

## Into the Shadows

### By Gavin Green

### Copyright 2015 Gavin Green

Smashwords Edition

Also by the author:

Eire of Intrigue (book one of the Eire series \- revised)

Eire of Mystery (book two of the Eire series)

Eire of Hostility (book three of the Eire series)

Eire of Aggression (book four of the Eire series)

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events are purely imagined. Any resemblance to real people or situations is completely ridiculous, and you should get professional help if you think otherwise.

"The beginnings and ends of shadow lie between the light and darkness and may be infinitely diminished and infinitely increased. Shadow is the means by which bodies display their form. The forms of bodies could not be understood in detail but for shadow." -- Leonardo da Vinci

"My dark side, my shadow, my lower companion is now in the back room blowing up balloons for kids' parties." -- Gary Busey

## Into the Shadows

STOP

Wait one damn second. I need to point out a few things before this goes any further...

If you're expecting some stupid-ass adolescent love story with a troupe of angst-ridden supernatural douchebags, you better check the teen fantasy section at the library, okay? There's none of that shit here. No fated romance. No heart-throb drama. No soft porn with optional fangs. And definitely no fruity sparkling bloodsuckers that look perpetually constipated.

And don't get me started on calling them 'vampires'. That title lost its credibility when companies started putting it on lunchboxes - sensationalized, commercialized, and romanticized. You've never seen one of 'em rip some dude's throat open, or drain a mangy dog dry in three seconds, have you? Still think it all sounds sexy? Yeah, didn't think so, because it's not. To me, the word 'vampire' now sounds soft, especially compared to what they really are.

Hemoholics (one of the words I use for 'em - usually just 'hemos') are not what you might think. Some of 'em can do some pretty wild shit, and some others are truly fucked in the head. Sometimes both, which is scary as hell. The main thing is, they're at the top of the food chain, and they are _all_ predators. If you still cling to the fantasy that some lonely hemo will fall for a human, you can kiss my shrapnel-scarred ass. You're one of three things to them: ignored, or a tool, or a late supper. Shoot for ignored.

While we're at it, let me clear up some of the rumors and myths. Garlic - really? I guess garlic breath might mess up a sensual attempt for a snack, but otherwise... come on. Crosses: effective, if it's big enough for you to use as a weapon. Holy water actually can do some damage, but only if you add acid to it. Wooden stakes do work, but only to immobilize; after that, set 'em on fire or chop their heads off. Coffins: certainly not mandatory. If you like the idea, though, knock yourself out. Now, I've seen the crappy shows where bloodsuckers go traipsing around during the day; how convenient... and stupid. Sorry, sunlight cooks 'em like bacon. If they had it that easy, they'd have taken over by now.

This is reality - or a hidden layer of it, anyway - and half the time, it's not pretty. But, hey, it's your choice: believe, don't believe, or laugh it off and then get that shiver of fear when you're alone in the dark. I don't give a shit; your opinion is way down my list of things to lose sleep over. Chances are you'll never find out anyway... unless one of 'em wants you to. Trust me, you don't want 'em to. The point is there's a lot more going on out there that you never knew about. I wish I didn't.

Alright, I think I made my point. Let's get on with it.

LOUDMOUTH

"Leo, you better get out here," Sherrie yelled loud enough for me to hear. I secured the tap on a keg and hurried out of the cooler. I came through the open door from the back rooms and scanned the seating areas beyond the bar. Okay, I took a peek at Sherrie's ass, too. She was already pointing, but there wasn't any need; Keegan's wasn't that big of a place and it was obvious where the trouble was.

There were three losers I'd noticed earlier in the night making a mess of their table, like spilling beer and completely missing the ashtray was an achievement. They were now on their feet. Two of them were standing at a different table, facing whoever was sitting there. One of the two was yelling, a little drunk and a lot pissed off. The last scumbag stood a few paces away.

It was near the end of a long Friday night; the music was low, the overheads getting brighter, and most of the customers had already left. That made it easier to get their attention. I walked out from behind the bar and over to that table, reluctantly prepared to deal with whatever level of stupid they had to offer. I planned on ending the dispute quickly; I wanted to finish up, have a couple after-hours drinks, and see if I could get Tanya to give me another hummer in the supply room before I went home.

From my angle going over to the table, I saw who the loud loser was yelling at. Sitting alone was a girl. I say girl because she didn't look of age to be in the place. She was in earlier that night, but then she'd disappeared for a while. I carded her the first time she came in; I guessed 18 tops, but it showed 22. I remembered her because she was a fucking hottie with the kind of body that made me glad I wasn't wearing sweatpants. She was a short, curvy brunette with cleavage, a dirty smile, and was underdressed for a cold January night... not that I minded the view.

I didn't quite understand what the guy was yelling at her about - something about drinks and teasing and she was a slut and I didn't care what else. To her credit, the girl didn't look scared; it was more like she was plotting, sizing up the losers. I'd seen that same expression on the faces of a few ragheads who thought they could send me and my unit into an ambush \- dumbasses. I'm not sure what the hottie's plan was; she looked too soft and feminine to deal with one of those guys, let alone three. But who knew? Maybe she was insane. Maybe she had a weapon. Maybe she had a penis.

I stepped close enough to the loudmouth's left side that he couldn't ignore me. He was around six foot, so I had a couple inches on him. I wasn't a gym rat like Mac, who collected at the door on band nights, but my equipment at home never got dusty. And my scars - the ones not covered by clothing - proved to be sort of intimidating. I was insecure as hell of 'em when I first got back to civilian life, but I learned to accept the occasional stare of rude bastards and stupid kids.

It's not like I was a freak or anything; what showed were only two gash lines on my left jaw and cheek, a bigger one on the side of my neck, and the top quarter inch of my left ear was gone. All thanks to one IED (improvised explosive device) that one of my men tripped when I was less than ten feet away.

The loudmouth looked at me, noticed the combat scars right off, and stopped yelling. His eyes were bloodshot, and he smelled like beer and cigarettes - maybe urine, too. He had a nearly-empty Coors bottle in his left hand. The guy next to him was a shorter and skinnier, face in a laughable scowl, and gave off the same air of bitter stupidity as the first guy. The last shithead, fifteen feet behind them, looked uncomfortable. He just wanted to leave. Hell, I did too.

"Hey, man," I said to the loudmouth, "we're done here tonight. Take your last swig and head on out."

"I ain't goin' anywhere 'til this bitch pays me back," he barked. His breath hit me like a brick. "She ain't even touched the drinks we bought her!"

There were three full cocktails sitting in front of her. Oh, and hello again, cleavage. I looked back to the loudmouth. "You're not gonna get what you want, buddy. Set your drink down and move on."

"Fuck that! She's -"

My right thumb found the nerve cluster just above the loudmouth's collarbone. Good thing he wasn't wearing his coat or the move would have been tougher to do. He winced with a short grunt of pain. His shoulder dipped as his arm flinched, and I grabbed the bottle out of his loose grip before he dropped it. I set the bottle on the table and let go of him at the same time. I'd practiced that move a fair bit in CQC (close quarters combat) training and at the dojo, so it was quick enough that three half-drunk morons didn't have time to react.

The second guy - the one with the scowl that couldn't scare an infant - tensed up, but did nothing. The loudmouth gripped his own tingling shoulder while he glared at me and took a step back. Just about then, a couple of the bar regulars stepped up next to me, both of them eyeballing all three losers. Out of respect for Keeg and Deb, I bet half the remaining patrons would have gotten involved if needed.

"Have a good night," I said dismissively to the trio as I stared at them. They backed up, grabbed their coats and walked out without a word. I turned to the girl and said, "Sorry about that. I'll let you have ten minutes or so to make sure they moved on, okay? Then I have to lock up."

"I understand," she said in a velvety voice, "and thanks. I wasn't sure how I was going to get those guys to leave me alone. I thought maybe they slipped a mickey in one of these drinks, so I wasn't going to touch them."

"That's probably a safe bet. We hardly ever get assholes like that in here, so don't let that stop you from coming back, okay?" I rationalized that a girl with her looks might bring more business in, but the truth was that I was a sucker for tits. Pun intended.

She nodded and smiled, showing perfect white teeth and dimples cuter than a basket full of puppies. "I won't, Mister...?"

"Just call me Leo."

"Well, thanks again, Leo. I'm Macie, by the way."

She was out of my league, or, depending on her profession, out of my price range. Chit-chatting with Macie wasn't going to get me anywhere but home alone later on, looking for hand lotion. I simply nodded and turned away to thank the two regulars for having my back.

I helped Tanya clean tables for a few minutes, and then stepped out the front doors into the cold, snowy night. Other than the last customers walking off, no one else was in sight. I let Macie out and locked up behind her, trying not to make it obvious I was staring at her legs in that short dress.

Sherrie had a shot of Jack waiting for me at the bar, like usual. I sat down for a minute, letting her pour me another before I finished up for the night. Keegan came out from his office in the back to make sure everything was calm. It wasn't like he'd be any help in a fight, but I guess the belated concern was there.

KEEGAN'S

I felt at home in Keegan's Corner Lounge. Keegan himself was a cool guy, and his wife Debbie was nice, too. The couple spent a lot of their time there. They set a good atmosphere for the place; mixed décor, tables and booths, and soothing colors. Good music was piped through the wall speakers - rock, classic, oldies, and some modern country. Never any of the rowdy shit; no rap, no heavy metal, no riot-inducing bubble gum music.

The usually mellow crowds were normally a mix of cultures. Keegan's sat just south of downtown Kansas City, and was close to high-end commercial firms and the nearby art college. It was in a neighborhood of old houses and small businesses; the area was a little worn, but not crime-ridden. Because of its location, Keegan's had businessmen and secretaries that came in for martinis and pub grub during lunch hours. In the evenings, it was yuppies, bohemians, middle-age couples and regular Joes.

I was offered the bar-back/bouncer job a couple years ago. I'd been in the place a few times because it had a nice vibe, the servers were cute, they poured a mean Jack and Coke, and it wasn't far from my little house. Keegan needed an extra hand and a mutual friend pointed me out. I needed the extra cash anyway. I swore Keegan and Debbie to silence after they did a background check on me and saw my full name, Leopold Beck. They could call me Leo, or even Beck, but never my full first name. Not many people knew it, and I planned to keep it that way. Could you blame me?

The evening hours required for the nightclub didn't bother me; my other job's erratic hours were mostly afternoon and night shifts anyway. Three years out of the military and I turned into a night owl. I only worked for Keeg and Deb part-time, and they were pretty flexible with my schedule if my other job called me in for a gig. See, I also worked for a private security company providing personal security service. K.C. is a good-sized city, but not exactly a mecca for rich fucks that needed security all the time. Between the two jobs and my military savings, I got by.

Sherrie was done giving me free drinks, and I got the feeling that Tanya wasn't in the mood for any supply room grunting. She and I weren't an item at all. Our few quickies were simply a matter mutual attraction, and if she'd broken up with yet another boyfriend. I finally got off my ass and gathered some trash to bring to the dumpster in the alley out back. Oh, the glamour of nightclubs.

WALLET

When I opened the back door, I immediately saw a group of people huddled together in the alley, close to the side street. It looked like three guys were surrounding a smaller figure pressed up against the wall. Fuck, it was the losers and that girl, Macie. The sound of the door and the light pouring out gave me away, damn it. From the diffused glow of a streetlight behind them, I saw a glint off the blade that the loudmouth had in his hand. Well, shit.

I let the back door close behind me, making me less of a target in the dark. I stepped out into the alley and set my feet in the slush just as the loudmouth started coming my way. He was waving his little knife and was saying something, but I didn't pay attention to the words. I was focused on his movement, which was like a monkey with a concussion. When he got within ten feet, he came at me faster. Footing wasn't good out there and he slipped, bringing him to me off-balance.

It was easy to block the loudmouth's awkward swing with my forearm. I wanted to make quick work of him in case his buddies came to help. I brought my knee up into his solar plexus, making him fold with a grunt. As he bent over, I grabbed him by his coat and hair and rammed him headfirst into the brick wall next to me. He crumpled with a moan and I stepped over him.

The other two were still standing close to the girl. One of them still had a hand on her shoulder or maybe her neck. I wanted them to just run off, but I guess they still had some liquid courage in their systems. Because of the soft light behind them I couldn't make out their expressions, but I could see the frosty plumes of their quick breathing. They were nervous. Good.

I marched forward with purpose. One of the two - the scowling guy, I think - stepped away from the girl and started to say something. I ignored it. Before he could decide what I was going to do or how to react, I swung out with a size-13 boot and caught him right in the nuts - fair fight, my ass. It took a second for his pain to register. The last guy ran into me from the side. He was thin, and his charge was weak. I used his momentum, planted a foot, and hip-tossed him. There was only an inch or so of wet snow, not nearly enough to soften the impact when he landed hard on the flat of his back.

The guy I racked was against the far wall, bent over and holding his crotch with both hands. My training to neutralize and secure kicked in; force recon habits die hard. I stepped over and brought a knee up, catching the guy in the forehead. He reeled back a couple wobbly steps and then dropped. I turned back to the skinny guy I'd flipped. He was just getting back to his feet, groaning with one hand on his back. One quick punch to where his jaw met his ear and he went down like a sack of shit. I looked back; loudmouth was still down and out. It was suddenly very quiet.

The girl was still standing against the wall. Rather than being frozen with fear, or maybe even sobbing from it, she was leaning casually against the brick wall and looking at something in her hands. "Are you alright?" I asked as I stepped over to her.

She didn't answer right away, continuing to study the object in her hands. It was an unfolded wallet. There was hardly any light to see, so I didn't know what she found so interesting.

"You should be more careful," she said, still looking down at it.

"What the hell are you talking ab - Hey, is that mine?" I patted my back pocket. Empty. "That _is_ mine!" I snatched it out of her small hands.

"Sorry," she replied nonchalantly. "It fell out while you were thrashing my assailants. You should put that in a safer location."

"Thrashing your assailants?" I asked while I made sure nothing was missing out of my wallet. "Who the hell talks like that?" And I seriously doubted my wallet just fell out of my back pocket.

Macie shrugged. "I do, sometimes. I like how people used to talk a long time ago."

"Yeah... okay, whatever; are you sure you're alright?" I put my wallet into a front pocket of my jeans.

She opened her jacket and looked down at herself. With the minimal light, I could just make out her cleavage. "No, not a scratch," she answered. "I suppose I should thank you yet again... Mr. Beck."

She somehow saw my name on my driver's license. Invasions of privacy kind of piss me off. "Unless you wanna stick around for the cops," I said through nearly gritted teeth, "maybe you should leave."

"Maybe you're right," Macie said lightly. She strolled a few paces out to the sidewalk. Just before she passed out of sight beyond the next building, she wiggled her fingers at me in a lazy farewell gesture. "Have a good night, Leo Beck. Perhaps we'll meet again soon." And then she was gone.

I believed I had another complimentary drink coming my way.

HOME

I left it up to Keeg, who decided to call the cops anonymously just to get the scumbags out of the alley. We doubted those three were going to press charges and have to admit that they got thumped by one guy. I had another quick drink to mellow out before I went home. I drove my Jeep (mine wasn't a lemon) the five blocks back to my house, hoping that I didn't hurt those guys too bad. I mean, yeah, they deserved an ass-kicking, but maybe they had kids waiting at home for them. I think I got that worry gene and a streak of conscience from my mom. Or maybe it was in spite of my dad, who knows.

My house wasn't much, but I liked it. I had to; it was paid off. My place was hemmed in pretty close by bigger houses on either side, which made it look smaller - less of a crime target. Not that I'd had any problems; my street was actually quiet. It was a simple two-bedroom A-frame with a nice front porch and a small yard. I kept it looking good, too - paint job, landscape pavers, you get it. Otherwise, I think Miss Loretta, the sweet, middle-aged, 400 lb. black lady next door would have ripped me a new one.

The familiar scents of Pledge and gun oil met me as I walked in. Ah, home. Nothing I owned was too fancy or high-end, although I did have my necessary vices. I had to budget for ammunition for the firing range, dojo fees, a supply of Jack Daniels, and frequent barber trips (high and tight, a military habit that never died). My barber talked me into growing a goatee to draw attention away from my scars; I didn't know if it worked, but I liked the look. Miss Loretta did too, and that was enough validation for me.

I mentioned the aromas of Pledge and gun oil before. The reason for the latter should be obvious. One of my courses for force recon was scout sniper training. I kept up with it after I got out, so I splurged on a scoped Remington 700. For home defense, I have another Remington: an 870 Super Shorty 12-gauge. Damn, that thing is fun. For my private security gigs, I wore a Glock-19 in a shoulder holster. And then I always carry a little Ruger LCP in my pocket. I keep each of 'em in good condition. I wasn't a fanatic or a survivalist; I just never wanted to be unprepared.

As for the Pledge... it triggered good emotions. Besides, I like the smell of it; is there anyone who doesn't? I also liked having polished tables. That doesn't mean I was a clean freak - far from it. Being messy was one of the freedoms of bachelorhood. Mostly, though, the aroma of Pledge reminded me of my mom. Weird thing - she cleaned when she was happy. Mom wasn't allowed that luxury very often, so it was always a welcome fragrance.

I fixed myself a drink, pulled the Ruger out of my pocket, sat back on the couch and inspected my wallet one more time. Everything was there, even the money. I couldn't figure that hot girl out, but a fair guess was that she was a bored college student high on something and out for a thrill. She'd gotten those three morons all worked up, probably on purpose. There was more to the story than just untouched drinks, but it was over and I didn't care. If those three weren't clumsy and half-drunk, I could have had a real problem. Luck favors the militarily trained, I guess.

I set my wallet aside and settled into the comfort of my living room. Half of the décor - throw rugs, coffee table, and wall art - was claimed from my mom after she passed away. A framed photo of my older brother Alexander (I called him Al) hung near the front door; he died when I was eleven. There were also a few mementos from my time overseas, and a glass case that displayed my medals and mission ribbons. I'd surrounded myself with things from my past, items with both good and bad memories. You might use the word 'bittersweet'. You might also be gay.

In the yellow glow of the lamp I always left on, I noticed there were missed calls and messages on my phone. I hardly ever brought it with me to the bar, and normally left it plugged in on the end table. The first was from my friend Hector; he and his family lived across the street. Hector and his wife Anna left a message inviting me to a dinner at their house. I couldn't really refuse the nice offer, but Anna's cooking always turned my ass into a volcano.

The other message was a text from Gwen Solomon, my coordinating contact at Silas Security. She'd arranged all my simple security training and licensing tests when I first got on, and, platonically speaking, we got along great from the start. I always thought there was something a little odd about Gwen, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Maybe it was her dark sense of humor, which sometimes went over the line into morbid. One day, as we were finishing a chat on the phone, she said, "Don't hurt anybody out there, Leo. But if you do, tell me all about it."

Gwen's note warned me that there might be some short-notice, short-term client contracts I might have to deal with. Since I had training or commendations in various methods of keeping myself and my unit alive, plus ways to make any opposition pretty much the opposite of that, I was preferred for some contracts. Short-term jobs sucked. Short-notice sucked donkey balls.

I sighed and slouched back into my couch. I was thinking about getting some sort of regular job when I dozed off. I had a dream of sitting in a cramped cubicle, doing the same paperwork over and over; God, what a nightmare.

BITCH

I had my regular Saturday night shift at Keegan's. Everything went fine; no assholes, no weird hotties. After we locked up, Keeg had me tell Deb about the alley fight the night before. Not that I wanted to, but there were free drinks involved.

Sunday afternoon was spent over at Hector and Anna's. I brought drinks for everyone. Their three little kids were well-behaved like always, and they hardly stared at my scars - they were used to them. The enchiladas were good but hot as hell. After thanking them for a nice night, I went home and chugged a half gallon of milk.

Mid-morning Monday, I got an official call from Gwen about a client who wanted executive protection (EP), starting in the afternoon. There's normally more advanced warning for that, but rich clients tend to not give a shit. Gwen waited patiently while I got all the cussing out of my system. Oh, and the client used the term 'bodyguard', which we frown upon - it makes pros sound like those fat thugs that famous Hollywood jackasses hired. With the feeling that it was going to be a crappy assignment, I went to the office and signed off on the client contract and an unmarked company sedan.

Gwen told me about the client while I looked through the file. Emily Baxter was a rich housewife who was divorcing her husband. She came from money, and married it too. Her lawyers were better than her husband's; she was getting more than her share and he wasn't happy about it. Mrs. Baxter had been worried about her soon-to-be ex's security goons threatening her, hurting her, or worse, but she got tired of hiding in her big house. At least for one day, she wanted out.

There was a child from the marriage, but she was in college out on the east coast. Okay, one less thing to worry about. The problem was, Mrs. Baxter was going to spend the day and evening with two friends; they planned on going to a spa, then dinner, and possibly some cocktails at a classy club afterwards. She'd given the names of those places, but I had very little time to scope them out beforehand. Not to mention that the client was including two unknown people into her plans. A lot of shit could go wrong.

I got moving and glanced at a few details while I drove. Gwen noted the specifications 'business casual' and 'no interaction'. That meant Emily Baxter wanted me to blend in and not be obvious security, and that I was to remain near but not part of her group. That type of detail is tough to pull off most of the time; with short notice, even more so. It also meant she was more than likely a real bitch.

Each of the places that the client listed had some security risks, but nothing that couldn't be managed if she followed my suggestions. I went home and put on slacks, dress shirt, and a blazer. As usual, my Glock and little Ruger came along with me, plus an extra magazine for each. Gwen had already made a map for the best routes to each location, so I studied it while I got ready. Just before I drove over to the Baxter residence, I filled my pocket flask with straight Jack; it was probably going to be a long day.

Emily Baxter was a snobbish woman in her early forties. I bet she was pretty a decade or two ago. She'd been emailed a brief dossier on me, but had some questions that I doubt she really cared about the answers to. Ol' Emily just keeping her bitch skills strong, I guess.

After a few minutes of worthless Q and A, she looked up at me from her seated position in a Victorian high-back chair. "What is your highest level of education, Mr. Beck?"

She'd never invited me to sit with her, so I stood away at a respectful distance. "I received an associate's degree while in the corps, ma'am."

Even from her seated position, Mrs. Baxter managed to look down her nose at my answer. "I see," she said in a condescending tone. "And what rank did you reach?"

"I earned the rank of Sergeant, ma'am; E5."

Mrs. Baxter wouldn't have cared about the answer unless I was a highly ranked officer. By the time I gave my reply, she was looking at my scars. Gesturing with a flick of her finger at the left side of my head, she asked, "What happened there?"

"Afghanistan happened, ma'am." A woman like Emily Baxter had done nothing to earn even part of that story. She didn't deserve to know about the IED that one of my men tripped. And I doubt she'd care to know that besides it ripping me up, it took out two men on my team - two of the best men I knew.

Then it was my turn to ask questions. Did she know what her husband's 'goons' looked like? Did she know what kind of car they drove? As for the places listed that she and her friends were going to, did she go to them often? If so, did her husband know that? Who were these friends of hers? Did she or they expect to meet anyone while out and about? Any plans besides those three locations? A few other questions were asked as well, but by then she'd gotten irritable and told me to work with the given information. When Mrs. Baxter went upstairs to change outfits, I called Gwen to give her an update.

I drove the client to pick up her two friends. The sedan was wide enough that the three of them were able to sit in the back comfortably. They both found it thrilling that their friend Emily had a personal security guard, but neither would have deigned to sit up front with me. The late afternoon at the spa was boring as hell. The really sad news was that, for the time and money spent, none of them looked any better than before. At the fancy restaurant, Mrs. Baxter grudgingly agreed to take a table near the bar, where I had to sit to remain inconspicuous. It was like _she_ was doing _me_ a favor, the arrogant bitch.

ANGER

It was at the ritzy, tasteful nightclub where the situation got a little dicey. After a number of older, desperate guys kept hitting on the trio, Mrs. Baxter asked me to join them at their table. With me being there, it deterred most of the interested men from approaching. Then a young pretty boy douche came over and asked one of Emily's friends for a dance. The friend, Belinda, was attractive, but she was also about twenty years older than him. The guy evidently had oedipal issues.

The song wasn't half over when Belinda was looking increasingly distressed at being held too closely to the young guy. I pointed it out to Emily, who asked me to cut in. That was technically not part of my contract, but it was my duty to keep the client happy as well as safe. Belinda looked relieved to see me when I tapped on pretty boy's shoulder. By the look on his face, he was pissed as hell. With other people around us, though, he didn't do anything but walk off, glaring at me the whole time. What a dick.

I led Belinda back to her table, where the ladies resumed their happy chit-chat over martinis. I acted like I was enjoying the conversation, but I kept an eye on pretty boy. He sat at a table with another GQ jerk on the other side of the dance floor. He was still staring at me. A little while later, pretty boy got up and moved closer to us, in a position where hardly anyone else but me could see what he was doing. He stealthily pulled a six-inch blade from his jacket, made sure I saw it, and then put it back - one hell of an overt threat. All that hostility over of Belinda; there was a lot better eye candy in the place.

I made sure I had pretty boy's attention when I subtly opened my blazer enough for him to see the butt of my gun. I added a wink, just in spite, and then acted like I was ignoring him. A few seconds later, just when pretty boy looked pissed enough to come over to our table, his buddy grabbed him up and pulled him back to their table. That kid sure knew how to hold a grudge.

Five minutes later I lost sight of the pretty pair, so I assumed they left. I was relieved. A few minutes after that, though, just as another round of drinks was being set on our table, I saw pretty boy out of the corner of my eye. He stood back in a corner, near the hallway that led to the restrooms. His knife was in his hand, and he was literally shaking with rage. I had no idea what his problem was, but the situation wasn't going to end well.

I tensed when pretty boy started coming at our table, and fast. I was surprised when some big dude stepped out of the hallway, grabbed him by the neck, threw him back into the hallway and out of sight. It all happened so quick that I just stared. One second, pretty boy was coming at me, and then, in the blink of an eye, some tall silhouette in a long coat yanked him into the hallway. One of the bouncers saw it too, and ran over to investigate. I would have gone as well, but I had an oblivious client to protect.

I told the ladies that there was some trouble and we needed to leave. As they were knocking back their drinks, I saw the bouncer come back out of the hallway with a baffled expression. He scanned the crowd, and then looked back toward the restrooms. I don't know how he could have missed the pair or how they slipped away - especially the big dude - but I didn't care enough to find out.

I dropped the friends off first and then took Mrs. Baxter home. As a precaution, I checked her motion lights, cameras, and security system before I verified with her that my duties were complete.

Gwen called me the next morning to tell me that the client noted my services as 'acceptable'. Not pleased, not appreciative - acceptable. What a bitch. Gwen then asked about the 'friction' at the nightclub. Other than me cutting in to save Belinda, I didn't think Mrs. Baxter noticed anything else that happened. "What did the client tell you she saw?" I asked.

"Nothing really; I just heard something about it from a different source," Gwen answered cryptically.

"Yeah, well, nothing to worry about. There was the possibility of an issue, one that I highly doubt was connected to the estranged husband, but the threat was removed for me."

"Aw, that's too bad," she said without a hint of humor in her voice. Did I mention that Gwen is odd?

PLANNING

John Crane, my boss at Silas Security, called later that day. Whenever Crane called, it usually meant that there was a client who was paying top dollar, or that a team was needed for a contract. Either way, it was big revenue for the company, and Crane handled those arrangements personally. He told me to come in to the office to coordinate with the other employees I'd be working with. I had no problem with that, as long as Jenkins wasn't involved. Ted Jenkins was an older employee; he was a blowhard who sported his beer gut like a trophy. I didn't trust Jenkins enough to guard an empty parking lot.

I got to the office a little early to find out what Gwen knew about the contract. It wasn't that Crane wasn't thorough with the necessary info - he was, but Gwen usually had some juicy tidbits about most clients. I didn't know how she got some of her information, and she was never forthcoming. With at least half of my contracts, though, that inside info gave me a better perspective on the client.

Stanley Everett was the owner of a regional bank chain. He'd hired EP's from the company before, mainly when he got death threats from anti-corporate radicals. Everett wanted a security detail for a dinner party at his home. Wait, not just a home - a mansion, sitting on three acres in the wealthiest neighborhood in the city. There were some money laundering implications swirling around Everett, but the cops and feds couldn't pin anything on him. A few of his managers and their wives were invited over for unknown reasons. It was set for that Thursday; 48 hours wasn't much time to scout, coordinate, and work out details, but not so bad with only a five-man detail.

The other guys got to the conference room about the same time as I did. Dan, Craig, Diego, and Cordell; all good guys, and I'd worked with them before. Dan spent 12 years in the army, and was tough as nails. Craig was an electronics specialist with a dry sense of humor. Diego was a former cop; sarcastic, a crack shot, and had eyes like a hawk. Cordell was a former Marine M.P.; he was huge, mostly muscle, and had no sense of humor whatsoever. It sounded like a weird mix, but we all got along.

We studied overhead google shots of the property, plus blueprints of the mansion itself. There was an enclosed security room on the main floor; that's where Craig would scan monitors and control both team and external communications. Dan would act as the valet for the guests, and then keep an eye on the serving staff. Cordell would be the EP for Everett. Diego and I would patrol the grounds, starting on opposite sides. It was a standard formation, with all radio contact on a single channel. It was probably going to be another long night there; I made a mental note to refill my flask.

On Wednesday, the other guys and I met up at the Everett estate. It was a block off a main boulevard, with side roads to one side and rear of the property. The grounds were mainly level, shaded by mature trees, shrubs along the perimeter for privacy, and had seven-foot iron rod fencing all the way around. Diego, Cordell and I interviewed the serving staff while Craig and Dan inspected every room. We checked out the security cameras, added a few more, and then checked them again. We only had a few questions for Everett himself; he was a smiling, upbeat older guy. If I was rich, I'd be happy, too.

DRINKING

That evening, I had time to hit the dojo. I tried to get there at least once a week and find a sparring partner. I didn't go there to upgrade my martial belt or learn any fancy moves that would be fucking useless in a real fight. I went with the Marine 'one mind, any weapon' philosophy; to keep limber, work on my reaction speed, and practice techniques. I wasn't out to dazzle an opponent; neutralizing them quickly was the objective. Okay, that, and defense training so I didn't get my ass handed to me in case that 'neutralizing' idea went to shit.

I remembered to call off work at Keegan's for Thursday ahead of time, and planned on getting plenty of sleep. A good workout at the dojo and a few Jack and Cokes afterwards put me out like a baby.

I didn't think I had a problem with booze, not like a couple years earlier. I admit that I had a little trouble after what turned out to be my last mission. I'd seen other soldiers killed in combat, and in various ways, but seeing Bill and Rodney all fucked up from that IED got to me. They were my best friends. I started drinking to erase that image. It was bad for a couple months after I started my IRR (individual ready reserve) at home to finish my eight-year military contract.

That was about when my mom started going downhill. My only sibling Al died in a car wreck on his eighteenth birthday, and Dad thankfully croaked from a massive coronary when I was seventeen. So after I left for the Marines, my mom was alone. She moved in with her sister, but my Aunt Donna passed away two years later from an aneurism. Two months after that, my mom's mom - Grandma Sadie - passed on from heart failure. When I finally got back to the States, the cancer had just started to eat my mom up. Not much of a homecoming.

It was four months of watching my mom waste away until she finally gave in. The sale of Aunt Donna's house covered the rest of the hospital bills and a nice funeral. There was a little left over to add to my savings to buy my place outright, not that it cost much. I didn't need or want anything fancy, and it was where I did my binge drinking and feeling sorry for myself. I was pretty much a worthless piece of shit for a while. I pulled myself out of that slump, but I still kick myself for getting that low in the first place.

So, that left me as the last of my line of Beck's. It wasn't that uncommon of a name, but my closest relatives were like fourth cousins and I didn't even know 'em. Except for Grandma Sadie, the rest of my family kicked the bucket while relatively young. I was in no hurry to join them, but there was a little voice in the back of my head that told me my time might be limited, too. In one way, it was right.

INTRUDERS

Alright, put these things together: cold January night, outside in the dark for hours, and trudging around through five inches of wet snow. What do you get? Me.

Even with a full set of snug long underwear, my clothes, and a leather jacket with matching gloves, I was still freezing my balls off out on Stanley Everett's lawn. The outdoor hot tub we turned on for heat was the only reprieve Diego and I had from the cold as we individually circled the mansion. Each of us only spent a minute hovering over the steamy water before moving on again. It was kind of pathetic.

On my umpteenth circuit, as I was coming around to the expansive west side yard, I saw movement in the big bushes against the fence. Five figures came out, almost all at once. They didn't move like professionals; it was more like determined amateurs, but they spread out and began advancing. I was about to radio it in when Craig yelled into our earpieces that there was movement on the grounds. Even in the dark, it was easy to see the dark-clothed intruders against the snow, and each of them had a sidearm. Super.

I hurried over to the cover of a big tree while pulling out my Glock, and was going to wait a few seconds until they were in better range. The echo of gunfire erupted from the east lawn, where Diego was. The outside floodlights came on and then immediately went out, along with all of the interior lights; they'd cut the power lines.

I snuck a glance at the intruders on my side; they were moving up faster, I assume because of the gunfire. Still using the tree for cover, I turned and aimed for the guy in the middle. I figured targeting him would bring at least two others to focus on me and not the mansion. I didn't have any moral qualms about initiating combat on my end; they were the aggressors with bad intent, and I was outnumbered. I aimed for the legs of the middle guy and let off two quick rounds. He stumbled and dropped. Go me.

Automatic fire ripped up the tree I was using for cover, spraying shards of wood and bark everywhere. I spun back into full cover. I thought they just had pistols; where did the machineguns come from? I guessed small sub-machineguns or machine pistols, which meant that those guys were well-funded. I started drawing gunfire from two sources. I glanced out and saw one intruder firing small bursts from tree cover. After another glance, I discovered that the guy I shot was firing in my general direction from his prone position. Only two of the five were moving to the back of the house.

I didn't see the one who was nearest to me when they were advancing; I checked my flank but didn't see anything. I waited for a lull in gunfire and spun out to my left again. The guy with tree cover had just reloaded and stepped out to resume pinning me down. I had him in my sights before he could fully raise his gun to a firing position. Pop, pop, pop - gut, chest, head; he dropped in his tracks.

While the risk was low, I then fired twice at the prone guy. He grunted as one or both shots hit him, and he stopped shooting. Almost too late, I sensed something behind me. I swung back hard and fast, elbow locked with my gun extended. The back of my hand hit the wrist of the guy who snuck up on me. The impact knocked my gun out of my grip, and loosened the grip he had on his Mac-11. I gave a knuckle strike to his forearm, hard enough to make him fumble his gun and lose it in a snow drift against the tree. Good, we were both unarmed. Although he looked pretty bulky, I thought I would have the upper hand. Not quite.

The guy looked surprised that I made him drop his weapon. I took advantage of his hesitation and delivered a jab to his jaw and a hook to his nose. I was about to press the attack when he punched me in the chest with a big fist. I went sprawling backward and landed on my back in the snow. Holy shit, he hit like a truck. I didn't know how my nose punch didn't make him see stars, like it would for anyone else. I scrambled to my feet as he came at me. He probably didn't want to turn his back on me to find one of our guns. Steroid boy could've crushed my skull with his hands anyway.

From a crouch, I launched into his midsection, hoping to knock the wind out of him. It was a good spear, and I drove him back a couple steps, but he took it like a champ. I hadn't fully stood up yet when he stepped in and landed a shot to my cheek. It turned out that I was the one seeing stars. I was on my back again, about ten feet from him. I tasted copper; blood, either from my mouth or nose, or both. I couldn't worry about that; I had to bring the fucker down.

His slow approach allowed me to get to my feet again. I backed up to make sure my head was clear, and then I went after him. I circled and threw debilitating shots that weren't so debilitating on him. Kidney punch, jab to the eye, palm strike to the ear, kick to the solar plexus - they only momentarily stunned him. He swung a backhand that caught my shoulder and sent me stumbling.

When he came at me again, I sidestepped his swing and kicked with all my might into the side of his knee. It crunched and gave out. The bastard only went down for a second before rolling away with a grunt of pain and got back to his feet, albeit hobbled. I moved back in and made a series of quick strikes before he could lock his hands on me. I drove my boot into his groin, threw two hooks into his hard stomach, and then grabbed his hair and rammed my knee twice in rapid succession into his face.

I took a step back. The fucker wouldn't go down. He was wobbling like drunk on one good leg, with no idea where or who he was, and his face looked like bloody gristle, but he didn't drop. I took two steps behind me, located my gun in the snow, and then walked back and shot him twice in the forehead. Then he fell. If all of the intruders were on PCP like that guy, I was in deep shit.

NEWCOMER

I heard gunfire inside. Craig didn't answer when I called him, but Cordell whispered a reply. "Leo, you okay?" I heard more gunfire in the background over the radio.

