My Vampire Plus-One

by Jenna Levine

Nonprofit Business: J.R. will soon meet with our accounting firm to get the “Wyatt Foundation’s” tax filings in order. Giuseppe once again argued that having a nonprofit arm “is stupid,” given that we are vampires. Remainder of board reminded him that the more layers of legitimacy The Collective can acquire, the more likely it is the rest of the vampiric world will finally take us seriously. Plus, our accountant says it will save us on our state tax bill and lower our marginal income tax rate (whatever that is).

That flock of Canada geese that assaulted me en route hadn’t helped, either. Vicious creatures. How the hell was I supposed to know my flight path would intersect with their spring migration?

“I thought the only thing Cassie hated more than me was being exposed to what we eat,” I said, honestly. “She is unlikely to chair the Reginald Cleaves Fan Club anytime soon,” he acknowledged with a wry grin. “But she’s coming around to the idea of what we eat. Which is good timing, given what we have planned.” His grin was so brilliant it made my chest ache. “Wow. So you’re going through with it? You’re going to turn her?” He nodded. “She beat me to it and asked before I did.”

Dating Amelia Collins for real: Pros and Cons PROS: Efficiency. I can’t stop thinking about her so keeping her with me would save time I would always make sure she has food she can eat She needs to laugh more. I’m good at making her laugh (I love making her laugh) She makes me forget the terrible pointlessness of my existence (as well as all the other terrible things in this world) (she is so lovely) I haven’t made love to her yet and I REALLY want to. (I think she would enjoy it tbh) I would devote the rest of my existence to making her happy and I think (???) she would enjoy that Continued proximity to a real live historian (her dad)

“I want to try us. Because I like you. A lot.”

“I’ve never tried storytelling before. Might be fun to write our own ending, don’t you think?”

“I thought I already told you,” I began, letting the corner of my mouth quirk up into the sort of half smile he was always giving me. His eyes tracked the movement of my lips. God, he was adorable. “I think history books are boring. Who needs them?”

Moreover, it is well documented that humans frequently find sexual relations with vampires intensely pleasurable. Addictive, even. (So, you know. There’s that.)

“This is my home. You are obviously free to do whatever it is you like with whomever you like, but for reasons I assume you can guess, I prefer it not happen in the presence of my antiques.” Reggie glared daggers at the door. “You’re seriously bringing that up now? That was nearly two hundred years ago!” “Furniture never forgets.”

a dirty look at the closed bedroom door. “Though I have to say, given some of the lovey-dovey scenarios I’ve overheard since staying here these past few days, Frederick is being a filthy hypocrite right now.”

“As my lady commands.”

I obviously have no experience handling vampires—” “Oh, I beg to differ,” Reggie cut in, waggling his eyebrows. “You handle me just fine.”

(jhcr12345@countwyatt.org)

“Mr. Richardson.” I shook his hand, the way I did with every client when greeting them. I startled, nearly gasping at how icy cold his touch was. The only people I knew with a touch that cold were Reggie and Frederick. Spiky tendrils of suspicion went through me, but I shoved them aside. He was old. Maybe he had bad circulation.

And a pamphlet from a blood donation facility south of downtown. Wait. A blood donation facility?

“Mr. Richardson, can I get you a glass of water while I’m in the kitchen?” Mr. Richardson paused in his rummaging. He turned his eyes to me. “No, thank you,” he said, his tone even. “I don’t like water.” Who didn’t like water? The suspicion that had begun creeping in during our handshake grew stronger. “How about a cookie?” I pressed. “My administrative assistant brought in a batch of chocolate chip cookies she baked last night. They’re delicious.” He shook his head. “I don’t like cookies, either.”

“No organization has been around for centuries. What I meant to say was that we would like to change the name by which the IRS recognizes us to the name we have been going by informally for whatever length of time you wouldn’t find alarming.” He grinned at us, pleased with how he’d recovered from his fumble.

