Embracing the Shadows (24 page)

Using the hatch in my new basement bedroom, I
went down into the bowels of my neighborhood. The cramped sewers
were thick with cockroaches and other creepy-crawlies; something
I'd gotten used to. I came up a few blocks away from a drain port
at the back of a string of rundown buildings. I went around front
while willing myself to be 'blending in'. Not that there was a
crowd to blend in with. I was pretty much by myself out there,
except for a drunk passed out on the cracked curb.

Leaning against a telephone pole, I studied
the businesses that shared walls. The crappy tavern in the middle
was the only one with lights on. To the right was a crappier
two-story apartment building. On the right of the tavern was a
repair shop that was in need of a wrecking ball.

Across the desolate street was a littered,
weed-choked parking lot that gave me a view of any patrons who
might go stumbling out of the tavern. I watched a few of them come
and go - mostly go. They were the lower rungs of society; aging
pensioners living off disability checks, or unemployed trash
sucking the welfare tit. They didn't shell out for whiskey, or
enough of it to make them targets.

So there I was, a newly-made monster. I sat
alone in the dark, on a crumbling low wall at the back of a bleak
lot that faintly smelled of piss. Sewer grime was smeared on my
overalls, and there was a roach under my t-shirt. I crushed little
chunks of cement in my hand out of sheer boredom while I waited to
make some loser's night even worse. And then a drizzle started to
fall . . . That was a nice touch. It sounds pretty glamorous,
doesn't it? Yeah, fuck you.

AWARD

Viggo showed up the next evening in his usual
macabre way, and escorted me away in the same fashion. We stepped
from one shade of black to another. There was a trace of an echo
when I scuffed my boot on the gritty, hard ground. Okay, we were
most likely underground, and not in a sewer.

"As before," Viggo quietly stated to me in
the pitch dark, "you may venture forward into lighted areas. My
attention is needed for something further back into the darkness,
and then I shall be along."

Well hell, he'd brought me back to the cave
that ultimately led to the cavern where I met the charming minion
named Brute. Oh, and the prick called Roach, sort of. "Okay, I
gotta know," I said, not sure if I was facing him. "What's back
there?"

"If you must know," Viggo replied from a
couple yards away, "a species of stygofauna resides in the
subterranean lake behind me - a species that has been considered
extinct for eons."

"So, it's a fish, right?"

"Technically yes, although the mutations
brought about by my blood has given the creature unexpected
abilities. That, more so than it being a lost species, is of great
interest."

"A fish . . ."

Viggo was silent for a few seconds before he
gruffly said, "Just move along as you did before, Leo."

"Yeah, that turned out just peachy the first
time, didn't it?" He didn't respond to my sarcasm, so I walked
away. Maybe I shouldn't have been a jackass about Viggo's extinct
fish thing. I was just moody from the night before; I'd gotten a
glimpse of my new life, and I was less than enthused. Then again, I
just learned that Viggo unintentionally put my life in danger to go
visit a fucking fish.

With a pen light, I made my way through the
stalactite cave and over the half-assed steel grate bridge. There
was a bright light in the curving, domed tunnel ahead. Barnabus was
waiting for me with open arms and a wide piranha smile. His embrace
lifted my mood a little. He walked me all the way to their common
room - the long chamber lit by blue bioluminescent algae where I
was Viggo's gift bearer.

I was casually but happily greeted by Skin,
Clara, and Michael. Neva had a warm, sad smile for me; I kissed her
cold hand as thanks for watching over me during my infliction.
Roach lounged in an office chair, staring at me with an unreadable,
cadaverous face. I nodded to him, he nodded back. It was good
enough for me.

When Viggo arrived a few minutes later, Neva
stood with her violin and played a stirring sonata for me. I was
never into music other than to enjoy a catchy tune, but the perfect
notes she played and how she combined them invoked a strong emotion
in me. By the time Neva finished her haunting tune, I got the
feeling she was saying with music that she couldn't replace Al or
my mom, but she'd be there if I needed her. It was what I needed to
hear right then.

