Bloody Acquisitions (Fred Book 3)

by Drew Hayes

  “That’s reassure—wait, sheriff? Where, exactly, are we going?”

  Krystal looked up at me, a mischievous twinkle in her eye that I knew all too well meant things were about to get chaotic. “I’m going to take that as a ‘yes.’”

  A Sheriff in the Country

  1.

  The plane bounced a bit too enthusiastically upon landing and I reflexively grabbed Krystal’s hand. While I am nervous about many things, flying isn’t one of them. At least, normal flying isn’t. The tiny little mechanism we sat in, supported only by a set of twin propellers, had proven to be a different story, though. I’d thought it would be quaint when I first laid eyes on it, something a little more classic than the monstrous jets that carry people around like cattle. What I didn’t realize is that having a jet that big lessens the impact of turbulence, whereas in the small plane that brought me, Krystal, Arch, Albert, and Neil across the country, one could feel every single bump of turbulence along the way.

  And there was a lot of turbulence between northern Colorado and east Texas. By the time the doors finally opened, showing me the beautiful freedom of a starlit night above, I nearly ripped my seatbelt in half vaulting out. Even if the sun had been shining, I might still have chanced it, preferring to burn to death in its deadly rays than risk another minute in those cramped, shaking quarters.

  “Yeah, that’s how most people react the first time they take this flight,” Krystal noted, taking a much more sedate pace down the airplane’s steep stairs, duffel bag slung over her shoulder. Albert was only a few steps behind, clad in his usual t-shirt and jeans, stringy hair pulled back tight. If not for the blade and gold hilt of a sword strapped to his back, there would be nothing to mark the passage of time since he first came to work for me. He was taking his time in the descent, helping Neil along. Of us all, the young mage was the only one without undead constitution or years of practice taking similar flights. He staggered down the stairs, still looking green in the face despite filling up no less than three “sanitation” bags during the flight. Though the two of us were rarely on good terms, my heart went out to him. If vampires could vomit, I almost certainly would have matched his record.

  Arch was the last to leave, pausing to say a few quick words to the pilot. No sooner had he gotten outside than he reached into the pocket of his dark, functional slacks and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. I’d never known anyone who smoked more than Arch, or took less joy in it. It was an especially curious affectation given how crisp and precise everything else about him was, from his close-cut hair to the carefully concealed weapons all over his body. My best bet was that it had something to do with his parahuman nature. As far I could tell, Arch looked human—a young human, at that—but given his reputation and status with the Agency, I knew there was something I was missing.

  “Been too long,” Arch said, making his way down the stairs. I wasn’t sure if he was talking about the cigarette or our destination, though the former seemed far more likely.

  As near as I could tell, we’d landed in an abandoned field. At the far edge, I could see a shack made of sheet metal, and the runway the plane had used was well-kept, but nothing about our surroundings marked this as an airport. Which was probably why we’d had to take a special plane from the Agency in the first place.

  From the edge of the clearing, I picked up a pair of lights moving toward us. A car, or maybe a truck; hard to tell from so far off, even with my eyes. It would be a while before it arrived, so I wheeled around on Krystal.

  “We’re here.”

  “Very good, Freddy. That is what the landing means.” She was being glib, knowing quite well what I was driving at and taking joy in stringing me along.

  “I feel I’ve been a pretty good sport about this, especially when you told me that you wanted our vacation to take place in rural Texas, but we had a deal. Once we arrive, you’re supposed to tell me what’s so special about this place.” I conjured my very best “I mean business” face, which only managed to draw a few giggles from her and a half-hearted snicker from Neil, who immediately had to cover his mouth.

  “All they told me was that there was someone else with a weapon, and I should meet them,” Albert offered. Unlike me, he didn’t mind being kept in the dark. Of course, he’d also come here with a purpose. As someone who had drawn a weapon of destiny, Albert was trying to learn how to use it, as well as figure out what he wanted to do with it. Speaking to someone who was on the same path could offer him a lot of insight. He, Arch, and Neil all had good reason to come out to the boonies. I just couldn’t fathom what was so special about this place that Krystal insisted I had to see it.

