I shiver at his words, not liking what he’s saying one bit. But at the same time, what choice do I really have?
I square my shoulders. “You can count on me,” I tell him, my voice strong and determined. “I’d do anything in this world to save my sister’s life.”
“I know you will, Rayne,” Teifert says, patting me on the back. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t come down to ending your own.”
3
“I need to see Jareth. Now!”
Marcia, Jareth’s secretary (who used to work for Magnus and is decidedly the most annoying vampire in the known universe) looks up at me over horn-rimmed glasses. (I assume she wears them in an effort to give off that whole “sexy secretary” vibe, seeing as even the most nearsighted human gets twenty-twenty vision once they become a vampire.) She frowns.
“The Master has asked not to be disturbed,” she announces snottily before turning back to her romance novel.
“Oh, he means by other people, I’m sure,” I say quickly. “Not me. He’ll be happy to see me, I promise.”
Marcia makes a big show of looking up from her book again, as if I’m some pesky fly she can’t manage to shoo away. “Ecstatic as any mortal or vampire might be at the announcement of your illustrious arrival, the fact remains, I was told not to disturb him. And, I can assure you, there were no ‘except that weirdo Goth chick I’m hooking up with’ caveats to that order.”
I roll my eyes. She is so ridiculous. Is this what poor Sunny had to go through every time she wanted to meet up with Magnus? Well, sadly for Marcia here, I’m not my sweet little sister, respectful of authority and proper procedure and all the rest.
I start toward the office exit. Then I make a big show of looking down the hallway to my right. “Oh wow. I didn’t realize Race Jameson was coming in today,” I remark casually.
“Wait, what? Race Jameson?” Marcia stammers, her face turning beet red at the name of everyone’s favorite vampire rock star. She scrambles from her seat to take a look for herself.
It’s all the opportunity I need—dashing past her desk and pushing open the door that leads to Jareth’s office. Behind me, I can hear the secretary screaming bloody murder as she realizes she fell for the oldest trick in the book. Seriously, they should probably start administering IQ tests before turning people into vampires.
“I’m sorry, Master!” she cries, bursting into the room behind me. “I tried to tell her—”
But Jareth waves her off. “It’s okay. Thank you Marcia.”
“You want me to drag her out on her ass?” the secretary asks hopefully.
Jareth chuckles. “I don’t think that will be necessary. But I appreciate the offer.”
Marcia scowls. I shoot her a big smile. “Can you get me a glass of O-negative?” I ask sweetly. “Extra sugar? I’m sooo parched!”
The secretary glowers at me and slams the door behind her. I plop down into the chair across from Jareth’s desk. He gives me an amused look. “She’ll probably spit in it, you know,” he says.
I shrug. “That’s okay. I’m not thirsty anyway. Just wanted to make sure she felt useful and valued in her current position.”
“As always, Rayne, your thoughtfulness to the well-being of others simply astounds.” Jareth replies drolly. Then he turns serious. “So to what do I owe this visit? Not that I don’t love seeing you, but I am a bit busy this evening.” He sighs, looking down at the mounds of paperwork on his desk. “Sadly, being Coven Master isn’t as glamorous a job as it might seem.”
“I bet,” I say sympathetically. “And this isn’t going to make your night any better, I’m afraid.” I toss the envelope with my assignment down onto his desk. He picks it up and pulls out the paperwork, his pale face growing pinker and pinker as he reads.
“Those bastards,” he growls, crumpling the paper in his hands and tossing it across the room. “I should have suspected something like this.” He groans loudly, then looks at me. “You turned down the assignment, of course.”
“Well, not exactly…” I hedge. “It’s complicated.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Turning down an assignment to slay your own sister is complicated?”
“Well, kind of. I mean, look, I know you’re not a fan of Slayer Inc., but…”
“Not a fan?” Jareth repeats incredulously. I wince, realizing my bad choice of words. “Not a fan? Rayne, they murdered my whole family in cold blood.” He scowls. “Or did you happen to conveniently forget that little trivial fact about your precious employer?”
I sigh. Here we go again. God, at this point I can’t even count on both hands the number of times we’ve had this argument. In his mind Slayer Inc. is evil incarnate, out to destroy the world. And maybe they were, once upon a time. Hundreds of years ago under completely different management. (Unlike vampire political organizations, which have no term limits and whose rulers can live a thousand years or more, mortal Slayer Inc. officials tend to take the cushy retirement plan when they hit sixty-five.)
But how can you argue semantics with someone whose own sister and brother were targeted for annihilation for no reason at all, except for the unfortunate fact that they’d been turned into vampires as children. (The vampire who turned them had only wanted to save them from the deadly plague that had consumed much of Europe. But to Slayer Inc., child vampirism was—and is—an abomination.)