“Oh, nothing. Just freaking out when you didn’t answer my text. I thought something happened to you.”
“So, nothing blew up?”
“No. I’m cool. Chelle’s fine. But we were both in full panic mode because you went link-dead.”
“I stuck my nose somewhere it didn’t belong and wound up locked in a room for a while. I’ll give you the deets later, offline.”
“Okay. Want me to come over?”
“Yeah, that’d be cool. But, I need to do something first. Gimme like an hour or so. I’ll call you as soon as I’m back.”
“Can I go with you?”
“Umm.” Hoping to fool the NSA guy listening to our conversation, I put on a fake melodramatic voice. “Mere mortals don’t belong where I’m about to go.”
“Oh, ha ha. So I’m a mere mortal now?”
“Subtle as a brick, Ash.” I giggle.
“Ohhh. Right. Sorry. Gotcha. Okay, call me when you’re home.”
“First thing.”
She hangs up.
I drag myself out of bed. Hmm. Cute and nonthreatening would probably be the best choice. I don’t have anything near as frilly as what Aurélie dressed me in for that party. The best I can do is a pink Hello Kitty T-shirt and a frilly, tiered skirt, also pink. Yeah, it’s a little much. But my tastes swing back and forth. I had a girly period. Sue me.
After grabbing pink fuzzy socks, I head upstairs.
Dad takes one look at me and bursts into laughter.
“What?” I scowl at him.
“Is that supposed to be a Harley Quinn thing?” He asks.
“Oh, dear,” says Mom. “You’re a little heavy-handed with the makeup. But the outfit is adorable. You seriously look like you’re thirteen.”
“Tall for thirteen,” says Dad.
Head bowed, I sigh. “Sophia.”
And crap. I forgot the spyglass.
I head back downstairs, stopping at the bathroom to wash my sister’s makeup tutorial off. Yeah she painted my face geisha white with red spots on my cheeks and blue eye shadow. Last time I checked, eyeshadow wasn’t supposed to extend up past the brows. Annoying and cute all at the same time. Damn, I must’ve really been out cold. I’ll blame it on the large amount of broken bones I had to deal with. Probably wore me out.
Face clean, spyglass in one hand, socks in the other, I head back upstairs. At the front door, I flop on the chair by the shelf-o’-shoes, and pull on my sneakers.
“Sarah?” calls Mom from the dining room.
“Yeah?”
“I need you to take Sophia to dance class.”
“Aww, Mom.” I sigh at the wall. “I have to run a priceless artifact across town to a psychopathic two-century old vampire and stop a war from breaking out among the undead.”
Mom pokes her head into the living room. “It can wait a few hours for your little sister.”
I huff. “I’m not being sarcastic. What I said is literal serious.”
“If war hasn’t broken out yet, another two hours won’t make a difference.” Her head wobbles side to side; she’s clearly frustrated to death. “I’ve got thirteen hours left to do about thirty hours of prep for a case that’s going to court tomorrow. Your sister needs you.”
“Can’t Dad take her?”
Sophia, already in her leotard, creeps into the room behind Mom, giving me a ‘do you hate me?’ stare.
“He’s off at some programmers’ technology conference his job’s sending him to. He won’t be back until around eleven.”
“Okay, okay.” I hold my arms out to Sophia. “Of course I’ll take her.”
She grins and runs into a hug. “You tried to bail on me.”
“A bunch of vampires are going to go to war if I don’t do something. But…” I glance at Mom. “They can wait for your class.”
“Yay!” She bounces on her toes.
I snag the keys for the Yukon and go outside. Sophia twirls and skips along behind me. The truck chirps when I hit the unlock button. For safekeeping, I wrap the spyglass in a towel and stuff it in one of the storage bins in the sidewall of the cargo area. No one would imagine I’d bring it with me to a dance class, and if any of the vampires have some weird supernatural way to find it, I don’t want it anywhere near my family.
