Vampire Innocent | Book 12 | Ancient Vampire Death Cults & Other Annoyances

by Cox, Matthew S.

  Arthur Wolent, the de-facto ‘boss’ of vampires in the Seattle area, at least the ‘civilized’ ones, sent Holden and me on what should have been a simple, diplomatic errand. Okay, perhaps less than diplomatic, but a car chase ending in a fiery explosion hadn’t been on my list of ‘ways this can possibly go wrong.’ The whole scene felt like something straight out of a movie. Two ‘problem solvers’ going to a disused bar to meet some people—vampires—causing trouble for the boss.

  In all fairness, we hadn’t been planning to start a fight.

  According to Wolent, a group of vampires who’d been exiled from Portland holed up in a small, derelict bar downtown. The place had been closed for years, definitely not open to the public. This crew simply broke in and squatted. Not surprising. Vampires tend to help themselves to real estate rather often. Paying rent is for mortals, after all. Even elders or vamps who prefer the nicer things in unlife find ways around actually paying for their homes. They don’t ‘squat’ per se, but use mental influence to secure legal ownership of property without money changing hands. I found out kinda recently Aurélie isn’t paying for her massive penthouse. The management company running the building has records showing she’s prepaid for thirty years or so, but can’t locate the funds.

  This is how rich vampires stay rich. They never use the money they collect. Granted, it’s pretty much the same thing wealthy mortals do, only they use byzantine legal loopholes and teams of attack lawyers instead of mind powers.

  Our mission sounded simple. Go to said disused bar, meet the vampires, determine what they planned to do in Seattle, and if we didn’t like their answer, tell them to leave. Wolent couldn’t verify the exact reasons the exiles got the boot from Portland. Inter-city cooperation among different vampire factions isn’t the most seamless creature. I’d like to say Seattle is more organized in terms of undead political structure. The feel I got from Portland is basically an anarchist-slash-gang ‘tribal council’ situation. They don’t have an Arthur Wolent, meaning a single guy everyone defers to as being in charge. There, it’s more a collection of faction leaders forming a tribunal.

  My mom has certain unfavorable opinions about the efficacy of committees. She’s more or less right. Wolent’s request for information is probably still sitting on a desk somewhere ignored on infinite ‘when we get around to it’ hold.

  You’d think these leaders might do something logical like organize around bloodlines or something? Nope. It’s total chaos as far as I can tell. No rhyme or reason. Just some elder decides they want power, so they grab up some followers and party on. Not like the Academics and the Old Guard and the Furies are all distinct groups. In all fairness, they don’t do that in Seattle either, but we also don’t have two dozen separate clans and a tribunal council of leaders. We have a few cliques pretending to respect one leader.

  I guess vampires really are like the government. If something makes too much sense, they obviously can’t do it that way and look for something more pleasantly convoluted.

  I’m sitting in the passenger seat of a nice black Cadillac.

  This guy, Holden Marston, is driving. He’s a vampire, Old Guard, part of Wolent’s group. Technically, I am part of Wolent’s group, too. Okay, no ‘technically’ about it. I’m officially active in local politics to a point. I’ve had my debutante ball, my undead coming out party, talked to rulers in London, and I’ve even carried out a bombing. It’s a lot for a girl to get done in a year.

  All the vampires who pay attention to such things recognize me as being ‘one of his.’ It’s somewhere between being a staffer in a political campaign office and a low-level associate of an organized crime boss. If you ask my dad, the only true difference between politicians and organized crime is the law. One side makes the law do whatever they want, the other ignores the law to do whatever they want. Otherwise, they’re pretty much identical. Everyone’s merely trying to get rich and have power.

  Vampires, generally, obey mortal laws about as well as cats. Do felines care it’s illegal to jaywalk? Okay, to be fair, most vampires merely disregard laws. We don’t stare into your eyes as we break the law and mock you for having rules. We’re not entirely cats.

  Go ahead. Declare something illegal. Vampires will do it anyway and make you forget seeing it. Expecting mortal laws to stop us from doing something is about as asinine as expecting a ‘gun free zone’ sign on a bank is going to make a robber change his mind, or switch to a knife. Some crazy vampires—like me—still obey (mostly) the law. For one thing, it’s ingrained in my being. I grew up as Follows Rules Girl and it hasn’t been too long since my Transference. For another thing, keeping my head down makes it easier to blend in. One major thing vampires want to do is stay hidden, blend in pretending to be mortal. Individually, mortals are no match for us, even newbies like me. However, if knowledge of vampires went mainstream, there’s no way we could survive all of humanity trying to kill us.

