Chapter One- Mia

I was working the late evening shift at Happy's Diner. The owner, Happy, liked to stay open later than other diners to catch the people getting out of the bars and nightclubs down the street. Personally, I thought it was an idiotic idea. People getting out of bars and nightclubs were not generally good customers, and dealing with drunks was never my favorite idea, either.

As a matter of fact, I had an aversion to random people pinching my butt or coming in so tipsy that they crashed into their table, knocking the plates and glasses to the floor in a crescendo of broken china. And it really irritated me when Happy glared at me as if all of it were my fault.

I grumbled under my breath as I picked up the broken china and swept the area. You would think working mostly at diners for the last eleven years of my life would give me more than enough experience to be above the grunt work of certain diner jobs—to be a manager or owner—but nope. And it wasn't because I was a terrible worker. I was a dang good worker. It was for the simple reason that people and I did not mix well.

Being around people left me all jumbled and chaotic inside. There was this huge mix of feelings that swirled around and around inside me whenever I was around them. Like someone had taken a fireman's hose, opened it full throttle, and shoved it down my throat. It was not pleasant.

I'd really tried. I'd tried as a child, and then as an early teen to make friends. But I could tell when people were lying to me, and I could tell when people were saying something not because they felt it, but because they thought it would make me think better of them. I could tell when people were being insincere. And, the sad truth was, there was a lot of lying and insincerity out there in the world. So much of it, in fact, that I'd stopped trying.

It was a rare find to find a decent, truthful person who didn't live or die by others' opinions of them. People gravitated to people who made them feel better about themselves. And, sadly, that wasn't me for most people. Hence the no friends, and the cleaning broken china, and the leering man with crazy eyebrows and bloodshot eyes who tried to pinch my butt again.

I stood up and glared at him, my chest heaving. His cronies around the table were snickering into their food, watching the scene play out; none of them speaking up for me, none of them seeing anything wrong with putting your hands on someone else's butt when it was clearly not wanted. The man winked at me, and I saw red. I gently set the tub of broken china down on the table, fisted my hand, and punched him as hard as I could in the nose.

The man squawked, covered his nose, and said in a high-pitched, grating voice, "I didn't mean anything by it, idiot woman! Stop being so sensitive!" His cronies were cracking up now, guffawing into their waters, and I could tell the butt-pincher was getting embarrassed. I knew this would go one of two ways: One, he would drop it and slink away. Two, he would create a scene with my manager.

He went with option two.

"You're fired," Happy sneered. "Get your things and get out." The other servers and cooks avoided my eyes, and not one of them stood up for me. It hurt a bit. I knew I wasn't really friends with any of them, but we were at least friendly with each other most of the time. I tried to help my coworkers as much as possible, taking shifts when they were sick or had to take care of a sick child, and staying late so they could get home to families and kids.

But none of them stood up to Happy. I understood, or at least I tried to comfort myself that I understood. They didn't want to lose their jobs, either. And the economy was terrible. I sighed, glaring at Happy. His name was a huge misnomer. He should have been named Growly the Ghastly. It certainly would have fit better than Happy.

I gathered my things, glared at the table of guys in the corner who'd gone quiet, nodded at my coworkers, and left the diner.

The sky was thick with dark clouds, and it was starting to drizzle. I pulled the collar of my coat up and wrapped my scarf around my neck, tucking the ends inside my coat to keep myself as warm as possible.

The streets were deserted at this time of night. Occasionally a car passed, but I didn't look up and take note. I kept my nose down and my eyes on the sidewalk and walked as fast as I could toward my apartment building.

It wasn't the smartest idea to walk home at this time of night. I knew that. But I had zero extra money for a cab, and I didn't own a car. Heck, I would just be grateful if I could scrounge up enough money for my rent. Right now, all of my money was going toward the business classes I was taking online. I juggled bills to pay the tuition each month, taking extra shifts at work whenever I could swing it.

Until last week, I'd been working two jobs: Happy's and The Juice Box, a juicing bar down the street that was always crazy busy. But I'd had to let that job go so I could focus on my upcoming finals. I was nearing the end; so close to my certification that I could almost taste it.

It had taken me two years of double shifts, night shifts, two jobs, extra jobs, and eighteen-hour days to get me to this point. The finals were on my laptop at home, waiting for me to send them in. I just had to proof them one last time and then I was done. I would never have to work a diner job for the rest of my life. I could polish up my resume, add in my education and certification, and get a better-paying job that would help me get out of the slums and into decent housing. Maybe afford a car, and an occasional meal out.

A car with very faded headlights passed close by me, spewing muddy water on my lower half. I growled and wanted to shake my fist at the driver, but I didn't bother. They probably couldn't see any better than I could in this wet weather.

