No, you were perfect then.” He kisses me, and licks my fang. “And you’re still perfect.”

My eyes widen. Okay, that felt odd. Hunter pulls back from the kiss, his eyes welling with tears. Right, that’s what I expected. My heart turns into a block of lead as I brace for the flip-out. “I had to tell you before you got too attached. If this is too much―”

He puts a hand lightly over my mouth. “I’m already attached.” He shoves off the car and pulls me up into a standing embrace. And… I think he’s crying. “I’m so sorry…”

“Umm.”

“For not speaking up sooner. I should’ve said something so you wouldn’t have wound up with Scott. I shouldn’t have let him kill you.”

I embrace him back. “It’s not your fault. I could also say I should’ve left him when I saw how big a jerk he really was.”

“Dude had some anger issues. Big time.”

“Yeah,” I say. “He could really lose his head sometimes.”

Hunter lets go and holds me out to arm’s length with a hand on each shoulder. “I guess it’s a bit late, but I promise I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

I stare at him, certain the words ‘holy shit, you’re not leaving’ scrolls across my forehead in giant, blinking letters.

“Guess I need to keep this secret.”

Mute, I nod.

“No problem. Not like anyone would believe me anyway. Everyone thinks I’m the ‘weird kid.’”

“Well, you are a little weird, but normal sucks.”

He laughs.

“So, umm, yeah… I’m not gonna get old.”

“I don’t see that as a problem.” He brushes my hair off my face and leans in for a quick kiss. “Assuming you can tolerate my wrinkly old ass.”

“That’s gonna get a bit awkward after a while. People will think I’m your daughter.”

He shrugs one shoulder. “It doesn’t matter as long as I’m with you.”

“Wow. Did you really just say that?” I half giggle. “That’s like so…”

“Romantic?” He raises an eyebrow.

I tickle his stomach with one finger. “I was going to say ‘cheesy,’ but let’s go with romantic.”

“I’ll take it.”

“It’s getting late,” I say. “You should probably go to bed.”

“You’re invited in.” He nods toward the house.

I laugh. “That doesn’t actually do anything… and besides. You have windows. I have a weird relationship with the sun.”

“Poof?”

“Not exactly. If it’s strong enough, yeah. Poof. But I can handle a bit of daylight in trade for being a weaksauce vampire.”

“Weaksauce?” He chuckles. “You threw my father around like a baby.”

I wag my eyebrows at him, and lift the front of his Buick off the ground with one hand.

“Holy shit,” whispers Hunter. “That’s weak?”

“Apparently.” I wipe grit and rust off my hand before grabbing him by the shirt. “So I’m told.”

He grins.

“Wow. You seem to be taking this well. I thought you were gonna freak out on me. Hell, I’m still not even sure I believe this.”

“Learning that vampires are real is a pretty mild shock compared to the big one I already got.”

“Big one?”

He stoops to touch foreheads with me. “That the girl of my dreams is actually here in my arms.”

Taken by the emotion blaring off him, I lean up into a deep kiss. Three seconds later, he jumps back, one hand clamped over his mouth.

“Ow!” He looks down at his hand, blood dripping from his lip.

“Oops.” I make an innocent face and retract my fangs. “Sorry. Forgot they were out. Hey, c’mere, I can fix it.”

“Fickth it?” He tilts his head.

I draw close, speaking with my lips brushing his cheek. “Yeah. I just need to umm, lick the wound.”

“Ith my tongue,” he mumbles.

“That’s the point.” I move my mouth over his. “That’s entirely the point.”

Super Powers

10

So, yeah. I’m having another super-lazy night―or at least a super-lazy two hours.

No studying or summer course work for this girl. Nope. Not yet anyway. Normal people veg for a couple days when they get sick. I think death cuts me some slack. I’m not going to feel guilty about it either since it is summer and I’m registered to start college classes in the fall.

It’s like two-thirty in the morning and the only sound in the house is my headphones rumbling with explosions and gunfire. Call of Duty never really captivated me before, mostly because the only reason I have it on my PlayStation is because Scott hung out in my room a lot. Even less reason for me to like it. As soon as I got home from Hunter’s place, I needed to find an outlet for my anger at his father, and, well, the game happened to be right there.

I totally think we would’ve gone all the way if we hadn’t been interrupted. Maybe it’s a good thing his father barged in, since sex on the second date is not who I am. Or should I say ‘who I was?’ Does it make me a bad person for dwelling more on wondering what’s wrong with me than on Hunter having a piece of shit father? Ugh. He must’ve gone through hell growing up.

A whole bunch of digital soldiers bear the brunt of my frustration. I don’t hold back either. This isn’t about challenge, so I’m not above using my inhuman reflexes and reaction time. Never paying attention to Scott playing this game has left me clueless about any objective beyond killing the other team. Some of the voices on team chat scream about capturing points and stuff, but I just roam around venting my frustrations on the enemy players.

After two hours of that, I think I’ve been called a cheater in five different languages. I don’t bother saying anything back to them. The crowd at this hour is astoundingly short on females. I’d like to think it’s because girls have better things to do at like three in the morning than play video games online. I don’t count myself because I’m normally awake at this hour, being a vampire and all. There’s probably plenty of women who play these games. Being the only girl among thirty players had to be luck.

Except for a couple times when some flying thing I don’t see instant-kills me, playing a game that’s basically running in slow motion makes me immortal.

Hah.

It’s also kinda boring once I’ve worked out my frustrations. The endless stream of complaining from the other side―apparently, anyone who gets like fifty kills and two deaths in a match must be cheating―starts to involve language so foul I half expect my parents to walk in and yell at me. That one guy, sheesh. If his accent’s any indication, he’s probably from New Jersey or something. What was that show with the orange people from a couple years ago? Like everyone had super-fake spray tan? Yeah, he sounds like one of those guys.

Though, to be fair, I guess I am cheating with supernatural reflexes.

Anyway, I’ve absorbed two years’ worth of F-bombs in one hour, plus the game’s gotten boring. The complaining was amusing at first. When I played that fighting game with Sierra, I actually cared that my advantage made her feel bad. Since the amusement in listening to these guys flame out in angry rants has worn off, I bail out when the match ends.

“Ugh.” I toss the headphones on the rug and rub my ears.

Feels like I should lean over sideways and bump the side of my head to knock swear words out of my brain. Wow, those dudes get way too wrapped up in that game. Gotta be a guy thing. Some of the parties I went to, the boys would wind up clustered around a television screaming at football. I can’t see why anyone who doesn’t have a giant load of money riding on a sporting event would get that upset over losing. I think Holly Mitchell spent her whole junior year grounded after Jimmy broke her parents’ TV during a party she wasn’t supposed to be having. They’d gone away for a weekend ski trip, and came home to a dead screen.

I sit cross-legged on my floor for a while, enjoying my room. It’s silly and juvenile, but I feel safe in here. Sam, my brother, is the same way. Whenever he gets the least bit stressed out, he goes to his room. That totally makes sense to me now. In fact, after meeting Hunter’s old man, I’m, really tempted to go hug mine. Having a good father shouldn’t make me feel guilty, but it kinda does. Especially since I know Hunter isn’t the only person in the world with an awful one, and some are way worse.

Right. It’s not my fault.

Sierra would’ve been better suited for this vampire stuff. She could sit for hours on video games. Not having to go to the bathroom at all would be the greatest thing ever for her. Two hours straight is about my limit before my eyeballs want to explode. At least playing alone. Co-op with Sierra is different. That’s less playing a game and more spending time with my sister.

I stretch my legs out straight and tap my big toes together, muttering, “Bored. Bored. Bored.”

My opinion that being a vampire is pure awesome may need a slight revision. It does have a downside: I’m awake when everyone else isn’t. Right. Time to develop a hobby, like building tiny ships inside bottles. Nah. Or collecting stamps. Nah. That sounds about as exciting as watching paint dry. Movies are an option. Probably a good option now that I think about it. There’s more on Netflix than one person could ever hope to watch. Maybe I should study journalism and become a film critic?

I spend a few minutes searching the catalog, but get the blahs.

My brain keeps going back to wondering how I feel about Hunter. It’s not as though Scott was my first boyfriend. I dated like six boys before I met him. Well, okay, one of those lasted a week, and the longest three months. Of those, I only even kissed Joey Parrish. Gawd. It’s so embarrassing to even think about now. Can’t really expect much for eighth grade, right? And yeah, calling them boyfriends is kinda stretching the term. It only really applied in the sense of them being boys and my friends.

Hunter, on the other hand…

Well, no secret why I never wound up in bed with any of the first six after two dates. At that age, holding hands was awkward enough, and kissing felt like we both risked getting caught and grounded for the rest of time. I dated Scott since our first year of high school, and our disastrous first try at sex didn’t happen until the summer between sophomore and junior year.

Argh!

I grab two fistfuls of my hair and suppress the urge to scream. Why is everything I try to think about constantly circling back to Scott? Probably has something to do with being the first person I’ve ever killed. Maybe I shouldn’t have stood there watching him burn, but I had to be sure he was dead for good. And yeah, to split hairs, I didn’t technically kill him. Dalton did that, but Scott’s such a dumbass he couldn’t even die properly.

Before I know it, I’m out of my little sanctuary and walking around the house trying to think about something―anything―but Scott. I can’t attack the Hunter issue, as in, why the hell did I practically rip his clothes off on our second date, without my brain trying to throw in comparisons to asshole.

In the living room, I stand there in the near dark staring at the black and white furniture. It’s only black and white because that’s how I see when there’s no actual light. To a normal person, this room would be pitch black. The rug’s neither cool nor warm, though the texture of the fibers is really soothing to walk on, especially with my amped up senses.

It hits me that I’m dead.

No, I mean, I knew that already. Vampiredom has a relatively steep entry fee. What I mean is, maybe I pounced on Hunter because I’m having a paradoxical reaction to what happened to me. Like, hey, I’m not an immortal teenager. Wait. Back up. I am an immortal teenager. I mean, Scott killing me and everything… what if that’s making me think that life is so damn fleeting and I’ve wasted so much time trying to cling to every rule and be the good girl and never do anything spontaneous? Not like I have to worry about saving myself for marriage anymore, right? If I’d just broken up without getting stabbed to death, and I ran into Hunter I probably would’ve taken it real slow and everything, like I always did.

Wait. Who am I kidding? He’s so awkward and fidgety and, okay―acts creepy―that I would’ve avoided him. Or there’s a good chance I would have. Or… I sink to sit on the sofa. Would I have? After the breakup, assuming no stabby business happened, I would’ve been a wreck. There’s also the whole USC thing. I never would’ve gone to Seattle Central Collage to enroll, and never would’ve encountered Hunter. In all likelihood, I would’ve never seen him (or any of my classmates from high school) ever again. Except on the off chance of a reunion.

So, it’s pointless to even think of how I’d have reacted to Hunter if Scott hadn’t killed me.

It could also be that looking into his thoughts and―okay, I admit that happened because he creeped me out and I wanted to make sure he wouldn’t do anything weird―saw how he really felt about me. All those years, and he only ever tried to talk to me that one time. After what happened with his dad, I understand where that came from. His having a girlfriend at all would’ve gotten him punished, plus he’d been terrified I’d laugh at him.

Knowing for a fact that a guy’s not merely looking to score a one night stand helped a lot. And I really do find his honesty charming and his awkwardness cute. I even like that he’s starting to come out of his shell. So, okay. No regrets over what happened. I’m not a whore.

I snarl.

That’s what’s been bothering me. His damned father calling me that over and over―and me wondering if I am one because I’d initiated us making out. I’m not. That guy has major issues. Fortunately, those issues won’t be affecting Hunter, his little brother, or his mom any more.

I look up, feeling much better about the way the night went.

The living room is more than a little messy. Guess Mom and Dad have been major busy with work, and Sam had his friends were over again during the afternoon. Sophia usually goes to her friend Nicole’s house, sometimes bringing Sierra. The girls don’t often hang out here. I’m not sure how they worked it out that Sam brings his buddies here and the girls go elsewhere, if it’s some kind of treaty arrangement or merely the way stuff happened organically.

A long T-shirt with nothing on under it isn’t the best outfit for housework, so I run back down to my room, grab a pair of sweat pants, then spend a while cleaning, which mostly involves picking up bags of Dorito crumbs and empty plastic cups. Before my life got turned on its head, I helped out a lot around here since Mom’s job sucks up so much time. Dad did his share of housework too, but he usually ends up late for deadlines and spends fourteen-hour benders at his computer wrangling program code. I don’t know how he can do that… sitting in one place for that long staring at letters and numbers on the screen.

I’d maybe last three hours before that much screen time reduced me to a sloped-forehead cave-girl and I stormed around smashing anything remotely resembling a computer. Of course, anything worth doing is worth overdoing, as Dad likes to say. I turn picking up a couple bags of chips into cleaning the whole downstairs.

Boredom is the enemy of filth, or something like that.

Not like I can do anything really fun. Fun involves noise. And if I keep moving, I don’t think about being home with my family while simultaneously lonely as hell. Once the living room’s back in order―except for crumbs that remain safe from a vacuum at four in the morning―I wind up flying around to dust the walls and ceiling in the stairwell, getting rid of some cobwebs that have been up there since before my first bra. I don’t know who got the genius idea to design a house like this. At the bottom of the stairs, I can stare straight up to the ceiling of the second floor.

There’s literally no way to dust the upper corners without being able to fly, or using a fifteen-foot long pole. Look at bad-ass me. Powerful immortal. Destroyer of evil half-vampire ex boyfriends and slayer of… dust.

Dust that I’m sure no one will notice is even missing.

There’s even a small window on the wall at the level of the second floor, directly over the bottom of the stairs. As one might imagine for such a poorly placed piece of idiocy, it’s filthy. Guess I’m upgrading to windows.

After retrieving the spray and some paper towels, I float up to it and attack the grime. The soft squeaking of the towel over the glass gets me thinking about the time Mom decided to teach me how to help her with window cleaning when I was like eleven. It had been the first real day of summer that year, and it was unusually warm, something like seventy-five degrees.

I close my eyes and picture it. The breeze in my hair. My pink spaghetti-strap shirt. That had been a jean shorts day, and one of the few times Mom wore a sundress. It had to be a Saturday. Sierra would’ve been four, Sophia three, and Sam two. Mom had to keep running into the living room to check up on them as we went from window to window, at least until she finally asked Dad to peel himself off the computer. We washed all the windows of the downstairs that day and in violation of the bylaws of childhood, I thought it was fun. Not the cleaning so much, but doing something with Mom. How messed up is that? She’s always so busy with her job that I enjoyed doing housework with her.

The memory of my attempt to help even more by climbing up to stand on the windowsill so I could reach the top pane makes me laugh. Standing tiptoe on a three-inch ledge hadn’t been a problem, but when I tried to get down, I stepped in the bucket, tripped, and took Mom with me on the way to the floor. She didn’t even get mad, and we both laughed like idiots. I did have to clean the puddle up though… and promise not to climb like that again.

My imagined reflection of my younger face on the window in front of a bright sunny backyard trades places with my current face, reflected from a glass panel in front of grey trees. By the time I finish wiping, I feel like I had a dog and it died. Seven years ago, I’d been a dutiful little sprite, totally unaware that I’d wind up dead before being old enough to buy beer. Sierra’s that age now. Is she going to make it to twenty? Is Sophia? Or Sam?

The daydream of our bright backyard evaporating to the cold and dark reality of my here and now slaps me with a weight like I’m a spectator at the funeral of that child I used to be. Crap. Here go my wild emotions again. I’m either going to start sobbing about being dead or wind up ambush hugging my family while they sleep, or stand here laughing at the absurdity of it all.

Vampires? Really?

I lean up to the window and extend my fangs, eyeing them in the refection.

Yep. Vampires, really.

Bah. The sun is overrated. I’ll never have to worry about getting wrinkles or gaining weight. No diseases for me, or jealousy that the ‘younger girls’ look hotter. I’m forever one of those ‘younger girls.’ Yep. Though there are many long years of coping with crippling loneliness ahead of me. But hey, I have super powers.

And speaking of super powers…

Calories mean nothing to me. “Hah―” Wait, no. That’s not right. Hahahahah! Evil Mastermind Laugh happens inside my head, so as not to wake anyone up. I saunter into the kitchen and fix myself a four-scoop bowl of vanilla ice cream with squeeze-bottle fudge, and carry my prize back to my sanctuary, where I nest among my minions.

Every creature of the night should have an army of minions.

Mine just happen to be stuffed animals.

Thin Mints

11

Awesome. It’s raining!

I slide out of bed a little after two. Another cool thing about being a vampire is I don’t suffer that hour-long period after waking up where I’m half-conscious. Oh, one downside about the Innocent deal. I do still sweat and stuff. Granted, not as much as a normal living person would, but enough to where showering remains a necessity.

Aurélie mentioned some of us (vampires that is) can go months without touching soap. I’m guessing the Shadows fall into that group since they’re the deadest, but the feeling she spoke from experience hadn’t been lost on me. She is, after all, an Old Guard. A very old guard. Nearly four hundred years if I remember right. Rather than wasting energy making herself lifelike, she embraced the super-white motif with some cosmetics. Hence why she looks like something out of a historic reenactment of French Aristocracy.

In the middle of the afternoon, the upstairs bathroom is wide open. Mom’s at work, no surprise there. The steady clicking of computer keys comes from Dad’s study. Video game sound shakes the walls of Sam’s room, but there’s no sign of the girls. Since my father isn’t running around in a panic, I assume they went to Nicole’s. On second thought, I peek in to Sierra’s room―aka my old room.

In the two weeks since I relocated to the basement, she’s redecorated the space. Not a trace of pink appears anywhere. The spot of floor that had once held my bed has become her video game shrine. Her bed’s at the inner corner to my right. She’s also not here.

I trust a quiet Sophia more than a quiet Sierra, but I look anyway. Pink and white everything. Lots of stuffed animals and dolls. Drawings of unicorns on the walls. At least she hasn’t gone into the boy band phase yet.

After a nice, relaxing shower, I wrap my hair in a towel and pull another one on like a dress before heading downstairs and leaning in to Dad’s work area. “Hey.”

“Oh, good afternoon, hon.” He stops typing and smiles at me. “You’re up early.”

“Ehh, not so early. Plus it’s raining.”

He removes his glasses to scratch his eyebrow. “What’s raining got to do with when you wake up?”

“Not the rain really.” I can’t help but smile at him sitting there in his goofy white polo shirt and beige pants. “It’s the heavy clouds that make it dimmer out.”

“Ahh. That makes sense.” He smiles. “You look like you’re in a rather good mood.”

“My mood’s approaching astrophysics for complicated.” I pad over and hug him. “I love you, Dad.”

“Uh oh. What happened?” he asks.

Still with my arms around him, I laugh. “Can’t I say ‘I love you’ to my dad without something being wrong?”

“Yes, but you’re standing there with, I imagine, only a towel on. Normally, you’d be shrieking and slamming doors to keep from being seen like that, especially by your old man.”

“Dad!” I giggle. “The towel covers way more than my swimsuits.”

“But?” he asks.

“Yeah. Something’s kinda wrong, but not with me.” I stand out of the hug. “One sec. Let me get dressed first.”

“All right.”

He resumes typing as I hurry out. Once back in my room, I whip out the blow dryer before getting dressed in a cute top Sierra got me last Christmas. It’s a black T-shirt bearing a chibi anime goth girl with her arms folded beneath the word Attitude. One standard pair of jeans, check.

Tweep.

I glance at my phone, or should I say mind control device. That noise (an incoming text) commands me to pick it up and look.

Ashley: ‹We still on today? Are you allowed out?›

Oh, yeah. I forgot. They wanted to hit the movies. And wow. Allowed out? I grin while typing, ‹I’m not twelve. I’m allowed out.›

‹I meant your uhh, allergy.›

Duh. I type back, ‹Yeah. It’s rainy as hell. I’m fine.› I don’t mention even with the gloom, I’m going to have to feed tonight from being out in the daylight most of the afternoon. It’s for a good cause though: time with friends.

‹Cool. See you soon. Waiting on Chelle.›

I set the phone back on the bed and head upstairs, skipping socks for now since shoes are banned in our house except for a small patch of floor by the front door. Dad again stops tying when I walk in.

“So, what’s bothering you?”

I drag a smaller chair over, flop down, and tell him about Hunter’s father. Dad sighs and shakes his head through most of it.

“So, I am happy that I wound up having such an awesome dad.”

He takes a moment to let what I unloaded on him settle, then looks into my eyes. “Sarah, you shouldn’t feel guilt over circumstances beyond your control. You didn’t choose your family any more than Hunter wanted a father like that. Yes, we have a comfortable life, but your mother and I both work hard to maintain that. The schooling we had, the work ethic… Heck, if I could win the lottery and spend every waking minute with you kids instead of churning out these stupid API modules, I’d do it in a heartbeat. You know your mother’s not thrilled at the hours she has to put in.”

“Yeah, but―”

“Please let me finish.” He smiles.

“Sorry.”

He leans forward and takes my hand. “There are a lot of people in this country who would call you privileged. You’ve never known what it meant to wonder if you’d have food at night, only if it was something you’d actually eat.”

I let out a somber chuckle.

“There are plenty of awesome dads out there. Far more than the ones like him. There’s plenty of people much more well off than we are, and a lot more who aren’t. You shouldn’t feel guilty for having what you have. Now, if you’re proud of it, and look down on those who have less, that you can feel guilty about. If you somehow thought, ‘well, I have an amazing dad, sucks to be Hunter,’ then you should feel ashamed of yourself. That you didn’t tells me your mother and I did something right raising you.”

“Aww, Dad.”

“None of us know how things could potentially work out with everything that’s happened to you, but if you can give that boy some happiness, and you want to… that’s well within your control.”

I gaze at my feet. Hmm. Pink toenails. Sophia must’ve ambushed me in my sleep again. How did I not notice that in the shower? Okay, maybe I do roll out of bed foggy.

“Either there’s something incredibly fascinating concealed within the carpet pile, or you’ve developed an odd, sudden fascination with your toes.”

“Hah. No, for a moment there I thought you were about to press for grandkids, then I noticed my nails are mysteriously pink. Speaking of which, where’s Sophia?”

“The girls went to Nicole’s.” Dad pushes his glasses up. “And no, I wasn’t going there. I meant more in the sense of can a vampire even have boyfriends?”

“Oh sure.” I twirl a hand around in the air. “Everything seems to still work.”

“Right.” Dad faces back to the monitor, clearly not interested in any conversation that includes his daughter and topics other than rainbows and unicorns. “Oh, small favor?”

“Sure.”

“Sam tossed his Frisbee onto the roof. I’ve been meaning to drag the ladder out but haven’t had the chance to.”

I leap to my feet and strike a superhero pose, fists on my hips. “I shall save the innocent plastic disc”―my posture slackens―“as soon as the sun’s down.”

“Oh, right.” Dad glances at me again. “So, did you tell him?”

“Yeah.” I idly stab my big toe at the rug. “Seemed like it was getting to the point where it would’ve been cruel not to.”

Dad’s eyebrows go up. “How’d he take it?”

“Well, considering I sent his father into the horizon never to return like twenty minutes before telling him I’m a vampire, pretty well.”

“You know, you probably shouldn’t just go around telling everyone about vampires and stuff.”

I fake sigh. “But, Dad, he’s not everyone. He’s my boyfriend.”

He blinks at me.

“Wow, did I just say that?”

“You did.”

“Little fast, huh? I mean I just broke up with Scott two weeks ago.”

Dad stands and pulls me into another hug. “Hon, you broke up with him a lot longer ago than that.”

“Was I that obvious?”

“Just a touch.” He chuckles. “Though, after an experience like that, I wasn’t expecting you to want to be around another boy.”

Again, I wind up jabbing my big toe into the rug, staring down. “Well, like you said about more people having good fathers than bad, I guess. Scott went about as wrong as a boyfriend can go. The odds are on my side. Any other boy’s probably much better. At least, I’m sure this one’s not going to kill me.”

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing? He’s got emotions too. This isn’t some kind of rebound thing, is it?”

“Nah.” I shake my head, smiling. “I read his mind.”

“We talked about that…”

I sigh at the ceiling. “Dad. He gave me a creepy look. I wanted to make sure he wasn’t going to do anything. But he’s not a creep. He’s just socially awkward.”

Dad gestures at himself. “Hon. This is socially awkward. What about that boy made you nervous enough to peek into his brain?”

“It’s a long story.”

“You have time.” He grins. “Me, not so much.”

“All right. Hunter―”

The doorbell rings in Ashley’s signature triplicate. As long as I’ve known her, she mashes the doorbell button so fast it generates this mutant noise. Rather than three distinct rings, the first two combine into this staccato double-bing followed by a normal ding-dong.

“Your friends are here,” says Dad. “It’s okay. You can tell me about why you mind read your new boyfriend sometime later.”

“Thanks, Dad.” I give him a peck on the cheek and run to open the door.

Despite the stormy, gloomy, rainy mess outside, I feel like I’ve opened the hatch on a furnace. Okay, maybe ‘furnace’ is a bit of an overstatement. The wind hitting my face is closer to middle-of-summer Arizona than rainy Cottage Lake, Washington. Another bonus of being an Innocent vampire… I’ll never be chilly here again during the day. At least, if I go outside.

Ashley’s red hair is soaked to the sides of her face. Michelle didn’t get out of her little Kia Soul, which she’s parked in our driveway occupying the spot Mom’s Yukon belongs in. Total Honey, I shrunk the SUV moment.

“Hey!” cheers Ashley. “Wow, you’re not burning away to smoke.”

“No. I thought I explained that already. Come in a sec. I need socks.”

“’Kay.” She shuffles inside.

I start for the back of the house, heading toward the stairs down to the basement. “You know, they have these things called umbrellas.”

“You know,” calls Ashley, “they have this thing called severe laziness.”

Laughing, I jog down the steps, claim my socks, and hurry back to the front door by way of giving Dad a hug. “Goin’ to the movies with Ash and Chelle. Be back after.”

“Be careful,” says Dad.

I pause with my right foot half in a sneaker. “I will.”

With an inaudible sigh of worry, I finish putting my shoes on and stand. Ugh. I really do have to be careful. During the day, I’m not immortal. Well, I mean, I’m not getting older or anything while exposed to sunlight. My powers stop working, which includes healing fast. If Michelle goes off the road and I get a telephone pole through the face, that’s going to sting.

Of course, the same would’ve been true for mortal me before this whole vampire thing started, but when I’ve got potentially thousands of years to lose instead of like sixty-to-eighty, it feels like a bigger risk. Or, hell, maybe I’m just afraid of dying dying because I’ve ‘been there done that’ and I don’t want to do it again. Speaking of which, I should go on Yelp and give that morgue a low rating. The beds are too damn hard.

Ashley runs to Michelle’s Kia and hops in the back seat. She’s such a ‘kid sister.’

I pull my hoodie up and dash from the door, suffering only a mild soaking in the twenty feet or so I have to run before hopping in the passenger seat. The smell of coconut-sweet is so strong it almost makes me gag.

“You okay?” asks Michelle, patting me on the back.

While I nod, Ashley sticks her head between the seats to peer at me. “I didn’t think you, like, still breathed.”

“I do.” I pat myself on the chest and glance at Michelle after failing to spot the offending air-freshener. “Why does it smell like I’m sitting inside a giant coconut?”

“Oh, I’m trying out a new skin cream.” Michelle backs out onto the cul-de-sac and pulls a K-turn.

“Did you take a bath in it or is my nose on overdrive?”

Michelle smirks at me.

“It is a little strong,” says Ashley.

“You can both go to hell.” Michelle laughs, shaking her head as she accelerates.

I grip the seat and door handle. Three seconds later, on goes the seatbelt.

“Oh, hey now,” says Michelle. “I ain’t that bad. Got my license a good two months before you, remember?”

“Yeah so that means you’ve had it for three months,” I say.

She holds her head high. “I’m still the most experienced driver in the car.”

“The girl’s got a point,” says Ashley. She giggles and flops back in her seat. “Guess I should belt up too?”

Michelle sighs.

“It’s not you I’m worried about. It’s the other idiots,” I mutter while eyeing the road. The rain’s making everything blurry and drab. Perfect recipe for an accident.

Michelle play-punches me in the shoulder. “It’s cute that you’re so concerned about us.”

“While that is a definite factor in my present state of extreme fear, I’m also worried about me.”

“Huh?” asks Ashley. “You’re like immortal now, right?”

Over the next few minutes, I explain how the particular strain of vampire I became lets me tolerate sunlight when it’s not too strong, and that doing so basically takes away all my ‘powers.’

“So, you’re like normal you?” asks Ashley.

“Yeah. As long as I’m in contact with sunlight, no matter how muted by cloud cover.”

Michelle glances at me. “Wow. That’s messed up. Guess it beats turning to dust.”

“Oh, definitely,” I say. “Some of the other…”

A dark blur in the door mirror catches my eye. Someone in a black mini-SUV is getting rather close to us, and his lights are off.

“Some of the other what?” asks Ashley.

“Umm. Chelle, watch that idiot behind us.”

She looks at the mirror on her side and speaks as if to the other driver. “Sorry I’m not going fast enough for you. Want me to slow down more?”

We ride in tense silence for a minute or two until a red light catches us. The no-headlight idiot pulls up alongside us on the left. The side windows are tinted super dark, but I still can’t help but feel like a little mouse being stared at by a giant eagle.

“Uhh, I got a bad feeling about that car,” I whisper.

“Why are you whispering?” Ashley again sticks her head up front between the seats. “They couldn’t hear us anyway. Two closed windows, plus the rain on the roof is kinda loud.”

Michelle glances at the SUV. It kinda looks like the type the undercover cops use, but that’s not what’s bothering me about it. She drums her fingers on the steering wheel, impatiently waiting for the light to change.

“Wait, you think they’re gonna like try and kidnap us? Find a car with three girls in it and follow us?” Ashley looks at the spooky SUV and back to me. “Think they’ll tie us up together?”

“Doesn’t sound like you’d mind that,” deadpans Michelle.

I gasp.

Ashley blushes, but can’t hold back an impish smile. “I guess that depends on if they let us keep our clothes.”

Michelle turns her head toward Ashley slow, like something out of The Exorcist. “Are you for real? Please tell me you’re just saying that to be creepy.”

My jaw hangs open in disbelief. Like, I know she’s into girls as well as boys, but I had no idea she liked that kinky stuff. And, having Ashley crack a sexy joke like that is almost as awkward as if it came out of Sierra’s mouth. I frown.

Yeah, Sierra would say random shocking things when she’s eighteen. Hell, she’ll probably start randomly spitting out remarks that’ll make me gasp and Mom faint by fourteen. Though, then again, my mother did whip out a masturbation joke the other day, so maybe that’s where Sierra gets it from. Ashley, on the other hand, has always been the innocent one in our little group. Hearing her say she wouldn’t mind being kidnapped if they tied us up together is… I can’t even.

Finding out vampires existed wasn’t as brain numbing.

“Ash, are you feeling okay?” I ask.

“Umm, yeah, why?”

Michelle steps on the gas the instant the light changes. She’s accelerating a little hard for my liking, but given the ominous SUV, I keep my mouth shut. We make an abrupt lane change and leave it behind. I twist back to look, but catch only a glimpse through the un-tinted windshield of two white guys inside: too far away plus rain for me to recognize faces.

“Because you’re sayin’ shit that ain’t like you.” Michelle slows back to safe-on-wet-road speed.

“Oh.” Ashley makes her usual childlike confused face. “Sorry. I thought it was funny. Like, we’d be locked in a room somewhere until it got dark, then Sarah would be like all”―she pantomimes tearing free of ropes―“rawr! and like kicking their butts.”

Michelle and I both stare at her for a second.

Did I take that the wrong way? No, she made that comment about clothes. Holy crap! Is my best friend, who I now know has a crush on me, fantasizing about me wearing nothing but rope? Gawd. Awkward. No matter how hard I stare into her eyes, I’m no more psychic than a brick at the moment. Ugh. This is driving me crazy. For once, I really want to see what’s rattling around in her little head but I can’t.

I have a feeling her encounter with Aurélie might’ve had some unintended consequences. Hopefully, it’s some kind of lingering energy and not a permanent change to her personality. As soon as we’re in the theater, I’m going to take a peek.

Every couple of minutes, I check the rearview mirror, but that black SUV is nowhere in sight.

Whew. I melt into my seat and finally relax… right before we arrive at the theater. Ugh. At least we got here alive. Well, two outta three of us anyway. Michelle’s awesome. She drops me and Ashley off by the front before driving back out into the downpour to find a parking spot. We wait for her right inside the doors where there’s still too much daylight for me to check on Ash’s brain.

Michelle pops an umbrella (yeah, she’s the smart one of the group) and hurries across the lot through the pelting rain. A moving dark spot drifts along behind her, a small, black SUV rolling by.

Son of a bitch.

They’re definitely following us… but why? Is it me or did creeps see a car full of young women and get ideas. Or is that even the same guy? Maybe I should ease back on the paranoia. It’s not like there’s only one mini Land Rover or Ford Escape or whatever that thing is in this area. Okay, I suppose the number of said cars with deep-tinted windows is much lower. And the odds of one happening to show up in the same shopping center as us so soon after seeing it in traffic are even lower.

Yeah. They’re following us.

Michelle collapses her umbrella under the awning and walks inside. “Come on, we’ve only got like five minutes before it starts.”

I lean up to the window and watch the truck park a couple rows to the right from where Michelle left her Kia. Three guys hop out and scramble over to a TGI-Fridays, running like a pack of geeky seniors or college freshmen. Hmm. Maybe it isn’t the same truck, or my danger sense is malfunctioning in the daylight. Could’ve just been horny college guys spotting a car full of girls and having less-scary thoughts than kidnapping.

Ashley and Michelle grab my arms and drag me away from the window into the theater.

“We’re gonna miss it!” yells Ashley.

We claim our pre-ordered tickets from the machine and head down the hall to the theater where Atomic Blonde is playing. Fortunately, we’ve only missed a preview or two. Some people think theaters are losing the media war to DVD because of ticket prices. I think it’s because of the twenty-minute-long ‘buy our snacks, stop talking, and turn off cell phones’ video in front of the movie followed by another half hour of previews.

As soon as we’re in the actual theater and away from windows, a rapid, intense sharpening of my senses―and the air no longer feeling like ninety degrees―gives me a heads up that I can stop being paranoid about getting hurt. It’s kinda chilly in here to be honest, and being wet doesn’t help that. We head down the aisle to our usual spot for movie watching: like six rows back from the front and as middle as we can get. It’s been our preference ever since Dad took the three of us to see Race to Witch Mountain when we were in fifth grade. Actually, I think hitting that movie was the first thing we did as friends, like a couple weeks after we met.

That thought gets me all kinds of worried about her. I lean close and whisper, “Hey Ash?”

“Hmm?” She looks at me.

Her thoughts are mostly focused on hoping this movie doesn’t suck. Underneath that, she’s barely holding it together, still upset over almost watching me die. Deeper still, I sniff a simmering mass of unbridled horniness. Nothing feels like her mind’s been tampered with. The girl’s just left her engine running. She’s also a little confused where best friend stops and girlfriend starts. Ash loves me like a sister and the trauma of almost losing me has fine-tuned her emotions with a sledgehammer.

And yeah, I know there’s some people who meet as kids and grow up to marry and spend their whole lives together. But one, I’m not into girls, and two, I think of her too much like an extra sibling. Okay, maybe a little different since there’s stuff I can talk to with Ash that I’d never tell my actual siblings about. But I don’t wanna have sex with her. Also, I’m sure she doesn’t really want that either. She’s just confused because she thinks she watched me die.

If I was a better friend, I’d probably try to delete her memory of that night. Or maybe being a better friend means I don’t invade that trust. She’s not a robot companion I should reprogram when it’s inconvenient. At least she’s not under some kind of external influence turning her into a sexpot. Okay, so I do cheat a little, by giving her feelings toward me a faint nudge toward ‘friend.’

“What?” asks Ashley. “Why are you staring at me like that?” She swipes her fingers at her hair. “Do I have something stuck to me?”

“No. I was just a little worried.”

Her right eyebrow goes up.

“Shh!” hisses someone behind us.

“Chill out, dude,” says Michelle. “It’s just a preview.”

“About?” Ashley tilts her head.

“What you said in the car.” I smile. “I overreacted.”

She rolls her eyes, but winds up giggling. Now that’s a normal Ashley reaction.

Relieved, I settle into the seat.

Gah. More previews. Like half the time we go to the movies, I need to run to the bathroom before it’s even halfway over due to how long it takes the actual feature to start. That’s at least one problem I no longer have.

Soon, Atomic Blonde starts, and the lights dim.

Maybe twenty minutes in, Ashley grabs my hand.

I glance at her.

“Relax,” she whispers. “I’m just glad you’re still here.”

I squeeze her hand back. “Yeah, me too.”

We wind up holding hands for the first hour or so of the movie, which isn’t weird at all. Honest. Okay, I guess if we were a pair of guy best friends holding hands we’d get strange looks, but it’s totally a holy crap you almost died kinda thing. Eventually, the normalness of the three of us going out to the movies takes over and she calms down. At least until the main character winds up in bed with another woman… Ashley squirms in her seat and makes noises like she’s getting off from simply watching it. It can’t be the girl-on-girl thing so much as the sex scene in general.

Oh, ack. I can’t even look at her. Or the screen with her right next to me. Walking in on Sophia making out with a boy wouldn’t be this awkward. Fortunately, I don’t see that happening for at least six years. At least, I better not―or I’m going to be throwing a kid out a window. Sixteen will still make me cringe, but I’d be a hypocrite to give her grief over that.

