The New Vera

Vera’s first night in the Nightingale Resort was as peaceful as could be.

The master suite down the hall was yet another wide and spacious room, complete with comforting décor of various shades of blue, a soft and comfortable king-sized bed with light blue comforters and darker blue pillows along the headboard, oceanic paintings along the walls, a huge, spotless bathroom in the corner with a wide, rounded luxury tub, and a giant flat-screen TV was perched on the wall directly across from the bed, a nightstand with a shapely lamp on one side, a tall wooden dresser on the other. There was a desk in the corner, turned and facing the TV, and the far end of the room had a sliding glass door, which led out to a balcony that overlooked the landscape in front of the resort. It was a smaller balcony than the one in the office, and with a vastly different view, but it was so high up, she doubted anyone who stood on the ground below could even see her clearly if she decided to lean over the balcony’s rail.

A glorious California sunrise bled into the room between the silky blue drapes that hung from either side of the glass door, her bags and belongings sitting in a small pile in the far corner where Miles had placed them the evening before. There was a plate on the nightstand, spotted with a few sticky pieces of rice and a shred of seaweed from her sushi dinner last night, something she found delicious—and now, as she blinked herself awake in a deep, soft embrace of comforters and pillows, she glanced around, feeling briefly shocked for a moment before she remembered exactly where she was.

The days of awakening with a start in the back of her van, hurrying to rush off to whatever flea-marketing or pet-sitting job she had, were definitely over now. Vera sat upright in the center of the huge bed, yawning and combing her hairs down, surveying the wonderful room around her and feeling more at ease than she usually ever did whenever she’d awaken to start the day. She still felt a spark of urgency, as if she needed to fly out of bed and head off to do all the work that the day had in store for her—but now, as she merely sat in the peaceful silence of her new comfortable room, she couldn’t think of any urgent work that needed doing anymore.

Vera sat there, cozier than ever and feeling more refreshed than she ever had. She plopped back and outstretched an arm behind her head, sliding her phone off the nightstand and swiping its screen, surveying everything on it. The weather icon now displayed the current temperature for whatever county of California she was in, and her dating app was showing a long list of new notifications from people in this area rather than Louisiana.

Sighing, Vera opened the dating app, seeing that numerous people had messaged her the moment she’d updated her location on her profile. She didn’t often use the dating app, but she’d scroll over it once a week or so out of curiosity, just in the off chance that she’d meet someone really worthwhile.

This time, however, it appeared the same as all the times before; most of the messages were lewd sexual remarks and overly-ambitious compliments from strangers, and a few of them were even asking to meet her already, before she’d ever replied to them.

Vera sighed again, holding the phone over her head and making a face at it.

Knock, knock .

She blinked and turned, eyeing the door.

“Morning,” Miles spoke from the other side of the door, leaning close and gently thumping his knuckles to it again with his free hand, his other holding a tray with breakfast foods on it. “I’ve got your breakfast here if you’re hungry, Madame.”

“Oh… okay… yeah, come in,” Vera called out to him.

Miles opened the door, stepped inside, and eased the door shut with his foot.

Vera lay still, placing her arm atop her head and slapping her phone down on her stomach. “Do you know how crappy it is to look for a decent guy in this world?”

“Oh… yes, that is my greatest pet peeve in life,” Miles replied, strolling over and placing the tray of foods on the nightstand.

Vera turned her head and stared up at him strangely.

Miles chuckled. “Sarcasm, Madame.”

“Yeah… I figured,” Vera replied with a breathless little laugh, turning back to her phone and simply powering it off. “This is why I hate dating apps. There’s no dating in dating apps. It’s just a hook-up service…”

“Well… I imagine that if you mention your newfound wealth, then you might get more attention,” Miles remarked.

“I don’t need attention from people who just want money,” Vera mumbled, sitting upright again. “And I don’t wanna talk to people who just wanna get laid. I’m kinda looking for something real here… and apparently that doesn’t exist anymore. But… regardless of that…”

She turned and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, still wearing her clothes from the day before, and she gave her butler a smile.

“I… am pretty damn happy with where I am now,” Vera resolved. “I can do without the stupid dating problem. I wanna focus on the Nightingale.”

“Well… that’s good, because I have a lot of the Nightingale to show you today,” Miles replied, reaching over and gently tapping the edge of the food tray. “After you eat, of course.”

