The Girl in the Leather Jacket

By Catharina Shields

Who is Lola Fox?

(14+) In the affluent City of San Marino, California, a sixteen year old girl learns the secret of her true identity and that of her family.

In a world of old and new money, mansions, domestic help, and the Valley Hunt Club, the country club that puts the exclude in exclusive, she has always considered herself an oddball and a misfit.

But on her sweet sixteenth she discovers all those fears she secretly had weren't just a product of teen angst when her parents tell her a secret they had kept from her all her life.

This dark secret is only the first of many more to come, opening a world to her she could have never imagined possible. And as she navigates her way through this new, and at first, fascinating world, she discovers more secrets and schemes that turn her world upside down and inside out.

Meet Lola Fox: not-so-sweet-sixteen, half human, half vampire, femme fatale and fierce who is commonly known as the girl in the leather jacket.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Catharina Shields
• Release date: Mar 10, 2012
• ISBN: 9781465972781

Catharina Shields

{PLEASE SCROLL DOWN FOR THE LIST OF MY AVAILABLE E-BOOKS} I've always enjoyed storytelling, ever since I was a child. My love for storytelling has evolved from hand-drawn comic strips, to creating hand-puppets - "Meemies and Fluffies" - for my younger brother and sisters' morning puppet show, to writing stories in longhand in spirals armed with only a Penmate pen while battling a stiff hand and dreaming of a day when I'd finally own a typewriter. Today, in my peaceful Southern California home near the mountains, I can't go a day without my computer and I now enjoy storytelling via my e-books, specializing in mystery, drama, Young Adult and paranormal romance. If you've read one of my books and like them, please leave a review, good or bad, and add me as a favorite author {a single click on a button to your left is all it takes}. Remember . . . reviews are tips for Authors.

Book preview

The Girl in the Leather Jacket

ChapHeadImage_96dpi_PNG

Who’s Lola Fox?

My name is Lola Fox. Today is my birthday. I just turned sixteen.

For a lot of girls my age there would be a party with lots of friends, a big cake, music, and gifts. A girl’s sixteenth birthday is some kind of big deal. I didn’t see it. I never got it…until I became it.

There’s even this show on cable dedicated to people with money to burn, showcasing their daughters’ sweet sixteenth party. I guess some people would do anything just to get their mug on t.v. They’d even spend ridiculous amounts of money on sweet sixteenth birthdays just to get their fifteen minutes of fame.

Sad. And that’s how I think about the show, too. Sad.

But call me insane—and most people who think they know me do—but I was fascinated by that silly show. It was a lot like sitting in a car, passing a horrible accident on the road. You don’t want to look, but you can’t help yourself. I couldn’t believe the things some people did for the show just to throw their sweet sixteen darlings those unbelievably huge parties at any and all cost. It just baffled my mind.

Don’t get me wrong. If you think I’m jealous of those people, you’re wrong. See, my parents aren’t poor and they can afford to give me anything I’ll ever need. They aren’t middle class or upper middle class. They’re the kind of people who have old money. There aren’t that many people here in San Marino, California who still has old money, but we’re one of the few.

We’ve lived in the exclusive San Marino City all our lives. My parents have lived there longer than even I knew or could’ve guessed. It’s a small city and tight-knit community in Southern California, right next to Pasadena where they still hold Cotillions and coming outs. We even have a very exclusive country club, the Valley Hunt Club, which puts the exclude in exclusive. It’s probably the most exclusive country club in the country.

No amount of money can buy your way in the Valley Hunt Club. It’s by personal invite only, based on your family tree and bloodlines. The stodgy old board has to approve you and they’re tough. Very tough. It’s because they come from old money, too, and anyone who doesn’t isn’t worth their time.

Just to give you an idea what background I’m from, San Marino is considered the Beverly Hills of the Valley. I’m sure you’ve heard of Beverly Hills, haven’t you? Sure you have.

