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felt the fangs and I’d pulled away. Shouted something, I can’t remember what, slapped my open palm against his face and watched him grow even paler, felt his demon react to the sudden withdrawal of desire – and known that I’d blown it. And it was anger with myself more than with him that had caused the huge argument with accusations on both sides, mine of his taking advantage of his position, of trying to indoctrinate me, cultivate me until he could infect me, his of my prejudices, my unfounded fears.
    You don’t love a vampire. You
can’t
.
    â€˜I’ll give Zan a call. When I’ve finished eating. I can’t talk to him with my mouth full of egg, you know what he’s like.’
    â€˜You could get in touch with Head Office. They might know something.’
    I snorted. ‘Yeah, right! They think that you are a five-year-old child prodigy and that my name is Maximillian Snowbottle.’
    Head Office set up the Liaison department to run as back-up to Enforcement, but they seemed to get a bit embarrassed about our role as communicators. In a lot of people’s eyes (particularly that ninety-five per cent of the population who couldn’t tell a vampire from any other slightly deranged person) vampires shouldn’t be acknowledged, as long as they stuck to their side of the Pact and we stuck to ours.
Talking
to them, in the eyes of the tabloid fraternity, only made them worse. The only good vampire was one who blended so totally with the human population that it was invisible; and it ought to be hard working and clean living, too. Therefore Head Office thought it more politic to forget all about us, so although we’re technically part of the York District Council, in practice we look after ourselves. They pay the wages and throw occasional lumps of money our way, for ‘equipment’, but apart from that we’re on our own. Certainly as far as the media is concerned, anyway. We work stupid hours, three weekends in four, and supposedly have days off ‘in lieu’. We haven’t worked out what they’re in lieu of yet – a living wage is our best guess.
    I finished my sandwich and put an Internet call through to Zan. He’s sort of my equivalent in the vampire world; while it’s Sil that keeps the Otherworlders in line, Zan is the one who has to file the complaints. He’s very together, stupendously attractive, and makes me feel clumsy and stupid. Which, I think, is intentional. And, probably, not hard.
    â€˜Ah, Jessica. How lovely to see you again.’ Just my luck, he was web-camming. ‘You appear to have egg on your chin.’ His eyes moved off me and took in the office background. ‘Also, you seem to have been burgled.’
    â€˜Sorry,’ I muttered, and wiped the egg off with my wrist. The jibe about the untidiness of the office I ignored. I could see behind him a team at work, and the Otherworlders believed in keeping everything electronic. They had a budget; we had Liam and me. ‘What’s this big do that’s happening, Zan? And how come I didn’t know anything about it?’
    â€˜You probably need to talk to Sil. I’m not sure I can say anything.’
    â€˜Zan …’ I let the inflection do the work for me. His general distaste for personal interaction meant that he hated any display of emotion, and putting a tiny ‘I might just cry’ wobble into my voice worked more often than you’d think.
    â€˜A get-together, a gathering of the clans.’ Zan’s voice, even when he was trying to avoid ‘distressed female’ syndrome, sounded like old silk being rubbed with cat-fur. ‘Vampires like to have a knees-up as much as the next man.’
    â€˜There’s zombies and werewolves as well,’ Liam helpfully pointed out over my shoulder.
    â€˜Yes, well. We are very sociable.’ He moved so that the camera focused fully on his face. He’d been in