Blood Trial Supernatural Battle (Vampire Towers #1) - Kelly St. Clare Page 0,14

of my panic. This job business just became exponentially more complicated, but I’d come so far already.

I had to keep going.

5

I stopped outside of 47 Wreath Street and gave it a once over. The rental left a lot to be desired. Put another way, there wasn’t a single desire it fulfilled. Aside from possibly being the first place I’d rent of my own accord.

The house had no grass to speak of—the owner had elected to fill the garden space with concrete instead. The grey slab showed mould where water must pool when it rained. The paint on the weatherboard cladding was cracked and chipped worse than Tommy’s home. Her place looked like a freakin’ palace compared to this joint.

The one thing it had in common with her home was the orange roof.

“You here for the viewing?”

Hand gripping my throat, I whirled to the man behind.

The condition of the house reflected the condition of the owner. Sweat beaded on his upper lip. The stubble on his face passed five o’clock shadow three days ago. Food stains dotted his shirt, and the top button was open, displaying a rug of hair a mouse could get lost in.

I cleared my throat. “I am.”

He grunted and pushed past. “Come on then.”

Nice and polite. What a keeper.

Trailing in his wake toward the entrance, I peppered him with the list of questions Tommy made me memorise. “I understand the house is ready for tenants immediately?”

The man unlocked the door and wrenched it back violently. The sound of metal on metal rent the air, accompanied by a crunching of, what sounded like, something structurally significant. He tugged twice more and managed to get the entrance halfway open.

“That’s what the notice said,” he answered me, offering no explanation for the state of the stubborn door.

I soldiered on. This is why I’d listened to “Skyscraper” by Demi Lovato before coming. “Whiteware is included?”

“Yeah.”

Great…

The man led me into the lounge, and I eyed the blue carpet, wondering which parts were stained and which were the original colour.

The state of the brown and orange kitchen didn’t bother me. I had no idea how to use an oven or how to prepare food. It did contain a fridge—which I opened per Tommy’s orders.

The man’s lip curled. “It works.”

I flipped him an arched look and reached to flick the power switch. The light inside blared to life and a soft whirring sounded. What noise did fridges make?

Not a clue.

Flicking the switch off, I followed the guy across a dark hallway to the laundry—equipped with a washer—and through two bedrooms. One had housed a smoker at some point. If I took the place, I knew where I wouldn’t sleep.

The bathroom wasn’t as horrible as expected. In fact, it was the nicest part of the house. I smiled at the shower-bath combo. Looked like a new toilet too.

I flushed the toilet, obeying Tommy because she’d sense if I didn’t.

“Want it then?”

Should I refuse based on his manners alone? The temptation was strong, but I’d been taught that emotions had no place in business.

I hummed, slowly walking back through the apartment. “How much is rent?”

“Two hundred a week. As said on the listing.”

Tommy said that price was outrageous for Orange.

Snorting, I turned. “We both know it isn’t worth half that much. So how about eighty dollars a week?”

His scowl twisted, but his eyes gleamed. Was I really so easy to peg as the rich brat? I’d borrowed Tommy’s clothes, so it wasn’t my outfit. What was giving me away? My hair? My nails?

“One hundred,” he said. “Each week. Payment on Sunday by 10:00 a.m. In your letterbox. Not a second late.”

I’d been schooled not to accept more than eighty-five, but it was only fifteen dollars difference. “I accept. I’ll move in tomorrow, so I’ll pay for five days only.” It was kind of strange to do mental calculations without a string of zeros attached to the end, but I managed. “That’s seventy-two dollars.”

The man’s chins wobbled as he laughed. “That ain’t how it works, sweetheart.”

“You realise I’m considering becoming your tenant? I’d advise against calling me sweetheart again.”

The smile slid off his ugly mug.

“You’ll pay the entire week or wait to move in on Sunday,” he told me.

I tapped my lips, considering that ultimatum. “Okay, I’ll move in on Sunday. Lose out on seventy-two dollars. I have somewhere to stay. In the meantime, I’ll search for a different place.”

I turned to leave.

“Wait.”

The smile didn’t spread across my face, but it sure wanted to. This joker was