Sierra grabbed the collar of Sophia’s dress and pulled her forward slightly. “What did you do?”
A basket of thankfully ketchup-less French fries smacked into the side of Sierra’s head, scattering over the table.
She snarled.
“Uhh…” Sophia stared in horror as the weird little faerie zipped across the cafeteria and disappeared through the main set of double doors into the school. “Crap.”
“Crap?” Sierra shook her. “Soph. Focus. What happened?”
“I just wanted to help!” Sophia teared up.
Sierra glanced around briefly. “Scream. Now. Before we stand out.”
Sophia shrieked in a reasonable attempt to sound like every other kid in the room dodging ‘thrown’ food. Sierra also shouted, slipping under the table and pulling Sophia to safety with her as half-eaten lunch items continued whizzing by overhead.
Sierra grabbed her by the shoulders, forehead to forehead, and stared into her eyes. “Why?”
“Umm.” Sophia smiled cheesily. “Some kids were picking on this boy for having dirty clothes. I just wanted to help him.”
“So you start a food fight?”
Sophia shook her head. “I, umm… it didn’t exactly work like I was hoping.”
“No kidding.” Sierra rolled her eyes.
Silence fell over the cafeteria a few seconds later. Sophia pulled herself out from under the table, looking around at a mustard-and-ketchup covered wasteland of stunned, confused children. An ice cream cone stuck to Mrs. Reynolds’ head, making her look like a one-horned demon. She, too, appeared equally as bewildered as the kids.
“Umm,” whispered Sophia, cringing at the mess. Her guilt worsened because no one looked at her as the responsible party. “Oops.”
Sierra crawled out and stood beside her. “Imp?”
The ice cream fell from Mrs. Reynolds, splatting on the floor. Several hamburger patties stuck to the ceiling unpeeled and hit the floor one after the next.
“Not exactly.” Sophia continued gazing around in mortified awe. “It looked like a mix of faerie and brownie. Did what I asked him to do and now I think he’s run off to do bad stuff.”
Sierra facepalmed. “Why did you summon a destructive creature?”
“I didn’t mean to!” yelled Sophia.
A few nearby kids stared at her.
“Oh, no! Grab me.” Sophia looked around, increasingly freaked out and ashamed of herself. Emotion boiled until it burst out of her in a wave of raw magic.
Flickering purple-teal light flooded the cafeteria. Sierra clamped her arms around Sophia and held on. Roaring like a thunderstorm of screaming children caught in a tornado played backward raged from wall to wall. In a flash, the cafeteria reverse-videoed back to being clean and orderly. The eighth graders reappeared surrounding the formerly dirty boy, but he still had his clean, new clothes. When the rewind stopped, time held still. A cafeteria full of kids sat motionless like a three-dimensional painting of an ordinary lunch period. Sierra let go of her, scrambled under the table to the other side, and took her seat. Sophia sat in her place as well.
“One problem fixed.” Sophia ‘wiped sweat’ from her forehead.
Sierra looked around. “More than one… nice fix. Is anyone gonna remember?”
“No, because it sorta didn’t happen. You will. I left you out of the rewind. The boy’s clothes stayed nice, so the thing I let loose is still out there. Spell kinda messed up. I only wanted to fix his clothes, but I kinda overdid it.”
“You know what Dad says.” Sierra grinned. “Anything worth doing is worth overdoing. How dangerous is this monster you set loose?”
Sophia grimaced. “I dunno. He’s probably not dangerous, but he’s definitely going to cause trouble. Gotta find him.”
“Can you leave time stopped?”
“Nope. It’s only this room… and it’s gonna wear off soon. Just enough for us to sit back down.”
The world resumed like a movie coming off pause.
Sierra exhaled. “At least you saved a ton of food from being wasted.”
“Yeah. Wow… I hadn’t even thought of that until you said something.” Sophia grimaced. Wasting all that food would have made her feel awful.
A scream came from the hallway outside the cafeteria.
Sierra twisted around to look at the double doors. “That didn’t sound good.”
