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

by Cox, Matthew S.

  Klepto appears in a flash, hanging on Katy’s face.

  She screams

  I capitalize on the furry blindfold and body check her down the stairs. Klepto disappears, not wanting to go tumbling with her. The woman only falls for two seconds before swooping back up to her feet like a movie going in reverse. Crap! I dodge around her and keep running, launching myself into a fully committed knee-to-groin strike on Jacob.

  “Oof.” He wheezes and crumples to the floor in a ball, grabbing Sophia’s ankle as we go by. She trips forward, hanging by my grip of her hand, but quickly kicks her leg free and scrambles upright.

  “We’re running away from the stairs,” yells Sophia.

  “I know.” I dart around the corner the dynamic duo came from and start peeking in doors. “Maybe there’s a servant’s stair.”

  Sitting room. Bathroom. Library. Another sitting room. Study. Den. Grr!

  The double doors at the end of the hallway open to a room mirroring the one where I found Sophia, only it doesn’t have a warded vault cell—and has much bigger windows. Six beautiful floor-to-ceiling windows of paned glass offer a lovely view of the countryside surrounding the manor. Alas, they also let in a buttload of sunlight. It’s later in the afternoon, so it doesn’t make me cringe too badly. Only about as much as a Will Farrell movie.

  A bell jar between two windows contains a statue of a weird little creature. It’s humanoid, about the size of a toddler, with a slightly oversized head, large all-black eyes, pointed elfish ears, and androgynous childish features. The doll’s outfit is part medieval peasant, part jester’s costume, and part flower—like the poor kid in the school play who got stuck being a daisy. Though it’s adorable, I can’t help but feel an underlying malevolence behind the cuteness. Basically, it’s a standard two-year-old. Probably silicon. Little guy—or girl—looks really lifelike.

  “Screw it. We’re only ten feet up. Let’s jump.” I run to the nearest window, looking for a way to open it, but stop short upon realizing the windows have bars. Seriously? What the hell is wrong with these people?

  The door slaps open.

  I spin, ready to go declawed wildcat all over them—but Jacob’s pointing a shotgun at me.

  My fault. I should have been more specific in my request of the fuzzball and asked her to remove all lethal weapons from the house. His face is beet red, and the look he’s giving me says he’s highly tempted to pay me back for the ball shot with buck shot.

  “There’s no need to make this needlessly difficult,” says Katy. She plucks a pair of handcuffs out of her purse.

  “It’s already become so.” Jacob grumbles.

  Katy mumbles something in a foreign language and ninja-star throws the cuffs at Sophia, aiming low for her ankles. The restraint accelerates into a literal projectile, surrounded by an aura of white light.

  “No!” yells Sophia, crossing her arms in front of her face.

  The handcuff-missile bounces off something invisible a few feet in front of her, ricocheting to the side and smashing the bell jar over the weird doll before embedding in the wall, charring the wallpaper.

  Sophia gasps.

  Both Katy’s eyebrows go up. “Little brat. That was expensive.”

  “So why’d you break it?” snaps Sophia in an uncharacteristically snotty voice.

  Katy gasps. “Cheeky little thing, aren’t ya?”

  Klepto appears clinging to Jacob’s backside, but only for an instant. The kitten—and his pants—vanish.

  He’s wearing boxers now.

  “Speaking of cheeky,” I say.

  “Aha!” Jacob grins, aiming at me. “Your little fur demon got the trousers again, but I expected it this time. We’ll not be having a repeat. The little terror comes near me one more time and your big sister’s going to need a new head.”

  Sophia’s cheeks go pale.

  Klepto huffs.

  “Well, I suppose we can put them both in the warded vault since we’ll have to redo the damn incantations anyway,” mutters Katy.

  Tiny claw marks on her forehead and cheeks would’ve made me laugh if I didn’t have a shotgun trained on me. “If it’s such a pain to replace the spells after opening the door, how did you plan to feed her?”

  “There’s a hatch,” says Jacob.

  “Oh. Is that how the kitten got out last time?” I glance at Sophia.

  “No. She poofed before they energized the wards.”