“Mhm… eat and shower,” Vera nodded, scanning herself up and down, then looking to the tray, where a delicious breakfast of bacon and syrup-drizzled pancakes sat. “Oh, wow, an actual breakfast. I can’t remember the last time I had that.”

“I imagine you’ll grow accustomed to it before long,” Miles knew, turning on his heel and heading back toward the door.

Vera’s smile grew, sliding the tray closer to her. “Man… it’s a whole new era now.”

Miles stopped at the door, placing his hand on the wall and glancing back at her.

“A whole new era for a whole new Vera ,” he said.

Vera laughed and shot him a snarky look, as he’d thickened his British accent through both of the rhyming words. “Nice. That was clever. Sounds like the beginning of a song.”

Miles gave her a flattened sort of smile. “A wasted talent of mine, I’m afraid. Now… I’ll be back to collect you in about an hour.”

“Okie-dokie.”

Vera waved him off with a two-fingered salute, and Miles walked out of the room.

The next hour was spent eating, showering, and changing clothes; Vera savored the fresh hot breakfast, something she never had time for in her old life, then she plucked some clean clothes out of her duffle bag before vanishing into the bathroom, a rather large bathroom with a few portraits of sailboats and lighthouses on the walls. After a quick shower, she dressed in the nicest outfit she had, a pair of slim black pants, a sleek t-shirt of a dark red color, and a black, silky, partially transparent over-shirt with wavy, frilly sleeves, unbuttoned down the middle and let free to flow along behind her.

Vera plugged in her blow-dryer and hurried to blast the dampness out of her hair, then went to work combing it until it returned to its smooth, straight style, shiny, swooped over, and just long enough to cover her ears.

When she walked out of the bathroom, Miles had just returned to knock on her door again. She opened the door and stepped out, facing him and feeling prepared for the day.

“Where’re we going first?” Vera wondered.

“Well… that all depends on your preference,” Miles replied, cupping his hands. “There’s the pool, out in the back, and the hot tub isn’t far from there. There’s also the dining hall, which is on the first floor, and the library, which is on the second floor… and… there’s also the Hollywood Hole.”

Vera stared at him. “The what ?”

Miles smiled flatly again. “That’s just what I call it. The area down below—the underground portion of the Nightingale—that’s typically where the Hollywood crowd like to spend their time. Others simply call it the Underground. It contains the bar, the billiards, the dartboards, the arcade games, all that type of entertainment. It’s also where the children tend to play games whenever they aren’t outside, although they’re not permitted to enter the Underground after nine PM. We do try to keep the children separated from the Hollywood crowd, and the Hollywood crowd tend to use the Underground mostly in the late hours.”

Vera stared again. “Okay… so… this place basically has its own nightclub.”

“Oh, yes… one of our more brilliant ideas,” Miles said smugly. “We were going for an old, simple, and peaceful type of aesthetic with this place… but, we sometimes get guests from Hollywood who don’t typically care for that type of environment. Not to mention, they’re horribly loud and wildly obnoxious, and it tends to bother our other guests. So, we figured… why not fashion a great big soundproof bunker underground and keep all the Hollywood people down there? Seems to be working so far.”

Vera laughed and nodded. “Heheh… okay. So I guess going from upstairs to downstairs here can be a culture shock all by itself.”

“You’ve no idea,” Miles sighed, marching down the hall and beckoning her to follow.

The two of them stepped into the elevator, and Vera suggested that he simply lead her to wherever he wanted to first. So, Miles pressed the button for the second floor, and the elevator carried them downward. When the doors slid open, they emerged in another elegant hallway, sconces with candles on the walls, intercepted only by the occasional painting or mirror.

Miles led her past a few of the suites, stopping at a large set of mahogany double-doors and pushing them both open.

These doors led into a great, expansive library, with a high ceiling and with an endless series of shelves and aisles in every direction, the center of the humongous room containing a few elongated tables, where a couple of the Nightingale’s older guests were sitting peacefully and flipping through whatever books had captured their interest.

When they left the library, Vera glanced down the hall, spotting something she hadn’t noticed before. At the very end of the hallway, past all the rooms and the library, was a large, rounded gong, shining a brilliant golden color and hanging still from its frame.

“Huh.” Vera eyed it, then patted Miles on the arm, pointing down the hall at the seemingly misplaced object. “What’s that there for?”

