Bloody Acquisitions (Fred Book 3)

by Drew Hayes

  “Great, I’ll drive,” Amy said. A jolt of fear raced through me, but Bubba shook his head before she’d even gotten out of her chair.

  “We took my truck, remember? I’ll drive. Fred, get whatever you need.” Bubba finished off his beer and tossed the can in the recycling. He didn’t go the fridge for another, which I appreciated. Therian constitution or not, I preferred my guests limit their drinking to one an hour if they were getting behind the wheel. Given that he could probably polish off a keg on his own and not pass out, Bubba was a surprisingly good sport about it, and Amy always preferred her own work anyway. In fact, the resistance most parahumans had to mortal vices like alcohol was what fueled her business. Those who wanted a buzz needed something stronger, products that only a talented alchemist could provide.

  As I stuffed my laptop into the bag already filled with other supplies, hefting my remote scanner under my arm, I heard Amy’s voice from the kitchen. “Maybe we should warn him.”

  “Warn me about what?” Despite my reluctance to admit accidental eavesdropping, I’d long ago learned that if there was a warning to be had, then it was something I wanted.

  “Nothin’ dangerous,” Bubba said, a hair too quickly. “She just means we should let you know what to expect before we get there.”

  “Is this place hidden in a dark forest that’s only accessible through magical means, or something?” I asked.

  Bubba shook his head. “Pretty much the opposite. Just try to keep in mind, everybody mourns in their own way.”

  2.

  As it turned out, what Bubba meant was that some people mourned by surrounding themselves with people. While most of us might go the route of having loved ones nearby, evidently Zane Clover was one to prefer quantity over quality. I could see the people milling about on his yard even as we made our way up the long driveway, Bubba’s truck an anomaly amidst the more ostentatious luxury vehicles already parked on the side of the drive. The valet booth at the front explained how so many cars were so neatly arranged, and we watched as a sleek black automobile pulled up, a pair of stunning people tossing over their keys without a second thought. If you’re wondering how there was room for so many vehicles—and who could blame you?—it turned out that there was a reason Bubba and Amy had referred to the inheritance as an “estate.”

  Herbram Clover’s mansion was in the Cloudy Meadows community—easily the most expensive, exclusive area of Winslow, Colorado. Just to get in, Bubba had been forced to drive past two guard gates, where they checked his name and ID, along with another guard in front of Herbram’s actual driveway. The grounds were sprawling, with large trees separating the property from their neighbors—not that the next house was in earshot, anyway. As for the house, it seemed more akin to a castle than a home, albeit one with modern lighting and a DJ booth set up out on the lawn. At least a hundred people were milling about in front of elegant tables with fine food and expensive liquor that had been set up at careful intervals. White-shirted wait staff made their way around, blending into the background as they cleared off finished plates and made sure drinks never got below half-empty.

  “The good news is that if this is the rate they’re blowing through the inheritance, I doubt it will take much time at all to figure out how much to split.”

  “You’d think that, but the parties are all out of Zane’s trust,” Amy said. Since leaving, she’d drunk a test tube of purple liquid that changed the orbs around her irises to long, shapeless blobs. It had also lifted the tone of her voice by several octaves, but since she’d stopped with the “well, actually” stuff, I considered it a more than fair trade.

  “Parties? As in, he’s done this more than once?” With just a cursory glance, I could see thousands upon thousands of dollars spent in every corner of the lawn. What it cost as a whole boggled the mind, let alone multiplied into multiple events. Part of me wondered if I’d gotten low-balled on the extra fee.

  “Done one just about every night since his dad passed.” Bubba pulled behind a bright yellow sports car and killed the truck, popping the door open and tossing his key to the approaching valet. The red-vested man seemed a touch confused by the beat-up truck amidst a sea of luxury, but he didn’t let it stop him from doing his job.

  “He took the loss hard,” Amy added.

  “So I can see. What exactly did Herbram Clover do, again, that afforded such a lifestyle?”

  “Enchanter,” Amy told me. “Brilliant work, passed down through the family for generations. The Clover name is synonymous with power and craftsmanship. And that’s the sort of thing you pay a premium for.”

  There was no debating that part, as Amy and Bubba led me into a front hall filled with more staff, offering drinks and to take coats, along with a fresh wave of partiers. All around me, I saw designer labels and surgically perfected faces. The scent of plastic was practically overwhelming, at least for my vampiric nose. We got a few strange looks as Bubba politely cleared a way through the crowd, Amy’s flowing, simple dress and my professional attire likely costing less than anyone’s individual shoe. Thankfully, they did move, as a man Bubba’s size commands an instinctual respect, regardless of how much his clothes are worth.

  Finally, we made it to a stairway with only a few partiers drifting about, climbing quickly past a velvet rope with a guard who’d have seemed intimidating if Bubba didn’t have at least half a foot on him. To my surprise, the guard greeted us with a genuine smile, pulling the rope aside and letting us pass as he and Bubba exchanged a few words. My best guess said that he was a fellow therian, as they were renowned for being good muscle, though he didn’t look at me with as much disdain as I’d have expected. Perhaps he was just a muscular human who appreciated dealing with regular folks instead of an endless stream of the wealthy.