Ash’s writhing in the seat comes to an abrupt stop. She shrinks in on herself, blushing hard.

Hmm. She’s really acting weird. It’s probably a good idea to have a talk, and soon. Maybe all those years of being the ‘cute’ one in our group are finally taking their toll. I’m hardly an objective observer here, but if my transformation into a vampire has made me look younger, maybe she thinks I’m stealing the ‘cute girl’ title and she gets to be sexy now. Not that I really care. I didn’t ask to change, and no one officially designated Michelle the smart girl, Ashley the cute girl, and me the… I dunno, what was I? Painfully Average Girl wound be a lame superhero. I guess I’m Mostly Follows Rules Girl.

I can’t be Follows Rules Girl because she wouldn’t have passed out drunk headfirst in Tiffany Hoffman’s hamper.

Ugh. Right. Worry about this later. Be normal. Night out to have fun.

The film’s pretty decent, but doesn’t strike me as the type of movie to have an Easter egg at the end of the credits, so we get up to leave as soon as they start. Much to my delight, it’s gotten dark enough outside that I don’t lose my powers in the hall. Still raining though. It’s so weird hearing raindrops hit the roof of a building this big while being able to pick that sound out among the din of a hundred people all talking at once and multiple movies going on behind the doors we’re walking past.

Naturally, Michelle and Ashley have to hit the restroom, so I go with them. Mostly to keep up the illusion of normal. If I waited in the hall, I may as well wear a T-shirt with ‘no longer alive’ printed on it. Anyone who can walk out of a movie and go straight to their car without peeing isn’t human. Heh. I could probably get away with wearing a shirt like that, too. Most people would take it as a joke or a bleak comment on society.

Despite there being a bit of a line, I wait my turn and sit in a stall for a believable enough time, flush clean water, and walk out. We head out the front entrance and it still feels like a clammy July night. The rain’s stopped, but the sky’s so overcast the last maybe-hour of sunlight isn’t breaking through enough to take my powers away.

Michelle huddles close to me on the left. Ashley squeezes into me on the right.

“What?” I ask.

“Creep alert,” whispers Michelle. “Feels like someone’s watching us.”

I glance casually around and don’t see anyone obviously staring, and there’s no inexplicable sense of imminent danger in my head. “Don’t worry about creeps. If anyone gets in our faces, they’re going to get a nasty surprise.”

Ashley grins.

“That mean you’re, umm, ‘wide awake?’” asks Michelle.

“Yeah,” I mutter. “And I don’t―” A tingle spreads down my back at the same time a faint shoe sole crunch comes from the paving behind us.

I spin, but there’s only two couples holding hands and a middle-aged guy herding a pack of five little girls toward a minivan. They’re giggling, and the threatening footsteps occupy a distinctly different space in my awareness from them. Trying to hone in on the feel of where the scuff came from, I look farther back to the building, and stare at a pasty-faced guy in a dark blue hoodie pointing a camera at us.

“You don’t what?” Ashley tugs on my arm. “Why’d you stop?’

“I was going to say I didn’t think anyone was watching us, but I’m wrong.”

My friends turn and follow where I’m glaring. When all three of us wind up looking straight at him, Camera Guy lowers his lens for a moment, then lifts it back up. I narrow my eyes and start walking toward him, but he runs off to the left, racing down the sidewalk along the front of the shopping center.

I could go after him, but flying or running faster than humanly possible would have too many witnesses. The roar of giggling nine-year-olds wanes as the exhausted man drags himself into the minivan and slams the door. From the chatter, his two daughters and their three friends aren’t about to quiet down any time soon.

“Dude can really run,” says Michelle. “Maybe he’s like a PI or something. Who uses an actual camera anymore?”

“No idea.” Ashley shrugs. “Who’d wanna carry something that big?”

We walk to the Kia and hop in. This time, I take the back seat before Ashley. She deserves a turn at shotgun. They’re both hungry, and I don’t care about calories. By the way, few things feel as weird and uncomfortable as what happened in the bathroom later after I ate a giant bowl of ice cream.

Still. Totally worth it. And I’d do it again.

Michelle drives us to the Tipsy Cow. Guess she wants burgers.

Getting a table, ordering, hanging out chatting about random unimportant crap―it all feels so wonderfully normal that I wind up getting a hitch in my throat. A month ago, this exact scene could’ve played out and none of us would be contemplating death or mortality. Of course, this would’ve been the summer before I moved out of state, so we’d have been bummed out over that. I really don’t know what possessed me to think of California, so far away from my home and friends.

When the waiter, Brian, arrives with our food, I’m picturing the day before I would’ve left. Specifically, Ashley freaking out and crying. I manage a raspy, “Thanks” when he puts my plate in front of me.

“No problem, ladies.” Brian smiles at us while clasping his hands in front of himself. “Can I get you anything else? Steak sauce?”

Michelle nods at him.

“I’m good,” says Ashley, staring at me.

“Be right back with that steak sauce.” Brian hurries off.

“What’s wrong?” asks Ashley.

After taking a deep breath, I sigh out my nose, then grin at her. “Nothing really. I’m just being emo about everything now. Almost moving away, almost dying… I’m okay. My emotions are kinda wonky.”

Michelle shakes her head. “What made you wanna even go all the way to California? You’re such a homebody. I bet you woulda transferred back here in a couple months, bein’ lonely and all.”

I’m about to bite into my burger, but I burst out laughing instead. “You know… that might’ve happened.”

Brian jogs back over, sets a bottle of A1 down by Michelle, and trots off.

She opens it and dumps some out right on the burger. “Don’t BS me. We been friends too damn long. Ain’t no ‘might’ about it.”

“I dunno,” says Ashley, avoiding eye contact with both of us. “It’s not like we’re kids anymore. We’re gonna grow up eventually.”

“Speak for yourself.” I grin before I realize what I’ve said.

My friends both stare at me, Michelle confused, as if she can’t tell what I meant by that. Ashley’s lip quivers.

“I didn’t mean that like it sounded.” I force a smile despite feeling like a complete bitch. “We’re eighteen. We’re not grown up. We’ve got at least four more years before we gotta do that. I meant, speak for yourself like I’m not ready to act like a grown up.”

Michelle nods, relaxing.

“And speaking of knowing people.” I wag my burger at Ashley. “You’re going to be the cool old lady who never really grew up.”

She laughs. “Sorry for being such a wet blanket. I’ll get over it, once I believe you’re really still here.”

“Believe it.” I take a huge bite of my burger.

Despite having made myself think of my friends growing old and dying, I don’t let the sorrow show on my face. We’ve still got so much time ahead of us, and it’s weird to think about. Had I not been turned into a vampire, I wouldn’t give a second thought to even hitting thirty. But now… even though we only met Michelle once we started high school, I know I’m going to be an absolute wreck when she dies.

Right. Enough of that. Another deep breath and big smile. I’m just an eighteen-year-old out for dinner with her best buds, not a care in the world. Calories might not threaten me, but my stomach isn’t what it used to be. I manage to eat only half the burger and a few fries before I feel stuffed. Even better. I’ll take the rest home for whichever sibling finds it first. They’ll definitely have eaten dinner by now, but I’m sure one of them will snag this for lunch tomorrow. Well, maybe not Sophia. She doesn’t do the ‘meat’ thing.

While waiting for the waiter to come back, we decide to hang at my place for the rest of the night and probably throw on another movie. Brian returns and hands the check to Michelle―probably since she now appears to be the oldest of us. Ashley grabs his butt.

He gasps and looks at her with a surprised grin. She winks back at him. Michelle pretends not to notice.

“Sorry,” says Ashley while Brian’s still close enough to hear. “He’s really cute. Couldn’t help myself.”

“Girl, that fancy French lady’s broken you good,” mutters Michelle.

Ashley gets a starry look in her eyes. “She showed me things I never imagined possible.”

An upwelling of anger burns in my chest. My mentor’s corrupted my innocent best friend into a sex-crazed adult. Fury leaks out on a barely-audible snarl. Or maybe Ashley’s been so repressed and shy for so long, she’s finally letting her real self show. She’s had four boyfriends (two of which went all the way) and at least two girlfriends, but the girls hadn’t been relationships as much as hook ups. As far as I know, she still hasn’t told her mother she’s bi. That might be part of this too. Now we both have a ‘secret’ we can’t tell the world, though I’m sure except for the overly churchy crowd, the world would react a lot better to her secret than mine.

“Guess you don’t live a couple centuries without learning a few fancy moves,” says Michelle.

Ashley delays our exit from the Tipsy Cow for a moment or two of flirting with Brian, while Michelle and I wait near the front door.

“She’s in heat,” mutters Michelle.

I fold my arms. “I noticed. You see her in the movie?”

“Unfortunately,” deadpans Michelle. “You gonna fix this?”

“I’m not sure there’s anything to fix.”

She gives me the eyebrow lift. “Oh, there’s something to fix. Ash is shier than you are and that’s saying something.”

“I’m a little more confident than I used to be.”

“Yeah, but you got a real good reason for that.”

I nod. “Yeah… I’ll talk to her.”

Michelle pushes the door open when Ashley breaks away from her conversation with Brian and jogs toward us. “Good. I can’t handle too much ‘new normal.’”

“Hey guys.” Ashley stops by us and lets out a big huff. “He’s already got a girlfriend. No surprise. Oh well.”

Michelle and I exchange impressed looks. Wow, a guy not interested in cheating.

“Sare,” whispers Ashley, tugging on my arm.

“What?” I ask.

She looks around, then leans close to whisper. “Can you like check? I wanna know if he’s blowing me off.”

“Ash…” I hang my head. “I can’t just use my―” She does the Puss-in-Boots eyes at me. “Oh, fine. Be right back, bathroom.”

I head across the room, pretending to be on the way to the restrooms, but navigate in such a way as to cause a face-to-face meeting with our waiter.

“Oh, hi.” I smile.

“Hey.” He nods in greeting. “Back so soon?”

“Just hitting the bathroom. Hey, sorry about my friend. She’s usually not like that. You know, hitting on guys who already have girlfriends.”

Since I mentioned it, his thoughts go straight to it, and yes… he does have a girl. “It’s fine. I took it as a compliment. Hope she’s not too upset.”

“Nah, she’s fine. Little disappointed, but she’ll live.”

He nods, and walks on past me.

For the second time in one night, I fake a trip to the bathroom. The girls wait for me at the door, and we all scurry together through the rain to the Kia. Ashley ducks under me and slips into the back seat. I laugh and get in the front, shaking my head.

As soon as both doors close, Ashley leans into the front. “Spill.”

Michelle pulls out of the parking lot and drives a little faster since the rain has stopped.

“You are still totes adorable and totes desirable. He really does have a girlfriend,” I say.

“You think I’m adorable?” she asks in a childish voice.

I twist toward her and pinch her cheeks. “So cute I could just eat you.”

Ashley blinks.

“Metaphorically,” I mutter.

She tilts her head and makes a goofy face. “What if I wanted you to?”

Michelle gasps.

“No, I mean bite me. Not eat me.” Ashley giggles.

“I’m not gonna drink blood from you guys. I promise. Not sneaking up on you at night, and especially not if you ask me to.” I smirk at Ashley.

Michelle snickers. “It’s good to know that―” The rearview catches her eye and she yells, “Holy shit!”

Whump.

The car lurches from a rear end impact, tossing me forward. Instinctively, my supernatural reflexes kick on and the world around me seems to slow down. Ashley sails between the front seats, cruising in slow motion toward a face-first meeting with the dashboard. I manage to grab on and pull her to the side before she breaks her nose―or neck. Her head, arms, and shoulder collapse against me as she unfurls into the front. Michelle rocks forward, but her seatbelt does its job.

Ashley’s butt bounces off the radio console, and I guide her to a safe, if uncomfortable, landing curled up on the floor between my knees. The moment of danger passed, my perception of time returns to normal. The Kia swerves, but Michelle regains control before the back slides out into a spin. She steers off onto the shoulder, a storm of obscenities spilling out of her mouth. I thank whatever powers that be that the accident happened at night, but a shiver of worry still rattles my bones. I might be indestructible, but my friends most certainly are not.

A white van, the one that rear-ended us, also pulls off the road and stops behind us.

“Ow,” says Ashley.

“Are you hurt?” I ask.

She peers up at me with a look of utter confusion for a few seconds. “No. I… just said ‘ow’ because I couldn’t think of how to react to suddenly being on the floor in the front.”

The van’s driver, a twentysomething man with short black hair and a leather jacket, hops out. He looks shocked and freaked out. Michelle stares out her window at him as he knocks.

“Hey… I’m really sorry about that. Looked away for a second,” says the man.

Michelle grabs her phone.

The guy points toward the back. “Doesn’t look like there’s any damage. Take a look. I think we can skip the insurance, right? It’ll only get more expensive for both of us. If there is any damage, I’ll pay for it.”

I catch the sound of the van’s side door sliding open. Three more men, one in a dark hoodie, one in a black T-shirt, and the last in this bizarre leather vest like something out of a Mad Max movie, slip out onto the grass away from the road. Mad Max is holding a huge crossbow with an arrow as fat as a straight banana.

What the hell?

“Don’t call the cops,” I mutter.

Michelle whirls to stare at me. “Are you serious? This is a total kidnapping attempt. Bump and grab. Bad guys have been doing this crap as long as there’ve been cars.”

“Just drive!” yells Ashley.

“That’s a hit and run.” Michelle eyes the phone before looking at me. “What do you mean don’t call the cops?”

I push my door open. “The police will never get here in time to matter.”

Neither of my friends seem to notice the other two guys sneaking up on us.

“Go!” yells Mad Max.

Dark Hoodie man and Black T-Shirt run toward the car. The formerly apologetic van driver tugs on the door handle then smashes Michelle’s window out and grabs her. She promptly screams and starts punching at him.

“It’s okay, kid,” says Van Driver. “We’re here to protect you.”

Before the guy coming at me can break her other window, I unlock the doors and shove my side open. Dark Hoodie grabs me and drags me backward like he’s hallucinating our car’s on fire and he needs to save me. Black T-Shirt leans into the Kia and grabs Ashley but she screams and kicks at him, refusing to be kidnapped. Removing a terrified/furious redhead from the back seat of a Kia Soul is a pretty difficult thing for a criminal to do. The only thing I could think of more challenging would be trying to chloroform a vampire. Do kidnappers actually do that or does the sleepy rag over the mouth thing only happen in movies?

“Which one is it?” shouts Mad Max.

“No idea,” yells Hoodie, right in my ear.

“Get off me!” I shout, before ramming my elbow backward into his chest.

Crunch.

He lets out a wail of agony as a rib or two breaks. His grip around my body slackens, and I easily pull him off like a cheap sweater and throw him like fifteen feet away. Hoodie lands in a tumbling roll and lays there on his face, moaning.

I’m about to feel like a badass, but a one-inch wooden shaft rams into my chest with a squishy pthonk noise, hard enough that when it stops against my spine, a jolt kicks the base of my skull.

“Ow. Shit!” I yell.

My whole body goes limp. I crumple over backward and land flat, staring up at the stars with a wooden rod sticking out of me.

Yeah, this feels unpleasant.

“Sarah!” shrieks Ashley.

The guy attacking her drags her out of the car by her hair. She spins to get away, but he wraps his arms around her.

“It’s the brunette!” yells Mad Max. “Get the others away from the creature before it explodes in a fireball!”

“Asshole!” Michelle shouts, “Let go of me!”

“Stop fighting. I’m trying to help you,” yells the van driver.

Black-T shirt emits a high-pitched yowling squeal. I’m pretty sure Ashley just punched him in the balls.

“Creature’s neutralized,” says Mad Max, walking up to me, his empty crossbow held up in one hand as if he’s some kind of trophy hunter.

I shift my gaze down to examine the stake protruding from between my breasts. “I’ve never had a guy put his wood there before. But my ex wanted to.”

The guy sputters.

“You staked me,” I say, deadpan, and roll my eyes. “Seriously?” It occurs to me I’m not paralyzed. I think that might’ve hurt so much I fainted. Or at least did the closest thing a vampire can do to fainting.

Mad Max’s eyes widen enough that I half expect them to fall out.

I sit up and grab the stake. Oh, that sucker’s in there deep. Wiggling it grates the point against my spine. Ugh, that’s disgusting. I can hear the wood rubbing up against bone since the vibration runs right up into my skull. With a faint grunt, I twist and pull the stake out. Cool air invades the hole it left behind. The rod’s about a foot long, one inch thick, sharpened to a point, though the tip’s flattened a bit from hitting me. And, oh yeah, my blood coats like the first five inches of it.

And I thought the ice cream felt weird on the way out.

The guy scrambles to pull another stake off his post-apocalyptic vest.

“I can’t believe you actually shot me with a stake-crossbow.” I peer down at my chest, and notice the head of the little chibi anime girl on my T-shirt is gone, a hole in its place. Oh, now I’m pissed. “Dammit! My kid sister gave me this shirt for Christmas!”

Mad Max screams as I float up off the road and fly at him. He scrambles to backpedal, but I easily overtake him and tear the second stake from his hand before ramming it into his right thigh so deep the point comes out the back of his leg. Screaming, he careens over backward and I snag the crossbow out of his grip. While he lays there writhing in pain, I smash the weapon over my leg, twisting until it comes apart in two pieces, which I throw as hard as I can into the woods beside the road. Distant thumps echo back a few seconds later.

“You are a total asshole!” I shout, then spin to point at Black T-Shirt. “Get the hell off my friend. Or the next stake is going into a body cavity.”

He limps away from Ashley, cradling his groin. Van Driver abandons his effort to ‘drag Michelle to safety,’ and runs around the back end, heading straight for me. At a glint of metal in his hand, I tilt my head, eyebrows together. Seriously?

Only, it’s not a knife… he’s got a crucifix.

“Begone!” yells Van Driver. He shoves his savior-on-a-stick in my face while slinging water at me and reciting something in Latin.

I sigh at the clouds. “Really? Did you guys just watch a bad movie and decide to become vampire hunters?”

A faint sense of cold in my chest tells me I’ve got new skin where my shirt’s sporting a hole. Ignoring the continuing splash of water from a small plastic bottle, I examine the spot. Wow. That closed up pretty quick.

“Away, fiend!” yells Van Driver.

“Really dude? What are you doing?” I swat the bottle out of his hand. “Stop that. It’s really annoying.”

Mad Max rolls back and forth on the road next to the van, grabbing the stake sticking out of his leg and groaning in pain.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?”

Ashley flings herself at Black T-Shirt, punching and kicking at him while he mostly tries to guard his balls.

Van Driver raises his gold crucifix. “In the name of Jesus I―”

I swipe the crucifix from his grip so fast my arm blurs. “Hmm. This is pretty, even if it is kinda morbid to carry a statue of a dead guy around. You guys seriously need to bone up on vampire lore.”

He stares at me, dumbfounded.

I grab van driver by a fistful of shirt and pull him close. “I guess that was supposed to be holy water. Doesn’t work. But…” I glance off in thought while holding the guy up off his feet by one hand. “I suppose maybe if the vampire’s particularly evil, it might do something.”

“You’re all evil!” rasps Van Driver.

Black T-Shirt wails as Ashley’s foot finds testicles for the third time.

“No…” I nod toward her. “That’s evil. And, you owe me for one hole through my chest.”

He screams for half a second―probably expecting me to rip his throat out―until I overpower his mind, giving him a brief trip to derpville. He stares vacantly into space as I clamp my fangs onto the side of his neck. Ugh. His blood tastes like those crappy bland-as-hell cookies old people like, the ones that come in tins, with a hint of plain tea. That’s gotta be the churchiness. Reminds me of Dad’s mom. She always puts those nasty cookies out. I love her to death, but blargh woman! Learn what chocolate chips are.

Ashley walks up behind him, staring at me in awe. “Wow, you bit him.”

I mumble, trying to say, “He shot me,” but the sound coming out of me doesn’t form words.

“It’s rude to talk with your mouth full.” Ashley shakes her head. She watches me drink for a few seconds before saying, “Umm… That guy you threw off the road is limping up behind you.”

Still drinking, I roll my eyes and sigh out my nose.

“I got it,” chirps Ashley with a smile. She darts around me. “Stop.”

“Outta the way, kid. I can’t let the fiend kill Mike.” He grunts like he’s trying to shove her out of the way, but his broken ribs give her the strength advantage.

Michelle approaches me with her phone out. “Should I or should I not call the police?”

Ashley, Hoodie, and Mad Max all say, “No cops!” at the same time.

I would have too, but my mouth is full.

Black T-Shirt continues to meep while cradling his groin.

Mad Max struggles to his feet, still clutching the stake protruding from his thigh. After a few tentative tugs fails to dislodge it, he leans one arm on the van for support and shambles toward me. “Don’t kill him…”

I hold up a ‘one sec’ finger at him. After a few more gulps, I close the bite wound off and let go. Dammit I’m gonna be tasting those cookies for the next three hours, and I’ll probably wind up thinking of this moron the next time we’re at Grandma’s. At least I don’t feel hungry anymore. “Ahh. Much better.” The lightest push at his chest sends Van Driver, uhh, Mike, over backward. “I’m not going to kill him, even though you shot me.”

“But… you’re a vampire.” Mad Max blinks at me.

“And you’re a total douche, but that doesn’t mean I should ram a broom handle into your heart.” I grab him by the vest and shake him back and forth. “You ruined my favorite T-shirt. I ought to break your face.”

Ashley makes a fist at Hoodie, who flinches back as she yells, “I don’t need saving. She’s my friend! I’ve known her since fifth grade!”

“How could you guys wanna kill her?” Michelle throws an arm around me. “She’s totes adorbs.”

“Since when did you start using phrases like ‘totes adorbs,’ Miss Law School?” I ask.

“I’d laugh, but I’m too pissed off.” Michelle scowls at her Kia.

I gesture at the back of her car. “At least there’s no damage.”

“He broke my effing window! My father’s going to kill me!” yells Michelle.

“We’ll come up with a story for the window. No one’s going to believe vampire hunters.”

Michelle folds her arms. “He’s not gonna believe any BS we come up with.”

I wink. “Sure he will.”

She stares at me, arguing with herself for a few seconds before gesturing at Mad Max. “What about his leg?”

“Oh. Sorry. That’s a nasty splinter.” I snatch the stake and pull it out.

The guy howls in pain and falls on his ass.

“You’re Queen of Camelot now,” says Ashley.

“That’s sword in a stone, not stake in a dumbass,” mutters Michelle.

“You should probably get that looked at. Oh, and…” I squat beside him and stare into his eyes. “Give me your wallet.”

He mechanically pulls it out and hands it over.

“You’re robbing the guy?” asks Michelle?

“No. He ruined the shirt Sierra gave me last Christmas. He’s going to replace it.” I pop it open and pull out a twenty-dollar bill as well as a fiver. “He’s only paying for what he damaged.”

“What about my window?” asks Michelle.

“Anything official is going to trace back to this guy and his story about vampires.” I flip the wallet closed and toss it back to him.

Ashley gasps. “I know! Just tell him it was smashed when we came out of the theater.”

“Okay.” Michelle nods. “That works, and it won’t require messing with his head.”

Mad Max puts his wallet away.

“Now,” I say, gazing into his eyes. “You and your friends are going to leave me alone. When handling crossbows, you ought to be more careful so you don’t shoot yourself in the leg again. And vampires aren’t real. Geez. What are you, twelve?”

Mad Max laughs. “Yeah, vampires, hah. What makes you think I believe that stuff?”

I smile. “Oh, and one more thing. The next time you see Girl Scouts selling cookies, you will want to buy a hundred bucks worth of Thin Mints.”

“Thin Mints,” moans the guy like a zombie.

Ashley covers her mouth with both hands, giggling.

“Dude, you totally possessed Terry,” says Hoodie.

“Possession implies control or inhabitation.” I spin to face him. “I didn’t do that at all.”

Hoodie goes blank-faced as I remove his memory of our little meeting… and of vampires being real. While I’m in his head, I realize he’s the jackass who had been stalking me at the carnival, too. Yeah, that’s a memory he doesn’t need to keep. My thought surgery leaves him staring into the ninth dimension, so I toss him in the van and head over to where Mike remains laid out on the road between the van and Kia. “Oh, this is yours.” I squat beside him and tuck the crucifix back in his jean pocket before grabbing two fistfuls of his shirt, pulling him up to make eye contact. “Vampires aren’t real, and we never met.”

Still in a fog from my earlier whammy, he doesn’t react with anything more than a slight increase in drool. After tossing him in the van on top of Hoodie like a bag of cat litter, I stalk toward Black T-Shirt.

He sees me coming and scrambles to his feet, running off into the woods while shrieking.

Oh, that’s cute.

A short flight lets me drop down in front of him.

The guy screams like a teenage girl from a horror movie.

“Ash, I think you kicked this one too hard,” I yell.

Her loud laugh echoes back from the distant road.

“Nooooo!” yells the guy, darting to the side.

I spring at him, grabbing him with one hand around the throat and lifting him off the ground. We fly, me shoving him backward by the neck, until we crash into a tree. The instant I stare into his eyes, he wets himself. Oh, dude, really? Eww. Standing at arm’s length, I overwrite his memory of tonight, and do my damndest to make him forget vampires are real. He faints as soon as I drop the mental link. Great. I stoop and grab the back of his belt, then drag him by it back to the road.

Michelle, crouching behind her car, checks over the bumper.

“How bad is it?” I ask, right before tossing the guy in on top of his pals.

“A few scuff marks, but no cracks or anything.” Michelle snarls.

“I’d offer to dent their van but it’s older than I am, and I don’t think they’d notice.”

Michelle stands and shakes her head. “Not worth it. Let’s just get outta here.”

A tickle itches at the back of my throat. I cough, but it won’t go anywhere. Ugh, that’s annoying. Please don’t tell me I’m getting a cold. Wait. Can vampires get colds? I rub the front of my throat while walking to the Kia.

“Yeah,” I croak. “Good idea.”

Too Much Information

12

Ashley pounce-hugs me before I can get in. “Holy shit, Sare. You had like this huge thing sticking out of you.”

“Yeah… I’m over it.”

“Aww. Your shirt,” says Ashley, pouting. “It was so cute.”

I’m half-tempted to go back over there and kick that guy again. “I’ll get another one before Sierra notices.”

“What happened to the…” Ashley sticks her finger in the hole and traces the circle on my skin. “Umm, piece.”

“No idea. How the hell does a pointy stake act like a hole punch?” I scowl.

She keeps tracing the hole and starts feeling around the side of my boob.

“Umm, Ash?” I ask.

“Hmm?” She makes eye contact, looking confused.

“Your fingers are drifting. Wound’s a few inches back the other way.”

Ashley looks at my chest again. “Oops.”

“Your hand’s still in my shirt.”

“Probably ripped it,” says Michelle. “Look on the road. It probably came out your back.”

I shake my head. “Nope. Didn’t go all the way through me.”

“Are you sure?” asks Michelle. “Not like you can see your back.”

“It stopped”―I cough on the scratchy tickle in my throat―“It hit my spine and stopped.”

She cringes.

“Sorry.” Ashley pokes at where the stake had been for a little while more, then lowers her arm. “Your skin is so soft. I’m kinda jealous.”

“Yeah.” I smirk. “It’s truly to die for.”

Michelle groans.

“At least I know who was following me. The guy in the hoodie was the same guy from the movie theater. Saw him at the carnival, too.”

“Carnival?” asks Michelle from inside the car. “And get in so we can get the hell out of here before the derp you hit them with wears off.”

Ashley and I climb in. Michelle accelerates before I even close my door. We all stare at the mirrors for a few minutes, until we’re confident cops aren’t going to come out of nowhere. Once we relax―as much as one can relax after such an experience―I tell them about my trip to the carnival with Hunter, coughing and rubbing my neck every few seconds. The feeling of something dry and icky in the back of my throat gets worse, and maddening.

“Ugh.” I gag. “I’m half tempted to cut my neck open.”

“What is it?” asks Ashley.

“Something”―I cough into gagging―“Something, uhh, stuck in my throat.”

No longer able to stand the sensation, I open my mouth and jam my finger in as deep as I can. My fingertip brushes a foreign object… and also sets off my vomit reflex. I lurch forward, retching. After dry heaving a few times, I spit out a small patch of bloody fabric with a cute anime girl face on it.

Ashley cracks up.

“Oh, no. No. No. No.” Michelle looks away, waving me off. “Put that thing out of my sight before I throw up all over my car.”

“At least you didn’t lose it,” says Ashley between giggles.

I stuff it into my pocket. “Wow has my life gone off the rails. Random guys want to show me their wood, and she’s laughing about it.”

Michelle cracks a grin while Ashley laughs harder, to the point it sounds like she might stop breathing.

“You said that on purpose.” Michelle smirks.

“Yep.” I grin, but sigh as soon as she’s no longer looking at me.

My friends are amused that someone stabbed me in the heart―again. And I’m freaking out that I’m not freaking out, if that makes any sense.

“Hey,” says Ashley. “Where do vampire hunters go for dinner?”

I groan. Before she can answer, I blurt, “A stake house.”

“Aww.” She swats my shoulder.

“You’re awful. Both of you.” Michelle chuckles.

With an almost-genuine smile, I recline in my seat and pull out my iPhone. Wonder if this shirt is on Amazon. Pretty sure it is. Otherwise, I’ll have to ask Mom where she took Sierra to get it. A few minutes of searching later, I get lucky and find it. Order placed, I put my phone away and sigh in relief. Am I going to have to confine myself to wearing clothing that I won’t miss when it gets ripped apart and soaked in blood? First Scott shreds that dress, now this?

We arrive at my place without further incident. I walk in to find my parents in the living room watching Sierra and Sam wallop each other around in a video game. Sophia’s stretched out with her head resting on Mom’s leg, face buried in her Kindle.

Dad looks up from an enormous book as we’re all ditching our shoes. “Hi, girls. Have fun at the movies?”

I twist around to glance behind us.

“What are you looking for?” asks Dad.

“The cameraman. When did we become a sitcom?”

Michelle snickers.

“Huh?” Dad stares at me.

I tug my hoodie closed over the hole in my shirt, trying to act casual. “’Hi girls, have fun at the movies’ sounds like something a TV dad would ask.”

“Or a serious nerd,” says Sierra, grinning.

“Well, you two must be mine then. You’re serious, and your sister’s a nerd.” Dad winks at Sophia.

“Guilty,” says Sophia.

“Be right back,” I say as I dart for the kitchen and the stairs down to my room.

Having the awesome speed, reflexes, and strength of a vampire lets me do amazing and powerful things… like change out of a blood-soaked shirt before Mom notices. I race down to my bedroom and pull off my ruined favorite tee and bury it in the pile of ‘for the wash’ laundry in the corner. Might as well liberate the girls from the bra while I’m at it. I grab the first replacement I can reach, a beige babydoll top with pleats down to my thighs, then head back upstairs. It feels so good not to have that torture device strapped around my chest, I stand in the hall a moment, enjoying the freedom. Oh, cool! My body is frozen in time. I don’t have to worry about getting saggy in my old age if I skip wearing bras more often.

Dad decides to overdo the nerdiness by whipping out a board game and inviting my friends to join us. Aww hell, why not?

I have to guilt Michelle into playing, but Ashley’s been a fixture so long she’s the first one dragging a chair over to the dining room table. For the next like two hours, we sit around playing Descent, which is basically like that roleplaying stuff my dad likes but in board game form. Everyone gets a character, and there’s a dungeon map, and monsters.

Sam’s super into it, too. He spends most of the time looking like a tiny general overseeing his troops, as if one wrong move would bring about nuclear Armageddon. Sophia, much to Michelle’s astonishment, knows the rules even better than Dad. Sierra loves roleplaying games too, but only the computer ones. The board game winds up being a middle ground, though she keeps giving me the squinty eye whenever I roll dice.

“I’m not cheating,” I say. “I’m not that fast. If I caught the dice and changed them in midair, you’d see the blur.”

“You can do that?” Ashley blinks at me, mouth agape.

I shrug. “No idea. Never tried.”

Everyone stares at me.

“Fine.” I sigh, and grab three dice.

I’ve gotten the hang of tapping my enhanced reflexes, so it’s pretty easy to accelerate myself after I toss the little plastic cubes in the air. As fast as I can possibly move, I snatch each of the gradually falling dice one by one in midair and turn them so they land on sixes. The first bounces off to a four, but two stay on six.

“Okay, did you guys see that?”

“Yeah.” Sierra nods. “You blurred.”

Sam blinks in awe. “That was awesome!”

“And way obvious,” says Sophia.

“Wow.” Ashley pats me on the shoulder.

So, with my non-cheating firmly established, the game continues.

Sam and Sophia are yawning like mad by the time the game’s almost done. Mom and Dad don’t chase them off to bed―hey, it is summer after all―but as soon as the game is clearly over, they both run around hugging everyone before trudging upstairs to crash. Sierra heads back to the PlayStation in the living room.

“Young lady, it’s after ten,” says Mom.

She peers back over her shoulder with a look that makes me expect her sarcasm machine to open up on full blast, but to my surprise, she says, “Just putting it away.”

“Oh.” Mom yawns. “Sorry.”

Sierra kneels and packs the PlayStation back into the cabinet. “Your suspicions are based on historic observations. If I wasn’t ready to pass out, I would’ve started playing.”

“Going downstairs,” I say.

“Are you in for the night?” asks Dad.

“Yeah, probably. Grabbed a bite on our way home. Oops.” I spin to face Michelle. “I left the food in your back seat.”

She chucks me her keys.

“Dibs,” yells Sierra. “Tomorrow.”

I run out to the Kia and grab the foam box.

“What is it?” asks Sierra when I return.

“Tipsy Cow. Burger and fries. It’ll be in the fridge. Whoever gets it first.”

Michelle and Ashley follow me into the kitchen, wait while I stash the burger, and head down to my new room.

“Since when did you move your room to the basement?” asks Michelle.

I stick my fangs out at her while making a sarcastic face.

“Oh, right.” She biffs herself in the forehead.

“Whoa,” says Ashley, looking around. “It’s kinda different and the same all at once.”

Michelle pokes the printout of a sunny backyard window on the cinder block wall. “Nice touch.”

Staring at the overly green summer afternoon makes me sigh. My mother took that picture like the second or third day I’d been home after waking up as a vampire. Probably while I still slept straight to sunset. “I asked Mom for that before I knew I could tolerate the sun in small doses. Thought I’d never see daylight again.”

“Aww.” Ashley hugs me from behind.

“I mean, I guess that’s technically true. If it’s that bright outside, it’ll probably roast me.”

Ashley giggles, pointing at my bed. “Oh wow. You took out Flopsy’s Army.”

Michelle raises an eyebrow.

I blush. “Umm. Yeah.”

“Forgot how cute they were.” Ashley sits on the bed. “But you should probably stick them in the closet before you bring Hunter down here. They’ll totally kill the mood.”

“Just a little,” mutters Michelle. “But they are cute.” She squints at me. “You do look younger. Are you like still going backwards? You gonna like keep going ’til you look like Sierra? You know stuffed animals may be an early warning sign that your cuteness is out of control.”

“Might be time for an intervention,” says Ashley, her face mushed into the head of Flopsy the stuffed rabbit.

Hey, I was like six when I named it. And his ears are super floppy.

“Ha. Ha,” I say.

I’ve got a TV in my room, nowhere near as grand as the living room screen, but we can be louder down here without getting in trouble. Even more so than had we been in my old bedroom upstairs. Michelle pulls up Netflix and picks Monkeybone.

We mostly hang out and talk, occasionally distracted by the movie. Michelle’s stressed out about school, but it’s still July. Ashley flits from topic to topic at random as she usually does. Her cat, her mom, she might get a summer job but doesn’t know what she wants to do, she’s happy I’m still here, dude you could’ve totally killed those four losers, and so on.

Other than the occasional mention of vampire stuff, chilling in my room with my friends feels nice and normal. Worse than the fangs, however, is the specter of the future hanging over me. I hate that I’m only eighteen and I’m having thoughts like ‘ugh we’re going to be adults soon.’ Is that coming from dying and getting back up, or would I be this square normally? I’ve gotta be some kinda dork to think like that. The summer of being eighteen is supposed to be the last hurrah of childhood before the falling anvil of responsibilities crushes the coyote into the desert.

Really, why the heck am I even worrying about this? I am basically an eternal child. Work? Yeah right. If I even could find a job that wouldn’t kill me by requiring I go outside during the day, it’s not like I’d really even need a job to get money. Anything I need, I can command people to give me or use my abilities to take. Not that I plan on going crazy with it.

Anyway… I bonk myself on the side of the head a couple times like I’m trying to get a non-cooperating engine to start up. Right now, I want to be a carefree teen. Enjoy my friends while they’re still here kinda stuff.

A little after midnight, Michelle stands with a huge yawn. “I gotta go. I’ll catch hell if I get in the door much later than this.”

“Okay.”

After a three-way hug, I walk her up to the front porch.

“Drive safe.”

“I will.”

Nothing moves in the shadows to chase her, so I’ll call that a win. The luck I’m having, I’m half expecting werewolves to attack me next. I shut the door after she drives out of the cul-de-sac, and make my way back downstairs. Chiming from the Netflix browse screen greets me when I arrive back in my room, Ashley scrolling around titles.

“Hey,” she says.

I flop down on the floor next to her.

“You tired?”

“Hah. Yeah right.”

She grins. “I’m not either.”

