The Utterly Uninteresting and Unadventurous Tales of Fred, the Vampire Accountant (15 page)

8.

Three hours later, the six of us sat around a table at Taco Bell, watching a woman who couldn’t weigh more than a hundred thirty pounds work her way through a small mountain of Cheesey Gordita Crunches. It had taken that long for Amy to come down enough to effectively communicate, and though her eyes were largely back to normal, I still caught the occasional swirl of color along the edges. She’d explained on the way to the fast food eatery, which she had been insistent we go to, about what had happened.

Amy, it seemed, was more than just a talented magic user. She was an accomplished alchemist. She’d been working on a new kind of drug for a very powerful client and had decided to test it on herself. It had worked. Only since the drug had been calibrated for one much stronger than herself, she’d lost all sense of reality and wandered off into the night. The mosster, the mushmen, and the music had all been her doing, though she only remembered the last one clearly. When asked why on earth she would conjure things like that, her response had been a shrug and the words, “I was suuuuuper messed up.”

Neil sat next to her, the fact that she’d never been in any real danger clearly not factoring into his sense of relief or hero worship. She was a pretty woman, but she had over a decade on him, and I
was pretty certain his crush was a one-sided affair. Still, she’d managed to turn the kid from an aspiring murderer to a devoted and caring apprentice in a few weeks, so who was I to argue with results?

Bubba and Richard were putting a serious dent in some food of their own. Both of them were wearing clothes that were closer to scrap cloth than actual attire, the acid having eaten holes in all the available garments. Red splotches of skin still decorated their bodies, the only remaining sign of the eroded flesh that they’d suffered, and even that was fading away rapidly. Evidently, healing worked up an appetite, though, since they’d each ordered twenty-dollars worth of food, no small feat at this establishment.

Albert and I were in relatively good shape, a few small holes in our clothing where we hadn’t noticed acid splash in our hurried escape. I was streaked in dirt thanks to Amy blasting me into a tree, and my sweater vest was shredded beyond repair on its back.

I’d thought we might get refused service due to our rough appearance, but, shockingly, we were not the most wrecked group in the Taco Bell that night. Hell, we barely made third place.

“Ohhh man, is that better,” Amy said. Usually these words accompanied the cessation of eating. In her case, they merely came between finishing one taco and unwrapping the next. “Super sorry for all the trouble guys, but I appreciate the ride over.”

“I still don’t get it,” I said, since evidently I was the only one in the dark. “Why would you make something like that in the first place?”

“Fred,” Richard said, his tone surprisingly careful for a man of his station. “People of our . . . type are still people. We still have the same desires. We get hungry, we grow tired, we laugh, we love, we hurt. And sometimes, like many other people, there are those among us who yearn the occasional escape from those feelings.”

“Even parahumans want to get high,” Amy summed up, swirling down some sugary soda in a few rapid straw sips. “Problem is, most of the usual stuff doesn’t work on them. You know how much booze it takes for a therian to get drunk?”

I glanced around nervously. Talking in the open about supernatural things was supposed to be strictly taboo. None of the other patrons seemed to be paying attention to us, and since one cluster was debating the viability of robot designs in science fiction worlds while another argued if Lincoln was a time-traveler, I didn’t imagine our conversation would stand out too much.

“A lot,” Bubba answered before I could guess. “Goes with the regeneration. I can down an entire bottle of moonshine and only get a light buzz that lasts half an hour.”

“Right, exactly, and that’s just one hurdle for one type of consumer,” Amy said cheerfully. “Zees and Vees and all the other UnDees have their own physical limitations toward tasting sweet release. Through alchemic augmentation, I can create stuff that gets them where they want to go.”

“She is brilliant, the best in her field.” Yeah, that was obviously Neil.

“I guess that makes sense, but it still kind of seems wrong somehow,” I said.

“You drink wine,” Albert pointed out.

“But because I like the bouquet of flavor.
”

“Oh. Does that mean you never drank it back before your change?”

Damn. Outfoxed by Albert. If that didn’t prove I was in the wrong, nothing would.

“Right, same thing,” Amy said. “I provide various means for various people of means. I even comply with all the regulations from the ATF.”

“Why do I have a feeling that doesn’t stand for Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms?”

“Cause you’re right. Alchemy, Thamataulogy, and Freshness.”

“Freshness?”

“Yeah, I’m not sure that last one wasn’t just out of convenience. The other ATF was founded first, and they figured it would be easier to be covert if they worked under a title regular people already knew. Plus, it saved on stationery and uniforms. It
is
still the government, after all.”

“This is giving me a headache.” I went to set my forehead on the table, then realized exactly where I was and thought better of it.

