Vampire Innocent | Book 11 | How To Stop A Vampire War In Six Easy Steps

by Cox, Matthew S.

  Coralie hasn’t warned me of anything yet, so I’m holding it together.

  Again, I stare at the paper. Nah. If I keep going, I’ll finish college before any of the Littles make it to eighteen. Sierra just turned twelve. She’ll be sixteen when I finish a four-year degree—assuming I do. Maybe seventeen, considering night school. I can’t cram as many credits into a schedule as day classes. Still, an extra year is a triviality to a vampire. The sun, less so.

  One thing I have decided on is, computer programming is not doing it for me. Choosing a major because it’s what my dad does for a living was a mistake. Still can’t figure out what I should major in. Seattle Central College doesn’t exactly offer an ‘unlife skills’ program. Suppose there’s always the idea of doing something entirely academic, like philosophy or anthropology or whatever, pull a Professor Heath. Except, I don’t want to become a teacher and honestly, I can’t. No one would take me seriously, especially at the college level, since I literally look like a kid. Well, not a child. Anyone over the age of twenty mistakes me for anywhere from fourteen to sixteen. People my age tend to guess seventeen-ish. Actual kids under say, thirteen, all think I’m ‘old.’

  So, yeah. No way could I teach college classes. Students would think I’m the professor’s daughter there on ‘take your kid to work day.’ Besides, too public. I may be defying vampire tradition and staying home with my actual family, but my preference is to stay out of public view as much as possible—which is a fairly traditional vampire opinion. The fewer times I’m seen, the easier it is to keep my secret. As Sophia would say, the best way to avoid setting off traps is not to go down the corridor at all. Or, as Sierra would say, send the NPC first. Sam prefers the ‘fireball’ method of trap clearing.

  I think people would frown at me for setting off random explosions in the real world.

  Question thirty-six finally gives me brain lock. What’s the function of the systemic circuit? I stare at the paper for a long few minutes. They say it’s better to skip questions where the answers don’t come to you right away and come back to them, but… ugh. Something about oxygen. Oh, duh. I did read this. It distributes nutrients and oxygen around the body to cells. Okay cool. Back into the flow…

  Until question forty.

  If the DNA sequence is 5’ GCCTCC 3’, what is the sequence of the primer that begins replication?

  Well, shit. Might’ve been able to select right for multiple choice, but Connolly likes fill-ins. Yeah, uhh, no. I don’t have the first clue on this one. I shift my gaze up, peering over the shoulder of the guy in front of me at the professor, sitting at his desk reading a book. It’s possible for me to pluck the answer out of his thoughts in another few minutes once the sun goes down. Wouldn’t take much effort on my part.

  Sigh.

  Nah. I’d feel guiltier about doing it than shredding the one dude’s arm. It would bother me way too much. I don’t really need straight-As. Getting a degree or not won’t have much impact on my future. Also, missing one test question isn’t a big deal. I’m certainly not trying to become a genetic engineer. Who the hell cares if I can’t figure out gene sequencing?

  Eyes back on the test.

  Yeah, I don’t have to ace it and get a perfect score. I do have to keep some integrity.

  6

  Forgiveness Is Easier than Permission

  Careful not to make a sound, Sierra slipped out of bed and hurriedly traded her nightgown for a T-shirt and jeans.

  She crouched to pull her sword case out from under the bed, opened it, and lifted the sheathed blade. Nervousness at getting caught imparted an irresistible shake to her hands, but it would pass as soon as she made it outside. Risking getting in trouble seemed a small price to pay for preparedness. Not like she intended to go far from home… merely the woods behind their backyard.

  Having Sarah’s old room to herself was awesome. She didn’t really mind sharing a bedroom with Sophia for most of her life, but the girl woke up at the slightest noises. No way would sneaking out of the house after bedtime have been possible if they still shared a room.

