The Fangs of Freelance

by Drew Hayes

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Preface

  An Interview at the Agency

  1.

  2.

  3.

  4.

  5.

  6.

  7.

  An Assessment at the Castle

  1.

  2.

  3.

  4.

  5.

  6.

  7.

  8.

  An Appraisal in the Carnival

  1.

  2.

  3.

  4.

  5.

  6.

  7.

  A Negotiation at the Table

  1.

  2.

  3.

  4.

  5.

  6.

  7.

  An Inventory in the Base

  1.

  2.

  3.

  4.

  5.

  6.

  6.

  8.

  9.

  10.

  About the Author

  Connect with Drew

  The Fangs of Freelance Copyright 2017 by Drew Hayes. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Cover design by Ashley Ruggirello

  Edited by Kisa Whipkey

  Book design by Ashley Ruggirello

  Electronic ISBN: 978-1-942111-38-2

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-942111-37-5

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locals is entirely coincidental.

  Preface

  I almost certainly do not know you; however, I shall assume you are a lovely person, and it is my loss for not having yet had the opportunity to meet you. Still, I must assume you and I are connected in some way, for the works you are about to read are selections from a journal of my memoirs. I compiled these not in the belief that the stories within are so compelling they must be told, but rather because I found my unexpected life transition to be so shockingly uneventful—at least initially. I place the blame for my aggrandized expectations squarely on contemporary media, filling my head with the belief that a ticket to the supernatural also put one on an express train toward coolness and suave charm.

  This is simply not the case. Or, at least, it was not my case. I recorded my journeys in the hopes that, should another being find themselves utterly depressed at the humdrum personality still saddling their supernatural frame, they might find solace in knowing they are not the only one to have felt that way. Given the lengthy lifespan of many of the people with whom I associate, there is no guarantee they will have passed on by the time this is read. Therefore, names have been changed as I deemed necessary.

  So, dear reader, whom I suspect is a wonderful person merely in need of a bit of reassurance, take comfort in my tales of uneventful blundering. One’s nature is hard to change; sometimes even death is insufficient to accomplish such a task. But be assured that, while you might find yourself still more human than anticipated, you are far from the only one. You will eventually discover that under the movie stereotypes, imposed mystique, and overall inflated expectations, each and every one of us is at least a touch more boring than our images would indicate.

  And that is not a bad thing.

  —Fredrick Frankford Fletcher

  An Interview at the Agency

  1.

  “Happy birthday!”

  We all leapt out from behind couches, chairs, and, in Bubba’s case, an oversized armoire that I’m almost certain was brought in specifically for him to hide behind. Neil let out a high-pitched yelp, dropped the stack of books he’d been carrying, and leapt backward, smacking directly into Albert. Luckily, zombies weren’t pushovers (forgive the literal use of an expression), so he managed to steady the shocked necromancer as Neil fully recovered his bearings.

  “Wha—how did you all know?” His voice was shaky, probably from surprise, although embarrassment at the sound he’d just let out wasn’t off the table.

  “And just what kind of mentor would I be if I forgot my student’s eighteenth birthday?” Amy made her way over to Neil, shaking her head all the way. It was a small gesture, but notable because small flecks of rainbow-colored light swirled away from her hair. Amy’s usual penchant for testing alchemic products on herself had evidently taken a festive turn for the occasion.

  Ah, but if that last statement made no sense to you, then perhaps this is the best moment to pause briefly and explain. My name is Fredrick Frankford Fletcher, and I am an accountant by trade. Also, I’m a vampire. Yes, I probably should have led with that second bit, but to be honest, the accountant part factors far more frequently into my daily life than does my status as an Undead American. Aside from a sunlight allergy, a predominantly liquid diet (bought through appropriate and legal sources, thank you very much), and the power to work for days at a time, being a vampire hadn’t changed me much. It had, however, dramatically impacted my social circle. From Krystal, my girlfriend who worked for a parahuman policing organization known as the Agency, to Neil and Albert, a pair of best friends who also happened to be a necromancer and zombie, respectively, all the way to the very house we were standing in, since Charlotte Manor was a living entity with unique powers all her own. While I’d had very few friends as a human, my parahuman social circle was full to near-bursting, a fact that I was always grateful for.

  Charlotte appeared next to me as Amy, Bubba, and Krystal all gathered about Neil and Albert, congratulating Neil on the milestone and Albert on managing not to blow the secret of the surprise party. Although her exact appearance varied with the occasion and her mood, Charlotte was tonight dressed in one of her usual gowns. It looked as if it had been pulled straight out of a Victorian romance, complete with a wide skirt that had to use magic to avoid knocking things over.

