The first utility on the list is Electrical. It’s an automated system that goes pretty smoothly. I get a text a few minutes into my call with the water company telling me the power is on, so I try a light switch.
Nothing.
Bulbs must be dead.
Bastian pretends not to listen to my conversation with the water company as I walk through the apartment. I find the bathroom first, which has anenormousclawfoot tub that I cannot wait to fill to the brim with searing-hot Epsom salt water.
I’m on hold with the water woman, so I move on to the next door in the apartment.
“You shouldn’t go in there,” Bastian says.
I roll my eyes and pretend like I didn’t hear him.
The door opens to a room about twelve by fifteen feet. Not too shabby for a bedroom. It has a window overlooking the business beside me on the right. It’s a little dirty, but the wood floors are real and just need some elbow grease to really shine. The walls need a good layer of Keelz and some paint, but they’re totally salvageable, unlike the main room.
I walk to the window and dust motes swirl around my feet. The woman clicks back on the line and I stop at the window, looking out.I scratch my ankle as I give the water lady my date of birth and the last four of my social.
She takes my information to set up an account in the online portal as I stare out across the street. The town really is cute and—
Oh my fuck, my ankles itch…
I glare down at the spot just above my boot to see somethingchewing through my stocking! Not just one thing, but dozens of tiny little glowing bugs! I yelp as I bat at my ankles, trying to smash the bugs. The woman on the phone asks if I’m all right—no I am not—and I barely get out a, “Yeah, sorry.”
I run from the bedroom to the bathroom and get into the tub, sitting on the edge.
Please turn on the water already, lady!
I bounce my legs as she goes on and on, batting at the little beasts crawling over my legs to no avail. It’s as if they’re ghosts, or I am. I can’t touch them, but they’re definitelyeatingmy stockings. I have several holes already.
Bastian leans against the doorjamb, a self-satisfied grin plastered to his face.
“Okay, Ms. Kennedy, you’re all set up,” the woman says and I nearly cry with relief. “Water should be flowing in the next hour.”
“Hour?” I screech. “Okay, great, awesome. Thank you so much!”
“Uh, yeah, if you’ll stay on the line to take a quick survey—”
I hang up and look at Bastian. “Help me!”
“I told you not to go in there,” he says.
“Please,pleaseBastian! They’re eating my legs!” I scream, slapping at them with the same result: nada.
“They’re not carnivorous,” he says as he leans over my shoulder.
I keep slapping my legs because cheese and rice, theyITCH.
Bastian snatches my wrists in his iron grip with one hand and sniffs the air.
“Dust mites,” he says, then grumbles something in a language I don’t know.
His other hand snaps out like a whip and he captures one of the bugs eating through my stockings. He pinches the green glowing thing between his fingers and holds it closer to his face with a snarl.
“These little beasts ate the cover off my Dick.”
A little “heh” escapes me because how could it not.
“Dust mites don’t typically glow,” I say. “They’re little brown bugs that just live in the carpet.”