  Sword clutched tight, she padded over to the door and gingerly turned the knob, keenly aware of every little squeak. She mentally prepared herself for Sam or Blix coming out of nowhere for a late-night bathroom trip, so she didn’t scream if they surprised her. A scary loud creak came from the hinges as she eased the door open.

  No big deal. They’ll think I’m going to the bathroom.

  Sierra stuck her head into the hall. Seeing it empty, she stepped out, eased her door closed, and hurried to the stairs. Trying to be quiet here probably wouldn’t matter if Sarah was in her room. Big sis might not come upstairs to investigate her wandering around. Going downstairs could be something innocent like needing to use the bathroom because the upstairs one already had someone in it. She’d definitely know who came downstairs. Sarah had the unnerving ability to tell who moved around based on the sound of their footsteps. Recognizing Sam didn’t take supernatural powers. The boy made more noise than a dead body tumbling down the stairs. But, Sarah could even tell Sophia and her apart by ear, which baffled her. If Sarah happened to be home, she’d definitely come looking to see what went on once she heard the patio door slide open.

  At the bottom of the steps, she picked her sneakers up from the area by the front door and carried them across the house to the kitchen. The instant she reached the sliding glass patio door out to the deck, a strong feeling of being watched came over her.

  “Hi, dog,” whispered Sierra. “Just me.”

  Somehow, they’d managed to keep the hellhound in the backyard a secret from the parents. It had to be nice—or at least nice to their family—since Sophia had no problem with it. Sierra held her breath while tugging the door aside at a snail’s pace. Despite it making no noise she could hear, she kept staring at the plain white door to her right, the one leading to the basement stairs. Any second, Sarah would appear, wondering who the heck wanted to go outside in the middle of the night.

  The kitchen remained silent. No hurried footsteps coming up the basement steps.

  Maybe she’s out feeding… or soaking in the tub. Cool!

  Sierra stepped outside, cringing slightly at the chilly, damp deck under her bare feet. After sliding the door shut, she leaned the sword against the wall long enough to pull her sneakers on, then grabbed it and crept across the deck to the stairs. As soon as she reached the ground and didn’t need to be quiet anymore—Sarah probably couldn’t hear someone running around outside from her bedroom—she sprinted to the rear of the yard, jumped the fence, and wandered a short distance into the woods.

  Dalton had agreed to meet her tonight for some training. Mom and Dad probably wouldn’t mind her learning. It would, however, bother them she went outside after midnight. They’d never have said yes if she asked, but any punishment would be mild if they caught her.

  Where is he?

  Sierra paced around, eyeing the shadowy trees. She’d never admit to being afraid of the dark, instead pointing out the technicality of being afraid of what might be hiding in the darkness, not the absence of light itself. She hated being scared all the time. As much as she made fun of Sophia for Fuzzydoom, Sierra used to believe something hairy lived under her bed and would grab her leg if she tried to go anywhere before morning. She hadn’t worried about the creature since like second grade when a new monster took over her fears: dread some idiot would show up at school with a gun. All the teachers and parents thought her ‘mature,’ but she really kept quiet so she could pay attention to her surroundings. School no longer felt like a safe place. Why would teachers bother training them how to react to a shooter if they didn’t think it would happen someday?

  Everything went crazy after Sarah turned into a vampire. Now, Sierra had to worry about monsters like the five-headed spider wasp thing, of Dad being silly and not taking a weird creature or situation seriously enough, of vampires trying to kill them… and she still dreaded someone would bring a gun to her school.
Knowing how to use a sword wouldn’t help much against a crazy person waving a gun around, but it helped her deal with the other stuff. It made no sense, but a blade seemed like a better option for dealing with supernatural monsters than a gun.

  Too many movies or video games. Guns never work on the weird stuff.

  A snap came from the darkness in the direction away from the house. They lived beside a small patch of untamed woodland, maybe a thousand feet across, surrounded by houses. It didn’t seem too likely for a pocket of forest in the middle of suburbia to have bears. However, deer made much less noise than what moved around in the dark.

  Is Dalton sneaking up on me?

