“Neat trick,” I say, still cringing from the high-pitched squeal.
Sophia grins. “I’ve figured out how to selectively reverse the time stream for only one object. Reality considers ‘the patio door’ to be one object, so it got all the different pieces in one spell.”
“Not enough wine in the world,” mutters Mom.
“You don’t drink that much.” I nudge her.
“Another few years of this and I might start.”
“Aww.” I hug her.
Dad opens and closes the sliding door. “Amazing.”
“Uhh, we still have a bunch of body parts in the yard,” deadpans Sierra.
“Oh, I’m sure the hellhound will devour them,” says Mom, heavy on the sarcasm.
“No.” Sam shakes his head. “He doesn’t eat physical food. Max feasts on the discontent, misery, and suffering of mortals stuck in an endless cycle of an unfulfilling existence from which they cannot escape.”
The ’rents stare at him.
“Well then.” Mom blinks. “I better not take him to the office. He’d get fat.”
Sierra snickers. “Oh, he’s going to love Uncle Hank.”
“Yeah.” I smirk. “The way most dogs love Snausages.”
Dad laughs.
Mom swats at him. “You’re not supposed to laugh at that.”
“Why not, exactly?” I tilt my head. “Hank is miserable and discontent. It’s not making fun of him to state fact.”
“So, umm…” Dad quirks an eyebrow. “Shall we drag all the bodies out here for cremation?”
“They’re people.” Mom flicks her skillet, tossing a bit of hairy scalp off to the side. “Stolen bodies. We can’t simply destroy them all.”
Dad rubs his chin. “Do you have a good excuse to give to the police why we have thirty corpses on our property?”
“More like forty.” Sierra points at the house. “You’re not counting the pile in the living room.”
“Pile?” asks Mom.
“Yeah,” say the kids at the same time.
“They kept walking in the door and falling over as Soph dispelled them.” Sam laughs.
Sophia smiles.
“Straight out of Looney Tunes.” Sierra shakes her head. “I didn’t even need to use my sword. They just walked in and dropped dead in a single-file line.”
My parents start debating the idea of Max incinerating the bodies or not incinerating the bodies. After a minute of them discussing it, I cut them off.
“Guys. Idea.” I hold up my phone. “Let me call the PIBs. If you don’t want to burn the remains, I’m sure Kendricks and Han will be able to deal with the bodies and get them back to wherever they came from without anyone being the wiser. They can smooth it over.”
“It’s probably a better idea. Someone might find bones in the yard later and suspect us of being serial killers,” says Sierra.
Mom looks at her. “What kinds of TV shows are you watching, young lady?”
“The news.” Sierra’s delivery is so straight-faced I can’t tell if she’s serious or being sarcastic.
Dad chuckles, then nods at me. “Yeah, call the PIBs. See what they say.”
“Okay.”
As if on cue, my phone rings before I can open the contacts app. Uh oh. It’s Wolent.
I swipe to answer. “Hello?”
“Sarah. I’d like to speak with you as soon as you’re able to get here. It is important.”
Good: the tone of his voice doesn’t sound like I’m in trouble. Bad: he’s probably going to want me to do something.
“Yes, sir. I’ll be right there.”
“Now what?” asks Mom.
“Wolent wants to see me.” I swipe to dial the PIBs. “Give me a sec to get this started, then I gotta go see what he wants.”
Mom and Dad exchange nervous glances.
A weird noise comes from the back of the yard.
We all turn to look.
Sam’s waving his arms around as if skritching and petting a dog tall enough to be eye level with him. Max emits a series of noises somewhere between happy puppy and the mating call of a demonic whale being sucked backward into a black hole—or as most people know it, dubstep.
Wow… my life.
“Kendricks,” says a voice on the phone.
“Umm, hi. It’s Sarah.” I head inside so he doesn’t hear the dog. “Got a minute?”
34
Somewhat Less Cordial
Calling someone to have dead bodies removed from your house on the quiet is weird.