A woman with a very bundled-up baby was up ahead on the sidewalk. He was in what looked like a snow suit, including a hoodie, and the woman had on two coats and what appeared to be three differently colored scarves, with boots up to her knees. I wanted to laugh. It wasn't that cold, but as she drew near, I felt a strange surge of peace. She smiled at me, despite the drizzle, and I felt warmth blossom inside of me.

I smiled back at her, despite the crappy day I was having. She was one of those rare types of people that made you smile simply because you couldn't help yourself. We nodded as we passed each other and went our separate ways. I didn't really find it odd that she was out in the drizzle at night with her baby. Or that she wasn't taking a cab, because there was what looked like a harried dad following her. He looked asleep on his feet; his tie was askew, his dress pants were wrinkled, and he quickly tried to catch up with her with a huge umbrella so she and baby didn't get wet.

I smiled and shook my head. Little family out for a walk? Maybe they were trying to calm junior so he could fall asleep? I didn't know. But it was interesting, and the woman seemed like a good person. The dad just seemed tired, and maybe a little frustrated that his wife was outstripping his pace. I looked at the apartment building they'd walked out of. It was brightly lit, and had a doorman just behind the glass doors, staying out of the rain. This was a better and safer part of the city. I purposely went out of my way to walk through the more affluent areas of town on my way home. I had no desire to be a statistic.

When I could no longer walk home via the affluent areas of town, I quickly marched down the streets closer to home. A homeless man was on the corner, babbling to himself, and empathy hit me hard. I'd been homeless once. I'd eaten out of dumpsters and begged for scraps and essentials from others.

I had five bucks in my pocket. It wasn't a lot, maybe enough to get a small meal, but it was all I had. I handed it to him as I passed, and he smiled a vacant, gap-toothed smile at me. As I turned the corner, I heard him singing.

I passed the alley right between my apartment building and another, and felt a chill skitter down my spine. I pivoted and saw a man leaning against the building, smoking a cigarette under an overhang that kept him dry. For no discernible reason, as the man's eyes met mine my insides turned to ice and I felt intense fear. He made no threatening move toward me—in fact, he didn't move at all—but I felt like my life was in jeopardy. I turned away from him quickly, and because I'd felt such things before and trusted my instincts, I bolted for my building, running flat out.

I opened the outer building's door with my key and slammed it shut behind me, breathing hard and looking out at the man who'd followed me so quietly I hadn't heard him. We stared at each other through the small patch of dirty glass, me with my heart beating like a runaway train, and him looking like he was contemplating nothing more dire than dinner. I palmed my phone, preparing to call nine-one-one, when he smirked and left.

I almost collapsed to the dirty floor in relief.

I had no idea how I knew he was bad news; I just did. I always did. A person could look like the most affluent businessman, but if they were a danger to me, I always knew. As a matter of fact, I'd had that happen in the past.

One of my night classes had been on a local campus, and it was a packed classroom. Most of the students had seemed and felt friendly to me, but one man hadn't. And the craziest part was that he'd been among the friendliest of the class. He'd laughed and joked with others, gone out to coffee with the group, and just generally seemed to get along with everyone. His eyes had looked bright and cheerful. His dress was always business casual, and I'd seen him drive home more than once in a nice late-model car. But every time I was around him, my heart had pounded, my chest had tightened, cold would pulse through my body, and I would shake. Which made it dang hard to take notes and pay attention to my instructor.

I sat on the opposite end of the class from him, and avoided him at all costs. Others eventually noticed my behavior and asked me about it, but I kept my mouth shut, refusing to explain why I avoided him like the plague. I still had nightmares about the look in his eyes when he realized I could see right through him. It had only been then that I could see the eyes of a killer. Later that year, the news outlets had screamed about his arrest. Eventually, he'd been convicted of fifteen counts of murder and sentenced to a life in prison without possibility of parole.

That incident proved to me in a very visceral way that you couldn't judge someone based upon looks and what they projected to the world. I'd felt icy fear around white-collar businesspeople, and I'd felt peaceful and happy around what most considered the dregs of society. It didn't matter your skin color, the money in your bank account, where you lived, or what you did for a living. There were good and bad people in all walks of life, and in every imaginable circumstance. Most people seemed to fall between the two extremes.

I stiffened my shaky knees and walked up three flights of stairs to my apartment. I let myself in and flicked the light switch closest to the door, fear still surging through me, making me compulsively check every nook and cranny of my tiny apartment for some crazy person intent on murdering me in my sleep.

