The Vampire's Assistant

Chapter Fifteen

Maeve O'Malley lived in the quintessential Irish home in the quintessential Irish village. The yellow cottage with the thatched roof and green door sat atop a low hill at the end of a winding lane. As the cab rattled its way up the slope, a light drizzle misted the air to complete the picturesque scene.

It was through sheer willpower and a heavy dependence on my nausea medication that I'd made the trip across the Atlantic without collapsing or vomiting on myself or my fellow passengers. Now though, at the end of my journey, I was thoroughly exhausted and as the cab pulled to a stop in front of the house and the driver unloaded my bags from the trunk, I could feel the last dregs of my energy slipping away. But with the creak of an ancient-sounding door and the appearance of a radiant lady who could only be Maeve O'Malley, a burst of new energy and a sweet, soothing calm fell over me simultaneously. Whether it was the rush of being so close to the answers I needed or the woman herself, I didn't know.

Maeve wasn't a tall woman. Physically she was like myself, thinly built and only slightly above average height. But her presence was big and old, like a vampire. Her rich chestnut hair curled wildly around an angelic face. Emerald green eyes, the mirror of my own, beamed at me over a cheek-splitting smile and she threw her arms wide. I went into them willfully, instinctually.

"Granddaughter!" she whispered in my ear, "Welcome!" I frowned, confused, but said nothing as the cabbie sat my luggage by the door. I smiled at him weakly and reached into my purse for my wallet, but Maeve beat me to it, pressing a bill in the driver's hand and excusing him with a friendly wave. Then she scooped up my bags in one arm and led the way inside.

"Make yourself at home," she called as she disappeared to the back of the cottage with my things. I took a grateful seat at the well-worn but sturdy kitchen table and perused my surroundings. The house was small but perfectly cozy. The walls were a slightly deeper yellow than the exterior and, paired with the light from the hearth fire, gave the house a friendly glow. Dried herbs hung in clusters from the bare rafters and something rich and delicious smelling was bubbling in a large pot on the stove.

"Would you care for some tea?" Maeve asked as she glided back into the kitchen, pulling a thick, cable-knit sweater over her head.

"I would love some."

She set about filling the tea kettle and placed two cups and saucers out for us on the table. "You must have so many questions, I know. But I always think heavy topics go over easier with a spot of tea, hmm?"

I nodded and smiled, bewildered by how quickly I had warmed to this stranger.

"How was your trip?" she asked over her shoulder as she fussed in the kitchen.

"Long and tiring." I sighed. "I don't have much energy these days."

Maeve looked back at me with a frown but quickly turned her attention to the whistling tea kettle. When we were both settled in front of our steaming cups she said, "No energy, you said? Where is your vampire?"

I shrugged. "I wouldn't know. Shreveport, I suppose, or maybe New Orleans. I haven't seen him since I found out." I gestured pointedly at my belly.

Her face grew dark and she carefully sat her teacup back in its saucer. "You haven't been taking his blood." It was a statement with seemingly serious implications. She shook her head. "Of course. I'm so foolish sometimes."

She stood wordlessly and returned to the stove where she ladled spoonfuls from the simmering pot into a wooden bowl. Next she turned her attention to the hanging herbs and thoughtfully plucked the leaves from several different stems, crumbled them into the bowl, and sat it in front of me.