An instant before takeoff, the crunch of shoes on pavement stalls me. Someone’s coming up behind me. Great. Figures I pick a spot where a mugger’s waiting for a victim. For an instant, I tense up, bracing for attack. It’s not easy to disregard six or so years of hypervigilance. Ever since Mom gave me ‘the talk’ around twelve, being anywhere alone is scary, worse at night. Don’t have to worry about it anymore—provided my attacker isn’t a vampire—but the scenario still triggers an instinctual response.
Does it mean I’m still mentally human or just a chicken?
The dude continues walking toward me at an unhurried pace. Probably thinks I haven’t noticed him. Most people can’t hear the noise sneaker soles make on blacktop. It is a pretty bizarre sound, honestly. Similar to slowly biting down on a rice cake plus a little bit of rubbery squeaking.
When he reaches about six feet behind me, the smell hits. Oh. My. God.
An ammonia fire scorches my nostrils. He stinks like he threw whiskey vomit up all over himself, crapped his pants, then sunbaked in the same clothes for several days. Good thing I can hold my breath forever.
Don’t even want to know what his blood would taste like.
“Round here somewhere,” mutters the guy. “Lizard man stashed it. Where ya at?”
I turn my head, peering back over my shoulder at him. Guy’s only a little older than me. His long, unkempt brown hair is down to his waist, almost touching his grungy jeans. He doesn’t seem to notice I’m here. His thoughts are all over the place. The only thing even close to a coherent theme rattling around in his brain is a six-foot anthropomorphic talking lizard man who told him he stashed some meth behind this 7-11 to keep the CIA from finding it. Whoa. This guy’s on something pretty damn strong. Or he’s legit nuts. Maybe both. High and crazy.
Wow. Okay, he’s not a creep coming to assault me.
My fear shifts entirely to pity. I back out of his way, letting him go on about his night hunting for the imaginary drugs and the lizard prophet. Good luck dude. Hope you find your crystal myth.
Speaking of crazy, I wonder what’s going on with the Peters brothers. No, not calling them nuts, but ‘crazy’ made me think of the bizarre neighbors. After flying up to about 200 feet, well out of sight from anyone on the ground, I pull out my phone and check the texts I forced myself not to look at before. Have to save battery in case home calls. Answering one non-essential text would’ve suckered me into burning my battery away on texting for hours. When trapped in an empty house, even talking to Cody and Ben about their nutty conspiracy theories would’ve been welcome.
Some poor realtor is going to walk into the place, see my explosion of dust doves on the wall, dust angels randomly on the floor, and have a complete WTF moment. I laugh to myself at the imagined scene and open the window to Cody’s messages.
Hmm. They heard screaming coming from the creepy house down the street from them. Ben insists a male voice yelled for help, but Cody didn’t hear it. They talk about watching the video camera, thinking someone’s being chased around inside … and going to check it out in person.
Their last message came in over an hour ago.
‹Hey guys. What happened?›
I wait a minute.
Two minutes.
‹Hey, you guys there?›
Another two minutes, no response.
Dammit!
I flip to Ashley’s messenger window. ‹Something might have come up. Peters boys are like lemmings. Think they ran off a cliff. They’re right around here in SoCal… gonna pop over there and check on them. I shouldn’t have let them remember.›
Meh. Those two would have ‘gone after vampires’ anyway. It’s probably not my fault they are in trouble. Most likely, the cops picked them up for trespassing on the ordinary—but weird—neighbor’s lawn. If so, I should let things play out normally. Maybe they’ll learn. But, I have to at least go look to satisfy my guilty conscience.
Ventura, California isn’t too far away from here according to Google Maps. Oh, look. It’s right next to Los Padres Forest… the area full of wild lawless vampires according to Jermaine.
Oh, shit. Could the boys be right?
19
Vampire Command Center
San Diego to Ventura is about 140 miles in a straight line.
I must be having a mild freakout since it takes me less than an hour to fly there. Not much less, but fifty-six minutes is still less than an hour. Between the exertion of flying faster than normal and spending the day playing chicken with intense sunlight, I can’t resist the urge to pounce on the first person I see below me.