  After navigating several long hallways, we at last arrived in front of a pair of double doors, blocked by two more guards who nodded at Bubba and Amy on sight. They looked at me suspiciously, but Amy whispered a few words and they stepped aside without comment.

  “We got Ainsley to hire the guards after the first few drunks wandered in and bothered the lawyer,” Bubba whispered as one of the guards unlocked the door. “Moved the work to a secure room, too. Used to be Herbram’s study; supposed to be warded six ways to Sunday.”

  It occurred to me that I’d never asked for more information about this lawyer of theirs. Everything else had been so overwhelming it was a detail that slipped through the cracks. I was about to inquire when the door opened, and I saw a figure flipping through files, free hand dancing along the nearby notepad as it jotted down the bits deemed worth remembering.

  “Asha?”

  Sure enough, a familiar face looked up from the notepad, and there was Asha Patel. She looked a little different since I’d last seen her—hair cut shorter, clothes less formal. She also didn’t look half-terrified, most likely because this time, we weren’t trapped in Charlotte Manor under threat of death. In Charlotte’s defense, it had been an issue of self-preservation, and she’d apologized for the incident several times since.

  “When they said they knew an accountant, I had a feeling it would be you.” She rose from her seat as I walked in the room, followed by Bubba and Amy. We exchanged a brief hug, more familiar than I’d be with most colleagues, but there’s nothing like a near-death experience to create a bond.

  “Well, I had no idea I’d find you here. What happened? Last time we talked, you were heading home to try and drink until the previous few hours were nothing but a blurry memory.” Behind us, the doors shut once again, and I heard the lock being slid back into place.

  “Damnedest thing, I was out of wine. Can you believe it?” Asha said. “That, and once I got away, I couldn’t stop thinking about everything you told me, and that I’d seen. I ended up going back to the site with the parahuman law books. I thought if I understood it all, maybe it wouldn’t be so scary.”

  A sound idea, and one easily executed. Parahuman laws are hidden in plain sight in the form of
a role-playing game. It allows them to be easily accessible by anyone, without humans realizing what they’re actually seeing. Most people think it’s just a very dry, boring game, though I’ve heard there are a few diehard fans scattered about the country.

  “It sort of worked,” Asha continued. “After a few hours of reading, I was able to fall asleep. Then I did the same thing the next night, and the next, and eventually, I realized that I was forcing myself to learn. There was this whole other world of law and precedent I’d never seen before, and I wanted to know everything about it. You can probably fill in the details from there.”

  “Once you had the knowledge, you wanted to use it, which you couldn’t do at Torvald & Torvald,” I surmised. “So you started freelancing in your off time.”

  “Close, but not quite,” Asha replied. “I got a few certifications while still at the company, but once I was cleared to go, I made the jump whole hog. Turned in my resignation and started up my own company. Been going around two months now, and business is booming.”

  “Glad to hear it. Though, honestly, I didn’t even know normal people could work with parahumans in such a capacity,” I said.

  “It’s not exactly smiled upon, but there’s no law against it.” Amy’s voice came from my left; she had wandered over, running her hands along the files as she did. “While we’re not supposed to go around telling humans that we’re here, a few find out anyway. If someone knows, and they decide to fill a need in the parahuman market, there’s not any real reason to stop them. Long as they exercise discretion and don’t go blabbing, it’s okay.”

  “Long story short, I had to fill out so many confidentiality agreements and secrecy clauses that I had a two-day long hand cramp.” Asha shook her fingers, as if the ghost of the pain still lingered in her digits. “But I pushed through, and now I’m certified to work with parahumans. Good thing, too. For a culture that has real vampires as a part of it, there are shockingly few lawyers.”

  “Low blow,” I told her.

  “My job, I get to make the jokes.” She patted the table, drawing my attention the large stack of files and ledgers spread out across it. “I assume Bubba and Amy filled you in on our situation?”

  “They understated the scope, but I got the gist of things. Huge inheritance, the only directive is an even split, and our clients can’t agree on a fair division. Did I miss anything?”

  “Just the most problematic point.” Asha sat back down, grabbing a nearby file, and I pulled up a chair next to her. Bubba and Amy also took seats, though they kept well away from where the paperwork was being discussed.

  “The liquid assets, cash and gold, were kept mostly in bank accounts and treasure chests,” Asha began, running her hand along a line of numbers so large I thought I might actually swoon. “Those, along with the house, were relatively easy to calculate a value for. Same for a lot of the antiques and collectibles. It’ll take time, but I can get some appraisers in to assess a value. What’s kept this procedure from moving forward is the tools.”

  “I have a suspicion you don’t mean a belt sander,” I muttered.

  “What I wouldn’t give,” Asha replied. “No, these are enchanter’s tools, passed down along the Clover line for centuries. Part of what makes their products so valuable. Very powerful stuff, or so I’m told. Apparently, it’s a complete set, and it can’t be split up without reducing the usefulness to a point where they might as well be generics. That’s our biggest issue: whichever child gets the tools is essentially being handed the Clover business. The other can trade on the name, but without those tools, the odds of producing the same quality of goods are almost null.”

