Chapter 2
two
. . .
peony
What a weirdo, that Mr. Edgewood.
I head back to town, trying to keep my eyes open as I drive under dark branches. It was a long day at the manor, and my body’s exhausted. Eventually, I end up on the highway, and then it’s all I can do to reach the Thrifty Mart parking lot in town before I fall asleep at the wheel.
But first, I push the seat back as far as it will go and reach into the trunk for my blankets and pillow. I managed to smuggle bedding out to the car a little at a time before the night I finally left, so it was waiting there when I drove away from Andy’s house.
I barely slept a wink when I finally found a place to park because I was so afraid he would appear, even though I’d taken our only vehicle. Sometimes it keeps me up, wondering when he’s going to find me.
It doesn’t feel like a matter of if so much as a when. He’s persistent, if anything. That’s how he got me to date him in the first place, by showing up where I worked enough times that I finally cracked and went out with him.
That should have been a red flag.
I try not to think about Andy as I ball up my pillow under my head and pull the blankets over my eyes, hoping to block out the streetlights.
I’ve been trying to save up what I can for a deposit on an apartment, to truly have my independence from Andy.
Even just a room in a house would be fine, but everyone wants two months’ rent up front, and I got away from Andy’s house with barely ten bucks in my pocket.
The first cleaning company I worked with was a shit show.
The woman who ran the place took an instant disliking to me and always gave me the worst-paying jobs.
She chewed me out for the smallest things, then poisoned the clients against me by saying she was sending in a rookie.
She couldn’t be bothered to post a schedule, insisting on texting it to us when I don’t even have a phone.
It was after she cussed at me in front of my car—because it wasn’t “presentable” enough for clients—that I broke.
I grabbed my vacuum, got in my shitty sedan, and drove away without looking back.
At least that’s how I ended up with my own equipment. She insisted I pay for it out of the money I made, so while I walked away with nothing, I do have a nice vacuum now.
Finally, my muscles manage to relax enough that sleep might be within reach. If I can hold on to this job with Mr. Edgewood, if I can stick with it and keep my food costs low by eating at his house, then surely I can scrimp and save enough money for what I need to live on my own again.
That thought lulls me into dreams.
When I arrive at Edgewood Manor the next day and Mr. Castle takes my car away, I peer up at the many windows that run along the broad, brick side of the massive house. Mr. Edgewood lives in the east wing, through a door at the end of the hall.
I wonder what he looks like. Why does he hide up there? When does he leave?
With none of my questions answered, it’s on to my second day of cleaning.
I spend the first few hours finishing up the lower-level common rooms and considering what I should cook for lunch. Something light but filling would be ideal, so I piece together a plan for an arugula salad with an Italian sandwich.
The sitting room is clearly never used, but I move all the furniture anyway to clean underneath and behind it. There’s yet another sitting room across the hallway, which has also never been used. I’ve reached the dining room when I hear Mr. Castle’s voice.
“Ms. Austin?”
I stick my head out. “Yes?”
“I have a favor to ask.”
Returning my window cleaner to the caddy, I head out into the kitchen.
“What can I do for you?”
“Mr. Edgewood has decided to go out tomorrow and would like you to clean his rooms while he’s away from the manor.”
I wasn’t sure when I’d be allowed in his space. I suppose he probably wants it cleaned like the rest of the house. He just… wants to make sure I don’t see him.
Well, fine. It’s weird, but at the hourly wage he promised to pay, I don’t mind, and I want to prove to him I can do this job and do it well so I can keep it.
That night, though I’ve already been working for ten hours, I whip up an easy dinner of green beans and saucy beef on top of a rice bowl, with a side of an Asian salad with sesame vinaigrette. I send it away with Mr. Castle, then devour my own. When he’s returned, the butler digs in.
“You’re not a bad cook, Ms. Austin,” he admits.
I can’t help but preen. That’s what brought me to cooking in the first place—that people enjoyed and appreciated it.
Once I’ve cleaned up, I tell him I’m headed home for the night. Mr. Castle retrieves my car, and I make the long drive back to the Thrifty Mart.
rupert
I have business to attend to.
There are a few who know of my ailment: my butler, the groundskeeper, and my numbers man. Today, I’m visiting the numbers man.
It’s a long drive to the big city, and I do it myself because I have no need of a regular driver with how rarely I go out.
Fitting my big body into a human-sized vehicle is always awkward, but I bought a rather large 4x4 with tinted windows, fitted with special seats that allow my tail through without squashing it.