“Decoration, Madame,” Miles informed, giving the gong a nod. “Although, some say they can hear it being struck at night. It’s a paranoid little ghost story people like to tell. It’s actually become something of an interesting staple for the Nightingale, so your father simply never got rid of it. The story also keeps the children from wandering in the night hours, which the parents find favorable, of course.”

“Oh… cool,” Vera smirked, then turned and gave him a curious look. “Has it ever really made noise at night, or is that just part of the story?”

“Just part of the story, I’m sure,” Miles shrugged. “But, I’ve always lived on the top floor, so it’s not as if I could hear it if it did sound at night.”

“Heh… I used to do that scary stories thing, too,” Vera recalled as the two of them headed back toward the elevator. “When I lived in North Carolina, I had a couple of babysitting jobs, and one of the kids was really ADHD. He’d run out the door and wander off all the time, and the only way I could make him stop was telling him scary stories about a werewolf that lived in his neighborhood. It definitely works.”

Miles chuckled, and they both vanished into the elevator again.

“The third floor is only suites, nothing of particular interest up there,” he said, pressing another button on the wall. “So, the ground floor, the outside, and the Underground are all we need to focus on for now.”

Vera nodded as the elevator carried them downward. They emerged in another hallway of sconces and red carpet, strolling down the way and briefly passing by the entrance to the lobby, where Sarah gave them a wave in passing, a family of newcomers standing at the counter across from her.

“The bottom floor doesn’t have any suites. It’s comprised of the dining hall and the lounge out front… and in the back, away from the guests, is the kitchen and the launderette,” Miles explained while they walked.

“M’kay,” Vera uttered as the hallway broke into a hard left, leading them down a shorter hall. “So how do you get to the pool?”

“You can either take the path around the building outside, or—if you’re not dripping wet from the pool—you can come and go from the back door of the dining hall,” Miles answered, approaching another set of double-doors at the end of this hall. “As you’ll see soon.”

He pulled the doors open, and they both walked inside. Vera peered around, expecting to see a place resembling a dining room, but this area was much larger than she anticipated; a long red rug was spread across the floor of the farther half, placed perfectly underneath a massive dining table, a magnificent chandelier hanging above its center. To her right was a long, sleek bar, where a bartender was wiping down glasses, and all the stools in front of the bar were currently unoccupied. To the left was a row of booths, where an older couple sat across from each other, and a waitress was approaching them from a swiveling side door, carrying a rounded tray that had both of their orders on it. The vast, beautiful room was mostly empty as of now, but Vera suspected it likely didn’t stay that way after the morning would pass by.

She blinked and looked to the butler. “I thought you said the bar was underground?”

“The Underground bar is underground,” Miles told her. “The nice, civil, and ordinary bar that all the rest of us use is up here.”

“Miles,” the bartender said, a slender man with dark hair slicked stylishly back beneath a bowler hat. “Scotch on the rocks?”

Miles perched his brow at the bartender. “At nine-thirty in the morning, Davis?”

The bartender, Davis, merely shrugged. “I don’t see why today’s any different from your norm, man. Unless you’re riding the wagon again.”

“Oh… don’t be daft,” Miles snarked, stepping toward him. “And don’t go making the newcomers think that I do nothing but drink all the livelong workday.”

“Riiight… because you totally wouldn’t do that.”

“I would if I could—but I can’t, so I don’t.”

“Hey,” Davis smiled, nodding at Vera. “Nice to meet you. I hope you’re not his date or something, because if you are, then you’re in for a hell of a—”

“Davis, this is Miss Nightingale,” Miles cut him off.

Davis stopped, his smile waning, and he gave her a wary look, clearing his throat. “Oh. Damn… I’m sorry… am I totally fired now?”

“Nah… I like people speaking their mind,” Vera laughed. “More real that way.”

Davis chuckled somewhat nervously. “Yeah, same…”

“Oh,” Miles muttered, gazing across the room, where a wide set of sliding doors gave him a perfect view of the poolside. “It seems Wilson’s come down from his room rather early today.”

Vera followed his trail of vision, staring past the extensive dining table, just able to see a few of the lawn chairs around the edge of the pool outside. One of the lawn chairs was occupied by a man, his back facing the glass doors, his arm resting on the patio table beside him.

“Yeah… he came through about twenty minutes ago,” Davis commented, leaning on the bar and facing Vera again. “Have you met Wilson yet?”

Vera shook her head.

