13
If you did not bring the blood that’s in the office fridge, do not touch the blood that’s in the office fridge.
—The Office After Dark: A Guide to Maintaining a Safe, Productive Vampire Workplace
The summer was coming to a close, and not quickly enough.
I refused to mope. I would not miss work, or meals, or sleep, even if it meant hitting myself over the head with a tack hammer to knock myself unconscious. I put the moonstone earrings into a box and gave them to Cal for safekeeping. I didn’t trust myself not to throw them into the Ohio River. I reported to work every afternoon. I did my usual exemplary programming. I ignored the rumors about Ophelia and what had led to her suspension. (The most popular theory was that she was accused of draining an entire pet store full of puppies.) I ignored Marty, who was back to leaving candy on my desk and asking me out on dates that wouldn’t happen.
It sucked beyond the telling of it. I felt nothing. Food didn’t taste the way it should. I woke up feeling as if I hadn’t gotten any sleep. Nothing made me laugh. Everything just felt beige.
Taking this internship had been the worst decision I’d made since fringe bangs. My heart was broken. My relationship with my sister felt as if it was on shaky ground. It didn’t look as if anyone who worked under Ophelia would be hired long-term. And Peter Crown’s interim management was even less warm and cuddly than Ophelia’s had been, if that could be believed. Gaunt and grumpy, Mr. Crown was far too comfortable setting up his own totalitarian regime, telling us that any and all complaints and concerns should be directed to the Department of Shut Up and Do Your Job. Margaret actually wept as she watched the cleaning crew haul Ophelia’s Hello Kitty desk accessories into banker’s boxes. But fortunately for our department, Mr. Crown understood next to nothing about computers, so he basically left us alone. Also, he told Margaret to stop crying with such authority that she would follow him anywhere.
I just wanted to go back to school, where I could trust most of the people around me, where I understood how things worked, where a potential mugging was my chief concern while walking across parking lots.
We were wrapping up the final phase of coding and planned to send our last batch to the regional branch for the big test that Friday. Because of Mr. Crown’s lack of experience, this meant a lot of phone calls between myself and the project leader in the Chicago office. The chief advantage there was that it prevented a lot of awkward conversation with Marty.
I was unraveling emotionally. My temper seemed to be dangling on a weak string, and the slightest nudge would make it snap. I was shaky and angry and snappish with just about everybody but Iris, Cal, Aaron, and Jordan. My stomach felt as if it was roiling all day and night, and my hands trembled over the keyboard. I’d resorted to taking frequent bathroom breaks just to collect myself and maintain my composure.
On one such break, I was in the ladies’ room, washing my hands, when Margaret came up behind me at the sink. She was staring at me. Hard. Clearly, she blamed me for her boss getting the heave-ho, since I had the nerve to provoke Ophelia into trying to put a magical mob hit on me and all.
Still, I smiled pleasantly, because even if I was about to engage in a bathroom catfight, I was a lady. “What can I do for you, Margaret?”
“For a start, you can stop stringing Marty along,” Margaret said. “Just say yes when he asks you out. He’s such a nice guy. You should give him a chance.”
“And I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” I told her sharply.
Margaret grabbed my arm before I could step away. She scoffed, tucking her graying hair behind her ear. “You think you’re a hot commodity because you got a vampire to pay a little attention to you? Trust me. You have a reputation around here, Gigi, and it’s not good.”
“Oh, I’m sure I do. But since we’re talking about damage, what did you do to Nik?” I demanded.
Margaret scowled at me. “What the hell are you talking about? Listen to what I’m telling you. You’re damaged goods. No vampire is going to want you now. You’re lucky that Marty wants anything to do with you.”
I really, really wanted to hurt her. Hitting vampires was like hitting practice dummies. It was hard to hurt them, and they instantly recovered from any damage you did. Margaret, on the other hand, was human. I could injure her pretty seriously. And I found that I wanted to. Something angry and savage inside me relished the idea of breaking her bones, making her bleed. The ease with which my hands curled over hers frightened me. But still, my lips pulled back from my teeth in a snarl, and I was fully prepared to wrench her arm behind her back, when Jordan came sauntering out of the stall. She shook her purple bangs out of her face and rearranged them in the mirror, as if her coworkers weren’t locked in a death grip just beside her.
“Really, ambushing a girl in the ladies’ room?” she said, rolling her eyes. “That’s so cliché.”
“Gigi and I were just having a personal conversation,” Margaret said in a pleasant tone. “So why don’t you toddle along and try to find a hair color that occurs in nature?”
“Nah, I’m good here. I kind of want to see how this plays out.” Jordan crossed her arms over her Van Gogh’s TARDIS T-shirt and leaned against the gray vanity. Margaret narrowed her eyes at her but didn’t move. I tried to figure out how I could maneuver from an arm grip to a double arm pin, followed by shoving Margaret’s head into the toilet, swirly-style.
