“Maybe I’m wrong, but I think he likes me and he isn’t going to mess with me, or my parents.”
One of the customers popped out of the restaurant. “You kids shouldn’t be down here. You want me to call you a cab?”
“Nah,” said Vince. “I’m with killer here. I’ll be fine.”
We walked away before he could press the matter. I swallowed my anger. “’I think he likes me?’ Vince, this is a vampire, not a stray dog!”
“I think he’s okay.”
“You are all deluded and stuff, converted by the vampire. He mojo’ed you. You know how this works. You’ve read the books.”
“No, I haven’t.”
A blond woman weaved across the road toward us. She smelled sour, like beer that has baked on the beach. “You kids,” she said. “You got any change?”
Vince found her a dollar, and then shoved his wallet back in his pocket. We walked toward the Temple and Grand bus stop. The city was cooling down after a day in the sun. I glanced at alleys, between stopped cars. No sign of Ned, but lots of people who had the same haunted look. Some of them could have been undead, but most of them were just unlucky.
“Have you thought about what being a vampire slayer means?” I said. I threw his words back at him. “’I hope to heaven I could figure out who needed killing and who didn’t?’ Vince, all vampires need killing!”
“Really?” Vince was striding, his legs eating up the sidewalk. He was angry.
“You know what I mean.”
“Then maybe I don’t want to be a vampire killer.”
I threw up my hands. “Obviously you don’t! You want to be a vampire social worker. Poor Ned, he’s not a
dangerous demonic creature from the nether regions. He’s just misunderstood.”
Vince pulled out his phone and punched in numbers, his fingers jackhammering the keyboard.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling my parents to come and get us.”
“Are you crazy?”
“I don’t know why I let you talk me into this.”
“Talk you into this? You wanted to find him. I was helping you!”
Vince stared at me. “What’s your plan, Abby? Our parents need to know we’re all right. We need to go home.”
The evening had been a disaster. We hadn’t slain our first vampire. Vince had gone all funny. We were in more trouble than we had ever been in before in our lives. I was pretty sure it would all have been okay if we could have shown we were competent enough to slay Ned. That window had closed.
“Okay,” I said. “Call your parents.”
“Hey kid.”
The voice belonged to a guy not much older than Ned looked. Under the light, his skin was gray and his hair was black, buzzed on the sides, but floppy on top. Chains connected his wallet to a denim jacket. He rubbed his nose and sniffed like he had allergies. He towered over Vince and me by a good two feet. He blocked the sidewalk in front of us. “Give me your phone.”
Vince shook his head. Not the wisest of actions if you are a peevee, which is a technical term we monster hunters use for potential victim. Vince and I looked like peevees to this guy. Little kids alone.
This guy chose the wrong phone to jack. We were so not peevees.
“Give me the phone,” the guy said.
I unzipped my backpack. I pulled out a squirt gun and leveled it. The XP-215 Super Soaker was small, but it was mighty. I could hit a square of terry cloth from twelve feet with it. “Take a walk,” I said.
“Abby,” Vince said, “don’t do anything stupid.”
“Last chance,” I said to the guy.
He laughed. “Give me the phone,” he said to Vince, “or I’ll cut you.”
“I’m serious,” I said. I pumped the XP-215.
He lunged at me. I backed away and at the same time let the Febreze stream out of my squirt gun, trying not to get it in his eyes. It was all over his jacket and jeans. I reached into the Hello Kitty purse pouch dangling by my hip, pulled out a cheap lighter, dropped the gun, and flicked the lighter on.
A small crowd of bus riders gathered at the stop across the street watched. “You leave those kids alone!” an old lady yelled.
The guy stopped. He could smell the Febreze I’d sprayed on him, April rain scent. “What is this?”
“I’ve hosed you down with ethyl alcohol. Not only do you smell better, now you’re flammable.”
Now, I wasn’t going to set him on fire, but he didn’t need to know that. It’s my job to protect humanity. I was hoping he wouldn’t call my bluff.
The guy pulled out his knife. It glinted, scary-like. Shoot. Vince held out the phone for him.
