The Utterly Uninteresting and Unadventurous Tales of Fred, the Vampire Accountant (11 page)

With every ounce of power I could pull from my one arm of undead muscles and the momentum of Bubba’s run, I swung my lance like a baseball bat and sent it smashing into Galvin. The force of my blow sent him flying off of his horse several feet away, and it seemed to knock over the horse as well. Unfortunately, it also sent me twirling around, losing my footing and tumbling over. I bounced off Bubba’s back and grabbed uselessly for something to hold  onto. As I started to lift into the air on the rebound, I wondered if I could make a case that Galvin had fallen first. Before I could fully commit myself to losing, I felt a sharp pain in my shoulder as something grabbed hold and pulled me back onto the pony. Glancing upward, I saw it was Bubba himself who’s pulled me down, rearing his head back and chomping into my flesh. I’d never been happier to have someone surprise me with an attack.

The arena greeted me with the dead silence I’d expected when Bubba and I first came out as they decided what to make of the final round. I’d unseated their champion, but in a way they’d never seen nor dreamt of before. At last one man in the top row began clapping, and like a landslide the applause and cheering began pouring down upon us.

I leaned over to my trusty steed and whispered, “We should both be very thankful I’m no longer physically capable of pissing myself in fear. Otherwise, we would have been doused.”

Bubba stamped once.

8.

“You cannot possibly expect that ludicrous spectacle to count as a victory!” Morgan hollered as we entered his conference room. “That wasn’t jousting at all. It was a circus act!”

“Should a rider be knocked to the ground in any way he has lost the match,” came a female voice from behind him. “A direct quotation from the rules you set down, Lord Ackers. Fred was still on top of his horse, while Galvin was gasping on the ground. Fred won, or does this conversation not serve as adequate proof?” Krystal stepped forward from her place at the rear of the room, still wearing the dress but sporting her old ass-kicking grin as an accessory. “Your magic can’t keep me silent because you don’t own me, or any of us. You bet and you lost.”

She strode over and gave me a large kiss on the cheek. “I have to admit, Freddy, you caught me by surprise.”

“We’ll list gymnastic miracles as things we’re thankful for at lunch today,” I said. “Now can we please get out of here?”

“Yes, get out,” Morgan spat bitterly. “None of you are welcome in my hotel any longer. Your things will be waiting at the front desk.”

“No worries,” Krystal said with a smile. “Lord Vestrin owns the Bellagio, and I think he’ll welcome us with open arms after hearing how we aided in your humiliating loss today.”

Morgan’s face grew white as he clenched his fists with rage. I began to realize that dracolings could handle a lot of things with casual calm, but losing bets and face were certainly not on that list.

“Oh, before we go, though, there is one last piece of business to attend to,” Krystal said, walking back over to Morgan.

“And what is that?” Morgan asked, sneer firmly affixed to his sour face.

Krystal gave him a large grin, then drilled her knee directly into his groin. Morgan let out a guttural gasp and crashed to the ground, his attendants surging forward to help him, and the bodyguards making a beeline for Krystal. Bubba took two steps forward and cracked his knuckles, while I opened my mouth and allowed my fangs to extend. I was useless in a real fight, but after today they didn’t know that. The bodyguards reconsidered just how much they needed this job and backed off as Krystal turned and strode out the door. We followed quickly, pausing only as Krystal turned and tossed a final word to Morgan over her shoulder.

“Next time you tell me to be seen and not heard, I won’t just kick them, I’ll take them home as my fucking trophies.”

☼

“Can I just say how much I love this town for being anti-sunlight?” We were sitting at the table of yet another buffet while Krystal and Bubba plowed their way through a Thanksgiving smorgasbord.  The truly shocking part was that Krystal was keeping pace with our gigantic new friend. “I mean, it’s noon, and there’s not a shred of natural light anywhere in this building. Plus, there are underground lots for us to park in. It’s great. I feel great.”

“Maybe you feel great because you finally got to put the smack down on someone.” Krystal laughed. “My little Freddy is all grown up. This mean you’re going to hang up your calculator and turn into a real ass-kicking vampire?”

“I somehow doubt it,” I said. “Today was . . . well, let’s call it a fluke.”

“What do you mean?” Krystal asked. “You were awesome! I know you always say you can’t stand physical confrontation, but you floored that douchebag without hesitation.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘without hesitation,’” I protested. “I just used a visualization method to get my mind working in a more proper alignment with what my body needed to do.”

“What the hell are you trying to say here?” Bubba asked, looking up from a huge rack of ribs.

“Um . . . at the last moment, I closed my eyes and pretended he was a baseball,” I admitted.

There was a beat of silence, then horror as everyone realized I was serious. The tension was broken by Krystal’s unrestrained laughter, then Bubba’s, then Albert’s, and finally my own, joining in
for no other reason than we were finally safe, and I could laugh without fear.

“You know, I have to admit that does make a lot more sense,” Krystal said as her laughter died down to mere giggles. “I was wondering how Freddy finally found the balls to whack the crap out of someone. Now I know. All the balls were in his head.”