I’ll have to contend with quite a bit of traffic to reach Giancarlo, but he prefers to do everything in person, and it is good for me to get out every so often. Luckily, he knows the real me. Me—and why I am the way I am.
It helps sometimes, when I’m at my angriest, to make a visit to Giancarlo.
And something about the new housekeeper has stirred me up, though I don’t know if my temper is what’s at issue.
Her presence has changed things noticeably, just since she stepped inside the front door two days ago.
The house feels more alive under my feet.
It’s interesting what a single new person can bring to a place.
Once I get off the highway, I wind through back streets and alleyways until I reach Giancarlo’s. I park behind the back door and cover my big body with a cloak as I let myself inside.
“I’m here!” I call out down the hallway, shrinking lower to adjust to the height of the ceiling, so my horns don’t bump. Once I’m in the living room, though, I can stand again, and I find Giancarlo there waiting for me, all five foot, two inches of him.
“Ah, my man, Rupert!” He throws out a hand and offers it to shake. He doesn’t flinch even though my monstrous, scaled fingers dwarf his. “It’s nice of you to visit. Do you want a drink?”
I imbibe fairly often, but usually it’s alone at midnight when I’m lost in my thoughts, or lost in a book, or worse, lost in one of those awful reality TV shows.
“Water,” I finally say, and though Giancarlo quirks a brow at me—he has a marvelous spirits collection on offer that I usually partake in—he doesn’t question it. He fills a glass from the tap, hands it to me, then leads the way down yet another low-ceilinged hallway to his office.
Inside, there’s a large chair waiting for me across his broad desk. He keeps the lights low, which I don’t mind. Less chance of seeing all my horrifying little details.
Giancarlo straightens a stack of papers in front of him. “What brings you to me today, Rupert? I have all your latest earnings reports here”—he slides a sheet toward me—“and what you can expect at tax season.”
To humor him, I pick my glasses out of my front pocket, open the case, and place them on the tip of my nose. I squint as I peer through them until I can finally read the page.
I’ve never had great eyesight, but it got much worse when I became this. And it’s challenging to find glasses that fit my obscene face.
Everything looks as it should be—growing swimmingly.
I don’t even know what to do with it all.
I donate most of my dividends to causes I believe in, but as we near the end of the year, I realize just how much more there is.
It’s far and above what’s needed to maintain the manor and the few other properties I have scattered around that are simply accumulating dust. It covers Mr. Castle’s wages and the new Ms. Austin’s, as well as the groundskeeper.
Yes, the money is everything I wanted and more. It’s too bad I had to pay such a steep price—and how I look now isn’t even the biggest portion of what I paid.
“Set aside whatever is needed to foot the bill,” I say at last, pushing the paper back toward Giancarlo. “You’ve been filing all the quarterly paperwork?”
He shoots me a withering look. “Who do you think I am?”
I sip my water, chuckling into it, which has the side effect of splattering some across my muzzle. “My apologies. I would never suggest you aren’t fully capable.”
“More than capable,” he says with a huff. “Anyway, I saw that you hired a new housekeeper. Is that why you’re visiting me?”
Seeing right through to the truth of things, as usual, my old friend.
“I suppose you could say that.” I have plenty of funds to pay her for however long she stays.
I don’t imagine she’ll last for long, though, seeing as she’s rather young.
My best housekeeper, Lydia, was in her sixties and tolerated me for many months, almost a year, before giving up on my temper and my picky eating.
Giancarlo arches a brow. “And what do you think of her?”
I growl low in my throat. He knows the words of the curse put upon me, the fragile wording of the spell that made me what I am.
My friend sits back in his chair, alarmed.
“Sorry,” I grumble, because as many years as I’ve been in this body, I’m still not always aware of how it will respond to me and my moods. “She is a very good cook. It doesn’t matter what I think. We both know that I’ll drive her away. Or worse…”
Giancarlo nods. “Or she’ll see you.”
“And then she’ll jog off.” The way the housekeeper before Lydia did, when I still thought that perhaps people would give me a chance.
“I see. Well, I’ll be sure to set aside a salary for her anyway, and we’ll see how it goes, hmm?” He returns to his former easy posture and even flashes me one of his trademark smirks. “Try being a little nicer this time. Compliment her cooking. Maybe this one will be different.”
I snort. “And pigs will fly tomorrow.”