At first I stupidly thought it was my father harassing me, until I looked closer at the number and no. Not him. Those who’ve been reading my journal know that it’s my boss, ‘cause who else would call me at this ungodly hour and think that I have no life whatsoever except to serve his every whim and need? Really, take my advice and never work for an immortal. They have no respect whatsoever for those of us with finite lives.

5:30 in the morning, there he is. Calling to tell me that he’s just killed off a bunch of undead people (okay, vampires, but I really hate to use that word ‘cause it draws out all sorts of lunatic weirdos who want to know how they, too, can become vampires and where to find the ones I know, which wouldn’t do anything but get you killed, but back to my original thought) and that I need to pick him up since it’s about to be dawn and he can’t make it home before the sun turns him into grilled toast. You know this isn’t the way to motivate me, since a grilled toast boss = one happy Dark Angel.

Now here’s where I tirade against the fact that if he were just a regular shapeshifter, I wouldn’t have to go get him. He’d be able to get home without help. He could just teleport himself into the house, but back when he made the bargain to become immortal, that ability was taken from him, along with the one that allows him to travel through time and the ability to walk as a man in daylight. And why was this taken from him? One reason. To make my life a living hell of servitude, that’s why.

Oh, and I have to bring him clothes since he’ll most likely be in cat form at Pike’s Market, which is the only way he can be in daylight and not be a crispy critter (really). So when he switches back into human form he’ll be naked and will need clothing—yes, for those with gutter-bent minds, he’s a buff god in theory, but since I’ve known him all my life it’s like seeing your brother naked—can we say “ew”?!