Oh, shit. She did spend a really long time with Aurélie. I lean close and sniff her neck. Whew… still warm blood pumping there.

“What?” Ashley giggles, cringing. “Are you doing?”

“Just making sure you’re still alive.”

She sticks her tongue out at me. “I don’t wanna be a vampire. At least not yet. Maybe later after I have a kid or two.”

“You gonna find a guy and have them or a girl and adopt?”

Ashley shrugs. “Maybe both. I wanna have at least one that’s mine, but adopting’s a thought. I could do that as a vamp.”

“I’m not making you into a vampire.” I poke her in the side. “Besides. I don’t even know how to do it. No one has showed me that.”

She picks Original Sin, probably to ogle Antonio Banderas. Still, that’s better than a horror movie. Ashley always winds up screaming too loud and causing Dad to come pound on the door and yell at us. We migrate onto the bed, sitting with our backs propped up against the wall. Looking at my bare feet sticking out the legs of my jeans makes me think back to how we used to paint each other’s nails. Wow… what were we, like ten or eleven then? Mom didn’t let me touch cosmetics until fifteen, but nail polish was okay. The first time I saw Ashley, she had black fingernails with little silver pentagrams on them. Or at least a ten-year-old’s best attempt at drawing tiny pentagrams. She’d done a good enough job for it to be the last straw that got her expelled from Catholic school.

That, of course, had been her goal.

Maybe it had been the nice close-up view she gave one of the nuns of her middle fingernail. Though, I think Ashley made that part up to impress me. She’d never have had the nerve to flip off a nun, not at ten. Maybe not even now.

We sit in the dark for a while watching the movie until it hits a steamy scene.

Ashley’s cheeks flush to match her hair color.

Best not to embarrass her more by letting on that I noticed. Given the dim light, a non-vampire most likely wouldn’t have.

The mood in the air gets awkward after another minute or two.

“Aurélie showed me some stuff,” says Ashley. “All sorts of stuff I never even dreamed people could do.”

“Umm…”

“I’m scared.”

That catches me off guard. I put a hand on her shoulder, concerned. “Of Aurélie?”

“No.” She turns her head to look at me. “Of never finding anyone who can make me feel like she did. I mean, I know she’s like a super old vampire and she’s had more sex than even God, so she knows every trick, but…”

“It’s pretty unfair to use her as any sort of comparison. No normal person is going to have a chance.”

“I don’t know why I did that.”

“Did what?”

She fidgets. “Wanted to go into her bedroom.”

“Do you think she compelled you?”

Ashley shrugs one shoulder. “No. It doesn’t really feel like I did anything I didn’t want to do. It’s more like I got way drunk and did something I fantasized about, but would never do for real. You know, like kiss you.”

I bite my lip.

She looks back at me and reaches up to brush my hair off my face. “I mean, you always say you’re so plain, but you’re really pretty. You’re too critical of yourself. And now, you’re like way cute. I don’t know if I want to make out with you or adopt you.”

I emit the bastard offspring of an “Umm” and a chuckle. “Thanks?”

“Ever since that night with Aurélie, I can’t stop thinking about sex. I mean I was at Safeway with my mom last week and I saw this cucumber and I…”

“You didn’t.” I gasp.

“Oh, heck no.” She shakes her head. “I just thought about the shape and almost fell ’cause my knees wanted to give out. It was so embarrassing being all turned on and stuff right next to my mom.”

Warmth spreads over my cheeks.

“What are you blushing for?” Ashley giggles.

“That’s so embarrassing, I’m mortified even hearing it happened to you.”

She looks up, her bright blue eyes sparkling with desire. “Red looks good on you.” Her hand alights on my knee and creeps up over my thigh.

I squirm. “Umm. Ash…”

Her hand freezes. A second later, she blinks at me as if snapping out of a trance. “Oh, shit.” She pulls her hand back and curls up in a ball. “Whoa. Sarah, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I guess I’m still revved up from Aurélie. Sorry for jumping back like you burned me. You’re totally pretty, but we’re like beyond best friends and I think my brain’s having trouble dealing with those two ideas crashing into each other.”

“It’s all right.” I put an arm around her back. “I think Aurélie’s power hit you really hard.”

Ashley lifts her face away from her knees and gives me a sheepish look. “What power?”

“She’s obsessed with being pretty, and she uses it to control people around her. It’s so strong it even works on other vampires. She gives off this like ‘love me’ energy. I felt it, too. She’s got to put effort into not affecting people.”

Ashley whistles. “Wow. What’s it like if she tries to hammer someone with it?”

“I have no idea and I’m not sure I want to know.”

“Sorry I keep getting turned on being around you. I hate making you uncomfortable.”

Looking at the clock and seeing 1:44 a.m. still makes me want to yawn even though I’m wide awake. Wonder how long it’ll take me to think of it like 1:44 p.m. “It’s fine, Ash. You’re going through some really complicated emotional crap right now. Though, if I was Aurélie’s age, I’d probably be so bored with sex I’d experiment with girls, too.”

“Sorry. Forgot you’re straight.”

I poke her in the side. “How do you forget that?”

She shoots me a flat look. “I got turned on by produce. That’s not normal.”

“Kinda gives new meaning to vegging out with the boyfriend, but it’s good you’re trying to, umm, squash, those desires.”

For that, I get a pillow across the face.

We laugh ourselves to tears, and spend the next few minutes behaving like tweens walloping each other with pillows.

When the giggling subsides, I grab her in a headlock. “It’s more than the straight thing. It’s too weird because we’ve known each other so long. You’re like my sister. ”

She attacks my ribs, tickling. I squeal and lose my grip. Before she can jump on my leg and tickle my foot, I blur backward, leaving her diving face first into empty mattress.

“Hey, no fair!” she wails, then rolls onto her back and cracks up again.

I cheat again, grabbing her ankle faster than she can react, and tickling her foot.

Peals of laughter turn into sobbing. Alarmed, I let go and crawl up to look her in the eye. “What’s wrong?”

She wraps her arms around me. “You almost died! And I saw it. And I just sat there doing nothing.”

“Ash.” I grab her cheeks in both hands. “Look at me. And no, I’m not going to play with your head.”

Her gaze focuses on mine.

“Scott killed me instantly. Dalton was watching, too. A vampire. He couldn’t move fast enough to stop it. It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have done anything.”

Sniffling, she nods.

“Say it. Say it’s not my fault.”

Her lip twitches.

“Don’t make me compel you to accept it.” I grin.

“It’s not my fault,” she mumbles.

I hug her tight. “Please believe that. There’s nothing you could’ve done. Besides, I’m still here.”

“But you can’t go to the beach anymore.”

“Ash. Really. How often did we ever go to the beach?”

She shrugs. “I dunno.”

“Twice. In eight years.”

“Really?”

I nod in a slow, exaggerated manner. “Yes. We both hated the sand.”

“But you’re…”

“I’m what?” I ask. “What can’t I do now that we always did?”

“Go outside when it’s super bright.”

Sitting back, I fold my arms and smirk. “And how often did we go out and do stuff?”

“Okay, okay. It feels different and bad, and I don’t know why.”

“I think it’s the trauma of watching him attack me. Do you want to forget it?”

“Umm.” Ashley peers through a curtain of red hair, staring at me for a few minutes before her head shakes ever so slightly. “No… I gotta figure out how to deal with it.”

“Maybe you’re just afraid we’re growing up.”

She purses her lips. “Could be. Or I’m ashamed of myself for having a crush on you. Did you know there’s stories of people who met like in third grade, lived close to each other, and wound up getting married?”

“I think I saw a post about that. That’s so cute.”

“Yeah.”

I reach over and part her hair off her face, tucking it behind her ears. “Are you like really in love with me?”

“I can’t tell.” She bites her lip. “If I was, would it go anywhere?”

Deep breath time. “I do love you, a lot, as a best friend-slash-sister. If you’re like really messed up in love with me, maybe we could try something, but I’m terrified. I’d be totally wrecked if things went wrong and ruined our friendship.”

Tears roll down her face, but she smiles and lunges into a (totally innocent) hug. “Thank you.”

“For?” I ask.

“Caring enough about me that you don’t want to hurt me.” She sniffles, then laughs. “You’re right. It would be too weird. I’d be really trashed if we ever had a fight and stopped talking to each other.”

“Yeah, that would kill me more than Scott’s knife.”

She leans back and gawks.

“What? That’s just physical death. Emotional death is way worse.”

Ashley gets choked up for a little while, but she smiles the whole time. “My head’s still spinning from that woman. Holy cow. Maybe I should date a dude for a while. But nothing will ever compare to Aurélie. She had this soft rope and did this thing with her tongue, and when she―”

“Too much information.” I hold up the TMI hand.

She tries to continue, but I put ‘TMI hand’ over her mouth until she cracks up.

“Wow, it’s late.” She glances at the clock. “I’m overtired and getting silly. Mind if I crash here tonight? I’m too out of it to walk home.”

Ashley only lives like three houses down past the end of the cul-de-sac, but randomly sleeping at each other’s place is an old habit of ours. Not to mention, I can tell she wants to be with me. She hasn’t quite recovered from her grief over hearing I had died.

“Sure,” I say. “But I’m gonna be up for a while.”

Lifting Spirits

13

Ashley and I have shared a bed many times since we became friends, always innocently. Tonight’s no different. Well, it’s a little different. We’re not chattering away keeping my parents or her mom awake and getting yelled at. She’s out cold and I’m not. Since I’m not even close to passing out, I fly straight up, glide sideways over her, and land in my desk chair with my feet up.

This situation requires information, so I call Aurélie.

“Oh, Bonjour mon chéri!” she chimes. “It is a pleasure to hear from you. How are things?”

“Interesting…” I fill her in on the vampire hunters, which sets her off laughing.

“They must have been quite new if they tried to stake one such as you,” she says between giggles.

“Umm. Dalton said stakes don’t work at all. Is that wrong?”

“A properly-prepared witchwood stake can immobilize a Shadow or a Beast, or so I’ve heard. Otherwise, he’s mostly correct.”

“Hmm. I’m no expert, but something tells me a bunch of guys who make a stake-chucking crossbow probably aren’t into witchwood and mysticism.”

She laughs. “You dealt with them well.”

“Question. Do I radiate any kind of charm power?”

“It is possible,” says Aurélie. “I have heard of Innocents having that ability, but it is neither as strong as mine nor quite the same.”

My turn to laugh, though quietly. “I doubt many vampires are as strong as you at charming people.”

“Aww, you say the sweetest things.” She air-kisses at me.

“So if I do have it, how would I know?”

“The Innocents I’ve heard of with radiant charms were able to project an air of inconspicuousness or harmlessness.”

“So, when my dad tells me not to abuse my powers of cuteness, he could be more than metaphorical?”

She giggles.

“Can I ask you something more awkward?” I whisper.

“Of course, chéri.”

I describe how Ashley’s been on sexy-time overdrive for the past two weeks. “It’s really weird seeing her like that. Did something happen? Even by accident?”

“Your friend is a most unusual mix of shy and adventurous. Inside, she wants things, but she is afraid to admit it to herself.”

Great. That much I already figured out. Not going to say that to Aurélie though. “Hmm. But she’s never really acted like this before.”

“Perhaps my presence may have left the poor girl a bit flustered.”

Massive understatement is also apparently one of her vampiric superpowers. “Yeah, a bit.”

“The changes you’re seeing in her should fade soon. It’s a mere aftereffect of feeding. The longer we are around, the stronger our bite becomes. Those upon whom we feed can become more like us for a short while.”

What? She bit Ash! I glance over at my best friend. She looks so innocent asleep, hearing Aurélie admit she fed off her pisses me off like someone casually mentioned throwing one of my little siblings out a third story window. I leap to my feet, ready to scream into the phone, but manage to hold myself back. Eyes closed, I shiver with rage. Most likely, Ashley gave her permission to bite―though given her mental state at the time, I could question the validity of her consent. Also, it’s probably not a great idea to piss off a woman who might very well be the oldest vampire in the area, especially since she seems to like me.

I grit my teeth and scowl at the ceiling.

“You are quite protective of your friend,” says Aurélie. “That is so heartwarming.” She emits a wistful sigh. “Please know it did her no harm, but if it plagues you to think about, I do not need to feed from her again.”

Did she read my mind over the phone, or was my long silence telling enough? “Umm, thanks.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and pace around. “Yeah, I guess it doesn’t really make sense for me to feel weird about it, but thank you.”

“I understand more than you think I do, chéri,” says Aurélie. “You’re struggling with how to regard people. The vampire part of you views them as a food source, essentially cows. But your true nature still sees them as people, especially your friends.”

My legs give out and I sink into my desk chair, staring at Ashley. “Wow… yeah.”

“There is another way to look at it, one I often embrace. People do not always eat for mere sustenance.”

“What, like chocolate cake?”

She giggles. “Perhaps somewhat. But if you are sharing a romantic moment with a mortal, and you feed from them in that moment, it can be like a joining of souls. Far beyond making a simple meal of them, a true act of intimacy. So, I hope you don’t think I regarded your dear friend as a steak dinner.”

I bite my lip, feeling guilty. “I did, but I didn’t understand.”

“That’s all right dear. You’re still a baby among our kind.”

“Yeah.”

We talk for a little while, and Aurélie invites me to a ‘thing’ she’s having next week, though suggests I not bring Ashley or Michelle with me. I know it’s going to involve my playing the part of living doll while the woman dresses me up in some frilly monstrosity. As much as I cringe at the thought, I agree to go. Still, it’s going to feel like a family gathering with a bunch of distant, boring relatives who appear out of nowhere once every few years and I can’t really stand―with the added discomfort of formal wear. Like it or not, I am a vampire and I should probably attempt a passable effort to insert myself into ‘the scene.’

Aurélie makes idle chitchat for a while more, and we get off the phone at a couple minutes to five in the morning. The Internet helps me kill boredom until it gets close enough to sunrise that I crawl back in bed. Dawn’s approach triggers an increasing sense of heaviness in my body. Over the course of two minutes, I go from feeling dizzy, to sluggish, to like I’ve got a heavy flu (minus the head cold), to Ashley disappearing and the clock jumping to 2:19 p.m.

I groan and sit up. The strange yellow blur in my vision makes sense when I try to rub my eyes and find a Post-It note affixed to my forehead.

Felt weird hanging out here with you sleeping, so I went home. CU soon.

-Ash

Oh, okay. Wow. I totally didn’t notice her climb over me to get out.

Faint giggling tells me my siblings are running around outside in the yard. Intermittent Sophia squeals can only mean cold water in the form of a lawn sprinkler. Well, that’s one thing I’ll never do again. Though, honestly, I’m a bit old for that, but it would be nice to hang out with my family and watch them having fun.

When I approach the door out of my room, I get this uneasy sense of warning that probably means it’s a really bright day out there and opening the door will be bad. I snag my iPhone off the nightstand and check the weather app. It’s showing an unusual eighty-one degrees and sunny. Ugh. Yeah that’s my butt turning into charcoal. Dammit. This completely sucks. Being awake but essentially trapped in my room is going to get old fast. Either Sam or Sierra wouldn’t mind it. Plop either one of them down in front of a computer and they can sit still all day, just like Dad.

I should try to talk Dad into putting tint on the basement windows so I have a little more range of motion on bright-as-hell days.

A string of texts from Hunter pops up on my phone. He starts off asking what’s up, and moves from ‘you there’ to eventually appearing to think I no longer want to see him. Ugh. Guess he didn’t get the memo about me being nonfunctional early in the morning. So, I do the best thing possible, and call him.

“Hey,” he asks, nerves clear in his voice. “What’s going on?”

“You remember all that stuff I told you about?”

“Yeah.”

“You sent me seventeen texts during the time I’m sleeping. I wasn’t ignoring you.”

He exhales. “Oh… duh. Right. Sorry. Been nuts here and I’m kinda losing my mind. Hey wait. How are you awake now?”

“Side perk. Doesn’t do me much good today though. Too bright out. I’m stuck in my room.”

“Yeah, it’s hot. No clouds at all.” Hunter chuckles. “Don’t worry, it won’t last long. This is Seattle.”

“Right.” I flop on the bed.

We chat for a while about random stuff. Apparently, his mother and little brother both think he got into a big fight with his father and kicked him out. His kid brother is in awe, and Hunter’s thinking of taking some kind of martial art classes in case he ever has to really do something like that. No sense me telling him about the ‘vampire hunters’ since, officially, that never happened.

My door opens, letting in an inferno blast of light. I’m only partially aware of a hissing growl coming out of me as I recoil back against the wall and curl into a ball, trying to shield my face with both arms.

Mom screams and slams the door.

I sit there for a few seconds in stunned silence, staring at my right hand, covered in creepy black veins. My skin’s also gone corpse-white and a haze of smoke surrounds me. What the f―before I can complete the thought, my normal skin tone returns, and the marks begin fading. My mother has a nasty habit of walking into our rooms unannounced.

“Oh, my God, Sarah, what the hell was that?” yells Mom from the other side of the door. “You scared the piss out of me.”

“Babe, you okay?” asks Hunter. “Did you get a pet cougar?”

“Umm, one sec,” I mutter to the phone before shouting, “Sunlight, Mom! It’s really super bright out today.”

She clears her throat. “Yes, well, that’s no reason to do… whatever you did. Good grief, dear, you looked like a demon.”

“Sorry, but that just happened. I didn’t do it on purpose. Umm. Please knock?”

“Well, I suppose you’re eighteen after all now and deserve some privacy.”

Ya think? I roll my eyes. “Not so much privacy as spontaneous combustion.”

“I was going to see if you were up and wanted to join us for a day trip to the aquarium, but that might be a bad idea.”

Ouch. I really hate missing out on that, but I’m not in any great hurry to turn into a cloud of dust. “I wanna go, but I’m allergic to disintegration.”

“I understand.” Mom sighs. “Sorry, sweetie.”

Absentmindedly, I fidget at my knife scar. It might only be a faint white line, but it presently feels like a huge open wound. “Not your fault, Mom. I’d rather be like this than totally gone.”

My door rattles, probably her leaning up against it. “I love you, Sarah.”

I hop off the bed and press myself into the door on the other side. “I love you too, Mom. Be safe.”

For the first time since waking up as a vampire, my condition feels like a bummer. I trudge back to the bed, pick my phone up, and whine to Hunter for a while about being stuck down here while my family gets to go off and have fun. At least it doesn’t take him too long to cheer me back up.

Eventually, he leaves for work, and I sacrifice more time upon the altar of the Internet gods, watching fail videos, random paranormal sighting videos, and wherever YouTube’s random suggestions lead me.

Around six, the rumble of the fam coming home shakes the ceiling. I dash over to my door and grip the knob. Hopefully, it’s dimmed enough that I can at least tolerate being out of my room in the house. After a moment of standing there without feeling any sense of warning, I crack the door an inch. It’s bright in the basement, but nowhere near as bad as when Mom barged in.

It does, however, feel like a hundred degrees out there, but I don’t care. I’m done with being trapped in my cell.

I run upstairs, but stop short at the kitchen archway, cowering behind the wall from the blast of sunlight coming in the front door. Sierra, Sophia, and Sam run in. The girls are wearing shorts over their bathing suits, Sam’s in only his swim trunks. All three ditch their flip-flops by the door and barrel upstairs, fighting over who gets to take a bath first. Sophia’s horrified by the ‘stink’ in her hair from the orca tank splashing them. Sierra thinks she should go first being the eldest, and Sam couldn’t care less, but joins the argument anyway for amusement.

Once my parents come inside and shut the door, I emerge from my hiding place.

“Careful, hon,” says Dad. “It’s still pretty sunny out there.” He stares worry at me for a few seconds before dropping all the crap he’s carrying and rushing around pulling shades down and closing blinds.

Mom groans at the pile, but I dart over and grab it all before she can.

“I got it.” Mostly, it’s a cloth satchel with souvenirs/toys, and a couple plastic grocery bags.

She hugs me as soon as I stand up straight with the load. “I’m really sorry about earlier.”

“It’s fine, Mom. You didn’t know.”

“I still feel awful.” She brushes a hand over my face. “I think you might’ve given me nightmares for a month.”

Hmm. I squint at her, and hunt around for that memory. The sight of what I looked like to her makes me lean back in shock. Holy crap! When she saw me cringing in the corner of my room, my face had gone dead grey, my eyes both glowed red, and my fangs had grown way long. The hissing roar that came out of me sounded totally demonic. Yeah… Mom doesn’t need that memory. I change it to just me covering my face with my arms and screaming, “Mom, I’m on fire! Shut the door!”

Which, I probably would have done if my vampire side didn’t take over. Guess sudden sun exposure is like a reflex test where the doctor whacks me in the knee with a hammer, only with more murder involved.

Done with checking windows, Dad cruises into the kitchen and hugs me before retreating to his office to catch up on the work he hadn’t been doing all day. I wind up helping Mom put the groceries away as much as I can. Getting too near the windows is painful and dangerous at the moment. By the time dinner is almost ready, the kids come downstairs and swarm me, all eager to share how cool the aquarium was, though Sophia is sad at them keeping the big stuff like the orca and dolphins locked up instead of setting them free.

Yeah, I can kinda sympathize after today.

“Can you drink fish blood?” asks Sam.

“No idea,” I say. “Not seeing that really ever happening though.”

“She’d have to go into the water to catch one.” Sierra shakes her head. “She’s a vampire, not a mermaid.”

“I like mermaids,” chimes Sophia.

“We know,” says Sierra and Sam at once.

I join my family at the dinner table, though only snack on a little bit of spaghetti. I do, however, cause Sam to laugh until pasta dangles out of his nose when I impale two sausages on my fangs and make awful Dracula noises.

The doorbell rings right as we’re all cracking up like idiots.

“I’ll get―” I eye the front windows. Still bright. “Never mind.”

Sierra zips out of her seat and runs to the front door. I don’t know what makes me do it, but I shift my weight, ready to sprint after her if it’s someone dangerous. Sunburn or not, no one is hurting my sister.

“Oh, hi there, sweetie,” says a man. “Is your mom or dad home?”

“Who are you supposed to be?” asks Sierra in a flat tone. “And why are you carrying a gun?”

“Shit,” I mutter, pushing myself upright.

“I’m Detective Giancarlo with the Duvall Police department.”

Relief siphons all the strength from my legs and I flop back in my chair.

“Oh. Come in.” Sierra backs up, pulling the door open. “We’re eating now, but you’re a cop so I guess it’s important.”

Dad apparently loses rock-paper-scissors with Mom; he gets up and walks around the table on the way to the living room.

Detective Giancarlo steps onto the linoleum square by the door, the ‘shoes allowed’ zone inside the house―not that he knows or cares. “Sorry to interrupt your meal. I won’t be long.” He spots me and beckons with a wave. “Sarah, you might want to hear this, too.”

Oh, great. My mind races to come up with what possible way I screwed up while overwriting his memory, but I draw a blank. Still, I get up and pad up behind Dad, who shakes hands with the detective.

“I’m here about the Deacon case.”

Dad’s jaw tightens. “You find the bastard?”

Oops. I try to look as innocent as possible. Perhaps I should’ve told my parents that I killed him. Then again, maybe it’s better they don’t know. At least for the immediate time being. Their surprise will be genuine.

“Yes, we did,” says the Detective. “That’s why I’m here.”

Mom leaps from her chair and runs over. “Sierra, please go back to the table.”

Sierra, as unfazed as an eleven-year-old in a blue-striped T-shirt and jean shorts can be, folds her arms. The look she gives Mom says, ‘I have seen some shit, woman, who are you talking to?’ Mom doesn’t back down her stare, so Sierra sighs and plods off.

“It’s not that bad, Mrs. Wright.” Detective Giancarlo manages a weird sorta smile that tries to be reassuring without radiating happiness about the news he’s bringing. “We found Mr. Deacon’s remains. He appears to have been the victim of an automobile accident and fire.”

Dad blinks and whistles. “He’s dead?”

I pretend to be worried and freaked out, gasping and grabbing on to Dad’s arm. “Holy crap! Scott’s dead!?”

“Yeah. Would’ve rather got him alive, all things considered. Attempted murder would’ve put him away for a good while. He got off light.”

The detective looks at me with a weird twitch in his eye. Ugh. I wish I could read his mind right now, but the sun is all over me. Damn that stupid ball of raging nuclear fusion. He’s probably still got a vague notion of feeling horribly sad at finding me dead, and being reminded he has a daughter a little younger than me. He got all dad-ragey about it. Aww. That’s sweet of him, being protective and stuff. If he’s glitching at my rewrite of his memories, it must’ve really bothered him.

Detective Giancarlo breaks eye contact with me and shakes his head at my parents. “We think he was trying to make his way out of state on foot. A guy happened to stop by the side of the road to water the bushes, and Deacon jumps in his vehicle and takes off. Wound up driving clear off the road not far from there. Rolled it down a hill and the car burst into flames.”

Mom and Dad cringe in unison.

“Well, we certainly didn’t want him dead,” says Mom. “But it’s better than Sarah having to live in fear that he might come after her again.”

“And cheaper for the taxpayers,” says Dad.

Mom shoots him a look.

“What?” He shakes his head. “I’m not going to mourn the son of a bitch who tried to kill Sarah. Not even a little bit.”

“Anyway, I’ll let you folks get back to your dinner.” Detective Giancarlo nods once. “Just wanted to let you know that in person so you can sleep easier.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” Dad shakes his hand.

Mom also shakes hands with him. “It’s thoughtful of you to stop by. Not easy news to bear.”

The detective offers a brief nod of acknowledgement. He’s probably thinking telling us is easy compared to visiting Scott’s parents. Them I do feel kinda sorry for, even if they did raise him spoiled. Like, he could’ve robbed a bank, on camera, with a gun in his hand, and they’d think their little Scottie couldn’t possibly have done it.

So, yeah. Ugh. I haven’t spoken to them since the attack, and I really don’t have much of a desire to. They’d been sweet to me while I dated their son, but something tells me they’d turn on me in an instant if I ‘accused’ him of stabbing me. Right. Leaving that can of worms sealed.

Mom shuts the door behind the detective, waits a moment for the whump of a car door outside, then spins to look at me. “You know more than you let on here.”

“She ripped his head off,” says Sierra, adding a pop noise after.

Dad stares at me.

“What? I already told you guys about that.” I sigh. “And that didn’t kill him. Not only was he technically already dead at that point, he ran off carrying his head like a football.”

“Eww,” says Sophia.

“So why do I get the feeling I’ve missed something?” asks Mom.

“Okay, maybe I hunted him down and made sure he died for good.” I offer a cheesy smile. “It’s not murder if he’s undead, right?”

Mom’s eyebrows knit together. “I don’t think there’s any legal precedent for that.”

“Mutilating a corpse?” asks Sophia.

I raise a finger. “That corpse was trying to mutilate me.”

“Are you sure he was already dead?” Mom cringes.

“Allie, she tore his head off and he kept walking. I think that’s fairly definitive.” Dad escorts us back to the table. “Food’s getting cold.”

“He mind controlled Bree, too.” Sierra shrugs. “Not that it took much power to do that.”

I giggle.

Sam stares at me, silent the whole time. Damn, he’s hard to read. I can’t tell if he’s curious, sad, or freaked out.

The kids, already done with their food, remain at the table to listen in as I relate a shortened and ‘edited-for-children’ version of Scott’s final ride while our parents finish eating. Dad seems pleased, but Mom looks horrified.

“You totally cremated him,” says Sierra.

Mom gasps.

“Beat me to it.” Dad gives her a high-five.

“Jonathan!” snaps Mom.

“At least his last date with you was hot,” mutters Sierra.

“She gets the punning from Dad.” I laugh.

“It’s disrespectful. We are not making jokes about a person we know dying, even if he did… umm…” Mom pinches the bridge of her nose. “Whatever. Forget it. Forget him.”

“What was the last thing you said to him?” Sierra looks at me. “Was it a good burn?”

Dad clamps a hand over his mouth to avoid spraying spaghetti.

I almost laugh, but I’m too preoccupied with my memory of watching him go up in flames. Talk about mixed emotions.

“You know that really bad word that starts with an f that I’m not allowed to use?” asks Sophia. “Well, that word Scott.”

Wow. I blink. Sophia hates cursing. She hates hearing people curse, like to the point if people keep cursing around her she’s been known to cry. That’s probably about as close as she’s ever going to get in her life to actually dropping an F bomb… at least until she drops a twenty-six pound frozen turkey on her foot straight out of a freezer―like Grandpa did when I was eight. First time I ever heard that word. First and only time I ever heard it come out of him. It’s still simultaneously shocking and hilarious.

Sierra points at her. “Does that technically count as swearing?”

“I’ll allow it,” says Dad.

“You’re not the lawyer.” Sierra looks at Mom.

“Objection, ambiguous language,” says Mom.

“I could say it if you want,” says Sophia.

“I could ground you if you want.” Mom raises an eyebrow.

“Withdrawn.” Sophia looks down.

A weird, heavy mood hangs over us for a moment before Sam cracks up. That gets us all laughing… and dinner resumes as though we hadn’t been talking about me killing Scott a moment ago.

We do the family routine for the rest of the night. Mostly. It takes the form of us all being in the same room while doing our own things. Dad’s working on his laptop. Mom’s reading her Kindle, as is Sophia. Sam’s got his PlayStation Portable and has decided to plop down next to me, which is kinda unusual. Sierra’s monopolizing the main TV with the PlayStation and ripping up a Destiny map.

For my part, I’m just enjoying being around them―and trying really damn hard not to think of them getting old.

I’m lying in bed staring at the ceiling. It’s only two or so in the morning, but I don’t really feel like doing anything but trying to pretend I’m a normal person with insomnia. Once my parents went to bed, I ducked out for a quick snack since even being active inside the house today had been brutal on my energy.

My door creaks open. For no real reason, I pretend to be sleeping.

The door clicks shut, and the sense of someone walking up to me follows. It’s a small body, and my nose tells me it’s Sam before he’s halfway to the bed. Not that he stinks or anything, but everyone’s got a unique smell. Most people can’t detect it without some serious BO going on, but my nose, as Dad would say, has gone to plaid.

He climbs up onto the bed. When he crawls closer, into my army of stuffed animals, I sit up and grab him before he can write on my forehead again. Sam startles at my sudden motion, but doesn’t make a sound. He also doesn’t have lipstick in his hand. What little color he had in his face vanishes.

“Sorry, kiddo. Thought you were going to write on me again.”

Sam shakes his head. “No. I just wanted to sleep in here. Near you.” He flops on his side next to me.

Somewhat stunned by this, I wind up watching his pajama shirt rise and fall with his breathing for a few minutes. “Is something wrong?”

He lays there in silence for a little while before rolling to face me.

“Sam?” I ask.

“I had a bad dream that made me sad,” he sheepishly whispers.

“Bad dreams stink,” I say, ruffling his hair. “Sure, you can crash in here tonight.”

A tiny smile flickers on his lips but doesn’t last long.

Guess I’m trapped in bed at least until he falls asleep. Not like I’d planned on doing anything tonight really. I’ve gotta be the world’s lamest vampire. Or at least the one with the lamest social life. L-O-L, look at her, she still spends all her time with mortals, says a Bree Swanson-like voice in my head. Ugh. I am so glad there aren’t any undead cheerleaders around.

“I dreamed Mom and Dad told me you died. And it was just like when they did. But I dreamed we went to the funeral and you were in the ground and stuff.” Again, he stares at me for a moment… and erupts in silent tears. “I don’t want you to die.”

“Sam…” I’m too thrown by my brother in tears to think of anything more than his name to say. I pull him close and let him cry.

Sam has never shown emotion like that, neither good nor bad. I’ve kinda been wondering if he might be mildly autistic, though other than being super stoic, he never did anything my parents deemed weird enough to take him to a doctor.

“You’re not allowed to die again, okay?” whispers Sam.

“Okay.” I pat him on the back.

“It’s not your fault. It’s Scott’s.” He lifts his face from my shoulder, looks me straight in the eye, and says, “I’m glad he’s dead.”

“Sam, what he was when I, umm, had to fight him… he wasn’t Scott anymore.”

“A monster?” Sam’s tears stop like I pushed an off-switch.

“You know how I’m a vampire now?”

He nods. “But you’re still Sarah. You’re not a monster.”

“Right. The man who saved me attacked Scott for what he did to me. They fought, and Scott died.”

“Okay,” whispers Sam.

“But… that man was a vampire a lot older than I am. Something went wrong, and Scott got back up.”

“A zombie?” Sam’s eyebrows shoot up.

I chuckle. “Heh. Almost. He wasn’t a full vampire. Only a little bit. Kinda like a turd that comes back up after you try to flush it.”

Sam laughs.

Ahh, mention poop. A sure way to cheer up a nine-year-old boy. Or Dad.

“What’s it like being a vampire? Are you still really here? Are you going to go away? Does it hurt to be a vampire? Do you still have dreams?”

“I’m still your big sis, only I have a bunch of superhero powers.”

He grins. “What’s it like to fly?”

“It’s kinda like… umm, flying.” I shrug. “It’s really hard to explain.”

“Oh.”

I sit up. “I can’t explain it, but I can show you.”

His eyes go wide.

“Wanna go for a fly? You’re small enough. I could probably carry you.”

“Yeah!” He bounces up and down on the bed.

I hop over him and head for my pile o’ clothes. No way am I going for a fly in only a long T-shirt. It covers enough that I pull on underpants without any awkwardness, then jeans. Hmm. He’s got long pajamas on and neither of us have shoes, but it’s an unusually warm July night. Heck with it.

“Hop on.”

Sam climbs up like a backpack.

I carry him out of my room, across the basement, and up the stairs to the sliding glass door in the kitchen. The whole way, he bounces with excitement. We step outside into a warm breeze. Wow, even dark, it’s gotta still be in the upper seventies, a real heat wave.

“Hold on tight.”

“Okay.” He clamps his right hand on his left wrist and tries to hook his legs around my middle.

I grab on to his hands and leap into the air.

Sam’s squeal of delight is the most awesome sound I’ve ever heard.

We careen up and over the house, and I notice his Frisbee stuck on the roof again. After swooping around to kick it back into the yard, I take him up toward Cottage Lake (the actual lake, not the town), flying maybe sixty feet off the ground and not too fast.

Other than his initial yell, he stays quiet aside for whispers of “wow” or “this is so cool” or “I can see Daryl’s house.” Hopefully, he’s smart enough to understand a lot of screaming will get us seen, which is going to require some telepathic surgery.

When we reach the water, I glide down toward the surface, skimming a few feet over it.

“Go faster,” he whispers.

“I don’t wanna go too fast so you don’t fall.”

“I won’t fall… and we’re over water. I’ll only get wet if I do.”

“Uhh. If you hit the water at 140 MPH, you’ll get more than wet.”

He oohs. “Whoa. You can go that fast?”

“Yeah.” Okay, I guess I am still an eighteen-year-old with weak impulse control. I reach down and grab hold of Sam’s legs behind the knees. “Hang on.”

His arms tighten around my neck.

I line up for a straight shot across the lake and zoom as fast as I can make myself move, racing across the water. Seconds before we reach the opposite bank, the wet flapping of his cheeks scares me into slowing down. Fortunately, he’s giggling.

“Heh. That felt funny,” he says.

“Are you okay?”

“You squeezed my legs a little hard, but it was worth it.”

Oops. Please don’t bruise. That’s going to be hard to explain to Mom. She’d totally freak if she found out I went flying with Sam. But, really, he needed it. And maybe I did too. We spend another maybe half hour flying in random directions, cruising among trees, and generally trying to avoid areas where we could be seen. I’m utterly amazed at his total ambivalence to heights. So bizarre. Being a couple hundred feet in the air on his older sister’s back is no big deal, but a toy flashlight turning itself on in the middle of the night made him scream bloody murder.

Eventually, I get the ‘he needs to go back to bed’ urge, and steer toward home.

We encounter a guy out walking his dog on the way back, and Sam leans forward trying to spit on him from above. I swerve, ensuring he misses.

“Sam! Be nice.”

“Sorry,” he mutters.

Ugh. Boys.

“Hey do you ever poop in the air like a pigeon?”

“No, Sam. I do not.”

“That wouldn’t be funny. Birds are gross, but a person would be way worse. You could knock someone out.” He starts laughing at the scene he’s picturing.

“Ugh. You are so gross. And overtired. Time for bed.”

“Aww.”

I land in our yard a minute or so later and set him down. He promptly yawns, then looks up at me.

“Can I still sleep in your room tonight?”

“Sure.” I take his hand. “C’mon.”

He grins.

Soon, I’m once more staring at my ceiling. I’ve got a new teddy bear affixed to my side. He’s cute, warm, and cuddly. Even if his knee’s a bit bony and keeps jabbing into my leg. At least he’s asleep.

And with any luck, he won’t have another nightmare.

Unseen

14

The next day isn’t as warm out, but it’s bright enough to keep me trapped in my room again.

Fortunately, my sibs are reasonably awesome. I’ve also found out that with enough warning, and a thick comforter, I can tolerate the brief blast of light from someone walking in or out of my room with only some mild discomfort. It’s only about as bad as if I’d taken a swan dive into a deep fryer for a few seconds.

Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating a little… but it still hurts.

Sam hangs out with me for a couple hours working on this plastic model kit. I have no idea what a Gundam is or why he’s so into it. My claws come in super handy for both trimming the pieces after snapping them off the mold as well as captivating my little bro. Of course, he demanded to know how sharp they are, which led to several experiments on random things he found in the outer basement.

