Eyes narrow, I mentally bore into her brain. Shit! She’s not lying. My compulsion is holding strong and she has no memory of doing anything more dangerous than spending the entire day in a foul mood over their ‘great war’ not being over any time soon.
Oops.
My anger evaporates.
I’m not too guilty. Didn’t kill either of them, and they deserved a bit of roughing up for putting my sister in a small, windowless cell. I delete myself from Katy’s memory, inserting a chaotic scene of a man dressed like Barney the Dinosaur showing up as a singing telegram, but becoming unglued and kicking in the door before charging Jacob and slamming him into the wall, then running off singing show tunes at the top of his lungs.
Jacob gets the same memory.
Yeah, it’s messed up, but maybe it’ll give them pause before reporting anything to the police.
Grumbling to myself, I storm outside and go back into the air.
Dammit! If those two didn’t grab Sophia, who did?
I pull my phone out of my pocket and send Asher a text, warning him about Sophia disappearing and suggesting he should have his people take steps to protect themselves. I add an ‹If you can find her, please do.›
Minutes blur into meaningless time as I cruise aimlessly around over London.
Eventually, I end up on top of a huge skyscraper overlooking the Thames, curled in a ball, hugging my knees to my chest and feeling like a complete failure. How is it I can negotiate a minor issue of werewolf versus vampire treaty politics, make nice with Mr. Corley, but can’t keep my sister safe?
I never should’ve gone home at all. How selfish could I have possibly been to inflict all this supernatural bullshit on my family? I couldn’t bear the guilt of them thinking me dead. Going home has to be the most selfish thing I’ve ever done. Sure, they’d have been crushed, but Sophia wouldn’t be infused with magic and currently abducted by who-knows-what. The spirit of Fletcher Maltby would still be in a jar, harmless. Christmas would come next week, and the scene I dreamed not long ago would play out. Sierra, Sam, and Sophia all miserable, not interested in any presents. My parents unable to soothe their sorrow. I’d be off with Dalton, not knowing what my family was going through, but certain they’d be having it rough. First Christmas as a vampire would have been too depressing to think about.
But the one after couldn’t be so bad, right? The Littles are my siblings, not my kids. They’d get over losing me. By the time they hit their teens, they’d probably not remember having an older sister too much. Sophia wouldn’t end up as messed up as the kid in Dead Like Me, hanging toilet seats in the tree, would she? Sierra wouldn’t give up on school, fail out, wind up on the street. My death wouldn’t drive my parents into arguing every night, ultimately getting a divorce?
No, probably not. I’m being melodramatic and self-pitying.
I’m not important enough to rip my entire family apart by dying.
They’d deal.
Right?
Mom’s voice yells at me in the back of my mind, purely a product of my imagination. No matter what happens, you’re still part of this family, young lady. Don’t go running off. Don’t do that to us.
“I know, Mom. I can’t run off. At least not until I find Soph. But I don’t know where to start. This magic bullshit is so over the top.” I wipe my face off on my sleeve.
I’ve never felt so alone as I do right now, 5,000 miles away from everyone who knows me, high up above a city filled with complete strangers. It’s a metaphor for being vampire. I don’t belong.
Oy, stop being so bloody emo, says Dalton in the back of my mind. Ya made your choice, and, ’tis a bit unorthodox, but it works for ya.
Yeah, sounds like something he’d say.
Because it is me sayin’ it, luv. We’ve got a mental link, remember?
I sit up a little straighter. How long have you been watching me?
Not long. Felt you goin’ off the deep end into the black abyss of despair. Or some such dark poetic nonsense. Hon, knock that shite off.
I chuckle.
Oh, how’s Simone doing?
Fine.
Give ’er my regards.
Probably not a great idea. What’s she doing in London? Didn’t you say you did the LA job for her?
Aye. She runs a multinational organization. Don’t have to be in the States ta contract out.
Oh. Umm…
No. Not the foggiest idea about how ta find Sophia. Your best bet’s the mystics. Maybe ol’ Hargreaves. He’s old blood. Dabbles in mysticism. Part of Mr. Corley’s crowd.