I wanted to collapse on my dilapidated sofa, but I quickly showered the diner smell off me put on some fuzzy pajamas, and made some ramen before I sat down. I huddled under a blanket and slurped my noodles, watching a Disney movie on TV. Something light and happy that would help the feelings of the day to drain from me. I drank icy water from a water bottle and slumped into the cushions.

I couldn't ever remember feeling this defeated. I was a good worker, but I seemed to be cursed when it came to jobs. From my first job when I'd been a homeless sixteen-year-old, to this latest disaster at Happy's, I'd had twenty-three jobs. Some I'd left on my own because I'd been really uncomfortable with an employee or boss, but most I'd lost because of circumstances similar to tonight.

It was like I was a magnet for disaster. No matter where I went or what I did, I couldn't get ahead. Something would happen, and life would shove me down the stairs again, kicking me as I fell.

I didn't believe in the supernatural, but I didn't disbelieve either. And some of those lost jobs...they'd seemed unnatural. Occasionally people that I came across that felt different to me. And the strange thing was, they seemed to notice me as well. To be honest, it freaked me out that they seemed to see me clearly, when to me they were more murky. I couldn't make heads or tails of it. I relied on my sense of people. It had saved my life on more than one occasion. It bugged me that there were people out there that I couldn't get a good sense of. They were complete mysteries.

I fell asleep with this on my mind and woke to pounding on my door. The pounding had a certain sound of doom to it. I knew who was at the door, and I knew what he wanted.

My super, Lando, wanted the rent money. The problem was that I didn't have it. I wasn't usually late on rent, but I'd had a last payment for my tuition, and I couldn't graduate without being fully paid up.

Perhaps if I ignored him long enough, he wouldn't pitch me out into the streets.

Making a faint noise of disgust at my thoughts, I rose from the couch, drew in a big breath for courage, and flung open the door.

Lando had an unamused expression on his pinched, scowling face. His beady eyes looked carrion bird-ish, making me hold in an inappropriate snort at my doomsday thoughts.

"Rent money."

"I'm sorry, Lando, but I don't have all of it right now. I'll have it to you by the end of the week."

Somehow. I might have to find some under-the-table work for a few days to scrounge together the remaining two-hundred dollars. I dug into my purse for my wallet and handed him what I had. "This is all I have so far. I promise I'll get the rest to you this week." I wanted to plead with him to be patient, but knew better, even before he opened his mouth.

He squinted and pursed his lips. "I've already listened to five sob stories this morning; yours will not make a difference. If I don't have the rest by Friday, I'll deadbolt your apartment and lock you out."

Never mind that it was illegal to do that, and I should have had thirty days. It didn't matter. Housing in Manhattan was terrible in the slum areas. And it was rarely overseen by the city.

I was so screwed.

I nodded and shut the door in his face. It was only mildly satisfying, which was a sad commentary on my life at the moment.

I snatched another bottle of water from the fridge and stood in front of the mirror in my hallway.

I sighed and pushed my wavy dark hair away from my face. It was long and thick and so hot in the summer that it was not uncommon for it to be slapped up in a messy bun all the time. I had pale skin that veered into the porcelain range, and what some had dubbed "creepy bronze eyes".

Literally. They were bronze. That metallic looking brownish-goldenish-reddish color.

I actually liked them, but most people avoided my eyes like I was Medusa and would turn them to stone with one look.

Sometimes I wished I had that superpower.

I would totally use it judiciously.

Maybe.

Possibly.

Okay, probably not.

I sighed and plopped down onto my couch again to read the comics. Just because. I even had it in me to smile a little at Dennis the Menace.

Such a cool kid.

A handful, yes. But awesome.

For the thousandth time, I wished I had a brother. Even if he drove me insane with his shenanigans, I just knew that I would treasure him.

I wanted a home and a sense of belonging. I wanted warmth and light and love. I wanted family and friends. I wanted an amazing boyfriend. But the thought of the chaos that swirled inside of me whenever I was around people made me cringe and made me gun-shy. I'd tried and failed so many times that I'd given up. At least for now. Loneliness was eating at me again, and I knew I'd probably try again soon. There were times I thought I'd accept a feral cat if it meant having someone to talk to.

I didn't remember my birth parents; they'd died when I was very young, and I spent the early part of my life in foster or group homes. At fourteen, I'd been adopted by a kind family, but when I was sixteen they'd died in a helicopter accident. I had been stuck at home with the flu and unable to travel with them. Which, in retrospect, had saved my life. Who knew the flu could be lifesaving?

The days following were not so great and still felt like a fevered dream for me. My nanny was fired, the will and important papers were seized, the house was claimed, and my sick self was ejected from the house in short order.

Some still-living nephew had been the heir of their entire estate. It hadn't mattered at all to him that I was a minor. He'd just kicked me out of the house with no warning. Whenever I thought of him, my teeth ground together. Who did that to a sixteen-year-old girl? What a scuzz.

