Fifty Percent Vampire, #1, page 7
“I guess that’s something you would know all about,” said Rachel. “How is your father these days?”
Zoe said nothing and began to inspect her nail polish.
Janice changed the subject. “Our mom wouldn’t let Tricia go to the demo and like I wasn’t going without her. Huh, as if being deaf makes you less able to make a political statement.”
Tricia nodded vigorously and signed to her twin.
“You’re sorry you missed the opportunity?” said Janice. “Of seeing Mike Hanson up there on his horse? Yeah, you’re right, he’s real eye candy. Gets my vote.”
“I second that motion,” said Zoe, raising her hand.
Everyone collapsed in helpless laughter. Everyone except me. I felt a sudden burning in my chest, but it wasn’t caused by the pizza I’d just eaten. My heart sank as I looked around the table at my friends’ happy faces. Clearly I wasn’t the only person in town who’d been smitten by Mike Hanson.
CHAPTER 12
(Mike)
Good Cop
“Mike, would you come in here for a moment?” My boss, Captain Frank, was standing at his office door. Before I’d crossed the room to him, his phone rang and he swore. “Let me get that,” he said.
While I waited for him to finish the call I flexed my shoulders to relieve some serious tension in my back. I must have strained it on Saturday morning.
“Thanks for waiting,” he said. “I just got a request from Us-kiss.”
“Say again?” I asked.
“US Citizenship and Immigration Service. Seems there’s an issue with a foreign student’s entry visa. I’ve no idea why they don’t want to handle it themselves, but they asked me to pick a sociable young cop to go talk to some schoolgirl. Maybe they think their own people might scare her. Or they don’t want to waste their own time when they can so easily waste mine.”
Or mine. “What’s the problem with this kid’s visa?”
“Some birthdate typo.” The captain looked at his notepad. “They’ve got her down as ninety-nine years old last June fourteenth. You need to speak to a Miss Astrid Sonnschein, a student visiting here from Romania. She’s a junior at the high school. Lives with Jean Power.” He grinned. “Probably one of those protesters Tafani said you moaned and groaned about.”
The redhead. I cursed Lydia’s big mouth. “Captain, I just came back from the high school. I dropped by to warn the students about the dangers of their pointless protests. Can’t you send someone else to talk to this kid?”
“Why, aren’t you a proactive guy all of a sudden?” Captain Frank leaned back in his leather chair, making it creak. “I tossed a coin and heads you lost. Twice, so tough luck. I’m not asking you to go back there right now. But this is Immigration with a ma-ju-scu-le ‘I’ so don’t let the month pass by without filing a report on little Miss Sonnschein.”
I groaned. “I hear you. Now how about I get back to some real police work?”
“Okay, Mister Heroic and Handsome, there’s an attempted robbery on Madison you can go check out.” He handed me a report sheet and grinned. “I guess you’ve had enough of high school girls for one day.”
“Yeah, yeah, bye, Captain.” I dismissed his taunt and turned to leave. “What’s this world coming to?” I muttered under my breath. “Teenage girls who can’t remember the year they were born? What kind of bullshit is that?”
CHAPTER 13
(Astrid)
Poisoned
OMG, I wished I’d never been born. I was lying in bed with the drapes closed, totally exhausted from the heaves that had racked my body since I’d woken up that morning with a splitting headache and a stabbing pain in my stomach. The last time I’d run to the bathroom and stuck my head in the toilet bowl nothing had come up, so maybe the torture would soon be over, but, oh, what agony I was in.
Aunt Jean was sympathetic, bringing me frequent glasses of water to keep me hydrated, but I could barely keep water down either. I’d vomited again and again, the residue stuck in my nose, my head was spinning, there was an evil taste in my mouth, and I’d used up all the boxes of tissue in the house. If this was what human food did to me, I never wanted to eat again. Must have been the pizza I’d been so proud of keeping down.
Aunt Jean stroked my head and said I shouldn’t worry, many people had allergies to something or other, the pain would pass, and in future I should avoid eating whatever it was that had caused this. I didn’t feel much comforted. I thought I was dying; I’d never been this sick before; nothing could possibly be worse. Groaning, I put my head in my hands—if this was what humans had to endure ...
