Chapter 2
A sneak peek of the first two chapters of Cursed Vampire!
The old key still gripped in my hand encourages me to move.
I need to be polite and speak to Mr Gregson before I go poking around in his garage.
At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if the key was a trick to get me into trouble.
My shoulders slump, and I drag the bin bag up off the ground to slog towards the garage owner’s house—which is one street over.
Fake it till you make it, Tru.
I knock on the door and wait as what sounds like half a dozen locks and bolts click and slide. With the chain still attached, the door creaks open, and Mr Gregson’s brown eye peeks through the gap.
His eye widens when he sees it’s me. “Oh, Tru.” He holds up a finger as he shuffles back and slams the door in my face. I hear the chain slide free. The door opens for a second time, and the smell of unwashed man hits me. I rapidly blink and force myself not to wrinkle my nose.
“You got the key?” he asks. I nod.
“Oh, kid, I’m so sorry.” His eyes soften with concern as he takes me and my bin bag in.
“If I wasn’t such a pathetic old man, I could have stopped him.
I was on my way to get a bit of shopping, you see, and outside your grandfather’s, sure enough, Phillip was on the phone.
He ended the call when he spotted me and asked if he could use the garage.
I hope I did the right thing, love? That boy…
” Mr Gregson shakes his head, and the loose skin around his jaw wobbles.
“That boy has never been a good person. Your grandfather was a fine man, a fine man. I don’t know what went wrong with the lad. He’s a real wrong’un.”
“It’s fine, Mr Gregson. Everything is fine.” I attempt a toothy smile. Mr Gregson subconsciously flinches away, so I knock that shit off.
“You have somewhere to go?”
In answer, I lift my hand with the garage key firmly clasped between my fingers and wiggle it.
He sighs and rubs a liver-spotted hand across his face. “Oh no, that’s no place for a young lady. No place at all.”
In an attempt to look all sweet, I widen my eyes, and for good measure, I pout a little. “Mr Gregson, please… Will it be okay? It will just be for a few weeks until I can find something better. No one will know I’m there, and I promise not to cause you any trouble.”
“Tru, your grandfather… I can’t have you living in there. It’s not right…” His voice fades off into mumbles, and he looks over his shoulder.
Oh heck. I know what he’s about to say, and I vigorously shake my head. I can’t stay with him. Not with my uncle Phillip’s nasty words of me taking advantage of old people still ringing in my head.
“No, thank you, Mr Gregson. I can’t stay with you if that’s what you’re about to suggest. I’ll be fine. Everything will be fine if I can stay in the garage for a few short weeks. The rent? It’s due on, urm… the first of October?” I do my best to change the subject.
“The first of October?” Mr Gregson’s chubby cheeks steadily grow red.
His worried expression fades, and his eyes shine with glee as a small smug smile pulls at his lips.
“No, I made him pay through the nose. I told him October, but you’re paid up till the first of December.
” He guffaws and slaps his thigh. His grey comb-over slips.
It flops down onto his forehead and swishes against the bridge of his nose.
“The rent is only eighty pounds a month,” he continues with a chuckle.
He frowns when he notices the dangling hair, and sheepishly he swirls and pats it back into place.
His dancing brown eyes grow serious. Oh God, he’s going to say no. He’s going to say no, and then I’m dead.
Mr Gregson huffs out a sad-sounding sigh and shakes his head.
“No, I’m sorry, Tru. You can’t stay in the garage.
It isn’t in a liveable condition, not for a young lady.
The police might help, or the human council?
” He lifts his bushy eyebrows. “I know your grandfather was fae, so perhaps the fae guild will have somewhere for you to stay.” He steps away from the door and gestures to the landline phone on the table.
“I can call them for you. I don’t like the thought—”
Overwhelming panic smashes through me, and I do something I instantly regret.
“Don’t think about it again. It’s all going to be okay, Mr Gregson, I promise.
I’m going to be okay. I wanted you to know as it’s polite…
but you don’t have to worry about me. Forget all about it.
” I lean forward and whisper, “I’m not a normal girl.
Don’t think about it again.” I then smile brightly.
I watch Mr Gregson’s eyes glaze over, and he robotically nods his head. “No need to worry. I won’t think about it again.” He shuffles back into his house, and his door clinks closed.
I blink. Okay, that’s okay.
I swallow down the guilty lump that’s forming in my throat. I feel a little sick.
I’m just trying to survive—like everyone, I’m just trying my best to live in this shitty world. He would have stopped me living in the garage, and he was going to call the guild. “I am so sorry. Please forgive me, Mr Gregson,” I whisper. God, I feel sick. I cough into my fist.
That’s right, Tru. You get fucked over, so you go straight in and mess with a kind old man’s head.
I slump forward and rest my ear against the door; I listen as his feet shuffle away.