  “Dinner will be ready in ten minutes, Fred,” she reported dutifully. Since most of us rented some form of space or another from Charlotte, be it offices or living quarters, meals were part of the package, not to mention one of her greatest selling features. Even if it was woven together mostly from magic, Charlotte was a fantastic chef, and she’d agreed to put together something special for the evening’s festivities. “I’m going to be a waiter coming around with champagne, beer, and soda in a few minutes as well. Also, Arch and Lillian have both asked me to send you to their respective quarters as soon as possible.”

  I’d been wondering where the newest employee of Fletcher Accounting Services was, as Lillian was rarely one to miss a party, or any of Charlotte’s meals. In the months since she’d been freed from her old vampire clan and joined the one I’d hastily founded (The House of Fred, thanks to Krystal muddling with the paperwork), she’d slowly been acclimating to life outside a rigorously controlled organization. Arch, on the other hand, generally only popped in for brief stints between missions and often took his meals in his room—though, given that he was training Albert, and therefore Neil by extension, I had somewhat expected him to make it down. Some manner of Agency task had probably demanded his attention instead, since he was employed by the same people as Krystal. Neither of them spoke much about work due to the secretive nature of what they did, but I was slowly piecing enough together to suspect that despite their both being called “Agent,” they had a lot of difference
s in their actual jobs.

  “Charlotte, when Lillian asked for me to come by, was she hunched over a large stack of documents or swearing at her laptop?”

  “The latter. It’s actually quite nostalgic. I haven’t heard some of those curses being thrown about for decades.” Charlotte smiled, looking briefly wistful for the tenants who had constructed her a very long time ago. “But she didn’t break anything in frustration, so I’d say she is making progress.”

  Well, that made the choice of who to see first simple. Lillian was working on her study materials and some small-scale assignments I’d handed over, so she was likely calling me for help. The woman was a hard worker and a dedicated student, making tremendous progress in learning the trade of accounting, but no one could master the craft without occasional bits of guidance. If she was asking for assistance, then it must be something quite difficult. It was probably better if I encouraged her to take the night off for Neil’s party and deal with the issue tomorrow. But even that might require some convincing, as she was determined to get her credentials as soon as possible. Better to start with Arch, who was nothing if not quick to the point in every conversation. The term “blunt” had been bandied about more than once when discussing him. So had “heartless” and “robot,” although I’d found that Arch did have some sentimentality in him. It just required a keen eye and lots of patience to spot.

  “Tell Lillian I’ll be there in ten minutes, and let Arch know I’m on my way, please.” While I didn’t see Charlotte so much as move a step, I knew versions of her were relaying the message as I headed over to Neil. Although the two of us had never gotten along as well as I did with most of the others, it would have been rude to slip away without so much as even a cursory greeting to the birthday boy.

  I waited my turn behind Bubba, who delivered a handshake so hearty I feared for the necromancer’s bones. He finally finished, stepping to the side and helping himself to a cold silver can from the tray held by one of Charlotte’s waiter forms. Stepping closer, I met Neil’s eyes and stuck out my own hand. “Happy birthday. And welcome to the official world of adulthood.”

  Despite the fact that I’d been looking at Neil, I couldn’t help but notice a brief expression flash across Albert’s nearby face. The look stood out to me not because of its severity, but rather its strangeness. Albert was a perpetually cheerful, upbeat person, which is what made the flicker of sadness in his eyes seem so alien.

  Before I could dwell or comment on it, Neil had taken my hand and given it a shake. “Thanks, Fred.” Then the exchange was done, and I moved away to let Neil begin partaking in the festivities. As the party moved toward the dining room, a once more smiling Albert with them, I headed upstairs to see Arch.

  Looking back, I should have been wondering why he would summon me to a meeting, but my mind was stuck in that moment with Albert. Besides, I was assuming this would be more non-news from the Agency. When I’d officially founded my parahuman clan to fend off the aggression from other vampires moving into town, I’d also signed Fletcher Accounting Services up to do freelance work with the Agency. It was a dangerous alliance that wouldn’t endear me to most other parahumans, but it had given me and my friends a measure of protection from the House of Turva. Yet, in the months since I’d signed on, no work had come. Every time I asked Arch, he’d merely told me that my application was under review. I expected more of the same as I knocked on his slightly ajar door and walked through, but at a glance, I knew I was wrong.

  Arch was zipping up a small duffel bag, one I’d seen him carry with him when leaving many a time. He was dressed in layers, as usual, and I knew from experience that hidden amidst those folds of cloth were weapons designed to take down countless types of creatures. Of all my friends, Arch was the only one whose parahuman nature remained a mystery to me. No one talked about it, especially not Arch, and I never asked. Partly out of politeness, partly because I suspected that I wouldn’t like the answer. Sometimes, in the parahuman world, ignorance was preferable. I’d learned that lesson by asking an ancient dragon one too many questions.

  “Charlotte, would you mind putting my gift for Neil with the others?” Arch nodded to a small package in dark purple wrapping paper on his dresser. “If you know where Fred’s is, get that too. I’m afraid we’re going to miss the party.”