I received other presents as well. Clara gave
me a big zip-up hoodie. Barnabus first handed me some language
CD's, and then gave me a paper-filled binder. On the cover was
written, 'the Book of Becks'. He'd personally put together my
family genealogy dating back to a generation before Erlingr, the
goblet forger. Barnabus had Viggo as a direct font of information,
but still . . . holy shit. Michael shook my hand Viking-style and
offered me an awesome drinking horn. Viggo had his special cup; now
I had mine.

Viggo had a couple envelopes for me. In one
was a short list of stocks for me to begin my portfolio. Not being
savvy about stocks, I still knew that a thousand shares of IBM were
worth something. In the other envelope was a password for complete
access to the hemo-net. Nothing against the stocks, but I was a lot
more excited to go visit all the formerly restricted tabs.

Just as everyone (except Neva) began talking
amongst themselves, Aldo showed up. I'd thought he'd already gone
back to Germany. He came over to me, gave me a bioluminescence kit,
and then took me aside and sternly said, "Earn the award of this
new life, Mr. Beck."

"Award . . ." I mused. "I'm not sure if
that's how I look at it so far, Mr. Skala."

"And I'm not concerned about any of your
misgivings, fledgling. Be worthy of having the privilege to say
you're the Veleti's scion. It carries weight and respect."

"Does it also mean I get to be a dick to
everyone?" Before Aldo could respond, I added, "I understand what
you're saying. It's just that I'd rather follow in Clara's
footsteps than yours. No offense."

"Not everyone is destined for greatness," he
replied with a hint of a sneer.

Hands rested on my and Aldo's shoulders,
stopping me from saying some stupid comeback that most likely
would've prompted my ass getting kicked.

"I hate to interrupt the camaraderie, good
numen," Barnabus said, looking at us both, "but Leo has a decision
to make. We are all eager to hear his choice."

I turned to Viggo, who stood closer to the
others. They were all looking at me expectantly. "This is about me
being formally introduced, right?" I asked. Heads nodded. "I don't
know what the best move is." Looking right at my sire, I asked,
"You think I should?"

"There are merits for either choice," he
began. "You have solitary tendencies, Leo, but you are not a
recluse. I believe it will be in your best interest to be known of;
awkward situations may be avoided with the decision to be
presented. More importantly, you may want the other factions to
know you are now among them. Your presence will be a reminder of
the failed attempts to control and dispatch you when you were
mortal. Now a Deviant, you will be seen as a being to be truly wary
of."

Viggo's little speech pumped me up. "Well
hell," I said, "let's do it."

"The next scheduled Gathering isn't until
mid-September," Barnabus smoothly interjected. "I realize that two
months is a relative trifle compared to the span of our existences.
However, I see the impatience in Mr. Beck. I also see an urge to
conclude affairs in you, Viggo. I suppose I could call for an
Emissary's meeting, which might draw the attendance of the Doyenne
. . ."

"Thank you, Barnabus, but that will not be
necessary," Viggo said. "I have very reliable informants who know
of the Doyenne's itinerary for the near future." He then turned to
me. "You have two days."

INFORMANT

The evening was muggy, not that I was really
affected by it anymore. Viggo told me that in winter, a hemo's
breath didn't plume - something about how our low core temperature
didn't produce hot air. The idea he was trying to get across was
that, besides not being affected by weather unless it was drastic,
an observant eye might notice that my breath didn't frost in the
cold.

Forget that, it's beside the point. It wasn't
fucking winter anyway. It was two nights after my Deviant welcoming
party, and my new hoodie wasn't uncomfortable in the humid July
air. Viggo wore his, too, plus his long coat over it. We'd just
void-walked to one of his downtown parking garages and began
strolling south toward the city's "arts district" that unofficially
started a half mile away.

We were both using our 'blending in'
abilities, so it wouldn't have mattered if we were losing chunks of
flesh like a couple of damn lepers, let alone a lack of winter
breath or summer sweat. Since no one could see us, the topic was
moot. I just wanted to make my own point about that. Alright, I'll
move on.

From what I heard, most of the K.C. galleries
displayed modern art slop. It was the kind of stuff that rich
assholes would rave about because they were bored and entitled, and
then praise the talentless hacks that made it. Just my opinion, but
if it wasn't cool photography or Norman Rockwell, then it was
crap.

