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

by Cox, Matthew S.

  The three of us go back and forth reassuring each other. My parents keep me from giving in to feeling like a failure, and I keep them from losing their minds in worry. I’m a damn vampire. I’ve got tools people don’t. Like Mr. Corley. And Charlotte. Joan might think the woman-child is harmless, but I sensed a shitload of bottled up… something. Don’t want to call it rage, since it’s not quite anger. I don’t think she killed her, well, owners, nor do I think she’d arbitrarily kill people. But if someone hurt Sophia, it wouldn’t surprise me to see some psychotic Alice in WTFland stuff come from her. The woman’s over a hundred years old. Power from age coupled with the total lack of restraint a mental six-year-old can show when pissed off.

  Eek.

  I pace around the shelves.

  Go into the back room.

  Back out into the bookstore.

  It starts to get dark out.

  Once again into the store room. By chance, I spot an antique sword on a shelf. Curiosity pulls me closer. It’s about forty inches long, double edged but not terribly sharp, the blade tapering to a fine point. Thanks to the little brain-zap Dalton gave me, I know it’s an arming sword, common in the European Middle Ages. On a whim, I set my purse on the nearby table and pick the sword up, backing away into the middle of the store room.

  Without much thought, I drop into a fighting stance and begin going through the motions of sword forms. It’s absolutely bizarre to simultaneously feel like I’m doing something for the first time as well as it seeming routine. Frustration at being powerless to help Sophia adds speed and power to my strikes, making the blade whistle. Even though it’s a fairly dull museum piece, I’m swinging it fast enough to do serious damage.

  Bits and pieces of memories flash in my head, but they’re not mine. I’m Dalton, in a tavern somewhere, jumping over a table and thrusting a blade like this into a man’s chest dressed in the fashion of the 1920s. A spinning slash puts me in a cistern, surrounded by scraps. I see a two-second flicker of the past—Dalton slicing a malformed head in half at nose level.

  Whoa.

  I certainly don’t feel like a master—or even ‘good’ at this—but the sword in my hand is… comfortable.

  The door to the basement creaks open. I smell Asher, so I don’t bother looking or stopping, leaping horizontally over an imaginary foe trying to slide into my legs. The maneuver lands me in a thrusting stab I imagine piercing the face of another make-believe adversary.

  Asher clears his throat.

  I stop, relax my stance, and face him, sword hanging from my hand. “Where is she?”

  “You’re older than you look. Don’t usually see such fancy moves except on film.”

  “Wow. First time anyone’s ever said that. Usually, it’s the reverse.” I set the sword back on the shelf where I found it. “A friend taught me some of what he knows. And some of those fancy moves are only possible on film without superhuman strength and agility.” I walk up to him. “Did you find her?”

  Asher’s falling expression answers before he can open his mouth. “Not exactly. We are unable to locate her. I suspect she is either outside our dimension or in a place magic cannot penetrate.”

  “A place magic can’t penetrate? Like what?”

  He clasps his hands in front of himself. “Certain crystal caves or other geographic phenomena known to interfere. Perhaps a ward. You assume she was taken. Perhaps someone tried, and she ran off, using magic to hide herself. It is possible Fletcher Maltby went after her.”

  “If she ran off, I’d have gotten a message by now.”

  “You are making assumptions.” Asher taps his fingers against the back of his hand. “You said she is inexperienced. She may have sent herself somewhere unexpectedly and cannot get a message to you.”

  Frustration builds to the point my hands shake. “So, what do you mean? Is she gone?”

  “Merely misplaced.” He offers a weak smile. “We are still working to locate her. Seeing across dimensions is far more complicated. I came up here to warn you about the time. Dawn approaches. You should probably seek out a place to shelter. Of course, you are welcome to stay here. Bear in mind Fletcher Maltby is still out there. He may attack us at any moment. You’d likely be safer spending the day elsewhere.”

  I pace, really wanting to smash something. “I can’t just leave with Sophia missing.”

  “The sun will be up fairly soon. You won’t do her any good as a pile of dust. It is unlikely we’ll discover anything while you’ve enough time to do much.”

