He's just a prick. There's nothing supernatural about it. Sometimes a prick is just a prick. " "What about Jane Rossmire?" There was an edge to Kate's voice now. "I'm telling you, she's gone. Without a trace. " Brian chewed for a moment. "Well, when you put it that way, I guess Palgrave must be a vampire. I mean, she couldn't possibly just have moved out of town or gotten a better job. The vampire thing is the only possible explanation. What a fool I've been. " "She would have said good-bye. " "Maybe she was embarrassed, " Brian said. "After today, I wouldn't be surprised if we never see George Wegner again. " Kate signaled for another glass of wine. "I'm telling you, Thaddeus Palgrave is a creature of the night. Come on. For one thing, his name is Thaddeus. What kind of a name is that? It's like he signed the Declaration of Independence or something. " "I'm not sure I follow your reasoning, " Brian said. "There's a guy in accounting named H. Basil Worthington. Is he a vampire, too?" "Um, look, " I said. "I get it that I'm the new guy and maybe I should stay out of this, but are you serious? A vampire? With fangs and a black cape?" Kate rolled her eyes. "We're not talking about the Hammer House of Horror. Get a grip. I'm talking about vampires. Real vampires. " "You're kidding me. " "They walk among us, dude, " said Brian. "My grandfather eats black pudding. It's not a huge leap. " "As creatures of the night go, they're actually pretty interesting, " Kate said. "Did you know that Mexican vampires have bare skulls instead of heads?" Brian snorted. "Always the researcher. The curse of LifeSpan Books. " "Really, though. Can you imagine what that would look like? A bare skull?" "Like the cover of a Grateful Dead album?" "I just think it's interesting, that's all. And supposedly there are vampires in the Rockies that suck blood through their noses. They stick their noses into the victim's ear. How cool is that?" "I vant to sneef your bluh-ud. " Brian was on his third beer now. Kate ignored him and barreled ahead. "In early folklore they're often described as ruddy and bloated, probably from gorging on blood. I did a sidebar once on strigoi--you know, the Romanian vampires? Did you know that they have red hair, blue eyes, and two hearts?" "Like Mick Hucknall, " said Brian. "Plenty of heart. No soul. " I looked at him. "So if Thaddeus Palgrave suddenly starts singing 'Holding Back the Years, ' I should run away?"
"First, unplug his amp, " said Brian. "That's just common sense. " "Well, " I said, "it's been an interesting start to the new job. Just to be clear, when my mother calls to ask how things are going, I should tell her that everything's fine, I did some really good research on the Spotsylvania Courthouse, I found an apartment, one of my coworkers is a vampire, and I'm trying out for the office softball team?" "That's about the size of it, " said Kate. "I wouldn't mention the softball team, " said Brian. "You don't want to get her hopes up. " Kate was fingering the rim of her wineglass. "I just can't believe that Jane Rossmire never even said good-bye. " She turned to me. "Hey, New Guy, we're getting to be friends, right? Brian and I have warmed your heart with our zany banter and all, right? Do me a favor. If you ever decide to disappear for no reason, take a minute to say good-bye. Just slip a note under my door or something. One word. Good-bye. Thanks for the nachos, maybe. " I finished my beer. "It's a promise, " I said.
SEVERAL weeks passed before I realized that I had unwittingly drifted into Thaddeus Palgrave's crosshairs. My job at that time was to fact-check finished copy against the original research material, making sure that every fact and quote had a proper annotation. If there was anything in a chapter or sidebar that I couldn't verify from the research packets, I was supposed to put a red check in the margin. The chapter couldn't go to the production department until the red checks had been removed. At first, while I was learning the ropes, I often had to go back to the writers when I couldn't confirm a particular factoid. Invariably they'd say something to the effect of, "Oh, sorry, I got that out of the Boatner's I keep here on my desk. " As I got the hang of things, I did the checking from my own sources and rarely had to touch base with the writers. In time I no longer bothered to take note of which writer had actually written the pages. That being the case, I hadn't realized that I'd been working on one of Palgrave's chapters until he appeared suddenly in the door of my office. It was four fifteen on a rainy Friday afternoon. I had been looking forward to the weekend. "Worm castles, " he said. I swear the temperature dropped by ten or fifteen degrees. He had a purple file folder in his hand and was tapping it against the door frame. "Worm castles, " he repeated. "Excuse me?" I said. He opened the folder and turned it so that I could see the page of text inside. There was a single red check mark in the margin. He sighed heavily. "You have queried the term worm castles in my sidebar on dwindling Union rations. " "Ah. So I did. Please, Mr. Palgrave, sit down. " I tipped my gym bag off the folding chair in the corner. He stayed where he was. "Mr.Clarke--" he began. "Jeff, " I said.
"Please call me Jeff. " He looked at me with what appeared to be genuine curiosity. "Whatever for?" "Well, it's just--if we're going to be working together, I thought it would be nice to be on a first-name basis. " "Do you imagine that we're going to become friends, Mr. Clarke?" I tried to read his eyes. "I just thought--" I broke off and tried again. "It's casual Friday. " The answer appeared to satisfy him. "Yes, of course. Jeff. " He somehow broke it into two syllables, as if translating from Old English. "Let us review the offending section of my description of food rations during the Chattanooga campaign. " "Look, I was simply checking the sources. I didn't mean--" "As always, a staple of the Union fighting man's diet was hardtack, a hard, simple cracker made of flour, water, and salt. Hardtack--a term derived from tack, a slang term common among British sailors as a descriptive of food--offered many advantages to an army on the move. Cheap to produce and virtually imperishable, hardtack easily withstood the extremes of temperature and rough handling to which it was subjected in the average soldier's kit. Indeed, the thick wafer proved so indestructible that soldiers were obliged to soften it in their morning coffee before it could be eaten. This extra step offered an additional advantage--at a time when improper storage conditions meant that many of the army's foodstuffs were infested with insects, a good soaking in coffee allowed any unwanted maggots or weevil larvae to float to the top of the soldier's cup, where they could easily be skimmed off. As a result, the soldiers often referred to their hardtack rations as worm castles. " Palgrave stopped reading and looked at me expectantly. "Well? This did not meet with your approval?" "It's perfect, " I said.