(82) Trevor Wallace – Dhampir

I dump the trash. Scan the alley both ways. Seeing no one, I turn left. Stroll casually down towards the Vampyre's house. A curtain flicks back on a window as I walk. A young child peers out. Vanishes quickly. Scary man in the alley. Chuckling.

Check one more time. Then slip into the yard of my prey. Surprised at the flowers. A garden. His ghoul must be the epitome of a little suburban housewife. Good cover I'm thinking.

Unbelievable how quiet it is. Pondering. Break in? Knock on the door? Problem solved sort of. The backdoor opens. A rather plain middle-aged woman stands there.

"This is private property." She looks down. Not quite at me. Not enough for me to catch her eyes. Shy perhaps. Or well trained by the Vampyre.

"I know. Sorry. Have you seen a small gray cat? She managed to slip out when I was taking out the trash."

I move into her personal space. She takes a step back. Most people do when you do that. She shakes her head. Still keeps her eyes down.

I tell her, "She likes to crawl in open basement windows. Could you maybe check? I'll wait right here."

"We never open them so your cat really can't have done that."

"That one's open a crack," I tell her. Backing away a bit. Pointing.

"It can't be." But despite her denial she steps into the yard. Looks. Then instinctively glances at me. Angry at my small fib. Now she's mine.

"Why don't you invite me in." An order. Not a question.

She obeys. I follow. Turn the deadbolt.

"Sit, there." Nodding at a chair. "Do not move."

She does. Mentally I reinforce the command.

"Where is your Master?"

"Asleep in his bedroom." Her speaks without inflection. But her eyes flash with fear. She knows. Understands. Just can't do anything to stop me.