by Drew Hayes
“Sounds like someone is in a hurry,” Bubba noted.
“Indeed,” I said. “If not for Krystal’s absence, I would find myself fearful that it was a troubled parahuman out looking for—”
“Help!” The cry was followed by an immediate rapping on my recently fortified door. Once upon a time, I had contented myself with the level of security provided by my apartment. However, the past few months had reminded me all too well that there was no such thing as too much precaution.
“Sir,” I called cautiously. “I believe you have the wrong apartment.”
“Albert! Please open up! I need your help!” And suddenly the whiny, pubescent tones of my unrequested visitor slipped comfortably in place among my memories.
“Oh, you must be joking.” I sighed, walking over to the door and undoing the deadbolts before my assistant could beat me to it. I pulled back the heavy door to reveal another youthful face, though this one was aged a wee bit more than Albert’s. It was bespectacled like my own, but leaner, with sandy brown hair that was sopping wet. The slightly freckled face was streaked with what looked like tears, and he was breathing raggedly, scarcely able to gulp the air down fast enough.
“Neil? Are you all right?” I asked.
“I’m fine,” Neil spat out. “I need Krystal, though. I have to talk with her right now.”
“Krystal is out of town,” Bubba tossed in, his large eyes clearly curious about the visitor.
“She left for work,” I said. “We don’t know if she’s in the state, or even the country.”
“No, no, no, no, FUCK!” Neil smashed his small hand against my door. To put it simply, the door won.
“GAH!” I yelped, a bit overtaken by his sudden display of emotion. “What’s wrong? Why do you need Krystal? Are you hurt? Can we help?”
“It’s not me,” Neil said, the tears making a renewed entrance to his pupils. “It’s my mentor. She’s missing, and her place is a wreck. I think someone kidnapped Amy.”
“Ah. Well, then yes, I suppose that would be more a task for Krystal,” I admitted.
A small whimper escaped from deep within Neil’s throat.
“Fred,” Albert said from back at the table, “we should try to help him. He’s my best friend.”
I took a mental tally. Neil had tried to overtake my girlfriend’s mind, murder some innocent (if rather annoying) people, and had magically bound me in place for the better part of a night. But . . . he was Albert’s best friend, and while I hadn’t been blessed with an abundance of experience in the world of friendship prior to my death, I did understand the principles it entailed. Since I considered Albert something of a friend as well as an employee, I had to assume the transitive property was in place here. I cared about Albert, Albert cared about Neil, therefore I cared about Neil as well.
Curses.
“Right, well, at least you should come in and rest for a few minutes,” I said, stepping aside to allow him entrance. “You can tell us what happened, and then we’ll figure out if there is anything we can do.”
In retrospect, that was the first of many mistakes.
2.
“Let’s take it from the top,” Bubba said.
Neil nodded and took a sip of his water. He’d been sitting on my couch, chugging glass after glass for around five minutes. He still looked haggard, clothes stained with sweat and messenger bag tossed unceremoniously on the ground. He also looked less goth than last time I’d seen him as well, clothed more in pastels and muted browns with the exception of an onyx collar around his neck. It didn’t go with the rest of his ensemble, but I suppose change doesn’t happen overnight. One could consider me an excellent example of that very point.
“I showed up at her place tonight at six,” Neil said, a hair of shakiness tickling his tone. “I go there every night at that time for tutoring. This time Amy didn’t answer when I banged on the door, though. That’s not so out of the ordinary. Sometimes she gets caught up in her work, so I went around to the back door she leaves open.”
Neil took another gulp of water and swallowed harder than it could have possibly required. “The place was wrecked. Beakers and glasses knocked on the floor, tables overturned, just a general sense of catastrophe. I searched for her through the house, yelling out her name, but I got nothing in response.”
“That sounds really scary.” Albert rested a hand on his friend’s shoulder in silent support.