The group that was after Reggie, and my terrible client, were the same people. Well, I thought, my thoughts unspooling. That explains the frigid handshake. And the request to hold these meetings in the evening. And the seriously bizarre stuff they’ve been sending me.

“At best, they’re a walking audit risk,” I explained. “I mean, they don’t even know the difference between an I-9, a W-4, and a 990, for god’s sake, despite me having spent the better part of the past month trying to explain it to them.”

Reggie let out a quiet moan. “You’re so hot when you talk taxes,” he breathed.

“What about something that frightens all vampires?” Frederick and Reggie looked at each other. “Zelda?” Reggie suggested. Frederick shuddered. “God’s thumbs. Not her.” “Exactly.” Reggie snapped his fingers. “It’s pretty fair to say most of us are frightened of her, right?” “Who is Zelda?” I asked. “A witch who’s been deeply misunderstood over the centuries,” Reggie said. Frederick scoffed. “Hardly. Her preferred nickname is Grizelda the Terrible,” he said. “She came up with it herself. She used to keep a cauldron in her front yard to make it easier for her to cook children.” “An urban legend,” Reggie protested.

And then, with a murderous glare at Frederick, he added, “All rumors that Zelda and I were anything more than friends are rubbish.”

My cheeks flamed. Which was ridiculous. Even if the rumors Reggie had just alluded to weren’t rubbish, the man was hundreds of years old. Expecting him not to have had any lovers at all before me was unreasonable. I didn’t have to like it, though.

“I will return in a few hours. In the meantime, please do not disturb Cassie under any circumstances. She is sleeping and must rest for the next several days.” My eyebrows shot up. What sort of medical condition made someone need to sleep for days? “Is she okay?” “She will be,” Frederick said. His eyes drifted over to Reggie, as though seeking confirmation. “She will be,” Reggie agreed, reassuring. “I promise, Freddie.”

“Worrying about things way too far in advance is kind of my thing, though.” He chuckled. “You should work on that.” He paused, then pulled back so he could look into my eyes. “Have you considered bullet journaling?”

She allegedly committed a series of crimes involving arson in what is now the American Pacific Northwest and in Chicago during the early twentieth century. “I like to watch things burn,” she was famously quoted as saying.

Cassie’s voice rang through the quiet apartment like a bell. Reggie and I sprang apart like naughty teenagers. She stood at the end of the hall, just outside the bedroom she’d been sleeping in. Even at this distance, I could tell something about her was subtly different, though I’d have been hard-pressed to say what it was if I hadn’t known.

“Are you all right? You shouldn’t be awake right now.” “I’m all right.” Her voice sounded different, too. Rougher, somehow. I didn’t know if that was due to her having just woken up, or if whatever changes were happening in her body had done something to her vocal cords. “Hungry, though. It’s…really unpleasant.” Her hands shook a little; they went to her throat.

“Amelia. Hi.” She closed her eyes, then took in a deep breath through her nose before letting it out again. Her whole body shuddered. “I think I better not be around you right now. I’m…not quite myself.”

Reggie had told me his human memories were fuzzy and insubstantial. He’d compared them to faded photographs from a different person’s life. Was that because he’d last been human such a long time ago? Or did something happen to a person’s mind and memories when they became a vampire? When Cassie said she wasn’t quite herself, was this what she meant?

“You should rest,” Reggie said. “When you wake up, Freddie will be back with something for you to eat.” Cassie smiled at the mention of Frederick. At least some memories were still intact, then.

First, would it be helpful to have other members of The Wyatt Foundation/The Collective attend the meeting with me in case they are able to remember details I cannot?

I also strongly suspected I was falling in love with her. Scratch that. I strongly suspected I had already fallen in love with her.

“They’ll probably tell you they didn’t know what they were doing. Vampires don’t keep up with the modern world too well.” “It doesn’t matter if it was unintentional or not,” she said, sternly. “No?” She turned in my arms, craning her neck a little so she could look up at me. “Failure to understand the law is not a defense to breaking it.”

