Revenue Service - Department 13

Jack Smith walked up to the entrance of the old mansion, glaring at the grand structure as he did so. It was the same every year, had been the same long before he’d even gotten a job with IRS’s department 13. He climbed the stairs and put his finger on the old-fashioned button for the doorbell. He didn’t take it off again for a couple of minutes, until there was a sound of unlocking from the other side.

A tall man with black hair and unusually pale skin glared at him. “You again!”

“A year has passed. You have, again, failed to file your taxes, Count Olaf.”

The man folded his long, sinewy arms in front of his chest. “Taxes are for mortals.”

Jack took a deep breath. Dragons were easier than that guy and they despised handing over their gold to someone else. “The laws state that un-dead like you are considered mortal enough to pay taxes.”

“I’m not merely un-dead, I’m the master of the city.”

“That doesn’t exempt you from paying taxes. We’re no longer in the middle ages where rulers didn’t have to pay taxes.”

A red glow came into the man’s black eyes. “You don’t know whom you’re tangling with.”

Jack shrugged. “I do … that’s why I took some garlic essence earlier.”

The glow became stronger. “I can still rip you apart!”

“That would give you a full week before my successor is knocking on your door.”

The sneer forming on the vampire’s lips bared his fangs. “But you would be dead.”

“Yes.” If Jack had gotten a dime for every time he’d been threatened with death during the last four years, ever since his switch to department 13, he could have stopped working right away - on days like this one, a tempting idea.

“Why are you not afraid of dying? Every mortal is afraid of dying!”

“You’ve never worked for the government, have you?”

The vampire growled. “I’ve been the government!”

“That’s not the same. You know how this is going to end, Count Olaf. Why don’t you make it easier on both of us? Show me your recipes, let me do the forms, and in a few weeks, you’ll know what you owe the state. I know you’ve kept all the recipes, you are a vampire, after all.” They were compulsive gatherers, every single one of them. They also were horrible machos, even the women. The count needed that power play, even though he knew how it would end.

The red glow died and the man’s shoulders sagged. Vampires were compulsive gatherers, but they weren’t good with forms. But then, who outside the government agencies was? That was the whole point about forms - making sure government employees had an advantage over everyone else.

“Fine. Come in, if you must.”

Jack followed the count into the study, which was actually pretty cosy with its dark wood, nice carpeting, and old, heavy furniture. He took a seat at the desk - in front, not behind - and pulled out all the forms he would need for this case. The count had investments and a few houses he rented out, so there weren’t that many different incomes to tally. Gnomes and imps were much worse, because they dabbled in everything. The count put a shoebox full of recipes on his desk and went outside. Jack took the first recipe out of the box and smiled a little when the aroma of freshly-brewed coffee wafted in through the study door. Machismo, not real enmity - which was why Jack hadn’t bothered with the garlic essence in the first place.