“I have some stuff back at the lab that can make you forget all about it,” Amy offered. “No charge, as apology for all the trouble.”

“I’ll pass. I’m sorry if I came off as judgmental. I guess I just didn’t expect a mage who was mentoring a kid to have gotten involved in something like that.”

“Other way around,” Amy said, opening the wrapper on her final piece of food. “I got into magic because I got into alchemy. Which I got into because I was into chemistry, which I was learning about because I wanted to get better with botany, which I had taken up studying in an effort to grow some killer weed.”

“She really is a prodigy,” Richard interjected, having finally finished wolfing down (It’s not offensive to use that term. I checked.) a series of Double Decker Tacos. “She got a late start and is still considered more accomplished than mages twice her age. Neil is lucky to have such a teacher.”

“Turns out I’m lucky to have such a dedicated apprentice,” Amy
said, ruffling Neil’s hair with the hand that wasn’t cramming food in her face. He still got taco sauce streaked on his forehead, but it could have been actual human feces and he wouldn’t have cared.

“I guess that’s it then,” I said. “Everyone is safe, so we can all go home.”

“Totally with you there. If I don’t whip up a batch of hangover cure, I’m going to be regretting it in the morning. Plus, it sounds like I messed some stuff up while I was tripping.”

“On that note, why were there burn marks, blood, and melted glass along with a destroyed lab?” I asked.

“The drug used a lot of fire magic, and before it was done I had a little accident. As for the rest, I have no idea. Maybe I cast a tornado to cool down. Shouldn’t take too long to fix, but, Richard, will you tell Gideon I need a few more days on his order?”

“He will expect adequate compensation for the delay,” Richard reminded her.

“Of course he will. Fucking dragons. Tell him I’ll add in three extra doses to the order, and to the one after that. If he bitches, you can offer extra on the next one too, no more than that though. A girl’s got to eat.” Amy illustrated this point by polishing off the last of her food. Neil set a bag of Cinnamon Twists in front of her, which she immediately went to work on.

“That should do it. He’ll like the symmetry of the three-by-three offer.”

“I’m sorry, are we talking about the Gideon I met tonight? Looks like he’s around seven years old?”

“You got it,” Amy said. “He’s a pain in the ass about the details, but there are worse clients to have than The King of The West.”

“The what now?”

“King of The West,” Richard said. “He is the highest parahuman authority in our part of the country, answerable only to The Agency. Various types of our kind will appoint their own regional leaders, people with positions like my own. However, they must all be confirmed by Gideon.”

“Because he’s a dragon?”

“Because he is incredibly powerful, and he is an excellent negotiator. All three dragons that assisted in our rebellion demanded vast lands of territory for their aid.”

“Our rebel . . . ” I stopped
as my memory flared up. Krystal had told me something about this over Thanksgiving. America was different from other countries because parahumans had been instrumental in its founding, so much so that they were afforded rights and consideration under the laws. Which meant there was only one plausible rebellion Gideon could have helped with where he would have been able to negotiate such power. “You’re saying he was there for the Revolutionary War.”

“Very much so. He led a battalion of warriors in some of the key victories, and he is often fond of telling the story of them over and over,” Richard explained, clearly a little weary of the tales. I could surmise a dragon with insane power and innumerable years of experience could make a tiring houseguest.

“Glad to know I made a fool of myself in front of someone so important,” I joked. I tried to make it sound light hearted, but my nerves shone through.

“No need to worry. Gideon is not offended by people cowering in fear of him,” Richard assured me. “In fact, he prefers it. Reminds him that he’s still got the mojo, even in his current shape.”

“No question he does, though for the life of me, I don’t get why someone with all that clout wants to be a kid, or is crashing with one of his subjects,” I said. The shadow of some deep pain rippled over Richard’s face again, and I decided it was time to move the subject. “I just hope I never give a repeat performance. I’m ready to go home, drink some liquid refreshment, and pass out until the next sunset.”

“I’ll give you a ride,” Bubba said, flashing me a warm grin. He’d been exceptionally cheerful since we met back up, no doubt relieved to know Amy had been found safely. “Look at it this way—at least you have an interesting story to tell Krystal when she gets back.”

I chuckled despite myself. “That is true. I bet she thinks all I did while she was gone was sit around and play . . . Hey!” I slapped my hand on the table, leaving an accidental dent in its cheap-plastic surface. “I almost forgot.”

“What is it?” Richard asked. The whole table leaned in tensely. After a night of constant surprises, they had immediately shifted back into Ready For Anything Mode.

“We still have a game of Scrabble to finish.”

