Undeath and Taxes

by Drew Hayes

  “By my guess, maybe fifty-fifty. It mostly hinges on Charlotte, but Mr. Price could mess things up if he refuses to go along with it.”

  “You seem oddly calm for going in with only a fifty percent shot at getting us out of here,” Asha said.

  I gave a small shrug. “Vampires don’t sweat. Otherwise, you’d see a lovely sheen of nervousness on my forehead. As for why I haven’t gone into full panic-attack mode, well, much as it pains me to admit this, fifty percent is actually pretty good odds compared to whatever trouble I’m usually stuck in.” I pointedly left out mentioning that the reason I’d pulled through on those other occasions was because of my friends; there was no reason to worry her right before showtime.

  Asha stared at me for a moment, and then shook her head. “You know, in all of the weirdness of tonight—vampires, magic houses, supernatural laws, the whole bundle—I think you’re still the strangest part.”

  We crossed the last step, settling into the foyer and moving toward the hallway. “What do you mean?”

  “Fred, you were the quietest, meekest, least socially skilled person in a room full of people who preferred numbers over people. The only reason I knew who you were is because you had a reputation for being super accurate and speedy. Now, you’re rolling with being stuck in a possessed house like it’s a rough day at the office and planning a way to fight back all the while. Not to mention you’ve managed to hold a conversation with me, a woman who has no issue saying she knows she’s good-looking, without getting flustered even once. Being a vampire sure changed you.”

  “No, it really didn’t,” I said. “Most of that, especially the last part, has all come from the people I’ve met after becoming a vampire. My girlfriend has a . . . unique . . . job; one that constantly puts me in situations outside my comfort zone. I suppose, after all that I’ve been through, and the friends I’ve made, a little basic socializing just doesn’t rate the terror it once did.”

  “Girlfriend, huh? Is she . . . like you?”

  I allowed myself to laugh at that insinuation, light chuckles rolling forth as Asha looked at me with increasing curiosity. “Not in the slightest,” I said at last. “Neither in terms of vampirism, nor personality, nor really anything. Krystal is Krystal. She’s one of a kind.”

  “Sounds like an interesting lady.” Asha halted as we arrived at the closed dining room doors. We exchanged a short glance, and I tightened my grip on the briefcase with my laptop (and quite possibly our salvation), inside. “You ready?”

  “Heavens no, but that’s never going to happen, so we might as well press on.” I raised my voice slightly and called into the empty hallway. “Charlotte, we’re going to enter now. If you’d be so kind as to make sure the doors are unlocked, I would greatly appreciate it.”

  Asha grabbed the handle and pulled, easily sliding the door aside and revealing a dining room and the rest of our companions. Troy and Cliff were over in a corner, while Mr. Price had retaken his seat at the head of the table. They all looked at us as we stepped through, minds reeling at what had to be yet another surprise. Sadly, they were in for a few more of those before the night was through.

  “Asha!” Troy yelped, rushing over to her. He made it three steps before a small hole opened in the floor, causing his foot to go through and sending him sprawling on the ground.

  “Tut tut, no running toward open doors. Your friend went through a lot of pleading to convince me to hold this meeting. Don’t waste his effort.” Charlotte had appeared in the seat across from Mr. Price, the one that had sat empty during our dinner. She was once again wearing the illusion of the waiter, though now I noticed some of the female features from her dress-wearing form in his face. “Hurry in, you two.”

  Asha and I finished our entrance, the door forcefully sliding closed as soon as we were through. She went over to check on Troy, while I made a beeline for the table and set my briefcase down.

  “Glad to see you’re all right,” Mr. Price said. “We were exploring the upstairs when the floor opened up under us and sent us all the way down here. Damn near a miracle we didn’t break anything.”

  “Yes, that was my fault,” I told him. I didn’t bother to look at the confused face he was no doubt showing me. Instead, I focused on getting my laptop pulled up. “A meeting was in order, and Charlotte was kind enough to accommodate my request of gathering everyone together.”