Now, all I have to worry about is some mortal idiot stealing the truck. After the luck I had yesterday, that wouldn’t shock me. At least Dad wasn’t upset about the parking ticket. He’s even going to deal with it. I pull myself up into the seat and whistle at the view. Wow, going from driving the Sentra yesterday to this thing is a whoa moment. So high up. I take a second to adjust the seat and mirrors. Thankfully, Mom and I aren’t too far off in size.
Hungry Like the Wolf fills the truck as soon as I start it.
Sophia makes a ‘what the heck is this’ face.
“Mom likes old music.” I poke the preset for a channel with current stuff, and something kinda Taylor-Swifty comes on but I don’t think it’s her. It’s good enough for Sophia, and she bops her head to it as I pull out of the driveway and negotiate a K-turn.
A few minutes into the ride, it occurs to me that Sophia’s stopped reacting to the music and stares fixed forward with a frightened expression. My first instinct, of course, is to look around for whatever vampire is messing with her. Okay, that’s probably an overreaction.
“Something wrong?” I ask.
“Umm. We got a performance next week.”
“So? Isn’t that a good thing?”
She fidgets. “There’s gonna be like actual people there, watching.”
“As opposed to an audience of mannequins?”
Sophia laughs. “No silly. We usually just dance in the studio. There’s a couple parents there, but no like people.”
I snicker. “Sounds like you’ve got stage fright.”
“It’s so embarrassing.”
“What is?”
“People watching us.”
“I don’t think you’re worried about people simply watching you.”
“Yes I am.”
We get stuck at a red light, so I look over at her. “You’re worried about making a mistake and people seeing you make a mistake.”
She cringes. “Yeah.”
“Well, don’t.” I poke her in the belly. “You’re a great dancer. You have nothing to be embarrassed about. Besides, it can’t possibly be worse than when I woke up.”
“You woke up late.”
“I mean when I woke up as a vampire.”
Her eyes go wide. “What happened?”
“Well… you know the police found me and thought I was dead.”
“Yeah,” she whispers.
“When they find people they think are dead they put them in a place with special refrigerators.”
“I know what a morgue is, doofus.”
I laugh, and resume driving as the light changes. Alas, the van in front of us is in no hurry to get anywhere. “They don’t usually let people keep their clothes when they stick them in the morgue.”
Her eyes widen and her mouth shrinks into the cutest ‘oh hell no’ expression I’ve ever seen.
“Yeah, so after I got out of there, there I was running through the woods with nothing on. Almost fell into a giant pool of nasty water, but I figured out I can fly. Then I wound up streaking down the street in Woodinville trying to get home.”
Sophia gasps, blushes, and bursts into a fit of giggling. “No way. Oh. My. Gawd. I would’ve died.”
I purse my lips. Yeah. I’m gonna let that one go right on by. “Everyone was staring at me. A couple people laughed. A few ran over thinking I needed help.”
She shivers.
“There’s nothing that could possibly happen to you while dancing that would be anywhere near as embarrassing as that.” I again poke her in the side, making the giggling worse.
“Wow, yeah.” She exhales. “I would’ve probably just stayed in the cooler.”
“With the other bodies?” I ask.
Her head turns toward me in horror movie slow motion, her voice a squeaky whisper, “They put you next to dead people?”
I nod.
“Oh, eww! Eww! Eww!” She shivers.
“And that’s why ran outside in my birthday suit. Eww is right.”
The dance school, or at least the strip mall it’s in, comes up on the left. I slow to a stop and flick on the blinker.
Sophia makes faces like she’s picturing being stranded outside with no clothes. She looks mortified, but also can’t stop giggling. Watching her gets me giggling, and we laugh like idiots all the way around the lot until I pull into a space.
“Really, Soph. Don’t stress it. You’re good at this. You like it, and you have nothing to be embarrassed about. Besides. If you do fall over, I’ll just make the whole audience forget they saw that.”
She stares up at me. “Really?”
I ripped Scott’s head off to protect my family. A little light mind wiping is nothing. “Absolutely.”
Two Cougars and a Tiger
23
So… I wind up inside the studio, sitting along a row of benches with about thirteen moms and two dads. Except for the three-year-old trying her hardest to copy her big sister, I’m the youngest person in the cheering section.