I still wasn't sure why my adopted parents had left me out of the will, but I hadn't quibbled or fought back against Glade. After living with a great family the prior two years, I hadn't wanted to go back into the system. Technically, my cousin should have gotten custody of me, but he'd felt like a rampaging bull in the short time I'd been around him and I'd had no desire to put myself into his care. Instead, I got a job at a diner in town that paid in cash, lied about my age to everyone I met, and lived on my own. It took months to scrounge together enough money for a down payment on an apartment. That was eleven years ago.

For a while after he inherited the estate, Glade had people following me.

At first, I thought I was losing my mind. I would get the distinct and creepy feeling of someone's eyes lasering into my shoulders or the back of my head. I'd turn and there would be no one there. Other times, I would see a familiar face hanging around outside the diner. Someone I'd seen on the streets in passing, but they would never come in, and they never bothered me.

To say that it had irritated me would be a vast understatement.

He'd kicked me out, dumped me in the rain while I was delirious with fever, and to top all of that off, he'd had people tailing me for months.

I didn't know what to make of it.

What was he worried about? That I'd set the house on fire? That I'd make a stink in the media about him stealing my home? I was sixteen. Far too young to take him on in court and win. Besides, I'd wanted to avoid him and avoid drawing attention to myself at all costs. I wasn't about to take on a dangerous man all over money and a big house.

It just wasn't me.

I huffed under my breath as I flipped the page and looked through the Help Wanted ads. I'd been looking at possible secretarial jobs for the last several months, just seeing what was out there and what they were paying, but I'd been waiting until I had my degree in hand before applying to anything. It was nice to see what the potentials were. But this ad was starting to tick me off. It had been running for a month now, and was still there in big, black and bold-as-you-please font, taking up nearly a quarter page of the paper. And it was completely and utterly ridiculous.

Wanted: Vampire's Assistant

Duties will include, but will not be limited to: shopping, banking, accounting, making travel arrangements, supplying a daily itinerary, correspondence and communications with all Excelsior acquisitions and its management teams, etc.

The best applicant for the job will be:

Loyal.

Quiet.

Fearless.

Possess the ability to keep the CEO's affairs private.

In good health.

Flexible.

Dependable.

Somewhat sturdy.

Applicant should also be intelligent and not prone to temper tantrums, moodiness or fits of terror.

Compensation commensurate with applicant's percentage of match affinity with the job and the qualifications.

If hired, living accommodations will be provided by Excelsior Inc.

All inquiries please apply at:

Draven Leto Industries

P.O. Box 727

Moonhaven Cove, Oregon

97579

or

Attn: Draven Leto

@

[email protected]

I huffed again. My current straits were dire. I needed money quickly, and after the week I'd had, it irritated me that this man kept putting out this ad that was so ridiculous it was an utter waste of space. And it was a huge ad! That space could have and should have been used by genuine people looking for employees for their business. I didn't know how it worked in newspapers, but what if real businesses were getting turned away for next week's paper because this yahoo kept running an ad that was clearly meant as a joke for some unsuspecting fool?

I frowned at the ad again, reading through it a second time, then fired up my laptop, and started an email. I was going to tell this Draven Leto person that his joke of an ad wasn't funny, and to please retract it. Placing a prank ad might be funny on any other day. A month ago, I might have laughed with the rest of Manhattan. I might have snickered into my favorite peppermint tea and rolled my eyes.

But today I was inches from getting kicked out of my apartment. I'd had to punch someone last night, who, yet again, didn't seem to appreciate the word "no", and I'd narrowly avoided what might have been a serial killer walking home. My hair was a tangle of wild in an I-will-tame-you-if-it's-the-last-thing-I-do bun, I was stressed out and so tired—even after sleeping all night—that I could barely see straight. My eighteen-hour days had more than caught up to me.

Attn: [email protected]

Subject: Your ad

Mr. Leto,

I realize your ad is probably one big joke for you. Its placement nationwide, and possibly worldwide, means that you at least have the means to back up your pranks, but I need to inform you that your prank ad reduces viable space where other companies, and those looking to hire, might find applicants.

Applicants such as myself.

Since we do not live in a fictional world, and since there are no such beings as vampires, I have to assume that this ad's audience was a person in your circle that you needed to get back at or have a little fun with.

Normally, that would be funny. Hilarious, even, as it shows a lightheartedness that I would usually appreciate. But, between the lecherous men at my previous place of employment, my rent being past due, and there being zero food in my cupboards, I can tell you that your ad, on this side of the paper, was not at all funny.

In fact, I found it to be in poor taste.

Please, in the future, refrain from taking up valuable ad space with your pranks.

