Day 5 and 6: 3,606 words, 12,515 total

Part 3: The seven habits of the successful occult business manager

"You definitely have more luck than brains." Merle sounded insufferably smug as he examined my twice-bruised body. "By all counts you should have major injuries by now."

"Thank you for that insight. Can I dress now, Professor?"

He bristled, which meant another point for me in our ongoing private scuffle. The age card might be a cheap shot on my part, since I've got twenty-five years of lifespan on him and ten years looks-wise, but it works damn smooth. Then again, despite his young age he is one of the best alchemists on the continent. It really is ironic that alchemists, the very inventors of the red tincture that keeps mages looking young as long as their checks don't bounce, rarely get past a hundred and fifty at most. I think it's a combination of being too lost in research to remember to take the tincture and a shared proclivity for blowing things up.

He folded up the more conspicuous parts of his office apparatus as I put the pullover back on over my miraculously unbruised ribs. The IRS auditor - just one tonight, and I didn't want to think about what strings Anton had to pull to make sure that the total number would not exceed three at a time - was cooling his heels in reception, trying to make small talk with Anton and Alyssa while they waited for Kirill to show up from his meeting with Eudokia, NG's self-crowned vampire queen of nighttime entertainment. From what the day watchmen told us, the suit had been there since noon, probably distrustful of Anton's assertion that Rossov Trading opened for business at seven in the evening. Then again, few people in the daylight world take Daylight Saving Time into account when defining their working hours.

The door slamming downstairs was my only warning before Kirill barged in. "Merle, check the wards on the third floor. I don't want the IRS snooping there with the corpse-removal contract lapsed."

"But Rachel does wards-" Merle yelped before being silenced by a look dark enough to stand out at the bottom of a well at midnight. "Yes, sir."

Then that look turned on me, and I took an involuntary step back. Kirill can be frightening when he's angry, and on top of that he was wearing a midnight-blue black-embroidered velvet thing that was a shirt version of a boyar's robe, though tight enough to draw attention to how broad his shoulders were. My instinct were torn between fleeing and drooling.

"Rachel. Come," he said, and I followed him. Drooling was winning, anyway.

I had the opportunity to engage it further when we reached his office and he stripped off the shirt to change into a suit. But just because he wasn't snarling didn't mean he wasn't angry anymore.

"You will not go anywhere without either me or Anton," he informed me curtly. "You will sleep at our house. And we'll triple the wards both there and here."

"But my cats-"

"Chuck will feed them on the way to work."

That made sense, since Chuck, the human half of our elite guard duo, lived three blocks from my place, but it didn't mean I was happy. "You're making a big deal out of a couple of incidents-"

He stopped buttoning up his charcoal shirt and reached out to me. "Don't. You almost died."

I almost lost you, was what he didn't say. I wasn't up to dealing with that or similar sentiments, so I just let myself be drawn towards him. I rested my head on his chest and breathed deeply, calming down the nerves I hadn't known were tense. His heart beat slowly, sending stolen blood around his body. He was warm with it; he had fed recently.

"It might not be anything important," I muttered as I moved away and did up the last few buttons for him. "Or something from my past - the Africans last night gave me a few clues." Kirill knows a little about Katanga, but not any of the sordid details. The snake isn't something I brag about.

He shook his head as he picked out a tie. "Arthur has called a full council meeting for tomorrow night. Someone slipped rohypnol to Eudokia's personal assistant at a club on Friday night, enough to put her in hospital. And no-one's seen Justin since Sunday morning."

I closed my eyes. Justin was Eudokia's newest blood-child, and the right to subject him to the Change - not due to any skills that would contribute to vampiric society, but just because he desperately wanted to - had been part of her reward for helping to engineer the regime change in New Granada that had put Arthur in the top spot. I remembered she had asked me to research ways to improve his chances of surviving it, though in the end you can't get better than a coin toss between death and un-life eternal. I never thought I would pity Doxy, cast-iron bitch that she is, but I did.

Then I remembered. "They called me a vamp slut, last night. You might be right."

He shrugged the jacket on. "Promise me you won't do anything foolish."

"Lucian's name and Marcian's blood." I grinned. "So that's settled, until tomorrow at least. Now, I think I'm missing the fascinating tale of how Anton ended up with the audit."

"He lost a bet. And some people in Washington were getting impatient about what they consider preferential treatment of Nightfolk-owned businesses."

