Page 10 of Bitten Vampire
The moment that thought crosses my mind, a stack of paperwork and a pen appear on the mahogany sideboard.
I stare at them.
Creeping closer, the words ‘rental agreement’ are written in fancy lettering at the top of the enchanted parchment, with both my name and Baylor’s already written in. My hand trembles as I pick it up. It’s a standard form, much like the one I signed with Derek four months ago—though Derek’s document wasn’t magic. If it had been, I wouldn’t be homeless.
Magical documents are notoriously complex, but one thing’s certain: you can’t hide anything in them. That’s whypeople hire paper mages—some of the scariest individuals you will ever encounter.
What they can do with a single sheet of paper is mind-boggling. In the business world, they are infamously ruthless—sign and fail to uphold it, and you are doomed. If it’syourdocument and you cheat, the penalties are worse. Seeing this paperwork actually reassures me that the house isn’t out to steal my soul. Everything seems in order.
The rent is higher than I was paying, but it includes utility bills, food for me and Baylor’s pricey dog food. A good deal indeed. Now that I’ve recovered from my initial terror, I feel strangely… safe.
I have not felt safe for a very long time.
I’m still worried about living close to the Vampire Sector, but this place is powerful. The ward keeps the garden in bloom, untouched by wind and rain. If it can control the weather within its boundaries, it can ward off any rogue vampire who might fancy a Winifred-and-Baylor snack. I’m safer here than anywhere else in the country.
Relief hits so hard that for a second, I sway and have to close my eyes.
I haven’t even seen the room. I need to calm down… but I can move in straightaway, all I need to do is sign. I pick up the pen and do it before the wizard’s house can change its mind.
The rent is due now and then on the first of each month. I just place the money here, on the sideboard, and the house will handle the rest.
I count out the rent in cash, stacking the notes neatly. Both the money and the rental agreement vanish.
“May I choose a bedroom?” I ask the house, feelingslightly foolish but wanting to be polite. The magic doesn’t shove me outside, so I take that as a sign everything is all right. Not wishing to drip water everywhere, I hang my damp coat on the rack and slip off my shoes. I’ve decided to treat this house as though it’s a person because, in a way, it is.
If I were stuck as a building, I’d want its occupants to be polite and kind. It must be a lonely existence.
Perhaps when the wizard first connected their soul the house was home to a family—their family. Then time passed, the family died, and the soul was left alone. Maybe that’s why it wants to rent a room.
“I know how you feel,” I whisper. And if speaking to a house also makesmefeel less alone—much like chatting to Baylor—then so be it.
The stairs don’t creak as I climb. The wooden bannister is warm under my fingers. At the landing, I find four open doors. A bathroom and three bedrooms. Two are the same size, the third is a smaller box room.
The bathroom is wonderful. A large, clawfoot tub sits prominently beneath the frosted window, while a spacious rainfall shower beckons me to wash the remains of this day away. I don’t know how the house updates itself; it certainly didn’t have these modern amenities when it was built. I might research it later to learn more.
The main bedroom faces the front garden. It’s old-fashioned but lovely. The walls are covered in dainty, floral-patterned wallpaper adorned with small frames holding intricate, hand-drawn portraits of people time may have forgotten. I wonder if they are someone’s loved ones. Memories.
Floral wallpaper and matching bedding… Normally I’d hate so many patterns, but I rather like them here.
In the corner stands a wooden wardrobe, its dark wood polished to a shine, beside a small dressing table with an oval mirror.
“It’s so pretty,” I say, deciding the front bedroom is my best option. “If it’s all right with you, this room will be perfect.”
I move to the window, push the curtains aside and peer out. Dusk is closing in; I need to hurry. I let the curtain drop.
“I need to fetch Baylor and bring my things inside.”
I hurry downstairs, pull on my coat and shoes and dash to the car.
A white paw scrabbles at the window. I grimace. Behind the glass, Baylor’s howls are sorrowful, and his blue eyes roll as though he’s suffered hours alone—it hasn’t even been twenty minutes.
“It’s all right, it’s all right,” I say, grabbing his lead from my pocket, which I’d found earlier among my scattered belongings. I have a sinking feeling he will spring out of the car and flatten me. I take a deep breath, keeping the door closed on his grinning face.
He whines in protest.
“Wait. Sit.” Tail wag. Bum wiggle. Baylor does not sit. “Sit,” I repeat, firmer. He whines louder but eventually obeys. I don’t quite fist-pump—it’s a small accomplishment—but I’m proud of the progress.
I crack the door and clip the lead to his collar. “Staaaay.” He stays. I open wider. “Staaaaay.” He stays. I open a littlemore, and then I’m bowled over by a fluffy Husky launching at me.
