Vampire Innocent | Book 12 | Ancient Vampire Death Cults & Other Annoyances
Page 18
“So, you’re going to stuff me in this little room and leave?”
“No other choice right now. At least until it’s dark. You have the reliquary thing in the trunk?”
“Yeah. What the freak is that thing? Gave me the creeps.”
I head for the stairs. “It’s basically a giant bottle of vampire mix.”
“Say what?”
“You know how iced tea comes in powder form? Same thing. Only, add corpses instead of water.”
He shakes his head, whistling. “Didn’t think it worked that way.”
“Usually doesn’t. These guys are old school. They think they predate humans, but I don’t believe them. Their ability to go from an energy being to a vampire requires humans. They literally could not have existed before us.”
“What if they just existed as energy beings until humans came around, then realized they could take us over?” asks the ghost.
“Huh. Yeah. I suppose that’s possible.” And wow, since when do cops think about such abstract things?
As soon as we reach ground level, the sun nerfs me. Weird for it not to hurt anymore. Granted, it isn’t too bright today. Feels more like I’m walking outside and some prankster sneaks up behind me and rips my clothes off. I go from being confident and fearless to shrinking in defensively, worried about who might be watching me. Still don’t truly understand what effect it will have if I get hurt while offline. Not in a rush to find out. As much as my primary goal as a vampire is to keep living as ‘normal’ as possible, I’m far happier being online. Grumbling in my head, I trudge up the stairs to the fourth floor.
“And what do you mean by ‘us’?” asks John. “You aren’t mortal.”
“No, but I’m still human. Or was. I don’t get vampires who talk down about humans as if they’re something so much better and hadn’t once been human themselves.”
“People with power often tend to forget where they came from.”
“Yeah.” I shove the door open to the parking garage and stop short at the sight of police cars everywhere.
Shit. Someone heard the gunfire and called the cops. They’re swarming all over the place, searching around Officer Trujillo’s patrol car as well. Dammit. That’s gonna make it a little more difficult for me to get the reliquary. Second shit: if any of those cops opens the trunk, they might end up possessed, too. Depends on how many Oblivare souls are inside the thing and how many want to jump into a live body. Can’t imagine they like doing it. Takes them out of the safety of the urn to become a creature no more fearsome than a mortal. I have a brief daydream of a bunch of glowing purple energy forms sitting in a room drawing straws to see who’s the unlucky bastard.
“What now?” asks the ghost.
“Nothing.” I pretend to look surprised and worried at all the cops and start making my way to where I parked. “Can’t do anything about this during the day.”
Officer Trujillo’s ghost looks back and forth from me to his car, then decides to jog after me.
I’d complain how so many apparently simple tasks lately have exploded into long, complicated—and sometimes dangerous—messes, but my luck honestly isn’t too bad. Good family, great parents, nice house, comfortable life. My first eighteen years on this planet couldn’t really have been better. Sure, we could have been super wealthy or famous, but nah, not better. Rich families almost always seem to hate each other and rich kids usually grow up into serious douchebags. My family is—okay, Dad can be corny as hell, but I think we are—or were—at the perfect balance.
Considering what some other people have to deal with, I have no room to complain about bad luck. This is a passing annoyance. All I have to do is figure out a way to manage it. Things aren’t crashing out of control yet.
My timid and nervous act works well. A few cops look at me, but only one female officer approaches.
I stop and wait.
“What’s your business here?” asks the cop.
“Parked over there. Silver Sentra.” I point.
“You’re old enough to drive?” She blinks.
It’s not difficult to act annoyed. “Yeah. I am.”
“Got ID on you?”
“In the car.”
“Where are you coming from?”
“The aquarium.” Dammit. Hope she doesn’t ask why I left my purse in the car and ‘went to an aquarium.’
“You hear or see anything unusual around here?”
Oh, boy, have I. “Umm, a lot of police. Did something happen?”
“How’d you get past the officers at the entrance? We’ve blocked this building off for the moment.”
