The Accords Triptych (Book 2): Bloodstream

by Ian Thomas

“Yup.” Rowan laughed. “Pale shadow of McLachlan though. Yes he’s charming, loaded, handsome, rich, and incredibly easy on the eye, but a little too fixed in his opinions. You definitely got the better of the two. Come on, let’s get you introduced and all.”

  They headed into the building only to find themselves in the middle of a large wood-paneled foyer. And an argument.

  “I’m not going to ask you again,” an older black man said calmly.

  “So that’s it?” a younger man demanded. “Your best field agent and you’re forcing him to play welcome wagon for some tire-kicker who wants to learn some shit?”

  “You’d do well to watch your language, Mills,” the man cautioned. “We have company.”

  But Mills hadn’t seen the women standing there and continued. “We got at least two rogue vampire kills in the city and you’re leaving that to a pack of pretty boy mongrels?”

  “That’s enough!” The older man took a breath and turned to Rowan and Rebecca. “Welcome. Please excuse Mister Mills, he’s new.”

  “Makes two of us,” Rebecca said, charmed by the older man and wondering if she were the tire-kicker the other man had mentioned.

  “Somerset,” Rowan said, warmly hugging the man. “This is Rebecca.”

  “Ah, Miss Miller. A pleasure. We don’t often get visitors up this way so it’s always a pleasure. As is seeing you, Rowan. How was the drive?”

  “Long, but worth it.” She turned to Mills. “We haven’t met, I’m Rowan Elliot.”

  “The witch, right?” came the sullen reply.

  “Wiccan, but splitting hairs is just poor form.” It was a rebuke, plain and simple.

  “Pleasure to meet you,” Rebecca cut in before the surly Mills could surly up the introductions any more than he already had.

  “We’ve met actually,” Somerset said with a warm smile.

  “We have?” Rebecca asked, taken aback.

  “After your presentation at the Macbeth Anniversary. I’m a bit of a Shakespeare buff actually. Thoroughly enjoyed your take on the play, accessible yet inscrutably handled.”

  “Thanks.”

  “That was you?” Chase asked walking back into the room. “Best rainy day in London ever.”

  Rebecca remembered the day well. She’d been so nervous that when the heavens opened she smiled, hoping for a complete washout, regardless of the years of work, the months of planning, the weeks of editing and the hours of stress. The reprieve didn’t last as the lecture hall still filled up. Turns out more to escape the rain than to hear her talk.

  “That’s me, better than an umbrella.”

  “Sorry, that came out wrong. You were great. Made me want to hear the play again.”

  “Okay so we know each other, great, how about that tour?” Mills asked, gesturing toward the rest of the building. Unsure if she had a choice in the matter, Rebecca looked at Rowan helplessly.

  “I think this is him doing nice,” she said in a loud whisper. “See you soon.”

  Mills’ face flushed at the remark. Dropping his head, he stalked off with Rebecca following.

  “Where did you find him?” she heard Rowan ask. Unable to hear the reply, Rebecca had to content herself with the surly disposition of her tour guide. Maybe she could find a way to bring it up in conversation. Of course that would mean speaking to him.

  III

  Startled, Mouth jerked awake. He’d gotten so used to having the dorm room to himself for the past two or so weeks that the key hitting the lock robbed him of sleep. Usually everyone one his floor – not to mention the adjacent floors- had strict instructions not to disturb him on Fridays. Pain of death was the typical threat. Though in reality death was always preferable to his trademark verbal barrage. Which reminded him he was long overdue really.

  But since it was a key and not someone knocking, or worse someone obnoxiously talking at volume outside his door, there was only one possible reason.

  Jason.

  Had he finally run out of clean clothes, Mouth wondered, unsure of where the betting pool was at. Vaguely he remembered Kara had picked that particular morning as Jason’s return. Which meant the pool went to her. Was up around two hundred bucks from what Mouth recalled. The real prize was knowing that Jason was alive.

  “Hey,” he croaked.

  “Shit, hey, sorry,” came the hushed reply. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “Dude, hav–” But Mouth stopped himself. The want to get all parental on Jason was strong with him. Where had he been? Had he forgotten how to use a phone? He did know there were messaging apps these days, right? Worked wonders. Where had he been sleeping? Had he been eating properly? What was that smell? Was he using deodorant? “You good?”

