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Which did not go to plan.
Rosa, who was a lot better at visualizations than I, threw off their hypnotic influence faster and fled back to her guard shack. She wasn’t so terrified as to forget to put her part of the gate up again, trapping two SUVs full of pissed-off Dracs in the space between. Once they realized what had happened, some of them shifted into bats and attempted to fly free only to hit the outer dome head-on. Others tried vanishing, sinking into the earth, hoping to sieve down far enough to get under the barrier. That was an epic fail, too. The designer, anticipating such ploys, had put in a foundation barrier. They either didn’t know about it or had forgotten that detail.
A sense of entitlement does not guarantee brains, just the arrogance to think having one plan to get in and destroy HQ would be sufficient.
Once other members of Company security arrived—many were witches with specialist magic I could only dream about—the whole lot of Dracs was rendered neutral and taken away. I didn’t know where and had no mind to find out.
In the aftermath—and there was a hellish amount of paperwork—we figured out their plan.
The vamp we’d brought in was not Kellie Ann Donner but did look like her, right down to the mole off the corner of her mouth. She’d searched far and wide for a patsy and found her working the night shift in that franchise gas station.
The vamp had kidnapped the poor girl, forced the change on her, and buried her deep in a box in that old cemetery. The box was big enough for two. The vamp had doubled up for the day with Kellie Ann’s corpse, waiting for her to revive, knowing that somewhere a Company seer would pick up on it and send a registration/recovery team.
The media frenzy and the reward money? All backed by the Dracs. The intent was to get the Company so worried about the number one rule being breached that they’d miss the real goal.
Those SUVs were stuffed with explosives. With them, plus the fake Kellie Ann and other Dracs killing or incapacitating anyone they found, they’d inflict enough damage on this branch of the Company to virtually wipe it out. Computer records would have survived in backup form, but all those signed registration agreements down in the vaults would have been wholly destroyed.
Free of magical restraint, any vamp who felt like cutting loose would be able to do so.
Not smart. Humans in the twenty-first century are infinitely more dangerous than their ancestors, though some of the really old vamps like to think otherwise.
Morons.
Ms. Vouros and others in the skeleton crew in the main building had a bad time of it from the fake Kellie Ann’s assault. She was a good shot but hadn’t stuck around to finish them off properly. They’d been hurt but eventually recovered. Most, including Ellinghaus, had to have surgery to get the slugs out, but it was done during the day while they were dead and unaware. A quick vanishing, and they were ready to get back to kicking rogue Drac ass and taking names.
The forensics team that had been sent out to process the burial found the real Kellie Ann Donner. The fake one had snapped her neck right after revival; that was the sound Ellinghaus had taken for breaking wood.
But even young Dracs are tough as hell and hard to kill a second time. The team tried standard first aid, and damned if it didn’t work. Her first accidental vanishing healed her up physically, but they had their hands full calming her down and getting her back.
To my surprise, Vouros did not take the easy way out and disappear her. Rogue vamps were behind the disruption and damage to Donner and her family, and Vouros felt a responsibility to try to patch things back together. She used the penitent kidnapper story, and eventually it worked. Post processing and orientation (with ongoing therapy), Kellie Ann went home. She and her family refused offers of book and movie deals, though I heard she accepted a job at the Company’s Birmingham branch.
Ellinghaus and I got the Jekyll and Hyde treatment: We were unfairly blamed for bringing in the fake Kellie Ann but also hailed as heroes for stopping her.
After that ear-shattering maneuver, no one ever again gave my partner flack about his favorite obsession.
I asked for a raise. Nothing unreasonable, just something in keeping with cost-of-living expenses.
Better believe I was pissed off when Vouros turned me down, citing from memory the clause in my contract that covered the limits of pay to apprentices. In turn, I cited my brilliance while under pressure in slowing down the fake Kellie Ann, so she could be stopped; and then I asked for a promotion.
Vouros said she’d think about it and said no in the next breath she drew.
“It’s just another two years to automatic promotion and a doubling of your check,” she reminded me.
Being a vamp, she had quite a different view of time than I, a short-lived human.
Grumbling, I went to the staff cafeteria and, in a fit of self-destructive rebellion, grabbed one of their infamously bad-for-your-figure desserts. It was a tower of chocolate brownies layered with chocolate ice cream, chocolate chunks, and hot chocolate syrup on top and as many cherries as you liked. As a coping mechanism for job frustration, it did the trick.
I was halfway through it when Ellinghaus came by and sat opposite me in the booth. He was back in his favorite black suit, tie, and hat, shades firmly in place. He sat straight up, hands clasped neatly on the table.
“Good evening, Miss Goldfarb.” He’d said that to me countless times, but tonight it seemed tinged with an uncommonly cheerful tone that made me want to brain him one. “Are you ready to get back to business as usual?”
I shot him a suspicious glare. “Were you listening outside when I talked to Vouros?”
“That would be completely unprofessional, Miss Goldfarb.”
“Don’t avoid the question.”
But he made no response. I mined ice-cream-soaked brownie from the bowl, and he watched, apparently fascinated.
