The Dangers of Dating a Rebound Vampire (14 page)

Ophelia was wearing an indecently red pencil skirt with a sheer black silk blouse. Her blond hair was pulled into a carefully arranged ballerina bun, and she was wearing honest-to-God red patent-leather pumps.

“Is there a reason you are putting my assistant in the awkward position of telling you that I don't want to see you?” Ophelia asked, also without looking up from her papers. I supposed this was the newest trend in dismissive office rudeness. “Margaret is a polite soul, you see, and she doesn't like being openly rude to people. I've never had a problem with it.”

“Trust me, I've noticed,” I told her. “The others appointed me as project leader. The first task in my job description is ‘serving as a liaison between the project team and supervisory staff,' which is you. And ‘presenting weekly progress reports regarding the project and any obstacles or problems impeding said progress.' And since I have not presented this report in the weeks we've been working, I figured it's time.”

Ophelia propped her elbows on her desk and folded her hands under her chin. “Do you have any idea how inappropriate it is to force your way into a meeting with your supervisor?”

I smiled sweetly. “Almost as inappropriate as a supervisor who refuses to meet with her employees because of interpersonal tension rooted outside of the office.”

Ophelia's eyes narrowed. I was pretty sure that if there hadn't been witnesses who saw me go into her office, I would have been the first person ever murdered with a Hello Kitty stapler.

A reasonable person with a proportionate sense of self-preservation would have stuck to the tried-and-true methods to avoid digestion by an apex predator: stay still, don't make eye contact, and definitely don't arrange one's face into a big smartass grin.

I never claimed to be reasonable. And my sense of self-preservation was clearly nonexistent. So I just stretched that fake sweet smile into the big smartass grin.

Ophelia's hand twitched toward her stapler, but she managed to wrap her other hand around it and press it to the desk. She took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and said, “Very well. What would you like to report?”

“Aaron and Jordan are turning in quality work and meeting their goals, as am I.”

I sighed, crossing my legs and shifting in my chair. I cleared my throat. And I felt like a total bitch for what I was about to do. I didn't want Marty to be fired. He seemed like a nice guy, just a little overwhelmed. But the bottom line was that Marty wasn't pulling his weight. And it would be a lot easier to point out more serious issues with his performance in the future if I pointed out his weak points now. So I took a deep breath and phrased it as carefully as I could. “Marty is having difficulty keeping up. His work has not been up to par, and we're still setting up the most basic functions of the search engine. Not to mention that he just left the office with his computer still logged into the system, which is a problem, security-wise. Aaron, Jordan, and I are going to have to redo all of his work, which will create a slight setback now. But if he doesn't step it up, that slight setback could become a major delay.”

“I would suggest that you check his work every day, point out any problems, and retrain him.”

“Retrain him? Programming is a basic requirement of his job. That would be like telling someone they have to retrain an accountant in how to do addition. I have to question how he passed the initial interview if he's having problems like this.”

“It's not up to you to question the hiring process, Miss Scanlon,” she said, quite frostily.

“But it's up to me to retrain employees who got through the lax hiring process?”

“Well, as project leader, you shouldn't have any problems, should you?” She smiled that flat shark's smile. “Thank you. I look forward to your next report. And by next report, I mean the report you present after you have shown enough professional courtesy to schedule an appointment with Margaret.”

I nodded. “Ophelia—”

“Thank you.”

“Oph—”

“Thankyou!” she exclaimed, not even leaving a pause between the two words. And with that, she turned the pink Hello Kitty–embossed back of her chair to me.

I was pretty sure that between me, the kitties, and the four-hundred-plus-year-old vampire, I was the most mature being in this room. I hoped that with her superhearing, she could hear the way my teeth were grinding.

Had I been right before? Had Ophelia saddled me with a subpar coworker to sabotage the project? Or was she just trying to drive me crazy? It might have seemed like a paranoid, unproductive way of thinking but not nearly as unproductive as having my work hobbled by a manager who was pissed at me for “stealing her boyfriend.”

But that manager also had fangs, and I needed to get out of the office before she put them to use. I was already violating several bullet points from the orientation video. I had pushed up from the chair and gotten about three steps away from Ophelia's desk when I stopped and turned toward her . . .

Screw it, no one lives forever. I kissed vampires in alleyways. I was a badass.