  It had actually taken quite a bit of convincing to get her to send everyone to the dining room, especially since it went past the hour deadline, but I’d been adamant that it would be worthwhile. The upside was that it meant she’d kept Mr. Price alive that much longer; unfortunately, the downside was that, if she didn’t go for my proposal, she was likely to be fed up and would kill him on the spot.

  “Charlotte?” Mr. Price asked.

  “We’ll get to that in a few moments.” I finished setting up the laptop and looked over at Asha, who had pulled Troy back to his feet. From the way he favored one of his legs, it seemed he had twisted something on the way down. Even though I disliked Troy, I felt for him. The poor man was not having the best of nights, getting abused both mentally and physically. “If everyone could take a seat, we can get started.”

  The others made their way to the table and retook their same chairs, with one exception. Asha plopped down next to me before Cliff could, leaving the rumpled man to take the vacant spot by Troy. As everyone stared at me, I pulled a bundle of papers from my briefcase, generous amounts of script adorning each one.

  “Today, you are all gathered here to serve as witnesses to Charlotte Manor’s acquisition of its own deed and ownership.” I handed the documents to Asha, who began passing them out to their recipients. “This being done under subsection four-c-eleven of the Disembodied Spirit Property Repossession Act, which states that any dwelling can be seized by its inhabitant if it is the original owner and the papers are filed within two months of passing, or if the dwelling has remained unoccupied for two consecutive years, save for the spirit in forced residence.”

  “I’m not a ghost. We already went over this.” Charlotte’s fingers drummed on the table, making a muted knocking sound despite the fact that they were only illusionary.

  “We’re getting to that,” I said, keeping my voice as calm and patient as possible. I’d once read that showing certain emotions will make others inclined to replicate them. For all our sakes—and especially Mr. Price’s—I hoped that worked. “Asha, if you would.”

  “Based on the precedents set by Cherie vs. Derkin’s Impound Lot, animated objects with sentience are considered disembodied spirits for purposes of the rights and treaties they are obliged to,” Asha said. If she felt at all silly about citing a case where an animated car sued for parts of its engine back, she didn’t show it. The woman was a professional, regardless of the circumstances. “This means that Charlotte Manor, who is referred to in the contracts I wrote up as Party A, is entitled to exercise the Disembodied Spirit Repossession Act just as any formerly human entity would be.”

  I handed Charlotte her copy of the contract, which she immediately began reading. I chose to take that as a good sign, since she wouldn’t have bothered if she thought I was completely full of it. It was going about as well as I could have hoped, which was, of course, the thought in my mind right as Troy piped up.

  “What the hell are you two talking about? Disembodied spirit acts? Are you trying to make a joke out of all this?”

  “I must admit, I’m confused as well,” Mr. Price said. “These are very exhaustive and creative fake contracts, but I fail to see what you two are trying to accomplish with this pretense.”

  Charlotte sat up like a bolt and locked eyes with me. “Fake contracts?”

  I confess, in the sudden, unexpected turn of the situation’s momentum, my mind froze and speech failed me. Luckily, Asha was more experienced at high-stakes negotiation, and she was hardly the type to choke when it counted.

  “The contracts are very real, I wrote them up myself.”
She flexed her hand, which was no doubt cramping after all the writing she’d had to do in only an hour. “Mr. Price just doesn’t understand the laws we’re referencing, because he’s . . . do you all have a word for someone who doesn’t know about all of this?”

  “Human,” Charlotte replied. Her tone was frosty, but her eyes went back to the page as she continued reading.

  “Asha is quite correct,” I said, my tongue finally obeying signals to move once more. “Everything here is thorough and genuine. Once the papers are filed, you will take possession of this home in a legal and binding manner. The man who currently holds it will receive a reasonable percentage of income generated through its use for the next twenty years as compensation, but will otherwise have no claim on the property or rights to sell it.”

  “You’re saying that I would be the one who owned me.” Charlotte glanced up from the contract, eyes still narrowed, but with a slight twinkle of hope behind them. “That’s not something you should promise if you can’t deliver. I won’t take it lightly.”

