Vampire Innocent (Book 9): An Introduction To Paranormal Diplomacy

by Cox, Matthew S.

  An Introduction to Paranormal Diplomacy

  Vampire Innocent Book 9

  Matthew S. Cox

  An Introduction to Paranormal Diplomacy

  Vampire Innocent Book 9

  © 2019 Matthew S. Cox

  All Rights Reserved

  This novel is a work of fiction. Any similarities to any actual persons, vampires, or complicated political events among paranormal beings is coincidental. No portion of this book may be reproduced without written permission from the author with the exception of quotes posted in reviews or blogs.

  Cover & interior art by: Alexandria Thompson

  ISBN (eBook): 978-1-950738-18-2

  ISBN (paperback): 978-1-950738-19-9

  Contents

  1. Don’t Panic, the Kitten is Supposed to be Glowing

  2. Fairy Tales and Crime Dramas

  3. Beyond Normal Pickpocketing

  4. Red Wine and Other Curatives

  5. Light Anomalies

  6. The Grand Scheme

  7. The Closet Monster

  8. Soulbound

  9. Creeping Doom

  10. Wardrobe Dysfunction

  11. Something We Shouldn’t be doing

  12. A Matter of International Vampire Etiquette

  13. Were in the World

  14. A Hairy Technicality

  15. Crowthorne

  16. Harmless

  17. The Worst Part is Waiting

  18. Big Girls Don’t Scry

  19. Simone

  20. A Slightly Elevated Risk of Death

  21. The Basement of Happiness

  22. The Difference of Night and Day

  23. A Squishy Ultimatum

  24. The Obligatory Hermit Mentor

  25. Straight as the Sister Flies

  26. Stupid White Crap Falling From the Sky

  27. Elder Magic

  28. Darkness and Doubt

  29. A Little Supernatural War

  30. Deeper and Deeper She Goes

  31. Quarreling, Quarreling

  32. Delicate Balance

  33. A Bargain Slightly Awkward

  34. Child for Child

  35. One Night in the Woods

  36. Witch Way to Go

  37. Cosmic Encouragement

  38. Deal with the Devil’s Third Cousin Twice Removed

  39. Void Gates for Dummies

  40. The Long Way Home

  41. A Strange, Uncharted Future

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Other books by Matthew S. Cox

  1

  Don’t Panic, the Kitten is Supposed to be Glowing

  Chaos is a lie made up by those who cannot comprehend the infinitely complex threads linking the universe.

  Or so says Professor Heath.

  My theory is simpler: college students can suffer serious brain injury in various ways.

  Overdosing on drugs, drunk driving, suffering too many hits in football, telling a vegan ‘oops, actually this does have meat in it’ after they start eating, or taking a philosophy class taught by a professor who isn’t merely there for the paycheck—and who happens to be a vampire.

  Guess which careless thing I did? So, Professor Heath stuck us with the kind of assignment high-school-me would have ignored and spent the rest of the day eating half a box of double chocolate ice cream fudge, wrapping myself in a blanket, and binge-watching Friends or 90210.

  Sometimes, the F really is better for mental health.

  Anyway, last week’s philosophy class set a record for being simultaneously simple and frustrating. Professor Heath wrote the line about chaos on the whiteboard, then announced we all had to write a 2,500 word essay expounding on our feelings regarding his statement. We could agree and support the idea the universe was run by some kind of grand architect and everything, no matter how seemingly chaotic, happened according to some plan. Or, we could dispute it and defend the notion of chaos—not ‘chaos theory’ though, that’s a whole other bucket of head exploding WTF I’m not prepared to think about now. He also gave us a third option: simply write based on our reaction to the statement neither defending nor discrediting chaos.

  He gave us the entire class period to work on it and announced he’d dedicate the next class period to discussing everyone’s thoughts. Of course, he couldn’t resist being a showman. Professor Heath further said he’d predict, based on what he’s observed about us, how we’d respond. I’m sure he intends to blow everyone away in the manner of a stage magician. Only, in this case, he’s not using sleight-of-hand but mind-reading. He gave us the class time to work on it so he could eavesdrop on our thoughts, possibly except mine. I didn’t feel anything weird in my head. Not sure how big the age gap needs to be before a vampire can read the thoughts of a younger vampire.

  My prediction for next philosophy class is a whole bunch of grown adults being mystified and baffled how he successfully ‘predicted’ them defending or disputing chaos. He did chuckle to himself once or twice during class, so I’m guessing at least one person is going to write an essay about how philosophy is total BS or do something literally chaotic and analyze the cheeseburger skit from Saturday Night Live.

  Pepsi… no Coke.

  You know, because turning in an essay entirely unrelated to the assignment would be chaotic.

  I considered something along those lines and writing an erotic fanfiction involving the Smurfs and Pokémon, but the idea never made it past the tip of my brain before I blushed too hard to keep thinking about it. How chaotic would that be, right? Me writing something bawdy. Of course, it wouldn’t have been sexy as much as completely absurd.

