by Gavin Green
After I handed the goblet back, Viggo put a hand on my shoulder. "Welcome into the fold, Leo. By power of the bond, I know you will be loyal, fair, and true. In return, I swear to honor your fealty with those very same virtues. I am pleased to have you affiliated with my people. If you choose, you may continue to call me Viggo. That is the name I was given at my human birth. I became a warrior of my people, a tribe in early medieval times. I am known by my given name to only a small, trusted group. To the rest who have heard of me or my deeds, I am simplistically identified only as a member of my long-gone tribe - 'the Veleti'."
STRENGTH
While Viggo cleaned the goblet, I asked if I could speak plainly. He nodded his consent. I told him that I'd heard that title, the Veleti, before; first from some bat shit-crazy homeless guy, and again when the Doyenne asked me about it. He told me that the crazy dude was actually another Deviant named Harlan whose ramblings rarely held any foresight. Any rumors started by him were at best unreliable, so Le Meur probably dismissed them. That led me to wonder what sort of reputation Viggo had that would make her concerned. That question might've offended him somehow, so I kept my mouth shut.
Viggo told me he had some errands to attend to. Before I thought about it, I asked if he needed me to help. He thanked me for the offer, but said I should "return from my travels" and put any worried minds to rest. That was a good plan, but my Adept minion tutor did a shitty job and I still had so many questions. He said that he'd have one of his other minions contact me in a couple days, one who could provide some answers. Okay, I told myself, no more forgetting my phone.
Viggo then said he'd visit again soon and handed me a business card from his coat pocket. It only had a company name, 'ShadoWorks, LLC' on it, and a toll-free number underneath. He said I could reach him at that number if I needed anything until we met again. That was also the number that would show on my caller ID whenever he might call me for a task. Viggo reminded me with a straight face - as if he had another - that I should expect to leave a message if I called during the day.
I didn't want him to leave. I wanted to know more about him. I mean, shit, I couldn't even imagine the stories a being like Viggo the Veleti had to tell, but I wanted to hear them all. Still, I got the feeling that he wanted me to be self-reliant and not just his errand boy. I wanted to prove him right and make him proud, so I didn't make any requests for his continued company. It was harder to do than it sounded.
As he'd done before, Viggo disappeared. He went out the back door, stepped out of sight into the darkness, and was gone. It wasn't unnerving anymore; it was magic. For a while, I thought about how my perspective had changed. That led to new questions, so I found a notepad and started making a list. After that, I cleaned up and dressed in my own comfortable clothes. It was too late to let my neighbors know I was back home, but not so for Keegan's. And, damn, did I need a drink.
As I was grabbing my coat, I realized I didn't even know what the damn day or date was; my phone showed it was a Saturday, the 1st of March. I was locked away for a total of only four weeks or so, but it felt like a fucking eternity. On my short drive to the club, I realized all the little things I missed; my car, the radio, streetlights, and all the other common shit you'd take for granted. It's wasn't like I was all starry-eyed at the sight of bare trees and neon signs or anything; I think it was just the rush of freedom.
I could hear the music from some cover band playing at Keegan's from half a block away. Steroid Mac greeted me with a smile and let me right in. The place was packed. The strong, familiar smells of spilt beer and cigarettes met me when I walked in the place. It wasn't just my nose that was on alert; all of my senses seemed very sharp and clear.
Only a few steps in, I was attacked by Tanya. She'd set her drink tray down on the nearest table full of patrons to give me a smothering hug. She told me she liked my beard, and then gave me the type of kiss that told me she was between boyfriends again. I saw Keeg at the far end of the bar. He gave me a manly hug and a handshake, and then had Sherrie pour me a drink. It was too loud to talk at the time, but we caught up when the band went on break. It was nice to be missed.
The place was really busy that night. At one point, I offered to change a dry keg in the cooler since everyone else had their hands full. I had just unhooked the empty keg and tensed up to pull a full one out of the corner. I yanked hard, and the fucking thing came off the ground. I was barely able to control the 160 lb. keg of Bud as it swung in my grip. It clattered on some other kegs before I stopped it. I took a calming breath before I carefully pulled another Bud keg over and tapped it, knowing the one I nearly threw into a wall would be nothing but foam for a while.
