Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Living in the lap of luxury quickly bored. Every day, I followed the same routine.
At sunset, or thereabouts, my eyes would pop open as if an internal alarm clock went off.
A good thing someone kept leaving a warmed pitcher of blood on my dresser because I woke absolutely rabidly hungry.
All it took was for me to smell it, and I guzzled that shit down so fast, frat boys would have applauded.
After I handled my initial thirst, I showered.
Don’t know why I bothered, though. It wasn’t as if I did anything to get dirty or had anywhere to go.
At least I had my own clothes to wear, brought over from my apartment along with some personal items. Photo albums, my record collection, which resulted in a turntable appearing in my sitting room.
I did appreciate that, since I’d not been able to listen to any of my vinyl since my machine broke years ago.
Once I’d bathed and dressed—and ignored the fact my cheap garments looked woefully out of place—I headed down to the main level, attempting to look casual as I wandered room to room while in reality, I sought my host and never found him.
Cillian seemed to be avoiding me, but I’d met all his staff, which included the built like a brickhouse Randy, Gwen, the woman I’d met at my apartment, and Lou, an always scowling man who, unlike the others, dressed in a suit.
All tough as nails, and none very talkative, at least when it came to chatting with me.
If I asked a direct question, I got the most succinct answers you could imagine.
Is Cillian here? No.
Where is he? Shrug.
Do you like your job? Yes.
Ever worry your boss will eat you? Flat stare.
Despite being someone who had few, as in, almost no friends—blame our changing interests, some getting married and popping out crotch goblins, relocating, etcetera—I acutely felt the loneliness of my new situation.
I ended up watching television—a lot. The cable package offered up everything I could ever want to visually devour, plus some shows and movies I’m pretty sure the public had never seen.
When the boob tube bored, I switched to reading on the internet.
I’d been left a tablet hooked up to the house wi-fi.
I used it to seek out information on vampires, the problem being discerning fact from fiction.
Cillian had already pointed out much of what tended to be treated as truth was actually bogus and I feared his ridicule if I asked about some other possible myths like, could he transform into a bat?
Did he need an invitation to enter a home?
Could he mesmerize people? Did his saliva heal?
Did he give me his blood when he turned me?
So many questions, and I had no one to give me answers.
By the third day of my stay, I was ready to scream and break things. Much as I should have enjoyed being housed and fed for free, living a life of indulgent luxury, I couldn’t help feeling unwanted and bored.
So bored.
Bored enough when I found a gym during my snooping through the house, I actually got on the treadmill to walk.
When that proved too easy, I started to run.
Then lifting weights. And you know what?
It felt good, not something I’d ever thought I’d say about exercise.
Even better, I started noticing a difference in my body.
Flabby flesh began to firm up, and before anyone comes at me saying it takes more than a few days, tell that to the disappearing cellulite.
The mirror also showed a changing image. The creases bracketing my mouth began tightening. The fine lines by my eyes faded as did the perpetual circles under my eyes. Most astonishing of all, my hair turned from gray back to red.
Reverse aging had to be the coolest thing about being a vampire, but at the same time, what was the point of becoming young and hot again if no one ever saw it?
That, combined with the fact I craved actual conversation, was why, on the tenth day of waking up in the mansion alone, I decided to leave the premises.
I knew where to find car keys—in the garage, hung on a hook.
Would it be considered stealing if I borrowed one of the parked cars for a few hours?
I no sooner stepped into the garage than someone confronted me.
“Going somewhere?” Randy asked in that gravelly voice of his.
I whirled to see him framed in the doorway I’d just passed through. “Yeah. I was going to swing by my place and get some of my things.”
“No.”
“Why not? Am I a prisoner?” I huffed.
“You’re not a prisoner, however, you can’t return to your apartment.”
The most words he’d ever said in one go, and, of course, they weren’t what I wanted to hear. “Why not?”
“Because your previous abode is a crime scene.”
I blinked at him. “Er, why?”
“Because of the fire.”
“What fire?” I squeaked.
“The one I started.”
“You burnt my stuff!” I sputtered. “Why would you do that?”
“It was the only option I had on short notice. You neglected to mention that Theodore Gavin, whose body I disposed of, had his car parked at your complex. When he was reported missing, GPS tracking led the cops to his vehicle. This, in turn, had them questioning residents to see who last saw him. Turned out someone witnessed you two arguing. Add in your recent court case, and you became a person of interest. I acted just before the cops managed to get a warrant to search your apartment.”
