The Vampire's Gardener (ONC 2023)

7 - Lunch Break

The courtyard was full of trucks and vans as Waverly approached the manor. Workers sat grouped together under tents, eating lunch and shooting the shit. They ignored her as she entered the manor, wondering where the kitchen was located.

As if on cue, a curvy woman of Asian heritage wearing a plain white button-up blouse and flare-legged blue jeans descended the stairs, clutching a laptop. Her black hair was tied up in a messy bun and a pair of pencils were stuck into it. Colorful tattoos covered one arm, the designs disappearing beneath the sleeve of her blouse.

"Can I help you?" she asked in a Welsh accent as Waverly waited for her at the bottom of the stairs.

"Could you direct me to the kitchen? Ms Mi kindly put my lunch bag in there."

The woman studied Waverly with a critical eye, then she broke into a grin. "You're Waverly Harris, the gardener."

"I am."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Willow Sung, the baron's comptroller. Kyung-Jin is my wife." Holding onto the laptop with her left arm, Willow stuck out her right hand.

This bubbly, pleasant woman was the housekeeper's wife? Well, opposites definitely attracted, Waverly thought. "I'm a little dirty at the moment," she explained, flashing her fingers as Willow's gesture hung in the air.

"Not a problem," Willow replied with a smile, wrapping both hands around her laptop. "Let me show you the kitchen. Watch your feet."

Tarps lined the hallway next to the staircase and empty light sockets hung from the wall, capped wires dangling against aged green floral wallpaper. Waverly moved carefully along the tarps, sneaking a quick glance down a hall beneath the sweeping staircase. Small tables covered in sheets and more hanging wires were all she could see in the dimly lit corridor.

The heavenly scent of chicken and lemons filled the air as they approached the kitchen. Like the rest of the manor, it was in a state of construction. In the center of the white-tiled room was a massive butcher block island stacked with boxes overflowing with pots and pans. A small steel sink rested up against the back wall next to a green refrigerator that was straight out of the 1960s. Capped piping jutted up from the floor and out of the wall; this area was covered in tarp and littered with plumbers' tools. To the right was a large, gaping hole that may have once been a door to the outside. Through the hole, Waverly could see giant boxes sitting on weed-choked cobblestone.

In the midst of all this chaos, two women stood clustered together in a small area of the kitchen, one of whom was cooking over a two-burner electric hot plate and grumbling in French. Waverly hung back as Willow went straight to the fridge and pulled out her lunch bag.

"Lynn, Jillian, this is Waverly, the gardener."

Waverly remembered Jillian as the young woman who escorted her and Frederick from the grounds. She was tall, slightly skinny, with a plain oval face covered in a smattering of dark freckles, big, expressive blue eyes, and long, dark auburn hair that was braided and wound into a bun. The other woman, Lynn, appeared to be around Waverly's age. She was short and curvy, with warm, russet-brown skin, and medium-length platinum blonde hair tied up in a high ponytail. A dozen gold hoops pierced both ears.

Jillian waved and Lynn merely nodded as she flipped a chicken breast in its pan. Willow gestured to a large table in an alcove at the back end of the kitchen. Six chairs were arranged haphazardly around it. "You can eat here."

Waverly hesitated. "Oh, that's very kind of you. But I can eat outside."

Willow opened her mouth, but Lynn let out a loud scoffing sound—one that carried above the pop and sizzle of food cooking. "There is one of you and many of them. Sit, sit," she ordered in a light French accent. She jabbed a spatula at a chair.