  “Yeah, just got into something is all?”

  “I figured that,” Mouth replied. Sitting up and eyeballing his errant roommate. He looked different. Admittedly this was the first time Mouth had seen Jason wearing sweats. But it wasn’t just that. He had a good few days growth of beard coming through which suited him. The hood of his sweater was pulled up casting a shadow over his face. But it was still Jason, Mouth thought relieved, just a bearded, sweats-wearing version of him. “What’s his name?”

  “It’s not like tha–”

  “Because for a second I thought it was Ben. But then I thought Jason’s way smarter than fucking around with Ben. Besides word is he’s out of town so no idea who you’re fucking now.” Mouth had tried but his anger was close to the surface. “Or are you the fuckee?”

  Jason turned away from Mouth, pulling stuff out his drawers into a bag. He stopped and looked back defeated.

  “It’s the gym. I joined a gym alright.”

  “We,” Mouth said with emphasis, “don’t gym. That’s the bedrock of our friendship. One of the sacred precepts that allows us to be called the dynamic duo.”

  “Only you call us that.”

  “We drink coffee. We worship at the altar of Whedon. We tell each other everything. And we don’t gym!”

  “I gym okay. Deal with it.”

  “Is this a body snatchers thing?” Mouth asked, pulling his blanket up to his chin. “You look like Jason, you sound like Jason, you smell – okay, I can’t actually say I ever sniffed you.”

  “Chill!” Jason said. He dropped onto his bed and looked at Mouth, pained. “Pretty much decided I can’t go around lusting after buff dudes and not at least workout.”

  “Great place to meet them too I imagine.”

  “Not my intention. Just tired of being a beanpole is all.”

  “Wait?!” Mouth demanded, feeling his anger boil again. “Is this about Mitch?” He was on his feet. His lack of sleep, caffeine, and self-edit fueling his rage. “That asshole is so not worth working out for. I’m gonna kill him. That’s it I’m gonna kill him. No wait, I’ll get Rowan to curse him. Better yet, wait for Ben to come back, dress Mitch up as McLachlan, and let Ben tear him a new one. Oooh, I like that, I like that a lot.”

  “Mouth!” Jason cried. “This is not about Mitch. This is about me.”

  Mouth heard the honesty in his friend’s voice and sat down.

  “So why the absence?”

  “Just been training a lot is all. I kinda like it.”

  “Who are you?” Mouth gasped, recoiling.

  Jason laughed. “I’m still me, I just do this now.”

  “But no one’s seen you. Couple of classes here and there but otherwise…it’s like you vanished.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Jason scoffed.

  “Blake put up a missing persons poster for you at the Grind.”

  “I know,” he laughed. “I saw it. Had to use that photo, didn’t she?”

  “People are worried about you.”

  “I’ve been working graveyards for Malcolm. No worry needed. His mom got sick and headed out west to see her. He’ll be back in a couple of weeks and then life’ll be back to normal.”

  “That’s a harsh schedule.”

  “You do it,” Jason challenged, his ton
e neutral. “Maybe you inspired me?”

  “I’d take that as the compliment it was intended if you hadn’t gone and joined a gym. Really? A gym?”

  Jason sighed. “I’m not supposed to tell you this but basically the whole world got together and worked out you needed a bodyguard. That mouth of yours is gonna get you killed one day. And you know with actual monsters out there killing people, it could happen any day now.”

  “Plus you get to be all ripped and score buff-guys. Am I right?”

  “Win-win.”

  They laughed and knocked fists.

  “Hey, wanna grab some coffee?” Mouth asked. “Maybe catch up properly?”

  “I would but I got a paper due for Bex’s class by three. Haven’t even started it yet. Plus I need sleep and then the gym.”

  “It’s Friday for fuck’s sake.”

  “Your point?”

  “Screw the gym. Let’s do something.”

  “Mouth,” Jason said, throwing more clothes into his bag. “This is what I’m doing now. I’m enjoying it. Don’t look at me like that. Give it a couple of weeks, I’ll get bored and be back on days at the Grind. Then we can finally do that Jim Jarmusch marathon like we’ve talked about.”

