“Eep.” She covers her mouth and starts crying. “I’m sorry!”
“Shh… it’s okay.”
Dad chuckles. “Relax, Soph. You didn’t notice the guy with the phone.”
“We haven’t even left the airport yet and already something strange…” Mom rubs her forehead.
Yeah, she is definitely in need of some sane time.
The prankster stands up, staring at the outlet.
“He’s gonna go over there and look,” I whisper. “Do something.”
Sophia concentrates on the plug. The charger pops out of the socket as if by telekinesis, though the woman with the phone doesn’t appear to notice it. Prankster boy wanders over, checks out the plug, and scratches his head, peering around in confusion. He seems to be searching for cameras like he’s the one being pranked on TV.
Hard to tell without supernaturally sharp vision from here, but I think the sticker is once again a two-dimensional image.
“So…” Mom looks at me. “Last chance to chicken out, Sarah.”
I grin at her. “It’s fine. You guys really need some relaxation.”
“You do understand why we’ve been pestering you about it, right?” asks Mom.
“She does, Allie.” Dad squeezes her hand. “It will be fine. None of the kids are too young and they’re all responsible.”
I exhale out my nose. Mom’s worried mostly about leaving me in charge because it’s impossible for me to be awake before 2:30 (give or take, mostly give, a few minutes). I won’t be able to help get the Littles out of bed in the morning, make sure they have breakfast, and shoo them out the door to school. On the upside, I will be awake before they get home.
“Ash is gonna stay over until you guys are back. She’ll get the morning shift.” I elbow Dad playfully. “You guys are totally freaking out over the trip. I told you Ash would be over like six times.”
Mom does this weird meditative breathing thing. She is excited about the vacation but also fighting off feelings of guilt for ‘leaving us.’ At some point, I think she promised herself she and Dad wouldn’t take a ‘no kids’ vacation until Sam was old enough to be home alone—maybe sixteen or seventeen. He’s still nine until June. He’d only been nine for a couple weeks before my life got turned on its head.
I’ve been a vampire for three months short of a year. Wow. Not even a whole year yet. It feels way longer.
“Relax and enjoy your vacation. I got this.” I smile at Mom.
“We did luck out having highly responsible kids.” Dad pats us all on the head, one after the next. “Though, Sierra would probably sit on the PlayStation while the house burned down around her and not notice.”
“Yeah, pretty much,” says Sierra without looking up from her handheld.
“She wouldn’t have to notice. If anything goes wrong, Soph will scream loud enough for the fire department to hear,” I say, snickering.
Sophia sighs.
“Don’t be mean,” says Mom.
Sophia sighs again, louder. “She’s not wrong.”
I chuckle. “Between the four of us, plus Ash, plus Blix, we’ll be okay.”
“Don’t forget we’re back on Wednesday,” says Mom.
“Yes, I remember.” I give her the ‘you’ve only told me this 472 times since you made the change’ smirk.
Mom proceeds to go over an exhaustive list of ‘emergency resources’ including where she put the phone numbers for the grandparents and all sorts of worst-case scenario stuff. She also explains to me for the 504th time how she’s planned out each dinner meal for us already.
“Allie…” Dad cuts her off when she starts worrying about if we’ll be safe after dark without them there. “If anyone tries to break into the house, they’re dealing with Sarah, Blix, at least one ghost, and Klepto. I legitimately feel sorry for the burglar.”
The Littles and I laugh.
“Seriously, Mom. The only thing that might go wrong is Ashley oversleeping and the Littles being late for school once.” I poke Sophia in the side. “But Sophia’s always up early, so we should be good.”
“You should worry about her summoning giant octopus tentacles,” deadpans Sam.
“I only tried opening a teleport gate to school once,” whisper-shouts Sophia.
Sam grins. “The wet slap was epic.”
“Wet… slap?” asks Mom.
“Umm.” Sophia fidgets. “Giant tentacle hit me in the face. Well, it kinda grabbed me.”
Sierra pantomimes reaching around randomly. “It looked like some creature from another world stuck its tentacle blindly into a bag, realized it grabbed Soph, and didn’t want her. Like, as soon as it noticed it had a human in its grip, it snapped back into the closet and slammed the door.”
