by Molly Harper
“I really hate it when she makes good points,” Jane muttered.
I noticed that in all this discussion, Luke stayed quiet. It had to be awkward for him, as he had no connections at the Council besides me and was being left out of the conversation pretty thoroughly. I would find a way to change the subject as quickly as possible.
“Peter Crown did seem to hate me from the night we met,” Jane said.
“No, he’s like that with everyone,” Ophelia said. “Which is why he would absolutely overturn nearly every decision you’ve made since taking office. No more recycling or block parties. In fact, over the past few years, Peter has been making noises, meeting with the richer, older vampires in the district, talking about the ‘good old days’ when vampires had nothing to do with humans beyond a good feeding. So if he gets appointed, say good-bye to the human employees, the community outreach, the benevolent but humiliating punishments.”
“How did I not know about this?” Jane asked.
“Peter is much more politically savvy than you are,” Ophelia told Jane. “He knows how to keep his cards close to the vest.”
A cold ball of dread slipped into my belly like weighted ice. I did not want a vampire like Peter Crown in charge of my fate. I took a sip of tea just to warm myself up. My first instinct was an electric scream along my nerve endings to run, to get as far away from Half-Moon Hollow as possible so Crown couldn’t find me. But I couldn’t do that. Running would only make Jane look worse, like she wasn’t in control of her district. And I would only cause more trouble for myself when the Council eventually caught up with me. I would stay and do all I could to help Jane and Dick stay in office.
“Wait, Peter asked to go to part-time a while back. Something about wanting to spend time with his loved ones?” Jane said. “I didn’t question it at the time, but I don’t think he has any loved ones.”
“Actually, I think he was dating my former mother-in-law, Marge, when he went to part-time,” Libby said, while she and Wade both shuddered. “But they had a pretty nasty breakup. I mean, leaving boxes of personal items on each other’s porches and changing their Facebook statuses and everything. Marge hinted that the breakup was due to—and, good Lord, I am going to need so much alcohol after I say this—sexual incompatibility.”
The room went quiet for a moment. And very, very awkward.
“Everybody’s picturing it now, aren’t they?” Libby said.
Collectively, we nodded and shook off the visuals.
Dick grumbled, “So what do we do, set up some sort of Dateline sting to try to get Peter to admit that he’s out to get us?”
“What good would that do?” Jane asked. “It’s hardly against Council policy to sabotage other Council employees. It’s practically expected. All we can do is keep an eye out and hope for the best.”
“I can’t believe I lost my job to you do-gooders.” Ophelia sighed, only to have Jamie nudge her. She didn’t apologize.
“So we have a vampire who was already sort of disgruntled because he didn’t get my job, and then Libby’s ex-mother-in-law basically took away his reason to be nice to vampires or humans,” Dick said, chewing his bottom lip. “And it’s possible he’s gunning for our jobs.”
“So, really, a pretty typical spring for us,” Jane said. “One of these days, I’m hoping for a nice, quiet year where no one is plotting against us.”
“You would be so bored,” Andrea told her.
“All right, all right, this is supposed to be a celebration for Meadow, and I think we’re letting her down. Let’s get this party back on track,” Gabriel said, opening a bottle of very nice imported donor blood. “Time for a birthday toast.”
“Does everybody want blood? I could make some tea!” I offered.
“Is that one of your teas?” Collin asked, eyeing the untouched mug on the counter.
I nodded. “Yes.”
Collin pursed his lips. “I’ll stick with the blood.”
5
You will do things you regret. That’s part of life, no matter your path. The important thing is that you own up to them and resist the immediate urge to hide the bodies.
—Peace, Blood, and Understanding: A Living Guide for Vampires Embracing Pacifism
I was walking on a cloud for days after the impromptu celebration. I would be grateful to Jane for years to come for giving me my first positive birthday in decades. It was just so nice to know that people cared about me and that I was part of the vampire community here in the Hollow.
I was so happy, I even hummed along to the somewhat awful elevator music version of “Uptown Funk,” which was, surprisingly enough, still pretty catchy. I hummed as the elevator released me into the archive to file that week’s reports on newborn vampires. But as I turned into the “foster sire” section, I stopped midstep.
Something was wrong. The hairs rose on the back of my neck, and my fangs slid into place. Someone was here in the stacks. I could feel a vampire’s energy intruding on what was supposed to be dead space.
I crept down the westmost aisle—home damage reimbursements—seeking out the source of that interfering energy signature. I stopped every few steps to try to sense whether that person had moved. It seemed odd to assume that someone might intend to do me harm, but honestly, why else would anybody come down to the archive? No one other than me visited this level except for Jane, and maybe occasionally Chloe.
And what the hell was I doing sneaking up on them? It wasn’t like I was going to fight. I’d left those instincts behind a long time ago. Hell, my mouth was sore because it had been so long since my fangs had popped out by force. What was I going to do? Lecture the intruder loudly as I tried to dodge punches to the face?
Still, it never hurt to observe a surprise visitor unawares. On silent feet, I slipped along the aisle and peeked around the floor-to-ceiling filing cabinet.
