Deadly Assessments

by Drew Hayes

  They were right where I’d left them. Neither had moved so much as an inch. Either she’d had complete confidence in me, or wasn’t at all worried about dealing with a bear if it came for her. Probably the latter, if I was being honest with myself.

  “It’s done,” I told her, well aware she’d just heard the whole thing play out.

  “I noticed. Not bad, Fred. Sloppy and untrained, but what else should I expect from someone without practice? Still, there’s no arguing with results, and you certainly got the job done.”

  “And without killing.” I wasn’t sure why I felt the need to add something so obvious, other than that the words surged up from within me. Perhaps having to accept some aspects of what it meant to be a vampire was making me more determined to define the lines I still refused to cross. Or maybe I simply wanted her to know the kind of solutions I would always choose, even if other options were available.

  To my surprise, she gave a gentle smile in response. “Yes, without killing. Mercy is a fine thing, when appropriate. But as we wait for the sun to set, I want you to consider this: what would you have done in the same situation if I hadn’t taught you how to properly feed? Would knowing less, being weaker, have allowed you to find a safer outcome? Or is it only through owning your power and having your true options available that you found a way to show mercy? While you’re at it, imagine how much different that fight would have been if you were working with my level of . . . no, maybe just Lillian’s level of strength. Something to dwell on while we pass the time.”

  It wasn’t exactly resounding praise, but she also wasn’t pronouncing my failure. In situations like these, I resolved it was better to look on the bright side.

  While I still could.

  8.

  It may not surprise you, dear reader, but after doing battle with a grumpy bear, the remainder of my adventure posed a comparatively minor challenge. When night fell, Deborah and I both made a run for it. Her car might have been around still, though she struck me as too calculating to leave such a thing to chance, but it also could have been towed away during the day. Rather than backtrack for a potential vehicle, I opted to trust in my own legs, which were feeling especially light after the glut of bear blood I’d swallowed. Less nutritious than human blood or not, I’d still had to down quite a bit to knock out the bear, and the effects of a full stomach were showing.

  Part of me wanted to pause and ask about where the blood actually went, since I was sure I’d consumed more than my stomach should be able to physically hold; instead, I kept my focus on the task at hand: getting home. Even with a body topped off on blood, it was still a long trek back to town, and even farther to Charlotte Manor. As it turned out, though, we didn’t have to go quite that far.

  Roughly a mile before we would have needed to leave the back roads and run along the highway, Deborah and I found our path blocked by a large SUV, a familiar pickup truck, and what looked like an El Camino with a paint job that shifted as I stared at it. No sooner had we paused to assess the vehicles than floodlights snapped on and doors were kicked open, footsteps flooding the night with sound.

  “Fred, are you okay?” I knew that voice. Looking up, blinking away the harsh light, I could make out a silhouette I’d recognize anywhere. After all, we’d worked together for some time when he was my assistant.

  “Albert? Why are you here? And why are you blinding us?”

  “Precaution. Vampires can’t be harmed by bright lights, but it trips their instinctual fear and clouds their judgment. We weren’t sure if we’d find you, you and Deborah, or just Deborah.” The voice gave away its owner’s identity as much as the cigarette smoke rising over the lights. “Since you’re safe, I guess we’ll extinguish these for now.” The lights died, revealing Albert and Arch—as I’d deduced—along with Amy, Bubba, Neil, and Lillian, all of whom were staring at me with concern.

  Deborah stepped up to my side, Ernest still cradled in her arms. “How sweet. They thought I’d murdered you and came out to seek revenge.”

  “Don’t be silly. That would be illegal,” Arch corrected. “We’re here because the head of a clan went missing, during the daytime, and his people were concerned. Amy proposed she whip up a tracking spell, and I saw an excellent opportunity to train my charges in the art of hunting down a target. Our goal was always to find Fred and ensure his safe return.”

