The Fangs of Freelance

by Drew Hayes

  “Um . . . what sort of ripples?”

  “Let’s just say that the Agency has gotten a few complaints challenging the authenticity of such a clan.” Roderick tucked the folder under his arm and motioned for me to get up. “But the treaties back you up, and your application paperwork was flawless. That lawyer you used did a stellar job, every T crossed and every I dotted. There are no grounds to attack your clan’s legitimacy. Some of our objectors took that news better than others.”

  “I suppose I’d better really hope my test holds up then,” I said, getting out of the desk and stretching. Despite not actually getting stiff or sore, a nice stretch still felt good after a long session of work. “It sounds like that freelancer association is more important than I realized.”

  “We’ll have to go over it officially, but from what I’ve seen, I can’t imagine you won’t be approved to take on some jobs for us,” Roderick told me. “That said, you know there are limits to what this business relationship can protect you from, right? Working with the Agency tends to bring down some heat on those who do it, so taking care of our freelancers is a necessity if we want to keep having them, but that doesn’t insulate you from your own actions. If you do something to earn retribution, you’ll be on your own.”

  My stretching done, I made my way over to the door and pulled it open, holding it there so Roderick could pass first. Even if the official testing was over, the interview was clearly still happening, and that meant common courtesy was all the more important. “Trust me when I say that that is the furthest thing from my mind. All I want is to do my job well and keep the people I care about safe.”

  Roderick narrowed his eyes for a brief moment, then shook his head. “You are either the world’s greatest liar who found a way to skirt my senses, or you’re telling the truth. All things considered, the latter seems more likely.” He walked over, pausing as he was about the pass through the door and speaking with a much softer voice than usual.

  “But you aren’t the entirety of your clan, Fred. There are other people in it too, parahumans with much more colorful histories and personalities than yours. If they do something to cause trouble, it lands on your doorstep as well. That’s part of what it means to be a clan, and that’s why most of them keep their members on a short leash.”

  “I trust everyone in the House of Fred with my life,” I told him, my own voice not softened in the slightest.

  “Good. That’s how the head of a clan should feel. Just keep what I said in mind in the decades to come. There will be people who want to join what you’ve created, some because it offers opportunities they’ve never had before, but others because they want to tear it down from the inside. You made something new, something different, and that happens far less than it should in our world. How it fares, good or bad, will depend on you, the people you let in, and the choices you make. You’re a leader now, Fredrick Fletcher. Never forget that, because the people looking to and at you certainly won’t.”

  Then Roderick was through the door, back into the cheaply carpeted hall lit by fluorescent tubes. I stood in that doorway for several seconds longer, absorbing his advice fully. In truth, I hadn’t really planned on founding a new kind of vampire clan; my friends had joined without my knowledge as a show of support. Planned or not though, it didn’t change our situation. And worrying as Roderick’s words had been, I was still grateful to have heard them.

  At least like this, I knew to be wary. Sometimes, in the parahuman world, a bit of advanced warning could make the difference between success and failure. Even for those of us who just wanted to work as peaceful accountants.

  6.

  Krystal and Arch were both waiting for me further down the hall. I happened to see a clock as I walked by and realized that it was once again evening. Evidently, I’d been working for quite a while, if an entire day had ticked past. Before I could reach the two of them, Krystal bolted forward, wrapping her arms around me and planting a kiss that would have embarrassed me greatly if I weren’t still preoccupied with Roderick’s warning.

  “We saw Rod already. He let us know that things looked good,” she said, finally parting her lips from mine. “See, I told you there was nothing to worry about, Freddy.”

  As my mind was currently reeling from just how much there actually was to worry about, it took me a moment to pair the nickname she’d used with the only possible owner. “Hold on, did you just call Roderick ‘Rod’?”

  “Sure. I’ve had to work with him enough that he gets a nickname.” Krystal released her hold, yet stayed at my side, taking my hand in hers once more. “I don’t want to brag or anything, but I’ve been called in to answer for my account discrepancies and collateral damage a lot.”

  “You shouldn’t want to brag,” Arch pointed out. “Those are bad things.”

  “Look, just because you always keep up with every receipt and never get creative when handling your threats doesn’t mean the rest of us wear boredom like a badge of honor.” She stuck her tongue out at Arch, then patted me on the shoulder. “No offense, Freddy.”

  I actually hadn’t taken offense right up until that moment, but it was clear Krystal was in high spirits. A little too high, if I was honest, which I suspected might be related to running into her ex during our time at headquarters. Krystal rarely let herself seem bothered or vulnerable; those moments only came when the two of us were alone, somewhere safe. Levity and sass were her defenses, just as sweater vests and numbers were mine, so I simply nodded as if I were unbothered and walked with her and Arch back to the room filled with various agents’ desks.

  “I’ve got one more meeting to attend to. After that, we can board the plane and head home.” Arch didn’t bother asking how we’d fill the time as he peeled off from us, aiming for a different hallway. Personally, I appreciated that he’d even let us know about the delay at all.

