by Molly Harper
“We’re not her employees; we’re her partners,” Andrea objected.
“And I’m her husband. I’m not leaving her here with you,” Gabriel told him.
I took a long drink of the Deadly Digestion tea, hoping its mellow earthy taste would settle the roiling tension in my belly. Despite my obvious hippie leanings, I didn’t necessarily believe in karma. But I did like to picture the universe as a judgmental and slightly mean older sister that liked to teach me life lessons by sending me challenges or particularly poetic consequences. This was what happened when I blew up at people and treated them badly: the universe threw it back in my face like a boomerang made of situational irony.
After Arnie Frink forced vampires out into the figurative light, humans all over the world freaked out in unison. They bought vampire home defense kits involving silver spray and stakes. The price of silver hit the roof as humans discovered that vampires were highly allergic to it. It was the monster version of “reefer madness.”
Vampires are coming for your blood! They’re going to break into your house and steal your children and drain them dry! They’re lurking in the darkness and under your bed and in your crawl space! Nowhere is safe! Ignore the fact that you’ve lived next door to vampires for years and never even realized it! And they’re probably going to take our jobs!
The Council showed up at the United Nations office, asking the world’s governments to recognize them as people with citizenship and the basic human right not to be involuntarily turned into dust. In return, the Council would oversee vampire behavior and work to ensure the safety of humans who interacted with vampires. Basically, the Council protected the undead community’s image. To ensure the cooperation of their constituents, Council representatives were known to take swift, brutal measures. Sometimes that involved violent and anatomically specific punishments. Sometimes problem vampires disappeared. Other younger, troublesome vampires, like myself, were assigned to “foster” with more experienced vampires, to help us adjust to our undead afterlife.
Because a surprising number of vampires chose to live in small towns, the Council was allowed to establish smaller, regional offices in each state. Jane and Dick oversaw the western Kentucky branch and were known as fair, mostly reasonable leaders.
And I’d managed to antagonize the guy who was going to be scrutinizing their behavior.
Dang it.
“OK, OK, OK, everybody just calm down!” Jane shouted over the jumble of voices. “Dick, go lock the door. Andrea, please go print an apology for the cancellation of the Tuesday Night Tea Tasting and post it next to the CLOSED sign. Gabriel, go call Jimmy Mayhew, just in case I need him.”
“You think an eighty-year-old human lawyer is going to be useful here?” Gabriel asked.
“No, I’m just trying to give you something to do,” she said. “You’re practically vibrating with anxiety right now, and it’s hard for me to think. Meadow, honey, I’m sorry, we’re going to have to pick up the tea tasting when our schedule is a bit more…”
“Trying to come up with a nice way to say ‘tool free’?” I asked. Jane glanced toward Weston and gave a little head gesture that could be interpreted as a nod.
Weston’s dark blond brows rose. “Tea tasting?”
“Meadow owns a tea shop down the street,” Jane said. “We were holding a special event tonight for vampires who are interested in her special blends.”
Weston’s eyebrows stayed raised. “So a shop selling tea opens up next to your coffee shop and you take no measure to put her out of business? Do you understand the concept of market competition?”
“I thought it was better to cooperate and promote both shops. I don’t feel it’s necessary to put other people out of business so I can succeed. Also, I don’t know anything about tea other than you can’t ever make it in the microwave because apparently that’s a huge deal to some people.”
“It’s important to have standards!” I told Jane.
Weston took the little book from his pocket and scribbled something in it. I could only imagine that it said, “Note to self: continue to pretend you never had a soul.”
“Jane, that’s fine, really,” I said. “Would it help if I stuck around and testified on your behalf as one of your constituents?”
“I don’t think it would, but thanks,” Jane said, shaking her head.
“Why don’t we adjourn to the Council offices?” Weston asked. “To make this more official?”
“Why don’t we just start now?” Jane objected. “This is only the preliminary meeting, right? Believe it or not, I have read the operations manual Ophelia left for me. I’m aware that this will be a months-long process and this is the meeting to go over the concerns the Council has regarding my performance and to let me know which areas will be examined. Let’s just get it over with.”
