Undeath and Taxes

by Drew Hayes

  “Agreed,” Mr. Price said. “I don’t want to touch any more of this stuff. You hear that, whoever you are?” He tilted his head back and raised his voice, looking as though he were quite perturbed with the ceiling. “We’re done with dinner! Take it all ‘cause we aren’t eating another bite!”

  The slight sound of a door whispering open came from behind him, and the empty cart rolled out along the carpet. There was no one steering it, yet it moved with immaculate precision. As it circled the table, our plates, napkins, and silverware floated away from us and onto the cart, as if being scooped up by an invisible hand. The others watched in slack-jawed shock, an expression I quickly mirrored as soon as I realized the need.

  As the cart finished its circle and began heading back toward the kitchen, Troy was struck with some sort of realization. He bolted up from the table and made a run for the kitchen door, no doubt assuming it was unlocked to let the cart through. Troy scarcely made it a single step before something gave way beneath his feet and he was sent crashing to the floor. By the time he recovered, the cart was gone and the kitchen door firmly shut.

  Before we had the chance to comment on the strange occurrence, the waiter’s voice echoed out from an unseen location, bouncing off the walls at too many angles to trace.

  “Now that dinner is done, please feel free to relax in our other facilities before bed. Mr. Price, the clock is ticking.”

  Then the voice was gone, and we were plunged into a short-lived silence. It was broken by the least likely sound any of us had expected: one of our barriers being lifted. The dining room doors slid gently open, revealing the hallway we’d entered through.

  Dinner was clearly over, though we had no idea what next lay in store.

  5.

  Everyone else made a mad dash for the hallway, but I forced myself to hang back. Despite seeing how Troy’s attempt at bashing through the window had yielded him nothing more than injury, I was curious to take my own crack at it. My vampire strength had cost me no less than six keyboards when I was first turned and before I learned to keep it under control. Tonight, it might be good for something other than tipping up the fridge when I swept my floors. The catch was that, unfortunately, I couldn’t very well go showing it off in front of my very human co-captives.

  I’d been searching through my brain, trying to think of a method I could use to get them to leave me alone long enough to see if I could open us a door to freedom. As it turned out, I needn’t have bothered with the effort. Asha, the last of the bunch save for me, had no sooner crossed the door’s threshold when they slammed back together, separating me from the rest of the group.

  “I can’t imagine this is a good sign,” I muttered softly. My eyes swept the room several times, coming up with nothing. Then, as suddenly as before, the waiter was simply there, standing in front of me with his hands raised.

  “I’m glad you hung back. I was going to grab you so we could talk, anyway,” the waiter said. Unlike before, the dominance had slipped out of his voice. It was a strange effect, like speaking to an actor when he has just walked off stage and slipped out of his persona.

  “Why? What could we have to talk about?”

  “First off, I wanted to apologize. This really isn’t the sort of service standard I try to set here. Secondly, I wanted to let you go.” He gestured to the window, which opened soundlessly. When I thought about it, there didn’t seem to be any sound coming from outside the room either. Strange, I’d have expected the others to at least make a ruckus and bang on the door.

  “Not that I don’t appreciate the gesture, but would you mind telling me why I get a pass?”

  He stared at me for a few moments, brow furrowed and head tilted just a few degrees off center. “Because I obviously have a lot on my plate tonight, and I’d really rather not deal with an angry vampire on top of it. I love a supernatural throw down as much as anyone else, just not this evening.”

  “Ah, right. Of course. We vampires are a fearsome, terrifying lot.” That was true in the sense that vampires as a whole were respected in the parahuman community, even if I didn’t precisely fit the expected mold. “Though I confess, I’m not sure how I’d even hurt a ghost.”

  “A ghost? You haven’t been at this for very long, have you?”

  “Turned only a couple of years ago,” I admitted.

  “But still holding down a human job like accounting. That’s . . . interesting.” He shot me another curious look, then walked over to the dinner table. As he drew near, a chair pulled itself out and he took a seat. “They said you’re name was Fred, wasn’t it?”