“Does everyone understand their roles?” “I think so,” Reggie said. “But why don’t you go over it all one more time just in case.” Frederick took the seat next to Reginald, smirking at him. “It’s a simple enough plan, don’t you think?” Then he leaned over and stage-whispered in his ear: “You like it when Amelia takes charge, don’t you.” “No,” Reggie said, glaring at him. A moment later, he quietly murmured, “Yes.”

“If that doesn’t work, I’ll also offer to help them find who was really responsible.” That surprised me. This offer had not been part of the plan we’d gone over last night with Frederick over pancakes (for me) and bags of O-positive (for the two of them). “Really? You’d do that?”

“The person who set the fire likely had their reasons. Even though I had nothing to do with it, I’m not sad it happened. I will not rat the actual arsonist out.” A pause. “Whoever they are.” I stared at him. Did Reggie actually know who did it?

“If you are here, there are other people from The Collective who need to be here as well. They’re angry, Reginald Cleaves.” And then, leaning in closer, he added, “You have been a very naughty boy.”

Excerpt from security log at 131 N. LaSalle, Chicago, Illinois, recovered the following day 10:12 a.m.: Group of four oddly dressed individuals approached desk, asked to be buzzed upstairs. When I asked for some identification, leader of group waved hand and said You don’t need to see our identification. Group was informed I saw that in a movie once and that it wouldn’t work on me, but then a very peaceful feeling came over me and I realized I didn’t need to see their identification. Buzzed group in building with no further incident.—JSP

“You can’t report us to the IRS if I kill you first,” he threatened. Reggie scoffed. “You’re going to attack a human in front of dozens of other people?” He shook his head. “You’re letting your feelings get in the way of making good decisions, Johnny boy. Besides, if you kill her, you’ll be dead before you draw your next breath.” Reggie said this all so cheerfully it sent chills down my spine.

From: John Richardson (jhcr12345@countwyatt.org) To: Amelia Collins (ajcollins@butyldowidge.com) Subject: your demands Dear Ms. Collins, Regarding our discussion earlier today, we agree to your demands (mostly because we realize we have no choice). Effective immediately we will be redirecting our efforts away from our brother Reginald and towards other parties. For now, however, we agree it best we keep a low profile for a while, on the chance the IRS tries to find us. All best, John Richardson

And I got to save the day with tax law.” I grinned up at him. “That never happens.”

Letter from Zelda Turret, formerly Grizelda Watson, to Reginald Cleaves Hey Reg, It’s been a while. How’s tricks, kid? I wanted to let you know that those losers who chased you around all those years somehow found their way to my yoga retreat out here in Napa. (I’m in Napa now by the way. Wild, right???) I don’t know if they’re here because they’re turning over a new leaf from the nonsense vendetta business, or if they’re here to sniff around for evidence they’ll never find (I remain eternally grateful that there was no CSI: Sevastapol in 1872). Either way, everyone in the world is right about how annoying they are. The good news is they seem to have forgotten all about you. The bad news is now they’re my problem (though I have a plan in place for if they get too snoopy). Keep it real, friend. If you ever happen to be out this way let me know and I’ll show you around. Grizzy ps: Thank you, by the way, for keeping my name out of this mess all these years. You’re a real one.

What he did seem was outraged. He turned on my dad. “You don’t understand,” he said. “The answers on the back of that little card are wrong. I was there.” Dad stared at him. “You were in Constantinople in 1835?” That was my cue to intervene.

When I’d gotten the invitation to this wedding six weeks ago, I’d initially rolled my eyes at Gretchen holding it at the same country club all our cousins had used. But Reggie couldn’t go inside any sort of Christian church without, apparently, bursting into flames. (Inconvenient, he’d said, when he told me.)

“I never miss a good Chicken Dance.”