Page 10 of The Feeder Legacy

The driveway isn’t long, but it curves in an arch shape from one gate to the other, the apex of the arch skimming the base of the steps leading up to the front veranda of the house. The house itself is a red-brick Federation style, complete with half turrets and lead-glass windows. It sprawls across the block while also somehow giving the impression of being small and neat, and I just know it’s chock-full of original architectural features. As long as there’s Wi-Fi and decent hot water, I don’t care.

Cat pulls the car to a stop in front of the steps, and I’m grateful that I chose to sit on the passenger side of the car, because it gives me an extra few seconds to look around as I get out of the car. The front yard is unmistakably a “garden.” There are three big old trees scattered across it, each with its own round hedge-bordered flowerbed around the base. One is casting full shade over the front of the house. Is that deliberate? Cat said vampires avoid sunlight—maybe they like to plant big, shady trees so they can still spend time outdoors. The lawn between the flowerbeds is lush and green in a way that speaks to more maintenance than the occasional mow, and as I look in the direction of the street, that big green privacy hedge helps to build the fantasy that there’s nobody else for miles.

As I round the back of the car, I see that the lawn and garden continue down the side of the house in a wide swath—wide enough to fit a three-car garage, if someone wanted to. There’s probably already a garage somewhere here, right? There would have to be on a property this size, in this area. Maybe it’s on the other side of the house? Or behind it—a lot of houses in these older areas have rear access.

I approach the steps, my eyes locking onto the man coming out through the front door. He looks different from what I expected. Based on how Cat and Nisha talked about him, plus this very traditional house, I thought he’d be older and super conservative-looking. This guy looks like he’s just a few years older than me, mid-thirties tops, and his suit and haircut are super trendy. If someone asked me to match him to a house, I’d pick a modern concrete-and-steel townhouse, or an apartment in a high-rise.

He comes down the steps, smiling at Nisha as he says hello. “It’s always a pleasure to see you, and especially so if you can help with this problem,” he adds, leaning in to… not kiss her cheek. I frown as I stop beside Cat. What are they doing? It’s not even an air kiss, though it kind of looks like one—it has the same lack of contact. In fact, there’s a good ten or fifteen centimetres between them. His face is turned away from Nisha, and then when they swap sides, hers is turned away from him. I nudge Cat, prepared to whisper my question, but the death glare she shoots me changes my mind. It can wait.

He steps back, his attention on Nisha only. Is he ignoring us? That’s fucking rude. I might be here so he can suck my blood, but I won’t be treated like some kind of second-class⁠—

“I don’t believe you’ve ever met my feeder,” Nisha says, turning gracefully toward us, and as though she’s given permission, he finally looks in our direction. “This is Catrina Barale.” There’s no mistaking the boastful way Nisha announces it, like Cat’s someone special, and I wonder again if there’s something going on between them. If there isn’t, does that mean Nisha’s boasting about Cat’s bloodline? Or maybe her actual blood? Like, what’s the rule in this situation? Cat said vampires get excited by the taste of our family’s blood, but does that also mean there’s status involved in having one of us work for them? Is it just bloodline that infers status, or are there other things too, like, I dunno… education? Looks? Independent wealth?

There are so many questions I want to ask right now.

Tristan smiles at Cat, still not looking at me, but I catch the flash of fang nonetheless. Do these guys never fully smile in public, or are they just better at hiding it when they’re around people who aren’t in the know?

“Cat,” Nisha continues, “I’d like you to meet Pierce Medwin, Tristan’s right hand.”

Ohhh. That makes more sense. Though for some reason I thought all vampires were super powerful and wealthy. I didn’t expect to find one working as an assistant.

Pierce inclines his head in a way that looks like a bow and should also make him look like a pretentious wanker but somehow doesn’t. Must be because he’s a vampire. “It’s a pleasure, Ms Barale.”

“The pleasure’s mine,” Cat says in an elegant, almost formal voice, also inclining her head. She never talks to me that way. “Please call me Cat. Nisha speaks so well of you.”

Did someone body snatch my cousin? Who the fuck says “speaks so well of you” in real life? If I’m going to need to talk to people that way, we’re all shit outta luck. I don’t even think I could get the words out without laughing.

Fuck. Nisha’s going to introduce me next. What the hell am I supposed to say?

“And this is Cat’s cousin, Adam Barale. He’s been playing with human work but is now ready to join the family legacy.”

Playing? I’m going to let that go this one time because Nisha has fangs, but I can see I’m going to need to set some boundaries about respect.

I step forward and offer Pierce my hand. “Hey, mate. Great to meet ya.”

He blinks down at my hand, then glances at Nisha, who has a similarly flummoxed expression on her face. I might have fucked up. Do vampires not shake hands?

“Adz,” Cat hisses, but I’m already talking again.

“Whoops, sorry.” I drop my hand. “Habit from working with, uh, humans. Hope I didn’t offend.”

Relieved smiles cross both their faces, and Pierce chuckles. “No offence taken. You’re among friends here.” He hesitates. “If I could make a suggestion…?”

I nod. “For sure.” I didn’t notice before, but he’s got an accent. It’s only noticeable on some words, like he’s been here a long time. I’m not sure exactly what it is—it sounds some kind of British, but I’ve met enough tourists working in hospitality to know that British and American accents abound in several countries where English is a second language.

“Be careful not to let old habits slip in when you’re speaking to Tristan. He’s not fond of… That is, he doesn’t like to be… casual.”

Oh, great. This is going to be a disaster.

I muster up a smile and nod. “Sure. Of course.” I can fake being up myself for long enough to get this job. After that… well, I’ll have to hope the taste of my Barale blood is so good that he decides he can handle me being casual. Because I don’t think a total personality change is likely.

Pierce and Nisha walk up the steps and head for the door, and as Cat and I fall in behind them, I elbow her hard. “What the fuck, Cat?” I hiss. “You don’t wanna maybe give me a heads-up nomphhh!”

Her hand over my mouth prevents me finishing my tirade, and she drags me to a halt on the veranda, her gaze darting toward the doorway the vampires went through. After a moment, she turns to me, leans in, and whispers directly into my ear, “Vampires have excellent hearing.”

What?

She pulls back to look me dead in the eye, brows raised, and suddenly I get it. Even with my voice low, their hearing is good enough for them to have overheard me, and she really doesn’t want them to know that I know bugger all about vampires, feeders, and the etiquette of them meeting each other.