Chapter 3: Table Read
The vampires slept during the day.
I knew this. Everyone who'd seen even a single episode knew this. But knowing it and experiencing it were different things. The house changed when the sun came up — the same cluttered rooms, the same accumulated centuries of stuff, but empty now. Silent in a way that made my footsteps echo.
I spent the daylight hours reading the system documentation. All of it. The abilities, the progression paths, the currencies and costs. By the time the sun started to set, I had a working understanding of what I was dealing with.
A television show. My life was literally a television show, with an invisible audience that wanted drama, comedy, romance, and danger. The system would reward me for providing those things and punish me for being boring. Every choice was content. Every interaction was a scene.
It should have felt manipulative. Maybe it did, a little. But mostly it felt familiar. Production work was the same — you served an audience, you kept the show running, you solved problems as they appeared. The only difference was that now I was the show.
Dusk brought movement. Coffin lids creaking open upstairs. The house waking up, if that was the right word for creatures who had been dead for centuries.
I was in the kitchen when Guillermo found me.
"What are you doing?"
"Inventory." I held up a clipboard I'd found in the supply closet. "Blood delivery schedules, household supplies, maintenance needs. You want to know what's broken in this house?"
He looked at me like I'd grown a second head.
"What's broken?"
"Everything. The doorbell doesn't work. The third stair on the main staircase is rotting. The refrigerator in the basement is running fifteen degrees too warm, which is going to be a problem if anyone's storing blood there. The fancy room chandelier has six burned-out bulbs, and the wiring looks like it was installed during the Taft administration." I checked my list. "Also, there's something living in the walls near the parlor. It might be rats. It might not be rats. I don't have enough information yet."
Guillermo stared at me.
"You did all this today?"
"I couldn't sleep." True. New body, new world, possible execution if I failed to impress — sleep had not been a priority. "Figured I might as well be useful."
He took the clipboard. Read through my notes. His expression shifted through several phases again, but this time they landed somewhere closer to grudging respect than territorial suspicion.
"The refrigerator thing," he said. "That's actually important."
"I know. The blood delivery comes tomorrow night. If the storage isn't working, that's a whole thing."
"It's a whole thing," he agreed.
[+6 VEP: ALLY PROGRESS]
We spent the next hour working through the list together. Not friendly, exactly — Guillermo was too suspicious for friendly — but collaborative. He knew the house better than anyone, knew which problems were chronic and which were new, knew which complaints would get traction with the vampires and which would be ignored.
"The chandelier," he said. "That's Nadja's thing. She'll care about that."
"The stair is a safety hazard."
"Nandor doesn't use the stairs. He floats."
"What about guests?"
Guillermo shrugged. "We don't have a lot of guests."
Point taken.
The vampires emerged from their sleeping quarters as the clock ticked toward full dark. Nandor descended first, cape once again trailing dramatically. Nadja followed with the kind of energy that suggested she had places to be.
"Guillermo!" Nandor's voice carried through the house. "I require my evening cape! The one with the gold threading!"
"Coming, master." Guillermo set down the clipboard. "Evening duties. You should—"
"I'll stay out of the way."
"Yes. Do that."
He left. I stayed in the kitchen, continuing my inventory, staying visible but not intrusive.
It was Laszlo who found me next. He wandered in with the aimless energy of someone who had no particular destination in mind and all of eternity to not reach it.
"Ah," he said. "The new one. Still alive, I see."
"So far."
"Good, good." He examined the kitchen with the detached interest of someone who hadn't eaten solid food in centuries. "Are you making something? I don't eat food, obviously, but I do enjoy watching the process. Very primal. Very human."
"I was checking the blood storage temperature."
"Ah." His interest dimmed slightly. "That's less entertaining."
"I could check the wine cellar next," I offered. "I saw something labeled 1847 on one of the racks."
His interest returned. "The Bordeaux? It's probably vinegar by now, but it has tremendous sentimental value. I killed the vineyard owner personally."
"Would you like me to check on it?"
"I would, actually. Yes."
[+4 VEP: RELATIONSHIP BUILDING]
The wine cellar was exactly as dusty as expected. Laszlo supervised my inspection with increasing enthusiasm, telling stories about the provenance of various bottles — most of which involved murder, seduction, or both.