  People aren’t known for welcoming the strange and unusual. Anything they don’t understand, they try to destroy. Take magic, for example. According to what my sister Sophia learned from the mystics, all that King Arthur stuff, Merlin, and so forth really happened. However, humanity tolerated magic nervously only for a few hundred years before becoming terrified and going collectively rage-crazy and trying to wipe them out. So, the mages went into hiding, pretending magic didn’t exist.

  A scary high number of people can’t tolerate the idea of girls loving girls or boys loving boys. No way are they going to tolerate vampires… who are a threat to them. And phew. A vampire girl loving a vampire girl would really make them freak out. Ideally, we need to keep society around the world believing we are creatures of myth. Running around flagrantly breaking mortal laws is the exact opposite way to go about being inconspicuous. It’s just easier to behave. Or pretend to behave. I’m the lame kid who’s still afraid of getting in trouble, as pathetic as a twenty-one-year-old living in their own apartment still going to bed at 10:00 p.m. because their parents gave them a bedtime right up until eighteen and they don’t want to disappoint Mom and Dad.

  No, I’m not that pathetic. I have no bedtime.

  Okay, technically a lie. But, my bedtime is enforced by the sun, not parents.

  Anyway, Wolent is concerned about a group of exiles being in Seattle. If they did something bad enough to get them kicked out of Portland, it’s probably not a good idea to allow them to stay around here. No slam against Portland by the way, just saying things are way more lax there. And weird. I’ve heard some vampires even walk around ‘fangs out’ and no one cares. People think it’s cosplay. Guess when your city is known for some guy who dresses up like Darth Vader and plays bagpipes on a unicycle, something as mundane as vampires barely gets a raised eyebrow.

  My first thought is to suggest the exiles head down to Ventura, California. As far as vampiredom goes, it’s completely lawless there. I’m sure the PIBs hate the place. Yes, the government has agents whose sole job is making sure the people remain unaware of the existence of everything paranormal.

  So anyway, Holden… don’t know much about him. He appears to be around thirty, but doesn’t act like a millennial. Dude doesn’t look anything like Leo DiCaprio except for the blond hair, but he reminds me of Jack from Titanic. Same mannerisms, speech patterns, and so on. Guessing he turned vampire in the early 1900s. ‘Holden’ is also kind of a dated name. Don’t see many guys running around these days named Holden. Probably because it’s easy to make fun of. Any kid going to school these days would hate the name. And his hair is tragically basic. Total millennial mess.

  I’d seen him before at the soirees, but never met or spoke to him. Sure, I’ve ‘gone official’ but I’m still trying to exist as normally as possible for the time being. I never considered myself shy or socially awkward—my friend Michelle would disagree—but anyone seeing me at these vampire parties would assume me shy. According to ’Chelle, both Ashley and I are introverts. Not sure what makes her think so. Ashley’s like the mos
t friendly, bubbly person I know. So what if she won’t walk up to total strangers and start talking? If someone approaches her, she has no problem chatterboxing away. She simply doesn’t initiate social contact with people she doesn’t know. In fact, I think she’s more outgoing than I am.

  Okay, maybe ‘shy’ is closer to accurate than I let on. Whatever.

  The most shocking thing about Holden thus far is he hasn’t once made a comment about my age or given me a dismissive smirk. It’s odd. Even the friendlier vampires in Wolent’s periphery tend to make condescending remarks about me being adorable. To be fair, the ‘treating me like a child’ thing kind of waned after I firebombed a nest of hostile vampires in Astoria. Guess it earned me a little respect.

  Holden spends most of the ride to the abandoned bar telling me what he knows of the exiles and discussing what Wolent shared in our briefing. Supposedly, the vampires in question got the boot for carelessness, leaving bodies around, kill-feeding, and generally being a danger to vampires in general due to attracting attention. Stories about a deranged serial killer who thinks they’re a vampire stalking the Portland area are making the rounds on the news. Chances are, it’s going to end in one of three ways: fade out of public awareness, some poor guy is going to be framed for it and paraded around on the news to make the story go away as resolved, or some random dead body is going to be the killer ‘dead in a shootout with police.’