Stupid Weston and his stupid handsome face were lurking in the shadows near my workstation—outside of even my super-nose’s range—casually leafing through a notebook that I’d left on my desk. My mouth dropped open in a silent gasp of indignation. The journal was scribblings of ideas for tea blends and just thoughts in general. I usually kept it in my shoulder bag, but I hadn’t thought to lock it up because again—no one came down here, and those who did had better manners.
“OK, lesson one in ‘learning how to people’ is that you don’t go rifling through people’s personal items,” I told him, emerging from my hiding place. “You move in next door. You ‘just happen’ to show up in my shop. And now you’re sitting on my desk, reading personal notes. This is the sort of thing that makes people consider restraining orders. That’s lesson one-point-five.”
I plucked the notebook out of his hands while giving him a mild stink-eye. It was open to a sketch of possible plans for the vacant Capitol lot.
“In my defense, visiting the archives is part of my process. I was surprised and pleased to find that all security protocols are being followed. The doors are inaccessible without a key card, and all loose paperwork is filed and hidden. I would like to take a look at a few random drawers, if you wouldn’t mind unlocking them.”
“And now you want me to let you into my drawers?” I asked, then pinched my lips shut. “I would like to rephrase that immediately.”
He chuckled. “Noted. Look, all I’m trying to do here is observe how the district is run, to make sure vampires are being treated fairly,” he said.
“I hope that is what you’re trying to do here, but the way you go about things—impartial to the point of being sort of dense—you can be used as a tool by vampires who want your report to have certain consequences for Dick and Jane. And that makes you dangerous to people I care about. It’s nothing personal… anymore, really. I just want you to think about what you’re doing.”
“I have no idea what you just said,” he told me, shaking his head. “I’m not even sure that was English.”
“I’m saying that as much as I would like to douse you in the s
pirit of cooperation, you’re not thinking about the consequences of your work. You’re just forging ahead because that’s your ‘job.’ ”
“There was no reason for the sarcastic air quotes on ‘job,’ ” he told me.
“I never use sarcastic air quotes—all my air quotes are sincere. You know Jane Jameson-Nightengale is a better representative than the district has ever had before, right? Dick’s perfectly fine, but he lets Jane run things for the most part because she’s better at it.”
“I do not know that Jane is the best representative that this district has ever had. You don’t know that. You’ve only lived here for four years. And Dick? Trust me, I’m aware of Dick’s criminal activities. That man shouldn’t be in charge of an ant farm, much less his own district.”
“Dick has changed. And Jane is the kind of leader we need. I’ve talked to enough vampires here to know that while Ophelia Lambert brutally enforced Council policy to the letter, the vampires who were willing to live in her district lived in fear. And people who live in fear do desperate, stupid things to survive. Trust me, I know.”
He gave me a long speculative look. “It’s not my job to measure the happiness of the district’s residents. It’s my job to determine whether the district is being run to the Council’s standards. You know what I find really interesting?” he asked, blocking my path as I tried to circle around him to sit at my desk.
“Fixed-rate mortgages? Outrageously expensive haircuts? Furniture made out of really rare rain forest woods that can never be replaced in the wild?” I guessed. “Something involving the death of arts programs in public schools?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, which I considered a victory—additional evidence that Erik Weston was not a good influence on me. I tried to walk around him again, and he stepped into my way, backing me up against my desk. “For someone who seems to be trying to teach me how to interact with people, that was not very nice to say.”
“No,” I conceded. “That wasn’t. But sometimes people aren’t very nice to you and you still have to hold a polite conversation with them, so give it a try.”
“That’s not an object lesson; you just made that up on the spot,” he said.
“Eh,” I said, waggling my hand back and forth.
“Well, what I find interesting is that despite your having worked for this office for more than a year, your Council file is practically empty. Nothing beyond your name, date of human birth, and the date of your turning. There is no copy of your origin report, which is standard when a newborn is turned over to foster care. That is highly unusual.” He paused, tilting his head as he stared at me with those dark eyes, a predator studying a particularly meek specimen of prey. “What is it about you, Ms. Schwartz, that inspires so much secrecy? So much loyalty from your Council superiors when you work what is arguably an entry-level position of little importance? Who are you, Ms. Schwartz?”
“Can you keep a secret?” I whispered, moving close to him and smiling ever so slightly.
He nodded, crossing the limited space between us until our noses were almost touching. “Yes, I can.”
“So can I,” I said, touching two of my fingers to his chest to push him back. But he didn’t move, because vampire strength.
“What happened to the spirit of cooperation?” he protested. “I told you about my background.”
“Who promised you fairness?”
He leaned against my hand, resisting my pushing. I was so close to him, and my mouth was watering to an embarrassing degree. That sea-and-forest smell of him was just too good, and it was unfair for him to appeal so directly to a sense that controlled such a big part of my brain… and several other parts of my body. He placed his hands on my desk, on either side of my hips. And, heaven help me, all I wanted to do was slide my hand around his pale neck and draw him closer. I wanted to lick that little divot above his upper lip. I wanted to drag my fingers through his hair, yank it back, and bite his Adam’s apple. I would make him forget his own name. I would make him forget why he came to Half-Moon Hollow. I could consider it a service to my local Council representatives.