“No…” Sophia sighed. “No, it didn’t.”
12
Do Vampires Dream of Undead Sheep
Okay, so when I got home last night, I Googled ‘chaton errant.’
It’s the only part of what Aurélie said to stick in my brain. Yeah… stray kitten. No idea what she actually said, but my guess is she sees me as a stray kitten she couldn’t help but take care of. Maybe being an Innocent isn’t the most uber of bloodlines, but if my ‘powers of cuteness’ are strong enough to convince an elder like her to take me under her wing, they’re pretty epic.
No, I’m not too proud to object.
She’s 397 years old. I’ve been a vampire for ten months. I am a kitten.
Also, I’m not beyond putting up with ridiculous tedium in video games for an advantage. If repeating the same little area over and over and over ends up giving my character a boost, I do it. She already explained to me—when I freaked out over Dalton giving Sierra blood—drinking an older vampire’s blood doesn’t do anything creepy or weird like make them subservient mind-slaves or anything of the sort. Well, it can if the older vampire happens to be a user of blood rituals. However, only Academic-mystics can. Aurélie is not one of those. Neither is Dalton. The worst possible side effect I could suffer from drinking this is less resistance to her being able to see into my head.
Considering our 396-year age gap, my ‘resistance’ to her is about the same as holding up a sheet of paper to defend against being shot by a bazooka. So, I’m not losing anything. Doesn’t really feel like she’s giving me major ‘power-ups’ either, but it’s probably a gradual thing. Not like Popeye sucking down a can of Spinach and turning on god mode. And hey, I did basically kick the butts of those two idiots at the parking garage.
Maybe they weren’t total scrubs after all and she is having an effect on me.
But I still have questions. Like… who is messing with us? Who sent the zombies? Why is Petra such a psychopathic bitch? Why don’t women’s clothes have pockets? Why do chickens have that flappy red stuff on their faces… and why the hell am I standing in a cubicle farm?
In all directions except behind me—which is a doorway to a small break room—stretches a seemingly endless field of office cubicles and workers. It’s not a business casual sort of place. Everyone’s dressed in professional attire, no polo shirts anywhere in sight. As strange as me being here is my outfit. I’m wearing a skirt suit that’s a bit big on me, but not too ridiculous. It’s also nothing I own. More like stole from Mom’s closet. ‘Funeral director grey’ isn’t my style.
Wow, I feel like the girl in Dead Like Me on her first day at the temp agency. Some people are just not made to wear skirt suits and rock them. George from the TV show looked like a skinny teen who got a cheap skirt suit from a thrift store. I look like a little kid playing dress up. Workers going back and forth smile at me in varying degrees of patronizing from ‘oh just go home already’ to attempted civility. No one throws off overtly hostile vibes, but it’s beyond obvious they aren’t happy to see me for some reason. Or maybe they’re jealous. Of what, I have no idea. Certainly not my looks. No one’s jealous of the girl next door. I’m no Aurélie. Hell, I’m not even a Bree Swanson. Considering they’re all like old—thirty plus—they might be jealous of my age. That would make sense… certainly more sense than me randomly appearing in the middle of a giant office building with no memory of how I got here.
The last thing I remember is going home after leaving Aurélie’s and doing school work until…
Oh, crap. I have to be dreaming.
Right. Let’s see where this craz
y mental rollercoaster goes. Hopefully, Ego is driving and not ID.
I proceed down the aisle with no particular destination in mind. People who notice me continue giving me these ‘what the hell is she doing here’ looks. Weirdly, all of them feel like vampires. Whoa, trippy. I’m stuck in some kind of weird mash up of The Office and Dracula. Is this What We Do in the Cubicles? An entire company staffed by vampires. Wild.
Kinda creepy how everyone’s staring down at me, but this is a dream… so it has to be my feelings of inadequacy making me short as like a metaphor or something. Crap. Nope. Superego is driving. The more I walk, the taller the grey fabric cube walls get. I soon feel like I’m stuck in a literal minotaur’s labyrinth of corporate process.
Shit.
