Ron’s sitting behind the wheel, looking far too conspicuous. Any cop finding him would know he’s doing something he shouldn’t be. He practically jumps out of his clothes when I land right beside the car and open the door.
“Chill.” I get in. “You should never play poker.”
“What’s poker have to do with anything?”
“You look like you’re the getaway driver waiting for the bank robbers to come back. Acting casual isn’t in your repertoire.”
Look at me sounding like I’m a bad girl.
He exhales. “How’d it go?”
“Fine. Go to the mill tomorrow, ask to see Mr. Nesbitt… and you’ll have a job.”
“Brilliant. No more Tesco stock boy.” He starts the engine. “Thanks fer not rippin’ my head off.”
“No problem. Thanks for not ripping my head off. You’re my first werewolf.”
Chuckling, he pulls back onto the road, the car’s engine straining to accelerate. “Was it good for you?”
“Hah.” I look over at him. “You’re nothing like I expected. So, is it anything close to what the movies show?”
“No. It’s more like being in college again. A couple times a month, I wake up naked somewhere out in the country and don’t remember the day before.”
“Umm… what kind of college did you go to? Must be different here than in the States.”
“Nah, lass. You’ll see in a couple years when ya get there.”
“I’m in college now,” I say, my voice—and eyebrows—flat.
He steals a quick glance at me, not wanting to take his eyes off the road for long. “Wow. Really? Are you a genius or something?”
“Well, I’ve never been tempted to eat a Tide pod, but no… not a genius. I’ve got a young face. I was eighteen when the supernatural stuff happened. It’s only been six months, so I’m still technically eighteen.”
“Right on.”
“So you wake up randomly naked in strange places?” I gaze out at the passing trees. “Only happened to me once.”
“Bad batch of E?”
“What? Oh, ecstasy? No… morgue.”
He cringes. “Story behind that, I bet.”
“Not really. Takes a couple days for the conversion to vampire to kick in. My sire’s not the most organized person. Cops found me before he came back and… well… I woke up in a morgue cooler with no idea how I got there or why I didn’t have any clothes on. Guessing the wolf takes over for you?”
“Aye. If I go too long wi’out ’avin raw meat, I’ll black right the feck out an’ wake up somewhere messy. Made a right hames of a sheep farm a while ago. Since I figured out it’s connected ta meat, it’s become manageable. Sorta like diabetes, but I don’ ’ave ta wait on the NHS fer insulin. Just blag a sheep or goat when’er I need ta.”
“Cool. No one likes random violent murder.”
“Aye.” He laughs. “Speakin’ of. I appreciate ya not goin’ straight ta the claws an’ fangs part.”
“No problem. And wow… ‘dealing with the werewolf’ was a lot easier than I expected. Figured it would be hairy.”
“Ouch.”
I snicker. “Sorry. The puns are genetic. Comes from my father.”
He smiles.
“So, umm, where are we going now?”
“My grandfather’s. Gonna spend the night there. He ought’a let me stay wif him ’til I get paid ’nuff times ta get me own place. Er, maybe he’ll ’preciate the company an’ I’ll stay. We’ll figure it out.”
“Cool. Okay, I guess I’ll call this done then.”
“One werewolf dealt with.”
“Yep.” I roll down the window.
“I could pull over for ya if’n yer gonna leap out.”
“It’s fine. Kinda in a hurry to get back to my sister.”
He nods, but slows anyway. “Night, luv.”
“Bye!” I wave, and hurl myself out into the night.
16
Harmless
Cheating the system doesn’t bother me half as much as stealing.
Somehow, I’ve gone from being a reasonably ordinary girl who wouldn’t even think of shoplifting to being casual about mind-controlling people for financial gain. Oh, and I’ve killed people, too. Not by choice, mind you. Sun panic. My victims weren’t exactly innocent citizens either. Though, drug dealers don’t deserve death. I’m not using their status as criminals to clear my conscience, but I’d certainly feel worse about shredding a busload of nuns. Maybe it ought to bother me more than it does, but the moment doesn’t seem real. One second, I’m standing there talking to a bunch of gang members about to do a drug deal, the next thing I know, everyone’s dead or injured. It’s easy for my brain to think someone else did the killing.