  “Grr.” No way it’s dawn already. I tromp over to my purse and pull my phone out. I’m shocked to see it’s 6:18 a.m. “Umm…”

  “Sun’s up around eight. You’d better head down to the basement and hope Maltby doesn’t flood us with gas and set off a bomb. I recommend you find a secure place where you won’t be caught in whatever efforts he undertakes to harm us.”

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Please find her.” I’m too angry at him for doing this to us to beg, but also too worried and desperate to stop myself from sounding a little pleading.

  He nods. “We all need sleep. Everyone’s staying here for now, hoping our wards hold out against the spirit. He won’t be far from us, which is why you should shelter somewhere else.”

  Unable to think of anything to say not involving a lot of swearing and threats, I stuff the phone in my purse and hurry to the front door. I’m not taking an Uber again. Hopefully, there’s a basement around here I can break into. Pretty sure I saw a big apartment building a short ways down the road. Ought to be a boiler room there away from the sun.

  Again, I’m really damn grateful worry won’t keep me up all day.

  19

  Simone

  The instant I walk out of the bookstore, someone grabs me from the right and shoves me against the building in a motion so fast it makes me feel mortal.

  I find myself locking stares with a pale green-eyed woman. She’s obviously a vampire given how fast she moved. Long, chestnut brown hair in a thick braid drapes like a boa constrictor over the shoulder of her grey skirt-suit jacket. The lady’s got a 1940s sort of relationship with lipstick. Ruby red. She’s somewhere between the ‘dame’ who walks in at the start of every private eye movie and the ‘shockingly’ capable woman who saves her entire archaeological team from a mummy in a middle finger to the patriarchy.

  She looks me over, little clue of any emotion in her face. Something’s a tiny bit familiar about her, but it’s gotta be déjà vu.

  Being shoved into a wall like someone who owes the bookie money puts me on edge, but oddly, I don’t feel threatened. More like a piece of merchandise being appraised. Since it’s doubtful Mr. Corley’s suffered a massive brain fart and decided to send someone to beat me up for failing to kill the werewolf, I keep quiet and wait for her to say something—or start trying to kill me.

  Last time I had a pale woman with dark hair grab me, I ended up pulling rebar out of my boob. I’m not looking forward to having rusty metal stuck in places it does not belong… again. Crap. This woman feels older than Petra. Could be worse. She doesn’t give off vibes as old as Aurélie. Still, she’s gotta be over 150. Doesn’t really matter once the numbers get in that range. A vampire at 150 or 396 will spank me all the same.

  “Hmm. Just a kid,” says the woman, unsurprisingly in a British accent, though not as haughty as expected. “Must have been a pity case since you’re a bit young for him.”

  “Excuse me?” I stare at her. I’ve never considered myself to be one of the hot girls, but I am no pity date. If this woman wasn’t so old… Still, I gasp. “You’ve gotta be mixing me up with someone else.”

  “You are definitely the one. I can feel him all over you.”

  “Uhh, look here, lady, unless you’re talking about Hunter, I haven’t touched your man. No idea what you’re smelling, but you’re wrong.”

  “There’s a hunter about?”

  Despite her holding two fistfuls of my shirt, I facepalm. “No. Not a hunter.
A boy named Hunter. He’s mortal, and back in the US.”

  “Oh. Yes. Not my concern.” She finally lets go of me. “You are Dalton’s offspring.”

  Fire appears in my thoughts. People screaming. A tiny memory flashback replays in my head from a swordfight Dalton had been in ages ago. This woman is in the background, swinging a cutlass and dagger, cornered by multiple enemies.

  “You’re the woman he loves.” Crap. What’s her damn name? Dalton mentioned her several times, but I’m drawing a stupid blank. How embarrassing.

  “Loved.” She sets her hands on her hips. “Thought I felt him return to London, but, turns out it’s only his progeny. I’ve no issue with you.”

  “Nice to hear.” I smooth my shirt out where she’d grabbed me. “And he still loves you. It’s pretty obvious. But, yeah, he’s totally infuriating sometimes.”