It’s not something I ever imagined doing for real. When did I end up in a Tarantino movie? Surprisingly, Agent Kendricks understood and agreed to help. They seemed almost too interested in helping clean it up. They’re probably going to rubber-glove the bodies from a supernatural standpoint. To them, this is like Agent Mulder finally finding a dead alien body.
They understood I had to run an errand and may or may not be there when their crew shows up.
On the flight to Wolent’s estate, I debate the attack on my house. Why were those zombies so squishy and uncoordinated? Maybe Anselme tried to control too many at once, so couldn’t focus too well. Doesn’t explain their odd squishiness. I suppose ‘magic does weird things’ could be a factor. Might be the mystical version of microwaving a Hot Pocket too long. Wait no, bad example. Nuking a Hot Pocket too long produces the hardest substance known to science. Similar principle though.
The big question is, did Anselme send these as a serious attempt to kill us, or is he waving his ass at us and daring me to do something? Could the attack have been the mystic vampire equivalent of TP-ing my house as a middle finger for messing up his plans? Aurélie didn’t seem too worried about him. This is going to sound crazy, but one of her dolls said he’s afraid of her.
Might explain why she hasn’t been targeted by any attacks. Also, living way up off the ground in a penthouse apartment accessible only via flight or a secured elevator helps. Even for someone with vampire strength, it’s a pain in the ass to throw a Molotov upward thirty-six stories.
My guess is, Anselme is afraid of her due to her charm aura. It’s unlikely she could kill him with it, but she’d definitely be able to shut anyone down and send them away. I still have no idea how old this guy is or if Petra simply meant Europe by ‘Old World’ or specifically Medieval Europe. She seemed terrified of him, but it’s understandable. Even watching Sophia has me highly worried about what mystics might be capable of.
I don’t figure anything out before arriving at Arthur Wolent’s estate.
Aziz opens the door for me. “Hello, Sarah. He’s waiting for you in the study.”
“Thank you, Aziz.”
He groans.
“What?”
“Sorry. Ever since that movie Fifth Element came out, I hear ‘thank you, Aziz’ in my sleep.”
“Oh. Duh. Sorry. Wasn’t trying to…” I smile cheesily.
He chuckles. “It’s fine.”
One rule to a long, healthy unlife: do not piss off a man who has biceps as big as your torso.
When I arrive at the study, I’m surprised to find Vanessa there, as well as Henry Arnold and a handsome thirtyish black guy in an expensive shimmery blue suit who I don’t recognize. Guy feels like a mortal, but still has a noticeable aura of power. Has to be enthralled. Bet he’s connected to some company Wolent owns. More than likely, he’s the inside man there to keep an eye on things.
I nod in greeting to everyone. “Sorry I’m a couple minutes late. Had a mess to clean up at the house. More guided corpses.”
Grimaces and noises of distaste come from everyone.
“Sarah.” Wolent walks out from behind his desk to do the usual handshake plus not-quite-kiss greeting. “Good of you to come. You know Vanessa, of course. This is Tyrell Bray, an associate of mine.”
Tyrell bows in greeting.
“Hey.” I wave.
Vanessa smiles at me.
I return her smile, then look back to Wolent. “You said it’s important
. Happy to help whenever I can.”
He clasps his hands in front of himself like he’s about to give me important or bad news. Fingers crossed it’s important. “I would like you to take advantage of daylight to deliver a little present to Anselme Ernoul.”
Can’t help but stare at the duffel bag. Uh oh. What’s in there?
“My people have located his lair.” Wolent gestures at a TV screen on the wall, which comes to life showing a photograph of a typical looking old, ivy-covered mausoleum crypt. Moss fills in the grooves of the engraved name ‘Barnaby’ above the entrance. Based on the scale of the door, I’d guess the building is about the size of an old one-room schoolhouse.
“Looks kinda cramped. Do they just sleep in there?” I raise an eyebrow.
“As you should know by now”—Wolent winks—“looks are often deceptive. The crypt contains a concealed entrance to an underground complex where roughly forty vampires dwell.”
“Wow. Forty?” I blink.
“Exactly. I fear a direct fight would be entirely too messy. Roaches like this deserve to be stepped on.”