  Jacob edges closer, a manic glint in his eyes as he puts the tip of the shotgun barrel within two feet of my cheek. “Now, little girl… collect your demonic fuzzball. We’re not going to hurt it, merely stick it in a jar so the three of you all stay where you’re supposed to be. Katy, be a dear and fetch a warded vessel.”

  Umm, cat? Now would be an awesome time to steal his shotgun. Maybe she’s worried he’ll blow my head off if she appears on top of it. Yeah, I kind of am, too. On second thought, now is not a good time to steal the shotgun.

  Sophia clenches her hands in fists, stomps, and lets out a shriek loud enough to make my brain vibrate inside my skull. Jacob’s eyes cross and his aim falters a little—but not enough for me to risk moving.

  My kid sister continues shrieking well past an ordinary ten-year-old’s lung capacity.

  Katy clamps her hands over her ears. Even Klepto’s giving her a ‘knock it off’ stare.

  Sophia thrusts her arms out to either side, her scream cutting off the instant her hands are as far apart as they can get. All the windows go dark.

  The red light in my eyes as I come online appears as a brief flash on Jacob’s face.

  He glances sideways at the windows. “Remarkable…”

  “Did she just turn off the sun?” asks Katy.

  “It appears so.” Jacob goes wide-eyed like a thrilled little boy watching a magic trick.

  “To what end?” Katy cocks an eyebrow.

  Sophia grins. “Oh… you’ll see.”

  The girl’s as innocent as it gets, but wow did she sound creepy as hell.

  “I’m not normally a violent person,” I say. “But you guys kidnapped my little sister.”

  Katy and Jacob stand statue still, stuck in normal human time as I accelerate myself and zip up to him. Like plucking a prop out of the hands of a mannequin, I grab the shotgun and bend it into a U shape. Some wood and plastic parts break off and fall to the rug.

  He jumps back. “My dear, it appears she is a vampire… or something.”

  I toss the ruined shotgun aside. “Behold the power of a motivated Gen-Z’er.”

  Katy runs at me, attempting some kind of jiu-jitsu grab.

  My supernatural speed makes it relatively easy to lean around her reaching arms and rabbit-punch her in the forehead. It’s more difficult for me to resist hammering her with all my strength than it is to avoid her attack. Yeah, I’m pissed, but dammit, killing still feels wrong.

  The woman flies over backward, the force of my punch throwing her off her feet. She hits the floor in a stupor, making fish-out-of-water expressions at the ceiling. I stalk up to her, intent on doing a little brain surgery. With telepathy, not claws. Honest.

  “See,” says Sophia.

  Jacob grabs an amulet under his vest, raises his left hand, and starts to chant something in maybe Latin or Arabic.

  My sister’s ‘I win’ expression melts to a look of worry. She yells, “Counterspell!” and dashes at him, trying to kick his balls up into his throat.

  He catches her ankle, blocking the kick, and doesn’t let go. “Uh-uh-uh.” He wags a finger at her. “Naughty, naughty. That’s not going to work.”

  She balances on one foot, narrowing her eyes in defiance. “Still stopped you from doing magic, didn’t I?”

  Katy mumbles incoherently and grabs her forehead in both hands.

  I turn toward Jacob, extending my claws and holding my hands up so he can see them. “Let go of my sister. Mine are a lot sharper than the kitten’s. There’s no need for this to get needlessly complicated.”

&n
bsp; “Hey, that’s my line,” mumbles Katy, sounding dazed.

  Jacob looks at me.

  The instant he makes eye contact, I dive in. Ooh! Goody. I guess The Serene Lodge doesn’t believe in magic rings. He’s on the express train to Derpville, staring into space while I implant a deep compulsion to leave Sophia alone. By the time I’m done with him, he’ll sooner light himself on fire than inconvenience her by getting in front of her in line at Starbucks.

  “Umm, Sare?” asks Sophia. “Can you please make him let go of my leg?”

  A small mental poke does so.

  She backs away from him. “What are you gonna do to them?”

  “Only make them leave you alone.”

  Sophia slouches in relief.

