All Together Dead

They glanced at us casually, but no one challenged us or asked to see identification until we got to the steps leading up to the plane.
    Bobby Burnham was standing at the foot of the steps with a clipboard. Of course, since it was daylight, it was obvious Bobby wasn’t a vamp, but he was nearly pale and stern enough to be one. I’d never met him before, but I knew who he was, and he certainly recognized me. I plucked that right from his brain. But his certainty didn’t stop him from checking my ID against his damn list, and he was giving Amelia the big glare, like she couldn’t turn him into a toad. (That was what Amelia was thinking.)
    “He’d have to croak,” I murmured, and she smiled.
    Bobby introduced himself, and when we nodded, he said, “Your name is on the list, Miss Stackhouse, but Miss Broadway’s isn’t. I’m afraid you’ll have to get your luggage up by yourself.” Bobby was loving the power.
    Amelia was whispering something under her breath, and in a rush Bobby blurted, “I’ll carry the heavy bag up the stairs, Miss Stackhouse. Can you handle the other bag? If that’s not something you want to do, I’ll be back down in a minute and take them up for you.” The astonishment on his face was priceless, but I tried not to enjoy it too much. Amelia was playing a slightly mean trick.
    “Thanks, I can manage,” I reassured him, and took the hanging bag from Amelia while he bumped up the stairs with the heavier piece of luggage.
    “Amelia, you rascal,” I said, but not too angrily.
    “Who’s the asshole?” she asked.
    “Bobby Burnham. He’s Eric’s daytime guy.” All vamps of a certain rank had one. Bobby was a recent acquisition of Eric’s.
    “What does he do? Dust the coffins?”
    “No, he makes business arrangements, he goes to the bank, he picks up the dry cleaning, he deals with the state offices that are open only in the day, and so forth.”
    “So he’s a gofer.”
    “Well, yeah. But he’s an important gofer. He’s Eric’s gofer.”
    Bobby was coming back down the steps now, still looking surprised that he’d been polite and helpful. “Don’t do anything else to him,” I said, knowing that she was considering it.
    Amelia’s eyes flashed before she got the sense of what I was saying. “Yeah, petty of me,” she admitted. “I just hate power-mad jerks.”
    “Who doesn’t? Listen, I’ll see you in a week. Thanks for bringing me to the plane.”
    “Yeah, yeah.” She gave me a forlorn smile. “You have a good time, and don’t get killed or bitten or anything.”
    Impulsively, I hugged her, and after a second’s surprise, she hugged me back.
    “Take good care of Bob,” I said, and up the stairs I went.
    I couldn’t help feeling a little anxious, since I was cutting my ties with my familiar life, at least temporarily. The Anubis Air employee in the cabin said, “Choose your seat, Miss Stackhouse.” She took the hanging bag from me and put it away. The interior of the aircraft was not like that of any human plane, or at least that was what the Anubis website had alleged. The Anubis fleet had been designed and outfitted for the transportation of sleeping vamps, with human passengers coming in second. There were coffin bays around the wall, like giant luggage bins, and at the front end of the aircraft there were three rows of seats, on the right three seats, and on the left two, for people like me…or, at least, people who were going to be helpful to the vamps at this conference in some capacity. At present, there were only three other people sitting in the seats. Well, one other human and two part-humans.
    “Hi, Mr. Cataliades,” I said, and the round man rose from his seat, beaming.
    “Dear Miss Stackhouse,” he said warmly, because that was the way Mr. Cataliades talked, “I am so very glad to see you again.”
    “Pleased to see you, too, Mr. Cataliades.”
    His name was pronounced Ka-TAL-ee-ah-deez, and if he had a first name, I didn’t know it. Sitting next to him was a very young woman with bright red spiked hair: his niece, Diantha. Diantha wore the strangest ensembles, and tonight she’d topped herself. Maybe five feet tall, bony thin, Diantha had chosen orange calf-length leggings, blue Crocs, a white ruffled skirt, and a tie-dyed tank top. She was dazzling to the eye.
    Diantha didn’t believe in breathing while she talked. Now she said, “Goodtoseeya.”
    “Right back at ya,” I said, and since she didn’t make any other move, I gave