“I just walked up the stairs.” Being vague doesn’t make me feel as guilty as lying, so hopefully, a technically true statement will stop my face from giving me away.
The officer frowns, seeming upset at some other cop for letting me stray into a crime scene. Maybe not a ‘crime’ scene as much as an investigation. No yellow tape yet. “Let me see your ID then.”
“Okay.” I head to my car, open it, and grab my purse.
She gives my license the same ‘this is probably fake’ squint every cop has done since my Transference. I don’t think my appearance changed that much, but people look different to themselves. She asks me to wait here, then wanders over to the nearest police car, likely to run the license. Ugh. Every damn time. Fortunately, I am not too worried about them finding Officer Trujillo’s body. No reasonable person would ever suspect a girl my size to have been able to manhandle him. Also, if they wake him up, they’ll have a much bigger problem on their hands than me. Still a mess though. The PIBs will get involved. Wolent will be annoyed. Total crapstorm. However, I didn’t screw up. Not like I tripped, dropped the reliquary, and let stuff out. So, I’m not afraid of getting in trouble.
Stay calm and wait.
“You really don’t look like the same person on the license photo,” says the ghost. “More like her younger sister. Why are you bothering with a fake ID?”
“It’s not. They took the photo before I developed a mild sun allergy.”
“Aha. Strange. I’ve met a few other vampires, but none of them did that. They all went hot.”
I fold my arms. “Guess I’m just lucky. They say becoming a vampire takes five years off your face. I didn’t have too many years to start with.”
The live cop, Officer West, walks over and hands my license back. “Wow, kid. You won the genetic lottery. You’re free to go. I told the guys at the exit to expect you and let you out. If you remember seeing anything unusual, give us a call, okay?”
“Will do, officer.” I smile.
She walks back over to the group of cops by Trujillo’s car.
“What are you going to do?” asks the ghost.
“Not much I can do at the moment other than to wait for dark. Anyone I might be able to get advice from isn’t going to be available until sunset.”
I hop in the Sentra, put my license away, and start the engine. Whew. Sometimes it really is handy to look like a harmless kid.
19
The Crawford Coven
Sierra hurried up the basement stairs, ducking low to avoid spiders.
She clutched the handle of her sword almost painfully tight. Sophia might be afraid of everything, but her company made the house less frightening. Going off alone sucked. However, she had a mission: get Sophia out of the kennel. Freaky as it had been to watch a metal door held in place by an invisible force, she couldn’t let it bother her. Nothing this house could throw at them equaled a giant multi-headed hydra-spider-wasp nope beast.
Of course, the creatures they found in the mirrorworld couldn’t really exist. She believed it drew on the minds of anyone who entered to create physical nightmares. Illusions, yes, but illusions capable of hurting people. None of it could exist in the real world outside the mirror.
Exploring this house alone scared her, but not as much as school. No one ever conducted ‘creepy house active shooter exercises.’ Crazy people didn’t travel to the mi
ddle of nowhere to find a haunted house so they could go on a rampage. Ghosts couldn’t seriously hurt anyone. She had more to fear from damaged floorboards than any sort of monster.
By the time she reached the top of the stairs, Sierra decided not to be afraid of this house or anything in it. She’d entered a scary level on a video game. Creepy scenery, nothing more. She needed to find a crowbar or something like one. The force holding the kennel shut had been strong, but the door didn’t act as if it had been welded. It wobbled a bit as though she fought some other being pulling against her to keep it closed. If her boost had been at full power, she could’ve opened it. A little leverage would make the difference.
Sierra jogged down the hallway and hooked a right into the decrepit kitchen. Enough moonlight made it past the grime on the windows for her to see the outline of cabinet doors and the counter… perhaps too clearly. At full strength, Sarah’s blood let her see in the dark. Now, she basically had low-light vision. A little moonlight went a long way. She clenched her fists, trying to resist the urge demanding more blood. She hated being wrong. Drinking it had not been totally harmless. People didn’t become addicted to good things. True, she’d probably have been killed without it. Sierra didn’t regret insisting on it, more felt guilty for convincing Sarah it would be harmless. Not entirely her fault, though. Dalton thought it harmless, too. Maybe it would be for most people. How many thralls lived in constant fear of being killed? She needed to feel safe—or at least not helpless.