“It was,” Neil said. “And it got scarier the longer I couldn’t find her. I didn’t know what to do. I can’t exactly call the cops to come snoop around a mage’s home. God only knows what they might set off. Then I remembered the girl that arrested me that night, and how Albert said she hung out in Fred’s apartment a lot of the time. It was the only thing I could think of, so I ran over here as fast as I could.”
“You looked pretty wiped,” I said.
“It was seven miles,” Neil informed me. “And I’ve never been much of an athlete.”
“I feel your pain there,” I said. Living Fred had been far from what one might be inclined to describe as graceful.
“Yeah, normally I’d make a snarky comment about vampires and cardio, but honestly right now I’m just hoping you guys can do something,” Neil said.
“Look, Neil, I’m sorry about your mentor, but Krystal isn’t here,” I said, choosing my words carefully. The kid might have been all kinds of worked up and strung out. However, he was still a necromancer, and I was still a vampire. That’s not the type of dynamic where you go pissing off the guy with magical powers. “She’s the one with the training and experience at this sort of thing. I’m just an accountant.”
“You aren’t just an accountant,” Neil snapped. “You’re a vampire. Your kind is supposed to be crazy powerful. There has to be something you can do.”
“I don’t know. I mean, I guess maybe I could try to get her scent or something. I’ll be honest, though. I played around with that back when I first got turned, and I’m not terribly good at it,” I said. “Isn’t there some sort of tracking magic you could do?”
“Sure I could, if I had access to my powers,” Neil said, his eyes dropping groundward.
“What’s stopping you?” Bubba said.
In response, Neil pointed to the black collar around his neck. “It’s part of my probation. The collar binds my power unless I’m within twenty feet of my mentor, who is outfitted with a matching bracelet that acts as a key. Without Amy around, I’m just a normal human.”
“That sucks,” Albert chipped in, surmising the situation nicely in my opinion.
“Royally,” Bubba chimed in.
“Indeed,” I agreed.
“Yes, it blows goats, but it’s not really the point right now,” Neil said, pulling himself up from the couch. “What matters is that Amy is out there, in danger, and probably terrified.”
“We understand. However, the fact remains that you’re consulting people ill prepared to assist in the job at hand,” I said.
“I get that you guys don’t know any more than me,” Neil said. “But you’ve at least got some abilities. And you’re the only people I can turn to with this. No matter what, I’m leaving here and trying to find Amy. I’ll probably fail alone, though. So, please, I need you to help her.”
I wanted to protest our lack of suitability once more, but something in his words stuck out to me. Neil said he needed us to help her. He was specifically asking for assistance for another person’s well-being. Mere weeks ago he’d been willing to toss aside human lives for the chance at attaining greater power, yet here he was unwavering in the need to save someone that was not himself. Whoever this Amy was, she must be quite the positive influence.
“I might know someone who can help,” Bubba said, his thick drawl stretching out his words.
“Really?” Neil said. His eyes lit up with renewed hope.
“No promises,” Bubba warned. “I can’t guarantee he’ll lend us any sort of a hand. If he does, though, we might have a genuine shot a
t finding your girl.”
“‘Long shot’ is better than ‘no shot,’” Neil said, scooping up his bag and walking to the door. “Let’s go.”
“We’ll need something that belongs to her, something thick with her scent,” Bubba informed him.
Neil patted his bag. “I thought that might be the case. I brought one of her spell books, a couple of scarves, and her favorite pipe.”
“Then go outside to Fred’s car and wait while we get our stuff,” Bubba said. “Albert, you go keep him company.”
“Aye, aye,” Albert said, bounding over to his friend and exiting the apartment with him.
“What do we need to get?” I said once the other two had left.
“Mentally prepared, because we might be stepping into a world of shit,” Bubba said, setting down his beer. I could hear from the sloshing that it was only half finished, yet Bubba was abandoning it, his drinking clearly done. That, more than his tone, told me just how serious he was.