  “My plan was to let you see the place for yourself, but fine, if you really want to be a spoilsport, I’ll tell you.” Krystal held up her hands and gestured to the empty fields. “Freddy, welcome to the edge of Boarback, Texas. One of only three openly parahuman settlements in all of the United States.”

  “Excuse me, open settlements?” While I had a hunch at what she was saying, it seemed more prudent to get confirmation.

  “It’s just what it sounds like,” Arch jumped in. “Boarback is a town where parahumans live in the open. All of the inhabitants are either parahuman or regular humans that have been brought here intentionally. We keep it off maps, the roads to get in are almost impassable unless you know the secret routes, and everything around here is wiped from satellite imagery. No one accidentally discovers this town. And because of that, there’s no hiding. Everyone can be exactly what they are.”

  “That’s . . . incredible.” While I wish I’d come up with something a bit more eloquent, at that moment my mind was simply reeling too much for me to state anything other than the most obvious prattle. A whole town, a civilization of parahumans who weren’t trying to blend in with human society. Granted, I was a big fan of human society, and aside from the dietary restrictions and sunlight issues, considered myself very much a part of it. However, my time with Krystal had let me glimpse other sides of the parahuman world, beings who had to go to much greater extremes to blend in. I’d always assumed that was the only option presented to them, but now, I’d just taken a bumpy plane ride to one I’d never imagined.

  “Incredible, and necessary,” Krystal said. “Try as we might to make them, there are some parahumans who just refuse to keep a low profile. They aren’t dangerous or anything; some do it by accident, others out of stubbornness. Point is, they don’t deserve jail, but we can’t let them wander around with humans, either. This was the compromise someone came up with in the early days. Boarback was the first, and when it worked, they added more.”

  “Many choose to live here, now. Prefer it to spending a life among a species that can only fear them.” Arch finished his first cigarette, tucking it neatly into the box of ash and stubs he always carried, and immediately began another. In the distance, I could finally make out the shape of the approaching vehicle. Definitely a truck; though, given the terrain it was driving over, that seemed a practical choice.

  “It’s pretty incredible. Everything is parahuman friendly. All the buildings have enchanted glass, just for the sun allergic, and there are underground tunnels to get around during the day. The library is full of ancient tomes for mages to study—along with a healthy romance section, from the invoices I’ve seen—and all the different dietary needs are accounted for. The Agency makes monthly drops to ensure food sources are on hand.” Krystal was actually rocking on her heels in excitement. I’d initially thought she was dragging me along just for kicks, but the longer she spoke, the more I realized how much she genuinely loved this place.

  “If there are that many parahumans, it seems like it would be hard to keep the peace.” Neil slowly tried to let go of Albert and stand on his own. Despite a shaky start, he managed to stay on his feet. “Do you keep agents posted here all the time or something?”

  Krystal shook her head, smiling so big I could almost see her back teeth. “No need. Boarback has its own police force; a sheriff
and a couple of deputies. In fact, one of those deputies is who you’re here to meet, Albert. Those two alone are more than enough to handle most of the trouble that crops up in a town this size. But if there’s ever anything serious, the sheriff will step in and deal with it.”

  “Is he a former agent or something?” I asked.

  “He’s something, all right.” Arch’s words were muttered, not so soft that he was trying to conceal them, but soft enough to not be part of the conversation. Krystal reached over and punched her fellow agent in the shoulder before turning back to me.

  “Don’t mind Arch. He just doesn’t like losing.”

  “It was hardly a fair fight,” Arch said.

  “When are any of your fights fair? Isn’t that the first thing you teach rookies to expect?” Krystal leered at him willfully, until Arch turned away and silently took another drag from his second cigarette. “To answer your question, Freddy, no, I don’t think Sheriff Thorgood was ever officially an agent, but he has a lot of ties to the Agency. We send our more problematic cases—people who’ve just turned and don’t know how to control their power yet—out here for him to look after.”

