long and ended up sounding like a poster on a travel agent’s wall, or had always talked like that and therefore was born to run a chamber of commerce, any chamber of commerce. “That all sounds swell. So, I’ll head over there next, get settled in . . . What is it, an apartment?” Cain nodded. “And I’d better figure out a good time to meet their . . .” Rachael rolled her eyes. “Vampire queen, gah, it sounds way too Comic-Con to me.” Though just knowing when to reference geeks at Comic-Con probably meant she spent too much time at Comic-Con.
“We use Pack as a personal noun, and our Pack leader (can you hear the capital letter?) lives in a mansion anyone can just drive right up to. And we occasionally allow fights to the death to determine the status of the males, which they normally don’t do on Election Day around here.”
“Glass house. Got it.” She was even in one, sort of . . . the chamber of commerce building was sizeable and chock-full of windows. She could see why the woman chose to work in the modern building, full of sharp angles and shiny metals. One entire side was almost all windows, a big half-moon of windows.
“Have you ever met her?” Rachael asked. She took out the newsletter, which showed the creases from being read many, many times, from her purse bag. This one was a deep cream, with the Burberry logo and font in black lettering. “Even in passing?”
“I have not. There was never a strong enough reason.” Meaning as an envoy from the Pack leader, or seeking vengeance for a blood debt, or being a welcome wagon rep, everyday things like that. “I suppose I didn’t need one so much as I was (and still am) a little vague on the protocol, so . . .” She shrugged.
“She puts her address and phone number on a newsletter with a circulation of six figures, and you were worried about protocol.”
Mrs. Cain mulled that over, then laughed. “Well, yes, if you put it that way . . .”
“So, I’ll go see her.” She folded up the newsletter and caught a flash from one of the stories: “Top Ten Reasons Why You Shouldn’t Pull Some Lame Vampire Crap from the Movies.” Interesting topic. Not for the first time, Rachael wondered if the newsletter was a satire. “Like I said, I just wanted to drop by.”
Mrs. Cain nodded at Rachael’s bag. “Did you lose your purse?”
“Never had it.” She cinched the bag shut. It was the sturdy, protective bag designer purses came in. She took a perverse pleasure in collecting and using the bags, but not the handbags themselves. She supposed there was something wrong with her.
“We very much appreciate your courtesy.” Mrs. Cain spoke for herself and the dozen or so men and women who worked for her. Packs within packs; happened all the time. Humans did it, too, they just weren’t as aware of it.
“Don’t mention it. Courtesy is my meat and drink. And even as I’m saying that, I’m realizing how full of crap I am.”
“Don’t let me keep you.”
“Don’t worry.”
Five
“This!” Edward shook the newsletter in front of his bemused roommates. “The Overbite, the monthly vamp-goings-on newsletter, which, for some reason . . . let’s just say I can’t imagine what we did to get on the mailing list.”
“That’s a good question,” Boo said. “Maybe you have to know someone, and we do, even if we don’t know we know them. And did either of you notice when I began sounding like Dr. Seuss?”
“Exactly! Who do we know? And are they dangerous?”
“Seriously, Eddie. Greg. It’s really starting to bother me.”
He ignored her. “It’s all text, a bunch of little articles . . . see? ‘Top Ten Reasons Why You Shouldn’t Pull Some Lame Vampire Crap from the Movies.’ And I think this one’s an ad: ‘The Antichrist is looking for soup kitchen volunteers.’ Soup kitchen volunteers! It’s gotta be a code for, I dunno, the end of the world or something. It does means something, though. I know it. And here!” He flipped the page over and tabbed a finger at the article on top. “ ‘First Aid for the Undead,’ by Dr. Marc Spangler. And this: ‘I See Dead People: Keep Your Cool When the Dead Won’t Leave You Alone.’ The only thing in here that isn’t weird is the photo of the high heel.” He squinted. “I guess somebody named Fendi took this picture