“Oooh, can I come? I love that game,” Amy said. I was admittedly not overly fond of the woman who had given me a night full of stress and horror, but she had apologized, and it wasn’t like she meant to do any harm. Besides, I had spent most of life with very few people to pal around with. It wasn’t in me to turn away anyone’s advances of friendship.

“Sure,” I told her. “The more, the merrier.”

“Awesome.” She hopped up from the chair and gulped down the last of her drink. “Let me just get some more food to go.”

A Monster in the Pews
1.

It would be lovely to say that the stockings were hung by the chimney with care. However, for all the amenities my apartment provided, a fireplace was sadly not one of them. Instead, we’d used a large wooden stand that I think had started its life as a paint easel before Bubba undertook remodeling it. I have to say, it was a far better piece of craftsmanship than anything I could have managed, though Bubba tended to skimp on the more aesthetic details like paint. And symmetry.

“Hey, Betty Crocker, your cookies are nearly done,” Krystal called from the kitchen. No, I don’t know why she insisted on telling me this rather than donning an oven mitt and extracting them herself. By this point it hardly surprised me anymore. I pinned the final stocking, our new friend Amy’s, to the makeshift mantle, and headed into the kitchen.

“How’s the decorating coming?” Krystal asked as I walked in. She sat at the counter polishing off yet another glass of homemade eggnog. At this rate I’d have to put together another batch before the guests even arrived. I had the supplies for it. I was nothing if not a contingency planner, but it was the principle of the thing.

“Slowly,” I told her, taking a look at the crisping chocolate cookies for myself. I’ll give her this—she’d been right about their level of doneness. “I could use some help.”

“Guess you shouldn’t have given Albert the day off, then.”

“He put in the form three weeks ago. Besides, he and Neil were going Christmas shopping.”

“On December 23rd? I see that being real productive.”

“I suppose all your gift buying is done?”

Krystal turned away, pretending to be sheepish. We’d been dating long enough for me to know better. That girl rarely had a sense of shame about anything.

“I might have a few last-minute items to buy. I didn’t expect someone to befriend a damn therian lord and The King of the West, both of whom protocol demands I make seasonal gifts to.”

I was tempted to ask more, but I knew Krystal would just button-up on details. The agency she worked for, just known as The Agency among people of my type, was so secret that most of Washington didn’t know it existed. They made sure all the parahumans in America held to the treaties and adhered to the laws that pertained to them. It was a job that kept her pretty darn busy, so I was glad they’d given her Christmas off. I pulled open the oven and delicately picked up the trays, setting them on the stovetop to cool momentarily before transferring the cookies to wire racks. The heat from the metal trays registered across my naked hands. However, since it wasn’t actual fire, there was no damage or pain.

“These should be perfect by the time the guests arrive,” I said, checking the clock and realizing with a start that I only had thirty minutes left. That would have been plenty of time normally; my friends could be a bit disregardful of social convention, though. There was no telling when they’d start pounding on my reinforced steel door.

“You might need more nog,” Krystal informed me, filling up her now empty glass once more from the punchbowl.

I scowled at her. “There’s a tub of ice cream and a dozen eggs in there. You should have made yourself sick by now. I’ll never understand how you eat so much and stay so lean.” Krystal and I had both been overweight in high school. Add in social anxiety, and you can see how we traveled in similar social circles. My weight loss had come after the change. A liquid diet is quite slimming. As to hers, well, I’d never quite unraveled that mystery. It definitely wasn’t her diet; that much was quite evident.

“Ancient Chinese secret.” She gave me a playful wink that was half-obscured by her blonde hair.

“Says the brown-eyed, white girl.” I sighed. “Can you get the new nog started while I go check the lights on the tree?”

“Weeeell, okay. But only because I want to make sure there’s enough of this stuff.”

I headed back to the living room, momentarily interrupted by the surprise slap to the rear end that Krystal delivered as she moved past me into the kitchen. I shook my head, but there was a smile on my face she couldn’t see. We were a strange couple. I’d be the first to admit that, yet in a curious way, we seemed to balance one another well. I helped her plan a bit more, and she helped me do things more spontaneously than I normally would.

Halfway through adjusting the lights, I heard a deafening crash come from my kitchen. My first instinct was frustration and certainty that Krystal had broken my punch bowl. Then I noticed something strange. Vampire hearing is exceptional, so good that I’ve worked on tuning it out most of the time. As I focused, I realized that there were three other people moving about my apartment . . . and only one of them was breathing.

