Maxwell
Maxwellhadn’tbeensure what to expect when he came to Crowley Lake, but the (extremely attractive) real estate agent recognising his undead status within the first hour of meeting him was certainly a surprise.
Chloe Bloom certainly hadn’t seemed like the kind of person who would know about the paranormal underworld that hid in plain sight of human society. In her heavy coat, neat blouse, and pressed slacks, she seemed like the kind of person who would tell you that you were being absolutely ridiculous if you so much as suggested that vampires were theoretically possible.
Despite that, Maxwell hadn’t been able to stop himself from raking his eyes over her as soon as he had glimpsed her from his Range Rover. Something about her erect posture and the look of determination on her face had attracted his immediate attention. Or maybe it was the curve of her lips, those big blue eyes, or how soft her honey-coloured hair looked, even pulled back into that tight ponytail. Even in her very professional outfit, Maxwell could discern that she had very shapely legs and definite curves under that neat blouse. To his dismay, the coat stayed on, and he had no idea if her bottom was as lovely as the rest of her. Not that he should have been thinking about her bottom. He was meant to be taking a break from even the most casual of intimate relationships.
And besides that, he needed Chloe to find him somewhere to call home for however long he stayed in Crowley Lake. That was far more important than seducing her – not that she seemed like the kind of woman who could be seduced by his oh-so-charming accent and a glimpse at his Rolex.
However, it had been a relief to discover that Chloe knew all about his kind, even if she still didn’t seem entirely comfortable with him. Not that she had said or done anything to make him feel that way; she had been extremely polite and almost irritatingly professional. But she seemed disinclined to make eye contact with him for too long, and it was clear he made her nervous. Usually, Maxwell would put that down to his devastating good looks and charm. But with Chloe? He wasn’t so sure.
He followed her sensible mid-sized car up the gravel path of the last house, hoping that this would be somewhere he could be reasonably comfortable. He certainly couldn’t have been in that first house, which seemed deliberately designed for vampire incineration, or in that monstrosity of a mansion with the vile wallpaper. It was one the tackiest places he’d seen in his life, which was quite a feat for an undead American who had spent so much time in Las Vegas.
When Maxwell caught sight of this house, he felt a shiver of excitement. From the outside, it looked more promising. Edwardian, if he wasn’t mistaken. An elegant structure in white wood with wraparound verandas edged in delicate wrought iron. Despite the darkness, Maxwell had no trouble making out the garden; rambling rose bushes, trimmed hedges, a tasteful fountain.
He could only hope the interior matched. Pulling on the brake, he turned off the engine and jumped out of the car. Even in the darkness, he could see Chloe shivering. Maxwell could almost remember what it was like to feel cold, and he didn’t like to see her suffer. He watched as she fumbled for a torch, and a thick beam of warm light burst forth, illuminating the expansive homestead.
“Well, the exterior sure looks nice,” Maxwell said, and Chloe jumped. He immediately felt guilty – of course, she couldn’t see in the dark the way he could, and years of practice had given him the ability to move silently.
“Sorry,” Maxwell said more softly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t,” Chloe said, but Maxwell could tell she was lying. “It’s not a problem. Shall we get started?”
“Absolutely,” Maxwell felt a flicker of hope. Maybe this would be the one.
“It’s an Edwardian home,” Chloe began. “Heritage-listed. I’m afraid you can’t see much of it in the dark, but the grounds are immaculately landscaped. Like an English country house. There are Jacaranda trees lining the driveway, and when they blossom, it’s a sea of purple.”
Maxwell made a faintly appreciative sound. “Actually, I can see them. They’re lovely.”
“Oh.” Chloe sounded surprised. “I didn’t realise you could…” She trailed off.
“I can,” Maxwell explained. “Handy, at times like this.”
“Very,” Chloe said, struggling to fit the keys in the lock while holding the torch.
“Let me,” Maxwell took the torch from her. “Least I could do after dragging you out here at night.”
“I don’t mind!” Chloe said, sliding the key into the lock and turning the handle. “I’m happy to fit around my client’s schedules. All part of the job!”
That was nice of her, Maxwell thought. But he wished she’d just admit it was a pain in the arse. Did Chloe ever let her professional demeanour drop? He couldn’t imagine she’d be much fun at parties.
“Even so,” Maxwell said, handing the torch back to her when the door opened. “I’m grateful.”
Chloe reached for the light switches by the door, and the house came to life. Even though Maxwell’s night vision would have been the envy of the world’s most elite military specialists, it was a pleasure to see the house lit up.
“So, you can see here we have original tiled floors, a splendid staircase with hand-carved railings in the Arts and Crafts style, and these gorgeous high ceilings with crown moulding,” Chloe said, handing Maxwell an information sheet.
But Maxwell didn’t need it. He ran a hand over the carved wood of the staircase, appreciative of the delicate craftsmanship, before craning his neck to look at the ceilings. They were, indeed, very high.
“If you’d like to come through to the drawing-room,” Chloe went on hesitantly, as if she didn’t want to interrupt him.
Maxwell looked up. “I would,” he said, following her into the next room.
“The fireplace is original and fully functional,” Chloe said. “Which is great because the heritage listing does mean that the owner would not be able to install a modern heating system—”
“Oh, that’s not a problem,” Maxwell said. “I don’t feel the cold.”