I know I was told that I would be stronger because of Viggo's blood, but . . . fuck.
Keeg insisted I stay after the place closed up. With good company and free drinks, I wasn't about to refuse. When he asked where the hell I'd been, I gave a simple lie. I told Keeg and the employees a story about me needing to get away for a while, and renting a lakeside cabin out in the middle of Missouri from a guy I knew. Keeg and most of the others knew about my string of losses, so the vague lie was an easy sell. I didn't like lying to them, but it wasn't like I had a choice.
That simple lie almost got complicated when Tanya whispered suggestively that she wanted me to show her that cabin sometime. I would have just taken her back to my place instead, but I was afraid of my newfound strength getting away from me again. Tanya was kinky and liked a little pain, but I doubted she would have gotten off from me slamming her through a wall.
When I got home and fell asleep that night, I had a vivid-ass dream. It was a moonless night. I stood on a path at the base of a low hill. Up on top of it stood a fortification; a thick, square tower with a small, walled courtyard connected to it. A brilliant night sky was the background for the imposing structure - I'd never seen so many stars. There were iron double doors set into the tower; they opened, and a tall figure stepped out. Even though he wore a helmet with a full faceguard, I knew it was Viggo. A crew of shadowy warriors stood behind him. From there, images blurred: a dark battle, swords and axes swinging, screaming and blood. I woke up panting, feeling both scared and invigorated.
DUDE
The following morning I did some catching up. I was on the phone a lot, getting back in touch with Gwen, Diego and Cordell. Since the weather was nice enough, I invited each of them over for a cook-out in my front yard. I did the same for my neighbors Miss Loretta, and Hector and his family. During all of those chats, I cleaned my guns, got the house smelling like Pledge, and rehung Al's photo. For the planned lunch and to restock my empty fridge, I spent a shit-load at the grocery store. I was going to have to get some fresh income rolling in pretty soon.
My guests started showing up around noon. It was good to see everyone again. I made introductions between neighbors and co-workers. Diego had a limp but was doing well. His and Hector's kids provided loud entertainment. Everyone brought a simple side dish, even Cord. There were stories and laughter, beer and steaks. It was a damn good day.
That evening, I was in the basement testing my strength on the weight bench when I got a call. It was the ShadoWorks number. My heart jumped. It was Viggo on the line; he told me to expect another of his minions to show up within an hour for "a consultation". He also told me to keep a couple days open later in the week. I wanted to talk with Viggo some more - I didn't care about what - but he got off the phone pretty quick. I told myself to be patient, cleaned up, and waited for my unknown visitor.
A little while later, I looked out front and saw headlights creeping up my street; it was either my new tutor looking for my address, or someone planning a drive-by. A few seconds later, a late 80s Camaro turned into my driveway behind my Wrangler. With my porch light on, I got a good look at him when he got out of his car. Snakeskin boots, torn jeans, Steel Panther t-shirt under a scuffed leather jacket, long blonde hair and clean shaven - he looked like a Mötley Crüe wannabe.
I opened the f
ront door when he stepped up on my porch. He was a bit of a pretty boy, maybe a little skinny, and wore lots of rings and wristbands. "Hey, dude," he said with a smile, "I'm guessin' you're Leo, right? Big V sent me." He offered his hand. "I'm Shawn Riordan, dude. What's up?"
I hesitated before I shook his hand - I didn't want to catch an STD. But since Viggo sent him, I figured it was safe. And since he wasn't wearing glitter or lipstick, I let the glam poser into my house. "I'm glad you're here, Shawn," I said half-heartedly. "I've got a lot of questions."
"That's what I'm here for, dude," he said as he plunked into my recliner. "Got a brew?"
I poured us some drinks and grabbed my list of subjects to ask about. "Alright, dude, breakin' out the hard stuff," Shawn commented when I handed him a glass. "You got style, bro. So, like, you gotta bear with me," he said after a sip. "Me bein' a teacher is a radical concept, ya know? Let's ease into it."