"This one," he said, pointing to a bottle covered in cobwebs, "was from a monastery in Provence. The monks made exceptional wine. Terrible conversationalists, though. Very focused on their faith."
"Did you—"
"Kill them? Oh, absolutely. But I took their wine first. Priorities."
I catalogued the bottles while Laszlo talked. The system tracked VEP gains in small increments — comedy moments, relationship building, historical exposition. Not a lot individually, but it added up.
When I emerged from the cellar, the household had shifted into evening mode. Nadja was in the fancy room, studying what appeared to be financial documents with an expression of deep displeasure. Nandor had disappeared somewhere — hunting, probably, or terrorizing the neighbors. Guillermo moved through the house like a shadow, handling the thousand small tasks that kept the operation running.
I found Baby Colin in the basement.
I'd read about Colin Robinson's death and rebirth in the wiki articles I'd consumed during my previous life. Knew he'd emerged as an infant with ancient eyes, growing slowly back toward his adult form. But reading about it and seeing it were different things.
The nursery Laszlo had set up was surprisingly tender. Small coffin-crib. Children's books arranged on shelves. Soft lighting that didn't fit the rest of the house's aggressive neglect.
Baby Colin sat in the crib, looking at nothing in particular. When I entered, his eyes — old eyes, wrong eyes in a baby's face — tracked toward me with an intelligence that made my spine tighten.
"Hi," I said.
Baby Colin didn't respond. Of course he didn't. He was developmentally somewhere around six months, whatever that meant for an energy vampire's rebirth cycle.
But he watched me.
[FAMILIAR FEATURE PING: POTENTIAL CAST MEMBER DETECTED]
The system notification made me pause. Cast member. The documentary framing extended to everyone, not just me. Baby Colin had "entertainment value" that the system was tracking, measuring, calculating.
I filed that information away and retreated.
The crisis arrived around 10 PM.
Nadja had decided to cook.
I heard about it before I saw it — the sounds of clattering pans, aggressive Greek cursing, and something that might have been a fire alarm if the fire alarm still worked. By the time I reached the kitchen, smoke was pouring from the oven and Nadja was glaring at a lamb roast like it had personally betrayed her.
"What is wrong with this creature?" she demanded. "I have cooked for centuries! I am an excellent cook!"
"When did you last use an oven?" I asked.
"I don't see what that has to do with—" She stopped. Considered. "1847?"
"Things have changed since 1847."
The lamb was not salvageable. The oven was questionable. But the ingredients Nadja had assembled — olive oil, herbs, garlic, lemon — those were fine.
"May I?" I gestured toward the cutting board.
Nadja stepped back with the air of someone granting a subordinate permission to embarrass themselves.
I worked fast. Production catering had taught me to make decent food under terrible conditions with limited time. This was better than most location shoots — actual fresh ingredients, a functional stovetop, and no director screaming about the schedule.
Twenty minutes later, I plated a reasonable approximation of lamb with roasted vegetables and a quick herb sauce.
Nadja tasted it.
Her expression shifted from skepticism to surprise to something that might have been approval.
"This is edible," she announced.
"Thank you?"
"I have had worse in actual restaurants. This is acceptable." She looked at me with new calculation. "You can cook."
"I can cook."
"Interesting." She took another bite. "You may stay."
[+18 VEP: DOMESTIC COMEDY / RELATIONSHIP MILESTONE]
Laszlo appeared, drawn by the smell of food he couldn't eat. He tasted everything anyway, declared it "serviceable," and ate three portions because apparently vampire digestion worked on different rules than human biology.
"A familiar of some modest value," he announced between bites. "Guillermo cannot cook. Did you know that, Nadja? Guillermo cannot cook at all."
"I was aware," Nadja said dryly.
"All those years, and not once did he make us a proper meal. This one is here five minutes and produces actual food."
"It's not a competition," I said, but I caught Guillermo's expression from the doorway. It was definitely a competition, at least in his eyes.
The evening continued. Small tasks, small wins. I fixed three lightbulbs in the chandelier, which made Nadja visibly pleased. I identified the staircase problem and sourced a repair estimate, which interested no one but went into my growing file anyway. I catalogued the wine cellar properly, which made Laszlo almost friendly.
Mostly, I watched.
