Vampire Kingdom 1: The Trade

by Leigh Walker

  VAMPIRE KINGDOM 1: THE TRADE

  Leigh WALKER

  Copyright © 2019 by Leigh Walker.

  Published by CMG Publishing.

  Cover by Yocla Designs.

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions. v.6.26.2019.

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  Contents

  1. Just Breathe

  2. The Mirage

  3. Dear Reader

  4. The Gate

  5. Daybreak

  6. First Sight

  7. An Unexpected Development

  8. The Trade

  9. Chosen

  10. Lady Victoria From Margate

  11. Special

  12. The Bargain

  13. The Longest Day

  14. Poker Face

  15. Moi

  16. The Needs Of The Many

  17. Ripple

  18. Class

  19. No Friend Of Mine

  20. Down Down Down

  21. The Vanishment

  22. Antsy

  23. Reasonable Doubt

  24. Dark

  25. Woke

  26. Open The Door

  27. Faithfully

  28. Spotted

  29. Inclined

  30. The Ring

  THE PACT CHAPTER 1: DOMESTICATED

  Also by Leigh Walker

  Dear Reader

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  1

  Just Breathe

  I laced up my boots and grabbed my backpack, knowing I had to time my escape just right. Downstairs, morning activity was humming—the refrigerator opening and closing, Mrs. Dixon complaining about her coffee going cold, and the twins whined for more syrup. Mr. Dixon was down the hall hiding in the bathroom, where he would likely stay until his wife had gotten the kids taken care of.

  I waited, listening to the sounds of this family, which had nothing to do with mine.

  I snuck from my room, cursing when the stairs creaked beneath my weight.

  “Tori?” Mrs. Dixon called. “Do you want breakfast?” But what she really meant was Will you please help me with my bratty kids?

  I ducked my head into the kitchen. The twins were alternating between jamming chocolate chips from their pancakes into their mouths and smacking their fat little palms against the table, which was sticky with syrup.

  “No, thanks. I’m late,” I lied.

  Mrs. Dixon sighed, leaning back against the countertop. Her frizzy hair hung over one eye. “Are you sure?”

  “Yep.”

  One of the twins started guzzling her juice. The other one spilled hers all over the table.

  “Ugh, Emmy!” Mrs. Dixon’s shoulders slumped as she started wiping. I’d only lived there for two weeks, but I’d learned that Mrs. Dixon slumped her shoulders a lot—and wiped things. She seemed like she wanted people to feel sorry for her. I would’ve, but she was the idiot who’d had kids with the jerk hiding in the upstairs bathroom then kept feeding them too much sugar at breakfast.

  Not that I was judging or anything.

  “See you later!” I bounded out the door before she could ask me to release one of the vile little beasts from its chair restraints and wipe its sticky hands.

  My mother would not have approved of me running from the house when Mrs. Dixon needed help, and neither would my little sister, Izzy. But they weren’t here. A wave of something, some sort of terrible, big emotion, threatened to crash over me. I avoided it with a mental side step, just like I avoided stepping on the crack on the sidewalk in front of me. Step on a crack, and break your mother’s back.

  Who comes up with stupid sayings like that? It didn’t matter. My mother was gone, but I still wouldn’t risk it. It seemed blasphemous, tempting fate to do something even worse to me.

  I had enough to deal with already.

  “I don’t really think they were looking to foster a needy kid. I think they were looking for a live-in babysitter.” I scowled at Katie, my best friend.

  She tucked a lock of blond hair behind her ear and scowled back. “You could’ve just stayed with us.”

  “I didn’t think it was fair. At least the Dixons get money from the state.” Katie’s family had taken me in, but her parents already had four kids. Another person to feed and clothe was asking too much.

  Katie shook her head. “You can still sleep at my house whenever you want.”

  “Thanks,” I mumbled. But my caseworker had told me that I needed to stay at the Dixons’.

  I still couldn’t believe I had a caseworker. Some of the words from my new life seemed inexplicable and foreign to me, deserving of italics—foster family, legal guardian, and death certificates. Orphan was another one.

  “Are they creepy?” Katie asked. “The Dixons?”

  “I mean, yeah.” I shrugged, thinking of Mr. Dixon hiding from his wife and kids in the bathroom. “But it’s not even their fault. Living in somebody else’s house is just weird. It’s like I’m a guest, but no one’s on their ‘we-have-company’ behavior. The dad snores, the mom complains, and the twins are brats. I don’t even know them, but I’m seeing all their…stuff. No one’s on their best behavior at home.”

  Katie nodded. “That sounds awful.”

  I felt the prick of tears and decided to change the subject. “Did you study for the chem test?”

  “Sort of.” She pulled her backpack on. “You?”

  “Yep.” I viewed good grades as a step toward freedom. I was woefully behind on my college applications, but I figured any As might contribute to an acceptance letter and a single dorm room. A ticket out of here.

  She gave me a glance. “It’s going to be okay, you know.”

