Peace, Blood, and Understanding

by Molly Harper

  “I’m just doing my job, Meadow.”

  “I know that, but when I talk about the consequences of your work, this is what I mean,” I told him. “You give Jane a negative report, like the one you submitted about the virus—”

  “Which was my job,” he noted.

  “OK, well, the consequences are that Jane could lose her job and someone like Mr. Crown could be put in charge. Which would be bad for the district. Specifically, someone like him could be made my case supervisor, which could be very bad for me.”

  Weston’s mouth fell open. “You’re probationary? That’s what you meant by Crown putting you in a special facility? For how long?”

  “Twenty years or so? I had ‘difficulty’ adjusting after I was turned,” I said. “I left a noticeable trail.”

  He grimaced. “How many?”

  “Several… dozen people,” I said. “But they were all bad, bad people.”

  He took a moment to adjust to the idea that his friendly neighborhood hippie was technically a mass murderer. “OK, well, even if that’s true, Crown couldn’t put you in a ‘facility.’ They don’t do that anymore, Meadow, really.”

  “Mr. Crown longs for the good old days when it was common practice,” I said. “He told me so himself.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, leaning against the wall next to me. “You’re right: I don’t always consider the consequences of what I do. I’ll try to think about that more carefully in the future.”

  “Thank you.” I sighed, looking up at him. “I guess that’s all I can ask.”

  He snorted. “And in the interest of being candid, the man who was at your door the other night? He stopped by my place right after, asking a bunch of questions about you. I didn’t tell him anything. I don’t know much about you in the first place, but I didn’t like the look of him.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I feel I should warn you, he was very adamant about getting information on you. It took me flashing fang at him and warning him not to let me see him again around my door—and by extension your door—before he finally took off.”

  “Two fang flashes for Mr. Bollinger in one evening?” I said as I kept my gaze on the lot. “Well, that should keep him away for a while, commission or no.”

  “Would you care to tell me why you have a flatfoot staking out your apartment?” he asked.

  “Would you care for me to ask if you can keep a secret again?” I inquired, squinting at him. “Because you’ll get the same answer.”

  “You know, between the two of us, I thought I would be the one with more secrets. I should have known. You seem full of surprises,” he said.

  “I like to think it gives me a certain mystique,” I told him.

  He tilted his head as he scanned the Capitol lot. “They really should do something with this space.”

  I laughed. “And finally, we agree on something.”

  “It’s an inefficient use of the lot,” he continued, glancing down the street. “It’s surrounded by viable retail space, adjacent to several apartment complexes. You would think the city would at least make it into surplus parking or something useful.”

  “You just can’t help it, can you?” I turned to him, grinning. “When you lay out your clothes for the next night, do you unfold your socks because it will save you just a few seconds while you’re getting dressed?”

  His eyes went wide for a second.

  “I knew it!” I crowed. “Do you also own one of those Sock Aid things they show on commercials that help old people pull their socks on faster?”

  “Why are you so obsessed with socks?” he demanded, though he was smiling—a real smile, one that reached his eyes. Human-er and human-er, all the time.

  “You do!” I cried. “You do have a Sock Aid! How did someone like you become a vampire? Was it an experiment? Some scientist was trying to create the most efficient human being who ever lived, but they ended up with an anal-retentive vampire instead?”

  “There was no scientist involved,” he replied dryly. “I wanted to be turned because it seemed like a good idea. I was one of those flannel suit train-to-Manhattan fellas. There’s a lot made of how repressed and unhappy our generation was, trapped into those little cubicles like rats when all we wanted to do was rebel, but I loved my work. I was fulfilled by it. I like being able to say I worked in industrial psychology before it was cool.”

  “Was it ever cool?” I asked, but it turned out he was being rhetorical… and sort of sexy.

