Ward of the Vampire: Complete Serial

by Kallysten

  “A bit bumpy in the end,” my father said. “Turbulence. And I still don’t get why you’re staying here. Or why you didn’t tell us about any of it.”

  I swallowed a sigh. Mr. Ward had charmed my mother, but my father wasn’t that easy to fluster.

  “It just happened really fast,” I said, and that, at least, was true. “Like I said, Mr. Ward needed help planning the party, and once I agreed to help, it made sense for me to be closer to supervise all the details. It’s temporary, of course. The gala is on New Year’s Day so it’s all very last minute.”

  “And your boss is okay with you working for someone else?”

  “It was her idea, actually.” Something else that was true in the middle of all those lies. “She’s out of the country for a couple of weeks. You know, last year she barely told me I’d done a good job with her gala, but when she told Mr. Ward how impressed she’d been with my work… Well, I didn’t feel like I could say no after that. And it’s a really good charity this is all going to help.”

  He muttered something I didn’t catch, then leaned over to press a kiss to my temple.

  “You’re a good girl, Angel,” he said softy. “But sometimes I worry you let others take advantage of your good heart.”

  I assured him there was no taking advantage of anyone here and walked a little faster to catch up with my mother and Mr. Ward. They’d stopped on the second floor for my mother to look at a painting. My father let go of my arm and went to take hers instead. Mr. Ward took a step back gracefully without ever stopping his little spiel about the painting, like he was a museum guide who dispensed this kind of information on demand. After a few more moments, he assured my mother she was welcome to explore the mansion at her leisure, but added, “I’m sure you’ll find a lot more to see outside the house. Have you ever visited New York?”

  By the time we reached the third floor and the suite he’d had Stephen prepare for them a few doors from mine, he’d drawn out of them that they were staying for four days, as well as the fact that my mother enjoyed musicals, my father was a fan of classical music, and they both loved everything to do with history. When he excused himself to ‘let us reunite properly,’ I had a strong feeling that he was off to organize my parents’ trip for them and fill every minute of their stay with visits and activities. As it turned out, I wasn’t wrong.

  Their suite was very much like mine, although smaller. Stephen had already set their suitcases in the bedroom. I chatted with them while they put their things away, asking about life back home and people I knew: the less I had to say about the circumstances of my stay in the mansion, the better.

  Before we knew it, it was dinner time, and Stephen was knocking on the door to announce dinner. My parents were startled, but I’d seen it coming and I tried to act as though this was perfectly normal. We followed Stephen to the small dining room, where the table had been set for three. I felt a pang at being back in there for dinner—at being back without Mr. Ward.

  He did show up, right as we were finishing dessert. He was dressed in a suit, although he had taken off his jacket and his tie was undone on his shoulders.

  “You look on your way to somewhere special,” my mother said. I was surprised she didn’t phrase this as a question, curious as she could be.

  “I was,” he replied with a half smile. “Not anymore. Some unexpected business issues with Japan. I’m going to spend the evening in my office. A pity, I looked forward to enjoying…”

  His eyes widened as they turned to my father, and all I could think of was that he was a great actor.

  “Wait a minute. You said you enjoy the opera, didn’t you, Mr. Brown?”

  It was like watching a play, really, with the only difference being that my parents didn’t know their lines, and still managed to hit every one of them. His private box only waited for my parents if they weren’t too tired after the trip. They had no clothes suitable for the opera? No problem. Something could be found in the mansion’s ‘emergency party wardrobe.’ He even laughed with my mother about what an odd thing that wardrobe was, seen from their small-town eyes. The only glitch came when my father asked if I was coming as well. I had been so caught up in Mr. Ward’s little act that I couldn’t figure out what to answer. Thankfully, my mother did for me.

  “Come on, Paul. You know she doesn’t care for the opera. We’ll have plenty of chances to go out with her.”