But I could feel Margaret’s hold on my arm loosening, as if she was losing her resolve. Jordan was making it too uncomfortable for her. It was as if Margaret had just enough nerve to confront me but not quite enough to go after two people simultaneously. Clearly, I had underestimated Jordan, who was some sort of social-engineering genius.
Finally, Margaret tossed my arm aside, huffing in disgust. “Remember what I said, Gigi.”
“Oh, I’ll remember,” I snarked, as Margaret walked out of the restroom. “Thank you, Jordan, I appreciate it.”
“No problem, boss lady. I was ‘nice guy-ed’ once at my school’s mock UN. The representative for fake Cambodia wouldn’t take no for an answer. He sent his friends after me in the ladies’ room, too. Fake Switzerland was anything but neutral about the matter. She guilt-tripped the hell out of me about how I should at least ‘give him a chance,’ despite the fact that I had no interest in him. Never would, but I guess that didn’t matter. Have you thought about reporting Marty for harassment?”
I thought of Ms. Gibson and the multitude of insane problems she had to deal with every day, including coworkers who pulled stakes on each other and drained each other’s blood. Somehow, I didn’t think she would see my situation as a priority. I shook my head. “Making sad-puppy faces at me and making passive-aggressive overtures through coworkers don’t violate office policy. I checked.”
“Well, if you hit the angry stage, I am in for ironic Lifetime-movie, woman-done-wrong retribution.”
“Thank you,” I told her solemnly. “I will keep that in mind.”
Jordan winked at me. “It’s as close as I get to handing you a friendship bracelet.”
• • •
Jordan and I returned to work, ignoring Margaret as she scowled at us from her desk. I buried myself in conference calls for the next few hours, ironing out some compatibility issues between our format and the design department’s specs. I hung up, hopeful that we would be able to test this thing without glitches in the coming week so I could walk away with a clear conscience. I felt a presence over my left shoulder and rolled my eyes skyward, praying it wasn’t Marty.
“Aaron and Jordan were talking about getting something to eat after work, Gladiola. Do you want to join us?”
Dang it.
I swiveled my chair around and found Marty standing just a little too close to my desk. I leaned left and spotted Aaron, who was silently waving his arms and shaking his head no.
“Oh, that’s sweet of you to invite me, Marty, but I have plans with my family,” I said, with the fakest smile I had ever produced. “You know, overprotective vampire siblings, they’re all about the quality time.”
That’s right, overprotective vampire siblings; think about that for a second, Marty.
“That’s too bad,” Marty said, his eyes glittering balefully. “Maybe next time.”
I smiled. “Sure. You guys go ahead, though.” Marty turned back toward Aaron and Jordan. I mouthed “Thank you!” to them both. “You’ve worked hard this week; take off early. You’ve earned it. I just need to stick around and finish up a few calls.”
“Oh, we shouldn’t,” Marty protested, as Jordan and Aaron gathered up their bags.
“Good night!” Aaron called.
Jordan lingered and mouthed “Are you OK?” behind Marty’s back. I nodded and waved her off. “Good night, Jordan.”
Jordan sent a sharp look toward Marty’s back. “Good night.”
“Gigi.” Marty sighed, sitting on the corner of my desk. “I know you’ve had a rough time lately. I can’t say I didn’t see it coming. Vampires aren’t exactly known for their attention span in relationships.”
“You’re treading close to some territory that is none of your business, Marty.”
Marty’s dark brown eyes were all pity and condescension as he laid a hand on my shoulder. “I know you. I know what you want and what you need. No one is going to make you happier than I would.”
If he didn’t move that hand, he was going to lose it. What was the office policy on using choke holds on coworkers?
“Look, I know you think you’re in love with this vampire, but you’re too good for him, too sweet. He doesn’t understand you. Vampires never do. What are you going to have in common? Even if he does take you back, what’s going to happen? He’s going to bite you and leave you. And then where will you be? Maybe you should stop chasing after something that’s never going to happen. Maybe the guy you’re looking for is right in front of you.”
The violent reaction inside my head frightened me. I wanted to hit Marty until my hands bled. I wanted to scream and shout every curse word I knew at him. My office phone cord could be put to horrifying and creative use. But none of that would change Marty’s mind about his feelings for me or how well he “understood” my relationship with Nik. Nothing would convince him that I was being honest with him or myself. Nonreaction was the best reaction. I just had to communicate that to my tensed muscles.
“Have a good night, Marty.” My phone rang. I gave Marty an absolutely mirthless smile and picked up the receiver, turning my back to him.