The way Nandor treated Guillermo — dismissive but dependent, taking for granted eleven years of faithful service. The way Guillermo accepted it, or seemed to, while hiding arsenal components behind false panels. The way Nadja and Laszlo orbited each other with the comfortable gravity of centuries together. The way Baby Colin watched everything with eyes that had seen thousands of years and remembered none of it yet.
The system tracked my progress in VEP ticks. 82. 88. 94.
At 3 AM, I found myself at the kitchen sink, washing dishes from Laszlo's third helping.
The house was quiet. The vampires had scattered to their evening activities — hunting, probably, or harassing neighbors, or whatever immortal creatures did with unlimited time and limited imagination.
I scrubbed a plate and realized I was humming.
First genuine laugh since I died.
The thought arrived without warning. Laszlo's enthusiasm over the lamb. Nadja's reluctant approval. The absurdity of standing in a vampire's kitchen at 3 AM, scrubbing dishes like this was a normal life.
It wasn't. None of this was normal. I was dead. I was possessing someone else's body. I was surrounded by creatures that could kill me without effort.
And I was humming.
[+15 VEP: AUTHENTIC EMOTIONAL MOMENT]
"Where did you learn to cook?"
Guillermo's voice came from the doorway. I hadn't heard him approach, which was either impressive on his part or concerning about my awareness.
"Production work," I said without turning around. "Long hours, bad craft services, learn to improvise or starve."
"That doesn't explain how good you are."
I set down the plate. Turned.
Guillermo stood with his arms crossed, watching me with the same assessment I'd seen at the front door. Trying to figure out the angle. Trying to see what I was hiding.
"My mother cooked," I said. "When I was young. She believed food was love, that feeding people was the most honest thing you could do. She taught me before she—" I stopped. The words had come automatically, and I wasn't sure if they were mine or the body's or something the system had supplied. "Before."
"Before what?"
"Before things changed."
He didn't push. We stood in the kitchen, two familiars in a house full of monsters, and the silence stretched between us like a wire.
"You're very good at this," he said finally.
"At what?"
"Being useful. Being likeable. Making people trust you." His eyes narrowed. "It's suspicious."
"Is it?" I dried my hands on a towel. "Or is it just competence?"
"Nobody is this competent without an agenda."
He wasn't wrong. My agenda was survival, which felt like a reasonable goal under the circumstances. But I couldn't say that without opening questions I wasn't ready to answer.
"I was on death row this morning," I said. "Whatever my agenda is, it starts with not going back there."
[+8 VEP: CHARACTER CONFLICT]
Guillermo held my gaze for a long moment. Then he nodded, once, and left.
I finished the dishes. Dried everything. Put it away in cabinets I'd organized during the day while the vampires slept.
The HUD showed VEP at 101/100. Overflow. I'd generated more engagement than my capacity allowed.
A system notification appeared:
[EPISODE COMPLETE: "Table Read" — Performance Rating: 7.2/10. Reward: +2 Stat Points. Overflow VEP Lost: 1.]
[SEASON 1, EPISODE 2 BEGINS.]
I watched the numbers settle. Then I walked back to my supply closet, lay down on the cot, and stared at the ceiling.
Somewhere above me, ancient creatures moved through a world I'd only known as fiction. Tomorrow, I would continue making myself indispensable. Tomorrow, I would figure out whose body I was wearing. Tomorrow, I would navigate a household full of secrets, including my own.
Tonight, I would rest.
The HUD glowed softly in the dark. VEP: 100/100. Full capacity, ready for whatever came next.
My hands had stopped shaking. I looked at them — still someone else's hands, still unfamiliar — but steadier now. More mine.
"Note to self," I said to the invisible camera. "This is actually happening. This is real."
[+4 VEP: CONFESSIONAL MOMENT]
I closed my eyes.
In the morning, Guillermo would assign me duties. In the evening, vampires would wake. In between, I would survive. And somewhere in all of that, I would figure out who I used to be.
The cot springs creaked. The bare bulb flickered once, twice, then steadied.
And in the doorway, a shadow paused.
Guillermo stood there, arms crossed, watching me. His expression was unreadable.
"Where did you learn to cook?" he asked again, quieter this time.
"I told you. Production work."
"That's not what I'm asking."
He stepped into the room. Closer than he'd been before.
"What are you really doing here?"
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