I met them. By the way, thanks for warning me about having to present myself to them upon entering the city.
Never imagined you’d be in London. If’n I thought you’d go there, I’d have mentioned it.
Okay. Fair. Probably wouldn’t be here by choice. Nothing against the place, but I’m a ‘stay close to home’ kind of girl.
Obviously. That Asher bloke might be able to cook up a way to find Sophia. Same as she’s usin’ ta go after the wraith.
“Maybe… yeah.” My eyes widen. Hope starts to lift the slab of despair off my shoulders. “I could—”
Dalton’s cackling laughter fills my brain to the point I can’t think about anything else.
Do you mind?
He keeps laughing, but quieter.
Don’t want to know. “Okay… All I need is a magic compass to lead me to her.”
“Mew,” says Klepto.
I nearly jump out of my saturated clothes. It takes my heart a second to resume pretending to beat. The little kitten, also soaked in snow, sits on the roof next to where I’d been wallowing in sorrow. She looks absolutely pathetic drenched.
“Aww…” I scoop her up and cradle her in my arms.
She gnaws on my wrist. “Mew!”
Sorry, luv. Just saw the bit with the kitten dangling from that bloke’s jubblies. Classic!
“You can find her!” I spin around, hugging the kitten.
You look like a bloody Disney princess about to break into song, singing at the little cat.
Bite me.
Rather not, luv. It’d be kinda awkward seein’ as how you’re like me little sister.
Ugh. I should know better than to say ‘bite me’ to a vampire.
“Mew.” Klepto squirms.
I peer over the edge at the street far below. A good coating of the white stuff makes it impossible to differentiate sidewalk from paving. Only a handful of cars brave the fresh snowfall, struggling to travel at a walking pace. Yellow lights flash everywhere on road crew vehicles trying to clear the roads. Looking at the River Thames not far in front of me sends a chill down my back. The grey water laced with ice chunks is the encyclopedia photo for ‘an effing cold night.’
“Should be able to get down without being noticed. Lead the way.”
Klepto shakes her head. “Mew.”
“You can’t?”
She growls.
“What?”
The kitten stares up.
“Oh… you want me to fly? She’s far away?”
Tribble.
I take off, cradling the kitten to my chest. “Okay. Show me where to go. Whatever direction you look at, I’ll go.”
She nods.
Having a kitten capable of understanding me is beyond strange. Okay, self-pitying dumbass mode over. There’s someone out there in serious need of an ass kicking.
29
A Little Supernatural War
The kitten uses her head as a pointer, directing me to fly.
I start worrying when we leave London behind.
Worry translates to me flying faster. After like an hour, I become even more worried.
“Did Theresa grab her?”
“Mew.”
“Is Sophia far away?”
Tribble.
“I should fly as fast as possible.”
Tribble.
“Are we going to make it to her before sunrise?”
Tribble.
> “Okay.” I pour on speed.
Eventually, we leave the snowstorm behind—and go out over ocean. Ack. I realize England is basically a giant island, but what the hell? She’s outside England? I’m fairly sure we’re heading west, but I’m a little fuzzy on geography.
Ireland is west of England, says Dalton. If you’re headin’ due west from London, and you’ve hit water, yer likely past Wales and over St. George’s Channel. Aye, looks like it.
You can see what I’m seeing?
Not exactly. I can see your memory of what you saw. Little kitty is leading you to the Emerald Isle.
Anything I should know? Is there some other vampire king I’ll need to show myself to?
Nah. There aren’t many of us there. Mostly werewolves and other things.
Other… things?
Aye. Old critters. Fey. Dryads, leprechauns, boggarts, various beasts. If ya see a giant black dog wit’ glowin’ red eyes, run the feck away.
Umm…
Trust me, luv. Those blighters don’t much care for undead.
Sounds like I should get the heck out of Ireland as fast as possible.
It’s not too bad. There’s a difference between things existing and the place bein’ overrun. Unless ya go lookin’ for trouble, ya should be okay.
Hah. I never go looking for trouble, but it keeps finding me! Hey, would you mind, umm, ‘staying on the phone’ and letting me know if something’s about to ruin my day?