I kept myself busy with minutiae for a while. I caught up on paperwork and backed up files. I wrote a progress report for the regional manager, including glowing praise for Aaron and Jordan. I also wrote a less luminary evaluation for Marty, but I was proud that I kept my comments limited to his incompetence and inability to finish his work. At one point, I came back from the bathroom, and my usual peppermint mocha was waiting for me on my desk. Sammy must have taken pity on me on his last round through the office.
I appreciated his thoughtfulness, but it was a bit muggy for coffee, so I neglected it in favor of finishing up more paperwork. I took a few more calls from the West Coast offices about formatting issues. I was basically a model employee for almost an hour, eliminating errors wherever I could find them.
Sipping my now lukewarm coffee, I used the beta program to search Cal’s name, and my name popped up as a living relative, with a footnote stating that I was also related to Iris. I entered Nola’s name, and she popped up as a relative of Dick Cheney’s. I tried to think of a potential negative result to prove the effectiveness. Linoge. At this point, I really had nothing to lose, even if the search came back to me. If I was going to be fired for hoarding files, I was pretty sure it would have happened by now. And I only had a few weeks left at the Council. Screw it.
I entered the name “Linoge.” And the results window came back positive.
“Sweet mother of dragons.” I gasped.
The entire Renart line showed up in the results window. Marie Renart had indeed been Pierre Linoge’s eighteenth-century love bunny, and she bore him two children before he’d been turned. I guess he didn’t make a very good undead boyfriend, and her alternative to breaking up with him was to send him on a memory-addled feeding rampage.
Jennifer Renart was the last living descendant of Pierre Linoge. Her last-known address was listed in Half-Moon Hollow in 1991.
Renart was local. I could find her. Why this hadn’t shown up in any of the other Council records, I had no idea. And it sort of sucked that while I was trying to track down Linoge’s relatives, one of my coworkers had apparently found the file in the giant pile of folders and entered the information in the archive. But now I could go to the library or the county clerk’s office or the property valuator’s department, and I could track this woman down. Hell, maybe Jane could use one of her not-quite-legal subscriptions to library databases to help me. It wasn’t her fault the library management hadn’t changed the passwords since she’d been fired.
I packed up my bag, grabbed my coffee, and drained it on the way out the door. A strange, bitter aftertaste had me wincing as I tossed the cup into a hallway wastebasket. That didn’t taste like Sammy’s usual yummy creation. Maybe the milk had gone bad while I let it sit on my desk?
Well, at least it would keep me awake on the drive home. I slung my bag over my shoulder and checked my phone as I motored down the hallway. I would be glad later that I looked so busy and important when I ran into Nik. Well, plowed into him, was more like it, and nearly knocked him into the employee exit door.
“Gigi,” he breathed, his hands closing around my arms to keep me steady on my feet.
“I thought you didn’t want to see me,” I said, sounding very cold as I stepped away from him. Because even if I was eager to find information to help him become uncursed, I was still a little pissed at him.
“I am signing some final statements with the Council, trying to piece together exactly what Ophelia did,” he said, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck. “How have you been?”
“I’m well, thank you.”
That’s right, I was cold as ice. In the movie version of this conversation, I would be played by a really young Cate Blanchett.
“Gigi—”
“I really have to be going,” I said. The “to have a nervous breakdown behind the wheel of my car” was silent.
“Well, let me walk you to your car.”
“There’s no need,” I said breezily. “With you inside, I probably stand a much better chance in the parking lot.”
“Gigi, please.”
And he just looked so damned sad that I sighed and said, “Fine.”
He nodded toward the door and held it open for me. I made every effort not to come within two feet of touching him, much less making eye contact. He moved silently at my left, staring through me as if I had the secret meaning of life tattooed on my neck.
I finally found my car, clicked the keyless entry, and tossed my purse onto the passenger seat. I held on to the door for a long moment, thinking very carefully about how I wanted the next few minutes to play out. I could get into my car and drive away. I would never see him again. And I would know that I’d at least had my dignity when he left me. He hadn’t seen me cry over him or whine and beg. But I couldn’t let him leave without asking, “Do you think your sacrifice broke the curse?”
“Gigi. I am sorry.”
“Yes or no, Nik?”
“No,” he whispered. “Nola says it is still there.”
“So even though this plan of yours hasn’t worked, you’re going to leave me anyway?”
“Maybe if it is more final, maybe if I actually lose you, the requirements of the curse will be met, and you will be safe.”
“OK, fine. That’s just fine.” I blinked back tears, staring down at the pavement so he wouldn’t see them. I wanted to tell him that I missed him, that I was being a jerk, that I shouldn’t have pretended I could get through this without being hurt. But the lump in my throat kept me from saying anything. I couldn’t seem to take a breath deep enough. I sank back against the car behind me, shaking off the waves of cold and dizziness that radiated through my head.