"Pretty much; give me the situation."

I looked at the flashes of gunfire through the first-floor windows while he answered. "No answer from the rest of the team. Landlines and power are cut. I'm intact. I have the client, his wife, and most of his guests in the -"

"Wait a sec, Cord," I said over him. "I've got more movement out here." From the back of the house, one of the intruders came around the far corner. He more than likely was checking on his partners. I found the Mac-11 and picked it up with my left hand; my Glock was still in my right. I started toward the returning intruder at a jog, raising both guns as I went.

Someone stepped out from behind the tree nearest to the intruder. I had no fucking clue who the surprise visitor was or how the hell he got there. I only saw a glimpse of the newcomer while he grabbed the intruder and yanked him behind the tree. All I could see was the tails of a long coat on one side, and flailing hands and feet on the other. I cautiously moved in their direction.

Literally two seconds later, the newcomer came out alone from behind the wide tree. From forty yards off, he looked in my direction for a quick second. Before I could react, he darted toward the back of the mansion, out of sight. By his frame and coat, he looked just like the silhouette I saw at the fancy nightclub a couple days before.

I heard a faint, wheezing groan to my left. It was the guy I shot in the legs, and apparently in the torso as well. He was still lying there with bloodstained snow all around him. Two holes in the side of his coat were releasing thin ribbons of steam; cold air hitting deep, open wounds will do that. I thought about putting the guy out of his misery, but decided I needed all my ammo. He was going to bleed out soon, anyway. I kicked his gun away from his twitching hand and ran after the newcomer.

INSIDE

I moved cautiously around the corner and looked for any movement. Out on the large flagstone patio was an unmoving body. I moved closer to inspect; it was one of the meal servers. I heard more gunfire inside, a few bursts. I tapped my earpiece. "Cord, are you with me, man?"

He quietly answered two seconds later. "Hit, I'm hit - not too bad. The client is next to me. We're in the study, off the living room and foyer, front west corner. Dan is pinned in the kitchen. I don't know if Craig was able to make a call. I've already dialed 911."

"I'll do the same here in a sec." I took a deep breath. "Okay, buddy, hold tight. With all the gunfire, I bet cops are already coming anyway." I pulled my phone out of my pocket and dialed 911, then brushed snow off of a retaining wall and set it down. "I'll be there in a minute, Cord."

I crept across the patio and paused near the hot tub. I didn't need its heat just then; my adrenaline was keeping me plenty warm. I stepped over the dead server and to the French door of the billiards room that was slightly ajar. Before I stepped in, I thought of the blueprint we studied. Cordell was in the study, cornering himself. Craig was in the monitor room, across from the billiard room. Dan was on the other side of the first floor in the kitchen, closer to the garage bays. No good plan came to mind.

The best odds were to get everyone in a car and get the hell out of there; otherwise it might become a hostage situation. Since I had no idea where the intruders were or how many were left, my plan was to adapt to the situation. That meant I was going to wing it.

I slipped through the door, keeping low. There was a body on the far side of the pool table. It was one of the intruders; his neck was broken. I patted the body. No wallet, just extra ammo magazines. There was another burst of gunfire somewhere upstairs. I peeked out into the short hallway that led to the large central family room. Directly across from me was the door to the monitor room. It was open, and Craig's body was inside. The windowless room stunk of burnt gunpowder, blood, and spilled coffee.

I turned my head to look into the family room. Two intruders opened fire at me, pocking the walls and doorframe with bullets. Well, shit, they could see pretty well in the dark. I dropped to my stomach, looked back around the doorway, and unloaded half a magazine at the intruder shape that was in full view. I pulled back to safety and heard a body hit the floor out there. More gunfire erupted and automatic rounds chewed up the walls and marble flooring just outside my doorway. If I didn't move soon, one of 'em would've used a different door to the patio and come back in behind me. Not good.

I heard one of the intruders yell, "Get in there and finish them off!" He meant Cordell, the client, and the others in the study. I didn't know how many intruders were left - specifically, how many were waiting for me. Fuck it; I had to get to Cord.

Once back on my feet, I peeked out into the hallway again. By then, my eyes had fully acclimated to the darkness; the dim glow of snow that shone through the windows helped. I studied the shadows of furniture and didn't see anyone lurking. Somewhere else nearby, another burst of gunfire went off. With a gun in either hand, I charged out.

RESCUE

Bullets started flying. One intruder was between a couch and the far wall. He was closest. And stupid, too; my rounds ripped right through the cushions and into him. The Mac-11 emptied, so I dropped it. I kept moving to the right along a wall. Another guy was a few steps up the wide staircase, firing wildly. Most of his bullets hit the furniture between us. I fired back with my Glock in my right hand, pointing across my body as I moved. We were both just blasting away, hoping for a lucky shot to hit home.

A figure came quickly down the stairs behind him. It was the overcoat guy, nothing but shadow and size. Just as my Glock emptied, he gripped the intruder on both sides of his head with big hands, and twisted. I heard the grisly crack of a broken neck. The intruder slumped like a bag of bones. Overcoat guy spun and ran back up the stairs; I never did get a good look at him.

More gunfire sounded in the next hallway to my right off the main foyer, the one that led to the study. A woman screamed. I stepped over two prone bodies, a man and a woman, while trying to slap another magazine into my gun. I got to the corner of the hallway just as another gunman came out. As he raised his gun, I used the full magazine in my hand to strike him hard in the trachea. Airway crushed, he dropped his gun to grasp at his neck. While he stumbled out into the foyer making gurgling noises, I looked down the hallway.

The door to the study was riddled with bullet holes, but was shut. In front of it on the hallway floor was a body with a dark puddle forming underneath it. I moved up to near the door and knocked. A woman screamed again. I waited a couple seconds until it was quiet again in there, and then said, "Cordell, Mr. Everett, this is Leo. I'm alone. I'm coming in."

After reloading, I put my gun in my holster and turned the handle. The door wasn't locked because it didn't have one. I slowly pushed the door open and saw a large, sturdy desk lying on its side, facing me. It had a few holes in it. Over the edge of it, I saw the top half of Cordell's face, plus the gun he was pointing at me. He saw it was me and relaxed. Six people were huddled behind him, back into the corner of the room. They were all well-dressed and terrified; two of the three women were silently weeping. I noticed that Cordell had been hit in his right hip and left upper arm. The others looked unharmed.

Big Cordell had already wrapped his tie around his arm and pulled it tight in a slipknot. I scanned the room and spotted a small throw pillow, then yanked the sheer drapes away from the window. I used those to staunch his hip wound and apply pressure. While I wrapped the drapes over the pillow and around his big body, I said, "What happened here?"

"First of all," Cordell said calmly, "you're hit, and you don't look so good."

I looked down at myself. There was a hole in the arm of my leather coat - damn it - and a thin trickle of blood came out on the back of my hand from under the cuff. After I gave myself a second to calm down, I felt a burning sensation on my upper arm. Cord then gestured to my face; I wiped at my mouth and chin and felt myself smearing blood. "Nothing bad. What's the story?"

"Mr. Everett, his wife and guests were moving to the sitting room after dinner. Men came in from the garage and started shooting. I think two more came in from the back. I ran Mr. and Mrs. Everett in here, caught one in the arm. The other guests followed. Mr. Morgan and his wife were at the rear..." One of the women sobbed.

I tied the drapes off snugly. Cordell grimaced but didn't protest - stoic motherfucker. "Okay, then what," I prompted him.

"A gunman came in through the hallway door and fired just as I was providing cover. I returned fire; I think I hit him in the shoulder. We traded a few rounds, and then he moved off. Once they knew Mr. Everett and his wife were basically penned in here, they left a man outside the door. I think their team went to deal with the rest of ours before coming back in force. Just before you got here, one of them started shooting through the door. I was away from cover, checking out the view from the west window, got hit again. I returned fire."

"Well, you got him, buddy. You said you think Dan is in the kitchen?"

"Yeah, he was in there when the attack came, along with the chef and one of the servers." Cordell's tone gave me a bad impression of Dan's situation.

"Okay, I'll check it out. I think it's clear out there, but I need to be sure. I don't want any more surprises."

"Can you do anything for Alan or Marie?" Everett asked. I assumed he meant Mr. and Mrs. Morgan, who were very dead.

"Sir, there may still be a threat in your home, and I can't compromise myself and do my job effectively. I have to consider everyone here. From what I saw, though... No, sir, I can't help them. I'm sorry." I hope he understood that I was basically saying Alan and Marie were gone and I wasn't going to get shot while trying to resuscitate corpses.

"What's the plan?" Cordell asked as he checked his weapon.

I looked at the others in the room; saw the fear in their eyes. Fear could lead to stupid reactions. I turned my eyes back to Cordell and said, "Stay here, keep them covered. Just wait for the sirens; the police should be here in just a few minutes. I have to check on Dan and Diego."

HONOR

I stepped back out into the dark, quiet hallway. The only movement I saw was the twitching foot of the intruder whose windpipe I crushed. With my gun out in front of me, I edged around the corner to my left and peeked into the big family room.

In the middle of that room, beyond the dark-stained bodies of the Morgan's, were two other figures. One of them was the newcomer - overcoat guy - sitting on a low ottoman, facing some kid. I say kid because he couldn't have been more than five feet tall, wearing a child's nylon poncho and one of those stocking caps with the ball on top. Where he came from, I had no fucking clue. The two seemed to be having a whispered conversation. I took a step out, gun trained on them, and waited to be noticed.

The kid glanced at me once but turned his attention right back to overcoat guy, who didn't turn his head my way at all. They simply ignored my gun pointing at them. That didn't do much for my confidence.

The kid's face looked distorted somehow - it must have been an odd cast of shadows. He was mostly listening and nodding during the short, hushed conversation. The overcoat guy... shit, I don't know. Even staring right at him, my eyes wouldn't focus. I couldn't get a defined shape of his silhouette. At a guess, I thought he was wearing a hoodie under the long coat, and the hood was up. His hazy form - a shifting, shadowy outline - in a room where everything else was more or less distinct... I'll admit, it freaked the hell out of me.

The overcoat guy stood and handed the kid a tote bag with handles. Even unable to see his defined shape, I could tell that he had at least half a foot on me in height. The kid took the bag and then shot out of the room too fast for me to react. He went toward the billiards room, and was out on the patio before I could swivel my gun in his direction. I couldn't help but wonder who the hell those people were.

I pointed my gun back at the blurry shadow dude. "Hold it right there, chief. I need some answers. First off, who are you?"

He turned to face me, gave me his full attention... and I wish he hadn't. I've been in combat zones and chaotic firefights, but I'd never been more rattled than when overcoat guy faced me. I still couldn't see any part of him clearly, but he gave off an air of deep, enveloping _power_. I'm not sure how else to explain it. It was like a constant wave that demanded respect, caused fear, and held dark wisdom, all at once. And he hadn't even spoken yet.

When he did say something, the creepy factor went up a notch. "There is not much time, Leopold."

The voice was low and guttural, like he had hot embers in his throat. Let's not forget that the big, scary fucker knew my name. Not cool. I replied, "Time for what, and how the hell do you know me?"

"The authorities are approaching. I will make this quick." He paused for a moment, and I could faintly hear sirens. "You may call me Vormund, for lack of a better name." When he said 'Vormund', it came out as _'vormoondt'_ , like he knew the proper pronunciation of whatever country the name came from. "It is twice now that I have intercepted harm that was meant for you, yes?"

I lowered my gun. "That was you at the nightclub two nights ago, wasn't it?"

"So it was. Would you concede that you are in my debt for actions on your behalf?"

Shit, he had me. One of the few things that couldn't be taken from me was my honor. A handshake was like giving my word, and giving my word was like making a vow. It was that same damn honor that forced me to accept an obligation to be met, or a debt to be paid. Any decent soldier probably followed the same basic code of conduct.

I didn't think Vormund saved me from much at the nightclub - I didn't consider pretty boy much of a threat - but he more than likely saved my ass inside the mansion. All the same, he was about the last person - or whatever he was - that I would want to be indebted to. "Yeah, I am. I appreciate your help here tonight. What exactly do I owe you?"

"You may wish to include me in your police reports," he answered in that deep, menacing, almost mesmerizing voice. "Your debt to me will be considered paid when you make _no_ mention of me - none. I know you, Leopold Beck; you will not take false accolades. So, for whatever assistance I have given this night, offer the credit to your downed companions. You will do this."

Even if I didn't owe him, didn't recognize the debt, I doubt I would have had the balls to refuse him anyway. "Yeah, I can do that," I said with a sigh. "Now, who are you, who are you _really_ , and why have you been following me?"

"We all owe debts, Leopold Beck," was his cryptic reply. "You should see to your associates."

At Vormund's reminder, I looked at the hallway to my right where one of the kitchen entries was. I turned back to say something to captain creepy, but he was gone. I mean, like a trick - like he was never there in the first place - _gone_. I shook it off; I didn't want to think about that right then. The sirens were louder. I still had to find two of my team.

Quick and quiet, I moved into the kitchen. Dan was there, and his body was a mess; I guess he didn't go down easy. The bodies of the chef and two more intruders were there as well. I found the other food server in a corner, a lady in her thirties wounded in the thigh and holding a cleaver. She was nearly hysterical. Couldn't say I blamed her.

After tying a clean towel around her leg, I took off my jacket and had her do the same to my arm. Even though the blood loss was minimal and looked like nothing more than a deep graze, it had started hurting like a bitch. As soon as I got over the pain of her accidently poking a finger in my wound, I went into the garage. The cops were only a few blocks away by then, and it sounded like they called in everyone for back-up. A door in the garage that faced the back of the property was sitting open, letting in cold air. Still cautious, I went through it and turned toward the east lawn.

There were two dark lumps out in the trampled snow; one of them was moving. I recognized it was Diego just as warbling red and blue lights colored the snow. When I ran over to him, I noticed his earpiece was gone. I also saw that he'd lost a lot of blood from the bullet wounds to his legs. There was a trail of rosy pink snow from where he'd dragged himself toward the mansion, the stubborn ass. He'd tied a couple of his wounds off with strips from his ripped pants, so I did what I could for the others until paramedics got to him. When we saw flashlight beams in the garage, I called out for help.

Fuck, what a weird, violent, bloody, scary night. Oh, and painful, in more ways than one.

INFORMATION

An EMT patched me up while a detective questioned me. My left cheek was swollen, my left arm was grazed, my right shoulder was a big, ugly bruise, and I had little cuts on my face and hands from tree bark and marble chips. I was a lot better off than the rest of my team. Two of 'em were gone - two friends. Dan only had an estranged wife, but Craig had just started a family. I was told that Cordell and Diego were both going to be okay, but all medics say that. Needless to say, I was in a foul mood.

John Crane, my boss at Silas, got to the scene while I was walking cops through my series of events. Bodies had already been removed by then. I'm sure Crane cared about us, but I knew him well enough to know that he was also making sure no one sued his ass off.

Mr. Everett personally thanked me and told me to call if I needed anything. It was a nice gesture, but all I wanted from him was to find out who sent twelve men to kill him. Silas Security didn't do that kind of work. Stanley Everett, on the other hand, had the contacts, resources and the motivation to get some answers. I didn't want the death of Craig Addazio and Daniel Harper to mean nothing. Everett didn't owe me that; he owed them.

I was kept for hours at a police station, telling my story over and over while I pressed an ice pack to my face. Not once did I mention Vormund or the track-star kid. They asked me about a personal safe upstairs in the mansion that had been opened with some sort of explosive. I never went upstairs, never heard any explosion, and didn't know about a safe, but I had a fair guess that its contents left the mansion in a tote bag.

My Glock was held as evidence, but I was finally released in the middle of the night. Crane drove me home, and said he'd have my car delivered in the morning. Half a bottle of Jack later, I was dead to the world and dreaming of shadows. I woke up groaning, sore as shit. I chased the handful of aspirin down with more Jack. I called Keegan and said I needed the weekend off. When asked, I gave him a quick overview of the story, and that he and Deb could hear more about it on the news.

Looking out a front window of my house to late morning sunshine gleaming off the snow, I squinted and saw my old '05 Wrangler parked out front as promised. I felt an urge to go off-roading again, and maybe do some camping. Wrong time, wrong season; I promised myself I would when I could.

While I sat back on the couch and held a bag of frozen peas to my face, I called Gwen. After I made sure what hospital Cord and Diego were in, she wanted details about the Everett attack. I indulged her, but glazed over any part that the shadow-man was involved in. On a whim, I did ask what kind of a name Vormund was. She looked it up while we chatted about Diego's health. As for the name Vormund, Gwen said she found it as an uncommon surname, but not as a given one. Then, for trivia's sake, she casually offered that when translated in German, vormund meant 'guardian'.

OFFER

I visited Cordell and Diego in the hospital, and met their respective families again. I'd been introduced to them all at a company dinner six months prior. Cordell only had a father and younger sister, while Diego's catholic family took that 'multiply and prosper' quote from the bible and ran with it. There were kids, siblings, parents and extended family packed into his room. Because of bone and/or tendon damage, both of the guys needed surgery. Cord's condition wasn't bad; Diego would need rehab.

I debated stopping by Keegan's for an afternoon drink. Since half of my face was still swollen, though, I just went back home. I didn't have to worry about the media bothering me since my company wouldn't release my name or information, so there were only a few messages on my cell phone that I forgot to bring with me again. One was from Crane; just a check-up call. Another was from Gwen, who gave times and dates for the funerals of Dan and Craig.

The last message wasn't one I expected. The caller I.D. listed the number as private. It was from a woman with a slight accent - French, I assumed - named Dominique Rondeau. She said she wanted to discuss a lucrative business opportunity with me. No other info was given except for a local phone number, and the request to call back at my earliest convenience. I wondered how lucrative she was talking about. Hell, there were a lot of things I was wondering.

Ms. Rondeau sounded professional and honest in her message, but something didn't feel right. Maybe I was still edgy because of a dozen hired guns and the spooky shadow dude. Maybe the timing was just wrong; I was still a little twitchy from being in combat less than a day before. Maybe I hadn't let go of Dan and Craig yet; we weren't best buds, but they still meant something to me. Maybe I was afraid of a 'business opportunity' because it might change the safe little world I was hiding in.

I finally decided to find out what the opportunity was, and could easily walk away with no regrets if something still felt wrong about the offer. I poured myself a Jack and Coke and then dialed the number. A guy with a youthful voice answered, "Realm Management, how can I help you today, Mr. Beck?"

Okay, that caught me off-guard; I didn't think receptionists had caller I.D. on their phones. I also never dealt with a male receptionist. "Uh, yeah, hi; I was asked to return a call from someone named, uh, Dominique Rondeau? Does she work there?"

The receptionist chuckled. "Yes, sir, you could say that. I'll connect you."

RESTAURANT

Just over 48 hours later, on a crisp Sunday afternoon, a limousine pulled up in front of my house. It showed up right on time. Straightening my suit, I stepped out to go have a business dinner with Ms. Rondeau that I agreed to after talking with her. She insisted on sending a car to pick me up. I was also promised compensation for my time even if I declined her job offer. Hell, I couldn't say no to that.

I waved to Miss Loretta, who was on her porch for her afternoon cigarette, and got in the stretch sedan. The driver headed north into downtown and pulled up in front of a stylish high rise commercial building. "Not doubting you, man," I said to the driver, "but I don't think there's a restaurant in here, unless you count a cafeteria or something."

He turned and grinned at me. "This is the place, sir. There will be someone inside to escort you. Oh, and I know you said you can open your own door, but someone might be watching. Not to go against your wishes, sir, but I'd rather not get in trouble."

He seemed really worried about it. "No problem; do your thing." I didn't know any chauffeurs, but he seemed like a nice guy. If I had the money, I would've tipped him. Well, probably.

A uniformed guard met me at the doors of the building and let me in. Once in the big, empty lobby, a nicely dressed young woman escorted me to the elevators. She used a security card that allowed access to the top floors. On the 36th floor, we exited into a lavish reception area. Offices were to the left. Off to the right, though, was a set of large wooden double doors - my destination, as I found out. While the young lady spoke into an intercom in the wall next to the doors, I noticed two cameras pointed at us. Ms. Rondeau said it was an exclusive restaurant, but I wasn't expecting that level of security.

After the door locks clicked, the young lady (I forgot her name) told me to just follow the hallway. After I stepped in, the big doors shut behind me with a heavy thump. In the hallway that turned right then left, there weren't any tables or doors; just nice carpet, subdued lighting, and weird art on the walls.

Around the last corner was a large, two-story tall room. It was a restaurant, and, holy shit, I was out of my element. The entire wall to my right was windows that looked out over downtown; I arrived just past sundown, and it was a damn nice view. Everything else about the place was elegant and tasteful. Only about one third of the tables were occupied, but everyone in there looked like they stepped out of fashion magazines. Even in my best suit, I felt like a bum in comparison.

There wasn't a maître d'; just two very well-dressed guys that asked who invited me. One of them led me over to the one of the booths against the far wall, where a woman was seated. She had auburn hair pulled into a fancy bun, looked to be in her mid-thirties, and wore a nice dress with a silk shawl around her shoulders. She was attractive, but her features were a little thin and angular for my liking. But, shit, I wasn't there for a date.

CONVERSATION

"Mr. Beck, thank you for coming. I'm Dominique Rondeau. Please, have a seat," she said with a genuine smile. Maybe because of the atmosphere, I expected her to be stiff and formal.

"Thanks for inviting me." I slid into the empty booth seat. The guy who brought me over took our drink orders and walked off. "When you said it was an exclusive place, Ms. Rondeau, I still didn't picture anything like this. I'm used to burger joints and pub grub."

"I enjoy indulging in opulence on occasion, Mr. Beck," she said in the same subtle French accent that I heard on the phone. "I hope you enjoy it as well, and perhaps you'll come to prefer it in the future. Access to this establishment is one of the benefits of the position my company is offering you."

"Yeah, about that... I had some questions, if you don't mind."

Our drinks were delivered along with leather-bound menus. Once we were alone again, she said, "I'd be concerned if you didn't. Go right ahead."

"Okay, first off, why me?"

Ms. Rondeau looked at me pointedly. "Is there a reason you feel you shouldn't have been chosen?"

"Well, one thing is... I'm not down on my looks, okay? But let's face it: my scars don't exactly make me one of the beautiful people," I said as I vaguely gestured to the other restaurant patrons.

"I find your scars rather exotic, to be honest, Mr. Beck, so I don't find it to be an issue. Appearances, however, have very little to do with why you were sought out. You're handsome, but it's your skills and other factors that are of interest."

"Well, um, thanks, that's nice of you to say. But on the phone, you said that you worked in the art field and that the position you wanted me for was to be executive protection for various people in that community, yourself included." I paused for a gulp of my drink. "Ms. Rondeau, I know nothing about art or the culture that surrounds it. Artists don't need much security besides a copyright lawyer, do they?"

One side of her mouth curled into a smirk. After a sip of club soda, she replied, "And perhaps protection from their own egos, but no, Realm Management wouldn't be employing you to act as an artist's keeper. Let's order, and I'll give some details over dinner, alright?"

Dinner sounded good to me. It was one of those fancy menus with no prices, and the choice of steak was limited to filet mignon. Crap, no rib-eye? When we'd both decided, Ms. Rondeau waived a waiter over. While he took our orders, she asked for a very specific bottle of wine to come with the meals. I knew wine like I knew art.

While we waited, Ms. Rondeau explained that Realm Management was a patron company to numerous artists, and owned many of the local art galleries. It was a contributor to the city's large art college, and had strong influence in most of the regional museums. The company's reach went beyond just the arts, though. It was involved with architecture, civil planning, realty, healthcare, industrial and commercial development, and was getting into the food services industry. Damn.

"I remember you saying that you're the administrator over the art galleries that your company owns, right?" I asked as our meals were delivered.

"Yes, I oversee various personnel, local and regional artists, and showings. I also have the final say on most sales and acquisitions."

"That's all pretty impressive, Ms. Rondeau. So I have to ask, and sorry if it comes out kinda rude, but why are you the one interviewing me? I'm sure you've got plenty of people under you to do it."

"That's rather simple," she said while shooing the waiter away and poured her own glass of wine. "My employer told me to hire you personally. Underlings typically handle such matters, true, but I can't say that I mind. This gets me out of my routine and out of my office, and, honestly, I find it refreshing that you don't walk on eggshells with me the way most of my employees do. Here," she grabbed my empty wine glass and filled it, "you simply must try some."

"I'm not much of a wine guy, but I'll give it a shot." I took a sip, and my taste buds almost had an orgasm. It was like nothing I'd ever tasted before; fruity, honeyed, strong, had a mild kick, went down like velvet and made my mouth tingle. I took another taste. And then another.

Ms. Rondeau smiled at whatever expression was on my face. "I'm glad you like it," she said. "Now, as I was saying, my employer takes security seriously, and is well-versed with your file. She had some access to your information because of her past and present dealings with Silas Security. She was also made aware of the events at the home of Stanley Everett, whom she has had financial arrangements with in the past. While very unfortunate that two of your people were lost, I'm told you were quite impressive."

I set my wine glass down. "Everett opened his mouth, did he?" I asked rhetorically with a frown.

"A Mr. Crane at Silas spoke highly of you as well. That only strengthened my employer's opinion of you, Mr. Beck. A greater interest to my employer was your military career."

I finished a bite of steak and washed it down with the awesome wine. "A lot of people are veterans."

"Yes, but not many have your specific training. As I've come to understand it, force recon mostly deals with survival, stealth, and gathering intelligence. The file I was given says you excelled at it, as well as various forms of self-defense. My employer finds that quite useful."

"Okay, first, can I get another glass of that Wine? And secondly, who exactly is your employer?"

Ms. Rondeau gestured for me to help myself to the wine while she chewed a bite of her own meal. "My employer desires privacy as much as you do, Mr. Beck. I can, however, guarantee a personal meeting if you decide to become part of Realm Management. Since I can't speak much more on that matter, what if we discuss what exactly would be expected of you, as well as your compensation package?"

After all of her big words, it boiled down to me being versatile in the company's need of me. I might be asked to blend in at parties, a private museum hosting or two, and a few gallery showcases. A majority of my time, though, was to be an EP for some executives of Realm Management, including the mystery employer. When not given orders on a company phone, Ms. Rondeau would be my contact for duties that included package inspection, delivery of important materials, and surveillance on certain individuals and small factions that "had no love for the company", as she put it.

The compensation package wasn't too shabby. My salary would have been nearly double what I was making at Keegan's and Silas Security combined. Other perks were a company credit card, a company car, a stipend for a new wardrobe, an insurance package, moderately high security clearance, and the use of a downtown loft. I wasn't too thrilled with the loft offer; I liked my little house.

A little while after we finished our meals and the wine bottle was empty, I thanked Ms. Rondeau for the delicious meal and the good company. I asked for a day or two to think about the offer. She agreed to my request without any hesitation, and handed me her card to contact her directly. The same chauffeur took me home; I tipped him a Jackson and got inside to get out of my suit. I sat back and thought about if I was ready for a big change. I fell asleep and dreamed about a gorgeous blonde with amber eyes.

CHANGE

The next day was warm for early February, so I decided to walk to Keegan's around lunch time. On the way, I called John Crane. He asked how I was, told me that Mr. Everett added big tips to the fee, and that I should take it easy until I was fully healed. His concern for me made me feel even shittier when I mentioned that I was debating another job offer. It was only fair to tell him since I didn't know how much notice I might be able to give if I took it.

Not being very familiar with any of the normal Monday lunch crowd, I sat at the end of the bar and ordered a drink and a plate of hot wings. Keeg's wife Deb came out from the office and joined me. I told her the same thing I told Crane. She asked more about the job offer and, as I described it, I realized just how good of an offer it was. I also realized how safe I felt in my comfort zones, and would have to get used to new routines. Another new thing, just when I'd settled in.

My situation wasn't exactly what I'd planned when I got out of the Marines. I did six years of active duty, and the last two at home as a reserve. With my type of training and experience, there weren't going to be a lot of civilian jobs waiting for me. The Corps wanted me to re-up. After I got ripped up by an IED that also took out two of my men, I'd had enough. I sat back in a bed, bandaged on my left side from knee to noggin, and phoned my mom that I was coming home. She was always a worrier, so I never told her about any of my wounds.

I came home to a much different situation from when I left. With my dad not being around for a long time, my mom had mellowed out considerably. See, my dad was a part-time abusive prick; we never knew when he might get in a foul mood, so it kept us edgy. After my brother Al died in a car wreck when he was eighteen, my dad's darker moods came out more often. If he was calm, my mom was all smiles and the scent of Pledge filled the house with her happy-cleaning thing. If he was being a dick, she withdrew and spent more time in the kitchen or out in the garden. I joined her when it was safe.

After years of verbal and emotional abuse, my mom and I were granted a miracle. I was seventeen when dear ol' dad had a massive heart attack. He and I were in the basement working on a water pipe when it happened. I stood over him and waited until I was sure he was dead before I told my mom or dialed 911. My dad was buried over ten years ago in a cemetery that had cheap plots. I paid a little extra for his small headstone to have an epitaph: 'Josef R. Beck - 1953-2004 - No big loss'.

Since my mom's passing, and my two month bender afterwards, I got my jobs at both Silas and Keegan's and relaxed into a routine. Deb knew the basics of my past after I got out of the Marines - my missions were still classified, so I never talked about 'em - and realized that I was feeling insecure, or whatever you want to call it. She reminded me that change could be a good thing, and another opportunity like the one I was offered probably wouldn't come around again. I shouldn't have listened to her.

SARAH

As I walked down my block going home from Keegan's, I saw a small, black delivery van parked in front of my house. When I got closer, one of the two guys in the van got out. He was a chubby guy who wore a black coat with the Realm Management logo on it. He just stood by the van and smiled.

When I got close to the gate of my fenced-in front yard, the delivery guy asked if I was Mr. Beck. After making sure, he got a box crate out of the back of the small van and said it was 'compliments of Ms. Rondeau and her employer'. I asked him how long he'd been sitting there waiting for me; he said that he was told to wait as long as it took to make the delivery. I was starting to feel pretty fucking important.

Once inside, I took the black wrapping off a wooden container about the size of a shoebox. Stamped on it was the word 'fragile' in a few languages. Inside was packing foam, an envelope, and a bottle. Written by hand on the envelope was the words 'time reimbursement'. The check inside of it was enough to make me whistle.

The bottle inside the box was about half the size of a regular wine bottle. The fancy label said 'Le Meur Cabernet Sauvignon', which didn't mean shit to me, other than it was wine. My hunch was confirmed when I uncorked it and took a sip; it was the same red wine from dinner the night before. Oh hell yes.

I resisted temptation and just stuck with Jack and Coke that night. The next day, I was coming home from the grocery store when I got a call from Ms. Rondeau's office. One of her assistants - a gal named Sarah, who had a sexy voice - had an offer on her boss's behalf. She asked if I wanted a tour of a few places I'd see a lot of, if I accepted the position. Sure, what the hell. Sarah said she'd personally come pick me up the following afternoon. I thanked her, hung up, and then stepped out back and fired up my cheap grill. Screw the weather; I was going to have a rib-eye with that wine, dammit.

That night, I had another dream of the same blonde woman with golden eyes. I'd never seen her before in real life, but I remembered details of her from that dream. It was so fucking vivid. She had long, light blonde hair with strands of copper, and her pale skin was flawless. She was in shadows, but I felt drawn and knew right where to find her. She held me and we moved. Not dancing, really; it was more like an embrace in slow motion. The dream wasn't actually erotic, although I did wake up with serious wood.

The next afternoon, a black sedan pulled up in front of my house. Luckily I didn't have to wear a suit that time; I wore 'em a lot, so getting to wear casual clothes was a bonus. Sarah called as I was putting a coat on - one without bullet holes in it. When I got in the car, she was all innocent smiles with a heavy hint of flirtation; sort of a mix between a tour guide and an exotic dancer, or a cheerleader and a bar skank. Sarah was cute, but not the _'girl next door, treat her like a lady'_ type. She was more like the _'girl from out of town, treat her like a dirty whore'_ kind of cute.

The first place Sarah brought me was to an art gallery. It was a big place, and had displays from three different artists. Two of them mainly did abstract paintings, which I thought were shit. The last display was from a photographer, who had some nice shots. I got bored of that pretty quick, so I basically cased the place; exits, restrooms, alarms, camera locations, access to back rooms, and general layout. A dozen people milling around, and no guard present - the security was reactive rather than preventative.

On the way out, I told Sarah a little about what I noticed. She asked what changes I would make while she drove us into downtown. Once onto the avenues with tall buildings all around us, Sarah asked if I'd like to have dinner before we visited the Realm offices. She was in the mood for Italian, and there was a good place nearby. Over big bowls of chicken Alfredo, Sarah asked about my family. I didn't go into any details; I just said that I didn't have any. I got the topic off of me and asked what her normal job was. She mostly had to deal with artists, who were sometimes temperamental, so I was a 'real treat'.

BUM

It was nearing dusk when we went in the restaurant, so it was dark when we came out. The parking lot next to the building was lit by one streetlamp, which was enough to see a homeless guy pissing on Sarah's car. There were other cars in the lot; I don't know why he went back and chose hers. And he wasn't just tinkling on a tire - he was blasting the driver's door, dousing the window, the door handle, everything. Sarah gasped and swore. I was caught somewhere between disgust and laughter.

I really didn't feel like roughing up a bum; I just wanted to run him off. As I approached, he looked at me and put his junk back in his pants, but didn't move. The guy could have been anywhere between forty and sixty; it was tough to tell with his shaggy beard and unwashed face. His layers of clothing were ripped and stained, and I could smell him from ten feet away. The thing that unnerved me was that one of his eyes was squinted, like he was defiantly sizing me up. The other eye was opened wide, paranoid and twitching. I stopped at the other side of Sarah's car so that the bum had a free path to leave.

"Hey, man, not cool," I said calmly but stern. "I think you should get away from the car now."

The bum shifted from one foot to the other, still giving me that wild stare. "Sweet danger at your doorstep, boy," he said with a raspy, smoker's voice. "Flowers will dance, and then they will wilt! Colors will spin and eyes will alight before fading. But the power is in your backyard - power!"

Oh great, a whacko. "Hey, yeah, that's great, man. Now why don't you get moving before my friend back there calls the cops, alright?" I glanced back and saw that Sarah was already on her phone.

Ol' crazy eyes shuffled out from between the cars and moved closer to me. I tensed and slid one foot back for better balance, just in case. I initially didn't want to hurt him, but he was getting aggressive.

"The dark eye, the cracked flesh," the bum wheezed. "The ancient shadow, he looms, boy! Can't you feel it?" His arms flailed as he spoke, and that one eye opened even wider.

I sighed. "All I can feel is my patience coming to an end, old man. So go away, now." I'm not sure why, but the words of his insane rant unsettled me.

He moved toward me with a jerk, like his crazy eye was pulling him. "She is a tool!" he said, turning his glare to Sarah. "A harlot of vitae - she will -"

The end of my little Ruger that pressed against the bum's cheekbone shut him up. He became very still and then slowly took a step back with his hands out to his sides. I reached out to give him a shove in order to get more room between us. He wasn't big at all - kinda scrawny, actually - but it was like pushing a wall; the bum didn't budge. I wasn't sure how he did that.

Instead of trying to move him, I took a step back and reset my aim on his face. "Seriously, man, last warning," I said as I lowered the gun to point at his legs. I was ready to shoot. "Get the fuck out of here."

The bum backed away, still facing me. When he got to the low retaining wall at the back of the lot, he yelled, "Brave the shadows, boy! The Veleti comes - the Veleti!" And then he nimbly hopped the wall and ran off.

I turned to Sarah. "Did you call the cops?"

"No, you were here; I didn't doubt you could handle a vagrant with a bladder problem. I just called the company motor pool to bring us another car. I'm not touching that one again."

I couldn't blame her.

EAVESDROP

We didn't wait long at all before another black sedan pulled up. A guy in a black jacket with the Realm logo on it got out, pulled a bucket of cleaning supplies from the trunk, and then swapped keys with Sarah. She and I got in his car and took off. I'd never heard of the company before a few days back, and never noticed its uniformed employees around town, either. Delivery vans, company cars... It wouldn't have surprised me if Realm Management had its own planes, too.

Next to the skyscraper that Realm Management called home was a multi-story parking garage. Sarah pulled into it and took us to the lower level, which needed a card swipe to get past the heavy barricade and retracting tire spike strips. Holy shit, those people didn't fuck around. Down on the lower level were a handful of expensive cars, and at least half a dozen black sedans at the far end. Set into that far wall was a set of opaque sliding doors. It didn't look like an elevator, and I didn't see stairs anywhere, either.