“You know, it's not my fault that Jamie wants to have a real college experience. He's missed out on so much already, being turned before he could graduate from high school. He wants to experience a little bit of the outside world before he settles down, which you know he's going to do with you. I think it would be kind of selfish of you to try to keep him from that. I only helped him with the application process because it can be overwhelming and scary even without all of the vampire issues. And because it was important to him, and I'm his
friend.
That's what friends do for each other.”

Ophelia turned back to me, and while her face was a pleasant mask, her eyes could have curdled milk. “Oh, I think I know exactly how close the two of you are,” she said. “I hear enough about your friendship every time Jamie and I speak.”

“Then you should know that there are no romantic feelings between us.”

“But it is amazing how often he comes running whenever you need something or are hosting something or some member of your dysfunctional group has a hangnail and there's an emergency meeting.”

I honestly didn't know how to respond to that. It had been such a long time since Iris and I belonged to a family that we just took it for granted that it was normal for us to be so entangled with Jane and the other vampires. Also, we didn't have many friends outside of the circle, so we didn't have a lot of competition for our time and attention. From Ophelia's perspective, I could see how irritating it might be to have your time with your boyfriend split with his big fat geek vampire family, even if Georgie did seem to find us entertaining.

I was sympathizing with Ophelia. This did not compute.

And damned if I was going to tell her about it.

“That seems like something you should discuss with Jamie,” I told her.

“I don't think I'll have to,” she said, giving me dead shark's eyes that, frankly, freaked me the hell out.

“OK, then.” I nodded. “Good night.”

Ophelia didn't answer, which was just the cherry on top of her sundae of rudeness.

9

Use common sense when dressing for work. Yes, you have the right to wear open-neck blouses that highlight the length and definition of your throat. That doesn't mean you should.

—The Office After Dark: A Guide to Maintaining a Safe, Productive Vampire Workplace

A
witch, a computer programmer, and a couple of vampires walking into a coffee bar may have sounded like a complicated setup for one of Dick Cheney's inappropriate jokes, but sadly, it was how I was spending my night off.

Nik was working, fielding some last-minute call from Ophelia about a new break-in over in Murphy. When I told Iris that I was planning to spend the evening at Specialty Books, she'd been thrilled, but she'd also called the shop shortly after I'd arrived, either because she questioned my night-driving abilities or she still had doubts about my “going out for coffee with coworkers” excuse for being out so late with Nik. Once again, neither option was great, but I supposed I should be grateful that Cal hadn't attached a GPS locator to my car.

Still, it was nice to have a quiet evening out, even if I was under the careful but intentionally nonchalant supervision of Dick, Andrea, and Jane. I loved Jane's bookshop, with its soothing but whimsical blue and purple color scheme and comfy reading chairs. I loved the old maple and leaded-glass cabinet she used as a sales counter and the tidy, carefully labeled bookshelves that suited her former librarian's sensibilities. It was nice to know some things hadn't changed since I went away to school. Dick still “worked” at the shop, but he mostly stayed in the back because of his tendency to offend some (uptight, humorless) customers. Andrea still ran the espresso machine, because she didn't trust anyone else to keep it from exploding. Jane still made incendiary coffee when Andrea left the shop.

The business had flourished since Jane's shaky opening years before. They'd added on to the coffee menu over the years, and they were now considered one of the best vampire-friendly coffee bars in the state. The shelf stock ran the gamut from mainstream paranormal romances to mystical gardening books, but Jane was best known for her vampire nonfiction, self-help for the fanged set. Internet orders alone were enough to keep the store in the black, something Mr. Wainwright had rarely accomplished.

The nonfiction section, particularly the titles concerning magic and its effects on vampires, was what drew me to Specialty Books that night. Since Nola didn't have a lot of experience with vampire curses and I knew how easy it was to post absolute insanity-babble on the Internet, I was sifting through Jane's shelves to try to find some answers about Nik's state of mind. Jane was eager to help, as she was unaware of vampires' susceptibility to curses and figured if anyone was bound to tick off a witch badly enough to end up hexed, it would be her.

“Thanks for letting me use your research materials, Jane,” I said, as Andrea served me a (nonbloody) mocha and a chocolate chess square.