  And with that, I finally realized why Krystal was so excited to show me this patch-of-nowhere town. “They sent you here, didn’t they? This is where you first trained.”

  “Only until I got the hang of using my skills, and made peace with the whole ‘devil living inside me’ stuff. After that, they put me in the regular program. But I spent a while in Boarback, learning from the sheriff.”

  With near perfect timing, the truck finished its forward journey, coming to a halt approximately twenty feet away from us. The passenger door popped open, and a man stepped out. He was big, by normal standards; though, after meeting men like Richard, my scale was somewhat skewed. Visually, he wasn’t terribly impressive, akin to a shorter, less muscular version of Bubba, and he wore a beige policeman’s uniform, complete with matching cowboy hat. His stomach hadn’t quite reached the point of lapping over his gun belt, but it was a battle that could be lost any day. Large hands spread out as he stretched his arms wide (revealing a gold sheriff’s badge on his chest) and motioned to Krystal.

  “Is that Agent Jenkins? Get over here and give your old teacher a hug.”

  That was all the prompting it took, as Krystal raced forward and the two embraced. It was surprisingly familial, a sentiment I didn’t see in my girlfriend very often. Rather than a teacher, it looked like she was being bear-hugged by an uncle. Finally, they released, and he began making his way around to the rest of us.

  “Arch, you better finish that damn thing before you get in my truck, or I’ll hitch you to back and let you run for it.” He slapped Arch on the back as he spoke, nearly knocking the agent’s cigarette from his hand. “And you must be Albert, the zombie who pulled out the Blade of the Unlikely Champion. Pleasure to meet you, son.” He held out his big paw of a hand and Albert shook it, looking more like he was hanging on than participating.

  “Which makes you Neil, the apprentice, sorry, journeyman learning from Mage Wells. That’s some big shoes to fill; I hope you’re working hard.” He grabbed Neil’s hand and gave it a shake as well, moving so fast that even the usually brooding necromancer didn’t have a chance to come up with something glib to say.

  I watched all these exchanges in sheer wonder, marveled by what a touch the sheriff had with people. Despite being in what could be argued was literally Nowhere, he lacked the same southern twang I’d gotten so accustomed to with Bubba. Instead, his accent was neutral, and hard to even grasp beneath the warmth and volume of his words. Hard as I tried to pin it down, there was just some sort of charisma about him that made the sheriff seem inherently likeable. Now that was an ability I wouldn’t have minded getting when I went vampire.

  “And that just leaves you, the vampire that I hear is dating one of my students.” He turned toward me and closed the distance between us in only a few steps. For having such an ambling gait, he moved surprisingly fast. “Anyone Krystal trusts enough to bring around is good people in my book. Pleasure to meet you; I’m the sheriff of Boarback, Leeroy Thorgood.”

  “Fredrick Fletcher,” I replied, reaching for his hand. “But most people call me Fred.”

  The moment Sheriff Thorgood took my hand, a whole new sensation washed over me. I’ve mentioned before about how a primal part of my vampire brain sees the world in terms of predators and prey, and how catatonic I went upon meeting Gideon, an apex predator, for the first time. This wasn’t quite the same, in that I didn’t start babbling or fall over. In fact, I don’t think my instincts saw the sheriff as predator or prey. They didn’t know what to make of him. He didn’t fit anywhere into my base vampire understanding of the world. The one thing I did know about him, that I could feel rippling off the man in physical waves, was that he was powerful. And I say that having glimpsed the true capabilities of an ancient dragon.

  “Glad to meet you.” If Leeroy noticed my reaction, he didn’t let it show. Instead, he gave my hand a few pumps, then released it and nodded to the truck. “Suns up in a few hours. Let’s get your bags and head into town.”

  2.

  Despite the bleakness of their airport, I was pleasantly surprised to find the town of Boarback to be more than ten houses and a general store that doubled as a church and gas station. If that sounds ridiculous, allow me to remind you that Krystal and I grew up in a rural farming town. While ours wasn’t quite that bad, there were others not too far off that dearly wished they could get up to ten houses. Such was not the case with Boarback, however.