So, yeah, my fingernails can dig gouges in steel. Not terribly deep ones though. If I ever got attacked by a real Gundam thing, it’d squish me and I’d do little more than scratch the paint. Sophia and Sierra knock at the door around six, after returning from their friend Nicole’s house in anticipation of dinner. I comforter dive again so they can come in. For a while, I sit cross-legged on the floor helping Sam with his model on my right and playing a board game with the girls on the left.

By dinnertime, the sun’s gone away enough that the ambient light in the house is no longer dangerous.

Hunter stops by a little past eight, and we head downtown together. We walk around for a while holding hands with no particular destination in mind. Upon me noticing this cute little mom-and-pop coffee place, he pulls me along by the arm and we go inside. I get this thing they call the ‘Snickers mug,’ which comes out in a giant bowl with a little loop attached to it that’s supposed to make it into a mug. The latte, however, smells like a warm Snickers candy bar. He gets a ‘Charleston,’ some manner of marshmallow-chocolate mixture based on a candy bar, too.

We head to a little table in the back with our huge mugs and sit by a wall covered in random kitschy things that look like they’re from a 1950s Kansas farm.

“Sorry about the other night,” says Hunter.

Ugh. “That was so not your fault.”

“That’s not what I mean. We kinda went a little fast for what I thought you were comfortable with.” He stares into his mug for a second or two, but forces himself to look at me―and blushes.

I reach across the table and take his hand. “It’s all right. If I wasn’t comfortable, I wouldn’t have gone there.”

His eyebrows go up.

“You know if things didn’t happen to me, and I’d just broken up with Scott like a freakin’ normal breakup, you’re right. In that case, I’d probably be weeks away from wanting to get close to someone else. But, that’s not what happened.”

“Oh.” He nods and lifts the enormous mug to his lips to take a sip, nearly coughing on it. “Whoa. That’s hot.”

“Yeah… and so sweet.”

“Good though.” He looks up from the mug with a foam moustache. “So you’re not upset about what happened?”

I shake my head. “No. Not at all about what we did. I’m more upset at your father for being such a shit to you and your family. He did kinda kill the mood.”

“Yeah.” Hunter nods.

“If you’re uncomfortable, I’m totally fine with slow.”

He takes another sip. “Cool. Whatever you want to do.”

I grin. “Well, maybe when we’re done in here, we can find a nice quiet place in the woods and watch the stars for a while.”

“That sounds nice.” He squeezes my hand.

Wow, this coffee… it’s like drinking a Snickers bar, and probably as many calories as eating six of them. It’s so damn good though.

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

“You just did.” I wink.

He laughs. “I mean something a little awkward.”

I can’t think of anything more awkward than having his father barge in on us. “Sure.”

“When you made my father leave, you stared at him like in this weird way. You gave me the same look when we were filling out admission forms. Did you do something to my head, too?”

“Just peeked.”

He wipes the foam-stache away. “Do you peek in everyone’s head?”

“No. You were staring at me all kinds of strange. Can I be completely honest with you without hurting your feelings?”

He tenses, but nods. “Okay.”

“When you walked in, I recognized you from school. I remembered you were always kinda shadowing me and watching me. You’re socially awkward, don’t talk much, wear old clothes, and have this charming, offbeat thing going. However, normal-me probably would’ve been a little freaked out. And I admit to being a giant chicken who’s had a pretty perfect life up until my death, and the way you looked at me would’ve scared the crap out of the girl I used to be.”

He fidgets.

“Aww.” I squeeze his hand again. “I mean that as it’s my problem. I was too judgmental and, okay, maybe a little elitist. Reading your mind was me making sure I didn’t need to be scared you were going to like attack me or something.”

Hunter blinks. “Wow, really?”

“Yeah. I knew you were always following me and I’d just been stabbed, so forgive me for being on edge. But when I saw into who you were, I realized you’re really a sweet, sensitive guy who’s maybe not so good at telling people how he feels.”

He sips from his bowl of coffee, tapping a finger on the edge. “You felt sorry for me?”

“Not at all. I felt sorry for myself for wasting so much time on Scott when you were right there. I don’t think he loved me as much as felt he deserved to have a girlfriend.”

Hunter smiles.

“And, we went kinda fast because I know how you really feel, and I trust you. We don’t need to do the couple of weeks of sniffing each other out thing.”

“Oh, that makes sense.” He flicks his nail at the edge of the mug. “Sorry for being so, umm, passive. I didn’t want to cause drama.”

“It says a lot about your integrity that you respected the relationship I had with Scott… and dammit. Can I go a full hour without saying that name?”

He winces. “Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing. So… how’s the restaurant job?”

We talk randomly for a while before I fake a bathroom break to follow a fortyish woman into the restroom for a quick bite. She kinda reminds me a bit of my former chemistry teacher, Mrs. Barrie, but older and thinner. Her blood tastes like cinnamon buns, probably because of her beige sweater and dark brown skirt.

Eventually, Hunter and I head out and meander back to his car. A short ride later, we walk into the woods around Cottage Lake and stargaze for a while. Tonight, I let him set the pace, and we wind up holding each other and kissing.

Rain! Yes!

Well, at least overcast with some drizzle.

The next day, I go out pretty much as soon as I wake up. Ashley and Michelle arrive at my house at 2:30 p.m. to pick me up. Mom’s at work and Dad’s invoking R-rated language at his computer, so I figure he’s running late on a deadline. Sam’s already out with his friends, but the girls are here… so to take a load off Dad, I talk Sierra and Sophia into going with us.

Five girls descend first on a nail salon. While we’re there all getting mani-pedis, Ashley and Sophia are total princesses, loving every minute of it. Sierra does a spot on impression of Grumpy Cat, but tolerates the pampering. Michelle’s more or less in the same boat as Sierra, though slightly less tolerant. All Sophia needs to complete her movie star image is sunglasses and an underarm chihuahua.

After the nail salon, we stop at an ice cream parlor, then head across town to this new VR gaming place called Infinite Realms. Michelle suggested it at 1 a.m. last night by text, and mentioned it’s only been open for a couple days. We end up doing this team-based zombie maze thing in virtual reality… and it’s the polar opposite of the nail salon. Sophia spends the whole time screaming and pleading at me to take her out of there. Ashley’s a total fish out of water, but she tries. Michelle and Sierra are like Wonder Woman, ripping it up and loving every second of it.

Since its dark as heck inside the VR studio, I cheat. Fortunately, we’re all on the same team against AI zombies. Not only do I not have to deal with Sierra complaining about my ‘unfair advantage,’ I more than make up for Sophia hiding in the corner and Ashley still trying to figure out how the weapons work by the time the game is over.

Sophia begs for something less scary, and by then, more people have shown up. We wait for a few minutes while they set the newcomers up, and then do a pretty typical laser-tag type match in ‘starship corridors’ with two teams of human players. Without the spooky atmosphere and zombie jump scares, Sophia is much happier and holds her own against the other team.

The game won’t let my character move as fast as my supernatural reflexes can handle, but I am still faster than the other team and my dexterity (shooting them first) is unaffected. By some miracle, no one accuses me of cheating. That right there is one big reason to do this again instead of gaming on the Internet.

We get back to my place with minutes to spare before dinner. Mom invites Ashley and Michelle to join us, but Michelle’s dad is making a gumbo she can’t miss. After dinner, and an hour into a board game, Ashley points out that we are total nerds. This sets Sierra and Sophia off on a debate as to the subtle differences between nerds and geeks.

All in all, the day is fun and perfect. I almost can’t believe no one has tried to kill me in forty-eight whole hours. Though, all that sun exposure gets me quite hungry. When the sibs queue up to hug me goodnight, I have to force myself to keep my mouth shut. Especially when Sophia’s neck is so close. The nerve of her, smelling like raspberry mousse.

I hold on a while longer until Ashley eventually heads home for the night. She’s been chatting with this guy named River that she ran into at the mall the other day. I don’t want to get in the way of that, so I don’t guilt trip her for going home instead of hanging with me into the wee hours. I have a slightly off feeling about the guy even though I’ve never met or seen him. Either the way she talks about him or some supernatural protective instinct is needling at me. Of course, it could be simple jealousy… some rando guy competing with me for the attention of my best friend, so I let it go.

A little past midnight, I take off for a cruise to Seattle, shivering from hunger. I veer toward an apartment complex well short of the city since I’m in a major hurry and there’s a convenient guy walking alone across the parking lot.

I land silently a few steps behind, and walk up beside him. “Hi.”

“Holy shit!” he yells, jumping two feet back. His saggy pants, which had more or less been exposing his Calvin’s to the world, fall around his ankles.

“Dude. Pants,” I say.

“Yo, girl. What you doin’ coming outta nowhere on a dude like that?” He stoops to pull his pants back to their prior sag point.

“Looking for you.” I smile.

He takes a step back. “This some kinda trick? Ain’t no preppie suburban girls ever lookin’ for me.”

“Relax.” I push my thoughts into his mind. “This will only take a moment. Come with me.”

I lead him down a shadowed stairwell by one of the buildings into a laundry room below it. Fortunately, it’s empty. Once inside, I push his back against the door to keep out surprise guests. I’ve got to fly off the ground to get my mouth close enough to his neck. That’s good. A big guy will be able to spare a bit more blood since I’m starving tonight. The flavor of buffalo wings scorches down my throat.

Shock makes me cough, and spill a little, but hunger overpowers the burn and I clamp back on. For a few minutes, the man’s heart beats in my head like a giant drum over the rhythm of several washing machines. I’ve left a dribble on his shoulder and down his front, but there’s no way I’m licking that out of fabric. Nor do I want to stand around for ninety some odd minutes while it runs through the wash or try to come up with a story I can program this guy with to explain a big loss of time.

I don’t have change for the machines either.

So, I leave him with the usual five minutes of blankness, and slip out of the laundry room before his mental fog clears. The sight of blood on his shirt will no doubt surprise him, but he won’t remember me at all, so whatever he comes up with to explain it doesn’t matter. I hurry to the top of the sunken stairwell and look around to make sure no one is watching, then glide straight up to the roof, zip over the building, and climb higher into the dark. Well, dark to normal people. Not me.

The world looks as bright as mid-day, only without the glare. It’s still an eerie sight. Somehow, the sky above is black and flecked with stars, but my immediate surroundings look lit as well as my house with all the lights left on. Or at least used to―when I’m up at night now, I don’t bother turning them on.

And hey, Mom’s not complaining about me wasting electricity anymore.

Seconds before I leave the apartment complex behind, I catch a glimpse of a figure sitting on the roof of a building off to the left. The phrase ‘that’s weird’ barely forms in my thoughts before I recognize Glim. He’s not facing me, but after meeting him at the social event last week, I’ve got a pretty good feeling the only reason I can see him is because he wants me to.

Taking that as an invitation, I swing around and glide over to land beside him.

Glim’s sitting on the edge of the roof, letting his feet dangle over the side. He’s still wearing his long, black trenchcoat and combat boots, and stares fixedly at the building across the parking lot. A sheet of paper flutters in his left hand. Between his bald head, grey skin, and perching on the side of a roof, he could pass for a gargoyle.

“Hey,” I mutter.

“Sarah Wright,” he replies, not looking up. “I didn’t realize you hunted around here.”

I sit next to him. “First time. Usually, I go into Seattle because there’s so many people it’s easy to find someone I’ve never seen before.”

He nods. “A good plan. I have a small request of you… perhaps two.”

“What kind of requests?” I lean back, bracing my hands against the roof behind me. “This is kinda weird, sitting on a roof. Never did that before.”

“Do you see the apartment directly in front of us?”

He probably means the one with the dim bluish light flickering in the big living room window. I squint, trying to see inside. All of a sudden, the window lurches toward me, making me yelp and cover my face with my arms.

“What’s wrong?” asks Glim, his voice rising in concern.

“The other building just kinda came flying at me.”

He chuckles. “Did the one who made you not teach you how to use your senses?”

“He taught me a little.” I offer a sheepish smile.

“We all possess some ability to see into the distance. As our hearing, smell, and sense of touch have become much greater than it had been in life, so does our sight. Basically it’s like having a ten-x scope in your head.”

“A what?” I ask.

“Not a gun person?”

I shake my head. “Nope. Suburban girl here. Barbie dolls and hair dryers, with the occasional video game thrown in.”

“Heh. You didn’t strike me as a princess type.”

“I’m not, really…” I wind up rambling about Sophia and Sierra being the two extremes with me landing somewhere between them, albeit a little closer to Sophia.

“You know what a scope is at least?”

“Yeah. Those I’ve seen in video games.”

“Right. Well the ten-x means it magnifies ten times, at least that’s how I see. Your eyes might be different. I’ve been watching the television in there for a while.”

I sit up, cross my legs, and squint at the window. “How does it work?”

“It’s as simple as wanting to see closer. Think about your vision zooming in, and it should do it.”

“Okay.” I again try to get a better look into the distant apartment. My vision leaps forward, slides back, spends a moment wagging back and forth, and snaps back to normal. Ugh. I grab my face, trying not to throw up all that blood I just drank.

“Takes some getting used to.”

“Right. So, what’s up with that apartment? You want me to like go sell them Girl Scout cookies or something?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “That is―or was―my family.”

“Oh.” I put a hand on his shoulder; surprised by how cold the material is. “I’m sorry.”

“The favor I’d ask is the same as what you have asked of the others. Do not make meals of them.”

I nod. “Yeah. Sure. Super easy. No problem.” After a short silence, I ask, “You don’t talk to them?”

Glim finally stops staring at the window and turns to me, his expression unreadable. “Look at me. I’m still not sure what to make of you not screaming.”

“You didn’t see my ex.” I frown. “I get it though. You don’t want to ruin their memory of you.”

He gazes down at the letter in his hand. “The Army had already notified them of my death. It took me a little more than two years before I returned to the US. I didn’t think they would handle seeing me like this very well, if they even believed who I was.”

“Do you want to talk about your family?”

“My oldest son, Stefan, wrote this.” He tilts the letter toward me, only to indicate it, not let me read. “He was only six when I died. He’s fourteen now. Our younger son, Arcelio, was only an infant. He never knew me.”

I put an arm around him. “I’m so sorry.”

“Ana Maria, my wife, got herself a new man. My parents, the whole family, they all think I died while deployed. It’s easier that way.”

My gaze falls into my lap. Sure, it’s easy for me to go home and be with my family. I don’t look like a ghoul. He might have a point in that it would be kinder for his family to think him dead, but it’s certainly not easier on him. Ashamed of myself for looking normal, I wallow in guilty silence.

“I appreciate your sympathy, but you shouldn’t feel guilty about our differences.” He manages a weak smile, exposing yellow teeth between his huge fangs. “I envy you, but I am not jealous.”

“Huh?” I tilt my head at him. “What’s the difference? Aren’t they the same thing?”

He looks up at the sky, his expression like an undead Socrates. “I envy your situation, meaning I wish my circumstances were similar. But I am not jealous of you. I do not hold it against you for what you have, nor wish you ill because of it.”

“Oh. I never realized that difference.”

“I may be a veteran, but I’m not going to say ‘now you know and knowing is half the battle.’”

“Huh? What’s that got to do with you being in the Army?”

He laughs, albeit in a low, breathy voice. “You really are as young as you look. Didn’t watch many cartoons as a kid?”

“Yeah I did. And I’ve only been a vampire for like three weeks.”

“It’s sad that a girl so young should’ve been turned.” He sighs.

I narrow my eyes at him. “How young do you think I am?”

“Fifteen?”

“Ugh.” I bow my head, grabbing two handfuls of hair. “I’m eighteen!”

“Ahh, of course.” He snaps his fingers.

Sighing, I fold my arms and puff hair out of my face. “Right. Most vampires get prettier. Innocents, apparently, get cuter.”

“Well, you are adorable.”

I shift my flat-as-hell gaze to him without moving my head.

Again, he laughs, but it turns somber. “Maybe I should ask you to talk to Stefan. You could pass for a kid his age.”

“That won’t end well. I haven’t had the best luck lately.”

“That bad?” asks Glim.

I recline flat on the roof, gazing at the sky. “Yeah. I’m only on my third day since the last time someone tried to kill me. And so far, a boy getting involved with me has a fifty-fifty chance of dying in a car fire.”

“Sounds like there’s a story behind that.”

“What’s up with the letter?” I ask. “If you don’t mind talking about it.”

He turns the paper over and over, making crinkling noises. “I’ve been communicating with Stefan. He thinks he’s doing ‘automatic writing.’ Two years ago, he started dabbling with the occult in hopes of contacting my spirit.”

Wind tousles my hair and throws it over my face again. Pfah. I sit up. “Never heard of that.”

“It’s this thing where a person thinks a spirit gets into their body and takes control of their arm, making them write things outside their conscious control.”

“Sounds kinda like an Ouija board.” I glance over at him. “How do you get the pen to do what you want?”

“Simple. I grasp it and write.”

“While he’s holding it?”

Glim vanishes. A few seconds later, his voice comes out of thin air about where his mouth had been. “Yes. It’s one of our particular talents.”

“Whoa. You can turn invisible?”

“Not exactly. I’m telling your mind to disregard my presence. Your eyes still see me, but your brain ignores them. It’s much easier to do to the living. And, beyond simple invisibility.” My right arm rises into the air on its own. “You also remain unaware of touch.”

“Whoa. That’s freaky.”

“Indeed.” He reappears, holding my wrist. It takes my brain a couple seconds to switch from perceiving my arm moving on its own to accepting he’s holding my wrist. He drops my arm.

“What about cameras or mirrors?” I ask.

“Cameras don’t see me if I know they are there. I don’t see myself in mirrors because I choose not to.”

“You’re really not as, umm… aesthetically impaired as you think.”

Glim throws his head back and cackles. “It’s all right to say ‘ugly.’ It’s much more direct than that tragedy of a euphemism.” He grins. “I wonder if vampires in California refer to themselves as living impaired.”

“Heh.”

“I visit him once or twice a month. My son doesn’t realize I’m right in the room with him. We’re good at not being seen you know. With a face like this, we kinda have to be.”

“I’m serious.” I glance up at his angular cheeks, sharpish chin and nose, piercing yellow eyes (that glow). Okay, the non-retractable fangs are a bit hard to overlook, but he’s nowhere near as gruesome as Scott. With a little imagination, I can almost see the man he used to be. “I think you’re still handsome―just different.”

Glim looks down. “I never thought I’d be called that again. Thank you.”

“I mean it.”

He tilts his head enough to smile at me. “I know.”

“So, what was the second favor you wanted?”

“Oh. You’re eighteen, so maybe I shouldn’t.”

“Glim… I’m going to be eighteen forever.”

He holds up a can of Busch beer. “Innocents can still ingest normal things. I used to love this stuff. Would you mind drinking some of this and sending your memory of it into my thoughts?”

“Geez.” I take the can he offers. “You have expensive tastes.”

“I was a twenty-something Army specialist with a wife and two kids. Wasn’t exactly rolling in cash.”

“Right.” I pop the can and squint at the fizz in my face. “You might not believe this, but I’ve never had beer before.”

“A good girl?” He grins.

“Not really. I have been drunk before. Twice.” I sniff the can and cringe. “Ugh. I don’t even know what I drank, but it tasted fruity, and after two of them, I passed out in a clothes hamper.”

“Probably bum wine. Something like Mad Dog or Thunderbird.”

“Could be.” I take a sip and wince. “This tastes like water got angry.”

His shoulders shake from silent laughter. Tasting beer for him is the least I can do. If it helps after all he’s been through, how can I say no? Holding my breath, I take a nice big gulp and let it sit in my mouth to absorb the essence of its flavor while simultaneously pushing it into his thoughts. Unfortunately, a dull ache spreads across my forehead like I walked into a wall. His eyes widen, and the resistance dissipates.

Glim’s expression of ecstasy kinda reminds me of the way Dad looks after taking a bite of steak after he hasn’t had it in a while.

“Thank you. I can hold onto that memory for a while now.” He gestures at the can. “You don’t have to finish it if you don’t want to.”

“I’d say I don’t want to waste it, but…”

Glim laughs. “My friends used to make fun of that brand too, but I like it.”

“Couldn’t you just like sip some without swallowing?”

He shakes his head. “It’s not blood, I’ll gag on it.”

“What does blood taste like to you?”

“Pretty much like I’m licking old pennies.”

I cringe. “Really? I taste random things.”

He shoots me a suspicious look.

After chugging a few gulps, I feel all sorts of weird. Two fist pounds at my chest unleashes a belch. “Oops. Sorry. Guess that wasn’t too ladylike.”

“Screw ladylike. You’re dead.”

“Hah. Don’t let Aurélie hear that.” I giggle. “And yeah, different people taste like different things. That guy I fed on before had buffalo sauce in his veins. Or cinnamon rolls. My kid sister smells like strawberries but I won’t bite her to find out if her blood’s gonna taste that way.”

“How do you get it to have flavor?”

“Dalton said it’s all in my head. My subconscious comes up with something based on the person I bite. Maybe blood tastes like copper to you because that’s what you expect to taste like.”

“The one who gave me the Transference was not a terribly warm individual.” Glim smirks. “It begs the question then, is the taste of blood due to our inner nature or learned. Perhaps I will try to alter my perceptions of feeding next time.”

I hold the can up in salute. “Maybe they’ll taste like your favorite beer.”

“One can hope.” He licks a fang.

“So what do you do for fun?”

“I enjoy observing people. Watching them be one way when they think no one is there to see them, yet change entirely to interact with others is fascinating.”

I balance my chin on my fist, elbow poking into my knee. “Yeah. People suck.”

Glim flashes a silly grin. “So do vampires.”

“Wow. I walked right into that, didn’t I?”

He laughs.

The blue flickering in the apartment stops. A pretty Hispanic woman with long black hair and brown skin stands up from the sofa. She spins, reaches into a pile of blankets, and pulls a pale guy with reddish-blond hair to his feet. They embrace for a moment before walking deeper into the apartment.

Glim closes his eyes and sighs.

I bite my lip. “You don’t have to be alone. My family knows about vampires. You can come over if you like.”

He stands, clearly trying not to look in the window. “That’s kind of you, but I wouldn’t want to give your younger siblings bad dreams.”

“Sam and Sierra would probably be okay. Sophia’s a little delicate. She gets nightmares from super cheesy movies.”

“Indeed. I appreciate your company, but I must be going. Enjoy the rest of the night.”

“Later.”

He vanishes with a brief flash of wind.

Ugh. Now I feel a little self-conscious for still having a family, like I took too much food at the buffet or something. S’pose I could sit here on the roof and get all emo about it, but, nah. I wanna go home.

Nothing Suspicious

15

Next afternoon, I awake to Sophia kneeling beside me on my bed, dabbing at my face with a makeup brush.

“Morning,” I mutter.

“Afternoon,” chirps Sophia. “But I guess it’s your morning.”

“What are you doing?”

She leans back to appraise me. “Just a little contouring. You get kinda pale when you sleep.”

“You look like Ronald McDonald,” says Sierra from lower to the floor. The tinny crackles of explosions and tones of laser weapons leak from her headphones connected to a PS Portable.

“She does not!” yells Sophia.

I close my eyes and let gravity pull my head deeper into the pillow, a silent chuckle shaking my body.

“I promise you don’t,” says Sophia, as the brush resumes tickling my face.

“You want fries with that?” asks Sierra.

“Shut up!” yells Sophia.

“Guys… I just woke up. Please don’t shout.”

“Sorry,” whispers Sophia.

I can’t tell if she’s mocking me or afraid of ticking me off. I pat her on the leg. “It’s cool.”

“You hung over?” asks Sierra. “Your breath smells like beer.”

Ugh. Seriously? “No. I only had one… and I can’t get drunk. Not even a little.”

“That sucks,” mutters Sierra.

Sophia hums to herself while continuing to use me as a practice dummy for her emerging cosmetics skills. Guess it’s true what they say about parents relaxing. Mom wouldn’t let me touch anything but nail polish until I was like fourteen, but Sophia’s got full run of the cosmetics case. Of course, Mom gets her super cheap stuff and she’s not allowed to wear it to school. Maybe she thinks Sophia will become a professional makeup artist and work on movies or something?

I’m comfortable, and I’ve got nowhere specific to be, so I lay there. She can’t do anything with that brush a shower won’t fix. These are the moments I’m going to cling to when my family’s all old and gone. I open my eyes and drink in the sight of my kid sister in her white-and-pink dress, barefoot, kneeling at my side with a huge grin on her face.

Sierra’s sitting on the floor beside my bed playing her game, in her usual T-shirt and jeans. She’s sitting close but still too cool to make it obvious she wants to be near me. It’s good to see her back to normal, means she’s dealing with what happened.

It’s not until I sit up a little that I find Sam passed out at the foot of my bed, having a nap.

I shift my gaze from one to the next, trying to memorize every detail of how they are. And dammit. Why am I thinking like this? I’m only eighteen. I shouldn’t be at all worried about people getting old and dying.

Speaking of dying, says Dalton’s voice in my head. I could use a spot of assistance if you don’t mind.

“Whoa!” I blurt.

Sophia jumps with a squeal.

Sierra calmly glances up at us. “Why does the bathroom down here smell like a Snickers factory exploded?

“Don’t worry about it.” I pat Sophia on the shoulder. “You’re good. I thought I just heard Dalton in my head.”

You did. His nervous sigh follows.

“How the hell are you awake? It’s not even three yet.”

Sophia stares at me. “Umm. I’m not a vampire.”

“Not you,” I mutter. “Dalton is somehow talking to me.”

“Whoa. Like VG?” asks Sierra.

“What?” I stare at her.

She holds up her phone. “You know, phones have 4G, vampires have VG?”

Sophia giggles.

Remember that little bit about being in imminent danger can cause some of us to wake? I’m in a bit of a fix. Since you’ve managed a more amicable arrangement with that damnable ball of flaming death, perhaps you could offer a bit of assistance?

Sam sits up and yawns.

I ruffle his hair while making confused faces at the wall. “How are you, umm, doing the telepathic thing from so far away?”

Slight perk of my being the source of your gift. Only works along direct, umm, relations for lack of a better word. Can you help?

“Depends on how bright it is out there.”

“It’s kinda rainy today,” says Sierra. “Do you have to go out? Can we go?”

I shift my legs off the bed and sit on the edge. “I don’t think so, guys. This sounds like it might be dangerous.”

“Aww,” chime all three at once.

What do you need me to do? I ask, telepathically.

Dalton’s fear, discomfort, and worry come back over our mind link, making me curl into a ball. I’m trapped in a space with very little protection from daylight. Need you to find some way to get me out of here without turning me into a sack of crisps.

Don’t you mean chips? I ask.

No. Chips are what you people call French Fries. Crisps are potato chips. Argh. Never mind, just hurry!

“What’s the sitch?” asks Sierra.

I can’t help but laugh at her expression, like a pint-sized CIA boss. “I think Dalton got himself stuck somewhere and is slow-cooking.”

“That’s bad,” says Sophia.

“Gotta figure out some way to get him out of there without incinerating him.”

“Insimarating?” asks Sam.

“Means burning,” says Sophia in her ‘schoolteacher’ voice.

Sierra shrugs. “Borrow a coffin?”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, like I can just find one of―hang on…”

She blinks at me. “You have a coffin?”

“No, but Ashley kinda does. A giant trunk.”

“The one you guys got trapped in when you were Sam’s age?” asks Sierra, laughing.

Ugh. “Yeah, that one.”

“How’d you get stuck in a trunk?” asks Sophia. “That’s kinda stupid.”

A long sigh glides out of my nose. “We were trying to play submarine and the latch got caught.”

Wow. Sierra shoots me a look of worry. “That’s not cool. You coulda died.”

“Yeah. It’s amazing I made it to eighteen.” I wink at her, grab my phone, and call Ashley.

“Oh, wow, you’re up early,” says Ashley by way of answering.

I glance over at the clock on my nightstand: 2:49 p.m. “Not that early. Hey, I need a huge favor.”

The day’s overcast, but not raining. According to my phone, it’s seventy-two degrees, but it feels like 118 to me. I’ve got a hoodie on, hood up, jeans, and sneakers. I’m dressed for early autumn in the middle of July, but clothes don’t matter much to me in terms of warmth anymore. At the moment, I’m more concerned with covering my skin to keep the daylight off it.

I think I’m getting used to being a vampire because running to Ashley’s house―something I’ve done millions of times―feels slow and annoying. After waiting for Mrs. Ellison to crawl by in her Cadillac, I zip across the street into Ashley’s front yard. A curtain in the front window flickers, and the front door swings open a second later.

I hurry straight inside without hesitation.

Ashley shuts the door and I go from baking to being slightly uncomfortable.

Michelle, standing a few feet away, folds her arms and stares worry at me. “What’s going on?”

“Sarah!” yells Mrs. Carter, Ashley’s mom, while running over. “What are you doing outside? Aren’t you, like, allergic to the sunlight? You shouldn’t risk getting hurt.”

I hug her. “I’m okay. I don’t really have time to explain right now, but I can handle gloomy days.”

“All right.” She smiles around at us. “Can I get your girls anything? Cupcakes, pretzels, tea, blood?”

Ashley sputters. Michelle covers her mouth to stop from laughing.

“I really hope you’re kidding about that last one,” I say.

Mrs. Carter winks at me. “Of course… unless you really need a sip.”

“Oh, I will later after being out in the light, but I’ll find someone to nibble on.”

“That sounds so wrong.” Michelle shivers.

“It’s really not that bad,” says Ashley. “You don’t even feel the bite, and the whole time they drink it’s like… well…” She eyes her mother and goes scarlet in the face. “It feels like an, uhh, orgasm.”

Mrs. Carter blushes as well, then glances rapidly between us. “You…”

“No. It wasn’t me.” I hold up my hands. “I don’t bite family. Look, someone’s in a heap of trouble and we need to hurry.”

“If it wasn’t you, who bit my daughter?”

Ashley blushes. “Can we not do this now, Mom? I’ll tell you later.”

“All right,” says Mrs. Carter with a bit of sigh in her voice. “You girls let me know if you need anything.”

“We will,” says Ashley.

“Thanks Mrs. C,” says Michelle.

Ashley leads the way upstairs to her room. It’s not quite the pink-splosion Sophia’s is, but it isn’t too far from it. And OMG the unicorns. They’re everywhere, like rainbow rats. Come to think of it, hanging out with Ashley is probably why I wound up midway between my sisters in terms of girlishness. Having a super-girly best friend pulled me in that direction; otherwise, I probably would’ve been more like Sierra.

“Okay.” Ashley points at the trunk, a huge black and bronze thing like people used to take on cruise ships in the 1930s. “I got all my old crap out of it.”

The floor is littered with board game boxes, Barbie stuff, and dolls.

“This isn’t going to like ruin it, right? My Mom will kill me if we destroy Granny’s chest.” Ashley nibbles on her finger.

I shake my head. “No. I mean, if we screw up and drop it and Dalton goes poof, it might burn… but I’d prefer we didn’t.”

“So what’s going on?” asks Michelle.

“You know that thing about how friends will lie to the police for you, but best friends will help you move the body?” I ask.

“What!” yells Michelle. “Holy shit. You really…” She waves her hands about and paces. “I can’t believe you’d do that. Oh my God. We’re going to Hell.”

“Dude.” I grab Michelle by the shoulders and stare into her eyes. “Relax. No one killed anyone. We just need to move a body.”

“You’re not making any sense.” She fidgets.

“The sunrise snuck up on Dalton and he tried to take cover in a construction yard. Only, the place he found isn’t as secure as he thought, and he’s being lightly roasted.”

“Oh.” Michelle shivers. “So, you think we’re just going to walk into a construction site with this giant ass box, stuff a dude in it, and carry him out like it’s no big deal, without anyone questioning us?”

Ashley cringes. “Is he gonna stink?”

“Depends on how long it’s been since he showered.”

“No. I mean… This chest has gotta come back to my room and I don’t want it smelling like dead guy.”

I step into the trunk and crouch down. Yeah I can fit in here comfortably, so it should be plenty for Dalton. “No, he doesn’t smell like a dead guy. He’s a vampire. Only not the same kind as me so the sun will fry him in seconds.”

“And you got a day pass?” asks Michelle.

With the most childlike face I can manage, I look up at her and say, “I’m Innocent.”

“Liar,” says Ashley with a giant smile.

We all break out into giggles.

I’d appreciate a bit more urgency, please, says Dalton’s voice in my head.

“Okay. Come on. Dalton’s cooking.” I hop out of the trunk and close it.

We lug the thing to the stairwell with much bumping of walls and banisters. Michelle and I both grab the low end and step backward down the stairs with Ashley holding up the other side.

“What are you girls up to?” asks Mrs. Carter. “That’s her grandmother’s steamer trunk. It’s an antique.”

“The guy who saved my life is about to die to extreme suntanning. This is the best way I can think of to get him somewhere safe. We won’t damage it.” I sigh in my head. “And if we do, I’ll get it restored.”

Mrs. Carter fidgets nervously. “Oh, please be careful.”

“We’re all about careful,” says Michelle, right before losing her balance and bouncing down three steps on her butt.

Ashley struggles valiantly to hold on to the high end of the trunk, but when I trip over Michelle and go down too, the weight of the box pulls her off her feet. I fall over backward and slide down the last few steps to the landing. The trunk lands on top of me, and Ashley crashes down on top of it.

I’m not sure what hurts more. My head hitting the wall at the bottom of the stairs or the trunk smashing me in the nose.

Mrs. Carter yells in alarm. “Girls! Are you okay?”

“Ow,” says Michelle.

The trunk grinds into me as Ashley scrambles over it to the living room floor.

Ashley squats and lifts the trunk up enough for me to crawl out from under it.

“You’re bleeding!” says Mrs. Carter, running over to grab my arm like I’m a five-year-old who just ate sidewalk after falling off a bike. “Come here and let me have a look at that.”

“Oh, no!” gasps Ashley. “Your tooth fell out.”

A poke with my tongue finds a gap in the front of my mouth. Ugh. “I’ll be okay, just need some darkness real quick.”

“What?” asks Mrs. Carter. “Your nose looks broken.”

I politely extricate myself from her grasp and hurry to her basement stairs. “Be right back.”

Within seconds of me being totally shielded from sunlight, my vampiric nature kicks in and my body regenerates. Now I’m not sure what counts as the weirdest sensation ever. It’s a close call between a tooth spontaneously growing out and the aftereffect of my eating ice cream.

When all the tingling and itchiness stops, I head back out into the house.

“There. All better.”

Ashley hands me a paper towel. “You’ve got blood on your chin.”

I dab it. “Hey, make you a deal. Let’s wait to put the trunk back upstairs until it’s dark, and I’ll do it, okay?”

“Deal.” She nods.

Mrs. Carter stares at me in awe. “That’s amazing. Your tooth is even back.”

“Thanks for being worried about me.” I hug her. “But we really are in a hurry.”

“All right. Be careful.”

Ashley clamps a hand over Michelle’s mouth. “Don’t say it again.”

Michelle laughs.

We lug the trunk outside and stare at a choice between Michelle’s Kia Soul and Mrs. Carter’s Camry. I don’t even consider her dad’s BMW. He’d never let us touch it, nor would the trunk fit in it.

Wait. The BMW is here. That means it’s Saturday. I think. Or the guy took a day off.

“What day is it?” I ask.

“Saturday,” say my friends at the same time.

“Awesome. Wait here.”

I run home and find Mom in the family room setting up a canvas for her oil painting hobby.

“Hey, Mom, can I borrow the Yukon for a little while?” I walk up behind her.

She jumps and nearly drops a box of paint tubes. “Gah!”

“Sorry.”

Mom puts a hand to her chest and breathes hard. “Please don’t sneak up on me.”

“I wasn’t trying to. Just in a hurry.”

“Why do you need the truck? Can’t you fly? And you’re wearing your shoes in the house.”

“Only inside for a minute; not worth taking them off.” I shake my head. “Daylight takes my powers away, remember. I’m just a normal person at the moment. Need a big vehicle for a little while.”

“What are you up to?”

“No time to explain in detail. Dalton’s stuck somewhere and the sun’s going to fry him. Need space to move Ashley’s trunk.”

“Dalton?” she asks. “Oh, all right.” She glances at the unopened paint. “I could drive you.”

She is damn protective of her truck. Maybe it’s not a bad idea, in case the sun gets in my eyes or something. The last thing I want is to be responsible for hurting my friends in a crash. “Okay. Good idea.”

Mom sets her paints down, grabs her keys off the peg, and heads out to the front to get her shoes. The sibs swarm over and chorus-beg to go with us. I’m about to suggest it a bad idea, but Mom makes them promise to stay in the car.

Ugh. Well, I guess she wants to keep an eye on them. Damn, I hope this doesn’t get dangerous. Then again, it is broad daylight (or as close to it as the Seattle area usually gets). We all troop out to the Yukon and Mom drives the four houses down the street to Ashley’s.

I hop out and help my friends lug the giant trunk over to the back doors.

“So, where is he?” asks Mom.

“Umm. I’m not sure. This telepathy thing isn’t like GPS. He’s sending me feelings and I can’t really talk back when I’m out here.”

On a three-count, we haul the trunk up and shove it into the Yukon.

“Get in the trunk,” says Ashley.

“You know that’s a real good idea.” Michelle pokes me. “If your powers come back inside, then you know it’ll work for Dalton.”

“It’s not safe to get in a trunk,” says Mom.

“Wouldn’t want her to suffocate,” deadpans Sierra.

Mom flinches.

“Okay.” I crawl into the back, step into the trunk, and pull the lid down. As soon as it’s closed, I feel ‘whole’ again. “Yeah, it works.”

There you are.

“Hey, we’re on the way. Where are you?”