  “Fredrick Frankford Fletcher, though yes, most people do call me Fred.” I walked to the table and sat down across from him, keeping us eye to eye. I wasn’t entirely sure what was going on, but it seemed that the longer we talked, the less chance he had to be threatening and killing my associates.

  “Nice to meet you, Fred. I’m Charlotte.”

  “Interesting. Should I assume there’s a reason behind the feminine name when you’re clearly male?”

  He looked confused for a moment, then glanced down at himself and let out a small chuckle. “This? This is just a form I use for dinner service.” His whole body began to ripple, and when it ended, I was staring at the kindly old woman who’d greeted me at the entrance. Another ripple, and this time Charlotte was a lovely young woman wearing a conservative dress that looked to be from the turn of the century. “All just images I create to facilitate guest service. The truth is I don’t have a gender, Fred, because I’m not a ghost. I still have my body, and you’re in it right now.”

  My mind flashed back to the sign I’d seen when entering, the placard that read “Charlotte Manor.”

  “You’re a house?” I’d like to say that, after all I’d seen, I was able to keep my voice calm and show no signs of surprise, but I was unable to do any such thing. Even in the loose terms of what I associated with “normal,” this was stretching things.

  “That community Mr. Price talked about, the ones that used to live here, it was a cult of mages,” Charlotte told me. “Animating a domicile isn’t easy, but they had the time and persistence to keep trying until they got it right. Wanted a safe-house that would be impenetrable, a shelter in case things went awry. Thus, me.” Charlotte stretched out her . . . his . . . its . . . let’s just stick with her, since the house’s form was currently female. She stretched out her arms in a ta-da motion, and flashed on oversized grin. “Anyway, once they died off, it was just me, so I decided to use the magic they’d laid in me—the ability to create food, control of my interior, that stuff—to create a bed and breakfast. Nice, useful, and no one ever tries to tear them down . . . usually.”

  “I see. May I ask what happened to those who animated you?” I didn’t want to pry, but finding out a cauldron (which is the proper term for a group of mages; I know, I was surprised too) had lived and died on the edge of my town provoked more than a touch of curiosity and concern.

  Charlotte leaned her head back and looked up at the ceiling. “What do you think happened to a bunch of mages that lived apart from society, practiced crazy weird magic, and felt the need for a magical safe-house?”

  “Agents?”

  “Agents.” Charlotte nodded and looked back down at me. “Don’t get me wrong, I hear everything within my walls, and I’m glad the agents stepped in. Those folks were not planning anything pleasant. Still, it left me stranded here. I’ve been able to cover up the fact that the house was uninhabited all these years, but if Mr. Price finds the owner, he’ll sell in a heartbeat. You understand, don’t you? This is self-defense. I don’t want to be torn down.”

  “I do understand.” As I spoke, I rose from the table, carefully pushing my chair back as I moved. “But, Charlotte, there must be another way. Mr. Price and the others are innocent of any malice; they had no way of knowing that destroying a building would cause a living thing harm. I’m sure there’s a reasonable, non-killing solution we can reach.”

&nbs
p; “Like what? Tell them that I’m an animated house, oh and that the supernatural is all completely real? Even if they bought it, which would be a stretch for Mr. Price, it would open up a whole new can of issues. I realize that what I’m doing isn’t a permanent solution, but it buys me time.” Charlotte rose from her seat as well, the hem of her dress nearly dragging on the floor. “I’m sorry about the job opportunity and getting you involved in this. Maybe one day I can make it up to you. But for better or worse, I’ve set my course. Please leave, so I can see things through.”

  “You are very kind to offer me freedom.” I stared at the open window, imagining myself leaping out of it. Once free, I could contact Krystal and the others, get the sort of help I knew could handle these problems. Of course, Charlotte had been built specifically to be a fortress and keep people out. While I was certain Krystal could find a way in, I was far less sure about whether the others would still be alive by the time she did. Maybe we’d be able to save some, but not all.