  A glimmer of a smile danced like a passing shadow on Deborah’s face, then vanished just as fast. “Time has allowed you to hone many skills, Agent, but don’t forget which of us has had more of that resource. For the sake of convenience, I will choose to believe you. Just remember, if I do decide to kill this man, I will be perfectly within my rights to do so. If you move against the Blood Council for retribution, you do so without the weight of the Agency behind you.”

  “Which is exactly why we were looking for Fred, not you,” Arch countered. There was a strange tension between these two, something like respect and enmity. For the first time, I wondered who between them was actually the more powerful: Deborah, or an agent like Arch or Krystal. Despite all her strength, Deborah had set up this assessment in a way that ensured she wouldn’t have to fight them. From someone else, I might have assumed that meant she was weaker, but Deborah probably would have taken the same precautions even if the enemy was as comparatively defenseless as I was. She took zero unnecessary risks.

  While those two were busy sniping at each other, the others ran over to me. Their worry was touching, but it had a better target than me at the moment. “Bubba, Amy, I need your help. I was learning to hunt, and I accidentally injured a wolf in my first try. I’m assuming one of you knows something about treating this sort of wound, or has connections to someone who would?”

  Gently, I took Ernest from Deborah and handed him off into the thick arms of Bubba, who cradled the wolf like it was made from glass. “This feller looks rough. Busted leg, maybe some bruised ribs judging from the breathing. He’s got a good amount of recovery in front of him, but if we stay on top of things, he should live.”

  “Thank goodness.” I let out a sigh of relief. I hadn’t known if we were actually saving the poor creature’s life or merely prolonging its suffering, so it was welcome news to hear Bubba’s diagnosis.

  “Don’t it figure, we come all the way out to save you, and you’re out here hauling around a wounded animal because you feel guilty for feeding on it.” Bubba stopped, looking up from Ernest to lock his gaze on me, his eyes narrowing. “Hang on, this was your first feed? You mean first feed of the night, right? I know you buy most of your blood, but you must have sipped off someone alive before.”

  I cast my mind back through the years—just to be sure I wasn’t misremembering anything. “I had to bite Quinn at the safe house, but that doesn’t really count as feeding, and I took a drop . . . or two from people here and there. Never right from the vein, though.” My tongue nearly slipped and announced that I’d had a drop of blood directly from Gideon. Deborah might very well already know that, as she certainly seemed dialed in on my life; however, that was no reason to draw attention to the incident, especially since that was part of the events that had led to my silver immunity.

  For his part, Bubba seemed far less concerned with the shift in words and more with what I was actually trying to say. “So, this wolf was the first time you tried to drink straight from another creature’s veins? You must have been starting with a full belly then, right?”

  “I was famished, actually,” I admitted. “Part of the training required wearing me out first. Does this influence the treatment of Ernest?”

  Amy snickered from her place at Bubba’s side. “You named the—no, never mind. Why am I surprised? That’s a silly thing to be surprised over, especially with you.” She leaned down and looked into both the wolf’s eyes, eliciting a strange whimper from Ernest’s throat. Apparently, he saw something in her gaze he wasn’t sure of. “No, the more impressive feat is that this wolf is alive at all. Pretty much every vampire kills their
first prey. Between the instincts and the thirst, they don’t know when to stop. It’s part of the reason why new vampires are especially dangerous.”

  “Fred had something of an advantage,” Deborah pointed out, letting things with Arch settle and joining our conversation at last. “He’s much older than most vampires when they first feed; Fred has had years to learn at least some self-control, rather than just days. We also worked with animals, whose blood lacks the intoxicating flavor of a human’s and is therefore easier to stop drinking. Still, I can admit achievement when I see it, and Fred did display an especially strong will when it came to holding himself back. Self-denial is arguably the most powerful aspect of his personality.”