Sure, but I’ve only about two hours left before sunrise here.
Thanks. Don’t roast yourself. I’ll manage.
Klepto keeps me going more or less in a straight line for another hour before meowing loud.
I don’t speak ‘cat,’ but it really sounded like she yelled, “Stop!” so I slow to a casual glide.
The kitten strains to peer down. I follow her pointing nose, heading for a forest so thick I’m sure nobody lives in it. Damn. Leslie said she sensed the presence of old Fey magic. Dalton said Ireland’s full of Fey creatures. This is going to get weird.
I wriggle past dense branches of oaks or some such trees, fighting my way through to the ground. It’s pretty obvious people don’t come here often if ever. Dense underbrush stretches as far as I can see, undisturbed by trails. Ivy and moss cling to most of the trunks, the majority of them wider than phone booths. This is an old forest.
Klepto mews.
When I look down at her, she points her head all the way to the left. I turn until she ends up looking straight ahead.
“This way?”
Tribble.
It’s annoying to walk in knee-deep brush, so I levitate a few feet off the ground and glide. Before long, Sophia’s voice drifts out of the woods up ahead. She sounds more frustrated than frightened.
“… not understanding me. I don’t have magic to do what you want. No, I don’t know how to find people, and I can’t blow up a village.”
Say what?
I fly faster. A chorus of tiny voices jabbers in a rapid-fire yammering like an Alvin and the Chipmunks version of the Jerry Springer Show. I follow the voices to an area devoid of underbrush. Sophia’s lashed to a tree by hundreds of brown roots, covering her from shoulders to shins. Fifty or sixty little creatures have gathered around her, all about two feet tall—the same type of critter the Serene Lodge idiots had in a giant bell jar. Sinister toddlers with cherubic faces, overly large eyes, and weird little suits made to look like leaves and flower petals. They’re androgynous as well as ageless. None appear to be older or younger than any others.
Bugger. Dalton yawns. Brownies. Be careful.
Careful? They’re so small…
Curses are nasty business. A .44 magnum in the hands of a six-year-old is still deadly. Don’t let their size trick ya.
Dammit. I really wanted to rip someone’s face off for kidnapping my sister again.
I’d advise against it in this case. You might get one or two, but it won’t be worth it. All right, luv. About time for me to go. Sunrise and all.
Okay. Thanks for the advice.
It’s borderline ridiculous to think of these little critters as remotely dangerous. Of course, they do have a marked sense of malevolence to them despite their creepy childishness. Sophia squirms, grumbling.
“Guys, please let me go. If I could help you, I would. But”—She finally spots me—“Sarah!”
All the brownies whirl, look at me, and lean back in unison, emitting a collective gasp.
Wow, so this is how Gru from Despicable Me feels, surrounded by a bunch of tiny, evil things. Maybe the brownies aren’t ‘evil’ as much as mischievous.
“Hi. Sorry to barge in on your territory, but you guys have my sister and I really need her back.”
The brownies keep staring at me, edging away as I near. None say or do anything. Okay, this could be simple. I walk right up to Sophia, the little guys clearing out of my way but filling in behind me.
“I tried to talk to the ghost, but he wouldn’t stop. Sorry for running into the woods alone.” Sophia huffs, blowing a lock of hair off her face—which falls right back over her eye. “Stupid of me, huh?”
I extend my claws and slash at the roots, and it’s like I’m trying to cut power cables using a cheap plastic knife. “Oh, come on.” I rake repeatedly at the cocoon of plant matter holding my kid sister to the tree, failing to even scratch one root. The damn things are only as big around as a pencil—and apparently made of adamantium. “What the heck?”
“The roots are magic,” mutters Sophia.
“So are these!” I hold my claws up to her. “People aren’t supposed to have three-inch razors for fingernails. And fingernails aren’t supposed to be this tough. My nails have sliced leather biker jackets like paper and it didn’t hurt me at all.”