  “Do I get to ask why we’ll be missing it?” I hadn’t moved from the doorway, but that didn’t stop Charlotte from walking by me and scooping up Arch’s gift. She said nothing as she made her way past; although this time I did step aside for her. Charlotte was an expert at knowing when to be a landlord, a friend, or a house.

  “I think you’ve already put it together,” Arch told me. “But if you want confirmation: word came down a few minutes ago. Your freelance application has been processed; it’s time to move on to the interview and skills portion.”

  “Which means meeting them in person.” Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I think a part of me had grown accustomed to the months of being put off, convincing myself that I’d be able to stay in limbo forever, protected by an alliance that I never had to put in work to maintain. It was a silly notion, and I’d recognized it as such even when I held it, yet that didn’t stop it from stinging ever so slightly as the idea was unceremoniously destroyed by Arch. “I’ll get my briefcase and laptop. Are we heading into town? If so, I’d like to pop by my apartment and change into something more professional.”

  Truth be told, I wasn’t in what most would call a casual ensemble, with my button-down shirt, khakis, and sweater vest, but if I was meeting someone in the Agency, I felt like I should go for a full suit. Arch stared at me for several seconds before shaking his head.

  “No, Fred, we’re not going into town. I just told you, I’m taking you for an interview and skills test.”

  “Right, which I took to mean that there’s a representative in Winslow, probably staying at Richard’s or something. I mean, it’s not like they’d invite me to their actual offices, the locations of which I assume are national secrets.”

  Arch lifted the duffel bag and tossed it easily over his shoulder, a show of surprising strength for his short stature and slight frame. “Our fiscal people tend to stay at the offices, and they’re the ones who are interviewing you. That means it’s my job to take you to them. You were right about one thing, though.” Reaching into his pocket, Arch produced a thick swath of dark fabric and tossed it over to me. I snared it from mid-air and unfolded the item, quickly realizing what I’d been handed. It was a hood to cover my head, and based on the small arcane runes woven into the fabric, I had a hunch it was strong enough to block out even my enhanced senses.

  “The location is a secret. Once we’re in the plane, I’ll need you to put that on.”

  Folding the hood carefully and tucking it into my pocket, I considered the situation. “May I have half an hour to help Lillian and say my goodbyes? I’d like to at least explain why I’m ditching out on Neil’s party.”

  “No one down there needs an explanation, Fred. They know what a summons from the Agency means.” Arch glanced down at his watch and stared at it for several long moments. “But I did pack fast, so I can give you fifteen minutes to grab your stuff and say whatever you’d like to everyone.”

  “Thank you, Arch.” I turned and bolted from the room, well aware that, as soon as those fifteen minutes were up, I’d be out the door whether I liked it or not. Still, I appreciated even the small window of time I’d been handed. Like I said earlier, Arch does have a heart; you just have to pay close attention to see it peeking out.

  2.

  The one upside to the hood was that it blocked out the bickering. And that was, truly, an amazing accomplishment. While I rarely have use for them, outside of sniffing the bouquet from a fine glass of Pinot Noir, vampire senses are quite exceptional, so it was all the more impressive that, immediately after donning it, I could no longer hear Krystal squabbling with Arch.

  The fifteen minutes of goodbye
s had been relatively painless, although ten of those were spent helping Lillian along in her work and rapidly setting up plans for how she and Albert were to handle any business that might come in over the next few days. Theoretically, I’d still have email, but when dealing with parahumans, it pays to put contingency plans in place. Better they be able to let inquisitive clients know I was temporarily away on business than have people who trusted me with their finances think I’d suddenly skipped town.

  It wasn’t until Arch and I went downstairs to let the party know we would be leaving early that we hit something of an issue. Most took the news with immediate acceptance; they understood that when the Agency called, it was unwise to refuse. Especially for someone who needed their protection as much as we all did. The House of Turva hadn’t taken the slights against them lightly, and the moment they saw a weakness, they’d pounce on it. While originally, that would have only impacted me, everyone had signed on to join my clan—albeit without my knowledge—which meant they’d be targets as well. The Agency and some official alliances with friends were all that kept the angry vampires at bay.

  Krystal, however, had not reacted well to the news of my being suddenly pulled away. She was . . . unhappy that the order to bring me in had come to Arch rather than her, although, given our personal relationship, I understood why her higher-ups would make that call. Not that I said anything to that effect, mind you. I may have put myself in life-threatening situations several times over the past few years, but I wasn’t so suicidal as to disagree with Krystal when she was angry. In the end, she’d decided to accompany us. Arch had voiced his disapproval, to which Krystal had responded by pointing out that she was an agent and could go to headquarters whenever she damn well pleased. There were also a lot of suggestions as to what Arch should do with his opinions—most of which centered around him shoving them places—but I’ll omit those for the sake of brevity and tact.