  It was hard to parse how much of that was a compliment and how much was a backhanded insult, so I didn’t try to unknot it. We’d been out here for a long time, and I was more than ready to head back home. First things first, though. I went through a brief procession of hugs (or a handshake, in Neil’s case) and reassured everyone that I was okay. I didn’t particularly lie for Deborah, but I framed the whole incident as what it had been: a lesson. Yes, it was one where my life had been on the line, yet it was a lesson all the same. Deborah had promised to educate me, and I couldn’t honestly say she hadn’t. Our day out had taught me a tremendous amount, both in what it meant to be a vampire and on the methods I was using to lead my clan. I wasn’t quite ready to start downing dragon blood or hunting therians, but I also couldn’t deny that some of what she’d said held weight. I’d been able to show that bear mercy because I knew how to stop it without resorting to murder or breaking limbs. Power in itself didn’t make someone deadly; it was how that power was applied that mattered. My entire group of friends had been living examples of that for as long as I’d known them, and I’d been too dense to notice.

  Eventually, it was time to head back. As the others worked to load Ernest carefully into the back of Arch’s SUV, Deborah sidled up next to me. While it was hard to know what to expect from her at any given moment, I had a hunch she wasn’t going to try to murder me with this many allies close at hand. “Do you remember what I said earlier, Fred? Systems fail, countries fall, and in the end, all you can rely on is yourself? I’d like to make an amendment to that. You should also be able to count on your clan. That’s why we started forming them, back in the beginning. So we could have other ageless beings in our life, people who understood what it was to walk the world eternally. Not every clan lives up to that ideal; in fact, these days, relatively few can even begin to approach it. The House of Fred, however, came for you within hours of your disappearance, ready to fight a member of the Blood Council if they had to. Whatever else I determine about you, as an individual, I want you to know that I hold your clan in high esteem. I wish more of our leaders could inspire such loyalty.”

  The words were kind, and meant more to me than I’d have expected, but I also knew that Deborah was wrong. It wasn’t me who inspired that loyalty; we’d have all done the same for any of our friends that had suddenly gone missing. I wasn’t an exceptional leader. I’d simply made friends with exceptionally good people. I lacked the energy for that kind of discussion, though. The weight of everything I’d gone through in the last day felt like it had landed roughly on my shoulders. Giving a perfunctory nod in acknowledgment, I made my way over to the pickup. Deborah, I noticed, had chosen to ride in the back of the SUV with Ernest.

  As Bubba’s truck roared to life, I dearly wished I had the ability to sleep at night. A good nap would have allowed me to put some mental distance between myself and everything that had happened. Nocturnal hours were part of being a vampire, though. And if the last twenty-four hours had taught me nothing else, it had certainly shown me how much of a vampire I really was.

  Part 4

  An Issue in Escrow

  1.

  It was the knock that signaled that my night would take an unexpected turn.

  After our fight with the murderous mage Kevin and a day hiding in the woods to tap into my baser instincts, life had somewhat settled down. In my line of work, things were never completely peaceful, of course; and while I did have to deal with a new client who lived in a ring of trees surrounding a lake, as well as settle a budget dispute between two feuding ogres who co-ran a construction business, those cases were resolved without much fuss. In truth, outside of odd locations and appearances, they may as well have been normal accounting work.

  I’d even heard from Krystal a few times. I wasn’t sure where she was or what she was doing—the whole thing was being treated with the utmost discretion—although I got the sense that she was on some sort of magical quest. Whatever tasks the fey had charged her with clearly weren’t easy, or quickly resolved, but she seemed to be enjoying herself. For people like Krystal and June, this was probably the equivalent of an adventurous vacation, much like mountain climbing might be to more mundane folks. In other words, the sort of vacation I tended to avoid as skillfully as possible.

  The night of the portentous knock, Krystal was on my mind; we’d gotten to speak earlier in the day, and I had a sense that things might be wrapping up for her soon. All thoughts of my fiancée fled from my brain at the sound of that knock, however. Why was a knock such a big deal? Simple: because no one knocked on the front door of Charlotte Manor. She was a bed and breakfast as far as strangers knew, which would be the equivalent of knocking at a hotel. Of course, many in the parahuman world were in on Charlotte’s secret, but all of them would either know to just walk on in or were keenly aware of how unwelcome they would be within her walls. While there was a small chance it might be a devoted magazine salesman pushing his work well into the evening, the odds were staggeringly in favor of parahuman shenanigans.

