Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 122946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 615(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 615(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
“You’ve got to be freaking kidding me.” I wanted to groan when I stepped in front of the mirror. I looked better than an airbrushed supermodel; the dress fit every curve of my body. And if I were still human, I’d love it. I’d want to post a selfie and twirl around at how flawless my deep brown skin was, and how I had just the perfect breast and butt size. But I wasn’t a human anymore, and looking perfect was dangerous because it meant everybody would notice I was different.
Grabbing a light, over-sized cardigan, I draped it around myself before picking up my thick-rimmed, fake pair of red glasses to finish my “normal” costume. I grabbed my thick, curly hair and pulled it into a messy bun. Stepping into some flats, I picked up my bags and entered the living room.
I thought back to him and decided to leave my phone on the counter as well as some directions to use it.
Please don’t draw attention to yourself or my apartment.
I’ll be back soon.
Druella.
P.S. Think of a way to contact your family. They could be worried about you.
Now I felt very much like a mom, but I let it go, exiting my apartment. Besides, I needed to talk to someone other than him. And I only knew of one other vampire.
Hopefully, she wasn’t cranky today.
Chapter 5
I stepped into the dry cleaner on 3rd Street. She was cranky today.
“I see you more than I see my own family now, Dru,” Mrs. Ming grumbled. She sipped from her bendy straw, not bothering to even look at me. Instead, her old eyes were fixated on the Korean historical drama on the flat-screen television to the left above the entrance. One of the things no one ever warned you about when you became a vampire was the dry cleaning. Everyone knew about the blood, about the immortality, but the drying cleaning—that apparently missed the radars of Anne Rice, Bram Stoker, and Richelle Mead.
“That would be sad if you didn’t have all of eternity to see them.” I tossed my duffle bag of clothes—all of which were smeared with either paint, dirt, or blood—onto the counter.
She snorted as if that didn’t matter but rose from her chair. As she did, I heard her bones make a sick pop, something which would have been normal for anyone who looked her age—eighty-six. However, Lucy Ming was not eighty-six. She was actually over a hundred in vampire years with a heart-shaped face and small black eyes. Her white hair was short and smooth, each strand like the finest silk. It stopped right under her jaw, and she kept it in one of those 1930s, old Hollywood styles with the finger waves. She stood about 5’2”, which apparently made her feel gigantic, as she was 4’8” as a human. As I was 5’9”, it was laughable how anyone taught 5’2” was tall. Her scent was like a mixture of cherry blossoms and saltwater.
“You do know,” she spoke to me meeting my gaze. “A straw would help avoid these kinds of stains.”
And to prove her point, she took a long drag off her straw, pulling the red liquid inside her mouth. I swallowed my own thirst instinctually and smiled.
“True, but deer and elk blood apparently aren’t good enough to sell on the black market.” Those snobby dealers didn’t deal in animal blood; after all, who was going to buy something they could easily get at night behind their own house? “Besides, those straws are bad for the environment. Unlike humans, we should care about global warming.”
“Look at you referring to humans as separate from you. You’re finally growing up,” she said without any true praise in her voice, lifting the bag with ease with one hand and tossing it to the side.
“I try,” I said in the same flat tone.
“Really? So, when do you plan on trying to feed on humans again?” she shot back.
“So, that will be $12.99, right?” I avoided her question and reached inside the National Gallery of Art tote bag to pull out my wallet.
“$15,” she replied.
“$15?” I gasped in horror, holding my wallet to my almost-dead heart. “Since when? Last week it was $12.99!”
“And this week it’s $15. Why are you complaining? I thought you were getting a raise?” She typed on the touch screen cash register one finger at a time like she was too old to even bother worrying about how the thing worked.
“I didn’t get it.” I frowned, trying not to think of that horrifying email.
“Maybe it’s a sign that you should move?” she questioned, and once again, I felt the universe working through her.
“Mrs. Ming,” I said in a softer, sweeter voice, leaning on the counter, pretending not to hear her question. “$15 is a bit steep. Is this how to treat a loyal customer?”