In a bizarre way, someone else did do it. My primal vampiric id took over.
Giving my id direct access to my claws is about as dangerous as implanting cybernetic machine guns on a pissy housecat and taking him to the veterinarian for a deworming pill and claw trim. Of course, it’s not something I wanted to happen, nor did the situation result from me—or Dalton—being stupid.
Killing three people should bother me more than it does. Hopefully, it’s denial talking and not being an undead monster who places no value on human life. Yeah, gotta be denial. I’m a vampire, not an insurance adjuster.
It’s pretty easy to spot London from the air at night. Crowthorne isn’t too far away to the west, and London has a crapload of lights. Flying lets me cover an hour’s worth of driving in a hair over fifteen minutes. Straight line, no traffic, and cruising faster than forty-five. I swear the battery-powered Barbie car my five-year-old self drove around had better acceleration than Ron’s wind-up toy.
My bigger and more immediate problem than any possible guilt about manipulating Mr. Nesbitt, is—where the crap am I? London, obviously. But, where in? I stop at a hover, looking down at the sprawling lights. Everything looks the same. Best as memory serves, Mr. Crowley’s mansion is north of the city center near some green spots, but nothing appears familiar.
A few minutes into me flying around like a mentally challenged pigeon, I spot Kallen and Meredith zooming toward me. Oh, whew. Finally. I stop again, hovering in place while waiting for them to glide up in front of me—and trying to come up with a good excuse for what I did. They’re both smiling, Meredith on the verge of laughing at me.
“Must be sorted if you’re up here swannin’ around London.”
“So how’d it go?” asks Kallen.
I stare at them, my thought train derailed in the middle of crafting a lame excuse to explain Ron’s continued existence.
“She’s adorable.” Meredith grins at me. “You totally look like you’re about to brick it.”
“Umm, what?”
“Ya look scared, luv.” She winks at me.
“Well… it didn’t exactly go as Mr. Corley probably wanted it to.”
Meredith folds her arms, trying—and failing—to appear displeased. “How’d it go then?”
“He smelled me coming, so I had to talk my way closer. But… he didn’t break the treaty. He’s been in London for a while. Some other werewolf bit him and ran off.” I explain the whole Nesbitt thing and Ron’s plan to relocate out to Crowthorne.
Kallen swings around and gives me a one-armed buddy hug. “Don’ worry about it. We know ya didn’t get into a furball wif him.”
“Aye. Just takin’ the piss.” Meredith laughs.
I blush, reflexively looking at the ground below us. “You’re what?”
The two exchange a glance, then laugh harder.
“What is it you Yanks say? Take the piss means like, erm…” Kallen strokes his short beard. “Pullin yer leg. Messin’ wif ya.”
Meredith play-punches my shoulder. “Aye, not lit’raly ’avin a wee. Been quite a few years since I ’ad ta do that.”
Oh, geez. Duh. Is it obvious my head is spinning? Sure, my plumbing still works if I consume normal food and drink. These two aren’t Innocents
. “Right. Sorry. I’m not thinking straight. Kinda worried Mr. Corley won’t be happy Ron’s still alive.”
“Nah, luv.” Kallen squeezes me, apparently failing to realize I’m not one of his 280-pound buddies. “Corley wanted ta see how you’d react. He loaded ya up with a bit of bollocks and sat back to watch.”
“Aye. Call it a temperament test.” Meredith grabs Kallen’s hand and frees me from the trash compactor. “He wouldn’t ’ave gone spare on ya if ya killed the furry bugger, though. The way ya dealt wif ’im’s like sayin’ yer not a violent sort likely ta cause trouble.”
“Yeah, umm… no. I really don’t cause trouble… but damn if it doesn’t keep finding me.” I furrow my brow at her. “Where’d the whole ‘eats kids’ thing come from?”
“Corley probably said it ta get ya mad enough ta go werewolf huntin’.” Kallen grins. “Needed a bit of a push, I reckon.”
“C’mon.” Meredith waves for me to follow and glides off.