  Stupid tears pricked at my eyes again. “I know. See you later, okay?” I veered off before she could say anything else to comfort me. Katie was the only person I still had, but I could barely stand to be around her. She knew how I felt. She understood. It almost made me feel worse. The rest of the kids at school just thought of me as that girl, the one whose mom and kid sister had died, the one who had a caseworker—the orphan. My classmates had flooded me with texts and posts about being sorry for my loss, but they avoided me in real life as though I had something contagious. I didn’t blame them. What could they say?

  I headed to the bathroom and locked myself inside a stall. My breath was coming fast. Oh crap. It was happening again. I started wheezing, my chest tightening as my heart pounded. I sank down, clutching myself, praying that no one else would come into the girls’ room. Then my reputation would really be in the toilet, har-de-har-har.

  Stop it, Tori! My heart thudded in my chest, a wild, jagged rhythm that made me think it would explode. Just breathe. But I couldn’t. I gasped for air as my whole body shook, racked with spasms, out of my control. My arms tingled and started to go numb.

  The first time I’d had an anxiety attack, I’d thought I was going to die. I’d tried to cry for help, but I couldn’t get the words out. It hadn’t mattered—no one could have heard me. That was because my mother was dead. Izzy was dead. They were dead, and they couldn’t hear me.

  I tried not to think about it. Breathe. Just breathe. But the other voice in my head kept saying, Dead, dead, dead. My chest squeezed tighter. My arms went completely numb as I prayed that no one would come in and find me wheezing and crying—or worse, passed out on the floor.

  I struggled to catch my breath. The tightness in my throat spiked my panic. It was like trying to ge
t air through an ever-narrowing straw. I could hear myself wheezing, an ugly and panicked sound. Dark spots danced in front of my eyes. No, no, no! I’d passed out one other time. Please, God, not here, not now. They’ll find me, and they’ll all know. Crazy Katie. Orphan Katie. I might as well have the plague.

  The door opened, and I wheezed again. “Help me. Please help me.” The words came out an inaudible croak. I slumped against the stall as the world went dark.

  “What on earth?” It was a woman’s voice, a mom’s voice.

  It was the last thing I heard before hitting the bathroom floor.

  2

  The Mirage

  “Does your head hurt?” The school nurse peered at me from beneath her auburn bangs as she ran a thermometer across my forehead.

  After blinking a couple of times, I said, “No.” I felt perfectly fine. It was as though nothing at all had happened.

  “Good.” She shined a small light into my eyes. “You didn’t hit your head too hard, and your pupils look good. I’m not concerned about a concussion. Any nausea?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “Excellent. And no fever.” She checked my pulse, counting silently and checking her watch. “Your heart rate looks normal, too, so no issues there.” She turned her back to me and started scribbling in a notebook. “Has this been happening to you recently?”

  I sat up, still surprised that I felt fine. “Fainting?”

  She nodded. “And the anxiety attacks.”

  For a minute, I didn’t say anything. “I passed out last week…but I think I had the flu.”

  The nurse turned to look at me, arching an eyebrow. “Huh. I didn’t know the flu was still going around.”

  Shrugging, I said, “It could’ve just been a cold.”

  “But colds don’t usually make you faint.”

  I ducked my head. “Mm-hmm.”

  She crossed her arms against her chest, looking quite serious in spite of the fact that she was wearing scrubs with minions on them. “Anxiety attacks are nothing to be ashamed about, Tori. They’re very common. And you’ve been through an awful lot.”

  “I just felt dizzy in the bathroom. I skipped breakfast.” That, at least, was the truth.

  The nurse gave me a long look. “What about the marks on your torso? Do you want to tell me about that? You can talk to me, you know.”

  I stared at her blankly. “What marks?”

  “The ones on your right side.”

  I shook my head again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Lift up the hem of your shirt.” I did, and she came closer, pointing to the lower right side of my torso, on the edge of my back. “Right here.”

  Looking down, I pulled my skin forward a bit so I could see better. There were some small red scabs, about eight of them. “I didn’t even know these were there. Is that a rash?”

  “It’s not a rash. They’re wounds.” The nurse just looked at me.

  “Maybe I scraped myself when I passed out.” I shook my head. “How would I cut my own back? I can’t even see what’s there.”

  She brushed the bangs off her face. “It’s a spot that’s easy to hide. And most of the time it’s not an exact science.”

  I shook my head. “I’ve never hurt myself. I don’t know what those marks are.”

  “Just remember that I’m here if you need someone, okay?” She sighed. “Let me get you something to eat. Don’t stand up just yet.” She rummaged around in the closet then handed me an apple juice and fluorescent-orange crackers. “The guidance counselors said you refused to meet with them after the accident.”

  I shrugged as I had a sip of juice. “I have a caseworker. Isn’t that enough?”

  “Are things okay with your foster placement?”

