by Chism, Holly
“What about your mom?”
Andi stabbed the brownie with the spoon, a savage expression on her face. “I don’t know where she is. She left when I was four. Said she couldn’t handle being a mom.”
I sat for a moment, watching Andi savoring the sundae. Sounded to me like she had the opposite issue growing up to mine. And I had the absolute most perfect opening to ask her if she’d be willing to come work for me—work for me, hell, live with me. I had plenty of room: four bedrooms I wasn’t using, and a living room I only barely used sometimes. I mainly stuck to the basement for which I’d bought the house, and the parlor, which I’d turned into a workspace that suited me.
She shook herself. “I’m sorry, Meg. I’ve been rude. I meant to come over here and ask how I could repay you for eating my rapist.”
“First of all, he was only nearly your rapist. Second, it was nothing—I was hunting anyway, even if I was on my way to go snack on date-rapists at a frat party without killing them. Actually, I had a proposition for you.”
“I’m sorry,” she interrupted. “I’m not interested in ghouls—girls, sorry.”
I snorted, startled into a real giggle, flapping one hand awkwardly. “No, no, nothing like that. I’m straight, too, even if I haven’t gotten any in over a decade. And a half. Maybe two. Yeah, two. It’s just—see, I have this huge, two-story farmhouse, just outside of town. It needs repairs. I’ve done the repairs that I can, but I can’t get anybody to come give estimates for doing the things I can’t do myself during anything but normal business hours, and I can’t be up and about during normal business hours. I was wondering if I could offer you room and board, a retirement account, and a small salary until repairs are paid for, in exchange for you moving in and being my Gal Friday?”
Andi raised an eyebrow, studying me and my worn (comfy! Shut up!) Levis and peasants blouse. “A retirement account? That’s an interesting and unusual offer,” she said slowly, stirring her spoon through the ice cream before scooping up a little bit. “And honestly, not something I’d considered before now. I was only barely making ends meet sometimes. Not making nearly enough to consider putting any away for emergencies, much less retirement.”
I shrugged. “What can I say? I do investments. I’m doing quite well, where that’s concerned. It’s just a little difficult to get my hands on anything other than untraceable bearer bonds and stocks, and fewer creeps are carrying cash. I can help you set up a really kick-ass retirement account, but I can’t pay much otherwise, until all the repairs are done. Being stock-rich but cash poor is interesting in what you can do, and what you can’t.”
“Interesting. How did a vampire become an investments advisor?” she asked, smirking.
I snorted. “Better to ask how an investments advisor became a vampire, and that’s too long a story for outdoors in October, and too strange a story for a public bench that anyone could walk past. So, about the job…interested?”
She eyed me warily, then glanced toward the alley. “Couple of questions before I make up my mind,” she hedged. “First question: how often does that happen?” she asked, jerking her head toward the alley where Mr. Humpy lay hidden in the shadows.
I shrugged. “Not very. Only when I’m attacked in an alley by a would-be rapist, or I come across something like what nearly happened to you.”
“How do you feed, then? And how often?” she pressed urgently.
I fiddled with a chip in my thumbnail that I hadn’t noticed earlier. I wasn’t sure how or why my hair and nails kept growing, but I was thankful I wasn’t either indestructible entirely, or having all damage incurred be utterly permanent. “I usually go on a feeding spree about once a week. I frequent the local booze-up frat parties that run from Thursday through Sunday nights, and target the guys that are targeting the dumb co-eds that get too drunk to know what’s going on. I just take a little bit—about a quarter as much as from a blood donation for the Red Cross from each one—and knock them out with a post-hypnotic suggestion that they’d scored, and another that kind of convinces them that maybe a less drunk, more willing girl would be more fun. Usually do about four per night, and that lasts me until the next Thursday.”
She nodded, playing with the dregs of the sundae, her brow furrowed. “So, this job you’re offering…doesn’t include me feeding you?” she asked.
