“That depends,” I said. “Who’s going to be in your bed?”
“We had a talk. He knows to stay out of my room.”
I smiled and caught hold of Seth’s hand. “I would, but I’ve got some things to do tonight. I’ve got to hunt down Jerome about . . . business.”
“You’re sure that’s it?” he asked. “You’re sure my family’s not scaring you off?”
I’ll admit, I didn’t relish the thought of seeing Margaret Mortensen’s disapproving gaze, but I also couldn’t imagine I’d be very good company for Seth if I still didn’t know what was going on with my transfer by tonight. The transfer. Looking into his kind, warm eyes, I felt a pit open in my stomach. Maybe I should be jumping at every chance I could get to be with him. Who knew how many more we had? No , I scolded myself. Don’t think like that. Tonight you’ll find Jerome and clear up this mess. Then you and Seth can be happy.
“Your family has nothing to do with it,” I assured Seth. “Besides, now that you have extra help, you can use your free time to get some work done.”
He rolled his eyes. “I thought self-employment meant not having a boss.”
I grinned and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll come by tomorrow night.”
Kayden, passing by for one last cookie, caught sight of my kiss and scowled disapprovingly. “Ew.”
I parted ways with the Mortensens and headed off to the mall. It was often a surprise to mortals to learn immortals like me purposely chose to take day jobs, so to speak. If you were around for a few centuries and semiwise with your money, it wasn’t that hard to eventually build up enough to comfortably live off of, making human employment unnecessary. Yet, most immortals I knew still worked. Correction—most lesser immortals I knew did. Greater ones, like Jerome and Carter, rarely did, but maybe they already had too concrete of a job with their employers. Or, maybe, lesser immortals just carried over the urge from when we were human.
Regardless, days like today were clear reminders of why I chose gainful employment. If I’d had nothing but free time on my hands, I would’ve spent the rest of the day ruminating about my fate and the potential transfer. Assisting Walter-as-Santa—as absurd as it was—at least gave me a distraction while I waited to hear from Jerome. Vocation gave purpose too, which I’d found was necessary to mark the long days of immortality. I’d met lesser immortals who had gone insane, and most of them had done nothing but drift aimlessly throughout their long lives.
A new elf—one whom Walter had christened Happy—had joined our ranks today, one who was certainly helping pass the time if only because of how much she was grating on my nerves.
“I don’t think he should be drinking at all, ” she said, for what felt like the hundredth time. “I don’t see why I have to learn this schedule.”
Prancer, a veteran elf, exchanged glances with me. “None of us is saying it’s right,” he told Happy. “We’re just saying it’s reality. He’s going to get a hold of liquor one way or another. If we deny him, he’ll sneak it in the bathroom. He’s done it before.”
“If we’re the ones giving it to him,” I continued, “then we control the access and amount he gets. This?” I gestured to the schedule we’d drawn up. “This isn’t much. Especially for a guy his size. It’s not even enough to get buzzed.”
“But they’re children!” Happy cried. Her eyes drifted off toward the long line of families trailing through the mall. “Sweet, innocent, joyful children.”
Another silent message passed between Prancer and me. “Tell you what,” I finally said. “Why don’t you make them your priority. Forget about the liquor schedule. We’ll handle that. You go trade places with Bashful at the head of the line. She doesn’t really like working with the public anyway.” When Happy was out of earshot, I remarked, “One of these days, someone’s going to report us all to the mall’s HR office.”
“Oh, they have plenty of times,” said Prancer, smoothing out his green spandex pants. “I’ve worked with Walter for three years now, and Happy’s not the first elf to have moral qualms about Santa getting lit. He’s been reported lots.”
That was news to me. “And they haven’t fired him?”
“Nah. It’s harder to fill these jobs than you might think. As long as Walter doesn’t touch or say something inappropriate, the mall doesn’t seem to care.”
“Huh,” I said. “Good to know.”
“Georgina!”
Beyond the gates leading to Santa’s pavilion, I saw someone waving at the edge of the crowd. Hugh. My heart rate sped up. This mall was actually right around the corner from his office, so he’d come by before for lunch. In light of recent events—and the look on his face—something told me he wasn’t here for a casual meal today.
“Hey,” I said to Prancer. “Can I take my break now?”
“Sure, go for it.”
I cut through the crowd and met up with Hugh, trying not to feel self-conscious about wearing the foil dress. Hugh had come from the office and was dressed impeccably, playing up the role of successful plastic surgeon. I felt cheap beside him, especially as he and I walked farther from the holiday mayhem toward some of the mall’s more upscale shops.
“I was on my way home from work and thought I’d stop by,” he said. “I figured you weren’t taking many calls while on the job.”
“Not so much,” I agreed, gesturing to the tight dress and its lack of pockets. I caught hold of his arm. “Please tell me you heard something. The transfer’s a mistake, right?”
“Well, I still think it is, but no, I haven’t heard anything back yet—not from HR or Jerome.” He frowned slightly, clearly not liking the lack of communication. Underneath that, I also sensed another emotion in him—nervousness. “I’ve got something else for you. Can we talk somewhere . . . kind of private? Is there a Sbarro or Orange Julius around here?”
I scoffed. “Not in this mall. There’s a sandwich place we can go to.”
“Sandwich place” wasn’t entirely accurate. They also sold gourmet soups and salads, all of which were made fresh and packed with enough prissy ingredients to make Ian happy. Hugh and I snagged a table, my appearance gaining the attention of some children there with their parents. I ignored them as I leaned toward Hugh.
“What’s up, then, if not the phantom transfer?”
He eyed the watchers uneasily and took several moments to begin speaking. “I was calling around today, trying to work connections and see if I could find out anything about you. Like I said, I couldn’t. But I got caught up on all sorts of other gossip.”
I was kind of surprised Hellish gossip was what he wanted to discuss, more surprised still that it had apparently warranted him coming in person. If he’d heard a rumor about a mutual friend, it seemed like a phone call would’ve sufficed to pass the news. Even e-mail or text.
“Do you remember Milton?” he asked.
“Milton?” I stared blankly. The name meant nothing to me.
“Nosferatu,” he prompted.
Still nothing, and then—
“Oh. Yeah. Him. The vampire.” A month or so ago, Milton had visited on vacation, much to Cody and Peter’s dismay. Vampires were territorial and didn’t like outsiders, although Cody had been able to use Milton’s presence to impress his macabre loving girlfriend, Gabrielle. Or so I’d heard. “I never actually saw him. I just knew he was in town.”
“Yup, and it turns out last week, he was in Boulder.”
“So?”
“So, first of all, it’s weird that he’d have two ‘vacations’ in that short time. I mean, you know how it is for vampires. You know how it is for all of us.”
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