“You’re supposed to change your Facebook status to ‘engaged,’ ” Heaven said in a “duh” tone of voice. “Put up some photos of your hands withrings, you two in sweaters gazing into each other’s eyes in a local pumpkin patch. That kind of thing.”
That sounded nice.
I might not have social media, but I did have a couple of people to tell. I sent Jessica a text:
Me:got engaged!
Jessica:Congrats!!!! To Tyrone?
Me:lol. no, got back with my ex vlad
Jessica:Drinks on me!
The offer of drinks with a newfound friend rested heavy on my heart. I looked around at the house that was never really mine. Vlad’s and my first task as an engaged couple would be to move out of this house that was just becoming a home and away from our new friends. Could we find a place we loved as much as Valentine?
Cat jumped into my lap and purred, more affectionate than she’d been in a month. I rubbed her head behind the ears. “I know, I don’t want to leave either,” I whispered.
Instead of being held in a public building with advance notice and lawyers, as I imagined was proper based on heavy TV viewing, the auction was conducted in front of the inn itself. We woke up early and dressed in ballcaps and glasses to ward off the very last rays of light as the sun dipped below the horizon. A handful of salt-crusted minivans and construction pickups pulled into the driveway. One man opened his door to get out and an empty Wendy’s cup did a lopsided roll across the driveway. Jessica arrived in an army-green puffer and a winter hat pulled low on her head.
The crane with the wrecking ball loomed over the pathetic scene.
“Today is my birthday,” I said to no one in particular.
“That’s right,” Heaven said. “Every day is your birthday. What is the Epiphany anyway?”
Vlad went into a long-winded explanation of the Magi and the first manifestation of Jesus.
“We used to make dumplings,” I said, getting to the heart of the matter.
In attendance at the worst celebration of the Epiphany ever: Wayne Jarvis, still in his cheap suit and a coat from Costco; Jessica; a guy I didn’t recognize; and the auctioneer, who looked like the man on the front of the Quaker Oats box. Oatmeal is a vile gruel that people dress up with raisins. Raisins are pure trickery. Even I know that.
While we were waiting for the Quaker Oats man to sell my house out from under me and/or destroy it, I griped, “What is the point of this? He’s just going to tear it down, right?”
Vlad sighed. “Tiffenie, I haven’t supported you as much as I could have over the last three centuries, always rescuing you instead of giving you the tools to save yourself in the first place. Not that I needed to give you the tools, but as your maker, I should have provided some mentorship.” He threw up his hands. “Anyway, I can see that I wasn’t that helpful.”
Was this really the time for speeches about himself? “Vlad, I love you, but can you tell me more about yourself later?”
“You aren’t listening, I’m apologizing for running in on a white horse all the time.”
“Oh, Vlad.” I sighed. “Maybe you didn’t help, but it wasn’t all your fault. The system wasn’t designed for a woman to succeed on her own and build wealth. I couldn’t even own property without a husband until recently. What I really should have done was marry someone and then drain him. Being nonviolent has really gotten in my way. My whole personality has been an obstacle to my success.” Next to Heaven’s ray-of-sunshine philosophies, I could finally see how negative and defeatist I had been.
“Shut up, Tiffenie.” Vlad took my hands while the Quaker Oats man talked to a local in a trucker hat nearby. “You haven’t let me finish. I promise not to ride in on a white horse anymore, after this.” He gauged my reaction. “I could give you the money. I want to. I want this for you.”
The Quaker Oats man cleared his throat and said, “Let’s get this proceeding started. You’re all here for an auction of this property, 623 Maple Lane, owned by the city of Valentine, Vermont.”
My heart was in my throat. I had been so proud of myself for the last month. Heaven and I had done something hard by fixing this house up and becoming part of the community. Not every vampire could do that.
The Quaker Oats man continued. “Be aware that this is a condemned property. The city is selling it as is, without inspection or guarantee of any sort. The house has been condemned for a variety of issues: exposed wiring, infestation of bats and other vermin, health and safety violations, fire damage, and a rotted front porch.”
He glanced up at the brand-new front porch, a puzzled look on his face.
“They used the wrong screws,” Wayne Jarvis said.
The auctioneer raised his eyebrows, but it was no skin off his nose.
The whole house looked pretty good, actually. Sure, it had the appearance of a haunted house, but it was decorated for Christmas. Radiance was a Hallmark Christmas gone wrong, a beloved piece of Americana. It didn’t fit in in the neighborhood, it struggled with rules, and it was getting pretty old, but it had a place.
A lightbulb went off in my head.Didn’t fit in, no rules, too old—this house wasn’t just mine; it wasme.And Heaven. And Vlad. It was a house forvampires.
