Samantha Watkins: Chronicles of an Extraordinary Ordinary Life (Samantha Watkins Series Book 1)

by Aurélie Venem

  “I think that you shouldn’t have hired me as your assistant. Maybe your personal entertainment. I could certainly do that better,” I pointed out to him, smiling.

  “Maybe I should revisit the clauses of your contract,” he answered, returning my smile.

  “While you reconsider the nature of my position here, if it doesn’t bother you, I’m going to regain my honor in the kitchen and eat a good meal. Then I am going to sleep, and I will pray that I will be able to get out of bed tomorrow without feeling like my body is about to come apart with every movement.”

  I rose from my seat slowly. “Good night, or in your case, good day. Well, it doesn’t matter.” Without a look back, I headed for the kitchen.

  It was past two thirty in the morning. I was so tired that I didn’t concern myself at all with my new boss’s activities. Indeed, I made myself a sandwich and drank some water before going up the stairs that led to my room. I wasted no time, undressing quickly, then getting into bed. A shower could wait until the next day. I didn’t have the energy. With my eyes barely closed, I sank into a deep sleep, and to my great relief, I didn’t dream at all.

  “Ow. Ow. Ow, ow. Oh, ow. Ow, ow, ow,” were the only syllables I was capable of uttering when I tried to get out of bed the next day.

  I felt like every joint in my body had been hit with a hammer. I headed toward the bathroom and only reached it after ten minutes of inching step by step forward, duck-footed. Good grief.

  Taking a shower was true torture. As soon as I lifted my arms, I felt like someone had spent the whole night trying to draw and quarter me without being very successful at it. It was even worse when I had to get dressed: pulling my clothes on became an epic battle, but in order to preserve my already quite bruised dignity, I won’t speak about that ordeal any further.

  When I was ready, I went to get my breakfast (at two o’clock in the afternoon), despairing that with so little strength, I wouldn’t be able to swallow a hot chocolate while chewing two melba toasts like a little granny without her dentures. I spent the rest of the day in Phoenix’s study, familiarizing myself with his computer, and in the library, because I didn’t feel fit enough to take a stroll outside; this was particularly important, I figured, if I had to train again at sunset.

  When my new employer joined me, I was in the middle of washing up after dinner. No way was I going to exercise without having eaten first, and I wasn’t going to go to bed again with a full stomach either.

  “The smell in here is very tantalizing. It almost makes me hungry,” he said to me by way of hello.

  “Thanks, but avoid telling me that, or else I will end up afraid of becoming your dessert.”

  “Rest assured, I will not eat you.”

  Nice try, but I had already discovered that his preferred blood type was my blood type. So that didn’t reassure me at all.

  “Delighted to know that. But tell me, how do you manage to get all these fresh products here?”

  “I have a supplier.”

  “I see. It’s another one of your enslaved humans?”

  Judging by his face, he didn’t appreciate my tone. But even if he wanted to keep certain secrets, he was going to have to tell me some of them so I could live here and do my job correctly, right?

  “Listen, I’m not asking you to tell me the identity of your employers or the precise location of where you hide to sleep. I just want to know where all this food comes from, food that you, incidentally, do not eat.”

  “In my situation, you have to be prepared for any and all contingencies. I always have human food here for appearance’s sake. I have an agreement with the manager at the shopping center. I give him a list of what I need, and it is delivered to me once a month.”

  “You’re not afraid of someone discovering who you are?”

  “They do not know who I am. They put everything in the delivery, and I take care of the rest. Actually, they only know me by my checks. Given the sum they receive in return, the arrangement suits them perfectly well.”

  “No one knows you in the vicinity? And by the way, where are we? There aren’t any manors like this in Kentwood, or near it.”

  “We are near Scarborough, north of Kerington. We’re lucky—even if it is a small town, the people here are not very curious. Of course when the manor was newly inhabited, everyone wondered who the new proprietor was, but I managed to make everyone believe that I am a sickly and grumpy old man who does not want to see anyone. It worked, and they leave me alone.”

  “And the other vampires, do they know where you live?”

  “Only my employers and a few friends.”

  “And do you have a lot . . . of friends?” I ventured, not very comforted at the thought of seeing a bunch of the living dead show up for a reunion dinner during which I could be featured on the menu.

  “It would seem that we have something in common, Miss Watkins. I am a solitary person, and I can count the number of my friends on one hand.”

  “At least you can count them. By the way, if I have to call you by your name, you could do the same with me.”

  He stared at me, then simply nodded his head to express his agreement. I had held my breath while he decided, before trying to push my advantage a bit further.

  “Um, since we’re far from Kentwood, one could suppose that the threats to my life are not so great here. If I don’t put your cover in danger, could I leave the manor and go to Scarborough? Just to . . . um, well . . .”

  His stare became unbearable, and my determination melted like snow in the hot sun. I started to stammer when Phoenix finished for me: “Just to spend some time with the living for a change.”

  “Well, I do want to work for you, but I refuse to cut myself off from the world and the sun of the living.”

  I didn’t dare look at him anymore, preferring to admire the kitchen tiles.