  My initial idea to fill my essay with randomness came from having no damn idea how I felt regarding chaos and not really wanting to waste time thinking about it. Even if there is some grand architect, god, sentient cosmic energy, or even a burdensome bureaucratic organization run by drunk ill-tempered faeries in too-tight underwear deciding how everything happens, what good would it do for us to be aware of it? Not like said ‘thing in control’ would change what it’s doing because we think it or they exist.

  It’s a real pain in the ass trying to wrap my brain around heady crap like chaos when I’m all wound up over politics. And no, not the kind of politics responsible for ruining Facebook and family dinners. I mean vampire, prima-donna bullshit type politics. Somewhere, my mother’s spidey-sense is tingling because I thought a nasty word. She’s probably going to go give Sierra a hard time even though the word formed in my head. Swear the girl curses more in a week than I did in eighteen years. How she gets so upset over video games is a mystery to me. Sure, some games piss me off, but when they get me seriously ticked off, I walk away. Sierra’s got way more of a competitive streak than me, I guess. She can’t let it go.

  It’s also a fairly safe bet more swear words have flown out of my mouth in the past six months than the rest of my life. By no means has my language ever been Sophia pure, though. My youngest sister only rarely uses words as harsh as ‘damn.’ Honestly, it wouldn’t be a false statement to say I went through my life without really swearing much at all. Everything after late June is technically not happening within my life—since Scott murdered me. But, tragedy is managed. No, the Seahawks didn’t lose the Super Bowl to the Browns. I meant less anguishing tragedies. Namely, my death. I’m over it. Mostly. My worries now consist of other stuff. Like vampire politics. And besides, the Seahawks would never lose to the Browns in the Super Bowl because the Browns would never make it there in the first place.

  After the dreaded meeting with Arthur Wol
ent in regard to the events of one Damarco Miller, vampire hunter, I went to Aurélie’s apartment to relax. She explained a little about vampire power structures. You know, stuff a sire really ought to do within the first couple weeks. Thanks, Dalton. In the US, we don’t have much of an official political structure overseeing the undead. As she put it, the country is divided into a bunch of simple territories in a manner similar to wolf packs. Each group tends to stick to its area. There aren’t any issues moving from one to another as long as a vampire doesn’t cause trouble. Permanent ‘moves’ generally require inserting oneself into the local society and being there long enough, but it’s more of a ‘best practices’ thing, like how society expects people not to wear socks with sandals. Not technically illegal, but few dare.

  In Europe, it’s entirely different. Everything is meticulous and overdone with ‘melodramatic ceremony’ as she put it. They, too, have territories, but also a whole bunch of traditions and weird laws or some such thing. She called it tedious and pointless—and to hear Aurélie call something tedious and pointless means quite a lot. This is a woman who spends two hours getting into her dress and would gasp at a person for not using the right utensil for the right course at a meal where everyone gets like five forks, three knives, a bunch of spoons and… yeah, way over my head.

  Never in my life did I realize oysters had specific forks, or eating salad with the dinner fork could send a viscount into convulsions. European vampires are heavy on the tradition and pointless laws. Apparently, she grew tired of it and came to the US, where it’s far more lax. Go figure, around here, she’s considered the one who’s obsessed with formality and such. But she doesn’t miss the burdensome politics and the insufferable jackasses who adore it.

  Speaking of, there’s this major douchebag named Paolo Cabrini. He’s one of the older vampires in the area and part of the power structure. I’d almost say political parties, but they don’t really have anything so official… or corrupt. The best way for me to describe it—and bear in mind my exposure is fairly limited—is vampires around here fall into one of four groups.

  The first are, I guess what one would call ‘traditionalists.’ They’ve kinda gathered around Arthur Wolent as a ‘leader’ of sorts. He’s an old Fury who, for reasons beyond my knowing, is basically treated like the area’s big boss for vampire kind. No, he’s not like a king or anything. Or even president. Picture a neighborhood from a hundred years ago with a Mafia don living there. He’s not technically or legally in control of anything, but everyone more or less does whatever he wants. No idea if the man has or had any ties to legit organized crime in life, but something about him gives off the vibe. Maybe the suits?

  Second, there’s Paolo’s group. They, too, are traditionalists… but taken to the extreme. If vampirism were religion, he’d want to burn people at the stake for eating meat on Friday. Or stake vampires on Friday for burning meat. Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating a touch. But, yeah. He’s a complete prick. The man threw a complete wobbly—as my sire Dalton would say—over me breaking ages and ages of tradition by not reinventing myself away from my mortal life. To hear him ramble on, me living at home with my parents is as horrific as, oh, I dunno… going to a Michelin-starred restaurant and being served instant mashed potatoes from a box.

  Not that I’ve ever been to such a fancy place. Mom likes watching Gordon Ramsay on TV.

  Group three are the vampires who don’t really care who’s in power or who thinks they’re in power. They hang around mostly to have a good time and catch juicy gossip. Aurélie, my mentor, falls into this group, as do most of the socialites. They couldn’t care less about me, my family, or which vampire’s in charge. It would upset them more to hear about an upset elimination on Dancing With the Stars than if, say, Wolent destroyed Paolo with his bare hands in the middle of one of those soirees they love so much.

