“Greg,” Peter said in his best Batman voice, gruff and overly grizzly like a mocking imitation of Greg’s own voice. He was wearing the helmet taken from Kuzco’s domain and standing over the sleeping mass of Van Helsing. “I made french toast.”

It was dark in the Mayhew’s guest house, and the black towel Peter wore around his shoulders like a fuzzy cape helped him blend into the shadows as he snuck in. Blood drained out of his body and into the helmet as it increased his speed and strength many times over. Peter knew he probably shouldn’t wear the helmet, but if he were to do so for a few minutes it was hardly the end of the world.

Greg took one look at Peter’s getup and rolled his eyes. “What time is it?”

“It isn’t the time we want,” Peter continued with his grizzled voice. “It’s the time we need. It’s time for french toast.”

Greg tapped at the mobile phone charging on his night stand. It was 5:33 in the morning. He and Peter had only returned from a contract an hour before. Just enough time to prepare an amazing breakfast, even by Peter Mayhew’s standards.

“You go eat french toast,” he groaned, rolling over in the bed to face away from Peter. He pulled the blanket over his shoulder and grunted angrily. “I need to sleep.”

“I could do that,” Peter replied, refusing to drop the Batman voice. “But then… who would watch my cat?”

Without warning, Omacatl jumped onto Greg’s chest, and then swelled to the size of a lion in an instant.

“I guess I could leave her here,” Peter intoned, though his hushed words may not have been heard by their intended recipient - as Greg was struggling and swearing under a thousand pounds of god cat.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

A few minutes later, Greg followed Peter into the Mayhew’s kitchen with a sour expression. Peter had taken off the helmet and had the thirsty, legendary artifact tucked under one arm. Omacatl, now her house cat size, trailed after them, a pep in her step after the uncalled for prank on Greg - who she seemed to both respect and loathe with equal measure. All three had to step over a snoring Flapjack, who had fallen asleep in front of the sliding door that led from the backyard into the kitchen.

Peter had gone all out for breakfast, preparing a hell of a spread in the hour Greg had spent trying and failing to fall asleep. There were heaping bowls of several kinds of berries and even one with homemade creme fresh. Three plates were set out near a still-steaming platter of french toast. Greg’s irritation seemed to melt as the rich smells of vanilla and delicious eggy bread within the kitchen attacked his grumpiness with reckless abandon. He never stood a chance.

“Coffee, too?” Greg asked hopefully, a plate already in his hands.

Peter’s flat expression was enough to answer that question. Of course there was coffee.

Renea entered the kitchen looking ready for another day at the office, her pressed stylish and professional clothes as perfectly in place as each hair on her head. Peter was wearing his stupid jacket and bleach stained sweatpants, and looked ridiculous. Greg found himself feeling comfortable in terms of dress code with his own black sweatpants and t-shirt on, somewhere between Renea’s perfection and Peter’s fashion disaster.

He didn’t see it lasting long. How could it? Greg had pushed everyone he’d ever met away eventually. Even his own brother, may he rest in pieces, could hardly stand him. Still, Greg Van Helsing decided to enjoy his time with the Mayhews. With his mouth stuffed with a blissful bite of french toast, he was off to a good start.

Here ends Book 1.

I’ll continue releasing some epilogue-type slice of life bits. And will begin releasing book 2 right here on the same ‘story’ in a week or two.

Can I ask you a favor before you go?

PLEASE RATE THE STORY <3

And participate in the title voting poll below. Feel free to comment your own suggestions!

Thanks for reading.

See you soon,

CRAIG