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Carmilla wasn’t interested in many things but she somehow found herself perched high on a building at 2 in the morning, snarling at pigeons. As a 300 year old vampire she’d seen fairies and werewolves, gods and gremlins and everything in between. What she’d never seen before was a real superhero.
She refused to believe they actually existed.
The more trashy newspapers had started talking about a masked figure who was mentioned by in a handful of police reports. Unproven. She’d ignored it. Probably another one of those loony vigilante humans who got a Batman costume and thought they were the bee’s knees. Then the more reputable papers had started talking about it when it was rumoured that a girl in a mask had been knocked out burglars at a crime scene before superspeeding away. No camera evidence. Then the tv stations had started talking about this ‘superhero hoax’ a few weeks later when three reports came in that a masked hero had punched out a small local gang of thugs.
Again no video evidence.
That had gotten Carmilla’s attention enough that she’d slipped into a police station, hacked some files, and found that in each case the camera feed cut out just before the supposed hero moved in.
Odd but not enough to get her moving from her lush, riverside mansion. 300 years to accumulate wealth had it’s perks. She wasn’t going to waste them.
It had all changed one week ago when, blazed across the front of the Silas Times, was the image of a masked girl ripping the door off an armoured truck that had been car-jacked. Contents unknown.
The girl had her brown hair thrown back into a ponytail and a mask that covered her eyes and tied around the back of her head. She was dressed in a plain outfit, clearly tactically inclined with a bullet proof vest and camouflage cargo pants.
So much for superheros having a colour coordinated outfit. This screamed of someone who had gone to their nearest army surplus store with twenty dollars.
The news had started calling her Strike Girl. Apparently she had a thing for hitting people in the windpipe.
Carmilla didn’t believe in superheroes but a girl pulling steel apart with her bare hands was enough to raise some questions. If this turned into someone having been actually bitten by a spider or dumped in radioactive goo then she was going to never leave the house again. Her life was already supernatural. It didn’t need more scifi.
At least, that was what she told herself about why she had to find this girl.
So Carmilla, for the last week, Carmilla had found herself camped out on rooftops with a stolen police scanner in her ear, trying to find this so called Strike Girl. She’d hadn’t met with much success. The streets were practically crawling with reporters trying to track down the new superhero and land their exclusive interview.
But Carmilla was a vampire.
Surely that would help.
A week of watching and she wasn’t so sure. She’d come close a few times but there was a definite delay between calls on the police scanner and Strike Girl. It was as though the girl somehow had information before the police did.
She was perfectly willing to entertain the idea of an oracle. She’d met oracles.
The police scanner squawked again and Carmilla grumbled, getting to her feet and frowning at the dirt on her leather pants. Why anyone would want to do this, she didn’t know. She bared her fangs and gave one last growl to the annoyingly unperturbed pigeons and sped off. The wind whipped her hair back as she supersped through the streets to the address given on the police scanner. She skidded to a halt outside of the abandoned warehouse, paused only to take a shot from the blood flask on her hip, and walked towards the building.
The dark was no problem to her vampire eyes. In fact, most days it was easier to see in than pure sunlight. The warehouse looked at least 10 years out of service. Graffiti littered the sides of the building and most of the windows had at least one hole from a well placed rock. She couldn’t see anyone.
More disturbingly, she couldn’t hear anyone either.
Carmilla’s enhanced ears strained to pick up even a heartbeat. Usually, she found groaning goons every time she reached one of these crime scenes. A prize left behind by Strike Girl for the local police to find. This time there was nothing but silence. Carmilla slipped into one of the doors that was propped open by the rust around its hinges. The warehouse was empty. Nothing but dust on the floor.
Except.
Carmilla took a few more steps forward, eyes locked on what appeared to be a small set of footprints off to the side. She walked further, following them with her eyes. They lead to a metal staircase and, in the light of the moon, it almost seemed to glow. The steps continued to a series of metal lattices and walkaways above the main floor.
Oh.
She heard something shuffle above her. With a touch of superspeed, Carmilla just had enough time to scoot backwards towards the middle of the empty room. There was a loud thwack and suddenly Strike Girl was in front of her, knees bent as she hit the concrete floor from where she’d jumped down.
Carmilla’s first thought was that Strike Girl should be short for striking.