  No, I don’t think it’ll happen, but hey a girl can dream, right?

  In the fourth group are the vampires who largely ignore politics. Lost Ones mostly. Though, to be fair, the Shadows don’t ignore the politics as much as stay out of it and watch from the… well… shadows. The Lost Ones actively reject any notion of laws or organization among vampire kind, feeling superior to the ‘old stuffy sods’ who want to recreate the very same mortal power structures undeath is supposed to free us from.

  Oops, there I go ranting like Dalton again.

  Then, there’s me.

  I’m in like a fifth group, which isn’t really a fifth group as much as its occupying the line between groups three and four. Aurélie insists on me attending those soirees, which puts me in group three since, okay, I’ll tolerate the costume ball thing but the whole political scene is of less interest to me than whatever remains of the bugs my brother feeds his pet frogs. Group four might be a contender, too, since if not for Aurélie, I’d remain completely clueless about the existence of other vampires in the area.

  But, as the old saying goes, ignorance is not bliss. One of Paolo’s friends would have eventually gotten wind of me living with my mortal family and caused trouble. Having Aurélie’s protection keeps him at arm’s length.

  But back to my other worries.

  See, the thing about having the protection of an old, powerful vampire is, any other vampire who gives even one micro-crap about undead society is unable to start shit with me directly unless I do something deserving of retaliation. Not this girl. My plan is—was—to simply try to exist in as close to a mortal way as possible. Since Paolo would stir up a whole boatload of mess if he sent someone to kick my ass or hurt my family, he’s trying his best to get at me politically.

  Sigh.

  So, when I happened to be the first vampire in the area to become aware of a hunter roaming around, and didn’t run right away to ring the proverbial fire alarm, it gave the bastard an opening. I had two major problems, not the least of which was a vampire hunter trying to kill Professor Heath. Paolo managed to get Wolent to basically order me to kill the hunter. Any vampires Damarco killed while here would have been viewed the same as if I’d done it. Worse, in the course of me looking for a way to get him out of Seattle without hurting him—he seemed like a nice guy for a vampire hunter—an outsider decided to make a meal of my best friend, Ashley.

  Yeah, that didn’t go over well with me.

  Like, seriously not well. Long story short, he ended up dead by Damarco’s crossbow. Though, I had been trying to kill him myself at the time. So, yeah, I spent a good few days shitting bricks over how Wolent would react to the mess. Not the best time to be trying to figure out a philosophy essay capable of giving Carl Sagan brain freeze.

  Okay, more like it would give brain freeze to Carl Sagan’s somewhat less intelligent second cousin who had only a passing interest in astrophysics. Mr. Sagan would’ve probably written 50,000 words about chaos by now.

  Anyway, I finally met with Wolent after several nail-biting nights. To absolutely no one’s shock, Paolo wasn’t happy Damarco walked out of Seattle alive. Wolent didn’t seem too pleased about it either, until I explained how Damarco had no affiliation to any order, unspoken or otherwise. Apparently, an organized ancient society of vampire hunters exists—The Unspoken Order. However, the group didn’t back him and likely doesn’t even know about him. Damarco lost his parents to a careless vampire, decided he’d start trying to kill us all, and merely ran into an ‘official’ vampire hunter by chance around the time the old man died from something like cancer. Also, my giving him a mental compulsion to stay away from Seattle satisfied the ‘get rid of him’ requirement.

  If I hadn’t been as nervous as a kid being arrested for the first time standing in front of all those elders, I’d so have taken a picture of Paolo’s face when Wolent told me he’d accept what I did, then made a remark about how having an overly soft-hearted vampire around would pose less future problems than if I’d been bloodthirsty.

  For a little while, Paolo’s head seemed ready to explode. It reddened more when Aurélie dug into him with a
passing remark about how much time he wastes plotting against a harmless little girl. Coming from anyone else, being called a little girl would’ve bothered me, but I know exactly why she said it. The woman didn’t insult me as much as exaggerate to make him seem even lamer. Besides, she uttered a comparatively true statement. A six-year-old would have better odds winning a fist fight against a Navy SEAL than I’d have against Paolo. Maybe someday when I’m a century or so into this undeath thing, it won’t be so lopsided.

  Honestly, it doesn’t bother me being weak compared to the other vamps. I have no desire to start messes. Now if I could only get the Universe to stop dicking with me. Not to complain—yes, I know every sentence starting with ‘not to…’ is always the exact opposite—okay, so to complain, it’s driving me crazy how it seems the harder I try to keep my head down and stay normal, the more weird crap finds me.

  If I start dressing up like Elvira and doing a bad Transylvanian accent, will crap leave me alone?

  A glowing blue light fills the room behind me, casting the shadow of my head and my computer monitor on the wall. I peer back over my shoulder at Klepto—Sophia’s kitten—or at least a three-dimensional blue ghost of said kitten—floating near my ceiling, little paws flapping as though she swam in water.

  “Either someone’s messing around with holograms, or something weird is going on.”