  “You’re on!” Mouth exclaimed, eyes wide. “Ghost Dog is an epiphany.”

  “Cool, well I’m gonna head.”

  “Good to see you,” Mouth said, hating that Jason was gonna leave. “Maybe text sometime.”

  “Oh, I fucked my phone too,” Jason said. “Probably why you’re pretty mad I’m guessing.”

  “Me? Mad? Pfft.”

  “Getting a new one this weekend and you’ll be the first person I call.”

  Mouth wanted to ask ‘promise?’ but said nothing. He didn’t want to be lied to again. Not that he thought Jason was lying. Well not about the gym. Initially Mouth had just thought the hoodie was bulky. With a little closer scrutiny he saw the bulk was Jason himself.

  “I gotta head. Later.”

  Wordlessly, Mouth watched him leave. Only once the door was shut did questions crash in on him. How come no one had mentioned Malcolm taking off? Eddie hadn’t. Surely he’d know if his night guy had taken leave and left a nineteen year-old college student in charge. A nineteen year-old college student who’d pretty much been M.I.A for the past couple weeks. Or did Eddie condone Jason’s retreat, Mouth wondered.

  “Hey,” Mouth said to himself, needing to break the mental clutter. “He’s okay.”

  Was he though? Thoughts plagued Mouth as he gave up being restless in his room and headed to the bathroom. He knew he wouldn’t get back to sleep. Shower then coffee, he decided. Then one of the many assignments he knew was looming large.

  “Hey, was that Jase?” Rob the RA asked, walking past Mouth.

  “Yup.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “Joined a gym.”

  “Good man,” Rob said, being closer to the buffer end of the physical spectrum.

  “Fuck you!”

  With a sinking feeling, Mouth knew this was how the conversation was going to play out for the rest of the day. And the weekend. Actually for the foreseeable was not out of the question.

  IV

  “Here ya go,” Mills said, handing Rebecca a steaming coffee mug.

  “Thanks.” This was the nicest he’d been to her throughout the whole tour. Thought that was hardly the right word since it’d been twenty minutes of ‘there’s the mess hall, there’s the sleeping quarters, the bathroom’s over there, and here’s the patio’. Trip Advisor would be scathing.

  They stood in silence on the immense back patio overlooking one of the region’s seemingly endless supply of lakes. The air had a chill even after mid-day. Around them the fall foliage did little to warm the air or atmosphere between them.

  “It’s,” Rebecca began unsure what she intended to say, “quite beautiful up here.”

  “It’s alright,” he grunted in reply.

  “What’s your deal?” she blurted.

  “No deal.”

  “Really?” she demanded, looking around. “This place is practically the most peaceful place I’ve even been. Somerset seems lovely. Everyone I’ve seen has smiled and seemed genuinely nice. And then there’s you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Oh so you’re stupid and rude,” she threw back. “I was prepared for this to be all Kool-Aid, beige clothing, soft voices and ‘we’ statements – which it’s not by the way – but totally didn’t expect Snarly McSullenson as my tour guide. I’m all for affirmative action but morose isn’t a minority.”

  “Are you done?” he bristled.

  “Are you?”

  He took a deep breath and drew himself up to his full height. “What’s your interest in all this? Writing some bullshit YA novel? Researching for some trashy new genre show? Supernatural fetishist looking for something occult to intensify her orgasms?”

  “Now I get the whole slapping face thing,” she said, her anger building. “Always been more of pugilist myself but ya know I could really lean into a good slap right now.”

  “So none of the above then?”

  “Kinda really put some swing into it.”

  “My bad,” he shrugged and walked to the low wall.

  “Please tell me this isn’t you flirting because that would be really sad. Firstly, because you’re appalling at it. Like awful. Treat ‘em mean, keep ‘em keen pretty much went out with the dinosaurs buddy. Secondly, even in an alternate universe where I had been lobotomized to the point of lacking the self-respect, agency, and taste to think this whole brooding bad boy thing was appealing, I’m with someone. And that’s why I’m here. He’s my interest. As is all of this. Knowledge is power after all.”