Well shit, I might've been better off with Sarah . . . wherever she was. My first mistake was telling Shawn he had a nice car. He went on and on about his '88 IROC-Z, and how "gnarly" it was. I interrupted him to ask if he was in a band, which was my second mistake. He was the lead singer and guitarist for a retro hair band called 'Glazefinger'. I didn't mention it, but I think Keeg had them play in his bar once or twice until the band asked for more money. Shawn went on to tell me he used to be in the popular 'Pregnant Nuns' until the other guys in the band started showing their age while he didn't.
At one point, he even sang a few bars of one of his songs, as if I'd know it. Some people probably would have liked his voice. I hated it. I couldn't say that I was too fond of Shawn in general. I mean, okay, he was a nice enough guy, but I couldn't understand why in hell Viggo chose that jackass to be a minion. I truly doubted it was for Shawn's entertainment value. Seriously, what good was he?
"Okay, dude," Shawn said once he stopped rambling and bragging, "I'm gonna stick more to our minion side than talk about the big-leaguers. I'll tell ya what I know about 'em when we need to, but, like, you gotta know your own place in all this, right?"
"Yeah, I guess that's a good place to start." I had a small but growing urge to punch him in the neck.
"So, like, that whole bad scene that went down at that mansion," Shawn said before I could actually ask a question. "I gotta be sure about something, dude. One of the hitters out in the snow, he was beat to shit and had two grody holes in his forehead . . . Was that your work?"
That caught me way off-guard. "How the hell do you know anything about that?" I asked.
Shawn leaned the recliner back. "There's this dude named Ben I know. He's a minion of another Deviant. Me and Benny are, like, cool - big Van Halen fans, right? Anyhow, he works at the county medical examiner's office. Now here's the thing, dude," Shawn said while pointing his drink at me and smiling. "That hitter you plugged? By the time Ben looked at him, that dude looked like some sixty year old geezer. I bet he didn't look like that when you went, like, all Chuck Norris on his ass, right?"
"What? No, that guy wasn't anywhere near sixty. I doubt he was half that. And I don't mind saying, I had trouble putting him down."
"Dude," Shawn replied with a chuckle, "that's 'cuz he was a fuckin' minion! By the way the clock turned on him, that hitter had been around for a while. As soon as one dies, all the age that they - we - ignore comes roaring back. That hitter probably had thirty minion years under his belt, so like, no offense, but I would've bet against you on that one, bro. You must've gone totally righteous on his ass." Shawn raised his glass to me. "Choice moves, dude; I think you impressed big V with that."
I felt a swell of pride, hoping those words were true. And, damn it, Shawn had to be a pretty nice guy to casually pass along a compliment. When he first started talking, I figured I didn't like the glam boy because he struck me as cocky. Then I quickly realized that wasn't the reason for my immediate dislike of him. I can admit it; I was bothered by the fact that Shawn had years of hanging out with Viggo. I was jealous. It wasn't Shawn's fault, so I tried to stop thinking like a petty little shit. I also consoled myself with the fact that Viggo had been keeping an eye on me my whole life. Shawn couldn't top that.
KNOWLEDGE
Shawn stayed really late, but the info he shared was worth staying up for. I learned a bit about the retro rocker himself first. No big surprise there. While he was with the Pregnant Nuns in the 80s, they got to be fairly popular in the Midwest rock bar scene. The band was hitting its peak about the time I was born. Anyway, that's about when Viggo made Shawn an offer. Music attracted crowds, and crowds attracted some hemos; Viggo wanted eyes and ears in those settings. It was a bonus that the band sometimes got gigs all over the Midwest, where Shawn could report on those places, too.
Once Shawn finished with his own story, we got down to basics of being a minion. First of all, the body of a new minion gets a sort of tune-up. All of the senses get a tiny bit stronger. The immune system is more resistant to natural sicknesses; Shawn never heard of a minion having a cold. Aging pretty much stops as long as you get a hemo blood fix once in a while. Potency of blood affected that; from some thin-blooded hemo, you might need a drink every ten days, but from Viggo it was about five weeks.