“Oh no. I’m a murder suspect!” My hand went to my mouth.
“Actually, the police are theorizing that Gavin killed you and went on the run.”
“That doesn’t explain why you torched my place.”
“To get rid of the blood you left spattered after your mishap with the microwave as well as to incinerate the body of the woman in your apartment.”
“What woman? I only killed Gavin,” I huffed.
“Given we needed to establish a narrative, a female corpse was planted so that the coroner would declare you dead.”
My eyes widened. “You did what? Jesus Christ. I have to let my family know I’m alive.”
“Don’t be stupid.”
“But my sisters—”
“Will grieve and recover. Let’s be honest, you weren’t close,” Randy pointed out.
“How would you know?”
“You think we didn’t dig into you?” he scoffed.
“Cillian had you spy on me.” I stiffened with indignation.
“Hardly. A good security team studies everyone who comes into contact with their VIP. So yes, we know everything about you, including the fact that you saw your siblings only once or twice a year in the last decade.”
My lips pinched. “I’ll admit, we’re not close, but still, to let them think I’m dead seems kind of icky.”
“Let me ask you this, if you announce you’re alive, then how will you explain the woman found burned in your apartment and the missing Gavin?”
“I don’t know.” I chewed my lower lip.
“Even if we didn’t have a problem with the cops, what are you going to say about the fact that you’re looking decades younger?”
Decades? I almost preened. Would Cillian see the difference? That was, assuming he ever stopped ignoring me.
“Fine. You’ve made your point. I can’t go home and I can’t call my sisters. What can I do?” I might be almost fifty, but I could still pout like a pro.
Randy eyed me head to toe and grimaced. “I’d recommend you go shopping.”
“With what money? I assume I can’t use my credit or bank card.” Not that it would matter as one was maxed out and the other had something like twenty dollars.
A black plastic card suddenly dangled in front of me. “This is for your personal use.”
I grabbed it and ogled the fact the card had no numbers or a name, just a magnetic strip and a shiny iridescent chip.
“How much can I spend?”
“As much as you like.”
“Seriously?” I gaped at Randy.
“Do I look like the type to joke?” More like the type to twist my head off like a bottle cap.
“What’s the pin code?” Some people might have let pride stand in their way. I wasn’t that person.
“You won’t need one.”
My lips pursed. This all seemed very Pretty Woman and it made me suspicious. “What’s the catch?”
“None. As you are the boss’ protégé, all your expenses are covered. Shall I have Gwen warm the Lincoln?”
“I can drive myself.”
“You’re not going alone.” Randy crossed his arms.
“Does it have to be Gwen?” The woman hated me. Then again so did Lou—he glared the few times I ran into him and I’m certain I heard him muttering something about me being unworthy. As for Randy, this was the most he’d spoken to me.
“Gwen knows where to take you to find suitable garments.”
“Is that a dig on my threads?”
Randy’s lip curled. “While suitable for your previous life, as Cillian’s protégé, you need to elevate your appearance.”
“God forbid I embarrass him,” I grumbled.
“Exactly. Wait here while I fetch Gwen.”
I honestly debated driving off without her, but, at the same time, I could use her help. I didn’t know where to shop for nicer stuff, given I’d always worked within a tight budget.
Gwen arrived wearing a stony expression and offered no greeting. She slid right into the driver’s seat. I could have ridden in the back as she expected, but, despite knowing she didn’t like me, I popped into the passenger seat beside her and chirped, “Where should we go first?”
“Nowhere anybody would recognize you,” she stated as the garage door opened and she rolled the car outside.
“I doubt anyone at Walmart or Target would remember me.”
“We are not going to bargain chains,” she stated.
“Well, then you’ll have to suggest somewhere because that’s all I know.”
Gwen turned onto the road before saying, “Given your lack of fashion sense, it’s probably best I take you to Yvette.”
“What’s Yvette? Don’t think I’ve ever heard of that store.”
“Because she’s a person.”
“Oh. Is this Yvette a fashion expert or something?”
“Of sorts. She will dress you as befits your new station so you don’t embarrass Cillian.”
“Kind of hard to embarrass when the man is never around.”
“He’s busy.”
“Doing what?”
“If he wanted you to know, he’d tell you.”