  “By every statute and law we could find, it holds up,” I told her. “Additionally, everyone here will be signing documents that serve to show us as witnesses to the transaction, and gag orders about what happened here.”

  “You want to me sign what?” Troy said, half-rising out of his chair. It scooted forward, catching him behind the knees and sending him right back down. From the way he winced on landing, I suspected he might now have added a bruised tailbone to his list of injuries.

  “A non-disclosure,” Asha snapped at him. “Tonight’s deal is being done in confidence, which means unless you’re being called on in your capacity as a witness, no one is allowed to talk about the things we’ve seen or experienced since setting foot in this mansion.”

  “And honestly, would you really want to?” I added. “Think about how absurd this series of events will seem to someone who wasn’t here to experience it firsthand. It sounds like a lie in the best case, deranged ravings in the worst.”

  Mr. Price had been about to speak, but my words sealed his mouth and turned his attention back to the contract. He might not know what to believe about the things happenings to him; however, he did understand that he was in danger and this might get him out of it.

  “This all sounds too good to be true,” Charlotte interrupted. “What’s the catch, Fred?”

  “The catch is that these people, all of them, are the witnesses to your ownership,” I told her. “It’s written in your contract, and neither Asha nor I will change it. If you want us to file the papers—if you really want to be in control of your own body—then you have to let everyone leave here alive.”

  “How do I know you won’t tear up the contracts as soon as you leave my walls?” Charlotte asked.

  “Because in your stack of papers is one hiring Fletcher Accounting Services as your de facto representative for various accounting and filing matters, since you obviously aren’t able to leave the premises. If you sign, you become one of my clients, and I have not built my business on the back of broken deals.”

  “Is it me, or does he seem way too comfortable with how impossible all of this is?” Cliff whispered to Troy. I ignored the question, largely because I didn’t want to consider the implications. I was somewhat exposing my secret to them by doing this—there was no way to seal the deal without that risk—but hopefully I could think of a viable lie once we were all safely outside.

  “You’re asking me for a lot of trust, Fred. I like you, and you talked a good game, but once you’re out the door, I’ve got no guarantees.”

  “Can I say something?” Mr. Price asked, looking up from the papers he’d been combing through. When no one objected, he took that as permission and continued. “I’ll confess that I don’t entirely understand what’s going on here. In fact, I’m starting to wonder if I got food poisoning from the first course and this whole thing is just a bad dream, but I do know something about Fletcher Accounting Services. I researched this man’s company thoroughly before I even considered working with him, and I couldn’t find a single spot on his record. Far as I was able to tell, he’s prompt, accurate, and has zero instances of broken contracts. If you’re going to trust someone here, you could do worse than Fredrick Fletcher.”

  “The endorsement is a little hard to take as earnest when he’s advocating for your life,” Charlotte replied.

  “Maybe so, but before all this started, I was seriously considering doing business with the man; that’s why he was here in the first place. I’ve been coming here for years, and you said earlier that you knew me well. So, think about this, would I really have invited someone who didn’t run a clean, tight ship to a final interview?”

  Charlotte stared at the large, bearded man for several seconds before her gaze turned to me. She was almost there, so close I could practically see her reaching for a pen. All she needed was one more small push.

  “Charlotte, I promise, I’m going to take care of you. After all, we’re of a kind, and we have to look out for each other.”

  Excruciatingly slowly, Charlotte began to nod. “All right, Fred. If everyone here signs the contracts, then I’ll let you all go. I’m trusting you, one of us to another.”

  “You won’t regret it,” I promised her.

  “I don’t know what the fuck you all are talking about, but there is no way I’m sign—” Troy’s great attempt at defying the course of the conversation was halted as Asha kicked him in the shin under the table. I could have heard the impact even without my vampire senses, and I noted Troy’s eyes watering just a touch at the edges.

  “Don’t worry about him. He’ll be happy to sign,” Asha assured us.