So you see? I’m not the least bit jealous of all those spoiled sixteen year old girls whose parents can’t spend money fast enough to give their little darlings everything they want—including a cable show.

No. Not jealous. I’m just trying to make a point.

The point is, today is my sixteenth birthday. And I’ve just discovered it’s a big deal after all. But there isn’t going to be a big party. There aren’t going to be any friends, or music, or lots of presents. And despite my parents’ money, all I got for my sixteenth birthday were answers to questions I’ve been secretly concerned about.

And I also got . . . a black leather jacket.

It’s not one of those fancy-schmancy ones, but it’s the kind that would make the other girls in my society cringe. Girls my age in San Marino don’t wear clothes I do, but I never felt I fitted in our community anyway, so why not look the part?

I’ve always considered myself an outsider. A bona fide rebel. I’ve always known there was something about me that made me stand apart from everybody else. And today, I found out what that something is. And I can tell you, it’s liberating.

Here I now stand, in front of the famous Hollywood sign. It’s night and I can see the lights winking at me from down in the valley. The skies above are ink black. I can see the stars twinkling high above in the black canopy of the universe. You can’t see those when there’s a lot of smog, but up here, above the smog, you can see them clearly.

And they’re beautiful. The night is incredibly beautiful. But the wind is cold. The voices in my head are hushed, though. For now. Oh, I know they’ll be back. They always come back. But now I understand them and I don’t dread them anymore.

I raise my arms away from my sides as if I’m about to flap them like they’re wings. I tilt my head back and close my eyes. I can feel life bustle and sizzle all around me. I feel like I’m on top of the world. And in every sense, I know I am.

My feet move. I can hear how dirt and small stones crunch beneath the soles of my black spike Litas. Then I feel I’m flying. I feel the cold wind brush against my pale cheeks. I feel it sting my lips and my eyelids. I feel as free as a bird and I feel totally liberated.

I’m sailing through the air until I feel my Litas hit the ground below. But I don’t hit it hard. I land softly and I’m still standing. I’m no longer standing in front of the Hollywood sign, though. I’m hundreds of feet below it.

I bring my head forward and open my eyes. I know they look different than everybody else’s. I’m not wearing my colored contacts so now my eyes are naked, pale, and undilated. But I can see everything so clearly. And everything I see through my special night eyes is so beautiful.

I feel a smile stretch my big lips. I feel the sharp hollow points of my teeth against them. I hear a field mouse’s heart racing as it scurries away under the bushes, and I hear the traffic move below.

And then the voices return. They’re whispering, softly echoing in a soup of inaudible sounds in my head. But I hear each and every word. They’re not scary voices conjured by some mental illness. And despite what I’d always thought, they never have been. They’re your voices and your thoughts filtering into my brain because you haven’t told me I’m not allowed to hear them. All you have to say is non grata. It’s Latin for you are not welcome. But how many people know Latin? Exactly. Your minds are my campus. I come and go as I please.

I even hear your thoughts now.

You’re asking, who is this girl, this Lola Fox?

And I answer, I am Lola Fox. And today is my birthday. I just turned sixteen. Yeah, I am a girl, but I’m also vampire, and now I’m in your head because you’ve just entered my world.

001Divider_Paragraph_96_PNG

Chapter One

ChapHeadImage_96dpi_PNG

I’m driving back to my home in my new Karmann Ghia convertible. Well, it’s an old 1975 Karmann Ghia, but it’s completely restored and it’s new to me since I just got the keys to it this past summer when I got my driver’s license.

It has a nice wet black exterior coat, blood red leather seats, and black ragtop. I love this old thing even if it isn’t a flashy Bimmer or some high-end Japanese make and model. My dad gave it to me on my fifteenth birthday, originally, and although I’m not supposed to drive after dark because I’m only sixteen, I do it anyway, and I have been ever since I officially got the keys, if you don’t count the times I snuck out of the house before I officially got the keys, that is.