  Might not even be vampires who do it, rather the Persons In Black. It makes sense to me why vampires would work hard to keep the reality of our existence a secret, but I have no explanation for why mortals do. Unless the whole department is controlled by a vampire? Hmm. Who knows?

  Holden idly taps his fingers on the wheel while waiting for a traffic light. “There is a good chance this will turn into a mild disagreement requiring delicate negotiations.”

  “Are you being literal or doing the Dalton thing?” I ask.

  “The ‘Dalton thing’?” Holden glances at me.

  “If he told me to expect a ‘mild disagreement,’ I’d plan for fireballs, toads raining from the sky, wailing, gnashing of teeth, and so forth.”

  Holden chuckles. “Ahh yes. Something of that nature, though hopefully without the frogs. Shouldn’t worry too much. These vampires left Portland when asked to. I doubt angering Mr. Wolent is of interest to them.”

  “Hope so.”

  “Even if they decline, our job tonight is not to physically throw them out. We merely bring word of their refusal back.”

  “Sounds easy.”

  “You’ll find most things are.”

  I chuckle. “Right up until they aren’t. And ‘easy’ hasn’t exactly been my fortune lately.”

  A few minutes after the signal goes green for us, we arrive at the former bar. The building is mostly grey on the outside, windows boarded up. It’s sandwiched between a record store—unsurprisingly also shut down—and a furniture-refurbishing place, which still appears to be in operation, but closed now. No surprise there, considering it’s almost midnight. ‘Commercial space for lease’ signs are all over the bar, the record store, and the next place to the left. I can’t tell what it used to be other than a retail store of some kind. Doesn’t look like any of the three properties have been occupied for years.

  Holden pulls over into a conveniently empty spot right outside the place. Gee. Can’t imagine why no one would want to park in front of two abandoned properties at this hour.

  Seattle, as cities go, is pretty nice. We still have crime, but unlike, say, New York City, a nice Caddy is still going to be here when we exit the building. I hop out, cheating by using my ability to fly to manage high heels. They’re not like extreme stilettoes or anything, merely ‘normal’ heels. My dumb ass wanted to look more professional-slash-serious, so I borrowed one of my mom’s old pairs she doesn’t use anymore. The only pair in the house belonging to me are kitten heels. I already look like a high school freshman. No need making it more pronounced. Alas, it would’ve made sense for me to get used to walking in ‘real’ heels before using them for a job. Oh, well. I can fly. Which means faking it is easy.

  Seriously… how does any woman like these things? Ugh.

  I feel like an ostrich on ice skates wearing a harness connected to helium balloons to stay upright.

  At least I don’t look as ungainly as it feels. No mirrors around to check myself in. Holden would definitely have said something otherwise, or laughed. Definitely come off more like baby lawyer on her first day than a female version of Vincent from Pulp Fiction, Agent Scully, or even a nameless background detective from Law & Order. I am going to intimidate exactly no one. Kinda strange Wolent sent me on this job, but maybe he’s doing it in hopes my presence keeps the meeting from turning into a bloodbath. Slight chance he’s hoping for the reverse. I did, after all, incinerate a nest of kill-feeders in Ventura. Well, help incinerate. The Peters brothers brought the flare gun.

  Or, more likely, he doesn’t view these exiles as a serious threat and it’s a job for the new girl.

  Holden leads the way across the sidewalk to the door. Not sure what made him try the knob, but to both of our surprise, the door opens. We step into a somewhat cramped room. A bar takes up about half the wall on the left near the front. Square, freestanding tables and chairs fill the majority of the floor space except for an area around a smaller-than-average pool table in the back by a hallway labeled ‘restrooms.’ Sports crap is all over, mostly Seahawks logos. Everything is covered in dust. The place smells of damp wood, seawater, and stale beer.