I shook my head. I didn’t feel utterly grossed out, but there was a bit of a sexual element to feeding, and I just…didn’t find girls attractive at all. So I didn’t feed on girls. Mildly repulsed described it well. “No. Not at all. I feed from a lot of different guys, so that I don’t hurt any of them. Feeding from one person more than once a month or so could do damage to them, and I don’t want to do that, unless they’re like Mr. Humpy.” I snorted. “I definitely wouldn’t want to do that to someone who’d moved in and was living with me.”
Andi snorted. “I suspect that would bring unwanted attention to you,” she said dryly. “It’d be awfully awkward to be arrested and held until after daybreak.”
“Painful,” I corrected. “I almost got caught out, once. It hurt like a bitch.”
“Is it like the movies?” she asked, tilting her head to look at me from the corner of her eyes.
I shook my head, shuddering. “I didn’t nearly catch fire, if that’s what you meant. No, it felt like…felt like being crushed. Like my heart was beating harder and harder, like it was going to explode.”
“Like you were dying.”
“Exactly like I was dying. Been there, done that, got the nifty allergy to solid food.” I shuddered again, a little harder. “I don’t want to go through that again.”
Andi scraped the last of the ice cream from around the last of the brownie, then scooped that up too, popping both into her mouth. “Why? Why me?”
“A few things,” I said slowly. “I really do need help getting necessary repairs done to my house, most of which I can’t do myself. And you…you didn’t run. Not when you thought I was in trouble, and not when I…when you saw what I am. That means a lot.”
Silence fell. She stuck her right index finger into the plastic bowl thing, and swirled it around, picking up bits of ice cream residue while she thought, and stuck the finger in her mouth to get a little more of that chocolaty goodness I could smell. I could almost see the gears turning as she thought. Finally, she nodded, once. “So, Meg. Got a phone number? How ‘bout an address? I’d like to go back to my office and think about it before I decide, but I’ll probably take you up on that offer.”
I pulled a card out of my pocket, holding it out to her. “My address and phone number are both there,” I said. “All of my contact info is there.”
“I’ll probably call you later tonight or tomorrow night, then, and make arrangements for moving in” she said, glancing down. The street lights had washed almost all the color out of everything, but I could smell something that reminded me of embarrassment and shame.
I stood, brushing off the seat of my jeans, pretending I didn’t notice how much she hated having to take me up on the offer because she wasn’t making it alone and didn’t have help. I didn’t think it was anything to be ashamed of, but her family life and upbringing sounded a good bit different from mine. Single mothers had it a lot harder than re-married fathers, financially. “Sounds good,” I said. “I’ll go get a spare key made.”
Who Sleeps in Coffins Nowadays?
I love Wal-Mart. Their auto department also does keys, and is open late enough that, in another month or so, I can get car maintenance done…or get somebody to make me a new house key. It took all of five minutes after I’d found an associate that could run the machine in the auto department to make the keys, then I wandered for a little while to kill time I’d intended to spend hunting drunk rapists, and after that, I was on my way home to wait for a phone call. I was about three hours earlier heading home than I usually was leaving from the parties.
I rolled the window down on my ’99 Toyota, and breathed in the smell of falling leaves
and damp earth on the cool night air, and…relaxed. I’ve never enjoyed the muggy nights during summer, but I love fall—the nights get longer as they get cooler. Day fades sooner, and I can get more time out amongst people. I may not be human anymore, but being on my own all the time gets…lonely.
I was willing to admit to myself that I was excited, for the very first time ever, over the idea of having a roommate. I’d not had a roommate since I got out of the dorms at college before I should have—I had a crappy little studio apartment, then an even crappier one bedroom for a long time so that I wouldn’t have to put up with another bad roommate like I did my Freshman year in the dorms. After the trauma of not sleeping for the first two weeks because the roomie had to play hip-hop at eardrum shattering volumes at all times, then waking to someone groping me because my roommate snuck her boyfriend into the all-girls dorm for an overnight visit, and had all of my complaints to the housing director ignored, I deliberately broke the rules for new freshmen at that university. I went out, found a studio apartment, and moved off campus. I refused to be saddled with another roommate, even if my complaints were addressed. By that point (middle of September), I’d lost all confidence in anyone other than myself. I really wasn’t used to living with someone else. But Andi seemed like she’d be a pretty good one.