No bloody idea what the address is. Concentrate on my link and I’ll lead you to me.

“Great. This would work a lot better flying.”

I wonder if I could fly inside the box, and if the box would in turn fly since I’d be carrying it from the inside. Wow, talk about messing with people. Giant steamer trunk cruising along.

“Umm, go toward Seattle,” I say. “I can kinda feel a direction, but it won’t help much until we’re closer.”

Since it’ll be a while before we’re in the area, I open the lid and sit up to be social. Mom asks, so I give her a more detailed explanation that Dalton got himself trapped somewhere and he asked me for help since I can go out in the sunlight. All I know for sure is that he’s in a construction site.

“Hang on.” I duck down and close the lid. “Dalton? Is the site active? How are we going to just walk in and get you?”

There’s no one here. It kinda looks like a construction site. Might be abandoned.

“Okay.” I pop up. “He said there’s no one there.”

The ride is miserably hot for me, but fortunately not too long. For a Saturday, the traffic is on the light side. Once we get nearer the city, I hide in the dark once more and try to reach out for a feel to Dalton’s location. Initially, there’s nothing, but after a few seconds, I get a fix.

“Took me a bit, but I think I got him. Try to head left. He feels like ten o’clock.”

It follows the chain of Transference. The elder can find their progeny, but the progeny can’t see their elder unless we allow it.

“Oh, that’s not fair.”

Few things in life are.

“But I’m not ‘in life.’”

Even fewer things after life are fair.

Ugh. Wonderful.

The feeling of direction begins to slide around me to the left. “We’re passing him. Turn left when you can,” I yell from within the trunk.

Braking makes me slide to the front, mushed into the wall.

“Red light,” says Mom.

Sierra and Sophia get into a conversation about a theoretical video game involving unicorns, in the sense of Sophia wanting one and Sierra considering learning how to make it. Sam suggests the unicorns need rocket launchers. Ashley gets in on the conversation once the U-word comes up. Wow, she sounds like a little kid. Michelle and my Mom carry on a parallel conversation about law school, ignoring the fluffery going on behind them.

And… I’m in a box.

I roll against the side when we take the turn, and my VPS navigation tells me Dalton’s almost straight in front of me. “Keep going this way.”

A few minutes go by, and the sense of him glides off to the right, fast.

“We’re close. He’s on the right now.”

“There,” says Michelle.

“That looks like a demolition site, not a construction site,” says Mom. “It’s marked no trespassing.”

“Tell that to Dalton,” says Sierra.

“Ooo, he’s gonna get in trouble,” singsongs Sophia.

“No he’s not. He’s a vampire,” replies Sam. “They don’t have to listen to people laws.”

“Exigent circumstances,” says Michelle. “Trespass or die.”

Mom laughs.

Dalton feels quite close. “Yeah, this has to be it.”

We stop, and I pop up out of the trunk. Mom’s pulled off the road onto a dirt lot in front of a chain link fence surrounding a nine or ten story building that’s mostly open on one side and covered with tarps. I can’t tell if it’s being built or torn down hunk by hunk, though the padlock on the gate is rusty and doesn’t appear to have been opened in a long time.

“Looks scary in there,” says Sophia.

“You are not going in.” Mom shifts into park. “I’m not sure I want to let Sarah either.”

I shut the trunk and crawl over my siblings to the rear left side door. “I’ll be okay. We’re not going in there to mess around. In and out like Dad at the mall.”

Mom chuckles.

Ashley and Michelle follow me around to the back, and we unload the trunk.

I’m melting in my sneakers. Holy crap it’s hot. The clouds have opened a little and it’s starting to trigger my ‘oh shit’ reaction, but not so much I can’t force my way past it. Pretty sure I know how soldiers in Iraq feel now. Like 130 degrees in the shade. But at least I’m not carrying tons of crap.

“Wow, you okay, Sare?” asks Michelle. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“No, I’m really not ‘okay,’ but I can cope. Come on, let’s get this done.”

Please, luv, says Dalton in my head.

I grab the trunk and lift one end. “Hold on to your fish and chips, we’re almost here.”

Ashley squeals and rushes to lift the other end before I drag it. “Careful, please.”

“Sorry.” I take a few breaths to calm down. “I think I’m picking up on Dalton’s mental state and it’s making me agitated.”

Agitated is a lovely British way of putting it.

“Huh?” I ask no one in particular.

We’re rather fond of understatement.
Please, carry on.

Michelle scouts around and finds a spot where the chain link has separated from the pole enough that we can get the trunk inside. Ashley holds the mesh back, making uneasy noises as she worries about scratches. She lets go of the fence after we slip in, and it slaps against the pole, startling Michelle.

“Yo, we’re going to get in serious trouble if we get caught here.” Michelle looks around.

“If you’re worried about your law career, you can wait out by the car… I won’t mind.”

“Nah. Already in here. Besides, this shit is heavy enough empty. Once your boy’s in it, it’s gonna be way worse.”

I’m not sure how Dalton would feel about being called ‘my boy,’ but she’s got a point. “Thanks.”

With daylight roasting me, I don’t have any idea where he is. All my vampiric energy is going toward preventing my instantaneous ignition. We lug the trunk across an open area half parking lot, half dirt, crisscrossed with broken pipes, thick wires, and concrete forms, a good number of which are broken.

“I think I hear something,” says Ashley.

“What?” I ask.

“Pitiful whimpering.” Ashley points off to the left. “Over there.”

“That’s probably him.” I haul my end of the trunk in that direction.

A moment later, gasps and moans of pain reach my ears. Sure enough, we find Dalton hiding inside a stack of concrete sewer pipe sections, in the bottom row. Every like six feet, a thin band of sunlight invades the dimness. Smoke from the steady roast of indirect sunlight surrounds him and wafts up from the end of the opening near us. I imagine the rays leaking between seams in pipe segments are like laser beams to him. His face is greyish and his eyes glow yellow, a bit like me when my mother barged in, but a little calmer.

“Wow. You look like a homeless dude,” I say.

He scoffs. “You’d not look much better half cooked.”

“Smells like a barbecue,” says Michelle. “Only with spoiled meat.”

“Charmed.” Dalton grumbles.

She’s got a point. The air is rather full of burning flesh. “Umm. Okay. Let’s stand this thing up on end. He can run into it and knock it over, and the lid will close fast.”

He whines.

“Crawling out and climbing in is worse,” says Ashley. “Sarah’s right. You’re going to have to deal with a second or two of sunlight.”

“Oh, bollocks.” He hangs his head. “All right.”

Michelle and I stand the trunk up on end and get it as close to the pipe as we can.

Ashley holds on to the lid to keep it from swinging in the way. “Guys, please be careful.”

“This trunk is older than hell, Ash,” says Michelle. “It’s been on boats. It’s already scuffed up.”

“I know.” Ashley bites her lip. “But I don’t wanna make it worse.”

“Okay.” I peer through the gap at Dalton. “Come on.”

“Oh, you and your Innocent blood. Make it look so easy.” He fakes a spiteful look.

“Ha. Ha. Still feels like I’m on fire. I’d rather go back inside.”

“Dude. Just do it.” Michelle taps her foot, looking around.

Dalton braces himself, takes a few deep breaths, and… chickens out. “Sarah, be ready to jump on that lid, all right?”

“I got you.” I move to stand beside where the trunk will fall if he hits it hard enough.

Michelle looks around again. “Can we like do this before the cops show up?”

“Right.” Dalton darts forward, yelping in pain twice as he passes through two seam gaps of sunlight.

He hits the trunk in a cannonball pose, knocking it over onto its bottom. I dive for the lid, but it slams closed on its own faster than I can push it.

“Oh, bloody hell,” moans Dalton inside the box. “That fecking hurt.”

Smoke seeps through the gap between the lid and the bottom.

“Ugh.” Ashley frowns. “It’s gonna smell like bad hamburgers.”

“Ahh.” Dalton exhales. “It’s a bit cramped, but this is much better.”

Michelle tugs on the handle, but doesn’t move the box much. “Ugh. Heavy. Hey, can’t we just leave him here until nighttime?”

“I’d really rather not,” says Dalton. “Certain parties are likely to be looking for me here once the sun goes down.”

I bow my head, staring at my sneakers. “Dalton, what did you get me involved with?”

“Nothing,” he says, his voice bright with a smile. “Other than transporting me around. Much obliged by the way. You are an amazing girl.”

“She’s so damn sweet she’d feel bad if Scott sprained his wrist when he stabbed her,” mutters Michelle.

“I think not.” I say, scowling.

Ashley moves to the end of the trunk, grabbing both handles on that side. “We can do it. He’s kinda skinny.”

I take the left handle on the ‘walking backward’ side. Michelle grasps the other.

“On three,” says Ashley.

We groan and haul the trunk off the ground, then shuffle at a laborious pace toward the way out.

“If it was dark, she could carry this thing herself,” grunts Michelle.

“If it was dark, we wouldn’t have to put Dalton in a box,” I gasp between breaths.

Now this is more like being a soldier in Iraq. Suffering blistering heat while carrying heavy-as-hell things around the desert. All that’s missing is people trying to shoot me, stake crossbows notwithstanding.

Grunting and groaning, we lug the trunk over to the rip in the fence. I can’t believe my eyes, but my mother hops out of the Yukon and runs around to hold the flap of chain link out of our way. It’s so surreal watching my mom break the rules, I almost lose my grip. Dropping Dalton on my foot would not be fun though. We get him around behind the Yukon, set the trunk down, and collapse for a moment of rest. I’m not sure if it’s because of the sun taking my powers away or it’s psychological, but I feel as exhausted as my friends look.

Once we catch our breath, my mother even helps us lift the trunk into the truck.

“Thanks, Mom.” I hug her.

She looks worriedly at me. “Please tell me that overcooked steak smell is not you.”

“That would be me.” Dalton’s piteous moan emanates from the box.

Sophia, Sierra, and Sam all peer up over the back seat with wide eyes, staring at the talking trunk.

Michelle winds up riding shotgun, with Ashley and me in the middle of the back seat, my siblings climbing all over us. Mom hands me a pair of sunglasses from the overhead storage bin, which I eagerly put on. At least that makes looking around somewhat less painful.

I’m kinda out of it on the ride home: exhausted, hot, and feeling like total crap. The sky’s cleared even more. If it gets any brighter, I’m going to be in serious trouble. This is a day I probably should’ve stayed in my room, or at least the house. But it’s good to know I can hold it together for emergencies.

I feel like I haven’t slept in three days, fading in and out of consciousness. Everyone talking swirls into a mess of sound. The trip’s over after an eternity of floating amid a blur of child voices chattering and eighties music. That’s probably the real reason Mom wanted to drive―she hates it when I change her radio station. Like it’s some huge effort to push ‘Preset 1’ on the dash.

Ashley shakes me. “Hey, we’re back.”

“Huh? What? Oh, right.” I stretch. “It’s day-ish enough to knock me out. That’s not a good sign.”

Dad comes outside, confused as to where everyone went. While Mom gives him the brief explanation, Ashley, Michelle, and I drag the trunk out of the Yukon. My father hurries over to help carry, sparing my friends. He and I manage to get it in the front door, across the house, and down the stairs to the basement. As soon as I walk into my room, it feels like I’m entering a cooler freezer.

“Ahhh….” I drop the trunk and bask in the awesomeness of no longer being microwaved.

Ashley, Michelle, and my sibs enter behind me; Sam closes the door.

Oh, this is wonderful. I fall flat on my back upon my bed, basking in the coolness of going from deep Sahara desert to suburban USA air conditioning. I so want a shower, but that’s gonna wait for the sun to go down.

Ashley opens the lid and peers in. Her eyebrows go up. “Eww. He’s dead.”

Sophia gasps and shies away.

“You know, Sarah,” says Dad. “When I mentioned helping you move random dead people, I was kidding.”

“He’s not dead.” I fold my arms while flat on my back. “He’s Dalton.”

“Why’d you kill him?” asks Sophia.

“I didn’t. He’s sleeping.”

“Yo, Sare,” says Michelle. “Your boy don’t look so good.”

I sit up. “He’s not an Innocent. He can’t really function during the daylight hours, even if the sun’s not touching him.”

“But he was awake before…” Ashley tilts her head in confusion.

“He was at the edge of being roasted alive. That’s normal. Someone comes near him with intent to kill, it would wake him up too.” I hold my hands up. “Don’t ask. I have no idea how it works.”

“Can we get him out of the box?” asks Ashley.

“Yeah sure.” I force myself to my feet and walk over.

Lifting him is trivial since I’m at full strength in here. I set him on the floor by my bed, but do loan him a pillow.

Ashley sticks her head in the box and sniffs. “Okay, it’s not too bad. If I leave it open for a day or two it should stop smelling like burned steak.”

I spin back to them. “Thanks for helping.” My gaze focuses on Ashley’s neck, and my fangs come out on their own.

“Whoa,” says Sierra. “Sare, your eyes are glowing.”

It’s not until I look at my little sister that I realize how damn hungry I am. You know that Tom & Jerry thing where the cat is so starved that whenever he looks at someone they turn into a hotdog or something for a second? Yeah, my kid sister just became a brownie sundae in my mind.

“Shit. You guys need to get outta here. Too much sun. I think my tank is empty.”

Sam walks closer. “You can have some blood if you need. I don’t want you to go nuts.”

“No way, kiddo.” I put a hand on his head. “You’re too small to donate. Same goes for you two.” I make shooing gestures at my sisters.

“If you’re going to lose your shit, take whatever.” Ashley offers an arm.

“You just fed Aurélie not too long ago. I can’t feed on you for like three months. Not like I want to.”

Dad tugs at his collar. “If you need a bite…”

“I’m not… no. Ick. Gah! Dad! Too intimate.” I shiver.

Michelle, who’d been staring down at the rug, seems to resolve an inner argument and looks me in the eye. “Okay. I’ll do it. You’re different, and it’s freakin’ me out.”

“I’m not going to go crazy. I can hold it together until later.”

“You look like hell.” Michelle grasps my shoulders. “Doesn’t hurt, right? Just like donating blood?”

“Yeah.” Her neck, so close to my face, is damn hard to resist. Something inside my psyche pushes me closer to her.

“Can we watch?” asks Sierra.

“Uhh,” says Dad.

Oh, hell. I lean in and bite her as gently as I can. When I get a mouthful of dark chocolate coffee flavor, I momentarily hate myself. Both for biting my friend and that my brain went to chocolate because her skin is dark brown. Despite my guilt, I keep drinking. Though, a few sips in, I catch a hint of coffee and remember she always orders a mocha latte at Starbucks.

Michelle holds on to me like we’re making out, though she’s not doing anything with her mouth other than emitting strange gasps. This is the first time I’ve fed from someone without putting them in a mental fog before.

“Do you always cry when feeding?” asks Dad.

I shift my eyes to him. My expression must be pathetic, since he shies away. Once I’ve taken enough blood to where I no longer feel in danger of losing control, I let go and lick the side of her neck. Michelle shudders.

“You okay, hon?” asks Dad in a soft tone.

“Not really. I just bit one of my friends. Something I told myself I’d never do.”

Michelle holds me tight, but I can’t tell if she’s being comforting or simply can’t stand on her own.

“Wow, that was intense,” says Michelle. “If it feels like that every time, you shouldn’t feel guilty.”

“What did it feel like?” asks Sophia, hand clamped on her neck. “Did it hurt?”

“It didn’t hurt.” Michelle lets go of me and stumbles over to sit on my bed. “It’s kinda like the way you feel when you take that first bite of an awesome ice cream cake.”

My siblings all stare at me like they want to be next.

“She’s being nice. It feels like all the life drained out of your legs and you can’t stand up.” I shoot Michelle a look. If you make them beg for me to bite them, there will be retaliation.

She grins and thinks, Well, I could’ve said it felt like the best orgasm I’ve ever had. Now I know why you won’t bite Ash.

I gasp.

Dad raises an eyebrow at my sudden blush. “I have the feeling I’ve missed something.”

Michelle and I say, “Don’t worry about it,” at the same time.

“So, what now?” asks Dad.

“Nothing really. He’s safe here, so he’s going to be out like a plank until sundown.” I glance down at the man who spared me from death and gave me eternal existence. His skin is as shrunken and sallow as Glim’s, and he looks every bit a corpse that has been mummified for over a century.

“What about my trunk?” asks Ashley.

“I’ll bring it over as soon as it’s dark.” I smile, and pick it up one-armed by a side handle like an oversized lunch box. “Easy.”

“Come on you guys,” says Dad while making shooing gestures at the sibs. “Let’s let the man sleep in peace.”

I take the sunglasses out of my hoodie pocket. “I don’t think he minds.” With a flick of my wrist, the earpieces pop out, and I slip them on. “He sleeps like the dead.”

Michelle groans. Dad cackles. Ashley looks confused. Sierra frowns at me with a sigh.

After a moment, Sophia breaks the silence with, “I don’t get it. What’s with the sunglasses?”

We all break out laughing.

Except Dalton. He just kinda lies there.

Taking the Mick

16

Michelle leaves around five after a few hours of video games and generally hanging out in my room. Her phone beeps at her, a reminder that evidently, she had plans with the parents for tonight. It’s gotten cloudy again, so the rest of us all migrate upstairs. I take the opportunity for an excessively long shower to wash away the sticky grunginess of my ‘desert trek’ from earlier.

While I’m standing in the spray basking in the joy of no longer feeling funky, Sierra walks in on me and goes over to the toilet.

“Excuse me,” I blurt, covering myself as best I can with my hands. Stupid transparent shower curtain.

“You’re excused,” deadpans Sierra.

“I locked the door.”

She doesn’t look at me, but holds up a screwdriver. “You did. But you’ve been in here for an hour and eleven minutes, and Sam’s stupid friend stopped up the downstairs one again.”

I turn away before she drops her pants. Ugh. Family. Love ’em, but they can be so damn annoying. Fortunately, she’s quick. As soon as she’s out of the room, I dry off and change. In the wake of my afternoon roast, I’m in a dress mood, so I put on a little cream-colored thing with spaghetti straps and pleats. Ahh. Feels like I can breathe again.

For the rest of the day, we abuse the PlayStation. Ashley’s cell phone rings at like seven. Her mom wants to know where she is and if she’d planned to be home for dinner. It feels a bit like old times when Ashley randomly announces she needs to go home to eat. She hurries out the door so fast she forgets her shoes… and doesn’t come back for them. She probably made it halfway home before noticing and decided not to bother.

A minute or two past nine, Dalton shambles out of the kitchen.

“He looks somewhere between hung over and hit by a bus,” says Dad, from his recliner.

“Cheers, mate.” Dalton salutes him with two fingers. “Oi. Bit peckish after my near dance with the sun.”

“Please don’t eat my family,” I say, flat.

Dalton reaches over the sofa back, grabs Sophia’s ankle, and holds her up by one leg. She squeals, dropping her Kindle to hold her dress in place. “Nah. Too small. I’d need like eight of these to notice I’d eaten.”

Dad looks about ready to jump out of the chair, but relaxes when Sophia’s yelling turns into giggling.

“Just takin’ the Mick.” Dalton winks, tickles her foot for a second, and lowers her gently onto the sofa. “But, I do need to see about a nibble.”

Sam and his friends upstairs get loud for a few seconds, laughing about something.

“Hmm.” Dalton glances at the ceiling. “A handful of somewhat larger snack-size portions might do.”

I glare at him.

“Oy, you’ve got no sense of humor.” He walks around the sofa to me and takes my hand. “Thank you, luv. Very much appreciate the assist. And I don’t nosh on little ones.”

Mom glides in from the study, wiping paint off her hands. “If you’re in bad shape, I suppose I could offer. You did, after all, save my daughter’s life.”

“Mom!” I yell.

Dalton, eyebrows up, spins toward her. “Are you sure, missus?”

“You’ve a manic look to you,” says Mom. “Might be best for you to take the edge off, and I don’t mind.”

“Mom…” I squirm, dreading the idea of my mother having a supernatural orgasm right in front of me, Dad, and the girls. “Are you really sure you want to do that?”

“It’s fine.”

I turn away as he moves in for the bite. Dad shifts in his chair, clearly conflicted. True, Dalton’s the reason they didn’t bury me, but he’s also got his lips at my mother’s neck. Mom doesn’t make a sound, and I don’t look at anything other than my toes until Dalton thanks her.

“Oh, my,” says Mom.

I’m as red as a beet when I lift my gaze off the floor, but I have to know. Much to my surprise, her thoughts give away not a sense of having ‘gotten off,’ but more like an explosion of freedom, like if she’d won the lottery and moved to a tropical island and never had to worry about stress ever again.

My blush fades at that, leaving bewilderment on my face.

“I only took a little,” says Dalton.

I creep closer and stand beside him. “Can we talk?”

“Of course.”

We head down the hall, through the kitchen, and out the sliding glass door onto the deck. The wood’s slick with rain and cold under my bare feet, and the wind’s blowing right through the thin fabric of my dress, but it’s so much nicer than before. I’d much rather be a touch chilly than melt.

“I really can’t think of my family as a food source.”

Dalton nods. “I wasn’t going to, but she offered, and the woman had a point. About taking the edge off, I mean. A bit of an emergency as it were.”

“What happened? How did you wind up in that place? Concrete pipes?”

“Umm… let’s just say that certain parties had become upset with me, and I lost track of time while trying not to be discovered by them.”

I rake a few strands of hair off my face. “Were they upset with you for making me?”

“Oh, no. I doubt anyone’s going to care about that. They only get their knickers in a twist if someone gives the Transference to an actual child, or too many people too fast, or if their progeny are gobshites.”

“What the heck does that mean?” I ask.

“Mean spirited, reckless idiots.”

“Oh. So what got their panties in a knot?”

He grins. “Well, you see, it’s a matter of some misplaced antiquities.”

Both my eyebrows go up. “You stole something?”

Dalton grasps his lapels and rocks heel to toe. “I’ve dabbled in acquisitions.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He gives me his ‘charming’ smile. “It’s true.”

“No, I mean I believe you, but I don’t believe you.”

“I’m not sure I follow, lass.”

I pace around, alternatively burying my face in my hands or raking them over my head. “What did you steal? You’re a thief?”

“That’s a bit harsh. One party hired me to obtain a particular item from another party.”

My eyebrows form a flat line. “That’s still stealing.”

“Oh, you are precious.” Dalton hugs me. “It’s heartwarming that my progeny is so innocent.”

“You’d be funny if you were funny,” I mutter.

He laughs.

“Give it back?”

Dalton winces. “Ehh… it’s not quite that simple. I obtained said antiquity, but before I could deliver it to the buyer, another party stole it from me. Perhaps I may have been a bit lax in taking precautions to secure it in transit. Now, I’ve got the party who hired me upset because they think I gave it to the third party on purpose, and the bloke who originally had it is also rather cross with me.”

“Ugh.” I shake my head. “Well, if you stole it once, you can steal it again.”

“Alas… It’s not quite that easy. I think I’ll be better off returning to London for a century or so until they forget.”

“London?” I stop short in my pacing. “What’s so difficult about getting it back? Or don’t you know who has it?”

“Oh I know precisely where it is.” He stuffs his hands in his pants pockets and exhales. “That’s the problem. There’s a chap by the name of Anatoly Zarkhov. He runs a little pub, Abaddon, that’s a hangout for our kind.”

“Sounds lovely.” I shiver.

“On the outside, it looks like your ordinary unsavory sort of night club. There’s an inner circle for vampires though, and they select random people from the crowd each night for refreshments.”

I cringe a little, but still… “How is that different from hunting?”

“Sometimes they keep them for a few days, force-feeding them booze or sometimes drugs so the vampires who feed from them experience a similar effect.”

“Ugh. Yeah, okay, that’s not cool.”

“As you can expect, the survival rate is about fifty-fifty.” He emits a resigned sigh. “But that’s not my immediate problem. The antiquity is there, down in Zharkov’s little office. And it’s pretty much impossible for me to sneak in past his associates. Only one route in and too many of them to get past unnoticed. Even attempting it would be suicide.”

“What, is this something like the undead version of the Russian mob?”

Dalton chuckles. “Nah, these chaps are nowhere near that organized. But generally, I suppose.” A gleam dances in his eyes as he watches me.

“Are you looking at my boobs through my dress?”

“No.” He sidles over and puts an arm around me. “Going in there at night is suicide.”

“Umm. Are you serious? You know when I’m outside during the day, I’m basically a normal person. If I get hurt, it’s permanent. And I’m not a thief.”

“It’s not technically stealing to take something back from someone who stole it.” He bows his head. “We’ll even bring it to the original owner if it helps your conscience.”

“The only thing sketchier than your respect for the law is your work ethic.” I sigh into a weak chuckle. “I don’t have any idea how to steal anything. Are you sure I could even do this?”

Dalton does a double take at me. “Wait, you’re serious? You’d consider doing it?”

“Considering and actually doing aren’t the same thing. I already am considering it. You did, after all, save my life.” I look down at my feet, a puddle of rainwater around them. “Do you think I can do this without getting myself killed?”

“I can’t say I’ve ever seen the inside of the place during the day.” He rubs his chin. “But, there won’t be any vampires up and about either. All of Zharkov’s associates will be dead as corpses until the sun goes down. At worst, you’ll have to deal with some human employees. So you should be able to charm your way past them with ease.”

“Dalton.” I stare up at him. “You do remember that if I’m out in the day, I have no powers, right? I can’t take over people’s minds if there’s even a scrap of sunlight in the room.”

“Well, that could be an issue… however you should still be able to charm them.” He smiles. “You look younger than you are, and on most people, you can use that to your advantage. Act like you belong there. Don’t show any fear or hesitation. That bloke who nicked a giant television from a store simply walked out like he’d paid for it. Confidence works.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. Finally, I’m getting some ‘instruction’ from my sire, and it’s on how to be a criminal.

“And not to be sexist, but you can always cry if you get into a bad spot.”

“You know whenever you start something with ‘not to be a whatever’, that usually means you’re being whatever.”

He shrugs. “I’m just commenting on human nature. A crying young woman elicits sympathy. Not saying you’re weak and will cry. Only that you can use it to your advantage if you have to.”

“So all women are deceivers?”

Dalton hangs his head. “Cripes. No. That’s not at all what I’m saying.”

I grin. “Just taking the Mick.”

He shifts his eyes up to me. “Bollocks.”

“Did I use that right?” I ask. “Taking the Mick.”

“Aye.”

“Okay.” I gaze up at the stars, knowing I’m going to regret the next words I speak. “I’ll do it.”

Abaddon

17

One might think I’d avoid telling my parents that I planned to sneak or break into a nightclub during the day to steal back a precious antiquity because they’d forbid me from doing it or lock me in my room or something like that.

No. I don’t tell them because I don’t want them trying to help me.

After Mom’s crazy rebellious act of holding the fence for us―seriously, for her that’s wild as hell―I don’t want to take the risk of getting them drawn into any bad blood among vampires. I don’t know if using the phrase ‘bad blood’ in the context of vampires is a pun and I don’t really care.

According to Dalton, he stole this spyglass from an elder. Supposedly, it once belonged to an admiral in the British Navy back when they had sailing ships, like total Pirates of the Caribbean type stuff. This particular spyglass had been all the way to Antarctica at one point and even survived the sinking of three ships, having been the prized possession of the navigation officer or some such thing like that.

I’d make a lousy criminal, as I can’t imagine why anyone would steal something so unique and priceless it could never be sold. Not like there’s dozens of ancient spyglasses out there, lined up on the shelves at Walmart and the stolen one could get lost among them. People steal expensive cars, but they’re not unique so that makes sense.

This thing? Ugh.

Well, these are vampires after all. I’m guessing the motive here wasn’t selling.

It would be easy to cheat and influence Dad to let me borrow the car no questions asked, but I promised myself―and my parents―that I would never use my powers on them like that. Betraying that trust is something I refuse to do. The only way I’d ever influence them against their will is if not to do so would get them killed. For that, I think they’d forgive me. Anything less, no way. Not risking it.

So, I consider the old teenage standby of lying. I’m not good at it. I know I’m the nerdy good girl, but still… having a lawyer mom made my early attempts at lying fail in grand ways, so I gave up trying. Hmm. I know. I’ll try ‘partial truth.’

Dad’s in his study clicking away.

“Hey,” I say. “Working?”

“Yeah.” He stops typing and turns toward me with a smile. “What’s up, hon?”

“I need to go somewhere for vampire stuff I can’t really talk about. It’s daytime, so I can’t fly. I was wondering if I could borrow the Sentra for like an hour or two.”

He regards me with a mixture of worry and suspicion for a moment. “Why can’t you talk about it? Someone swear you to secrecy or something?”

“Well, you know it’s easier to read the minds of normal people than vampires. If I told you about it―and I really want to by the way―then other vampires could find out by reading your mind. I don’t wanna put you at risk.”

“Oh.” He rubs his chin.

“It’s also a little dangerous and you’ll probably wanna help me.”

“You’re scared.”

I can’t keep the ‘well, duh’ expression off my face. “It’s daytime. I’m nervous.”

“Can you give me a watered down version?”

“Some vampires stole something from some other vampire, and it’s being kept in a place full of vampires. Since I’m like the only one in the whole area who can go outside during the day, the good guys want me to get their thing back while the bad guys are sleeping.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad. I’m guessing they have mortal agents guarding this thing?”

I laugh. “Wow, Dad, you sound so serious.”

“Well, as your primary mortal agent, I’ve made it a point to know these things.”

“Aww.” I lean down and hug him. “I promise to be as careful as possible. This thing isn’t worth my life. I’ll run away before I take a stupid chance.”

“Okay. But be careful on the road.”

“Thanks, Dad. And I will.”

I head back to my room and change from my sweatpants to a tee and jeans. Luck is with me and it’s drizzly today, so I rock the short sleeves. After grabbing the keys off the peg in the front hall, I step into my sneakers and go outside, dashing across the lawn in a light rain to the Sentra.

The car smells like a rental bowling shoe for some reason. If I get out of Abaddon clean, I think I’ll stop somewhere and buy an air freshener, not that it’ll help. This is the car Dad taught me how to drive in, and it barely ever leaves the driveway. It’s getting old, too. But I guess until he changes jobs and has to actually go to an office on a regular basis, he probably won’t bother getting a new one.

The engine hesitates at first, but kicks in, proof that it’s probably a good idea to take the car out for a spin more often than once every few months. In the fall when I start going to school again, I’ll likely wind up using it any day I have classes that start before sundown. Maybe I’ll drive anyway if only for the feeling of normality.

I prop my iPhone up on the dash after plugging in the address for the nightclub. It’s toward the northeastern end of downtown Seattle, so I’ve got a nice little ride ahead of me. Ugh. I’m so damn nervous. Why did I agree to do this?

“Please drive to highlighted route,” says the IPhone, blithely unaware its helping me be a criminal.

“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter. Guess our cul-de-sac is too small to be worth including.

Five minutes into the ride, I’m shaking from nerves. My head fills with something out of a bad movie: a dim nightclub interior full of twenty copies of the same guy wearing denim and biker leathers with Uzis or something, all trying to shoot me. As if. My life has become a horror movie, not a Jean Claude VanDamme flick.

Speaking of which, my Dad loves that guy. Has a whole shelf of DVDs.

And speaking of that, I really should think about taking like a martial arts class or something. My life’s going way off the rails from anything I ever imagined, and those rails are leading me straight into one dangerous situation after another. It couldn’t hurt to learn how to actually use my claws. Though, what martial art practices fighting with vampire claws? Ugh. Get real, Sarah.

A few people beep at me on the way since I’m driving like a little old lady. It’s raining and I’m afraid of dying, not to mention distracted by worries about what awaits me in a place called Abaddon. Maybe I’m being superstitious, but that just doesn’t sound like a friendly environment. In fact, it sounds the exact opposite.

Eventually, my iPhone leads me to the place.

A large, one-story building sits at the back end of a smallish parking lot. It’s almost entirely black, with violet highlights here and there. Tall letters in a demonic script spell out ‘Abaddon’ over the entrance, a set of double doors with round windows.

I gotta say, the exterior décor isn’t doing much for my confidence either.

No one’s around. Dad’s Sentra is the only car in the lot. A little too obvious, so I pretend to be there only to do a U-turn and drive a block off to a parking space. It’s a real pain in the butt to feed coins into a parking meter with shaking hands, but I manage it. Trembling, I walk back to the corner, turn left, and approach the nightclub on foot. The closer I get to the building, the more I feel that I’m never getting out of there if I go inside. When I get within arm’s length of the entrance, I turn around to go home, but stop myself.

Dalton saved my life. Well, sorta. I probably owe him at least a reasonable effort here. With a sigh, I force myself to face the building again.

Amazingly, the front doors aren’t locked. It’s a little after four, so maybe the mortal employees have started showing up to get ready. I pull the door open with a soft shchlep sound of a rubber gasket unsealing. The interior is less sun-hot, but annoyingly bright. I’d been hoping they’d blacked out all the windows, but no such luck.

I slip in and ease the door shut so it doesn’t slam, then creep into a short corridor with a coat check counter on the left and bathrooms on the right. At the end, a three-step stairway leads to a sunken room that looks like Tim Burton opened a franchise bistro. Black tablecloths and purple napkins are everywhere. Each table has black candlesticks shaped like roses, and the thorn motif continues with the decorations around the walls. A narrow art deco podium on the left, studded with dog collar spikes, makes me think of the hostess from Mi Tierra wearing black lipstick and a mesh top. Far to the right past the seating area, a big dance floor takes up the second half of the building, a stage for live entertainment at the back end. Narrow metal walkways connect to two sets of spiral stairs, for anyone brave enough to sit at tables on an elevated platform above a crowd.

A little off to the right at the division between restaurant and dance club, a ‘staff only’ sign hangs above curtained hallway. That has to be where I want to go. A clank of bottles makes me freeze and duck low. Someone’s moving around behind a bar all the way against the wall on the left.

Shit.

I scramble forward and crawl under the nearest table, hiding behind the floor-length tablecloth, which is heavy enough to let my powers come back. My ears tell me there’s at least one person in the room, and a man at that. I can also hear other voices in the back, more than likely in the hallway I need to get to. Well, as long as I stay under this tablecloth, I don’t have to worry about catching a random case of death. Maybe I could trick the bartender into crawling under here with me and pulling the cloth down so I can mind-whammy him?

Eh, probably not.

When it gets quiet, I peek out from the table and crawl across to the next table. Dalton said to act like I belong in here, and crawling around and hiding is a total show of confidence, right? Okay, yeah, I’m a chicken―at least when I don’t have superpowers. Table by table, I make my way across the room toward the hallway. Once or twice, my hand squishes into something unpleasant on the floor, thin black carpet flecked with a purple thorn vine pattern. Sniffing my palm yields a faint greasy smell, but nothing identifiable.

I wipe my hand on a dry patch of carpet, then keep crawling.

Footsteps thump closer. I scoot under the next table and curl up in a ball. A man, probably a fairly big one, walks by, fluttering the tablecloth. He stops a few paces away.

“Huh. This place is so damn creepy.” He huffs. “Screw Bobby. Ghosts, my ass.”

“Yo, Nate, what’s up?” yells a more distant guy who doesn’t sound quite as buff.

“Bobby and his bullshit ghosts. Thought I saw something moving back here.”

The far man laughs. “I’m tellin’ you man. This place has a crazy vibe.”

Nate walks away, again brushing the tablecloth of my hiding spot. I twitch at the motion, covering my mouth with both hands to avoid squeaking in fear.

“The pair of you can eat a dick,” says Nate. “This place is less creepy at two in the morning.”

“That’s because there’s too many people in here to pick up the noises from the other side.”

I imagine Nate giving the other guy the finger, since he laughs.

For a minute or two, I hold tight, listening to the soft thumps of Nate walking around over by the bar. I’ve got two tables to go before I reach the hallway. My heart’s pounding in my chest from nerves. Weird. Such a normal reaction to fear. My heart doesn’t really need to do anything, though I’m glad it didn’t retire. Dalton’s hasn’t twitched in years. I’m sure he can make it beat if he needs to fake being alive, but I’ve never seen him bother. Vampires-not-Innocent have to consciously try to appear like the living.

That gives me the somber thought of wondering if Glim can do it, too. Something tells me that’s a big fat no. Dalton also said to act confident, but I don’t think walking ‘confidently’ into a place I shouldn’t be in the first place is going to work, so my butt stays down here.

The table above me jostles and I almost cry out in shock. I’d been too distracted feeling sorry for Glim that I didn’t notice footsteps getting close. Two soft thuds hit the wood, followed by the jangling of silverware.

Crap. Someone’s going to be roaming around setting tables. I look around―not that there’s anything for me to see other than black cloth―in search of a way out of here without getting busted. I suppose it wouldn’t be too bad if the cops arrest me for trespassing. As soon as it gets dark, I’ll just make them let me go and erase the minds of any officer who saw me. Giant pain in the ass, so I’d rather avoid it if I can.

Yeah I’m a vampire, but there’s still too much of me left in here. I’m terrified at the thought of being arrested. It would kill my parents.

A squeak behind me gives away a pushcart, probably full of silverware trays. Nate’s humming sounds like he’s right next to me. I can just picture him folding black napkins. Ugh. He’s going to be there forever. Hmm. A devilish grin spreads across my face.

I lift the bottom of the tablecloth up enough to find the wheel of the pushcart, put my toe against it, and give it a shove.

“The hell!” yells Nate.

“Hello, Nate,” I whisper, trying to sound eerie. “I see you.”

“Holy shit!” he roars.