Know what’s really disturbing? Being in a room full of tweens and smelling treats.
One kid gives off a cotton candy scent. Another like white chocolate. That girl in the too-skimpy outfit smells like skittles. To most people, this place probably reeks of kid sweat and coffee (all three instructors have Starbucks cups permanently grafted onto their left hands), but to me, I’m in a confectioner’s shop.
Ugh.
Fortunately, I’m not hungry at all.
Besides, the woman on my left is wearing so much perfume I think it’s burning out the inside of my sinuses. She’s older than my mom but dressed like she’s hoping to be an extra in a Madonna video. The woman to my right is not quite as loudly dressed, but she’s also fifty-going-on-twenty-five.
I can’t really tell which tween belongs to which of the ‘older and fighting it every step of the way’ moms, but they’re cheering whenever any kid does something well. There’s even two boys in the mix, one pale and one black kid. The pale one’s so skinny he makes Sophia look average. He has to be part elf. Like from Lord of the Rings or something. I swear, the boy’s a liquid in midnight leotards. The other boy isn’t quite as graceful, and by that, I mean he moves like a trained human instead of a supernatural creature. He’s also way muscular for a maybe eleven-year-old, but toned, not like an inflatable body builder. If they do that pairing thing where the guy ballet dancer tosses the girl into the air, he’d probably launch Sophia through the ceiling.
That ridiculous thought makes me laugh, and gets some dark looks from the crowd of moms.
“Alexis,” yells a severe-looking woman in a skirt suit with her black hair in a tight bun. “You’re not lifting your leg high enough.”
I track her gaze to the girl in the way-too-sexy-for-a-ten-year-old outfit. It’s the same girl my Mom noticed a week or so ago. That top is writing a check her chest can’t cash yet. The kid’s black pixie cut is matted to her head from sweat, and she has the manic expression of a show dog terrified of being whipped for missing a jump.
Ugh. I hate that woman and I don’t even know her.
The teachers wander the rows of kids going over the same series of moves for practice. Most of the moms are either watching their offspring or reading, or chatting about their jobs. The women on either side of me keep cheering every kid on, but they occasionally talk over my head (literally) about this guy Raul. I sincerely doubt that’s his real name. Apparently, the one trying to get into a Madonna video is dating a dude only two years older than me. Eww.
And yeah. I know who Madonna is. My dad is permanently stuck in the eighties.
“You’re slouching, Alexis,” yells the woman I dislike.
Alexis stiffens her posture, holding her arms up, fingertips touching above her head as she pirouettes.
“Smile!” shouts her mother.
The little girl’s face looks like a drum made out of human skin. That’s the most forced look I’ve ever seen.
Grr.
One of the teachers shoots that woman a ‘knock it off’ stare.
A somewhat chubby girl loses her balance while spinning and lands on her butt. Some of the kids chuckle. Both older women beside me yell encouragement to her to get up and keep trying. The girl buries her face in her hands and cries silently. Sophia, one space behind and to the girl’s left, darts over and slides to a stop kneeling beside her. She whispers at the other girl for a moment. When the crying kid looks up, Sophia points at me. The thicker girl gawks in my direction and blushes.
Oh. Great. No that’s not embarrassing at all. I have a feeling I know exactly what Sophia just told her about. Sophia tugs on the girl’s arm and gets her to stand up again. Well, that’s something. I smile at them.
“Alexis! For God’s sake, are you even trying?” shouts the woman with the bun. “You’re supposed to be spinning. You’re as stiff as a music box figurine!”
For an instant, I swear the kid’s about to scream, “You told me to stop slouching!” but she freezes up, paralyzed by conflicting demands.
That girl looks utterly miserable.
I stare at her until she feels it, and makes eye contact with me. The gossamer barrier around her thoughts gives way, and I peek into her head. Her mother is forcing her to attend this class and the poor girl hates every minute of it. My curiosity draws different thoughts to the surface like beckoning wisps of smoke out of a void. A year or so ago, she liked dancing, but her mother became obsessed with the idea that her kid would eventually go professional, wind up on TV, and they’d all be rich. The kid has grown to despise this place and anything even remotely connected to dancing. Unfortunately, she’s terrified of displeasing her mother so she won’t say a thing about how much she hates these classes, especially with the constant public criticism. Not to mention the hours she’s made to practice every day at home. The mother even convinced her that she’ll only succeed if she shows as much skin as possible because ‘that’s what the media wants’.
