Page 25 of The Vampire Debt

At the mention of food my stomach grumbles. He can serve me the worst meal he can think of again and I know it will still be better than what I’m used to.

I look down at my clothes. The same clothes I’ve worn for three days and slept the day away in. I have half a mind to go to dinner just as I am. What do I care if he finds me repugnant?

But I can’t bring myself to do it. I want to be clean for my own sake. Crossing to the armoire I hope there will be something my size or close enough until I can get my own clothes cleaned and find a way to procure more.

I open it and frown. Dresses. It’s all dresses. I reach out to stroke the material of a deep blue dress and stop at the sight of dirt beneath my nails.

A bath first.And even though I can’t stand this demon keeping me in his house, I can’t bring myself to ruin such fine clothing.

It takes only a moment to locate the bathing room behind a second closed door. A large plush rug is situated in the center of the room, and beneath it, marble floors gleam. There’s a toilet and a washing basin.

Against the far wall sits a porcelain tub that looks as if it’s never been used—andoh demons and saints!—it even has a faucet. I walk over and turn it on.Working plumbing.And the water that comes out of it is warm.

I quickly plug the tub and only fill a few inches. I feel a sting of guilt at even thinking about filling it, though I would love to know how relaxing that could be.

Carefully I strip, folding my clothes, which are looking all the more filthy in contrast to everything in this place.

Against the far side are shelves built into the wall, holding so many bottles—bottles of perfumes and soaps and lotions and towels and washcloths and more.

I grab a bar of soap and a washcloth and step into the tub. I sit and nearly slide onto my back, unused to the smooth surface. It’s a far cry from the wooden tub I’ve used all my life.

Eventually I find a position where I can wash. The soap leaves my skin feeling soft and smelling of roses.

Once clean, I get out and dry off then wander back into the main portion of the room I’m staying in. I grab the deep cobalt blue dress I had been eyeing earlier and pull it out. I frown, already hating the idea that I’m supposed to wear a corset with it. I wouldn’t even know where to begin with the strappy thing.

A quick glance through the rest reveals the same. I’ve never worn one. And it’s just one more detail to make me feel even more inadequate for this place. I wouldn’t even know how to lace it up on my own, even if I wanted to.

I’m uncomfortable with how nice everything is. From the carriage, the accommodations here, to the clothes he’s provided—it’s all fit for the elite—and I am a far cry from belonging to a world such as this.

I slip the dress on, forgoing the corset. It fits perfectly, if not a little tighter than I am used to at the waist. Surely, by now, an hour has passed, or close to it.

I open the bedroom door and stick my head out, looking up and down the hall. There’s no one there. I think I can find my way, but the tour last night was hurried and not well lit. Everything looks different now in the waning light of day.

I make a few false turns before I pass the library. The doors are still closed but there’s a thin flickering light shining along the bottom from within that wasn’t there last night.

I keep walking, only slowing once I reach the staircase that leads to the third floor. The darkness is unusually thick, even now. I feel a pull tugging on me. It’s tempting to make my way up there to see what he’s hiding.

Now is not the time.

Shaking away the thoughts, I continue on. I need to kill this vampire and be done with it, not skulk around his house looking in rooms with closed doors. This world is overrun and if I can eliminate one or two, then we will all be better off with fewer of these blood thirsty monsters hunting us and controlling every aspect of our lives.

After several more wrong turns, I run into the butler. He waits for me in a hall as if he expected me to get lost. He motions for me to follow.

He is around my father’s age, if I had to guess, perhaps a little older and in his early forties. His eyes and hair are both nondescript shades of brown, though he has some streaks of gray at his temples.

When we reach the dining room, he bows slightly at the waist and gestures for me to enter.

“Thank you, Mr. …” I trail off, not knowing how to address him.

“Steward. James Steward,” he says.

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Steward.”

He clears his throat, his eyes flicking quickly to the room as if to tell me to stop my stalling.

I pull my shoulders back and breathe, then I enter the massive room.

A long table sits in the center of the room, with a fire on one side and windows along the other. A heavy chandelier hangs over the center of the table, tallow candles burning, their light magnified by the countless crystals.