His voice is so deep my bones vibrate. It’s really hard not to laugh like a fool at the sound of a huge dude screaming and running away. No time to waste. I crawl out, then scramble as fast as I can around the other two tables before dashing through the curtain. Once past it, I stand and flatten myself against black wood-panel walls. The corridor goes maybe twenty feet to a left corner, and there’s a damn window right at the bend, bathing me in fail.

And by fail, I mean sunlight.

And by sunlight, I mean ‘no powers,’ but at least this girl is not on fire.

The hallway smells like wet dog and sex with an abundance of cheap perfume and leather mixed in. Gee, I can guess what probably goes on back here. Out in the restaurant, Nate excitedly rambles about his cart moving on its own and hearing a voice. The other guy thinks he’s trying to mess with him and isn’t buying it.

I hurry past a bathroom and two changing rooms on the right. Two doors on the left have ‘guest act’ printed on them. At the corner, I stop and peer around. A longer stretch of hallway ends at a door marked ‘private,’ with eight or nine other doors between both sides. Bet those are the ‘love rooms.’ Pegs cover both walls, some holding coats. Shelves of papers, three-ring binders, and boxes of random junk stand on either side. The main office has to be the one at the end. Muttered conversation, all male voices, emanates from the third door on the right side.

As careful as can be, I sneak down the corridor, trying not to touch anything. I have no damn idea what possible excuse to use for being here if I get caught, so my best plan is: don’t get caught. That’s me. Sarah Wright: criminal mastermind.

I’m happily surprised when the ‘private’ door opens without being locked. That either means these guys are stupid, or only a stupid person would dare sneak into this office. Ugh. I’m beyond worrying about that now. I step in and rush the door closed behind me in case any of those guys I heard talking decide to walk into the hall.

The room in front of me looks like a study straight out of an old English manor house―with the Goth dial turned up to eleven. Anatoly Zarkhov probably wears a black lace smoking jacket with a huge furry collar, maybe an eyepatch. Two massive wingback chairs in black leather flank a marble coffee table by a fireplace. The desk straight in front of me is huge and looks like the kind of thing a medieval magistrate would sit behind while sentencing witches to death. Behind the desk on the wall, he’s got a life-sized oil painting of a nude woman hanging in midair, her toes inches from the ground. Blood rushes from a wound at her neck, cascading down over her snow-white breasts. Long black hair reaches her knees, falling around her like a cape. An army of tiny grey goblin-like imps gathers at her feet, lapping up the blood.

Whoa. That’s not creepy at all. Nope.

I take a step deeper into the room, feeling like a mouse dumb enough to invade a lair of cats. The sight of the rug by the fireplace halts me in my tracks. It looks like they killed and skinned a werewolf. I mean, it doesn’t really have human-like proportions, but wolves don’t get that big. The giant head frozen in a permanent tooth-baring snarl seems to stare straight into my soul. Its ebon fur looks super plush, but I don’t have any desire to touch it. Something about that thing’s dead eyes makes me think it would bite me, and being bitten by a wolf the size of a bear probably wouldn’t end well.

I emit a nervous whine from my nose. Sneaking in here is probably the most reckless idea I’ve ever had. Even more so than going into the woods alone with Scott to break up with him. I have no idea how to be a thief. This Zarkhov guy probably keeps that spyglass in a safe somewhere that I’ll never find. Futility grows in my gut, fear chipping away at my desire to do this. Right as I start to turn to flee, I catch a glint of gold on the mantel.

An ornate, engraved tube sits upon a wooden mount at the center, gothic dragon candlesticks on either side of it. That’s got to be the spyglass, but why would Zarkhov leave it right out in the open in an unlocked office? He probably thinks no one is stupid enough to steal from him. Or maybe that rug has secrets.

Hi, I’m Sarah Wright, and this is my first time at Idiots Anonymous.

After a quick glance back at the door, I approach the terrifying rug, giving the head a wide berth. The mantel is huge, putting the spyglass over my eye level but not out of reach. I edge closer and go up on tiptoe for a better look. No sense swiping the wrong thing. Sure enough, it’s got an old dusty lens on one end and an eyepiece on the other. Text along the underside entwined with engravings depicting mermaids and sea dragons says something about ‘His Majesty’s Royal Navy’ or some such thing.

The door clicks and swings open at the exact moment I pick the spyglass out of its holder.

Shit!

“Who the hell are you?” asks a man.

“Umm.” I twist around. “Lost?”

A thirtyish guy with long brown hair, wearing a Children of Bodom T-shirt and jeans stands in the doorway, giving me the same sort of stare a mall security guard might level off at a shoplifter.

“I was looking for someone to talk to about a job application. Didn’t see anyone out front, so I came back here looking for the manager’s office.” I gesture around at the room. “Wasn’t expecting it to be so… extra in here.”

He points at me. “What are you doing with that thing?”

I glance down at the spyglass in my hands. “Oh, this? Just curious. Never saw anything like this before.”

“Mmm. Hmm.” He walks closer.

Dammit. So much for sneaky. Sorry, Dalton. I turn back and put the spyglass where I found it.

The man stops within arm’s reach, but doesn’t make a move to grab me.

“So, umm… is there a manager here or should I come back later?” I ask, trying to ooze as much innocence as possible.

Another minute of him just staring at me is even creepier than that wolf rug.

“What?” I ask. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

He points at the door. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to walk with me down the hall, and do as you’re told for a little while. I’m sure there’s no need to get the police involved.”

I lean back. This guy’s vibes are way off. “Umm. That’s okay. You can go ahead and call the cops if you want.”

“Hmm.” The man rubs his thin mustache. “Perhaps I phrased that a little wrong. Let me try again.” He reaches around behind his back and pulls out an enormous handgun. “You’re going to go down the hall, and do as you’re told for a little while.”

I shift my eyes to the right, glaring in terror at the large multi-panel window showering this room in daylight. I’m plain old me again, and not even being millimeters from peeing myself is doing anything to let my powers out. If this guy kills me in daylight, I’m going to stay dead. A brief argument breaks out in my head debating if it’s better to be dead or raped. I’m sure that’s how this is going to wind up for me. Of course, if he’s going to take me to the basement… my powers will kick in.

At least I don’t have to act. I am shaking in fear. “Okay. Please don’t shoot me.”

The man grasps the back of my neck with his left hand. His hold is firm, but not painful. He pushes me along, his gun still out. We go down the longer stretch of corridor about halfway before he steers me to a door on the right. It’s got a typical push-bar type mechanism, so I shove it open before my face makes contact, revealing stairs.

Yes! Basement.

Shit! There’s daylight.

“Down,” says the man.

Shaking, I creep down the stairs to the landing. It ends at a corner where a hallway branches off to the left away from an open doorway on the right. He twists his hand at my neck, making me turn right into a small room with cinder block walls and a narrow basement style window near the ceiling. Dammit! I can’t get away from that stupid effing ball of burning crap!

I stop short at the sight waiting for me next to the window. Remember how I said I was an inch from wetting myself before? Yeah… if I still had the ability to pee, my pants would totally be soaked now. The wall in front of me is covered in handcuffs, chains, leashes, and all sorts of kinky crap hung on a pegboard.

“Please don’t do this,” I say, shivering. “I’m only fifteen.”

He shoves me forward to the table and pushes me down, bent over it. Sure, I’ve had my butt grabbed at school a couple times, and the occasional jackass snapping my bra, but this is going way beyond my worst nightmare. I’d like to say I keep a brave face on, but I turn into a sniveling, begging wreck.

Without a word, the man holds me down, cheek mushed into the table, and wrestles me into handcuffs, locking my arms behind my back. I scream and kick, but since I’m only as strong as I was in life, he overpowers me with ease. Pocket by pocket, he searches me, stealing my iPhone but ignoring my wallet and keys. I keep wriggling and trying to kick him, but he brushes my attacks aside. After tossing my phone in a box by the sinister pegboard of kink, he grabs a set of leg irons.

“No!” I scream, thrashing even harder. “Please don’t!”

He gathers my feet together while I do my best impression of a manic salmon on dry land. After pinning my legs to his side under one arm, he clamps the restraints around my ankles one after the other.

Freaked more than I’ve ever been, I burst into tears, begging him to let me go and forget he saw me. Like some kind of Frankenstein monster, he shows no reaction at all to my tears. I curl up on the table, shaking, somewhat stunned that he made no move to take any of my clothes off. Odder still, he didn’t even grope me while checking my pockets.

He stuffs the enormous handgun into a holster mounted sideways at the back of his belt, then grabs me by the arm. I whimper as he drags me to my feet.

“What are you gonna do to me?”

“Just do as you’re told and you’ll go home later in one piece.” He pauses a moment, looking me over, especially my butt. “Hmm. You’re kinda skinny.” He plucks a length of chain from another peg and pulls it uncomfortably tight around my waist before padlocking the cuffs to it, pinning my hands to the small of my back.

“Ouch. Is that really necessary?”

The man shoves me out into the hallway, the chain connecting my ankles almost tripping me from the pace he’s trying to get me to walk.

“Hey, stop pushing!”

He drags me into the hall, still saturated with goddamned sunlight from a basement window at the far end. Three jail cells line each side. Holy shit! They have an actual freakin’ dungeon. What the hell is wrong with these people? If I wasn’t already dead, I’d probably have passed out from terror by now.

The first cell on the left contains an unconscious guy in his early twenties in a lime green tank top and green camo pants as well as a young woman with light brown hair. She’s also cuffed hand and foot, and is having about twice the panic attack I am. My captor opens the cell door and gives me a shove inside. I stumble forward, tripping when the cuff digs into the front of my right ankle. My knees slam into the concrete floor in time with the guy slamming the cell door.

Ow.

I sink back to sit, but can’t get my hands around to rub my sore knees. My one conscious cellmate looks to be about eighteen or nineteen. Aside from chains, she’s wearing an Evanescence T-shirt and a black skirt. Her flip-flops lay over by the wall, leaving her barefoot.

She stares at me, shaking as bad as I am. “What are they gonna do with us?”

I glance at the unconscious guy. They cuffed his arms behind his back as well, but didn’t bother chaining his legs. Guess they figure he’s in no shape to run away. Of course, the presence of a guy in here lessens my worry of sexual assault. Well, then again, these people might be equal opportunity freaks. But, no… Dalton said something about ‘refreshments.’ Oh, damn. That thug mistook me for a mortal.

“Shit,” I mutter, and curl forward to rest my forehead atop my knees. “We’re the snacks.”

That means they’re going to keep us here until the sun goes down and the place fills up with vampires.

“What?” asks the girl.

“I gotta get outta here,” I mutter.

Grunting, I twist my hands around, trying to fight the cuffs. Damn Dad and his skinny frame. We all have tiny wrists and normal-sized hands. No way am I getting out of these right now. I can’t even slip them around my butt because of the extra chain digging into my stomach.

“Don’t bother. They’re cop issue,” says the other girl. “We’re screwed. They got cops on the payroll.”

Since I know I’m being held captive as a vampire snack and not for something sexual, I go from scared to pissed off. No wonder they’re just kidnapping people. We can make mortals forget almost anything. It doesn’t matter what they do to people before, especially since, as Dalton said, about half of them won’t survive. After a long few minutes of futile struggling, I wobble upright and pull myself to a seat on the bench next to her. They didn’t put a belly chain on her, but another set of handcuffs connect the ones she’s wearing to a ring on the wall.

Dammit. Unless something miraculously blots out the sunlight coming in the windows before dark, I’m going to be in a heap of trouble. What are the other vampires going to do when they realize I’m not a mortal? If they’re old enough, they’re going to read my mind and know exactly why I came here. Yeah, right. If. I’m not even a month old in vampire terms. Probably the babyest baby vamp within hundreds of miles.

They’re going to know that I came in here to steal that spyglass back, and they’re not going to be happy about it.

The Vampire’s Pantry

18

Never in my life have I been arrested. I even made it through high school without even a single detention. Came close once, but lawyer-mom got me off on a technicality. So, yeah. This sucks.

Really, though. This isn’t ‘arrested’ as much as kidnapped.

And the whole being chained up thing? Ugh. It’s both infuriating and embarrassing. Okay, maybe not as embarrassing as me turning into a crybaby while that guy manhandled me, but still. I’d rather be seen running around naked than fully dressed and chained up like a death row inmate. Still mortifying, but people react to nudity with ‘Oh my God what happened to you,’ and they react to handcuffs with ‘Oh shit, what did you do?’

Having no other option than waiting, I sit there and seethe while tapping my foot.

Stephanie, the other girl locked in here with me, is nineteen, came here looking for a job and got tricked into the same downstairs room. She lives with her boyfriend in a crappy apartment, has a cat named Fido, likes death metal, has no opinion on coffee but thinks Starbucks is simultaneously evil and a positive force for society. She also loves Chinese food, hasn’t had Indian in over a year, doesn’t trust shellfish but adores salmon, and can’t cook to save her life. Her first pet was a dog named Dog, which she got as a seven-year-old. Her boyfriend, Alfie, is an amazing cook with a fondness for blueberry muffins. Went to school for it. Works in a restaurant making a reasonable living, but she hates his hours. He’s also got a lot of back hair.

And this girl doesn’t stop talking.

Okay, I get it, she’s nervous, but geez!

“You don’t say much, do you?” asks Stephanie. “What are you trying to do some Buddhist monk shit and make the cuffs pop open?”

“No. Just waiting.”

She tilts her head at me while tugging at the chain tethering her to the wall. “What for?”

“A narrow moment of opportunity.”

“Huh?”

I close my eyes and hope. Being an Innocent, I should ‘come online’ faster than the vampires who live here. With any luck, that will let me get the hell out before any of them find me.

“What’cha mean, opportunity?” Stephanie tries to stand up, but the chain tethering her to the wall yanks her back to a seat. “Hey! Lemme outta here,” she yells. “I gotta use the toilet.”

It occurs to me at that moment that these cells don’t have toilets. Wonder if that’s because the owners don’t expect to keep people for long or they couldn’t get the plumbing permits. Also, it kinda makes sense now why the doors aren’t locked. They want people to walk in. Guess it’s kinda like a roach motel for idiots. Steel biting into my wrists calls me an idiot.

All things considered, I probably couldn’t have talked my way out of here. But if I’d been more aware of my surroundings, that guy might not have caught me off guard. In hindsight, I figure I probably set off a motion-sensing alarm or maybe the door had a buzzer on it. Since I made zero noise, it had to be something like that. Or maybe a security camera.

My cell phone rings in the distance.

Shit. Dad. He’s worrying. At least, that’s probably him. It could be Hunter, Ashley, or Michelle too. Argh. My innate need to answer a ringing phone clashes with my being chained up in a locked cell. Despite being unable to get to my phone, it drives me nuts not to answer it.

Once the ringing goes quiet, I stop struggling to escape, heaving a hard sigh that blows hair off my face. For a moment, I sulk in silence. Wasting my whole day here hadn’t been even at the bottom of my list of stuff to do. I can’t help but fidget at the cuffs as my mind roams back to feeding from Michelle. She had the mother of all orgasms right there on her feet in front of everyone, and she’s even less likely than I am to take Ashley up on any offer of getting romantic. Chelle’s as straight as straight gets. Why the heck did she get off on me biting her? And Mom… her reaction went completely in the other direction. Nothing at all sexual about it. She felt free.

I shift my jaw back and forth.

“Dammit! I gotta piss!” shouts Stephanie, struggling at the cuffs holding her to the wall.

“Guess this kidnapping doesn’t come with bathroom breaks,” I mutter. “We should’ve upgraded our reservations to first class.”

Desire. Insight hits me like a hand grenade. If someone’s willing to be bitten, and isn’t under the effect of a mental fog, the experience must unlock whatever they want most. Michelle’s lived sans-boyfriend for over a year. Outwardly, she’s been all about studying and schoolwork, and trying to score an internship at a law firm. Chelle said she isn’t worried about a relationship until after her career is on track, but inside, she’s gotta be horny as hell. Oh wow… That’s really awkward to think about my friend like that. And Mom… she seems so happy all the time, but does she secretly hate her life, or only want a break?

Ugh. I’m too wound up for deep thoughts right now, but I’m also pretty much stuck.

The phone starts ringing again. I shuffle over to the cell door and grab it behind my back, protesting being denied access to my lifeline. Vampire compulsion has nothing on Apple. I don’t bother shouting for anyone to let me out since I know it won’t help. Once the phone goes quiet again, I spend a few minutes squirming and pulling at the cuffs, but it’s futile. Defeated, I flop back on the bench and scowl at the wall.

Stephanie bounces, making me bounce too.

“Must you?” I ask.

“I really gotta go.”

Eyes closed, I lean my head back and rest it against the cold cinder blocks. It feels like I’ve been locked up for hours already but the light in the hallway doesn’t look much weaker yet.

At footsteps outside, Stephanie resumes shout-begging for a bathroom break, but no one walks into view.

“Dammit, come on. I’m gonna piss all over the place.”

“Try not to get any on me, huh?” I ask. “Not my fault they’re being pricks.”

She yanks on the tether holding her to the wall. “I can’t exactly go far.”

“Hold it?”

“I’m trying!”

Time creeps by at a geologic pace. The dude on the ground is breathing, but he doesn’t make a sound, or move.

“What’s his damage?” I ask.

“No idea. He was here before me.”

Heavy footfalls come down the stairs. A moment later, the same giant dude who threw me in here appears outside our cell. He unlocks the door and points at me. “Sit still.”

I press myself against the wall, acting timid while he unlocks the second set of cuffs holding Stephanie to the ring, and picks her up over his shoulder like a giant bag of dog food. He steps out of the cell, locks the door, and carries her off. For a little while, I enjoy the wonderful break from my cellmate’s near-endless ramble about her life.

Eventually, the guy carries Stephanie back, though he doesn’t re-secure her to the wall, merely sets her on her feet inside the cell and locks the door again before tromping off.

She shuffles over and sits down, her face flustered and red. “The creep didn’t take the cuffs off.”

“Did you really expect him to?” I ask.

“Are they gonna kill us or make us forget?” she asks.

I glance over at her. “Make us forget?”

“You know, vampires?” She scrunches up her nose and uses her knee to rub at an itch. “I heard this place has them. That’s why I wanted to work here.”

“Really? You believe that stuff?”

She shrugs. “I dunno. Why else would they kidnap us if we’re not gonna be food. I mean, maybe they’re gonna sell us overseas as like sex slaves or something.”

“You’ve been watching too many movies. That stuff doesn’t really happen.”

Stephanie leans closer and whispers, “That’s what they want you to believe.”

For an agonizing period of irritating chatter and deep gut-piercing fear, I sit there in chains, unable to get away from her babbling. The potential wrath of an entire pack of vampires loyal to Zarkhov starts not to seem like a bad thing, if only because it would be an escape from Stephanie’s endless talking. Though, if his office is any indication, this dude’s gotta be a nut job… and on that thought, I go back to being sick to my stomach with dread.

Eventually, I notice the daylight weakening out in the hall. The sight offers hope and gets my heart beating faster. I am extremely sick of being locked up. While my ultimate goal now is getting the hell out of here before any vampires realize I set foot in the place, if I run into the dude who put me here, I may do something mean to him. Like break a bone or give him a mental compulsion to pull that gun of his on a cop.

Wait, no. That’ll get him killed. I just want him to experience prison time.

I could force him to go pick a fistfight with a cop. Nah. Too complicated, plus it could get some cop hurt. I’ll just snap the guy’s leg like a toothpick. Normally, violence makes me cringe, but after the scare that dude gave me, he deserves something.

“It’s almost dark,” says Stephanie. “I wonder if Alfie’s called the police yet since I’m missing.”

“I’d call him to ask for you, but I can’t reach my phone.”

My stare fixed on the floor in the hall, I fidget with anticipation as the rectangle of sunlight slides off to the left at an agonizing pace. A sliver of it remains in sight when the sudden onrush of enhanced senses comes over me.

Yes!

Snarling, I pull at my arms and break the chain between the handcuff rings, which, once I have my hands in front of me, I easily snap like cheap plastic toys. I yank the belly chain off and hurl it at the wall before ripping the cuffs off my legs.

“Holy shit!” yells Stephanie. “You’re one of them! You’re effing eyes are glowing red.”

“I’m mildly annoyed,” I mutter.

“Why did they lock you up?”

I glance at her. “Because they didn’t realize I’m ‘one of them.’”

“Wow. Yeah, you don’t look like deathy and stuff.”

“Thanks.” I pull her upright, spin her around, and break her cuffs, then squat and snap the shackles off her legs.

She stares at me. “You’re letting me go?”

“We’re not all monsters. You’ve got about a fifty-fifty chance of living through this. I don’t like those odds.” I roll the unconscious dude over and snap his restraints.

Stephanie paces around whimpering. “Holy shit. You’re really one of them. I can’t even.”

I snag her by the shoulder and spin her to face me. “Steph?”

“Yeah?” she asks with a head tilt.

“Vampires aren’t real.”

Her eyelids flutter. “Oh, duh. Right.”

I cross the cell in a step and a half and grab the door. A good sideways yank breaks the locking bar with a painfully loud pank of failing metal and bends the bars by my hands. Fortunately, Stephanie’s still too dazed by my mental command to notice. I briefly consider making a dash for the spyglass given I’m back to full strength, but… this dude with us isn’t gonna make it. I won’t have enough time to come back for him. Or Stephanie.

Screw the spyglass.

“Come on.” I grab the guy and throw him over my shoulder like a rag doll.

“How the hell can you carry him like that?” asks Stephanie.

“Extreme yoga.”

She follows me mutely into the corridor.

Evidently, the guy I’d been hoping to meet heard the cell door break. He comes tromping down the steps at the end of the hallway, arriving at the bottom before I can get to the room where my phone is.

I hand the unconscious dude to Stephanie. “Here, hold this.”

Without thinking, she grabs him, and promptly falls over backward under his weight. “Oof.”

“What the…” The guy stares at me in disbelief.

An animalistic snarl leaks out between my teeth. I spring at him, grab him by the shirt, and throw him into the wall hard enough to break his shoulder. He bounces off and staggers around to face me. All the terror I felt when I assumed he was going to rape me explodes into a right hook that smashes his jaw into splinters.

Again, he flies into the wall, this time face first.

Unconscious, he slides to the floor, leaving a trail of blood and spittle.

Stephanie manages to shove the unconscious guy off her and stands. “Holy shit…” She gawks at the thug. “You did that? How?”

“Extreme Taekwondo.”

“I took that as a kid. Well, not the extreme version.” She faces the thug and kicks him in the head with her bare foot.

“You forgot your shoes.”

While she runs back to collect her flops, I snag my iPhone from the cardboard box. Stephanie rushes back down the hall, carrying her shoes, and grabs a small purse from the table next to the box.

I pick the unconscious prisoner up and head for the stairs. The door to the office with the spyglass is only like twenty feet to my left, but I’ve maybe got a couple of minutes before the other vampires wake up. I’m sure Zarkhov and his inner circle use this place as their lair, and I do not want to be here when they get up.

A man walks out of a door on the left as I’m rushing down the hall. Brief eye contact makes him forget seeing me and decide he’s going to spend another twenty minutes in that room. I hurry around the corner at the end of the hall and dash the short span to the curtain. Out in the restaurant area, a handful of people are seated at tables, all basically twentysomethings with wild hair colors dressed in black and lace―or band T-shirts. Bodies move around on the stage, setting up. Everyone seems more or less too absorbed in what they’re doing to notice me carrying an unconscious guy across the room.

Except for the bartender, who stares straight at me. I’m too close to the door to bother with him, so I sprint for the safety of the outside. My passenger does me a favor and opens the door with his head. Sorry pal. Can’t be helped.

Stephanie follows me as I run down the street to the car. When I reach it, the sight of a parking ticket under the wiper feels like the last marble added to a wagon that makes it collapse.

“God dammit!” I yell, hurling the unconscious dude to the ground so I can snag the stupid piece of paper from under the wiper. “Seriously? I get kidnapped and get a parking ticket? Ooh!”

The pat-pat-pat of Stephanie’s bare feet on the sidewalk comes up behind me. Still pissed off about the ticket, I whirl on her about to yell, “what!” but she looks too pitiful, and I can’t do it. Unlike me, she’s got red marks from the chains on her wrists and ankles. She drops her flip-flops and steps into them.

“Hey, can you give me a ride? Those creeps are coming after us.”

“Ugh. Figures,” I mutter. “Yeah, sure. Hop in.”

I toss the dude across the back seat, slam the door, and leap in behind the wheel. Three guys in black come sprinting around the corner at the end of the block. The engine grinds and grinds, struggling, but not catching.

“Of course.”

Stephanie screams, “They’re coming.”

“They’re barely even excited yet.”

“Huh?” She stares at me for a second as the rurr-rurr-rurr of the starter fills in the silence. Her eyes go wide. “Oh, I got it!”

“Naturally. Damn engine. My life has become a frickin’ horror movie, so of course the engine won’t start.”

An instant before I grab the door handle to get out and throw these guys into traffic, the engine catches. One leaps at the car, grabbing at the passenger door handle as I pull away. Another jumps on the trunk. The Sentra roars like an enraged hamster when I floor it, but it moves.

Trunk surfer goes sailing off the car as I swerve. Door guy gives up and lets go before I drag him off his feet.

Heh. Bye bye, assholes.

“Holy shit, we made it.” Stephane fans herself. “How did you get out of those handcuffs?”

“Extreme gymnastics.”

“What?” She stares at me.

With a few seconds of clear road ahead of me, I lock eyes with her. “What handcuffs? Some guys at Club Abaddon tried to kidnap us and we ran away.”

I return my attention to driving, leaving her with a momentary vacant stare. She looks straight ahead, calm as can be a few blocks down the road.

“Holy shit, we got kidnapped!” she yells, a moment later, flying into a random panic.

“Yeah.”

“How are you so calm?”

“Extreme meditation.”

Stephanie blinks. “Wow you’re pretty extreme.”

“You have no idea.”

I take Route 5 up to 520, looking for the first possible way east. Before long, we’re flying over the Evergreen Point Bridge and zooming past Redmond. Soon after I take the turn for Avondale Road, Stephanie looks over at me.

“Where are we going?”

Oops. “Umm. I was autopiloting home. Where do you live?”

“Umm. South Park.” She points her thumb back over her shoulder. “In Seattle.”

“Crap. Sorry. Was a little focused on getting away from them.”

Whump. The car shakes.

“Uhh.” Stephanie glances at the door mirror on her side. “There’s something that’s not real on the car. He’s looking at me.”

Dammit.

A second body lands on the roof with a thud.

I sigh.

“Please don’t let this get complicated.”

Stephanie, her face as white as a ghost, stares at me. “Honey, that guy has fangs. I think things are already complicated.”

I swerve to the side of the road and slam on the brakes. Two guys go flying off the car, but they land gracefully on their feet not too far in front of us.

“What are you doing!” she yells.

“My parents will kill me if the car gets damaged.”

“How are you even driving? What are you, sixteen?”

“I’m older than I look.” Sighing, I shift into park. “Gimme a minute.”

Filching The Stash

19

Two weeks ago, I chased a Jeep, so I know it’s impossible to outrun vampires in a car. Well at least not an ancient Sentra. No sense prolonging things and getting Dad’s car torn to bits. I hop out, slam the door, and walk toward the two vampires.

Both look like they could be roadies for a metal band, with long hair, jeans, leather jackets, and T-shirts. Evidently, my getting out of the car has surprised them, as they stand motionless while I walk right up to them.

“Guys, you―”

The one on the left pounces, grabbing me before nodding to his friend as if to say ‘go get the other one.’

I squirm out of his grip and toss him off the road. Momentum carries me around in a spin, and I come to a stop facing the other guy. “We need to―”

He takes a swing for my face. I manage to duck and pop up with a kick for his groin, but he catches my ankle. I fly up into a spin and hammer him across the face with my heel, which gets him to let go of my leg and stagger back, holding his cheek. Hmm. Fancy martial arts are easy when you can ignore gravity at will.

The first guy seems to think so too. Thing One hurls himself like a vampiric torpedo through the air at me. I dive out of the way as he flies on by toward the road; he stops, but only because he faceplants against the side of a passing box truck with a tremendous boom. The startled truck driver lays on the horn.

Yeah, like that’ll help.

Thing Two lunges at me again, but he’s moving so fast it feels like I’m a normal person with zero fighting skills getting attacked by a bigger normal person with somewhat of an idea how to box. He pops me square in the face, knocking me into a backward stagger. The guy who smooched the truck grabs me from behind with one hand around my chest, the other grabbing my chin.

Thing One pulls with a sharp yank, and a sickening crack echoes within my skull. A dull pain throbs at the middle of my neck and my head lolls to the side, my ear touching my shoulder.

Ow. Son of a bitch broke my neck.

“Oops, I broke it,” quips the guy holding me. “Grab the other one.”

Fangs dig into my neck.

I sigh. “Really?”

The guy sputters and pulls out. Never something a dude enjoys having to do. “Huh what?”

I grab my head and push it upright, wincing from the crunch of my bones grinding back into place. “You guys are seriously slow, aren’t you?”

The one who’d been heading to grab Stephanie stops, and whirls around to stare at me.

Fangs out, I hiss at him.

“Oh, shit, Dale… she’s one of us.”

Dale, formerly Thing One, gives me a light shove that makes me spin around to face him. “For real?”

“You didn’t figure that out when I threw your ass off the road?” I point to where he landed.

The other guy walks over and tries to grab my chin. I snatch his wrist before contact and fling his arm away.

“I’m not a damn horse.”

“Girl, you look way lifelike,” says Thing Two. “What are you doing stealing our snacks?”

“The hell are your people doing mistaking me for a snack?” I yell back.

Both are clearly confused, as evidenced by their spot on impression of the Geico Caveman stare.

“I go to this place looking for a part time job, and this stupid knuckle-dragger throws me into a frickin’ legit dungeon. What. The. Hell.”

They exchange a glance before Dale scratches his head. “Why’d you go to the holding cell? You should’a kicked Bill’s ass. He’s only a human.”

“Wait. How were you in the club with the sun out?” asks the other guy.

I’m not sure how to react to vampires who are both clearly older than me and also less knowledgeable about our kind. Then again, Dalton didn’t know about my sun thing either. I had to learn that from Aurélie. Maybe keeping that a secret from these clowns is a good idea. If I credit it to a magic amulet or something, they’ll probably believe me. But then they’d beat me up and try to take it I bet.

“I got a potion from an Academic. Turned me human again for twenty-four hours. Basically, it took away all my powers and let me go out in the day.”

“Oh,” says Dale. “That’s kinda cool.”

“Guess it wore off,” said the other one.

I lick a fang in his direction. “Ya think?”

“So, why’d you steal our snacks?” asks Dale.

Hands on his hips, the other guy shakes his head. “Yeah, that’s like uncool filching our stash.”

“I heard you guys kill them. After sitting in a cell all damn day, I was both kinda pissed off and felt sorry for them. You’ve got plenty of mortals going in there to have no shortage of food. Why kidnap them? Just knock them loopy, take what you need, and make them forget.”

“Oh, yeah. We do that for normal.” Dale nods. “But the ones downstairs are the special refreshments.”

I lean back. “That’s like super creepy.”

“Oh, I mean we get ’em drunk or high, then pass ’em around like a spliff.” Thing Two grins.

“What’s a spliff?” I ask.

“Duuude,” says Dale. “You grow up in a bubble?”

“I guess I did.”

“Heh, she felt sorry for the snack pack,” says Dale. “Guess the new girl’s too innocent.”

I fold my arms. “I’d groan, but you don’t even know what you said.”

“Look, sorry about the neck breaking thing. Just give us back our prey and we’ll call it even.” Dale gives me a ‘how ’bout it’ look.

“I can’t let you do that to her, sorry.”

Thing Two grabs my arm. “We’re tryin’ ta be friendly, but you can’t just steal our shit.”

“And I think you can’t just torture and kill people because you wanna get high. Go find junkies or something.”

“Dale.” Thing Two nods toward the car and yanks me into a bear hug.

Growling, I stomp on his foot and ram my head back into his mouth. He staggers away, letting go.

Holy shit. That actually worked. I learned that when I was thirteen in taekwondo class. (The instructor thought all the girls needed that.)

I face the Dale. “You―”

He jumps at me. I sorta dodge to the left, but he grabs my right arm. Thing Two runs in and punches me in the chest. Crack. Oh, there’s a rib. I emit a noise part angry growl part pained whine, and ram my foot into his balls as hard as I can. The hit cracks his pelvis in half and launches him six feet in the air, a faint squealing sound leaking from his nostrils. Thing Two hauls me off the ground and tries to powerbomb me onto the pavement.

My attempt to catch myself with flying slows me enough to land with mild pain instead of broken bones. I swing myself around and kick his legs out from under him, but he only tilts backward, hovering, and punches me in the face. The back of my head bounces off the road and my cheek rebounds into his knuckles. Dazed, I hang there a few inches off the ground for a second or two before he kicks me in the side and sends me spinning like a human Frisbee into a tree. Dale remains in a lump, cradling his crotch. Thing Two decides to leave me wrapped around the pine and walk toward the car. Stephanie screams.

I push myself back up, trying not to pay attention to a few ribs knitting, my jaw un-breaking, and several sprains going away. “Hey. Leave her alone.”

Thing Two turns toward me as I leap into flight. He swats my punches aside a few times, then steps in and palms my face, shoving me over backward like an annoying little sister. Dale staggers to his feet, looking furious. Uh oh. Guess he didn’t like having his nuts launched up into in his throat. He lets out a roar somewhere between bear and human, and charges at me.

I run to the side, but fail my first lesson in matador school. He tackles me at the edge of the road and lines my head up in the path of an approaching car’s tire. Fear launches me into the air, my flight overpowering the simple weight of his body on top of me. The car whizzes past close enough that the side mirror rips a few strands of my hair out, the driver honking at us.

Dale refuses to let go of me, and we wind up crashing to the ground by the trees. He pins me down, wild-eyed and snarling, fist cocked back.

“You―”

He wallops me in the face.

“Ow.”

Thing Two zips over and grabs his hand before he can pummel me again. “Dude. She’s just a kid. C’mon, man. Bad enough some sick bastard turned her that young.”

I almost snap I’m eighteen at them, but maybe playing the cute card isn’t a bad idea here. I’m in enough pain. On that note, my jaw slides back into place with a sharp pop.

“How long you been one of us?” asks Dale, still with a look in his eye like he wants to tear my heart out.

“Like three weeks,” I say.

“Congrats, man. You beat up a little kid,” says Thing Two.

Dale hangs his head.

“I’m not that little.”

Thing Two gestures at me. “I meant like in vampire terms.”

“What the shit are you doing?” growls Dale, while shaking me by the shoulders. “Why you bothering to get your ass kicked over some mortal bitch?”

I sigh. “If I have to explain it to you, you wouldn’t understand.”

Thing Two pulls Dale off me. “Dude, she’s young. Probably a tree hugger. Screw it man, let’s go back to the ’Don. Can’t reason with these new age kids. She’s gonna have teen attitude forever.” He leans around Dale to wink at me.

“Yeah… yeah.” Dale shakes his head. He gives me a look like he still really wants to pay me back for the groin kick, but snarls and leaps into the air.

The other guy shrugs, then follows him.

Well that was special.

I trudge back over to the road, just in time for a cop to pull up behind Dad’s car. Ugh. Really? At me fast-walking around the nose end of the Sentra, the officer rolls her window down, so I keep going until I’m standing beside her patrol car.

“You girls all right?” She notes my ripped up shirt and probably blood on my face. “Jesus, kid, what happened?” The officer starts to open her door, but I push it closed.

“I’m fine, officer,” I say in a cheerful tone. Her expression slackens as I force my way into her thoughts. “It just stalled out. We’re fine. You can drive off and forget you ever saw us.”

With the cop staring into the Rainbow Dimension, I trot back to Dad’s car and get in. “Ugh. Cops. Never one around when you need them, and they always show up at the worst times.”

Just Say No

20

Flashing police lights in the rearview go out. I sigh at the roof. “Perfect end to a perfectly shitty day.”

“You okay?” asks Stephanie. “Those guys really beat the snot out of you.”

The scent of fried chicken hits me out of nowhere. Maybe because this girl looks like she should work at a Hooters or something. I glance over at her, small breaks and cracks in my bones still working their way toward healed. “Not really.”

“Where are those two?”

“Gone.”

She stares into my eyes. Her demeanor goes somewhere between prey animal and relief.

Screw it.

I put her brain on pause and lean in for a bite. Sure enough, her blood tastes like fried chicken and mashed potatoes. She sits there on Cloud Nine the whole time, like I don’t even exist―nor does the world. Wow. I guess I’m a hypocrite for feeding on this girl I saved from being the vampire equivalent of a bong. Though, I’m not force-feeding her drugs first. Guess that should count for something.

Tap tap.

Metal clicks on the driver’s side window.

Ugh. Damn cop.

I lick the wound to seal it and retract my fangs before turning to face the window. Sure enough, the lady officer is jamming me in the eye with her Maglite.

“’Scuse me, but what are you two girls doing?”

Great. She thinks we’re lesbians making out. I look up at her. “Nothing, officer. Just stalled engine. Go back to your car and drive somewhere you’d normally go on patrol, okay? We’re fine.”

The woman turns on her heel and marches back to her car.

“Wow,” mutters Stephanie. “I really wish I could do that when I get pulled over. So, umm, are you gonna drink from Paulie, too?”

Shit. There’s a dude in my backseat. I totally forgot about him. “No. My parents will kill me if I do drugs.”

“Oh.” She nods. “Yeah, mine didn’t like it either.”

