Page 8 of Tested
Chapter Three
“Connor gone again?” I swear I don’t know why, but that’s the first question I ask every day when I rise.
David just laughs at me. It’s been a week since we had our little heart-to-heart chat, and while no one has tested our new ground rules, Connor’s been gone so much I’m getting close. Chalk it up to life experience, but I have the feeling that if any of us pair up for feeding or for sex or for just running to the grocery store, the one left out might be surprised by his own response.
“Left about an hour ago,” David says, “something about a revenant who’s angry his clothes got burnt.”
“Sure.” My phone chimes with a reminder. “Oh, I’m supposed to meet my real estate agent to check out a property I might want to rent. Do you want to come with me?”
David looks down at himself. He’s wearing a long cotton skirt – or maybe trousers with incredibly wide legs – and a chartreuse crop top that’d be open in the front except for a single button at the center of his chest, right between his nipples. The button is painted with a smiley face. “Do I have to change?”
I can’t help but laugh. When we first met, David used fashion as a weapon. Now it’s just…who he is. “Nope. The agent I’m meeting is human, but she prides herself on dealing with the supernatural. You’ll add to my vampire cred.”
David’s natural glow is squelched for a heartbeat. “Sure. If nothing else, I’m good as a vampire decoration.”
I start to protest, but he waves me off. “Give me a couple minutes and I’ll come with you.”
He skips off – literally – before I can come up with a proper response. Of course he’s more than a decoration. Whenever I’m not worrying he’s too young for a committed relationship – and a menage, at that – I fret about how to keep both him and Connor safe. If I dig deeper, I might see how those two impulses are related.
After we look at the property, David and I could go test drive a couple SUVs. The car might belong to Connor, but David’s opinion – or rather, his ability to express that opinion – matters more than anything else.
I retreat to my room and pull out a pair of black jeans and a silk jersey tee the color of café au lait. I slick my hair back – not quite hitman mode, but close – and wait for David in the kitchen.
He reappears wearing a more subdued version of his earlier outfit. The cotton skirt has been replaced by artfully torn jeans, and he’s got a white muscle tee under the smiley button top.
“Very nice.” I give him an approving once-over. His hair falls in long layers around his face, the colors made brighter by the inch or so of dark roots. We pile into the Range Rover I bought to replace the Escalade some asshole blew to bits. The new ride isn’t as big as the Escalade, but it’s just as imposing, so I like it.
We work our way to Santa Monica Boulevard, David listing every restaurant he’d like to try, which could be perceived as rude – vampires don’t eat – if he weren’t so damned enthusiastic. As it is, I just imagine how he’ll taste after he has some of that blah blah blah at Chez Wherever.
Our destination is in West Hollywood, a storefront right off the Sunset Strip. The space has a professional kitchen, and while it’s been vacant a while, I want to see if the real thing equals my imagined potential.
Parking proves to be a challenge, so we’re some five minutes late to meet the real estate agent. Fortunately, she waited, and is tapping furiously on her cell phone when we walk up.
“You’re Glory?” My question’s rhetorical. I’d researched her on-line and seen pictures as well as testimonials from other supes she’s worked with.
“I am, and you must be Trajan Gall.” She extends her hand, her dark skin making the lime green nail polish glow. Her hair is a bundle of tiny braids pulled back from her face, and her white suit has been tailored by an expert.
We shake hands and I pull David forward. “This is David Collins. He’ll be working with me on this project, so if you need anything during daylight hours, he’ll be your contact.”
They shake hands and she smiles with delight. “You’re so warm. Were? Shifter?”
David snorts a laugh. “Wolf.”
He manages to layer a lot into that one word, and Glory’s eyes widen. “Collins…wolf…Oh.”
I tighten my grip on his elbow to keep him from running. “Let’s take a look at the space, okay?”
Glory unlocks the front door and holds it open for us. The air smells like stale grease and old meat – or something funkier than old meat. Dead meat? It’s not a great first impression. She follows us in and turns on the overhead lights, two banks of fluorescent bulbs that cast a harsh glare.
The room is a generous rectangle with two doors divided by a shadowy hallway at the rear. There’s a window with a wide shelf at its base next to the right door, a pass-through from the kitchen. Glory heads for the kitchen door, heels clacking on the linoleum floor, and I follow.
David stays by the entrance.
Glory waves me into the kitchen, and the further I go, the stronger the smell becomes, strong enough to make me blink. I gesture at David, who hasn’t moved. I don’t know why he’s chosen this moment to pout, but it’s annoying.
There’s a row of appliances along one wall, their stainless-steel surfaces worn but relatively clean. Whoever takes over this space won’t be able to run a high-volume establishment. There’s not room for more than three people in the kitchen. Glory starts to list the features, highlighting what the advertising copy emphasized. No new information, given the research I’d already done, so I turn my attention to her.
For a human, she sure doesn’t give off much energy. I debate whether I should try to mess with her mind, just to see if I can, but decide against it. She carries on, leading me out of the kitchen and down the hall.
