by Gavin Green
"That will not be necessary, Leo. With the information you have gathered," he stated formally as always, "not many questions need to be answered. Nonetheless, I like to be thorough."
"Well, I'm sure Runa has better things to do for you than clean up afterwards," I countered, hoping I didn't come off as petty and jealous. "I can take care of that, no problem."
Our conversation was paused when Runa dragged Mitch past us and into an apartment. "While I am sure that you could," Viggo continued, "Runa has been chosen to assist. She has alternate methods of extracting information; some might consider those methods unsavory, however effective they may be."
"You mean torture, sir?"
Viggo shook his head. "Not in the conventional sense. Runa has honor, although her set of moral priorities differ from the norm. I could just as easily intimidate and coerce information out of a subject, but Runa has acquired the Gift to sense the truth of things as well as her ruthless pursuit of it."
She passed us again to go get Maxi out of my truck. I waited until she was outside before I asked, "Would you like me to learn how to do that as well?"
"If you so choose," he replied with a shrug. "However, I still wish you to continue with your efforts of learning the Gift of Fauna, as Clara suggested." I didn't know it was her idea. "Do keep in mind that I have no ability with the Gift of Discerning as I do with Fauna and others, so it will not come to you easily. Extensive patience is needed for that endeavor."
"But it's still possible, right, sir? I mean, Runa learned how."
Viggo waited to respond, letting Runa drag the semi-conscious Maxi past us. When she was gone again, he finally said, "Yes, she eventually learned how. It took her nearly three hundred years."
VACATION
Viggo gave me my company credit card before I left that night, and told me to pass along Gwen's and Traeg's as well. It was late, and the events of that night left me a little drained. I went home and hung out with Thunder, the TV, and a strong drink. While thinking of what to do with my vacation time, I fell asleep in one of the recliners in the lounge.
I made it over to my old house the next morning to mow the lawn before the day really heated up, but not so early that I'd wake Miss Loretta. While the mower whacked away at the overgrown grass, I had an idea about getting out of the city and going camping. I visualized an image of what it might've been like, and felt myself relaxing just at the thought of it.
But then a pair of angry orange eyes invaded the calm picture in my mind, glaring at me through the foliage. Well shit, that idea soured fast. Even if I drove a hundred miles out into the country, I would've been paranoid of Fletcher's hemo wolf nose eventually picking up my scent. Ridiculous? Probably, but I was not going to underestimate a supernatural bad-ass who wanted to show me my own liver.
Alright, fine, a staycation (as Gwen called it) sounded good, too. I started making a mental list of plans as I finished up the lawn. When I was done mowing, Miss Loretta invited me over for lemonade on her porch. Polite refusals did not work with that woman.
Among other topics, Miss Loretta asked if I was moving back in. When I said probably not, she told me to think about renting it out; she had a niece who'd just landed a good job downtown and wanted a place nearby. Renting - not a bad idea. I'd call Viggo's business guy about it if I needed to.
Before I left, I suggested having another grill party with a few of the neighbors in a couple days. I'd bring a cooler of drinks, all the meat, and maybe a couple guests of my own. Miss Loretta could have her niece come so we could discuss renting my house. My charming, obese neighbor said she'd do the inviting. I was looking forward to it.
In the early afternoon, I went out to Traeger's Trading Post to return the surveillance gear. I gave him his credit card, and then paid off the truck balance with mine. I didn't like owing anyone, not even a cohort or friend or whatever Traeg was. Maybe not 'friend' at that point, but we were off to a good start.
In Traeg's office, I relayed the Fletcher incident. When I told him the part about getting shot, he grinned and called me a thin-skinned sissy. As for the invitation to the cook-out, he said not to expect him because Saturdays were his busiest days. We parted with a handshake and I got on with my day.
Indulging a whim, I drove home, slammed a stiff drink, and then took a nap. I didn't need one, but what the hell. My dream was short, but I relived a good memory of riding in my brother Al's new car (well, new to him) to a park where we threw a football around. I woke up in a mellow mood, and didn't even care that Thunder was hogging the pillow.