  There was no excuse that let me skirt the simple truth of the situation: if I took my leave, people were going to die. Even knowing that, I was still deeply tempted to fool myself and accept Charlotte’s offer. After all, my being there didn’t guarantee their safety. I wasn’t Krystal; I didn’t know how to stop something like Charlotte. All hanging in would do was put me in danger as well. What would that possibly accomplish?

  “As much as I appreciate your gesture, I have to decline it.” I stared at Charlotte, whose face was steadily darkening. “While I don’t mean to make war with you, I also can’t just leave these people alone. Maybe if I’m here, if I talk to them, we can find a solution that saves everyone.”

  “You’re a nice man, Fred, but you really haven’t been a parahuman for very long.” Charlotte motioned to the doors behind me, which slid open to reveal an empty hallway. “Sooner or later, we all end up in a situation where our only choices are to kill or be killed. It’s unavoidable, and if you don’t face the reality of that before your time comes, then you’ll find yourself dead in the permanent fashion. You can’t save everyone, Fred. You’ll be lucky if you can even save yourself.”

  Then she was gone, and I was alone. Except I wasn’t, not really. Everywhere I went, Charlotte would be watching me. I was, after all, treading around inside of her. Which meant I needed to find the others as soon as possible.

  Scarce as time was, I still stopped to grab my briefcase from the floor where I’d set it. I had the barest inkling of an idea, and it would require my laptop to execute. Of course, first I’d have to try and make sure everyone was still alive.

  I dearly missed the days when changes to the tax code were the most stressful parts of my job.

  6.

  The hallway was empty, though I did notice the carpet in front of the door was slightly bunched up, as if a lot of movement had occurred in a short period of time. Maybe they’d tried to break the door down once I was cut off from them. Or perhaps they’d merely beaten a hasty retreat to safer grounds. We were associates, not friends, after all.

  A quick glance to the foyer of the house told me that they weren’t there, though I did notice one of the tables that held vases had been moved. Probably another attempt at using force to procure an exit; one that had met with obvious failure. With the foyer and main hall ruled out, that left me several areas on the ground floor to search, to say nothing of the expanse of rooms over my head. True, I could dart about frantically, bouncing from room to room until I hit something, but that seemed like a risky strategy. With so much space to work in, Charlotte could easily keep shuffling them to different areas as I searched, like a magician slipping cards up her sleeve.

  Sound was obviously a possibility; however, the way she’d managed to muffle my companions the moment the doors closed hinted to the fact that either the rooms were magically soundproof or Charlotte could make them so; either scenario rendered my hearing useless.

  I did have one more trick up my sleeve, though it was one I was loathe to use. All vampires, at least so far as I knew, have a sense of smell as keen as a bloodhound. Though I actively blocked it out the vast majority of the time, I too possessed that skill. What’s more, the thing I was searching for was what the primal part of my undead brain was wired to track: humans. It would have been easier if one of them had cut themselves—the scent of blood sang out so fiercely that it took all my willpower not to be overwhelmed if I was close to it. Still, vampires hunted plenty of non-bleeding humans, so I should be able to follow their trails.

  My eyes closed as I tried to extend my sense of smell. The last time I had attempted any real tracking was several months back, when we thought Amy was kidnapped and were trying to find her. Ultimately, that hadn’t been the case at all, but it had still given me the chance to practice a bit under Richard’s guidance. Therians could track far better than vampires at anything save for blood, so it was a worthwhile learning experience. Short though his tutelage was, I still remembered the basics. I mentally combed through the scents of the house, searching for one I recognized.

  The first one I located was, unfortunately, the worst of the lot. Cliff Puckett, the determined man who had run two miles after his car broke down, was still leaving a musty, sweaty trail of scent wherever he went. As soon as I found it, I nearly gagged, then wondered how on earth I’d missed the thing in the first place. My selective attention was better than I gave it credit for.

