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

by Cox, Matthew S.

  Sierra runs in carrying my katana. The one I brought back from LA. Merely looking at it makes my shoulder twinge.

  Mom stops short, looking at all the Littles plus Dad and Ronan running around the living room waving dangerous metal weapons. Sierra tries a few times to tag the fast-moving lights, but can’t seem to make contact. Dad has no skill whatsoever with a sword, but he fully acknowledges it. The man’s not at all trying to slice orbs. He’s merely waving the sword around like an idiot hoping one of the orbs crashes into it. Sierra, on the other hand, is trying to play samurai and be all cool about it.

  Ronan attempts Dad’s ‘flail randomly’ tactic. Sam’s taking a Sierra-like approach and having similar—lack of—results. Dad and Ronan hit orbs at about the same time. The boy shrieks, tiny lightning bolts dancing over his hair. He hits the floor on his back, his long hair fluffed out into a huge ball, smoke coming out of his mouth.

  “Ow…”

  “Yes!” bellows dad, in his best impression of The Tick. “This is the pain I remembered so fondly.”

  Mom shakes her head.

  I glance at her. “Don’t judge. You married him.”

  She pffs at me.

  “Stop!” roars Sierra, thrusting her hands up.

  Well, roars like Klepto’s ‘mew’ is a roar.

  A few of the orbs flicker, and slow down enough for Sam and Sierra to score hits.

  My brother’s hair bursts upward into a koosh of tiny lightning arcs. He blinks, eyes wide in an expression of ‘hmm, perhaps I have committed an error.’

  Sierra’s hair fluffs up a little. Thin sparks run down her arms and across her chest. She blurts something that starts with ‘sheep’ and ends with trucker… actually a word rhyming with ‘trucker.’

  “What did you say!?” bellows Mom.

  “Uhh, sheepfluffer,” mutters Sierra, twitching, sparks dancing over her teeth.

  Dad cackles. “Go easy on her, dear. These little bastards have a bit of a sting to them. Let her slide once.”

  Sierra thrusts her arm toward me, offering the sword.

  Okay, these zaps can’t hurt as much as having a katana rammed through most of my entire body, or being broken in half by a troll. I grab it. For me, hitting them isn’t too difficult. About as challenging as an ordinary person attempting to whack a softball out of the air when a pair of kids are lazily playing catch. The first one I hit sends a shock down my arm into my chest. Dad used to play World of Warcraft. They had some main villain dude who always said ‘you are not prepared.’ Yeah, I’m totally not prepared.

  Imagine sticking a fork into an electrical outlet, but the voltage went straight to the skeleton, heating it up. Compared to other crap done to me since becoming a vampire, the amount of pain is fairly trivial. It’s merely hitting in a weird, sensitive place not normally exposed to pain. Like having a careless younger brother throw a dart and hit me in the arm is not too big a deal. But if the dart nailed a nipple? Yeah… I clench my jaw and power past it, continuing to offer myself up as a walking grounding rod to get rid of the remaining orbs.

  Ronan’s had enough. He doesn’t bother trying to stand up. Sam’s lost interest in hunting orbs, but he does play goalie in front of Sophia. He’ll take another shock to protect her, but isn’t gonna go looking for any since I’m on cleanup detail. Dad keeps trying. Alas, since the orbs’ numbers have thinned out, he’s not having any luck hitting them.

  The light balls circle around, angling for a clear shot at Sophia, but with both parents, Sierra, and Sam surrounding her, none make it to her by the time I get the last one. Holy crap this is not comfortable. My bones are on fire.

  Dad, his lips peeled back in a rictus grin, faces me with an expression of shared pain for a good cause. “Well, that’s certainly a new one.”

  Sam snickers at me.

  Okay, I have long hair. Not quite Sophia long. I can’t sit on it like she can, but the ends are right about the level of my belt. And… it’s all standing out straight.

  “Whoa. Sare’s a Spaceball,” says Sam.

  “Those helmets aren’t big enough for her.” Sierra grins at me. “If I didn’t know how much getting zapped by those things hurt, I’d laugh.”

  “What happened to you?” Mom grabs Sierra by the shoulders.

