Conrad clearly had not expected me to cook immediately. Unfortunately for him, I had spent most of the previous evening researching their school.
Humans posted astonishing amounts of information online, so it was easy for me to find the private academy’s official website. It emphasized academic rigor, discipline, leadership, and nutritional excellence. Meanwhile, the parent discussion boards painted a much stranger picture.
Apparently, packed lunches were a competitive blood sport among wealthy families. If you weren’t giving your child increasingly creative bento arrangements that contained organic produce and nitrate-free proteins, then you were failing them. I’d seen gluten-free artisanal crackers shaped like woodland creatures, and one mother had referred to another parent as being “socially aggressive with cucumber presentation.”
Fascinating culture.
I unwrapped the peanut butter sandwiches thoughtfully and set them aside with the intention of feeding the backyard squirrels after the kids were safely off to school.
Luckily, the fridge and pantry were both well-stocked. I worked quickly, slicing fruit and layering them with yogurt in jars for parfait, grilling herbed chicken and vegetables for wraps. For a final touch, I made oat bites sweetened lightly with honey.
The food was balanced, healthy, and appropriately intimidating.
By the time I finished, the kitchen smelled warm and comforting, which this house desperately needed.
I checked the clock. Why weren’t the children down in the kitchen yet?
When I was human, mornings had meant hunger immediately upon waking. One survived long winters by aggressively breaking the fast. Even after vampirism altered many instincts, I still associated mornings with kitchens, bread, and hunger.
These children, apparently, did not.
I headed up the stairs, going to Billie’s bedroom first because chaos moved fastest through the smallest bodies. She lay spread across the bed with one foot hanging entirely off the mattress and three stuffed animals trapped beneath her.
“Billie,” I murmured.
No response.
I stepped closer. “Billie.”
Her eyes flew open. “The eggs know!” She frowned sleepily at the ceiling. “Why am I yelling?”
“Excellent question. I think you were dreaming.”
“Oh.” Her lips puckered in thought. “Were the eggs evil?”
“I certainly hope not.”
She sat up abruptly, then immediately fell sideways back into the pillows, obviously not fully functional yet.
Bianca proved considerably more alarming. When I knocked lightly and opened the door, she sat bolt upright, fully awake and making direct eye contact.
It was honestly a little unsettling.
“Good morning,” I said carefully.
“Good morning.”
“Were you already awake?”
“No.”
“You transitioned from unconsciousness suspiciously quickly.”
Bianca shrugged. “I thrive on efficiency.”
CJ, unfortunately, was the true battlefield. Apparently, he’d decided to crawl back into bed after his father had instructed him to finish getting dressed. I found him face down, still missing the rest of his uniform.
“CJ.”