I hadn't been to Keegan's in a while. I figured that if anyone was looking for me, they wouldn't consider his bar one of my usual haunts anymore. There was a decent crowd for a weeknight. Already in a good mood, the warm greeting from Keeg and Deb, the staff, and a few regulars raised my spirits even higher. I liked my solitude, but being surrounded by familiar and friendly faces raised my morale. The drinks and shots they kept buying me sure as hell didn't hurt, either.
Tanya was on the clock, but she gave me a few seconds now and then to flirt with her. In my state of having a nice buzz and being epically horny, I didn't much care if she was currently dating someone or not. We left together after her shift. She drove; I paid for the motel room. Regardless of all the drinks, I luckily wasn't afflicted with whiskey-dick. We made the most of it.
The next day, a Friday, I got together with Gwen and Traeg for dinner at Shawn Riordan's old fire station hideout. We decided to use that as our main location for meetings, although we just got together that evening to shoot the shit. I brought bags of food from the Wise Owl Wok, Traeg brought a cooler full of drinks, and Gwen brought some weird dessert that I didn't want to even look at.
Neither Gwen nor Traeg had time to hang out for long, so I went back to Keegan's. No power-drinking for me that night - just enough to keep a mild buzz. At one point, Mac the doorman asked me to take over so he could hit the head. I took a look outside and noticed a guy walking along the sidewalk on the other side of the street. He was carrying a backpack, which wasn't too odd, but the way he was sniffing the air like a dog was pretty weird. I sniffed too, but didn't smell anything out of the ordinary.
Deb's sister and a female friend stopped in the bar that night; Keeg asked me to make sure no drunks hit on them. When the two ladies were ready to leave, Deb asked me to escort them to their car. As I walked them out, I saw that same guy across the street. He was facing the bar, taking a big whiff of the air. I walked the women into the parking lot next to the building, wondering what kind of drug makes someone have olfactory hallucinations.
Once Deb's sister and her friend drove off, I went to go get another drink. I came around the corner of the building and saw the backpack guy striding with purpose across the street. He wasn't walking toward the front door of Keegan's, though - he was coming straight to me.
He was about average height, but had a big-boned, rangy look to him. He wore duck boots, tan cargo pants, and a denim shirt; along with the backpack, he was dressed for travel. In contrast to that, his lean face was pale. He had shorn brown hair, dark eyes under bushy brows, a large hooked nose, and a very thick mustache that was grown down to either side of his chin. His expression was kind of intense, but not in an angry way. Then again, he sure as hell didn't look like he was going to ask for directions, either.
When the traveler stopped about ten feet away, I asked, "Something I can do for ya, buddy?"
He sniffed one last time, and then said with a slight accent I couldn't place, "Ancient blood - I smell ancient blood." Dammit, why couldn't he have said no to my question and just moved on? I had no idea who or what I was dealing with, but I knew the human bloodhound wasn't going to leave me alone. "It is of you, but not yours - a minion, yes?" he asked.
"How the fuck did you . . ." I paused when a couple came out of the bar and passed between us. When they were far enough away, I looked back at the bloodhound. "What do you want from me?"
"Do you know what the veil is?"
he asked. When I nodded, he said, "Then you know I would be lifting it by asking questions of one who is . . . uninformed. Do you understand?"
"Yeah," I sighed, "I get it, and I'm plenty informed." Without knowing his intentions, I didn't want to be stuck out there alone with him. "Why don't you come on in? I can get us a booth and we can talk."
He glanced at the door to Keegan's and then shook his head. "Crowds of people unsettle me. If you know what Civil Ground is, would there be such a place nearby?"
I pointed down the street. "About a mile and a half to the south is a big museum - the Nelson-Atkins. It's obviously closed by now, but the property it sits on is Civil Ground too." Then I added, "Good luck" as a clear sign I was leaving, and took a step toward the safety of the bar.
"No - wait," he said, putting his hands out in a non-threatening gesture. They were big, those hands, and had coarse hair all over them - even up onto the fingers. I also got the impression that he wasn't much of a people-person, but at least he wasn't being a prick. "I can sense your apprehension. I assure you I mean no harm. I am new to this city - information is all I want."
