First Semester

by Jace Mitchell

  Dr. Byron grinned as she returned to the group. Jack was getting up, ready to fight again.

  “I always get a little kick out of mocking you, as you well know, Ms. Hinterland. However, that’s not why I’m here. We don’t have class until tomorrow, and I wanted to give you an update on what’s happening outside of these grounds.”

  Marissa turned away from the action on the field and looked at the professor. “What do you mean?”

  Claire leaned on the pole, shoving it into the dirt. “Yeah, this is new.”

  Dr. Byron didn’t take his eyes from Jack. He was fighting valiantly, especially for someone with only one good arm. “I know you three are scared, and I know you’re not exactly exuberant about getting out in the field. When I went to war, I was the same. I imagine all people are their first time. It’s fallen on Dr. Kilgore and me to get you ready for it, though, and that includes letting you know the truth about what we’re facing.”

  Claire sighed. “Quit with the preamble. What is going on?”

  Dr. Byron’s face didn’t change with her pressure. He kept staring stoically at Jack, who was retreating from the physically superior Kilgore. “These cults don’t appear to just be in America. I wasn’t aware of them until a few days ago. The FBI was playing that very close to its chest. However, there was a serious attack in Europe last night.”

  “Europe?” Marissa’s eyes grew wide. “Vampires?”

  Dr. Byron shook his head. “No. The cults don’t seem to be seeking the same creatures in each instance. Last night, a group of hellhounds ran through London, savaging anyone they came in contact with. The death toll is still being counted.” He grew quiet.

  Claire watched his face. “Hellhounds?” she whispered.

  Marissa nodded as if to herself. “Dogs that supposedly guard the gates of Hell.”

  Byron nodded. “For that many to show up in one place, they think it’s cult activity. It’s not like the one-offs, or those Asclepius staffs that keep falling from the sky.” He shoved his hands into his pockets.

  He’s scared, Claire thought. He won’t ever say it, but that’s what the severity written all over his face means. He’s scared of what’s coming.

  “I just wanted the three of you to recognize how important it is that you get up to speed quickly,” the professor told them. “But, if Mr. Teams out there is taking it as seriously as he appears to be, then I imagine you two are as well.”

  Jack dropped to his knees and swiped forward with his stake, actually hitting Kilgore’s leg. The bigger man’s hand whipped out and slapped Jack’s face with his knuckles, sending him sprawling across the grass.

  “Good work, Jack-boy.” Kilgore smiled and reached to help lift him off the ground. “You touched me, though. You left yourself open to die.”

  Jack took his hand away from his reddening face. He was smiling. “I don’t give a flying fuck. I got you, ya big bastard.” He took Kilgore’s hand and pushed off from the ground.

  Claire didn’t look at Dr. Byron as she spoke but kept her eyes on the smiling teacher and student. “We’re taking it seriously. I promise.”

  Exhaustion didn’t begin to describe what Claire felt. Her very bones wept with weariness, but she couldn’t rest yet.

  Do you know when you’ll actually be able to? she asked herself.

  Of course, she didn’t.

  “Lass, you look like a bag of smashed assholes.” Frank handed her the basket of fries. “Hopefully, these will help.”

  “Thanks, Frank. You always know how to make a girl feel better.” Claire took the fries and placed them on the small bowling alley table.

  They were at the twenty-four-hour place again.

  Claire had told Pritcham she needed a ride to the bowling alley after classes were done for the day.

  “Why?” Pritcham asked.

  “You heard Remington and Lance. They want me to talk to Frank. He’s got a predilection for coming and going as he pleases, so I don’t know when I’ll see him again unless I show up at one of his haunts.”

  Pritcham hadn’t argued, only asked if Claire wanted the dean to drive her or to request an Uber.

  Claire took the Uber because she didn’t want to have to worry about getting picked back up. She certainly didn’t feel comfortable calling the dean at three in the morning and asking for a ride. Claire might ask Frank, but after his driving last time, she thought that might end up with her wrapped around a telephone pole.