  Geez, have they all been talking about me? The nurse knew way more than I’d expected. And she thought I was hurting myself. I must’ve been the topic of a staff meeting, Kids Whose Family Died and What to Watch For.

  “It’s fine.” I ate some crackers then nodded at her. “I’m feeling better. Can I get back to class? I have a test.”

  She pursed her lips, a sharp contrast to the goggled minion grinning up at me from her shirt. “Sure. But if you feel dizzy again or anything else, come and see me. It’s quiet in here. And safe. And there aren’t cooties on the floor if you happen to pass out.”

  I grabbed my backpack and nodded. “Thanks.”

  “You didn’t let me help you,” she called after me, “but you’re still welcome.”

  Per my new normal, I couldn’t sleep that night. I lay in bed, thinking about the day in an endless, useless loop. That was the third panic attack I’d had since the accident. The first time was right when I found out about Mom and Izzy. I’d thought I was having a heart attack. The paramedics gave me something, and I felt my heart rate slow. My arms stopped tingling, and my throat opened up enough so that I could breathe again.

  But this attack was worse. It came on swiftly and without provocation. And as soon as I’d known what was happening, my embarrassment contributed to the problem. My arms tingled, my heart pounded, and I’d felt my anxiety spike. Will it happen to me in class? Will people see my body shake and hear me wheezing? And last but not least: Am I going crazy?

  I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to talk to Katie, I didn’t want to talk to the school nurse, and I sure as heck didn’t want to talk to my case manager. I felt certain she would put a sticker on my file, some sort of code that meant I was damaged goods. They would try to medicate me or “help” me or, worst of all, make me talk about my feelings.

  There was nothing to talk about. The thing on my back was a rash. I had panic attacks. The only people I’d loved were dead, and I was on my own for the rest of my life. Who wants to talk about any of that?

  I jerked awake early the next morning, when it was still dark out. I lay there, wondering why my eyes had suddenly snapped open. Just as I started to drift back off, I heard it again—a scratching noise.

  Peering out the window, I saw the streetlights cast a dim glow, but nothing moved that I could see. Then I heard it again—the whisper of nails across the glass. I held my breath, telling myself I must be dreaming, but the noise continued. I sat up, heart pounding. Someone was outside my window.

  What I saw didn’t make any sense. There was a boy out there, his face floating just outside. He had close-cropped black hair, pale skin, and dark, luminous eyes, and he put his long, graceful fingers against the window and tapped. Though I wanted to scream, it felt as if I were in a dream—a trance—and my voice was nowhere to be found. I got out of bed and went closer. He looked familiar, maybe a few years older than me, but I didn’t know him from school. Still, when he put his palm against the glass, I put mine on the other side. As if I were trying to touch him.

  A noise came from the street, and he turned, his dark hair reflecting what remained of the moonlight. He turned back quickly and tapped the window one last time. Then he disappeared.

  Disappeared as in vanished.

  I stumbled back to my bed, mind racing. That was a dream, wasn’t it? A handsome, strange boy wasn’t really floating outside my window…right?

  I tried to fall back to sleep, but the question that had bubbled earlier boiled up to the surface of my consciousness again. Am I… Am I going crazy?

  3

  Dear Reader

  Mrs. Dixon banged on my door. “Tori, wake up!” The alarm on my phone buzzed.

  The cacophony of noise finally roused me. I sat bolt upright in bed, sun streaming through my empty window. “I’m awake. I’m awake.” I swatted my phone and tried to tame my hair, which was knotted and tangled in an unruly heap.

  Mrs. Dixon knocked but didn’t wait before sticking her face in the room. “Your alarm’s been going off for fifteen minutes. It was bothering the twins.” Her voice quavered, as if she were simultaneously afraid to be scolding me and delighted that someone had bothered the twins, instead of vice versa.


  “Sorry. I guess I overslept.”

  She nodded, distracted by a crash and the girls yelling from down the hall. “You’ll be late for school. Get a move on.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” As soon as she closed the door, I shot to the window but found no evidence of the boy from the previous night. I peered at the ground, oddly crestfallen. Of course it had been a dream. I was on the second floor of an old Victorian house. If he had been real, he would’ve needed a ladder to look in my window. And that would have been creepy.

  I scrambled to the shower and used half a bottle of conditioner to help me comb out the knots in my hair. After throwing my clothes on, I flew down the stairs. I didn’t want to be late for school. I needed to stay with the herd, the pack. The less attention I drew to myself, the better.

  “You don’t have time for breakfast, I guess.” Mrs. Dixon shoved a granola bar at me. “The school nurse called. She said to make sure that you eat something.”

  My cheeks flushed. I didn’t want to get Mrs. Dixon in trouble. “Sorry about that.”

  “It’s okay. Just eat.” She smiled at me. “Girls, say bye to Tori, okay?”

  One of the twins stuck her tongue out at me, and the other one picked her nose.

  “Bye, girls!” I shoved the granola bar into my pocket, vowing to eat it before class.