"Like there's tax rules for qualifying spell components as business expenditure," I snorted. "So, annoyance or threat?"

"Annoyance and formality," Kirill told me as he looked through the documents on his desk and sorted out the ones written on things other than regular paper. "The two auditors who'll come tomorrow will be low-level mages aware of the intricacies, so all we have to worry about is keeping the head one under control. Anton and Alyssa will have their hands full."

"Are you sure we can't deal with it any other way? I'm sure Skyler'd eat him if Alyssa asked him nicely."

The non-standard documents ended up in the wall safe, and Kirill looked ready to go. "No eating the G-men, I'm afraid. Arthur had a talk with me about it last week and I had to vouch for Anton's good behavior already. By the way, you're the resident antique appraiser and security expert, as you would have known if you attended the pre-audit meeting."

"Hey, I was looking for an illegal artifact to remove a curse on your Lamborghini," I pointed out as I took a folder he handed me and browsed through it. Nice cover, and lots of opportunity never to be more than a step from Kirill's side, damn it. "Are you going to meet him here?"

"No, on the stairs. If I may ask for your company in this daunting venture?"

I took Kirill's arm and we descended from his second-floor office. The first floor was the calmest I've seen it in years, with only a few stragglers putting up government-repellent charms and the rest diligently bent over their respective computers, ledgers or parchments as Alyssa stalked around conducting a last-minute inspection. We stopped halfway down the wide stairs into the ground-floor auction hall.

"Anton just fetched him from the reception room," Kirill told me. Vampire hearing is one thing I always envy. "We have a few minutes left."

I eyed his full business drag. Not that he looked bad in Ermenegildo Zegna, but wasn't what I was used to. "The way you look, he'll think it's just a run-of-the-mill trading company with weird office hours."

Mischievous sparkles appeared in his eyes, and I was suddenly aware that Anton got it from this side of the family. "We've got quite a few ideas on how to disabuse him of that notion."

"Like what?" I asked stupidly, though his arm was already stealing around me.

Next thing I knew, Kirill lifted me and propped me on the banister, but I only dimly registered the polished wood I was suddenly sitting on. Most of my brain was occupied with melting from a particularly scorching kiss.

Slow and lazy, like we had all the time in the world, and the way he held me up I was a little higher than him, so I took full advantage of it. And oh, he was going straight for the kill, one hand already under my sweater and the other drawing my leg up. I sank my fingers into his shoulders, hard, and swallowed the answering quiet growl. For a second I wanted nothing more than to move this to a bed - the office desk - I'd even settle for these stairs as long as we weren't interrupted. Voyeurs optional.

Then there were footsteps at the entrance door to the auction hall, and hey, I actually heard the G-man's jaw fall open.

Anton's muted snigger wasn't far behind.

Kirill put me back down, cool as anything. I remained leaning against him, mostly because I wasn't sure my legs would hold if I tried to negotiate the stairs, either way. "I'll get you for this," I mouthed, knowing that his hearing would catch it.

The stunned silence allowed me to take stock of our new visitor. The IRS suit was tall - almost of a height with Kirill - slim and blond in that particularly English way. Stiff as a board, though that might have been the shock of walking on the business owner necking with his doll rather than trembling in fear of the mighty IRS.

Nice cheekbones, though. I made a mental note to remind Anton not to drool where the G-man could see.

"Mr Holcombe." Kirill was taking care to tone down his voice from commanding to bland, though the attempt wasn't completely successful. "Welcome to Rossov Trading."

Holcombe recovered admirably. "Mr Rossov. I hope our cooperation will be without any hitches."

Kirill spread his hands as we walked down the stairs. "We have nothing to hide."

Holcombe was eyeing me warily, and Anton took pity on him. "Michael, this is our chief of security, Rachel Malory. Rachel, Michael Holcombe, pride of New Granada IRS."

"Nice to meet you." I held out my hand and after a moment's hesitation he took it. "Once Kirill Yevgenyevich is finished giving you the grand tour, drop by my office - I'll have your pass and walk you through the security arrangements."

"Ms Malory." Holcombe seemed unsure whom to address, so ended up talking to the air somewhere between Kirill and Anton. "I would like to begin by examining the records - I'm sure I can take the tour some other-"

"You can't possibly expect to make sense of the records without seeing our operations with your own eyes." Kirill's voice brooked no protests. "Come, we will start with the brokerage facilities - there is much more to it than just the trading floor."