“I would prefer to meet within Council facilities.”
“I have nothing to say that I can’t say in front of these people.” Jane crossed her arms over her purple Specialty Books T-shirt. “I have nothing to hide. And considering that, as of now, this is still my district, we’ll meet where I want.”
“And we wouldn’t leave anyway, so stop asking,” Andrea said, glowering at Weston.
“Is that how you normally handle your Council responsibilities? By committee?” Weston asked. “Everybody just does whatever they want?”
“Well, I do work with a guy named Dick Cheney. It takes a certain amount of flexibility.”
“You’re really not going to budge on this?” Weston asked, his brow lifted.
“Nope,” she said, popping the “p” sound like bubblegum.
It was all I could do to suppress the smile forming on my lips. I loved Jane. She was a former librarian with a frightening ability to recall information and shush noisy children and their parents at ten paces. She was an understated badass.
Jane climbed onto a bar stool, Dick taking the seat at her right. Weston had no choice but to sit at her left. Andrea busied herself making a couple of Jane’s favorite complicated coffee-blood concoctions. Gabriel, a tall vampire with longish dark hair, hovered at the end of the bar, alternately giving Weston poisonous scowls and looking like he wanted to scoop Jane up in his considerable arms and run out of the shop.
My vampire talent was pretty passive, which was fine with me. I already had enough “offensive skills,” what with the superstrength and the razor-sharp fangs. In layman’s terms, through a combination of smell and gut feelings, I could sense what was “wrong” with people—which sounded like a judgment, but honestly, it wasn’t. I preferred to think of it as seeing (and smelling) what they needed. I could sense if a human was sick and what area of the body was ailing them. Sometimes I could see what they needed to heal—something simple, like willow bark tea and a cold compress. It didn’t work with vampires because we didn’t get sick. Sometimes I could see more. If I spent enough time with a person, I could see what they needed in their soul—a new job if their current position was making them miserable, or a divorce if their spouse was making them miserable. (That was always an awkward conversation to have.) It wasn’t an exact science, like Jane’s ability to read minds, but it was an opportunity to help people. And I was grateful for it.
Well, right now, maybe “grateful” wasn’t the right word. Because the overwhelming mix of everybody’s emotions—the burning pepper scent of anger, the sharp vinegar of anxiety, the wet newspaper smell of dread—was making my head swim. It completely cleared Weston’s more appealing aroma, which helped me recover a little bit of my composure, but that little bit of poise was undone by the urge to throw up all over the counter.
I pinched my nose shut and counted to ten, trying to center myself. No one seemed to notice or remember that I served no real purpose there. So I filled another tea ball with what I secretly called the Calm Your Ass Down Blend for Gabriel. It contained enough spiny blood balm to take down a racehorse. And it smelled like lavender, which was nice.
Weston took out an ac
cordion binder chock-full of papers and spread several files out on the counter. “We’ve received complaints regarding your management of the district, along with Mr. Cheney’s. The Council’s state and national authorities are concerned that you and Mr. Cheney have not enforced the Council’s regulations for vampire behavior and public perception to their fullest extent.”
“I happen to believe in results over a strict adherence to policy,” Jane said, her smile paper-thin.
But Weston was unfazed by Jane and her complete lack of effs to give. He glanced at the paperwork in front of him. “The Council has noted that disciplinary notices from your district have increased by more than twenty-five percent since you took over as head representative.”
“I happen to think that vampires should be held accountable for their actions.”
“Is there a reason I’m not being asked anything?” Dick asked, raising his hand. “Usually I’m the one that gets questioned in these situations.”
Weston ignored him and turned back to Jane, continuing with his line of thought. “Even if it makes your district, the Council, and the vampire population in general look bad?”
“Yes, I happen to think that vampires should be held accountable for their actions,” Jane repeated dryly.