  All together, from the moment Mr. Ward came into the dining room to the moment my parents, decked to the nines, stepped out of the mansion and onto the snow-speckled sidewalk, no more than forty minutes had passed. I waved from inside and watched the car pull away before closing the door with a sigh. I didn’t care much for the opera, no, but I wouldn’t have minded at all going out for a few hours.

  With heavy steps, I made my way back up to the third floor. Feeling a little listless, I went to the kitchen, thinking I’d take advantage of Stephen’s absence to make myself a cup of coffee without disapproving eyes drilling into me. I hadn’t expected to find Mr. Ward in there, sipping from a black mug. His eyebrows twitched upward but he didn’t say anything when, after a moment of hesitation, I walked in and helped myself to the coffee.

  A question had been bothering me ever since my parents had arrived, and this was the first chance I’d had to ask it. A little afraid at what the answer would be, I met his gaze and asked, “Is this all another fantasy?”

  His eyes seemed to darken ever so slightly, or maybe that was an effect of his frown. He lowered his mug and stepped around me to set it in the dishwasher.

  “That’s the second time today you’ve thought I entered your mind. What brought it up this time?”

  Turning back to me, he leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. Without the flicker of a smile to soften his strong face, he looked positively forbidding. I refused to let myself be intimidated, however. Setting my cup of coffee down on the counter, I crossed my arms as well and held my chin high.

  “You did,” I said. “The way you’re acting with my parents, all smiles and niceties? That’s not you. Not the real you.”

  He snorted, shaking his head once.

  “Right, because you know the real me, Angelina.” He took a step closer to me. “Two days in my house, twice in my head, and you’ve figured out all there is to know about me, is that it?”

  It wasn’t what I had said or even implied, but when my cheeks heated up, it wasn’t from outrage or anger. It was from how close he stood to me. Close enough for me to catch the discreet scent of his cologne. Close enough to be acutely aware of his body—his strong, toned, delectable body. Close enough that if I only leaned forward a little, rose to the tip of my toes…

  Yes, I was thinking of kissing him again, which made no sense because he wasn’t being the charming man that had impressed my parents; instead, he was his same old irritating self, and I can’t say that playing hard to get or brooding are things that I find attractive in a man. What was wrong with me?

  “No,” he said when, after a few seconds, I still hadn’t replied. “I am not in your head or anyone else’s. If you’d like me to ignore them for the rest of their trip and leave you to answer their questions about why you won’t go to out with them… Right. I didn’t think so.”

  I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath until the door closed behind him.

  And it didn’t dawn on me what he’d said exactly—that I’d been in his head rather than he in mine—until I’d let that breath out in a long sigh.

  *

  So, what’s a gal to do, stuck in a house that isn’t hers on a cold December evening? The question was becoming repetitive, and the options remained too few.

  I could have read, but I felt too jittery for that. I thought about going up to the sun room and letting its beauty soothe my raw nerves, but I didn’t know where Mr. Ward was, and I didn’t feel like walking in on him again. I wouldn’t have minded plopping myself down in front of a television and forgetting about my life for the time of a goo
d movie, but I hadn’t seen a television anywhere in the mansion so far, and I didn’t feel like asking Mr. Ward. Either he’d snap at me some more or buy me an oversized, flat-screen, 3D, state of the art TV set—or he’d do both. I could have watched something on my netbook, but the screen was too small for me to really lose myself in a movie.

  In the end, I brewed myself another cup of coffee—and because I was in a contradictory mood, I used one of the black mugs Stephen had recommended I leave alone—and went back to the conference room. A little over a week was an awfully short time to plan the kind of party people would expect Mr. Ward to throw, even more so after his elaborate birthday bash.

  He’d set up a designated email account for RSVP responses, and the first thing I did was get onto his computer, using the password he’d given me—1234password, if you can believe that—and check the account. The invitations would have started to be delivered by special courier that afternoon, and already two dozen people had replied out of the two hundred invitations we’d sent. No one had declined so far, which wasn’t a surprise. We even had a few donations for the silent auction.