  “Sometimes?” She raises an eyebrow, then chuckles. “Infuriating is part of his charm. He would have been more charming if he understood the concept of loyalty. So, what brings you to London? What sort of mess did he get himself into this time he’s called you in to help clean up?”

  “He’s got nothing to do with this.” I give her a brief explanation of why I’m so far away from home.

  The woman taps a finger to her chin, the blood red polish on her nail a perfect match to her lips. “Ahh, mystics. Unpredictable and dangerous. They have their uses. Pity the Church drove them underground. It would be a far more interesting world if people still practiced magic openly.”

  “Didn’t Alastair Crowley try that not too long ago?” Could’ve sworn Sophia or one of the Seattle mystics mentioned something about him.

  She waves dismissively. “Aye. However I am referring to a time before calendars needed four digits for the year.”

  “Whoa. I didn’t think you’ve been around so long.”

  “I haven’t. Merely heard stories.” She again gives me an appraising once over. The feeling is part madam considering hiring the desperate street waif and part pirate queen trying to figure out if she’s going to let me join the crew. “I suppose you have nowhere to go for sunrise then.”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Are you able to fly?”

  “Yeah. Probably not as fast as you can.”

  “Brilliant. Follow me.” She looks around. Once satisfied we’re not being observed, she glides straight up.

  I follow. We keep climbing vertically to roughly a thousand feet before she veers off to the northwest. She’s not hauling ass or even going fast, so I pull up alongside, still trying to remember…

  “Simone.”

  “Yes?” She glances over at me.

  “Lot on my mind right now. Took me too long to remember your name.”

  “You think Dalton still has feelings for me, but you couldn’t remember who I am?”

  I gaze down to my left at the sprawl of London lights. Night flying really is beautiful. It’s a shame so few people get to enjoy it. “Considering the relatively brief amount of time Dalton has spent with me, he’s mentioned you quite frequently.”

  “Oh, why am I not surprised? He abandoned you?”

  “Technically, it’s probably more accurate to say I abandoned him.”

  “We have that in common.” She laughs. “I should’ve been smarter and done it right away.”

  “I have no romantic feelings for him at all. He’s more like a younger uncle who can’t quite get his life in order and keeps calling my parents asking for bail money.”

  Simone covers her mouth to subdue her continued laughing.

  “He told me about the time he ran away from the window because he was scared. Pretty sure he thinks about it every night. He’s sorry.” I tell her about the LA vampires kidnapping my little brother and his friends over Dalton’s firebomb situation, and him going with me to get them back. She obviously knows about the firebomb, since she asked him to do it. The woman’s basically an arranger of dirty deeds among vampire kind—and a broker of valuable things.

  “Oh, he’s certainly a good talker. I’ll give him credit for it.”

  “I think he’s sincere. The woman you caught him with, he was doing a job. Like a CIA spy trying to get information. People can make mistakes and be truly sorry for them.”

  Simone smiles at me, but her eyes have gone a little cold. “Perhaps, but you really ought to stop talking about him while I still somewhat like you.”

  I cringe. “Oops. Umm, I burned a lot of power today… do we have time to stop for a bite?”

  “At this hour, it would be problematic. I’ve some reserves if you don’t mind bottled.”

  “Never had bottled.”

  “It’s not the most pleasant on the tongue. Blood is far better warm, but it is sufficient to feed.”

  “Thanks. Very generous of you. Bottled is fine.”

  She leads me to an ordinary looking house on a residential street in North London. We land in a small backyard enclosed by high white walls shrouded in ivy, and walk in via the back door. The place has a lived-in feel and I catch the scent of at least two live people, probably working for her.

  A narrow doorway in the corner of the kitchen leads down to a finished basement decorated like a wealthy person’s living room (lots of weird art objects) without windows. Simone opens a cabinet, takes out a twenty-ounce plastic bottle, and offers it to me. It’s still got a Coca-Cola label, but contains blood. I can’t help but cringe a little at it not being at least refrigerated.