  “Nobody knew efficiency like the Germans, and we were just starting to cooperate in a scientific sense. I’m fluent, because of my parents, so I was sent with a delegation of other industrial psychologists to Berlin to meet with their experts. One of the delegates happened to be a vampire, and he made vampirism seem like the smartest decision I could make. I didn’t want to get old, lose my edge. And I could be productive forever.”

  “That is just really depressing.”

  “Well, it’s not like it was all work. My sire, Jonas, became more of a father figure to me than either of my human parents were. Jonas taught me to find joy in other things—like a hunt for a good bloody meal—while still focusing your energy on what you’re passionate about. We tried to focus our hunts on known criminals and ne’er-do-wells.”

  “I clearly have no place judging,” I told him. “So this sire, did he teach you to find joy in anything else in this life?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like going outside at night and watching the stars and the moon, just so you can see all of the little details that you couldn’t see before? Lying down on a hillside, closing your eyes and smelling the wind, just to track what’s around you? Running through the snow as fast as you can just because you can?”

  “That sounds silly.”

  “It’s completely silly, but it’s also beautiful and calm and the best part of being a vampire.”

  “I don’t know, the tax advantages are—”

  “I swear if you finish that sentence, I will bring up the Sock Aid in front of Dick Cheney.”

  He held up his hands in the “surrender” position. “OK, OK. That was a joke, by the way.”

  “Well, it was terrible—never make another one,” I said, reaching for his hand. “Come on.”

  “What?”

  “We’re going to run to the apartments in the most ridiculous vampire fashion we can, just really take advantage of our speed and our powers. It will be like parkour, but we won’t trip and break our wrists and end up on YouTube.”

  He crossed his laptop strap across his chest and glanced down at his shiny dress shoes, which did not look running-friendly. “If this turns out to be some sort of Twilight-themed prank, I will find a way to get back at you.”

  “I wouldn’t do that to you,” I promised.

  “Thank you.”

  “Because I’ve never seen Twilight, and I don’t know how that would work.”

  “Thanks.” He snorted. “So what do we do here?”

  “Run really fast,” I said, pointing down the street toward our complex. “That way.”

  “That’s not very helpfu—”

  “Go!” I yelled, bursting into a full-out run.

  “Oh, come on!” Weston yelled from behind me. Within a few steps, he was at my shoulder, grinning as we ran like lunatics down Preston Avenue. So I jumped onto a bench and used it to springboard onto a nearby awning and then onto the roof of Quilts and Things. I landed in my half-assed Batman pose and looked over the edge of the roof to see Weston staring up at me with his mouth hanging open. I cackled and ran, jumping over to the roof of the next store. I heard Weston landing behind me with a grunt.

  He was grinning when I looked back at him. For the first time since he’d come to the Hollow, Weston looked like he was having a good time. We needed this, both of us. I needed to let off the steam that had been building all night. And Weston was so tightly wound he was practically a clock. Maybe this was how I could help Jane and Dick: by helping Weston see w
hat was good about the Hollow and the vampire community here, by giving him ties here and reasons not to want to send our shadow government hurtling backward into corruption and darkness.

  “I thought the whole point of this was to enjoy the vampire’s view of nature!” he yelled. “Snowflakes and wind smells and all that!”

  “I said the whole point is enjoying your abilities as a vampire!” I called over my shoulder, taking a few more steps and vaulting across the street to the roof of Grandma’s Antique Attic.

  “You’re insane!” he cried, though he jumped after me, landing at my side as I laughed.

  “You’ve never done this, have you?”

  “No!” he exclaimed. “Because it’s insane!”

  “But it’s fun!” I jumped off Grandma’s roof and caught the streetlamp, sliding down the pole. He followed me, making an even more impressive somersault and landing near me. He took off at full speed, turning on Millard Street toward our apartment building.

  “Nope!” I giggled as I ran after him. I put on my own burst of speed and had nearly caught up with him by the time we reached the gravel parking lot behind our building. I leaped over the gravel and landed on the bottom stair to our floor. I was laughing myself breathless by the time he caught up with me. I didn’t need to breathe, but it was still a nice feeling.