  “I feel like the fish who got tossed back for being too small.” Sierra frowns.

  “I’m smaller than you,” says Sophia.

  Blix appears on my shoulder. He pokes me in the forehead and my hair drops, no longer electrified.

  “Thanks.”

  He flashes a toothy grin.

  “Fish thrown back?” Mom looks Sierra over. “What do you mean?”

  “It felt like someone grabbed me from behind and yanked me through a hole. I went from being here to this giant room like a castle dungeon. A bunch of people in creepy black robes were all around me. One of them said ‘wrong kid,’ and waved at me.” She does this ‘begone, peasant’ gesture. “And I went flying back here.”

  Mom rubs her forehead. “Portals? Seriously?”

  I poke her in the arm. “Vampire. Imp. Girl with magic. Kitten who teleports. Boy who routinely takes a shortcut through a mirrorverse to get here. Are you honestly questioning portals?”

  “No, not so much for existing. Mostly, I’m questioning how or why someone is using them against us.” Mom sinks back into the sofa.

  “Hmm.” Dad rubs his chin. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have picked a movie about magic and dragons.”

  Everyone chuckles, though enthusiasm levels vary.

  “You should probably get going, hon.” Dad taps his watch.

  “Are you serious? After what just happened? I can miss a class once or twice.”

  “What are the odds of a second unexplained magical attack occurring tonight?” asks Mom.

  I slouch. “Good point.”

  “No, I’m seriously asking.”

  “Umm…” I fidget. “Maybe I should stay home.”

  “It’s not likely they’ll do anything again tonight,” says Sam. “They’ll wait until we’re not expecting it. Probably a few days.”

  Blix babbles.

  Sam smiles at the imp. “He’ll watch her ’til you get home.”

  “Okay, maybe Professor Heath will know something about this. He’s old.” I glance at Sophia. “Up to you. I’ll stay home if you want me to.”

  She gulps. “Yeah, don’t miss school. It’s really bad. Sam’s right. Doing magic makes people tired. Even if they wanted to try again, they probably can’t.”

  “Okay. Call me if anything happens.” I hurry downstairs to grab my stuff.

  6

  The Grand Scheme

  Flying in the snow is annoying.

  Wearing soaked, half-frozen clothes is even worse—so I took the bikini express to school. The unusual wave of warmth is gone. No rain for us today. Hopefully, the bathing suit and towel stuffed in my backpack inside a plastic trash bag won’t leak all over the place. Philosophy class would be kinda interesting tonight if my mind didn’t keep wandering back to the Sophia situation. As expected, Heath’s predictions for each student agreeing with chaos as a concept, disagreeing with it, or writing something random have been accurate with only two exceptions. Both of those students admitted to starting off doing one thing, but changing their mind after thinking about it during the week.

  Everyone has to read their paper to the class, then we spend about ten minutes discussing any points made in the essay, assuming they haven’t already been brought up by someone else. As usual for me during these kinds of exercises, dread sits on my shoulders as if I’m waiting my turn for the electric chair. Part of me secretly hopes he’ll forget to call on me. At least considering my last name of Wright, I’ll probably be the last person called. I don’t think this class has anyone named Yankovic or Zelensky.

  Fingers crossed discussion time eats the entire class period before my turn. Then again, this is philosophy. Heath isn’t exactly following a lesson plan chasing specific point
s. Sure, we go over some of the great philosophers of history and their contributions, but a lot of the time, he runs class like Socrates throwing an idea to his students like a bit of meat to wild dogs and seeing how much we chew it. This means, of course, if I don’t read my essay tonight, I’ll end up reading it next Thursday.

  The anxiety leading up to doing it is way worse than doing it.

  Anyway, back to the ordinarily interesting thing. Discussions about the nature of randomness versus predestination would normally intrigue me, but I’m too worried about Sophia and what sort of new paranormal weirdness is messing with my family to focus on it. She’s probably not going to sleep tonight, or she’s going to want to sleep in my room. If it helps her rest, I’ll totally watch over her all night. Even if I wanted to, my body won’t fall asleep until sunrise.