Then she had to fight the urge to punch herself in the face. What the newspaper picture hadn’t captured was the way the moonlight bounced off the soft curves of her skin. It hadn’t seen the wrinkle in the fabric around her eyes from a pull in what appeared to be glue. The subtle movement of her chest with every breath.
The fact that she smelled like chocolate chip cookies.
The fact that she was smaller than even Carmilla and didn’t seem to know it, the girl puffed herself up, “You’ve been following me.”
Carmilla raised an eyebrow, “Have I?”
A crinkle appeared in the fabric where Strike Girl frowned, “Yes. Yes you have.” she said, “We’ve got footage of you showing up at five different places that I’ve been and you don’t even do anything. You just sort of lurk around for awhile until the police get there and then you walk away.”
“Coincidence,” Carmilla said.
Strike Girl huffed, “Five times? Really? Not buying it.”
“Maybe I like the ambiance of crime scenes,” Carmilla said. She started moving slowly to her right, trying to get a gauge on whether this girl had superpowers or was just a sham. The tight navy shirt under the bullet proof vest showed off some arm definition that had Carmilla’s eyes lingering. If nothing else, the girl was fit.
As Carmilla moved right, Strike Girl matched her and circled to the left, “Nobody likes crime scenes.”
“Big fan of blood,” Carmilla said and grinned, “Really does it for me.”
Strike Girl twitched. Her step faltered and, for just a moment, it looked like she used a touch of superspeed. Carmilla mentally cursed, noting that all of her other movements seemed to be graceful. As though the speed was a new addition.
“You’re following me.” Strike Girl repeated.
Carmilla shrugged, “That a crime?”
“Yes! Yes it is.” Strike Girl threw her hands in the air before remembering to bring them back to a position better suited for guarding her body. “So I,” she continued, center of gravity low, “Want to know why.”
Carmilla inched closer, “Heard there was a superhero in town. Got curious.”
“You’re a reporter?” The girl sounded surprised.
Carmilla snorted, “Hardly.”
She almost smiled when the girl looked offended at her response. Strike Girl opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again, paused ,huffed, and finally came out with, “So you’re just curious? About me? But how are you getting to all of the scenes so fast, like I know I’m getting there fast but so are you. I know how I’m doing it but you’re beating the police. Plus you don’t even try to help anyone. You just lurk.”
“Brood.” Carmilla muttered, “I don’t lurk.”
Strike Girl seemed to hear her and rolled her eyes, “Brood then. Whatever. But you keep showing up and I want to know why and I know that I’ve got the whole mask and everything but I really don’t need another arch rival so if you could just leave then that would be great.”
“You want me to leave?” Carmilla pretended to think about it, “Nope.”
Strike Girl’s eyes narrowed, “So you are looking to be my arch-enemy?”
“Sounds like too much work,” Carmilla waved her off, “I’m just not ready to leave yet.”
“What’ll it take to get you to stop following me?” Strike Girl asked.
“Admit you’re not a real superhero,” Carmilla said.
The girl stopped, glared at Carmilla, and then put her hands on her hips. It shouldn’t have been as cute as it was. She was basically a tiny, pissed-off kitten. “I am too a real superhero!” Strike Girl said.
Carmilla smirked, “Please. If you need to pacify the masses with that drivel then I don’t care. But there are no such things as superheroes.”
“Um, yes there are. Me.” Strike Girl jabbed herself in the chest and then winced at the action.
Her face twitched. Determined not to let her smirk turn into a smile, Carmilla said, “A sub-par costume does not a superhero make.”
The words seemed to burst out, “My costume is not sub-par. I mean, yeah it’s not like comic book level but that’s fiction. I’m real. It’s not like everyone just has access to loads of money or top secret gadgets or whatever. We had to make do. And I’m totally a superhero. I have superpowers. I do good thing. I save people. That’s all you need to be a superhero and I’ve got it.” Her hands had moved to her hips as she glared at Carmilla, ponytail blowing softly in the breeze from the broken windows.
At least this was entertaining. “You don’t have superpowers.” Carmilla said.
“Do to!” Strike girl said.
Carmilla shrugged, “Prove it.”
Strike Girl deflated a little before puffing up again, “I don’t use them unless I have to.”
