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The door opened, and Miranda walked in, a wine bottle in each hand.
My dislike aside, she was a beautiful woman, with an athletic body, light brown skin, and dark hair that swirled in loose curls around a face dominated by her dark eyes, thick brows, and a scattering of freckles.
“I found the pinot,” she said, and stopped short when she caught sight of me. The air in the room seemed to chill. “Oh, good,” she said, lip curling. “The vampire’s here.”
“I take it you’ve met,” Georgia said.
“In Chicago,” Miranda said. “She’s very important downthere.” Ignoring me, she put the bottles on the counter, began to dig through a kitchen drawer.
“Well, she’s not in Chicago right now,” Georgia said matter-of-factly.
“I’m not,” I said. “And don’t really care if I’m important.”
“Then you’re a fool,” Miranda said, closing the drawer with her hip and putting a bottle opener on the countertop. “Power and authority are the only things worth having.”
Given my parents had both, and I lived under the umbrella of their privilege, I turned back to my job. I smoothed the surface of the dough, tucking the ends beneath it to make a smooth, tight ball. “I think this is ready,” I told Georgia.
“In there,” she said, pointing toward a linen-covered basket. I dropped the dough in, seam down, and covered it with the plastic wrap that sat nearby.
“That’s for tomorrow,” she said. “Tonight’s is baking. Can you check that?”
“I’ll do it,” Miranda said, moving around me to the oven. She opened the door, sending the scents of yeast and butter and herbs wafting through the kitchen.
“Five more minutes,” she pronounced, then closed the door again.
“Is there anything else I can help with?” I asked, ignoring Miranda’s haughty stare, but still not meeting Georgia’s eyes.
I still felt too vulnerable for that.
Before Georgia could answer, there was a knock at the door. Georgia wiped her hands on a towel, opened it.
A girl with pale skin and straight brown hair stood beneath the porch light, a paper-wrapped bundle of flowers in hand. “Happy initiation day!”
“Hey, kiddo,” Georgia said, then held open the door. “Come on in.”
The girl was petite and slender and very human, despite knowing about the initiation. How much more did she know? I wondered.
She was probably eighteen or nineteen, with brown eyes, a slender nose, and wide smile. She gave Georgia a hug, then extended the bouquet. “For you,” she said. “To celebrate.”
“You are a doll,” Georgia said, then looked around at us. “You know Miranda, and this is Elisa.”
“Connor’s Elisa?” she asked brightly, then came toward me, eyes aglow. “It is so good to meet you!”
“Thanks,” I said, shocked when she gave me an embrace as warm as the one she’d given Georgia. And she smelled rather deliciously like—
“Who has doughnuts?” Alexei walked into the kitchen, looked around, then settled his gaze on the girl. “You have doughnuts?”
“No,” she said. “Do you have doughnuts?” She certainly smelled like them.
He looked perplexed by the question. “Why would I have doughnuts?”
“Exactly,” she said, pointing at him. She looked at me, smiled. “I’m Carlie Stone.”
“Elisa,” I said lamely, given she already knew my name, then pointed. “This is Alexei.”
“I know who you are,” she said with a smile, then shifted her gaze to Alexei. “I don’t know who you are.”
He humphed, apparently irritated he hadn’t been recognized. In fairness, I’d lived in Chicago my entire life, and I’d seen him only a couple of times.