I smile as I press the pedal to the metal and speed along the 110 freeway. I love driving at night. I love feeling my hair blowing back from my face. This thing is souped up and really fun to drive. I drive it everywhere at any time of the day. But I like driving at night best of all. I love how the world looks at night. Always have.

I see a red and blue light flashing in my rearview. I feel my lips stretch into a smile. Cops. I knew I was attracting attention by driving so fast, but that’s okay. I’m not the least bit worried.

I slow down and pull over first chance I get. I see the black and white squad pull up behind me with red and blue lights flashing. Whenever I see those lights whirling like that, I think of all the people who get nervous. But not me. They fascinate me because they remind me of a scorpion with its stinger up, ready for an aggressive attack. Exciting stuff.

I keep my hands on the large, red steering wheel as two cops get out. Two cops? Really? Isn’t that overkill for a simple speeding ticket—one that I know they’ll never get to write?

License and registration, the police officer asks me on my side. He’s got distinct Latino features. Handsome guy.

His partner walks to the passenger’s side. I feel kind of double-teamed here, but it’s what they do. It helps establish their superiority over us lowly drivers.

I smile. This driver ain’t so humble, though.

Good evening, Officers,  I say, and I lean over to the small glove compartment and open it before I take out the small leather case that contains my registration and insurance. Then I take out my wallet from my big shoulder bag and hand them over to the officer.

Can you see with those black shades on, Miss? the other cop asks me. He’s a tall Caucasian guy and he’s got an okay build. He’s not ugly, but not really handsome, either. But he sure as hell is patronizing.

I turn my head and smile.

Yes, Officer. I see just fine, I answer as the cop on my side uses a miniature Maglite to check my information. The light briefly stings my eyes.

Then you must’ve seen your speedometer and that you were driving fifteen miles over the speed limit, right? the cop on my side, the one with the handsome Latino features, asks me with a cocky tone. His badge tells me his name is Sanchez. Officer Sanchez.

I was? Oh. I’m sorry, I say. It’s my birthday today. I guess I was feeling excited.

Birthday? the Caucasian cop says with a cynical tone. I check his breast badge and see his name is Officer Radfly. How old are you today?

I knew he was going to ask me that. Inside, I smile.

Sixteen.

Sixteen, hm? Radfly says. And as a sixteen year old, you know you’re not supposed to be driving after dark, right?

Before I could give him a pithy answer, Officer Sanchez speaks up.

Wait a minute, he starts, and something in his tone drew his partner’s attention. You’re Lola Fox? Do you know a S. Fitzgerald and Lynwynn Fox?

They’re my parents, I tell him.

I see the gears grinding as he raises his head to look at his partner. I turn and look at Officer Radfly, too, and I see the recognition on their faces. Inside, I smile.

Well, Officer Sanchez says to his partner. I think we made a mistake.

You bet you did, I think to myself.

Yes, we did, Officer Radfly agrees. We thought you were speeding, but it appears that’s not the case.

Really, now? I ask, my black brows rising over the rim of my Wayfarers.

We apologize for the inconvenience, Miss Fox, Officer Sanchez says as he hands me my driver’s license and black case back. We should’ve never stopped you.

No harm no foul, I say. Everyone makes mistakes, right?

I put my things away as both officers step back, moving as if they’re participating in River Dance.

You’re free to go, Miss Fox, Officer Sanchez says. Tell your parents Officers Sanchez and Radfly give our best, he adds as he tips his hat to me.

Or, Officer Radfly puts his two cents in, "you can say Officers Radfly and Sanchez give our best."

Either way, Officer Sanchez says, please let your father know we really appreciate his generosity to the L.A.P.D. all these years.

Sure, I say and smile before I shift and drive off . . . speeding.

I laugh as I look in my rearview mirror and see the relief in their faces. I knew they’d been nervous as hell when they found out who I was. I could hear their hearts suddenly thumping in their chests like that little field mouse when they realized the largest most generous donors to their department for over twenty years just happen to be my parents.

