Undeath and Taxes

by Drew Hayes

  “Right. As certain as I am that you can handle that, I’m here about your taxes,” I reminded him. Talk of impending violence, even contained violence, always made me a little antsy.

  “Of course, follow me.” Richard strode forward with his sizable gait, easily crossing the room and flinging open one of the doors I hadn’t yet been through to reveal a large office. Well, I say “large,” but I suspect Richard would have been quite cramped moving about in it. There were boxes of paper all over the floor, three sets of filing cabinets, and a desk nearly overflowing with unsorted documents.

  “Here it is,” he announced proudly.

  “What, exactly, am I looking at?”

  “Forms, receipts, accounting ledgers, and other such paperwork I’ve accumulated in my time as this area’s therian overseer,” he explained. “I had it brought up from storage, assuming you’d need such things.”

  “You’re not wrong about that,” I agreed. “But I only need stuff from the last year.”

  “This is from the last year.”

  Being a vampire means never having to cough in shock; our impulses related to involuntary expulsion are wiped out in the conversion process. Habit, on the other hand, is making the noise anyway, because sometimes words fall short of your power to convey thoughts. Which is why I coughed loudly in unabashed shock.

  “My territory is a large one, with many therians,” Richard said. “And I am obligated to oversee this procedure for Gideon, as well. As you can see, the paperwork accumulates.”

  I took a deep breath (another habit I’d never seen a need to break) and steadied my nerves. “Richard, I have a point I want to raise with you before I try and tackle this mound of insanity. If I didn’t, I’d feel like I was taking advantage of you.”

  “Do tell,” he encouraged.

  “You know I bill by the hour, right? And this is not going to be a quick job. I can do it, let’s be clear, but if you have someone who is better acquainted with this material and charges less, then maybe you should go with them. I mean, who did your taxes last year?”

  “No one,” Richard admitted. “I just paid the bill the government sent me.”

  I nodded. In my training, I’d learned that, since parahumans often led somewhat more chaotic and nomadic lifestyles, they had the option to not submit taxes and just pay whatever the government told them they owed. Many parahumans exercised this option, which was a crying shame, in my humble opinion.

  “If it’s not prying, how much did they charge?”

  Richard told me the number, and I made another chortled choking sound in the back of my throat.

  “I can do it for cheaper than that,” I assured him. “Definitely, far cheaper than that.”

  “Thank goodness,” Richard said. “And thank you, Fred, for your concern over treating me fairly. I deal so much with politicians and backstabbers that it is a pleasant change to see someone show genuine kindness.”

  “Not a big deal. I just believe that good work and good service are the cornerstones to customer loyalty.”

  “I’ll remember that,” he said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to head down for another meeting. You’re free to start whenever you like. I’ll also have one of my people wait in attendance and take you through a secret entrance when you want to exit or re-enter the building. No need to make you parade about every time.”

  “Wait, I’m supposed to work here?” I asked, though the answer was already quite obvious.

  “Unless you’d like to haul all of this downstairs and across town,” Richard said.

  He had a very good point. I’d gotten so used to the digital age that the idea of trucking paper around hadn’t even occurred to me. This was a useful lesson, though. Parahumans probably did most of their record keeping in the same manner as Richard. If I wanted to break into this segment of the market, I needed to adjust. And the sooner, the better.

  “No, you’re right; it’s easier to do it here.” I pulled my slim laptop from my briefcase and set it on the desk. “Fair warning, though, I do keep late hours.”

  “You are free to come and work anytime you like,” Richard said. “I really only use this room for playing computer games and hiding from my assistants. Yell if you need anything.”

  With that, he was out the door, and I was left to start the nigh-impossible task of sorting through Mount Papermanjaro.

  3.

  I first became aware of another presence in the office after roughly three hours of work, but it was entirely possible that the person had been there for far longer than I realized—vampire senses might be exceptional, but I’ve always had a tendency to zone-out when working. Once I noticed, however, it was very difficult to ignore. Partially because, like someone drawing your attention to a rickety ceiling fan you were previously ignoring as white noise, it is very difficult to lose awareness once it is gained. And also partially because a toy unicorn was thrown at my head.

  Credit to the pitching ability of my attacker; the plush figure struck me dead-center in the forehead, knocking my glasses somewhat askew. It is possible I let out a minor yelp of surprise, which I feel is perfectly forgivable given the unexpected interruption. I adjusted my glasses and glanced around, quickly scanning for any threats that required my special brand of dealing with (read: running away from). What I discovered was a small girl standing at the office door’s entrance. Her blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail, and she wore pink overalls, along with a curious expression.

  “Hello, Sally,” I greeted, carefully tossing back her toy. “How are you today?”

  “Bored,” she replied, strangely enthusiastic given the negative news she was relaying. “Gideon is gone and Daddy is busy, so there’s no one to play with.”

  I have never been particularly adept at picking up social cues, but this was a pitch slow enough for even me to get the speed of.