“Of course not,” Carmilla rolled her eyes but eyed the girl in front of her, assessing, “That would be too easy.”
“Can you just leave?” Strike Girl was seconds away from stomping her foot and pouting.
“Not until you say you don’t have superpowers.” Carmilla said.
Strike Girl crossed her arms, “Well I’m never gonna say that, so there.”
Carmilla shrugged, put her hands in her jacket pockets and just stared at Strike Girl. With her chin up and a fire in her eyes, the supposed superhero glared back.
Until something buzzed two minutes later. Strike Girl’s hand bounced slightly towards her ear as her face clenched in pain. Then a voice came through what was obviously a headset in her ear. It sounded like it was designed to be heard by the wearer only.
But Carmilla was a vampire.
“So does the broody one want to kill you or not?” A voice asked, “It’s killing me that we don’t have cameras in there.”
Strike Girl glared at Carmilla one last time, turned to the side, and muttered, “You’re the one who said we had to choose a place without cameras in case she was using them too.”
The superhero had a sidekick. Interesting.
“Well, Perr is freaking out. She’s started on her fourth batch of snickerdoodles.” the voice said, “She’s convinced that you’re about to die. Which would be pretty ironic. All things considered. You get anything out of Miss Broody Pants?”
“Leather pants Laf,” Strike Girl whispered, “She’s wearing leather pants.”
The voice, Laf apparently, chuckled, “Try to hold back the gay and focus, frosh.”
Carmilla fought the urge to preen. She did look good in leather pants.
“She wants me to say I’m not a superhero,” Strike Girl said, “and she won’t leave until I do. She’s just staring at me with her sexy smoulder eyes and infuriating face.”
“So lie,” Laf said, “Then she’ll leave.”
Strike Girl made a strangled noise, “I’m not lying!”
Clearly everyone around this girl was delusional and as good as the conversation was for her ego, Carmilla was done with it. She cricked her neck once and leapt towards Strike Girl. Carefully, she put just a touch of superspeed into her step and held back on all of the superstrength. This girl seemed good intentioned for all that she was naive. She didn’t want to punch her too hard.
Just enough to make a really satisfying smack. Make up for wasting Carmilla time.
There was a smack but the punch never landed. The girl spun faster than a human should and caught Carmilla’s fist in her hand, holding it between them. Carmilla pushed harder, letting a little super strength seep into her muscles.
Her hand went nowhere.
Strike Girl was strong.
Strike Girl’s eyes went wide. “You’re one too-”
Well then. Carmilla pushed forward. She grabbed Strike Girl around the shoulders, crossed the room at superspeed, and slammed her into the opposite wall. The building shook with the impact but before Carmilla could enjoy her victory, hands were wrapping around her arms and heaving her to left. She was lifted clean off the ground and tossed into a pillar. Strike Girl was on top of her again, a punch blurring towards her face that had Carmilla pulling on her speed to avoid.
Strike Girl was fast.
The next punch came quick and Carmilla had just enough time while dodging to note that it was thrown with expert precision.
Strike Girl had better technique.
Carmilla was pretty sure that she was still stronger and faster though.
So she took the punch to her gut, actually groaning in pain for the first time in decades, before using the opening to slam both of her fists right into the girl’s collarbones. The girl flew back, barely landing on her feet as Carmilla’s ears heard something crack. Carmilla pressed forward, her hands a flurry of motion. The girl tried to follow but couldn’t seem to match her speed. Sometimes Strike Girl’s blows seems to move fast but then they slowed, as though she couldn’t quite keep track of them.
Carmilla put her on her back. Throwing herself forward, Carmilla straddled Strike Girl and held her down. She missed one of the arms and it blurred forward, sending Carmilla onto her own back and leaping on top of her to reverse their positions.
Her hip hit the ground first and the blood flask at her waist shattered under the impact. The smell filled the room immediately.
The pressure on her shoulders disappeared.
Carmilla looked up at Strike Girl and everything became clear. The girl was still sitting on top of Carmilla but her lips had parted and where once had been flat teeth, Carmilla could see two small fangs.
She wasn’t a superhero.
Carmilla strained her hearing and shook her head at what she hadn’t realized before. There was still no heartbeat in the building.
Strike Girl was a vampire.