  Alas, with the exception of this guy Ryan—easily in his forties—who wrote an essay attempting to use a royal crapton of statistical analysis to prove the performance of the Philadelphia Eagles is directly related to the Seattle Seahawks, my fellow students don’t throw any super controversial or off the wall ideas into the air. Discussion periods fly by as many of the essays cover the same sorts of arguments for or against chaos existing. Speaking in public has never been something I adored. In fact, I usually try to get out of it. But, if forced—as tends to happen when having a teacher immune to mental compulsion—it’s not impossible for me to deal with it.

  So, I go up there to read my essay.

  “Hmm.” Professor Heath gives me this little smile as I walk to the podium. “You’re a difficult one to read, Miss Wright. My prediction for your essay is chaos. In the sense you have written something off script, neither arguing in support or against chaos as a concept, rather demonstrating it in action.”

  “Sorta like the Seahawks-Eagles theory, with less math?” I ask. “Sounds legit. Both team names involve birds, right?”

  A low murmur of chuckling comes from the students.

  “Am I correct?” asks the professor.

  “I’m honestly not sure. I guess. Let me read this and you can tell me if you read me right.”

  He grins. “If you’re unable to answer me, I suspect my guess is correct.”

  “Could be.”

  I let out a deep breath and present my idea of chaos existing by design. As in, we are governed neither by pure chaos nor by a grand architect following a plan, but some manner of architect who created chaos as the plan. Consequently, both positions are equally true as well as false. My personalization of said grand architect as a crazy old scientist throwing a bunch of cosmic gloop together to ‘see what happens’ gets some laughs.

  Fifteen seconds into the discussion, a woman with a corporate day job—I think her name’s Donna or Dina or something—makes a remark about my idea supporting the notion of a supreme being while simultaneously throwing serious shade at those who claim it has any specific wants or demands of humankind.

  “I’m not claiming to know anything,” I say in response. “Merely exploring the idea of chaos. Why do people take the position of absolutes for everything? Either there’s a grand plan or everything’s completely random. Why couldn’t there be both an architect and chaos? Something set the universe in motion and it’s sitting there clapping while random things explode, change color, take on new forms. You’ve got some groups who think they understand the story and what’s going on, and they come up with this notion of what a supreme being would be like, or do, or say… yet there’s so much going on in the world in defiance of those claims. If a supreme being is benevolent, why didn’t it stop the Holocaust or the Black Death? If a supreme being is wrathful, where are the comets or lightning bolts smiting the bad guys?”

  Things rapidly devolve into a theological debate from there, me keeping mostly quiet.

  When the shouting becomes too loud, Professor Heath walks to the front of the class, arms out. Everyone shuts up at once. Pretty sure he used mental influence. “Ahh, chaos in action. One idea sets off a strong reaction. The reaction begets more strong reactions, and soon the proverbial water boils. Bear in mind, we are but simple humans attempting to create a tiny light to illuminate a darkness most vast. From time immemorial, we have wondered why. Why do we exist? Is there a purpose to our presence, or did we merely come into being randomly? A concept without proof cannot be correct or incorrect. It is an idea. We are just as likely to be all a daydream of some vast and terrible cyclopean nightmare beast as here in the flesh. What is our life but a flash in the instant of the cosmos? A mayfly has a lifespan of a couple days. How meaningful are any of its thoughts or deeds to the grand scheme of Earth, and the Universe at large?”

  “Dunno, prof, but that mayfly’s probably gonna make the Seahawks have to kick a field goal,” says a thirtysomething guy in the front row.

  Everyone—except Ryan—laughs.

  “All right, excellent discussion tonight. I’ll see you all next week. Last class before the holidays, so it’ll be fairly light. Good night, all, and thank you for your time this evening.” Professor Heath bows, then takes a seat behind his desk.

  Students shuffle around, gathering their stuff. I’m eager to get home, but still dawdle a bit to have a moment with the professor after the room’s empty.

  “Something on your mind, Sarah?”

  “Yeah.” I approach the desk. “Can’t really talk to my parents about this…”

  “Uh oh, sounds bad.”

  “Not really. Stupid first world problems, but still gnawing at me.” I explain my doubts about going to college. If it’s worth doing at all, or about changing majors to something capable of grabbing my interest more than programming.