“Oh, dear. I take it you’re on less-than-stellar terms with this acquaintance?”
“It’s not that. It’s just that we’re about to walk into the home of some serious heavy hitters among the parahuman world,” Bubba said. “I’m hoping everything turns up roses. That said, if things start going south, you should be aware that we’re in real trouble.”
“You know, I think the three of you can handle this,” I said hastily. “I don’t see that I’ll be able to contribute much at all.”
Bubba laughed and slugged my shoulder. If not for my considerable undead augmentations, it would have doubtlessly sent me sprawling across the floor.
“That’s the way to stay calm. Just keep joking,” Bubba said.
“I’m not so much joking as you might hope. I’m pretty awful at this type of dangerous-situation, life-on-the-line sort of stuff.”
“Nah,” Bubba said, waving me off. “I thought that at first too, but after Vegas I know you’re a guy who comes through in the clutch. Just keep a level head, and we’ll walk out of this fine.”
As I was forcibly marched out my door, scarcely giving me time to secure the lock, it occurred to me that perhaps my previous fever of momentary bravery had set an unrealistic standard in my companion’s eyes. That wouldn’t normally be so bad, but given my history of caving to peer pressure and the expectations of others, it could prove to be problematic.
3.
“Are you sure we’re in the right place?” I yelled into Bubba’s ear. I was yelling because we were in a nightclub in the posh section of downtown Winslow, with the noise so loud it was nearly impossible to hear anything else. Having enhanced senses has often been a boon to me since my change. As the (and I’m being generous with this term) “music” pulsed with such vigor that it vibrated into my bones, I became keenly aware of the extent to which I missed my crappy mortal hearing.
Rather than imitate my shouting technique, Bubba merely nodded and gestured toward a set of elevators in the back of the building. We traversed the terrain thick with gyrating bodies, slowly inching our way closer to the steel-doored salvation.
As we made our way, it was quite apparent we stood out, and not in a positive way. These people were dressed in designer clothes, buying rounds of shots at a place where the beers cost fifteen dollars. In contrast, Bubba was wearing a flannel shirt and jeans, I was adorned in my usual button down, sweater-vest, and slacks, while Albert and Neil were both rocking an ensemble that would be considered dressed down even in high school. Factor in Bubba’s exceptional height and the youth of the boys, and we should have been drawing a veritable abundance of sideways looks. And yet . . . no one was giving us a second glance. Their disinterest in our absurdity left me feeling all the more uncomfortable.
At last we reached the elevators, only to be immediately stopped by two muscular men in identical black suits. Bubba began what I can only describe as a game of high-stakes charades, trying to communicate to them some concept that I was unable to glean. Fortunately, the doormen were either more skilled or better informed than me because after some furtive gestures of their own, they stepped back. Bubba strode forward, and we followed suit. Once the elevator doors whispered shut, the blaring sound was almost completely silenced.
“Wow,” I said. “That is some kind of sound insulation.”
“Only the top of the line at this place,” Bubba said. He punched the button for the highest floor, and the world jerked briefly as we ascended.
“Is that what all clubs are like?” Albert’s eye were wide, the sight had clearly left him a bit overwhelmed.
“No,” I said. “Normally the drinks are less expensive and the décor less tasteful. Also generally quieter, though that part can be variable.” In truth, my experiences with clubs listed out at a total of two, though now I supposed I could count it as three. I’d been drug out twice during my time at college, and neither had ended particularly well. Please be aware that I would have happily considered being safely home in my bed as ending well, so that should give you some scope on just how poorly the evenings had turned out.
“I’m more of a bar man myself,” Bubba said. “Get me a nice beer and watch the game, maybe have some conversation. These damn places are too loud. You can’t even hear yourself drink.”
“Which begs the question—why are we here in the first place?” Neil said. “You said you knew someone who would help.”
“I said I knew someone who could help. Big difference there. And we’re here because this is where he lives. The club is only the first floor of the building. Higher-up ones are offices for certain persons engaged in often less than legal activities.”
