The Fangs of Freelance

by Drew Hayes

  Once we were finally out of the house, it was a short car ride to a private air strip where a plane was waiting for us. I’d have been impressed by such opulent transportation for a mere interview if I hadn’t seen how free the Agency was with providing air transport in the past. If they did actually bring me on to do some finance work, one of the first things I’d suggest would be having agents fly commercial more often. Surely not every trip demanded such expensive privacy.

  After that, there was nothing to recall but darkness. Nearly every sense I had was completely muted, which was actually a rather strange experience in itself. Sort of like being asleep while staying lucid. The one change I was able to register came during the flight, when I felt a familiar hand lay itself in mine and interweave our fingers. Krystal had apparently switched from arguing with Arch to comforting me. I can’t say how long we were like that, or even how much time passed at all. Floating in darkness, it becomes difficult to keep track of things like minutes drifting by. There was simply the void around me, the hand in mine, and the occasional shake as the plane moved along.

  Then, without warning, the plane bounced twice, and I realized that we had landed. I waited for someone to help me up, no doubt guiding me to a car that would bring us from the airport to our location. Instead, the plane rolled along the ground for a while before finally coming to a full stop. Moments later, my hood was peeled away and I found myself peering into Krystal’s lovely brown eyes.

  “Hey, Freddy. We’re here.”

  I looked around at the plane and out the windows, not entirely sure what to expect. From what I could see, we were in a hangar, although it might have just as easily been a giant metal warehouse. There were no windows, just a closed set of heavy steel doors where the plane had presumably come through, along with a smaller matching set at the other side of the building. Outside, Arch was talking to someone in a pilot’s uniform as he smoked his way through what would in no way be his only cigarette of the day. Putting it all together, I did some mental calculations and positively reeled.

  “Krystal, does your agency employ the use of a private air strip?”

  “Sure do. They used to just land at nearby ones, but building one on site made things a lot easier for all of us.”

  “Do you have any idea how much that must cost? I mean, for as many planes as you’d need to be flying to make it pragmatic, the fuel costs alone—”

  I stopped talking, not because I’d run out of things to say on the topic, but rather because Krystal had leaned in and kissed me firmly on the mouth. We stayed like that for several long seconds before she pulled away. “You talk about numbers and costs a lot when you get nervous, you know. But you don’t need to be scared. This is my office, Freddy. It’s a place of business. They just want to see if you’ve got the chops to be a useful freelancer.”

  “Given that our tentative status is all that’s keeping some very unhappy vampires at bay, I’d say this situation comes with ample reason to be nervous.” Looking down, I realized our hands were still intertwined. In the rush of my senses coming back, I’d failed to notice that. “What if I mess this up? Failing to land a client is one thing; falling short here could come with very dire consequences.”

  “First off, even if something did go wrong today, which it won’t, the House of Turva still can’t risk moving against you. Not with Richard’s people being official House of Fred allies. And secondly, are you really worried about this? Come on, Freddy. I know you lack confidence, but this is accounting. Even you have to admit that this is your jam. The booming business is proof enough.”

  “I’m good with numbers, not people, and Arch specifically called this an interview.” Taking a deep breath—a habit that helps settle one’s nerves regardless of whether or not they actually breathe—I rose from my seat. “But I suppose I’m going to have to try and make a good impression anyway.”

  Krystal got up from her chair as well, finally letting go of my hand as she smoothed the wrinkles in her red blouse. “Just be you, Freddy. That’s always been enough for us, and I’m sure it will go over well in the interviews. After all, it’s not like you’ll be interviewing with agents. You’re going to talk to other numbers people. I bet you’ll mention investment accounts, and they’ll get tingly, and by the time this is done, all of you will be overhauling the agency’s pension plan.”

  “You get pensions?”

  “Shit yeah. Government job, Freddy. We get all kinds of perks. But lots of free time isn’t among them, so shake a leg.” Krystal swatted me on the rear, and the two of us headed down the plane’s folded-out stairs.