“He’s a regular every summer,” Miles informed. “He was a close friend to your father, and he gave Mr. Nightingale enough solid business advice to make this place thrive many years ago. So… when Wilson retired… he started spending his summers here. At a generous discount, of course, courtesy of Mr. Nightingale.”

“Oh… okay,” Vera understood. “So, he was like… grandfathered in. I gotcha.”

“Yes, but don’t say that to him,” Miles advised, flashing his subtle half-smile. “I imagine he’ll take that as a remark on his age. Come along.”

He walked onward and motioned for her to follow. Vera spared Davis a wave before following the butler across the room, passing the dining table and pulling the sliding door open.

The two of them walked out, and Vera paused again to absorb the sight. The pool was much longer and wider than she could’ve seen from inside, so expansive, it put the dining table to shame. All around the outer edge of the pool area was a railing of metal bars, fashioned like prison bars, just so no children could squeeze through them—because, on the other side of the metal fence was a steep, massive drop-off above the Pacific Ocean, and the sea stretched on past the property, for what appeared to be forever.

Miles sauntered forward, approaching the patio table where Wilson sat. Vera stared at the scenery for a second longer before joining him.

Wilson sat halfway beneath the parasol that protruded from the center of the table, reading glasses sitting gently on the edge of his nose, a small book held in his hand as he read it in silence. He was a slender sort, and clearly on the older side, with a receding hairline in the shape of a point, graying hairs that were once a much sandier color, a narrow face with a naturally thoughtful visage, and he wore a pair of brown pants and a white button-up, sleeves rolled up to the elbows.

Wilson raised his brows, then his head, only just realizing he was no longer alone.

“Ah… hi, Miles,” Wilson said, his voice a softened sort of rasp. “No breakfast?”

Miles replied with a flat smile. “I was Mr. Nightingale’s butler, Mr. Abernathy, not yours.”

“Oh… c’mon, now, like that ever stopped you before,” Wilson chided, slapping him lightly on the arm. “You’re also a manager and a caretaker. I figured a man of so many trades would know how to make an egg sandwich.”

“For you? Never,” Miles smirked snidely. “By the by, Mr. Abernathy, this is Miss Nightingale.”

“Oooh… the new owner,” Wilson smiled politely, waving at Vera. “Pleasure, young lady.”

“Pleasure to meet you too,” Vera replied.

“Miss Nightingale,” Miles said, tapping her shoulder once. “I’ll have to pop off and whip up an egg sandwich for a moment, seeing as Mr. Abernathy’s legs are evidently broken, and he can’t simply do it himself.”

Vera breathed out a laugh.

“Hey… I’m seventy-nine,” Wilson grumped. “I did my damn share of work by now.”

Miles smirked and nodded, turning on his heel and heading back to the sliding door, vanishing into the building and leaving the two of them alone.

Wilson’s silvery eyes ventured back up to Vera, and he tapped on the table, subtly gesturing to the lawn chair on the other side. “You can sit and join me, if you like.”

“M’kay,” Vera agreed, moving around the table and claiming the other seat.

Wilson faced the table properly, closed his book, and placed it down. Then, he intertwined his fingers, placed his hands atop the book, and gave her a curious once-over.

“I always wondered about you,” Wilson said. “Alex mentioned a daughter a handful of times, but I never once saw one around here.”

“Well… I lived across the country, and I never knew he had this place,” Vera explained. “Haven’t seen him since I was thirteen, so…”

“Oooh, I see. He kept you separated,” Wilson mumbled, nodding and glancing aside. “I see. That’s good…”

Vera squinted questioningly at him.

Wilson caught her curious gaze, then continued. “Well… if you would’ve grown up in this type of lifestyle, then you probably wouldn’t have turned out the same way. He probably thought you’d be a better heir if you weren’t… well… spoiled.”

Vera nodded quietly, understanding his sentiment, though she silently disagreed. From what she remembered of her father, she couldn’t imagine him doing anything so paternal toward her. He only gifted things to people if he thought he could get something from them in return—or, in the case of Wilson, if he’d already gotten something from them.

“Then again,” Wilson said softly, turning his head and staring vacantly at the distant sea. “Who knows what was going on in his head anymore…”

Vera observed him, reading his perturbed expression and quickly changing the subject.

“Hey…” she uttered, scooting closer and flashing a smile. “Miles said that the big gong thing on the second floor has a ghost story around it. Does it really go off at night sometimes, or is that just something people tell the kids here?”