When the side doors closed behind them, I finally broke down and laughed. Anton joined me.

"So that's the plan: G-man pinball, until he breaks down from being bounced around?" I could see the appeal of that strategy.

Anton smiled innocently. "We thought that it would help to put the fear of God in him."

"Fear of the House of Rossov, more likely," I muttered. "By the way, if he's doing all the Mr-Ms gig, why's he 'Michael' to you?"

Anton's face went carefully blank. "It just happened."

I bared my teeth. "Bad vampire. No eating the G-men. Even if they want it."

"Pshaw, you never let me have any fun." He shook his head. "We have about forty minutes to double-check everything before they're done, an hour if Father's in a mood to play."

"He is." I touched my lips and smiled. "Not that I mind."

With an eye roll and a shove, Anton sent me back upstairs. I swung by the third floor to check Merle's surprisingly competent work on the wards, then settled down in my office once I'd hidden all the obviously magical clutter.

The fact is, I do take care of both daylight and nighttime security of Kirill's enterprises. We've tried it other ways, but all the security chiefs we tried were either failed mages (read: bitter and distrustful of the strength of my wards and other protective measures, leading to overspending) or otherwise laymen with no true understanding of magic. After one got spectacularly torn to shreds by a gargoyle I set on the roof of the New York branch, Kirill had not had the time to interview candidates for a few months and I ended up as the go-to girl for everyone from both sides of the fence. It worked out, and now the only thing I don't have a hand in are the computer arrangements, which I happily saddle Merle with.

Our security cards are rather unique, being both coded and charmed to act as amulets leading the designated owners through the network of wards. But with my pen poised over the card, I realized I was missing one important bit of information.

Fortunately Holcombe chose that moment to knock on my door.

I waved him in. "Sit down. What's your father's name?"

"Ah, Ian." He was looking rather dazed, and I made a mental note to remind both Kirill and Anton to go easy on the vampire charm. "Why-?"

"Name tag," I explained as I wrote 'Michael Ianovich Holcombe' on the ornate plaque. "How was the tour?"

"Informative. I wasn't aware of the actual breadth of the business interests of Mr Rossov - I mean, Mr Rossov senior. Mr Rossov junior joined us for the last leg of the tour and he managed to enlighten me on the reasons for some of the inclarities in the tax returns."

"You know, no-one's going to report you if you call people by their first names." I winked at him.

He frowned. "We prefer not to fraternize."

"Well, you're going to have a mess on your hands if you keep referring to both Kirill and Anton as 'Mr Rossov'. How about otchestvo?"

"Excuse me?"

I waved my hand. "Patronymic. They're Russians after all. You'll be working with us anyway, so say 'Kirill Yevgenyevich' and 'Anton Kirillovich'."

He took the completed security card from me. "Oh. That's what you needed my father's name for."

"Yes, we all use it - makes things easier, especially since there's something like four Damiens in the accounting department alone." I tapped my card, hanging on an embroidered lanyard around my neck. "And, Michael Ianovich, I expect you to call me Rachel Efraimovna."

That got a smile. "I'll try my best."

"Good. Now, security-wise, you'll need to bring the card into proximity with a black panel to the side of every secured door. You're cleared for entrance to all general areas and the office we set aside for you. If you need to go somewhere you aren't cleared, I and every director are cleared for the entire area, though Kirill Yevgenyevich will have to be notified of it. Any problems, you know where my office is, and if I'm not there, anyone can get you my phone number." I stood up and swept the remains of the security card preparations into a drawer - thankfully Holcombe did not comment on the strange twigs and strands of twine. "Come on, I'll show you to your office."

He looked cheered up as he followed me through the twisted second floor corridors. Hook, line and sinker, I thought to myself. No idea that I was far from the most harmless member of the team.

The office was in a remote nook of the building. I had to stifle a laugh when we came to the door: some wise guy had written 'Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition' in chalk on the door. Fortunately Holcombe wasn't fluent in angelic alphabet and I managed to wipe the graffiti off as I opened the door.

One wall of the office was almost entirely filled with the middle part of one of the old factory windows. The glass panels were thick and rippled, turning the muted neon glow of the alley outside into something that looked like a bad case of mixing acid with alcohol. The furniture was mundane and new, mostly because the old skeleton cabinets were prone to commenting on people's hair styles at inappropriate times.