  By the time we reached the ground, Arch was already on his second cigarette and the pilot had wandered off. Wordlessly, Arch nodded as we approached, and then led us to the small set of doors at the far end of the building. They were metal, incredibly thick with no handle in sight. Instead, there was only a small keypad to the left side of them. Arch punched in a few numbers, and seconds later, the soft crackle of an intercom filled the air.

  “Agent Davenport escorting Fredrick Fletcher for an interview and skills test, as assigned.” Arch paused, taking a long drag from his smoke. “Also, Agent Jenkins is here.”

  I was still trying to process the facts that a) I’d never heard Arch’s last name before, and b) it was Davenport, when the doors began sliding open. They parted to reveal a short hallway that ended in another set of identical metal doors. Interestingly, this short stretch of interior was painted a crisp white color, which made all the runes and arcane scribblings covering every inch stand out all the more. Some of it I semi-recognized from glimpses at Amy and Neil’s books, or the night I saw dragon magic woven around a building, but by far the majority was completely alien. Arch stepped in immediately, while Krystal waited for me to take my first step before following. No sooner had we entered than the doors behind us sealed shut.

  “I’m guessing this is the Agency’s version of airport security scanners?” I ventured.

  “If the airport scanners were designed to detect enchantments, shape-changers, illusions, or a myriad of other tricks some parahuman might use to try and sneak their way in, then yes, it would be just like them.” Arch finished his cigarette and dropped it into the small box he always kept on hand for disposing of butts and ashes. They probably didn’t let him smoke indoors here either, which explained the surly response. Arch had a tendency to get grumpy when he had to quit smoking even for a brief period of time, which happened with exceptional regularity. Charlotte had created a smoking lounge in the manor just for Arch, although occasionally Richard, Bubba, and Krystal would adjourn there to puff on oversized cigars.

  Whatever magic was working around us, to me it felt like we were simply standing in a hallway with weird writing all over the place. Evidently, and thankfully, none of us tripped any alarms, and soon the second set of doors began to part. This time, there wasn’t another hallway full of magical symbols awaiting us. In fact, it looked almost conspicuously mundane on the other side. Fluorescent lights, cheap gray carpeting, and a white tiled ceiling made it identical to countless other offices all throughout the nation. The only thing that stood out was the man waiting for us on the other side. He was lean, almost gaunt really, with a head so perfectly bald and pale that it seemed like someone had painted a face on an egg and set it atop a scarecrow in a suit. His smile was surprisingly affable though, and the man greeted us as we stepped out from the magic-scanning hallway.

  “Agent Davenport, Agent Jenkins, good to see you both again. Mr. Fletcher, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Your reputation as an accountant precedes you. My name is Roderick Knox, and I am the head of the Agency’s finance division. I’m also the man who will be interviewing you today.”

  3.

  “Can I get you anything? Water? Blood? I know the summons came out of the blue, so I’ll understand if you need to eat.” Roderick’s office was substantial. Not the biggest I’d ever laid eyes on, but certainly sizable enough to
mark his importance to the Agency. It was also unexpectedly comforting. The sight of file cabinets, stacks of folders, and an out-of-date desktop were familiar hallmarks of my corporate accounting days, which made me feel far more at home than I normally would have in a secret location for a government agency.

  “No, thank you. As a rule, I always keep some emergency blood on hand for just such occasions.” Reaching into my briefcase, I held up the enchanted flask I’d picked up in Boarback, Texas. Between having to run from a vampire hunter and getting stuck for days in the mansion of a pair of bickering mage siblings, I’d discovered it was prudent to always have more nutrition on hand than might seem necessary.

  Roderick took note of the flask and sat down at his desk, which was both spacious and impossible to see under the thick layer of documents covering it. “Prepared for the unexpected. I like that. It’s an attitude that will serve you well if you work with us.”

  “In working with parahuman clients, I’ve found preparation and redundancy to be indispensable tools.”