A blur flew past us slightly up to right. I caught a flash of unnatural red, the color of bad hair dye. The thief hit the
side of a building and slid down to the ground with a supernatural smack.
“Okay,” I said to Vince. “Maybe Ned doesn’t need to be staked. I’m willing to consider further discussion on
the issue.”
Across the street, there was some applause from the bus stop. In the distance I heard police sirens. The blur I assumed was Ned was nowhere.
“Nice work, Abigail.”
Vince and I jumped at the same time. Mr. Christopher leaned against his big black sedan. With the tension of the showdown, I hadn’t even seen him show up. “Thanks,” I said. “Did you see—?”
“Your father sent me,” said Mr. Christopher. “He thought you might be up to something. He was right. Come on, you two. We’re going home.”
CHAPTER THREE
Reprimand from the Abyss
The ‘rents had found us from Vince’s GPS. My phone is not smart, a castoff of Mom and Dad’s old cell plan, but good old Vince, he had to have the phone with all the answers. I had wondered how Ned had known we were in the diner. I suspect Mr. Christopher told him, that he’d been keeping tabs on us all night. He would be much more permissive than my parents about the whole slaying Ned thing, given that he was a vampire. While that sounds counterintuitive, Mr. Christopher, like me, knew most vampires are dangerous.
On the way home, Vince had the jitters. I had a good view of Mr. Christopher’s head, and I was getting hit by the double adrenaline rush of dressing down both Ned and Phone Thief. While no actual monster slaying had occurred, I was increasingly pleased with our outing. My parents might not see my accomplishments in the same light as I did, as the evening pointed to me being more of a Batman than a Van Helsing, but there was always a silver lining if you looked long enough.
Mr. Christopher was a real vampire, just like Ned. He met Dad on the set of The Blood of Dracula when they began their careers at Anvil Studios. Dad was the junior vampire hunter in a supporting role, and Mr. Christopher was one of the townspeople turned into a vampire. No one knew it at the time, but these two were destined to become Anvil Studio’s Van Helsing and Dracula. Mr. Christopher was tall and had a deep voice. He was the perfect Dracula, although Dad told me that the main reason he was cast was because he was the only guy on the Anvil set who could carry the actress that Dracula had drunk blood from.
I guess being a vampire helped Mr. Christopher deliver an authentic performance.
When I was a toddler, I tried to tell my mom and dad that Mr. Christopher was a vampire. I would say, “Wampire” to Mom, and point at Mr. Christopher, and Mom and Dad would both laugh, because they thought I was confusing film with reality. I wasn’t. I’d seen him change into a bat. My popsicle stick cross bothered him.
I have no idea why my parents have this particular blind spot.
When I was in second grade, I sat Mr. Christopher down for a frank hunter-to-vampire talk. Mr. Christopher pointed out how you could see him in pictures and in mirrors, and didn’t that prove that he was alive?
I am still sitting on that. I haven’t figured out the picture and mirror thing yet. He could be using his powers of suggestion to dupe me, folklore could be misinformed, or science may have yet to explai
n how this works. But he was a vampire. He had changed into a bat. He did have an aversion to crosses. He would never go outside during the day.
When I was in the fourth grade, I confronted him again. Then, he confessed, and we had a conversation about his long relationship with my family, and how he’d never harm us.
I chewed on that for a shorter time. It was true that if he’d wanted to take advantage of Mom and Dad, he’d had a ton of opportunities to do so. I asked him if he felt his soul would be at peace more if he were staked, and he reassured me he wasn’t in inner torment. Since he wasn’t threatening anyone, and it would be hard to explain his disappearance to Mom and Dad, we left it there.
I don’t know how old Mr. Christopher is. I’ve seen the vampire “relative” paintings around his house. Only really stupid people believe in the power of genetic duplication. So, I’m okay with Mr. Christopher, but only Mr. Christopher. I’ve seen the movies. Dad trusts Mr. Christopher, but I know better than to trust any other vampire. Ned is a baby vampire. According to Mr. Christopher, that’s when vampires make their most dangerous mistakes. Unless they’re evil vampires, in which case every day is a dangerous mistake.