I showed Holcombe the computer cables and other necessities, then frowned at the pristine desk. A quick look through the cabinets produced the missing item: the customary Rossov Trading treat bowl, probably hidden by the same joker who had adorned the door outside.

"I'm not allowed to take gifts," Holcombe protested.

"Nonsense, Michael Ianovich. You're allowed to get the same treatment as our employees, and we all get chocolate." I unwrapped a fun-sized Mars bar and made a mental note to swing by the cafeteria; brushes with death only go so far in killing your appetite.

He hooked up his laptop and powered it up, then glanced at me uncertainly. "Ms Malory - I mean, Rachel Efraimovna - I was, well, wondering..."

"About when we first met?" It looked like Kirill and I had made an impression.

"The IRS is not part of the Department of Labor, but there are ways, if the practices here run contrary to some federal regulations." He was blushing now, rather fetchingly. I could see why Anton was attracted.

I snorted. "As far as I'm concerned, that's a bonus to my job. And I'm the only one in the building who gets to do that with him." I took pity on him, since the blush was getting exponentially more intense. "You'll get used to it all - we're a fun bunch if you're not threatening to take our money."

The door creaked as it opened and Anton poked his head in. "Michael, if you have a moment, I'd like to go over some of the basic assumptions..."

"Of course, Anton Kirillovich." Holcombe shot me a look to check if he hadn't mangled the pronunciation.

I beamed with pride. "Have fun," I wished him before I escaped downstairs. And poing, the little G-man pinball sped to another band. I wondered how long it would be before the guy had a nervous break-down, and whether anyone had started a pool on it yet.

Barely two hours after work began, the cafeteria was almost empty, except for Kirill and Alyssa talking over coffee in a corner. Kirill waved me over as I grabbed a sandwich from the refrigerated shelves.

"What do you think about Mr Holcombe?" he asked me after I sat down.

"I think he's a pompous prick," Alyssa put in. The harsh words sounded strange in her perfected English accent, but then Alyssa's a strange bird - immaculate lady, idealistic vampire and happily affianced to a werewolf. Oh, and head of Kirill's legal team. "Anton and I spent an hour stalling him in reception, and he never looked me in the eye once."

"I think he's kind of sweet," I said. "Just shy, especially when it comes to girls. But I've been able to get him to unwind a little."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Alyssa muttered into her coffee, then made a face and put more sugar in it. "Though I guess he's better than the types who think they're kings of the world just because they work for the IRS."

It looked like I had my mystery graffiti artist. "Even if he were, hiding the candy bowl was mean."

She batted her eyelashes at me. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Kirill coughed. "I was able to obtain some information on him - he's apparently a star at his agency. Eudokia's people also mentioned his shyness towards women."

I looked over his shoulder at a folder full of neatly typed pages. It looked like this was what the meeting with Eudokia had been about initially.

"Is he gay?" Alyssa asked.

Kirill leafed to the appropriate page of the dossier. "Not as far as anyone has been able to find out. But no female romantic liaisons, either."

"Just don't let Antosha know this." I grinned. "A virgin might prove too much of a temptation."

"I'm sure that's not a concern-" Kirill began, but I interrupted him.

"By the way, Michael Ianovich was concerned that the auction room scene represented sexual harassment."

Kirill shook his head. "You may have had the best idea. Let's ask Skyler to eat him."

"Let's not," Alyssa said. "He'd be picking IRS agent out of his teeth for weeks, and you're not the ones who sleep in the same bed as him."

"Enough," Kirill decided. "We have a business to run. Rachel, I'll see you at supper."

In the end, Kirill and I did not see each other until it was time to go home. I had a general security meeting, then teleconferences with my subordinates in out-of-town subsidiaries just in case my trouble wasn't limited to New Granada, and Kirill was busy juggling the IRS irritant with last-minute preparations for Arthur's council the next night. By the time we made it to Kirill's car, neither of us was up to talking.

I didn't even have the energy to protest sleeping over at his house, even if there had not been the advantage of having just about all my wardrobe for formal vampire occasions on hand. We ended up watching re-runs of Fawlty Towers on some arcane BBC spin-off channel running on East Asia time, and then Kirill put on a Shostakovich record that sang us to sleep with army ballads of withered trees and bloodied stones.