Wonder if Sybarites have like bracket-ranked competitions with championships. How do they keep score?
Whatever.
Point is, Wolent apologized to Amy, Dante, and Luke once he looked in their heads to discover they didn’t attack him. He offered them a favor as a token of apology and a ride back to wherever they needed to be. Wolent seemed surprised to see me, but I got the sense he appreciated me sticking around.
As soon as he declares the matter over, I’m out and flying home.
Losing about a half hour isn’t too big a deal. I expect to get done what I need to get done for tomorrow’s classes before the sun comes up and have time left over for researching Poe. What I don’t expect is to see lights on in the house when I land on the back deck—or catch the smell of… guh, that’s awful. Chemical, rotting meat, blech. No idea what it is, but it probably causes cancer to breathe too much of it.
Sliding door is locked. Grr. Annoying. I walk around to the front of the house and let myself in.
Dalton, my parents, and Sierra are having a conference in the living room. The ’rents are still in their pajamas, Mom in a bathrobe, Dalton and Sierra are dressed except for shoes. It’s almost funny to see him respecting my mother’s rule about shoes in the house. However, at almost one in the morning, it is not normal to see Sierra both awake and not in her PJs.
Also, Mom looks about ready to have a meltdown. Dad is somewhere between panic and ‘oh, cool.’ The expression on Sierra’s face tells me she’s expecting to be punished for something. Dalton, as always, is Mr. Casual, hands stuffed in his pants pockets.
“I assume some manner of foul play is at hand?” I ease the door shut behind me.
“We were merely explaining to your parents the details of a slight incident.” Dalton glances over at me.
“This… this is just too much.” Mom grabs her head, shaking it.
I kick my sneakers off.
Sierra sits on the sofa next to her. “Relax, Mom. They’re not actual zombies. Just like some vampire guided missile thing.”
“Wait… what?” I blurt. “Did you say zombies?”
“Not exactly,” replies everyone at once.
Dad chuckles.
“St. Ives sent some dead people to kill us.” Sierra pats her sword. “I got rid of them.”
Mom glances at her. “They couldn’t have been too dangerous.”
“Gee, thanks.” Sierra rolls her eyes, sighing. “I had help.”
Mom and Dad smile gratefully at Dalton… but Sierra’s thinking about the hellhound as having helped out on zombie detail, not him. He pounced on a woman pointing a gun at her. Oh, crap. I watch the scene replay in her memory. Ooh, she snuck out of the house to meet Dalton for sword lessons. Sierra shifts her gaze to me as if she’s aware of what I’m doing. She doesn’t know I’ve read her mind, but the look she gives me at the exact moment I become aware of their meeting feels like it. Having Dalton teach her doesn’t bother me, but sneaking out after midnight is dicey, even if it’s only our yard—or the woods behind it. Apparently, Dalton already smoothed the situation over with the parents, encouraging them to believe Sierra heard something and went down to check it to make sure she didn’t imagine it before waking the parents up.
And by ‘smoothed it over,’ he’s used mind control on my parents to keep Sierra from getting in trouble for sneaking outside after midnight and having a sword fight with zombies. Honestly, I’m not sure which one would bother Mom and Dad more. At least she didn’t wear shoes in the house. Yes, I know it’s irrational. Mom has this weird thing about germs and dirt. She’s not like a germophobe who can’t touch elevator buttons without using a tissue. Something about shoes, though.
Dammit. The ’rents don’t know what really happened, and think the fight occurred literally in the backyard, not the woods 600 feet away from the house. Eh, semantics. It’s astonishing enough they appear to be completely at peace with the notion of Sierra fighting off a group of zombies using a sword. Yeah, that’s totally normal for the suburbs, right? Not going to disturb this. Mom and Dad don’t need the stress over events well outside their control. I may talk to Sierra later. Not gonna get her officially in trouble, but I’m not above playing ‘mom’ to protect her. If she wants Dalton’s help, she’ll have to squeeze it in between sunset and bedtime. Then again, if she hadn’t been awake, the zombies might have gotten into the house and—no, the hound would’ve eaten them.
Remind me to get him a Milk Bone or something. Where am I going to find a five-pound dog treat?
