Then you must call me Abbie.”
“Well then, Abbie, shall we see the house?” His face was so frank and open, so adult. It was disconcerting to see such intelligence and confidence in the eyes of a fourteen-year-old body.
He said, “I am much older than I appear, Abbie.”
“Yes, I am sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.”
“That’s quite all right. It is better that you stare than refuse to see us.”
“Yes, well, let me show you the house.” Abbie turned off the lights and showed the moon shining through the skylights. The brick fireplace was an unexpected hit. Somewhere Abbie had gotten the idea that vampires didn’t like fire.
She did turn on the lights to show them the bedrooms and baths. They might be able to see in the dark, but Abbie didn’t think it would impress them if she tripped in the dark.
The female, Isabel, spun round the master bedroom and said, “Oh, it will make a wonderful office.”
Abbie inquired, “What do you do?”
The woman turned and said, “I’m an artist, I work mostly in oils.”
Abbie said, “I’ve always wished I could paint, but I can’t even draw.”
The woman seemed not to have heard. Abbie had learned long ago that you didn’t make conversation if the client didn’t want to talk. So they viewed the house in comparative silence.
There was one point in the master bathroom, when the three had to crowd in to see, that Abbie turned and bumped into the man. She stepped away as if struck and to cover her almost-fear she turned around and nearly gasped. They had reflections. She could see them in the mirror just as clearly as herself. Abbie recovered from the shock and went on. But she knew that at least Channing had noticed. There was a special smile on his face that said it all.
Since they had reflections, Abbie showed them the kitchen more thoroughly than she had been intending.
After all, if one myth was untrue, perhaps others were; perhaps they could eat.
The basement she saved for last, as she did in most of her houses. She led the way down and groped for the light pull cord but did not turn on the lights until she heard them shuffle in next to her. She said, “You’ll notice there are no windows. You will have absolute privacy down here.” She did not add that no sunlight would be coming down because after the mirror she wasn’t sure if it was pertinent.
Channing’s voice came soft and low out of the velvet dark. “It is quite adequate.”
It wasn’t exactly unbridled enthusiasm, but Abbie had done her best. She pulled on the light and showed them the water heater and the sump pump. “And the washer and dryer hookups are all set. All you need are the machines.”
Channing nodded and said, “Very good.”
“Would you like me to leave you alone for a few moments to discuss things?”
“Yes, if you would.”
“Certainly.” Abbie walked up the stairs but left the door open. She went into the living room so they would be sure she wasn’t eavesdropping. She wondered what the neighbors would think about vampires living next door. But that wasn’t her concern; she just sold the house.
She did not hear them come up, but they stood suddenly in the living room. She swallowed past the beating of her heart and said, “What do you think of the house?”
Channing smiled, exposing fangs. “I think we’ll take it.”
The smile was very genuine on Abbie’s part as she walked forward and shook their hands. “And how soon will you want to move in?”
“Next week, if possible. We have had our down payment for several months, and our bank is ready to approve our loan.”
“Excellent. The house is yours as soon as the papers are signed.”
Isabel ran a possessive hand down the wall. “Ours,” she said.
Abbie smiled and said, “And if any of your friends need a house, just let me know. I’m sure I can meet their needs.”
Channing grinned broadly at her and put his cool hand in hers. “I’m sure you can, Abbie, I’m sure you can.”
After all, everyone needs a house to call their own. And Abbie sold houses.
GREEDY CHOKE PUPPY
Nalo Hopkinson
Nalo Hopkinson, born in Jamaica, has lived in Jamaica, Trinidad and Guyana, and for the past thirty-five years in Canada. She is currently a professor of creative writing at the University of California, Riverside, USA. The author of six novels, a short story collection, and a chapbook. Hopkinson is a recipient of the Warner Aspect First