“Oh… it certainly does,” Wilson murmured, meeting her eyes again. “That’s been happening for years. It’s happened every time I’ve come to stay here. Once in a while, on a random night, for no reason at all… that thing will go off like someone’s bashed a rock into it.”

Vera stared at him, her mind suddenly working up a storm, wondering how such a thing could be possible. Honestly, this wasn’t the answer she’d expected from him; she thought he would simply dismiss it as nothing more than a fun little urban legend of the Nightingale.

But, Wilson gazed into her with sincerity now, which made her feel as if he wasn’t lying or kidding with her in the slightest.

“You…” Vera uttered, gulping and straightening up. “Um… do you believe in ghosts?”

Wilson stared, his eyes wandering downward in thought, and he let out a deep cloud of breath.

“I never did,” he sighed. “Not once. Not until I started coming here.”

Just then, the sliding door opened again. Vera turned to it, wondering if Miles was back already, but the people to emerge from the doorway weren’t butlers; it was a family, two parents and two children, the same family she’d seen checking in at the front counter a short while ago.

One of the kids was a girl, who looked to be in her preteens or early teen years, and the other was a boy who appeared to be around ten. The girl had long hair, much like her mother’s, and the boy’s was just long enough to tent over his eyes, thicker and wavier than everyone else’s. The boy took off and raced past the patio tables, sprinting toward the pool eagerly as his older sister jogged behind him.

“No running around the pool!” their father shouted, jabbing a finger at his kids.

Then, the father turned, spotting Wilson and Vera sitting nearby.

The father of this family had a light caramel complexion—his family being Mexican—and his jet black hair was cut neatly short, unlike his son’s. The man wore a dark blue button-up and black pants, and he meandered over to Wilson’s table, pocketing his hands and cocking his head at him.

“Beat me here again,” the father said. “Does summer start in April for you?”

Wilson gave him a caustic look. “I’m retired… so it starts whenever I damn well want it to.”

The father snickered, his big brown eyes flickering over to Vera.

“Alex’s daughter,” Wilson explained, making a gentle sideways nod at her.

“Oooh… well then,” the father grinned, reaching out and shaking her hand. “Hola, seniora. Don’t mind me and my family. We’ll just be here long enough to cook all the dinners for the summer and mow the giant lawn here, and then we’re gone.”

Vera opened her mouth, but Wilson responded first.

“Don’t start fillin’ her head with nonsense, now,” Wilson griped with a dry little laugh, turning to Vera. “He owns a damn construction company, and he brings his family here every summer. He ain’t no impoverished worker bee. Don’t listen to him.”

The father laughed, nodding and sighing. “I’m Jorge Hernandez. My wife’s the one over there hovering over the kids now… and her name’s Rosa. And those two…”

The father, Jorge, turned and pointed across the enormous pool, where his petite wife was hunched over the pool’s edge, watching attentively while the young boy and girl climbed into the water, both of them having just shed their clothes, now wearing only bathing suits.

“That’s my daughter, Maria,” Jorge informed, then pointed toward his son, who was rapidly swimming across the pool now. “And that’s my son, Max.”

“Okay… cool. Nice to meet you,” Vera said nicely, but the father’s attention was already gone.

Jorge stared across the pool, making a face before breaking into a brisk stride toward it. “Max! Max ! Stop trying to clear the whole pool! Hey !”

Max continued swimming onward, making broad strokes of the arms until he finally reached the end. When he did, he grasped the concrete edge and slung his soaked hairs around, then raised his head and spotted his father standing directly over him.

Jorge glared down at his son with folded arms. “You know what’s gonna happen if you keep trying to cross the entire pool at once, right?”

Max gazed up at him strangely.

“The evil eye’s gonna see, and it’s gonna pull you down under,” Jorge told him devilishly.

Max’s eyes widened, and he quickly shook his head, giving his father a defensive look. “You’re lying. There’s no such thing.”

“Ah yeah?” Jorge challenged, tilting his head and swatting at the rest of the pool. “Go ahead. Do it again. See what happens.”

“ Jorge ,” Rosa hissed, marching closer and rounding on her husband. “Don’t scare him!”

“Well, what happens when he gets a cramp and can’t make it the rest of the way across?” Jorge responded. “You want him to sink down halfway through? He doesn’t need to clear this mile-long pool.”

