"Wow. That's serious incompetence. I wonder if some people just can't? It would suck if I were someone who just couldn't," muses Bella.
"I suspect the fault lies somewhere between mindset and methods, but I have not made a concerted study of the matter."
"The example that stands out the most has switched bodies with her daughter, without the daughter's consent," he says mildly. "I would not go to her for occult instruction if I were you."
"Ah. No, that doesn't sound like a good teacher. Why did she do that? Just to be younger?"
"I want to fix that but without knowing any magic I don't have the first idea what I'd do. Dammit."
She pulls over at the next neighborhood and begins laying her traps.
Nor, in fact, are they attacked on any of the remaining neighborhood-crossing nights.
When he arrives for his blood on the subsequent evening, Bella says: "I think practicing martial arts in the backyard would attract neighborly attention if we make a habit of it, and it'd disconcert Charlie. Have you got a better idea?"
"Well, there's this charming crypt I've been staying in recently," he says. "It's quite comfortable if you don't mind the cobwebs."
"I'll fetch a featherduster, shall I?" Bella says dryly.
She must, apparently. "Walking distance?" she asks when she's emerged with the implement tucked into her messenger bag with everything else she carries on nighttime excursions.
"All right then, lead the way. Slayer's First Crypt. Should be a pop-up book."
Off they go!
The crypt proves to be a little less cobwebby than advertised, but not by much. It has a ground level with a prominent, currently empty stone coffin, and a below-ground level with a mattress, a blanket, a kettle, a box of tea, and a lot of empty space.
"Why is a crypt wired for electricity?" Bella asks, eyeing the kettle and the lights while attacking the cobwebs surrounding the largest open space that will suit for combat practice.
"I don't know, but I do know I am not its first ambulatory occupant," he says. "Perhaps the previous one could answer that question, if they are not a pile of dust by now."
"Did you have to evict them or was it unoccupied when you found it?" Dust dust dust. Her duster is getting quite repulsive; she peels off a layer of spiderweb and chucks it into a corner where at least it will be out of the way and makes another pass.
"Less pleasant to carry all this way," she says. "I think I've interrupted local vampire reproduction sufficiently that a broom's potential value as an impromptu stake is not a significant factor." She deems the second pass sufficient, cleans off her duster again, and says, "So. Where do we start?"