I watched Jane’s face carefully as I crossed the shop to hand Gabriel his tea. He shook his head and gently pushed the mug away. “I will force-feed you,” I whispered. “Or I will get the horse tranquilizers. I know where Jane keeps them.”
Gabriel grumbled softly and sipped the tea. He was polite enough not to make a “medicine face” as he swallowed. “So… herbal.”
I patted his shoulder while he bravely took another long pull from the cup.
“You believe that vampires should be held accountable for their actions, and yet, somehow, the punishments recorded range from picking up roadside litter to recording online apology videos while wearing novelty sunglasses.” Weston paused, as if he was waiting for the indignity of Jane’s forced apology videos to sink in.
I’d seen several of those apology videos. They were funny as hell.
“The more typical punishments—entombment, food denial, the classic coffin-full-of-bees-based corrections—seem to have been completely abandoned,” he added.
“I happen to think that vampires respond more quickly to public humiliation than the threat of torture,” Jane said. “We heal from torture—more quickly than humans, as a matter of fact. But a hundred thousand hits on a YouTube video of a vampire asking for forgiveness for biting a tourist without permission—while wearing oversized pineapple-shaped sunglasses? That kind of sting lasts for a while.”
“And you don’t feel that this is a backward and namby-pamby manner of instilling discipline in your district?”
“I’m not here to ‘instill discipline.’ Frankly, I undertake a lot of tasks I find unsavory because I’m here to keep people safe and try to improve relations between humans and vampires so we can all live together with some kind of peace. Do your precious numbers happen to tell you that human-on-vampire violence has dropped to almost nothing—which we’re attributing to programs like our human-vampire book club program at local libraries?” Jane asked. “And the apology videos.”
“And the block parties,” Dick added.
“Yes, the Meet Your Friendly Neighborhood Vampire block parties in the fall, which have been hugely popular,” Jane said, nodding to Dick. “We collected about six hundred of those dangerous vampire home defense kits and gave people Cold Stone Creamery gift cards in exchange—because ice cream never hurt anybody. Do your precious numbers show that the vampires who live in our district are paying taxes at unprecedented rates? Recycling? Participating in neighborhood watch programs? Volunteering at charities all over western Kentucky—without being forced to, by the way? Or how about the fact that most of our vampires are happy living here?”
“I’m assuming that you’ve taken some sort of poll scientifically measuring their happiness?”
For the first time, Jane’s expression showed her annoyance with Weston’s questions. She pinched her lips together for several seconds before finally admitting, “No.”
“Then, no, our ‘precious numbers’ wouldn’t show that. They do, however, show that you’ve hired an increasing number of humans for open positions within the Half-Moon Hollow Council office.”
“Well, I just hire the best candidate for the job who’s willing to work the night hours. Sometimes that person is human. I can’t hire someone just because they’re a vampire. That’s… racist? Deadist?” Jane said, frowning. “No, that can’t be right.”
“Live-ist?” Dick guessed. “It’s not OK, no matter what.”
“It flies directly in the face of the Council mission of providing jobs for vampires who need work,” Weston said.
“I have not seen that mission statement written anywhere,” Jane countered. “And the apology videos.”
“It’s more of an… unwritten mission statement,” Weston said. “You should just know that you’re not supposed to hire humans to work in the undead shadow government agency, allowing them access to our secrets and proprietary information. Not to mention the liability of potential injury if a vampire loses control of his or her bloodthirst.”
“OK, he might have a good point about the injuries,” Jane muttered, only to have Dick elbow her in the side.
“And while we’re talking about your office management practices, the accounting staff couldn’t help but notice a marked increase in spending on office supplies and paper?”
“Well, yes, because we’re actually documenting all those ‘punishments’ that were being left unreported before,” Jane shot back. “I tried to persuade the national office to accept digital forms. I even had one of my intern programmers design a prototype for an online reporting system, but I was told that the Council preferred to fill a subterranean space the size of a football field with drawer upon drawer of paperwork. Apparently, the Council doesn’t care about saving trees.”