“Jorge, stop scaring the kids—and Max, Maria, both of you just swim where you can touch the bottom,” Rosa ordered, pointing at both of her kids. “Your father and I are going to order our brunch, and we’ll be back in a minute. Don’t clear the pool anymore, Max. I mean it.”

“Okaaay,” Max groaned, rolling his eyes and returning to his swimming.

Jorge and Rosa gave their children another supervising stare, then turned away and marched across the concrete clearing, opening the sliding door and disappearing inside.

Wilson and Vera, who smirked at the whole exchange, glimpsed at one another.

“Yeah… they’re always like that,” Wilson remarked. “Gonna be a lot more like ‘em here before too long. Summer’s the busy season. You’ll see soon.”

Vera nodded, leaning on the table and surveying him interestingly. “You’re from Virginia, aren’t you?”

Wilson blinked and turned his head again, eyeing her strangely. “How’d you know?”

“You still have a little bit of the accent on you,” Vera observed. “But only here and there. It’s sort of on and off.”

Wilson chuckled, nodding and sliding his fingers together. “Yeah, well… I haven’t been there in a long time. Long time.”

The two fell silent again, watching as Maria held her nose and ducked underwater. Max positioned himself at the end of the pool, then kicked off from it and began swimming rapidly again, heading straight across the pool again despite his parents’ orders.

“Uh-oh… lookit him go,” Wilson muttered with a laugh. “He’s liable to get grounded throughout his vacation.”

Vera giggled and nodded, watching as Max dove underwater and swam onward, then surfaced again and resumed his broad arm strokes.

The second time the boy went underwater, he stayed under for longer, and Vera heard the sliding glass door open once more. She turned and spotted Miles approaching, holding a small round plate with a fresh egg sandwich on it, placing it down beside Wilson.

“I see the Hernandez family’s come to grace us with their presence again,” Miles said, clasping his hands in front of him. “The boy’s grown quite a lot since last year.”

“Yeah… he’s at that age,” Wilson agreed.

Vera said nothing, barely hearing the two of them-as her attention was now fixated on the pool, watching, following the vague figure of Max as he remained underwater, though he didn’t appear to be swimming forward any longer.

Miles and Wilson followed her trail of vision, only just noticing the same thing.

Vera swallowed, feeling a spark of urgency inside and hoping she was simply being paranoid.

Then, Maria noticed that her brother was still underwater, and she began calling his name, louder and louder with every try.

Her thoughts abandoning her, her body moved on its own—and Vera rocketed from the chair, speed-walking around the pool and approaching the area where Max was. Upon closer inspection, he looked as if he was still moving quite a lot—but no longer smoothly swimming forward. Now, he was frantically thrashing and flailing underwater, desperately trying to reach the surface and barely making any headway. The boy was using every fiber of his strength to maneuver over to the side of the pool, and as he did, Vera knelt over the edge, extending her hand toward him.

Max’s arm shot up and made a sudden splash—and her hand snapped around his wrist, pulling him above water in one swift tug.

The boy gasped and panted for breath, sputtering and choking as he scrambled feverishly over the edge. He climbed out of the pool with a shaky alertness that only came from a deep primal fear, every inch of his body trembling, his eyes wide open as he continued to catch his breath.

“Hey… hey, y’okay?” Vera breathed, patting him on the back.

Max huffed and panted for a few more seconds, then staggered to his feet, wheeling around and gazing into the pool. For a moment, he merely stared at it with his mouth slightly agape, ogling it as if he’d never seen anything like it before.

Vera read his expression, standing and studying him intently. “What happened…?”

Max opened his mouth again, then simply shook his head, glaring into the water with an awestricken expression strewn across his face.

“Max!” Jorge’s voice echoed.

Vera and Max both turned, seeing that Jorge and Rosa were both standing outside again, and Jorge was giving his son a rather pensive stare from the end of the pool.

“Whaddid I tell you?” Jorge barked, waving him over. “Come’ere. No more swimming for you—you’re banned from the pool. Get dressed. C’mon.”

Max’s chest rose and fell with his every rushed breath. Rather than arguing with his father, like most boys his age would do—he merely rushed away, marching swiftly around the pool, snatching up his clothes, and heading directly toward the sidewalk that led around the building, seeming suddenly eager to leave the pool area now.