  If he gets pulled over, he better teleport quickly, or he’s going into the slammer. No way he’s got a driver’s license, she thought.

  Claire had shown up here, and sure enough, Frank had been bowling alone. He got a strike and turned around, his eyes spying her immediately. A grin broke out across his face, and true happiness that warmed Claire’s heart. The two of them talked a lot of shit, but they were close friends, even if they weren’t able to see each other much.

  Now, Frank ignored the pins waiting for him and sat down across from her. His hand darted forward to grab a fry.

  Claire probably could have slapped it away, but she was too tired to even try. “Enjoy it while you can, green man.”

  Frank chomped loudly on the fry. “Never insult Frank like that. A man? Ha! I’d rather be a liderc.”

  “A liderc?” Claire took a fry. Her arm hurt to move, the muscles full of lactic acid and very sore.

  “A wannabe leprechaun. Either way, lass, don’t call me a man.” He winked at her and Claire shot a faint smile back. “Now, tell Frank why ye came out this late at night if you’re clearly feeling so awful?”

  Claire looked at the upright pins. “You not going to bowl?”

  “Ye let Frank deal with Frank’s business,” the leprechaun told Claire, pointing at her. “I’ll bowl when I’m damn well ready. Now, quit ignoring me questions. What’s goin’ on with ye, lass?”

  Claire chuckled. “I think I’d rather know about where you’ve been first. You seem to have kept yourself busy over the past week.”

  “Church,” Frank replied quickly.

  Claire raised both eyebrows. “Oh, no. You haven’t been at any church, Frank. Not unless you’ve been drinking communion wine?” Her eyes narrowed as she studied her friend. “Oh, I know where you’ve been.”

  She smiled at Frank’s look of worry. “There are lady leprechauns here, aren’t there? You’ve been getting a workout in at night, but not by bowling?”

  Claire couldn’t be sure, but she thought a red hue was growing across Frank’s face.

  The leprechaun stood up without saying a word, grabbed a bowling ball, and then sent it right down the gutter. “DAMN IT!” he shouted, stomping his foot. He whipped around. “That’s your fault! All these accusations! False, might I add! False and inflammatory!”

  He stomped back to the table and sat down.

  Claire started laughing because there was definitely red beneath his green skin.

  “Enough o’ that. Mayhap I do have a lady friend, and mayhap I don’t.” Frank tapped his finger hard on the table. “It’s none o’ yer business.”

  “Hey, Frank, I’m happy for ya.” Claire grabbed a fry and popped it into her mouth to keep from laughing anymore. She could tell Frank was genuinely embarrassed.

  Frank frowned. “Now, what brings ye out here this late?”

  The sound of pins being set up echoed through the empty alley.

  “You trust me, Frank?” Claire asked, meeting her friend’s eyes with a solemn look.

  “Aye, trust ye as much as I trust anyone, which isn’t much. Us leprechauns are not a trusting breed by nature.” Frank reached for the beer to his left and took a large sip. “But, aye, I trust ye, Claire.”

  Claire hesitated. “Good, because I would never do anything that could get you hurt, Frank. You’re my friend, and I value that a lot.”

  Frank sat back in his chair, a skeptical smirk on his face. “Something is most definitely going on. Let Frank hear it.”

  “The FBI wants your help.” Claire t
ried to keep a straight face as she said it, but a grin broke out. “Seriously. They asked me to ask you.”

  “This is the group who is training you to kill creatures like me?” Frank folded his hands over his chest. “Ye expect me to believe they’re asking for help?”

  Claire put her hands out, palms up. “I know. I know. It sounds crazy, but you have to hear me out. I’m telling you the truth.”

  Frank shot Claire a skeptical look and sunk deeper into his chair. “Go on, lass, but Frank didn’t get to be hundreds of years old by believing in fairy this establishment such atales.”

  “Frank, you are a fairy tale,” Claire told him with a quizzical look on his face.

  Frank’s expression grew more exasperated. “Are ye going to tell me what the hell you’re talking about, or are we going to argue about who created who?”

