The Client’s Conundrum

1 Where’s the Bathroom? The woman at the front of the room smiled in that bland, uninterested way that people do when they’ve given a presentation fifteen times too many and didn’t care whether you were listening or not. At least she had a pleasant voice. “I know that some of you are new to the area and some of you are new to enhanced living.” Did she just look at me? I couldn’t be the only newbie in the room. I shot a covert look around the room. Three rows of people, each with five seats. And with only two empty seats, that meant thirteen people in orientation. Nah, I couldn’t be the only newbie. “I’ve provided each of you with a binder. Inside the binder you’ll find…” Pleasant or not, it all sounded like blah, blah, blah. This was going to be an ordeal. And to think I’d been looking forward to the Society’s official orientation ever since I found out one existed. The thick binder in my hands was printed with the words “Property of the Society for the Study of Occult and Paranormal Phenomena. Do Not Remove from Society Headquarters.” Well, if you’re going to give a girl—vamp—a handbook, you better expect her to take it home. I wasn’t sure how I’d lug three pounds of paper products and a massive 1990s-era binder out unnoticed, but I’d work it out. Just as the presenter was getting to the good part—the location of the several bathrooms scattered throughout the warehouse facility—someone’s phone rang. Shame on them. A lady needed to know where the facilities were located; you never knew when you’d have a makeup emergency or a wardrobe failure. Because as many fluids as I drank these days, I never seemed to actually need to pee. The wonders of magic. The phone kept ringing. At some point—three rings later? five?—I realized I’d changed my ringtone…to that exact same one. I dug through my purse, considered very briefly silencing the call, then answered, “Just one second.” I started to crawl over the feet and purses of those unfortunate enough to be seated in my aisle. The Society had packed us in like sardines, which was silly with the number of people attending. Just give us a bigger room. “So sorry,” I said to the woman whose foot I trod on. “Mallory?” I could just make out Gladys’s voice on the phone, but I could hardly listen to her, crawl over strangers in a tight space, and make my apologies to the injured. Even though she was my first and only afterlife coaching client, Gladys would have to wait. Finally, I reached the end of the row and turned to give the presenter an apology wave, only to find her glaring at me. Oops. I waved and smiled anyway then stepped out into the hall. “I’m so sorry, Gladys. It’s just that today is—” “I found a dead body in my bed.” I closed my eyes and sighed. I checked that no one was in the hall before I said, “Did you say dead? Next to you? In bed? Calm down. I’m on my way.” I ended the call with another sigh. Lord above, Gladys had turned into a project. She was probably having nightmares again. Although it had been a little while since she’d had one, so maybe… No, it had to be bad dreams. I headed toward the front of the warehouse building, to the retail shop Bits, Baubles, and Toadstools. It was the closest exit to the parking lot, and the stock in the store was always entertaining. I’d helped Gladys through a rough few days when she’d first transitioned. Like me, she’d been bitten and accidentally turned into a vampire. Our progenitor—a nasty creature who’d been hanged for his crimes—had been gorging on the blood of women he’d found particularly annoying. In the midst of that, he’d killed several women (not a Society crime), but he’d also turned loose a few baby vamps on the world—and we’d been distinctly noticeable in our untrained dismay (definitely a Society crime). Gladys and I were the only survivors, so far as I knew. The rest of the women he’d attacked had died. I had no memory of my particular neck-biting trauma, but Gladys remembered small pieces. And since then, men made her very uncomfortable. We’d been working on it. As her undead life coach, it was my job. Gladys might be my first client, but she seemed to be making great progress. My cell pinged with a new text message. As I slid my finger across the screen, a photo popped up. I flipped my phone to enlarge the picture…yes, definitely a corpse. Definitely in a bed. Given our earlier conversation, most likely Gladys’s bed. I started at a jog—considered how that corpse might have ended up there—then ran. As I sprinted to the front of the building, I couldn’t help thinking at least he was a man. The implied s****l nature of their relationship—naked and in her bed, so one could assume—was evidence of her improvement. Unless, of course, she had something thing do