  Following Cliff’s scent was effortless in terms of tracking, but required significant willpower in that I had to force myself not to try and lose the lingering odor. I trailed it down the hall, to where Cliff had entered and exited the dining room, back to the foyer where it hovered near the front door. From there, it trailed around through the parlor room and began ascending a staircase.

  As my pursuit continued, I tightened my hold on the briefcase clutched in my hand. The longer they were away from me, the higher a chance Charlotte would attack. I might have let my worry turn to panic, if not for the simple fact that I’d yet to catch the scent of any blood. Powerful as Cliff’s funk was, not even it could overcome the red flags my brain would throw if I caught scent of the life-essential liquid. No blood meant, hopefully, that no one was dead yet. There were certainly bloodless ways to kill, but I doubted an animated house would have access to them. Or perhaps I should say I hoped she wouldn’t, as I really had no idea what Charlotte was capable of. My knowledge of the parahuman world came from tax codes and movies, neither of which was especially helpful in this situation.

  After several minutes of carefully following the odorous smell of Cliff Puckett, it at last came to an end. I found myself standing in front of an oak door with a golden knob, which I will admit did go well with the red carpet and trim adorning the upstairs hall. It was closed, and I heard not so much as a peep from inside, but the sweat trail Cliff had left behind didn’t lie. This was where at least some of the others were.

  I grabbed the knob and tried to turn it, finding so little give it seemed as though the thing had been welded into place. I tried again, giving it some of the undead oomph, and found I could move it ever-so-slightly. So, Charlotte’s stopping power could be overcome by brute force, just not the sort that any human could generate. It was good to know; however, I preferred to avoid such tactics whenever possible.

  “Charlotte,” I said, keeping my voice down just in case she decided to start broadcasting my words to the other side of the door. “I would very much like to go see the others, but your door seems to be jammed. I wonder if you’d be so kind as to open it up for me.”

  Another twist of the knob, another failure.

  “Let’s be reasonable here. I’m being polite, and despite the fact that we both know I could knock down the door, I really don’t want to. It’s a lovely piece, excellent craftsmanship. I realize you don’t think I’ll find a compromise, but the least you could do is let me try. Please.”

  There was a slight sound from the door, and this time when I tried, it opened so easily it see
med like the hinges had been greased. I pulled back the oak barrier to find myself looking into a sizable and lavish bedroom. It had white carpeting, gold trim, a hand-crafted writing desk, and a four-poster bed that looked downright elegant. If not for the threat of violence, I might have enjoyed this establishment’s accommodations enough to book an evening for Krystal and me.

  “Fred? You’re alive?” Asha rose from her seat, racing across the room and giving me an enthusiastic hug. “We thought you’d been killed!”

  “Ah, no, just a little extra fear thrown my way,” I replied, carefully extricating myself from her grip. I understood emotions were running high, but propriety was still propriety, and I was spoken for. “Glad to see the rest of you are doing okay.”

  “That’s one way to put it,” Troy grumbled. He and Cliff were sitting on the ground near a stone fireplace, his hand gripping his injured shoulder.

  “After we tried to bust you out, then failed to break the front door down, we finally decided to start exploring up here to see if we could find anything useful. We stayed together, so when the door slammed shut, we all got stuck here as a unit,” Mr. Price informed me. “By the way, so far we’ve found all of jack-shit.”

  “Whoever these people are, they really built themselves a hell of deathtrap,” Troy noted.

  “Impossibly so,” Asha added, walking back to the middle of the room. “I mean that literally; some of the stuff they’ve been doing seems basically impossible.”

  “With sufficient technology, anything can be done, or at least, appear to be done. Obviously, they threw a lot of money into special effects,” I told her. As I stepped in, I expected to hear the door slam shut behind me, but no such noise emanated. Evidently, Charlotte was content to let us leave this room now that I’d broken the proverbial seal. “Speaking of, I might have an idea that could get us out of this.”