  For Krystal’s part, she led me past the room full of desks—now completely empty, as even the two workers who’d been present had apparently headed off on assignments—and to a small break room. This one lacked a coffee pot, but it did have an old soda machine hosting knock-off brands I’d never heard of before. While Winslow might have hosted a lot of specialty grocery stores, never had I glimpsed a Philosopher Pepper can on its shelves. Taking a seat at one of the small round tables, she motioned for me to do the same.

  “Freddy, I think I owe you an explanation for earlier. The way I greeted Tem, I mean.”

  “Krystal, your history is yours. We’ve talked about this before. If you reacted too harshly to the man, then I trust you had good reason for it. You don’t owe me anything.” Although I was rather curious, since she rarely discussed her former beau, over our time together I’d learned the importance in not pushing Krystal on the emotional issues. She would get to the right places when she was ready, and I would be there waiting for her, but rushing her would do neither of us any good.

  “A good reason . . .” Krystal looked past me for a moment, clearly staring into some unseen moment from her past. “Yeah, I’d say I’m not short on reasons to hate Tem. But I’ve got a lot of people I hate, or at least dislike, and I hold my tongue better around them. With Tem, there’s a purpose to being constantly abrasive, though. The guy is so concerned with diplomacy, protocol, and form—not really a shocker given the family he comes from—that it’s my way of keeping a lot of distance between us. Well, between him and I, as well as myself and who I used to be when I was with him.”

  She reached into her back pocket and produced a folded photograph, setting it down on the table and sliding it carefully over toward me. “I hunted through some of my old stuff in storage while you were taking your test. Most pictures from that time got destroyed, either by the fire or me personally, but I missed a couple. Take a look.”

  The trouble with a skewed sense of the unexpected from dealing with constant surprise and dangerous parahumans was that I had genuinely no idea what would be waiting for me as I unfolded the picture. Wo
uld it be Krystal standing atop a pile of skulls? Holding a pair of shotguns on some unsuspecting vampires? Drunkenly riding a therian through a convenience store? All far-fetched, of course, but my girlfriend was not in the habit of hiding things—or even feeling shame, so far as I knew. If this was something she’d buried, then it must have been quite the doozy. Steeling myself as best I could, I finally worked up the courage and looked at the photo.

  To say I was initially underwhelmed would do disservice to both the word and the concept it represented. There was no scene of gore or crime, just a photo of Krystal and September standing in front of a red brick building, arms intertwined. Although, if I hadn’t known it was supposed to be Krystal, I doubt I could have recognized her. There was no scarlet stripe of red lipstick or wild mane of blonde hair. Everything about her seemed subdued. Hair carefully styled, just enough makeup to accentuate her features without being brazen, a white summer dress that was more on par with my level of modesty than the garish outfits she normally favored. More than anything, however, it was the smile that seemed off. Krystal handled joy the same way she dealt with nearly every other emotion: enthusiastically and without reservation. The woman in the picture, on the other hand, was smiling only because a photo was being taken. It was posed, false. Hollow. Not overtly, but for anyone who knew the real Krystal, the difference was impossible to miss.

  “Tem likes everything in his life carefully controlled. Well managed. Sculpted. He has a firm idea of propriety, and a keen awareness of image at all times. When I was with him, I was part of that image, and I had to be managed appropriately. And I let myself be, because I was young, and in love, and he was the first stable place I’d found in the parahuman world. So that’s why I tell Tem to shove his nice greetings up his ass when we see one another, no matter the situation. I want to remind both of us that the woman who played his games is gone for good, and I’m the one in her place. Probably not the most mature way to handle it, granted, but it works for me.”

  It was a curious moment, seeing who Krystal had once been. Had I known that version of her, before this new model dragged me into the strange community I now considered home, I think I would have rather liked her. The old me and the old her would have seemed to pair well, on paper anyway. But looking at the pristine lady in the photograph now, with all Krystal and I had been through in mind, I couldn’t imagine trading away the wild woman I loved for her. Where would the fun be in that bargain? Carefully, I refolded the picture and handed it back to Krystal.

  “If Tem didn’t see what a rare treasure he’d found and tried to hide your true nature, then he is, without question, the greatest fool I’ve ever shaken hands with. And I am immensely thankful for that fact, because without it, he might not have lost you, and I would have missed out on the chance to reconnect with the real Krystal Jenkins.”

  She took the photograph, then rose from her chair and walked over to a nearby cabinet. From inside, Krystal removed a ceramic mug and filled it halfway up with water from the sink. That done, she walked back over and set the mug down in the center of the table before reclaiming her seat.

  “Truth be told, Freddy, Tem didn’t lose me because I realized what a controlling dick he was. And deep down, I still sort of hate myself for that. I wish I’d seen that he wanted a prop more than a partner. I wish I’d had the gumption to walk away on the principle of wanting to be myself. But that’s now how it went down. I didn’t wise up until I found out he was cheating on me. Banging some fey diplomat’s daughter. He tried to explain it as a political necessity or some such nonsense, but thankfully not even this version of me was willing to wade through that much bullshit.”

  “What a bastard,” I said, because based on his actions, Tem clearly was.

