I've updated a lot in the past few days, so if you've just joined us again, make sure you don't need to back to chapter 4 first ;-)

x – x- x

Petra closed the door behind her, then clamped a hand over her mouth. Her whole body shook. Imelda and I looked on in horror as a single tear trickled down her cheek.
"Is everything okay?" Imelda whispered. "What happened?"
"He was naked," Petra said. "Gott im Himmel, he was naked!"
She laughed silently: big, heaving laughs. I buried my face in my hands and laughed as quietly as I could; when I looked up, Imelda was holding her sides, making tiny squeaks as she tried to be silent.
"What did you do?" I whispered.
"Well, he looked just as surprised to see me as I was to see him – you know, see all of him," Petra said. I clutched Imelda and laughed into the shoulder of her pyjamas. "Then I said, 'Mr Magnusson, it seems I have surprised you. Maybe you would like to put on some clothing before I look at your radiator.'"
"Look at his radiator!" I gasped and dissolved into another spasm of silent laughter.
Petra nodded firmly. She was close to six foot tall, a very imposing figure. If she told you to put your clothes back on, you'd better do so. Quickly.
"Well done," her wife whispered admiringly. "I wouldn't have been able to say anything, I would've been totally lost for words."
"Is the heating actually broken?" I said in a low voice.
She nodded. "It's like a sauna in there," she confirmed.
"Maybe that's why he was naked?" Imelda said hopefully.
"He was naked because he's a vampire pervert," I muttered.
"Perhaps he gets turned on watching women do DIY?" Imelda suggested.
"Hmm," I agreed.
It was a possibility; I nodded thoughtfully.

"Maggie, will you go in and have a look – " Petra began.
"Have a look!" Imelda echoed and bent over to laugh into her cupped hands.
"- have a look and see if you can do something with the thermostat. Maybe it's just jammed."
"I will, but you're coming with me," I hissed. "I'm not going in there by myself and she's useless."
I jerked a thumb at Imelda, who was leaning against the wall, laugh-crying. Suddenly, she stopped and looked over our shoulders.
And gulped.
The doorway was filled by a tall man who was, I thankfully noted, wearing clothes. A pair of jeans in any case and presumably something on top, but I couldn't bring myself to look above his knees. He was barefoot and he had a scar on one of his feet, like a Y.
From an arrow, I suddenly thought.
What a weird assumption. But some vampires are old enough to have lived at a time when getting shot in the foot by an arrow was not an uncommon occurrence. Right?

"Ladies," said a deep voice, an amused voice, and the man stepped into the room, holding the door open for us as we passed. I scuttled inside and as I did, I smelled the skin of his bare arms, a raw, salty smell like the Atlantic. With some underlying sweet scent, maybe of honey and apples. I could feel him bend his head towards mine, so I sped by before he could say anything. I kept my eyes on the patterned carpet and went over to the radiator, while Petra waylaid him at the door. The room was warm and clammy; I longed to throw open a window and let some of the cold air in and I wondered why the vampire hadn't done so. I looked at him slyly while he was talking to Petra – she was apologising for the hiccup, but he kept glancing in my direction and I kept ducking my head to avoid any eye contact. He was tall enough to look down even on her; he had a crooked nose and when he smiled, a bit of an overbite. He looked tired, there were bags under his eyes, and he stood with a slight stoop, like a man too used to bending to speak to normal-sized beings. Perhaps he hadn't had a good day's rest in a while, I thought, unpacking the little bag that held my few tools. Some of the vampires my father worked with tended to look older when they hadn't fed on human blood for a while. I shuddered. Ugh.

The valve on the radiator was missing. I looked around – on the carpet, under the armchair, even under the wardrobe. Then I spotted it on his bed, as though he'd tossed it there.
"Did that come off?" I asked him, pointing at it. "The valve, the thermostat thingie?"
He grinned at me. "This thingie?" he said teasingly, holding it aloft.
"Yes, that thingie." I was not amused.
"It did, Maggie," he said, his voice a caress. "It just fell – off."
"I'm afraid I can't fix that," I said sharply. "It looks like it's been yanked off. It's broken."
I glared at him. "We can organise another room for you," I continued, my tone frosty, "but we'll have to tape bin bags over the window to keep the light out. The Blue Room?" I asked, turning to Petra, "it has heavy curtains, doesn't it?"
"We can do that, Mr Magnusson," she said. "We'll do that straight away. Just give us ten minutes. Come on, Maggie."
"And don't touch the bloody radiator this time," I snapped. I normally wouldn't have dreamt of speaking to a guest that way, but this buffoon was grinning at me as though it were all a joke. I didn't doubt for a second that he'd broken the heating with his clumsy shovel-like hands.