  Claire sighed and looked at her fries. “Okay, so there’s real trouble here in Boston. You know what vampires are, Frank?”

  “What, do you think I’m some kind of an idiot?” he asked. “Of course, I do. Where I’m from, everyone stays away from ‘em. They’re not to be trusted.”

  Claire glanced up. “That’s a tough judgment coming from a leprechaun. Either way, they’re here now. In Boston. I don’t know if you’ve seen the news, but they’re on a killing spree. The FBI thinks that you might have some avenues into how this is happening, or who’s in control, or something. They want to know if you can work those avenues.”

  Frank’s eyes lit up, although his face remained in a stern pout and his arms were still crossed. Claire knew what that meant. Frank was playing tough, but his mind was counting riches. If the FBI needed something from him, they’d have to pay for it.

  “What kind of avenues do they think someone like me might have? Do they think I can just wiggle my toes and information is handed to me? Do they not know the amount of work I’d have to engage in to do what they’re asking?” Frank raised a finger into the air self-righteously. “These things they ask of me aren’t easy.”

  Claire rolled her eyes. “Frank, they’ll pay you, I’m sure of it. They just want stuff they can use. They’re looking for the group of people bringing the vampires over, or maybe if you can get them to one of the head vampires? I don’t know. Just something they can use.” Claire leaned forward. “Plus, it’ll help me.”

  “How so, lass?” Frank said skeptically.

  It was Claire’s turn to frown. “What do you think I’m doing over there at that university?”

  Frank’s eyes narrowed, but his lip twitched into a smile. “Most likely drinking booze in ungodly amounts and flirting with the opposite sex, methinks.”

  “Hush it, greenie,” Claire told him, not unkindly. “You going to help me or not?”

  “Aye, lass. I’ll see what I can do.” Frank leaned forward and grabbed his beer. He brought it to his lips and paused. “But you make sure those FBI jokers understand that Frank doesn’t work for free. I’m going to help my good friend Claire, but I expect to be well-compensated.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Frank turned down the dark alley, making sure to look above him and scan the entire length of the roofs on either side. Humans didn’t see a lot of the flying creatures being called over. Mainly because they couldn’t see shit, but also because they simply didn’t look up. Frank wasn’t about to be picked up by a harpy, though.

  The coast appeared clear, so he lowered his head, shoved his hands into his pockets, and continued down the alley. There was a light at the far end on the right, and that was the place Frank was looking for.

  Can humans see it? he wondered. He imagined they could, but it wasn’t a friendly-looking joint. Not something they’d want to venture into, and once inside? It would probably look even weirder unless you were someone like Claire, who could see creatures from beyond the Veil.

  Frank reached the door, the single light overhead casting a dingy yellow glow on the ground. He knocked three times in rapid succession. No more, no less.

  A few seconds passed, and then the door cracked open. One huge eye stared out through the crack. It was nearly the size of Frank’s head.

  “You leprechauns must have the strongest livers ever created,” the doorman said.

  “All of our organs are strong.” Frank grinned as he reached down and cupped his crotch.

  “Not from what I heard.” The creature opened the door, revealing himself as a massive cyclops. He stood up to his full height of eight feet. Frank stepped in, barely coming up to the creature’s knees.

  “Your hearing is shittier than your depth perception, Timmy,” he told the cyclops as he moved past him and went into the bar.

  The music was loud, but Frank understood the crones had cast a spell to keep it from reaching the alley outside. They didn’t want to make more noise than was necessary to have a good time. Certainly didn’t want to alert humans if they could help it.

  The place was pretty busy for a Wednesday night. You had the crones—witches—at a table in the back. A few brooms leaned against the wall. A lone centaur Frank knew as Bosephus was throwing darts by himself to the right of the bar. The bar itself had seven or eight customers, a mix of leprechauns, what appeared to be a lone werewolf, and another being Frank couldn’t identify.

  “Frank!” Norstrom, the bartender, shouted. “Haven’t seen you in thirty-six hours. Figured you must have quit drinking!”

  “Fat chance,” Bosephus called without looking away from his game of darts.