  There was a silence, then he said, “You are not my prisoner, and I am not asking you to renounce your humanity. If your work is efficient, I don’t see why I should refuse to let you go into town. However, it is an absolute necessity that you be prudent and use a cover for yourself. We will say that you are the proprietor’s granddaughter and that you have come to help him. It will placate the skeptics about my identity.”

  “So you agree?” I asked enthusiastically.

  I resisted the urge to jump up and down and clap my hands.

  “Yes, but you will have to wait a while yet.”

  That was a real cold shower of disappointment.

  “Why?”

  “It’s better to let things sink in first. You can hold out for a few weeks. If we create a new identity for you, it will take some preparation to get the details straight.”

  “Oh. OK.”

  I was miffed . . . but then . . . I had an idea.

  “Um, you know, thank you so much for all the clothes that you got for me. But I don’t have any personal things anymore, and I’d like to take advantage of my free time to, say, set up my room to suit me better. Since for the moment I can’t go into town, I could do as you do and have everything delivered.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “And how will you pay for this?”

  Ouch. There was the flaw in my plan: I had no means to pay for anything.

  “Maybe you could give me an advance on my salary . . .”

  He burst out laughing. “You really have some nerve.”

  “Does that mean no?”

  “That means that I prefer you like this rather than as a tearful, depressed person. Make your list. I certainly owe you enough to pay the bill myself. In exchange, I hope that your motivation for this work will be more visible.”

  Whew. Well, there was no doubt that he should expect a hefty bill. After all, this was fair payback. As for motivation, he shouldn’t exaggerate. Whatever he thought, I was well and truly a prisoner. I was somewhat free in my movements, but I was not free to choose my life: it was either him or the crazy blond in Kentwood. Yeah, sure, what a choice.


  “You won’t be disappointed. I guarantee it!” I lied.

  “I truly hope so.”

  “And how much will I be paid?”

  “Oh my God,” he said, turning and walking away.

  I couldn’t stop laughing as he left the room, thrilled at having gotten on his nerves and forgetting that vampires had superpowers, like a very sharp sense of hearing. Predictably enough, I was called to order by a distant voice.

  “Don’t celebrate too quickly. I’m expecting you downstairs in fifteen minutes.”

  If there was a trace of smile left on my face, it vanished immediately. I wondered how I was going to be able to train with all these aches. I finished clearing up in the kitchen before going to change.

  When I arrived in the basement, Phoenix was waiting for me. Without a word, he pointed at the rug; without a word, I lay down, demoralized in advance by the tortures I was going to suffer through. And I was not disappointed.

  The program was demanding, and like the night before, at the end of training, I finished on my knees. My breathing must have sounded like a bull that was made to pull the plow for too long, but between two gasps for air, I was able to say, “I’ll never make it.”

  “Don’t be defeatist. It is only your second session.”

  “But I’m hopeless! Don’t tell me I’m not!”

  “I am not the kind to lie to someone to protect her ego. If I am not telling you that you are hopeless, it is simply because you are not.”

  “That’s too kind. But that’s really not the impression that I’m getting.”

  “I do not mean to offend you, but you know nothing. So let me be the judge in this case.”

  Well, on that score, he was very good: he successfully and simultaneously complimented and belittled me. I didn’t know if I should be annoyed or flattered, so I said nothing.

  “I am starting to think that you are a combative and determined young woman. Don’t tell me I am wrong.”

  “Frankly, I’m wondering what made you think such a thing. People have always walked all over me without me ever saying a word. I was always one of the weak ones, never the strong. It’s simple, they stomp on me because I am unremarkable and useless.”

  I’d spit out those words with all the bitterness I’d stored up since childhood. For some unknown reason, that bitterness had chosen that moment to release itself into the world.

  “And now? That part of your life is over,” he said scornfully as he towered above me.

  I snickered sarcastically.

  “Believe me, I tried to change. I really tried. I have as much charisma as a mussel on a rock, waiting for the tide to come in.”

  “That might be because you have never really been motivated.”

  “Thanks for the analysis Dr. Freud, but you’re wrong. I did what I could. I’m a hopeless case. It’s a pity you had such bad luck in the draw.”

  I was looking at the rug again when I heard a growl rise up from Phoenix’s throat. I raised my head and froze when I saw that he was staring at me, and little by little, his eyes were taking on that horrific metallic tint. With another growl, I could see his fangs.

  “I think you are right. I was mistaken—you are indeed useless. What could I possibly do with an assistant who spends her days whining and wallowing in her own mediocrity?”

  I didn’t dare move. His words cut right through me as surely as if he had sunk his fangs into my throat. I had an inkling of how the rest of this discussion would play out, and that seemed to lead right to my execution. I was certain of it when he continued, “Samantha Watkins, I was wrong to let you live. It would have been a service to you to leave you in that alley. You know too much now, and now you are a threat to the Secret . . . a threat that must be eliminated. Besides, the world will get on fine without you since you offer the world nothing and you refuse the opportunities it offers you.”