  “Ah,” I replied. “That does sound rather unfortunate. Your father has asked me to come in and help him with his work, so hopefully he’ll finish soon and be able to play with you.” It wasn’t technically a lie, which was good, because I’ve found children strangely capable of sniffing out small deceptions despite their tendencies to wholeheartedly embrace big ones.

  “But I’m bored now,” she reiterated.

  “Perhaps you could color in your books, or watch a movie.”

  “I tried. It’s not fun without Gideon.”

  It had always struck me as a bit odd that the King of the West served as a daily playmate for Richard’s daughter. I trusted that Gideon had his reasons; given his age and power, perhaps he simply took enjoyment in the innocent wonder only children could conjure. Still, it seemed strange. It also seemed like inadvertently angering his daily companion was not in my best interests.

  “I suppose we could play a small game,” I acquiesced. “But only if you promise to allow me to go back to my work when it’s concluded.”

  “Promise!” Sally yelled excitedly, darting off to her room. From the rummaging sounds echoing forth, I presumed she already had a game in mind and was now excavating it from the rubble that was any child’s toy chest. I glanced at the clock and wrote down the time. It would be unethical to bill for accounting work when I was merely playing with Sally, so I had to chart when I went on and off the clock.

  I carefully shut the doors to the office and stepped out into the living room. A quick scan told me that the coffee table would likely be an adequate space for all but the most sizable of board games. Then again, I was somewhat out of touch with the entertainment options purveyed to children these days, so it was possible the dining room table would present a more appropriate option. I was heading toward the aforementioned dining room when I realized the level of noise from Sally’s room had risen from merely “childish-roar” to “din of racket.”

  “Sally,” I called. “Do you need help locating your game?”

  The sound cut off immediately, which, in retrospect, should have been my first clue that something was amiss. Children do not
cease noise-making so instantaneously, as I have now learned. At the time, I had no such wisdom, so I ignored the red flag. After all, I was in the headquarters of the most powerful therian in the entire metropolis of Winslow, Colorado. What safer place could there be?

  “Sally?” I called again. This time, I received an answer, but it was not a verbal one. At least, not initially.

  The two men who stepped into the living room had several hundred pounds and a couple of feet on me. They wore dark clothing and ski-masks, but tufts of fur stuck out from the eyes and mouth holes. Therians, transformed into their hybrid forms. Despite the fascination of their sudden appearance and evident heritage, the most eye-catching feature about these two was the limp girl in the taller one’s arms. She had blonde hair styled in a ponytail and pink overalls, now stained with a small bit of blood.

  As anyone who has read my previous memoirs will be keenly aware, I am neither an aggressive nor anger-inclined being. I leave such tendencies to Krystal, who possesses the training and power to back them up. That said, upon seeing Sally’s body in their hands, I felt a curious prickle of cold in my stomach, and for the first time, I found myself wondering just how great a gap there was in the strength of a vampire and a therian.

  “This him?” asked the smaller invader, light red hairs sticking out of his mask.

  “Must be,” said the taller one, his own fur a dingy gray. His eyes focused on me, and when he next spoke, there was a new level of harshness in his voice. “Don’t move. The girl is just knocked out right now, but we can do a lot worse.”

  Whatever uncharacteristic fantasies I might have been entertaining vanished in a puff of reality. Sally’s safety was first priority, and I had no reason to assume these men were bluffing. They’d broken into Richard’s home and assaulted his daughter. These were actions of men either too bold or too stupid to care about the ramifications such an assault would bring.

  I raised my hands slowly, demonstrating my surrender.

  “What do we do with him?” This came from the smaller one, who I’d mentally dubbed Red on account of his fur color.

  “Bind him,” Gray instructed. “If we leave him be, he’ll just come after us once we’re gone.”

  I resisted the urge to cock my head in curiosity, but only because I feared for Sally’s safety if I made any sudden movements.

  “We could kill him,” Red suggested. I decided that I greatly disliked the smaller of these two, not just because he’d tossed out the idea of ending my life, but because I have no great affection for anyone whose first recourse to solving a problem is murderous violence. Thankfully, Gray shut down that idea immediately.

  “We want leverage, not a feud,” Gray reminded him. “If we kill her bodyguard, Alderson is going to demand blood in return. Keep him alive, and we have another bargaining chip.”

  “Fine,” Red agreed begrudgingly. He stepped toward me, pulling out a case from the fanny-pack resting on his hip. (Yes, you read that right. Evidently even criminals, unlike what films have led us to believe, sometimes have to put pragmatism over style and toughness.) As soon as he cracked it open, I recognized the scent: silver.

  After becoming a vampire, I’d quickly learned that the myths about silver were one of the things the lore got right. It weakened me, to the point where I was scarcely able to move when bound in the stuff. What I hadn’t known, until Krystal filled me in, was that silver did this to almost every kind of parahuman. It was a magic insulator, like rubber to electricity, and there were few supernatural creatures immune to its effects.

  That was likely why Red used great care as he wrapped the silver chains around my arms, then wrapped those around my torso, never touching them with any part of his body aside from the exceptionally thick gloves. When he finished with me, he did the same thing to Sally. I was actually somewhat glad she was being hindered. Sally was a precocious child who’d grown up with a powerful father. Without some binding, she might take action that would get her injured, and I had every desire to see such an incident avoided.