"Maggie should have another look at it," the vampire said, staring at Petra. His voice was soft, hypnotic.
I gasped in indignation. He was glamouring her!
"Mr ... Mr..." I called. He ignored me.
Damn it, what was his name?
"Mr Magnusson!" I cried. "Leave her alone!"
He looked over at me quizzically. Then he did something odd: he winked at me.
"I just want Maggie to take another look at it," he said to Petra. "Alone. No harm will come to her, I promise."
Petra nodded at me and glided out of the room without a backward glance. I picked up a wrench and held it up fiercely.
"I'm wearing silver," I threatened. "And I will use this on you as well."
He laughed.
"Magdalena," he said in that same silky tone.
The hairs on my arms stood up.
"How do you know my name?" I hissed viciously, shocked.
He took a step or two towards me, his arms outstretched. I backed away, brushing against the hot radiator, which made me jump.
"Seriously," I repeated, panicked. "Do we know each other? How do you know my name?"

The vampire stared a me. "The tall woman mentioned it when I checked in," he said. "Unless you think we've met before?"

Yeah, that was hardly likely. I'd met few vampires in my day but I'd certainly remember this big gangly one with the smug grin. "We've never met," I said firmly. "Ever."

He stopped just in front of me. My nose was on a level with his ribcage and I could smell the sea from his t-shirt. He didn't move, just stood there like a statue for unending seconds, while my sweaty palms gripped the wrench. Finally, slowly, I raised my head and looked up at him. He was frowning at me, his brow furrowed. I used the opportunity to place one end of the wrench on his chest and gingerly push him away. He allowed himself to be pushed.
"Magdalena," he said in that same tone he'd used on Petra.
"I can't be glamoured," I snapped. "Step back."
"Magdalena," he crooned again.
"Are you fucking deaf?" I cried. "I can't be glamoured! Step the fuck back or I'll hit you with this wrench!"

He stepped back with alacrity, his face still creased in a frown.
"You can't be glamoured," he said, not taking his eyes off me. "I see."
Then a slow smile crossed his face and he bowed his head in acceptance.
"I apologise most sincerely," he said. "My misunderstanding. Please forgive me. I will not trouble you again, you have my word."
The word of a vampire? Huh. I almost snorted out loud.
"Petra'll probably have the other room ready for you," I said coldly. "It's at the end of the corridor; you can move your things down there now. Keep your clothes on and your hands off the thermostat, please."
"As you wish," he said in the same acquiescing tone. I wriggled past him and out into the corridor, where Imelda was waiting.
"Are you alright?" she whispered. "Petra just walked past me without saying a word. She's just come back up the stairs with a roll of bin bags and packing tape. Is it still broken?"
"He broke it on purpose," I hissed. "He was trying to lure one of us in for a feed. Whatever you do, don't make eye contact with him. He's a sneaky fucker."
The door opened and the tall vampire came out. Imelda and I looked at the ground, like two mediaeval serving wenches when the lord of the manor walked by. I thought I heard a low chuckle but I didn't look up to check.

I didn't stay around to make sure he was comfortable in his new room. I went back upstairs to mine, locked the door and jammed a chair under the handle. Then I rooted through the drawer beside my bed and put on the collection of silver rings and thimbles I hadn't needed for so long. I slept badly, startling at every creak and rattle, sitting up in bed, ready to punch a vampire in the face with my silver-clad fingers. But he stayed away.

The next day, Imelda and I pressed our ears up against the door of The Blue Room but there was no sound from within. We weren't sure if the room was entirely light-tight, but we established that there was no hissing or sizzling from within and we took that as a good sign.
"What does it sound like when they burn up?" she asked. "I imagine it'd be like sausages in a pan. What do you think?"
"Probably," I agreed.
We listened again. Silence. So he was still alive.
Or dead.
Or undead.
Whatever. Creepy fucker.
That evening I hid upstairs as soon as the sun went down, my face pressed to the tiny attic window of my room. I saw him leave the house, his long, loping gait recognisable in the dim light of the garden lamps. I shrank back out of sight as he opened his car, looking up at the house. There was no way he could see me, I reasoned, but better safe than sorry.
"You need to reconsider offering a vampire room," I said to Petra and Imelda when I went downstairs. I had waited till I heard the faint sound of Mr Magnusson's wheels grinding on the gravel, then scampered downstairs to pour myself a stiff whiskey.
"We might have to rethink it," Petra nodded. "I mean, most of them have been very nice but that one was just weird."
I shuddered.
Weird was an understatement.
Vampires? Ugh.

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