"I'm fired?"
"We're going to have to let you go," Mr. Mason explained. "When you're here, Elizabeth, you do fine work, but of late you've become unreliable."
"But... but..." But I can't help it. But I'm the queen of the undead, and queens didn't get fired! But I've been really busy trying not to get murdered! But the new Pradas are coming in next week and I desperately need my employee discount! But I've never been fired by someone wearing a turtleneck in July! "But... but..."
"Besides, don't you have more pressing business to attend to?" he added kindly. "You've got a killer to catch, and a consort to satisfy."
"Yeah, that's true, but-what?"
"You shouldn't be here, Majesty. Everyone appears to grasp this but you."
I gaped at him. Started to speak, couldn't, gaped some more. Tried to talk again. No luck. I had been struck mute with shock, just like when Charlize Theron won the Oscar for Best Actress.
He opened the lone manila folder on his otherwise spotless desk, and withdrew a paycheck, which had a blue piece of paper stapled to it. Termination form. Argh! "Here's your final check. And good luck catching the killer."
"Mr. Mason!"
"Oh, I'm not a vampire," he said, correctly reading my bulging eyes and sprung jaw. "I'm Kept."
"You're what?"
"I'm a sheep," he clarified. He tugged at his cashmere turtleneck, baring his throat. There wasn't a bite, but there was a pretty good bruise. "At first, when you came here, I thought it was a test. Or a joke. Then, I realized you were serious. You really wanted to work here. I couldn't think why. Finally, I realized I must fire you for your own good."
"Thanks tons," I said, starting to recover from the shock. "Jeez, why didn't you tell me sooner?"
He coughed into his fist. "I assumed you were smart... er... I thought you knew what I was."
I snatched my check and stood. "Well, you were wrong about me, mister! So there!" Wait a minute. Oh, never mind. "This is just perfect. The perfect end to a perfect week."
He spread his hands apologetically. "I do apologize. And I wouldn't advise trying to snare me to get me to re-hire you. After all this time, I'm immune to everyone but my master."
"But... but if you know me, you must have recognized Eric Sinclair. And he zapped you pretty good."
"His Majesty the King," Mason said carefully, "is a very powerful vampire. You're quite right; I could not resist falling in thrall."
"Thrall? Falling in thrall? I don't know what the hell you're talking about, but I'm leaving before I pull your head off your shoulders and use it for a soccer ball."
"And I appreciate it. It really is for your own good, you know," he called after me as I stomped out. I made a rude gesture queens probably weren't prone to. Felt pretty good, though.
I trudged out to my car, which was parked in Georgia. Stupid gigantic Mall of America parking lot. What a rotten week. I couldn't imagine it getting any worse. Well, I suppose I could get decapitated. That might be worse. On the other hand, my troubles would pretty much be over.
I rested my forehead on my car roof. The body shop had done a good job of patching up the bullet holes and arrow gouges. And it ran like a dream. Too bad I just didn't have the energy to fish out my keys and get in. I'd probably run over a little kid on the way home, or have to break up another vamp/human unfair fight. Something. Something bad, guaranteed.
I heard a car pull up behind me, but didn't turn. What fresh hell was this? Probably the Ant, loaded down with crucifixes and baby formula.
"Majesty?"
I turned; it was Monique. She had opened her car door, a sleek black Porche, and was half-in, half-out of it. She looked gratifyingly concerned, which cheered me up a little. "What's wrong, my Queen?"
"Everything!"
She blinked at me.
I started banging my head against the roof. It didn't hurt a bit. "Every single thing in the whole world, that's what's wrong."
"Majesty, you're denting your car roof," she observed.
"Oh, who cares? I'd elaborate on my grotesque and numerous problems, but then I'll probably start to cry, and it'll be really awkward."
"I'm willing to take a chance. Why don't you leave your car and come with me? We can get a drink and you can tell me who you want me to kill."
"Don't tease me," I sighed. "And that's the best offer I've had all day. Okay."
I abandoned my car without a thought and practically jumped into Monique's Porsche. "Let's book."