Vince knows about Mr. Christopher. Indiscreet? Sure. But every Sherlock Holmes needs a Watson. I can’t keep all these secrets to myself!
Mr. Christopher said Dad had sent him to retrieve us. Why would Dad send Mr. Christopher if Dad thought Mr. Christopher was an ordinary guy, and he thought we might be getting into trouble?
“Um?” That was my opener from the back seat.
I caught Mr. Christopher’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Yes, Abigail?”
Only two people called me Abigail. Mr. Christopher, as a sign of respect, and Mom when she was furious with me.
“You said Dad sent you to look for us?”
“Correct.”
Vince was so buried in his own impending doom he was missing this. “Why would Dad send you? Doesn’t he think you’re a normal actor guy?”
“You’ll have to ask your father about that, Abigail.”
This was proving to be an interesting night in all sorts of ways.
We drove into our neighborhood. Mr. Christopher lived in a cute little bungalow, a leftover from when our part of town was pivotal to the motion picture industry. Heavy drapes covered his windows. My parents and I live about two blocks away in a more modern home. Speaking of my parents, they were waiting outside Mr. Christopher’s in their car. Vince’s mom and dad were in another car. Normally, we’d walk home from Mr. Christopher’s, but it was late. Also, the parental mind may have thought cars were more intimidating to kids in trouble.
Mr. Christopher was out of his sedan first. He towered over all of the parents, even Mr. Cooper, who was a little over six feet. Mr. Christopher raised his hands in the air like he was surrendering. “Everyone’s safe,” he said, his voice loud over parental anger and concern. “No one’s hurt.”
Vince and I stepped up to the group, hiding behind Mr. Christopher. Vince was studying his feet and I was fidgeting with my backpack.
“Abigail Rath,” Mom said. “What were you thinking?”
“Get in the car, Vince,” said Mrs. Cooper.
“I’m sorry, Mom.”
“Get in the car.”
Vince went away with his parents like a condemned man. I had planned to confess to my role of being instigator in the hopes that it would go a little lighter on Vince. I guessed that would have to wait until tomorrow. I huddled a little deeper into my sweater because of the cold.
“Reginald?” said Mr. Christopher. “A word?”
Dad stepped aside with Mr. Christopher. Mom and I watched the Cooper-mobile drive away. I smiled at Mom. She didn’t smile back, so I made my expression neutral. “Um...so, hey, good news! The XP-215 works on a person!”
“Not in the mood, Abigail. Get in the car.”
Mom joined Dad and Mr. Christopher while I watched them from the backseat. Dad laughed at one point, but one look from Mom sobered him right up. As soon as they had what Mr. Christopher thought was the whole story, they joined me in the car.
Dad belted himself in. “So,” he said. “Off to kill a vampire?”
“Yeah.”
“How could you do this? Skipping school. Staying out all night.” Mom turned to face me. Her hair was frizzy. That was a real sign that she was worried and strung out. “Didn’t you think about how worried we’d be?”
Turnabout was fair play. “What? I don’t worry about you when you go out at night to take care of a werewolf problem or something?”
I caught Dad grinning in the rear view mirror. “Palpable hit, Polly.”
The vibrations from Mom’s disapproval hit me in the backseat. Dad stopped smiling. “Look,” I said. “Dad’s not a spring chicken anymore. Anything could happen. He could get backhanded by a flesh golem, or mauled, or something. No offense, Dad.”
Dad tilted his head. None taken. He knew he was pushing fifty and he was slowing down. “And you thought, since I’d need some help, you’d better start practicing?”
“Exactly,” I said. “That’s it, exactly.”
Mom wasn’t in the market, because she wasn’t buying the patter Dad and I were selling. I knew as long as Mom was with him when they went out, Dad wasn’t in any danger. My mother could get any creature to surrender by threatening to take away its television privileges.
“What were you thinking?” My mother’s eyes gleamed the evil punishment glare, which made her glasses flash. It was a supernatural eye disease or something. “You could have been killed.”
“No, Mom,” I said. “Ned isn’t a good vampire.”
“My child,” said Dad, “most vampires aren’t good.”