“Eww, this dimension has humans,” deadpans Sam.
“I stink at apportation.” Sophia hangs her head.
“Attention passengers,” says a woman’s voice over a PA system. “Icelandair flight 680 will begin boarding in five minutes.”
The parents stand, forcing Sophia to slide out of Dad’s lap to her feet.
Mom faces me. “Hold out your hand.”
I do.
She pulls the Tahoe’s security fob out of her purse, raises it up, and hands it over to me like she’s passing on an ancient samurai sword to its next hereditary owner. “I trust you, dear, but there better not be a scratch on it.”
“Gah! Mom!” yells Sierra. “Don’t say that! Don’t you watch any of Dad’s movies?”
Mom blinks at her—Dad cracks up.
Sierra flails her arms. “Seriously. Every time someone says ‘there better not be a scratch on it,’ they come back to scorched wreckage.”
“We’re not in a movie.” Sam shakes his head. “This is Sarah we’re talking about. Mom and Dad aren’t going to come back to the burning wreck of the truck. They’re going to come back to a Tahoe with horns, a personality of its own, and an unhealthy obsession with Pawn Stars.”
Mom laughs nervously. Dad’s in tears. Even Sophia is giggling. Sierra unleashes the mother of epic eye-rolls.
“Seriously,” deadpans Sam. “You think I’m joking. Only the Pawn Stars part was a joke. Demons aren’t that evil.”
Dad looks at him. “If you summon a demon into your mother’s car, you’re going to be grounded for a month.”
“What if it’s a nice demon?” Sam tilts his head.
“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.” Mom rubs her forehead. “I prefer my SUV demon-free, thank you.”
Sam snaps his fingers in fake disappointment.
“If your mother wanted a demon-possessed truck, she’d have bought a Ford,” says Dad.
Mom sighs. “What’s wrong with Fords?”
“My father always used to pick on them.” Dad shrugs. “Seemed funny. Not really sure what the deal is. Never owned one.”
The airline calls for boarding of any passengers with special accommodation needs first.
We hug the parents in a group.
“Have fun, and try not to worry.” I smile.
“What she said.” Sierra yawns.
Sophia whimpers, clinging to them both.
“Don’t get into any fights with Vikings,” says Sam matter-of-factly.
“I’ll try to remember not to.” Dad pats him on the head.
We walk with them over to where the boarding line forms. Soon, they call for first-class passengers, and the parents make their way onto the boarding ramp. Sophia grabs onto me and cries like we’re sending them away forever. Okay, maybe not quite that bad. She’s not wailing, merely losing water rapidly from both eyes.
Sad movie music starts up out of nowhere.
The girls and I stare at Sam, who’s holding up his phone—the source of it.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Our parents are leaving us. Soph’s crying. The scene needed sad music.”
Sierra punches him in the shoulder. “Stop. You’re making her cry harder.”
I squeeze Soph. “Why are you crying? They’re only going away for like a week.”
Sophia abruptly stops weeping. She wipes her face, then peers up at me. “Umm. I dunno. They’ve never gone away before. Wasn’t sure how to handle it.”
“She needs new software.” Sam shrugs one shoulder. “Crying is her default response to unexpected errors.”
“Drama queen,” says Sierra.
“Oh, no!” whispers Sophia. “They’re not gonna be here for my dance recital Saturday.”
“Oh, the horror,” mutters Sierra.
I palm her head and give a light ‘don’t tease Soph’ shove. Sierra laughs at me.
Sophia looks down, sniffles once, then her lip quivers.
Before the waterworks start up again, I pull her into a hug. “Chill. I’ll record the entire thing so they can watch it when they get back. And you just had the Les Mis one in February.”
“Really? You’re gonna go?” Sophia’s blue eyes glimmer with happiness.
“Yeah. Wouldn’t miss it if—”
“Stop!” yells Sierra. “Do not say anything else or you’ll jinx it. Just say you won’t miss it.”
I point at her. “What she said.”
I usher the Littles over to the window, clenching my jaw in response to the searing sunlight. No smoke at least, so I’m not in danger. “Let’s watch them take off, then we can go home.”