I eye the duffel. Yeah, pretty sure it’s a bomb. “All right. I’ll do it. Can I ask a question?”
Wolent nods. “Of course.”
“I’m curious why you’re sending me and not a mortal thrall who’s like a pro at demolition.”
He grins, patting me on the arm. “No need to be nervous, Sarah. It is a fair question. I have several reasons. One, vampires can smell mortals more easily than other vampires. If a mortal entered the lair, their presence would disturb the vampires and wake them. You would have to create a disturbance in order to stir Anselme and his associates from their diurnal slumber.”
I nod.
“Two, once you are inside underground in the dark, you will have a much better chance of survival should anything go wrong. A mortal thrall would be far more vulnerable. Three, it’s easier for you to cover your trail. If any mortal authorities end up investigating your involvement here, you can personally make them remember whatever you like. Reason four, the complex is hidden under a large stone too heavy for a single mortal to move.”
“Wow,” I whisper.
“Five…” Wolent’s grin broadens. “I trust you more than a random mortal thrall.”
I smile back at him. “Sounds good. I’ll do my best.”
When I reach for the duffel, Wolent waves me off.
Tyrell lifts one of those pale grey metal suitcases out from behind the desk. It’s pretty big, like a full-sized suitcase. He sets it flat on the desk, turns it to face me, and opens it. Inside are mostly packages of grey stuff like modeling clay. The stuff doesn’t look exactly like movie plastic explosives, being sparkly, as if fine bits of metal are infused in it. Way too small to be shrapnel pieces, more like shavings. A small keypad and display screen at the front of the case looks straight out of a spy movie.
“Sarah…” Tyrell gestures at the panel. “The device is reasonably simple. If you’ve used a microwave oven, you can operate this. Type in a number representing minutes and seconds from one to ninety-nine minutes. The system won’t accept a value lower than one minute, so it’s pretty hard to blow yourself up.”
I chuckle nervously. “Well, that’s good.”
“Insert the key here, turn it as far to the right as it will go. Engaging the key turns on the number pad. After you enter the time, lift this safety guard and push the red button to arm the device. The timer will start when you remove the key.” Tyrell taps a plastic shroud over a square button. “At any point before detonation, pushing this same button three times rapidly will pause the countdown. If you put the key back in and turn it all the way left while the countdown is paused, you will disarm the device.”
“Okay.”
He hands me a keyring with two keys. One’s got a round, hollow end like for a vending machine, almost like a tiny socket wrench. Other key is normal. Guessing it goes to the locks on the suitcase.
“I suggest you be far away from it when it goes off.” Wolent squeezes my shoulder. “Don’t underestimate the amount of time you need.”
“All right.”
Tyrell closes the case.
I grab the handle and—after giving myself a mild strength boost—pick it up as easily as an empty plastic box. A bomb is most likely only going to piss Anselme’s people off, but maybe a couple days of digging themselves out will change their mind about messing with us.
“I’ll get it done tomorrow.”
“Excellent.”
“Be careful, dear,” says Vanessa. “That’s not a firecracker. It’s a bit like you. Appears small to an untrained eye, but is surprisingly potent.”
Heh. I smile, trying not to feel patronized. Vanessa has no problem with me at all. She’s a little catty with Aurélie but it’s purely a jealousy thing about beauty. “Understood.”
I make my way out and head down the hall to the front door.
Gee. Wolent’s sending me to deliver a message again, but this one’s a little less cordial.
35
Father Daughter Project
When I walk in the door at home, I’m shocked to see everyone still awake.
Sierra’s in the middle of a top-down fantasy type game on the PlayStation. Sophia’s reclining on the sofa, playing with Klepto. Sam’s absorbed in his PSP. The ’rents are both reading. My father’s munching on something.
“Wow, it’s after eleven. Can’t sleep?” I ask while kicking my shoes off.
“We waited for you to finish the movie,” says Dad. “C’mon over.”
I head for the kitchen, pausing behind the couch. “One sec. Gotta put this downstairs.”
Dad looks back at me. I notice he’s eating a Devil Dog.