I cleared my throat, suddenly uncomfortable. As much as I loved trees, the Council’s need to save a hard copy of every document that passed through its doors kept me in a job as an assistant archivist—a moral dilemma I hoped to resolve by making my shop my full-time occupation. I noted that Jane did not mention that I worked as an assistant archivist. Given Weston’s hostile reaction to my presence, both here and on Earth in general, I supposed I couldn’t blame her.
Weston frowned and checked his notes. “You started a Free Blood Friday program for employees?”
“It’s a morale booster,” Jane insisted. “It makes our vampire employees feel appreciated. We already had Sammy running the coffee bar, so I figured we would just give people their favorite drinks for free at the end of the week. Meadow here also brings her tea cart for the people who want to remain uncaffeinated.”
“And then you added Free Bagel Fridays?” he asked.
Jane shrugged. “Well, we don’t want to make the human employees feel bad just because they don’t drink blood.”
“And who pays for the blood and the coffee and bagels?” Weston asked. He glanced at me. “And the tea?”
“I do,” Jane said, her brows furrowing. “I buy from Vern’s Bakery, down the street from the office. It’s important to support local businesses.”
“I see. So you take the money that the Council pays you and use it to fund bribes for your staff? Are you that desperate for the approval of your underlings?”
“The Council doesn’t pay me.” Jane scoffed.
“You mean you work hours upon hours, doing tasks you find unsavory, for free?” he said, lifting his brow. “You’re a volunteer?”
Jane nodded. “Yes, I’m not about to take the Council’s dirty blood money. I took this job because I figured it was the best way to protect the people in my hometown from the evil machinations of the Council—no offense—as it tends to make decisions without considering, well, people. And if I have to treat people with kindnes
s and consideration while I’m trying to accomplish that—well, excuse the hell out of me.”
“I take the money,” Dick told Weston. “Ethics are nice, but we have bills to pay.”
Andrea nodded, but then frowned. “Wait… Is that how you fund your T-shirt habit?”
“I’m sorry,” Weston said, sounding sincerely apologetic for the first time since I’d met him. “My research doesn’t reflect your refusing a salary.”
“Well, I did,” Jane said. “But knowing the Council, they’re using me as a ghost line item to hide paying for something terrible.”
“You seem to hold a lot of contempt for the Council, Ms. Jameson-Nightengale.”
“Contempt? No. Distrust? Sure. Alarm? Absolutely. Occasionally wake from nightmares of an apocalyptic hellscape where the Council has taken over and turned the human population into juice boxes—”
“Jane, darling, stop helping yourself,” Gabriel called, handing me his mug. “Another, please, Meadow.”
“What is your qualification to review my procedures in the first place?” Jane asked Weston.
For a few seconds, I watched Weston process the fact that Jane was questioning his authority. The factory workers that built this guy must have been very proud of the “impassive and arrogant” mode they’d installed on his face.
“In layman’s terms, I’m an efficiency expert,” he drawled. “I have multiple degrees in corporate management and industrial psychology.”
I snorted. “Of course you do.”
Every eye in the room turned to me. If I could have blushed, I would have.
“I’d say I’m sorry, but you wouldn’t believe me,” I said, shrugging.
Dick nodded and winked at me. “That’s why you’re my new favorite, Hippy-Dippy.”
“So what happens now?” Jane asked, nudging Dick with her elbow.
“Ms. Jameson-Nightengale—”
“OK, that is going to get annoying,” Jane grumbled, her lips pinching shut again.
“I have reviewed more than one hundred Council offices worldwide over the last fifty years,” he said, sliding his paperwork back into his laptop bag. “I have a system. After this interview, I will establish a work space at your office to observe your management techniques. I will speak to your subordinates and a random sampling of your constituents. I will arrange for a series of scenarios testing your response to emergencies and situations that require quick decision-making skills. And when I feel I have gathered enough data, I will submit a report to Council headquarters.”