Samantha Watkins: Chronicles of an Extraordinary Ordinary Life (Samantha Watkins Series Book 1)

by Aurélie Venem

  “How long have you been working for your bosses?”

  “Hm . . . I have known them for two hundred years, but they did not trust me until a hundred years ago, and I became their angel fifty years ago.”

  “Is that why you stopped laughing?”

  I remembered his burst of laughter and the number of years between then and the last time he had laughed like that. At the time, I hadn’t paid attention to it, but with hindsight I found it rather sad.

  “My work takes up a great deal of my time. I really do not have the opportunity to amuse myself.”

  As usual, I tried to figure out his emotions. I had challenged myself to this task a while ago, and thus far it had come to nothing. This time, as always, his indecipherable expression remained an enigma. I sighed.

  “It would do you some good. Believe me.”

  “Are you insinuating that I am depressed?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

  By now I was used to this mannerism of his, but it drove me crazy. I always felt like he took me for an imbecile in those moments. I’m not even going to tell you about his sardonic smile.

  “Of course not! You are the life of the party,” I said sarcastically. “Come on, you only think about work. Try to relax from time to time.”

  “And what do you do to relax?”

  “Well, thanks to your generosity, and until I can go to town, I like to relax by reading a good book with some light music in the background or by stuffing my face with popcorn while watching a DVD marathon on my new television.”

  “A DVD marathon?”

  “Well, yes, you watch episodes of your favorite television show until you think you have better things to do.”

  He seemed confused.

  “Don’t tell me that you never watch TV.”

  “You must be well aware that I do not have one here. I get my updates from print media.”

  “Who said anything about news? I’m talking about films or series to empty your head when you have a bad day. A bad night, I guess, in your case.”

  “I do not have time for that.”

  “For what, then? You criticize your colleagues for not wanting to hear about computers, but you’re just as old-fashioned as they are. We need to get you up to date. There’s more to life than work. Between real estate transactions and the pursuit of the other living dead, you need to take it easy, or else you’ll end up a grouchy old vampire hermit. Even your kind will find you depressing.”

  There was a silence, and then he answered, “Well, well, who would have known you would worry about my well-being?”

  His sardonic smile materialized on his face. Grrrr.

  “Your well-being is all the same to me, to be honest. But I think that you would be more pleasant on a daily basis if you exuded some joie de vivre. But you know what? You’ve lived alone for a very long time.”

  I had hit the nail on the head. His expression was irritated.

  “Curious to hear that from someone who never had a social life herself.”

  Touché. He was getting on my nerves.

  “I may not have had a social life, but at least I know how to appreciate life. You, you just suck its blood, bloodsucker!”

  We stared daggers at each other. With my new resolutions, it was out of the question that I lower my eyes first.

  “There will be no training tonight. I will let you appreciate life as you like. As for me, sucking someone’s blood would not be a bad idea . . . It will help me unwind and keep me from wanting to suck yours! Have a good evening,” he said, his tone glacial, before turning his heels.

  At least he hadn’t jumped on me, which was what had happened every other time I had shown him disrespect. That must have meant that our relationship was getting better. He was infuriated, but I was persuaded that he knew deep down that I was right. He may have been a vampire, but he had to accept criticism when it was well-founded, even if it came from a human woman five hundred years younger than him.

  In any case, I didn’t feel any remorse, and I was even happy for the time off, for I was going to be able to go to bed early for once. I thus took advantage of my free evening to have a well-earned DVD marathon. I was in my pajamas on my new loveseat (the suite was so big that I could have fit three in there) facing my flat screen, when I heard knocks on my door.

  “Come in.”

  I thanked heaven that I had picked the comfort of good flannel pajamas, purchased via the mall, instead of the alluring camisoles that my employer had provided at my arrival. As beautiful as those garments were, I had no interest for performing in burlesque shows.

  Phoenix entered. He seemed ill at ease, which was strange coming from him.

  “Listen . . .”

  Silence. I truly wanted to listen, but he had to at least open his mouth!

  “I’m listening.”

  “I thought about what you said, and I think I owe you an apology.”

  I should have had a recorder so I could play his words over and over in a continuous loop. I couldn’t believe my ears.

  “What you said to me earlier, well . . . you were right. I have lived alone for so long that I do not know how to be social anymore. My employers are the only ones I have to answer to, and they don’t meddle in my private life. I am not used to being criticized so openly. I should not have spoken to you about your solitude. Please forgive me.”

  I was looking at him, wide-eyed, mouth hanging open. He rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

  “Please, this is costing me a great deal to say this to you, so stop looking so stunned and say something,” he grumbled.

  Boom! He really had a way of making me tumble back to earth.

  “Uh . . . I forgive you. Anyway, I shouldn’t have called you a bloodsucker. It was rude. So I also ask you to forgive me.”

  “Consider the matter forgotten.”

  We exchanged a brief smile. Phoenix then transferred his attention to the television.

  “Is this one of your famous marathons?”