  I grab Katy off the floor and throw her onto the largest of the three sofas in here. She, too gets a mental command to steer clear of my sister. Since I am resisting the urge to vent my frustrations in violent ways, the command takes on a dangerous level of potency. The woman might jump into traffic to stay away from her. I’m not too worried, though. Odds are low we’ll see them again. It’s tempting to do something more vengeful like stuff them in a cage downstairs, but meh. Not worth the time. Mental control is enough of a leash. They’re out of my hair for good.

  Damn, it’s good to be a gangster. Or something.

  “Umm, Sare?” asks Sophia in a timid voice.

  “What? Is my fly open?”

  “No.”

  I check my hands. Didn’t forget to put my claws away. “What?”

  She points. “Look.”

  My gaze follows her finger to the smashed bell jar. The strange little figure is missing.

  “What happened to the doll?” whispers Sophia.

  “No idea.”

  My sister creeps up to the wooden disc surrounded in bits of broken glass, careful not to step on any. “I’m feeling a ton of magic here.” She eyes the still-smoking cuffs in the wall at her eye level. “She carries handcuffs in her purse. Who does that?”

  “The same sort of people who have a full medieval torture setup in their basement.”

  “What?” She blinks at me. “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah. But I don’t think they use it on anyone. More for spiritual energy in their magic.”

  She hurries over to me. “Oh. Creepy. Let’s get out of here.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.” I take her hand and look at the window. “Wow… you’re getting scary powerful.”

  Sophia strolls along beside me down the corridor. “Not really. I only made a bubble of dark over the house. I didn’t like change actual time or anything.”

  “Mew.” Klepto appears on Sophia’s shoulder and starts purring.

  “Wait a sec. These two made me go out in the sunlight. They owe me an idiot tax.”

  “You’re going to bite them, aren’t you?” asks Sophia.

  “Yep. Be right back.”

  23

  A Squishy Ultimatum

  Uber to the rescue for the second time.

  Charging rides to Mom’s account bothers me less than stealing a car or doing something even worse like attempting to drive in England. I’d totally get into a head-on collision within five minutes, or spend two hours trapped in a traffic circle. Exactly how are those things supposed to work anyway?

  I’m not worried about Katy or Jacob coming after us, so we wait on the street outside their gate for a ride. Sophia’s bit of magic isn’t too obvious. I mean, it’s perfectly reasonable to see a giant dome of blackness over an estate, right? Good thing this house is a bit removed from the city.

  Another bit of good news: my phone works. Once we went outside, I got signal back. I texted the parents to let them know Sophia’s okay… and admitted guilt finally got the better of me enough to possibly consider letting her help the mystics as long as it’s not too dangerous.

  Mom started typing a long response. Dad sent ‹wear a headband›. Mom’s response stalled. I picture them arguing now.

  Our Uber shows up a few minutes later, the same time Mom sends ‹Call me.›

  Uh oh. If it takes her four minutes to type ‘call me,’ it’s time to throw my iPhone into the ocean. Seriously, though. I am not the kind of girl who can blow off her parents, especially when we’re stranded in a foreign country.

  Hi, I’m Sarah, and I have a guilt management problem.

  This Uber driver isn’t a probably gay young man with a sunny disposition and a great sense of humor. We’ve gotten a slightly more urban version of Latrine, the witch from Men in Tights. I’m mostly shocked she doesn’t have a six-pack of beer in the passenger seat. Seriously, this woman’s like a rail-thin old babushka who’s into recreational exposure to high voltage. I’ve never seen eyes so wide before, and her hair… all the Aquanet ever used in the 1980s couldn’t tame it.

  I send a quick ‹can’t, in car. Will call asap› to Mom, and get in. Sophia takes the back seat.

  We have a pleasant conversation on the ride into London.

  Okay, I’m exaggerating a bit. It’s not entirely pleasant, and it’s not exactly a conversation.

  Conversation implies more than one person talks. ‘Latrine’ spends the entire ride rambling—in a heavy accent—about Northern Ireland, something about Catholics, and Brexit. Apparently, the IRA is ready to go ‘to the next level’ and she’s all for it. My sense of self-preservation keeps me nodding along. To be fair, she didn’t do all the talking. Over the course of a forty minute ride, I did say ‘not really sure, I’m from America’ once. I think she’s ‘educating’ me about the reality of the situation ‘they’ don’t bother teaching young people over in the States. Her accent, like I said, is on the thick side. She could as easily be giving me instructions for skinning eels as outlining her political manifesto.