Yeah, okay, I was a little edgy. I wanted the
introduction bullshit over with, and I wasn't too thrilled about
standing in front of Le Meur again. I wasn't afraid - I just hated
the bitch.

There was a lot more pedestrian traffic down
where a number of galleries were clustered together. We were headed
toward a busy block; there were a few limos parked out front of a
well-lit art gallery, and people milled around out front. Viggo
turned away from it and led me to the next street over. Other than
being lined with parked cars, that street was quiet. "Once I speak
to my informant just around the far corner," he whispered, "we will
proceed blended and follow him into the building. The Doyenne is
somewhere inside. Another assistant of mine should be there as
well."

Before we began walking again, I had to ask,
"Who is this informant of yours?"

"A recently blood-bound daemon," he answered
without any elaboration. Thanks, Captain Vague.

We went around the corner and saw a guy forty
paces ahead, in the dimness between two streetlights. He was
leaning against a shiny Mercedes and talking on his cell phone. I
couldn't see his face well, but what I could see told me he was a
douche. The sleeves of his blazer were rolled up, he wore one of
those skinny ties, and he had on the dumbest pair of striped slacks
I'd ever seen. And then I recognized him: Dominic Riva. I hadn't
seen that jackass since Barnabus buried two axes in his head.

"What the hell?" I whispered. "Your informant
is a fucking Adept? And he's blood-bound?" I recalled Viggo saying
that Riva was "out of action", but I didn't know my sire was the
reason for it.

"Of course he is blood-bound," Viggo murmured
back. "It is the one true way to ensure loyalty. Mr. Riva and his
progeny, Mr. Horn, were released when the charges against you were
dropped, as promised. It was only practical to claim their fealty
beforehand."

His casual explanation shocked me. "Are you
kidding? I don't care if he's a douche and Horn is a raccoon
killer, that's messing with free will. It's like . . .
slavery."

"Do not dramatize the situation, Leo. This
practice is not uncommon amongst us, so you should learn to accept
the reality of it. I have bound every one of the numen I have
collected."

Collected? Viggo was collecting . . . Oh
shit. All the missing hemos, and all the ones he took for "safe
keeping" - Ragna, Pedro, Evan Dean, Edward Galloway, the bird-woman
Katala, and probably more that I didn't know about. It was a big
step up from coins and trinkets. Viggo was hoarding hemos.

The sudden realization of my sire's disorder
left me speechless. He took my silence as acceptance. "We will
allow Mr. Riva to see us," he continued. "I will order him to hold
the door of the gallery open before he steps in. Blended in, we
will enter first. From there, we shall see about meeting with the
Doyenne."

I numbly nodded, not wanting to respond; I
was afraid of what might've come out of my mouth. I saw Viggo in a
new light, and it wasn't complimentary. That's an understatement -
it offended my sense of honor, something I thought we had in
common. The collected hemos had no choice - something I knew about
- and that made Viggo's hoarding immoral in my book. In a way, it
made him no better than Le Meur. The worst part of it was that he
believed he was justified to impose servitude.

If there's a single word for crushing
disappointment, I don't know it.

RIGHTS

Dominic Riva eyed me suspiciously, but didn't
say a word while Viggo told him what to do. The simple plan of
going into the gallery went off without a hitch. Well-dressed snobs
unknowingly moved out of our way and ignored us. The posters near
the front doors touted that night's showcase artist, Sebastian
Horn. He apparently was a rising star in his recently human
days.

Some of the conversations I picked up on were
about meeting Horn when he made his arrival, and asking about the
new direction of his work. Yeah, I guess being a hemo would alter
his perspectives.

I tried not to dwell on Viggo's mental
glitch, so I looked at the displayed art as we roamed the roomy
interior. I gotta admit it - Horn was pretty damn good. His oil
paintings were large and very detailed, his watercolor work was
bold and catchy, and his small sculptures were all lifelike. I was
studying a gloomy painting - one of Horn's most recent pieces -
when Viggo nudged me.