I stare at her. “Drugs are bad. Stop doing them. And, vampires don’t exist. You never saw anything strange.”

“Okay,” mutters Stephanie.

The police lights behind us go out again.

Damn. I’m an idiot. I leap out of the car and jump in front of the cop as she starts to drive away. The bar lights go back on. The woman gets out of her car looking confused and a little pissed off. She’s gotta suspect something really strange is going on and can’t quite identify it.

“Officer, I need help.” I point at my car. “I found this girl wandering with her friend. He’s zoned out on some kinda drugs. I have no idea. I know I shouldn’t pick up hitchhikers, but I couldn’t just leave her out here alone. Can you help them?”

The cop walks over to my car and spots her Maglite on Paulie in the back seat. “What did he take?”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t know. I only found him a few minutes ago. He was already unconscious. The girl said he’s been out for hours.”

“That’s not good.” The cop grabs her mic. “Dispatch, I need an ambulance out here on Avondale Road Northeast. Little shy of The Heights.”

“Copy,” says a voice from her belt.

By the time the ambulance arrives, Stephanie remembers escaping from ‘some place’ after being kidnapped, but can’t recall where she’d been taken. She thinks she went wandering down the road with Paulie, who passed out an hour before I came along and they flagged me down for a ride. Once the EMTs load Paulie into the ambulance and Stephanie’s in the back seat of the police car waiting for a ride home, I answer a couple questions, with the cop taking notes. Figure this’ll be much faster than me driving them. Speaking of home, I want to get to mine ASAP.

At long last, the officer leaves, and I flop in the driver’s seat.

I grab the iPhone from my pocket and sigh at the long list of text messages from Dad, Hunter, and my friends. A whole lot of panic. No point reading them. I send everyone an, ‘I’m okay, will explain in person.’ Dad also gets an ‘OMW home.’

Within seconds of me sending it, the phone rings. It’s Dad.

“Sarah, where the hell have you been?”

“Can you wait for me to get home to explain? Things got a little out of hand, but I’m okay.”

He lets off a heavy sigh. “I had the worst feeling something bad happened.”

“Something bad did happen, but I’m okay now. I should be home in a couple minutes.”

“Are you talking on the phone while driving?”

“Nope. I’m on the side of the road.”

He mutters, “She’s okay,” probably to Mom, then comes back on the line. “All right. Please come straight home and be careful.”

“If you want me home faster, I could leave the car behind.”

“Ha. Just drive carefully, okay? We love you.”

“Love you too, Dad.”

I hang up.

As soon as traffic gives me an opening, I nail the accelerator and spin the tires. Well, that worked out about as well as I expected. This girl is not cut out for crime. Even justified crime. Around ten minutes later, I pull into my cul-de-sac and park next to the Yukon. Dalton walks out from behind the corner of the house, approaching as I head for the front door.

“Hey,” he says. “How’d it go?”

“A complete and total cluster-f as my Dad would say.” I look down. “Sorry. I suck at being a thief. Got caught, locked up…” I explain my terrifying and boring day sitting in a makeshift dungeon, followed by a pair of thugs tenderizing me.

“Drat.” He sighs at the ground. “Bollocks. Don’t worry about it. You tried, that’s what matters.”

“You’re not upset?” I ask.

“Oh, I’m upset in the sense of ‘shite, I need to get out of the area,’ but I’m not upset in the sense of being angry with you.”

“Are you really going to leave for London?” I ask.

“Aye. For a while until this dies down.” He glances around at the placid suburban utopia around us. “Shame, though. It’s nice here. But, I’ve been away from home a long while.”

I narrow my eyes in a playful glare. “You didn’t happen to leave London because you ticked someone off, did you?”

He puts a hand on his chest, feigning offense. “Moi?”

“I take that as a yes.” My turn to sigh at the ground. “You know, I’m gonna miss you. Thanks for saving my life.”

“Bah. There’s phones, you know. I’m not dropping off the planet. Haven’t quite worked out how to withstand outer space.”

“I better get inside before my parents spontaneously combust. You wanna come in for a bit?”

Dalton glances at the house, at me, then off down the street. “That would be lovely, though perhaps a bit too much risk for your family. It’s only a matter of time before someone with a rather keen interest of separating my head from the rest of me locates this place. It’ll likely be Eleanor’s people. She’s got connections.”

“Not like losing your head would be that much of an issue,” I say.

“Metaphorical.” He grins. “Usually after they do the ‘chopping into small pieces’ thing, there’s fire involved. Lots of fire.”

I shiver. “I met an Eleanor, I think. Creepy kinda woman. Gave me a bad vibe. Like one of those evil mad scientists.”

“Aye, that’s pretty much accurate. Miss St. Ives has the emotional range of a desk lamp, but she is quite capable of becoming angry, and is rather methodical about it. So, right.” Dalton grasps my shoulders and gives me a gentle kiss atop the head. “Best be off before I drag them to your doorstep.”

“See ya,” I whisper, barely forcing my voice past a surprising lump in my throat.

Something moves in the darkness between my house and the Perrys’ place next door. A figure emerges from the dark, creeping toward us.

Dalton spins to face it, pushing me behind him. “Faster than I thought, mate.”

I take a step back, raising my hands in a fighting pose.

Guess the night hasn’t run out of ass-kickings yet.

The Darkness Watches

21

The figure draws nearer, in no great hurry.

And, hang on. Why is it dark?

“Dalton?” I ask.

“Aye?” he whispers.

“We can see in the dark, right? Even in a totally sealed crypt with no light.”

“Aye.”

I point past him at the approaching figure. “Why, then, is there a cloud of darkness?”

He tilts his head. “Oy. That’s a damn fine question.”

The shadows billow around in a mass of moving trails, all collapsing into each other like a smoke grenade detonating in reverse. Roiling inky mist collapses into the ground, revealing Glim.

“Oh, shit.” I sag against Dalton. “It’s a friend.”

“You know this chap?”

“Yeah.” I step out from behind him, smiling. “Hi, Glim.”

“Hello.” He bows his head in greeting to Dalton. “You had quite an interesting night, Sarah.”

I shiver. “That’s one way to put it.”

Glim holds out his grey hand, three-inch yellow talons sprouting from each finger. Wow, if those suckers are that big retracted… Remind me never to get a Shadow mad enough to want to end me. He smiles. An instant later, the spyglass appears out of thin air.

“Bollocks,” whispers Dalton. “Did you conjure it?”

“Wow!” I stare in disbelief at him. “You…”

“Forgive my showmanship.” Glim grins. “It was in my hand the whole time. I simply chose that moment to let it be seen.”

“Bugger me,” mutters Dalton. “You chaps could nick the bloomers straight off the Queen.”

I take the spyglass carefully in both hands. “Umm. Wow. How did you even know I tried to get this back?”

Glim lets his arm fall at his side. “The darkness whispers to us.”

“Thank you!” I hand the spyglass to Dalton, who grimaces faintly when I hug Glim. His body goes rigid, like he doesn’t know how to react. “Sorry. Does this bother you?”

“No,” he says, his voice slightly cracking. “It’s been a while.”

I give him another squeeze, then take a step back. “I feel almost guilty. You didn’t have to risk yourself for us like that. It’s only an object.”

“I felt the need to thank you for being human to me.” He reaches out and caresses my cheek, his hand cold, dry, and scratchy. I don’t flinch at all. “And none of them noticed me.”

“You don’t need to do stuff like that. I think you’re pretty cool, and I’m happy to be your friend. No expectation of favors.”

He nods. “My help was freely given.”

“Many thanks, mate.” Dalton offers a handshake.

The men clasp hands.

“Until later then.” Glim bows his head at me and disappears in a wash of shadowy vapors.

Dalton gestures at the spot. “That man knows how to make an entrance.”

“So, now what?”

He eyes the spyglass. “Not quite what I had in mind, but I do rather appreciate you trying.” His cheeks pale, and his right eye twitches.

“Why do you look like you’re expecting to die at any moment?” I ask.

The porch light clicks on a second before the door opens. Mom and Dad peer through the screen door at us.

“Almost done,” I say to my parents. “Just a sec.”

Dad pushes the screen door open and walks outside. “What happened? Did you get into an argument with a weed whacker?”

I glance down at my ripped and bloody shirt. “Yeah, basically.”

My father points at me. “You should’ve worn a headband. That always helps when you have asses to kick.”

I laugh.

Dalton raises an eyebrow.

“All right. Don’t hang out here too long. It’s getting late.” Dad nods in greeting to Dalton, then walks back inside. Seeing me here in one piece appears to satisfy Mom for the time being. They leave the door open and head out of sight into the living room.

Dalton scratches behind his ear. “Well. See… thing is, the one who hired me to steal this, umm, Eleanor, is pretty cheesed off. And I can’t exactly waltz up to the one I took it from.”

I snag it out of his hand. “I’ll do it then. Maybe you should lay low for a while.”

He blinks at me and grabs the spyglass, but I don’t let go. “After what just happened tonight, you’re not going to get mixed up in my mess again.”

“Dalton. It’s the only way. I don’t want you to go to freakin’ London. The vampire you took this from won’t hurt me for returning his property.”

“Oy. You don’t know that.”

“Who’d you take it from?” I ask.

He lets go and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Bloke’s a rather nasty sort.”

“Who? Name.” I tap the spyglass on my other hand. “Who am I returning this to?”

Dalton makes a face like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Arthur Wolent.”

A cough comes from the space between the houses. Glim strides out into view, his yellow, glowing eyes wide with concern.

“I met him at a thing the other day. He seemed reasonably nice,” I say.

“He is a fury, Sarah,” says Glim. “And like 200 years old.”

“Okay, he’s a Fury. That means he gets really mad, really fast, at the smallest thing, and tends to smash stuff when he gets mad?”

Both men nod at me.

“Sounds like Sierra when she’s having a bad PlayStation Day.”

“I heard that,” yells Sierra from the upstairs window over the garage, which’d be Sam’s room. My old bedroom overlooks the back yard. Hmm. Wonder what she’s doing in there? I peer up at three little faces watching us. Sophia grins cheesily. Sam looks worried, and Sierra’s sporting an annoyed smirk.

Dalton smiles and waves up at them.

“No problem.” I glance down at my goofy reflection upon the engraved, golden tube. “I’ll just be super sweet and not do anything to make him angry.”

“Easier said than done.” Glim purses his lips. “Some Furies, it takes very little to set them off. A misplaced fork at a formal dinner can spill blood, for example.”

“Also, please do not tell him who wanted me to steal it, or you could start a war.” Dalton shivers. “That’d make a right hames of things.”

“A war?” I ask?

“There are factions within our world,” says Glim. “All may appear pleasant on the surface, but beneath the smiles and social gatherings, a constant shift of power takes place. You’re not far removed from high school, so you should understand what I mean.”

“Cliques.” I smirk.

“And if Wolent finds out that St. Ives wanted his spyglass, a hidden chess match will rather rapidly devolve into bodies flying through windows, and probably quite a bit of fire,” says Dalton.

“A war, over a stupid telescope?” I ask.

“Aye.” Dalton nods.

“In all fairness,” says Glim. “People have started wars over trivial things rather often throughout history.”

“So I’m potentially holding a vampiric blood war.” I sigh at the spyglass. “Greeeat.”

Glim puts a hand on my shoulder. “I suggest you wait until tomorrow.”

“Why?”

He shakes his head. “Mr. Wolent is not presently in a mood to receive visitors.”

“How the bloody heck do you know that?” asks Dalton.

Glim spreads his arms wide, and appears to fall into a gaping hole of black vapor. “The darkness always watches.”

Dalton and I stare at the spot of grass for a long moment.

“Chap’s a touch of the melodramatic, isn’t he?”

I smile. “Yeah, but it totally works for him.”

Priorities

22

For a while today, I thought being locked up in a dungeon had been the most unpleasant experience of my eighteen years. Nope. After I step inside, I have to explain to my parents that I’d been kidnapped, chained up, and locked in a dungeon for like five hours. That’s way more awkward. They do manage not to freak out, which I hadn’t been expecting.

So after that wonderful, delightful experience, I sit with them until it gets late enough that they want to sleep. Despite my being eighteen, they both insist on goodnight hugs and make their way upstairs. I head down to my room and stash the spyglass in my dresser, hiding it under my massive collection of panties. I figure if someone manages to track this thing to my house, it’ll probably be a guy, and this is the last place he’ll look.

That done, I head out. After the night I’ve had, I really need a drink.

My eyes pop open, but I don’t feel much urge to move yet. I started to have a nightmare about being in that dungeon, but it got weird. Before I could even freak out about being kidnapped, I went vampy and ripped off the cuffs. Hundreds of Dales and Thing Twos swarmed down the hall at me. Claws out, I leapt into them, popping them like water balloons one after the next. Glim joined in, his talons as big as carving knives. Somehow, my ‘trapped in a cell’ nightmare turned into a buddy cop stupid adventure movie―with fangs.

Maybe I shouldn’t have taken blood from a drunk guy wobbling out of a bar.

I peel my face off the pillow and push up enough to see the clock. It’s almost six. Wow, I overslept hard. Groaning, I roll over onto my back, still with no desire to move.

My phone rings a few minutes later. Damn. One thing I cannot do is ignore a ringing phone or the tweep of an incoming text―at least not without handcuffs on. I grab it and swipe to answer.

“What’s up,” I croak, no idea who’s listening.

“Sarah!” yells Ashley. “What happened?”

“Oh, hi. Sorry. Rough day yesterday.”

“Dude. I’ve been trying to call you forever.”

My worry module activates. “What happened?”

“Oh, nothing. Just freaking out when you didn’t answer my text. I thought something happened to you.”

“So, nothing blew up?”

“No. I’m cool. Chelle’s fine. But we were both in full panic mode because you went link-dead.”

“I stuck my nose somewhere it didn’t belong and wound up locked in a room for a while. I’ll give you the deets later, offline.”

“Okay. Want me to come over?”

“Yeah, that’d be cool. But, I need to do something first. Gimme like an hour or so. I’ll call you as soon as I’m back.”

“Can I go with you?”

“Umm.” Hoping to fool the NSA guy listening to our conversation, I put on a fake melodramatic voice. “Mere mortals don’t belong where I’m about to go.”

“Oh, ha ha. So I’m a mere mortal now?”

“Subtle as a brick, Ash.” I giggle.

“Ohhh. Right. Sorry. Gotcha. Okay, call me when you’re home.”

“First thing.”

She hangs up.

I drag myself out of bed. Hmm. Cute and nonthreatening would probably be the best choice. I don’t have anything near as frilly as what Aurélie dressed me in for that party. The best I can do is a pink Hello Kitty T-shirt and a frilly, tiered skirt, also pink. Yeah, it’s a little much. But my tastes swing back and forth. I had a girly period. Sue me.

After grabbing pink fuzzy socks, I head upstairs.

Dad takes one look at me and bursts into laughter.

“What?” I scowl at him.

“Is that supposed to be a Harley Quinn thing?” He asks.

“Oh, dear,” says Mom. “You’re a little heavy-handed with the makeup. But the outfit is adorable. You seriously look like you’re thirteen.”

“Tall for thirteen,” says Dad.

Head bowed, I sigh. “Sophia.”

And crap. I forgot the spyglass.

I head back downstairs, stopping at the bathroom to wash my sister’s makeup tutorial off. Yeah she painted my face geisha white with red spots on my cheeks and blue eye shadow. Last time I checked, eyeshadow wasn’t supposed to extend up past the brows. Annoying and cute all at the same time. Damn, I must’ve really been out cold. I’ll blame it on the large amount of broken bones I had to deal with. Probably wore me out.

Face clean, spyglass in one hand, socks in the other, I head back upstairs. At the front door, I flop on the chair by the shelf-o’-shoes, and pull on my sneakers.

“Sarah?” calls Mom from the dining room.

“Yeah?”

“I need you to take Sophia to dance class.”

“Aww, Mom.” I sigh at the wall. “I have to run a priceless artifact across town to a psychopathic two-century old vampire and stop a war from breaking out among the undead.”

Mom pokes her head into the living room. “It can wait a few hours for your little sister.”

I huff. “I’m not being sarcastic. What I said is literal serious.”

“If war hasn’t broken out yet, another two hours won’t make a difference.” Her head wobbles side to side; she’s clearly frustrated to death. “I’ve got thirteen hours left to do about thirty hours of prep for a case that’s going to court tomorrow. Your sister needs you.”

“Can’t Dad take her?”

Sophia, already in her leotard, creeps into the room behind Mom, giving me a ‘do you hate me?’ stare.

“He’s off at some programmers’ technology conference his job’s sending him to. He won’t be back until around eleven.”

“Okay, okay.” I hold my arms out to Sophia. “Of course I’ll take her.”

She grins and runs into a hug. “You tried to bail on me.”

“A bunch of vampires are going to go to war if I don’t do something. But…” I glance at Mom. “They can wait for your class.”

“Yay!” She bounces on her toes.

I snag the keys for the Yukon and go outside. Sophia twirls and skips along behind me. The truck chirps when I hit the unlock button. For safekeeping, I wrap the spyglass in a towel and stuff it in one of the storage bins in the sidewall of the cargo area. No one would imagine I’d bring it with me to a dance class, and if any of the vampires have some weird supernatural way to find it, I don’t want it anywhere near my family.

Now, all I have to worry about is some mortal idiot stealing the truck. After the luck I had yesterday, that wouldn’t shock me. At least Dad wasn’t upset about the parking ticket. He’s even going to deal with it. I pull myself up into the seat and whistle at the view. Wow, going from driving the Sentra yesterday to this thing is a whoa moment. So high up. I take a second to adjust the seat and mirrors. Thankfully, Mom and I aren’t too far off in size.

Hungry Like the Wolf fills the truck as soon as I start it.

Sophia makes a ‘what the heck is this’ face.

“Mom likes old music.” I poke the preset for a channel with current stuff, and something kinda Taylor-Swifty comes on but I don’t think it’s her. It’s good enough for Sophia, and she bops her head to it as I pull out of the driveway and negotiate a K-turn.

A few minutes into the ride, it occurs to me that Sophia’s stopped reacting to the music and stares fixed forward with a frightened expression. My first instinct, of course, is to look around for whatever vampire is messing with her. Okay, that’s probably an overreaction.

“Something wrong?” I ask.

“Umm. We got a performance next week.”

“So? Isn’t that a good thing?”

She fidgets. “There’s gonna be like actual people there, watching.”

“As opposed to an audience of mannequins?”

Sophia laughs. “No silly. We usually just dance in the studio. There’s a couple parents there, but no like people.”

I snicker. “Sounds like you’ve got stage fright.”

“It’s so embarrassing.”

“What is?”

“People watching us.”

“I don’t think you’re worried about people simply watching you.”

“Yes I am.”

We get stuck at a red light, so I look over at her. “You’re worried about making a mistake and people seeing you make a mistake.”

She cringes. “Yeah.”

“Well, don’t.” I poke her in the belly. “You’re a great dancer. You have nothing to be embarrassed about. Besides, it can’t possibly be worse than when I woke up.”

“You woke up late.”

“I mean when I woke up as a vampire.”

Her eyes go wide. “What happened?”

“Well… you know the police found me and thought I was dead.”

“Yeah,” she whispers.

“When they find people they think are dead they put them in a place with special refrigerators.”

“I know what a morgue is, doofus.”

I laugh, and resume driving as the light changes. Alas, the van in front of us is in no hurry to get anywhere. “They don’t usually let people keep their clothes when they stick them in the morgue.”

Her eyes widen and her mouth shrinks into the cutest ‘oh hell no’ expression I’ve ever seen.

“Yeah, so after I got out of there, there I was running through the woods with nothing on. Almost fell into a giant pool of nasty water, but I figured out I can fly. Then I wound up streaking down the street in Woodinville trying to get home.”

Sophia gasps, blushes, and bursts into a fit of giggling. “No way. Oh. My. Gawd. I would’ve died.”

I purse my lips. Yeah. I’m gonna let that one go right on by. “Everyone was staring at me. A couple people laughed. A few ran over thinking I needed help.”

She shivers.

“There’s nothing that could possibly happen to you while dancing that would be anywhere near as embarrassing as that.” I again poke her in the side, making the giggling worse.

“Wow, yeah.” She exhales. “I would’ve probably just stayed in the cooler.”

“With the other bodies?” I ask.

Her head turns toward me in horror movie slow motion, her voice a squeaky whisper, “They put you next to dead people?”

I nod.

“Oh, eww! Eww! Eww!” She shivers.

“And that’s why ran outside in my birthday suit. Eww is right.”

The dance school, or at least the strip mall it’s in, comes up on the left. I slow to a stop and flick on the blinker.

Sophia makes faces like she’s picturing being stranded outside with no clothes. She looks mortified, but also can’t stop giggling. Watching her gets me giggling, and we laugh like idiots all the way around the lot until I pull into a space.

“Really, Soph. Don’t stress it. You’re good at this. You like it, and you have nothing to be embarrassed about. Besides. If you do fall over, I’ll just make the whole audience forget they saw that.”

She stares up at me. “Really?”

I ripped Scott’s head off to protect my family. A little light mind wiping is nothing. “Absolutely.”

Two Cougars and a Tiger

23

So… I wind up inside the studio, sitting along a row of benches with about thirteen moms and two dads. Except for the three-year-old trying her hardest to copy her big sister, I’m the youngest person in the cheering section.

Know what’s really disturbing? Being in a room full of tweens and smelling treats.

One kid gives off a cotton candy scent. Another like white chocolate. That girl in the too-skimpy outfit smells like skittles. To most people, this place probably reeks of kid sweat and coffee (all three instructors have Starbucks cups permanently grafted onto their left hands), but to me, I’m in a confectioner’s shop.

Ugh.

Fortunately, I’m not hungry at all.

Besides, the woman on my left is wearing so much perfume I think it’s burning out the inside of my sinuses. She’s older than my mom but dressed like she’s hoping to be an extra in a Madonna video. The woman to my right is not quite as loudly dressed, but she’s also fifty-going-on-twenty-five.

I can’t really tell which tween belongs to which of the ‘older and fighting it every step of the way’ moms, but they’re cheering whenever any kid does something well. There’s even two boys in the mix, one pale and one black kid. The pale one’s so skinny he makes Sophia look average. He has to be part elf. Like from Lord of the Rings or something. I swear, the boy’s a liquid in midnight leotards. The other boy isn’t quite as graceful, and by that, I mean he moves like a trained human instead of a supernatural creature. He’s also way muscular for a maybe eleven-year-old, but toned, not like an inflatable body builder. If they do that pairing thing where the guy ballet dancer tosses the girl into the air, he’d probably launch Sophia through the ceiling.

That ridiculous thought makes me laugh, and gets some dark looks from the crowd of moms.

“Alexis,” yells a severe-looking woman in a skirt suit with her black hair in a tight bun. “You’re not lifting your leg high enough.”

I track her gaze to the girl in the way-too-sexy-for-a-ten-year-old outfit. It’s the same girl my Mom noticed a week or so ago. That top is writing a check her chest can’t cash yet. The kid’s black pixie cut is matted to her head from sweat, and she has the manic expression of a show dog terrified of being whipped for missing a jump.

Ugh. I hate that woman and I don’t even know her.

The teachers wander the rows of kids going over the same series of moves for practice. Most of the moms are either watching their offspring or reading, or chatting about their jobs. The women on either side of me keep cheering every kid on, but they occasionally talk over my head (literally) about this guy Raul. I sincerely doubt that’s his real name. Apparently, the one trying to get into a Madonna video is dating a dude only two years older than me. Eww.

And yeah. I know who Madonna is. My dad is permanently stuck in the eighties.

“You’re slouching, Alexis,” yells the woman I dislike.

Alexis stiffens her posture, holding her arms up, fingertips touching above her head as she pirouettes.

“Smile!” shouts her mother.

The little girl’s face looks like a drum made out of human skin. That’s the most forced look I’ve ever seen.

Grr.

One of the teachers shoots that woman a ‘knock it off’ stare.

A somewhat chubby girl loses her balance while spinning and lands on her butt. Some of the kids chuckle. Both older women beside me yell encouragement to her to get up and keep trying. The girl buries her face in her hands and cries silently. Sophia, one space behind and to the girl’s left, darts over and slides to a stop kneeling beside her. She whispers at the other girl for a moment. When the crying kid looks up, Sophia points at me. The thicker girl gawks in my direction and blushes.

Oh. Great. No that’s not embarrassing at all. I have a feeling I know exactly what Sophia just told her about. Sophia tugs on the girl’s arm and gets her to stand up again. Well, that’s something. I smile at them.

“Alexis! For God’s sake, are you even trying?” shouts the woman with the bun. “You’re supposed to be spinning. You’re as stiff as a music box figurine!”

For an instant, I swear the kid’s about to scream, “You told me to stop slouching!” but she freezes up, paralyzed by conflicting demands.

That girl looks utterly miserable.

I stare at her until she feels it, and makes eye contact with me. The gossamer barrier around her thoughts gives way, and I peek into her head. Her mother is forcing her to attend this class and the poor girl hates every minute of it. My curiosity draws different thoughts to the surface like beckoning wisps of smoke out of a void. A year or so ago, she liked dancing, but her mother became obsessed with the idea that her kid would eventually go professional, wind up on TV, and they’d all be rich. The kid has grown to despise this place and anything even remotely connected to dancing. Unfortunately, she’s terrified of displeasing her mother so she won’t say a thing about how much she hates these classes, especially with the constant public criticism. Not to mention the hours she’s made to practice every day at home. The mother even convinced her that she’ll only succeed if she shows as much skin as possible because ‘that’s what the media wants’.

Good grief woman. Your daughter is ten. I’ve heard of tiger moms before, but wow.

“Alexis!” shouts the woman. “Why are you just standing there! I’m not paying for these lessons so you can slack off.”

Alexis goes past her tipping point and collapses to her knees, sobbing.

The whole class stops and looks at her.

“Leave her alone,” yells the skinny boy.

One teacher rushes to Alexis’ side, another darts over to the mom.

“Mrs. Snow, it’s not helping your daughter to single her out like that and shout her down in public,” whisper-shouts the teacher, a shortish woman with long, dark hair.

“Don’t you dare tell me how to raise my daughter,” yells the woman. “She’s the best dancer in this entire room, and she’d best learn to act like it.”

Alexis whimpers, “I’m not. I don’t think I’m better than you guys. Please don’t hate me.” The plea is so quiet, none of the mortals around me react to it.

Sophia, and a few of the kids try to comfort Alexis.

The instructor raises her hands in a placating gesture. “Mrs. Snow―”

“I’m paying you to train my daughter. You’re not doing that at the moment, rather wasting my time.”

I stand.

“Shouting at her isn’t―”

“Do not tell me how to raise my daughter!” shrieks Mrs. Snow at the instructor.

I walk past the bench of silent parents staring aghast at this woman, and tap her on the shoulder. “Excuse me.”

“What!” roars Mrs. Snow, right in my face.

“Uh oh.” Sophia’s whisper from like twenty feet away almost makes me break my serious act.

“I need to talk to you a moment,” I say, narrowing my eyes at her.

Mrs. Snow’s rage melts into the out-of-it stare of a pothead. “Okay.”

The instructor looks at me with awe and gratitude.

“Follow me.”

I walk back down the row and out the front doors, Mrs. Snow trailing after me like a well-trained shih tzu. Based on the looks I’m getting, I half expect the whole class to erupt in applause, but they don’t.

Once outside, I whirl on her and stare into her eyes. “Mrs. Snow. Your daughter is ten. She’s a child. The entire point of this is to have fun and get some exercise. If she wants to train hard to go pro, that’s her decision. Not yours. You refuse to see it, but she is completely miserable.”

The woman stares vacantly. Hmm. Time for a little brain surgery.

“When you get home, you will ask her if she wants to keep going to dance class. If she says yes, you will ease back and let her go at her own pace. Let her have fun. And she can also wear whatever outfits she wants.”

Mrs. Snow offers a disoriented nod of acknowledgement.

“And go apologize to that teacher for disrupting the class.”

She pivots on one heel and walks back inside. Shaking my head, I follow and go back to my spot. The kids are still trying to comfort Alexis. I lock stares with Sophia.

Tell her I convinced her mom to back off. She can do this for fun or even quit if she hates it.

Sophia nods at me and mouths, ‘wow, you talked in my head. That’s awesome!’

Soon after my sister whispers to Alexis, the girl brightens a little and stares at her mother in disbelief.

“Sorry for causing a scene, Miss Ramirez,” says Mrs. Snow to the instructor.

Stunned, Ms. Ramirez looks at me, smiles, then sighs at her. “I understand you want Alexis to succeed, but you shouldn’t push her so much. It’s not healthy.”

“Yes. I understand.” Mrs. Snow nods.

Oops. She’s a little robotic still, but that should wear off in a moment.

The sight of her mother acting apologetic confuses Alexis, but she eventually gets back up and continues with the class. In a while, once it becomes clear her mother is no longer going to shout at her every two minutes, the despondent look in her eyes lessens.

Yes. I am a creature of darkness, behold my evil powers of mind control.

Interested Party

24

Whenever the CIA wants to get information out of an enemy combatant, they should plant them between a couple of fifty-plus women talking about what they did―or want to do―with their twenty-year-old boyfriends.

After a solid hour of that, I’m ready to turn my powers of mental influence inward and erase my own memory.

Fortunately, they didn’t get graphic.

Okay, they didn’t get too graphic.

The teachers thank all the kids for their effort and give them a couple stretching exercises to keep doing at home, then spend a few minutes discussing the upcoming dance performance at Woodinville Repertory Theatre.

About half the kids fidget and look terrified. The skinny boy brims with eagerness, while the other boy seems to share Sophia’s opinion of performing in public. Can’t fault any of them. I felt silly doing taekwondo as a kid in front of parents. No one could ever drag me on stage. Hell, I fainted at the fourth grade talent show from sheer anxiety. I’d been supposed to sing, but one look at the audience and the next thing I knew, I was in chair backstage with a teacher fanning me.

I’m a touch more confident now.

Heh, thinking about that talent show makes me realize how shocking it must’ve been for Mom when I got all assertive on the government agents.

Sophia spends a little while talking with some of her friends in the class before bouncing over to me. Other kids disperse to their parents while a group of eight gather by the windows, waiting for rides.

“That was amazing,” whispers Sophia. “I didn’t think anything could shut Mrs. Snow up. She’s so mean.”

We’re in earshot of other people, so I simply shrug. “Gotta know how to talk to people like that. She needed to realize the focus is on Alexis, not on her.”

“Huh?” asks Sophia.

I take her hand and we join the line heading out the door. “That woman wanted Alexis to be a professional dancer not because the kid enjoyed doing it, but because it made her feel important.”

“Oh. I told Megan about you not having any clothes and being outside.”

“I noticed.”

Sophia grins up at me. “I made it up a little. Said your friends played a prank and took your bathing suit.”

“Whew. Had me worried there for a moment.”

“Secret stuff.” Sophia crosses her heart.

At the approach of scuffing boots to our left, I look up at a man and woman approaching us. They’re both in their twenties, the guy blond, the woman with dark brown hair like me, and dressed like grad students.

I don’t quite like the way they’re staring at me, but nothing about their body language gives off an obvious threat. The pair stops a few steps away, right in our path.

“Starbucks is over there,” says Sophia, pointing to the other end of the strip mall.

They smirk at her.

“And you are?” I ask.

Sophia whispers in a tone reserved for alien encounters, “I think they’re hipsters.”

“We represent a certain party who has an arrangement with an associate of yours to procure a specific object,” says the man. “It has come to our understanding that you now possess said object.”

“Let us avoid any unpleasantness.” The woman’s smile couldn’t be more plastic if she tried. “Hand it over and we shall consider the arrangement fulfilled.”

“Sorry. Can’t do that. Not sure where you got your info from, but I wasn’t able to get it from that nightclub. I got caught.”

The woman takes a step closer, eyeing Sophia. “She’s cute. It’d be a shame to get blood on that pink leotard.”

Sophia gasps and clings to me, shivering.

I harden my glare at her. “You even so much as put one finger on my sister, your head’s going into a body cavity. Maybe his, maybe yours.”

The man chuckles. “Oh, that’s cute. I’ve never been threatened by an Innocent before. As if she could even do something.”

“Hah. I know, right?” The woman laughs at me. “It’s about as scary as that little girl saying she’s gonna kick my ass.”

Sophia squeezes tighter against me. “Let’s go home.”

“Not just an Innocent.” The man reaches to brush his fingers over my cheek, but I swat his hand away. “Ooh. Touchy.” He chomps the air at me. “You’re only a couple weeks old. Even if you had a real bloodline, you’re still a little baby nibbler.”

“It’s not me you should be worried about.” I nudge Sophia a little more behind me. “My family is under the protection of Aurélie Merlier.”

The two ‘grad students’ cringe a little and exchange a glance.

“If St. Ives wants the thing that bad, she should buy it from the guy who it belongs to. Now, I gotta get home.”

When I try to step around them, the woman slides in my way again. “Hang on. It’s not that easy, kid. Your arrangement with Aurélie isn’t our problem. Eleanor will handle any fallout from your little puff princess.”

“I’m not a puff princess,” mumbles Sophia.

The man squats to eye level with her. “Yes you are, and a cute one at that, which is why we really don’t want this to get unpleasant. But Lynn meant Aurélie. She’s an overgrown Barbie doll.”

“I didn’t know Mattel put out a Louis XIV expansion pack,” I mutter.

“Just hand the thing over,” says Lynn. “I hate having to threaten a little kid.”

I smirk. “Easy fix for that. Don’t. Leave her out of it.”

They stand there staring at us for a minute or two as parents and dance students head to their cars and drive away, oblivious to the imminent violence brewing here.

“We can’t do that,” says the guy. “It’s foolish not to use all available leverage available to us to obtain what our boss needs.”

Lynn blurs into a smear of color for an instant before my reflexes kick in and drag her back to normal (but fast) motion. She tries to dart around me and grab Sophia, but I fling myself into her. We crash to the parking lot, rolling over a few times while clinging to each other.

Sophia dashes for the alley to the right of the dance studio, the man walking casually after her, whistling.

The woman grabs a fistful of my hair, pulling and twisting in an effort to throw me aside. Pain washes over my scalp, like my skin’s about to rip straight off my skull. Snarling, I sprout claws and rip open the front of her throat. She attempts a scream, but only emits a wheezy gargling noise. Her grip on my hair releases and she rams her knee into my side hard enough to throw me over three parked cars. The pain of more broken ribs distracts me from thinking about flying. I smack into the side of a big SUV, then collapse to the pavement, sprawled in a puddle of agony.

Sophia screams.

I think Lynn called me a bitch, too, but she’s kinda hard to understand with her larynx dangling out.

“Come here, kid,” says the guy. “I’m only going to hurt you if your sister doesn’t cooperate.”

“No!” yells Sophia. “Let go of me!”

I spring into the air and hurl myself forward from zero to 130 MPH in the blink of an eye, and zoom around the corner into the alley. The dude’s grabbed my sister by the neck from behind; she’s got both arms reaching up behind her head, clawing at his wrist.

My angry roar gives him a half second’s warning before I crash into him at full speed and drill him face first into a dumpster with enough force to dent it. The boom sets off a handful of car alarms. I bounce off him and land on my feet a short distance away while he crumples into a heap.

“Ugh.” He moans. “That hurt.”

I scowl. “That’s the point. Don’t touch my sister.”

Lynn cruises into the alley, most of her throat back where it belongs. I barely manage to duck her flying charge. She stops short in midair and catches me with an insanely fast punch to the side of the head that sends me stumbling into the dance studio’s wall, seeing stars.

“You frickin’ clawed me!” shouts Lynn.

“Sorry. I’m new at this.” I backpedal, clutching my face. “Is that like a breach of etiquette or something?”

She growls and spins to face Sophia.

My kid sister screams again and runs for cover behind another dumpster.

“No!” I yell, rushing at Lynn.

The bitch catches my arm before my knuckles make contact with her face, and swings me around off my feet. I manage to get my legs up and catch myself against the wall rather than let her mash me headfirst into the cinder blocks. For an instant, I crouch in defiance of gravity, but the wall makes for an excellent launch point. I thrust my legs out, leaping sideways, and hammer my fist down on her nose.

An explosion of blood flies out from under my fingers. In the suspended time state of vampiric reflexes, her entire facial bone structure cracking and undulating becomes gruesomely fascinating. Lynn rebounds away from my hand, slaps into the ground, and slides across the alley into the wall. I don’t have time to even feel victorious before a blurry male figure rushes up and rams a fist into my stomach, lifting me a few inches off the ground.

“Oof!” I yell.

Despite my body no longer needing to breathe, the gut punch leaves me unable to. The sensation is terrifying; for a precious second or three, the only thing I want to do is breathe―but I can’t. The world spins around me as I clutch the bruise. A jean-covered leg clarifies in my vision; as if by instinct, I lunge at it and sink my teeth into the thigh.

The man howls and grabs my head in both hands, trying to pull me away.

Sophia screams, “She’s getting up! Sarah!”

Damn. Thought I knocked that bitch out. I bite down harder, making the man wail. While I scramble to get to my feet and shove him over onto his back, he jams his thumb in my mouth and pries my jaw open. He’s stronger than me by more than a little, and I instinctively back off before my teeth disintegrate or he rips my whole jaw off.

“Sarah!” screams Sophia.

Still holding me by the head, the man tosses me to the side. My body slaps flat against the wall, and I flop to the alley on my face.

“Just give us the goddamned telescope,” says the man, sounding weary. “This is pointless. Why are you fighting so hard for a piece of junk?”