I paused for a few seconds to think. Finally, I said, "You realize I have to check in with my, uh, lord, to see what he says, right? I'll go in, make a call, and then let you know, okay? I give you my word I won't leave you standing out here all night." I got to the door, hesitated, and then turned back to him and said, "My lord might want a name . . ."
"Ah, of course," he replied. "Not that it would help, for I am in no way renowned. All the same, if your lord would choose to meet with me, tell him my name is Grigori Romanovich Olinchenko."
" . . . Say what?"
SITUATION
Viggo's phone was unavailable. I tried to call Barnabus and got the same result. I didn't want to, but I also tried Roach's number. The less I had to deal with that fuck-head, the better. No service for his cell, either. There was one last hemo number in my phone, but I barely knew the guy. Screw it. I called.
When he answered, I said, "Good evening, sir. This is Leo Beck; I work for the one who made a bit of a scene at the last party . . ."
"Yes, Mr. Beck, I remember you well enough," Michael Vestergaard replied with tension in his voice. "I remember many things that I'd rather not."
Well great, I was managing to get on the bad side of every damn hemo out there. "Uh, yes sir," I said awkwardly while pacing back and forth in Keeg's small office. "Sorry to bother you, but I ran out of options. I have an odd situation, and I don't know the S.O.P. - uh, standard operating pro -"
"I know what it means," He cut in, but then asked in a softer tone, "Are you in danger?"
"No sir, I don't think so. I'm pretty sure I can handle the situation, but I didn't want to step out of line. I mean, is a guy in my position allowed to speak for you guys with another one of you guys?" Fuck, I hated being vague on an unsecured line.
"As long as you have the correct information and not offer too much of it, I don't see a problem. Be careful, though - our emotions run high. You know, Mr. Beck, handling the situation on your own might also impress your employer. Then again, the opposite could be true; I'm not aware of how he conducts that part of his business. If that's a concern, I'll have some free time in a few hours to help you."
"I appreciate that, sir, but my boss is pretty cool like that. I was just making sure there wasn't any rule I was breaking. I'll stop bugging you now."
"Mr. Beck, two things before I go." My heart sunk a little; it'd usually never been a good thing when a hemo brought up his personal agendas. "First, you may call me Michael, or Gothi Michael if you ever decide to join my faith. Secondly, did you ever truly work for my . . . mother?"
Oh, okay, that wasn't so bad. "Uh, not in the way you think," I answered. "Anyway, thanks again. Maybe I'll catch another one of your sermons sometime soon." I meant it, too. Michael might've believed some weird Norse shit, but he was a good storyteller.
When Michael hung up, I went back outside. Mr. Mustache (don't even ask me to try and repeat his full name) was back across the street, probably to be less conspicuous. I gave him my word I'd meet him on the back lawn of the museum in an hour. There was no way I was going to offer a ride to a predator I knew nothing about. An hour was plenty of time for him to walk there - he looked used to it.
Just past midnight, I pulled up to the same spot behind the Nelson-Atkins as I did with Ragna months before. That meeting with Declan McKenna, and then Jack Fletcher, was still fresh in my mind. Strangely enough, the chain of thought led me wonder if Ragna's remaining dogs were okay without her.
A nearby streetlight caused deep shadows under a small tree near the back edge of the Civil Ground. Sitting on the grass in those shadows was Grigori Russian-Mustache. On the drive down there to meet him, I asked myself why I was taking the chance. The only reason I could think of was that he seemed decent for a hemo. And, unlike most of 'em, he didn't want to kill me. Not yet, anyway.
OLINCHENKO
I sat in my truck for a minute, organizing the questions in my head. The guy had sensed Viggo's ancient blood; smelt that I was a minion. No one ever mentioned that neat little trick. He was drawn to the scent, attracted to it. I wanted to know why, if only for my commander's sake. There was only one way to find out what his intentions were.
I got out of my truck, hopped over the low retaining wall and sat on it. The backstreet was quiet, and we were easily close enough to each other to talk at normal volume. He was fiddling with some small piece of equipment, but lifted his head and said, "You kept your word. Good."
I nodded to acknowledge his words, and then got right to it. "I have some questions myself, if you don't mind, Mister . . . Chenko, right?"