I’d dashed into the kitchen before rational thought could kick in, which is likely for the best since my rational thoughts all center on the principles of running and hiding. The sight that greeted me was far from pleasant. Though I’d reinforced my door after my first few interactions with other parahumans, I had stupidly left my windows unaltered. After all, I lived on the twelfth floor. Who was going to scale a wall and break in?

The answer, it seemed, was the set of men standing in front of an annihilated window. Both were pale and held themselves with a level of balance I was far too familiar with. One wore jeans, a black v-neck shirt, and tattoos covering several hundred pounds of muscle. The other was lean and dressed impeccably in a designer suit, sans tie. He was the one that immediately drew my focus, chiefly because his hand was wrapped around Krystal’s neck as she dangled several feet off the floor.

“Good evening, Mr. Fletcher,” the one holding Krystal greeted. “Forgive the sudden interruption, but I felt it was high time you and I had a discussion. My name is Quinn Thames, though given the closeness of our relationship, you may call me Quinn. My burly compatriot here is Beauregard.” The muscely man smiled at the mention of his name, confirming my suspicions as he flashed a pair of long fangs where his incisors should be. A vampire’s fangs usually only come out when excited, feeding, or if we will them to. I really hoped those were extended because he felt like showing them off. Neither of those other situations ended well for Krystal and me.

“Close relationship?”

“Certainly. There is no greater bond than between a sire and their child.”

The trepidation that had been seeping through me catalyzed into outright fear. I’d never seen the vampire who made me. I’d just been attacked one night coming home from the grocery store. When I awoke there was no note, no guide, no nothing. I’d been changed and cast aside, which Krystal had eventually explained to me meant my sire was a sick son of a bitch. In the vampire world, that was the equivalent of tossing a newborn baby in a dumpster.

“I never met my sire,” I said carefully.

“No, unfortunately I was called away on unexpected business after your change,” Quinn said, ignoring Krystal’s attempts to kick him in the head. “However, I had great faith that you would become an exceptional vampire. All the makings were there. You were repressed, weak, and constantly trod upon. I anticipated I’d return to this city to find you’d nearly drowned it in blood. To say I am disappointed to find out you were coddling around with an Agent does not begin to capture my displeasure.” He tightened his grip as he spoke, and I could actually hear Krystal’s heart slow down a few beats.

“Let her go. She doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. You see, Fredrick, I specialize in this. I can sense a simmering bloodlust from across a country. Someone like you only needed the power to strike back against the world, power I provided. Given your spectacular failure, I must surmise that the element which kept you suppressed is this young woman right here.” Thankfully, his grip loosened enough to allow more airflow again. Krystal tried to mouth something to me, but without her voice I couldn’t understand her.

“What do you want?”

“Finally to the quick of it, eh? I’ll make this simple. I want you to fulfill your potential. To that effect, I am going to take Agent Jenkins with me. If you want her back, then come to the church at the corner of Eighteenth and Madrigold at midnight. Should you be able to retake her, then she’s yours. If you fail to come, I’ll kill her. If you come and disappoint me again, then I’ll call it quits on this project and kill you both.”

“Whatever you want, let’s just do this now,” I said. There was no way I could take her back. These guys were real vampires, and I was just a guy in a sweater vest. Still, maybe I could give her the chance to escape. Krystal was an Agent, I’d seen her pull off some crazy things before.

I took one step forward and found myself slammed forcefully into the floor. The attack was so hard that it knocked the air out of me. Admittedly, I didn’t really need it. Breathing was mostly habit, but it was still an unpleasant experience. Beauregard looked down at me and flashed another toothsome smile. Even as a new vampire, I can move pretty quickly, and I hadn’t even seen him close the gap between us, let alone grab me. This was not boding well.

“Midnight,” Quinn called to remind me. “And much like yourself, I greatly value punctuality.”

Beauregard gave a swift kick to my torso, then vanished. By the time I pulled myself up, they were both gone. The only evidence they’d even been real in the first place was the inwardly obliterated window that was letting in the cold December air. Oh, and the fact that Krystal was now nowhere to be seen. With more effort than I’d have expected, I dragged myself to the refrigerator and threw open the door. Grabbing a packet of blood, I bit through the top and began guzzling it down, not even bothering to get myself a glass first. The minor wounds Beauregard had given me were already almost healed, but the last thing I needed was to be running on empty tonight. This would top me off and finish the recovery.

“Merry Christmas!” My door slammed open to reveal Bubba, dressed in a Santa suit that barely fit him, along with Neil, Albert, and Amy all in tow. They made it three steps inside before they abnormal surroundings registered and their welcoming cheer gave way to sudden concern.

“Guys,” I said, finishing up the last of my blood packet. “We have a problem.”