with how he came to be no longer living. Nah. Either way, a dead body meant reinforcements were necessary. I made a beeline for my favorite investigator-enforcer-knight’s office. Dead bodies usually meant all sorts of mess. Political mess, physical mess, maybe even magical mess. Alex was great with messes and highly unlikely to turn me away. He liked me. That, and we shared a sensitive secret. I arrived slightly out of breath at his office door. Whatever Alex might say about normal vamp behavior, I got out of breath when I ran. Knocking lightly produced no result, so I pounded. “What?” It sounded like Mr. Cranky Pants woke up on the wrong side of the bed. “It’s Mallory.” I opened the door to find a half-naked Alex rolling off the futon he used for emergency naps. A lot of very nice, very naked chest was on display. Surprisingly, that naked chest was covered in tattoos. Symbols, not pictures. And maybe letters? I hadn’t a clue Alex was all tatted up. I leaned closer— “What do you want?” He snatched a T-shirt off the side table and pulled it over his head. I got a glimpse of his shoulders and back, also covered with the odd designs. And most interesting of all, the T-shirt covered every single bit of ink. No wonder I’d never noticed his ink. “Ah, my client woke up next to a dead body. Any chance you could help a girl out?” It said a lot about our relationship that he didn’t look terribly surprised. “I need fifteen minutes.” “Perfect,” I said, even though fifteen minutes seemed like a terribly long time when a corpse was involved. “You’re a complete doll.” He spared me a quick glare before disappearing into the bathroom. The door closed with a loud, firm click. I knew how important his sleep was to him. That was one half of the secret we shared. The spirits—or demons or elementals; he hadn’t really explained the difference—messed with him when he wasn’t a hundred percent. As a result, Alex was a bit of a health nut. How exactly they messed with him, I didn’t know. We hadn’t shared quite that much. Which led to the other half of the secret. Alex hadn’t exactly shared that information. I’d seen one of the little nasties clinging to his back in the middle of the night. Apparently, sleep deprivation wasn’t good for staving off the nasty critters. Alex cracked the door, and I could hear water running. “Who’s your client?” I scrunched up my nose and hoped for the best. “Gladys Pepperman.” His groan was loud enough that I heard it over the running water. I waited—then let out a sigh of relief when he didn’t say anything. Alex poked his head out of the bathroom. “Aren’t you supposed to be in orientation?” I shrugged. “Did you even go?” “I went. I can even tell you where all of the bathrooms are.” He stuck his head out again, but this time he was brushing his teeth, so he shot me an exasperated look. “So you pee now?” “None of your business. A woman—vamp or otherwise—is allowed to retain a little mystery concerning personal habits.” “That’s a no, then?” I shifted the large orientation binder from one arm to the other. “That’s a no. Hey, I don’t suppose theft of orientation materials is one of those crimes that leads to swift execution by hanging?” Something clattered in the bathroom, and Alex swore. “You okay in there?” “Yes.” And not long after, he exited looking brighter-eyed—and wearing a small piece of toilet tissue on his jaw. “You will not be hung for stealing orientation materials. But bring them back. There’s some sensitive information inside.” “And no witchy protection spells that do something nasty—like soak me in dye or make me smell funky—when I cross the headquarters’ threshold?” “No, but it’s a thought if we keep getting made Society members like you.” Like me? Made versus born—was that what he meant? Such a bizarre prejudice, but groups will hyper-focus on the differences. Alex was born, naturally. Or perhaps he wasn’t referencing my made status but was simply commenting on my uniquely irreverent attitude. “Ready?” When he nodded, I chucked my keys at him. He had a thing about driving, so I let him. As the more flexible individual in the relationship, it seemed the right thing to do. And Alex’s enhanced dexterity and speed meant he had mad driving skills. “Oh.” I pulled up the picture on my phone as he locked his office. “This is the guy.” He glanced at my phone then closed his eyes. When he opened them, he snatched my phone and examined the picture more closely. “This is the CEO of the Society.” “No.” I knew that guy, and this wasn’t that guy. “Cornelius has a beard. And he’s shorter, stockier.” “Cornelius is the chief security officer. This is the chief executive officer.” “Oh.” I thought about it. “Uh-oh.” Alex ran his hand through his hair. “Uh-oh is a massive understatement.”