Seeing Storm with her head buried in a book and the kitten following closely behind her every step was a common occurrence as of late. The kitten was more watchful and attentive than Damien had ever been, and kept the girl company at all times--something that Damien could not do. Especially not during the day--even though the kitten almost seemed to sleep as much as the vampire during the day. At night, the little terror would scamper around chasing things unseen (or Delilah) throughout the house. If Damien entered the room and interrupted him whenever he was spending time with Storm, he would hiss and glare until the vampire--or Storm--left the room. The girl, of course, thought the creature was adorable. Simply a delight.
Now, the two were in the kitchen together, both enwrapped in their own worlds. Storm was between being occupied with boiling water for tea and reading The Vampire Lestat; and the kitten was busy with making sure that her feet did not go for a second without being intensely watched or curiously played with. It took the girl a few days to grow accustomed to the quirky behavior of the animal, and it was never annoying for her. Only Damien seemed to be unimpressed, uninterested or annoyed with the kitten’s antics. But he was a jerk anyway, and Storm had made sure the kitten knew that. Not that she needed to tell him anything. He seemed to know exactly what kind of a person Damien was from the first day they met in the pet store last week.
It had been a quiet week after moving into the new house. No unnecessarily nasty nightmares had occurred--though she had only slept once--since that first night. Still, it was too early for Storm to assume wonder whether they had actually escaped from anything at all. There was never an escape from him.
But that wasn’t exactly what Storm was thinking about this second.
Lestat had just met Akasha, just had his violin crushed. And she was letting him bite her, take her blood. Her blood “penetrating every pulsing particle” of him with “threads of its burning web”. And then she was taking his, an unbreakable circuit, senses singing, mouths open and that rhythmic drawing in unison. Suddenly the brake, Enkil. Everything—the connection—destroyed. That horror, that despair that filled Lestat was absorbed by Storm. To think that in a week she had gone through the entirety of The Interview With a Vampire, hating Lestat, to falling in love with him in his version of the story.
She had left the cap off the kettle purposely so it would not scream when the water was ready. She figured that she had made enough noise without making tea. The girl had to stand on her tip-toes to reach the coffee mugs on one of the higher shelves of the cupboard. The cupboards had been stocked with all the basic necessities any normal eating person would need. Even the pantry had at least flour, sugar, salt, and miscellaneous spices; canned peaches, pasta, canned soup and whatever else Storm thought she might eat. The contents of the refrigerator were sparse except for apples, ice cream, blood, juice and a condiment here and there. But she wasn’t really picky when it came to food, so really it was just perfect. Without looking up much from the book, she reached for one, realizing offhandedly only afterwards that she could have just used telepathy.
Once Storm noticed the steam streaming violently up from the spout, she poured the boiling water into one of the plain white mugs that she had retrieved. After placing the teapot back on the stove, she walked into the living room with the can trailing behind her. Storm carefully balanced the cupful of steeping tea while navigating around the house using only her peripheral vision. When she had reached the living room, she placed the cup onto the table and for the next half hour, sat unmoving with the cat in her lap, who received the occasional affectionate pat or scratch behind the ear.