Sarah parked near the other company sedans and we headed over to the doors. In the wall next to the doors were security devices; one was another card swipe, but I wasn't sure what the other one was until Sarah put her thumb on its small screen. The double doors hissed open, and we stepped into a long, wide hallway with soft overhead lighting and nothing else.

"I'm starting to get how serious your company is about security," I commented.

Sarah nodded as we walked down the hall. "That's why they don't hire retired beat cops or wannabe's with a gun permit. If you come on with Realm, they may have you take some computer and electronics classes. If you're not already a member of places for refresher courses - you know, gun practice, martial arts, that kind of thing - they'll have you sign up for those, too."

"I'm a member of a firing range, and I've been going to the same dojo for a long time. There's no problem with that, is there?"

"Nah, there shouldn't be," she said with a shrug. "Just tell them the places you go to practice so they can reimburse your fees. The company will pay for that."

"No shit?" The flippant question fell out of my mouth before I could stop it.

"No shit," Sarah replied with a grin.

Damn, the deal got sweeter as I went along. The long hallway ended at a T. Both ways went only about ten feet back, with an elevator at either end. Sarah chose the one on the left; I didn't know if it made any difference. On the long ride up to the 36th floor in the swanky elevator, Sarah stood close to me. Normally, I like my space, but her suggestive smile and nice ass had me not minding so much.

While we walked through the corridors, Sarah pointed out that most deliveries and visitors were dealt with one floor down; it was rare that any non-employee got to the 36th floor or above. She couldn't tell me what the floors above the 36th were used for; she'd never been allowed up there.

We stopped near the end of a rear corridor, in front of a plain door. She turned the handle and pushed it open. "Take a look," she said.

"Wait, why wasn't the door locked? Almost every other door up here is, except for the bathrooms."

"Oh, this one is open because Ms. Rondeau's employer wanted you to see your future office."

"Office... I'd get an office?" I leaned over and peered into the dark room.

"Sure you would," Sarah said, and then strolled into the room. She found a light switch, and two small lamps at either end of a desk came on. The room was deep, but not very wide. It did have a window that faced north, though. All that was in the office was the desk, lamps, and a leather chair. "I doubt you'd be in here much," she went on, "but it'd be a nice place to write your reports or do any online work. You might also get to know some of the stiff collars you could be guarding."

"Hey, just between us, who _is_ Ms. Rondeau's employer?"

She gave me one of her coy smiles. "I couldn't tell you even if I knew."

Just then, the lights flickered - desk lamps, corridor lights, everything. We decided to head back down to the car. I needed to hit the head, and after I explained what that meant, Sarah decided that she needed to use the restroom as well. We found a pair that was side-by-side. I finished up quick, stepped out, and was about to meander around when I heard her voice through the door. She was talking to someone on the phone. I stepped closer and leaned in to listen. Don't judge - you would've, too.

". . . something about flowers and colors, and..." There was a pause. "Well, yes, but he was raving." Another pause, and then, "Alright, there was something about an ancient shadow, and then he called me a harlot. Can you believe that?" I could almost hear the voice from the phone because of the bathroom's echo. "Yes, I'm sorry," Sarah said quietly. "Yes, he did, but I didn't make much sense of it. Something like, 'the Velenti', or 'the Vilidi'... What? Yes, Veleti - that sounds right." There was one more pause before Sarah said, "I will. He's nice, but kind of intense. I'll show him the loft and ... hello?"

I backed away from the door and turned to admire some stupid painting. Sarah came out a minute later; her smile couldn't quite hide the worry in her eyes. We went back to the elevator; I noticed that only the buttons from 36 to 39 were lit, as well as G1. I assumed it didn't make any stops on any of the other floors. We didn't speak on the ride back down, each of us reliving her phone call. I was kind of intense?

LATINO

Sarah and I went back down the long hallway and through the opaque sliding doors. Only a few steps out into the parking garage, we saw four male teenagers - thugs, bangers, punks, delinquents, take your pick. They were an odd mix, though; two were black, one white, and the last one was a short Latino. Two were near the sedans to the right, and two to the left, all about fifteen yards from us. They all had knives of various types in their hands, and every single car tire was flat. Oh wonderful.

"How you doin' tonight, man?" the Latino asked me.

I gauged each of them quickly by their posture and how they carried themselves - confident, and no strangers to violence. I didn't like my odds. "I was doing okay until I found out we'd be taking a taxi home. How are you?"

All of them grinned. The Latino kid smiled wide at his friends and said, "I like that guy - he's all polite an' shit." He looked back to me. "We're doin' real good, man, thanks for askin'. Hold up, wait a second; sorry, I take it back. We do got one little problem."

I felt the chances of Sarah and I walking away get thinner. "Look, man, we really don't want to be your problem. We can pay you for the fine work you've done on the tires, and then we'll call it a night, okay?"

The teens laughed, hopefully at my little joke. I stepped in front of Sarah and said over my shoulder for her to get back near the doors.

"Nah, man," the Latino said with a chuckle, "the air pressure checks are on the house. But the 'fine work' we done don't really solve our problem. You understand?"

"Alright, you've got a problem. How can I help you fix it?" I noticed a couple of them had gun butts sticking out of their pants. Shit.

"You can help us by walkin', man," the Latino said as he put his knife into an inner pocket of his Kansas City Chiefs coat. "We don't got no problem with you. In fact, we like you, man, so you can go get that taxi. We just got a little problem with your bitch."

I wanted to turn and ask Sarah if she knew those fuck-heads, but I would have been distracting myself. "Sorry, guys," I said with a sigh, "then you've got a problem with me, too."

"Aw, look at that," the Latino said with a wide smile to the others, "our boy's all noble an' shit! See, that's cool an' all, man, but we're gonna fix our little problem one way or the other, you got it?"

"Yeah, I got it." I turned my head and yelled over my shoulder, "Get back inside!" I heard the doors hiss as the four teens moved slowly toward me. I pulled my Ruger out of my pocket and aimed it at the closest guy, the one on my left. They all stopped.

"Aw, man, you just made things difficult for me," the Latino said. "That bitch had something I wanted, and I ain't talkin' pussy, man." He slowly put a hand into his front pocket. I swiveled my gun to the right, pointing in his general direction. He put up his other hand as if to tell me he wasn't pulling a weapon. "Now you owe me, man. And I wanna hear you say it. Say, 'I owe Pedro', loud n' clear."

"Fine, I owe Pedro."

Pedro pulled his hand out of his pocket. He didn't have a gun - he had a fucking grenade. Where the hell does a punk kid get a grenade from? The other three backed up as I tried to focus my aim on Pedro's forearm. In the blink of an eye, he pulled the pin and tossed it at me. Damn, he was fast. I let off a round, probably hitting him but not sure where, and then ran and dove for cover behind a car to my left.

The grenade was a smoker. I swung over the trunk of a car and aimed. Even through the smoke I could see the four fuck-heads halfway down the garage lane and still running, way out of range for my gun. I stayed low to keep the smoke out of my eyes and went over to the double doors. I tapped on one of them and yelled, "All clear". A second later, the doors hissed open and I hurried inside, telling Sarah to shut the doors so none of the lingering smoke could roll in. What a shitty night.

NERVOUS

"What was that all about?" Sarah asked me.

"I was about to ask you the same thing. Do you know those guys?"

"Shit, no! Why would I have anything to do with a gang?"

"I don't know why, because I don't know you, Sarah. All I _do_ know is that they were looking for you."

"I haven't done anything to piss anyone off, Leo. Honest," she said as she put her hands on my forearm.

I gently pulled away and looked out the doors, even though I couldn't see anything. "I think they had something to do with that power flicker. Maybe they cut a main camera feed line, I don't know. Did you want to call the cops, or at least alert building security?"

"I'll make a call in a minute. I just want to make sure you don't view me or the company in a poor light because of this. It's just bad timing or bad coincidence... bad something. This is a really good place to work, I promise." I didn't answer, so she took a different tact. "Would you like to go see your loft?"

"Do you think it's safe?" I asked sarcastically. "Hell, Sarah, with the way things are going tonight, I don't want to risk it. I can look at the place some other time. I don't really want to move out of my house, anyway. I like it there."

"Oh, I'm sure they could work something out," she said, moving closer to me. "Come on, I'll get us a cab, alright?" She led me back to the elevators, up to the 36th floor again, over to a different set of elevators, and took one down to the main lobby. How fucking tedious. I hardly said a word the whole time. She stepped away to make some calls while I told the guard at the front desk about what happened. Yep, the security feeds were cut; not bad for some punks.

Sarah came back over to me, smiling nervously. "A cab should be here soon," she said.

I led her away from the security desk and over to the glass front doors. "Sarah, you're nice, and you're fun, but I'll ask for someone else to show me the loft, if I even want to see it."

"What? Why?" she asked fretfully.

"Don't worry; I'll say you were great - and you were, really - so you don't have to worry about getting in trouble or losing your job or anything. No offense, but it's just that now I think you're bad luck." She had a look of shock and real worry; she opened her mouth to say something, but I cut her off. "I think I'll just walk home, it's not too far. Good night, Sarah."

I hurried out of the door and away from the building. Once I was around a corner, I called my neighbor Hector and asked for a ride. Walk home over eight miles when it's below freezing? Screw that.

WAKES

It had snowed a few inches overnight, so I went over and shoveled Hector's driveway in the morning to repay his favor. Then I did the same for Miss Loretta's driveway and sidewalk, just so I wouldn't worry about her. While I shoveled, I thought about the two wakes I was going to attend that evening. Craig's was earlier than Dan's, so I could get to both. It wasn't like I wanted to go, though. It was a crappy way to spend an evening, and I didn't want to dwell on it.

I went inside and made the call to Ms. Rondeau that I promised Sarah I would. I gave her praise and said that she wasn't responsible for the security breach. I'm not sure how true that was, but I said it anyway. Then I was asked if I'd made any decision concerning Realm Management. I explained that I had some personal matters to attend to for the next couple of days (wakes and funerals) and I'd have an answer afterwards. If they were too corporate to sympathize, well then, too damn bad.

The rest of the day was spent just on me. Sounds selfish, right? So what - I felt I'd earned it. And no, I didn't go get a pedicure or scarf down a box of bonbons. I worked out in my basement, had a couple drinks, did some shooting at the gun range, had a couple drinks, trained on padded dummies at the dojo, had a couple drinks, and then went for a haircut. I ruined my work out by eating fast food for dinner. Then I reluctantly got ready to go to the wakes. Throughout the whole day, though, I wondered why I kept having dreams of some mysterious hot blonde I'd never met.

Both wakes were depressing, as you might expect. Nearly all of the Silas employees showed up to them. I knew from talking to Diego on the phone that he was still healing up and couldn't be there. John Crane pressed me about my other job offer and tried to sweeten my employment with him in little ways. I wasn't in the mood to deal with him.

Also making an appearance at both wakes was Stanley Everett, his wife, and the two other couples that survived his dinner party. They all shook my hand, as well as Cordell's. Everett again stated his offer of assistance if I needed anything. I pulled him aside, telling him of the offer from Realm Management. I told him that his name was mentioned during a meeting. Since he had dealings with the company, I wanted his perspective before I made my decision to join them.

Everett frowned with a troubled look. He pointed out that his work with them was purely financial; my intended position was much more hands-on, so few comparisons could be made. His company had recently cut ties with some divisions of Realm's operations, so his current view wasn't favorable. Everett also suspected that I might be used by them for 'clandestine' tasks.

Okay, not a ringing endorsement. I wanted Gwen's reaction, so I found her in the crowd at Craig's wake. We sat on a bench in the foyer of the funeral home. I sipped from my flask while she cleaned spots from her large, round eyeglasses. I saw a mole on her chin that I'd never noticed before, but obviously didn't mention it. Other than to dress professionally, Gwen didn't care what others thought of her appearance.

I quietly repeated Everett's information and opinions, and asked if there was anything else she could add to it. "From a rumor I heard," Gwen commented as she wiped at her thick glasses with a napkin, "a major division within Realm had some sort of falling out with Everett Financial after some other low-key investor got involved. There's a whisper that whoever that Realm division leader was, they hired mercs from out of town to hit Everett. I don't know if that story holds water, though."

"A hit squad, over business deals going sour? Sounds like overkill to me."

"Yeah, petty to the nth, right?" she said with her strange smirk. "Like a child queen who yells 'Off with their heads' to anyone who looks at her wrong."

I held off taking another sip to grin at her. "I bet you like those kinds of stories."

"What can I say," Gwen said with a shrug, "I'm a romantic."

I chuckled at her odd sense of humor and then took a drink. We sat for a few seconds in silence before I commented, "Working for Realm is sounding less and less appealing."

"Unless you're only interested in money," she said casually. "I'm sure they pay well and offer lots of perks. In the opinion of certain circles, though, the company is morally gray." She frowned at me. "Or is it ethically gray? Oh well, either way, they're gray."

"Hell, Gwen, you're morally gray."

She shrugged and put her glasses on. "True, but my priorities are different. I couldn't care less about money and power like Realm does. I care about certain things, and everything else doesn't matter."

"Oh really," I said as she stood up. "And what are those certain things?"

"A girl doesn't reveal all her secrets, dummy," Gwen replied while she smoothed her pantsuit. "Don't worry, Leo; I have a list, and you and a few others are somewhere on it. But I'll warn you: your name will get moved if we stop having our fun little chats."

"Yes, ma'am," I said with a grin.

"Good. Now, I'm going to go find Crane and see if I can make him cry."

UNINVITED

The next morning's weather matched the mood of Dan's funeral - gloomy and subdued. The timing of his and Craig's burials were too close together, so I couldn't attend both. I knew Dan longer, so, there ya go. I got home and felt numb, like I did after military funerals. I didn't even want a drink.

Since it was a Friday, but right about the time people with regular jobs went to lunch, I decided it was the best time to call Dominique Rondeau and politely decline her job offer. A little while later, Keegan called; he knew I just went to the services of a couple guys I knew from my other job. Since there was a band that weekend, he'd have steroid Mac at the door and he'd bar-back. Everything was covered, so I had the weekend off and he'd see me the week after unless I decided to stop in for a drink. I couldn't have asked for a much nicer boss, which made me feel better for following my instincts about Realm.

I turned my phone off and took a nap. I felt lazy when I woke up, and puttered around the house in just sweats and an old USMC t-shirt. I did a little cleaning with the ol' Pledge, made myself a simple dinner, and zoned out on crappy TV shows while nursing a strong drink. Just before the ten o'clock news came on, I was jolted out of my haze by a knock on my front door. My first thought was of Hector or Miss Loretta when I jumped up to answer it.

When I pulled my door open, I immediately realized it wasn't one of my neighbors. Holding my screen door open was a young woman; I shifted so that the lamp light from behind me fell on her face.

"Hi there," she said happily with a smile. "I do remember saying that we might meet again."

A little shorter than average, wavy brunette hair, very pretty, lots of cleavage - it was the hottie from the bar I helped out a couple weeks before. "Hey, I remember you. You're... uh..."

"Macie, I'm Macie. Really, Leo, I thought I'd left more of an _impression_!" On that last word, she suddenly thrust both of her palms into my chest, and I literally went flying backwards. I landed hard on my back, between my polished coffee table and my old TV. I wasn't expecting an attack, let alone one from a girl who was strong enough to launch me halfway through my living room. I was stunned, more from her strength than anything else.

As I was trying to sit up, Macie stepped inside. Immediately after her were two guys in black coats with the Realm logo on them; they moved past her and moved to either side of the room. Both had taser guns. My attention was brought back to my front door, where another guy in slacks and a sweater came in like he was an honored guest. It was the pissed off pretty boy from the upscale bar, except he didn't look very pretty anymore. One side of his face looked like it was pressed against an electric stove burner while it was hot; there was a pattern of charred, half-circle burns from cheek to forehead. Ouch.

Macie shut the front door behind her and leaned against it. The taser guys stayed where they were. The formerly-pretty boy took a few steps toward me, looking royally pissed. My little Ruger was on the end table behind me and to my right, next to my phone and the only lit lamp in the room. My other guns were back in my bedroom. The only other weapons were knives in the kitchen back behind me. The tasers pointed at me would've lit me up before I could get off my ass anyway, so I was screwed.

ABDUCTION

"You interfered with my hunt," the guy with the ugly burns growled at me. "I'm going to have some retribution before we move on."

"Don't have too much fun, Evan," Macie said as she checked her painted nails. "I'm quite sure that the Doyenne's orders specified that Mr. Beck be delivered in good condition."

Evan turned his head back to her and said, "You're just concerned that your debt to her won't be considered paid if he isn't." He half-turned her way and pointed a finger at her. "You're not one of us, so I don't care -"

My leg sweep interrupted Evan, and the heel of my other foot that caught him in the hip was enough to send him sprawling into my bookshelf. I jumped to my feet, aware that I was about to be tasered. But I'd be damned if I was going out without giving a douche like Evan a good whack.

No tasers, no mind-numbing shock like I expected. Macie was holding a hand up, palm forward, signaling the men not to shoot. I glanced between her and Evan; he was glaring daggers at me while he slowly got up, and she was giggling. "I told you to be careful, didn't I?"

"Shut up, Macie," Evan said with a petulant snarl.

"In fact, I told you to just let the mortals take care of it. That's why I charmed them on the way over; I knew you'd do something impulsive, selfish and stupid."

I had no clue what they were talking about, and didn't care. The only things I wondered was how much of a conspiracy was going on to bring two vaguely familiar faces to my door, and why they planned on abducting me. "Hey, Evan," I said, getting his attention, "you were on the hunt for a middle-aged woman? Is that the best you can do? Can't keep up with the younger gals, eh, pal? The reason I cut in was because you were grinding on her like she was your mom." Yeah, I wanted to piss him off.

It worked. Evan was in front of me before I could put my hands up. I caught a punch in the gut, but it wasn't a good shot because his stance was off and he didn't have much of a physique to back it up. He was quick, though. On the other hand, he was cocky, and probably thought his punch would drop me.

I slapped him with an open palm right on his facial burns. Yeah, you could say it was a bitch-slap, but I was simply trying to hit as much of his wound as I could. Evan flinched and yelled in pain. I wanted more distance between us, so I put my weight into a front kick that caught him in the chest and sent him stumbling back to the front wall. The impact knocked the picture of my brother Al off its nail.

Macie laughed. Evan glared at her before he turned his bright eyes to me. Yes, bright; his eyes were nearly glowing. Two other things I noticed real quick: one, he wasn't breathing hard at all, and two, his momentary snarl showed two very pronounced canine teeth. I didn't know what I was dealing with, but I knew it wasn't normal. In my house was a busty teenager with superhero strength - although she was more like one of the bad guys \- and a scarred pretty boy with corny Dracula teeth.

In the blink of an eye, Evan was in front of me again. Damn, he was fast. He threw three awkward punches that I couldn't quite keep up with. One barely caught me above my ear and another was a fair hook to my ribs, but I was ready for the third one. I dodged, and his fist went past my head; I grabbed his arm, spun, and flipped him over my shoulder. He slammed into the floor with a satisfying thud.

I still had a grip on Evan's arm and was in the process of stomping on his face when something small and solid hit me in the back of my head - hard. I think I stumbled over Evan and fell. The view in front of me was wobbly and dim. A reporter on the TV was saying something about Dan and Craig being laid to rest just over a week after the assault on the Everett home. My skull felt heavy and swollen. My arms and legs weren't cooperating; the best I could do was to stay on my hands and knees.

"I didn't need your interference, Macie!" I heard behind me. It took my brain a second to process it.

"You had best start minding your tone, pup," she retorted. "That human was _handling_ you. Frankly, it was embarrassing to watch. All's not lost, though - thanks to you, now I have quite the entertaining story to tell my people."

Something else was said, I don't know what, and then two taser prongs hit me almost simultaneously. I saw sparks in front of my eyes, and then nothing.

QUESTIONS

I woke up on my side, with my head on a pillow and my arms behind my back. The back of my head still hurt. The only source of light was somewhere behind me; it wasn't overhead, so I guessed a table lamp. There was a gap between the bed I was laying on and the wall I was facing. I looked down that wall and gauged how long it was, maybe twenty feet. It went up to a very high ceiling, too; I was in a big room.

The single window centered in the wall was large, old-fashioned, and had etched artwork in some of the panes. There was a faint smell of sawdust and plaster. I heard hard soles walking on hardwood flooring.

I stayed still and kept my breathing even; I suspected that two, maybe three, people were somewhere behind me, looking at me. I took a quick mental check of myself: wrists bound by what felt like zip ties, weak ache in my right ribs, and nothing securing my ankles. I felt a moderate urge to piss, and I was painfully lying on my bullet-grazed left arm. All things considered, it could have been worse.

"See, he's still unconscious." It was Macie's voice.

"No, I don't think so; I sense a difference." It was Evan's voice that time; he even sounded like a douche. "Trust me; I am one of many within my faction who could tell, whereas I'm told that hardly any of you Outsiders have the Gift of Discerning - such a pity."

"If you like," she replied coolly, "I can give you a practical example of the Gifts I _do_ possess; the ones that would leave you a whimpering, bloody pulp. Or, if you'd prefer more of a fair contest, I could persuade Mr. Beck to give you another thrashing."

There was a long pause; I wondered what was happening. "You may face us, Beck," Evan said. "I know you're awake." I rolled onto my back, looking to my right and saw him and Macie standing in the wide entryway to the room. He stared at me for a second before turning to her. "I believe the guide has arrived. I'll bring her up here." He hesitated, about to say more, but then walked off without a word.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and sat up. The large room was empty, save for a tall reading lamp. There were two more windows in the long white wall to my left, both of the same ornate style; I couldn't see anything but a dark night through them. Parts of the wall near the entryway were missing cut chunks of drywall, exposing either brick, or pipes and wiring. Macie was leaning against the entry with her arms crossed, neutrally regarding me. Behind her was another large space with banisters that surrounded a wide, descending staircase. I was on an upper level of wherever the hell I was.

"How's your head?" Macie asked. "It'd be preferable if your brain wasn't addled."

"Still talking funny, I see," I said, blinking my eyes from the throbbing behind them. "Are you planning to steal my wallet again too, or did you already do that?"

She smiled with her dimples in full effect. "No need this time, Leo."

I sighed. "Damn it, Macie, what am I doing here?" I asked as calmly as I could. "Why did you and that dickhead Evan attack and then kidnap me? It's not like I have any money or rich relatives, so what do you want?"

"It's certainly not about money, Leo, and, to be clear on this, it's not what _I_ want - not anymore. You were a means to an end, a debt to be paid. I've since thought that you'd be a fine addition to my faction. However, my time was running thin and the Doyenne found you to be a strong prospect."

My frustration and anger came to a boil real quick. "What the fuck was all that supposed to mean? What debt? And when the fuck did I turn into a goddamn bargaining chip? I'm not even gonna ask what a fucking Doyenne is, but you're part of it. Somehow, you set me up - you made me a target! I was nothing but nice to you, Macie. Shit, I thought I even helped you out once! And this is what I get?"

She didn't seem fazed by my little rant. "I won't say I'm sorry, Leo, because I'm not. If it helps, I do admit that I regret how this transpired. I won't say any more; someone else will explain things." As she ended her statement, Evan and a few other people came up the stairs and stopped near the entry of the room.

"Who are you people?" I yelled. "Hell, _what_ are you people?"

No one responded. They didn't even react. Then I heard another set of hard-soled shoes coming up the stairs. Evan leaned against one side of the entry, with Macie across from him. They faced each other but had their heads bowed; whoever the late arrival was, they were given a lot of respect.

A woman came around the corner and stepped gracefully into the room. My eyes travelled up her tall body; stylish mid-calf white boots, shapely legs, open, knee-length white mink coat, with a form-fitting golden dress underneath that came down to the middle of her firm thighs. She had long, silky blonde hair with bangs that hung just above her eyes. Oh damn, those eyes \- large, bright amber eyes. She was stunning, a pale angel. It took me barely a second to realize that the woman standing there was the goddess that I'd been dreaming about.

DOYENNE

The woman literally of my dreams stepped closer to me. The smallest of smiles graced her full lips. "Leo," she said softly, like I was someone she remembered fondly.

"I've dreamt of you," was all I could manage while staring up at her.

"I know you have." She closed her eyes, and then slowly, enticingly opened them, as if she was revealing a prize. And then everything but her was forgotten. I was lost in amber heaven; her eyes became my world. Those captivating eyes moved closer and looked down on me. While holding her gaze on me, she brought her pinky finger to her mouth. I involuntarily moaned when she slipped it between her moist lips, and then flinched when she forcefully pulled it out. I saw blood on that perfect finger. Why would she mar it? It made me sad, and I worried that she was in pain.

"Clean my wound, Leo," she whispered as she moved her delicate, wounded finger to my mouth. It was a gift - she was offering me a gift! Slowly, humbly, I put my lips around the end of her finger. The trickle that ran down my tongue was a liquid dream; I moaned again. It was similar to that wine I loved, but stronger, purer, and instantly addictive. I drew more from the wound, savoring the taste for each slow second that she allowed. I felt a slight pull and released the suction on her finger, not wanting to offend.

As soon as she pulled away, I closed my eyes. The all-consuming allure of her mere presence slowly faded, only to be replaced with an overpowering respect and admiration for her. My mind cleared, and it saw her more clearly than before. I felt full to bursting with devotion to the woman who stood so near, much more than any loyalty I'd ever felt for my military squad or platoon. That devotion swelled within me; I felt invigorated from the honor she gave to let me serve her. I was still myself, still had my own thoughts, but my priorities were rearranged and focused on only one thing: my amber-eyed lady.

I opened my eyes; she still stood in front of me. I nearly panicked - I was taught manners and knew better than not to stand in the presence of a lady. And she was not _a_ lady; she was _the_ lady. I sprung to my feet and muttered an apology.

"You are the willful one called Leo, yes?" she asked me.

"Yes, ma'am," I answered, not sure if 'willful' was a good thing or not.

"Oh, that won't do," she said as she began tracing my facial scars with her soft finger. "I will say this only once." She pulled her finger away and looked up into my eyes. "I am the Lady Emmeline Le Meur. I am the Doyenne of this city. You, my minion, may only call me Madame. Do you understand?"

"I understand, Madame."

She nodded her acceptance of my reply. "And now, to ensure that my sovereignty over you is secured, I will ask two questions... I and I will know if you're lying." Since my hands were still bound behind me, I stood at parade rest and stared straight forward. "Who do you work for?" the Doyenne asked.

"You, Madame," I barked.

"Is your life yours, or is it mine?"

"It's yours, Madame." I meant it.

"Yes, it is - very good, Leo." She turned away and told the others to leave us for a moment. Macie, Evan, and whoever else was out there obeyed immediately. When we were alone, the Doyenne turned back to me and said, "You may free yourself if you're able."

Wanting to please her, impress her, I widened my stance and strained my arms against the hard plastic strip. I was surprised and happy when I felt it stretch. My second attempt loosened it enough to free my hands. I worked the aches out of my arms and waited for her next order.

The Doyenne wandered over to one of the windows and stared out into the night. "You will soon come to realize the honor you've been given, Leo," she said, still looking away. "I rule here; others bow before me, all of them. And you, Leo," she turned her head to me, "have been chosen to serve me." She paused for a few seconds and then returned her gaze to the window. "But first you must be educated. Over the next few days, you will remain here to alter your sleeping pattern and be tutored. Understood?"

"Of course, Madame," I answered, hoping my disappointment couldn't be heard in my voice. I wanted to be near her, please her, and protect her.

She slid her hands into the pockets of her thick coat and faced me. "To test the level of free will you might still possess, you may ask the first two questions that come to your mind, if any. This offer should give you evidence of how considerate I can be." A pause and then, "You may ask your questions."

"Yes, Madame, thank you; I do have questions. First, what does Doyenne mean?"

She grinned. "The word originated with the French; it essentially means 'leader'. Do you have a second question? And keep in mind that it may be some time before I let you speak so informally to me again, so don't waste this opportunity."

"Yes, Madame, thank you; I appreciate it." Without hesitation, I asked, "Can I please use the restroom?" I think the question surprised her, but, damn, I had to go.

Her thin eyebrows came together in a frown. "You may relieve yourself after I depart, which will be after I ask you about a very specific topic." I went back to a parade rest and waited, trying not to piss myself. The Doyenne looked at me intently again when she asked, "Have you heard the word 'Veleti' before?"

"Yes, Madame, a few nights ago; some crazy bum yelled that word twice before he ran off."

"And does that word have any significance for you?"

"Uh, no, Madame; it sounds like an Italian dish to me, but the bum said it like he meant a person."

The Doyenne nodded slowly. "You will not speak of this to anyone, Leo. Now you may go."

I mumbled a thank you as I ran out of the room.

ACCEPTANCE

When I came out of the roomy bathroom, I saw Sarah standing nearby, twirling a lock of her sandy blonde hair with a finger and smiling at me. Shit. "What are you doing here, Sarah?" I asked with a sigh.

"I was brought here to be your tutor. I hope you don't still think I'm bad luck."

"We'll see. Where is everyone?"

"Well, the Lady Le Meur said something to Macie about a debt being paid and dismissed her. Then the Lady left a few guards here and walked out with Mr. Dean - um, Evan. I only call him Mr. Dean."

"She's already gone?" I hoped I didn't sound panicky.

"You were in there for a few minutes, Leo. Besides, it's not like she's going to wait on you. Come on," Sarah said brightly as she took my hand, "let me show you around the place."

The 'place' was originally a vast house - easily as big as Everett's - built for some rich dude in the early 1900's. It sat in an area called the northeast, an old section of the city not far from downtown. I knew the neighborhood; I grew up there. As long as I ever knew, the place wasn't a house - it was a museum of boring stuff. It wasn't a good part of town, although the aging homes around the large, three-story stone museum were kept looking nice. Sarah explained that all of the big rooms were being renovated. Most of the place was empty except for scattered piles of supplies and some construction tools.

There were three guards, all of them dressed in Realm jackets and black ball caps. They alternated positions; two in the house, one patrolling the grounds. I learned later that those three were replaced by two other guards for the daytime shift. One of them had already made a grocery run; with a mini-fridge, and a microwave, we had enough for simple meals. They also got me a bottle of Jack Daniels, thank God.

A couple hours before dawn, Sarah led me to the room she was occupying while stuck with me there. Like my bed, hers didn't have a frame, but she did have sheets. Her room wasn't as big as mine, but it did have a door. She also had a desk and chair. Considering that I only had a lamp and a bare mattress with box springs, she had a pretty nice set-up.

"I know you have lots of questions," she stated as she sat then fell back on her bed, "so have a seat and I'll try to explain everything. We have a few nights, so take your time."

I was too fidgety to sit; I had too many questions and not having any answers for them caused me to pace. "Could I start off by asking: what the fuck is going on here?"

Sarah chuckled and propped her head up against a pillow. "That wasn't very specific, so I'll break it down into a few basic concepts. First of all, Leo, you have to accept one simple fact. If you don't accept it, then anything else I say is worthless and I'm wasting my time."

"Okay, I'm a fairly open-minded guy; what is this simple fact?"

"Vampires exist." Sarah noted how I stopped pacing and stared at her, so she quickly elaborated. "I'll bet you've seen some things you can't explain. Well, that's the explanation. I only use the word 'vampire' because it's the simplest way to get the idea across. I mean, it's the correct word, but since Hollywood made it feel cheesy and cheap, some vampires like other terms. I've mostly heard of names like daemon, strigoi, or Eidolon. Take your pick. I've heard Lady Le Meur refer to herself as an Eidolon once. Oh, and anything like 'bloodsucker' will _not_ go over well."

I continued to stare. "Are you fucking kidding me? C'mon, Sarah, I want a real answer."

"You've been exposed to a whole new world, Leo," she said with a shrug. "I don't expect you to accept it so easily. I sure didn't. If you want, you can think on it for a while, and come to grips with that being the only answer for anything you might've been allowed to see."

So that's what I did. I went back to my bed and tried to come up with rational explanations for things that didn't seem humanly possible. I failed. There were questions I tried to answer on my own, but all of the activities of a very long night caught up with me. Exhausted, I finally fell asleep just as the sky began to lighten through my decorative windows. I dreamed of Madame Le Meur.

HEMOS

The next afternoon, I sat down with Sarah at a folding table and a couple of stackable plastic chairs. I invited the inside guard to have some sandwiches with us while we talked; he said that he was allowed to be near us but not to interact much. He was following orders; I respected that fact, but it also meant that I wasn't going to give him any of my damn food. I didn't want to be there; my duty - my urge - was to watch out for Lady Le Meur. She ordered me to stay and I obeyed, but I wasn't happy about it.

"Alright, Sarah," I began while making some roast beef and mayo sandwiches, "believing what you told me last night is going to be determined by what you can explain. I can't just take it as truth without having something to back it up. First of all, though, I need to make sure of something: I'm not one of those... vampires, Eidolons, hemoholics, whatever, am I?"

She giggled. "Shit, no! And what was that word, 'hemoholics'?"

"Just something I thought up this morning. Hemo means blood, so, you know, hemos, hemoholics - it seemed to fit. And in Evan's case, hemo could be mistaken for homo; again, it fits."

"Yeah, well, fitting or not," she said, unable to suppress a grin, "I suggest you keep that one to yourself."

"Okay, so I'm not one. Last night I thought about all that shit the movies said they could and couldn't do. I remember some of the older flicks; some of the stuff like garlic and no reflection in a mirror and not being able to cross running water... that all sounds kind of stupid."

Sarah finished a bite of her pastrami on rye and said, "That's because it's bullshit. They do have a couple of the weaknesses that come to mind, like sunlight, but they - vamps - have what they call Gifts that set them apart from regular people. They're really not human anymore; they're more. And as they go along without aging - years, decades, centuries - their Gifts just get stronger."

"Gifts, like what?"

"All sorts of things," she answered with a shrug. "They have terms for them, I think, but I just break it down into three categories. The first is physical; you know, being stronger, faster, or tougher. Then there's the mind stuff: persuasion, heightened senses, making you forget, stuff like that. The last one is what I just call creepy. Some of them can control animals; others can even turn into one. There are other Gifts that can make someone nearly invisible, or maybe they just mess with perception."

"Whoa, hold on. Are you saying all of them, even that walking anus Evan, can do all that?"

"No, no, not at all; I think it mostly depends on the faction."

I stared at her with an annoyed scowl until she realized that she was handing me tiny bits of information without explanation, and it was pissing me off. She was my tutor? She sucked at it. Only when I asked very specific questions did I get any decent answers, but I didn't have much to work with. I quickly learned not to let her elaborate on an answer. What a twit.

MINION

I soon gathered that there were three factions: the Adepts, the Outsiders, and the Deviants. The Adepts pulled strings in business, finance, culture, and the arts - white collar and highbrow shit. Lady Le Meur was an Adept. Sarah didn't know much about the other two factions other than to describe Outsiders as low middle class, and Deviants as even lower middle class - yeah, big help.

Each faction had what was called emissaries; kind of like ambassadors, I think. The leader over all the factions was called the Doyenne (or Doyen if it was a guy). So I directly served the lead hemo of the city. Not a bad gig. Adepts were described to be pretty strong in mental Gifts - senses, power of suggestion, that sort of stuff. They were also fast and tough; crude strength was left to the lower factions.

What I found most surprising was, even among monsters, there was a loose organization, a hierarchy. Go figure. From there, it got a little tricky. Okay, age was a factor to their power, I got that. Then there's a matter of genealogy. The whole vampirism thing obviously had an origin, but Sarah had no idea when or with who that was - no surprise. The main thing was, the power got weaker as it was passed along. So, any hemoholic further up the chain was stronger and had greater potential. Then, as progeny - or _scions_ \- passed the curse along, the blood got weaker and hemos couldn't do as much with their Gifts.

Sarah used Evan the douche and the Doyenne as examples. Evan was a distant scion, meaning his blood was fairly thin and he was turned, or 'brought to the night', only like four years ago. She didn't know what level of descending progeny he was, but guessed it as somewhere in the teens. Like if my granddad started the whole hemo thing, my asshole dad would have been a second scion and I would have been a third. As for the Doyenne, Sarah made a wild guess that she was an eighth or ninth scion. The kicker was that Lady Le Meur was somewhere between four hundred to six hundred years old, so there was lots of time to strengthen her Gifts. It took me a while to fully grasp that. Six hundred years - holy shit.

All of that made me wonder how many hemos were running around out there. I was told that any city or town with enough population probably had some. Sarah didn't know the total numbers for Kansas City, but had seen at least five Adepts that lived in town. That didn't mean there weren't more, and that was only one of three factions. Midwest vampires... it sounds kind of stupid, doesn't it? Well, except Chicago. But by that reasoning, a town like Davenport, Iowa potentially had a handful of hemos lurking around in corn fields; it sounded ridiculous to me. No offense to Davenport.