  I shushed him as he approached, pointing to Sammy’s apartment. Sammy was already living vampire hours; he didn’t need me waking him up when he did manage to sleep. Weston nodded, grinning as we loped up the stairs.

  “That was fun.” He sighed.

  “You know, you’re almost tolerable to be around sometimes.”

  “Thank you, that’s very kind of you.” He snorted, though he was laughing, too. Again, his face was transformed when he laughed, and my hands itched to reach out and trace those lines with my fingertips.

  “Do you feel better now?” he asked.

  I smiled, almost shy in my unwillingness to admit that he had improved my night. “I do feel better, thank you. Though this was meant to help you, not me.”

  “Well, it did both, so well done, you.”

  “Was that—gasp—something nice? Do you want to sit down? I know that kind of effort can really drain a person as prone to misanthropy as you,” I said, making him laugh again. He was standing close now, so close that if he did breathe I would have felt it against my lips.

  “I can be nice,” he murmured. “When I’m not being provoked.”

  I snickered, and my face seemed to move even closer to his. Here we were again in this position. That either revealed my poor decision-making skills, or it meant I really wanted to be in said position. I knew I should move away, keep my lips far away from someone who I’d found so objectionable all too recently. But he was there, with his mouthwatering scent and his smile, and I was lost.

  His mouth closed over mine in a movement so soft and sweet I didn’t think it was possible. His thumb stroked over the apple of my cheek before his hand curved around my jaw. I melted against him, tangling my fingers into the crisp linen of his shirt. He chuckled into my mouth, wrapping his arms around me. He tasted as good as he smelled, dark and sweet, the way chocolate used to melt on my tongue.

  I was craving chocolate so badly it hurt.

  He backed me against the metal stair rail with a soft thunk, his hands sliding down my back to frame my waist. He opened his lips, and I slid my tongue between them to savor more of his sweetness. He shuddered against me, yielding, and I wondered if that was his gift—being a supernaturally good kisser. It seemed unfair, really.

  And then I thought of Luke. And I realized I was kissing the man who could potentially push Jane and Dick out of office, throw my circle of friends into chaos, and completely reorder my universe if he wasn’t careful. And I shrank back away from him. His mouth followed mine, his eyes closed, as I retreated, which was sort of adorable. He blinked almost sleepily at me as I backed up the stairs.

  “I’m gonna go,” I told him.

  “OK,” he said, his brow furrowing. “Good night.”

  “Good night,” I said, scrambling up the stairs before turning and unlocking my door. I slipped into my apartment and locked myself in, tapping my forehead against the cool wood of my door. What was I doing? I was all over the place, even for me. I needed to center myself. I needed to drain all of this toxic tension from my system before it drove me crazy. I needed to stop kissing Erik Weston, because that seemed to be a bad, life-complicating idea.

  Even if it felt really, really good.

  “I’m coming back in my next life as a dung beetle,” I muttered.

  7

  The first rule of pursuing peace as a vampire is “Do not bite in anger.” The second rule of pursuing peace as a vampire is “Do not bite in anger.” The third rule is remarkably similar.

  —Peace, Blood, and Understanding: A Living Guide for Vampires Embracing Pacifism

  My workday with the archive started with finding a typed list on my desk, with a note from Jane asking me to please bring the files associated with the attached names to her desk as soon as possible—which turned out to be a less nice way to serve my local Council.

  It took me hours to comb through the files, as they were stored in the “scary red drawers” way in the back of the cavern in a secret room–slash–restricted section. The haunted-mansion-style secret room was hidden by a dummy wall of file cabinets, counterweighted with drawers full of staff directories from other branches and unaddressed personnel complaints of years past. Most of those notes were just scribbles from the head representatives that boiled down to petty complaints about thermostat changes and someone taking the last of the communal warmed blood without replacing it.