  Fortunately, she’s animated but not aggressive.

  Grateful to get away from her, I jump out of the car as soon as we stop in front of the bookstore. “Thanks for the ride.” I’d make a pithy comment about the IRA, but I wouldn’t want my joke to bomb.

  Asher’s standing behind the bookstore counter like an employee. He looks up when we walk in. “Sarah! We’ve found—”

  “Hi,” says Sophia, trailing behind me.

  “Your sister.” Asher blinks.

  I approach the counter, steel myself, and look him in the eye. “Is everyone still alive?”

  “Aye. For now.”

  “If you can tell me honestly she’s not going to be in a ridiculous amount of danger, we’ll help.”

  Asher stands there in silent shock. A subtle shift in his posture—relaxation—along with a hard breath leaving his nostrils makes me feel like a doctor delivering good news.

  Sophia sidles up beside me. “I can handle a little danger. Just not a ridiculous level. This won’t involve five-headed dragon tarantulas, right?”

  “Do I even want to know?” asks Asher.

  “No,” my sister and I reply simultaneously.

  “Thank you.” Asher bows. “I would not have proceeded in bringing her here if I thought stopping Fletcher Maltby presented any serious risks to her. The same enchantment fragments from the broken soul jar responsible for his being vulnerable to her work in reverse. It is difficult for him to act directly against her, verging on impossible. The act of trapping a spirit in a jar is perhaps the closest thing magically possible to complete control over another sentient being. As the original creator of the jar is long since dead, Sophia inherited its control over Maltby upon rupturing it.”

  “What about another pigeon-to-window-washer-to-car-to-lamppost-to-coffee burn situation? Does this jar thing protect her from crazy coincidences?”

  “Unfortunately not as much. Indirect actions wouldn’t be complicated by the enchantment. However, such risks can be mitigated by situational awareness. Also, someone with your reflexes would have a trivial time pulling her out of harm’s way.”

  I fold my arms. “Provided we do this at night.”

  “Of course. We’re aim
ing to confront a spirit.” Asher walks out from behind the counter. He locks the door, hanging a ‘ring bell for service’ sign before leading us to the back room.

  “Ghosts aren’t vampires. Nothing forces them to hide during the day,” I say, walking after him.

  “Of course not. The night merely has fewer witnesses.” He smiles. “Mind if I ask what happened with Sophia? Our divination sensed her as if she popped out of an alternate dimension.”

  “I kinda did.” Sophia takes the basement stairs slow, clinging to the railing. “Warded cell.”

  “What?” Asher raises an eyebrow at her.

  “You ever hear of The Serene Lodge?” I ask.

  “Oh, those wankers,” calls Keval Patel, from the other room. “Yeah. We’ve heard of them.”

  Asher suppresses an eye roll. “We are not the only order of mystics. The Aurora Aurea is but one of many. The Lodge, alas, has been in conflict with us for some years. Ever since Crowley went stark raving mad.”

  “Crowley or Corley?” I scratch my head.

  “Crowley. As in Alastair.” Asher walks into the large room where Sophia and I first appeared after being vacuumed up by her closet. “The Aurora Aurea predates his Golden Dawn sect by several centuries. We had, by and large, kept near perfect secrecy until he decided to attempt bringing magic into the public consciousness.”

  Anna Riordan groans. “The man was addled.”

  “Yeah… I’ve heard he basically tried to have as many women as possible in some kinda…” I’m not going to say ‘orgiastic sex cult’ in front of Sophia. “Cult.”

  “There is some truth in what you say.” Asher nods once. “But he wasn’t as depraved as most people believe. Mystics from multiple orders decided it best to keep the public unaware of magic. Via memory-altering spells, misinformation, and doctored documents, they created an embellished fiction to highlight his less than savory proclivities and make him sound like a lunatic. Most who witnessed his actual magic soon regarded him as a charlatan no more talented than a tarot card reader only interested in libertine debauchery.”