  I worked for an hour or so, sipping my now tepid coffee to make it last, but eventually I reached the bottom of the cup—and the end of my focus. I took my mug back to the kitchen for a refill. This time, I didn’t walk in on Mr. Ward, but on Stephen. Leaning back against the counter, he was eating what looked like a bowl of soup. He gave the mug in my hand a small eye-roll but didn’t comment as I approached his beloved coffee maker.

  “A bit late for coffee, isn’t it?” he said. “It’ll keep you awake till the middle of the night.”

  He had a point, especially seeing how the brew was pretty strong, and I’d already had two cups. When I hesitated, he set down his bowl and spoon on the counter, pulled a glass from the cupboard, then opened the wine fridge under the kitchen island. I watched him uncork a bottle of red and fill the glass, which he handed to me.

  “Try this instead,” he said, gently tugging the mug out of my hands.

  I can’t say I was used to having wine outside of meals, but I took a small sip. Then a deeper one. The wine was cool, and yet it was already warming me better than the coffee. Stephen returned to his soup and grinned.

  “You’re welcome,” he said in a smug voice.

  I had the urge to stick my tongue out at him, but I am a mature adult so I didn’t.

  Or at least that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

  “Look at me,” I protested half-heartedly. “Drinking booze alone outside of meal times.”

  I took a larger gulp to punctuate that troubling reality.

  Stephen gave me an outraged look.

  “Booze? Do you have any idea how many awards that designation has earned? It’s not booze; it’s art in liquid form!”

  I wasn’t sure if he was kidding or not. Truth was, I could believe the award thing.

  “You’re not drinking,” I pointed out.

  “Well, I have to get back in the car in a little while,” he replied. “And if the storm keeps up, the last thing I want is less-than-stellar reflexes. It’d be a poor end of the night for your parents if I got them into an accident.”

  At the thought of them, my heart tightened again. I’d talked to them in their room, and we’d had dinner together, but I felt like I’d barely seen them at all since they’d arrived, maybe because I’d been paying so much attention to every word that came out of my mouth.

  “It’s a wonderful opera,” he added after a second or two. “I’m sure they’re enjoying it. Your father seemed particularly excited about it.”

  I looked at him in surprise.

  “You’ve seen it?”

  He raised an amused eyebrow at me.

  “Why the surprise? Am I not allowed to enjoy the opera?”

  “Of course. I didn’t mean…”

  I felt rather embarrassed, but Stephen made a small gesture with his spoon, as though signifying it wasn’t important.

  “One of the perks of the job,” he said. “And speaking of the job, I meant to ask you. What would you and your parents like for your Christmas lunch?”

  I’d been raising the glass to my lips to finish what was left of the wine, but Stephen’s question took me aback. He couldn’t mean…

  But yes, he did.

  “You’re not gonna cook for us on Christmas, of all days,” I protested. “Surely you must have the day off. Don’t you visit your family or something?”

  Too late, it occurred to me that I knew nothing about Stephen. Maybe he didn’t celebrate Christmas. Maybe he had no family. Maybe I was prodding a painful topic. I liked to think I had more tact than that. I blamed the wine.

  “You were not the only one whose plans had to change with the whims of Miss Stanford,” he said with a smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “I’ll visit them once your situation has been resolved.”

  I didn’t feel embarrassed anymore. Now I felt just plain terrible. It was bad enough that I was stuck in the house, but for Stephen to have to stay because of me made it worse. And it was absolutely pointless.

  “I’ll ask him to let you go,” I said. “There’s no reason for him to keep you here. I can take care of myself.”

  Stephen shook his head and started to say, “Miss Angelina, I didn’t mean…”

  At the same time, the door opened, and Mr. Ward came in. My heart gave a very troubling flutter. Had he been listening in? Was he keeping an eye on me?

  “I assume by ‘him’ you mean me, Angelina?” he said. “If so, I assure you, it wasn’t my idea. Stephen volunteered.”