  “Yes, let’s talk about your prior work.” Roderick reached into a drawer under his desk and pulled out a thick, cream-colored folder, the same brand I kept in my own office for compiling documents. Despite the folders being an industry standard, I suddenly felt a curious kinship with the bald man before me. Just like parahumans, accountants have a culture of their own.

  “In life, you did good work. Always precise, but never especially aggressive in terms of taking on new responsibilities. Post-death, however, you’ve shown far more initiative and entrepreneurial spirit.” The pages fluttered within their folder as Roderick flipped through them. “You founded Fletcher Accounting Services, gained a Certified Public Parahuman License, and almost immediately began taking on a wealth of new clients, many of whom were high profile. Very high profile, in a few cases.”

  Although I rarely dwelled on it, Roderick was right that some of my friends held stations far above my own. He was probably talking about Ainsley and Zane, a pair of mages I’d helped sort out the inheritance left by their father. “Are you referring to the Clover siblings?”

  “No, wealthy as they are, that duo is hardly the most prestigious account on your record. I was referring to your work with Gideon, the King of the West,” Roderick said.

  “Ah. To be fair, Gideon never directly engaged my services. I was called in to work for Richard Alderson, and handling Gideon’s finances was simply part of the package. It wouldn’t feel proper for me to claim him as a client.”

  Roderick gave me a long, careful look before flipping to the next file. He was clearly searching my face for something, but I wasn’t entirely sure what it might be. If nothing else, I took comfort in the fact that, so far, I’d told only the truth, so if he was hunting for signs of falsehoods, he would come up short.

  “Proper or not, he’s part of your client history,” Roderick said at last. “As are the aforementioned Clover siblings, Richard Alderson and many of his therians, the enchanted home that houses two of our agents, and countless other parahumans. To be honest, Mr. Fletcher, I’d heard your name well before the application to work as a freelancer ever came across my desk. There was some worry from up top that you were up to something, so I was asked to look over your paper trail for any discrepancies. What I found instead was a meticulous, well-prepared set of documents on every occasion. You do fine work, and from the testimonials we’ve gathered, all of your business practices are aboveboard.”

  “Beg pardon, but what do you mean by testimonials? I very much hope you haven’t been bothering my clients about this.” I’ll admit, this objection might seem a touch petty; however, my time as a CPPA had cast a light onto just how highly many parahumans valued their privacy. Especially where the Agency was concerned. If they’d been hunting down and pestering people that had used my company, then word would spread, and within a year, I’d likely be filing for bankruptcy.

  “Only the ones we already had official dealings with,” Roderick assured me. “As a rule, we tend to let the parahumans who want their distance from us have it, at least so long as they don’t do anything that requires reprimanding.”

  Not the most reassuring of statements, but it was something. “That is somewhat reassuring. So, my reputation is good, and you’ve evaluated my work, which means you know I’m competent—”

  Roderick lifted a single finger into the air to halt me before I could continue. “I know the work I’ve seen is competent. Beyond that, really, the work is exceptional. Whether you are actually the one doing it or not has yet to be determined.”

  It took me several moments to fully process what Roderick was suggesting. “Hold on, do you think I’ve been acting as the face of the company, only to shove the actual accounting onto someone else? How does that make sense, given my career in life? For that matter, who would choose me as the face of a company?” I gestured to myself for good measure. While I don’t find myself especially hideous, I was self-aware enough to know I hardly came off as smooth or classically handsome, and my taste in clothing wasn’t entirely aligned with what was trendy and hip.

  “Mr. Fletcher, as a rule, the Agency doesn’t assume competence when looking for scams or tricks. Just because a plan is bad doesn’t mean someone might not try to pull it. And this one does make a certain amount of sense. As a vampire and former accountant, you make the perfect front. Strong enough to deal with more powerful parahumans as a peer, experienced enough to sell the story. That said, on a personal level, I think you’re on the up and up. Part of my parahuman nature allows me to have a keen sense for liars, and your words ring consistently true. However, we are a branch of the government, and doing work for us would allow you access to highly restricted documents. We would be remiss if we didn’t do our due diligence in making sure you were the real deal.”

