by D. J. Bodden
Dad never smiled, Jonas thought. “If you can’t read minds, and it wasn’t sign language—”
“Zombies are emitters and passive receivers. Sometimes they don’t have all the necessary parts for speech or hearing, so they communicate telepathically with each other. That’s why they all move in the same direction, and the ones without eyes, ears, or noses can still get you.”
“Eh!” said Doris.
“Sorry, Doris.” She turned back to Jonas. “That’s just the feral ones. Doris would never bite someone, not as long as we feed her and keep her up in spare parts, and she’s not really a zombie anyway.”
Jonas just stared at her, still trying to process the information she’d just thrown at him.
“Sorry,” she said. “I live here; don’t get to talk to many people my age.”
“That’s okay. So… How did you get turned?”
Eve sighed and looked at Doris. “And he picks the one thing I don’t want to talk about. Well, come on. Let’s get the tour over with so you don’t keep the Director waiting.”
♚
“These are the sparring rooms,” Eve said.
The part of the facility they were in looked more like what Jonas had imagined when he pictured a secret society of vampires, werewolves, and who knew what else, living under East Midtown. It looked like an underground military base, with thick, sliding doors that opened and shut with a hiss, and steel walls with metal plates that were covered in glowing runes. He guessed they were spells of some kind.
The sparring rooms took up the entire left side of the main corridor. Each of them was about the size of a basketball court, observable through thick glass that made them look like zoo exhibits. Inside, they varied. Some were padded all over, some just on the walls, and some were bare, the rune-etched metal covered in scratches and scorch marks. He saw weightlifting gear, padded armor, and an array of practice swords, staves, and other weapons he couldn’t name but looked functional. Seeing the arsenal spoke to something primal within him, the same part that was fascinated by fire, and made his heart beat a little faster.
She showed him the rest of the level: living quarters, storage rooms, an armory for the real weapons, and finally the cafeteria.
“You said you live here?” Jonas asked. The living quarters had been somewhat bare: a bunk with generic bedding, a gray chest of drawers, and a sink. It reminded him of a prison cell.
“I live on a different floor. The rooms on this level are for students and transients who just need to spend a day or two indoors. I’d go watch the sunrise before living in there.”
“Huh?”
“Poof,” she said, spreading her fingers. “I guess you don’t have that problem, though.”
“Do you miss it?”
She gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
I’m an idiot, Jonas thought. “Sorry. Of course you miss it.”
“That’s okay… it’s still a little raw for me.”
“How long’s it been?”
“About a year. At least I didn’t end up cut open on a coroner’s slab; Agency got to me first.”
Jonas swallowed. He hadn’t thought about what modern embalming practices would do to someone if they weren’t dead.
“Anyway,” she continued, “this is the cafeteria. Different lines for different supernaturals.”
“Supernaturals?”
“Anything with self-awareness that isn’t a standard human, and a few exceptions that are more like forces of nature than thinking beings,” she answered in a tone that Jonas took to mean she’d memorized it from somewhere.
There was a line for werewolves, with different weights of meat based on pack and Agency status written on the board next to it, and a line that served standard human fare. The board next to the zombie line had “Brains” written on it permanently, with hooks for a placard above it. Today’s placard read, “Sheep.”
“Where’s the vampire line?”
Eve opened a refrigerator with a glass door and tossed him an aluminum packet. He caught it awkwardly. It was cold, and looked like a juice pouch, with a straw and a little red tag at the top.
“Pull the tag,” she said.
He gave it a tug, and the pouch heated up in his hands. It was warm and somewhat soothing.
“Ninety-eight-point-six degrees Fahrenheit,” Eve said.
“Human body temperature, right?”
“Yep.”
She looked at him expectantly, but he tossed the pouch back to her. “I’m still on solids,” he said.
“Suit yourself.” She shrugged, poked the straw through the top of the pouch, and started sipping.
He watched her drink, half fascinated, half revolted. “That doesn’t bother you?”
“Nope,” she said between sips. She sucked the package flat, and then tossed it into the aluminum-recycling bin. “Have you ever had a drink of cold water on a hot day?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“Well, it’s kind of like that.”
“Do all vampires drink from pouches these days?”
“No, some of the older vampires will only drink from thralls — that’s a human who chooses to be an open bar. They get off on it, or something. Then there are rogue vampires who still only take theirs from prey. The Agency ends up having to hunt them down because they kill someone… like me,” she said, her eyes tearing up a little.
“I’m sorry,” Jonas said.
“It’s okay. I watched him get a tan. They strapped him to the roof and showed me the tape. It’s just… I had plans, you know? A life?”
He nodded. “Yeah, me too.”
“What are you talking about?” Anger flashed across her face.
“I didn’t mean…” Jonas felt pressure in his mind, and the room darkened.
“That psycho pulled me out of a movie theater and drained me in the parking lot! You’re Alice Black’s kid! You’re vampire royalty, Jonas. And you’ve had what, fifteen years to prepare?”
He could see her teeth outlined behind her lips, and had a sudden mental flash of her biting into his neck. “Look, I didn’t mean to upset you, and actually, I’m sixteen,” he said, embarrassed that she’d thought he was younger. “I found out yesterday.”