There are people out there that really need a job and roof over their head that legitimate ads provide the chance of.

Thank you for your time.

P.S.

I hope your friend at least found it funny.

Sincerely, Mia Durran

I hit send and scrounged up some more ramen. It was cheap and filling, and my cupboards usually overflowed with the stuff.

I needed a job, and fast.

I spent the day polishing my resume, adding in my—hopefully—new degree, and proofing and submitting my finals. Later that afternoon, I got a return email with my graded papers. My teacher was lightning fast, and I smiled and internally cheered as I saw that I'd gotten all As. I was set to graduate a week from Friday. I danced around my apartment a bit at that news and wished I had some Martinelli's to celebrate. But I ate another meal of ramen and surprisingly fell asleep with the irritating Draven Leto on my mind.

His ad irritated me, but for no reason at all, I found myself smiling when I thought of him. At least he had a sense of humor.

Little did I know that Draven Leto would frequently bring out those same emotions in me in the days to come.

Irritation.

And laughter.

After crawling out of bed and making an iced coffee to get me started the next morning, I fired my laptop up and checked for any messages I might have gotten overnight.

I'd inquired at a few offices yesterday if they were hiring and wanted to see if they'd gotten back to me.

Instead, I found a message from Draven Leto.

Hmm.

Taking a sip of my iced coffee, I clicked to open the message.

Attn: [email protected]

Re: My Ad

Dear Ms. Durran,

After reading your email, it occurs to me that there are quite a few things that you don't know about yourself. Please know, Ms. Durran, that I had no intention of taking up valuable ad space with a junk ad. I realize jobs are at a premium these days, and if I had the desire to play a prank such as that on someone in my circle, I certainly wouldn't place it nationwide where every person with an opinion would come out of the woodworks and send zinging emails to my inbox.

Since you don't believe that such an ad can be legit, I offer you proof. Take the ad around to your neighbors and see if they can see the ad. I'm betting they won't be able to.

Once finished, email me back, and we'll talk.

Regards, Draven Leto

I almost spit out my coffee.

What?

That was a bizarre request. Take it to my neighbors? And, what, like an obedient puppy I was just supposed to go bother my neighbors because some random weirdo asked me to? Just no. Then again... The request might be odd, but it sparked my curiosity. Why did he think that asking other people about the ad would prove something to me? And what point was he trying to prove?

I growled into my coffee, not sure what I wanted to do. I definitely didn't want to disturb my neighbors over something so trivial, but I was also very curious now about what Mr. Draven Leto was hinting at.

As I read over his words again, a smile slowly bloomed on my face. I decided I would play his game, if only to let him know, in no uncertain terms, that I didn't appreciate being the butt of what had to be a joke.

I gulped the rest of my coffee down and slipped the My Spirit Animal is a Tiger mug into the sink, ran some water into it, yanked on some shorts and ran a brush through my hair. I slid into my slip-on tennies, scooped the paper up, grabbed my keys so I wouldn't accidentally get locked out, and knocked on the neighbor's door to the right of mine.

A harried mom with smooth, dark hair pulled back into a quick twist and dark skin answered the door. Her shirt looked like it had been gummed to death, there was spit-up on her shoulder, and she had dark shadows under her bloodshot eyes.

Yikes. Maybe I should offer to babysit her son more often.

I squirmed a little in embarrassment. "Hi, Leona." I smiled half-heartedly. "Really sorry to bother you, but I'm clearing up a bit of a bet." I placed a blue, nail-wrapped fingertip against the Vampire's Assistant ad. "You can see this ad here, right?"

Leona looked at where my finger was pointing, looked back at me, and looked back at my fingertip.

"Mia." Her voice was steady and measured.

"Yes?"

"Can you hear Daniel?"

I could indeed hear her baby Daniel screaming in the other room now that her door was open. I cringed again. Bad timing.

"Yes?"

"Then you can understand that I don't have time for any funny business, right?"

My face fell. My thoughts went a little blank. So... that was a no?

"You really can't see it?"

She glared at me. "There's nothing there, Mia!"

Slam.

Well, okay then. I wasn't really sure what had just happened. Sleep deprived moms were serious heroes, but perhaps Leona wasn't the best person to ask at the moment?

I did know that I definitely needed to offer to watch Daniel more often.

Leona clearly needed a break.

Not to be deterred, I systematically hit up every available person on my floor.

Zero people could see the ad.

I slumped into my apartment and dumped the ad and myself onto my ratty, tan couch. I was so confused. There was a possibility that a few needed to put their glasses on, or were preoccupied like Leona. Some could have been lying to me. But the likelihood of all of them saying they couldn't see the ad when it was very clearly there was infinitesimal.

