Incident 1 Definitely Not Paid Enough for This #2
Annabella brought his attention back to her.
“The thing is, most humans either try to exploit us or hunt us when they figure it out. You just ring us up. It’s a very rare quality, that rational calm.
More than a few clans would love to hire someone like you.
You can handle the day-to-day stuff that requires stepping out into daylight. Handle the human society.”
“If that requires me offering my throat to someone, no thanks.” He handed her the receipt.
“Pssh. Please. You’re too valuable to be a blood donor. And it’s not just the vampire clans.”
Over the past eight months, Ross had slowly pieced together the puzzle of what the supernatural world must be like, usually by casual comments just like this one. “So you guys have your own clans? For just your…ah, what’s the right word? Species?”
“Species works,” she agreed, eyes sharp on him as she registered his interest. “Yes, we all have our own clan. Well, except for mine—mine’s a collection of various species.
Our clanmaster assembled us together for his own reasons.
It’s mostly our clan you see in here, I think.
Four different territories overlap in Salem, though, so you probably see a few other clans in here too. ”
That was good to know. “Is that why fights break out in here sometimes?”
“That’s why. The clans don’t always get along. Werewolves and vampires especially don’t, so be aware of that.”
Ross gave a wry glance at the patched-up hole in the wall next to the soda machines. “A little too late for that warning.”
“Oh dear. Already, huh. Well, just think about it, okay?” With a smile, she gathered up her bags and beer and waltzed out of the store, her stride a touch too fast for a human to manage.
Ross watched her go with a shake of the head.
Think about what, exactly? First off, while he saw a great deal of the supernatural during his night shift, it was only at this store.
He never saw them outside. Second of all, did vampires even have job postings?
‘Wanted: Supernatural PA.’ Well, maybe it was more like a vampire secretary.
Why did that sound like a bodice ripper? The Vampire’s Secretary.
Ross looked around the store, and no, this wasn’t the job he wanted to have.
He’d already been here much longer than he’d expected.
But working for vampires? Or werewolves, or whatever…
no. Yeah, no. That sounded all sorts of a bad idea.
Ross barely kept control of his mouth in this retail job.
If he was the babysitter for a whole clan of supernats? It wouldn’t be pretty.
He felt like typing out a general announcement and pulled out his phone to type it into Twitter. Check on your friends who work in professions which require them to refrain from saying 90% of what they think. We are not okay.
He slipped his phone back into his pocket as the door chime went off, signaling a new customer.
This was another of his regulars and Ross popped his head over the top of the counter as the werewolf slid in.
Literally slid in. His head and front paws were on the ground, his back legs high in the air as he pushed his way along the tile before flopping into a pile of sweaty fur.
It looked much like a russet-colored shag carpet had taken up residence on the dingy tile.
“Hi, Feliks. Midnight run?”
“I don’t know why you call it that,” the werewolf whined up at him, rolling those big brown eyes plaintively. “I do not plan to run around like a madman every night.”
“You say that, but you were dating three women at once. That sounds like signing up for extreme exercise to me.”
“They all lived in different towns!” he whined some more, flopping onto his back, still panting for breath.
“And you really didn’t think they’d figure it out? Dude. Women are like the FBI and CIA combined when they get suspicious. No one is safe. You want a bowl of water?”
Feliks perked up a little. He looked like a dog begging for a treat in that position. “Maybe a hot dog?”
“Sure, I’ll put it on your tab.” Ross got out the bowl he stowed under the counter just for Feliks, poured some water into it, set it down, then went to fetch the hot dog. He was halfway to the food display case when the door chimed again.
Faster than the eye could blink, Feliks was up on his feet, hackles raised along his back, lips pulled back in a snarl.
Crap. Dodging around the snarling werewolf, Ross got a good look at the man(?) who’d just entered.
He had the pale skin and perfectly pressed suit that screamed otherworldly.
When someone was put together that precisely?
They were usually a vampire or some sort of Fae.
Ross didn’t recognize him, but that didn’t say much.
He didn’t recognize a lot of his customers.
Judging from Feliks’s reaction, likely vampire.
The werewolves only seemed to have beef with the vampires. “Feliks, quit it.”