I had all of the related books in the store spread across my little round maple table, including
When Magic Meets the Undead: Spells and Their Effects on Vampires
and
Curses Most Foul: A Guide to Hexing Your Exes.
Even though Ben was a pretty nice guy, it was good to know I had options.

“We'll just tell Iris that you spent the night reading the
Morganville Vampires
books and ridding my computer of viruses, OK?” she said, throwing her long braid of thick brown hair over her shoulder as she wiped down the sales counter.

“I clicked on
one
pop-up ad!” Dick shouted indignantly from the back of the shop.

Jamie, who was sprawled across the cushy purple love seat near the coffee bar, shook his head and raised his hand. He mouthed the words “Multiple pop-up ads.” Then he made an explosion noise and spread his fingers wide. I laughed. Even though Jamie wasn't helping with the actual research, he'd insisted on accompanying me to the shop tonight. He claimed he wanted to spend some quality time with me, now that I was a grown-up working woman and my nights off were such a precious commodity. But I suspected he was just nervous about me walking back and forth to my car, since that was proving to be such a challenge of late.

Jane insisted that Jamie wasn't going to help me, that he was going to read something constructive, so she'd handed him a copy of
The Jungle
by Upton Sinclair. While I'd had to read that particular title as part of my senior English class in high school, newly vampirized Jamie had completed his diploma from home and had missed out on Sinclair's scathing depiction of the pre-USDA meatpacking industry. The more Jamie read, the more repulsed his expression, which seemed to make Jane happy, because at least she knew he was paying attention.

“If I wasn't already on a liquid diet, this book would put me off hamburgers for life,” Jamie said, making his patented gag face.

“I was a vegetarian for about six months after reading
The Jungle
,” I told him. “I still can't eat hot dogs. But it's important that you read that now, because you'll be reading much more disturbing stuff in your freshman lit class.
Heart of Darkness
will scar you for life.”

“I can't tell you how happy it makes me to have you two sitting around discussing books,” Jane said, putting a tall glass of what amounted to vampire chocolate milk in front of Jamie: bottled blood and Hershey's Special Blood Additive Chocolate Syrup. She actually wiped a pinkish tear from her eye as she ruffled Jamie's hair. He scowled and brushed his hair back into its usual intentionally messy state. But after he drained his little snack, he had a bright red milk mustache on his upper lip, so his indignation was short-lived.

“That is disgusting,” I told him.

He winked at me and wiped the errant blood foam away.

“So if you don't want to tell Iris why I'm here tonight, why are you helping me?” I asked Jane.

“Because forbidden love with a hot, mysterious vampire?” she said, gesturing to her paranormal romance section. “I'm not only the president of that club, I'm also a member.”

She ignored Jamie's muttered “Gross.”

“Besides, you're going to do this whether we help you or not, so it's better that you have some resources and supervision,” Jane continued. “And for what it's worth, based on my very quick read of Nik, I don't think he's a bad guy or that he's trying to hurt you. I'm getting a lot of blank spots from him, which backs up his whole amnesia story. Don't get me wrong, Geeg, he has some very warm thoughts that I probably shouldn't share in front of Cal, but none of them are hostile. He honestly doesn't want to hurt you.”

I blew out an exasperated breath. “Well, that's disappointing. I was really hoping we would get this magical clue, like ‘Gigi emotionally traumatized Nik by reminding him of a hated enemy who attacked him on a Christmas tree farm.' And all I would have to do was prove I was trustworthy around pointy tree stumps or something.”

“That's not usually how it works,” Jane said, squeezing my arm.

“I just wish I could make Iris see how my situation isn't that different from hers. I know she has a tendency to overreact when I'm in peril, but I thought she'd have adjusted by now. She's still pulling the Mama Capulet routine pretty hard.”

“So, since it's upsetting everybody who loves you, maybe you should just walk away from this guy and never ever talk to him again,” Jamie suggested brightly.

“I will not take dating advice from the man who knowingly and willingly bloodmated himself to Ophe­lia Lambert,” I told him. “At least Nik's violent episodes are unintentional. Ophelia's violent episodes happen because it's Tuesday or because her hair didn't turn out the way she wanted.” Jamie's mouth dropped open, as if he was going to defend his Machiavellian lady love. “But even though I've mocked you mercilessly for dating her, I've never genuinely encouraged you to leave her. Because that's none of my business. I would hope you would do the same for me.”