I fly after her, thinking about the situation. In hindsight, Corley didn’t actually order me to kill Ron, only ‘deal with’ him. He’s obviously old enough to see my thoughts, so he had to pick up on my protectiveness toward Sophia. Maybe he wanted to see if he could get me fired up enough to strike without thinking. Admittedly, considering how wound up I am over Sophia’s safety and being abducted across the planet… if I’d gotten the drop on Ron, there’s a good chance blood would’ve gone flying. But, maybe once I got a good look at how… normal he seemed, I’d have hesitated.
Ugh. I really need to stop overanalyzing everything, but how the heck does one deal with vampire kings? Or presidents, or whatever the heck he counts as. Mr. Corley scares me more than Arthur Wolent, but not in the same way. Wolent, I’m afraid of offending because the man could twist a semi-trailer in half with his bare hands. Mr. Corley’s in another league. Like, he’s got the entirety of an old-world system of vampire monarchy behind him… or something. Possibly hundreds of vampires at his command.
Yeah, that’s some scary stuff right there.
And no, I’m not ‘scared’ of him literally as much as desperately trying not to offend him. I don’t want to end up being the main character in a movie who accidentally stumbles into the wrong doorway while on vacation, trips over a carpet and dumps an entire buffet table into the lap of the president of some fourth-world country… and ends up sentenced to thirty years in a labor camp.
Meredith and Kallen telling me Corley’s not going to be angry with me for Ron still being alive helps calm me enough to resume thinking about going home. It might be ethically questionable to ‘steal’ airfare using vampire powers, but the Persons In Black will appreciate me not leaving an inexplicable paper trail. As in, how does Mom’s credit card spontaneously show up in London buying one-way airfare back to the US? Or buying clothing. Oops. There’s my good girl nature causing problems again. I probably shouldn’t have used the card at the department store. At least clothes shopping they can more easily make look like an online purchase. Not so much for a plane ticket.
My escorts bring me back to the manor house, straight to the same room.
Plenty of people are still here. It’s not a social event or even a party, more like a high-society hangout, only for vampires instead of rich people. Roughly half of the attendees are dressed like normal people—the sort of crowd you’d find at a Chili’s or Bonefish Grill on a Wednesday night. A small number do look like they belong to the ultra-rich jet set. An equal number dress like punks.
Mr. Corley excuses himself from the small group he’d been conversing with to approach the three of us. He’s got a weird little smile like a teacher who gave the class a trick quiz and doesn’t think anyone figured it out.
Walking up to the guy and falling to one knee is probably melodramatic. I’m not a messenger in Game of Thrones. But, he is basically a king. Am I supposed to do something? Paralyzed by dread and indecision, I stand there pulling a dumbass, probably making a face like I sat in lukewarm oatmeal.
“Miss Wright. You have returned, and do not carry the scent of blood about you.” Mr. Corley regards me for a few seconds. “Yet you seem a little paler than before.”
“The werewolf you sent me after isn’t like people told you he is.” I explain everything, more or less keeping my voice steady and not sounding like a total fool. “He’s probably going to make a trip or two back into London to collect his stuff, but he’ll be permanently staying in Crowthorne, out of your territory.”
Mr. Crowley smiles. “Nicely handled.” He leans closer, lowering his voice. “Do relax a bit, child. We may have tradition, but we are not humorless.”
Now I’m certain he sent me on a trivial errand purely to satisfy the requirement I do something to answer for the breach of etiquette. Geez. Couldn’t he have asked me to go pick up coffee? Meh. I should be glad he accepted my situation as out of my control. Pretty sure if someone deliberately ignores him out of contempt, they’d be sent after a much larger, fuzzier werewolf with a less normal disposition.
Mr. Corley gives me a tiny lift of the eyebrow I take as equivalent to a nod. He glances to the side, beckoning Joan over with a small wave. “You are welcome to stay in London as long as you like. If you happen to leave, as I’m sure you intend to, please do me the courtesy of announcing your return should you find yourself in my city again.”
“I will—as soon as I can find this place. The city’s sorta overwhelming.”