I was staring at it. It was in a big, bold type, with a rounded font. It looked to be in sixteen-point type, even. Plenty big for those that might be optically challenged. I was flabbergasted, embarrassed that I had just gone around to all my neighbors who probably thought I was a little crazy now, and irritated that Draven Leto had been right. And still so very confused.

As I took another shower to tame my crazy hair and found some presentable clothes to go looking for a job in, I pondered the puzzle. Draven Leto had hinted heavily that not many people would be able to see the ad. I could see it, but no one else on my floor could. It begged the question…if I could see it, did that somehow make me different? If so, in what way was I different? Would others outside of my building be able to see it?

And the scary thought, if I could see it, and others couldn't, did that make the crazy ad the slightest bit legit? Vampires belonged in fiction, clearly. At least I hoped so. But what about the other people in the world that I'd never been able to get a strong sense of? Could they be different in the same way that I seemed to be different?

My thoughts ran round and round. Should I email him back? Or would it be better—safer—to just let it go.

The irony of my personality was that I was, by nature, a curious person. I'd learned, because of what I dealt with around others, to stymie that curiosity, but only to a point. I still wanted to love people. Heck, I'd love some friends I didn't feel ick around. And this, this had me wanting to reach out to the irritating Draven Leto for some answers. For curiosity's sake, sure, but also because I sort of feared that Draven Leto was other. And that what he'd meant was that I was other too.

It should logically make me want to run. I had a very finely tuned run-o-meter. But, strangely, it didn't. I felt drawn into something greater than myself, and insanely curious about what that something might be.

There was something nagging at me, too. Like I'd heard the name Draven Leto before somewhere. As I applied makeup, pulled my hair in a half-up twist, and found some shoes I could walk in but were interview ready, I puzzled over the dilemma.

It was when I was reaching out to grab my coat that it hit me. Sometime back, there had been something in the news about a luxury hotel owned by him in Florence, Italy that had burned to the ground. No lives had been lost, if I remembered correctly. This, at least, legitimatized his claim that he was both a businessman and that he had a company that needed secretarial work. Neither of those meant that he wasn't crazy or dangerous, but I needed a job, didn't I?

I hung my coat back on the coat stand, sighed at what a woman would do for a job and for curiosity's sake, then plopped back onto the couch as I reached again for my laptop.

Attn: [email protected]

Re: Your Ad

Mr. Leto,

I am unsure why I'm again corresponding with you, except maybe to put this to rest in my mind. I checked with my entire floor. No one could see the ad. Not a single person.

I have no idea what to say to that.

The ad is there. I'm looking at it right now, in fact.

Can you please explain what the heck is going on?

You can reach me at (212) 617-8974

Mia

I sent it and sighed into the couch. My stomach grumbled, and I placed a palm over the ache and tried to figure out my next steps for my day. I needed more groceries, but I didn't have any money. I had some mac and cheese in the cupboard. It wasn't great with just water and no butter, but it would work. I think I also had a jar of pasta sauce and some leftover linguini noodles. I could scrounge around for change and buy a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter, and that would have to work for this week. I was just getting up to make the mac and cheese when my phone buzzed. I flipped it over to look at the name. Draven Leto.

I gasped and sat up. Even though I'd given him my number—I considered it networking—I hadn't expected him to call me!

I felt a sense of anticipation and excitement as I hit the green button.

"Hello?"

"Ms. Durran, so good to hear from you. Can I assume you gave me your number because you're curious about why you can see the ad and those around you can't?" His voice was wicked-deep and sensuously amused.

"You can. Also, I'm looking for a secretarial job, and you seem to be looking for a secretary." Although, what kind of secretary he was looking for, I still wasn't entirely sure of. Personal assistant to a vampire was just crazy talk.

His laughter was potent and heady, filling me with a combustible, effervescent feeling. I tapped a finger on my sensible cotton pants I used for job searching and tried to come up with a sane, polite way of asking my question.

"To answer your question, Ms. Durran, only a small percentage of people would have been able to see the ad."

"But why?" I stood at the window, my breath and the chilled window colliding and creating steamy fog. It was early spring, but Manhattan was still locked in icy weather.

I heard a shuffling of papers, and the skritch of an expensive pen-nub on paper. "I'd like the opportunity to explain in person, and I'd like to interview you for the job. Can I send a courier with a plane ticket?"

A beat of silence. My first thought was, Yay, a job! My second was astonishment that he was still playing the game of looking for an assistant. And that he apparently was a vampire. Uh-huh.

"You mean the job for a vampire's assistant?" I said, disbelief heavy in my wry tone.

His smile was almost audible. The skritch of the pen stopped. "I can prove it over the phone if you'd like."