  Instead, Sheriff Thorgood pulled his truck along dusty, nearly invisible roads, one after the other, until we broke through a tree line and into a scene that looked like it was stolen from the mid-1900s. We were staring down what appeared to be an old-fashioned main street, complete with a worn, brick-paved road. Shops lined the block on both sides, which was curiously absent of cars. A few were about, but nowhere near as many as I saw in Winslow on any given block.

  Other roads, leading to businesses that were too large to fit on the central street, branched off at regular intervals. But what struck me immediately was a fact that I should have expected: nothing was a chain store. Every business I could see, from “Grixxle’s Repair” to “Uros Massage and Spa” to a squat yellow building that just said “Diner” was obviously independent. It was sort of funny, to me at least, that there were thousands of people all over the nation who wanted to go back to the “good ole days,” and here it was, exactly as described. Except for the fact that almost everyone who lived here was pulled straight from the myths and nightmares of humanity.

  The second thing to strike me was how busy the town was, in spite of the late hour. Now, I know vampires and other undead are all mostly nocturnal by nature, but I hadn’t expected that trait to apply to every parahuman. Yet here they were, walking up and down the street, waving at the truck as Sheriff Thorgood drove by. Many of them were humanesque, perhaps with an odd horn here or animal eyes there, but some were so far removed from human that I wondered how they would have ever gotten along in the normal world.

  Four small creatures with green skin, batlike ears, and overalls were walking past a centaur who was scribbling furiously in a worn notebook. Near the edge of the road, a small blonde woman and her daughter were both holding hands with a furry brown parahuman who was at least ten feet tall. His hands were so big, in fact, that I realized they were holding his thick fingers. And I say “he” because a pair of gray slacks covered the lower part of his body, so I was assuming that was where modesty kicked in. Not too far off from the trio was something I could barely wrap my head around, a being who seemed to be formed entirely out of molding clay with its face pressed up against the window of a shop. And yes, I mean literally pressed, which was what gave away the malleable consistency of its brown body.

  “Holy hell.” For a rare change, Neil and I were in agreement, though he was the one who voiced the words. Albert seemed dumbs
truck as well, all of us staring out the truck’s open windows in what I would later realize was incredibly impolite gawking.

  “I never realized there were so many types of parahumans,” I said, finally marshalling some control of myself. “Even at CalcuCon, there wasn’t this much variety.”

  “The cons are fun, but not everyone can travel easily.” It might have been my imagination, but Arch seemed a bit grumpier than usual, probably because he’d been forbidden from smoking in the sheriff’s truck. “Besides, those only attract parahumans looking to do business or meet up with others like them. They’re little islands of community in a sea of pretending to be human. These people don’t have that need. They’re always connected to the parahuman world.”

  “Yeah, they are.” Albert hadn’t quite reached the point of hanging his head out the window, but I put a hand on his shoulder anyway, just in case. I understood the reaction. Even for beings like us, who could blend in with little effort, the strain of always pretending, always staying careful and aware, was like a weight we carried around.

  As we drove up the road and pulled into the sheriff’s office, I felt that weight lift for the first time in years. This wasn’t a con where walls, tenuous and easily breached, had been erected to keep our secrets safe. Here, the world was truly kept at bay, and in this town, there was no need to pretend. We weren’t the oddities. We were just . . . people.

  Sheriff Thorgood killed the engine and hauled himself out of the car, the rest of us following his lead. The office was a brick building, larger than I’d initially expected. Then I remembered the size of the furry man in gray slacks, and suddenly I could see why space might be important here. We walked inside to find a large central room with three desks, and a row of five cells at the back of the building. None were occupied, though they all had fresh blankets and a pillow resting on them just in case. Near the rear of the room, a small television was tuned into a baseball game on mute. Evidently, we’d caught someone relaxing before we pulled up.