“But you’re—”
“They didn’t tell me,” he said.
The pressure in his head subsided, and the lights returned to normal. Eve bit her bottom lip and looked at the floor. “Sorry,” she said. “You’re handling it much better than I did.”
Jonas was silent for a moment, still pondering the mental can opener that Eve had almost taken to his brain, or at least that’s what it felt like. “I’m sorry too,” Jonas said, swallowing. He pointed to his head. “Was that you?”
“Yeah… sometimes the vampire thing is great, and sometimes it’s like PMSing twenty-four hours a day, you know?”
He pictured his mother practically lunging at Fangston after the attack. “Yeah, I think I do.”
They walked back to the elevator and she took him down to the next level. The first room was pretty generic — square with gray steel walls and a single exit — except for a coffee table in the center. On the coffee table was a silver tray that held a green apple, some purple grapes, and an orange. Jonas picked up the orange. It was plastic.
“Make sure you put that back exactly where you found it,” Eve said.
He put it back, wondering if he’d done something wrong.
“It’s how the elevator works, remember? This level’s—”
“Green apple, purple grapes, orange orange. Got it.”
She stopped and looked at him. Not only was she not impressed, she didn’t even look friendly. “Look, I get it. You’re smart. But don’t act like you know everything right away, okay?”
Jonas felt flustered. “I don’t know—”
“No, you don’t. You’re being stupid. You’re trying to act like you’re comfortable with all this and you shouldn’t be. If you act like that around one of the instr
uctors, they’ll punish you for it. They won’t make it obvious, but it’ll hurt. And if that doesn’t work, they’ll chain you to the roof.”
“That won’t—”
“They’ll kill you, Jonas! I’m assuming you still bleed, or burn, or whatever it takes to do you in, and they’ll do it. Do you know why?”
“Why?”
“Because people who think they know everything kill sixteen-year-old girls in movie theater parking lots.” She paused and wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand. “Which means journalists, grieving parents, friends, and sometimes hunters asking questions. It also means sending cleanup crews and enforcers. And that means the Agency has to apologize to the human government, and Fangston hates apologizing, because it usually means doing more of their dirty work for free.”
He thought back to Jared, the security guard. Approach everything like it’s the first time and you’ll live much longer. “I’m sorry. What should I remember?”
She looked at him for a few seconds.
Reading my emotions to see if I’m lying, Jonas thought.
“You’ve seen two tables, and they both have silver trays, apples, grapes, and oranges. This one is plywood with veneers glued to it, and it has five legs,” she said.
Jonas eyes widened as he looked at the table. “I completely overlooked the fifth leg. So… what happens if you think of a cherry wood table with four legs, or you try to mix and match the fruit?”
“Don’t know. Nothing… if you’re lucky.”
The hollow feeling in his gut told him he’d have to be very lucky for it to be nothing. “Anything else I should know?”
“That’s it for now,” she said, sniffing and wiping her eyes again. “But keep asking questions, especially with Fangston and the instructors. They’ll let you know when to shut up. And always listen, even if it’s something you’ve heard before. The worst thing that can happen is that you’ll hear something you already knew, but maybe told a different way.”
Jonas nodded. After a few moments of silence, he asked, “Where is everyone, anyway?”
“They’ll filter in once the sun sets,” she said.
“Right… and you’re up because…”
Eve gave him the smile, once again, that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
They woke her up. “Thank you,” he said.
“You’re welcome.” This time the smile was real. “The Director’s office is on the right. Good luck, Jonas.”
CHAPTER 6
Finding Marcus Fangston’s office wasn’t difficult; he had a conventional, wooden door with a brass knob and knocker. The door looked heavy and old, stained almost black, and set in a steel frame. The polished brass knocker, a demonic face biting down on a ring as thick as Jonas’ thumb, was just above eye level. It was unnerving; the demon’s face was eerily lifelike and, as Jonas reached for the ring, he became aware of a faint clicking sound that seemed to be coming from…
“Jonas Black?” a voice said, to his right.
He started and turned, stammering, “Yes?” His voice cracked a little, and he blushed.
“Hi! Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Linda,” said a smiling, attractive young woman sitting behind a desk. “I’m Mr. Fangston’s secretary.”
“Um… hi,” Jonas said, recovering, wondering why he hadn’t noticed her sooner. She looked normal, no rotting flesh or missing parts, just an early-twenties woman with a computer and bookshelves… he could have been in any office in the world. “I’m supposed to see the Director?”
“Yes, he’s waiting for you. Just rap the knocker twice and go on in.” She turned back to her screen, and the clicking sound resumed.
Jonas shook his head, rapped the knocker twice, and pushed the door open.
“Mr. Fangston?”
“Jonas! Good to see you. Come in,” said Fangston.
The room was different from the rest of the facility, darker and more personal. It had stone floors covered in thick rugs, and stone walls hung with tapestries depicting fantastic creatures in ancient battles. There were several pieces of heavy, dark wood furniture that his mother would have approved of, and the majestic fireplace came complete with a set of intricately shaped wrought-iron tools.