I drive to the French-Normandy home in North San Marino without further incident. The tree-lined streets with grand mansions are clean and quiet. Everyone is still fast asleep inside their fortresses. Everyone but the family Fox, that is.

No one parks their cars on the street in our neighborhood, not even the Fox’s. The neighborhood always looks so abandoned the moment night falls although you’d always see a peacock or two sliding over the streets, trailing their long, magnificent tails over manicured lawns and blacker than black asphalt public roads every now and then.

But there weren’t any out now. It was too late in the night for them, too.

I drive up the winding driveway before I bring the Ghia under the porte cohere and park it. I have loved that overhang ever since my dad had it built over part of our long drive, and when he added a small art studio on top of it with lots of windows for me, I loved it even more. It was next to my bedroom and whenever the mood hits me, I go there to do a little painting and drawing.

Good evening, Miss Lola, the family chauffer, Manning, says as he appears out of nowhere. He smiles as I hand him the keys so he could find a spot for my car in the family’s six-car garage.

Hello, Manning, I return.

Did you have a nice drive out this evening?

Yes, actually. I drove up to the Hollywood sign.

Nice, he says. And happy sixteenth, Miss Lola, he adds as he gets in behind the wheel.

Thanks, Manning, I say, slipping my Wayfarers on my head.

I make my way to the French doors as he drives off with my Ghia, and as I enter the grand house I get a few more happy birthdays from the housekeeper, Mrs. Stodding, and our two maids, Alice and Lupe. All three have undilated eyes just like me.

My mom is in the kitchen preparing lunch. The sun wasn’t going to rise for another six or so hours, but in our home, any meal that time of night was considered lunch. Our night is your day.

Hi Mom. Hi Maggie, I say as I saunter into the giant kitchen. My mother is there with the cook, Magdalena. I just call her Maggie for short.

Hello Miss Lola, Magdalena says. She’s a Spanish recruit of our family. She smiles as she turns to look at me with warm, brown eyes. She and Manning weren’t like us. They were your average San Marino humans which helped because my parents, unlike me, couldn’t go out in the sun and Manning and Maggie ran the house and all the errands during the day.

Hi, dear, my mother says as she sets a plate down with dark, round cakes. My favorite and—now I know—necessary dish. Without it, the dark savagery inside me would awaken and then all hell could break loose.

The flat round cakes kind of look like rice cakes only dark red/brown in color. I never knew what they were growing up, but now I understood those cakes to be blood cakes made out of goat’s blood. They were prepared in a special way my parents, both scientists, who had also invented them.

These cakes were their own special recipe.

The food my mother prepared together with Maggie was able to sustain us so we wouldn’t go rogue, as she called it. That’s her way of saying so we wouldn’t revert to our baser vampiric instincts and return to hunting people.

Hm. My mother looks at me critically as I slip into a chair at the large kitchen table.

What? I ask.

Aren’t you going to take off your leather jacket at the table? she asks as she comes over to the table and sets a plate with my cakes in front of me.

Not in a million years, I say, shaking my head as I take a cake and crunch into it. It was heaven!

I just received a call from an officer Radfly, my mom says, setting hands on her hips.

I slow my chewing, but I don’t look up at her.

Oh? I ask.

Honey, my mother begins, you can’t draw attention to yourself this way. I know it’s tempting, given what you now know about yourself, but it’s not a wise thing to do to attract attention to this family. Remember, my mom continues as she turns and returns back to the giant kitchen island, our success and safety is dependent upon being discrete.

I see Maggie look at me over her shoulder, and she winks.

I heard that, Magdalena, my mom says without looking up from preparing my dad’s lunch. Then my mother raises her undilated eyes to look at me. I don’t want you to be ostracized in our community.

Pff! I think to myself. That ship’s sailed.

No, Lola, my mother says out loud. It hasn’t.

Oh yeah, I say. You can hear my thoughts.

Not all the time, but only when I’m concentrated.

Good to know, I say with big eyes as I look at my mother while taking another bite out of the cake, and she narrows her eyes on me. I smile.