Long after the night shift of guards was on duty, I asked where I stood in this new, dark world. I was what they called a minion. Sarah was a minion, as was Dominique Rondeau, most of the Realm guards, and a number of others. Sarah had been one for only a few years, but Ms. Rondeau had been a minion for nearly a century. She was just like any regular person who goes shopping or gets a tan or takes a crap, except she'd been doing it for 92 years and didn't look a day over 35.

I was made a minion by two bottles of the Le Meur wine, which had my Lady's blood in it, and a third taste from the source. Being a minion made me healthier, stronger, and I was told I wouldn't age; all as long as I was given my Lady's blood once in a while. There wasn't any of that scion shit to worry about, either, not really. Using Evan and my Lady again, I'd only have to have a drink of her stronger blood once every few weeks or so; with Evan's weaker blood, it'd have to be about once a week.

Even with Sarah's half-assed explanations, there was still a lot to take in. I wandered off by myself for the rest of the night and roamed the huge, empty place while I tried to believe everything I was told. I'd seen a few fantastic things with my own eyes, but there was apparently a lot more I hadn't. The trouble of me accepting it was that I hadn't had personal experience; I hadn't seen things for myself.

I pulled a blanket over my head just past dawn, missing my mom, and eventually drifted off into an uneasy sleep. First I dreamed of Madame Le Meur; it was warm and comforting. But then I had flickering images of Dan and Craig, followed by the disturbing vision of my squad members Bill and Rodney; Bill with his face blown off, Rodney with his guts hanging out. The last dream, though, was somehow the most disturbing. It was of the picture of my brother, the only one I had since my dad destroyed the others after Al died. I saw that framed photo crashing to the floor, over and over.

ORDERS

I woke up late on Sunday, nearly at dusk. Then again, there weren't too many hours of daylight in early February. I got up, did a short regimen of exercises, and had a couple stiff drinks before I went to clean up. Since the only shower in the place was missing fixtures, I'd been taking short baths in an old claw tub. I planned on taking a longer one that night, all because I wanted to spend less and less time with Sarah. She was still sleazy-cute and had a nice ass, but I was tired of her teen-style flirting and giggling. More importantly, she was a shitty tutor, and I wanted to be prepared for Lady Le Meur.

I was wearing only a towel and flip-flops and on my way to the tub when I heard Sarah's echoed call from down on the first floor. I met her at the grand staircase, where she told me that she'd just gotten a call; two Adepts were arriving any minute to check my progress. They also had some "mandates to alter my lifestyle", given to them by the Doyenne. That rubbed me wrong. If Lady Le Meur asked anything of me personally, I'd do it in an instant. But two other hemos giving me orders, supposedly from her? There wasn't any proof of that, and I didn't know those guys, so fuck 'em.

It was a short while later, as I was soaking in a warm tub, when the bathroom door opened without a knock. Evan stood there, looking pissy and arrogant. His stove-top burns looked better, though. I had Evan's number, so I didn't bother getting up. He moved deferentially out of the way when another guy stepped into the doorway. The new guy wore a shiny suit, no tie, rectangular orange sunglasses, and had a cheesy soul patch on his chin; a challenger for Evan's douche title.

"You were told we were coming," the new guy said. "So what are you doing in a bath tub?"

"Uh, bathing?"

He snarled his upper lip. "You have orders from your Doyenne. Get out of that tub."

"Actually," I said conversationally, "the orders came from you, and I don't work for you. And my bath water just got to the perfect temp, so I'm going to enjoy it. Unless I hear from my Lady to do as you say, I'm going to keep doing what _she_ told me to do."

Mr. Soul Patch snarled again - I guess that was his thing. "Mr. Dean," he said low and menacing to Evan but still staring at me, "get the minion out of that tub. I'll be waiting downstairs." He spun and left.

I couldn't help but grin. "Yeah, Mr. Dean, get me out of the tub." I could tell by his scowl and how his skin got paler than usual that he was about to lose his short and fairly impotent temper. I almost felt bad for him. "Alright, man, don't get worked up," I said with a sigh. I started to get up, but paused when I saw he was still standing there. "Uh, hey, I don't know what you like sucking on besides middle-aged women, and I'd rather not find out. So if you don't mind..."

Because Evan was a hemo, maybe I should have been more respectful... not that he'd earned it. He was probably one of a very few hemos I could screw with, and he did earn that. He was glaring at me when I came out of the bathroom a minute later. I ignored him and went to my room where one of the guards had gotten me some extra clothes from goodwill. They didn't smell, so I couldn't complain.

I was pulling up a pair of sweatpants when I heard a window break. Evan, who was standing near the entryway to my room, looked off to his left. The soul patch guy was up there in a flash, almost literally, and stopped next to Evan. As one of the guards was coming up the stairs, soul patch was asking what had happened. Before he could finish his question, shit hit the fan.

LIBERATION

Someone outside of my room and to the right yelled, "Dominic!" with a booming, scratchy voice. The guy with the soul patch turned his head. I saw a speeding glint of metal, and suddenly there was a hatchet stuck in the guy's face. Evan dove into my room. The soul patch guy - Dominic, I assumed - stood there with an ax blade driven in up to the handle; starting at his nostril, it cut down through his lips, gums and teeth, and into his chin. He wobbled for a second and then dropped backward like lumber.

The guard had just reached the top of the stairs when another hatchet flew by. I couldn't see the guard from my angle, but I heard him moan; hopefully not hit in the face like Dominic. I heard Sarah scream downstairs, followed by a grunt. Evan was getting up, and, holy shit, so was Dominic.

A man hurried past the entryway, stepping over Dominic; all I noticed was a bald head and a thick beard.

I heard someone laugh downstairs, and a muted conversation. I started running toward the entryway. Just then, the attacker stepped back into view with a bloody hatchet in his hand. Dominic had just sat up, looking dazed with an entire ax blade lodged in his face. The bald attacker swung; I wasn't going to get there in time.

Right as the bloody ax blade bit into the top of Dominic's head with a ' _chunk_ ', I leaped and caught the bald guy in the chest with a flying kick. My hope was to send him back and over the banister, falling to the marble stairs below. That didn't happen. He stumbled back with good momentum and hit the sturdy banister, but he reached out a hand, grabbed the rail, and just stopped. I was in a crouch and watched as the bald guy straightened up and smiled at me.

There was a moment where nobody moved, and I got a good look at him: scuffed hiking boots, faded black jeans, and something like a long leather pullover, only made out of deer hide. Over the pelt, from his chin halfway down his torso, was a thick brown beard with bands of gray in it. That's where the relatively mundane stopped. Like I said, he was bald, and there was a thin, ropey scar that ran from the top of his head down to his left eye, ending on his cheek. The eye that should have been blind and milky was bulged and completely blood red. All of his skin was a mottled light gray. And, like I also said, he was smiling at me with a mouthful of narrow, white teeth. I was in deep, creepy shit.

"Damn, boy," he announced loudly, "that was a good kick!"

I backed into my room; I didn't have as much space in the walkway. The guard who was holding his right shoulder was off to the left out there, and Dominic with two axes jammed in his skull laid in front of the entryway. I glanced back to my left and saw Evan dialing his phone in a panic, the worthless prick.

"You'd be Beck, I'd wager" the bald guy said, and then stepped forward and pulled the hatchet out of Dominic's face. It was a wrenching tug. The sound of metal grating against bone was grisly.

"You'd be right," I said as I backed into the middle of my room. "So who the fuck are you?"

"I'm Barnabus Merritt, at your service." He smiled again, and I hoped he'd stop doing that. That big red eye, the scar, and the dead skin were disturbing enough.

"Yeah, I've just seen the services you're offering. No thanks."

His smile faded. "You don't understand, boy; we're here to liberate you from your unjustified captivity. You weren't allowed a choice. You weren't given the freedom to refuse. The Adepts would treat you like an oppressed servant - a slave. We've come to unfetter that chain of blood."

"You talk pretty fancy for a nightmare mountain man. Look, I work for the Doyenne. I _choose_ to work for the Doyenne. So thanks for stopping by, but I'm not buying."

More figures came up the stairs. Shit, I was probably already outmanned, and then I was outnumbered. And the hits just kept on coming.

"You only -" Barnabus began to say, but then looked over to my left. "Put the knife down, Evan."

Two people came up behind Barnabus; he paid them no mind. Crap, it was Pedro and one of his thugs. I thought there was some sort of weird conspiracy going on before. I just became sure of it. Fuck.

"Hey, long time, no see, man," Pedro said to me with a wide grin. "How you doin'? You catch that cab?"

"There are more on the way," Evan said to Barnabus. "Leave right now and you might make it."

"I said drop the knife, Evan. Or would you like me to cook the right side of your face like I did the left? If you hold still, I think I can make it match."

"You'd enjoy that, wouldn't you?" Evan yelled; I could hear the fear in his voice. "You're nothing but a sadist and a hypocrite, Barnabus! You speak of freedom, yet you locked me in a room and tortured me!"

"And you almost lifted the veil in your attempt to attack Mr. Beck in a nightclub," Barnabus retorted. "Without intervention, you surely would have. As the current emissary of my faction, I had every right to punish you before sending you to the Doyenne. My people accused me of being lenient with you."

"You were," Pedro interjected. Behind him, his thug began kicking Dominic.

Evan shook with rage, the poor douche. "I will not -" That's as far as he got. Barnabus had taken two quick steps into the room and threw a punch with his whole body behind it. The sound was like a baseball bat hitting a homer. Evan was sent flying the length of my room and slammed into the wall. A large dent and crumbled plaster could be seen after he slumped like a broken toy down to the dusty hardwood floor. Yeah, I guess he should've put the knife down.

Before I could fully turn back to face Barnabus, Pedro was on my back. I tried to throw him off, but his grip was like iron. He freed a hand and clamped a rag over the lower half of my face. I immediately felt dizzy and my brain began to swim, but I tried to pull him off me again. I saw his face out of the corner of my eye. That wasn't Pedro who was locked onto me; it was some sort of demon that vaguely resembled Pedro. If I had the chance, I would have fucking freaked out. Fortunately, that's when it all went black.

RITZ

An odd mix of smells hit my nose when I woke up, or maybe they were the reason I did. Air freshener and the dank smell of mold made my nostrils burn. As my senses cleared, I heard the distant wails of a police car fading away. Pain thrummed in the back of my head, and my stomach felt queasy. My first coherent thought was of my Lady Le Meur.

The bed I was on had sheets and a pillow, unlike the one at the museum. I sat up slowly so I wouldn't piss off my headache. I was at one end of a large rectangular room. There was a small lamp near me on a bedside table, and a lit wall lamp next to a metal fire door at the other end. Sitting in a cheap lawn chair near the door, that gruesome guy named Barnabus was reading a thick hardback. He looked fairly absorbed with his book, so I took a minute to look around the room and get my bearings.

In a near corner was a compact shower stall that had rusty pipes and a dingy curtain. Next to it was a filthy pink toilet. Next to the toilet was a dirty sink with a cracked mirror above it. Between that and the bed was a dented space heater. There were a couple plastic bath mats tossed nearby on the cement floor; I was positive that greenish brown was not their original color. Shower curtain aside, the set-up didn't offer any privacy, although it made up for it by being disgusting.

The walls of the room were all concrete block with water stains at the top. Most of the high ceiling looked bruised and swollen. There were two windows to my left; they were lined with thick metal bars buried into the mortar. In the middle of the dank, dim room was an old couch with foam sticking out of its rips. Acting as a coffee table was one of those giant cable spools turned on its side. Against the wall to my right was an archaic-looking TV, complete with rabbit-ear antennas. What, no cable?

Next to where Barnabus sat were a few rolls of cut carpet. On top of those sat a handful of shopping bags. Without looking up, Barnabus said, "Your headache and nausea will pass soon. We unfortunately had to give you a sedative to keep you immobilized."

"How thoughtful," I said while rubbing the back of my head. I gently swung my legs off the side of the bed, noticing that I still only had sweats on. It was cold enough in the room to see my breath. "Since we're staying at the Ritz," I said bitterly, "how about we call room service and order lobster tails, some champagne, and maybe some FUCKING BLANKETS."

"There's one on the couch, Mr. Beck," he replied mildly, still looking down at his book.

"Motherfucker," I muttered while I walked barefoot across the cold floor. I flapped the folds out of the threadbare blanket, flopped on the couch, pulled it over me, and glared at Barnabus with his biker beard and bloated red eye and irritating calmness. "What the fuck do you want from me?" I barked.

Barnabus slowly and deliberately put a coin in his book to mark the page, set it to the side, and looked at me. "It's what we want _for_ you, Mr. Beck. Now, if you can form any rational questions, I've been asked to answer a few of them before I have to go."

I continued to glare at him, but finally took a deep breath and tried to keep my temper. "Alright, fine; where am I?"

"Somewhere safe," he answered without any elaboration.

"Where is the Doyenne?"

Barnabus shrugged. "I imagine she's in some elegant and serene setting, reclining on soft pillows while being fed blood-injected grapes."

My eyes closed; that should have been me feeding her those grapes. Barnabus was teasing me. "She'll come for me, you know. My Lady personally chose me."

"You might have admirable skills, Mr. Beck, but you're not unique. Le Meur will obtain other slaves to replace you. She will not come to reclaim you, partly for the fact that she knows less about where you are than you do. It has been arranged."

"We'll see, we'll see," I grumbled, knowing I was probably on my own. Barnabus seemed too calm to be bullshitting me.

He sat forward in his lawn chair, resting his elbows on his knees. "Mr. Beck," he said calmly, "emails were sent from your computer to both of your employers, stating a leave of absence. Your utility bills have been paid. Notes were slipped under your neighbor's doors that told of some unexpected travel plans. Your life is no secret, Mr. Beck." He paused for a second. "Considering your compromised mindset, I doubt you'll care about what I'm going to say, but hopefully you'll remember when your head is clear. No small effort was made to ensure your liberation, and to the specific details that mitigate the suspicion of your disappearance. Someday soon, I hope you'll appreciate that fact."

At that moment, I was anything but appreciative. "Well, you sure did your homework, didn't ya?" I asked sarcastically, although a small part of me was glad to know that no one had to worry. "But it wasn't you, was it, Mr. Merritt? I doubt you're too modest to take credit. I mean, seriously, a humble hemoholic?"

I thought that term might piss Barnabus off - and I wanted it to - but instead he laughed, the prick. "I haven't heard that one before. And no, I did not instigate the efforts made for your safety."

"Fine, who's pulling the strings?"

He grinned; it was still spooky. "A friend of your family, Mr. Beck," he answered. "You'll see him soon enough. Now if you'll excuse me, I have other chores to attend to." He stood and reached for the door. "There are some supplies in those bags to make your time here more comfortable. Good night."

I was just about to ask who the hell Barnabus was talking about when he quickly went through the door. I only saw darkness beyond it as he left. In the bags were toiletries, plastic cups, cleaning supplies, some jugs of cola, a stack of dog-eared books, a few clothes, and two bottles of Jack Daniels. The last thing I found really surprised me: in a nice silver frame was the photo of my brother Al.

WINDOW

For a long while, I stewed in silence. Anger, confusion, shock, pangs of despair; I was supposed to be with my Doyenne. Instead I was taken from her and thrown in a dark, dirty prison cell. Barnabus and Pedro had taken me for no good reason I could think of. I had no idea where Sarah was, or if she was even alive. I first thought that the successful kidnapping came at a bad time; if Evan or Dominic were still alive, they could say what happened. Then I came to suspect that Barnabus wanted them to know.

Dawn came slowly and weakly through the grimy windows. I kept the blanket around my shoulders and went to look outside. The window sills were deep, with old spider webs in the corners. The glass behind the bars was thick - I assumed bulletproof - and streaked with dirt. I was on the second floor of some old commercial or industrial building. About fifteen feet across from me was a uniform, two-story red brick wall. I looked left and right and only saw a littered alleyway. It wasn't exactly picturesque.

While I was checking out the dismal scenery, I heard the squeak of metal. Looking over my right shoulder, I saw something lying on the floor in front of my door. Two wrapped deli sandwiches had just been pushed through an inward-swinging panel that was set into the base of the door. It was too small to even stick my head through, so it gave no hope of escape. The sandwiches were good, though.

I submitted to the idea that I wasn't going anywhere for a little while. I set out the carpet scraps like throw rugs, made myself a drink, and worked up the courage to clean that scary toilet. There was no way in hell I was going to sit on that thing before it got a scrubbing. Hell, the whole room could have used a bleach bath, but I had my priorities.

While I procrastinated, I rubbed my chilled arms; the sill was cold when I was leaning on it. Making the best of the situation, I set the cola on one of them to cool down. Since there was nowhere else to set or hang Al's picture, I cleaned out the cobwebs from the other sill and propped it in the corner. If only he could've seen me then. It was better that he couldn't.

An hour later the toilet was clean, and I managed not to vomit the whole time. Exhausted, I cranked the space heater and crashed; my sleep habits were so screwed up. I woke to the squeak of that door flap. Boxes of oatmeal and pop tarts, plus a plastic bowl and spoon, had been delivered. I was at the windows again a while later with a bowl of cold apple and cinnamon oatmeal in my hand, absently taking bites while I stared at the darkening gray sky above the building next door.

I glanced over at Al's picture. I wanted to look away, but couldn't. I studied the look on his face; a familiar grin, a sly 'I-know-a-secret' smile. His hair was lighter than mine, but we both had the same blue eyes - our mom's eyes. Al was happy in that photo. For the thousandth time, I hoped he was that happy just before he wrecked his car all those years ago, that he left this world smiling.

And then, damn it, the waterworks started. I wasn't crying for Al that time; I'd cried for him enough when I was eleven. The tears came, along with the body jolts of trying not to sob. I cried for my mother, who died in pain. I cried for Bill and Rodney, and other Marine buddies I'd lost. I cried for Craig and Dan, who both went down hard. And mostly, I cried for myself.

My cheeks were wet and my eyes burned, but I kept staring at the dull dusk through the bars and dirty glass of that window and wondered if my Doyenne was thinking of me. I'd never felt more alone in my life, and I hated myself for it.

VIGGO

I'm not sure how long I was on my own in my prison before I had another visitor; a week and a half at a guess. In the bleak confines of my room, the days and nights had started to blur. More than once I remembered the offer from Realm for a downtown loft, and then looked around me with a bitter laugh. I cleaned the place up as best I could, but it was still just polishing a turd.

Scrubbing kept my mind occupied for only so long. After I ran out of things to clean, or attempt to, I had no choice but to face the truth of my little dilemma. In the process, my emotions got the best of me. There were bouts of depression, fits of rage, and stretches of hopelessness. After a week or so, I reached an unstable balance of acceptance and spite. As the sunrises and sunsets crept by, I could almost feel the bitterness and resentment and injustice of my situation darkening my moods, staining them.

My sleep pattern became sleep randomness. The TV managed to pick up two local stations, but not well; sometimes I left it on just for the noise. The books were a small assortment of Steven King and John Grisham paperbacks; they helped pass the time. I daydreamed of Lady Le Meur, a bittersweet pastime. Whenever I had pent up energy, I exercised and practiced my katas until I had nothing left. I didn't trust the tap water, so I kept on a slow but steady intake of Jack and Coke; refills thankfully came with the silent grocery deliveries. That was the only reason I didn't stomp on the hand that supplied me.

I was sitting on the couch one evening, watching the grainy images of some European travel show on PBS. By then, I'd gotten used to the shitty reception. The host had a soothing voice, but I stayed awake because the show wasn't half bad.

"Ah, Vienna," a low, rumbling voice said somewhere behind me.

I shot off the couch with a yell, my drink flew out of my hand, and I might have pissed myself a little. "You asshole!" I bellowed. "Don't ever f -" My words got stuck in my throat when I turned and saw who had somehow snuck into my room: Vormund, the shadow man.

"I remember when I first passed through there; it was only a trading village called Vindobona then," he commented from back in the dark corner of my room.

I was busy trying to keep my heart from busting out of my chest, so I didn't pay much attention to what he was talking about. "What?" I asked while releasing a deep breath.

He nodded at the TV. "Vienna; I can recall nearly all of my visits there."

"Hey, good for you," I said as I slowly regained my composure. Just like the first time he and I talked, something about the big guy seriously spooked me. Unlike that first time, though, the shape of him didn't pulse and flow with shadows. Another small difference from the first time we met was that I was angry and tired of feeling helpless. "Not that I don't want to go walking with you down memory lane, but fuck you. I'm not feeling chatty, so fuck you. I doubt you're letting me out, so fuck you. Go away."

He stepped toward me, and I stood my ground. The light from the TV let me see him for the first time. He was taller than me by a few inches, and broad-shouldered but lean underneath his dark overcoat. He wore a black turtleneck under it; more contrast for his pale skin.

Then he got close enough that I noticed his face and hands, and... holy shit. The flesh looked like parched earth, hard and cracked all over. The hair of his thick eyebrows was dull white and scowled over black eyes. I don't mean they were dark; I mean his wide-set eyes were entirely inky black. He was bald on top, showing more of that baked skin. Long, wiry hair the same color as his brows fell back behind his large ears and down near his shoulders. I managed not to scream.

He reached one of his long-fingered hands out at me. I swung a forearm block to swat him away. It was like banging my arm on an I-beam; no effect whatsoever. His hand grabbed my neck. I struck again to break his grip, and again, nothing. He lifted me off the ground like I was a bag of feathers. My false bravado and my oxygen were both choked out of me.

"I understand your temper, Leopold," he said deep and guttural while he looked up at me, "but I will not tolerate your disrespect." His grip tightened. "Please do not make me do this again."

I cleverly replied with, "Gnnkh."

He nodded, lowered me to the floor, and released me. Gasping for breath made me cough. I gave myself the excuse of making another drink to keep my distance from him. Slowly walking around the couch to the windows while rubbing my neck, I cleared my throat and asked, "You're part of this whole thing with Barnabus and Pedro, aren't you?"

"Actually, Mr. Merritt and Mr. Viera acted on my request," he informed me. "This was my plan; I am the reason you are here."

I poured a heavy shot of whiskey. "Okay, I have you to thank." I topped my drink with cola and turned to him. "Sometime I'll want to know how you slipped in here, but for now I only have one question: what do you want, Vormund? Or should I say, _guardian_?"

He barely shrugged. "Of course, that word was used to guard my anonymity; some of my kind might have coaxed the truth out of you, and I currently do not want my presence known. But that title, Vormund, also has some truth to it, as you well know. My true name is Viggo."

I took a gulp and then asked, "Just Viggo, that's it?"

"In the time that I was brought into the night, surnames did not exist yet." _Holy shit_ , I thought, _how old was that creepy bastard?_

"One of the reasons I have come," Viggo explained calmly, "is to simply introduce myself so that we will already be familiar for the next time we meet."

"Next time... yeah, great. Look, thanks for the info, but that's not what I meant." I took a deep breath, trying not to lose my temper and getting another unwanted neck massage. "I meant, what do you want with me? You helped me out at the Everett mansion, and I didn't mention you or the kid with the tote bag to anyone. We're even, so why the hell am I being held here?"

"Leopold, I will not waste time trying to explain it now. You are still in thrall to the Doyenne, so you would not accept any explanations at this point."

I drained my cup and replied, "In thrall? If you mean loyal, then yeah, I am. Kidnapping me and locking me up in this shitty place sure as hell isn't going to make me change my mind, either. You're wasting your time, okay? So just let me go, man." I would've begged and pleaded with him if I had to.

"I apologize for this, but it really is for your own good." Viggo then took a step over to the TV and turned it off; the room went black.

I waited for a few seconds before I asked what he was doing. Viggo didn't answer, so I carefully made my way to the bedside lamp while my eyes tried to adjust, hoping like hell that I wouldn't accidentally bump into him. I clicked the light on and squinted, looking around the room without knowing what to expect. Viggo was gone - not the first time I'd seen that trick.

DREAMS

More time passed. To stop the days and nights from blending into each other, I started keeping track of them by making scratches on the wall with the empty air-freshener can. Since when I first woke up in my roomy cell, my emotions settled from a boil into a simmer of burning hate. Not that it did me any good.

Hours were spent missing my Lady Le Meur and hating Viggo. Both distractions were so stressful that they gave me indigestion. It could have also been that log of summer sausage I ate for a single meal, but I didn't want to blame food. To avoid any more depression, I worked out, finished one book after another, and kept coming up with ill-conceived plans of revenge. Without a razor, I'd gone from having a goatee to a full beard; the image in the cracked mirror looked sort of feral, which matched my mood. I also started talking to TV shows just for some sort of interaction. I was getting a little jumpy.

Early one evening, while I was lying on my bed reading the last paperback, I had a disturbing chain of thoughts. One of the characters in the book reminded me of Craig. That brought me back to his wake, which still hurt to think about. I remembered Gwen's ugly pantsuit. Then some little tidbits of info that she'd told me came to mind, mainly the rumor of Realm Management sending a kill squad after Everett. Craig, Dan, and an innocent couple died that night. From what I knew, Lady Le Meur ran at least part of Realm. So if all that was true, then...

No, I wasn't going to believe that. I trusted Gwen, but maybe her sources were wrong for once. Maybe there was more to the story. I felt sort of sick just having the thought.

I was just getting back into the book when my prison door opened. Barnabus stepped in, looking as disturbing as ever, and shut the door behind him.

Not even bothering to get up from my bed, I turned my head back down to my book and said, "What." I was determined not to look at that big, bloody eye and get all creeped out.

There was a tense pause of a few seconds before he spoke. "I realize it was nearly two weeks ago, but I hope you enjoyed Viggo's visit." I didn't respond, so he goaded me. "I trust you're enjoying your stay?"

It was an effort to keep my eyes on the book when I replied, "I'm sure there's some nice way to tell you to kiss my ass, but I can't think of it. Say hi to Viggo for me, and tell him to invest in moisturizer."

"I see," Barnabus said slowly. Then I heard the door open and shut, as well as seeing it out of the corner of my eye. I wanted to smile, thinking I pissed him off, but for some reason I felt kind of shitty for trying. I shook it off and kept reading.

That night, bad dreams had me tossing and turning. Images began as they did most nights, with my gorgeous matriarch Emmeline Le Meur smiling at me and softly brushing her fingers on my cheek. But then the smile faded and she turned away. Flickering visions followed; a bloody Dan Harper on my front porch holding a white fur coat, the top half of Sarah as a hand puppet, and a wine bottle filled with gold chains. Le Meur's face came back again, a horrible beauty full of disdain. She came closer, and then spat blood in my face. I woke up roaring with fury intense enough to hurt my throat.

I sat on the side of my lumpy bed, my elbows on my knees and my face in my hands. My skin felt cold and clammy; the rest of me felt disgusted with myself. "Oh, you bitch," I mumbled. I didn't mean me.

DOOR

The rest of that day was spent thinking with a clear head about my situation. The fog of Le Meur's influence had lifted. I couldn't imagine what she would have had me doing if I was her guard dog; she could have turned me into a very bad person, a single-minded killer. Over three weeks I was kept away from her manipulation, long enough to break the bond her blood had made. Granted, I wasn't too happy about being locked up all that time, but I figured I was better off in a cell than under Le Meur's thumb.

Viggo saved my ass at least once, and then sent his friends to come get me on the night before I began my bootlicking career for that Doyenne bitch. Okay, so why? Maybe Viggo planned on doing the same thing to me, or maybe he had an issue with Le Meur and I was just a toy he took away from her. I had no idea. It took me a while to admit it to myself, but I was afraid of all of those hemos that'd barged into my little world. I just wanted to go listen to Gwen's weird stories, have a drink at Keegan's, trade dirty jokes with Diego, have a barbeque with my neighbors, and clean my guns. I wanted to go home.

A few hours later, I was sitting on the couch eating granola bars and watching Antiques Roadshow when the iron door opened. Just like the night before, Barnabus stepped in and shut it. And, just like the night before, I turned away when I saw who it was. This time, though, it was because I felt like an ass. He'd gotten me out of the museum in heroic fashion, and then was nothing but a gentleman. I did remember his words from a few weeks back; words about liberation, efforts made on my behalf, and appreciation. I doubt he personally did all the shopping for me, but still.

"Comfortable?" he asked.

I turned my head his way but couldn't look him in the eye, not even the normal one. "I've seen the inside of Pul-e-Charkhi prison in Afghanistan; I can picture a lot worse places than this. So... yeah, I'm not doing too badly here."

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I'm sorry to say that the Doyenne has made no request for your return." Barnabus stated it as a matter of fact, but it was also another prod to see if I was still under her control.

"I'm not surprised; I bet she's too arrogant to admit that you guys took something of hers, and made it look easy." He grunted his agreement. "Hey, uh, Mr. Merritt," I went on, staring at the cable-spool table, "sorry to ask this, but I can't help but wonder... Did you have to kill that Dominic guy?"

"Kill? I didn't kill Dominic. Belying his appearance, he has a great deal of endurance. He and I have met before under unfortunate circumstances, and I knew I had to put him down quickly. If I were to have removed Dominic's head, then he'd be dead. I'm sure that by now he's back in full form."

"Okay, good to know." I forced myself to look at him when I said, "Uh, hey, sorry about telling you to kiss my ass last night."

Barnabus smiled through his beard, and it wasn't so creepy that time. "Mr. Beck," he said, "welcome back." Then he turned, opened the door, and walked out of the room. The door was left open.

The angle of light from my room didn't help much for me to see beyond the doorway. I slowly walked over and stared into the dark hallway beyond, making out only a few details. After taking a deep breath and releasing it, I stepped into the shadows.

CLARA

The walls felt cool and chalky as I used them to guide me down the dark hallway. The floorboards creaked under my secondhand Velcro sneakers. The air smelt of dust and... bacon? Not that I minded, but that was about the last damn thing I expected.

I hadn't gone far down the hall, feeling bare walls and closed doors, when I discovered a staircase on my right. The bacon smell was stronger. As my feet found the stairs and a landing, I heard muffled talking and saw light hitting the second short flight of stairs. Down on the first floor, I looked down a hall to my left and saw light coming from an open door. That bacon aroma was joined by toast and coffee. After weeks of dry goods and cold meals, my mouth was watering.

I took a few steps in that direction, but stopped short to listen.

"... And did Vivian have anything to say?" That was Viggo, no doubt about it. You can't forget a voice that sounds like a rockslide.

"Viv didn't tell me anything this time." It was a female voice, probably a young woman. It was quiet for a second, and then I heard her gasp.

I heard Viggo murmur a few words. Then, in a louder tone, he said, "Leo, join us."

Shit; busted. I took a deep breath and stepped into what looked like a dimly lit break room. At the far end of the room was a kitchenette, where a woman stood cooking. The bacon aroma was strong; I heard it sizzling on a skillet. A coffee pot gurgled. Orange juice was sitting out on the counter. The woman was buttering toast. It was real food, warm food. I mean, okay, the flavored oatmeal I was given is technically real food, but when you have to make it with cold water, it sucks dick.

Closer to me, sitting at a cheap round table, was Viggo. Even the ceiling light from over the kitchenette seemed afraid of him. You know how people say that someone is radiant or glowing for whatever natural reason? Viggo was the opposite of that, and it wasn't natural.

A girl stood next to him, almost behind him. It was the fast kid from that night at Everett's mansion. I first thought she was a boy because of her small stature; turns out she was a black girl who probably wasn't five feet tall. Despite her size, she looked to be in her late teens by her pretty face. She wore a purple poncho with blue crescent moons and pink stars all over it. Her hair was hidden under a lavender stocking cap. She stared at me with big brown eyes, looking scared.

"Have a seat," Viggo said as he gestured to a seat across from them. When I did, he continued. "Leo Beck, this is Clara Page." He turned his head slightly toward her and said, "Leo is a friend."

"He's human," Clara said quietly.

"Almost all of us have human friends, my girl," Viggo responded almost tenderly. It was strange to hear that tone coming from someone who looked so inhuman. Clara only fidgeted. "Did you want to go?" he asked her. She nodded her head emphatically. "Very well, go." As Clara gave me a wide berth and hurried past, Viggo added, "And no more hunting near the rail yards."

After Clara was gone, I couldn't help but ask, "That girl... She's one of you?"

"Quite so; Clara is... complicated, and a conversation for another time. For now, I have asked Natalie to prepare one of your favorite meals, and then we must talk. You have a decision to make."

OPTIONS

The woman named Natalie made two short trips over to deliver everything. She was a plain woman in her late thirties with short, dark hair, a bit plump in the hips, and a pleasant smile. She set down a number of breakfast dishes, drinks and silverware. Besides steak, a big breakfast was one of my favorite meals. I didn't ask how Viggo knew that, and right then I didn't care.

Natalie stepped away without a word to clean the pans. Viggo pulled out a cell phone, got up, and walked out of the break room. By the time I was finishing off the last of the hash browns and scrambled eggs, Viggo returned and set a grocery bag next to my plates. Inside of it were my wallet, keys, phone, flask, and my little Ruger.

"No matter how our conversation ends," Viggo said as he sat back down across from me, "you will be free to return home and to your employers. However, what I have to say might affect your choices."

I wiped my mouth and pushed my bag of belongings to the side. "Well, first of all, I guess I should say thanks for getting all my stuff back. Secondly, I gotta say I'm pretty relieved; I thought you might do the same thing to me as the Doyenne did. I think back to what she might have made me do, how she made me feel... it was fucking humiliating."

Viggo leaned forward and rested his clasped hands on the table. He nodded thoughtfully at what I said, like my words were insightful or something. I may be a lot of things, but deep and wise are not two of them. It was nice to know he was listening, but I didn't expect him to take me so seriously.

"Creating a minion is mostly a matter of intent; it is in the blood," Viggo stated. Seeing my confused look, he tried to explain. "The Doyenne has no emotional attachment with her minions. She acquires them, as she acquired you, through manipulation and her strong Gift of Enchantment. And blood, of course. It is a cold relationship, but that is her way. If Barnabus, for example, were to make you his minion, the bond would be comparable to a teacher and his pupil. It varies with each of us. In any case, though, the minion is always unswervingly loyal to his ruler."

"Ruler... that's a strong word; I don't think I would have been too happy calling Le Meur, or anyone, my ruler. It makes it sound like I'd have no free will."

"With the Doyenne, you would not have had much. Again, it is the intent within her blood. And, yes, being made to call someone your ruler is a touch heavy-handed. Pedro's men, for example, call him either by his initials, PV, or simply "Boss". Those men retain a fair amount of free will, but they also follow every one of his orders to the letter. I suppose you could compare it to some of your former military leaders, only with a much stronger feeling of devotion."

"Okay, I think I get it. So is this what you needed to talk to me about?"

"In part; I wanted you to have a better understanding before we continue."

I looked down and absently studied his large, cracked hands; I couldn't look at his face for too long without losing my focus. "I've been wondering about something; I don't know if it ties in with what you need to tell me or not. You helped me in the nightclub with Evan, and then I guess you turned him over to Barnabus. You probably saved my ass more than once at the Everett mansion. Then you arranged to take me out of Le Meur's grip, covered my disappearance, and kept me in a safe place until the spell broke." I looked back up into his black eyes. "Not that I don't appreciate it, but why?"

Viggo thought for a second before he answered, "I will only answer simply for now; a more detailed explanation may come later, depending on you. I made a promise long ago to watch over your lineage, to be the _vormund_ of your family line. I have let your kin live their lives and let natural occurrences flow, only exerting influence to avert catastrophe. I did not follow you overseas because if you had died in combat, that is one of the natural outcomes of battle. But then you returned, and were lured and pulled into a world beyond your knowing or choosing. That, I would not allow."

"No shit?" I wondered aloud. "How far back have you been looking out for my family?"

Viggo shook his head and said, "As I told you, I will go no further into that topic for now. I must present you with a choice before any other discussions are held. I see three options for you, Leo, all affected by one constant. The Doyenne knows of you; she may want you back in her service, or she may want you dead for spiteful reasons. Her subordinates and other Adepts know of you, and will act on her orders."

My chest tightened. Le Meur had a building full of people eager to kiss her ass, and probably more all over town. I bet she had more security guards than the president, not to mention other Adepts. Okay, Evan wasn't much of a threat, but I didn't want a guy like Dominic - who could take an ax to the face and get back up - coming after me. I'd be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life. "Well, that sucks."

"Indeed, but you have options. The first is to simply go on with your life. I can arrange that you are made to forget every supernatural occurrence, and return to the simple world that you knew six weeks ago. There will likely be attempts made on your life, but I will do what I can to deter them. Nonetheless, you will be untroubled with the knowledge of a paranormal world coexisting with yours."

I shook my head. "No, sorry, I can't do that. The last part is appealing, even though I don't know how in hell you're going to make me forget all this shit. And if I do forget, I won't know about the target on my ass. Not only that, but I can't have you doing nothing else than watching my back."