  “Yes. Since I’m unable to recover my own things, I bought the first season of my favorite series again. I’m at the pilot episode.”

  “Hm.”

  I took a deep breath, and then, with an encouraging smile, I asked, “Can I tempt you?”

  He was silent a moment, and then he said, “Let’s have a relaxing evening, then, shall we?”

  And he settled onto the sofa.

  He said nothing as we watched. I wondered if he liked it or if he was bored stiff. When he left so I could sleep, I was still asking myself that question.

  I had my answer the following morning, when I saw an open space in the parlor where a new piece of furniture took center stage: on it was an enormous flat screen and a DVD player. On top, there was a note: “Wait for me to watch the rest.”

  I couldn’t stop myself from laughing.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Trial Period

  It was the beginning of March, and as spring approached, I was all the more aware that I had been living as a recluse at the Scarborough manor for eight weeks. During that time, I’d turned twenty-nine, on January 15; to tell the truth, this was a birthday that left me completely indifferent, and I hadn’t even informed my host about it. My daily life was patterned by training, walks in the gardens, reading, and restorative sleep. I wasn’t complaining, but I was starting to find time lagging. I needed to get off the property.

  Though I can’t say that Phoenix and I had really gotten to know each other, we had come to understand each other better. He wasn’t very warm, but he tried to be more sociable. He encouraged me during training—pushing me for more sometimes, and other times slowing me down when I was trying to do too much and risked hurting myself. He had asked a lot of questions about my life from before, and even if the discussion hadn’t gone on all that long, since I didn’t have much to say about it, he had listened attentively. He seemed especially curious about the color of my eyes; according to him, they were very distinctive. But there again, I didn’t have much to say.<
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  As for me, I tried to decipher his emotions, but I always failed. That man was truly a walking question mark. He always answered my questions, though, whether they were about combat or vampires. Well, up to a certain point.

  I learned that there weren’t many vampires. This was fortunate, or else they wouldn’t have been able to reroute donor blood from blood banks or hospitals. Because of internal wars over the control of territories densely populated by humans, their numbers kept decreasing, to the point of reaching an alarming low point before the Great Change. Then, at the beginning of the twentieth century, the number stabilized as violence between vampires was reduced, thanks to the installation of their new method of consumption. This world, so strange and frightening, was no less fascinating, and I couldn’t stop myself from trying to satisfy my curiosity.

  “You said that vampires cannot procreate and that the only way they can increase their numbers is to transform humans. But if you multiply too much, won’t it be hard to be discreet about the supply you take from blood banks? What will you do in that situation?”

  “Before, a vampire would transform a human without anyone asking any questions. That time is over. There are also rules for that, in order to prevent overpopulation. Additionally, it doesn’t always work. Most of the time, the person dies . . . definitively. As I already told you, the process is very dangerous . . . and very painful for those who go through it.”

  And to think that some humans dreamed of becoming just like them! They must really have a screw loose, seeing what it entailed.

  I was beginning to understand my boss’s world a bit more, which allowed me to better understand him also. I knew that it was pointless to ask questions about his own bosses or his species’ hierarchical organization, for he remained consistently mute on those subjects. I also learned, the day when I wanted to know a bit more about his life as a human, that there was a boundary to never overstep. He became abruptly withdrawn, then left the room without a word. I didn’t see him again until the following evening, when he acted as if nothing had happened. The message was clear: his life as a human was a taboo subject.

  That didn’t prevent us from having completely normal conversations about current events, literature, and, of course, my favorite show, Stargate SG-1. Surprisingly he had become even more addicted than I was. But he had an awful flaw: he had to analyze everything.

  “This is crazy! The scriptwriters are so good they have managed to make us believe that on all the planets visited by the team, the people they meet speak English!”

  I sometimes wanted to tell him to keep quiet, let me watch in peace, but mostly I found these moments with him rather nice. They certainly gave our pattern of work and training some variety.

  However, there came a time when I couldn’t stand being confined anymore. I had noticed that the moment when he was the most relaxed was when he kept me company in the kitchen while I prepared my dinner. We didn’t always chat; sometimes he would just sit at the table and read the paper. I know what you’re thinking: what a nice little couple. Rest assured that that was only the appearance of it. His presence, so charismatic, was so imposing and frightening that even the most romantic of young girls would have thought twice before falling in love with a man such as him. But this wasn’t a man, and I wasn’t a romantic. The only sentimental thing I felt when looking at him was an irrepressible fear when he moved into attack position, his fangs all out, to train me to face a vampire. Even if it was only practice, my knees still knocked together a bit before defending myself.

  Thus I had no desire to disturb his reading. Nevertheless, it was the time I chose to address the subject of the end of my captivity, with a nice plate of spaghetti Bolognese to give me courage.

  “Phoenix, I’ve been wondering . . . how much more time do you think you’ll keep me locked up here?”

  Gulp. At the look he gave as he raised his eyes from his newspaper, I knew that I had to quickly rephrase my request.

