I’ll have to contend with quite a bit of traffic to reach Giancarlo, but he prefers to do everything in person, and it is good for me to get out every so often. Luckily, he knows the real me.Me—and why I am the way I am.
It helps sometimes, when I’m at my angriest, to make a visit to Giancarlo. And something about the new housekeeper has stirred me up, though I don’t know if my temperis what’s at issue. Her presence has changed things noticeably, just since she stepped inside the front door two days ago. The house feels more alive under my feet.
It’s interesting what a single new person can bring to a place.
Once I get off the highway, I wind through back streets and alleyways until I reach Giancarlo’s. I park behind the back door and cover my big body with a cloak as I let myself inside.
“I’m here!” I call out down the hallway, shrinking lower to adjust to the height of the ceiling, so my horns don’t bump. Once I’m in the living room, though, I can stand again, and I find Giancarlo there waiting for me, all five foot, two inches of him.
“Ah, my man, Rupert!” He throws out a hand and offers it to shake. He doesn’t flinch even though my monstrous, scaled fingers dwarf his. “It’s nice of you to visit. Do you want a drink?”
I imbibe fairly often, but usually it’s alone at midnight when I’m lost in my thoughts, or lost in a book, or worse, lost in one of those awful reality TV shows.
“Water,” I finally say, and though Giancarlo quirks a brow at me—he has a marvelous spirits collection on offer that I usually partake in—he doesn’t question it. He fills a glass from the tap, hands it to me, then leads the way down yet another low-ceilinged hallway to his office.
Inside, there’s a large chair waiting for me across his broad desk. He keeps the lights low, which I don’t mind. Less chance of seeing all my horrifying little details.
Giancarlo straightens a stack of papers in front of him. “What brings you to me today, Rupert? I have all your latest earnings reports here”—he slides a sheet toward me—“and what you can expect at tax season.”
To humor him, I pick my glasses out of my front pocket, open the case, and place them on the tip of my nose. I squint as I peer through them until I can finally read the page.
I’ve never had great eyesight, but it got much worse when I becamethis. And it’s challenging to find glasses that fit my obscene face.
Everything looks as it should be—growing swimmingly. I don’t even know what to do with it all. I donate most of my dividends to causes I believe in, but as we near the end of the year, I realize just how much more there is. It’s far and above what’s needed to maintain the manor and the few other properties I have scattered around that are simply accumulating dust. It covers Mr. Castle’s wages and the new Ms. Austin’s, as well as the groundskeeper.
Yes, the money is everything I wanted and more. It’s too bad I had to pay such a steep price—and how I look now isn’t even the biggest portion of what I paid.
“Set aside whatever is needed to foot the bill,” I say at last, pushing the paper back toward Giancarlo. “You’ve been filing all the quarterly paperwork?”
He shoots me a withering look. “Who do you think I am?”
I sip my water, chuckling into it, which has the side effect of splattering some across my muzzle. “My apologies. I would never suggest you aren’t fully capable.”
“More than capable,” he says with a huff. “Anyway, I saw that you hired a new housekeeper. Is that why you’re visiting me?”
Seeing right through to the truth of things, as usual, my old friend.
“I suppose you could say that.” I have plenty of funds to pay her for however long she stays. I don’t imagine she’ll last for long, though, seeing as she’s rather young. My besthousekeeper, Lydia, was in her sixties and tolerated me for many months, almost a year, before giving up on my temper and my picky eating.
Giancarlo arches a brow. “And what do you think of her?”
I growl low in my throat. He knows the words of the curse put upon me, the fragile wording of the spell that made me what I am.
My friend sits back in his chair, alarmed.
“Sorry,” I grumble, because as many years as I’ve been in this body, I’m still not always aware of how it will respond to me and my moods. “She is a very good cook. It doesn’t matter what I think. We both know that I’ll drive her away. Or worse…”
Giancarlo nods. “Or she’ll see you.”
“And then she’ll jog off.” The way the housekeeper before Lydia did, when I still thought that perhaps people would give me a chance.
“I see. Well, I’ll be sure to set aside a salary for her anyway, and we’ll see how it goes, hmm?” He returns to his former easy posture and even flashes me one of his trademark smirks. “Try being a little nicer this time. Compliment her cooking. Maybe this one will be different.”
I snort. “And pigs will fly tomorrow.”
three
. . .