“Are we superstitious now?” Sam looks back and forth between me and Sierra.
“Yeah.” I whistle. “Just a little.”
8
Vampire Mistress… of the Household
It’s surely a little too early to congratulate myself on not blowing up the house.
We haven’t been back from the airport long enough for self-praise. The only thing scarier than the ride home—Tahoe full of kids when I can barely see due to sunlight was harrowing—is being the adult in the house. This has nothing to do with vampires or any of the supernatural stuff beyond how unlikely it would’ve been for the parents to take a vacation without us if none of the weird stuff ever happened.
I watched a cable movie with Mom a while ago where a girl younger than me ended up having to take care of her younger siblings after their parents died. Think she was seventeen in the story… not really sure how ‘the authorities’ didn’t take them all into foster care, but whatever. They based it on true events, which for all I know only means the girl’s name matched reality. ‘Based on a true story’ is code for ‘the story was kinda boring, so we embellished a ton.’
Still, somewhere out in the world, a girl my age not only had to babysit, but work and go to school all at the same time. There are plenty of single mothers my age who survive much more harrowing circumstances than my life. I can handle things until next Wednesday. After all, I made it to 5:13 p.m. the day the parents left and nothing’s caught fire or triggered an interdimensional rift. One whole hour.
Almost.
Okay, so we’ve been in the door forty-six minutes.
Go me!
Hate to say it but without the vampire stuff, I might’ve spent most of my time hanging out with Ash or Michelle and letting the Littles run wild. Not quite the Eighties movie cliché of throwing a wild party when the parents are gone, but not exactly the most responsible thing. It’s tempting to skip a week of classes so I’m home in case something happens… but Ashley talked me out of it. More annoying is having to drive again. Sunset’s sneaking up on 6:00 p.m., so if I wait for it to go down before flying to school, I’m going to be late on Wednesday and Friday since my comp sci class starts at six. As soon as daylight savings kicks in on the eighth, I’ll have to drive to school every night.
Ugh.
Okay, so I’m spoiled. Any person my age should be thrilled to have a car of their own, even a Nissan Sentra older than my little brother. And yes, I’m still intending to drive it. Not going to touch the Tahoe unless I need to transport the entire family somewhere.
So yeah, it’s after five. Fortunately, it’s still Saturday, so no class. I should probably start on dinner. Mom left me a list of meals, complete with every ingredient listed. If anyone looked at our fridge or cabinets now, they’d think we stocked up to weather a nuclear apocalypse.
At least Saturday night is an easy one: spaghetti with meatballs.
I’m a few minutes in to squishing ground beef between my fingers, mixing in breadcrumbs and such when Sam returns from Daryl’s house. It’s faster for him to cut across the backyard. He slides the patio door shut and stands there watching me knead the contents of the giant bowl.
When he doesn’t say or do anything for several minutes, I glance at him. “What’s up?”
He hugs me. “The definition of love is doing something for others when you get nothing out of it.”
“Random.” I chuckle.
“You’re cooking food for us and don’t have to eat.”
I’d ruffle his hair, but my hands are covered in food. “I do get something out of it. I kinda like you guys. Letting you starve would make me feel bad.”
He laughs. “Wow, you’re making a lot.”
“Yeah. Hunter and Ronan are coming over for dinner,’ I say, still mushing the meatball mix between my fingers. Is it weird to say this feels nastier than spearing my hand into someone’s guts? Yeah, most vampire guts are cold, too… but not so slimy.
Pretty sure I’m warm inside when awake.
Hunter’s never complained about coldness.
“When’s it gonna be ready?” asks Sam.
“Like half an hour or forty minutes, I guess.”
“Cool.” He runs off to his room.
A PlayStation explosion shakes the house, followed by Sierra blowing up cursing in the living room. Grr. Should I yell at her or let it go? Bad words don’t bother me the way they bug Mom and Dad. Honestly, when you’ve set up a perfect sniper position and some guy on the other team sneaks up on you, plants C4 between your legs, and sneaks away undetected, then sets the charge off, launching your character like a missile across the entire map—it’s worth a few F-bombs. Can’t fault her that. Even if scope-eye was her fault. Nah. The ’rents don’t object to bad words as much as they object to her being eleven and using them. Mom’s no stranger to swearing, especially when she’s on a tedious case.