  “Done,” Red announced at last, wrapping a thick blanket over Sally’s chains, so that Gray could still carry her without encountering the silver himself. Even with their precautions, the proximity of the stuff had to be making them feel queasy. I was having trouble even standing, thanks to the amount of it encircling my body.

  Gray nodded and scooped her back up. “You walk in front,” he instructed me. “Say anything, try anything, vary from our orders in any way, and both of you are going to pay for it.”

  I demonstrated my understanding by moving forward, allowing myself to be nudged along at their discretion. I had no idea what was happening, but I knew Richard wouldn’t take the kidnapping of his daughter lightly. I just needed to keep watch over her until he recovered us. I also sincerely hoped he wouldn’t take too long.

  4.

  The trip to Red and Gray’s secret lair was largely uneventful; they put a rough canvas bag around my head and stuffed Sally and me into a black van. Even in the world of cinema, these tactics were cliché. I should know. I watched an absolute plethora of films about people with more interesting lives than me.

  During the ride, I did my best to stay calm. This endeavor was somewhat handicapped by my tendency to arrange things in mental lists when faced with a seemingly insurmountable situation. For organization and paperwork, it’s a godsend of a habit. When kidnapped and being held hostage by criminal therians, it was somewhat less effective. Nonetheless, the thoughts came unbidden, and I had soon numbered all the issues currently facing me:

  Sally and I were in the hands of people who either meant us harm or would inflict injury if conditions were not met.

  Since they had entered and led us out through a secret entrance, it stood to reason that Richard’s security had been compromised. That likely meant they had someone on the inside, which could hinder our rescue.

  Gideon was out of town, but even if he weren’t, he wouldn’t be able to intervene.

  My own friends would likely lend aid, but only if they were contacted in time. And given Richard’s stance on “defending his position,” that scenario seemed unlikely.

  I had less than five hours until sunrise.

  That last one was actually a bigger concern than its list position would indicate. I’d gone to Richard’s establishment in the relatively early evening; however, I’d burned several hours on the entrance and making a dent in the paperwork. Assuming this didn’t turn into a protracted situation, that left me with at least some time before the sun’s rays pierced the horizon,. Once that happened, my only hope would be if my captors kept us in a place without any exposure to sunlight. Given that we were hostages, that seemed like a reasonable possibility, hence its low position on the list.

  I heard brakes engage as the van came to a halt after nearly thirty minutes of driving. Rough hands directed me out the door. I managed to make it to a standing position without taking a tumble, although barely. Vampire reflexes and dexterity are lovely, but a blindfolded klutz is still a blindfolded klutz. Besides, being wrapped in silver meant I was in far from peak condition. More shoving had me walking at a brisk pace. Inwardly, I wondered why they didn’t take the bag off. Was there some incredible secret I’d be privy to if they allowed me the gift of vision? I doubted it. More likely, it simply didn’t occur to them.

  Our group passed through a doorway, after which I was hustled over to what turned out to be a small corner of the building. I learned this because the bag was at last removed, and I could finally take in my location: a dilapidated warehouse that could have easily served as the set for a low-budget action film. I began to wonder if I wasn’t the only one present who had spent too many nights alone on the couch with a pile of movies.

  “That the bodyguard?” This was a new voice, different from Red or Gray, and it drew my attention to the other creatures present in the building. There were roughly five of them, possibly more; with my senses smothered by silver, I was limited to noting only those direc
tly in my line of sight. Each appeared either human or therian, which didn’t surprise me given the context clues Red and Gray had dropped. The one who had spoken was a stocky man, shorter than the others and in full human form. In spite of his comparatively diminished stature, he held an air of authority that kept every eye in the room on him, my own included.

  “Has to be,” Red informed him. “Vampire would be strong enough, ‘specially if he’s fed off an alpha, and he surrendered as soon as we threatened the girl.”

  It said a lot to me that Red had jumped to the conclusion that I must be an employee because I cared that a little girl was being threatened. At his words, I realized I hadn’t seen Sally for a bit, and my eyes darted about furiously. I quickly found her; she was roughly twenty feet away, still bound in silver. She was awake, but remained silent. I prayed she would continue to have the good sense not to speak. This was not a situation where antagonization would benefit us.

  While I’d been looking at Sally, the shorter man had turned his direct attention on me. He strode over with careful, measured steps. Even though I was bound in silver, he was cautious. This was probably an intelligent attitude to take with most captured parahumans, however, in my case, it was a bit wasted. Silver or no, I was not a challenge to him, let alone him plus another four therians.

  “What’s your name?” His eyes were a light yellow, like the color of fresh bile.

  “Fredrick,” I responded. I didn’t want to lie if I could avoid it; he seemed like the type to take such things personally.

  He raised a slight eyebrow. “Fredrick?”

  “Most of my colleagues and friends call me Fred,” I admitted after a moment.

  “Fred the Vampire, huh? Fine, you can call me Orson.”