Chapter 11 #2
I wiggled my nose and took my glasses off to make sure they were okay. “Your Crusty Old Man Club,” I said. “That’s what I’ve decided to call your exclusive little text group.”
“Why?”
“Because you all must be super old as vampires, and if they’re anything like you in trying to refuse supernatural guests, I doubt they have the greatest of manners.” I said.
Beckett stared at me.
My sense of self-preservation whispered that I should be afraid, but I knew Beckett, so I just smiled.
“That’s it, you’re getting punished,” Beckett said.
“Oooh, what are you going to do? Take away my air conditioning privileges?” I wriggled my eyebrows, hopeful it was giving me maximum annoyance impact.
Beckett smirked, and I wondered if I maybe should have listened to my primitive instincts to survive.
“You know it’s incredibly shady that you happened to have a maid uniform that fits me, right?” I waggled the feather duster Beckett had armed me with in his direction. “Also, what happened to I shouldn’t work over hours?!”
Beckett, looking maddeningly handsome as he smugly lounged on a Chesterfield sofa that I’m pretty sure was an original from the Victoria era, smirked.
“It is a vampiric compulsion to save all things and throw out nothing, so I had a plethora of uniforms available. And if you are so concerned about your working hours, you should take this as a lesson not to insult your elders.”
I tugged at the crisp white apron I’d put over the black—and no doubt antique—dress. “My elder hoarders, you mean.”
Becket raised an eyebrow. “Did you not just hear my explanation that all vampires are hoarders?”
“Why is that? Oh, wait, is that why vampires are so rich? Because they keep all their stuff and then sell it off when it is worth more?” I turned back to the sea of antiques I was supposed to be cleaning in the window-less but brightly lit basement.
Given that when I’d first arrived Beckett had told me to never go to the basement, I’d been quite curious what kind of dusty dungeon or skeleton I’d get to see when he unlocked the padlock on the downstairs door and led me inside.
To my surprise, the off-limits area was simply filled with antiques of all kinds.
Faded globes labeled with countries that no longer existed, rows of furniture from bygone decades, rolled up rugs that had clearly been purchased across the world, boxes of papers and letters yellowed from age, and chests and chests of clothing.
“Most vampires keep things for sentimental reason.” Becket sipped on a black straw that was punched into a blood pack he concealed by placing it in a brown paper bag.
(The odd drinking set up was done on my behalf, so I wouldn’t faint every time I turned around to look at him.
This sounded kind, but in reality it was because he wanted to amuse himself watching me prance around like an idiot in antique clothes as I tried not to hurt myself while handling items worth more than what I made in a month.)
“So… vampires keep things they associate memories with?” I asked.
“No, rather, they keep things that remind them of decades—or in some cases centuries past.” He shifted on the Chesterfield.
“That’s why despite the human depiction of vampires as suave, sophisticated predators with impeccable fashion and taste, you rarely see an older vampire in modern clothing.
Usually they wear styles that were fashionable in their most beloved years, and are irritatingly resistant to technology and change. ”
“But you’re part of a Crusty Old Man Club, and you wear modern fashion,” I pointed out.
Beckett gave me a flat look while he sipped his dinner again. “Do you not remember why you are down here?”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t have a point.”
Beckett shrugged. “Myself and those in my group text are all interested in adapting modern ways for a variety of reasons. Some of us for power, some for wealth. As for me, I’m interested mostly so I can continue to pass for human.”
I dusted off a cedar chest. “That checks. The vampire stalking humans in Algoma must be similar.” I glanced at Beckett to see if he’d take the bait.
He sipped his blood and stared at me.
I scrunched my nose at him, then pulled up the skirts of my antique dress so I could scoot past an umbrella stand stuffed with three umbrellas and two rapiers. “You know, a museum curator or historian buff would love to have a look at all of this stuff.”
Beckett scoffed. “I imagine so, but—hidden or not—I am not so stupid as to ever let any kind of historian know it exists.”
“Why?”
“Because there is no bigger bunch of zealots than historians,” Beckett said. “The worst are the archeologists. That bunch is no better than a lot of grave robbers, though they are loath to admit it. But museum curators are infamous among vampires for their lack of tact.”
“Sounds like there’s a juicy story there,” I said.
“Not so much a story as much as experience played out time and time again,” Beckett dryly said.
“The number of acquaintances I have that have found out in the past decade or so that their private letters containing deeply personal information are on display for the whole world in one museum or another increases annually.”
“Is that why you make me shred all house paperwork before recycling it?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“That does sound annoying,” I agreed as I set eyes on a vintage wooden vanity, complete with a mirror and silk cushioned stool.
Curious—and nosey—I pulled open a drawer, choking when I realized the velvet lined drawer was stuffed with meticulously organized pocket watches. All of the watches were made with precious metals, and some of them had jewels encrusted on them.
“What?” Beckett asked. “You sound like you’re dying.”
“Nothing, I just found your pocket watch collection, which has to be worth a lot of money.” I slid the drawer shut with a lot more care than I’d opened it with, then opened the next drawer.
This one was stuffed with cuff links—all again made of different precious metals and some studded with diamonds, rubies, sapphires, and more.
The next drawer I peered in had an array of daggers, ranging from ornamental ones to a few blades that looked worn from… use.
Wow. I know he settled in Algoma and has been here for several “generations,” but he must have done a lot before that.
I turned my back to the vanity set and studied Beckett, who was still casually sipping from his paper bag/blood pack—which should have, might I add, made him look like a village drunkard but somehow didn’t.
“What?” Beckett asked.
“I was just thinking you must have had a very full life.” I shut the drawer of daggers, then dusted the top of the vanity’s mirror. “Going on the wide variety of your earthly possessions.”
“I have traveled a fair bit,” Beckett said. “I usually spend a few years out of the country before returning to Algoma as my ‘heir.’ But even before I moved to Wisconsin, I suppose I had my share of exploring.”
I thoughtfully looked down at the drawers that I knew were stuffed with valuables. “I don’t suppose you moonlighted as a cat thief? That would account for your extensive collections.”
Beckett stared at me. “I find it remarkable that you have the guts to ask that when you’ve been inside my study and know that I still work.”
“I thought that was more of a hobby.” I wandered back to Beckett on the Chesterfield, losing interest in pretending to clean. “Or something you did to fill the time.”
He shrugged. “I suppose that is true. I manage my wealth—and the wealth of vampire Families who are not savvy with technology and modern methods of investments.”
“No wonder the house has extraordinarily fast internet.” I tossed the feather duster aside. “Can I be done now?”
“That depends, do you regret your actions?”
“Absolutely,” I said with no conviction.
“You could try to at least appear sincere.”
“Why bother? I have job security.”
Beckett considered me as he sipped his blood pack again. “Isn’t this the point where you brag about how I find you amusing and unique, so I’ll never fire you?”
“Nah,” I said. “You’ll never fire me because you want that video doorbell and all the other things I do to make your life easier.”
“True.” Beckett stood up and meticulously straightened his suit coat before crumpling his paper bag—he must have finished his dinner. “But don’t sell yourself short. You are rather good entertainment.”
“I’m glad to know I’m allowed to push the boundary of polite manners and employee conduct.”
“That isn’t at all what I said.”
I trudged after him as we headed for the rickety stairs. “Maybe not, but it is clearly what you meant!”