  Sierra bit her lip in worry. The gift he’d given her had mostly faded away. Being normal made her feel slow and weak. True, nothing had happened recently that required her to possess modestly superhuman agility, but she feared as soon as she didn’t have it, she’d need it. Mr. MacDiarmid, the main instructor at the sword place, noticed her slowing down and wondered if she’d been getting enough sleep. Danae—the only woman student there and her perpetual sparring partner—noticed, too.

  Grr. Sierra gripped her sword tight. Alone, away from everyone who might make fun of her, she let her fear out in the form of a few tears. Sarah had to know how she felt, but she still couldn’t bear to cry in front of her… except for the day her big sister had come back from the dead. Death got a pass on dignity. Everyone, even Dad, cried over death.

  I’m not going to be a little kid forever. I won’t have to be scared anymore. Gonna protect Soph and Sam.

  Another snap made her jump.

  Something’s out there. She gazed into the darkness, half tempted to pull the sword out of its scabbard. Please let Dalton give me another sip. Sierra cringed. His blood tasted utterly vile, but she’d deal with it for the benefit. A few months of turning into an almost literal superhero was totally worth it. She wanted to be ‘ready’ if anything happened.

  Motion in the shadows drew her attention to a human figure wobbling out of the trees in her direction. The near-total darkness concealed his appearance except for the general shape of an adult man in a baggy hoodie with the hood up. Two other men ambled along behind him, all as unsure on their feet as if they’d had too much to drink or hit the weed way too hard.

  Not Dalton.

  Sierra crept to her right, moving out of their path to take cover behind a tree. Despite the darkness, all three men veered to their left, continuing to walk straight toward her. Unnerved, she scurried even farther to the side… and they followed.

  Uhh… the heck?

  “Umm, what’s up?” asked Sierra a little over a whisper.

  The men said nothing, continuing to approach in no great hurry. Sierra jogged left, circling around until it became obvious the men clearly saw her and intended to follow.

  “What do you guys want?”

  None of the men spoke. She stepped backward, staring up at the three taller figures closing in on her. Spooked, she stopped, drew her sword, and pointed it at them.

  “That’s close enough. Stop chasing me.”

  A heavy thud came from the direction of her house. She chanced a quick peek back over her left shoulder, but couldn’t see anything unusual except darkened trees. Her next breath drew in the rancid smell of chemicals and bad meat. Sierra whirled to face forward and stared up into the eyes of a man who didn’t look right at all. Under his navy-blue hood, his cheeks had no color, eyes milked over, gaze unfocused, mouth not fully closed.

  The man on the left also wore a hoodie, albeit pink. Despite him being black, his skin had an unnatural ashy tinge. Guy number three sported a red hoodie. All wore the same style of plain grey sweat pants. None had shoes. Their clothes didn’t fit them well, a little too large.

  “You guys know you look silly, right? Are you like the ‘hoodie’ gang, or trying to start a hip-hop group?”

  All three men continued walking toward her.

  She took another step back, gawking at the horrifying realization none of the men appeared able to bend their elbows or knees fully, teetering along like bad Claymation puppets. Her next breath tasted like the frogs in science class smelled, the dead frogs preserved in formaldehyde. A flash of moonlight revealed a small bullet hole above the left eye of the guy in the red hoodie.

  Crap!

  “S-stop! Don’t come any closer!” Sierra waved her sword at them while backing up.

  The lead man lunged, trying to grab her. She yelped, ducking to the side as the clumsy dead guy almost fell on his face. Bullet-head took a swing at her, trying to punch her in the chest. Sierra flung herself to the left. Knuckles grazed her back, launching her off her feet. She landed on her chest and slid a few feet, gasping for air once she stopped in a mound of dead leaves.

  What little speed she still had from Dalton’s gift probably saved her life.

  Damn, they’re strong. If they hit me, they’re going to break me in half like a twig.

  A series of heavy thuds coming from the direction of home grew louder.