“Back up. Zombies? What is going on?” I zoom over to them.
Sierra explains a version of events where she went downstairs upon hearing an odd noise, bringing her sword for protection, and got ambushed by the zombies in the backyard. She claims to have killed one—which is true—and Dalton dealt with the other two. The parents haven’t questioned what made him show up, and it seems neither she nor him are inclined to mention it.
“Didn’t you deal with this St. Ives problem?” Mom makes a face at me like she’s annoyed I forgot to do laundry.
By the way, I’ve never forgotten to do laundry. Put it off, yes. But I didn’t forget about it. “Yeah. It’s kinda weird she’d be coming after us. Academics are basically emotionless machines who get super fixated on one thing at a time and care only about whatever’s going to benefit them in the near term. Once something no longer concerns them personally, they forget it like it never happened or mattered.”
“She works for Fox News?” asks Dad.
Mom throws a pillow at him.
Dalton snickers.
“No, Dad. I mean, once I no longer had anything she wanted, St. Ives regarded me as a non-issue. It would be a waste of resources to pursue any sort of revenge. Even if she thinks of me not giving her the spyglass or Coralie’s body as ‘stealing’ from her, she’s not emotionally invested at all. Just looks at it from a cost versus benefit perspective.”
“Oh.” Mom stares at the ceiling. “I know a few people like that at work.”
“Hi, sweetie,” says Dalton for no particular reason.
I glance over and catch sight of Sophia crouching on the stairs, watching us.
“Seems we made too much noise.” Dalton winces apologetically.
Dad stands, pacing. “So now we have to be on the lookout for these puppet things.”
“Possibly.” Dalton nods once. “However, if another vampire was controlling them like drones, they’d have seen Sierra destroy them. If I were they, having an eleven-year-old destroy my minions would forever make me consider those minions worthless.”
“I’m twelve,” grumbles Sierra.
“Oh, all the difference.” He winks at her. “Sorry, luv. And no, they don’t know you are—” He fidgets. “You have advantages other children your age do not.”
Hmm. He’s either talking about giving her a little bit of blood power or the hellhound. Neither one would go over well with the parents.
Mom looks up as if about to ask what he means.
“How many children her age know how to handle a sword?” asks Dalton.
“Ugh. My child killed someone?” Mom grabs her head in both hands.
Dalton, Sierra, and I say, “No” simultaneously.
The parents look at us.
“You just spent fifteen minutes explaining how my daughter chopped up a bunch of zombies.” Mom pulls Sierra into a protective hug.
Normally, the girl would squirm or frown, but she doesn’t. Uh oh. Gotta look. Crap. The woman pointed a gun at her. She’s freaking out inside. I give Mom a mild encouragement to keep holding her until she squirms to get away. Sierra needs it. Otherwise, Mom would let go fast since Sierra is not usually a huggy sort of person.
“I’m splitting a hair here,” says Dalton, “but she didn’t kill anyone. Those creatures were already dead. What she did was no worse than slicing up a pot roast.”
Dad coughs.
“Perhaps mildly more disturbing than slicing up a pot roast.” Dalton raises a fin
ger. “Concede the point. Pot roasts don’t generally moan in existential agony when sliced.”
“You’ve never seen Dad cook, have you?” asks Sophia.
Mom covers her mouth to hold back a laugh while Dad puts on this ‘fake offended’ look.
“Only got one.” Sierra squishes her toes into the rug. “Had help with the other two.”
“I feel a bit weird.” Mom stifles a yawn. “Did either one of you mess with my head?”
“Just got here, and you know I won’t, Mom.” I glance up at Sophia who’s still watching us from the stairs. She looks suspicious, but too tired to question anything.
“Certainly not.” Dalton smiles.
I know the smile. Fortunately, my parents don’t.
Relax, luv. Just helped them accept Sierra’s story, says Dalton’s voice in my head. “Anyway”—he claps softly—“the one responsible for these ambulatory pot roasts would have seen a child destroy them. They are likely convinced such a tool is useless. I’d advise caution, but they will probably not try that again.”
Pacing, I grab two fistfuls of my hair and emit a frustrated snarl.