There was a nice little kicker that went along with a minion's unnatural age. If I was within my normal lifespan and Viggo got killed, I had a short amount of time to find another hemo donor or else all those years would catch up with me. That part I could've figured out from the sixty year old hitter example. Wait, it gets better. If I'm beyond my normal lifespan and A) my hemo donor dies, or B) I don't get another drink of his blood within a certain timeframe, then I immediately turn into a pile of dust. That is some major fucking incentive to keep your boss alive and nearby. Shawn said he knew about a local Outsider minion who was in the civil war . . . Holy shit.
Despite all that, I mainly tried to get it through my head that I could conceivably live healthy and strong for decades or centuries. Initially, I thought it was awesome, but then I thought of the long-term effects. All my friends would grow old and die. What if I met a woman I wanted to marry? What if we had kids? I guess I'd have to stick to skanks, stock up on rubbers, and find someone who made fake IDs.
I asked about my newfound strength, and the answer took me a minute to get my head around. I was told that it didn't matter who the hemo was - their minion became a little stronger. Whatever else the minion gained in ability was a matter of basically who they were, modified by whatever Gifts their hemo had and how potent their blood was. Yeah, I was confused, too.
Shawn gave the example of some hemo with weak blood; the minion would likely just get a bit stronger, and that was it. On the other hand, Shawn said he was stronger than he looked, could take a haymaker punch, and could shred on the guitar. He explained that he had those abilities because Viggo was super strong - like, flip a car strong, probably tough enough to take a crowbar to the head without flinching, and had lightning reflexes. Shawn told me it might be different for each minion, and he wasn't sure what other Gifts Viggo had that I might've gotten a touch of. I wondered how I could find out.
There was no club or community for minions; their boss was their world. I could understand that. I mean, why would I go hang out with other minions when I could be hanging out with my commander? It'd most likely turn into a brawl anyway, after arguments started about who had the best hemo boss. That Shawn knew of, Viggo had five human minions, although there might've been more. He said I'd get to know a few of them after a while. I hoped I didn't have to. Shawn wasn't exactly my cup of tea, and Natalie was pleasant but boring, so, uh, thanks but no thanks.
Then I caught that word, human - human minions. I needed a little detail on that. It seemed that Viggo had other minions, but they were animals. Wait; let me clarify what I was told. Rats - Viggo had a swarm of rat minions, and apparently some of them became grotesque or huge or both. Shawn also told me of a Deviant that a lot of people called the dog-woman, and an Outsider gal named Kalasa who always ha
d birds around her. That last one made me think of the old Hitchcock movie, 'The Birds' - super creepy.
One last thing Shawn mentioned about minion lifestyles really bothered me. He said we were lucky to have a hemo as humane as Viggo, who let us make our own choices and treated us well. He told me stories about minions who were treated like slaves; abused, tortured, humiliated, and sometimes slaughtered by cruel masters or mistresses. Those hemos were like powerful sociopaths, creatures that lost whatever humanity they used to have as normal people. The thought made me sick.
Shawn finally got around to telling me about another, more mundane perk - a possible job offer. I could keep doing my own thing, and also do chores for Viggo when he said to. I was fine with that idea if I still had a job at Silas - I was told at my cook-out that I'd have to talk to Crane about that. Another option was if Viggo offered me a job at ShadoWorks. Shawn said he worked for the company part-time, and still got some perks: decent salary and his own small shop. Places like those were really fronts for holding faction supplies, or as places to meet. Shawn used his shop for band practices.
The last thing Shawn told me before he left was about the Deviants in town; the ones he knew about, anyway. Of course there was Viggo, who he heard was turned into a hemo sometime in the fourth or fifth century. I made Shawn tell me that at least twice more. I didn't know shit about history, but I sure as hell had a good reason to dust off my computer and do some research.
And then Shawn listed other Deviants he knew, or knew of. There was Barnabus, the Deviant faction emissary, who started out as a settler and trapper in the early 1700's. Pedro, who liked to lie about his past, was a mystery. I also knew of Harlan the whacko vagrant, and Clara Page, who I guessed wasn't all there, either. Then there was the one called the dog-woman, plus a religious zealot named Michael who was a troop priest in WWII, and a hermit called Roach who stayed down in the sewers.