I stare at him.
“Sorry,” he mumbles past chocolate cake. “Got a sudden craving.”
“Wow. Dad, you’re a walking pun.”
“We know this, but what do you mean?” asks Sierra.
I point at the snack cake. “Devil Dog… hellhound?”
Sam smiles. Sierra biffs herself in the forehead. Sophia gives him a ‘wow, Dad, really?’ look.
Blix perks up to look at me. Chocolate residue marks his lips. Doesn’t look like the Littles have had any. Probably a good idea not to give them sugar before they go to bed. Not wise for Dad to have one this late either, but as they say, ‘it’s good to be the king.’
“Blix.” I pat the case. “Please do not mess with this.”
He emits a high-pitched, “Ee-ooba.”
“Blix says he won’t,” says Sam, not looking up from his handheld game. “Wants to know why you asked.”
“It’s a powerful bomb.”
Mom nearly drops her book. “Young lady! What did I tell you about bringing destructive devices into this house?”
“You let Sam’s butt inside,” deadpans Sierra.
My brother appears proud of himself.
I shrug. “Technically, Mom, you never actually said we weren’t allowed to bring thirty pounds of plastic explosives in the house.”
Sierra gawks at me.
Mom almost throws her Kindle up in frustration. “Sarah! That’s not normally the sort of thing parents have to specify. It should be assumed.”
“Holy shit,” whispers Sierra. “Thirty pounds?”
Sighing, Mom gives her side eye.
Sierra pauses her game, jumps to her feet, and gestures at me. “Sare’s holding thirty pounds of Semtex, and you’re going to get mad at me for saying ‘holy shit’? She’s carrying a bomb big enough to put our house into orbit. If it goes off, the biggest piece of our home left will be a toothpick.”
“Sierra.” Dad raises an eyebrow at her. “I’m a little concerned you know what Semtex is.”
“Oh, come on.” Sierra points the controller in her hand at the TV. “It’s in Call of Duty.”
I glance at the metal suitcase. “I’m honestly not sure what kind of bomb this is. There’s a strange metal powder mixed into the plastic expl
osive. It’s gotta be something really nasty if Wolent thinks it’s going to be effective on a vampire nest. Only thing I know for sure is I don’t want it going off inside the house.”
“Neither do I.” Mom stares at me. “Are you sure about this, Sarah? Remember what happened last time you tried to bomb a vampire den.”
I hold up a finger. “Wasn’t me. Dalton did that. I got caught in the fallout. Besides, I have Wolent’s blessing for this. It’s an official operation, not a private vendetta. We will have backup if the poop hits the fan.”
My mother lets out a defeated sigh. “We’re really talking about this.”
“We are,” says Dad. “It’s okay, dear. Kids will eventually grow up, get a career, plant huge bombs in dens of dangerous vampires. It’s normal. The way life goes.”
Mom stares at him.
“So, uhh, Dad…” I rock heel to toe. “Can you help me with an afterschool project? Err, technically a before-school project?”
“Sure. It’ll be nice to have some father-daughter time. Been a while. What’s the project?”
I pat the bomb. “Bad vampire nest needs gone.”
Mom facepalms.
“Absolutely!” Dad practically shouts, dripping with eagerness.
“Jonathan!” Mom grabs him.
“Relax, Allie. She’s just going to ask me for a ride because she can’t fly during the day, and doesn’t feel safe driving when she can barely see.”
I blink. First, he breaks even wrestling a zombie, now he’s reading minds? “Umm, Dad? Whoa. Are you psychic now?”
“Nope.” Dad smiles. “You said ‘before school,’ which means during daylight. Also, the only reason I can think of it making any sense for Arthur Wolent to have his most junior person do a mission like this is your unique talent.”
“Yeah. Okay. True.” I heft the bomb. “Gonna go stash this in my room and be right back.”
Wow. Tomorrow can not show up fast enough. I really don’t like having a giant bomb in the house.
36
Mission Highly Improbable
Vampire Innocent | Book 11 | How To Stop A Vampire War In Six Easy Steps Page 29