  “Didn’t he teach you anything?” asks Simone.

  “Not much, but it’s not like I stayed with him. Mostly my fault.”

  She gives me a disapproving smirk, shakes her head, and sighs. “You don’t need to keep taking the blame for his shortfalls, dear. If you have a quantity of fresh blood in a container like this bottle, adding a few drops of yours to it acts as a preservative.”

  Oh, maybe I have heard this before. Or am I doing the déjà vu thing again?

  I nod, open the cap, and take a sip. The blood tastes like syrupy flat Coke. Not as unpleasant as she made it out to seem. I drain the bottle, shake the last few drops out, and hand the empty back to her.

  “I’m impressed. You didn’t cringe. I can’t stand it lukewarm.” She gestures at the sofa. “All yours.”

  “Thank you.”

  She nods. “You are welcome. Good morning.”

  I stretch out on the sofa, watching her cross the basement to another door and slip into a bedroom. Dalton’s description made her out to be a black market bigwig. Doesn’t seem right for her to live in such an unassuming house. Bet she’s got a large manor somewhere and this is a safehouse or some such thing she keeps on the side. Certainly, a woman in her line of work wouldn’t bring me directly to her primary lair the first time meeting me.

  Whatever. It’s a good place to stay out of the sun.

  I’m not nervous. If she wanted to hurt me, it would’ve happened already. It’s my sire she’s pissed at. Me, she probably thinks of as another person affected by the disaster known as Dalton Ames. I smile at the ceiling. Nah.

  Dalton didn’t ruin my life. He saved it. Sure, he’s not perfect, but who is?

  20

  A Slightly Elevated Risk of Death

  A most unusual sensation greets me when I return to consciousness.

  Repetitive squishing in my boob, complete with tiny needles. I lift my head off the sofa cushion and peer into the eyes of Klepto, who’s kneading my right breast with vengeance.

  Tiny, adorable vengeance, but vengeance nonetheless.

  “Klepto!” I sit upright, cradling her.

  “Mew,” says the kitten.

  “Where’d you come from?”

  “Mew.”

  “How’d you find me?”

  “Mew.”

  I am an idiot. I bow my head, bonking it into Klepto’s. “Can you understand me? Make the tribble noise for yes.

  She tribbles.

  Whoa. Okay, so the kitten can understand English. And aww. The noise
is super cute. Kind of like a combination purr-meow. I lift my head and stare into her bright teal eyes. “Is Sophia in danger?”

  No response.

  “She’s neither safe nor in immediate danger?”

  Tribble.

  I flop over on my back, relieved. Beats danger.

  “Mew.”

  I raise my head to look at the kitten again. “Can you lead me to her?”

  Tribble.

  “Awesome.” I fish my phone out and check the weather. Partly cloudy with some sun. Screw it. I can’t make Sophia wait. I get up, Klepto perching on my shoulder. It doesn’t take much searching around the place for me to score a pen and Post-It pad. I leave Simone a thank-you note for letting me sleep here and tell her I had to leave due to missing sister, apologizing for taking off before she wakes up.

  No one appears to be moving around upstairs, so I tiptoe up the steps to the kitchen and gingerly crack open the door. It’s almost a sauna out there, but nowhere near as bad as the time we had to drag Dalton out of a construction yard, or even the day I took Sophia to the park and the guy in the minivan thought he smelled steak grilling.

  This should only be as uncomfortable as a visit to a new OB/GYN who keeps making icebreaker jokes about spelunking.

  Once again, the stupid fireball in the sky is stealing my ability to fly. I don’t feel like scaling the ten-foot-high walls around the backyard only to land in another backyard with ten-foot-high walls, so I rush across the house to the front door and let myself out

  Klepto nibbles on my left ear.

  One way to do it…

  I turn left and start walking.

  The kitten perches on my shoulder, occasionally head butting me to get my attention, and pointing a paw where I need to go. She’s obviously following an ‘as the crow flies’ sense, since we hit multiple dead ends and a few wrought iron fences I end up climbing to cut across parks or people’s yards.