Vera sighed as she watched him go, wandering back over to the patio tables. Rosa had rushed off to join her son, but Miles, Wilson, and Jorge still remained, all of them looking at Vera now.

“Hey… I’m sorry,” Jorge said, stepping forward and shaking her hand. “Sorry about that… and thank you for going over to help him.”

“Oh… no… no problem,” Vera muttered distantly, as she still felt a bit distracted, the image of the boy flailing underwater still playing through her mind.

“What happened?” Wilson wondered, giving her a curious look. “Did he get a cramp, or did he just go deeper than he thought he did?”

“Um…” Vera paused to think, dwelling on the bizarre way Max had thrashed and fought underwater. “I don’t… really know. It didn’t look like a cramp… but… he was under pretty deep. He fought like crazy to get up to the top again…”

“Ahh… well… that can happen when you’re swimming toward the deep end,” Wilson replied, nodding and making a shrug. “Especially if you’re underwater. You can’t always tell exactly where you are, or if you’re actually swimming straightforward. Sounds like he just went too deep by accident. I don’t know how much experience Max has with swimming, but…”

“Tch… he has a lot,” Jorge remarked. “He’s on the swim team at his school. That’s why he oughta know better by now.”

Wilson responded to Jorge, but Vera looked away from the conversation, surveying Miles and seeing that he was staring downward rather thoughtfully, wearing a strangely grave visage. Then, the butler sighed and looked up, simply raising his brows and giving Vera a nod.

“Are you ready to proceed to the Underground, Madame?”

“Ah… yeah… sure,” Vera muttered.

She moved to join her butler, but Jorge reached out and clasped her shoulder.

“Hey—Miss—thanks again,” Jorge said sincerely. “Really, thank you. I like you better than Alex already.”

Vera breathed out a laugh. “No problem. Nice meeting you guys.”

Wilson and Jorge both waved her off, and Vera strolled away alongside Miles.

Once the two were inside again, they both walked halfway across the dining hall before either of them spoke.

“That was rather quick,” Miles commented, glimpsing briefly over at her.

Vera squinted at him. “What was?”

“ You were,” Miles clarified. “Rightly quick on your feet, if I do say so.”

“Oh… well… I’ve done a lot of babysitting,” Vera shrugged. “I’m just kinda hyper-focused around kids. I can’t help it.”

“Well… that maternal instinct might do well to earn you a lot of favor here,” Miles figured. “Far be it from me to confirm all your California stereotypes… but that sort of care and genuine nature isn’t exactly common around here. Save for a select few people, of course.”

“Yeah, well… I wasn’t trying to make myself look good or anything,” Vera muttered as the two of them marched out of the dining hall. “I was just scared the kid wouldn’t come back up.”

“Oh, I know… but that doesn’t mean it didn’t work to make you look good,” Miles replied, revealing his coy half-smile once again. “And believe me… being in charge of a place is far, far easier when all the people around you actually like you.”

“Okay… well… good for me then,” Vera laughed.

Miles chuckled, leading her into the lobby and striding off to the narrow, isolated hallway along the far wall. The two of them walked down the confined hall until they arrived at the edge of a stairway, a set of concrete stairs leading down below, into a darker area, toward a rickety wooden door at the end.

Miles sighed disdainfully. “Well, here we go…”

He started down the stairs with Vera close behind, and when he pushed the door open, they suddenly found themselves in a drastically different type of environment.

Vera blinked twice, her eyes struggling to adjust to the sudden change as she looked around.

The Underground was yet another gigantic expanse of space, but it held no sense of elegance, simplicity, or comfortable atmosphere from another time. This place was dark with neon and multi-colored lights sweeping across the scene, booths off to the side, a bar directly across from them, and a few pool tables in between, several arcade games along the far wall and a small black stage set up in the corner, a karaoke machine on top of it and a jukebox right beside it. The corner across from the stage had a huge, rounded booth with an equally large table—the kind of booth Vera swore she’d seen in several LA movies, where criminals would do drugs and sit with their arms around prostitutes—and the walls were covered in light-up signs, posters, and autographs from all the Hollywood stars that had visited this place in the past. As of now, the Underground was completely empty, and the jukebox was playing a Slipknot song at a low volume, though Vera couldn’t imagine how explosive this place might be during the late hours, when all the partyers would arrive.

“Here we are,” Miles said tonelessly. “Our own little slice of nasty.”