  The wall of filing cabinets detached and swung open like a secret door in a Scooby-Doo mystery, revealing a tiny room lined with three banks of bright red filing cabinets, so rarely used that they were impeccably shiny and smooth. Even with plain fluorescent bulbs, the light reflected so violently crimson that it was almost painful to stand in there—like something out of a Stanley Kubrick movie.

  The scary red drawers contained the files of employees who had been fired for spectacularly memorable reasons—or people who were never hired in the first place, for equally memorable reasons. Those people were considered security threats, and at the top of Jane’s list was “Luca X. Corso.”

  I had to read the name three times before I believed it. Luke’s given name was Luca Xavier Corso. What in the hell was Luke doing on this list of wackaloons? And why would Jane be looking into Luke’s background?

  As far as I knew, Luke had very little history with the Council. He had applied to be the head of the security department a few years back after he’d consulted with the Council on several security projects, including installation of sunproof shades and upgrading the security cameras. I remembered him talking about it when we first started spending time together. While security protocols were centralized for consistency, the Council sometimes used local vendors for installation. It was what had gotten him interested in applying for the security position in the first place, seeing the resources the Council had to offer. He wasn’t hired, obviously, or he’d be at work with me. But he didn’t seem bitter about it or anything. He liked working for himself, setting his own hours, interacting with lots of people. He never complained about how the Council had made a huge mistake not hiring him or rubbed his hands together while laughing maniacally when I brought up the office.

  I had to assume that Dick and Jane were assembling a list of suspects in the ineffectual virus upload. Did Jane really believe Luke was capable of something like that? It had to be a mistake. Maybe there was another Luca Corso in the district… except there weren’t that many middle names that began with “X.” And there couldn’t be that many Luca Xaviers running around western Kentucky.

  I didn’t look in the files as I pulled them. They were well beyond my security clearance, and I’d specifically agreed not to look in red-drawer files when I signe
d my employment agreement. I simply rolled my little collection cart around the red-lined room and collected the files for Harvey Mulgrove, Margaret Coggins, Charlie Zbornak, and others.

  I delayed pulling Luke’s file until the very end, because I knew the temptation of looking in it would be too great. I reached into the “Cor–Cra” drawer like I was handling a pissed-off cobra, making as little contact as possible while dropping it onto the cart and gingerly guiding the cart back to my desk.

  One complication of dealing with red files was that I had to fill out a form stating that I’d pulled the files from the archive and then have Jane sign it to show she’d taken “custody” of them. That form was very detailed and time-consuming, and the whole time I was filling it out, that damn cart was parked just a few feet away, with Luke’s file right on top.

  My eyes kept wandering toward the cart. I didn’t want to look in Luke’s file. That was not the behavior of a friend. I knew Luke. He was a good man, a decent man. I trusted him enough to have sex with him… which, given my having kissed Weston, maybe wasn’t the best gauge of dependability. My radar seemed to be on the fritz.

  I just had to trust that he was a good person who was on Jane’s list because of some sort of misunderstanding. It had to be a coincidence. I had never known Luke to criticize the Council. Hell, he’d never even mentioned the Council. So why was he on this list?

  My hand wandered toward the pile of file folders.

  No.

  I snatched my hand back and pressed it to my chest.

  NO.

  I had given in to my baser instincts with Weston, and kissed someone I really shouldn’t have kissed. I didn’t buy in to the whole societal expectation of monogamy and chastity, but it certainly didn’t seem like a good idea for me to make out with Weston, just in terms of being good for me as a person.

  I would resist the urge to open the file. I would be a better person.

  But I decided to deliver those files as quickly as possible just to eliminate the temptation. I practically sprinted from the elevator to Jane’s office to drop the files on her desk. And then I buried myself in mileage receipts for the rest of the night and ran over to the shop to do inventory until my brain felt like pudding. Brains made of pudding caused very few problems.