Sorry, random guy walking across an enormous field alone at night.
It’s probably a farm or something. Whatever. Sometimes a girl would really kill for a cheeseburger. Fortunately, while my diet has the potential to be more than metaphorical in terms of killing someone to eat, I am not crazy hungry, merely super hungry.
Anyway, this poor farmer happened to be in the right place at the right time. All alone out in the middle of the field. Headlights stream by on a road off to our left—East Harbor Boulevard according to my phone. We’re too far away for anyone to notice me drop out of the air, knock the guy flat to the ground, and climb on top of him.
Dude puts up a bit of a fight at first, screaming and trying to throw me off while yelling in Spanish about Chupacabra. He does manage to toss me aside—hey, I don’t weigh much—but the instant we make eye contact, he’s mine. Dude goes limp. I climb on top of him again. Another thing I have to thank Scott for… whenever my brain doesn’t concoct an opinion of a person before biting them, their blood tastes like cheeseburger. The first blood meal I ever consumed came from him—via thermos from Dalton. Scott’s death probably put at least one Burger King out of business considering how often he ate there.
When I’m done drinking from the guy, I leave him a memory of a dog running out of nowhere, crashing into him, and taking off to explain why he’s going to come back to his senses lying on the ground.
Into the air once more I go.
The boys mentioned they lived in Ventura soon after we began Facebook chatting. When we met at the Lewis and Clark Caverns campsite, they’d only told me they lived in Southern California. This place has palm trees. Vampires should not be here. At least, vampires capable of being awake before sunset should not be here. Nuclear sunlight isn’t an issue when it’s impossible to be awake unless it’s dark.
While they told me the city, they never gave me an address. Honestly, why would they? I live a thousand miles away. Even them popping up on Facebook surprised me. I never expected to see or hear from them again after our road trip ended. Of course, now I’m worried sick they’ve gotten themselves into trouble. Jermaine talking about the vampiric political system—or lack of it—in this area has me on edge, and not only for the boys. By my thinking, any vampire who would want to live in an area where no organized effort is made to be civilized is probably prone to violence. Not nice people. I don’t feel like being the target of a random sport attack or end up kidnapped by a gang of wild Lost Ones.
Yeah, good chance I’m panicking and worrying too much.
Half the time this crazy shit happens in my life, it feels like I’ve fallen into one of Dad’s Eighties movies. Depending on cheese factor, I’m going to end up forced into a combat skateboard event for my unlife or wind up chained to the front end of a post-apocalyptic doom wagon. Yes, Dad has a movie about post nuclear vampire gangs. I don’t remember the name of it but it exists. Also, yes… it’s every bit as lame as it sounds. How lame? The main bad guy is named Nuke Fang.
Right, so I’m in Ventura. I’ve got the city part down, but have no idea where in said city to find the Peters clan. Suppose the best way for me to find out is to mentally influence a cop to look them up in the system. If I was in one of Dad’s cheesy movies, something impossibly convenient would happen right about—ping.
I blink, then look down at the phone in my hand.
Facebook chat message from Ben: ‹Hey
, we’re back. What’s up?›
Oh, son of a bitch.
Another freaky cool thing about being a vampire. I can thumb-type as fast as normal people can speak. Wait, that doesn’t make me a vampire. It makes me a tween girl. ‹You guys scared the hell out of me. Thought something happened to you. Already in Ventura to check on you.›
‹Oh, wow. Cool! You really came down here?›
‹Yeah. Other issues brought me to SoCal. Was about to go home when you didn’t answer texts after saying you were gonna go snooping around.› I exhale hard, most of the concern I had for them having morphed into irritation. Mostly at myself for panicking, not so much at them.