Her hands only shook a little bit. Nothing hurt. She probably could force herself to quit and not get sick, merely have to deal with the fear of being weak and ordinary, a victim if bad vampires attacked again. Sophia looked at her super weird earlier. When she’d come across the hallway to ask her if she’d help collect the stuff, she had this expression of desperate sorrow, almost as if she knew something bad would happen to her. Not only that, Sophia willingly walked into a house ten times creepier than the lame horror movies she cried at.
Yeah… Coralie definitely told her something. She’s afraid I’m going to die.
Faint screaming in the distance sounded like Sophia, but she couldn’t possibly be yelling so loud to be heard from the basement. The damn house had to be playing tricks on her, trying to scare her away so it could keep Sophia.
Not happening.
Sierra swallowed a lump of fear as well as saliva, then proceeded to rummage the kitchen.
One closet had some old brooms, a possible option, but the wood handles would likely break. She needed a metal crowbar or a sturdy pipe. Having zero success in the kitchen, she headed out a back door, across a small porch past some collapsing butter churns, and down four rickety steps to a rear courtyard around a small three-tiered fountain. A rusted hand-pump for water stuck up from the moss-covered cobblestones around the fountain. To the right, a garden maze. To the left, a tool shed as big as a peasant hovel. Straight ahead on the other side of the fountain stood the remains of a horse barn, already collapsed.
“Heh. Guess it’s an un-stable.”
This place is super dangerous. We shouldn’t be here. Gotta get Soph out of the house before it falls in on her.
Sierra jogged across the courtyard to the tool shed. A rusted padlock held the door closed. She grasped the lock, braced her shoulder on the wall, and pulled. Ancient nails lost their grip on the decaying wood. The hinge plate and padlock popped off in her grip. She stared at the metal, the warped nails sticking out of it, bits of broken wood caked on, unable to tell if the shed deteriorated so much anyone could pull the lock off, or if she still had some boost left.
Fear of going back to being an ordinary kid worsened the shaking in her hands. Beyond simply being normal, she dreaded helplessness in the face of a crazy person with a gun, a bad vampire, zombie, or whatever else the hidden world might throw at her family when Sarah, her parents, or any adult wouldn’t be there fast enough to make a difference. She hadn’t become addicted to the blood itself, but to the chance it gave her to avoid becoming a victim.
Snarling to herself, she tossed the hinge plate and padlock aside. I don’t care what happens to me. I’m not gonna just sit there screaming if someone tries to hurt us.
She shoved the tool shed door aside. Good chance people hadn’t been on this property in a long, long time. The lawn mower—at least she assumed it to be a lawn mower—sitting in front of her had no motor, only a cylinder of twisted blades between two wheels, and a handle to push it. Nothing so given to rust would ever be useful to anyone again.
All manner of ancient hand tools hung on the walls of the shed. Trowels, shovels, spades, hoes, long wooden handles tipped with spikes. She picked one of those up, bewildered at its purpose—beyond stabbing people. The end didn’t appear sharp, and it seemed too large to be one of those sticks park workers used to pick up trash. Maybe they used it to make seed holes or some such thing. She shrugged, put it back, and kept looking.
Among a pile of saws, hammers, and wrenches, she located a pry bar a few minutes later on a workbench at the back of the shed.
“Score. Hope Soph hasn’t lost her mind yet.”
Sierra grabbed the crowbar and dashed outside.