  Red Hoodie charged while the other two spun in place as if they’d lost track of where she went. Sierra scrambled to her feet, dodging another fist trying to take her head off. Circling, she clutched her blade in both hands, staring at Red, hesitating, unable to bring herself to swing her sword at a person.

  He’s not a person! He’s already dead!

  Navy Hoodie ran (sort of) at her, reaching out to grab her shoulder.

  “Eep!” Sierra leapt backward, slicing defensively at the incoming limb—and severed his hand at the wrist.

  It landed a few feet away with a soft thump. No blood leaked from the stump. She gawked at the flat end of his forearm, more shocked at the man showing no reaction whatsoever to losing a hand. No scream, no change to his facial expression, not even a grunt.

  “Oh, no way. Freakin’ zombies?”

  Red Hoodie rushed at her.

  Sierra darted around Navy Hoodie. Red’s fist connected with the other man’s chest, knocking him tumbling. Pink Hoodie swung his arm in a wide, telegraphed attack like he had a baseball bat sticking out of his shoulder. Sierra ducked under it easily and maneuvered to get behind him—but tripped over a root, landing on her right side. Pink hoodie grabbed her ankle.

  He started to haul her into the air by one leg. Sierra hacked her blade into his forearm, cutting one bone, but the sword stalled on the second. Pink Hoodie lifted her up in the manner of a fisherman showing off a giant tuna. Sierra dangled upside down by one leg for a second before the remaining bone in the partially cut arm snapped. She tumbled to the forest floor, kicking her leg rapidly to dislodge the disembodied hand.

  Navy Hoodie ambled into a charge, but took only two steps before stopping short for no apparent reason. Two holes appeared in his chest, one by his shoulder, one at the stomach, each as big around as Sierra’s wrist. The dead guy sailed into the air, thrashing back and forth as if in the mouth of a giant, aggressively playful dog. Bones snapped and cracked from the force.

  Sierra got her legs under her and ran to her right in a circle, avoiding Pink Hoodie’s grab. The guy with an obvious bullet hole in his forehead chased her, having more agility than his two buddies. Navy Hoodie’s body slapped into the ground. Something huge and invisible pounced Pink Hoodie flat. Sierra ducked another punch from Red Hoodie, flowing smoothly into a slash across his chest. Like the other man, he didn’t bleed, at least not blood. Clear fluid oozed out of the slice.

  She momentarily regretted ruining an obviously brand-new hoodie, but considering it had been on a dead guy, figured no one would want to touch it, anyway. Whoever put it on these corpses already wasted the clothing. Snarling and crunching continued behind her on the left as she dodged and weaved around Red Hoodie’s continued attempts to crush her skull. Finally, he committed to a lunging grab. Sierra darted under his arms, then spun back to face him, holding her sword high in both hands. After a split second to aim, she took his head off with a downward chop.

  M
ore clear fluid gushed from the neck.

  The body hit the ground inert, not even a single twitch.

  Sierra backed away, trying not to breathe the nasty fumes.

  A short distance from the headless corpse, a canine-shaped creature faded into view out of invisibility. Black armor plating like a crab covered most of its body in between swaths of inky fur. A ridge of small horns ran down the spine to the tail. Its face sorta resembled a wolf’s. Despite his glowing red eyes and smoke peeling between giant teeth, he gave off a note of friendliness. He also stood at eye-level to her.

  Whoa. He’s big. She glanced down at the man she beheaded. “So much for Little Red Riding Hoodie.”

  The hellhound breathed fire on the other two bodies, spitting a stream of burn as intense as a flamethrower.

  Sierra cringed slightly at the blast of light and heat. “Guess the wolf wins this time.”

  The hellhound looked at her. He appeared to be giving off a vibe somewhere between ‘this is what happens when you sneak outside at night’ and ‘are you okay?’ Before she could say anything, he abruptly shifted its attention to the left, snarling.

  “More?” asked Sierra.

  He nodded once.

  She raised her sword. “Let’s get ’em.”