A brownie fairly close behind me murmurs in a rapid, indecipherable warble. Pretty sure he or she said ‘what’s this dumb bitch trying to do?’ The others—I swear they’ve doubled in number since I landed—watch me with their cute, oversized eyes and sinister smiles. It’s like someone buried a hundred medieval Teletubby dolls in Pet Sematary. Wait, no, those damn things are way creepy even without a cursed graveyard changing them.
Sophia squirms. She doesn’t seem too uncomfortable. The roots aren’t squeezing her overly tight, merely keeping her still. Gonna be a real problem if she has to go to the bathroom before they let her go. It’s incredibly tempting to see if my claws cut brownies better than these roots. However, Dalton warned me not to piss them off. If he thinks something is too dangerous, I’m afraid to test it. This is a man who thought sneaking a giant incendiary device into a nest of a hundred hostile vampires was a reasonable business venture.
“So, umm… why did these little guys kidnap you?”
She huffs at the same bit of stray hair again. “They want me to blow up a village of leprechauns.”
I fix her hair out of her face. “Did you just say ‘leprechauns’?”
“Yeah. One of the brownies saw me at the big house do the darkness spell. They don’t understand I only made a bubble of darkness. The brownies think I’m powerful enough to change day into night, so they believe I can destroy the leprechauns. They’re having a war.”
“Umm…” I shouldn’t be hearing this. Never once in my life has LSD entered my system. The most hallucinogenic substance I’ve ever been exposed to is alcohol—unless Enya’s music counts. “That’s twice now you’ve said leprechauns.”
Sophia shrugs. “Brownies are real. Why not leprechauns?”
The child has a point.
“Okay, so… do they realize you are the absolute worst person in the world to ask to kill something?”
“I told them I don’t wanna hurt anyone, but they say they’re not gonna let me go until I help them win the war.”
Eyes closed, I seethe for a few seconds in silence, repeating ‘Dalton is the king of reckless ideas and he’s afraid to mess with brownies’ a few times. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why are brownies and leprechauns having a
war?” I’m really hoping the answer to my question isn’t ‘Uwe Boll is filming Leprechaun III: Brownout.’
“Umm, they didn’t say.” Sophia scrunches up her face. “My nose itches.”
I pull one sleeve down over my hand and fix her itchy nose problem, then face the—even larger—group of little flower-hooded psychos. “Will someone please either explain why you want my sister to attack leprechauns or let her go?”
A brownie in the front row points at her. “She go after she promise to help.”
Grr. “But we helped one of you guys escape the jar.”
“No. Accident.” A brownie shakes their head. “You not want set me free. Human woman throw metal at her and she knock it away. Accident. Not do nice thing.”
Sigh. Remind me to tell Dad never to run a D&D game for brownies. Talk about rules lawyering. “Why must the leprechauns die?”
“To stop the witches,” yells another brownie.
“Leprechauns have witches?” I blink.
“Human witches,” yells another tiny voice from the middle of the crowd.
I sigh at the ground. This is going to be painful. “What are the human witches doing?”
About a third of the brownies chirp, “Trying to destroy us!” at once.
Witches, I feel you. I wouldn’t mind baking a few brownies myself. “Why are the witches trying to destroy you?”
The first—I think—brownie who spoke English says, “Because of the human girl.”
“I didn’t do it!” yells Sophia.
“No, not this human girl.” A brownie points at her, then flails their little arms. “The other human girl.”
I’m a millimeter from screaming ‘what the F does this have to do with leprechauns,’ but I manage to find Zen. Of course, I sound like Mom when she’s super pissed off. You know the tone of voice parents use where they sound superficially calm, but everyone knows shit’s about to get real if small butts don’t kick into gear and do whatever immediately? Yeah, that’s me right now.
“How are the leprechauns responsible for the human girl being responsible for the witches trying to destroy you guys?”
“They’re not,” chirps one.
Damn good thing I’m undead, or I’d have just died to a massive aneurysm. Daydreaming about punting a brownie or four into the sun keeps me from shouting an F-bomb in front of Sophia. Instead, I just let out an, “Aaaargh!” I breathe hard in and out my nose for a few seconds, trying to calm down. Then ask, “Mmm mmm mm mmmm?”
Vampire Innocent (Book 9): An Introduction To Paranormal Diplomacy Page 25