Jamie scowled again. “Oh, sure, bring logic and compassion into the argument. Cheater.”

“You and Iris will be fine,” Jane assured me, sliding into the chair at my left. “It's not like Jenny and me, where we had to build a relationship from the ground up as adults. You have a strong foundation. This is just a minor bump in the road. And I know this probably doesn't make you feel any better, but her anger and spazzery comes from a place of concern. Trust me, as someone who has been hassled all of her life by someone who means well, it's less annoying than the efforts of someone who is honestly trying to hurt you.”

“I will keep that in mind,” I promised Jane.

Jane winked at me, giving my shoulders a squeeze. “Good girl. Now, what are you finding?”

I handed Jane my notes, which she read over quickly, making little asterisks on the points she considered important. “You know, until Nola showed up, I wouldn't have believed there was such a thing. I mean, Gabriel told me that witches were real, but until I saw her work her mojo . . . We live in an amazing world, Gigi.”

“Well, this amazing magical world has it in for you vampires just as much as us humans, so at least it's equal opportunity.” I flipped open her copy of
Hermann's Guide to Supernatural Physiology.
“As you know, vampire energy isn't the same as human energy, because we run on different wavelengths. Basically, witches have to work a little harder to cast on you guys, because your energy is harder to pin down. You would have to have frequent contact with the vampire to cast on him, dose him with the potion, or snatch his hair, blood, et cetera.”

“Well, strike amazing, that's just horrible,” Jane said, shuddering.

“What's horrible?” Nola asked, strolling into the shop and dropping her purse next to my table. Nola was wearing the blue-and-peach scrubs required for her job at Half-Moon Hollow's free clinic. She looked tired and worn out, which was natural, considering the rigors of being a medical empath who hung around sick people all day, but she was happy.

“The various bits of DNA that witches need for casting,” Andrea said, pouring a cup of tea she'd been brewing for Nola, knowing that her chamomile-loving step-great-great-great-great-great-granddaughter was coming for a visit. “It's unseemly.”

“And on that note, I'm going to go see what Dick is doing,” Jamie said, snapping his book closed. “Gross club memberships and DNA collection are a little much, even for me.”

“According to what I'm reading, whoever cursed Nik sees him frequently,” I said, showing her the book. “As far as I know, the only people he sees regularly are the other employees at the Council office and me. Since I know that I'm not the one casting on him, I would assume it's another Council employee. But the Council doesn't employ a full-time magical consultant. Also, there's the added complication of Nik not remembering being worked over, spell-wise, so we're dealing with someone pretty powerful, maybe with hypnotic abilities. I don't think someone like that is going to be working as a file clerk. For all her faults, Ophelia is a big believer in taking advantage of her employees' full potential.”

“Have you thought about who at the office could be a witch?” Nola asked, sipping her tea. “Someone who might want to harm you, considering that the curse seems to focus on hurting you?”

“Besides Ophelia?” I asked. “Mr. Crown doesn't seem to like me, but I don't think he likes anyone. Margaret, Ophelia's secretary, is pretty snippy with me, but I think it's because I'm borderline rude to her boss, like, all the time. Also, I don't respect her carefully constructed schedule. And there's the lady from accounting whom I caught taking Jordan's yogurt out of our office's fridge. She acted all indignant about being caught, like it was my fault for walking in on her stealing.”

Nola nodded. “Either of those last two seems plausible. Witches can be sticklers for time . . . and yogurt.”

“So really, there are several people at my office who do not wish me well, and any number of them could be witches. This conversation is not making me feel better.”

“You could always quit,” Dick called from the back.

“I really can't,” I called back. “My postprobationary compensation package of fabulous prizes just kicked in. I'm making more money in a pay period than I made in my entire summer at NetSecure. I've already made a couple of payments on my student loan.”

“Money's not always the answer,” Dick yelled.

“If the question is how do I establish life as an independent adult who doesn't need to ask her sister for lunch money, then yes, money is the answer,” I shot back.

“Also, I don't know if she should pay any mind to the man who slips twenties into my pocket when I hug him!” Nola called.

Dick poked his head out of the storeroom. “We agreed to pretend that doesn't happen!”