Good grief woman. Your daughter is ten. I’ve heard of tiger moms before, but wow.
“Alexis!” shouts the woman. “Why are you just standing there! I’m not paying for these lessons so you can slack off.”
Alexis goes past her tipping point and collapses to her knees, sobbing.
The whole class stops and looks at her.
“Leave her alone,” yells the skinny boy.
One teacher rushes to Alexis’ side, another darts over to the mom.
“Mrs. Snow, it’s not helping your daughter to single her out like that and shout her down in public,” whisper-shouts the teacher, a shortish woman with long, dark hair.
“Don’t you dare tell me how to raise my daughter,” yells the woman. “She’s the best dancer in this entire room, and she’d best learn to act like it.”
Alexis whimpers, “I’m not. I don’t think I’m better than you guys. Please don’t hate me.” The plea is so quiet, none of the mortals around me react to it.
Sophia, and a few of the kids try to comfort Alexis.
The instructor raises her hands in a placating gesture. “Mrs. Snow―”
“I’m paying you to train my daughter. You’re not doing that at the moment, rather wasting my time.”
I stand.
“Shouting at her isn’t―”
“Do not tell me how to raise my daughter!” shrieks Mrs. Snow at the instructor.
I walk past the bench of silent parents staring aghast at this woman, and tap her on the shoulder. “Excuse me.”
“What!” roars Mrs. Snow, right in my face.
“Uh oh.” Sophia’s whisper from like twenty feet away almost makes me break my serious act.
“I need to talk to you a moment,” I say, narrowing my eyes at he
r.
Mrs. Snow’s rage melts into the out-of-it stare of a pothead. “Okay.”
The instructor looks at me with awe and gratitude.
“Follow me.”
I walk back down the row and out the front doors, Mrs. Snow trailing after me like a well-trained shih tzu. Based on the looks I’m getting, I half expect the whole class to erupt in applause, but they don’t.
Once outside, I whirl on her and stare into her eyes. “Mrs. Snow. Your daughter is ten. She’s a child. The entire point of this is to have fun and get some exercise. If she wants to train hard to go pro, that’s her decision. Not yours. You refuse to see it, but she is completely miserable.”
The woman stares vacantly. Hmm. Time for a little brain surgery.
“When you get home, you will ask her if she wants to keep going to dance class. If she says yes, you will ease back and let her go at her own pace. Let her have fun. And she can also wear whatever outfits she wants.”
Mrs. Snow offers a disoriented nod of acknowledgement.
“And go apologize to that teacher for disrupting the class.”
She pivots on one heel and walks back inside. Shaking my head, I follow and go back to my spot. The kids are still trying to comfort Alexis. I lock stares with Sophia.
Tell her I convinced her mom to back off. She can do this for fun or even quit if she hates it.
Sophia nods at me and mouths, ‘wow, you talked in my head. That’s awesome!’
Soon after my sister whispers to Alexis, the girl brightens a little and stares at her mother in disbelief.
“Sorry for causing a scene, Miss Ramirez,” says Mrs. Snow to the instructor.
Stunned, Ms. Ramirez looks at me, smiles, then sighs at her. “I understand you want Alexis to succeed, but you shouldn’t push her so much. It’s not healthy.”
“Yes. I understand.” Mrs. Snow nods.
Oops. She’s a little robotic still, but that should wear off in a moment.
The sight of her mother acting apologetic confuses Alexis, but she eventually gets back up and continues with the class. In a while, once it becomes clear her mother is no longer going to shout at her every two minutes, the despondent look in her eyes lessens.
Yes. I am a creature of darkness, behold my evil powers of mind control.
A Beginner's Guide to Fangs (Vampire Innocent Book 2) Page 26