Someone is attacking Petra in hopes of making her mad at me. One of Wolent’s properties got firebombed. Men claiming to work for Stefano tried to abduct me… and now we have zombies coming from St. Ives. I want to blame Stefano for all of it, but it would be too easy. It’s also super flimsy. Gotta remember I’m dealing with vampire politics now. It’s not completely beyond possibility for Wolent to arrange a fake attack on his own stuff to blame someone else. No, I don’t think he did it in this case. He seemed genuinely angry over the warehouse. Doesn’t mean he didn’t send some fake ‘Stefano goons’ after me. But, nah. Not his style. Arthur Wolent is, to my young naïve opinion, a straightforward dude. I don’t think he’s the type to hide behind proxies.
So something else is going on. Maybe multiple somethings else.
Good freakin’ grief. Did Seattle declare war on my family?
Screw it. Don’t care how it looks. I need help.
10
Un Chaton Errant
I made a mistake.
Sometimes not doing something is every bit as much of an error as actively screwing up. Fortunately, this oops happens to be small. It hasn’t killed anyone yet. My lapse is assuming Aurélie would go off like an intercontinental ballistic vampiress the instant I told her men attacked me and name-dropped Stefano.
I mean for eff’s sake, I think it sounds shady. No way would she be convinced enough from looking at my memory of the attack to fly out the window and go tear Stefano’s head off ala Mortal Kombat. Though, I wouldn’t put it past her to swing someone’s head and spine around as a fashion accessory for a little while if they really got on her bad side.
So, yeah. Like I said, time for some help.
Leaving my parents to talk Sophia back to bed, I hurry out the door and fly to Seattle, specifically Aurélie’s place. She’s got a huge, and awesome, penthouse apartment in a high-rise downtown. Basically, one entire floor of the building is hers. I am not jealous, honestly. Doesn’t mean I can’t admire it even if it is way too extra for my taste.
As she so often does, my mentor appears to know I’m on the way before I get there. The patio door is open and she’s waiting a few steps inside, wearing an expectant look as well as a frilly white-and-gold gown. Aurélie’s also holding a matching collapsible fan adorned in metallic gold filigree. She looks like the queen from a ridiculously expensive Louis XIV-themed chess set. At least wearing a costume so over the top goes with her copier-paper-white skin. Like any vampire other than Shadows, she could alter her appearance to be more lifelike. For me, it’s an automatic process, like breathing or blinking for mortals. Other vamps have to concentrate on it.
Apparently, it’s kinda draining, too. Faking lifelike qualities is as much of an energy burn as a serious fistfight using boosted strength. Totally makes sense why she doesn’t bother. I mean, everyone who had money back then painted themselves white anyway, so she looks the part without even trying.
And yeah, she’s beyond beautiful. Even knowing a good portion of it comes from radiant charm powers doesn’t make her any less captivating. I’ve come to learn her ‘subconscious’ aura has different effects based on the attitude of the observer. Men, or women who’d find her sexually attractive, do so to the Nth degree. Women, like me, who aren’t attracted to other women, find her captivating in a ‘whoa… what is she going to do next’ sort of way. It’s hard to take my gaze off her. Sophia wanted to ‘collect’ her like a big doll. Despite being a kid, Sierra’s reaction is about the same as mine. Awestruck staring. She made Sam blush. No, he’s too little to be attracted to her. He basically thought she was ‘powerful and awesome’ and wanted her to protect him. He blushed because it made him feel childish.
Anyway…
By the time I walk up to Aurélie, she’s already seen most of what’s on my mind. Still, it’s rude to assume mind-reading.
“Hello, cheri. What troubles you?” She walks around me like a mother studying their child upon the kid’s return home from school. “You are most definitely troubled.”
“That’s putting it mildly.” I rub my hands down my face. “For starters, St. Ives sent some manner of ‘zombies’ to my house to—I assume—kill my family.”
Aurélie hardens her gaze. Her entire presence changes from enthralling to ‘find somewhere to hide, now.’ Despite her looking entirely calm, it feels like I’m standing next to a warhead about to launch the upper fourth of this building into orbit. “Do you have proof?”