“What would poor Luke say right now?” he asked, the corner of his mouth lifting as it almost brushed my own.
Suddenly, my desk phone beeped and the intercom function sounded. Weston jumped away from me as if scalded. Jane’s voice came over the speaker and said, “Attention, staff. Please power down your computers immediately. Do not open any e-mail messages from Dick Cheney’s address. Repeat, please shut down all computers immediately. Do not restart. Do not update any software. Just shut down. After you have shut down your computers, please report to the conference room as soon as possible.”
I shared a confused look with Weston, and we hustled toward the elevator. We didn’t make eye contact again as the car rose to the administrative floor, an expansive, multi-office “C-suite” made more cozy after Jane added colorful rugs and sun-drenched landscapes from local painters to warm up the generally gray space. The doors opened, and it was chaos. Lainie Marquis, Jane’s assistant, was barking orders into the phone. People were rushing around the office complex, shouting at one another. Dick appeared to be smashing Lainie’s computer with a rubber mallet. Jane was holding a binder marked “Emergency Protocols” and was directing people I recognized from the IT department.
“What in the world?” I marveled.
“We’re in lockdown,” Lainie told me sternly. “No one leaves the building.”
Lainie was Jane’s very quiet, super-competent right hand. She’d replaced Jane’s last assistant, Meagan, who also happened to be Jane’s foster childe. Meagan had developed some pretty extraordinary abilities after she was turned and was currently “re-allocated” to special, secret assignments in parts unknown. Lainie was very intimidating, and I dared not cross her or Jane’s schedule. So I just nodded and stepped out of the way.
Weston, on the other hand, had pulled out his little notebook and clicked his pen. I rolled my eyes and walked away from him. “Jane, what is going on?”
“A virus,” Jane said. “Somebody spoofed Dick’s e-mail and sent around an all-staff, must-read memo labeled ‘Sexual Harassment Training Seminar.’ ”
“Which is ridiculous because who would trust me to run a sexual harassment training seminar?” Dick yelled. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Weston walk down the hall toward his temporary office.
“And when you open the message—not even an attachment, but the message—it installs a virus on your computer,” Jane said. “It’s a big, scary red screen with an animated laughing skull and crossbones, which seems like spiking the ball, to be honest. Meadow, did you shut down your computer?”
“I don’t really have a computer,” I said.
“Of course you do. There’s a laptop at your workstation,” Dick insisted over the din of breaking glass.
“Yeah, but it’s not even plugged in,” I said.
“What?”
“Well, Lotte was pretty obstinate about refusing to computerize her index, and I didn’t think it would be right to do it while she was gone. So I just kept up the card catalogue. You’ve seen me fill out the cards. All of my e-mails are forwarded to my phone.”
Jane threw her arms around me. “Thank you.”
“That doesn’t really help our situation, Jane!” Dick called.
“Yeah, but it’s good to know there’s one less fire to put out.”
“It’s OK!” Gigi came running out of Jane’s office and yelled, “It’s OK. I’ve contained the virus and purged it from the system. Everything is clean now and running ten percent faster after I cleared all of the junk files you don’t really need anymore.”
“Oh, Gigi, thank you. You’re a lifesaver.” Jane sighed.
“That’s why you pay the former interns the big bucks,” Gigi said, grinning broadly.
“So what did the virus do?” Jane asked. “Siphon money out of our bank accounts? Export personnel files out of the system? Duplicate sensitive documen
ts and upload them to Twitter?”
Gigi scoffed. “No, it wasn’t exactly a complex virus. All it did was lock down your computer, do the scary skull GIF, and then display a slideshow of pictures of Jane’s head superimposed on the bodies of WWE Divas. And Dick’s head on—”
“The Rock?” Dick asked, grinning a little.
“Remember that episode of The Simpsons where Marge paints a naked portrait of Mr. Burns?”
“Aw, come on!” Dick yelled.
I giggled. I couldn’t help it. “Sorry, Dick.”
“It’s more of a nuisance than a real threat,” Gigi said.
“Why didn’t our firewalls keep the virus from attacking our system?” Jane asked. “I thought you and Ben installed super-scary anti-invasion software to prevent this kind of thing from happening.”
“Yeah, we installed software that would prevent outside entities from attacking our servers and the employees from accidentally downloading viruses, but we didn’t protect the system from employees uploading viruses into the system from the inside. Which, now that I think about it, was sort of shortsighted on our part, and I will immediately fix that,” she said.
I raised my hand. “Wait, someone released the virus on our system on purpose?”
“You don’t have to raise your hand, Meadow, but yeah, it looks like an inside job,” Gigi said. “Someone used Burt Vintner’s workstation and login to set it up.”
Jane frowned at the mention of the office’s oldest human employee, a human resources clerk who had worked with the location since right after the coming out. He was nice enough, but I could hardly bear to stand near him. A lifelong two-pack-a-day smoker, he smelled of the sickly sour dill scent of COPD. I’d told him to go to his doctor on several occasions, but he’d told me to mind my own business… while patting his pockets for his cigarettes.