It was the soul part that bothered me. My immortal soul is not for sale, not even for eternity. You see, I knew vampires could die. I had proved it. No one seemed curious as to what happened to a vampire's soul when it died. Could you be a good vampire and go to Heaven? Somehow that didn't quite work for me.
“Is Bert with a client, too?”
She glanced once more at the appointment book. “No, he's free.” She looked up and smiled, as if she was pleased to be able to help me. Maybe she was.
It is true that Bert took the smallest of the three offices. The walls are a soft pastel blue, the carpet two colors darker. Bert thinks it soothes the clients. I think it's like standing inside a blue ice cube.
Bert didn't match the small blue office. There is nothing small about Bert. Six-four, broad shoulders, a college athlete's figure getting a little soft around the middle. His white hair is close-cut over small ears. A boater's tan forces his pale eyes and hair into sharp contrast. His eyes are a nearly colorless grey, like dirty window glass. You have to work very hard to make dirty grey eyes shine, but they were shining now. Bert was practically beaming at me. It was a bad sign.
“Anita, what a pleasant surprise. Have a sit.” He waved a business envelope at me. “We got the check today.”
“Check?” I asked.
“For looking into the vampire murders.”
I had forgotten. I had forgotten that somewhere in all this I had been promised money. It seemed ridiculous, obscene, that Nikolaos would make everything better with money. From the look on Bert's face, a lot of money.
“How much?”
“Ten thousand dollars.” He stretched each word out, making it last.
“It isn't enough.”
He laughed. “Anna, getting greedy in your old age. I thought that was my job.”
“It isn't enough for Catherine's life, or mine.”
His grin wilted slightly. His eyes looked wary, as if I was about to tell him there was no Easter Bunny. I could almost hear him wondering if he would have to return the check.
“What are you talking about, Anita?”
I told him, with a few minor revisions. No “Circus of the Damned.” No blue fire. No first vampire mark.
When I got to the part about Aubrey smashing me into the wall, he said, “You are kidding.”
“Want to see the bruises?”
I finished the story and watched his solemn, square face. His large, blunt-fingered hands were folded on his desk. The check was lying beside him atop his neat pile of manila folders. His face was attentive, concerned. Empathy never worked well on Bert's face. I could always see the wheels moving. The angles calculating.
“Don't worry, Bert, you can cash the check.”
“Now, Anita, that wasn't …”
“Save it.”
“Anita, truly I would never purposefully endanger you.”
I laughed. “Bull.”
“Anita!” He looked shocked, small eyes widening, one hand touching his chest. Mr. Sincerity.
“I'm not buying, so save the bullshit for clients. I know you too well.”
He smiled then. It was his only genuine smile. The real Bert Vaughn please stand up. His eyes gleamed but not with warmth, more with pleasure. There is something measuring, obscenely knowledgeable, about Bert's smile. As if he knew the darkest thing you had ever done and would gladly keep silent-for a price.
There was something a little frightening about a man who knew he was not a nice person and didn't give a damn. It went against everything America holds dear. We are taught above all else to be nice, to be liked, to be popular. A person who has set aside all that is a maverick and a potentially dangerous human being.
“What can Animators, Inc., do to help?”
“I've already got Ronnie working on some things. I think the fewer people involved, the fewer people in danger.”
“You always were a humanitarian.”
“Unlike some people I could mention.”
“I had no idea what they wanted.”
“No, but you knew how I felt about vampires.”
He gave me a smile that said, “I know your secret, I know your darkest dreams.” That was Bert. Budding blackmailer.
I smiled back at him, friendly. “If you ever send me a vampire client again without running it by me first, I'll quit.”
“And go where?”
“I'll take my client list with me, Bert. Who is the one that does the radio interviews? Who did the articles focus on? You made sure it was me, Bert. You thought I was the most marketable of all of us. The most harmless-looking, the most appealing. Like a puppy at the pound. When people call Animators, Inc., who do they ask for?”
His smile was gone, eyes like winter ice. “You wouldn't make it without me.”
“The question is, would you make it without me?”
“I'd make it.”
“So would I”
We stared at each other for a long space of moments. Neither of us was willing to look away, to blink first. Bert started to smile, still staring into my eyes. The edges of a smile began to tug at my mouth. We laughed together and that was that.
“All right, Anita, no more vampires.”
I stood. “Thank you.”
“Would you really quit?” His face was all laughing sincerity, a tasteful, pleasant mask.
“I don't believe in idle threats, Bert. You know that.”
“Yes,” he said, “I know that. I honestly didn't know this job would endanger your life.”
“Would it have made a difference?”
He thought about it for a minute, then laughed. “No, but I would have charged more.”
“You keep making money, Bert. That's what you're good at.”
“Amen.”
I left him so he could fondle the check in privacy. Maybe chuckle over it. It was blood money, no pun intended. Somehow, I didn't think that bothered Bert. It bothered me.
18
The door to the other office opened. A tall, blonde woman stepped through. She was somewhere between forty and fifty. Tailored golden pants encircled a slender waist. A sleeveless blouse the color of an eggshell exposed tanned arms, a gold Rolex watch, and a wedding band encircled with diamonds. The rock in the engagement ring must have weighed a pound. I bet she hadn't even blinked when Jamison talked price.
The boy that followed her was also slender and blond. He looked about fifteen, but I knew he had to be at least eighteen. Legally, you cannot join the Church of Eternal Life unless you are of age. He couldn't drink legally yet, but he could choose to die and live forever. Funny, how that didn't make much sense to me.
Jamison brought up the rear, smiling, solicitous. He was talking softly to the boy as he walked them towards the door.
I got a business card out of my purse. I held it out towards the woman. She looked at it, then at me. Her gaze slid over me from top to bottom. She didn't seem impressed; maybe it was the shirt. “Yes,” she said.
Breeding. It takes real breeding to make a person feel like shit with one word. Of course, it didn't bother me. No, the great golden goddess did not make me feel small and grubby. Right. “The number on this card is for a man who specializes in vampire cults. He's good.”