"Very well; I understand your reasoning and I thank you for the consideration on my behalf, Leo. Your second option is to relocate, and not anywhere nearby. I can make funds available for you to start over and will continue to keep an eye open for your safety. I must keep my oath. Again, if you choose, your memories can be altered. It would be a fresh start with no complications."

"It would be running away," I replied quickly. "I'm not big on running away."

"You would not even realize that."

"The problem is," I said with a sigh, "I know it right now. This is my hometown. I have friends here. And I'll be damned if I'm going to let some golden-eyed bitch run me out. Then again, if you forced that choice on me, I'm sure I'd be fine."

Viggo scowled in offense; I felt my bowels loosen. "I would never do that," he said.

"Exactly; one way or another, one of us couldn't live with that option."

"That leaves only one other way to go." Viggo sat back and crossed his arms. "You could choose to become my minion."

I resisted the urge to mirror his pose. "Why don't you sound happy about that?"

"Because, you would have to immerse yourself into my world to some degree; your situation would demand it. Instead of options where you might choose to have certain memories altered or removed, in this case you would need to know more about us to ensure your survival."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means that, if you were in danger or being pursued, it would be good to have resources available. We have safe locations throughout the city, points of access to our underground facilities, and a long list of helpful contacts. We Deviants have infiltrated far deeper into this city's infrastructure than the other factions realize. It would be in your best interest to know a few things, at least."

"You have underground facilities?"

Viggo nodded. "Sewer complexes, expanded cave networks, and hidden passages into the lower levels of many structures. That aside, there is a more personally relevant matter to consider if you choose to be my minion. Not to be boastful, but my blood is more potent than the Doyenne's. You might have felt a surge in strength or resilience after she fed you her blood a third time. With my blood, only one drink is needed to secure your fealty. What's more, your physical attributes will be greater than what you gained from Emmeline Le Meur's blood."

"So you're saying I'd be more self-reliant, right? And maybe, if it was known that I was your minion, they might not be so eager to take a shot at me."

"I still want to keep my presence in the city to be undisclosed. However, there is another Deviant that we could imply you are the minion of for now. The upper ranks of each faction know that she is quite old, but is overlooked because of her lifestyle. I think that would discourage others from approaching you." Viggo paused and leaned forward again. "Are you sure this is what you want, Leopold?"

I shrugged. "For lack of better options... yeah, it is. I mean, I mostly get my life back, right? I'm there if or when you need me, which I sort of would be anyway since I feel like I owe you. And, there are some benefits to it. So, I'm all in, as long as you promise me two things, Viggo."

"If I can, I will," he said.

"One, that I won't just be your slave like I was with Le Meur, and two, that you tell your people that my name is just Leo, okay?"

One side of Viggo's mouth twitched; I think that was as close to a smile as I was going to get. "A promise made, Leo Beck." He leaned further over the table and extended his hand. I took it.

GOBLET

Viggo asked Natalie to drive me home, told me he'd meet me there, and then excused himself again. I didn't have a coat, but the heater in Natalie's compact car worked well. During the drive, while I gave directions to my place, I asked her a few questions about being 'employed' for Viggo.

Natalie told me she'd been loyal to the big guy for about nine years so far. Before that, she considered herself nearly meaningless; unmarried, no kids, few friends, and her only worthwhile offering to society was volunteering at a homeless shelter. Even her job kept her semi-isolated. Natalie worked second shift at the IRS branch in town as a clerk supervisor in her own little office that was tucked away on a lower level. That's where Viggo found her at the end of a shift. He said that her access to certain information made her valuable and important to him. Working for Viggo, she no longer felt insignificant.

Fifteen minutes later, we pulled up in front of my house, Damn, I never realized how much I missed my little place until I saw it again. I grabbed the bag full of my stuff, including the photo of Al, and thanked Natalie both for the meal and the ride. I fished my keys out of the bag and entered my house. I expected it to be dark inside, but a light back in the kitchen was on. I didn't know what to expect, so I pulled my Ruger out and quietly moved forward.

I crouched low and spun into the entryway of my kitchen. Viggo was standing at the counter, pulling a bottle of Jack Daniels down from a cabinet shelf. "Fuck," I grunted with a deep exhale; I lowered my gun and slumped against the wall.

"I thought I would add a familiar flavor for you," he said, completely unconcerned that I almost shot him. On the countertop in front of Viggo was an iron-bound container about the size of a shoebox. "I have done it for minions in the past who favored certain tastes." He set down the bottle and looked at me. "Come over here, Leo. I have something for you to see."

I stood, set the Ruger on top of the fridge, and stepped closer. "You must have been speeding like hell to get here so fast," I commented while eyeing the container Viggo was resting a hand on. "Natalie doesn't exactly pay attention to speed limits, so how'd you beat me here? I didn't see any strange cars with smoking tires parked out on the street."

"Soon enough, I will show you how I arrived so quickly," he said hastily. "Right now, there is a tradition to be followed." He opened the hinged lid that revealed a fancy cup of dark metal that rested in a fitting of black velvet. "This goblet has been used for the rite of passage for nearly all of my minions, past and present." His voice was almost reverent. "It is tradition going back centuries."

"Well then, I hope like hell you washed it."

Viggo gave me a long look; I couldn't tell if he was going to crack a smile or crack my skull. He decided on neither. "More than this being a ceremonial treasure, there is something else about this goblet that you might find quite interesting, Leo: it was made for me by one of your long-departed ancestors."

"One of _my_ ancestors made that? No shit? Who was he?"

Viggo lifted the goblet to let the light over the stove show all the detailed scrollwork on it. "His name was Erlingr; he was an artisan. On a summer night in the year 621 A.D., a large band of Saxons attacked his village. I saved him and rescued his family. In return, he forged this for me."

I did some quick math in my head - not my best subject in school. "Are you telling me that thing is nearly fourteen fucking hundred years old?"

"And one of my oldest treasures," Viggo said as he set it on the counter. He then pulled a short but sturdy steel knife from inside his coat. Holding it to the palm of his left hand, he looked at me. "I offer this freely," he stated solemnly, and then dug the blade into the hard, cracked leather flesh of his palm. Viggo moved his hand over the goblet as black blood flowed out in a thin stream. I just stood and watched with a weird fascination as a third of the goblet was filled. He closed his hand into a fist and held it there for a few silent seconds. When the hand opened, the wound was gone, just... gone.

"You should know," Viggo commented while he opened my bottle of liquor and poured in about a shot's worth, "that the taste of my blood should differ greatly from the Doyenne's. The natures and Gifts come through in the flavor, so I imagine that her essence was rather captivating, yes?" He picked the goblet back up, swirled it once, and then held it out.

"Yeah," I replied, "it was like honey and fruit and passion all at once." I took the offered goblet of my ancestor with both hands, holding it firmly so I didn't drop the damn thing. I doubt Viggo would have been too happy that I let a priceless relic with his blood in it bounce on my kitchen floor.

"Leopold Beck," he said with formality, "if you freely choose loyalty to me, drain the goblet."

It took a couple gulps, but I downed the drink. It was fucking _strong_ , like moonshine but without the bite. It slid over my tongue like a smooth, warming liqueur. Acidic and sweet at the same time, Viggo's blood made me imagine old books and scrolled maps, dark corridors and starlit nights. Unlike Le Meur's blood, which filled me with duty and yearning, I felt like I almost literally swelled with the righteousness of serving Viggo. I'd never felt a truer conviction, and was proud that he asked me to join him for any noble cause he might've had. I had just been invited into a world I knew next to nothing about; the mystery of it had me pumped.

After I handed the goblet back, Viggo put a hand on my shoulder. "Welcome into the fold, Leo. By power of the bond, I know you will be loyal, fair, and true. In return, I swear to honor your fealty with those very same virtues. I am pleased to have you affiliated with my people. If you choose, you may continue to call me Viggo. That is the name I was given at my human birth. I became a warrior of my people, a tribe in early medieval times. I am known by my given name to only a small, trusted group. To the rest who have heard of me or my deeds, I am simplistically identified only as a member of my long-gone tribe - 'the Veleti'."

STRENGTH

While Viggo cleaned the goblet, I asked if I could speak plainly. He nodded his consent. I told him that I'd heard that title, _the Veleti_ , before; first from some bat shit-crazy homeless guy, and again when the Doyenne asked me about it. He told me that the crazy dude was actually another Deviant named Harlan whose ramblings rarely held any foresight. Any rumors started by him were at best unreliable, so Le Meur probably dismissed them. That led me to wonder what sort of reputation Viggo had that would make her concerned. That question might've offended him somehow, so I kept my mouth shut.

Viggo told me he had some errands to attend to. Before I thought about it, I asked if he needed me to help. He thanked me for the offer, but said I should "return from my travels" and put any worried minds to rest. That was a good plan, but my Adept minion tutor did a shitty job and I still had so many questions. He said that he'd have one of his other minions contact me in a couple days, one who could provide some answers. Okay, I told myself, no more forgetting my phone.

Viggo then said he'd visit again soon and handed me a business card from his coat pocket. It only had a company name, _'ShadoWorks, LLC'_ on it, and a toll-free number underneath. He said I could reach him at that number if I needed anything until we met again. That was also the number that would show on my caller ID whenever he might call me for a task. Viggo reminded me with a straight face - as if he had another - that I should expect to leave a message if I called during the day.

I didn't want him to leave. I wanted to know more about him. I mean, shit, I couldn't even imagine the stories a being like Viggo the Veleti had to tell, but I wanted to hear them all. Still, I got the feeling that he wanted me to be self-reliant and not just his errand boy. I wanted to prove him right and make him proud, so I didn't make any requests for his continued company. It was harder to do than it sounded.

As he'd done before, Viggo disappeared. He went out the back door, stepped out of sight into the darkness, and was gone. It wasn't unnerving anymore; it was magic. For a while, I thought about how my perspective had changed. That led to new questions, so I found a notepad and started making a list. After that, I cleaned up and dressed in my own comfortable clothes. It was too late to let my neighbors know I was back home, but not so for Keegan's. And, damn, did I need a drink.

As I was grabbing my coat, I realized I didn't even know what the damn day or date was; my phone showed it was a Saturday, the 1st of March. I was locked away for a total of only four weeks or so, but it felt like a fucking eternity. On my short drive to the club, I realized all the little things I missed; my car, the radio, streetlights, and all the other common shit you'd take for granted. It's wasn't like I was all starry-eyed at the sight of bare trees and neon signs or anything; I think it was just the rush of freedom.

I could hear the music from some cover band playing at Keegan's from half a block away. Steroid Mac greeted me with a smile and let me right in. The place was packed. The strong, familiar smells of spilt beer and cigarettes met me when I walked in the place. It wasn't just my nose that was on alert; all of my senses seemed very sharp and clear.

Only a few steps in, I was attacked by Tanya. She'd set her drink tray down on the nearest table full of patrons to give me a smothering hug. She told me she liked my beard, and then gave me the type of kiss that told me she was between boyfriends again. I saw Keeg at the far end of the bar. He gave me a manly hug and a handshake, and then had Sherrie pour me a drink. It was too loud to talk at the time, but we caught up when the band went on break. It was nice to be missed.

The place was really busy that night. At one point, I offered to change a dry keg in the cooler since everyone else had their hands full. I had just unhooked the empty keg and tensed up to pull a full one out of the corner. I yanked hard, and the fucking thing came off the ground. I was barely able to control the 160 lb. keg of Bud as it swung in my grip. It clattered on some other kegs before I stopped it. I took a calming breath before I carefully pulled another Bud keg over and tapped it, knowing the one I nearly threw into a wall would be nothing but foam for a while.

I know I was told that I would be stronger because of Viggo's blood, but... fuck.

Keeg insisted I stay after the place closed up. With good company and free drinks, I wasn't about to refuse. When he asked where the hell I'd been, I gave a simple lie. I told Keeg and the employees a story about me needing to get away for a while, and renting a lakeside cabin out in the middle of Missouri from a guy I knew. Keeg and most of the others knew about my string of losses, so the vague lie was an easy sell. I didn't like lying to them, but it wasn't like I had a choice.

That simple lie almost got complicated when Tanya whispered suggestively that she wanted me to show her that cabin sometime. I would have just taken her back to my place instead, but I was afraid of my newfound strength getting away from me again. Tanya was kinky and liked a little pain, but I doubted she would have gotten off from me slamming her through a wall.

When I got home and fell asleep that night, I had a vivid-ass dream. It was a moonless night. I stood on a path at the base of a low hill. Up on top of it stood a fortification; a thick, square tower with a small, walled courtyard connected to it. A brilliant night sky was the background for the imposing structure \- I'd never seen so many stars. There were iron double doors set into the tower; they opened, and a tall figure stepped out. Even though he wore a helmet with a full faceguard, I knew it was Viggo. A crew of shadowy warriors stood behind him. From there, images blurred: a dark battle, swords and axes swinging, screaming and blood. I woke up panting, feeling both scared and invigorated.

DUDE

The following morning I did some catching up. I was on the phone a lot, getting back in touch with Gwen, Diego and Cordell. Since the weather was nice enough, I invited each of them over for a cook-out in my front yard. I did the same for my neighbors Miss Loretta, and Hector and his family. During all of those chats, I cleaned my guns, got the house smelling like Pledge, and rehung Al's photo. For the planned lunch and to restock my empty fridge, I spent a shit-load at the grocery store. I was going to have to get some fresh income rolling in pretty soon.

My guests started showing up around noon. It was good to see everyone again. I made introductions between neighbors and co-workers. Diego had a limp but was doing well. His and Hector's kids provided loud entertainment. Everyone brought a simple side dish, even Cord. There were stories and laughter, beer and steaks. It was a damn good day.

That evening, I was in the basement testing my strength on the weight bench when I got a call. It was the ShadoWorks number. My heart jumped. It was Viggo on the line; he told me to expect another of his minions to show up within an hour for "a consultation". He also told me to keep a couple days open later in the week. I wanted to talk with Viggo some more - I didn't care about what - but he got off the phone pretty quick. I told myself to be patient, cleaned up, and waited for my unknown visitor.

A little while later, I looked out front and saw headlights creeping up my street; it was either my new tutor looking for my address, or someone planning a drive-by. A few seconds later, a late 80s Camaro turned into my driveway behind my Wrangler. With my porch light on, I got a good look at him when he got out of his car. Snakeskin boots, torn jeans, Steel Panther t-shirt under a scuffed leather jacket, long blonde hair and clean shaven - he looked like a Mötley Crüe wannabe.

I opened the front door when he stepped up on my porch. He was a bit of a pretty boy, maybe a little skinny, and wore lots of rings and wristbands. "Hey, dude," he said with a smile, "I'm guessin' you're Leo, right? Big V sent me." He offered his hand. "I'm Shawn Riordan, dude. What's up?"

I hesitated before I shook his hand - I didn't want to catch an STD. But since Viggo sent him, I figured it was safe. And since he wasn't wearing glitter or lipstick, I let the glam poser into my house. "I'm glad you're here, Shawn," I said half-heartedly. "I've got a lot of questions."

"That's what I'm here for, dude," he said as he plunked into my recliner. "Got a brew?"

I poured us some drinks and grabbed my list of subjects to ask about. "Alright, dude, breakin' out the hard stuff," Shawn commented when I handed him a glass. "You got style, bro. So, like, you gotta bear with me," he said after a sip. "Me bein' a teacher is a radical concept, ya know? Let's ease into it."

Well shit, I might've been better off with Sarah... wherever she was. My first mistake was telling Shawn he had a nice car. He went on and on about his '88 IROC-Z, and how "gnarly" it was. I interrupted him to ask if he was in a band, which was my second mistake. He was the lead singer and guitarist for a retro hair band called _'Glazefinger'_. I didn't mention it, but I think Keeg had them play in his bar once or twice until the band asked for more money. Shawn went on to tell me he used to be in the popular _'Pregnant Nuns'_ until the other guys in the band started showing their age while he didn't.

At one point, he even sang a few bars of one of his songs, as if I'd know it. Some people probably would have liked his voice. I hated it. I couldn't say that I was too fond of Shawn in general. I mean, okay, he was a nice enough guy, but I couldn't understand why in hell Viggo chose that jackass to be a minion. I truly doubted it was for Shawn's entertainment value. Seriously, what good was he?

"Okay, dude," Shawn said once he stopped rambling and bragging, "I'm gonna stick more to our minion side than talk about the big-leaguers. I'll tell ya what I know about 'em when we need to, but, like, you gotta know your own place in all this, right?"

"Yeah, I guess that's a good place to start." I had a small but growing urge to punch him in the neck.

"So, like, that whole bad scene that went down at that mansion," Shawn said before I could actually ask a question. "I gotta be sure about something, dude. One of the hitters out in the snow, he was beat to shit and had two grody holes in his forehead... Was that your work?"

That caught me way off-guard. "How the hell do you know anything about that?" I asked.

Shawn leaned the recliner back. "There's this dude named Ben I know. He's a minion of another Deviant. Me and Benny are, like, cool - big Van Halen fans, right? Anyhow, he works at the county medical examiner's office. Now here's the thing, dude," Shawn said while pointing his drink at me and smiling. "That hitter you plugged? By the time Ben looked at him, that dude looked like some sixty year old geezer. I bet he didn't look like that when you went, like, all Chuck Norris on his ass, right?"

"What? No, that guy wasn't anywhere near sixty. I doubt he was half that. And I don't mind saying, I had trouble putting him down."

"Dude," Shawn replied with a chuckle, "that's 'cuz he was a fuckin' minion! By the way the clock turned on him, that hitter had been around for a while. As soon as one dies, all the age that they - we - ignore comes roaring back. That hitter probably had thirty minion years under his belt, so like, no offense, but I would've bet against you on that one, bro. You must've gone totally righteous on his ass." Shawn raised his glass to me. "Choice moves, dude; I think you impressed big V with that."

I felt a swell of pride, hoping those words were true. And, damn it, Shawn had to be a pretty nice guy to casually pass along a compliment. When he first started talking, I figured I didn't like the glam boy because he struck me as cocky. Then I quickly realized that wasn't the reason for my immediate dislike of him. I can admit it; I was bothered by the fact that Shawn had years of hanging out with Viggo. I was jealous. It wasn't Shawn's fault, so I tried to stop thinking like a petty little shit. I also consoled myself with the fact that Viggo had been keeping an eye on me my whole life. Shawn couldn't top that.

KNOWLEDGE

Shawn stayed really late, but the info he shared was worth staying up for. I learned a bit about the retro rocker himself first. No big surprise there. While he was with the _Pregnant Nuns_ in the 80s, they got to be fairly popular in the Midwest rock bar scene. The band was hitting its peak about the time I was born. Anyway, that's about when Viggo made Shawn an offer. Music attracted crowds, and crowds attracted some hemos; Viggo wanted eyes and ears in those settings. It was a bonus that the band sometimes got gigs all over the Midwest, where Shawn could report on those places, too.

Once Shawn finished with his own story, we got down to basics of being a minion. First of all, the body of a new minion gets a sort of tune-up. All of the senses get a tiny bit stronger. The immune system is more resistant to natural sicknesses; Shawn never heard of a minion having a cold. Aging pretty much stops as long as you get a hemo blood fix once in a while. Potency of blood affected that; from some thin-blooded hemo, you might need a drink every ten days, but from Viggo it was about five weeks.

There was a nice little kicker that went along with a minion's unnatural age. If I was within my normal lifespan and Viggo got killed, I had a short amount of time to find another hemo donor or else all those years would catch up with me. That part I could've figured out from the sixty year old hitter example. Wait, it gets better. If I'm beyond my normal lifespan and A) my hemo donor dies, or B) I don't get another drink of his blood within a certain timeframe, then I immediately turn into a pile of dust. That is some major fucking incentive to keep your boss alive and nearby. Shawn said he knew about a local Outsider minion who was in the civil war... Holy shit.

Despite all that, I mainly tried to get it through my head that I could conceivably live healthy and strong for decades or centuries. Initially, I thought it was awesome, but then I thought of the long-term effects. All my friends would grow old and die. What if I met a woman I wanted to marry? What if we had kids? I guess I'd have to stick to skanks, stock up on rubbers, and find someone who made fake IDs.

I asked about my newfound strength, and the answer took me a minute to get my head around. I was told that it didn't matter who the hemo was - their minion became a little stronger. Whatever else the minion gained in ability was a matter of basically who they were, modified by whatever Gifts their hemo had and how potent their blood was. Yeah, I was confused, too.

Shawn gave the example of some hemo with weak blood; the minion would likely just get a bit stronger, and that was it. On the other hand, Shawn said he was stronger than he looked, could take a haymaker punch, and could shred on the guitar. He explained that he had those abilities because Viggo was super strong - like, flip a car strong, probably tough enough to take a crowbar to the head without flinching, and had lightning reflexes. Shawn told me it might be different for each minion, and he wasn't sure what other Gifts Viggo had that I might've gotten a touch of. I wondered how I could find out.

There was no club or community for minions; their boss was their world. I could understand that. I mean, why would I go hang out with other minions when I could be hanging out with my commander? It'd most likely turn into a brawl anyway, after arguments started about who had the best hemo boss. That Shawn knew of, Viggo had five human minions, although there might've been more. He said I'd get to know a few of them after a while. I hoped I didn't have to. Shawn wasn't exactly my cup of tea, and Natalie was pleasant but boring, so, uh, thanks but no thanks.

Then I caught that word, human - human minions. I needed a little detail on that. It seemed that Viggo had other minions, but they were animals. Wait; let me clarify what I was told. Rats - Viggo had a swarm of rat minions, and apparently some of them became grotesque or huge or both. Shawn also told me of a Deviant that a lot of people called the dog-woman, and an Outsider gal named Kalasa who always had birds around her. That last one made me think of the old Hitchcock movie, _'The Birds'_ \- super creepy.

One last thing Shawn mentioned about minion lifestyles really bothered me. He said we were lucky to have a hemo as humane as Viggo, who let us make our own choices and treated us well. He told me stories about minions who were treated like slaves; abused, tortured, humiliated, and sometimes slaughtered by cruel masters or mistresses. Those hemos were like powerful sociopaths, creatures that lost whatever humanity they used to have as normal people. The thought made me sick.

Shawn finally got around to telling me about another, more mundane perk - a possible job offer. I could keep doing my own thing, and also do chores for Viggo when he said to. I was fine with that idea if I still had a job at Silas - I was told at my cook-out that I'd have to talk to Crane about that. Another option was if Viggo offered me a job at ShadoWorks. Shawn said he worked for the company part-time, and still got some perks: decent salary and his own small shop. Places like those were really fronts for holding faction supplies, or as places to meet. Shawn used his shop for band practices.

The last thing Shawn told me before he left was about the Deviants in town; the ones he knew about, anyway. Of course there was Viggo, who he heard was turned into a hemo sometime in the fourth or fifth century. I made Shawn tell me that at least twice more. I didn't know shit about history, but I sure as hell had a good reason to dust off my computer and do some research.

And then Shawn listed other Deviants he knew, or knew of. There was Barnabus, the Deviant faction emissary, who started out as a settler and trapper in the early 1700's. Pedro, who liked to lie about his past, was a mystery. I also knew of Harlan the whacko vagrant, and Clara Page, who I guessed wasn't all there, either. Then there was the one called the dog-woman, plus a religious zealot named Michael who was a troop priest in WWII, and a hermit called Roach who stayed down in the sewers.

Do any of them sound like people you'd want to meet? Me neither.

MOOD

I didn't sleep well, or for very long. I wouldn't have been surprised if I dreamt about Viggo, or even a hoard of rats whose faces all looked like mine. That sounds creepy \- and it is - but it wasn't near as disturbing as the dream I did have.

I saw a burning pyre in the darkness. Cool night air was filled with the smell and haze of thick wood smoke. Over the crackles and low roar of the flames, a scream pierced the night. I moved forward. A woman was chained to a broken stone pillar in the center of the pyre. She screamed again in pain and fear, howling words I couldn't understand. Licks of flame set her burlap clothes on fire. I smelt burning hair as her body quickly charred. One last word left the tortured woman's melting lips: _"Viggo..."_

I woke already sitting up in bed, sweaty, breathing hard. I had a feeling the dream wasn't just some horror scene that my brain made up. It felt true. It felt real. My heart ached for my leader; the woman was something special to him. More than the pain for his loss, though, I was filled with a seething rage. I wanted to repay those who wronged Viggo, repay them with pain and death. But how long ago was that? It was likely centuries, a millennia, or even longer. That didn't seem to matter; I was still so angry that my lip kept lifting into a snarl. My unfocused, barely restrained anger made for a long day.

My first chore of the day was to retrieve my Glock from the police lock-up. While I was there, showing credentials and filling out paperwork, I wanted them to pull me back in for more questioning about the Everett firefight. I wanted the excuse to vent, to yell at them for anything I could think of. They were all courteous and respectful. All that did was infuriate me.

With it being a Monday, I knew John Crane would be in his office at Silas Security. Normally, I would have at least called him to see where I stood with the company after such a long time off. However, my sour mood told me that I was more than likely fired, even though the prick didn't have the balls to tell me I was. I resisted the urge to go confront Crane about it, and instead called Gwen.

She answered the business line with a professional tone. I didn't bother with niceties, or even start with a hello. "No more bullshit, Gwen; am I still on the books or not?"

"Good morning to you too, Leo, and thanks for calling. Would you like to start this conversation over with a better attitude, or would you rather I just hang up on you now?"

"Goddammit, I'm not in the mood for games -"

Click.

I stood in the police parking lot and bellowed profanities for a good two minutes straight. A raving moron yelling at the cloudy sky, that was me. Just about the time I noticed a couple uniformed cops watching me, it started to rain. I got in my car, took a deep breath, and dialed Gwen again.
"This is Silas Security; how can I help you today?" she answered.

"Alright, I'm calm now."

"No you're not, but at least you're civil now," she said matter-of-factly. "So, what did you get into that's got you ready to stab a puppy, or worse, be rude to me?"

"I didn't get into anything. It's just been a bad day."

"Leo, it's not even ten in the morning yet."

I closed my eyes and leaned my head back. "Call it a premonition, okay? Look, I didn't call to talk about why I'm cranky. Can we let that drop, Gwen? I am seriously not in the mood."

"Fair enough, Leo. But if I find out you were in some kind of situation and didn't call me, I will fill your house with feral cats."

I didn't acknowledge the offer or the light threat; I'd heard them before. "Gwen, do you know if I still work at Silas or not? I know you said I'd have to talk to Crane about it, but right now I really don't have the patience to deal with his long-winded shit."

"And I still don't know, Leo. After the Everett incident, he was ready to give you a raise. Then you went off the radar for a long time. In the meantime, there've been inquiries by a few new potential clients for EP service, requesting you specifically. Mr. Everett also called for the same thing; I think he's hired a detail full-time, but still wanted you as personal security. Crane wants a slice of those pies. If you set out as an independent contractor, that'd be money out of his pocket. Still, you know him, Leo; he's got as much pride as any of you field employees, even Cordell. I'd say Crane will want an apology for you walking away from the job with only an email. Honestly, if you wanted to come back, he'd deserve one."

My lip curled again - an apology? If John Crane knew half of what I went through, that fucker would be apologizing to me. So what if Gwen was right? I sure as hell wasn't in the mood to be sympathetic. Besides, she said something that got my attention: _independent contractor_. I'd evidently gotten a good reputation from the Everett contract, and was in demand with at least a few people. And if I wasn't asked to work directly for Viggo, it might be something to fall back on.

Instead of discussing apologies with Gwen, I ignored her opinion and asked, "Who were the potentials that asked for me by name?"

"Leo, you know that they're possible Silas clients. Telling you would be like treason or something."

"Oh give me a break, Gwen. You may be a loyal friend to some of the staff, but not so much to John or the company. And, like you said, they asked for me personally, so Crane probably won't get them to sign a contract without me anyway." There was silence on the line. I pushed. "I just want to know who they are. I won't do a thing with the info without talking to you first, okay?"

She hesitated. "I don't know, Leo. Let me think about it. I'll talk to you before the end of the week."

Pushing Gwen any further would have been futile, and I probably would've started yelling again. I wanted to keep what friends I had. It wasn't fair to put her in that position, but I was feeling mean and selfish and cared less than I normally would have. Sometimes, I was a real prick.

DOJO

I had to safely get rid of my pent up aggression, but my dojo didn't open until the afternoon. I wanted to get in a fight, but I wouldn't disrespect the dojo or myself by looking for a victim there. For lack of alternatives, there was equipment back at my place that I could vent on. I headed back home through the rain, sipping from my flask and screaming at stupid-ass drivers. That morning's dream and those awful screams haunted my mind, keeping me full of dark emotions.

I gave the heavy bag in my basement a beating. In fact, once I started concentrating on my punches and strikes, I noticed the power and speed of my attacks. I was denting the bag much deeper than normal, and my combinations were quicker than they'd ever been before. I should have been wary of how I had a greater capacity to hurt someone, but my grim mood had me reveling in my newfound abilities. I made a duct tape target on the bag, imagined it was Emmeline Le Meur, and pounded the shit out of it until the leather split. As therapy goes, it was a temporary fix.

It was a long workout, and I felt physically drained afterwards. I dragged my sweaty butt upstairs, had a shower and took a nap. No dreams plagued me, and I woke a few hours later. I still felt surly, but not as aggressive as I did before. Since I damaged my punching bag but still ad some anger to vent, I decided to go to the dojo after all. I hoped that environment might balance my mood a little. If nothing else, Phillip Aoki and his dad (I always had trouble with his name), who both owned the dojo, were always cheerful and infectiously mellow. I needed some mellow right about then.

Back when I'd finished active duty and came home, I joined the Aoki Dojo. I already had an instructor-qualified black belt through MCMAP (Marine Corps Martial Arts Program), but demoted myself to green belt for Phillip's classes. I don't really give a shit about belts; I only wanted to learn katas and get back in shape after the last time I was wounded. A little over two years later I moved on to private instruction and individual training. Mostly, I did practice drills and sparred with random students. I faced off against Phil's dad a few times; I learned that the small, older man could toss me around like a dead cat.

I wouldn't say the Aoki's were my friends, but we knew enough about each other for mutual respect. They weren't thrilled about some of my more aggressive tactics, but they couldn't find much fault in their effectiveness, either. I could go into detail about training regimens and other details, but who gives a shit, right? I went at least once a week (normally), got some type of workout and practice, then cleaned up and left. I didn't get close with any of the other students. Most folks didn't want to get too chummy with the scarred-up Marine who sometimes forgot to pull his punches.

Phillip was in the lobby when I got there. He greeted me with a smile and a handshake, and mentioned my absence. I gave him the same bullshit as I gave to everyone else, and then said I needed to pay my monthly dues. He went and got a ledger and, after double-checking, told me I made an online payment that covered the rest of the year. I mumbled some lame excuse of being forgetful, all the while thinking that Barnabus had indeed taken care of every detail. I owed him for that.

I asked Phillip for a class schedule, but said I was only there that day for solo training. Hardly any other students were there at the time, so I didn't have to worry about distractions. I changed into my regular blue gi and went to the empty advanced-practice room to work up another sweat.

It was a while later as I was working on strike combinations when I sensed someone else in the big room. Phillip was leaning against a far wall in a casual pose, but he had a serious look on his face. "What?" I asked while catching my breath.

He studied me for another few seconds, and then asked, "Are you taking some type of supplements?"

"Huh? No... not unless granola bars and whiskey are on the list. Why?"

Phillip cocked his head slightly to one side. "Without some new performance enhancer, I'm not sure what could explain what I just saw. You're more fluid, and you almost knocked that practice dummy off its base."

Well, shit. My brain scrambled for a quick excuse. Because of my shitty mood, I also took offense way too easily that I was under scrutiny. "It's the first time I've been here in a while, so maybe you forgot I'm faster than I look. Do you have a problem with me getting better?" There was no way that I was going to use an excuse - a lie - like steroids to explain my heightened physical abilities; that shit was for cheaters.

"No, no problem; I simply noticed a dramatic rise in your core power. But that's not the reason I came back here. I wanted to tell you that two detectives have inquired about you, twice now - a big man and an even bigger woman. They stopped in last week, and then yesterday. They said you were involved in a shooting, but wouldn't say more about it."

That info didn't make any sense to me. "Detectives came here? I was questioned and cleared over a month ago." When Phillip's eyebrows rose, I explained. "I was part of the security detail at the attack on the Everett mansion. You probably saw it in the news." Damn; more shit I did not need. "Did they leave a number with you?"

"Actually, no; I found that strange, although the man said his name was Cantrell." He took a deep breath and pushed it out. "I worry for you, Leo, but I don't want to be part of anything that would dishonor my father's business, or the other students. I'm sure you understand that, yes?"

Thinking about it from Phillip's perspective, I nodded and said, "I don't want to bring any trouble or bad press to the dojo. I'll try to take care of it." I bowed to him and then went back to the locker room to clean up. While I showered, I thought that maybe I was wanted as a character witness for somebody else's problem. I found out that evening how wrong I was.

RIZZO'S

I brought all of my guns to the range I always shot at, hoping that emptying magazines would knock the edge off my temper. In the back of my mind, though, I kept wondering about the cops Phillip mentioned. Not focused on my aim, some of my shots strayed. That, in turn, pissed me off all over again. It was a vicious circle that I couldn't escape.

At home, I looked up all of the nearby police stations and jotted down all of the desk numbers. I called each of them and asked for a detective named Cantrell. None of them had one by that name. Okay, someone was fucking with me... again. I supposed it could have been some mundane thing, but I ruled that out as wishful thinking. It obviously wasn't any of Viggo's people; why would it be? Besides, they knew my number and where I lived. It could have been Le Meur, who might've pulled some legal strings. I tried to imagine the connections and clout it would've taken to put detectives on my ass.

That line of thought led to a conclusion that chilled me. If Le Meur had pull with the cops, she could just as easily have had the same influence in the court system or the DA's office. If those detectives decided to detain me, I could be held for at least three days on trumped up charges - long enough for Le Meur to get me back under her control. Or, she could have me prosecuted and I could spend a very long time in jail. When someone has command over the good guys and the bad, people like me tended to be fucked.

I called and left a message with the ShadoWorks answering machine, telling Viggo about my situation. Then, not really wanting to, I called Shawn for advice. He sounded groggy, but I didn't care. I told him about my dreams, and about two supposed detectives looking for me.

"I have dreams about big V sometimes too, dude," he said with a sleepy voice, "but not totally intense like what you're sayin'. Don't sweat it - they'll probably mellow out. And you said you got a couple a' plainclothes checkin' you out, too? Whoa, dude, that's kinda heavy. All I can say is call big V and stay off the radar, bro. For a while, don't go anywhere you normally do. Oh, and hey, dude, I'm gonna send you a couple free tickets to a big show, and Glazefinger is in the line-up! Take it easy, dude."

Shawn made good sense about being unpredictable. I thought about getting a drink later at Keegan's, but I didn't want to bring any unwanted company to their doorstep, either. Just to waste some time, I cleaned my guns and then made an early dinner. I still felt jittery, so I decided to go for a drive around the city. I kept checking my rearview mirror; if those detectives were following me, they were doing a damn good job of staying out of sight.

I ended up in the crappy neighborhood I grew up in. I drove slowly past my parent's old house; it was a shame how shabby it looked. The tavern where my dad used to get hammered before he came home to terrorize us was just a couple blocks away. What the hell, I felt like tossing a few back, and maybe I'd run into one of my dad's old drinking buddies and kick the shit out of him.

The dive, still simply named 'Rizzo's Tavern' after all that time, was about what I expected: small, dim, and half full of middle-aged men who didn't want to be bothered. I sat at the bar and ordered a drink from the bartender. He looked like the gruff type who knew how to swing a baseball bat, and not from playing the game. During my second Jack and Coke, I asked him if he remembered Joe Beck. He frowned and said he used to know Joe, and then bluntly told me that he never did like that asshole. That was all I needed to know. I drained my glass, bought another round, and gave him a bigger tip.

I was just easing into a calming buzz when a woman sat down at the bar right next to me. Well, she was technically a woman, but being tall and built like a heavyweight power lifter didn't help her much. Just at a glance, she was plain at best, and her starched blouse and suit vest made her really not fit in. The red flags were flying. I knew it wasn't going to end well.

Before the bartender came over to her, she turned to me and asked, "Care to buy me a drink?"

"Nope, I don't, but here ya go," I said as I slid a bowl of bar nuts in front of her. "That gorilla you call a neck looks hungry." I didn't look at her reaction, or care what it was.

"Have you always been a rude prick?" she asked in a deeper tone.

"Nah, I'm learning as I go. Have you always been female?"

I expected to have my drink slapped out of my hands, or get punched in the head. When neither of those happened, I looked over at her while I drained my glass. The bartender showed up and asked what she was drinking. "Nothing; we're both done," she answered him with her thick features set in a scowl.