Vera took slightly back, shooting him an odd look.

Miles blinked, then turned to her. “Did I say nasty? I meant… Hollywood.”

Vera choked out a laugh, and just then, the employee door behind the bar swiveled open, and a petite redhead strolled out, dressed in a studded leather jacket and holding a clipboard.

“Oh… hey,” the redhead said, spotting the two of them and giving Miles an intrigued little squint. “What’re you doing down here?”

“Dying slowly,” Miles uttered grimly, giving his environment a brief once-over. “But, I must endure… because I’m tasked with introducing Miss Nightingale to every avenue of her resort today. Including the staff.”

“Oooh, you’re Alex’s daughter!” the redhead beamed, tossing the clipboard aside and moving around the bar. “Nice to meet you! I’m Connie. I run everything down here.”

“Nice to meet you too,” Vera said.

“Up a bit early for running things down here, aren’t you?” Miles remarked.

“I have to take inventory , smart one,” Connie quipped in response. “Mike’s running the bar tonight, so I can actually sleep when nighttime happens. For once.”

“That must be quite an adjustment for a Hollywood vampire,” Miles said vacantly.

“Better than being you ,” Connie shot back snidely, turning and smirking at Vera. “Is he giving you any shit yet? Because if not, that’s literally a miracle.”

“Not any more than I give people,” Vera laughed with a shrug.

“Well, we’d love to stay and have our souls further drained by the Hell of the Nightingale… but we have to be going now,” Miles told the bartender.

“Yeah, okay… but hey,” Connie said, stepping behind the bar again and waving a finger at Vera. “You should definitely come by at night sometime. We have every kind of drink you can imagine, and more. It’s fun as hell down here.”

“Okay,” Vera replied, giving her a wave before following Miles out of the Underground.

When they both emerged from the narrow hallway, Miles took her to the working areas next, introducing her to the cleaning lady—Margret—who tended to the laundry and the plumbing throughout the Nightingale. They then visited the kitchen, where Vera was introduced to the head chef and his staff, the chef being a charismatic Italian man named Dino.

Once it was all done, and Vera was certain she’d seen everything that she needed to, she and her butler found themselves on the top floor again, entering the office and closing the doors.

Vera sighed, smiling and pondering on all the people she’d met today, wandering around the desk and mindlessly gliding her fingers atop Miles’s modified fireplace poker.

“I love this place,” she murmured. “And these people…”

Miles nodded, standing on the other side of the desk and placing his hands together before him.

Vera’s smile began to fade, as the happiness and refreshment she felt here put a festering, gnawing agitation in the pit of her stomach, which was something she’d unfortunately felt before.

“It’s too good,” she knew, raising her heat and meeting the butler’s eyes.

Miles perked his brow. “What is?”

“This,” Vera explained, gesturing to the office around her. “ All of this. It’s all just mine now. That’s too good to be true. There’s a catch somewhere. There’s gonna be some giant amount of work I have to do that I’m completely overlooking right now… or something…”

“Oh… I assure you, Madame, that’s not terribly likely,” Miles uttered with a laugh. “I was hired as Mr. Nightingale’s butler, but he later made me the Nightingale’s manager… and he also hired a financial manager, a legal advisor, and a handful of other people who saw to the tedious work for him. Believe me… much of the work that needs doing here is already taken care of.”

Vera stared down at the desk again, huffing out a breath and feeling unconvinced.

“Most of the time… when something really good happens… it turns out to be a trap, or a lie, or… just… not what you thought it was,” she mumbled, sighing and facing him again.

“Yes… that’s life,” Miles agreed. “But, I assure you… this place is simply yours now, and the way things are here, you won’t be overloaded by the work of maintaining it. Not at all.”

Vera gave him a long, skeptical stare, still feeling certain that something was amiss, something she couldn’t hope to pinpoint if she tried.

“I still feel like my father left me with a burden,” she muttered. “I know it’s not a burden… none of this is… but I still just feel that way. I feel like there’s gonna be some big awful catch to this whole thing…”

Miles nodded mildly, turning and walking toward the doors. “I understand. Well… I’ll be back soon with your lunch, Madame.”

He stepped out the doors, slowly pulled them shut, and remained there, standing alone in the hallway and gently pressing his back to the doors of the office, his expression seeming to deflate as he released a deep, grave sigh.

Miles glared into the floor for nearly a full minute before straightening up and marching off.