“Don’t sell him too short,” Bubba said. “After all, he went into the final run planning on doing it, even if he had to cheat a bit to pull off the execution.”

“True. Even that’s a big step for Freddy.”

“Never underestimate what a man will do to protect the people he cares about,” Bubba said with just a hair too much intensity.

“I won’t.” Krystal’s voice had a rare tone of sincerity.

“Right . . . well, then I could go for some ice cream,” Bubba said quickly, as he seemed to realize the direction our conversation had taken. “Albert, what do you say we hit the sundae bar?”

“But I don’t need to eat,” Albert half-heartedly protested.

“And I don’t need to drink beer, but that sure as shit ain’t stopped me. Now, come on, zombie boy,” Bubba said, all but picking Albert up and dragging him across the buffet.

“I think someone might have a crush,” I said when Bubba was gone.

“You noticed? I’m surprised. You’re usually not too perceptive with that sort of thing.”

“Well, he’s not doing much to hide it,” I said.

“No, you’re right,” she said. “I hope it doesn’t make you too uncomfortable, though. If you’re okay with it, I’m going to suggest Bubba set up roots in our city for a little while. I think having some friends around might help keep his addiction under control.”

“I guess that makes . . . Wait—what do you mean
our
city?” I asked. “I live there, but you only come in for business and the like. Isn’t your actual apartment somewhere in the Midwest?”

“I wanted to make it a surprise, but I put in a transfer request, and it got accepted,” Krystal said with a big grin. “The Agency is already looking for suitable apartments in your area.”

“Really?” I said
in shock. I knew things had been going well, but I’d never imagined she would go out of her way to be closer to me.

“Really,” she assured me. “I’ll still be gone a lot, of course. I have to go where the job takes me and all, but this means I don’t have to keep making special trips. My default place in the world will be in the same town as you.”

“And Albert,” I reminded her.

“And your live-in zombie assistant,” she said. “And Bubba, if his feelings don’t make you feel too awkward.”

I stopped to think about it. Yes, I was massively insecure that a girl like Krystal was with me, but her moving closer to me had given my confidence a shot of vigor. Aside from that, I knew what it was like to feel all alone in the world. Since I’d met Krystal, and even Albert, my life had felt far fuller than it ever did when I was alive. Would it really be right of me to deny someone else that experience just because I had low self-esteem?

“Okay,” I said, caving. “Tell him to get a place in Winslow. Just see if you can get him to not hit on you blatantly in front of me.”

Krystal snorted out a laugh. “Hit on me? Freddy, Bubba is gay. Like really gay. Gayer than a unicorn butt-fucking a rainbow. You’re the one he has a little crush on.”

“What?”

“Yeah, you showed some real huevos today, and you saw how he stuck up for you a minute ago. I think you may have wooed him with your manly determination,” Krystal said, barely suppressing her mirth at my misunderstanding.

“Oh . . . Ohhh,” I said. “Well, that makes it easier. Invite him out then.”

“You’re sure?
”

“Positive,” I said. “Let’s get him away from this town of gambling and sin.”

“Agreed,” Krystal said with a smile. “I did have another question for you, though. What were you going to do if the challenge had been a chess match?”

“Win, of course,” I told her. “I’m not sure if you remember, but I was quite the chess prodigy in high school.”

Krystal reached overly lovingly, then smacked me across my head.

“Ow!” I yelped in reflex. “What was that for?”

“I’m not sure if you remember, Freddy, but I was the only person you never managed to beat at chess all through high school,” Krystal reminded me. “So if I didn’t beat their guy, what shot did you think you had?”

“I . . . might have forgotten that little detail.”

“Thank god you’re good looking,” Krystal said, giving me a half-hearted smile.

“You think so?”

“Nope, but you are my champion today, so shut up and give me a kiss while the boys are distracted with hot fudge.”

All things considered, I’d had much worse Thanksgivings.

A Mage at the Park
1.

“‘Periodontist,’” I said, carefully placing the tiles in position. “Thirty-six points.”

The larger of my opponents surveyed the board, eyes darting about in the shadow of his ever-present ballcap, carefully examining his options. The man cut an intimidating figure, standing well over 6’6” and sporting a physique that years of loading trucks had honed. Indeed, he would have been quite the adversary on another field of battle, but in this coliseum, muscles counted for nothing. He delved into his own supply of letters and made his play. His large fingers moved with surprising grace as he shuffled the new letters into position.

“‘Beer,’” said Bubba, leaning back in his chair. “Seven points.”

“Good play!” Albert cheered.

“Go with what you know,” Bubba said, picking up a fresh silver can and cracking it open.