"Oh, we are?" I said.

"My partner and I have some questions for you, sir," she said to me as she flipped out a gold badge, and then put it away just as quickly. "You need to come along with us."

"I won't have no trouble in my place," the bartender warned.

"And you won't get any," I replied with a sigh and slid off my bar stool. "Big Bertha and I can take our conversation outside."

"I'm detective Dykowski," she corrected me as she got up.

I stared at her for a second. "You're kidding, right? Did you... nah, it's just too easy."

The brawny woman slapped her meaty hand on my shoulder and growled, "Let's go, Mr. Beck."

I walked out trying not to tense up, but I knew it wasn't going to end peacefully. I had no intention of going anywhere with her and her partner. No matter the outcome, it wasn't going to end well for me. My options were a body bag, imprisonment, back under Le Meur's thumb, or, at best, a suspect on the run after assaulting two cops. Needless to say, I sobered up pretty fucking fast.

LEADER

I walked out just as the sky was darkening. Streetlights were already on. Dykowski's hand guided me to the side street of the corner bar, where a stout man in business casual clothes leaned against a nondescript Ford in a no-parking zone.

"Okay," I said as she and I walked toward him, "what's this all about?"

"Among other things," Dykowski answered, "it's about the disappearance of Sarah Wheeler. You do remember Sarah, don't you, Mr. Beck?"

I stopped and turned my head to her. "Yeah, I knew her enough to know she was a fucking moron, but that doesn't mean I know what happened to her."

"So, you knew her fairly well, then," Dykowski said as she moved her big hand from my shoulder to the back of my neck. She applied pressure on her grip when she asked, "Do you remember any of the things she was supposed to teach you, Leo?"

Alright, the situation was sure as shit not mundane. Dykowski was basically asking if anyone had fucked with my memories, like Viggo said some hemos could. And the steroid-ridden bitch squeezing my neck was really pissing me off. "You two work for Le Meur, right? Ya know, the first time I saw that skank she had snot running out of her nose. And she was walking funny, like she just came from a gangbang. Huh, maybe it wasn't snot after all."

The grip tightened. "Actually, we work for Mr. Riva, but we still -"

I stomped down hard on her instep. I don't care if some people say it's a cheesy move - it fucking works. Immediately after, I rammed my elbow back into her. I intended to catch Dykowski in the solar plexus, but the foot stomp made her hunch over a little. Instead, my elbow hit her hard in one of her tits, but it was enough to make her stagger back a few steps.

A rubber bullet hit me in the shoulder. Even with the protection of a leather coat, those damn things _hurt_. The guy, Cantrell, was standing in front of their car and aiming his revolver at me for another shot if the first one didn't make me give up. It didn't. I could have pulled my Ruger, but it had live rounds and I didn't want to shoot a cop.

For lack of options, I charged at Cantrell. I surprised myself with how fast I came up on him. By the look in his eyes, he was surprised, too. He let off another shot, but was unsteady from trying to assume a defensive pose at the same time. The second rubber bullet ripped through my coat at the elbow, not slowing me down a bit.

I speared Cantrell with enough momentum that I took him off his feet, over the hood of his car, and smashing into the windshield. Not waiting to gauge his condition, I cocked my arm and hammered him in the face. I felt and heard his jaw break. His head lolled. I rolled off the hood and into the street.

Over to my left, Dykowski was wobbling on one foot while pulling a small gun from a rear belt holster. In front of me, Cantrell lay unconscious on the hood of his car, the safety glass sagging under the weight of his torso. To my right, I suddenly noticed three people moving up the residential street toward us.

I looked back at Dykowski. Her.38 snub-nose was pointed right at me. She wasn't going to give me a warning; there was murder in her eyes. I dove for the cover of the Ford just as she fired. I heard the shot ricochet off the pavement, and was relieved not to feel the burn of a bullet wound that I was all too familiar with. I silently thanked Viggo for my heightened reflexes.

"Drop it, bitch," one of the three strangers barked. Crouched against the car, I could only see two of them. The one closest to me was still walking forward confidently. He looked like a mix of races; black, white, Mexican. He had cropped black hair and was dressed in nice but casual clothes. I figured him for the leader of the trio. His hands were empty, but the long-haired guy on the far side of him had a shotgun aimed past me, in Dykowski's direction. I couldn't see her reaction from my angle, but I hoped she wasn't stupid enough to try and shoot her way out. Then again, I kinda hoped she was.

I heard the bar door bang open. The leader, who stopped next to me, said to the curious patrons, "You should go back inside, gents. This isn't over yet." A few seconds later, I heard the squeaky door shut.

"Yeah, nice and slow," the third guy on the passenger side of the car said to Dykowski. "Now kick it away." The gun clattered on the pavement. I saw it spin to a stop in the middle of the street.

"Get up, man," the leader said calmly to me. I stood and turned. Dykowski stood there nervously on the sidewalk, favoring one foot. Over the roof of the car, I saw the third guy; denim jacket, stocking cap, four-day beard, grinning while pointing two pistols at her. Cantrell groaned and made a feeble attempt to sit up. To Dykowski, the leader said, "I think you and Frank should run along home now, Carla."

Without a word, she limped forward and pulled Cantrell off the hood. He reeled like a drunk while she stuffed him in the passenger seat. She glared at us as she came around the car, leaning on it for support. The leader and I stepped back to let her get in. Dykowski started up the dented Ford, rolled down her window to see where she was going, and then gunned it around the corner and out of sight.

I turned to the leader. "Let me guess - neighborhood watch?"

He grinned. "Not quite. I'm assuming you're Leonard Beck?"

"Leo, it's just Leo," I said with a sigh. "What, you guys are following me, too?"

"No, we were following them," he replied, pointing to where we last saw Dykowski driving off. "While we were figuring out what those two were up to, we learned about you. It turned out to be quite a coincidence." He turned to the other guys. "Go get the car, fellas."

"What do you mean? What sort of coincidence?" I asked suspiciously. "Who are you guys?"

After the other two walked past us, the leader pulled out a business card and handed it to me. Shit, another one; I was going to have to get a rolodex.

"This is my boss's number," he said. "A while back, he told us that he was going to hire you." There was a chance that the guy's boss was one of the people that Gwen mentioned. "Everyone calls me Blake." He didn't extend a hand. "You should know it if we happen to work together."

I looked at the card. _Trade Solutions Import/Export_ was the company name. Printed under that was _Declan McKenna, manager_ , and then a phone number. "I doubt your boss is still going to be interested in a security agent who's wanted by the police."

"The police... You mean Frank and Carla? Don't worry too much about them. I was told to take an interest in those two since they seem to stay quite busy while off duty. And as far as Mr. McKenna knows - and he stays very well informed - there aren't any open cases on you." We both stepped aside when a Cadillac pulled up in front of us. Blake opened the back door and paused. "It might be in your best interest to give that number a call. Have a good night, Mr. Beck."

I stood there under the glow of a streetlight, absently watching the Caddy drive off. I held my bruised shoulder, wondering what the hell I'd gotten myself into. And, dammit, I had another hole in my coat.

TRAVEL

Driving home from my old neighborhood, my phone chirped with a text message. ' _Get home now'_ , it said. The number was from ShadoWorks. The Tuesday evening traffic was light, so I leaned on the gas pedal and broke a lot of traffic laws. I made it back to my house in record time.

I hurriedly unlocked my front door. Viggo was sitting on my couch watching the TV show _'Supernatural'_ when I came in. "What a ridiculous program," he commented in his low, rumbling voice. The irony of his statement left me speechless. He used the remote to turn my TV off and looked at me with those unnerving, pure black eyes. "I received your message. Yes, the Doyenne does have strong influence with the local police and judicial system. For your safety, we may need to speed up the wheel of the rumor mill concerning your powerful affiliations."

Finding my voice, I said, "If you don't mind me saying so, sir, I'd sure as hell appreciate it. I just had a little incident, if you'd like to hear about it." When Viggo nodded, I told him about the event outside of Rizzo's. When I finished with the details, I asked if he knew either a Mr. Riva, who Dykowski mentioned, or a guy named Declan McKenna. I had no idea if they were hemos, normal yet important people, or just dipshits. If my commander didn't know, he could find out.

"Riva is Dominic Riva, an Adept who is slowly making a name for himself in the escort trade," Viggo said. It had to be the same Dominic that Barnabus almost chopped into greasy cutlets. "Mr. Declan McKenna is yet another numen -a creature of the night. Like many of those of relatively advanced years, he has spurned the abused label of 'vampire', and instead refers to himself as a daemon. He is most notably the spawn of Jack Fletcher, elder of the city's Outsider faction. Mr. McKenna otherwise busies himself with being a covert thorn in the Doyenne's side. Does this information help you?"

I shrugged. "I don't know about it being helpful, sir, but it's good to know. Uh, one last thing, if you don't mind. When you say relatively advanced years, how many are you talking about?"

Viggo stood and straightened his long coat. "Most of those who can claim the term 'daemon' are usually a respectable two hundred to five hundred years old, sometimes more. Some older ones care little for other titles, so they continue referring to themselves as that. Now, unless you have any truly important questions, we need to go visit your pseudo-mistress. Come with me."

"You mean the dog-woman?" I asked as I followed him into my dark kitchen.

"Her name is Ragna, but she takes no offense to that canine title." Viggo stopped and held out an arm out wide. "You once inquired about my uncanny mode of travel. It is time I answered your question. Step closer, Leo. I will show you."

I was suddenly afraid. Look, only a fool would say he fears nothing. I'm not the brightest star in the sky, but I'm no fool. I've had more than my share of scary moments and scenarios, and I've faced them. But, standing there in the dark with the looming silhouette of an ancient being who was about to share something so eerily supernatural with me... Shit, I was terrified. I trusted Viggo without hesitation; that wasn't an issue. The thing was, I was about to step into the unknown, the unimaginable.

My faith in Viggo gave me just enough courage. After I took a long swig from my flask, I stepped next to him. He wrapped his long arm around my shoulders, and then he began to turn us in a circle. The dim outlines of my kitchen appliances suddenly blurred into a dizzying darkness. It felt like we only made one 360 degree turn, but in that short movement we'd slipped into a jet-black void.

Shades of black swirled and pulsed all around me. There was no smell, no sound, and nothing under my feet. I only felt the pressure of Viggo's iron grip on my bruised shoulder. The churning abyss started to surge. Bands of it flowed at me and caressed my skin, like slow licks from a cold, dry tongue. A chilling, lonely noise began to fill my ears and mind. I couldn't hear myself, but I think I screamed.

Just as I was about to fully panic, Viggo yanked us to one side. Sensations came rushing at me. My vision cleared, like running out of a dark room. My boots landed unsteadily on pavement, and I collapsed to my knees. I gulped for breath and took in the stench of the dumpster I was kneeling next to. I put my hand on the side of it to make sure it was actually there. The air was cool, the only light came from a crescent moon, and I could feel Viggo's presence behind me. My eyes focused on the dark, dirty alley we were in. Just to be sure of my condition, I clinched my butt to make sure I hadn't shit myself.

Viggo crouched next to me and waited until I had control of myself. My hands were still shaking and my breath was still ragged, but I managed to turn my head to him and say, "I'm sorry I asked."

RAGNA

"You endured it quite well," Viggo said.

"Seriously, what was that?" I asked, back on my feet but bent over with my hands on my knees. I could still feel that touch of nothingness on my cheek and hands. It kept giving me chills. I fumbled my flask out of my coat pocket and took a long drink to help calm my nerves.

Viggo put a hand on my back. "It is an old and rare Gift, once called 'travelling the abyss'. I now refer to it as 'void-walking'. It was practiced by a small sect of Eidolons long ago." His voice lowered and became more ominous than normal. "I learned it when I drained them and consumed their souls."

Soul consumption sounded like some very bad shit. I looked up at that cracked, gruesome face and saw that some dark emotions had turned Viggo's rough features into a deep scowl. He stared off, lost in a memory. As I studied his harsh profile, I noticed shadows gathering around him, causing his form to shift and blur. I thought he wasn't doing it consciously; it just seemed to happen when he was feeling some deep emotion. I also thought that the effect was spine-chilling every time I saw it.

I didn't want to keep standing in a damp, smelly alley all night while he brooded, so I put my flask away and spoke up. "So," I said quietly as I stood straight, "where are we?"

Viggo brought his attention back to me and answered, "We are in the claimed territory of Ragna, the dog-woman. Ah, speak of the daemon..." He pointed to my right. I looked past the dumpster and saw movement at the end of the alley. I was just able to make out the shapes of a hunched figure with a full shopping cart, surrounded by tail-wagging dogs of all sizes.

"That's Ragna?" The question fell out of my mouth before I could stop myself. I couldn't make out her features from that distance and lack of light, but she gave the impression of an old, stooped homeless woman in layers of clothing. _That_ was a powerful hemo?

"Don't let her appearance fool you," Viggo advised. "She has chosen her lifestyle, and many within the other factions underestimate her for it. Living on the street also keeps her quite up to date on certain events. Ragna's body may be warped, but her mind is strong. Her Gift of Fauna is potent; with that comes her benevolence toward lost or discarded lesser beasts. I will caution you, Leo; Ragna is eccentric and has peculiar views, but she is both wise and trustworthy. Keeping my honor and your own safety in mind, you _will_ be respectful. I will speak with her first. Wait here until I call for you."

"Yes sir." I watched the figure of my commander slowly return to a solid form as he walked away. Some of the dogs were at first apprehensive of his approach, but they quickly calmed and returned their attention to her. Viggo, who stood at over six and a half feet, looked even more like a giant compared to Ragna's stooped form. While they talked, I looked around at the two-and-three story brick buildings that framed the alleyway; not many windows, and only a couple of them lit - a commercial district, probably. It was a good place not to be noticed. But, shit, it was a good place not to be in the first place.

Just as I started to think about how fucked up my situation was, I heard Viggo's deep, menacing voice echo up the alley, calling my name. I jogged over to them and stopped at a respectful distance. Ragna and Viggo stood at the end of the alley. The nearby streetlights were conveniently burned out or broken. There were a few parked cars on the desolate street. About half of the small businesses that I could see were boarded up. Loose trash lined the curbs. How fucking cheerful.

A dozen or so dogs that ranged from a little furry mutt to a giant Rottweiler milled around Ragna, most of them eyeing me warily. Ragna herself was a little surprising. What I mean is, she mostly looked like your stereotypical vagrant - shawl around her head with strands of dull hair sticking out, a ratty scarf wrapped around her neck and mouth, worn knit gloves, and layers of filthy clothing over her warped spine. Her eyes, though, were beautiful; large and ice-blue. Her nose was petite, and her cheekbones were high. I bet that under the grime and rags was at one time an attractive woman.

I glanced at the shopping cart. From what I could see, it was filled with a stained blanket, sleeping bag, and a frayed tarp. Under those items were random bags of dog food, plastic bags full of God knew what, a small radio, a stack of food bowls, and a first-aid kit. Ragna saw me looking at its contents, scowled at me, and pulled the cart behind her. Yeah, like I wanted to steal any of that shit.

"Ragna," Viggo said to her, "this is the one I spoke to you about - Leo."

She studied me with her big, light eyes, and then sniffed long and deep. "You reek of liquor," she said in a scratchy voice, slightly muffled by the scarf over her mouth. I was ten feet away; I doubted she could actually smell my breath. I figured she probably saw me taking a swig. "Out of respect for the elder," she nodded her head at Viggo, "I'll be claiming you as my minion for a time. But," Ragna pointed a finger at me, "don't you dare be drunk in my presence. And add more cola to your whiskey to mask the stench."

I reeked? Was she fucking kidding me? A goddamn homeless woman telling me that _I_ smelled? As Viggo ordered, I kept my mouth shut. It wasn't easy. Then, unexpectedly, Ragna leaned forward and fixed her eyes on me. For some reason, I couldn't turn away, couldn't peel my eyes from her glare. After a few seconds, it felt like something was prodding at my brain. I squinted and tried to push back, if that makes any sense. "What are \- what're you doing?" I asked as I felt the pressure build.

Ragna turned her eyes away from me, and the stress on my brain immediately vanished. To Viggo, she commented, "His mind is stubborn."

"That is a good thing, no?" Viggo replied almost proudly. "Leo's resolve would make it more difficult for any others with the Gift to coerce him. I've already told you of his other qualities. He is a worthy minion, and will serve you well until I reclaim him." If it wasn't Viggo saying those things, I would have been offended as hell, being talked about like a pet or a slave. "One other topic needs to be addressed," he continued. "Leo is currently without steady employment, so his time is yours. However, he does have occupational options, one of which is complicated but beneficial. Discuss it with him if you choose to."

"Or I otherwise have to afford his needs?" Ragna asked, obviously annoyed at the possibility.

"He is not one of your stray dogs," Viggo answered sternly. "If you want to keep him constantly at your beck and call, you must accept full responsibility. If his uses will not outweigh your costs, then he must be allowed to garner his own funding. We've spoken of this before, Ragna..."

She looked away, grimacing. "Yes, yes, elder, I understand. I will hold true to our deal." She gave an irritable hand signal to the dogs, and they all sat down around her.

"Good," he said agreeably. "I am off to make arrangements for your request. Please send your runners out straight away with word of your new minion." Viggo then turned to me. "Leo, I must leave you in Ragna's good care for a short time, as we have discussed. If you have further questions, she can answer them as readily as I could. Of course, you can always call, but I will be back to visit with you soon."

"Yes sir, I understand." I understood logically, but my heart wasn't in my words. I knew the move was best for his unspoken plans, and that I was still being afforded some protection, but... shit. If Viggo was going to hang out in crap-lined sewers for a year or something, I still would've wanted to go with him. And for fuck's sake, why Ragna? Why not someone like Barnabus, maybe? Okay, he might not have been as powerful, and that big red eye was pretty freaky, but at least he was cool and I would've learned from him. What was I gonna learn from some miserly, cranky cripple with a dog fetish?

CHINESE

Viggo turned and walked out of the alley. I stared at that brick corner he went around, wondering if all of this was a good idea. That's when I noticed the huge - and I mean huge - Rottweiler sniffing my leg. I bet he weighed more than I did, and I wasn't small. I looked over to Ragna to ask how friendly the black and tan monster was, and saw that she was busy digging through the bags in her cart. I closed my eyes and hoped that when I opened them I wouldn't be standing in a dark, smelly alley with a pack of mongrels and a neurotic, homeless hemo. I thought I had a firm answer to that 'good idea' question.

"Ah, here we are," Ragna announced as she held up some sort of necklace. Without turning to me, she tossed it in my direction and said, "Put that on. Wear it over your clothes." I caught it and took a look. It was a small claw necklace on a thin leather strap. Before I could ask, she explained while she repacked her cart. "Owl talon, encased in silver - all of my minions wear one so as not to be interfered with."

I squinted in the dark and saw that some of the dogs, including the nosy Rott, wore one. "Are you saying that I'm basically the same rank as a dog, ma'am?"

Ragna turned her bent body halfway in my direction and looked past her shoulder at me. "Are you stupid? Of course not; they're all above you." She turned back to her cart and asked, "You have cash?"

I answered through clenched teeth, "Yes ma'am, a little."

"Good, you buy your own dinner. Follow me." Ragna got behind her cart and pushed it out onto the sidewalk. Her pack of pets moved with her. With an exasperated sigh, I slipped on the necklace and followed behind them.

Out of the alleyway, we went up to the next street corner and turned again. Ragna stopped a few doors down and shooed the dogs away from her, letting me approach. We stood in front of a small Chinese restaurant, the Wise Owl Wok, with a 'closed' sign on the door. I guessed their wasted food was what kept the alley so aromatic. Ragna rapped on the curtained picture window, and we stood there waiting in silence. Ten seconds later, an attractive Asian woman peered out of the window, and then promptly unlocked the door. How and why a homeless hemo had influence at that place, I didn't even ask.

The restaurant was narrow, deep and dark. None of the dogs followed us inside. Lights were on back in the kitchen, where I heard voices in foreign conversation. While the woman locked up behind us, Ragna led me over to a booth and turned on its overhead lamp before sitting down. Because of her curved spine, she slumped on the table. With different company, the ambiance would have been romantic. As I slid in across from Ragna, she pulled out a pen from her layers of drab clothing and started scribbling something on a napkin. The Asian woman set a menu in front of me, then stepped back and waited.

Ragna glanced up at me and said, "Get something. I hear the food is good." She then held out the napkin to the Asian woman. "Add this to your menu flier and have them sent out to your best customers by morning, Lynn. And bring me my usual order."

They both looked at me, so I quickly ordered the cashew chicken and a Coke. With a slight accent, Lynn thanked us and walked off. Trying to appeal to Ragna's nice side, if she had one, I said, "I'll get the check for both our meals, if you like, ma'am."

She looked at me like I spoke in tongues. "I don't eat food, you ignorant cur! Who's mentoring you?"

"Uh, Shawn Riordan, and I guess he only gave me the basics one night. But... you just ordered your usual, whatever that is, so I assumed that, uh..."

Ragna rolled her big eyes. "Freya, save me. Riordan, that powder-sniffing musician idiot? No wonder you know nothing. Very well, I'll give you a few lessons, and I'll even speak slowly so you can keep up." I bit my tongue instead of giving the response I wanted to, so I simply nodded. "For example," she explained, "many of my kind know I control this place, and they're going to get a revised menu tomorrow - one with a new item on it: the Beck buffet special. That and the necklace will let others know that you're my new minion. Normally, I'd only inform the Doyenne and the faction emissaries, but your master wanted the word out quickly. So, there you have it."

"I'd imagine the Doyenne won't be too happy to hear about this."

"From the basics I know of, most likely not. You let me worry about that." Ragna leaned even further forward on the table. "If you don't fight me this time," she said, pointing at my forehead, "I can learn what I need to know much faster than if I let you blather on, blowing your whiskey breath on me." My apprehension must have been evident. "There is nothing to fear, Beck; I'll do you no harm. I'd have to answer to your master if I did. Trust me, I don't want that. _No one_ wants that."

Viggo said Ragna was trustworthy and loyal, so I took him at his word. Hesitantly, I agreed and looked her in the eyes. I had the feeling that something crawled into my head and began to slither around. Other than a slight pressure in my skull, it wasn't too unpleasant. My senses faded away; I was only focused on the sensations in my brain.

I blinked. I saw Ragna in front of me again, looking away. She was just letting go of my index finger, my trigger finger. The Chinese restaurant came back into focus. Lynn, our pretty Asian waitress, was setting a big plate of food in front of me. She then handed a plastic shopping bag full of fried egg rolls to Ragna. I blinked again and gave my head a quick shake to clear it. I'd lost track of time - I had no idea how long the crusty hemo was in my head. I waited until the waitress walked away, and then said, "I don't know what you saw in here," tapping the side of my head, "but some things are private."

"Don't worry," Ragna casually replied while she inspected her bag, "I learned only what I needed to." She looked and saw me staring at the bag. Holding up an egg roll, she simply said, "Dog treats."

Another comment came to mind, but again, I held back. Pillar of restraint, that's me. "If you know my situation from your staring Jedi mind trick thing, what do you think I should do?"

Ragna glowered at me with half-lidded eyes. "It's called the Gift of Control. I could use it to make you think you're a bowl of soup, so don't be so glib, Beck." She stared at me until I nodded and then started eating my food. "It would seem that working at a nightclub or a security firm wouldn't be as lucrative as being employed as a personal guard - EP, you call it - for the Outsider McKenna. I daresay he had plans to make you his own minion. Now, if he still wants to hire you, he'll have to barter with me."

I thought about that for a second, and then asked, "Why would he do that? I mean, I'm already spoken for, right? Why would he rent someone else's stuff when he can get his own?"

"Because my 'stuff' is better; better than he or anyone else might suspect, because you actually have the elder's immensely powerful blood in you. In terms of minions, that alone makes you more capable than most of the others. But to get back to my point, McKenna thinks you're mine. I am of a higher progeny than him, and I am over six hundred years older. My blood is more potent than his, so my minions have greater potential. He might trade some loyalty for a stronger, rented minion."

"Are you sure? Loyalty is a pretty good quality in a guard," I commented between bites of my meal.

"I've thought about that..." Ragna said as she stared off. Then she looked back at me and chuckled; it sounded more like a wheeze. "He could witness me ordering you to be loyal to him. Since you're not really bound to me, your loyalty to him would be optional. He might even think you're a free conduit to trade information."

"I understood the false loyalty part, but what do you mean by a free conduit, ma'am?"

"We Deviants know more than the other factions - rumors, gossip, personal and business secrets, all sorts of things. The other factions sometimes come to us when they want to know something, and we don't give it away freely. Perhaps McKenna will think you might occasionally let a rumor slip, something you heard from me. All the while, you'd be reporting his activities to us. He'll know you will, of course, so you wouldn't be directly involved with any of his projects. But it's all guesswork at this point. He might not choose to haggle with me for your services. We'll see. How's your food?"

"It's pretty damn awesome," I answered, and took another bite.

"Ah, good; let's see if this helps your appetite." Ragna pulled the scarf down from around her face. Like I said, the top half of her face was beautiful. The lower half... wasn't. First of all, she had the mother of all underbites, but that was nothing compared to the rest. All of her lower teeth were way too long, and jutted out like blunt knives from her gray gums. It got worse. From her lower lip down onto her neck and below, it looked like Ragna had drooled acid out of her mouth. Strips and pockets of flesh were gone, exposing bone and sinew. Where there was skin, it hung loose, bubbled and pocked. Then she smiled.

"Oh, fuck," I grunted, pushing my plate away.

Ragna cackled like a witch, and then covered her face again. "Since you're done eating, leave some cash for your meal and go find a way home. Be back here tomorrow at sunset."

I couldn't get out of there fast enough.

HITTERS

As the taxi was approaching my house, I noticed all my windows were dark. I was positive that the living room lamp was on when I left with Viggo earlier. I told the driver to stop and got out a few houses down from my own. I waited for the taxi to drive off before I pulled my Ruger and hurried to the cover of my Jeep in the driveway. Suddenly, my cell phone chirped in my pocket. I silenced it as fast as I could - I'd read the damn text message later.

While deciding my strategy for what could have simply been a burnt out bulb, I heard two car doors shut somewhere up the street. Peeking around the back of my Jeep, I saw two guys walking quickly in my direction down the sidewalk. They looked bulky, like they were wearing flak jackets, and were holding some type of firearms close to their chests. Motherfuckers would _not_ leave me alone.

I thought about my options in the few seconds I had. It would've taken too long to text a message to ShadoWorks for reinforcements. Now that I knew Le Meur had sway with the police, calling 911 was dicey at best. I could move off to a neighbor's and make calls, but waking them up would cause a commotion and maybe put them in danger. There was no way in hell would I let that happen.

My last choice was to just slink off, hide somewhere and call Viggo. I rejected that idea too. I wasn't going to run away while my own home was invaded.

Some of that early morning anger came back with a vengeance. Call me proud, call me stupid - I was still going to defend the place where I kept all my memories.

The two hitters reached my gate, pushed it open, and started through my front yard toward the porch. I had to be quick and quiet - I didn't want any intruders in my house to catch me out in the open - so I put my little gun back in my pocket. As fast as I could, I spun around my car, vaulted the chain-link fence, and charged at their backs from an angle. I threw my body sideways and blindsided both of them. I brought the guy on the left down under me; the other stumbled to his hands and knees on the walkway.

The guy I was lying on started to struggle and grasp for his dropped gun - a pistol with a silencer, a foot beyond his reach. With a burst of speed I rolled off him, grabbed his gun, and spun around on my butt. The other guy was swinging his gun around toward me when I let off three fast, muffled shots. The first two rounds hit him in the chest, enough to knock him off balance. The third bullet went through his raised left hand and into his cheek. He wobbled for a second, but I had no time to watch him drop.

The first hitter raised off the ground enough to launch himself at me. I just managed to get my knee up, stopping him short before he could land on me. The bastard was pressing forward, grabbing at my coat. He was too close for me to get a gun with a silencer between us, so I used the butt of it to whack him in the skull. He took the hit like a champ, but his grip on me loosened. I shoved hard with my knee and moved him back a foot or so, and then put two bullets in his neck. The hitter collapsed on my lawn, gurgling through his ruined throat. I didn't have much sympathy for him at the time.

I hurriedly grabbed both hitters' guns and ran for the side of the house, half-expecting someone to shoot at me from my front door. I hopped my fence again and crept down my driveway toward the back of my house, staying under the windows. I looked around the corner into my backyard and saw a body sprawled facedown next to my small patio. I wasn't expecting that.

The back door was locked when I got to it - a little surprising, since I thought that was the door they'd use to break in. It made me wonder if anyone was actually in the house. I hung one gun in my belt and opened the door with my keys as slowly and quietly as I could. The damn hinges squeaked. Fuck.

I pushed the door open with my shoulder and pulled out the other gun again. The house was dark and silent. I started to move stealthily through my kitchen; a few steps in, my foot bumped something. With my eyes getting used to the dark, I could tell it was another body. I stepped over it and reached the far end of the kitchen. I figured that if I turned on the overhead light behind me, it'd shine in the eyes of whoever might be waiting for me. It'd give me the initiative. I flicked the light switch on and pointed both guns forward into my living room.

Another body was on the floor in front of my TV. Viggo sat in my recliner, legs crossed and wiping at his chin with a handkerchief. I sagged with a heavy sigh, too wound up to cuss.

"You should have checked your text message," he said without a hint of emotion.

"Yes sir, sorry - I was sort of busy." As my adrenalin eased off, my bruised shoulder began to throb with pain from the recent activity. I belted one of the guns again, then opened my freezer and grabbed a bag of corn to press on the area where the rubber bullet hit.

"If you mean the last two assassins from the van, I would have handled them. I expected them to investigate when the others did not respond to the radio calls. If you had taken a moment to read my message, you would have been made aware of the situation."

I looked behind me at the dead hitter in the kitchen and saw a small transmitter in his ear. I turned back to Viggo and walked forward to take a seat on my couch. "Again, sorry; I didn't expect you to be here."

"Nor did I, not until I heard about the order for your demise," he told me casually while he stuffed the handkerchief into one of his coat pockets, "and to have your corpse left to rot in a sewer where a Deviant might find it."

"How lovely," I said with a frown as I sat down and set the guns on the coffee table. "It's always nice to know someone cares enough to make me a rat's dinner. Can I ask who you heard this from?"

"From the Doyenne, of course - I was in her office when she gave the word." Viggo noticed my shocked look, and added, "She was not aware of my presence; my Gift of Shadows is much stronger than her Gift of Discerning. Soon after the order was given, I came here to greet them. You will receive all the credit of foiling the attempt, which will only strengthen your reputation, or, in the Adept's views, infamy."

"Uh, thank you, sir... I think. Not doubting you, but are you sure that's a good move?"

Viggo nodded. "Quite sure; Adepts will be even less inclined to lose minions and resources to remove you. That, coupled with Ragna's backing, will make you more of a dangerous commodity. Speaking of which, what is your impression of the dog-woman now that you've spent a short time with her?"

"Oh, she's a peach," I replied sarcastically.

"Then I hope you enjoy that fruit, because you will be spending a fair amount of time with her for the immediate future. Do not fret, Leo. Ragna is an acquired taste. You might even learn a few things."

"Believe me, sir, I already have."

"Good. For now, though, you must be introduced to the toils that come with being my minion. It is time to start earning your keep, Leo. These assassins came in a van - I want them to leave in it. Once the van is loaded, drive it to the location where we held you and park it in the garage. You may keep the guns you earned. The other weapons, and anything else they carried, will be left in the driver's seat. I will get someone to bring you back home. I suggest you start by removing the two bodies from your front yard."

"Yes sir, I'm on it." I set the bag of corn on the coffee table next to the guns and went out the front door. It was a simple but tedious chore of dragging all the bodies to my backyard, then to move my car and back the van down the driveway and load 'em up. The two dead hitters in my house were lighter than I expected, with no signs of injury and very pale, cold skin. I guessed they were Viggo's dinner.

Transporting the bodies went uneventfully. I found the building where I was once a prisoner from memory. At first, I had reservations about going back there, but then I thought about how fortunate I was that Viggo cared enough to look after me. I no longer saw the place as a building with a large cell; it was a gateway to greater things. That didn't mean I was gonna go hang out in my room again, though.

A couple hours later, Shawn pulled up in his Camaro to give me a ride home. When I got in, he handed me two tickets to a rock concert being held sometime in April at a mid-sized event center out in a suburb. After that, and for the entire rest of the drive, Shawn played air-guitar on the steering wheel while Glazefinger's new album blared out of the speakers. Okay, it wasn't half bad.

MUTT

Nine hours of sleep did me a lot of good. There were no disturbing dreams involving Viggo, just one about him being on the ocean in one of those big old boats with billowing sails. I woke feeling refreshed, and my shoulder felt much better than I thought it would. I guessed it was another perk for minions.

A shaggy mess looked back at me in the bathroom mirror. Damn, I needed a haircut. I trimmed my beard, cleaned up, and left my house just after noon to go see my barber. I wasn't even off my porch when Miss Loretta called to me from next door, inviting me to a lunch of leftovers. I couldn't say no. Besides, her leftovers were some of the best meals I ever had. Over a feast of pork ribs and four side dishes, she asked about my long vacation and caught me up on the neighborhood gossip. Politely refusing dessert, I thanked her and carried my swollen gut out of there.

The rest of the afternoon was spent running errands and stopping by the dojo to work off my huge lunch. Phillip Aoki was acting strange, so I didn't try to chat with him. There were a couple guys in there who wanted to spar, so I kept my power and speed in check when we squared off. I focused on my control and techniques, and showed the two purple belts a couple Marine moves that Master Aoki didn't teach in his classes.

Even during my mock fights, Ragna was in the back of my head. It was easy to say that I wasn't looking forward to spending more time with the disgusting hag, but something about her also intrigued me. No, not in a sexual way; that would be fucking sick. I meant that there was a lot more than met the eye, that her brain played chess when most everyone else thought in terms of checkers. Just like with Viggo, I wondered about Ragna's past. I doubted that asking the grouchy broad about herself was a good idea.

Not knowing what to expect for the evening, I had my Luger and Glock on me. I also loaded a boot blade, just in case. I made it over to Ragna's rundown area before sunset and parked in front of the Wise Owl Wok. There were a few customers inside, so, doubting that Ragna would go in with diners present, I leaned against my Jeep and waited.

About the time the clear sky was fully dark, a dog came around the corner and padded straight over to me. It was the huge Rottweiler. He looked at me, turned around, walked a few paces away, and then looked back at me again. I didn't understand what big bastard was doing. By the time he finished the process of movements a second time, though, I figured out that he wanted me to follow him. I was concerned about leaving my car unattended in the bad neighborhood, but I didn't want Ragna crawling into my brain and make me dance the cha-cha naked, either. I followed.

We passed the alleyway and finally stopped a few blocks later at a vacant lot along the dirty, desolate street. Near the back of the lot, past the dead weeds and piles of junk, Ragna knelt on the ground. She was hunched low over something, I couldn't tell what. From the outside light from a nearby building, I was just able to make out a few other dogs sitting around her. I followed the Rott, who went to her side and sat as well. With a better view a few paces closer, I saw her hand resting on a prone mutt. It was obvious that one of its back legs was broken, and its breathing was labored and irregular.

Ragna didn't look up. She kept her gaze on the broken, scruffy-haired mutt. "Nearer, Beck," she said solemnly. "There is a lesson to be learned."

I stepped closer and squatted. I felt bad for that dog; I wanted to just shoot it in the head to stop its suffering. I watched as Ragna gently cradled the dog's head in her hands and turned it to face her. She stared intently at it and made whispered crooning sounds. One of the dog's ears perked up, and its tail began to feebly wag. I looked from it to her, hoping that if she could communicate with it, maybe she could also take away its pain. You've heard to be careful of what you wish for?

Ragna pulled down her scarf. Her ruined face was just as gruesome in profile, especially when I saw that jaw jutting out. This time, though, I noticed her upper canine teeth. They were distended and gleaming, like a matching pair of curved, two-inch blades. I don't know what thought or image she put in the dog's mind, but it stayed calm and content while she leaned lower and sunk those teeth into its neck. There was an obscene slurping noise, and then Ragna raised her head a few seconds later.

Pulling her scarf back up, she turned her head to me and said, "Tell me what you took from this."

"My guess is that the poor mutt got hit by a car and dragged himself back here. It was only a matter of time for him anyway, so you made him happy and then finished him off."

"That is the basics of it," Ragna said with a nod, "but the details are important. I showed this animal mercy because animals are my focus. In their way, they reciprocate emotion. The focus of most _strigoi_ does not offer that, which makes them selfish and egocentric. When one of us has no focus, no deep concern or fixation to occupy their long existence... madness comes. My point is that I _can_ be a monster, but I still retain the choice not to be. Some do not. Over time, they distance themselves from their human origins and emotions. Those without empathy are the true monsters."