  “Interesting. So, in fair division of assets, we have to calculate the value of the tools in terms of potential income for an expected mage’s life span, and offset the gain for one client by giving the other an equivalent amount of the other assets.” Hesitant as I’d been to come along, I’d be lying if I said the challenge didn’t intrigue me. The calculations needed to put everything together were going to be uniquely complex, and that was without planning for the usual hiccups one always encountered in this kind of work.

  “They have weird ideas of interesting,” I heard Bubba tell Amy from across the table.

  “Do either of the children have a better claim to the business than the other?” I asked, ignoring my friend’s words of boredom. “If one lacks the talent to actually keep the business afloat, then that would give the tools a diminished value in their hands.”

  Asha shook her head, flipping a few pages ahead to a small summary showing a pair of striking similar people. “Both were educated by their father, and are considered top-notch mages. Ainsley has a bit more technical know-how; some people think she’s already passed her father’s level of skill. Zane is a much better people-person, though; in case the party downstairs didn’t tip you off. He’s been handling a lot of the new client acquisition for several years.”

  “I suppose that’s easier then. The tools are equal in value regardless of who gets them.” I looked at the mound of ledgers and papers lying on the table, most of which were of the same style as the one Asha was holding. “Did you do all of this?”

  “Transcribed a lot of it; kept the original for some, though,” Asha replied. “I like to keep things organized.”

  “On that point, we definitely agree. Do you have the records for what Clover earned off his tools for the past decade or so? I’ll need that as a starting point.”

  “Way ahead of you.” Asha grabbed a particularly thick file and plopped it down in front of me as I pulled out my laptop.

  “Then let’s get to work.” Looking back, perhaps it would have been more prudent to downplay my excitement, but in that moment, all I could see was the intriguing prospect of the challenge set before me.

  3.

  It’s impossible to say how long we’d been working before the doors burst open. I was so absorbed in combing through the numbers that I’d completely lost all sense of time. The only thing that really betrayed the ticking of minutes was Bubba, who’d fallen asleep in his chair and was snoring softly. Amy had downed another potion not long after he nodded off, and every time I glanced at her, she was staring up at the ceiling. Truthfully, I had no idea if she was conscious or not, especially since her reaction to the doors slamming open was a quiet, bird-like cheep.

  “Enough is enough!” The woman who came striding through, unhindered by either of the bulky guards standing at the door, was quite striking. Emerald robes hung from her body, complementing her dark skin while simultaneously giving her an air of wisdom and mystique. Clutched in her hand was a large wooden staff, intricate symbols carved up and down its length. As I looked at them, I thought I caught a few shifting, ever so slightly slithering about along the staff’s surface. Her eyes took the whole room in with a glance, locking on Asha and promptly ignoring the rest of us.

  “We brought you here to put an end to this impasse,” she declared, crossing the room in several quick-stepped strides. Despite the aura of power she threw off, I realized that she was actually rather diminutive, no more than a couple of inches over five feet tall. “But still the matter remains unsettled, and meanwhile, my brother fills this house with revelry night after night. I just caught sight of someone . . . relieving themselves in my herb garden. Do you know what that does to nightshade?”

  “Depends on what the person has eaten today,” Amy said, her voice so soft and detached that I think I was the only one who heard it. In spite of the commotion, Bubba still snored in his chair. That, at least, wasn’t much of surprise. As a former trucker, he’d gotten used to taking rest wherever he could, and it would take more than a little shouting to rouse him.

  “Ainsley, please calm down. I promise, we’re making progress.” Asha motioned for me to come over, so I slowly made my forward, catching Ainsley Clover’s attention for the first time. “This is Fredrick Fletcher, of Fletcher Accounting Services. He’s here to help me calculate the fair distribution of assets
for you and Zane.”

  Ainsley scrutinized me, slowly moving her eyes up and down, as if she were trying to a pick apart every aspect of my being. “A vampire? Are you sure he isn’t one of my brother’s guests who wandered up from downstairs? I’ve never known a vampire to be good for more than decadence and betrayal.”

  “With all due respect, Ms. Clover, Asha called me in to help with this case as a favor. If you don’t want me here, then I can take my leave. And if you’re going to continue to make those kinds of comments, I think I’d rather go, regardless.” Ainsley wasn’t the first client I’d met who had certain ideas about vampires, and honestly, it was hard to debate those people on many points. Since vampires could take the abilities of other parahumans by drinking their blood, my species had earned a reputation for feeding by any means necessary. However, that didn’t mean I had to work with people who couldn’t manage basic civility. Swamped as I was, there were plenty of clients out there who could at least mind their manners; I no longer bothered with the ones that lacked that skill.

  Asha’s eyes went wide at my words, though I’m not sure if she was afraid for my safety or the fact she’d have to try and find another CPPA on such short notice. Ainsley just kept staring at me for another few seconds, then finally dipped her head.

  “Forgive me, Mr. Fletcher. I’ve never been quite adept at interacting with others, and this business with my father’s estate has me out of sorts. You’re right. I’ve no place to judge you by your fangs, and if Asha has brought you in, then I trust that you have the skill to do the job.”