It was raining again but Renea Mayhew had never feared a bit of water. As she did every Wednesday morning, Renea took the garbage from its place next to the garage out to the curb. As he did every Wednesday morning, Flapjack followed her each step of the way. The old boy had always been Peter’s dog but Renea always felt loved when he made the effort to get up and follow her to the curb, keeping her safe from the many dangers of their affluent community - what if there was a rogue bunny?

Garbage in place, Renea made to head back to the house but did a double-take at the container’s contents. Right there on top of the wet black garbage bags there were about a dozen smoke detectors. Renea’s lips pressed tightly together.

Greg Van gods damned Helsing…

Knock. Nothing. Knock knock knock. Still nothing.

Renea was standing outside the guest house where the big, smelly, cantankerous man that Peter brought home one day like a stray puppy was now living. It was still in the early hours of morning, the sun still hiding behind the mountains to the east. Greg was probably still sleeping. Renea found that the idea of waking him did not bother her in the slightest. She pounded the door even louder.

Knock knock knock knock knock. And again. Finally, the door opened.

Greg Van Helsing’s eyes were opening and closing slowly, looking like they were trying desperately to comprehend what they were seeing. He needed a shave, thick black stubble covering his scarred jawline. When he realized who came knocking on his door, Greg’s brows drew together. Not who he’d been expecting, it seemed.

“Did you throw away the smoke detectors in the guest house?” she asked, already knowing the answer well.

“I did,” he said, face empty of guilt.

Renea waited. “Why?” she asked after a moment.

“Every time I do crafting work they all go off at once. It’s loud and annoying. I don’t need smoke detectors, Mrs. Mayhew. I have a pretty strong sense of smell, I am a smoke detector.”

Renea pressed her index finger and thumb into the bridge of her nose. “And the carbon monoxide detector? Does that interfere with your crafting too?”

“Not anymore. It went before the smoke detectors.”

Renea was getting a headache. This was not how she wanted to start her day. “Greg, you are a liability. A big, ugly, freeloading liability.”

Without another word, Renea turned and stomped off through the rain. Flapjack shot Greg an annoyed yip in support before shuffling after her. Together, they entered the sliding door into the kitchen. Renea prepared the coffee maker and then left to put her face on while it brewed.

She stood in front of the bathroom mirror considering how much time she was willing to put into her war paint this morning. Some days Renea liked making that extra effort to feel pretty. Today was not one of those days. Today, she wanted to let a tiny bit of her inner goth out of its professional shell. She rummaged through her makeup, finding what she was looking for buried deep. She applied a thick layer of black eyeliner, and then thickened it with another layer. Appraising herself, Renea nodded in approval and then applied her rarely used matte black lip paint.

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Now adequately decorated and fit to go into the office, Renea made her way back into the kitchen for her coffee. The mug she used varied from day to day based on her mood. The mug she plucked from the decorative tree that held her mugs on the counter today was one of her favorites. It was a simple white mug with a cartoon shark on it. Its teeth had bits of human limbs stuck in them.

She wasn’t going to get through to Greg. Not with a direct approach. Renea would have to talk to Peter and get him to work his Peter magic on the freeloader. Still, she’d get Greg back with some petty revenge at some point. As she had that thought, a very sleepy Peter Mayhew stumbled into the kitchen with the cat draped over his shoulders.

“Morning, sunshine.”

“We need to talk,” Renea said shortly.

Peter cocked his head. He looked her over, noticing the eyeliner and lipstick before his eyes moved to her coffee mug. It was then that the realization hit him, and his eyes widened.

“Crap,” he said, pulling a mug with a picture of Flapjack on it from the cabinet and filling it with steaming coffee from the pot. “Is this about those pictures Roma sent me? I was going to explain those. It’s not anything…”

“I agreed that Greg could stay…” Renea began before Peter finished speaking but paused, frowning. “What?”

“Nothing,” Peter said innocently. The god cat on his shoulders meowed plaintively. “...that Greg could stay? Go on.”

“What pictures?”

“Roma sent me some pictures of the girl that went missing. Greg and I are investigating. They weren’t meant to be provocative or anything. I guess she just always dresses like that.”

“Like what?”

“Use your imagination, love. I wish I could. I’ve already seen them. Now I can’t forget. Let’s just say her outfits feature significantly more skin than fabric.”

Renea glanced at her watch. She didn’t have time for this. Today was not going the way she needed it to. Dan at the Vancouver clinic texted her that he wouldn’t be returning to work. Ever. He’d been one of two receptionists at the clinic and the other, Anna, called out sick today. Again. Renea would be taking calls for the clinic, accepting payments and scheduling appointments all day in addition to her other responsibilities. She would pawn the phones off on Myles, but she already had him onboarding two new employees this week. Like so many things in both her personal and professional life, taking calls for the Vancouver clinic was something Renea Mayhew would have to take care of herself.

“Listen, we’ll discuss these provocative pictures the sexy vampire sent you later. Back to Greg. As you know, I’m fine with him staying in the guest house. Just like we agreed. I am not fine with him treating it like it’s his house. If it were his house then taking down all of the fire alarms would only affect him. Fire alarms that go off when he crafts things, by the way. What is he,” Renea air quoted the next word, “‘crafting’ in there? Meth? Bombs? What kind of crafts project makes all of the smoke detectors in the whole place go off?”

Peter sat down, his expression puzzled. “I think he makes a lot of his monster hunting gear on his own. A lot of that stuff does blow up, so maybe bombs. What do you want me to do? I can tell him to do his crafting somewhere else. Maybe the garage? Or just somewhere that isn’t on our property? You tell me what you want, I’ll make it happen.”

“No,” Renea said, staring into the blackness of her coffee and making correlations to her mood. She’d been wrong about pawning off the task on Peter. Taking direct action personally was the only way to get results in this situation. “I’ll take care of it. Tell Greg he’s going to need to sign a lease agreement. I’ll write up a list of our expectations as his landlords and email it to him before noon today.”

Peter sipped his coffee and winced. He did not handle piping hot fresh coffee well, never had. Renea loved it that way.

“I’ll tell him. Sorry, love. I didn’t know he did that.”

“It’s fine,” Renea said, but it was not fine.

Greg Van Helsing was a menace.

He was formidable, certainly, but he was no match for Renea Mayhew. If he was going to live in their guest house, he would treat it and the Mayhews with the respect they deserved.