Feliks gave another snarl, fur growing impossibly poofier. The vampire arched one eyebrow at the werewolf, his hands still lax at his sides, for all the world like he was facing down a barking Chihuahua. Maybe to him it was.
Not about to let another fight break out in the gas station (Ross had made that mistake only once), he lifted a hand and smacked Feliks sharply on the nose. The werewolf jerked back in reflex, then sneezed violently, shaking his head.
“Stop,” Ross commanded firmly. “You know the rules. No fighting inside the store. You want to fight, you take it outside.”
“But—” Feliks sounded like a five-year-old denied a treat.
“No.”
“You don’t know who he is!” Feliks protested.
“He’s my customer. He’s inside my store. No fighting.” Ross upped his glare.
Feliks didn’t like it, and the vampire seemed amused by the exchange, if that little quirk around his mouth was any judge. He certainly seemed interested. He watched Ross like an eagle would a mouse.
Ross went back to fetching the hot dog, and when he presented it to Feliks—with ketchup and a dot of mustard, just the way the werewolf liked it—it was meekly taken and consumed without further argument. Feliks didn’t stay, though. He drank up the bowl, mumbled a good night, then slunk back out.
Ross breathed out a sigh of relief, fetched the bowl, and put it off to the side to clean later. He’d barely gotten behind the counter when the vampire moved toward him, feline grace in every movement.
“That was impressive,” the vampire informed him, voice smooth as honey.
He was an interesting looking character, like someone from a romance novel.
His burnished terracotta hair flowed in a soft wave to his collar, framing a narrow face that sported a close-trimmed beard.
He was incredibly freckled, so much so that Ross would have thought him a ginger, but maybe there was a hint of red in his hair after all.
The lights in here bleached everything, making it look blander than it was.
“I’ve never seen a human wrangle a werewolf before. You do that often?”
“It’s called customer service,” Ross deadpanned. “Are you looking for something, sir?”
“Gas. The pump outside wouldn’t take my card, for some reason.”
“Pump 3?” Ross checked, not surprised by the nod. “Yeah, that one’s glitchy for some reason. Our tech guy is due tomorrow to fix it. I can run it from here. How much do you want?”
“Twenty dollars should suffice.” He handed over his credit card—black, Ross couldn’t help but notice—and then leaned in, curiosity all over his face.
His gold eyes were penetrating and rather stunning to look at, even when narrowed as they were now.
He inhaled deeply, frown deepening. “I don’t detect anything from your blood. You’re wholly human?”
Ross had gotten this reaction a lot. It still felt a little weird to be sniffed at, but practically everyone who passed through those doors seemed inclined to do so. He knew how to respond to it. “Nothing supernatural or magical about me. Sign here, please.”
The vampire took it and signed, signature loopy and distinct, unlike most modern signatures. “And yet you are unfazed by the supernaturals you encounter?”
“The ones who come in here to shop aren’t the type to cause trouble,” Ross answered simply. “They’re reasonable. And I’ve never seen anyone supernatural outside of here.”
“I’d lay good odds you have. You just didn’t recognize them as such.”
Ross considered that for a second. Nothing had ever leapt out at him before, but…well, that didn’t mean much, did it? “Could be.”
A smile on his face, the vampire introduced himself with a slight bow. “I am Glenn. May I have your name?”
“Call me Ross. Everyone does.”
Glenn smiled charmingly, his manner more of old-world etiquette than anything modern. It gave Ross the sense that he was much older than the thirty-fiveish he looked. “A pleasure, Ross. I think we’ll see each other again.”
Oh boy. Here we go again. Why did the supernats find him so fascinating? Ross was ordinary, dammit, and there was nothing interesting about ordinary. Ross deliberately misunderstood and said with a professional smile of his own, “Have a good night.”
Glenn found his reply amusing for some reason. Those thin lips widened further, revealing slightly sharp incisors, but he gave an inclination of the head before sailing smoothly out again. Ross watched him go and had the gut sense he’d just met trouble.
Yeah. The supernatural world was fascinating and all, but Ross had the feeling he was going to get in over his head soon. Maybe he should really sit and figure out what to do before he got dragged along at someone else’s pace.
Night shift and morning shift shared an hour in the mornings, precisely from seven to eight o’clock. The thought was a changing of the guard, sure, but it also gave a chance for an employee to run late or for bad luck to be dealt with.