Just then we heard the doorbell ring. Aunt Jean hurried downstairs to see who was there, while I prayed whoever it was hadn’t come to visit me. My stomach lurched again and I doubled over. Oh no, not again, how long was this going to last? I staggered from my bed and made it into the bathroom, but not as far as the bowl.
CHAPTER 14
(Mike)
Inquiry
“Astrid Sonnschein? Oh dear, Officer Hanson, you’ve come to the wrong place,” said the school administrator. “She’s at home in bed. Her cousin came by this morning and reported her sick with food poisoning.”
I almost cursed out loud but instead tapped my fingers nervously on the counter. I wanted to get this issue over and done. “Do you have her records?”
“Of course, but I’m not certain–”
“Please, Ma’am, she’s not wanted for a crime or anything. I just need to see her records for a routine check.”
The administrator sighed and pulled up Astrid’s records on the computer. I squinted at the blurred image. “Is that the best photo you have?”
“Whenever we try to take a photo of her the camera malfunctions. It’s never happened with anyone else. Weird, right?”
I nodded.
“Anyhow, I can tell you what she looks like. Five eight, red hair, green eyes. Pretty.” The hairs on my neck stood on end and the administrator shot me a concerned look. “Is anything wrong, officer?”
I switched my face back to neutral. “No, it’s okay. I just remembered something, that’s all. Um, how old is Astrid?”
She scrolled down the screen and squinted at it. “Sweet seventeen and a quarter.”
Well, at least the school had it right. No ninety-nine year-old exchange students here. “And she’s living with the Powers?”
“Yes, she’s Emma Power’s cousin.” The woman still looked worried. “Is this anything to do with Astrid being put back to tenth grade? You’re not going to send her home to Romania? She has excellent marks now.”
“It’s nothing like that. Purely a routine check.”
“Well,” she said. “If you say so.”
I smiled.
My next stop was the Power residence on Wicket Lane. On the way there I reviewed what little I knew about this girl. A seventeen-year-old redhead with green eyes and a touch of a foreign accent. The girl who’d scared Bobby so badly I’d almost lost my grip and fallen in a dusty heap.
I rang the doorbell and a few moments later was confronted by a middle-aged woman wearing an old T-shirt and slacks and carrying a bright blue feather duster; another redhead. She looked me up and down as though I’d dropped on her doorstep from the clouds. “Good morning, officer, do we have a problem?” she asked, folding her arms and assuming a stern expression.
“Good morning, Ma’am.” I took off my cap. “You must be Jean Power.”
“That’s right, young man, I am. Now what’s this about?”
“I need to speak to your niece,” I said. “Can I come in?”
The furrow between Mrs. Power’s eyebrows grew deeper. “You want to speak to Astrid? About what?”
“Um, I’d rather say it to her face.”
Instead of moving aside to let me in the house, she stood her ground. “Unfortunately my niece can’t come to the door as she’s in bed with stomach cramps,” she said. “She ate something bad. If you can show me a warrant you may enter my property, otherwise please come back when she’s feeling better.”
I couldn’t believe it. She was blowing me off. Usually people in our small town were quick to invite me in, but this woman wasn’t going to let me pass, and I decided not to push it because her expression was bordering on fierce. I cleared my throat. “Ma’am, I’m so sorry to hear Astrid’s sick. I wish her a speedy recovery,” I said, stepping back. “Thank you. I’ll stop by another time.”
“As if anything illegal would be going on under my roof,” muttered Mrs. Power as she closed the door.
As I turned to leave I noticed an upstairs drape shift. Someone, possibly the girl, had been watching. I lingered but the drape didn’t move again so I shrugged and moved on. I had more important things to take care of and if Immigration with a ma-ju-scu-le ‘I’ wanted the job done sooner they could come and do it themselves.
Back at my car the radio was crackling; one of the local down-and-outs was threatening to jump off Hemingway Bridge again. I sighed, acknowledged the call, and drove off to stop the poor guy from getting his clothes wet.