And, to be honest, two thousand square feet, four bedrooms (that I couldn’t use), two and a half baths, a living room (holding a TV I wasn’t even sure was still functional after only intermittent use in twenty years), parlor, kitchen (ha!), dining room (again, ha!), partially finished basement (root cellar/storm shelter—and why I’d bought the place to begin with), and pantry were far too much for just me. I used maybe a quarter of it: the living room (occasionally), parlor (which I’d turned into a pretty nice office), and one bathroom. I don’t even really remember what the kitchen, dining room, or upstairs bedrooms and master bathroom look like.
It only makes sense that I use so little of my house. I’d have been happier with a smaller house—especially a small berm home, where only half the house had windows because it was half-buried that I could modify the way I wanted. Y’know, taking out the kitchen, making the space I use more useful to me, not having to worry about windows in my bedroom…a berm home would suit me so much better than the admittedly beautiful farmhouse monstrosity with its bedrooms that I could tell got massive amounts of natural light, the smaller rooms, the massive kitchen and dining area for a family—it’s not like I needed to eat, after all. And I’d love to use a bedroom that was actually sized to be a bedroom, instead of my tiny little storm shelter, but it wasn’t exactly possible without resorting to campy horror movie conventions to prevent the sun from reaching me.
I didn’t really need a big bedroom, I guess. It’s not like I spend more time in it than I have to, and I wouldn’t notice any extra space while I’m out for the day, either. But it would have been nice to have the option to have a little more. The storm shelter really didn’t seem too much different from that campy horror movie convention, sometimes. And I might not need a big bedroom, but I wanted one. Sometimes the claustrophobia when I woke up was a bit much.
I briefly wondered if Andi would want to use the office, then shook the thoughts away. I’d ask later, but right now…there were grain trucks sharing the roads with me. Harvest time. I needed to pay attention to my surroundings rather than muse over possibilities.
I was a little startled to pull into my driveway and find an electric blue ’69 Mustang sitting just to one side of my garage door. And find Andi sitting on my front steps, an army surplus duffel bag and a laptop case sitting on the porch next to her.
She waved as I stepped out of the car, chin propped in her hand, elbow propped on her knee. “I’m early,” she said unnecessarily. “Got back to my office to find an eviction notice taped to the door. Landlord said he didn’t want me living in the office—it’s not permitted in the contract—and gave me twenty-four hours from when he found out yesterday morning to be out. So, this is it. All my stuff. I’m taking you up on the room and board and job.”
I grimaced, and reached down for her duffel bag, easily lifting it with one hand as I fished my house keys out of my pocket with the other. “It’s fine, Andi,” I said, unlocking the door as she levered herself up using the creaky porch rail, snagging the strap of the laptop case on the way up. I pretended to not notice her discomfort and embarrassment at simply showing up without calling first. I assumed. “I may not have everything on hand you need, but this just makes it easier—you can make me a list. Oh, I’ve already got your key, too.”
She smiled tiredly as I flipped on the entry light, showing off the entry way, stairs on the right side of the hall, and long hall lined with closets and cupboards that went all the way to the back door. “Thanks. You don’t have to get anything special just for me,” she said.
“I kinda don’t have even the basics,” I said dryly. “I’ve got a stove, which isn’t plugged in, and a fridge that isn’t plugged in—I’m not entirely sure it works—and really nothing else. I think there’s an ancient package of toilet paper in the upstairs hall bathroom. I don’t know. I don’t use it. But I don’t have anything in the kitchen at all, other than the appliances, and a thick layer of dust.”
She snorted, following me up the stairs. “Somehow, I’m not surprised. It’s not like you drink coffee, or eat toasted bagels or anything else like that. But no toilet paper?”
“Nah, I drink coffee,” I defended. “The pot’s in the office. Which, by the way, you have free run of during the day. But no, no toilet paper: I don’t eat, and drinking liquids doesn’t make my kidneys function.” I led her down the hall, to the master suite that included a sleeping porch running part of the length of the front of the house. “Here’s the biggest bedroom. It’s yours.”