  He leans back in his chair, the old springs creaking, and smiles. “In the grand scheme of things, you have all the time in the world, so don’t feel like you’re wasting it. If seeing you in college makes your parents happy, then it’s neither a waste of their money nor a waste of your time.”

  “It’s not really the time, in general, I’m worrying about. Just the hours I’m away from my sisters and brother. Twice a week, I have to leave when they’re all sitting down for dinner. But, really, I’m still ahead. If nothing happened to me, I’d be in California now and having zero time with them.”

  “True.” He nods once. “Also, you don’t need to be with them every minute of every day to be close and loved.”

  “Yeah… mostly. I think some people are trying to grab Sophia. Should really get home to help watch over her.”

  He opens his eyes wider. “What? Why would anyone bother with your little sister?”

  “Good question, but it’s probably due to her having… unusual abilities.”

  “Piano prodigy?” asks Heath with a hint of a grin.

  “If only she had something so normal.” I give him a quick explanation of me liberating Coralie’s remains from a group of mystics, them using a spell to turn Sophia into a remote-control spy by borrowing her body for a little while, and the result of it unlocking some supposed buried magical potential.

  Professor Heath whistles. “Well, I’ve heard a few rumors in my day. Never witnessed anything of the sort in the flesh. Have you considered it may be an Academic involved in mysticism who may be an enemy of Aurélie?”

  “Why would they go after my sister?”

  “Why do bad guys in movies kill the wife or child of a police officer? To cause pain. Aurélie is fond of you. Some Academic uses Sophia to lure you somewhere in hopes of destroying you to inflict an emotional wound on Aurélie. Make her do something rash, expose a weakness to be exploited.”

  I cringe. “Umm… she never said anything about having a rival or enemy evil enough to want me dead. Yeah, there’s this Fury, Vanessa Prentice, who’s super jealous of Aurélie, but they feel more like debutantes trying to one-up each other with increasingly expensive dresses. Not like the sort of feud to end with killing someone’s kid. And I’m not even her progeny.”

  “You’re assuming the person behind this is rati
onal. Or, I could be assuming the worst.”

  “Maybe. Sierra saw a room full of people in black robes. Didn’t stay there long since they sent her back once they realized they grabbed the wrong girl. A group of people—or maybe vampires—is definitely attempting to kidnap Sophia, not just one of my siblings.”

  Professor Heath taps his fingers on the armrest of his chair. “These people may not be as dark as I fear. They sent Sierra back without harming her.”

  “True, but a hired assassin doesn’t shoot anyone but the target either. Doesn’t make them nice.” I sigh. “Anyway, I should get home before something else strange happens. Thanks for listening to me. You’re right. Going to school makes my parents happy and I don’t hate it. So, yeah. I’ll finish, even if I never wind up using the degree.”

  He chuckles. “You’ll need to come back every hundred years or so to keep your knowledge fresh.”

  “Hah. Thanks, Professor.”

  “Any time you need to talk, I’ll be here… until I move on to some other school. But you can fly pretty quick, so my door is still open.”

  Smiling, I wave and jog out.

  Until talking to Heath, the idea of other vampires being involved hadn’t even occurred to me.

  I’m halfway home before I think to turn around and race back to the apartment complex Glim usually haunts. No idea if he sits on the roof in bad weather, but I might as well check. He wouldn’t go inside his ex-wife’s apartment. Too stalkery. He’s not watching her, or his kids, as much as watching over them. Presumably, he’d get involved if for whatever reason her new boyfriend ever turned violent, or someone broke into their house, or the place caught fire.

  Much to my surprise, he is on the roof, sitting under a giant black umbrella. The sight of an obvious vampire using such a mundane means to shield himself from the snow strikes me funny. Me wearing a lime green bikini in December hits him funny. As soon as my toes sink into the several inches of snow on the roof, he’s laughing. He used his shadow abilities to keep people from noticing me change in the parking deck a while back, so he’s quite aware of why I’m wearing a swimsuit to fly in bad weather. Without him there to cover me tonight, I changed in the bathroom after the building cleared out. Only had to poke two people in the brain on my way outside so they thought I had a normal season-appropriate outfit on.