  “I . . . suppose I understand.” I didn’t love the implied accusation, but Arch had been upfront about the fact that this was an interview and skills assessment. Really, the whole situation was rather ideal. If the hardest hurdle I had to clear was proving I knew my stuff as an accountant, that was something I could do. The interview was the harder part, and as Roderick closed the folder and stowed it in his desk once more, it became clear that our chat was winding down.

  “I had a feeling you would.” The sound of another opening drawer came, and this time, Roderick held the contents out to me. It was a small stack of papers, which I accepted and began looking over while he continued. “Those our standard non-disclosures, although I’d still recommend fully reading each page, as what the Agency considers standard and what the rest of the world uses are far from identical. The long and short of it is that, from this point on, if you share any of the information you see with someone who lacks proper clearance—which would essentially be all non-agents—there will be serious consequences.”

  I flipped ahead a little to see what Roderick was referring to and found myself thankful that, as a vampire, I had a naturally pale skin tone. Otherwise, the blood might have visibly drained from my face as I read over what happened to those who broke the non-disclosure. “Serious consequences” was accurate, but it somewhat belied the harshness of what was waiting for those who spilled Agency secrets. Even if I didn’t go pale, my expression still evidently betrayed my concern.

  “I realize the penalties are a bit stiff. Try to understand, this Agency is tasked with keeping parahumans in check and obedient to their treaties. Our reputation for efficiency and ruthlessness is a huge part of that. If we had people walking around, babbling on about things they shouldn’t, it would undercut our image. And that is something we simply cannot tolerate.”

  Making a mental note to never talk about my freelance work, even in general terms, to anyone, ever, I pulled a pen from my pocket and began etching my signature onto the document. Harsh as the penalties were, they still only applied to those who told tales they shouldn’t. As a professional accountant, I’d already known the importance of confidentiality an
d discretion in my trade. Upping the stakes for failure was scary, true, but on a fundamental level, it really didn’t change anything about my job.

  “Mind if I ask you a question, Mr. Knox?”

  “Please, call me Roderick,” he replied. “And by all means, feel free to ask whatever you like.”

  “Then I insist you call me Fred, as nearly everyone else already does.” I paused, rereading a small section twice, then finally initialing next to it. “Forgive me if this is pressing too much, but I’m curious. You use a lot of ‘we’ terms when referring to the Agency and its employees; am I to understand that even the finance department and its workers are considered to be agents?”

  The smile stretched across Roderick’s face slowly, like a cat that had just woken from a long nap in sunshine. “No, the majority are just people who are good with numbers. I’m something of an exception, in that I had skills that made me useful in the field while also adept at handling finances. I spent a few decades working as an agent, but decided to leave field work behind and pursue something a little more stable. Don’t worry, Fred, no one is expecting you to do what Agent Jenkins or Agent Davenport do. We’d just be looking to lean on you in hectic times, as even this department can get flooded, and perhaps do the occasional external audit or finance assessment.”

  “An agent and an accountant. And here I thought I was the oddball for choosing this job as a vampire.”

  “There aren’t many who straddle both lines, and most of them are Greeds like me.” It took several seconds for Roderick to notice the blank stare on my face as I waited for an explanation. “Fred, have you never dealt with half-demons before?”

  For a moment, I nearly broke the pen in my hand. The only thing related to hellfire I’d encountered was Krystal, after she’d had her throat slit, and that had been a truly terrifying experience. As I understood it, Krystal’s soul played prison to a powerful, evil entity that had been sealed in her bloodline generations ago. If she died, it died, so it manifested when she was gravely injured, turning her from functionally human to one of the most dangerous creatures in the world, albeit temporarily. Thankfully, I remembered that Krystal had very specifically referred to what she had as a devil, whereas demons were lesser creatures.