Where does the smoke go? Jonas thought, as he felt the warmth of the flames.
“It’s a radiator,” Fangston said, watching Jonas without rising from his desk. “An acquaintance of mine wove the illusion fifty years ago. Air vents behind the tapestries, too. Helps keep things mysterious, but comfortable.”
The far wall was a sort of personal armory, a variety of weapons, bits of armor, and a rectangular shield resting on hooks and stands. A double-edged, polished silver sword was mounted on the far wall. The blade was three-feet-long and devoid of ornamentation, with a plain but sturdy looking cross guard and leather-bound handle. There was also an intricately etched silver spear, with a spearhead shaped like a long oak leaf. It looked way too heavy to be practical.
“The sword was your mother’s,” the Director said. “Gave it to me for safekeeping about half a century ago. Always thought she’d have asked for it by now, but things have been more peaceful than either of us is accustomed to.”
Peaceful? Jonas thought. He’d grown up with the shadow of war in the Middle East hanging over his head, although he’d seen on TV that they were trying to bring everybody home within the year. But he supposed that anyone who’d used the weapons on the wall probably thought modern warfare, with its rules, short campaigns, and periods of relative peace, was civilized and restrained by comparison.
Fangston gave him a warm smile, and Jonas thought his teeth looked pretty normal.
“Lots of practice. Please, take a seat,” Fangston said, pointing to one of the high-backed red leather chairs. Jonas felt dwarfed by it when he sat down.
Then Fangston walked around his desk and sat down in the opposite chair. They stared at each other for several moments of awkward silence; at least that’s how it felt to Jonas. The vampire didn’t seem bothered at all.
“You said there were things I should know?” Jonas said.
Fangston smiled. “Let’s see… you’re a vampire, monsters are real, and your father died hunting a particularly nasty bunch of them.”
“Died, or disappeared?” Jonas asked.
“He would have gotten in touch by now, and I can think of very few beings who could have taken him against his will.”
You’re probably one of them, Jonas thought.
Fangston sighed. “Yes. Your mother too, or at least she used to be.”
Jonas blushed. “Sorry.”
“It’s alright, Jonas. How is your mother?”
Jonas looked at his feet. They didn’t quite reach the ground, sitting in the ridiculously oversized chair, and he fought the urge to swing them back and forth. He needed help, but he didn’t want to air his dirty laundry in front of someone he hadn’t seen in almost a year. “I was hoping you could train me, so I could defend myself next time.”
“There won’t be a next time, Jonas. Phillip and his pack will keep you and your mother safe.”
“But—”
“I’m sorry, Jonas, it’s out of the question. Does your mother know you’re here?”
“She sent me,” Jonas said, picturing her putting the card on the couch.
Fangston shook his head. “She gave you the means, Jonas. Did she give you the address and tell you to come, or did she just leave the card where you could get it?”
She just left the card, Jonas realized. It had been his choice to come.
“So, you can still go home without contradicting her, and if you try and fail, it will be your fault, not hers.”
People don’t think like that, he thought, while trying to keep his facial expression neutral.
Fangston steepled his fingers in front of him. “People don’t think like that. Neither do you, not yet. But our kind, Jonas — vampires — we tend to get… subtle after a century or two. Has your mother been actin
g detached, spending time alone? Maybe she’s even looked surprised to see you on occasion, at times when you would normally be home?”
Jonas licked his lips and nodded.
“That’s solipsism, Jonas. It means your mother is losing her grip on what’s real — thinks it’s all in her head. It happens to all of us, over time. Haven’t you ever seen something you thought was real, only to discover it wasn’t?”
“I’ve had dreams like that,” Jonas said.
“Well, it’s like not knowing whether you’re awake or asleep. Most of us have something that anchors us. Do you remember your father’s lucky coin?”
Jonas nodded. His father had spent hours rolling that coin across his knuckles, rubbing it with his thumb, and pretending to pull it out of Jonas’ ear.
“It was unique,” Fangston continued, “Something no one could forge without him knowing it wasn’t the genuine article. An anchor can be a place, or a habit, or just an object we know really well. It can even be a person, though we discourage that. Would you care to guess what was anchoring your mother?”
“My dad,” said Jonas, his eyes watering.
Fangston stood and walked over to the faux fireplace. “It’s not your fault. I warned her for decades, but she wouldn’t listen. She was an enforcer, too, you know, just like your father and me.”
“What’s an enforcer? Like police… for vampires?”
“Not just vampires, other supernaturals and humans as well. There are agreements in place, some because they’re common sense, and others to keep the human governments happy. We mediate disputes, keep the peace, and make sure hunters don’t go around murdering supernaturals.”
Jonas froze. “Did you say hunters?”
“Yes, why? Have you heard that term before?”
Eve had mentioned it, but he hadn’t realized that she didn’t mean humans with guns. “I was attacked on the way here, I think. It was a hallucination of some kind, and everyone looked like—”
“Where was your escort?” Marcus interrupted.
“Phillip and Bert put me on the bus, but it happened on the way here.”
Fangston sighed. “I’ll take care of it. Go on, what about the hunter?”
