another?”
I shook my head. “It’s no wonder you can’t find this guy,” I said, wrinkling my nose as I pulled out a folder covered in grease and coffee stains.
I’d struck a nerve. “Look, lady, we do the best we can. It’s not like we’ve got people lounging around the office, just waiting to file the latest. We’ve got a community to protect. A very large metropolitan community. What have you got? A couple of witches? The bogeyman? A vampire here and there?”
I pushed a neatly organized stack of UDA files toward Hayes and fished a few more out of my shoulder bag.
“I have just over twelve thousand actives. Twelve thousand and seventy-one, to be exact. Demons, vampires, witches, goblins …” I couldn’t help but feel a little smug as Hayes’s eyes went wide at the orderly stack I presented.
“Don’t worry; I didn’t bring in all our files. I’m pretty sure whatever is out there”—I suppressed the smallest shudder—“isn’t the work of any centaur, gargoyle, or troll. Those are generally our less volatile groups.”
“Wow,” he said, wiping donut grease on a nearby file. “You guys really are organized. That’s impressive.”
“Forms up the wazoo,” I said, shrugging. I eyed the stack, then picked out all the ones marked with a bright red flag. “These ones are the active vamps. Everything we need should be there—original birth dates, sires, crossovers—”
“Crossovers?” Hayes’s dark brows rose a millimeter.
“When a breather goes vamp,” I explained.
“Vampires remember that kind of stuff?”
“Initially, yeah. Five hundred years into their afterlife, the ‘rebirth’ details can get a little foggy. But at first it’s pretty easily traceable. You wake up one morning with no breath and bellbottoms on? You were crossed over in the seventies. Ditto if you’ve got go-go boots or love beads.”
“I see.”
“There is information on current residences, jobs, skill sets, languages spoken, etcetera. Everything should be listed in the file.”
Hayes swallowed thickly. “They work up here?”
I shrugged. “They work everywhere. The short order cook over at Fog City is a werevamp.”
Hayes’s eyes bulged. “Tiny? I thought he was a drag queen.”
“He’s that, too.”
Hayes paled a little bit, and I blew out a long sigh and cocked my head, eyeing him. “Listen,” I said, “there are a lot more magically inclined people out there than you think.”
“Oh no,” Hayes started. “I’ve seen a lot of weird things in this city—Elvis, the Easter Bunny on the Fulton 5, Mrs. Claus walking down the Haight with Santa in a dog collar in the middle of July. Even with that veil thing, I don’t think I would miss seeing a vampire on Market. Or a troll.”
“And what would you think if you did?”
“I’d think that I’ve definitely been working too hard.”
I smiled. “Well, there you go. You’re not expecting to see them, so you don’t see them. That’s how the veils work for the most part. It’s not really that big of a deal.”
I didn’t think it was possible, but Hayes’s complexion went a few shades lighter. I rested my hand on his. “They’re just like you and me.”
He opened his mouth to protest, and I held up one silencing finger. “Okay, maybe not just like. But the people of the Underworld want to live their afterlives just like anybody else—steady job, comfortable den with a white picket fence, minivan …”
“And two-point-five demonic kids?”
I ignored him. “The majority really doesn’t want any trouble.”
“Except for the small minority that wants to rip out people’s throats, gobble up their eyeballs, and suck out all their blood.”
I crossed my arms in front of my chest. “Kind of like the small minority of the human population, right?”
“Touché. Okay,” Hayes said, a little bit of the color returning to his chiseled cheeks. “Where do we start, then?”
“Here,” I said, handing him a thick stack of
I shook my head. “It’s no wonder you can’t find this guy,” I said, wrinkling my nose as I pulled out a folder covered in grease and coffee stains.
I’d struck a nerve. “Look, lady, we do the best we can. It’s not like we’ve got people lounging around the office, just waiting to file the latest. We’ve got a community to protect. A very large metropolitan community. What have you got? A couple of witches? The bogeyman? A vampire here and there?”
I pushed a neatly organized stack of UDA files toward Hayes and fished a few more out of my shoulder bag.
“I have just over twelve thousand actives. Twelve thousand and seventy-one, to be exact. Demons, vampires, witches, goblins …” I couldn’t help but feel a little smug as Hayes’s eyes went wide at the orderly stack I presented.
“Don’t worry; I didn’t bring in all our files. I’m pretty sure whatever is out there”—I suppressed the smallest shudder—“isn’t the work of any centaur, gargoyle, or troll. Those are generally our less volatile groups.”
“Wow,” he said, wiping donut grease on a nearby file. “You guys really are organized. That’s impressive.”
“Forms up the wazoo,” I said, shrugging. I eyed the stack, then picked out all the ones marked with a bright red flag. “These ones are the active vamps. Everything we need should be there—original birth dates, sires, crossovers—”
“Crossovers?” Hayes’s dark brows rose a millimeter.
“When a breather goes vamp,” I explained.
“Vampires remember that kind of stuff?”
“Initially, yeah. Five hundred years into their afterlife, the ‘rebirth’ details can get a little foggy. But at first it’s pretty easily traceable. You wake up one morning with no breath and bellbottoms on? You were crossed over in the seventies. Ditto if you’ve got go-go boots or love beads.”
“I see.”
“There is information on current residences, jobs, skill sets, languages spoken, etcetera. Everything should be listed in the file.”
Hayes swallowed thickly. “They work up here?”
I shrugged. “They work everywhere. The short order cook over at Fog City is a werevamp.”
Hayes’s eyes bulged. “Tiny? I thought he was a drag queen.”
“He’s that, too.”
Hayes paled a little bit, and I blew out a long sigh and cocked my head, eyeing him. “Listen,” I said, “there are a lot more magically inclined people out there than you think.”
“Oh no,” Hayes started. “I’ve seen a lot of weird things in this city—Elvis, the Easter Bunny on the Fulton 5, Mrs. Claus walking down the Haight with Santa in a dog collar in the middle of July. Even with that veil thing, I don’t think I would miss seeing a vampire on Market. Or a troll.”
“And what would you think if you did?”
“I’d think that I’ve definitely been working too hard.”
I smiled. “Well, there you go. You’re not expecting to see them, so you don’t see them. That’s how the veils work for the most part. It’s not really that big of a deal.”
I didn’t think it was possible, but Hayes’s complexion went a few shades lighter. I rested my hand on his. “They’re just like you and me.”
He opened his mouth to protest, and I held up one silencing finger. “Okay, maybe not just like. But the people of the Underworld want to live their afterlives just like anybody else—steady job, comfortable den with a white picket fence, minivan …”
“And two-point-five demonic kids?”
I ignored him. “The majority really doesn’t want any trouble.”
“Except for the small minority that wants to rip out people’s throats, gobble up their eyeballs, and suck out all their blood.”
I crossed my arms in front of my chest. “Kind of like the small minority of the human population, right?”
“Touché. Okay,” Hayes said, a little bit of the color returning to his chiseled cheeks. “Where do we start, then?”
“Here,” I said, handing him a thick stack of
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