“Gigi?”
“Nik,” I began, swallowing and trying to dislodge the pressure. But it stayed there, like a stone wedged in my windpipe. I coughed, clutching my neck. “I don’t feel very well.”
I wheezed, forcing myself to inhale deeply, just so I felt that I was getting some oxygen into my lungs. This wasn’t just a lump in my throat. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t draw enough air to produce more words. My eyes went wide, and I looked up to Nik. He cradled my elbows in his hands and let me down gently to the ground.
I opened my mouth and tried to force air into my lungs, but I just couldn’t seem to take it in. My lips started to tingle, and I felt so tired I just sank back onto the asphalt, boneless and weak. What was happening to me? The worst possibilities spun through my brain. A heart attack? A stroke? I was too young for either, but that didn’t stop my chest from feeling as if I was wedged under a Mack truck tire.
A crippling wave of nausea rolled up from my belly to my throat, threatening to spill everything I’d eaten for the last two days onto the pavement. Could I have food poisoning? The milk in my coffee had tasted off, but I didn’t think a little spoiled cream would hit me this fast. None of this rational, linear thinking seemed to matter much, as a cloudy white haze of pain spread over my brain, making me howl.
“Gigi? What is happening?”
“Can’t breathe,” I wheezed, clutching at his arm. My panicked, shaking fingers ripped at my collar, anything to help pull air down my throat.
Nik pulled out his cell phone, dialed, and began speaking in a rapid-fire language I didn’t understand. He dropped the phone to the ground and pulled me into his lap. “Gigi,” he said, eyes wide and looking more frightened than I had ever seen him. “We have discussed this before. But now, I ask you again. Do you want to be turned? Or would you rather die before becoming a vampire?”
I tried to say yes, but the sound wouldn’t come. I wanted to nod, but I couldn’t seem to make my head move. My lips moved silently, begging him, Please, help me, please! Anything but dying like this!
Nik nodded, his fangs dropped, and he snapped them down onto my neck like a striking snake. I would have screamed if I could from the pain of his fangs tearing through my skin. He drew huge mouthfuls of blood, even though he recoiled from the taste and spat it out. He bit my wrists, leaving gashes, letting my blood flow onto the ground.
I couldn’t even cry out from this new slashing pain. I was so cold. I was so tired. He pulled and pulled at the wounds on my neck, seeming to gag with every mouthful. He bit at his own wrist, leaving his own blood running down his arm. He held it over my mouth. I turned my head away so it wouldn’t drip on my face, but he turned my head, forcing it against his torn skin.
“Gigi, you have to drink.” I parted my lips, licking them tentatively as the blood dropped into my mouth. It was sweet, like melted bittersweet chocolate, flowing over my lips and into my throat. I wanted to pull the arm close to snuggle against him and curl around him like a cat while I drank from him. But I was just so exhausted I couldn’t move. Even the act of opening my mouth to swallow his blood seemed like an insane effort.
Nik bit into his free arm and switched, pushing this new free-bleeding wound against my lips. It was too much, too fast, and I turned my head away, coughing, fighting to draw breath
“More, my Gigi, you have to drink more for it to work. Come on, sladkaya, please,” he begged, cradling me against his chest.
I opened my mouth, tried to drink more. But I was just so scared, so tired. I couldn’t think. Everything around me seemed to be spinning, and I couldn’t help but think this would be the last time I would see any of it. I was drowning, dying, choking on the air I couldn’t pull into my lungs. My heart stuttered and sped, like a broken-down horse lunging for the finish line.
Nik’s face swam in front of my eyes. “Drink,” he whispered, nudging the wound against my mouth, but I shook my head.
This was it. With a strange clarity, I finally grasped that this was the end of my life. No more Christmases. No more birthdays. No more snow or rain or starlit nights. No more breakfasts with Cal ruffling my hair and making me late for work. No more movie nights with Iris curled up on the couch.
Iris.
Oh, God, Iris. I knew that Cal would take care of her, help her not feel so guilty, but I hated that I was leaving her alone. She’d been right, of course. I should have left the world of vampires alone. If I’d just taken some office job at a human company, I wouldn’t be dying in a parking lot. I’d be bored as hell, but at least I’d still be alive.
With all of the will I had left, I forced my arm to move, reaching up to touch Nik’s face. My fingertips left bloody trails across his skin. I drew enough breath to whisper, “Love you.” I smiled.
“Drink,” he commanded, forcing his wrist against my mouth.
I gagged as he forced more blood down my throat. I felt tears, hot and bitter, running down my cheeks and soaking into Nik’s jeans.
“This part is always difficult,” he told me. “But when you wake up, you will be like me.”
My heart sped up, beating like a wild, trapped animal against my ribs. And then it didn’t beat at all.