“And we’re going to the top,” I said.
“Yup, because this guy is the worst kind of criminal,” Bubba said.
“Smuggler?” Albert asked.
“Gun-runner?” Neil ventured.
“Assassin?” I guessed.
Bubba shook his head. “Politician.”
We “oooohed” collectively as a group as understanding set in.
“What sort of politician would set up in a building with this reputation?” I wondered aloud.
“One whose mere existence is a matter of national secrecy. We’re here to see the head of the therians in this area.”
“I see. And therians are?”
“Shapeshifters,” Bubba said. “It comes from ‘therianthropy,’ which is the term for everyone who turns into animals. There are way more of us than just wolves.”
“So, this man presides over all of you,” I said.
“Sort of. It’s mostly a position of honor. I had to come make nice with him when I moved to town, sign a few forms, initial a few boxes sayin’ I wouldn’t reveal myself or act like an asshole. I know he also deals with other bureaucratic issues when they come up among therians in town. I guess you could think of him as a weremayor,” Bubba said.
Albert chuckled. “That rhymes.”
Despite the dire situation, I felt a brief, unbidden smile rise to my face. Only Albert could take joy in the sparse rhyming of “were” and “mayor” under such circumstance, but it was impossible not to take joy in Albert.
A loud ding informed us we had arrived at our destination. The doors slid open to reveal a white marble hallway leading forward. Immediately outside were another set of guards, though this set made the other pale in comparison. If the men we’d met when entering the elevator looked as if they could handle trouble, these men looked as though trouble would be sleeping with the light on for a week and double bolting its doors after even a brief encounter with them. They scanned us as we stepped out, assessing our overall threat level, and presumably came to the conclusion that we were acceptable to continue. I had a feeling that process only had one other potential outcome, and it was one I was quite thankful I wasn’t experiencing.
We tread across the plush red carpet, moving slowly forward. There were a set of steps some feet ahead that made it impossible to see what lurked at the end of the hallway. Instead, I contented m
yself with observing the tapestries hung along the walls. They showed a variety of man/animal hybrids in different historical scenes. One showed a creature I took to be a werebear wearing a Viking helmet and driving back a battalion of human warriors. Another seemed to feature a werewolf donned in armor kneeling before a king, the king’s blade on the werewolf’s shoulder in the process of bestowing knighthood. The last one before the beginning of the steps almost caused me to stumble, as it featured a wererat dressed in a crisp business suit with the White House in the background. I opened my mouth to ask Bubba about that one, then decided perhaps it was better pursued after our business at hand was dealt with.
We crested the top of the stairs some minutes later, a whole new view meeting our eyes. What stood before us was a large room, the marble floor utterly covered in faux fur rugs. A myriad of people lay on these rugs, some in various states of transformation. They looked on us hungrily as we walked into their line of sight, eyes unwavering from our all too fleshy forms. It was because of their aggression that they drew attention first. That is the only explanation I can give as to why I noticed them before the man sitting in their center.
I’ve previously described Bubba as one of the largest men I’d ever met, and while that description was apt at the time, seeing this man rendered it invalid. Seven feet tall and certainly several feet wide, this man was the thing NFL scouts’ wildest fantasies are made of. His entire humongous body was carved muscle. Golden hair, wild and untamed, fell to his ludicrously broad shoulders. His teeth were just a few shades too white and far, far too many shades too sharp. He rested on a white throne of the same marble the hallway was constructed of. There were no rugs, faux fur or otherwise, softening the seat for him. If it was uncomfortable (which I’m certain it had to have been), he banished any such indicators from his square-jawed face. His bright green eyes moved over us one at a time. When his gaze fell on me, I found myself profoundly grateful I no longer needed to breathe, since hyperventilation was not a possibility. When he finished scrutinizing us he spoke, his voice rough as a law degree and deeper than Plato.