  “Yeah, he’s a real piece of shit. At least I got to meet June out of the whole ordeal. She’s the younger sibling, so the family isn’t nearly as demanding or expecting of her. Fey culture stuff. I’m glad we stayed friends, although it was touch and go for a bit after I burned down the guest house.”

  “Well, I can see—wait, what?”

  Krystal shrugged as she reached into her front pocket and produced a familiar object: Arch’s lighter. “I was still getting the hang of controlling this whole inner-demon thing. When I found out my fiancé was screwing someone else, I had a bit of a flare up in the guest house on his estate, where I was living. Probably could have put it out if I wanted to . . . but I didn’t. I just threw the few pieces of my shit that I cared about in bag and left that burning beacon in the rearview mirror. Fire is supposed to be cleansing, anyway.”

  Tilting back the lid, Krystal struck the lighter’s wheel, conjuring a small, bright flame. Moving deliberately, she ran it under the photo, which immediately caught fire and began to burn. “Remind me to give this back to Arch, not that he’ll let me hang on to it for more than a few seconds once we’re somewhere he can smoke again.”

  “I’ll make sure you don’t forget,” I promised. “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened after you drove away?”

  “My training was done, so I put in a transfer request and told management I never wanted to be paired with Tem again, then buried myself in work. I focused on being a good agent, doing things my way. Figuring out what that even meant took time. That was pretty much how I burned the next few years, until we got word about some werewolves in a town where I happened to have the perfect cover.” Krystal grinned as she watched the last of the photograph turn to ash, dropping it into the mug of water. “And that was where I met a man who didn’t need a prop, because he was about as unconcerned with image as one could get. Plus, he was kind of cute, in a nerdy way.”

  “How can you say I’m unconcerned with image?” With an exaggerated, sweeping motion, I gestured to my current ensemble. “Can you not see how fashionable this sweater vest is? I’m pretty sure I spotted it in a magazine once.”

  “Ah yes, magazines, where people without the internet go to learn about last decade’s trends,” Krystal shot back. She paused, glancing down into the mug once more, then back at me. “I love you, Freddy.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Her smile deepened as she brushed the mug aside and gently rested her hand on my arm. “You’d better, because I’ve still got Arch’s lighter, and I’m not above burning some more shit.”

  7.

  The trip home was mercifully uneventful. When Arch’s meeting finished, he found us in the break room, although how he knew to look there was a mystery to me. After that, it was back to the plane, and my head slipped into the sightless, soundless void that was the enchanted hood once again. I didn’t really mind it, though. The day had been a long one, with new possibilities and unexpected revelations, so I was glad for a chance to be by myself and truly reflect.

  It hadn’t occurred to me when my friends were making their grand gesture to join my clan that there would be more consequences than just angering Petre and the House of Turva, but it should have. While the mistake was forgivable, the fact remained that I was still thinking like a human more than a vampire. The things I did, the people I dealt with, all of it went on for much longer than the partial century a normal lifespan occupied. Many of the beings I was dealing with had no natural expiration date, and even the parahumans who aged did so at a greatly decreased rate. The takeaway from my meeting with Roderick wasn’t just how important the alliance with the Agency was for my clan, although that point had certainly been driven home. It was also that I needed to start looking at things in the long term, rather than scrambling about to solve only whatever problem was directly in front of me at the time. After all, as an Undead American, there was no telling how long I’d be around to deal with consequences from any given choice.

  And as that realization hit me, I also solved the mystery of my assistant’s flickering moment of sorrow.

  Once we were back in Winslow, it was something of a return to normalcy. Arch assured me that I’d get official results in a few days’ time, after which
they would send me assignments as needed. It took even less time than expected though, as by the next dusk word had come through that I was no longer a temporary freelancer. Instead, I was an official accounting asset to the Agency, with all the protection, and obligation, that came with such an affiliation. It was good news—great, really—but I wasn’t able to celebrate quite as exuberantly as I wanted. Not until I’d dealt with an issue that was technically less pressing, yet much dearer to my heart.

  Three nights after my freelancing approval came in, I called Albert over to my apartment. While it no longer served as his home, or the offices of Fletcher Accounting Services, I did still do remote work out of my dwelling on occasions. Albert was accustomed to coming over to grab documents for filing or delivery, so I assumed he would think nothing of it, or the fact that I’d specifically chosen a night when Neil would have training with Amy and thus couldn’t tag along.

  My locks turned as Albert let himself in, the duffel bag at his side banging against the doorframe as usual. His sword, a Weapon of Destiny known as The Blade of the Unlikely Champion, didn’t care to be away from Albert for very long. It had a habit of falling over and breaking things when that happened, no matter how securely it was stored. And while he’d never actually admitted it to any of us, we all suspected that Albert felt the same about it. The two were joined at a level that not even brilliant mages like Amy truly understood.

  “Hey, Fred,” he called, shutting the door behind him.

  “Albert, good to see you. Come on over.” I was waiting for him, sitting at my desk, prepared for the conversation about to take place. It wouldn’t be an easy one, and in truth, I’d have preferred to avoid it, but this needed to happen. Roderick was right about one thing: whether I liked it or not, I was the head of a clan now. That meant it was my responsibility to look out for the people in it.