“Mine? What about you?” she asked as I opened the door.
I raised an eyebrow and flipped on the overhead light—which flickered badly and had two of the bulbs instantly fail—but showed off the huge room, picture window on the east wall, and sleeping porch just above the front porch. “Too many windows equals uncomfortable vampire. I sleep in the basement storm shelter.”
“This is great,” Andi whispered, eyes huge as she looked around.
My bedroom suite that I’d bought for myself after I’d managed to build a small client base hadn’t fit in my small shelter bedroom, so I’d put it up here for lack of anything else to do with it besides sell it for a quarter of what I paid. I eventually intended to expand the storm shelter into a full bedroom suite, but hadn’t managed to figure out how to do so myself, or how to get someone in to do it for me. So, until then, the furniture graced a room I could never use, a room which was pretty tastefully decorated, if I had to say so myself—a rich, mahogany queen-sized sleigh bed with matching nightstands, dresser and chest of drawers defined the room. And a mattress I’d never slept on.
Unfortunately, though…it was covered in a thick layer of dust, and had no linens on the bed.
Come to think of it, I wasn’t sure I even had queen sized linens. The bed I’d been using since I bought my house and figured out how to furnish it was a twin. I cringed. “I think I have a sleeping bag somewhere.”
“No worries—I have one in the top of the duffel,” Andi said. “Just drop it on the floor up here, and you can show me around.”
I shrugged, and set the green canvas bag down, leaning in in the corner between the heavy chest of drawers and the wall. “Sure. That door over there is your bathroom. I don’t think there’s any towels or soap or anything in there, though—sorry. I think the rest of the doors up here are a couple of other bedrooms—pretty small ones, and I don’t remember how many—and another bathroom with a shower only. I’ve been using that one, since the one on the ground floor needs repairs pretty bad, and doesn’t have a shower.” I led her back down the stairs, still talking. “The kitchen is through that door on the left, with the dining room just past it. The parlor-slash-office is through th
is door right here,” I said, opening the door between the front door and the stairs and flipping on the light and walking into my haven. “There’s a living room through that arch that’s also accessible through another doorway further down the hall, between the coat closet and the linens closet—you might check there for queen sized stuff later, and towels. I don’t use much besides my room downstairs and the office I have set up—the rest of the house is pretty much yours to do with what you want.”
Andi nodded, eyes wide. “This place is huge—did any land come with it?”
“Nah. I could have bought the entire acreage, but what would I do with a hundred acres of rocky pasture land? All I wanted was the house, and the acre surrounding it,” I said. “Come sit down, and we can talk about what I need you to do.”
“Sounds good,” she said, following me into the office. “Wow. Did you do this?”
This was my office. Every wall was floor to ceiling bookcases, and every bookcase was full. The ginormous bay windows overlooking the front yard (lit with as big of a yard light as I could have put in) held my desk—a huge, U-shaped, mahogany executive’s desk, complete with leather wingback chair. When I’d bought the house, that ginormous bay window holding my desk had held an utterly trashed window seat—since I couldn’t fix it, I’d taken it out, then realized it was the perfect place for the giant desk I’d bought (on clearance for just a hair over a hundred dollars). My computer sat on one side, mostly so that I could look out while I was working, and enjoy the roses and other things I’d planted out there, and my coffeepot sat on the other. The middle of the U held papers and writing utensils for fast notetaking while I was working.
The middle of the room was taken up by a huge table with massive, turned legs at each of the four corners that had been left in the dining room when I’d bought the place—also in a mess, but nothing that refinishing the table hadn’t fixed. Two two-drawer filing cabinets slid under each end of the massive library table in the middle of the room, and a few comfortable chairs sat along the sides—something I’d set up when I thought I’d be able to have conferences with real, live clients in my home office, and had never really used. A huge, shared fireplace of fieldstone anchored the wall beside the archway into the living room, and I’d set a couple of comfortable, recliner-style wing-back chairs on either side of it, with a low coffee table set between them and the fireplace.