"Okay, so most hemos - uh, strigoi, daemons, vampires, numen, whatever - they're conceited pricks, so they wouldn't have eased this dog's mind before they, uh, finished him. Some would have just ignored him altogether and let the poor mutt die in fear and pain, right? That's pretty fucking cold."

Ragna regarded me for a second, and then said, "Maybe you're not so bad after all, Beck. But, you'll notice, I was selfish, too. I could have snapped the animal's neck. Instead, I drank him dry. I stopped his heart within a few seconds, but it wasn't as quick. Blood is life, power, and my kind's great passion. Combine your favorite drinks, your unhealthy vices, and your carnal pleasures all in one - then you would have an idea of what it means to us. There's less sustenance in an animal's blood than a human's, but my main purpose wasn't to feed. Then again, I wasn't going to pass up the opportunity, either."

Right then, I thought that my term _'hemoholic'_ was a good fit. Blood was their addiction, and for some, their purpose. But whereas most normal addicts don't gain anything beneficial from their drug of choice, blood wass the source of a hemo's power. I could see calling them that would be an insult, so I'd just be careful with whom I used it.

My thoughts were interrupted when Ragna said, "Go get your car. I have a thing or two to show you."

PREACHING

The Rottweiler's name was Gungnir. I only asked what it was because he was sitting in the small back seat of my Jeep. Every time I checked my rearview mirror, his giant head blocked my view. I didn't think he was very happy back there, either - he glared at me for the entire fifteen minute drive into midtown. I was told that Gungnir was the name of Odin's spear. Ragna may have been the only person in town who was a true believer of the Norse gods. That gave me a clue to at least a part of her history.

A modest, three-story brick building was pointed out to me. The sign over the double doors and the posters in the front windows told me the place was a community theater for stage plays. My house was less than a mile away, but I never knew a theater was so close. That was probably because I didn't give a shit. Plays and musicals are not my thing.

I found a parking spot nearby. "Tonight is an open invitation," Ragna told me as I opened her door and helped her out, "for any and all to come hear the teachings and prophesies of a man who calls himself Elias. He's a pagan with a curious philosophy who has slowly begun to cause a stir in certain circles."

Gungnir stayed in the car and watched us intently as we walked toward the theater. "He sounds like a cult leader," I commented as we moved slowly along.

"That's true enough," she agreed. "I'm not sure of Elias's core beliefs, but there are some things I know for certain. His real name is Edward Galloway. He is a lab technician at a hospital. He is a failed artist and a poor musician, although I've heard he's quite persuasive. And, he's a member of the Adept faction."

I wasn't expecting that last bit, even though not much should have surprised me anymore. "So, are we here to learn about his philosophy, or to see what he's really up to?"

"Both, and more," Ragna answered. Before I pulled open one of the doors, she added, "Pay attention to everything you see, and don't draw attention to us."

I nodded, and we stepped into the simple but clean lobby. There was a refreshment table off to one side, where a handful of grubby-looking people took advantage of the muffins and punch. Through the second set of doors and into the dim seating area, Ragna had us sit further to the back. The place looked like a wide movie theater, except for a low stage instead of a screen. There were thirty or so other people seated, either by themselves or in small groups. Most of them had that bleak, homeless look. A few other individuals were dressed casually and well-groomed.

One of those latter few noticed Ragna and nodded to her. When she nodded back, he made his way over to us. Wearing slacks and a thick sweater for the cool weather, he looked to be in good shape. With wavy black hair and dark eyes, I guessed he had some Spanish or Italian blood. He stopped in the aisle next to us a respectful pace away, yet close enough not to be overheard. "Good evening, elder Ragna," he said in a smooth, even tone. "I can't say I'm surprised to see you here."

"You shouldn't be, Mr. Zapada," she replied quietly. "These are more my people than Elias's, as most of us know. I'm here to see what he has in mind for them. Why are _you_ here?"

Zapada glanced at me; his eyes traveled down to my talon necklace. He gave me a barely perceptible nod and then turned his attention back to Ragna. "Call it religious curiosity. I've only lately heard of Elias, and that he has fresh deific views. Perhaps he is simply yet another new age pantheist. Or he may have uncovered an ancient truth. Two hours out of an evening is a small price to find out, don't you think?"

"We'll see." Just then, a spotlight came on over the center of the stage.

"Ah, I should return to my seat," Zapada said. "Good evening to you, elder." She nodded. He left.

I leaned over to ask about him, but Ragna spoke before I could. "Vincent Zapada - Outsider, brought to the night in the 1880's, I think. He owns an antique book store up near the river. A learned man, he is, and knows a few secrets of daemon lore. In his spare time, he's a gigolo."

Ragna mentioned that last part like she was telling me the time. I couldn't dwell on it for long; Elias walked out onto the stage a few seconds later. He was tall and lean, with straight brown shoulder-length hair. He kept his thin jawline beard trimmed, and was dressed down in jeans and an untucked dress shirt. I'm comfortable enough with my own masculinity to say he was a handsome guy. He started his show, introducing himself, warming to the crowd. He was a pretty smooth talker, too.

Elias started off with stories of losses and gains of life that everyone could relate to, and then took his sermon to a place I didn't expect. He outlined basic beliefs of a few Christian denominations, and then used some of the bible's own words to poke gaping holes in those beliefs. Likewise, he did the same thing with Satanists. I gotta admit, Elias knew his shit, and if he started ripping apart atheists like he did the other two then I'd have been pretty damn impressed. I mean, how do you knock a non-religion?

Ragna whispered to me, "You'll notice he wisely left the Norse pantheon out of it." I had no comment.

Instead of atheists, Elias started talking about deific beings that were closer to man than the "fictional God of Heaven or King of Hell". The beings were more in touch with us mortals, more accessible through prayer and simple offerings. He called them Sentinels. Elias preached that unenlightened people would call them angels or demons. He said that just as we had both good and bad in our hearts, so these Sentinels had dark and light purposes. It made those Sentinels sympathetic to mankind, and willing to at least listen to our prayers and appreciate our offerings. I wasn't buying it, but he made it sound cool.

"What have you noticed so far?" Ragna asked me quietly.

I leaned in and whispered, "About a third of these people are sitting near the front and look fascinated, like they've heard the sermon before. Zapada is taking notes. There's someone on each side of the stage behind the curtains. Back in the shadows on the far side is a man, I'm guessing a bodyguard. On the near side is a woman - I saw a hand on the curtain for a second; it was slender with nail polish. Only one guy got up and left. I also think Elias believes his own bullshit, but he has another agenda."

"Do you know what that agenda is yet?" Ragna asked. I looked at her and shook my head. "Power and blood, Beck," she nearly hissed. "Past all the drama, after all the scheming and lies and ego and fighting, it's always about power and blood."

I thought about what Ragna said, but then started listening to Elias again. He was going into more detail about those Sentinels, what they were capable of and how they sometimes used followers - like Elias - to pass along their wisdom or warnings. Without much detail, he described the intentions of some of the Sentinels in his sermon...

". . . And, when I've done wrong, by word or deed," Elias preached with emotion, "I call to Theodoric, he of the wise heart, to ask how I might repent and make amends. And he will answer. Ah, but what if you want to strike out with a righteous hand against your enemies? Who will justify you and guide your hand? The Sentinel called Decimus Pius will strengthen your resolve, and will validate your actions."

Edward kept on with his Sentinel sermon. He mentioned other beings - Octolindis, Rutilia the Red, the Beast of Crete - and their purposes. Because of the weird and fairly ridiculous topic, my brain started to wander. Just as I was thinking about having a drink and getting Tanya to give me another hummer, maybe both at the same time, Edward said:

"And, of course, we've all known someone who has knowingly committed dark deeds. On occasion, those deeds serve a purpose and must be sanctioned by the proper Sentinel. But beware the one prayed to for such wicked ventures. He is called The Veleti, and shadows carry his vengeance."

Okay, that sure as hell got my attention.

ELIAS

Viggo was one of that crackpot's gods. And not a nice god, either. I felt the urge to go beat the shit out of Elias right on that stage, or at least let him know how wrong he was. I felt the surprisingly strong grip of Ragna's hand on my forearm, keeping me seated.

I seethed while Elias went on about other Sentinels. It took me a little while to silently calm down. By the time I started listening to Elias again, he was talking about the small sacrifices and rituals that the Sentinels required. He said he understood that some folks had nothing to give, and that a sacrifice could be a symbolic gift. Elias ended by offering to visit with whoever wanted to know more about the Sentinel prophesies, one-on-one so he could discern their role in the 'grand plan'.

Elias thanked us all and walked offstage toward his bodyguard. The woman behind the curtains came out with a clipboard and pen, and began to speak to those who were interested in speaking with Elias privately. She was pretty damn hot, dressed in a low-cut vest and tight pants. It helped some of the guys sign up faster. Hell, for a chance at some of that action, I would've signed up too.

"So what do you think the grand plan is?" I asked Ragna. She turned her head and just stared at me until I made a guess. "Uh, power and blood?"

"It took you long enough." She looked around the emptying theater; no one was paying attention to us. "In a moment, we'll get up and go backstage. Do _not_ leave my side. Do _not_ speak. Not a sound - no shuffling your feet, no cocking your gun, no coughing, no sneezing, no belching, no farting. Breathe through your nose. In fact, not breathing at all would be better."

"Uh, breathing is kinda mandatory, and why am I supposed to be Mr. Ninja when there's still people hanging around? They kinda defeat the purpose."

"Questions fall under that 'do not speak' rule. Now follow me." We slowly got up and moved at half walking speed past the hot name-taker and group of possible followers. Not one of 'em looked in our direction. Huh, neat trick. I closely followed Ragna up onto the stage and into the back area. We saw the bodyguard down a short hall, standing next to a closed door. Ragna and I walked right by him, and we stood on the other side of the door. I didn't know what kind of Gift she was using, but it was awesome.

Soon enough, a middle-aged woman in threadbare clothes came into view. The bodyguard waved her to him. He asked her name, opened the door, and said into the room, "Elias, this is Janet Kimble." Janet hesitantly stepped in. Ragna suddenly slid past the guard and the woman into the room. Being bigger, I had trouble not touching anyone in the few seconds I had to follow. Ragna and I stayed against a wall of the nearly empty dressing room while the guard shut the door. Elias sat in one of the two chairs in the middle of the room, smiling at Janet as he stood and welcomed her to sit.

Elias talked about some vague prophecies and told Janet she'd do well under the teachings and guidance of the Sentinels. He stared at her with a warm smile for a few seconds, and then his brown eyes seemed to glow, lightening in color. Janet stared back dumbly, and a smile slowly formed on her wrinkled face. "My poor dear," Elias said softly, putting his hands on her cheeks, "you may think you have nothing to give in order to receive a Sentinel's blessing, but you do. Blood is symbolic of life to them, a giving of yourself that they recognize." He leaned in with elongating teeth and latched onto her neck.

That sneaky bastard was using a Gift - I guessed the enchanting one - to take advantage of a woman who was already down on her luck. The worse thing was that Elias was giving her false hope, the prick.

After a few seconds, Elias pulled back just far enough to lick the puncture wounds, and they immediately closed \- pretty damn handy. Janet's eyes, which eased shut during the bite, began to flutter open. With the enchanting Gift still in effect, he told her, "The Sentinels are pleased with you, Janet. Your next bit of good luck will actually be them showing their appreciation. Please come see me when I speak again of this - our - new faith. Just look for the fliers around the area. With your warm heart, I can more easily bring the blessings of the Sentinels upon us." Janet's smile was beaming. "Off you go now, dear."

Janet got up, still dreamily grinning, and left the room. The bodyguard stepped in and asked if Elias was ready for the next follower. As he did, Ragna and I snuck out into the hallway. We heard Elias say, "Give me a minute, Chuck. Go out and tell Trish to make sure she sends me someone who doesn't smell as bad as that first sheep, okay? Oh, and get me some air freshener."

Ragna and I made our way into the lobby before she stepped away from me, so I guessed that the 'ignore me' Gift was gone. I didn't have to see her whole face to tell she was pissed. "I already know you're angry, Beck," she said to me. "And I know why. I took a look at your surface thoughts while we were in there. It's a very human reaction. Now tell me why you think I'm angry."

How the hell was I supposed to know that? I'm not a fucking therapist. I thought for a second and threw out the first thing I could think of. "Uh, because Elias thinks those homeless people are sheep?"

"Not even close," she replied sourly. "Elias already has his smooth little plan in motion, and I didn't know about it. That upsets me. Plus, he's an ass." Ragna looked off for a moment, and then back up to me. "This new Sentinel Church needs a permanent delay. We both have some work to do, Beck."

CIVIL

When we got back into my car, Ragna told me to take her back to her territory and then return to the theater. If Elias - Edward - and his minions were still there, I was supposed to follow them. I used his real name from then on because Ragna planned on ending his preaching career, so there'd be no more Elias and his warped religion. I was to report my findings to her the next evening at the Chinese restaurant. I didn't know how long it would take Edward to sip on a dozen or so vagrants, so I stepped on the gas.

During the fast drive, Ragna thought out loud about the situation. She said that Edward could have gotten info on a lot of people through his access to hospital files; those without insurance and destitute, plus anyone with mental health issues who were weak or gullible. Those folks may have been located from their files and given personal invitations, and maybe some sort of lure, like food or money. She doubted that any Adept controlled the small theater, so Edward most likely enchanted the manager or owner for its use. As for where the would-be priest got his Sentinel doctrine, she wondered if one of the other Deviants with the Gift of Mania - whatever that was - messed with Edward's mind.

I dropped Ragna and Gungnir off and shot back to the theater. The lobby lights were off, but windows in the back of the building were still lit. There was a small parking lot back there, which still had a few cars in it. I found a spot to park on a residential side street where I could keep an eye on the lot exit. I hoped the cars belonged to Edward and his people. Otherwise, I would've been sitting there for a damn long time with no food, a half-empty flask, no place to piss, and nothing to show for my time.

After an hour of waiting and being bored as hell, I saw two cars pull out of the lot. An SUV was first, followed by a sporty little two-door, and they both headed to the nearest highway. Without much traffic, it was fairly easy for me to keep my distance and still have their rear lights in sight. The two vehicles eventually pulled into the driveway of a big ranch-style house in a nice neighborhood out in an eastern suburb of the city. At that time of night, the street was deserted and none of their neighbor's house lights were on. If only they knew what lived among them...

It made some sense for a hemo to have his minions live with him, I guess. I wouldn't have been too surprised if Ragna let her dogs curl up around her, although I couldn't picture Viggo sharing his space. Then again, he didn't need to; when some young hemo thinks you're a god, you don't need any peon watching your back.

I checked the street signs to get my bearings, waited about ten minutes, and then drove by Edward's house. Both vehicles had been pulled into the two-car garage. A couple lights were still on inside. The lawn was wide and level, with a number of mature trees both in the front and back. I surveyed as much as I could from my car, and then circled the block. Parked down the street between streetlights, I waited for any other activity. The lights were finally turned off around four in the morning. Those fuckers were probably playing Halo the whole time.

The next day, I walked to Keegan's for a late lunch, and ended up having a few too many drinks. Lucky for me, Tanya came in for her check. She drove me home, where we shared a few more drinks. She thanked me for the hospitality by giving me a fun, sloppy romp. After she left, I had just enough energy for a workout, and then toasted the good afternoon with more alcohol.

I met Ragna at the Chinese place that night like I was told to. I still had a buzz, but played it cool and tried not to breathe in her direction. I gave the boring report of what happened, which was basically nothing other than finding out where Edward and his minions lived. She told me I'd be on another stake-out at his house soon, so I should get whatever I needed. First, though, we were going to meet some other hemos for a business deal.

Ragna made a point of telling me to act like I was in thrall to her - be protective, follow every order without question, blah, blah. I planned on pretending she was Viggo. There, problem solved.

Once Ragna loaded my car with Gungnir and a lapdog that had teeth like a shark, I was told to go to the Nelson-Atkins, by far the city's biggest museum. It was situated in an area of upscale shops, restaurants, and hotels, so we - especially Ragna - really didn't fit in. She said that the museum and its expansive lawns were considered 'Civil Ground'. I confessed that I didn't know what the hell she was talking about.

With a surly tone, it was explained to me that there were a handful of places declared as Civil Ground around town - a few museums, a couple event centers, the city zoo, and a few other specific locations where hemos couldn't attack or use Gifts on each other. Well, they could, but that would be breaking one of their few rules. There wasn't any legal red tape bullshit for them; breaking nearly any of the hemo laws carried the punishment of death.

As directed, I parked on a street that bordered the back of the museum's land. We got out of the car and sat on a low retainer wall that stretched along the back of the wide property. The area was dimly lit by streetlights, but enough to see by. With the museum one hundred yards to the south, big houses across the street to the north, and with no trees or natural cover between, I felt exposed.

Gungnir hopped over the low wall, and Ragna lifted the demon terrier over it to join him. After a few seconds of sniffing around, both dogs promptly dropped big, steamy loads on the museum lawn. It made me wonder if the rules of Civil Ground covered defecation.

INSULTS

Not much later, a familiar modern Cadillac parked behind my Jeep. It was the same car that Blake and his buddies were using when I met them at Rizzo's. The thug who wore a stocking cap got out from behind the wheel, wearing a perpetual grin that was anything but pleasant. The long-haired guy got out of the front passenger door, closest to us. He didn't have a shotgun this time, but he still had the same unpredictable look in his eyes. They both looked like they got off from danger.

Blake got out from the far rear door and came around the Caddy. With hardly a glance at us, he opened the near passenger door for his boss. Declan McKenna looked younger than I expected - late teens or early twenties, tops. Even though he was on the short side and was dressed well, he still looked like a scrapper. McKenna wore tan slacks and a matching vest over a brown shirt, and kept his light blonde hair slicked back. Something about his posture as he approached made him appear confident and wary at the same time. With Ragna, it was better to just be wary.

From McKenna's formal greeting, I didn't think they'd dealt with each other much in the past. Neither he nor Ragna offered any pleasantries. She turned to me and said, "Mr. McKenna and I have business to discuss. Stay here until I call for you." They both turned and walked further out onto the lawn before I could even nod.

Behind me, Blake said, "I'm glad we could meet again, Leo." I turned while he kept talking. "I can call you Leo, right? After all, we did save your life. I think that lends to informality. Now, unfortunately, Leo, my cohorts and I have decided that you would be a poor fit into our group. Since you owe us, we would consider the debt paid if you found a way to exclude yourself from Mr. McKenna's employ."

My buzzes usually made me mellow, but they also came with a short fuse. Mine was just lit. "Owe you? Do you amateurs really think I couldn't have handled Dykowski on my own? You all better just get used to seeing my pretty face, scars and all. Your boss wants to hire me - that means you guys are droppin' the ball somewhere. And if my Lady says I'm working for McKenna, then that's it, end of discussion. There'll be no 'excluding' myself, you dumbasses."

"Hmm, we were hoping you had more freewill with the dog-woman," Blake commented. "I suppose that, like her other minions, you keep your tail between your legs. It's not too surprising, really. But because you won't go along easily, you'll now have to contend with the hierarchy of things."

My blood was up from his insults, but I kept my tone even. "What the fuck does that mean?"

"What he's talkin' about, man," said the long-haired guy as he stepped up to me, "is pecking order." He got to within a foot of me, his wild eyes never leaving mine. "You're gonna be pecked down right to the fucking bottom, man." He was an inch taller, but had a lanky build. His long arms flailed out to his sides while he talked his trash and got in my face. "You bein' the bitch-woman's little -"

I head-butted him on the bridge of his nose, and followed it with an elbow to the face. It caught him on the brow and opened him up. His face was bloody from his nose and the gash over his eye before he hit the ground. Okay, my attack was impulsive, but he insulted Ragna. Under different circumstances I'd agree with him about her being a bitch, but I was supposed to be her loyal minion. I felt justified. If he'd insulted Viggo, I would've just shot the prick.

Stocking-cap guy charged and swung with his weight behind it. I barely had time to jerk my head out of the way, and at the same time bring my knee up. My reaction time was a little slow - I should've taken it easy on the booze. I meant to catch him in the gut and let his momentum drive it home, but my knee rammed into his thigh instead. I doubt the strike did much damage, but it made him stumble past me. The unlucky bastard lost his balance and landed chest-first on Gungnir's fresh mound of shit.

Ragna bellowed my name in a highly pissed-off tone. A second later, McKenna yelled at his men. We all froze, except for the long-haired guy; he was rolling from side to side holding his face while he moaned.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Blake a few paces back. He had a gun in his hand, but was holding it out to the side as he looked down nervously at the little dog in front of him. It was baring its huge, nightmare teeth up at him. That mutt had to be front-heavy from its mouthful of bone blades; I don't know how it moved without tipping over all the time.

I looked the other way and saw the stocking-cap thug still on the ground, but had rolled onto his side. He was looking with open-mouthed disgust at the crap smeared down his ruined sweatshirt. I turned and faced Ragna, who was clearly more composed than McKenna as they were walking back toward us.

Ragna cussed up at me in what I guessed was a Norse language, and then in English, said, "You'd better have a good reason for interrupting my barter, _minion_."

I gestured to the bloody-faced, long-haired guy. "He insulted you, so I hit him." Then I pointed at the shit-stained thug, who was getting to his feet. "That one tried to sucker punch me. I didn't let him."

The scowled brows over Ragna's big eyes softened. "Oh, I see." She nodded as if that settled it.

That didn't do the trick for McKenna. He turned to Ragna and said through gritted teeth, "Is that how you reprimand your newest pet? He's just another wild dog you've added to your collection! Honestly, elder, your servant attacks my men and you shrug it off? I'm offended."

She turned her head and glared at him. "I'm the one who should be offended. Beck simply defended my name and honor. Your only cause for anger should be that your minions are insolent and inferior."

McKenna glared back, trying to keep his temper in check. "I want nothing to do with your new servant - I can smell trouble on him. Your terms were ridiculous, anyway. This negotiation is over."

"No, it's not," said a slightly accented baritone voice from a short distance away.

FLETCHER

A powerful-looking man strode toward us from across the museum lawn. His shaggy brown hair hung down onto his shoulders and chest. He had a square jaw and sharp features over a thick neck. For some reason, he wore dark sunglasses. Since it was nighttime, I guess he was either really sensitive to light or he was one of those douchebags that wore shades all the time. Thing was, he wasn't dressed like a douche; hiking boots, faded black jeans, and a red and black flannel shirt. He looked more like a rugged, outdoorsy type. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing thick and extremely hairy forearms. At that point I didn't know if he was some sort of hemo bad-ass, but he sure as hell looked like one.

Stopping a few paces from us, the first person he addressed was the dog-woman. With a slight bow to her, he said in his deep voice, "Well met, elder Ragna."

Already in a bowed position because of her warped spine, she gave him a deep nod. "And you, elder Fletcher." She'd mentioned that name before - Fletcher... Jack Fletcher. I remembered then. He was the leader of the Outsider faction, and, more importantly to me, the sire of Declan McKenna. Sire, creator, patron, hemo daddy - whatever they called it.

Fletcher glanced around at us before settling his attention on McKenna. "Send your minions away," he said in a low, threatening voice. "Otherwise I will dice them into chunks and give them to Ragna to feed her dogs." I didn't see any blades on Fletcher, but it didn't sound like an idle threat.

At McKenna's command, Blake and the stocking-cap thug picked up their long-haired partner and helped him back to the car. McKenna straightened his vest and said, "If you'll excuse me, sire," - hey, I got it right, it was sire - "I was just leaving."

"And now you're not," Fletcher retorted. I guessed Scottish for the subtle accent. "There is still a deal to be made. The actions of your foolish minions have just changed it a tad. Tell me the terms."

McKenna pursed his lips angrily, and then answered, "The elder and I had only begun with our haggling. For the services of Mr. Beck, she demanded $500 a day, and only three days a week in my employ. Moreover, she also wanted access to a pet store warehouse, and for me to buy some small inner-city building and hand over the deed. It's outrageous."

Fletcher's forehead creased in a frown. "Are you saying, with all of your monies and your big house and your fancy trinkets, that you can't afford her proposal, Declan?"

"Of course I could, sire, but elder Ragna asks for too much. But it doesn't matter now - I no longer want her minion's services." He waved a dismissive hand at me. "He is unpredictable, and would most likely cause more trouble than he's worth."

"Ha!" Ragna cackled. "Beck embarrassed your men, and therefore you. Pride is your only trouble."

"Declan," Fletcher said calmly as he stepped closer to him, "I don't have the skill for bartering - I always simply take what I want. With that said, tell me what you would have countered with if you were still hammering out a deal. Humor me."

It was a tense few seconds before McKenna replied. "$100 a day, five days a week of service, plus $40 a week as a pet food stipend, but the building purchase is off the table."

"An insult," Ragna hissed. Shit, it insulted me too. Not that anyone cared.

Fletcher turned to her and said, "A compromise, then. I offer $300 per shift, four shifts a week. From that money, you buy your own food supplies. The building you seek will be yours at the price of a debt owed. Does that sound fair, elder?"

"Sire," McKenna spoke up before Ragna could reply, "I don't know why you're haggling. I no longer want a deal with elder Ragna. I wouldn't agree to pay that much, anyway."

"The negotiation is now mine, childe," Fletcher growled. "But since you choose to intrude, I'll include you in it. While Ragna's debt and Mr. Beck's services go to me, the costs go to you."

"What! Why?"

Fletcher leaned in toward McKenna. "You have been dealing with humans for too long, Declan. You've forgotten the reverence for Civil Ground and proper respect for your elders, no matter the faction. While you haven't been under my care for decades, you continue to make it known who your sire is - as a warning, I assume. Because of that, your actions, and those of your minions, reflect on me. From what I've seen tonight, I am not pleased, Declan, and I will have compensation. Or, I could simply take you to the street and gut you in front of your men."

McKenna was trembling, probably with a mix of rage and fear. He spun and stomped over to his car. The long-haired guy was leaning against the trunk of it, holding a rag to his face. Declan grabbed him by the hair and slammed him down on the pavement. With a restrained roar, he stood over the already-bloody minion and punched him twice in the head. The first hit smashed the guy's face. I heard the bones crunch. On the second hit, McKenna's fist literally sunk into the poor bastard's skull. The long-haired guy no longer had a head; it was bloody play dough with bits of bone in it. What a way to go.

I've seen my share of spilled guts, bloody body parts, and gross head wounds in combat. That didn't mean I wanted to see more, so I turned back to face the hemo elders. Fuck, I needed a drink.

Fletcher said to Ragna, "You've never had the chance to accept or decline my offer..."

"I accept," she relied simply.

"Good; we can meet again in four night's time at the city zoo to finalize our deal. I'll send a message to your eatery with the details." He pulled a small pouch out of his pocket and handed it to her. "Let that be a deposit, or reparation for tonight's poor company. The choice is yours. Good evening, elder."

After waiting for the Caddy to leave and Fletcher to walk out of sight, Ragna opened the pouch and pulled out a tightly-rolled wad of cash. Then she tossed the pouch to me. I thought it'd be empty, but it still had some weight to it.

While counting her money, Ragna rhetorically asked, "Quite the nice turn of events, eh, Beck?"

I wasn't so sure.

DELIVERY

I was psyched to have a few days to myself. The last couple of them had been pretty fucking busy with fighting and almost getting shot a couple times and dealing with freaky hemo shit. I needed a break, a chance to remind myself how the normal, mundane world worked. I hadn't seen much of that lately.

The next morning, I made a list of things to do and circled the ones that I wouldn't procrastinate about. First, I called Gwen and apologized for putting her in a tough spot about giving me the names of potential clients. I admitted it wasn't fair, and that I was a complete ass. Then I told her that I'd found a client and that I was officially moving on from Silas Security. Gwen wanted details, but I didn't give her any. Hell, I really didn't have many details to give in the first place. She made me promise to keep in touch, which I had no problem agreeing to. Out of everyone there, I'd miss her the most.

That reminded me to make other calls. Cordell was healing up and would be back at Silas in a week. Diego was finishing his rehab soon, getting his legs stronger every day. Keegan and Deb understood that I had to officially quit because I was accepting a full-time job; I promised to stop in often and actually buy my own drinks. While I was at it, I called a few military buddies I hadn't talked to in a while. I was on the phone for at least half of the day, and didn't feel like it was wasted time.

Just before dinner that evening, I remembered the little pouch Ragna let me have. I sat on my couch and dumped the contents onto the coffee table. There was a thick gold necklace, three jeweled rings, and seven gold coins of all the same type and year. One of the rings was a wide silver band set with a big black onyx stone that I decided to keep. It reminded me of Viggo, and it fit my pinky finger. As for the rest, I needed to do some research unless I wanted some jewelry dealer to bend me over.

I was halfway done with my dinner when there was a knock at my door. A short Asian guy was on my porch with a paper bag in his hand. He said, "Delivery" in broken English, handed it to me and left. Inside the bag was a small container of cashew chicken, an eggroll, and a piece of receipt paper with a written note on it: _Behind the restaurant, one hour_. Damn, there went my carefree evening. Ragna really needed to get a cellphone.

An hour later, I was in the smelly alley surrounded by dogs. They were scrambling around trying to get at the food that Ragna was tossing out onto the dirty cement. While she kept scooping out handfuls from a big Purina bag in her cart, she told me I was going to keep an eye on Edward again that night. Whoopee. A minute later, she whispered into the ear of one of her dogs, a greyhound mix with a talon necklace around its neck. When she was done, she told me that the mutt would be coming with me. I didn't need the company -nor did I want it - but was grumpily told that it wasn't a polite offer.

I needed to gather a few supplies for another boring recon duty. For the first five minutes of the drive back to my place, that damn dog was fidgety as hell and quickly got on my nerves. Then, all of the sudden, it mellowed out and just sat in the passenger seat looking around. Weird dog, but then again, I could have been stuck with the little terrier with the teeth from hell, so I wasn't going to bitch about it.

Once at my house, the dog followed me in. It roamed around my place while I gathered up what I considered essential for a stakeout: the scope from my rifle, a full flask, and cookies to share with the mutt so it wouldn't eat my seat cushions. I waited while it took a crap in my backyard, and then we were on our way. I'd never had a dog, so I didn't know if I should pet it, talk to it, or just do my own thing. The latter worked; I ignored it, it ignored me, and we had a mellow drive out to Edward's house.

During the time we watched from half a block away, I noticed a couple things. First, the dog was female. Second, she sat in the front passenger seat and was very attentive to any movement in the suburban neighborhood. Third, she would gobble any oatmeal cookies I offered, and then would quickly resume scanning the street and houses. At one point, probably out of boredom, I pointed out Edward's house to her. From then on, the dog's eyes rarely strayed from it. Wow, smart dog, but a little too intense.

About an hour and a half after I parked, one of Edward's garage doors opened. While the SUV backed out, I could see with my scope that Edward sat in the passenger seat, and his minion - Chuck, I think the name was - behind the wheel. I gave them a good head-start and then followed. Fifteen minutes later, they pulled into the employee lot of a hospital. I kept my distance, killed the lights, and watched through the scope. Edward was dressed in slacks and a dress shirt, while Chuck wore the outfit of a maintenance man. Okay, they both worked the late shift there. How convenient.

I drove back to Ragna's seedy area to drop the dog off and give another report. I parked near the alley where she sometimes hung out. Once out of the car, my canine companion took off like she was in a race. The alley was empty except for trash and stench. The Wise Owl Wok was closed. In front of the restaurant doors, however, sat Gungnir. There was a note tied to his talon necklace. He sat calmly while I retrieved it, and then trotted off. The hand-written note said, ' _Go home. Another delivery will arrive at noon tomorrow. No drinking._ ' Well, shit.

MESSENGER

It was sweet and sour pork for lunch the next day. Again, the delivery guy didn't ask for money, but I tipped him anyway. The note from Ragna gave me a mission to perform, but without many details of how to go about it. One of the things it did emphasize was scrawled at the bottom of the receipt paper: _'Get this done now'_. Okay, so much for having time to sit down and figuring out a good plan.

I had some info, but could've used a lot more. In the military, all of force recon's operations were very detailed, time-lined and coordinated. My team and I relied on exacting strategies, knowing what variables to expect, and how to react to them. That kind of planning saved lives. So, winging a solo mission with a lot of unknowns didn't exactly thrill me.

An hour later, on a sunny but cool March day, I stood on the small front porch of Edward's house. Dressed casually with a windbreaker and baseball cap, I held the Chinese delivery bag in one hand and rang the doorbell with the other. A few seconds later, a female voice from inside mumbled for me to hold on. I glanced around and made sure the street was still quiet. I was edgy to get on with it.

The woman named Trish opened the door a crack, squinting at me with bleary eyes. She didn't look half as hot with messy hair and no make-up. "What," she moodily demanded.

"Delivery, miss," I replied, trying to act cheerful.

"Dammit, I didn't order anything. You've got the wrong house, fella." She started to shut the door.

"Wait," I quickly said, "I've got the correct address. Here," I said, attempting to show her an old grocery store receipt I'd stapled to the bag. "See?"

Trish opened the front door halfway and leaned around it to look. Damn, she was pretty stupid.

I suddenly kicked the front door, heard it crack. It rammed into Trish and knocked her back into the wide foyer. She landed on her side and slowly started to get up. I sprung into the house, kicked her support arm from under her, and threw my weight on her back. From that position, it only took a few seconds of grappling to get her in a carotid choke. It was a quiet way to put her out, and I didn't have to hit her.

I hurried back to the front door, shut it, and then grabbed my paper bag that I dropped to subdue Trish. I pulled a couple items out of it that I'd wrapped in dishrags. A few seconds later, I heard the squeak of floorboards somewhere down the hall to my right. A door opened, and Chuck shuffled out half asleep. He lazily held a gun in one hand like it was heavy. His other hand was clumsily wiping the sleep from his eyes. He yawned wide while trying to say, "What the hell was that, Trish?"

When his hand dropped away from his face, he was facing a silencer barrel a foot from his face. "Hey there, Chuckles," I said quietly. "Set the gun down slowly."

Chuck did as I said. "Easy, man," he said as he straightened. "Just tell me what you want."

"Nobody'll get hurt as long as you're a good boy," I replied, holding the gun steady on him. "Take three steps back, turn around, and lay on your stomach."

While he followed my orders, he commented, "There's not much to steal here, man."

I put my boot on his gun and kicked it behind me, letting it slide on the hardwood. "I'm not a thief - I'm a messenger." While I kept my gun trained on him, I set the paper bag down and pulled out a roll of duct tape. I didn't have any rope at home and was short on time, so I had to improvise.

Between grunts as I hog-tied him, Chuck said through gritted teeth, "This isn't fucking necessary, man. If you're only a messenger, then just give me the goddamn message!"

"It's not for you, Chuckles." I used the last of the tape wrapping it over his mouth. I didn't give a shit if some of his hair got yanked out when he was released - it was a small price to pay for not getting shot.

Since Ragna's note also stated, _'no disguises'_ , I took that to mean she wanted it to be known who was sending the message. Let's face it, a good-sized guy with scars on his face and a big talon necklace on his chest would be easy to remember. I first thought that wearing a ski mask and making an anonymous visit would have been safer, but maybe Ragna's name carried more weight than I thought.

I tied up the unconscious Trish in the same fashion as Chuck, but with a spool of twine. I found some more duct tape in the kitchen junk drawer to put over her mouth. Being cautious, I listened for ten long seconds for any other sounds... Nope, nothing. I hurriedly searched the bedrooms for anything of interest, and then checked the garage. I didn't expect to find much, and I was right. I figured that anything important was down in the basement. I mean besides Edward.

COFFIN

The stairs down were carpeted, making for a quiet descent. Half of the basement was finished, including a study, rec room, and a half bath. The rest of the space was hidden behind a set of wooden double doors. I went into the study and found a number of full bookcases. Ragna's note told me to gather any "curious writings", so I made a small pile of anything that looked old, creepy, or written in a foreign language. I also found a few handwritten journals of Edward's warped beliefs.

I tested the double doors at the far end of the rec room, not lucky enough for them to be unlocked. My third shoulder slam took care of that, but ruined any element of surprise. The light from behind me showed a wall five feet in, with a short passage to the left. I backed up a step, waiting for something, anything to come charging out at me. There was no movement, no noise, no pissed off hemo.

With my gun out in front of me, I stepped into the dark room and searched in vain for a light switch. Then I slowly moved along the left wall until I bumped into an end table. A lamp wobbled; I found the shade and stilled it. Before I turned it on, I had to remind myself to breathe.