As soon as she ran into the kitchen, something grabbed her off her feet, swung her around, and set her seated on the dusty kitchen counter. She barely had time to process the sudden motion before a ghoulishly deformed figure appeared in front of her, dressed in a black sweater, black skirt, and tall boots. The woman—she guessed—had pale grey skin, glowing yellow eyes, a tangle of needle-like teeth jutting not quite in the same direction, and pointed ears. Not much of any hair—other than eyebrows—remained on her head. She appeared quite solid and real, definitely not a spirit. So changed had the woman’s face been by undeath, she could’ve been anywhere from mid-twenties to sixty.
Sierra clutched the crowbar to her chest, more startled at the woman coming out of nowhere than her appearance. As the initial shock of being jump scared faded, she exhaled. “Oh… hi.”
The Shadow cocked her head. “Oh, hi?”
“You were expecting a scream or something? If it’ll make you feel better, I can shriek.”
“Oh… I see. You know of our kind already. I sense a link to…” A note of disapproval radiated from her. “Who enthralled one so young?”
Sierra nodded. “Yes. You’re a Shadow, like Glim. My older sister’s a vampire. Some other ones attacked us. She had to give me a little blood so I could stay alive when we were attacked.”
“Interesting.” The sense of anger faded from the woman. “A most unusual situation.”
“What are you doing here?” Sierra relaxed her grip on the crowbar. Despite their looks, she considered Shadows the least likely vampire to commit random violence. Granted, she only had Glim to base any opinions from, but she liked him.
“I used to be called Belinda.”
“Crawford?” asked Sierra. “Your painting almost fell on us.”
Belinda leaned back, one eyebrow slightly up. “My family has lived in this house for centuries.”
“Sorry.” Sierra offered a consoling smile-slash-grimace.
The woman narrowed her eyes.
“I mean for your family being gone. The house is broken. Not saying I’m sorry you’re a Shadow. Glim’s cool. Is this place haunted, or is my other sister seeing stuff?”
Belinda regarded her for a moment, probably looking into her mind, then relaxed. “There are spirits here, mostly family, who defend the property from outsiders. It seems they are having a little fun with your sister downstairs. They would not harm a pair of curious children, but I am certain they intend to give her enough of a scare she will never want to return. I’ve asked them to, as the young people say today, ‘chill out.’ Now, your turn.”
“My turn?”
“What are you doing here?”
Sierra told her everything.
“Hmm. While I understand your situation, you cannot take the ring. It belonged to my grandmother.”
“All right. Let us go speak to her.” Belinda stepped back, gesturing for her to hop down.
Sierra slid off the counter. The floor crunched under her sneakers. “Umm, you should like really think about hiring someone to fix the place up a bit.”
“Doing so might encourage mortals to think of trying to live here.” Belinda frowned.
“Just saying.” Sierra crossed the kitchen. “Sophia and I don’t weigh much and the floors can barely hold us. It’s not going to be much of a lair for you if it falls apart.”
Belinda emitted a grunt somewhere between annoyed and acknowledging.
Sierra had enough night vision left to see her way down the stairs to the basement, jogging past piles of sheet-covered stuff to the alcove of kennels. Soft white light glowing from around a corner of jagged, crumbling bricks reassured her. If anything had happened to her sister, the light probably would’ve gone out.
“Soph?” called Sierra.
“Yeah,” replied a teary whisper.
Sierra rushed around the corner.
The tennis-ball-sized light floated above the cage. Sophia sat cross-legged inside it, both hands over her eyes, evidently not having noticed the cage door hung open a few inches, no longer pinned shut by ghostly forces.
Sierra laughed.
“It’s not funny,” said Sophia.
Belinda walked up beside Sierra. “Oh, she is adorable.”
At the sound of a grown woman’s voice, Sophia pulled her hands away from her eyes and gawked. “You found help?”
“Door’s open, dork.” Sierra pointed, then tossed the crowbar aside.
The loud metal clang made Sophia jump. She crawled out of the kennel, dusting herself off, swatting at bits of ick stuck to the seat of her dress. Fortunately, the decomposed dog had rotted far past the point of being gooey or sticky. Furry lint fell to the ground.