  Lest you think me paranoid, I was not the only resident to reach such a conclusion. From the parlor, Lillian and Arch emerged. They sometimes liked to sit and chat about centuries past. I still wasn’t sure how old either of them were despite having listened in a few times; the best I could manage to deduce was that both had been alive during the tail-end of the 1800s. Beyond that, it was anyone’s guess.

  Arch held up a hand, stopping me from advancing further down the stairs, and drew a gun from within the unassuming folds of his clothing. He peeked through a window, then looked upward toward the ceiling. “Charlotte, we’ve got a man in a business suit on your porch. No telltale parahuman traits. Can you give me any further information?”

  “He’s shown no supernatural abilities since arriving here.” The version of Charlotte that wore the dated dress, the one I tended to think of as her default form, appeared behind Arch. “He drove up, emerged from his car, walked to the door, and knocked. I can detect trace amounts of magic now that he’s so close; however, it’s a spell designed to cloak other magic, so that may not be helpful.”

  “More helpful than you think. Fred, where’s your bodyguard?” Arch asked.

  A pale blur raced down the stairs, halting at my side. “I’m here, I’m here. Boring stuff for weeks, and the minute I try to relax in a bath, something interesting has to happen.” Deborah was clad in sweat pants, a t-shirt, and a shockingly fluffy robe, her hair wrapped up tightly in a perfectly twisted towel. For having just leapt from the bath, she’d put herself together quite well.

  Checking his gun, Arch shifted his posture so the weapon would be concealed behind his back, and then opened the door. “Can I help you?”

  From my position near a window, I could just make out the figure bowing stiffly outside. When he spoke, his voice had a slight accent to it, though not from any region I could readily place. “I have come to seek the services of Fredrick Frankford Fletcher, on behalf of He Who is Mighty, the Scion of the Skies, the Slayer of Aktrigon, the—”

  “You’re here for Gideon. I recognize the titles.” Arch didn’t quite ease the grip on his gun just yet. This was strange. If Gideon wanted something, he could have called himself, or used someone like Bubba as a go-between. We had mutual friends. Why would he reach out usi
ng a stranger? The simplest answer was that he wouldn’t, and it was a trick, but the mere fact that Arch hadn’t shot this man signaled that there was a reasonable chance he was telling the truth.

  At the sound of Gideon’s name, our visitor startled, then bowed again for no reason I could discern. “Yes, I have come at the command of our glorious King of the West. In his infinite wisdom, he has laid this task upon me, that I might find Fredrick Frankford Fletcher and deliver unto him the Great Dragon’s business proposal.”

  Without leaving his post at the door, Arch angled an eye in my direction, silently inquiring if I knew anything about this. I gave a shrug. It was news to me. Then again, if this man was here to discuss a proposal, I obviously wouldn’t be clued in as of yet. That was the point of business proposals: to bring others on board.

  “Did Gideon give you any sort of proof?” Arch asked. “You’ll understand if we’re cautious. You wouldn’t be the first to use a famous person’s name for your own means.”

  “Of course!” Hurrying, the man reached into his suit jacket pocket—a motion that made Arch’s gun twitch—and produced a sheet of paper that he handed over.

  Arch scanned the page once, then gave it to Lillian and nodded in my direction. She brought it over for me to read, though it almost wasn’t necessary. The moment I saw that it was written in crayon, I knew that it was real. What forger in the world, even one aware of Gideon’s situation, would think to write a note from one of the most powerful creatures in the world using crayon? It was the sort of casual display of indifference and power that served as Gideon’s true signature. Still, I perused the note; there was no such thing as being too thorough. It read:

  “Fred, if you’re reading this, I assume the lackey I sent made it to you in one piece. The formality is a necessary evil this time, since what I’m doing requires that I put everything through official channels. I won’t say more here, lest the note fall into the wrong hands, but knowing your friends, I assumed they would demand proof this is all really from me. Unlike that day in the cage, you’re the one in charge now. Listen to the proposal and make your decision.”