Stories under the Velvet Sky

Chapter Twenty Six: Chocolate Eclairs

I decided that I loved my pillows too much to throw them at the small child who was actually older than he appeared. According to Adrian, Damon looked a lot older, but that didn’t change the fact that an older boy was not what I was seeing. Maybe my bullshit detector kept me from seeing Damon’s glamour, or maybe he was just to glamorous as a child for me to see him as an older looking teenager. Either way, I hardly cared for the guy. So far, all I knew was that his presence had woken me up, and that already had him on my bad side.

Nobody, but nobody, disturbs my sleep without consequences. Not even relatively close family members. Crazy uncle not included.

During the past hour and a half, Adrian and his childish older brother had kindly (pfft) taken the time to explain to me exactly why Damon looked like a midget. I refused to call him a child. The eerie glint in his eyes was too mature for him to be called a child. His eyes reminded me of my uncle’s; a perpetually bored gaze that spoke of a life experience far greater than the rest of them had to show for. Eric had never really told me how old he was; I’d just assumed he was in his forties or fifties.

It was a lot of information to take in. “So,” I began, glancing back and forth between the two, “Damon looks like a small child because your father trapped him in the Vampire equivalent of Neverland, and he can change his appearance at will, but for some weird reason I can’t see whatever it is he’s doing.” Just going to scratch that up to my intolerance for total crap. “Oh, and he’s an undead vampire, unlike you who is a living vampire, so he can’t eat normal food anyway, so I’m not allowed to try to poison him with prescription strength medication.”

Whelp, there goes that list of things to try.

Adrian snorted. “How did you even get your hands on it in the first place?” He asked me, grimacing slightly as he remembered the effects of the medicine I’d slipped him earlier.

I giggled, leaning back onto my bed and throwing another pillow at him. “Remnants from the time I’d given Eric some weird food concoction that had made him constipated for months because he’d tried to send me to boarding school.” I answered pointedly, shuddering. He’d wanted to send me to Europe or something to give me a broader education.

As a general rule, never piss of the girl who makes your dinner, or anyone who handles your food. There was no way I was going to travel across an ocean just to go to school. I could barely handle interacting with people in my own country. I hesitated to think of what would have happened had I been left in Europe without any proper home to run back to in case I didn’t like where I was. Needless to say, uncle dearest had gotten the point shortly after he’d had to lock himself in his bathroom for hours trying to do what he had to do in the loo.

“That must have been something really powerful if he had him blocked up for months.” Damon chortled, shaking his head. “I’m guessing he didn’t let you make his dinners after that.” He added, grinning.

It bothered me slightly, to think of Damon as someone who was no longer alive. He didn’t look deceased at all. Sure, he looked a little pale and all, but he didn’t smell like a rotting corpse. “Oh no, this happened the day before I’d broken my wrist and leg and met Adrian. He’s been cooking ever since, unless Eric brings home Chinese food or something.” I replied with a casual shrug. “So I wouldn’t know if he’d eat my food or not. He hasn’t really had the opportunity.”