“Because you assholes threatened my goddamned sister!” I shout.

Sophia emits a horrible, high-pitched shriek of terror.

I shift, staring at the woman dragging my little sister out from her hiding place. Sophia’s dance shoes slide over the paving with no resistance as she grunts and struggles to get away.

“Get off her!”

Growling, I leap to my feet and charge at her, but the guy swoops me from behind and pins my arms. I strain at his grip, but I’ve got as much chance of overpowering him as Sophia does of picking up a dumpster.

“I’m impressed,” says the guy, his breath puffing at the back of my head. “You’re a lot stronger than I expected for such a newbie, especially an Innocent. But, you’re also still weak.”

I kick both legs out, trying to tug myself straight down, but his grip isn’t budging. He collects my wrists and forces my hands together at my chest, immobilizing me except for my flailing sneakers.

Lynn drags Sophia over by one arm, and glares at me. Her throat looks like a macabre candy cane, pale skin with red lines wrapped around it where my claws dug in. “Now,” she rasps, her voice still in tatters, “Where’s the damned spyglass?”

“Abaddon,” I wheeze, past the force crushing my chest inward.

“Bullshit.” Lynn sprouts claws on her right hand and holds them against Sophia’s cheek.

My little sister bursts into tears. “Please don’t hurt me!”

“You like claws, bitch?” asks Lynn, the unbecoming gravel in her voice making my nerves crawl. “So do I. But I don’t think your little sister will.”

Sophia stares at me, pleading. “Sarah… Do something.”

I stomp at the guy’s foot, but he’s holding me up so high I can’t reach.

“I won’t start at her neck. She’s small. It’ll kill her too fast.” Lynn taps a claw to Sophia’s right hand, red from the tightness of the grip around her wrist. “Fingers first.”

“Stop!” I shout, still futilely struggling to get away from this guy. “Aurélie’s going to―”

“Wow, you sound like a little kid,” says the guy holding me. “Mommy’s gonna get you.”

“Where is the damn spyglass,” yells Lynn. “Last chance or I’m gonna hate you for making me mutilate this kid.”

Dumpster Diving

25

Sophia lets out an ear-piercing shriek that could break every window within fifty yards.

Hearing my little sister so terrified sets off an explosion inside me. Snarling, I strain at the arms holding me with total desperation. The rate at which I’m burning energy to make myself stronger almost hurts.

His grip loosens a little. One way to get a guy to let go is to crush his balls. I decide to test that theory out―with claws. The instant I grab a handful of crotch, he squeaks and releases the bear hug, mashing both hands into my back to shove me away as hard as he can push.

The launch throws me into Lynn. I koala around her and use my weight to drag her over backward to the ground. Since my face is already right by her neck, I chomp down and get a blast of disgustingness in my mouth.

Ugh. Another vampire’s blood tastes exactly like blood, only tingly like it’s suffused with an electric charge or something.

Energy.

I’m distantly aware of Sophia screaming. She’s right next to me, but sounds far away. Fighting the urge to throw up, I force myself to suck on the side of this bitch’s throat, gulping down blood as fast as I can. She digs her claws into my back for a better grip, trying to pry me off. Fire like ten hot pokers piercing my flesh makes me scream into the hole in her neck, but I’m fighting for my little sister’s life.

The more I take, the less blood she has to make herself stronger or faster.

“Stop!” she yells.

Like a feral thing, I snarl, and keep on drinking until the flow is almost nil. Then, I let her throw me aside. I roll over twice and wind up on my hands and knees. All it takes is one little thought about how disgusting her blood tastes, and I vomit all over the alley. I’m not sure if what Dalton said about drinking another vamp’s blood is true―that it could make me her slave―but I don’t want to find out, and it’s way disgusting. Besides, my body definitely does not want it.

After barfing up a viscous puddle of crimson goop, I sit back on my heels and wipe my mouth on the back of my arm. Lynn rolls on her side, cradling her neck and emitting agonized wails past clenched teeth. The guy’s still curled up on the ground, cradling his punctured groin, but it doesn’t look like he’s going to stay down for much longer.

I stagger upright and rush at him, kicking him in the face as hard as I can. His body whirls around like a fidget spinner drifting across the alley. After he rolls to a stop flat on his back, I grab him by the flannel shirt and mash his head into the side of the dumpster over and over again until his skull cracks open.

That should keep him out cold for a while. I toss him up and over the side, into the dumpster. Lynn jumps on my back, which makes my claw wounds flare up. I howl and ram an elbow into her side. She flies off to the left, landing in a clumsy somersault before winding up against the wall with her legs in the air.

Blinded by rage, I charge at her. Again and again, I punch her in the face, chest, and arms whenever she manages to raise a defense. After siphoning off her blood, she’s no faster or stronger than a mortal, though she’s still way tough.

“All right,” shouts Lynn, crossing her arms over her face. “Stop. You win. I give up.”

I grab her throat in both hands and pull her up to make eye contact. Blood dribbles from her nostrils, runs from a cut over her left eye, and wells out of her mouth. “Don’t ever threaten my family again.”

As much as she can move with her throat in my grip, she nods.

With a dismissive snarl, I throw her across the alley into the dumpster. She hits it hard enough that the lid slams closed. Hah.

“Two points,” mutters Sophia between sobs.

I run to her side and scoop her up. “Hey… are you hurt?”

“No.”

She’s trembling. Dammit. I cradle her chin and lift her head so I can stare into her deep emerald eyes. Exception time.

“You’re going to make me forget?” asks Sophia, narrowing her eyes.

“Umm. Well, I was thinking about it. You’re shaking.”

She clings to me. “I’ll be okay. Please don’t play with my brain.”

“You’re going to have nightmares.”

“I know.”

I pat her on the back. “You don’t care?”

“Can I sleep in your bed tonight?”

“Okay.”

“Hey,” says a man.

I look over at a pudgy Hispanic guy in a Starbucks apron. “What’s all the noise back here?”

“Sorry.” I nod toward the dumpster. “Just putting some trash out. Lid got away from me and slammed.”

“Oh.” The guy nods and walks back around the corner.

Whew. I forgot how dark it must be back here. He didn’t notice the huge puddle of blood on the ground. Speaking of which… I really need a meal.

“They’re gonna be mad,” whispers Sophia. “You didn’t kill them.”

“Ugh. Please don’t say morbid stuff. You’re too young for that.”

She raspberries me.

“They won’t bother us again. I gotta get rid of that stupid spyglass. That’s all they care about.”

“Okay,” she whispers.

“Besides. It’s really damn hard to kill us. They weren’t trying to kill me. I guess it’s just how vampires fight. Like a bunch of boys walloping each other until they work out their excess energy.”

“Boys are stupid,” says Sophia in a matter-of-fact tone. “Maybe except for Ryan and Darian. And Sam. No. Sam can be dumb sometimes.”

I chuckle. “Come on. Time to go home.”

She clamps on. “I don’t wanna see. There’s blood and stuff.”

“Okay.” I pick her up and carry her out of the alley. “Are you sure you don’t want me to take away your nightmare?”

“Yes,” she says as I set her back on her feet in the parking lot. “Stuff’s gonna try to hurt you now, and maybe us too. I gotta remember it so I can be ready.”

A blast of guilt hits me hard. What am I doing trying to mix two worlds together? This is only going to get my family hurt or killed. Glim’s tortured existence makes sense to me now… he’s protecting his wife and sons from more than his appearance. But… I can’t run away. I just can’t do that to them.

I scoop her up again into a hug.

“Can’t,” she wheezes. “Breathe.”

“Sorry.” I loosen my grip a little.

“What’s wrong?”

“Sorry for scaring you,” I whisper. “I never wanted any of this to happen.”

“I know.” After a moment of silence, she adds, “Are you gonna cry on me?”

“Heh.” I almost did, but her question makes me chuckle. “Nah. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“You should take me home before Mom gets worried we’re late.”

“Yeah.”

“And you gotta go stop the vampire war.”

“Right. Little things.”

We hurry back to the truck and hop in.

“Don’t sit back. You’ll get blood on the seat and Mom will be mad.”

Ugh. “How bad does it look?”

Sophia picks at my shoulders. “Umm. You got little crescents from her nails, but they’re not bleeding anymore. Does it hurt?”

“Yeah. Burns.” I start the engine. “But I’ll be okay.”

Favors

26

We both fail at acting normal when we get home. And, well, the blood on my shirt is way obvious.

My explaining what happened to the parents includes apologies every ten seconds or so for bringing this supernatural crap home.

“Dalton shouldn’t have dumped his spyglass mess in your lap,” says Dad. “That attack had nothing to do with, umm, what happened to you.”

“Sophia could’ve been hurt, Dad. I couldn’t live with that. Maybe I should’ve ‘followed the rules’ and gone off somewhere, let you be at peace thinking me dead.”

“No!” yells Mom. She pounce-hugs me. “Absolutely not. You’re still our daughter, no matter what, and we need to be part of your life.”

Or lack thereof, mutters my sarcastic brain since my actual voice is suffocating under a lump in my throat.

“You listen to your mother, young lady,” says Dad in a parody of his ‘stern’ voice. “No more talk of disappearing, okay?”

“Yes, Dad.” I look down. Dammit. I’m eighteen, why do I feel like I’m a kid?

“She totally kicked their butts,” says Sophia.

A hint of a grin curls the side of my mouth. “Forgot the headband again.”

Dad chuckles and wipes a tear. “You should get rid of that damn thing before this gets worse.”

“Yeah.” I glance at the clock; it’s a little after eight.

“I shouldn’t have made you take her to dance. I didn’t think it was that important,” says Mom.

Sophia stands. “I’m gonna go take a bath. I smell like alley and hipsters.”

“It’s okay, Mom. I wasn’t thinking anyway. The guy I need to return it to wouldn’t have been awake at six anyway. He’s probably still not up.” I pace, clutching the spyglass. “Maybe I should get this thing out of here before more of St. Ives’ people show up.”

Dad puts an arm around me. “Calm down, Sarah. You’re upset and upset people don’t make good decisions.”

I empty my lungs and try to ignore my fears that more vampires are going to kick down the door at any minute. My parents are awesome, but the kind of advice I need right now, they can’t give me. “Okay. You’re right. I got an idea.”

“What?” asks Mom.

Sophia screams upstairs.

“Shit!” I scramble into a run, clearing the stairs and hallway in under a second.

Right as I skid to a stop at the bathroom doorway, Sophia shouts, “Moooom! Sam put frogs in the bathtub!”

“They’re toads, not frogs,” yells Sam from his room.

Sophia, covered armpit to knee in a towel, spins to stare at me. “Sarah! There’s frogs in the tub!”

I’d been so ready for another vampire attack I nearly liquefy into a puddle with relief.

My parents arrive a moment later, since they lack the ability to run at like forty miles per hour. Mom steps into the bathroom and peers around Sophia into the tub, making an unpleasant noise, part gag, part girly squeal.

“Young man, get in here and remove those frogs!” says Mom.

“They need water.” Sam walks out of his room with a plastic bucket in hand. “And they’re toads.”

“C’mon, pal.” Dad holds his arm out and guides Sam into the bathroom with a hand at his back.

Sophia scurries out of the way of the amphibian relocation project and hides behind Mom, clutching the towel to her chest, staring at the doorway like the boy is handling plutonium.

“Well, that was close,” says Dad, glancing at me.

I smirk. “Toad-ally.”

Sophia punches me in the side. “That was awful.”

“Right.” I hold up the spyglass. “I’m gonna go deal with this before I croak.”

Dad groans, then points down the hall. “Go, young tadpole.”

Mom sighs.

I almost manage a smile before worry kills it. After heading back to my room, I grab my iPhone and call Aurélie.

“Good evening, chéri.” She stifles a yawn. “Forgive me, I have recently awoken.”

“I need help, advice really.”

“Oh. What is the matter?”

“A big mess…” I explain everything about the spyglass and the attack at the dance studio. “I was going to give it back to that Wolent guy since it really belongs to him.”

“Yes. You should do that. Leave Eleanor St. Ives to me. Proceed with your idea and return it to Mr. Wolent.”

“Awesome. Umm. Where does he live? I just realized I almost ran right out the door and I have no idea where to even go.”

Aurélie laughs, her voice fine and delicate―like everything else about her. Though, I’m starting to suspect she can be quite indelicate if she wants to be. “He has an estate west of North Hill, near the water by the trees. I’ll assume you’ll be flying in, so look for the statue of the knight in a small reflecting pool.”

Okay, that shouldn’t be too common. “Okay. I’m leaving now. Anything I should know?”

“Well, the man is respectable, but he’s also a Fury.”

“Right.”

“Simply do your best to be polite and you should be fine,” says Aurélie.

“Nothing that sounds that simple is ever that easy.”

She giggles. “Are you sure you’re only eighteen?”

“Yeah, but I’ve had a rough week.”

“All right. Give me a moment and I shall call on Eleanor. How is your little sister?”

Based on the shouting upstairs, probably fine. “Little frog―sorry toad―issue going on at the moment, but I think she’ll be okay. Expecting nightmares though.”

She tsks. “Poor thing. I shall ensure that Eleanor understands the extent of my displeasure with her decision to disregard my declaration that your family was not to be harmed.”

“Thank you.”

After hanging up, I run back to my room to change. The tiered pink skirt survived without any damage, but it’s got some blood spatter. Dammit. I hope that washes out. My Hello Kitty T-shirt isn’t so lucky. That bitch shredded the back of it at the shoulder. I fling it off and hit the basement bathroom for a quick ‘washcloth shower’ to get the blood off my back. I’m in too much of a hurry to care if anyone catches me roaming around in my underwear and sneakers for the few minutes it takes me to wipe myself off and hurry back to my room.

Holy crap. Mom didn’t say anything about me wearing shoes in the house. Gotta get out of here before she catches me.

Still attempting to accentuate ‘cute,’ I grab the next best thing, a white dress with puffy shoulders and pink trim. Wait. No. I’m trying to look innocent, not like a creepy giant six-year-old. Why did I ever buy this? Oh, right, Halloween two years ago. I toss it back into the closet and sigh. Oh hell. A couple blood droplets probably won’t bother vampires. I pull the tiered skirt back on and add a Nike T shirt with a white chest and pink short sleeves. Wow. Guess there’s more girly stuff in here than I remembered having.

I grab a matching hair ribbon and grin at Dad’s headband fixation. Nah. Too over the top. After snagging the spyglass from my bed, I race upstairs and go out the kitchen sliding door. Less chance of anyone catching me leaping into the air from the backyard.

While cruising along at like a hundred feet off the ground, I fish my iPhone out of my purse and keep a death grip on it. Klutz plus flying plus iPhone is not a good combination. However, I can’t place North Hill off the top of my head, especially from the air. A quick check of the map application points me in the right direction, and I put the phone back in my bag.

It’s kinda cold up here in a T-shirt and skirt.

Sam would love the view, but I’m not about to risk carrying my little brother up this high. I don’t trust my grip that much. Nor do I trust it enough to try taking a picture. Besides, I’m in a hurry. The sooner I get rid of this thing, the better. And crap. If I drop it, I’m going to be in huge trouble.

Clinging to the old telescope like it’s a baby, I focus on being as careful as possible while cruising at like 140 MPH. It doesn’t take me too long to reach the general area of North Hill, and I head for a strip of green beyond it at the coast. After a few minutes of cruising back and forth studying the ground, I spot a life-size statue of a medieval knight standing on a pedestal at the center of a small, square reflecting pool only about as big as my driveway. Colored lights make the white stone glow iridescent blue.

The nearby house is as big as five of mine stuck together, with three stories and a huge pool behind it. While nothing about the place is overly creepy, the closer I get to the door, the taller the hairs on the back of my neck stand.

Well, here goes nothing.

As soon as I swoop in to land on my feet, my skirt flaps up, giving the whole world a great view of my panties. Eep! I stop short in midair and flatten it back in place. Dammit. I knew I promised myself I’d stop flying in dresses for a reason. There’s gotta be a trick to landing in a skirt that doesn’t involve wanting to crawl into a hole and hide afterward. Luckily, I don’t think anyone saw me. Other than the statue, the estate grounds are pitch black. At least to mortals. Only because I feel like I’m the star of a black and white film do I know it’s super dark.

Feet down, I glide in to land by the porch and walk up to the door. Right. I can do this. For one thing, I’m an Innocent. I should be able to give off a ‘don’t mind me, I’m cute and harmless’ vibe. For another, I’m actually innocent. I had nothing to do with stealing this thing.

I push the doorbell and try not to look as terrified as I feel.

Deep chimes echo throughout the manor house. It’s some old song I don’t recognize, but it kinda sounds churchy. Like something that would come out of a bell tower. For about a minute, I stand there fidgeting.

The door opens, and this dark-skinned dude who’s gotta be seven feet tall, four feet wide at the shoulders, stares down at me with an annoyed expression. As far as I can tell, the guy doesn’t have a neck.

“Umm, hi,” I say. “Can I interest you in some Thin Mints?”

He tilts his head.

Wow, Sarah. You are such a dork. Where did that come from? “Umm.” I fidget. “Sorry. Brain fart. Is Mr. Wolent here? I need to give this back to him.”

The guy glances down at the spyglass in my hands. His eyebrows tick upward. “Please. Come in.”

He steps back, holding the door for me.

I walk into a huge foyer with black and white tiled floors and narrow columns that might be marble. Medieval armor suits stand on pedestals arranged around the room. Clean white walls bear large portraits of people in ancient clothes, some even in armor. Blood red tapestries flank the windows of the parlor beyond. Whoa. Feels like I’ve stepped into a creepy haunted house movie.

“This way,” says the man.

Vampires give off a subtle sense that usually lets us recognize each other. This dude missed the memo about subtle. Everything about him screams powerful-ass-vampire. He couldn’t be any more obvious without being a Shadow. I came here with zero intention of causing trouble, but seeing this guy has pushed it to a negative number. Short of someone threatening my family, I’m just going to tolerate any attitude they give me and keep my mouth shut. There’s pride and then there’s abject stupidity.

The Moroccan Hulk leads me across the parlor to a hallway with inlaid wood walls bearing carved angels and demons. Wow, this Wolent guy must have money.

“Umm. We’re going right in?” I ask, before thinking better of it. “Aren’t I supposed to like wait in a sitting room for some fashionable delay or something?”

“Mr. Wolent is going to want to see you right away.” His super-deep voice vibrates the air.

I nod, and silently follow him to the end of the hall, around a corner, and a short ways down the next hall to a pair of double wooden doors with dragons for handles. My escort opens one and steps back to let me pass.

The room somewhat resembles Zarkhov’s office, only a bit bigger and without the creepy-as-hell wolf rug. Wingback chairs, a fireplace, a big desk, paintings, giant windows across the whole rear wall… Remember how I felt conspicuously well off at Hunter’s place? Yeah. I don’t feel so bad anymore about that. This place is ridiculous―and way over the top.

Arthur Wolent is on the left side of the room, involved in a conversation with a pair of younger men and a tall redheaded woman who’s as pale as an alabaster statue. The woman’s in a shimmery blue evening gown, the men all in suits. Wolent’s sporting an iridescent burgundy ascot while the younger men wear standard black ties. He could be their father by age. I’m guessing he died close to fifty. Grey over his ears lightens his otherwise black hair. The other three are clearly vampires, as not one of them is making any effort to retain a lifelike coloration. At least Wolent looks human, coming off somewhere between the most interesting vampire in the world and an off-duty Lucifer.

Yeah. T-shirt, skirt, and sneakers. Wow am I underdressed. I should’ve borrowed one of those Disney gowns from Aurélie before coming here.

“Mr. Wolent,” says the giant butler. “Pardon the interruption, but you have an important guest.”

He pivots to glance over at us. His eyes sparkle for a second like an older man’s ‘aww how cute’ reaction to their grandkid, but as soon as he takes notice of the spyglass, his gaze hardens and he storms over.

“I remember you, from the other day. You’re Aurélie’s protégé.”

Try to sound polite, I chant in my head. “Yes, sir. I’m here to return this to you.”

The other three watch from over by the wall, keeping a respectful distance.

“How did you come about having this in your possession?” asks Mr. Wolent.

I hold it out to him. “The person who made a grave mistake stealing it from you realized his error and gave it to me to return it.”

He takes the spyglass and looks it over like a jeweler appraising its value.

Trying my best to seem inconspicuous and harmless, I clasp my hands in front of myself and keep my eyes on him at chest level. I hate acting so subservient, but I wouldn’t try to talk to the president like he’s a pal. This guy’s 200 years old. After seeing what I can do after a month, I bet this dude could throw a car over my house. So, yeah, if I have to act like a demure, subservient girl from two centuries ago to get out of here with my head still attached, whatever. Of course, I don’t really know if this guy expects women to be like that, but he is a Fury, so anything I can do not to anger him helps.

The simmering rage beneath the surface of Arthur Wolent’s face recedes. He kinda returns to that grandfatherly vibe with a smile. “I am grateful to you for returning my property, though I would ask why this individual sent you as their proxy. Did they not have the courage to face me?”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much it.” I flash my most sincere smile.

Wolent offers the spyglass to the man who led me to this room. The huge guy takes it, nods once, and walks off.

“Tell me the name of the one who stole from me.” Arthur stares at me, calm, but threatening nonetheless.

Geez. Now I know how it felt to like face Caesar or something. One wrong word and I’m the poor sap facing execution. Besides, Dalton already mentioned being pursued, so Wolent is probably only asking me as a test. “The one who gave me the Transference. Dalton Ames.”

Arthur nods. “I appreciate your honesty, despite the conflict it must create in terms of your loyalty.”

“It’s a big misunderstanding and being deceptive won’t do anything but make it worse.” I have no idea if I can radiate anything like Aurélie does, but I’m trying my damndest to give off enough cute to trigger a Geiger counter. Trustable innocence. That’s me.

“A misunderstanding?” He raises an eyebrow. “What possessed him to steal it in the first place?”

“Umm. I think someone hired him.”

“Hired?” Arthur whirls away from me and paces a bit before stopping by the wall and spinning back to glare. “Who?”

A name could kick off a bloody war. Lying to this guy feels like an equally bad idea, but I hope it’s the lesser of two bad options. “I can’t say.”

Wolent stares at me for a moment, a picture of total serenity. Out of nowhere, he roars and punts the chair next to him, sending it zooming across the room and out the window like a cannonball, smashing the glass to a bajillion pieces. All three other vampires jump at the sudden outburst. The redhead gives me a ‘ooh, I would not want to be you’ look.

Okay, yeah, I jumped too. I probably even yelped. Geez. Why do some guys think the solution to any problem is smashing something?

A crack outside announces the chair hitting the ground.

“Who!” roars Wolent, his face reddening, veins rising in his forehead.

I cringe, keeping my gaze on the floor. “I’m sorry, Mr. Wolent. I’m just a kid. Dalton didn’t tell me anything except that he stole this from you, but before he could give it to the other person, Zarkhov’s people stole it from him. I snuck into Abaddon to get it back for you, and then some other vampires attacked me, and they threatened my little sister trying to steal it. That spyglass is yours, and I’ve brought it back to you. I’m sorry, but it’s not my concern who wanted it stolen.”

The three in the back of the room collectively gasp.

Wolent glares at me for another few seconds before bursting into laughter. He ambles over and pats me on the back. “I like you, girl. You’ve got balls.”

“Not the last time I checked,” I mutter.

He playfully elbows me in the side and gestures at the other three. “Get a load of this one. I love her.”

The scariest thing about this guy isn’t his age. It’s watching him go from warm to furious to warm again so fast. I weather the constant elbowing with a weak smile.

“You have my gratitude for returning the spyglass.” He waves dismissively. “The thing itself is not worth so much as the insult of having someone invade my home and steal. I respect what you have done for me at personal risk, and risk to your family.”

“Oh, this is the girl who’s still associating with her mortal kin?” asks the redhead. “That’s so adorable.”

The two men beside her stifle snickers.

A confused man in a green jumpsuit pokes his head in the smashed window. He surveys the damage, shakes his head with a put-upon sigh, and walks off grumbling.

Wow. Guess that sort of thing happens a lot.

“I believe that is the case,” says Wolent with a smile. “She is a little young to have received the Transference, but not so small it would create an issue.”

“Wasn’t exactly my idea.” I fidget. “I’m glad it happened, but I didn’t ask for it.”

He nods. “Aurélie filled me in. You also did us a favor by dealing with that Scrap. Perhaps I should offer a favor in return.”

“That would be most generous of you, but unnecessary. The Scrap was a personal issue… and, well, if you’re so inclined, could you maybe not kill Dalton?”

“Considering you have returned what was taken, I give you my word he shall not be destroyed.”

Ugh. That’s somewhat open ended, but it’s better than nothing. “Thank you.”

“Come.” He slips an arm around my back and ushers me over to the group. “Since you’re already here, you may as well be social.”

“Arthur,” says the blond man, “can’t you see the little thing is terrified? I’m sure she wishes to go straight home.”

“It’s likely past her bedtime.” The dark haired guy snickers.

“Would it be rude of me to tell these dandies to go eff themselves?” I ask, glancing at Wolent.

Both men gawk at me. Wolent breaks out in bellicose laughter. The redhead covers her mouth to hide her laughter.

“Not at all, kid.” Wolent squeezes me against his side in a brief one-armed hug. “I tell them that, and a lot worse, all the time.”

Oh, great. Guess I’m in for a long ‘social’ night.

A Life Left Behind

27

So, I had a weird night hanging out with an old-as-hell vampire and his hangers-on, largely standing there while they talked about philosophy. The prig who said I stayed up past my bedtime actually thinks the Greek gods were real, but vampires instead of actual gods. Gotta admit, it was kinda fun watching Lily (the redhead) mock him mercilessly. I finally excused myself when the opportunity presented itself. Another supernatural ass-kicking left me famished, and I wound up feeding twice on the way home.

I can’t decide if I feel guilty about the first one. The girl was only fourteen, a runaway. I guess someone like her amounts to the vampire version of guilt eating. Her blood tasted like angel food cake with a hint of orange citrus. I needed something super yummy to purge the memory of Lynn’s vampire blood from my mouth. Swear I won’t bite under eighteen again. For what it’s worth, since she’d only run away to meet some dude she met online, I compelled her to go home and walked with her to a police station so no one attacked her before she could get there. That made me feel less guilty about biting someone younger than me.

My second meal was a security guard. I did it backward and had dessert before the main course. For whatever reason, my brain associated his blood with the flavor of steak. I’m no vegetarian like Sophia, but I never really adored steak like Dad.

Anyway, being I didn’t get out of Wolent’s place until after three in the morning, I decided not to go home since no one would be awake. Randomness brought me here, to the Space Needle. There’s a little grey round part at the center of the roof with a flat surface that makes for a nice perch. Sitting on top of it staring out at Elliott Bay watching the ripples is kinda calming.

Despite having a skirt on, I curl up with my chin on my knees, arms wrapped around my legs. So what if birds see my underpants. Seeking solitude is totally unlike me. Way up here, out of sight, apart from the world. Guess it’s a metaphor for this life I’ve landed in. I’m no longer fully human. I’ve popped up out of the crowd, cruising along at a higher altitude and slower speed. The entire reality I know now is going to careen out of sight eventually. Mom, Dad, my siblings, Ashley, Michelle, even Hunter. They’re all going to follow the current rushing past me to go down the drain at some point.

Does Hunter deserve to be stuck with me? What if he wants kids? Could I possibly give him any sort of real companionship? He’ll grow old and I’ll still look exactly like this. No one will care at first, but when he’s forty or so, everyone will look at us like he’s some kind of perv.

Maybe I screwed up going back home.

Grief, as if my whole family and all my friends died at the same time, crashes into me, and I bawl like a child. Was it selfish of me to go home? How much of that came from me really caring what my family went through so much as me being too much of a chicken to be on my own? The idea of heading off to USC had scared me to death, and that didn’t involve any actual death. Yeah, sure, my family lost their collective minds with grief when they thought me gone, but it wouldn’t have destroyed them. Families have to deal with losing people all the time. They’d have coped with it.

They would have, right?

A leathery flutter to my right precedes the soft clunk of boots hitting the roof. I let my feet slip forward so my skirt falls flat over my legs.

“Do you prefer to be alone?” asks Glim.

I sniffle-chuckle. “I’ve never really wanted to be alone before. I’m not the ‘alone’ type.”

A black boot steps into my peripheral vision. “That’s neither a yes nor a no.”

“It’s cool.” I pat the roof next to me. “If you wanna hang out.”

He sits beside me, black trenchcoat fluttering in the wind. “So, what’s on your mind?”

“I’ve been sitting here trying to figure out how you did that turning into smoke thing.”

“You’re terrible at deception.” He grins. “But, if you want to know… I don’t really turn into smoke. It’s an illusion. I make people see it.”

“Oh, that’s cool.”

“The one who brought me into the darkness taught me many things. I suppose I have come to value that knowledge, if not the gift he bestowed.”

I glance down at the frilly tiers of my skirt ruffling in the breeze. “How’d you get away from him?”

“We reached a point where he had taught me all he cared to, and he went on his way.” Glim picks at his nails, making a scraping sound like someone sharpening bone knives. “Saeed El-Amin is an individual I both loathe and respect.”

“Glim?”

“Hmm?”

I look over at him, taking in every ghastly contour of his face. For no reason I understand, it doesn’t bother me. Our circumstances couldn’t be any more different, yet we have those two things in common: neither of us wanted to be vampires and we both still have families.

“Did I make a mistake going home, not letting my family believe I was dead?”

He takes my hand, gazing at it as if comparing my pinkish skin to his slate grey fingers. “If I appeared as you do, I would have done the same. Why do you doubt your choices, or the grief you spared them?”

A sigh slides out my nose as I look back out over the bay. “I’m afraid I’ve put them in danger.”

“What you’ve become isn’t putting them in danger. Getting involved with thieves who’ve pissed off powerful people did.”

Sadness tinges my laugh, but at least I stop crying. “Yeah, I guess that’s a good point even if it is a technicality.”

“It’s not a technicality.” He grins. “You could live as a vampire for years, leaving your house only to feed, and never bring a bit of trouble to your doorstep. It’s not what you are, it’s what you do.”

My grief cracks open like an egg, bursting into a momentary upwelling of happiness at still having a family. The day will come when I have to deal with losing them, but maybe I’ll try to act like a teenager for once and push that thought out of my head as a distant future that’s so far away I can’t even comprehend it.

“Did you ever think about using your tricks to make your sons see you as you used to be?”

Glim shakes his head, glowing yellow eyes downcast. “Anthony Chavez died in Mosul. I’m Glim now, merely the ghost of a lost father talking to his kid from beyond the grave. I guess it doesn’t really look like it, but I’ve made peace with that.”

I nod, choking up at the idea of never being with my family again.

“Actually,” says Glim, “I couldn’t bear the thought of them seeing a monster like this and screaming.”

“One of my sisters screams at her own shadow sometimes. In fact, one time, she hung her winter coat on her closet door. Something woke her up in the middle of the night and the hood made a silhouette against the window. She thought someone snuck into her room, so she screamed her head off.” I put an arm around him. “Kids can be skittish. Hey I’m still sort of a kid, and I think you’re pretty badass looking. People are monsters on the inside, not the outside.”

Glim shifts his weight and coughs to the side. Wow, I think he’s choked up.

“Except for Scott. Then it’s kinda both.”

He sputters into a chuckle. “I think you’ll do okay among us.”

“I’m figuring it out.” I extend my fangs. “These things really ought to come with a user’s manual. I don’t even know enough to know what I don’t know.”

Glim laughs. “If you do nothing else, promise me you’ll hold on to that positive outlook.”

I lean against his side. “I’ll try. If I can ever get my emotions under control.”

“Oh?” he asks.

“Lately, I’ve been swooping from happy to crying to terrified to feeling overwhelmed. I even took my stuffed animals out of my closet. It’s really damn annoying.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much. That’s normal.”

“Normal?” I glance up at him. “Somehow, I don’t see you burying yourself in teddy bears, unicorns, and stuffed rabbits.”

“Hah.” Air passing around his fangs whistles as he laughs. “I was older when it happened to me. You’re not only a teenager right in the middle of your hormonal rage, you’re dealing with being stuck between the world of the living and the dead at the same time you’re neither a child nor an adult. If your worst problem is heavy mood swings, you’re doing okay.”

“Thanks. You really think so?”

“Yes.” He looks me in the eyes. “You’re feeling your new abilities out and, honestly, I don’t think any other vampire in this city could’ve gotten away with talking to Arthur Wolent like that.”

I gasp. “You were watching?”

“Not in real time. I heard whispers after the fact.”

“Neat trick.”

“I’m full of neat tricks.” He gazes up at the sky. “Withstanding the sun, however, is not one of them. I should be on my way.”

“Yeah, me too.”

We stand at the same time.

“See you around.”

Glim bows like a Disney prince. “Farewell, sweet maiden fair. May the winds carry you home and the shadows protect you.”

“I’m sure at least one shadow will be watching over me.” I kick the toe of my sneaker at the roof of the Space Needle, and grin at him. “Take care of yourself, too.”

He nods once, and whirls into a shadowy cloud.

“Drama queen,” I say with a chuckle, then let gravity take me off the edge.

The city below rushes toward me for a second or so before I pull out of the dive.

A broad smile curls my lips as I climb back into the sky.

Time for this vampire girl to go home.

Fin

Acknowledgements

Thank you for reading A Beginner’s Guide to Fangs! I hope you will take the time to leave a review, even if it’s just a few words. Reviews are incredibly vital to independent authors.

Additional thanks to:

Alexandria Thompson for the beautiful cover.

About the Author

Originally from South Amboy NJ, Matthew has been creating science fiction and fantasy worlds for most of his reasoning life. Since 1996, he has developed the “Divergent Fates” world, in which Division Zero, Virtual Immortality, The Awakened Series, The Harmony Paradox, and the Daughter of Mars series take place. Along with being an editor at Curiosity Quills press, he has worked in IT and technical support.

Matthew is an avid gamer, a recovered WoW addict, Gamemaster for two custom RPG systems, and a fan of anime, British humour, and intellectual science fiction that questions the nature of reality, life, and what happens after it.

He is also fond of cats.

Links

Please visit me on the web at: http://www.matthewcoxbooks.com/wordpress/

Also, for news, updates, and exclusives, join my readers group on Facebook: Division Zero

Reader Group Link: https://www.facebook.com/groups/137705036768984/

Find me on Twitter: @mscox_fiction

For contact or inquiries regarding this novel, please email at: mcox2112@gmail.com

Other books by Matthew S. Cox

Middle Grade

Tales of Widowswood series (fantasy)

Emma and the Banderwigh

Emma and the Silk Thieves

Emma and the Silverbell Faeries

Emma and the Elixir of Madness

Emma and the Weeping Spirit

Citadel: The Concordant Sequence (post-apocalyptic)

The Cursed Codex (LitRPG – Fantasy/contemporary)

The Menagerie of Jenkins Bailey (contemporary fantasy)

Young Adult

Caller 107 (contemporary paranormal – Note: strong language)

The Summer the World Ended (nuclear apocalyptic/family drama/contemporary)

Nine Candles of Deepest Black (witchcraft horror)

The Eldritch Heart (fantasy / LGBT)

The Forest Beyond the Earth

Out of Sight

Adult

(Divergent Fates universe – Science fiction / Cyberpunk / Paranormal)

Division Zero series

Division Zero

Lex De Mortuis

Thrall

Guardian

The Awakened series

Prophet of the Badlands

Archon’s Queen

Grey Ronin

Daughter of Ash

Zero Rogue

Angel Descended

Daughter of Mars series

The Hand of Raziel

Araphel

Ghost Black

Virtual Immortality

The Harmony Paradox

Divergent Fates Anthology

(Non-DF novels)

The Roadhouse Chronicles Series (post nuclear apoc/zombie)

One More Run

The Redeemed

Dead Man’s Number

Faded Skies series (post-ww3 / sci fi)

Heir Ascendant

Ascendant Revolution

Chiaroscuro: The Mouse and the Candle (vampire, drama)

Temporal Armistice Series (urban fantasy)

Nascent Shadow

The Shadow Collector

Wayfarer: AV494 (sci fi horror)

Axillon99 (LitRPG)

Vampire Innocent series (vampire, comedy-drama)

Operation: Chimera (sci fi – with Tony Healey)

The Dysfunctional Conspiracy (nonfiction memoir – with Christopher Veltmann)

Winter Solstice series (urban fantasy – with J.R. Rain)

Convergence

Containment

Alexis Silver series (urban fantasy – with J.R. Rain)

Silver Light

Samantha Moon Origins series (urban fantasy – with J.R. Rain)

New Moon Rising

Moon Mourning

Maddy Wimsey series (detective / witchcraft – with J.R. Rain)

The Devil’s Eye

The Drifting Gloom

The Far Side of Promise (anthology)

Sophie’s Light (novella)

Table of Contents

- Blood and Teddy Bears
- Samoas
- High School
- The Archive
- Debut
- Glim
- Waiting Tables
- Free Ride
- Attachments
- Super Powers
- Thin Mints
- Too Much Information
- Lifting Spirits
- Unseen
- Nothing Suspicious
- Taking the Mick
- Abaddon
- The Vampire’s Pantry
- Filching The Stash
- Just Say No
- The Darkness Watches
- Priorities
- Two Cougars and a Tiger
- Interested Party
- Dumpster Diving
- Favors
- A Life Left Behind
- Acknowledgements
- About the Author
- Links
- Other books by Matthew S. Cox