I almost laughed aloud. He'd like to prove it. Over the phone. That he was a vampire.

Well, game on!

"Of course, Mr. Leto. By all means, please prove that you're a vampire."

I just knew that his smile had become wolfish. How…did I know that?

I shook my head to clear it.

"Where are you standing in your apartment, Mia?"

I frowned. "At my window."

"All right. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Laughter again. Deep and sensuous. "So polite."

Then his voice changed. The laughter was gone, and in its place was a thick, powerful presence that sent warm chills down my spine. Warm chills are different, I thought inanely. "Mia, go to your refrigerator door and open it."

My spine snapped straight, my hands clenched the phone, and my feet marched to my fridge. And I knew it would sound crazy to others, but I wasn't at all afraid. Even over the phone, I felt such a powerful surge of peace that it almost broke whatever hold Mr. Leto had over me. The peace, in fact, was so strong that tears pricked my eyes. I felt content for the first time in a long time. It was such an alien feeling that I had to blink away more tears. I reached the fridge and yanked on the handle. The light blinked on, somewhat stutteringly, and the cold air hit me with a soothing puff of breeze. "What's in your fridge, Mia?"

I fought the response that sprang to my lips, embarrassment making me cringe. I didn't want to tell a potential employer, and an obviously well-off man, that here was one water bottle in my fridge and nothing else. Not even an open box of baking soda.

His tone turned soft, but still had that zing of command. "Mia, what's in your fridge?"

"Nothing," I sighed. "A water bottle."

He was quiet for a moment. "No food?" His tone had changed into one of concern, and I felt validated in my assessment of that tiny part of him, at least. Mr. Leto seemed to have a bit of a caretaker's personality.

I shook my head and then rolled my eyes. He can't see you, Mia! "No food in the fridge, but I have some in the cupboards," I said truthfully, but with the obvious intent that he wouldn't feel sorry for me. Heck, I just might need to go grocery shopping, for all he knew!

As if on command, my stomach snarled loudly. I put a hand over it to soothe it, but Draven apparently had the ears of a fox.

"Was that your stomach?" His voice sounded half amused and half appalled. What, he'd never been hungry before?

My cheeks burned. "Yes."

He was quiet for another moment, and then that voice of command poured out of my phone speaker again. "Mia, go sit on the couch."

My legs, without me giving them permission, walked themselves over to the couch, and deposited me there.

I still wasn't afraid, but my mind was churning over the fact that he could do this. He was controlling my body somehow. My mind helpfully-not-helpfully spat out one word: Vampire. I growled in frustration. Leave it up to me to find the supernatural in a world with almost eight billion people in it.

He laughed. "Did you just growl at me? Are you sure you're not part shifter?" I heard a faint tapping on his end. Keys being pressed into a keyboard. After a minute, the tapping stopped.

Time went by, but my butt was still firmly planted on the couch, and my spine was still annoyingly at attention. I couldn't move. And trust me, I tried to break his control. I still had all my own thoughts. I just couldn't break the hold he had over my gross motor functions. I could still do small things on my own power, blink, purse my lips, clench my hands, so I figured his control was only lightly being applied to me.

"What I'm using on you is not generally used on another being," he said, his voice soothing. "It's not illegal, however, and I thought it would make my point nicely." I didn't need the soothing voice. I still wasn't afraid.

"That you're a vampire?" Funny, my question this time didn't sound at all ironic. I think my subconscious was pretty sure this person was legit. I was fighting the thought, because if this was true, then a whole lot of other things might be true. And if those things were true, then what the heck was I if I could see them? That thought was both terrifying and exhilarating.

"I'm not afraid. You don't need to pacify me."

The pen tapping sound came again from his end of the phone.

"Interesting."

Interesting? Well, okay, my reaction might be atypical, but that was only because I was getting such a powerful surge of peace from this guy…err, vampire, that I couldn't help but believe that he was a genuinely good person. I trusted my instincts.

Before I could say anything in response, my doorbell rang, and the feeling of being taken over left. I sighed in relief. It was so nice to have my body back under my control. It hadn't been a painful experience, but I didn't think I'd ever take the control I had over my own body for granted again, either.

I ignored Mr. Leto's humming and got up to answer the door. Through the peephole I could see the delivery boy from Michelana's Italian Restaurant with a huge bag in his hands. Puzzled, I opened the door to tell him he had the wrong apartment, and to see if I could direct him to the right one, but he smiled politely before I could get any words out. "Delivery for Mia Durran?"

"I…"

"Just sign here, Miss."

He shoved an electronic signature thing in my hand, and I scribbled my name while hastily trying to explain that I hadn't ordered anything.