  “Don’t you ever put on any clothes?” Frank asked the centaur as he made his way to the bar. He reached the stool and put his hands on the seat, which came up to his shoulders. “What the hell is it with these things? This is speciesism if I have ever seen it. Just because you’ve got that big animal with one eye at the door, it doesn’t mean we can all climb up onto these stools.”

  “Put a beer in front of that stool, and I’m sure the drunk will climb up just fine,” Timmy called from the door. The cyclops had pulled out a paperback book and begun to read as he waited for the next knock.

  “I shall ignore these barbs about my height and continue fighting the good fight for equality.” Frank looked at Norstrom. He was a winged creature that Frank wasn’t exactly sure about. Most people in this place looked frighteningly ugly, but not Norstrom. His wings were currently tucked behind his back, although you could still see them poking above his shoulders. If one were to ignore them, one might think him human, perhaps an up-and-coming movie star. “However, the dumb lug over there is right. I would definitely prefer a cold beer in front of me.”

  Norstrom had already begun pouring it. He put it down just as Frank finished his sentence. “Good to see ya, Frank. When you planning on paying the tab?”

  The leprechaun climbed up the stool and sat down. “Very soon, lad. Very soon now. Frank might have come into some good fortune.” He picked up the beer and drank half of it in a single swallow. He put the mug back down and gave a mighty belch.

  “I wish they would have left him behind the Veil.” Bosephus walked to the dartboard and started plucking off darts.

  Frank ignored the barb and continued sipping his beer. He looked up at the television hanging behind the bar and watched, although his mind wasn’t on it. He was sensing the mood of the place now, and it felt different. More tense than it had been thirty-six hours ago.

  Time passed, and Frank ordered another beer. The other patrons left him alone, and he did the same for them. Most creatures came here to have a few drinks without being harassed. To the outside world, they looked weird, and that often lent itself to confrontations, which usually ended poorly for the humans. Frank understood as well as anyone that no one had volunteered to be pulled across the Veil. It had just happened, sometimes by accident, and other times because of external forces.

  All these people had been ripped from their place of birth, and whether they enjoyed Earth or not, there was still something awful about being brought to a land that didn’t want you.

&nb
sp; Thought you looked weird.

  Frank knew that Claire thought he was doing this for booze and money. Hell, he was, partly. That was a leprechaun’s nature, and he couldn’t change that part of himself. Yet, it wasn’t all about that. Frank cared about Claire. In a new world where no one wanted you, she’d accepted him.

  If that meant snooping around to figure out what was going on, so be it.

  Frank clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Norstrom, got a second?”

  The winged creature turned. “What ya got, Frank?”

  Frank gestured with his head toward the television. “You been watching the news?”

  “Hard not to. All anyone in here wants to watch anymore is the news. These vampires have everyone freaking out.” Norstrom stepped closer to the bar and placed his hands on it. “It’s going to bring more heat down on all of us.”

  “It’s curious,” Frank continued as he looked up at the television. “Why there are so many vamps coming across all of a sudden? I mean, I was pulled across the Veil in one of the Southern states, but even so, we didn’t have any vampires down there. At least, none that I knew of.” He looked at Norstrom again. “You got any ideas about it?”

  Norstrom’s eyes narrowed, and he continued leaning on the bar. He stared at Frank hard for a few moments, then said, “What are you getting at?”

  “You heard anything about it is all I’m asking.” Frank reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of money. It hurt his leprechaun heart to do it, but he wasn’t here for himself. This was for Claire, and hopefully those cheap FBI bastards would reimburse him when this was all said and done.

  Frank unfolded the wad and stripped off three hundred-dollar bills from it. He glanced to his left and right to see if anyone was looking, but the other patrons appeared to be minding their own business. “I’m willing to contribute a bit to yer personal fund, if not the bar’s, if ye have heard anything.”

  Norstrom glanced at the money and then flashed his eyes back up, quickly glancing across the bar. He stuck his hand out and motioned for Frank to put the wad of cash away. “Meet me upstairs in ten minutes.”