Random wandering brings me to a cube in the corner with high walls and no accessible windows anywhere nearby. For most office-dwellers, not having a window would be dreary. I don’t mind. Post-It notes and other bits of paper are all over the various cabinets and soft walls of ‘my’ cube. A weird sense of familiarity makes me think I’ve been working here for years, even though on an intellectual level, I understand this is neither real nor actually familiar.
Apparently, I’m a programmer.
Whatever, dream. Do your worst.
I hop in the chair and poke the mouse. The screen is full of computer code that’s simultaneously something I wrote and foreign. Somehow, I’m aware of working on a super-mega important project, deadline looming, but I can’t remember what the software does or who it’s for. The vague, indefinable fear of a looming deadline gets me to start typing. I’m writing lines from programs I wrote in school. Stupid, basic learning type things. Certainly nothing a high-end software company would be paying anyone to create. The input from the keyboard doesn’t match what’s on the screen. As a test, I randomly mash keys. Code appears on the screen much faster, but it’s no different from what appeared when I tried to type actual instructions.
Yeah. Definitely dreaming.
Hey, this is a step up at least. I’m not naked in a morgue cooler or seeing the Littles as vampires this time.
It occurs to me my feet aren’t on the floor. I peer down at myself. My skirt suit appears even frumpier, like it’s become far too big on me. I grab my chest, pressing the billowy white dress shirt against epic flatness. Not even angry bee stings remain of my boobs. Great. I’m a kid. Aww, crap. Explains why everyone here is looking at me like I don’t belong. I slide off the chair and walk out of my cube into the aisle again.
Yep. I’m not surrounded by giant vampires. I’m like ten. Or, technically, dreaming about being ten.
A man in a blue tie hurries over to me. “Hey, Wright. Mr. Smith wants to see you. He’s been looking for you for an hour at least. Not the best day to take too long on lunch.”
He gives me this fake-as-hell smile that really says ‘I hope you get fired so I can have your cubicle,’ then walks off acting overly pleased with himself. Grr. Douchebag.
I tap my foot. Aww, I have cute little kid-sized high heels.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Okay, think, Sarah. Am I a child because Aurélie called me a lost kitten? Is this some internal insecurity about me feeling like I’m not ready to be a ‘grown up vampire’? Did the guy I fed from last night have LSD in his system? Probably not. The stuff’s kinda rare around here.
Another question. Do I really want to subject myself to being verbally reamed out by a boss I don’t have at a job existing only in my imagination? When people say ‘dream job,’ this isn’t what they mean. The absolute worst part about being a teenager working a summer job is getting a manager who thinks people under the age of eighteen are like Warcraft peons they can abuse whenever they feel like it. At fourteen, I worked briefly at an art supply store in the mall. My first day, the manager—a total dick named Steve—told me to spend the whole four-hour shift wandering around to familiarize myself with the layout, so if someone asked where something was, I could answer them. Fair enough, right? Anyway, while I was roaming and staring and complaining in my head about how slow the clock moved, something happened with one of the other employees. He ended up yelling at her, calling her stupid or a moron… I forget exactly the words. Everyone in the place thought Steve was inches from hitting her. The poor girl locked herself in the bathroom sobbing. Called her father for a ride home and refused to come out until he got there to protect her from Steve. Yeah, I didn’t go back.
I’m expecting this Mr. Smith to be a chimera made from the mixed-together memories of various butthead bosses.
Oh well. Should probably get this over with. I head down the aisle, hook a left, and walk to the opposite end of the floor to the giant, fancy corporate office. The man sitting behind the desk is sorta Paolo Cabrini with Stefano’s hair, Wolent’s jaw, and Steve the art store guy’s weaselly nose.
The second I’m in the door, he starts yelling at me—not literally shouting, merely scolding—about missing deadlines. My projects are all late. He’s finding errors. He’s questioning how I ever managed to pass a programming course and get a degree. Well, gee, numbnuts, let me guess. You hired someone for a programming position who’s taken one intro to computer science class and hasn’t even finished it yet. Think I found your problem.