  “Oh god, you’re dating a supernatural,” he groaned. “That’s worse.”

  “And I’m done,” Rebecca said, turning on her heel and walking away. The thought had occurred to her to throw the hot coffee in his face but then she would be without coffee. And why should she lose out.

  “I wasn’t flirting,” he called out.

  Against her better judgment, she stopped.

  But it wasn’t she who spoke next.

  “There you are,” a warm handsome voice said. Rebecca wasn’t entirely sure how a voice could be handsome but it was hard to think with her hormones doing a Mexican wave. She missed McLachlan. Maybe staying in bed with him for the weekend would have been better than a long car trip and an asshole of a tour guide. “Mills, I think you’re wanted elsewhere.”

  “To be elsewhere,” Rebecca muttered.

  Without a word, grunt, or passing snarl, Mills left the patio and headed into the main building.

  “You’ll have to forgive him,” Arizona said, charm flooding off him. “He’s…”

  “A shit heel?” Rebecca asked.

  “That’s one way of putting it,” he smiled.

  “Pretty sure that’s the only way of putting it.”

  “So what do you think about the place so far?” he asked.

  Carefully, she mulled the question. “Different to what I expected.”

  “Which was?”

  “Not sure. I dunno, it’s stupid I guess.”

  “What?” he asked, sitting on the low wall and folding his arms.

  “The Clan. The Cult. All too similar for my liking.”

  “Alliteration?” he laughed. “That’s your problem?”

  “No,” she replied with a smile. “Both are secret societies. Both are occult groups. I’ve read enough good and bad fiction to figure there’s always an agenda at play.”

  “And with the Cult, you’re so very right,” he replied.

  “Of course you’d think the Clan’s different, you’re one of them.”

  “That’s pretty judgmental for someone at the start of a weekend stay here,” he rebuked. Fairly too, she decided. “And for the record I’m not part of the Clan. Not that I wouldn’t defend them if it came to it.”

  “Like you are now?” s
he asked, feeling awkward.

  “Yes,” he replied. “Listen I get it. I really do. The idea of groups of people interested in the supernatural scares the shit out of me. Sadly, this Cult of the Eighth House aren’t alone in their misguided worship. Clan Delphae though…well, it’s very different here.”

  “How so?” she asked.

  “I’m pretty sure McLachlan’s fed you some line that all they do is watch, write things down, and consult their books but they’re more than that. They do a lot of good. Have an open mind this weekend is all.”

  “So you do know McLachlan?”

  “Yeah, I just don’t like to admit it. He’s good at what he does. One of the best in fact. Just he’s a wild card is all. And a bit of an idealist.”

  “Is that a bad thing? I mean come on we’re talking demons and darkness here.”

  “Which kinda makes him all the more out of place.”

  “I may be new, but I think he’s exactly where he needs to be.”

  “So you say,” he smirked, closing the trap he’d set. “That perspective and perception are subjective. Give the Clan the same openness you’d expect people to have of McLachlan and you might see they’re not some scary organization.”

  “But, come on, the Clan? Their branding isn’t doing them any favors.”

  “Well, we did try referring to them as ‘CD’ but then someone said that sounded too much like ‘seedy’ and we had to stop.”

  Rebecca laughed, guessing that ‘someone’ was likely McLachlan. “See, now that’s the kind of self-awareness you wouldn’t find in an Evil League of Evil.”

  “Between you and me, I think you’ll find they’re a little more impotent than anyone’s willing to acknowledge.”

  “But you’re not part of the Clan?”

  “Not the card-carrying member variety, but they’re like extended family. Known Somerset most of my adult life, the others several years now. Not Mills though. He’s still very…new. Quite guarded.”

  “So not a member, and I’m guessing from what I’ve seen on Good Morning America and the talk show circuit, you’re not a supernatural either.” As a way of distracting herself from Mills’ sullen chaperoning skills Rebecca had struggled to remember where she knew Arizona Chase from. At about the point Mills had pointed out the restrooms, she recalled seeing Chase on some talk show where the female hosts had fawned over him. The sound had been muted or she would have learned he wasn’t the hunk-de-saison on Grey’s Anatomy.