‹Sorry. Parents made us go shopping with them. Left the phone in the truck. Hey can you help us out since you’re already down here?›
‹You guys are nuts. Your neighbors are not vampires.›
‹Can you tell?›
I stare at the stars. Ugh. Here we go. Whatever. I’m already here. ‹If I come over and tell you these people are not vampires, will you believe me?›
‹Totally. Swear. As long as you like actually check and don’t just say it.›
All right. The least I can do is stop these two guys from ending up in juvenile detention for breaking into a house or whatever other trouble they get into. ‹Okay. I’m by a farm. What’s your address?›
They send the address, all the way at the east end of the city, about a mile and a half from where I landed. Easy peasy. They describe their house as being a small two-story, powder blue, covered in ‘strange crap’ like giant dreamcatchers and mystical crystals their mother thinks wards off bad energy.
Hmm. Sunflower Street. Sounds like something straight out of a movie. One of those seemingly innocent ‘horror but not really scary’ movies that kids think is lame or funny but ends up giving them nightmares for years. It isn’t too difficult to find despite the relative sameness of the houses in the suburban neighborhood. I slip out of the air, gliding straight down between two houses across the street from theirs, a nice spot too dark for anyone to see me land.
The boys are waiting for me out on their porch. And wow. They look older. It’s only been like eight months since I saw them and they’re both taller. Ben’s a year younger than Cody. I distinctly remember his eyes being an inch or two below mine. We’re now the same height. Other than getting taller, they haven’t changed much. Still the same kinda-long light brown hair and overacted ‘vampire hunter’ bravado. Ninety-eight percent chance Cody has a camouflage bandanna in his pocket. Speaking of pocket, something I’m not entirely comfortable with is hanging out of his jacket. No, nothing dirty.
It’s a fluorescent orange gun, and not a super-soaker.
The whole thing is bright orange. I’ve seen enough movies to recognize a flare pistol. Of course, he’s carrying one of those thinking it will ignite a vampire like a dried-out Christmas tree. Considering Glim’s feelings toward a single birthday candle, a flare gun might actually be a threat… at least to Shadows. I think my body is ‘moist’ enough not to immolate in seconds.
“Uhh, what’s that?” I point at it.
“Insurance,’ says Cody, trying to do an impression of an action movie tough guy. Note, the ‘trying.’
“Flare gun.” Ben slaps him on the shoulder. “He picked it up at a garage sale last summer. Figure it’ll one-shot a vampire. Cody thinks you’re hot, but are you flammable?”
Cody blushes hard.
He’s gotten over his crush on me, but he is embarrassed by his brother’s joke, worse because neither of them have girlfriends. Two boys who spend most of their time ‘hunting vampires’ and reading vampire comic books haven’t managed to find girls yet. Surprising. There’s gotta be a girl or two their age out there who’s into horror comics and can’t wait to sit in the bushes spying on someone’s house for hours at night. She might not be in this state, but she’s gotta be out there. Statistical probability.
I spent most of my time in high school being relatively invisible. Not too popular, not too nerdy. These two let their freak flag fly. Most of their friends think they’re ‘out there,’ believing in monsters and space aliens and healing crystals. They don’t, by the way. Believe in healing crystals, I mean. Mrs. Peters does. Oh, boy does she. There’s an eight pound one in the front window of the house like the lamp from Christmas Story. There for all the neighbors to see in its gleaming amethyst glory.
Anyway – nothing too abnormal going on in their heads. Cody is no longer daydreaming about me rising out of a pool in a string bikini and swinging my wet hair over my head. I’m ‘one of the guys.’ Part of their ‘vampire hunting team.’ Ugh. These two are totally going to get themselves killed if they run into a real vampire. On the plus side, they’re not afraid of me.
“I don’t think I’m any more flammable than a normal person. But we are also not testing this. Please be careful. Those things are dangerous.”
“It’s a weapon. It’s supposed to be dangerous,” says Cody, still trying to do Arnold Stallone or Sly Schwarzenegger. Can’t tell what he’s going for. Oh, wait. I think he’s attempting Charlie Sheen as an action hero. Works, since he’s definitely more Hot Shots than Rambo.
Heh. I can’t help but grin. “Right… so what—”
“Check this out.” Ben grabs my hand and drags me in the front door.
I could resist, but I gotta see where this goes.
Mr. Peters is in the living room watching some manner of sports. He pays us no attention, mostly because we cross behind him to the stairs and go up. Other than the excessive amount of quasi-mystical stuff (talismans, more dreamcatchers, crystals, pendants, moon symbols) everywhere, the house seems pretty normal.
