on the seat with my name on it, and house keys taped to it. I drop my carry-on bag down onto the floor and lean back, opening the folder. It’s basically a welcome package put together by James, with info on both Thorne Hill and Paradise Valley since my house is on the edge of town.
There are maps of both towns, along with lists of places to eat. Thorne Hill doesn’t have a whole lot to offer, though I think I’m going to have to stop by Suzie’s Café for dinner. It’s in the downtown area, and it looks like there are a few little shops along Main Street.
Paradise Valley is about double the size of Thorne Hill, and it’s hard to tell from the map which downtown the house is actually closer to. Both towns have a lot of farmland, making them take up a lot of room on the map even though they’re considered “small towns”.
There’s a copy of what looks like the original blueprints to the house, and I eagerly unfold the paper, eyes going to the porch. I put my finger down and slowly move it up as if I was walking through the house. James said the house has been updated and modernized, and I wonder how much of the house is the same as it is on paper. Bathrooms were added, and the tiny kitchen was probably enlarged somehow.
The house is a little under three thousand square feet, which is big in my book. I wonder what drew Aunt Estelle into a large, historic home when she was single with no children. Not that you have to have kids to warrant buying a large house. If you can afford it then go for it…but the more I learn the more questions I have.
I enter the address in Google Maps to check out the street. There are a few houses nearby, but the closest is nearly a quarter mile down the road. I go over the blueprints again, trying to familiarize myself with the layout of the house, and then go back to searching both Paradise Valley and Thorne Hill on the internet.
Neither town has a large vampire population, with only three registered vampires living in Thorne Hill. There are thirty in Paradise Valley, which makes sense given the fact there are more residents in general.
I put all the papers back in the folder and look out at the passing highway. We’re making good time, thankfully, and I should arrive at Aunt Estelle’s house sooner than I thought. The plan was for me to check out the house and go into town if I wanted to, and then meet up with James tomorrow to finalize everything else, including switching the bank account to my name.
I’m not much of a planner, but I like to have an idea of what’s going to happen when I’m in a new situation, and I’d planned on ordering takeout or maybe even having some groceries delivered once I got to the house. When James said the house was on the outskirts of town, he really meant it, and now I’m a little nervous no one will deliver anything out here. I do have some snacks leftover, and Aunt Estelle did tell me in the letter to ask James if I needed anything. Certainly, he’d drop off dinner if I was desperate, right?
The limo slows, turning off a rural road and onto another, but this one isn’t paved, and gravel flies up around the tires, clinking against the sides of the car. I scoot close to the window, heart beating a little faster when the house comes into view. It’s exactly what I imagined and yet it surprises me at the same time.
Both Mom and Harrison described the house as creepy, but the ostentatious Victorian reminds me of the Fischer-Price dollhouse I had when I was a kid. It’s gorgeous, with light blue siding and white trim. The yard looks professionally landscaped, with colorful flowers and neatly trimmed bushes lining the house.
I peel the keys from the folder and shove everything I got out back into my carry-on bag and open the door to get out as soon as the limo comes to a stop. Sunlight warms my face, and the happy chatter of birds fills the air.
“Thank you,” I tell the driver and internally panic if I’m supposed to tip him or not. I didn’t think to ask James if he included gratuity when he booked the limo, and now