Page 12 of Bitten Vampire
Chapter Five
A Week Later
I sitin the living room, watching while Baylor wrestles with a cushion. He lets out a low, grumbling growl and crawls across the dark green carpet on his belly, teeth gleaming as he nips at a tassel.
The cushion shoots into the air, twirls, then bops him on the bottom as it zips past and lands on the other side of the room.
“Huff-huff. Pffft,” Baylor complains, his breath short and sharp. He notices me watching and grumbles again.
I raise my hands in mock surrender. “Hey, don’t look at me. I do not control the house. You know better than to chew on the furnishings, buddy. That’s not allowed.”
I’ve been keeping score: wizard’s house, ten; Baylor, nil.
A homemade treat materialises from thin air, hovering just above him. Baylor’s nose twitches. Eyes wide, he tilts his head, watching it intently, tail swishing against the carpet. He leaps, snapping at it, but it’s too high. A distressed whine escapes him.
The treat hovers in place.
Baylor circles it, moving cautiously. Then, as if guided by a silent command, he sits. The treat lowers, and with surprising gentleness, he opens his mouth. It is placed carefully inside, and he crunches it with delight, his tail spinning like a helicopter.
Another treat appears, and Baylor flops onto his tummy. Then another, and he rolls over smoothly. A fourth arrives, and he sits upright, offering his paw.
“What the…” I stare, mouth agape in disbelief. I don’t believe what I’m seeing. Trained by a house in just one week. I just… can’t.
The antique clock on the mantelpiece chimes softly, reminding me of my obligations. I glance at my mobile. The peaceful morning is over; it’s time to work. Now that we live here, Baylor essentially has a full-time sitter, so I can concentrate on earning extra money and climbing out of this bottomless pit of bills.
Night-time delivery jobs pay nearly double, but they are tricky. Humans usually stay indoors after dark, out of reach of predators, which makes home delivery big business for anyone with a proper licence and a clean human background check. I refuse to work after dark. It isn’t safe. So I’m stuck with the daylight gigs.
“So, you are sure you are all right with him?” I ask.
The living room door creaks in response.
I take that as confirmation. Over the past few days, I’ve become more attuned to the house, understanding how it communicates. “Okay, well, thank you. I will be back before it gets dark.”
Baylor doesn’t even notice as I slip out and jump in my car. I grin when I spot a lunchbox on the passenger seat, along with a glass bottle of juice. I take a quick peek inside to find a salad—celery, walnuts, and a dressing that smells divine—plus an apple and a banana.
I’m so grateful how the house is taking care of us. Moving here was the best decision I’ve ever made.
I head into the city.
Over time I’ve found a prime spot, a catchment area that covers six takeaways, several offices, and a cluster of homes. When business slows, I circle back, and the app feeds me a steady stream of quick jobs. By lunchtime the orders are rolling in; today promises to be productive.
As I waitat the pickup point for an order, a busy waiter hurries past. He nods at me in greeting, his white apron slightly askew. The place is buzzing. I have been avoiding collections here because it is Jay’s mother’s favourite restaurant. But today has been slow, and I cannot afford to be picky.
The air smells of garlic and savoury spices. Behind me comes the rhythmic clink of plates, the soft jingle of glasses, and the low hum of conversation, punctuated by bursts of laughter.
One familiar voice cuts through the noise. I tense, groan, and tilt my head back, silently pleading for divine intervention. Did thinking of her summon her? Of all the rotten luck, she has to be here. Why me?
“Samantha said, Peter?—”
“Wait. Isn’t that the woman who was dating your son?” Her friend’s voice has the delighted tone of somebody who loves to gossip and enjoys being mean.
“Yes,” the woman replies. “That is the hussy who broke his heart.”
Hussy?Who is she calling a hussy? Not counting my conversations with Amy, I’ve never spoken ill of Jay, but it is getting harder to keep my mouth shut.
“The one who embezzled money from your company accounts?”
Oh, here we go.