  Charlotte held out her hand to me. “Well, Fred, let’s pass out the pens and be done with this night.”

  9.

  As Mr. Price drove off in his car—Cliff riding shotgun since his own vehicle was temporarily ornamental—I kept a firm grip on the briefcase holding everyone’s contracts. Of course, we’d taken photographs of them as soon as they were signed, both to provide copies to the signers and to serve as back-ups, but things could get murky if the originals were lost. Since Charlotte was a new client, I would hate to set a poor precedent by making things more complicated for her. That was, after all, the opposite of what a good accountant should do.

  Asha finished helping Troy into the car they’d shared over, setting him upright and helping him buckle the seatbelt. My guess was that his next stop would be a nearby hospital. He didn’t seem to have broken anything, but he was no doubt in need of getting a few things x-rayed and hopefully receiving some painkillers.

  With Troy settled, Asha walked back over to me, a half-smile curving across her face as she looked at the house that had held her captive for much of the evening. Charlotte stood on the porch, once more in the appearance of a woman wearing a century old style of dress. Despite her technically genderless nature, somewhere along the line, I’d begun thinking of Charlotte as a “her.” That might not have been proper, but she’d yet to correct me, and referring to a client as “it” felt wrong on multiple levels. Especially for a parahuman.

  “Be honest with me: am I going to wake up tomorrow and be able to pretend this was all a bad dream?” Asha asked.

  “Honestly, I’m not sure. Lots of people do, but you went in pretty deep. If you try, really try with all your might, then you might one day be able to lie yourself into believing it was something other than it was.”

  “I figured you’d say something like that,” Asha replied. “Thing is: I am terrible at lying to myself.”

  “Then you might be good and well stuck on this side of the curtain.”

  “It could be worse. At least I know the monster under the bed has certain laws he has to follow. Who knows, maybe when I get home, I’ll go buy a copy of that role-playing book and see exactly what those rules are.”

  “Shouldn’t you get some sleep instead?”

  It was Asha’s turn to laugh, and she did so freely, lett
ing out a half-frantic giggle that was probably a mixture of relief at being free and terror at the truths she’d learned about the world. “No, Fred. I don’t see myself getting any decent sleep for a long time.”

  “In that case, go to the book’s website. There are free .PDFs you can download. Should keep your brain occupied until sunrise.”

  “Good to know.” Asha’s mad bubbles of laughter subsided, and she looked at the imposing silhouette of Charlotte Manor against the moonlight flooding down on us. “How do you do it, Fred? How do you live every day knowing that there are all sorts of terrible, horrifying things that really could be waiting in the shadows? How do you even get out of bed?”

  “It helps that I’ve met a lot of those ‘things,’ and most of them are just like regular people. They work, they worry, and they do their best to survive. Even Charlotte, for all the craziness she put us through, was just afraid of being killed. But, at the end of the day, I suppose I have a source of comfort you don’t: I am one of those terrible, horrifying things.”

  “I didn’t mean it like . . . I’m sorry.” Asha jingled the keys in her hand as she turned away from me. “It’s been a long night. I need to go home, decompress, and try to make sense of all this.”

  “I find a good merlot helps tremendously,” I told her.

  “Not a bad idea.” Asha glanced back at me over her shoulder. “Good luck with everything, Fred. Maybe I’ll see you around some time.”

  “For all our sakes, let’s hope next time is a bit tamer.”

  Asha gave a curt nod, and then headed to her car. She slid in, pointedly ignoring whatever Troy was talking to her about, and revved the engine. Moments later, they were gone, little more than fading tail lights on the half-deserted concrete road.

  “Credit where it’s due: she took that better than most people,” Charlotte said from the porch. “The mages used to initiate new recruits in my basement, and a lot of them just broke down after learning about the supernatural world.”

  “Hard to blame them.” I walked up the steps and took a seat on one of the antique rocking chairs set out on the porch. “Truthfully, it took me about a week to leave my bed after I’d made the transition, and I was arguably far better off for it.”