Wow. Most people have nightmares of monsters. I guess monsters have nightmares of day jobs.
“Do you have anything at all to say?” asks Mr. Smith.
“Yeah.” I set my fists against my hips and stare at him. “Why the hell do I look like I’m ten years old?”
The room flashes away to blinding white light.
Next thing I know, I’m home in the upstairs hallway.
No more skirt suit too big for me. I’m wearing a tank top and short shorts, barefoot, my toenails painted pink. Alas, I still seem to be ten. Wait, no… maybe closer to eleven. Mom’s right next to me getting ready to clean the windows. Sunlight streams in, bathing us in warmth—not the least bit uncomfortable.
Okay, I used to love doing this with Mom. No, not the cleaning part. Only insane people love cleaning. Normal people tolerate it. Normal people love having a clean house, not so much the process of doing the cleaning itself. Anyway, I loved spending time with her. She’d always been busy with work, so time to hang had been kinda limited.
Everything’s moving in slight slow motion, highlighted in a surreal glow.
Yeah, Ego is trying way too hard. This is like the ‘everything is awesome’ cut scene in a lame Eighties movie. I really freakin’ hope St. Ives or Stefano isn’t about to burst through the wall and shred Mom to pieces.
Nah, the vibe in the air is too calm.
Hmm. Am I insecure about something? No… they say insecurity and worry cause naked dreams. Perhaps this is simply my brain going overboard with the whole ‘day job never working out for me’ thing.
“Hey, hon.” Mom smiles, handing me a sponge.
Or… this could be the opposite of a nightmare. I’m still allowed to have a nice, happy dream, right? Hell, the real world is basically a nightmare at the moment. Someone needs to make a word for the opposite of a nightmare—a really amazing, warm, happy dream. Time to stop worrying and just enjoy this escape for as long as it lasts.
“Hey yourself.” I grin back at her, take the sponge, and start washing the window.
And yeah. Screw Mr. Smith.
13
Timeout
Sophia stared down at the completed vocabulary test on her desk.
Worrying about the creature she set loose in the school made her take a little longer than usual, but she still finished the test in six minutes. She sometimes didn’t know how to pronounce some words since she’d only ever read them, but her functional vocabulary—according to her parents—matched that of a high school student closer to graduating. Language class felt like a breeze. She had to be the only kid in the room who read books for fun all the time.
Mom let her read pretty much anything if it didn’t have ‘icky stuff’ in it.
Didn’t make too much sense to Sophia how people kissing was ‘icky’ but monsters being sliced in half or gore flying everywhere was fine.
No one got in trouble for throwing food, but the critter is still loose.
She twirled her fingers around an imaginary small sphere, able to detect a thread of energy connecting her to the weird little faerie she’d accidentally summoned. It didn’t feel the same as Klepto. No, the kitten she’d made. Permanently. The faerie’s energy resonated like temporary magic. Mr. Anderson and the mystics had taught her the basics of spells. Some happened in an instant and stopped—like making a lock open by itself. Some spells lasted for a few minutes or a few hours, then stopped on their own. This faerie summoning didn’t feel like a true summoning. She hadn’t gated in an actual creature from another place. No, she’d molded magical energy into a fake creature, but it didn’t give any sense of having a time limit. The invisible thread connecting her to it acted like a power cable. As long as she let it ‘run,’ the spell would continue.
Except for what mischief the little goober might cause, the worst it could do to her would be to make her so tired she collapsed wherever she happened to be. Getting detention for sleeping in class would stink, but she dreaded what the critter would do to other people more.
She concentrated on her hands, trying to ‘unplug’ the connection to the spell so it stopped. Force built up inside her. Resisting the urge to grunt in an otherwise silent classroom, she mentally pushed at the want to shut the spell down.
A blast like a small firecracker went off with a sharp snap two desks to her right.
Rachel Cartwright screamed.
Almost everyone jumped.
Vampire Innocent | Book 11 | How To Stop A Vampire War In Six Easy Steps Page 11