“Nothing solid, no. Dalton read the minds of a few mortals who dropped them off. He said the people had been grabbed randomly off the street and mind-controlled into believing they had to kill my family. When they saw Sierra, their ‘programming’ somehow made this woman want to kidnap her and bring her back to the vampire.”
“Interesting.” Aurélie purses her lips.
“Dalton thinks the woman’s actual personality surfaced a little when she saw my sister. Couldn’t bring herself to shoot a child… so the control changed plans and compelled her to kidnap instead.”
“Hmm.” Aurélie paces around, mumbling to herself in French for a moment. “This is something different than ordinary compulsion. It is closer to making a servitor.”
I cringe. “Oh, yeah. Sounds ominous as hell. Like, slave?”
“Somewhat. In the realm of vampires, there are several methods by which a mortal can be turned into a servitor.” Aurélie lowers herself to sit on the couch.
Right. She wants to talk at length. I shut the patio door and hurry over to sit next to her.
Aurélie smiles. “All vampires can put commands into the minds of mortals. They are simple and do not change. If you compel someone to do something, they will do it.”
“Right.”
“A servitor is more complicated. The vampire conditions the mortal to want to serve them, so they remain capable of thinking for themselves. Always, the command is there, guiding what they do, but how they do it is up to their experience and skills.”
“Sounds like an awful lot of trouble to deliver a truckload of zombies.” I whistle. “Is this something St. Ives can do? How many different vampires can make someone into a servitor?”
“I possess one such way. It tends to produce le flagorneur, which I find irritating.”
Umm. Maybe it’s time for me to work on French.
“Oh, what is the English?” Aurélie snaps her silk fan open, waving a light breeze over her face. “Sycophant.”
“Aha. You can make people love you so much they trip over themselves to do whatever you want.”
She frowns to the side. “Oui. They are too obsessed and lose focus. Cannot do complex things. They will literally run into walls trying to please me fast enough. Not only are they essentially useless, I find it cruel, no?”
I nod.
“St. Ives… she is Académique. Scientist.” Aurélie fans herself idly. “I
f she were to ’ave the ability to turn a mortal into a servitor, they would most assuredly be like her. Robotic.”
“Doesn’t sound like what Dalton described. Is doing this to mortals one of those neato advanced powers Innocents don’t get?” I lean forward, elbows on my knees… and stare down at my toes sunk into the carpet. “I don’t want it… just wondering how many suspects are on the list, what bloodlines it could be limited to.”
“Mmm. Most except Beasts and Innocents, I believe.” Aurélie stops fanning herself and snaps it closed. “They’d ’ave to be at least a century old. What did Dalton do with them?”
“He said he removed the command and sent them home.”
Aurélie quirks an eyebrow at me. “Not servitors then. The process is somewhat lengthy, and permanent… or close to permanent. It is possible to undo, but not in a few minutes.”
No point asking what happened if not the servitor thing. She’s already thinking. Besides, she knows I want to know.
“It could be a particular gift of compulsion.” She taps the fan, her nails clicking on the gold filigree. “Occasionally, one of us possesses a unique strength in a more common ability.”
Right. Like how she’s so potent with charm. There could be a vampire out there who gets more mileage out of the standard mental compulsion power. Maybe his order to kill us failed when the woman saw Sierra, so the command rearranged itself into a less objectionable form to achieve the same result. If she’d brought Sierra to whatever vampire brainwashed her, she or he would certainly have harmed my sister.
Aurélie nods once in response to my reasoning. “I do not believe Eleanor possesses such a unique talent. It would certainly be known by now. There is more bothering you.”
“Yeah.” I explain the attack in the parking garage as well as my meeting with Petra and the incident involving the Seattle Lost Ones and someone firebombing Wolent’s warehouse.
“I am glad you brought this to my attention.” Aurélie leans closer, patting my cheek. “I am touched you feared I might become so enraged at someone trying to ’arm you. Sarah, cherie, you are precious to me, and I would certainly not ’esitate to show my displeasure should anyone threaten you undeservedly.”
Vampire Innocent | Book 11 | How To Stop A Vampire War In Six Easy Steps Page 9