city—and none of them grand. I smile, anticipating her reaction.
I like to think of it as a private joke between us.
My wife happily resided—for years—in a drafty cabin on our island, instead of the existing farmhouse already on the property. It was purely out of personal preference due to past horrors she endured in an old English farmhouse. In the end, I know she’ll be fine in any home we consider safe, no matter the trappings.
But still, I can’t wait to see her face when she sees the places I picked. The one we close on this afternoon is a row house that’s seen better days, another is a basement apartment under an old, closed bank, and the third is a ramshackle structure with sewer access—perhaps it was an old worker’s dwelling.
We will never be caught like rats in a hole. We will change locations daily, if needed, ensuring trackers can’t find us while we plot and plan how to ferret out the dissension in the Tribunal’s ranks.
A car pulls alongside mine, maneuvering to park in front. The door opens and a tall, attractive woman in her forties, dressed in a royal blue business suit, exits from the vehicle, her long dark hair secured in a ponytail at the nape of her neck. She smiles as she approaches my car, watching me as I climb out. “Hi, Mr. McAndrews. Ready for the walk through?”
I return her smile and extend my hand. “Yes. Mrs. Rameriz, thanks for meeting me before closing.”
She shakes my hand, her smile firmly in place. “You and your wife certainly know how to close a house sale quickly.” The lovely woman is referring to my wife’s favorite “cash is king” mentality.
Well, when you’ve got the money available, why not? No need to delay matters with bank applications and loans. I return her smile, offering no further explanation. After all, she doesn’t need to know too much of our business. “You still agree it’s a good location for my wife’s preferences?” I explained that we travel extensively for business, and Dria wants a private residence she can enjoy instead of a crowded hotel. The other locations were acquired through different agents and purchased under different company names, so no one from the Tribunal would be the wiser.
“Oh, yes. Quiet, all residential, mostly families and retired couples. Grocery shopping is close by, only a couple of blocks south.” She indicates the direction with a sweep of her arm. “Restaurants and small businesses are three blocks to the north. Crime rate is low. I think she’ll be happy with your choice.” A wisp of panic crosses her face. “You did send her the listings to review, right? I’d hate for her to be unhappy with the house.”
“Yes, of course.” I’ve done no such thing, wanting to surprise Dria, but I keep that to myself.
Once more, I glance at the brightly painted homes—pink, salmon, robin’s egg blue, yellow, green—you name it and it’s here. Wherever your eye lands, you’re sure to be assaulted by color. I inhale deeply, enjoying the smells of cooking food drifting on the air. The inner-city neighborhood is exactly what we want—discreet and unobtrusive. No one would expect a wealthy master vampire, her husband, and a werewolf to reside here.
“Shall we go in?”
At my nod, the agent produces a key and leads the way to the entrance, a solid door a few feet from the sidewalk. We enter the small furnished home, my eyes taking in the stucco walls, pristine tile, and compact floor plan: kitchen in the rear, living space and dining room laid out at the front.
The decorating style is simple and clean. No fussy fabrics or chintz, more of a minimalist decor in an urban setting. “Nice,” I say. “It appears all the furniture we asked them to include is here. Do you have a list?”
She produces a file from her large bag. “I’ll double check while you look around.”
We wander through the first and then second floor, with her checking off items as we go.
And now, onto what
I like to think of it as a private joke between us.
My wife happily resided—for years—in a drafty cabin on our island, instead of the existing farmhouse already on the property. It was purely out of personal preference due to past horrors she endured in an old English farmhouse. In the end, I know she’ll be fine in any home we consider safe, no matter the trappings.
But still, I can’t wait to see her face when she sees the places I picked. The one we close on this afternoon is a row house that’s seen better days, another is a basement apartment under an old, closed bank, and the third is a ramshackle structure with sewer access—perhaps it was an old worker’s dwelling.
We will never be caught like rats in a hole. We will change locations daily, if needed, ensuring trackers can’t find us while we plot and plan how to ferret out the dissension in the Tribunal’s ranks.
A car pulls alongside mine, maneuvering to park in front. The door opens and a tall, attractive woman in her forties, dressed in a royal blue business suit, exits from the vehicle, her long dark hair secured in a ponytail at the nape of her neck. She smiles as she approaches my car, watching me as I climb out. “Hi, Mr. McAndrews. Ready for the walk through?”
I return her smile and extend my hand. “Yes. Mrs. Rameriz, thanks for meeting me before closing.”
She shakes my hand, her smile firmly in place. “You and your wife certainly know how to close a house sale quickly.” The lovely woman is referring to my wife’s favorite “cash is king” mentality.
Well, when you’ve got the money available, why not? No need to delay matters with bank applications and loans. I return her smile, offering no further explanation. After all, she doesn’t need to know too much of our business. “You still agree it’s a good location for my wife’s preferences?” I explained that we travel extensively for business, and Dria wants a private residence she can enjoy instead of a crowded hotel. The other locations were acquired through different agents and purchased under different company names, so no one from the Tribunal would be the wiser.
“Oh, yes. Quiet, all residential, mostly families and retired couples. Grocery shopping is close by, only a couple of blocks south.” She indicates the direction with a sweep of her arm. “Restaurants and small businesses are three blocks to the north. Crime rate is low. I think she’ll be happy with your choice.” A wisp of panic crosses her face. “You did send her the listings to review, right? I’d hate for her to be unhappy with the house.”
“Yes, of course.” I’ve done no such thing, wanting to surprise Dria, but I keep that to myself.
Once more, I glance at the brightly painted homes—pink, salmon, robin’s egg blue, yellow, green—you name it and it’s here. Wherever your eye lands, you’re sure to be assaulted by color. I inhale deeply, enjoying the smells of cooking food drifting on the air. The inner-city neighborhood is exactly what we want—discreet and unobtrusive. No one would expect a wealthy master vampire, her husband, and a werewolf to reside here.
“Shall we go in?”
At my nod, the agent produces a key and leads the way to the entrance, a solid door a few feet from the sidewalk. We enter the small furnished home, my eyes taking in the stucco walls, pristine tile, and compact floor plan: kitchen in the rear, living space and dining room laid out at the front.
The decorating style is simple and clean. No fussy fabrics or chintz, more of a minimalist decor in an urban setting. “Nice,” I say. “It appears all the furniture we asked them to include is here. Do you have a list?”
She produces a file from her large bag. “I’ll double check while you look around.”
We wander through the first and then second floor, with her checking off items as we go.
And now, onto what
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