  He was getting dangerously close to me, but I didn’t make even a hint of a movement to flee, I was so immersed in what he was saying. His words poured over me like a river of molten lava that burned me from the inside. They echoed what I had always thought about my life: that I’d been left on this planet by accident and that I was so unremarkable that there was no place for me. Phoenix was putting words to my thoughts and my most profound fears, and he was stabbing me with them.

  “I think I will cut your suffering short and make you quit this world in which you are only dead weight. I’ll find someone else without any difficulty and forget you immediately.”

  Since I hadn’t reacted, he leaned forward slowly, making me realize that he was going to carry out his claims in the following seconds. Like a film in slow motion, it was during his approach, and the prospect of my imminent death, that I fully understood the extent to which I still clung to life. Deep down, I was sure that I had more to offer the world than what I had given before. I knew that Phoenix had given me a chance to realize all this, to finally become someone else, the person I should really be. At first, I had accepted this job just to stay alive; I hadn’t estimated how much importance it would take on for me. In accepting new employment, my insipid ordinary life would end, and despite the risks, it would allow me to have new experiences all while protecting my own kind . . .

  I became aware of the fact that all the weight of my former existence was disintegrating, and that this time, I was truly ready for a fresh start. I felt like I had a new lease on life, even though a vampire was on the verge of murdering me. I clenched my left fist . . .

  And sent it, with all the strength I could put into it, right into the jaw of my angel of death.

  Surprised, he backed away, without a single trace of injury or sign of pain. As for me, I was going to have to plunge my fist into a bucket of ice. It didn’t matter. I was trembling, but not out of fear. I rose and pointed in his direction while he was still seated on the floor.

  “I warn you that if you start trying to bite me again, I will drive a stake through your heart without the slightest hesitation. I don’t give a damn what you think of me. I know I can do better than what you’ve seen. Exit the librarian who is afraid of everything, stage left. You’ll see, in a few weeks it’ll be me beating you, and it’ll be you begging for mercy! I am Samantha Watkins, human to be sure, but not weak or hopeless! And I don’t give a damn about your vampire superpowers! Good night!”

  I turned around to go to bed, my heart lighter than it had ever been before, keyed up with a newfound determination—that of a second life. I was so happy that I didn’t care what effect my speech had had on my patron. I was thinking—no, I was hoping—that he wouldn’t kill me, just give me a good dressing-down the next day. That wasn’t the case.

  I couldn’t know this at the time—indeed, I didn’t learn about it until much later—but when I left after empting my mind of all its darkest thoughts, it wasn’t fury on my boss’s face . . . but rather a sincere smile of satisfaction at having reached the goal he had set for himself when he decided to back me into a corner.

  We didn’t speak again of what happened that night. It was like a new beginning.

  Fortified by this feeling of rebirth, I became an attentive and determined student during the training sessions, to the point where my progress seemed lightning quick. I was always asking to do more, and Phoenix kept raising the level of difficulty. He began by teaching me weaponry, and I became even more voracious in wanting to acquire complete mastery of them. Even during my free time, I trained by myself an hour per day, going over what I already knew perfectly.

  I also made it a point of honor to keep in touch with reality. I enthusiastically ordered everything I wanted to transform my new room to my liking. I redecorated (I was great at do-it-yourself projects), and I built a nest for myself. I repainted my room from a cold blue to a warmer tone of lilac, and I often gathered fresh flowers to put in the vase that I had moved from the manor entryway. And what happiness I felt when my television was delivered and I could once again follow my favorite shows!

  Phoenix
had given me permission to go through some of his reports so I could understand what he expected of me. Reading them was often a hair-raising experience, especially when they described giving a solid lesson to some vampire who had been careless about their laws, but they gave me an understanding of the duties of my employer, who finally ended up answering the questions I had asked about them. After all, an assistant should know the content of her boss’s work, or else what use would she be?

  That was how I learned that Phoenix was what was called, in the vampire community, an angel (yes, a very paradoxical name for monsters who fed on human blood), meaning the right hand of the vampire leaders. He was charged with completing the most secret and dangerous missions, notably eliminating “purist” vampires who continued to massacre humans shamelessly without any regard to the Great Change and the Secret of their race’s existence. But that wasn’t his only occupation.

  I thought that vampires lived their lives hidden away from the human world, but I discovered with amazement that even if they don’t put their secret out in the light of day (a truly bad play on words, knowing that Phoenix had confirmed to me that the sun was fatal to vampires), it wasn’t exactly the case that they were detached from the world. This was a species that liked power and money. Thus my boss’s bosses, and Phoenix refused to tell me anything about them, were in real estate, and evidently, the transactions didn’t just concern small houses. This assured them substantial revenue, allowing them to live in the shadows as it suited them. Phoenix traveled all over the country to see these transactions through when his bosses were too busy to handle them alone. This happened all the time, in fact, and I was expected to follow him on his travels.

  One evening, when he had joined me in the kitchen during my dinner, I questioned him.

  “The humans that you encounter for your business, they never ask questions about why you only deal with them at night?”

  “Materialistic people have other things on their minds than questions about the existence of vampires. What interests them is the profit they will make from dealing with them. And rich people are often . . . eccentric. Thus far I have not had any difficulty.”