"Someone has already paid for it, Miss. Including the tip." And with that, he was off, and I was left standing dumbly in my doorway with the aroma of garlic breadsticks and meaty lasagna tickling my nose.

"I… What the heck just happened?"

Draven's chuckle sounded from my loosely dangling phone. I put the phone back to my ear. "You sounded hungry. Your phone's area code is for Manhattan. I just looked up the best Italian restaurant and took the chance that you'd ordered takeout through them before. Fortunately, they are a rare gem of a business and keep their customer's addresses on file so they don't have to bother customers by asking for them each time they order food there."

Well, I ate there anytime I could scrounge together some money, so his story seemed at least plausible.

"Thank you." I was both humbled by his kindness and embarrassed at the need for it. I hated being embarrassed, and I hated feeling exposed. I was also reeling over the fact that supernaturals existed. It was very cool, but also very sobering.

I set everything down on my kitchen table, put my hot hands up to my cool face, and covered my eyes. It was soothing; very, very soothing. I breathed in deeply, and out deeply, and repeated it several times before I picked my phone up again and said with a voice that wasn't on the verge of a major freak out, "I'll take those tickets, Mr. Leto. But to be completely transparent, I don't have my degree yet. I'm graduating next week. I was just starting the process of polishing my resume with the new information and looking for a secretarial job."

"I understand. I can send the tickets for a flight in two weeks?"

"You'd hold the job until then?" I was flabbergasted. Why would he hold the job that long?

"Ms. Durran, I think you are operating under the mistaken belief that you are not a rare find." He said this as though I knew what he was talking about. My eyebrows scrunched down as I tried to figure out what he meant.

"I'm sorry. I'm not trying to disagree with you; I'm just trying to figure out what you're talking about. It says you're based in Oregon. There should be plenty of people looking for an assistant job there."

He was quiet for a few minutes, and, though I didn't know how, I could feel his surprise over the phone.

"You don't know what you are, do you?" he asked gently.

I clutched the phone tighter. And because I was uncomfortable, I resorted to being a smart aleck. "An Earthling?" I said facetiously.

His genuine laughter made those effervescent bubbles pop in my chest again. I rubbed my chest and smiled at the broken tension. He laughed for quite a while, and I just sat there, grinning like a fool, listening to the sound, and rubbing the part of my chest where the effervescence kept fizzing. This was so new to me. Not just making someone laugh, but the easy way we were talking to one another. The innocent camaraderie.

"Yes, an Earthling." His tone turned gentle. "But Mia, you're also a supernatural. You couldn't have seen the ad otherwise. And I have a strong feeling I know what kind of supernatural you are. If I'm right, with your education, you will be a perfect fit for the position. So, yes, I'll hold the job for you."

I felt elated! A potential new job! And I'd always wanted to move out of the city. I hated the smog and congestion. I could figure out the tiny details—like what I would do for food for the next two weeks, and where I would stay when the apartment manager locked me out of my apartment in a week—later.

As though he could hear my thoughts, Draven asked, "Mia, are you okay where you are for two weeks? I can send a travel bonus that would get you by until you come for your interview. It would also allow you to rent a storage unit and move the things you want to keep in there until you're ready for them again."

"You can't read minds, can you?" I hadn't felt fear about the taking over my body thing, but the idea that he might be able to hear my thoughts made me cringe.

He laughed. "No, Miss Durran. I assure you, I cannot hear your thoughts. It was a passing feeling, nothing more."

A passing feeling my foot. The part about him not being able to hear thoughts rang true, at least.

I couldn't believe I was about to have this conversation with a potential employer. "I had a last payment for my tuition that was overdue. It made me short on my rent. My building manager has already been by and has given me a week's deadline." I tried to state all of this as concisely and succinctly as I could. I had no desire to give him exhaustive details about the deplorable state of my personal finances.

"I'll book a hotel for you under a company card," he said, tapping on his computer again.

My protest died on my lips. He was being kind, yes, but he was also being practical. If it was true that I was a rare find, and that he was eager for me to interview for the position, then it would also be true that he would want me to make it to the interview in one piece.

I received a text with the hotel booking information. "You're clear to arrive as early as today," he said.

I felt a weight leave my shoulders. Sometimes, the sweetest words to an ex-homeless person were, "You have a place to stay." Once you've been homeless, you always had an eternal fear that you'd end up back on the streets.

"Thank you," I said, my throat tight.

"You're welcome, Miss Durran. I look forward to your interview." He clicked off, and I sat at my table with my head in my hands.

My mind was reeling at everything that had just happened, but I knew one thing with absolute certainty: in two weeks I was going to Oregon to meet a possible vampire for a job interview.

I laughed and shook my head.

Life was so weird sometimes.