And don’t you go blocking me out, sweetie, because you’ll get my full and undivided attention if you do. Then I’ll know you have something to hide from me.

I smile with all my white teeth showing. They’re human-looking teeth that would never know a moment’s decay. I’ll never have a cavity! There are just too many perks being a vampire and I was impatient to know them all.

Uh-huh, my mother says cynically, seeing my smile, but I know she doesn’t mean to reprimand me. It’s just something she feels she needs to do as my mother.

My father enters the kitchen carrying two commercial sized coffee makers. They’re the kinds used in commercial cafés. He sets them on the counter and takes a cup out of the cupboard before he holds it under the spigot.

Hi, Daddy, I greet him.

He half turns while pouring himself some thick steaming liquid, peering at me from over his spectacles. He really doesn’t need to wear them, but he had them when he was human, before his rebirth, and old habits die hard.

Oh! Hello, sweetheart, my father says. Didn’t notice you sitting there. How was your drive?

Well, I guess my mom might be attuned to me, but my daddy rarely was.

It was fun. I smile and see him smile back.

She was pulled over by two police officers, Fritz, my mother tattles, and I frown at her.

No problems, I hope? Do I need to call the chief?

No, Fritz, there’s no problem and you don’t need to call the chief of police, my mother assures him.

Good!

But I just got through explaining to our daughter, she stresses, that she can’t go around attracting attention like that. Then she looked pointedly at me. Right?

Right, I say just to humor her. I know my mother means well, but she can be a real nag sometimes. After all, what do I have to be afraid of? I’m a vampire. They’re vampires. We’re on top of the food chain in California and beyond. What do we really have to fear?

Well, my love, my father says as he comes to me and sets down a mug of that thick, sweet brew for me. She’s just getting comfortable in her skin as a vampire. She’s bound to make a mistake here and there, but, and I look up to see my father look down at me through his spectacles, it’s incumbent upon us to learn from them. And I’m sure you have, haven’t you, Lola?

Yes, Daddy, I say and sip the delicious, warm drink.

The hot, sweet liquid was mixed with special herbs and spices, but the base was just goat’s blood. Fresh goat’s blood from our very own goats my father and Miguel raise themselves on our 2.3 acre property. Miguel wasn’t like us, either. He was probably asleep in the guesthouse close to the private field where my father raised those special goats. He tended to the goats during the day when my father was asleep.

Good girl, my father says before he touches my hair and then seats himself. My mother brought their breakfast so we could sit down for our meal like the close-knit family we’ve always been.

Honey, my mother begins, looking at me from across the table. Your father and I are happy you’ve taken the news about what we really are so well.

Why wouldn’t I have, Mom?

Well, my father says, it’s pretty big news, sweetheart. It’s not every day a girl learns she’s not what she thought she was all her life. This is a pretty big deal and it’s completely understandable if you’re distraught about it.

I’m not, I say. Distraught, I mean.

You don’t believe this is a big deal, sweetheart? my mom asks.

I know it is, I say, nodding in total agreement, and then I see my parents exchange concerned looks. But I’m fine with it. Really.

Do you have any questions you’d like to ask us? my mother presses.

Plenty, I admit. You’ve answered most of them by telling me tonight what I am, so that helped a lot, but of course there are other questions I have that aren’t answered by that revelation.

Like what? my father asks.

Like, for example, you and mom being undead. How did you and mom, you know? I ask with a meaningful look.

Well, Honey, it looks as if it’s time to explain the birds and the bees to you, my mom says.

I frown. Birds and the bees?

You want to know how we had you, you mean? my father asks to be sure.

Yes. But not in any graphic detail, please. Because that’s just gross.

My father smiles, understanding. Knowing we’re vampire, not human, we go about a lot of things differently than humans do, he tells me. And it might still be gross to you, but you weren’t conceived the same way human babies are conceived.

I look stunned at him. Come again?

You were born in SoCal-Tech, my mother