CHAPTER 15
(Astrid)
Cross-examined
Rats, I’m pretty sure Mike saw me peeking. I took a deep breath to calm myself, went back to my room, took another sip of water and lay down again, all the time wondering what he wanted. Surely the school hadn’t sent a police officer to our house just because of my stomach problem? I heard Aunt Jean coming up the stairs and seconds later she knocked.
“Come in,” I groaned.
My aunt looked worried. “Officer Hanson wanted to speak with you. What have you been doing that you shouldn’t?” She pointed her feather duster accusingly at me.
“You mean apart from vomiting all morning?”
“I don’t like seeing the police on my doorstep. You’ve only been here a month.”
I sat up straight. “Aunt Jean, I have absolutely no idea why Officer Hanson wants to talk to me. I haven’t done anything wrong, I swear it.”
“Are you sure? Police officers don’t make social calls.”
“I’ve been better than, um, than gold.”
She leaned over and smoothed my quilt, her frosty expression melting. “Please make sure you stay that way. I’m taking a big risk letting you live here.”
“I appreciate that,” I said. “I’ve taken a big risk coming here too. And no way will I let you down.”
My stomach heaved for the thousandth time, reminding me how near death I was. I jumped out of bed and pushed past my aunt. No more pizza for me, ever.
CHAPTER 16
(Angus)
Homecoming
“Lt. Angus, sir? Can I interest you in one of our tasty ration packs? It’s your last chance before we begin landing procedures.” The sergeant had to shout over the rumble of the engines and even so his voice was muffled by my earplugs.
I peered through my Ray-Bans at the box of goodies he was waving under my nose and shook my head. I’d taken refreshment during the short stopover in Germany, a welcome break while the casualty caskets just arrived from Kabul were carefully loaded into the C-17’s cargo bay, and I reckoned I could survive what was left of the eleven-hour flight, until I was back in the good old U.S. of A. I glanced at my chronometer. 12:04 Eastern. Only an hour or so longer to hold out. As soon as I cleared the base I would hunt.
The plane began its descent. The aircrew came to life and busied themselves checking the two long rows of caskets once more, making sure all the straps were tight and the flags weren’t coming loose. Everything needed to be tip-top for the ceremony; these were the hallowed remains of young Americans coming home for the last time and the honor guard and the chaplain were waiting to greet them.
At the base I stood beneath the plane’s wing, shaded from the blazing sun while the caskets were disembarked, impatient to be astride my Ninja and gunning my way west. Forty-five minutes later I was out of uniform and dressed in my black leathers, speeding along the empty freeway, helmet speakers pounding out a wicked rhythm. Oh joy!
Finally, two weeks leave. Two whole precious weeks away from the heat and dust and sunlight and bad-tempered camels of the southern Iraqi desert. Time to enjoy the cold silent darkness of home, time to unwind, time to be among my own kind.
I turned the bike onto the bridge over the river and as we rumbled across I glanced at the fuel indicator. The tank was still almost full. I’d stopped at a gas station twenty miles back (and had taken the opportunity to gaze deep and longingly into the eyes of the sweetest young waitress and invite the helpless girl somewhere private for a quick bite—a wondrous thing and so ridiculously easy).
After the bridge I was in vampire country. I tucked in my elbows, crouched low, and opened up the throttle. Just a few more miles ride and then I’d be home and could stretch my aching legs and get out of this gear. Inside my heavy helmet I was beginning to transform into Darth Vader’s evil twin.
As I pulled up outside the house and kicked the bike onto its stand, the full moon was already rising from behind the mountain. A light flickered in a downstairs window and I wondered who would still be home. Probably only Astrid. On a night like this, George and Ophelia should have left already. But it was Ophelia who unbarred the door to me, her face a tight-lipped mask of tension.
“Hello,” she said.
“Hi,” I said in return. “Going to let me in?”
With a frown she stepped aside and I brushed past her into the gloom of the hallway, hitting her not quite accidentally with my backpack.
“George gone hunting?” I asked.
