Page 59 of Even Vampires Bleed (Even Ever After #2)

Cassiopé

I ’m bored.

Well, not completely. But what I like to do is ogle the bird shifter currently stuck with me in a tiny house, and if I do that all the time. He's going to notice and think I’m a weirdo.

I gave up the idea that I stopped being attracted to him when he lost his memory.

He might not be exactly the same, but I like this new person too.

But I still need to find something to do.

Because—obviously—reading next to him has dramatically not functioned so far.

I’ve been reading the same book for three days.

Hell, I’ve been reading the same twenty pages for three days.

And I still don’t know what is in those.

Is it pathetic?

Maybe a bit, but I decided to change that today.

Does it have to do with the fact I woke up plastered against Léandre this morning and that—like the coward that I am—I’m trying to find a way not to see him today?

No.

Yes, totally.

That’s how I end up walking in the exact opposite direction of the clearing he chops wood in everyday.

That’s how I end half a kilometer away from the house and still feel like I’m not far enough.

But I still stop because there’s a small house—smaller than the one we’re living in—and I’m curious to know what it is inside.

It’s still part of the bat-eared fox property, so I don’t feel like I’m snooping around.

When I open the door, I find that there’s no real flooring or windows.

All that’s inside are shelves filled with bowls, plates and mugs.

On the far left side—which isn’t that far, to be honest—there is a hole in the ground and a hose sprinkling water just on top of it.

The hose comes from the wall, makes a loop inside and goes back where it came from.

It’s not here to fill the hole, because the water isn’t running fast enough or in a significant quantity.

I don’t understand what this thing is made for, and I can’t see anything in particular in the hole, so I kneel next to it and plunge my hand into the hole.

I come in contact with soft and wet dirt before my full arm is inside.

Okay, but why all that mess?

I withdraw my hand from the hole and look at the dirt I pulled out.

It is orange and clay-like.

Wait, there’s pottery on the shelves.

This isn’t clay-like dirt. It’s clay.

And it looks like the owner of this whole property liked making pottery from the way the shelves are filled.

I wonder why he didn’t leave with those, and if he left the turning table here, too.

Quickly, I stand, get out of the tiny house, and circle it.

I find what I’m looking for at the back of the house.

The turning table looks old, and I’m not sure it still can turn, but I sit behind the wheel and look for a way to turn it on.

It takes a minute for my brain to take into account that there’s no more electricity here than at the main house, and that’s when I find the pedal.

I push on it, and the wheel starts to turn but stops immediately after, so I push again and it still does the same.

I push twice, and the wheel turns for longer.

Well, I think I understand how this works.

Continuously, I push the pedal, and the wheel maintains a steady speed. When I stop, the wheel stops, too.

This should be fun.

Didn’t I say I needed something to keep myself busy and away from Léandre?

This is perfect.

I go back inside and pull some clay from the hole.

It’s harder to do than I initially thought, because it’s thick and smooth, but it’s also extra sticky and I feel like it would be easier to cut it instead of just plunging my fingers as far as they can go and bringing small quantities by small quantities up.

By the time I feel like I have enough clay, I’m a mess. I have orange streaks on my thighs, and I feel like some is drying on my cheek, too.

I don’t want to scratch it, though, because my hands are covered in clay. If I try, I’m sure I’m going to cover more of my face.

I take one of the varnished bowls and return outside with my clay.

After dropping it on the wheel, I follow the hose to where Léon plugged it to get water.

I don’t have to walk a lot before I find a well.

It’s most likely where we get our water, too.

I fill the bowl, and then I come back to the turning table.

Now to make something out of the clay.