“I mean that he’s inept. He needs to go to vampire school. He really did want to meet Vince.” Which opened up the whole idea that vampires might have feelings. Which didn’t matter when they would fang you as soon as look at you. Girls around vampires are often portrayed as suckers. I’m no sucker.
The vampire is the sucker. Except for Mr. Christopher, who was the exception.
“Abigail, are you even listening to me?”
“Yes, Mom,” I said. “Um...I was wrong to do it, and I will never sneak out hunting the undead again without your permission unless it’s really a dire emergency.”
The stony silence from the front seat was my answer. I yawned and tried to move as little as possible.
We reached home. The glowing car clock said it was one a.m. I unlatched my seatbelt and opened the door.
“Abigail!”
I froze.
“We will continue this discussion in the morning. There will be consequences.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
It’s probably impolitic to mention it, but I slept well, just like the dead. Not the undead.
In the morning, I made up my mind in those first waking minutes to face my punishment with the kind of dignity that would do credit to the name of Rath, and to reduce Vince’s sentence as much as I could. It was good it was the weekend, because getting up early to go to school under a cloud of punishment and a lack of sleep would have been a downer for the whole day. This way I could lick my wounds and get some composure back in time for Monday.
There would be consequences at school too. No Wolcroft girl was a skipper. We were all academic hardcores. However, I would worry about Wolcroft if I survived the wrath of Mom over the weekend.
I was going to have to fake being sorry. Yes, I was sorry I made them worry. No, I wasn’t sorry for having monster hunting in my DNA.
As I was brushing my teeth, I tried to predict where the parents would go with the punishment. Dad seemed to be on my side, which made sense. He loved his job, and he loved his daughter. I mean he knew I’d done something wrong, but he often ran interference for me, softening the blow.
On the other hand, I was sure I’d crossed some sort of line with Mom. She spent most of her life studying the occult from the comfort of her study, performing ama
teur chemistry experiments and minor sorcery. Near as I could tell, what I needed to do was minimize Mom’s fear factor, show her that I could handle myself.
I chose comfortable jeans and my Big Mel’s Skateway sweatshirt. Downstairs, I found Dad clattering in the kitchen. No sign of Mom. I sat down, and my attention was diverted by Dad setting down a plate in front of me. Scrambled eggs, little sausages cut into penguin shapes like in a Japanese lunchbox, and a slice of whole wheat toast. My dad. World champion at cute breakfast.
He circled the table, drying his hands on a bumpy dishtowel. Taking a seat, he asked, “How’s my little hunter this morning?”
“Okay. Where’s Mom?”
Dad took a long sip from a deep mug of coffee. “What you did last night? Very wrong.”
“I wanted to surprise you.”
Dad shook his head. “Getting hurt, or killed, is not a good way to surprise us.”
He was right, of course. “Yeah. But I could handle myself.”
“No, Abby.”
“Yes, I could.” I speared a penguin to drive home my point. “Where is Mom?”
Dad was sheepish. “Talking to Mrs. Cooper.”
I was the apple of my father’s eye. It’s okay. I only use my power for good, but it wasn’t going to save me today. Fine. I tore into my breakfast. I’d need to be fortified for my sentence. I shoveled the last of the egg on toast into my mouth when the front door opened. Mom had returned.
Mom walked into the kitchen. From a cabinet she pulled a canister of English Breakfast, the favorite tea of all monster hunting librarian mothers on my block. Her hair was smooth like glass. No more confusion there. Mom was ready to pass sentence.
“Abigail.” Still Abigail. Sleeping on it hadn’t improved her temper. Oh boy.
“Mom.” I wasn’t sure of the right gambit. I decided to play straightforward. “I’m really sorry about yesterday.”
She sighed, one of those big shoulder quakers. “You’re thirteen years old, Abby. Thirteen! What do you think you were doing?”
“I don’t know!” My mind cast about. “If I wanted to be, you know, an Olympic athlete, I’d already be in training. I would have started training at three. Why shouldn’t I be out there, killing monsters?”
Abigail Rath Versus Bloodsucking Fiends Page 3