Oh crap. Nice one, Tru. He hasn’t locked the door.
“Mr Gregson.” I tap the door with my knuckle. “Mr Gregson, don’t forget to lock up.”
Behind the closed door, like a mind-controlled zombie, Mr Gregson’s footsteps shuffle back, and again in a monotone voice, he repeats my words. “Don’t forget to lock up.” One by one the locks click and slide into place. I puff out my cheeks with a relieved sigh.
Closing my eyes, I push my forehead hard against the white PVC door. Guilt continues to grip me in its vise.
I should not have done that.
He will be perfectly fine in ten minutes. I did it for his own good.
I cringe, push away from the door, and slog my guilty ass back down the street. With hunched shoulders, I turn my head and glance back at Mr Gregson’s silent house.
Liar, you did it for yourself.
Okay, so I can do a little compulsion. It’s no big deal. I shrug, and the bin bag in my hand rustles. It’s a defence mechanism, a defensive reaction. All born vampires can do it. It’s no biggie and nothing special, and it has limited uses. If only I was strong enough to use it on my uncle.
I scratch my head with the garage key. I don’t do it often, and I’d never normally persuade an old man like Mr Gregson if it wasn’t a life-and-death situation.
Yes, I feel bad. But given the same type of circumstances… In the same situation, I’d do it again.
Does that make me a bad person? I cringe again.
Yes, yes, it does. I pause, clamp the bin bag between my knees for safekeeping, and readjust the bobble that is falling out of my french plait.
I didn’t hurt him, and I am giving him peace of mind as I know he’d worry about me, and now… Well, now he doesn’t have to.
Listen to me. Who am I trying to fool? I’m no better than my uncle. No, no—I am worse ’cause I took a kind old man’s choice away, and that makes me scum. I force my feet to keep moving.
The alleyway behind Mr Gregson’s terrace that leads to his garage is dingy and untarmacked, and the track is composed of uneven crushed stone with a scattering of red brick and broken glass.
My gaze flicks around as I manoeuvre between the glass, clumps of weeds, and the pale, washed-out dog poo that’s decorating them.
I attempt to hold my breath as the pungent scent of ammonia—yay, fresh pee—assaults my nose. Crap, it makes my eyes water.
I’ve been to this garage before, a few years ago. So if I can remember right, it’s just up here. I groan when I find it. Hands on my hips, I survey what I have to work with.
Gah, the garage is worse than I remembered. No wonder the rent is only eighty quid.
The faded garage door has seen better days.
It’s more rust than paint. Spots of different colours smatter its surface as the paint peels away.
Squinting, I inspect the metal holding the door up.
It’s crumbling, and it looks as if the mechanism and frame of the up-and-over door has rusted tight.
A small push and I bet the whole door would fall to the floor.
God, I don’t even know how my uncle got the thing open.
“The height of security,” I grumble. Let’s hope no one noticed my uncle loading the place up with my stuff. I don’t need any attention.
My hand clenches the key with relief, and my feet crunch on the uneven track as I step around to the side of the garage. Thank God there’s a side door.
Or not. I frown at the wooden door and growl out a curse.
The door is swollen shut. I brace against it and wiggle the key in the lock.
After a few failed attempts, it finally clicks open, but when I pull the handle, the damn thing almost comes off in my hand.
With a jiggle and a tug, I open it just enough to get my fingers into the gap.
Splinters from the old wood dig into my skin, but I ignore the pricks of pain as I tug the door.
Inch by inch, it scrapes across the ground, kicking up little stones.
It wedges.
“For fuck’s sake!” I scream. I can’t have a door that doesn’t open. My famous temper flares. Rage, guilt, and despair bubble inside me. I dig the toe of my boot into the weeds that have built up around the bottom of the door, and I vigorously kick. Grass and stones go flying.
I clamp my lips against another scream that wants to rip out of my throat.
My breathing is ragged, and my throat burns, and my chest hurts.
I glare at the mess I’ve made, giving myself a minute before I sigh and gather the threads of my frayed temper together.
To get my breath back, I lean against the garage wall.
The red brick digs into my shoulder. I’ll add fixing this shitty door to the list of endless shit that I’ve got to do this afternoon.
I grind my teeth so hard my jaw aches and push back the ever-present anger I inherited from my vampire side.
I let out a bitter laugh. Shit, I am not even a proper pureblood vampire. No, I am a pesky hybrid. I am a born vampire with a twist.
Oh yeah, the best part. The twisted part… I have a little bit of shifter floating around in my veins. Ta-da.
Shifter.
It should be impossible. I shouldn’t exist.
Grandad told me no one could find out about my hybrid nature, especially the guilds—it was our golden rule. If the vampires find out about my existence, I’m dead. If the shifters find out about my existence, I’m dead…
With a tired grimace, I step through the door into my new home.