  Stephen caught the look Mr. Ward gave the glass in my hand and volunteered Mr. Ward a second glass, filled with wine as well. When he refilled mine, I was too startled to stop him.

  “You volunteered?” I repeated. “Why? Are you that worried I’ll mess up your perfect kitchen?”

  His lips quirked into a half smile.

  “Well,” he said in all seriousness, “there are some delicate pieces of equipment in here…”

  I huffed. Very loudly.

  Turning to Mr. Ward, who was observing us from the other side of the kitchen island, I said in as firm a tone as I could manage, “Stephen has somewhere to be for Christmas. I think he should go.”

  Mr. Ward raised his glass toward me in a toast.

  “I told him as much two days ago.”

  “But—”

  I didn’t let Stephen finish his protest. “I solemnly swear,” I said, placing my free hand over my heart, “that you will find this kitchen in a pristine state when you return.”

  “Go,” Mr. Ward added. “And give my best to Jeanie and the girls.”

  With a huge sigh—honestly, you’d have thought we were forcing him into hard labor rather than sending him on vacation—Stephen agreed. Mr. Ward finished his wine, set the glass on the counter, then left the room.

  “Jeanie and the girls?” I repeated, making the words a question. “Wife and kids?”

  A faint smile lit Stephen’s face.

  “Daughter and grandchildren,” he said. “The oldest just turned three, and her sister is almost one year old.”

  There was no mistaking the pride that filled every word. He’d be happy to see them, that much was certain, and still he’d been ready to stay, all that because of me. I couldn’t help but be confused. He’d made it clear that his loyalty lay with Mr. Ward, so why would he care to stay around for my sake?

  I was still trying to wrap my mind around it when Stephen added in a whisper, “You know, Miss Angelina, it’s not my kitchen I worry about.”

  The words sent a shiver down my spine. It was all too easy to forget that Mr. Ward was a vampire; it wasn’t like he went around with his fangs peeking out of his mouth or wrapped himself in a Dracula-style cape. And then, at the oddest times, a few casual words reminded me of what he was.

  “He said he wouldn’t kill me,” I murmured. “And why would he go through all this trouble with my parents if he’s only going t
o kill me in the end?”

  Stephen shook his head. His expression was strangely pained.

  “You misunderstand me. It’s not you I worry about, either.”

  He let me to do the math. If he wasn’t worried about me…

  “You think I’m going to hurt him?” I had a hard time not laughing at how ridiculous that idea was. “He moves faster than I can think. I’m pretty sure he’s stronger than I am, too. And I’m stuck in here while he can go wherever he wants. How do you expect me to hurt him, exactly?”

  He opened his mouth, and I really wanted to hear what he had to say. But after a quick look at the closed door, he seemed to change his mind.

  “My apologies, Miss Angelina,” he said, back to that stiff, formal tone he adopted so often. “Of course I didn’t mean I expect you’ll hurt him. If I am to leave for a few days, I suppose I should fill the fridge for you. Is there anything in particular you’d like?”

  What I wanted were answers, because yes, he had implied that I could hurt Mr. Ward, and I did not believe his back-pedaling for one second. He’d changed his mind about telling me about it, but not about what he believed, I was sure of it. By now, however, I thought I knew him well enough to recognize when it was useless to push. He must have taken lessons from Mr. Ward. I told him I didn’t care what food he got, which was true, and left.

  It was still fairly early, so I returned to the conference room. I figured I’d check the email again and see if, by chance, I’d received answers from the staffing agency, DJ, staging company, and so forth I had contacted. I doubted it, but I could at least hope.

  Mr. Ward, it seemed, had had the same idea. He was seated in front of the laptop when I walked in. He threw me a quick glance before looking at the screen again.

  “Thanks,” he said. “For getting Stephen to take that vacation. Sometimes he does seem to take his duties a little too much to heart.”

  “No problem,” I replied. I wondered what Mr. Ward would say if he knew that Stephen worried about him, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to touch a topic that could end up prickly. “Anything new email-wise?”