She nodded curtly. Ophelia played the ice maiden well, and she was playing her especially well tonight. I was glad George wasn’t home. He wasn’t the best company in the world.
“How about my ugly little stepsister? That crazy kid here to welcome me?”
Finally, a smile from Ophelia. “No. I’ve sent her somewhere safe. Somewhere not even you’ll find her.”
I laughed in Ophelia’s face. Somewhere safe? Well, that was a surprise and, moreover, a challenge. The United States Army paid me well for my expertise: tracking people down. And killing them. Nowhere, I repeat, nowhere on this planet was anybody safe from me.
Ophelia’s eyes glared red through the darkness. “You stay away from my daughter, you ... you monster,” she hissed.
I turned away and lugged my backpack up to my room, deep in thought. So dearest Astrid was hiding from me? What’d been going on here while I’d been away fighting for my country?
I unpacked my belongings and sized up a place on the wall for my new tin sign. ‘Baghdad 50 kms’ it read in white letters on a green background, with the equivalent in Arabic underneath for the benefit of the Iraqis. It looked kind of neat next to the ‘Ragheads keep out!’ sign I’d appropriated from the barracks before my previous trip home. I tossed my new souvenir on the table, poked my head outside the door, and listened. All was quiet. Maybe Ophelia had left. I looked toward the staircase leading to the attic. To Astrid’s room. Was she really out of here?
I crept upstairs, avoiding the step that creaked. Her door wasn’t locked—not in itself an obstacle—so I pushed it open and the hinges groaned. I sensed nobody in the room as I stepped inside but lit the candle on the table to make sure. Empty. A layer of dust covering the table and her bookshelves. Cobwebs in the corners. The floorboards unswept. Astrid hadn’t been here for weeks.
I pulled open the door to my stepsister’s closet and glanced inside, brushing my fingers along and inhaling the familiar scent from the clothes that still hung there, and noting those that were missing. I burst out laughing. So it looked as though Sweet Seventeen had finally managed to escape me. She’d been desperate to leave for ages. My guess was she’d taken refuge at Ophelia’s sister’s place. Where else would she go?
Well, wherever she’d disappeared to, good riddance. If she thought she could live better among the humans, good luck. It was time to celebrate. This turn of events would have freaked out George for sure, and I was forever in favor of things that freaked out George. I trotted back downstairs, whistling a marching tune my Special Forces buddies in Afghanistan had taught me, and prowled out into the black magic of the night.
CHAPTER 17
(Astrid)
Time Bandit
“Feeling better today, Astrid?” asked Aunt Jean when she came to visit me next morning, her lips pursed as usual.
I’d noticed she pursed her lips whenever she came into my room, even though I kept it much tidier than her daughter’s. My style was cool-colored minimalist with quiet and calm feng shui highlights. Emma’s was Big Bang chaotic, a dazzle of red and orange adorned with boy band posters and battered Monster High dolls, not to mention some surprisingly sinister-looking fantasy artwork that made even my skin creep when I studied it closely. I wasn’t the only person in this house with a dark side, that was for sure.
For some reason my aunt didn’t care for my choice of posters: Mr. Spock in thoughtful pose and the black and white Yin-Yang symbol among others. Nor did she approve of my little stone statue of the Buddha (which I’d bought from the New Age store at the mall expressly to annoy her). But I wasn’t overly enthusiastic about all the religious artifacts adorning the downstairs rooms either. It made me laugh to see her prostrate herself before them at the slightest family crisis, for instance whenever Emma or I got below the expected grades in an important test.
She was disappointed that I remained skeptical about her religion. I was uncomfortable with the irrationality of it, all the emotion entailed and the need to believe unconditionally. I told her I wanted to reserve judgment until I’d learned more about the other world faiths and philosophies.
To her credit, she bought me a book on comparative religion (albeit written by an eminent Christian scholar) and agreed I should be allowed to decide for myself. Nevertheless, she still expected me to accompany her and Emma to church every Sunday morning. I was happy to do so, not that I had faith, but more to join in the singing, share the warm community feeling, and hopefully catch a glimpse of Daniel Millwalk.