The boys’ bedrooms stand opposite each other not far from the top of the stairs, a bathroom and the parents’ bedroom farther off down the hall. Ben leads me into the door on the right. Yeah, wow. I’m totally in a cheesy movie. His bedroom is so stereotypical it hurts. I gaze around in stunned disbelief at comic posters, band posters, two Sports Illustrated swimsuit posters, various models of military planes, ninja weapons, two swords, combat knives hanging on the walls, a set of nunchakus, and a gradually collapsing bookshelf littered with soda bottle caps and GI Joe figures he probably hasn’t touched in years. And yes, piles and piles of comic books stacked wherever he can put them. About the only thing missing is the bed shaped like a spaceship or race car. Bet he had one but outgrew it.
Something smells strongly of grape. I don’t see any obvious source, so I’m going with spilled soda on the rug from months ago.
A single, small dreamcatcher on the inside of the door has to be his mother’s demand.
He rushes over to his computer desk, which boasts an impressive three flat-panel monitors as well as a laptop. None of the gear looks brand new, most likely all hand-me-downs from Dad or bought used.
“Welcome to vampire command.” Ben gestures at the screens.
“This is where the magic happens.” Cody wags his eyebrows.
“Yeah, I’m sure.” I whistle. Not gonna ask what kind of magic goes on in the bedroom of a teenage boy.
Ben sits in the chair and taps the keyboard. The monitors flicker to life. Two have a Windows desktop over wallpaper based on a horror comic I don’t recognize. Monitor three is full-screen showing video from a camera in bushes facing a huge, white house in a style completely unlike all the other houses in the area. The place looks older, as if it had been built in the early 1900s. White siding, black roof… totally the setting for a scary movie. Okay, now I understand why they’re going nuts about these neighbors. Anyone living in a micro-mansion and acting creepy is going to inspire overactive imaginations. Worse for Cody and Ben since they know vampires exist.
Two relatively large guys in dark coats emerge from a side door into a small paved lot—wow, this house has a driveway so big it’s more of a parking lot—and get into a black van. The pair do look shady. Both are older, in their fifties or sixties, tall, broad-shouldered, kinda dark c
omplexions with unibrows. Maybe Greek or Sicilian. Neither man appears to be in a good mood, as if they’ve been called in to work on a day off or are on their way to break someone’s legs for not paying a debt.
“They go out together like this about once a week.” Cody points at the first screen. “Pull up file thirty-six.”
“Oh, yeah.” Ben opens a video player app, scrolls down a file list, and double clicks one. “We recorded this Wednesday.”
Another window opens showing the same view out of the bush as monitor three, again at night. Ben fast-forwards to the nineteen-minute mark. The same black van rolls into view from off camera, parking in roughly the same spot where the two men found it tonight. The guys exit the van, stroll around to the back end, and drag a bundle out.
Okay, I gotta say… it really does look like a person wrapped in a blanket. The somewhat younger looking of the two carries it away to the house effortlessly, like it’s a fake Halloween prop made of empty plastic bottles in the shape of a dead body while the other guy shuts the van doors before following him. Hmm. Anyone seeing them wouldn’t think it’s a real body purely due to how easily the man carried it. Dead humans are much heavier than most people think. Not only are they literal dead weight, they’re cumbersome. Even strong people transporting a body appear to be exerting effort. Not this guy.
Two possibilities. Either he’s a vampire—or werewolf—and incredibly strong, or the boys are paranoid and the bundle didn’t contain human remains or an unconscious person. Transporting dead bodies doesn’t fit anything a vampire would do, at least not transporting them into their residence. So, either they went for takeout and brought an unconscious meal home, or something else is going on here.
Hmm. I fold my arms. “It does and doesn’t look like a body.”
The boys stare at me.
“How can it be both?” asks Ben.
“Schrodinger’s corpse?” Cody laughs.
I chuckle. “Shape matches, but it doesn’t look heavy enough to be a person.”
Vampire Innocent (Book 10): A Vampire’s Guide To Adulting Page 21