I sighed inwardly and took a sip of my own drink, a glass of freshly decanted pinot noir. It was a bottle that had cost more than my usual range; however, things had been going quite well for my business as of late, so I felt it was a justified splurge. My guests had palates that were lower maintenance than my own. Bubba was drinking beer that came for ten dollars a case, and Albert was gulping down soda. Albert had only been seventeen years old when he died, so his tastes still ran to the adolescent. Of course, he’d only been dead for a few months, thus he hadn’t had much time to mature his beverage preferences anyway. Ah, but I should explain.

Albert died in an unfortunate accident some time ago and was raised as a zombie by his amateur necromancer friend, Neil. Bubba was a new friend we had acquired in Vegas when helping him gain back the freedom he had previously gambled away. The fourth member of our group, a government agent (and my girlfriend) named Krystal, was out of town for work this week, thus I was conducting my first weekly Scrabble tournament with just the three of us. Which leaves only me to be accounted for in the explanation.

My name, as I hope you know by now, is Fredrick Frankford Fletcher, and I am a vampire, though still not the type that inspired swooning or terror. As I’d learned already, it turned out admittance into the club of ultra-powerful undead beings is much like buying a fantastic new home-theater system. Once the novelty wears off, you find yourself realizing that while the method of presenting it has greatly improved, the content generated is still just as lackluster as it was previously. In the same way that my robust flat screen is still shackled to showing reality TV and poorly-thought-out game shows, being a vampire didn’t particularly make me more interesting. If nothing else, it was proving to expand my social circle though, and for that I was grateful.

“Albert, you’re up,” I said, prodding my assistant to make his move. He leaned across the table and stared at the board, tongue poking out ever so slightly in his fevered
,
yet cold-as-earth, concentration. Albert was an interesting fellow, easily the most upbeat person I’d ever met, both during my life and in the vampiric-after. Krystal had explained to me once that zombies were locked into the physiological state they’d been in at death, and it seems Albert had been . . . midway through . . . servicing him . . . Well, let us just say he was in an excellent frame of mind.

“Pony,” Albert said, placing his tile and sitting into his chair.

Bubba cast a sidelong glance at the youthful undead. He could be a bit touchy about his size; however, nothing in Albert’s chipper face betrayed a malicious intent, so Bubba shrugged his massive shoulders and refocused his attention on the beer. My own attention was settling back on the board, a bevy of tactical possibilities unfolding in my mind, when I heard footsteps thumping down the hallway outside my apartment. It took a few seconds for the others to notice. Their hearing was not quite on par with mine.

“Sounds like someone is in a hurry,” Bubba noted.

“Indeed,” I said. “If not for Krystal’s absence, I would find myself fearful that it was a troubled parahuman out looking for—”

“Help!” The cry was followed by an immediate rapping on my recently fortified door. Once upon a time, I had contented myself with the level of security provided by my apartment. However, the past few months had reminded me all too well that there was no such thing as too much precaution.

“Sir,” I called cautiously. “I believe you have the wrong apartment.”

“Albert! Please open up! I need your help!” And suddenly the whiny, pubescent tones of my unrequested visitor slipped comfortably in place among my memories.

“Oh, you must be joking.” I sighed, walking over to the door and undoing the deadbolts before my assistant could beat me to it. I pulled back the heavy door to reveal another youthful face, though this one was aged a wee bit more than Albert’s. It was bespectacled like my own, but leaner, with sandy brown hair that was sopping wet. The slightly freckled face was streaked with what looked like tears, and he was breathing raggedly, scarcely able to gulp the air down fast enough.

“Neil? Are you all right?” I asked.

“I’m fine,” Neil spat out. “I need Krystal, though. I have to talk with her right now.”

“Krystal is out of town,” Bubba tossed in, his large eyes clearly curious about the visitor.

“She left for work,” I said. “We don’t know if she’s in the state, or even the country.”

“No, no, no, no, FUCK!” Neil smashed his small hand against my door. To put it simply, the door won.

“GAH!” I yelped, a bit overtaken by his sudden display of emotion. “What’s wrong? Why do you need Krystal? Are you hurt? Can we help?”

“It’s not me,” Neil said, the tears making a renewed entrance to his pupils. “It’s my mentor. She’s missing, and her place is a wreck. I think someone kidnapped Amy.”

“Ah. Well, then yes, I suppose that would be more a task for Krystal,” I admitted.

A small whimper escaped from deep within Neil’s throat.

“Fred,” Albert said from back at the table, “we should try to help him. He’s my best friend.”

I took a mental tally. Neil had tried to overtake my girlfriend’s mind, murder some innocent (if rather annoying) people, and had magically bound me in place for the better part of a night. But . . . he was Albert’s best friend, and while I hadn’t been blessed with an abundance of experience in the world of friendship prior to my death, I did understand the principles it entailed. Since I considered Albert something of a friend as well as an employee, I had to assume the transitive property was in place here. I cared about Albert, Albert cared about Neil, therefore I cared about Neil as well.

Curses.

“Right, well, at least you should come in and rest for a few minutes,” I said, stepping aside to allow him entrance. “You can tell us what happened, and then we’ll figure out if there is anything we can do.”

In retrospect, that was the first of many mistakes.