“Make yourself at home if you care to. This chamber is always open for our kind, except when the sun is up.” He glances at Joan. “Please show Sarah to her sister.”
I bow gratefully at Mr. Corley. “Thanks.”
Joan leads me out of the big room, down a fancy hallway of red carpet, gold-trimmed walls, and tiny marble tables set between impractically delicate chairs. “How’d it go with the wolf?”
“Found a diplomatic solution. An escape claws.” I make a clawing gesture at the air. “As in, we escaped having to use claws.”
She shakes her head. “Wow.”
“Are you looking at me like that because I didn’t kill the werewolf or for being twenty years too young to make Dad jokes?”
“Both, but mostly what you said. Americans are strange.”
“Not all of us. My dad is exceptional. Both goblets were poisoned. I’ve spent the past eighteen years developing an immunity to puns. It has side effects.”
She starts to give me a ‘what are you rambling about’ stare, but ends up laughing once her brain catches up.
Yeah, Joan definitely looks like a ‘beat his head in, talk later’ sort of woman. She leads me to the end of the corridor and pauses by a single door, also white with gold trim.
When she doesn’t go in right away, I glance at her. “What?”
“Don’t mind Charlotte,” whispers Joan. “She’s the sweetest. Would never harm anyone.”
“Umm, okay.”
Joan opens the door.
We enter a moderately large room decorated in mostly burgundy and dark brown wood. Tapestries, curtains, the fabric on a giant four-poster bed, and the carpet are all more or less the same shade of maroon. The décor lends the anachronistic bedroom a coziness at odds with the amount of space.
Sophia sits on the floor beside the bed, surrounded by an array of dolls, beside a woman in a dress Aurélie would love—it makes her look like a big doll. Her black hair’s fluffed up into ringlet curls, falling over her shoulders to midway down her back. Rich brown skin and delicate features give her an almost Caribbean look. Despite appearing to be in her early twenties, the woman plays dolls like a child, acting and sounding younger than Sophia. Her voice isn’t abnormally high; the childishness comes through in her words and mannerisms.
Something tells me the woman isn’t acting childish for Sophia’s amusement. My sister is ten. No need to behave like a six-year-old to play dolls and keep her occupied. In fact, watching them gives me the feeling Sophia is babysitting this woman more than the other way around.
/> I’m about to mistake her for a mortal until she glances in my direction and reveals striking bright gold eyes.
The instant we lock stares, a most bizarre feeling comes over me. I’m immediately drawn to her in a way… I dunno, almost like we’re related. We’re not, but the feeling is similar. Like when playing Call of Duty or some such game, how teammates’ names are all in a specific color so allies are obvious? Yeah, same situation here only without the floating text. Takes me a second or two to figure out, but it’s obvious to me she’s an Innocent. Vampires can sense each other as fast as a glance, but reading bloodlines isn’t normally possible. However, she’s also the first other Innocent I’ve ever run into.
And she’s taking ‘innocent’ way more literally than I do. Eep. Oh, crap! Please tell me I’m not destined to mentally crack like her at some point. Do they call us ‘innocents’ because we regress to being mental children?
“Sarah!” Sophia grins at me, then looks at the woman. “I’m sorry, but I have to go home now.”
Charlotte nods, her lip quivering as if she’s about to cry. “Aww. Thanks for playing with me. It was nice to finally have another little girl here. Who’s she?”
“My sister, Sarah.”
“Hi!” She waves at me. “I’m Charlotte.”
“Hello.” I smile back at her. “Nice to meet you.”
The woman begins grabbing dolls one by one and introducing them to me. Joan can’t look at her. Somehow, I manage to keep a straight face and roll with it, pretending I’m interacting with a kid somewhere between six and eight. My sister doesn’t look the least bit freaked out at spending a few hours in the company of such a strange woman. Her being a vampire only adds to the unsettling air about her, a tangible otherworldly presence making the entire room feel heavy.
“You have so many lovely friends,” I say in regard to the dolls. “I’m sorry we have to go, but we’re both very far away from home and our parents are worried about us.”
Vampire Innocent (Book 9): An Introduction To Paranormal Diplomacy Page 15