"Olinchenko," he corrected me. "Grigori Olinchenko. What do you go by?"
"I'm Leo Beck. So, uh, how did you smell me from nearly twenty yards away? And not just my cologne or whatever - I mean, you can actually smell my blood?"
Olinchenko put the item - a camera, I think - into the backpack on the ground next to him. "I have always been strong with that ability," he stated while zipping his pack closed. "I'm not sure which Gift it stems from, not that it truly matters. My senses tell me many things, but not all. I can smell the blood of an ancient through his minion, but I can't sense a thin-blooded strigoi near me. In the same fashion, I can hear someone's heart hammering with adrenaline from across a field, but not a line of ants marching past my feet. It is a matter of intensity."
"Damn, that's . . . damn." I know, not too smooth. But hey, fuck you - I was impressed.
"Now tell me true, Mr. Beck. Is the Eidolon you serve the one I have come here for, or are there other ancient beings in this commonplace city? Having even one here is unexpected enough."
"Well, I guess my answer depends on which Eidolon you're looking for," I replied with a frown. "It also depends on why you're asking. My commander is far too powerful to need my protection, but he doesn't like surprises."
"He is your 'commander', eh?" Olinchenko said, tilting his head to one side. "A military man, I'd say. It would explain your scars." He then took a second to gather his thoughts. "I will explain my reason. In the spring of 1845, there was a fire," he began. "Pittsburgh was booming at the time, and . . ." He trailed off, looking away. "The details of that day aren't important," Olinchenko said, facing me again, "other than to say a legendary Eidolon called the Veleti saved me and a Deviant friend. I have -"
"Whoa, wait a second," I said, interrupting him. "A Deviant friend . . . Does that mean you're -?"
"I was speaking," Olinchenko interrupted right back with authority. "You wanted to know. I'm telling you." That shut me up. "I have owed a huge debt since, and it weighs on me. Two nights ago, I heard a tale of the Veleti being in this city, of all places. I travelled atop a freight train from Illinois to get here and had begun wandering the streets for any of my kind to validate the story. Much sooner than I expected, I caught a scent - you."
"Okay, you say you're here to repay a debt,"
I said hurriedly, wanting to know one more thing. "I'll pass that along. If my commander doesn't recognize your name, he'll want to know which faction you claim."
Olinchenko cocked his head to one side again. "I am an Outsider," he said. "Isn't it obvious?"
"Yeah, that's what I thought," I stood up and tried to keep the anger out of my voice when I said, "I'll tell you a few things, and then I'm gone. Your nose works well. I am the minion of an ancient Eidolon, and yeah, it is the Veleti. Good luck finding him. If you want to introduce yourself to the Doyenne, her name is Le Meur. Just find the Realm building downtown, which should be easy for you - it reeks of hemos. There, I just told you everything you wanted to know, and then some. I'm leaving now."
As I turned and placed one foot on the wall, Olinchenko said behind me, "Mr. Beck, at least tell me what caused your sudden hostility." When I hesitated, he added, "If there is animosity between the Deviant and Outsider factions here, I don't want to aggravate it. If that is the case, tell me now. I have explained myself. I deserve no less from you."
"Fair enough," I said, and spun back to face him. He was standing by then, but hadn't advanced. "The only animosity I know of comes from the Outsider elder, Jack Fletcher. My real problem is that he and the rest of your people are severely fucked up, and most have a personal problem with me."
Olinchenko asked, "My people?" I ignored him.
"Fletcher screwed with my head, used me, and now wants to play with my intestines. His scion McKenna let his minions attack me - right over there, as a matter of fact. Macie used me to pay off a debt and got me into this whole damn thing to begin with. I'm pretty sure your emissary Zapada is Le Meur's boy-toy, and she hates me. Grimm, who hasn't had his turn to mess with me yet, is having a problem getting rid of all the dead bodies he acquires. Jade, who I never even fucking met before, brought one of my best friends into the night just to spite me. And now he hates me, too. So, yeah, I'm a little hostile. Now here you are, and I'm not going to stick around to find out how you're going to fuck with me."