“Oh for Peter’s sake,” Carmilla said, “Really? You’re not a superhero, you’re just some old vampire who’s looking to get themselve staked in the chest because you can’t be bother to do it yourself.”
There was silence and then Strike Girl spoke, voice strained, “I’m a superhero.”
“Vampire’s don’t do superhero,” Carmilla said, “It’s against the rules. You know that.”
Strike Girl said nothing. Carmilla paused, frowned, and sat up slightly with Strike Girl still on her lap. The girl was breathing softly even though most vampires had long curbed the impulse and had to be reminded to do so. Her muscles were tensed, hands clenched at her sides.
Carmilla’s stomach dropped.
Slowly she reached up, and when the girl didn’t move, she tugged the mask off her face. Strike Girl’s eyes were unfocused, pupils wide as her nostrils flared. She was beautiful but that was hardly the point.
She wasn’t just a vampire. She was a baby vampire.
A grown vampire would never had such a reaction to blood. This one looked ready to lick it off the floor, barely restraining herself. In some ways it was impressive, most vampires would have given into the urge long ago especially after the fight they’d just had. Babies burned through blood way faster than adults.
Reaching into her jacket for her second emergency flask, Carmilla uncorked it and held it to Strike Girl’s lips. The lips quivered and Carmilla’s stomach swooped for a whole different reason. Then the flask was snatched from her hands and drained. Strike Girl backed away with the blood, hoarding it as though she thought Carmilla was going to steal it back.
Carmilla just watched her. The lucidity slowly returning to her eyes.
Finally she looked up at Carmilla.
“Who’s your sire?” Carmilla demanded, “They should know better than to let you run around like this.”
“My what?”
“The vampire who made you,” Carmilla said, “I don’t have all day and I’m already going to have to file an injunction which isn’t paperwork I was looking forward to.”
Strike Girl slowed uncurled from the flask, staring at Carmilla, “You know about vampires? You’re not scared?”
Carmilla rolled her eyes but opened her mouth and let her fangs drop, “I know a thing or two about them.” She said, “Now. Strikey. Sire.”
The girl looked at her like she was a wonder, “My name is Laura.”
“Great. Don’t care.” Carmilla said, “Sire.”
Laura got to her feet, fingers still clasped around the flask, “You won’t have any paperwork. Don’t worry about it.”
“Trust me strikey,” Carmilla said, “I’m not one for paperwork but even I’m willing to make an exception when some wingnut who can’t look after their own offspring threatens to expose us all. I like my privacy.” She gave Laura a pointed look, “Sire. Now. “
“I don’t have one,” Laura said.
Carmilla could feel the headache coming. Vampires don’t even get headaches. “Don’t make me figure it out on my own.” Her fangs descended a little further.
Laura’s eyes widened, “I’m not lying. I mean, I guess I probably have one but I don’t know who it is. I was attacked, by a vampire I guess, coming home from university one night and I don’t really remember much except the biting really hurts and thinking that my dad would be so disappointed that he wasted all of those krava maga lessons because I didn’t even get one punch in. Then everything went black and next thing I know I’m waking up in my friends lab cause they were apparently able to save me by like activating the venom or something? I don’t know.”
“Shit” Carmilla closed her eyes and forced herself to breath. The action still calming after all the centuries. This girl was just some feed that had apparently survived. She hadn’t even known that was possible.
Not just a baby vampire. An abandoned baby vampire.
“Sorry?” Laura offered, “At least that means you don’t have paperwork right?”
The headache hit her full force, “Actually, kid. That means that I just got the job of taking care of you until we can figure out who your actual sire is and send you back to them.” The absolute worst gig. Carmilla wouldn’t even have a bond to help her control the kid and she’d probably be going through abandonment withdrawal. Plus, if the overeager girl in camo pants did anything against the rules, Carmilla was the one on the line.
They were stuck with each other. Her and this bubbly lump of a baby who was looking at her like a deer in the headlights.
“Rule one,” Carmilla said, “None of this superhero nonsense. You’re a vampire. Not batman. This stops now.”
Laura crossed her arms, “Oh no. I’m not stopping. No way. Weird vampire rules or not.”
Carmilla crossed her arms and glared.
Laura stuck out her tongue.
She never should have gotten out of bed.