Time to take a passive-aggressive tack here. I’m not going to say anything about Sierra screaming swear words at the game. She’ll probably get used to it and forget herself once the ’rents are home, then do it again and get in trouble. Saves me from having to be the bad guy. Don’t care if not wanting to start an argument with her is a shallow reason to ignore her swearing. Not like coarse language hurled at a TV screen hurt anyone. She’s not sending it over the voice chat, and better she shout bad words than break stuff. Sierra is still kinda nervous about revealing herself as a young girl over voice chat ever since those idiots made all sorts of sexually inappropriate comments at her. Could be another reason she’s so into wanting to learn how to use a sword. Don’t think it’s legal to wear a sword around outside in the modern era, so I question the practicality of it, but whatever. She enjoys it.
Anyway, I have meatballs to squish. Gah, the noises coming from the bowl are disgusting. Like a pair of giant slugs mud wrestling.
Talk about surreal.
Everyone’s at the dinner table and I’m in Mom’s usual spot. Hunter’s at the other end where Dad sits. The Littles, plus Ronan and Ashley are around the sides. Even Blix has a plate. It doesn’t feel like I’m grave-jumping Mom, but the scene in front of me is giving me flash-forward to a daydream of an impossible future. Maybe I’m not so far removed from my age after all. The idea of Hunter and I having a family is squarely in ‘yeah right’ territory. Obviously, I can’t have kids, but adoption’s a thing. Still, I’m not ready for responsibility of this magnitude.
Ashley, I am not.
She can’t wait to have kids. I don’t mean that literally. She’s not trying to get pregnant now, merely looking forward to when th
e time is right. Sitting in Mom’s chair is like a preview, but nah. I’m happy being eighteen. Well, technically nineteen—but I don’t feel any different. Probably because nothing about me has changed.
Sad thing is, we’re in the minority having everyone at the table for dinner. Guess with Dad working at home for the past like eight years, it’s been normal for us to have ‘real’ dinners more often than not as he had time to cook.
It’s weird feeling like the mom. I’m supposed to be the adult in the room, but it feels like I need to ask someone ‘higher up’ than me for advice on every little thing. Did Mom ever feel like this? Did she call Grandma six times a day when she first had me? Is she still worried about screwing up? You’d think after dealing with a mess like what happened in London, the concept of being responsible for my siblings in the comfort of our house wouldn’t be so intimidating. Like seriously. I can negotiate peace between multiple groups of supposedly mythological creatures, but enforcing bedtime is stressing me out?
Sigh.
The parents going away on vacation was my idea after all. They needed a break. Doesn’t stop me from missing having them around. Oh, dammit. I understand now. This is like a tiny preview of fifty years from now when they’re gone for good. Bleh. Short of turning them both into vampires, which neither wants, there isn’t anything I can do about eventually losing them. I’m going to have to get used to the idea someday. Or not… maybe they’ll haunt me. Honestly, even without the vampire stuff, the day would’ve come where I lost them. The normal course of events, as they say. Abnormal is parents losing their kids, like mine almost did.
Okay, now I’m angry at Scott all over again.
I distract myself by imagining a sitcom of me living here with my parents’ elderly ghosts, occasionally visited by one of the sibs all grown up. I think Dad’s going to be hilarious as an old man. Is it weird of me to hope they end up haunting the place? No idea what makes some people remain as spirits while others don’t. I should say the majority do not. Whether it’s reincarnation, Heaven, oblivion, or something else no one’s ever even thought of, who knows. Darren Anderson, the leader of the local Aurora Aurea mystics, believes in reincarnation. He said the number of people alive at any one time capable of invoking real magic has been relatively constant for millennia. Makes me wonder what happens if an Academic vampire has mystical gifts. They’ll hang onto it for way longer than a mortal. Is that cheating? Like the selfish kid hogging the toy at daycare?
Vampire Innocent (Book 10): A Vampire’s Guide To Adulting Page 9