  Two men seated at one of the tables near the inner end of the bar glance over at us, as excited as if we’re the guy who went out to grab food coming back. Can’t tell how old either guy is… somewhere between twenty and forty. One’s dressed like a backup singer for a Cure cover band. He’s gone full Goth. White face paint, puffy black hair, black trench coat. Far too many spikes and purposeless chains. The cops would write him a ticket for excessive metal accessorizing. His buddy’s long ponytail makes him look like Paul Revere fell through a time hole into an Aeropostale outlet.

  My brain almost shuts down when I realize what’s on the table between them… Warhammer 40k minis and dice. Kinda cool and unexpected. Dad convinced us to try playing it once. Sam and Sophia liked the detail in the rules. Sierra moaned the whole time about it being tedious. Took forever to finish the scenario. However, vampires have nothing but time on their hands and this building doesn’t appear to have working electricity, so no video games. If not for the chance these two might be kill-feeders, I’d respect them as fellow geeks.

  Small, painted figurines hold my attention for only a moment before something… else grabs it. Two tables behind them, a plain white bed sheet conceals a large cylinder roughly the size of a fireplace log. Eerie, but faint, purple light shines out from under a fold in the linen, stretching shadows over an unreadable word carved into the table surface. I’d ask if they bought a giant blacklight to host rave parties here, but electronic devices don’t generally give off a tangible sense of malice—though my mother has a few stories about her old Blackberry. Whatever the thing under the sheet is, it’s staring at me like a cat I just gave a bath to.

  “Sorry, place is closed,” says the goth dude.

  Holden takes another step. “We’re here on business.”

  The guys appear to realize we’re vampires at roughly the same time. Upon processing we’re not mortals—and thus, not self-delivering food—their smiles fade to annoyed smirks. Goth Dude’s body language goes full ‘ugh’ like a pair of Jehovah Witnesses cornered him and asked if he had a few minutes to talk. ‘Paul Revere’ radiates more of a ‘here we go again’ attitude.

  “I’m Holden Marston. This is my associate, Sarah. We are here on behalf of Arthur Wolent. Shall I assume you know of him, or would you rather I explain?”

  ‘Paul Revere’ closes his eyes, emits a silent pained sigh, then looks at us. “We are aware of him. However, we had not realized he has decided to em
brace the silliness of the Old World.”

  “I am unsure to what you refer,” says Holden.

  Goth Dude shifts his ‘can we kill this guy’ stare off Holden to check me out. It’s not a comfortable look, but I’ll suffer it if it keeps us from having to get into a fight. Wait, no… he’s not leering at me. That’s confusion. Grr. I bet he’s trying to figure out if I’m old enough to leer at. Okay, so not a total creep.

  “Announcing arrivals?” ‘Paul Revere’ raises both eyebrows. “My name is Albert Pemberton, and my associate is Robert Bryson. I assume by virtue of your being a proxy in Mr. Wolent’s stead, this satisfies the requirement.”

  Holden smiles, taking another casual step closer. “Oh, no. There is no need to formally present yourself. This is not Europe. We are here simply to ascertain your intentions for being in the Seattle area. Mr. Wolent is aware of the circumstances surrounding your departure from Portland and wishes to avoid similar disruptions here.”

  “I’m afraid you have been misinformed.” Albert drops a pair of six-sided dice on the table among the figurines and walks over to us. “The reasons for us leaving Portland are entirely political. Certain groups with… issues are no doubt spreading exaggerated stories.”

  Up close, this guy looks as pale as Robert. Hmm. When we walked in, I figured the ‘goth dude’ had white face paint on, but don’t smell any. My high school had a small goth clique. I never noticed a cosmetic aroma from them, but I also didn’t have a nose sharp enough to track human scents at the time. Any beer stink soaked into the floor and tables should be weakened enough from age not to conceal fresh face paint. No, these two are both as white as chalk.

  Such paleness isn’t too unusual for vampires, but it stands out in vampire society the same way going outside naked does to mortals. Aurélie gets away with it—being pure white, not public nudity—because she dresses like she’s from sixteenth century France. Well, she is from sixteenth century France, but I mean she still wears the costumes. Nobles back then painted themselves white, so it fits her outfit. Except for Innocents and Shadows, vampires can force their bodies to take on a more lifelike coloration. Innocents don’t have to, and Shadows can’t. They also happen to be grey rather than white. Point being, ‘warming up’ is considered as customary to vampires before going out as it is to put on clothes.