  “Uh, I mean . . . I’ve been here for eight weeks now. The big blond and his henchmen surely think I’m dead. So I was wondering if . . . maybe . . . you could keep your promise and let me go out in Scarborough as I please.”

  His piercing gaze was unbearable, just like the silence that he let settle in between us (deliberately, I’m sure), knowing perfectly well that it would make me uneasy enough to feel sick. Turning his attention back to his paper, he finally gave in.

  “As it happens, I was going to talk to you about that. Your intensive training phase is over, and it is high time that you started working. I have set aside my own work for too long. Consider your trial period begun, starting now.”

  “My trial period? And if I don’t fit the bill, what will you do?”

  “Oh, the question does not even deserve to be asked since we both know that you will do efficient work that will satisfy me.”

  In other words, it would be best if I keep my commitments.

  “Good, and we start tonight?”

  “Tomorrow night. You will accompany me to Drake Hill. I have someone to see.”

  “I’m going to need to know a bit more than that.”

  “Soon we will focus on what you must bring with you. I will brief you on the mission while en route tomorrow.”

  “I see. Serious things are starting now.”

  “This has always been serious.”

  And while I finished my spaghetti, thinking about what was waiting for me the following evening, he returned to his reading.

  We were in the basement. Identification and credit cards as well as a gun and a cell phone were piled on a table.

  “Good. Let us begin with your identity. You understand that it is advantageous for no one to know you by your real name. For the people of Scarborough, you will be my granddaughter. Here, everyone knows me by the name Peter Stratford, so I created a new identity for you under the name Samantha Stratford. You were living on the other side of the country, in Seattle, and after the death of your parents, you decided to come here to care for your sick British grandfather. You two are the only family you each have left.”

  “Super, but everyone will assume that I’m only playing nurse so I’ll be named in some old eccentric’s will.”

  “It is up to you to make sure that no one thinks that. Let us move on. You also understand that in the context of my job and to keep my home in Scarborough secret, I do not introduce myself under the Stratford name. I am Peter Livingstone, and you are Samantha Jones.”

  “Samantha Jones? Like from Sex and the City? Is that a joke?”

  “What is Sex and the City?”

  I looked at Phoenix to try and figure out if he was making fun of me. That didn’t seem to be the case. He really had no idea who Samantha Jones was, or what she did in her free time. Maybe it was better that way.

  “Forget it. I’m Samantha Jones for business purposes, and your granddaughter, Samantha Stratford, in and around Scarborough. Got it.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Here is a notepad and your cell phone. It should always be on. And your gun. Always check that it is loaded.”

  “A gun? What if I get stopped by the police? I don’t have a permit.”

  “Samantha Watkins does not have a permit. Samantha Jones and Samantha Stratford both do.”

  “Do you think that this is necessary?”

  “Yes. Even facing a vampire, weapons are useful. Only decapitation or piercing the heart will kill us. Remember, silver is a veritable poison for our species. Right in the heart, it is fatal, but a simple wound is enough to weaken us to the point of rendering us as harmless as a human. That would give you time to flee if need be.”

  “Great. I can’t wait,” I said sarcastically.

  “Remember your lessons, and everything will be fine.”

  “And if it’s a human who causes a problem?”

  “Well, he or she will have the pleasure of being maimed by a very expensive bullet.”

  “Maimed?”

  “Yes. Aim for the legs
.”

  “But what if I aim badly, and instead of shooting at the leg, I hit the head?” I exclaimed, horrified at the idea.

  “Accept the fact that it is possible that you may have to kill to defend yourself. But I would not worry too much about aiming poorly. For someone who has never touched a firearm before, you have shown an impressive proficiency in training, whether on a still target or a moving one. You have a knack for it.”

  “Hm . . .”

  I found it strange to have never had a particular talent and then at twenty-nine to discover one in the use of firearms. I would’ve preferred knowing how to sing, but just between us, it wouldn’t have been useful for this line of work.

  “Ah, I forgot something. Your assistant gear. You will use a smartphone and a notepad. I think that is everything.”

  “You’ve forgotten to tell me how much I’ll be paid to do all this, because you always dodge the question when I ask. I should have already gotten my first paycheck.”

  “Your new identities were not yet entirely official. Your new bank accounts either. And given the bill you presented me for your ‘moving in and adjustment’ expenses, I do not think you have suffered at all from not getting paid this month.”

  How on earth was I to answer that?

  “So does this mean that now Samantha Watkins doesn’t exist anymore?”

  “Yes. Except between us.”

  “And in Kentwood? Someone must have noticed my disappearance.”

  “That would surprise me. If the man who attacked you is not an amateur and he does not want to attract the attention of the police, which would also risk getting my attention, he would have made sure that everyone believed you left town the very night we met.”

  I thought I was feeling some sense of loss, but I realized that wasn’t the case. Even if leaving the house I had grown up in, where I had such good memories of my parents, caused some heartache, I knew that I wasn’t missing anything in Kentwood and that no one there would miss me.

  I shrugged.

  “The important thing is that I know who I am. The rest is only incidental.”