I was in the corner of what looked like a small studio apartment, with a few differences. First of all, right in the middle of the open space was a coffin. A fucking coffin in a suburban basement - especially creepy since I knew someone was in it. I waited until the hairs on my neck went back down, and then looked around. Framed posters hung on the beige walls - Bauhaus, The Cure, crap like that. I saw only one small basement window; the glass was painted black and mostly covered by a thick curtain. There was a chair and desk in one corner, a sink and shower stall in the other, and a dresser and clothes rack between them. No kitchenette, no toilet - no hemo needed 'em.

I walked over to the coffin, concerned that the upper lid of it would swing open at any second. Set on a sturdy base, the top of it was about four feet high. Its dark wood was smooth and shiny, similar to the one I bought for my mom. I gathered my nerve and used my free hand to lift the top door.

Edward was inside, resting on black velvet. He looked like a corpse, pale and unmoving. His hair was pulled back into a tail, he wore a black t-shirt, and his arms were down along his sides. I kept my gun pointed at him while I pulled out a small bottle of lighter fluid from my jacket pocket, and squirted out a liberal amount on the lower half of the coffin. I was sure the odor would've been enough to wake him up. I was wrong; he was a deep sleeper. I squirted more fluid onto his t-shirt. His eyes fluttered for a few seconds, but that was it. "Fuck it," I said out loud as I took a step back and shot him in the shoulder.

That did the trick. Edward woke up bellowing in surprise and pain. He lifted his head about half a foot before he saw me standing near the coffin. His face began contorting with rage, so I quickly pulled out my grill lighter and clicked the flame on. He hesitated, which gave him time to notice the smell of the lighter fluid. His mouth opened, displaying fangs, and his eyes swiveled around with panic.

"Relax, Mr. Galloway," I said as calmly as I could. "I didn't come here to attack you. The lighter fluid is just a warning. Sorry about shooting you, but dammit, you wouldn't wake up."

Edward glared at me and gained some composure. "Do you think I can't get to you before you set my bed on fire with me in it? Let's find out." His snarl began turning into a hungry grin.

As fast as I could, I swung my arm back and shot a couple bullets through the basement curtain and window. Two soft beams of sunlight landed on the side of his coffin. It wasn't much light coming in, but Edward's eyes went wide and he tried to sink into the velvet padding. "I think I have your attention now, so don't be a pain in my ass, Mr. Galloway. Just listen. First, I'm not going to shoot you again, or set you on fire, or douse you in sunlight unless you make me. I've got options - you don't."

Pressing a hand to his shoulder, Edward looked at me defiantly over the lip of his coffin. "I'll find out who you are, human."

I used the silencer to nudge my owl talon necklace. "That'll tell you all you need to know. Ask around." I took a deep breath and got on with it. "Alright, listen up, sir. You're no longer welcome at the Ovation Community Theater. You're no longer allowed to put up fliers for your Sentinel beliefs. Don't go near any homeless shelters or mental hospitals. In fact, I'm to advise you to leave town as soon as possible. You can preach your stupid faith somewhere else. Otherwise, my boss will start to really dislike you, and I'll find you again. I won't be so nice to your minions the next time, and I won't hesitate to end you like I easily could've today. For your sake, Mr. Galloway, I hope that message was clear enough."

Edward was seething with rage. I never thought I'd use a sentence like that, but he really was. Just so I wouldn't have to worry about him coming after me, I shot the window five or six more times. He pulled his coffin lid shut, and his muffled voice began shouting curses at me.

I yanked down the window curtain and smashed out the rest of the glass with my gun. One shard landed on Edward's desk, next to his wallet. I pocketed that, and picked up the piece of glass to engrave the coffin with, _'you've been warned'_.

As I finished cutting the letters into the polished wood, I heard Edward rant, "I call to Rutilia the Red to bring misery to your life! I pray to the Veleti to wrap you in his shadowy embrace!"

I couldn't help it - I started laughing.

LEGEND

I made myself a drink as soon as I got home. I wasn't going to be there long, so I made it a double. Edward's books and wallet - minus the cash - were stacked into a box from my basement. Then I sat down with my Jack and Coke at my computer and googled the addresses of reputable coin and jewelry dealers. From an earlier search, I estimated a ballpark value of the items in the pouch, and then halved it. Even then, I'd have a nice chunk of change - those coins were worth more than I would've guessed.

With the box of books in the back of my car, I went about turning that pouch into cash. After that, I stopped in at Keegan's for a few more drinks. Thinking that I might have another meal at the Wise Owl Wok, I only ordered some pub grub to accompany the alcohol. It was good to see the staff and a few regulars again, with the bonus of making vague plans to get together with Tanya soon. The sky was already dark when I left the bar, so I drove straight over to Ragna's shitty neighborhood and waited in my car outside the restaurant.

I was listening to Glazefinger's latest CD when Gungnir pressed his wet nose against my window. I hurriedly grabbed the box of Edward's books and followed him back to the alley. As expected, Ragna was there with her shopping cart and a pack of dogs milling around her. She waited until I put the box down on the cart's undercarriage before she debriefed me about my messenger mission.

When Ragna was finished with her questions, she said, "We meet with Fletcher the night after next. Be here at eleven. If you're done bothering me for tonight, you can go drink or fornicate or hit things until then. But be here on time and sober. And for Baldur's sake, wear some less offensive cologne."

I did not understand how her mind worked. I was told to be there, and, considering that I brought news of a successful mission, I thought Ragna would be happy - or at least as close as she came to happy. Her mood swings were like a teenage drama queen's on her period, only a thousand times more dangerous. She switched emotional gears often, and I couldn't see a pattern to it. Per Viggo's order, though, I had to deal with her 'eccentricities'. "Well actually, I do have a few questions if you don't mind, ma'am."

Ragna made a grunt of irritation. "Only for your master do I put up with this. Be quick with what plagues that small mind of yours tonight."

I tell ya, if Ragna wasn't a woman... or able to turn my brain into pudding, or able to send a pack of hellhounds to tear me apart, I would've kicked her ass. Yeah, right. I bet she'd laugh if someone planted an ax in her face. It probably would've also improved her looks. "Uh, yes ma'am. First, I was wondering if your pets get smarter after you make them minions. That one you sent with me the other night -"

"I was correct; you're an idiot. I sent Auga \- that's her name; it means 'eye'. I sent her with you because, of all my dogs, she has the strongest sight. I used one of my Gifts of Fauna to see through her eyes, as well as her other senses. I now know where Edward Galloway lives. I also know where _you_ live, too. By the way, your bed smells like semen and whiskey, and there's a dead mouse in your hall closet."

Okay, that was more of an answer than I was expecting, but it reminded me to do some cleaning when I got home. "Uh, alright, thanks. Now, about a month and a half ago, Barnabus said something that I'd been meaning to ask about. I think it was like 'lifting the veil'?"

"Oh, that," Ragna replied as she began handing out dog biscuits to each of her pets. "The veil, the facade, the charade; all those terms apply to the same thing. It is a way to describe concealing our existence from mortals, sometimes in plain sight. One of our rules is to not reveal ourselves, or we are all in danger. You couldn't figure that out on your own?"

I treated the insulting question as rhetorical and ignored it. "Okay, one more question."

Ragna stared at me with those big, icy eyes and said, "It's about your master, yes? You want to know how the Veleti became a legend..."

"Well, yeah. I mean, just the name made the Doyenne nervous. Oh, and Edward Galloway actually prays to him. Fine, Ed's a whack job, but somewhere he got the idea that Viggo is a fucking god."

"Ah, and you don't think your numen master deserves such high acclaim?"

I took a deep breath to stop myself from saying something rash. "Please don't twist what I'm trying to say, ma'am," I managed to state calmly. "I know my commander is powerful. It's just that I have no one to compare him to, no gauge to understand." I planned to look up what 'numen' meant later on.

"I doubt that few truly do," she said frankly. "Your master's progeny is strong; I daresay he is a fifth scion from the source, perhaps even fourth. Those with blood that strong have the potential for pushing their Gifts to heights I can barely imagine. Add that to the rumor of the Veleti's age - some estimate fifteen hundred years or more. Try to grasp what I say next: those Eidolons of such power and age eventually tire of prowling the night. I'm told it's about the time they reach a millennium."

That made me concerned. "What do you mean, tire?"

"Exactly what I said," Ragna answered sharply. "Most ancient ones have seen enough, experienced enough, I suppose. They find safe places to sleep for centuries or more. Who knows if any of them will rise again? I've heard tales of others going mad from their long, dark existences, and step out into the day. But those tales are rare. My point is that most Eidolons as old and strong as your master are in slumber. For reasons I do not know, the Veleti has never rested. And because he has remained active, his Gifts have been given that much more time to strengthen, nearly into myth. Some mortal children are told of monsters, of a boogeyman. Elders and scholars of the other factions are told of the Veleti."

SEWER

The realization hit me; the oath Viggo made to watch over my line was the reason he never rested. I felt sort of sick. I didn't want to ask any more questions. I wanted away from that alley. I wanted to talk to Viggo, and at the same time I had no idea what I'd say.

Ragna's raspy voice got my attention. "Hold on a moment, Beck. I've thought about it... I may have been too lenient with the misguided Adept you visited today. Go follow through with my threat."

I wasn't expecting that. "Whoa, wait a second. I told Galloway that he should pack up and leave town. You don't expect him to do that in a matter of hours, do you?"

"I expect you to do as I say. Your master has left you in my charge, and I doubt he'd object to my order."

"That's pretty much murder, Ragna," I said with restrained emotion. "That Edward guy might be nuts, but he hasn't really hurt anyone that I know of."

She stepped closer and glared at me. "His teachings are a lie. His sermons are profane! Edward Galloway is a beguiler who preys on the weak and the lost! His so-called religion is the product of a demented mind, and he will spew false hope wherever he goes! What I call for will be saving other unfortunates from the Sentinel fallacy!"

That little rant made me and the dogs nervous. For some reason, the whole Sentinel church thing had gotten under Ragna's skin, but she'd quickly gone from irritated to right on the verge of bat-shit crazy. I did not want an unbalanced elder hemo getting pissed at me. Maybe she saw the doubt and fear in my expression, or maybe she just took it out of my head. Either way, Ragna used a slightly different tactic when she added, "He slanders the name of your master, and you hesitate? You know this is right, Beck! Do not make me force you!"

At that moment, I thought she was ready to do just that. Yeah, the slander bit was true, but I thought the warning for Edward to get out of town - and shooting him - was equal punishment. I backed away from Ragna, avoided eye contact, and told her I saw her logic. When that seemed to calm her down a notch, I excused myself and hurried back to my car. I abused the engine with how fast I rocketed out of her neighborhood, more than once making sure there was no dog in my backseat.

On the drive home, I called the ShadoWorks number. Viggo answered on the third ring. "I need to talk to you as soon as possible, sir," I blurted. "It's very important." He said he'd come to my house in an hour or so. I wanted to stay sharp and clear-headed to explain the situation, but I also needed to smooth out my nervous edges. I compromised by slamming only three shots of whiskey.

A little while later, Viggo knocked on my back door. I unlocked it to let him in, but he waved me out onto the patio. The wind had picked up, and a thin drizzle had begun. "No offense to your home, Leo," he said with that voice that made me think of grinding rocks, "but I am concerned with it being monitored by listening devices. You have become an interest to various parties. We can discuss your topics in a safer location." He held an arm out to his side. "Come travel with me."

_Oh fuck_ , I thought, _here we go again_.

Viggo's strong hand reached around me and gripped my shoulder. A sudden spin and I no longer felt the uneven patio blocks under my boots or cold drizzle on my face. I tried to forget the first time he'd taken me on a 'void walk', and not very successfully. The second time wasn't quite as horrific; maybe it was because I knew what to expect. The caresses of the black tongues weren't as eager, like they'd already had a taste of me and had lost curiosity. As a result, I was sure I didn't scream like a little girl. Don't get me wrong, though - the second experience was nearly as disorienting and disturbing as the first.

Just as I felt solid ground under my feet, a gagging stench flooded my senses. My eyes started watering immediately. I wanted to breathe through my mouth to give my nose a break, but I was afraid of getting a taste of the fumes. The sound of flowing water made me blink through my tears to see where I was at.

Viggo pressed a small flashlight in my hand. Surrounded by stained concrete, he and I stood in a sewer alcove. Behind us were algae-caked metal rungs set into the wall that led twenty feet up to a manhole cover. A tunnel was few steps in front of us; the obvious source of the stench. I stepped out and looked from left to right - the light didn't penetrate very far into the darkness. The drainage tunnel was maybe six feet wide with a barreled ceiling, and a cluster of small pipes were secured to the far wall.

Half of the sewer's floor was a sunken channel for water to drain, although I had trouble thinking of the lumpy grayish-brown liquid as water. The other half - the near half, thankfully - was a walkway full of cracks and loose chunks of cement. A thin film of sludge covered most everything, and tufts of algae filled any cracks. In the few seconds that I held the light on the flowing sewage, I saw a broken milk crate and a shit-stained Aqua Man doll float by.

"It is pleasant, no?" Viggo asked with a lilt in his craggy voice.

I coughed and tried to spit out the tang of sewer that had quickly gathered in the back of my mouth. "Uh, no sir," I managed to say.

"It is an acquired odor, I'll admit," he said. "Follow me. You won't have to endure it for too long." Viggo made a strange noise, sort of like how Ragna lured her dogs for a treat. He then stepped past me and began strolling down the walkway to the left. I followed behind, fighting the urge to retch. "You should feel fortunate, Leo," he commented airily. "For those who are desperate enough for information to come visit us, this is not one of the passages that we avail to them."

"Are you saying that you make your visitors use other tunnels that are somehow worse?" I asked over the constant run of the wastewater, hearing my voice echo in the dark.

"Oh, quite - the tunnels we reserve for them don't have walkways."

Just the thought of that made me stop and try to cough up my last meal. Right after I cleared my throat I heard another noise, a low din of shuffling and soft scraping. I turned the flashlight behind me, and wished I hadn't. Starting about twenty feet behind us, the walkway was filled with rats as far back as the light would shine. The horde of dirty fur and red eyes was moving toward me, slow and steady. I pulled my Glock and said to myself, "I am so screwed."

ILLUSION

"What are you doing?" Viggo calmly asked me. I was training my sights on one of the rats in front, a big black bastard about the size of a housecat. I hesitated with an answer, figuring my commander wouldn't want to hear the smartass reply that came to mind. "Those are my other minions," he said right behind me, "and I would be displeased with you shooting any of them."

I immediately lowered my gun, and saw that the vermin army had come to a stop in front of me. No shit, they just... stopped and waited. It was pretty cool trick for a huge pack of overgrown sewer rats.

"I called for them as soon as we arrived," Viggo said. "They are needed for a chore. You have no need to fear them, Leo. Now come along. It is a short distance further to one of my dens." He turned and continued down the pitch-black walkway.

I reluctantly turned and shined the light on Viggo's back. When he started walking again, so did the horde of rats. I had to pick up my pace to stay ahead of them. A minute later I heard gurgling and splashing in front of us. I was nervous about the sound until I saw that it was just water draining from ports cut into the far wall. Another twenty yards beyond those, the tunnel spilt into a Y. The bad part was the walkway ended there. I was not dressed to go wading through a canal of human waste.

Viggo stopped before we came to the end of the walkway and turned to me. "Leo, this is a good time explain how some Gifts work. The physical powers - strength, speed, endurance - they merely build upon themselves if one desires to increase them. Other Gifts, however, allow for a range of abilities as they increase. Take the Gift of Shadows, for example. First let me state that it is not the same as the Gift of the Void, which I use to travel. The Gift of Shadows is a power that all Deviants possess to some degree. It allows for supernatural abilities in illusion and stealth."

"Okay, that makes sense," I said with a nod. For most of the deviants I'd met so far, they'd have a tough time looking like they did and going to a concert or hitting the bars. That is, unless they wanted to make people simultaneously scream and shit their pants. All except for Pedro, though - I wasn't sure about him. Most of the time he looked like a regular guy, except when he knocked me out with chloroform. For a second when he was on my back, he looked like a red-faced demon. Oh, and that girl Clara looked normal too, but maybe her disfigurement was mental.

"The initial abilities of that Gift," Viggo explained, "begin with going unnoticed, using darkness, blending into the background. Progressing abilities include creating an aura of illusion to mask one's true form and appearance."

"Yes sir, I wondered about that. Does Pedro - uh, Mr. Viera - does he have that ability?"

"Quite so; he is fairly proficient with it. Mr. Viera's most common guise is of that of a young Hispanic man, although he occasionally takes one or two other convincing, forms. Now, to continue," Viggo said after a moment's pause. He gently grabbed my arm and made me point the flashlight at the wall right next to us. "Extensive use of the Gift of Shadows - far beyond simply hiding or using illusive guises - has led me to an ability that I refer to as a permanent cloak. Look at the wall, feel it."

It looked like the same ugly wall I'd been walking next to for the last ten minutes - splotchy gray cement with a thin crack here and there. My palm felt what I expected; cool, clammy, sort of slick. "Is there something I'm not seeing, sir?"

"It is what you _are_ seeing that makes my point, Leo. There is no wall here. I've created a strong illusion to fool the mind, to make you see and feel what should be there."

"Then you did one hell of a job, sir," I said as I touched the wall again. He must've had some Jedi mind trick working overtime, because even the thin beam from the flashlight showed a wall in front of me.

"Imagine it to be a wall of static fog..." Viggo said while he moved his hand in front of the light. Then, slowly, he slid his hand and forearm _through_ the wall without any resistance. It was one the few times in my life that I was speechless. "Imagine, Leo," he said low and solemnly. "The wall is a curtain of devious air. There is no wall. Fix that in your mind... and step through."

I wanted to obey, but I didn't want to go face-first into cement and look like a fucking moron. I guess Viggo got impatient with my hesitation; he put his hand on my back and shoved. I stumbled forward a few steps into space that wasn't there. Holy shit, that permanent cloak trick was awesome!

I spun the light around, seeing I was in another alcove. There were no rungs up to the street, though; only a narrow descending stairway. It was roughly carved, cut into the natural bedrock. Just standing in front of it, the air felt cooler. That stairwell didn't look inviting, though. I felt like something was waiting for me down there in the dark.

Viggo moved me aside and began descending the stone stairs. He paused for a second and said, "Try not to lose your footing. If you're prone when the rats come upon you, they'll likely think you're a meal."

That sure as hell got my attention. I was never less than two steps behind him on the way down. At the base of the stairs was a hallway cut through rock. It curved to the left and ended at a metal door, like a hatch you'd see in a submarine. The rats had gathered behind me and waited again - fuckin' things gave me the shivers. Viggo cranked at the locking wheel; it looked like he had to put some muscle into it. He pushed the door open and then turned to me and said, "Welcome to a Deviant den."

DEN

I stepped through the doorway, and it felt like I stepped on carpet. Viggo flicked a switch next to the door; subdued lighting lit what appeared to be a cavernous room. It had a fifteen foot stone ceiling that dipped at the far end, where there was another metal door. The whole place was sort of egg-shaped; we came in on the wide end. The floor was mainly level but the walls were rough, like a cave's would be.

Then I noticed everything else. Hell, it was like a big studio apartment. Resting on some of the many area rugs, two full sets of matching leather furniture sat in a semicircle facing a wide entertainment center. It held TVs, DVD and CD players, big speakers, and a shitload of movie and music cases. Next to all that was a desk big enough to have a PC, printer, fax, and an old telegraph machine sitting on it with room to spare. Wiring ran throughout the den, secured with clamps along the walls and ending at power strips. All sorts of shit were plugged in: wall and table lamps, ceiling fans, digital clocks, you name it.

Sitting back in a recess off to my right was a large bed, with bookshelves on either side. "No coffin for you, sir?" I asked lightheartedly, trying to get rid of my own tension.

"Not since the late 1800s," Viggo replied as he waited at the door while his horde of rats flowed in, "when the box spring was invented." I stood still as the rats swarmed around my feet and into the room. Viggo finally shut the door and then knelt down in front of one lingering rat. He picked up the oversized disease-carrier and stared at it a few seconds before setting it back down. The rat ran over to a small crevice where a wall met the floor and crawled in. On its heels was the rest of the horde, disappearing one by one. It took a minute until they were all gone.

Still standing in place, I asked, "If I may, sir... What the hell just happened?"

Viggo walked past me toward the far side of the den while he answered. "I've sent them on a mission to cause irritating damage to a particular daemon's abode - chewing through power cables, ruining the plumbing, that sort of thing. She is due some frustration."

"If someone pissed you off, sir, I'd be happy to pay her a daytime visit."

He stopped in front of a table and pulled out a familiar box, the one with my ancestor's cup in it. "The day may come when I request that, but not for now." Using the same steel blade that he cut himself with in my kitchen a couple weeks before, Viggo filled the cup half full with his black blood. "Take a seat, Leo." As I relaxed into a soft leather chair, he came over and handed me the cup. "Another drink of my essence isn't needed just yet," he said as he sat in a nearby chair, "but it will strengthen your bond nonetheless. Now, tell me of your concerns."

I told him about my latest meeting with Ragna while I drank, and how she went all 'dark side' on me. "Sir, I've killed the enemy while in the Marines. As a civilian, I've killed aggressors in defense of others and myself. But I don't think it's a part of who I am, and I sure as hell don't get a kick out of it. And you, sir, you're my commander; if you told me to go kill someone, I'd know there was a good reason for the order and I'd do it. Ragna, though... She wants me to go burn some hemo to death just because she's got bugs in her brain. I simply can't go commit murder on a whim."

Viggo thought for a second before he said, "Ragna unfortunately does have triggers. Cults, misguided as they may be, are one of them. I realize that it seems somewhat hypocritical when she herself adheres to the beliefs of the Norse pantheon, itself now a paltry and outdated religion. Still, I need you to continue the ruse of being her minion. I'm told you are to be in the employ of the Outsider's Mr. Fletcher; that might place you in a position to gather good information for me."

"Yes sir, but what about -"

"Edward Galloway is far from innocent, Leo. Less than twenty years ago, he had other deific delusions, and gathered a small flock of weak-minded followers. Something angered him one night at a gathering, and he slaughtered them all. I can see a certain justice in what Ragna demands, but I also know that you are not cold-blooded. Do what Ragna ordered; I will have a deterrent in place that she cannot fault you for. My safeguard will not be permanent, however, so Mr. Galloway is on borrowed time."

I breathed a deep sigh of relief. "Thank you, sir."

The telegraph machine started chattering and rolling out a ticker tape. Viggo went over and began reading it; a deep scowl formed on his face, deepening the cracks in his pale skin. Okay, bad news.

He turned to me and said, "Unfortunately, it is time for you to depart, Leo. I would suggest that you returned from where we arrived, in the alcove under the manhole cover, and then climb out and make your own way home. However, that would not be a safe option for you at this time."

"Not safe? Why?"

Something suddenly hit the iron door we came in through, hit it hard enough that rock dust lifted and settled around its stone frame while the echo of impact bounced around the cave. I sprang to my feet with my Glock in my hand. "What the fuck!" I blurted.

" _That_ is why," Viggo calmly answered. He stepped next to me with his arm around my shoulders. "I'll return you to your property, and then deal with this nuisance."

"But, I could help..."

Viggo shook his head. "This is my burden, my chore. Fear not, Leo, I am in no danger, but _you_ would be if you stayed. Let us go."

For the first time, I didn't mind void-walking if it got me the hell out of there.

INTERVENTION

Once Viggo and I returned to my patio - and I was able to gather my wits - I asked him to wait a second for one other quick topic. "I, uh, know that most elders who've been around a long time eventually want to take a long break from it all. From what I've been told, sir, you're long overdue. And I know why. I don't want you to go away, but that oath you made to watch over my line has kept you from doing just that. If I'm the last one holding you here, then I - I don't... Shit, I feel like a fucking burden! If it's up to me, then I release you from that oath. You can stop. I won't have kids. I'll get a vasectomy. I'll -"

"Leo," Viggo said, putting a hand on my shoulder, "I appreciate the sentiment, but the oath is not yours to negate. My freedom is not in your hands, although it is tied to you. A time will come when I will finally take respite, and I will be content knowing that I have earned it. Worry yourself with your own matters. We will talk again soon."

Five seconds later, he was gone. I went in my house, remembering what Viggo said about it possibly being bugged. Great, I got to add paranoid to nervous and guilty.

The only thing that allowed me a decent night's sleep was a lot of booze. I woke up with a wicked hangover, but hey, fuck it - it was worth six hours of dreamless rest.

With a little time to myself before I had to deal with an order that I didn't want to think about, I decided to get rid of a worry. I called Gwen; we chatted for a while, and then I requested a short-notice contract for someone competent to come give my house an immediate security sweep. She told me that Cordell had put himself back on Silas' roster the day before, and that he'd be over before noon. I got a discount on the fee, but I planned on giving my friend Cord a big tip no matter what.

Lucky for me, Viggo's suspicions were incorrect. Well, mostly. Cordell, thorough as ever, found a GPS tracker in the undercarriage of my car. Depending on how long it'd been there, some sneaky little shit knew about my visits with Ragna. That was no big deal - it was to be expected. They also might've known about the outings to or near the Galloway house. I pretty much spelled it out to Edward that I was the dog-woman's minion, so no sweat there either. But all of my regular stops - including Keegan's and the Aoki Dojo - were possibly known, putting some of my friends in potential danger.

I thanked Cordell, sent him off with the promise of keeping in touch, and put the tracker in my glove box. I'd decide later what to do with it. As for the other things sitting heavy in my head... There was nothing I could do about releasing Viggo from his oath, and I could only have faith that he'd somehow block my very reluctant attempt to give Ed Galloway a painful death.

After a quick workout, I cleaned up and gathered a few items to bring along just in case there was nothing stopping me from setting a fire. When I opened my front door to leave, I saw that greyhound mix, Auga, sitting on my porch. Fuck. Since it was early afternoon, I sure as hell didn't expect Ragna to have one of her spies active and waiting on me. I loaded the supplies and opened the passenger door for the damn dog to get in. Despite Viggo's assurance that he'd intervene, I was still full of dread.

That dread turned into a tickle of joy when I saw two trucks in front of Galloway's house, and a bunch of landscapers all over his lawn. They were busy trimming trees, building flowerbeds, all that sort of shit. If Ragna was somehow awake and looking through the dog's eyes again, she would've seen that there was nothing I could do. It also meant that I had to hide my grin, just in case. I drove by slowly, noticing a sign planted in the front yard that said, 'Congratulations - Free Spring Service!' next to a realtor's sale sign. I also saw Chuck and Trish standing on the porch, sharing a _'what the fuck'_ expression.

I dropped the dog off near the Wise Owl Wok, and then decided to have a late lunch there before returning home. Once back at my place, I expected to hear from Ragna as soon as the sun set, either by another delivery or visiting dog with a note tied to its collar. Until then, I had a chance to mellow out. I was on my front porch when my neighbor Hector got home from work. I invited him over for a social drink; we sat and chatted until his wife Anna called him for dinner. Since Ragna's request would've been showing up soon, I decided to stay on the porch and wait for it.

Night came and settled in, and there was still no messenger from the dog-woman. The air was getting cold, so I decided to go back inside. As I sat down and reached for the remote, I got a call from Viggo. "Your current administrator will not need you this evening," he said with a gruff tone.

"Is everything alright? Did I do something wrong?" The last thing I wanted was for my commander to be pissed at me for... well, anything.

"You've done as you should." That simple statement relieved me. "I have made it clear that you will never be charged with that type of task again." I got the feeling that Viggo was staring at Ragna while he talked to me. I heard a dog bark in the background, and I was sure of it. "You still have an appointment to keep, but your time is your own until then." He hung up before I could say thanks. No big deal.

With some of my worries gone and a little time to myself, I decided to go out. The rest of my evening turned out to be pretty damn good. Keegan's was fairly busy that night; I had some drinks, some laughs, and helped close the place up. Things got better when Tanya came home with me. We went out for brunch the next day, and it didn't feel awkward at all - friends with benefits, pure and simple.

While I still had some extra money in my pocket, I bought a new leather jacket. I got the style that came down to about mid-thigh so there'd be room for alterations, mainly straps sewed into the interior that would hold my two new Berettas with silencers. I wasn't sure what was going to happen at the meeting with Jack Fletcher that night, but the fiasco with Declan McKenna's minions proved that anything was possible. I figured I'd just load for bear and expect trouble.

As it turned out, there was indeed some trouble. I just wouldn't have guessed that I'd be the cause of it.

PARK

I pulled up in front of the Chinese restaurant a few minutes early that night, so I got out and leaned against the passenger door until Ragna decided to show up. While I waited, I noticed that I'd parked behind the restaurant's delivery car. On a whim, I fished the little magnetic tracker bug out of my glove box and stuck it to the underside of that car's bumper. No offense to the little delivery guy, but better him than me. If that somehow made trouble for Ragna, well then... I didn't give a shit.

The hunched dog-woman came around the corner, and I could almost see the waves of resentment rolling off her. She was still pissed that not only had her plan for Edward Galloway been blocked, but then Viggo chewed her ass for the attempt. I felt smug but didn't let it show, and kept my mind on other things. The crazy old broad stepped over the line; I wasn't going to feel sorry for her.

Ragna stared at me until I opened the car door for her. I obviously knew where the zoo was, but not exactly where Fletcher wanted us to meet him. For the directions, Ragna simply threw a dirty map in my lap as I drove. She otherwise didn't say a single word to me on the way, which was fine by me.

The map was only of the Kansas City Zoo; a service gate was circled with a marker. A guy in overalls and a zoo personnel shirt was waiting for us when we pulled up. By way of invitation, he opened a tall iron pedestrian gate for us. The guy waited at the gate after Ragna and I walked in. The zoo was dark but the moon was full, so there wasn't any problem seeing the surroundings or the wide asphalt path. There were a few big structures spread out ahead of us - animal housing, I guessed - but I didn't see anyone.

We stood there in that open, quiet space, waiting. Ragna eventually turned her head to the right and kept her gaze fixed in that direction. I followed her eyes and looked at two supply sheds, separated by a copse of pine trees. After I stared for a few seconds, I could just make out a figure walking toward us.

Ducking under a branch, Jack Fletcher stopped just before pavement met dirt and stood just within the moon's glow. He was dressed pretty much like the first time I saw him - untucked flannel shirt, faded jeans, and still wore shades. This time, though, he was barefoot. His feet were nearly as hairy as his forearms. I guessed his back must've looked like shag carpet.

With as much spite in her voice as she could muster, Ragna told me to stay where I was. She made her way over to Fletcher, and they had a short conversation while exchanging envelopes. A minute later, she turned to me and hissed, "Get over here." When I did, she looked up at me and said, "For now, you are under the control of Mr. Fletcher. You will follow his commands as you would follow mine. He will give you further directions. I'll be in the car." With barely a nod at Fletcher, Ragna turned and shuffled off.

I felt a little awkward, to say the least. I looked at the elder Outsider, who was near my height. With those dark shades on, I couldn't gauge his mood nearly as well as normal. "So, uh," I began clumsily when he continued to just stand there facing me. "What should I call you, sir?"

"The title 'elder' will suffice," Fletcher answered with a deep voice. "After you take lady Ragna back to her domain, continue on to Green Valley Park. Use a map if you must. Use the north entry and stop at the first covered picnic area. We will speak more there."

I took that as a dismissal, so I went back to my car. When I got in, Ragna tossed me a wad of money. "That's your share of the first week's wages. Nearly half of what I bartered you for - more than fair." She was attempting to make me feel like an animal on auction, and she did a damn good job of it. If I were working for Viggo - as I should've been - there would have been a sense of meaning and pride. But being ordered around and traded by random hemos had me feeling less than human. I'd keep taking hits to my dignity for my commander's sake, but I was starting to see all other hemos in a bad light.

Ragna demanded, "Now take me home and then get out of my sight." Yes, a very bad light.

Green Valley Park was a big spread - over two hundred hilly acres - and in a pretty rough neighborhood. As a kid I hardly went there with my friends, and never at night. Even then, it was known for hosting gang parties, drug deals and prostitution. I had no idea if the criminal activity had eased up since then.

The first shelter was only a hundred yards up the paved lane from the park entrance. I pulled up near it and saw Fletcher's silhouette sitting at one of the benches. There were no other vehicles in sight, so I wondered how the hell he got there so fast. I got out of my Jeep, buttoned my coat to keep out a chilly breeze, and walked over to him. It was pitch black under the shelter roof where none of the moon's glow reached; I could only see the outlines of him and the sturdy picnic table.

"Take a seat," Fletcher offered, low and quiet. I sat across from him and waited. From the time he took with his words and actions, Jack Fletcher seemed to be a patient, deliberate type. "I do not need you for my protection or for trivial errands, Mr. Beck. You are here for an altogether different purpose."

"Yes sir - uh, elder, I'm listening. What would you like me to do?"

"We shall begin with a simple task," he replied. "Further down the lane, at the bottom of the next hill, you will find a large car with occupants. They are trafficking drugs." That also meant they had guns. I wasn't too thrilled about where this was going, but then something changed my mind... or rather, had it changed for me.

Fletcher removed his shades. His eyes were the color of orange lava, simmering and glowing. I studied them with fascination for a few seconds, and then realized that I couldn't look away. My focus became those radiant eyes, flecked with red around the edges of his irises. When the elder spoke, his words filled my mind. "Those parasites have helped to shape cities into meccas of fear and greed and pollution. Starting tonight, starting now, you will be my hand of reckoning. You will drive them off or lay them low. Do whatever is necessary. Return to me when it is done."

DEALERS

I felt compelled to follow Fletcher's order. There was validity in his words, but they weren't what swayed me to go deliver his vigilante version of justice. I simply was carrying out a command that I couldn't stop myself from doing. At least I was given some choice for how to handle the situation.

I got up and started walking along the lane at a brisk pace, quickly reaching the top of the sloping hill. Ahead of me was a downhill grade, and then another, lower knoll. The lane slowly curved to the right, so I took to the grass for a straighter approach. Near the top of the next rise, I saw the parking lights of a car at the bottom of the slope. It was sitting lengthwise on the shoulder where the lane widened before it forked. There was a tree line to my right, but it sat too far back to be used for cover. The only objects between me and the car were a stunted evergreen bush and a mature tree. Not many options.

_'Drive them off or lay them low'_ , Fletcher said. Not unlike Ragna, I guess he had his own pet peeves.

The moonlight didn't give me much of a chance to employ stealth, especially to get anywhere near the pimped-out Lincoln fifty yards away. I got on my stomach and slithered a few yards downhill to see under the tree's bare branches. Through my scope, looking into the rear and passenger-side windows, I saw three people. I held still when another car's headlights came into view from the far fork. It pulled up slowly next to the Lincoln, their driver's doors almost touching. The transaction was enough distraction that no one noticed me crawling down to the tree twenty yards from them.

I stayed flat until the other car drove off and well out of sight. It was then I made my decision of how to follow the command. Even though they were scumbag dealers, that wasn't an excuse to quietly pick them off. I unscrewed the silencers off the Berettas and stood up behind the tree. I told myself not to aim for the windows; I didn't want to accidentally plug one of them in the head. After a deep breath, I took a small step to the side, still maintaining at least partial cover, and opened fire with both guns.

The guns were loud and multiple flashes lit up the night as bullets hit the Lincoln. After two chaotic seconds, one of the dealers held a gun out of a window and fired back wildly. The car screeched its tires and pulled away fast. I dropped the empty Berettas and continued firing with my Glock and little Luger as they roared down the near lane, soon out of range and sight. I put over forty rounds into the car; it was a fair bet one of the dealers got hit. I hoped Fletcher would think that was enough.

I jogged back to the shelter where Fletcher still sat. "Quite the barrage, Mr. Beck - I heard it clearly. Were there any survivors?"

"Yes, elder. I couldn't get close enough for any detailed work. They managed to drive away."

He stepped out into the moonlight near me and nodded. "That will suffice for now. I agreed with your lady Ragna to give you Wednesdays and weekends to be at her disposal, as I assume you wish to be. Tomorrow night - Tuesday, I believe - we will meet again here an hour after sunset and discuss further plans. Bring whatever weapons you have available." Fletcher looked off for a moment, and then back to me. "Even down in a valley, your activities may have caught the ear of nearby residents. You should move along soon. That is all for tonight."

I took a few steps toward my car and then turned back to ask, "Elder... why me? One of your own minions, if you have them, could do this for you without pay."

"To be plain," he replied, "my own minions don't carry firearms. They also don't have your training. Ragna gave me a copy of your dossier; your expertise in certain fields compliments my goals. And most importantly, Mr. Beck," he said with a widening grin, "you don't belong to me. If something were to go wrong, I'm not the one who must answer for it."

"Is - is that fair to my lady Ragna, elder?" I didn't care if it was, but I had to keep up the pretense.

Still grinning, he said, "No, not in the least, but she was the one who put your skills up for sale. The deal has been struck, so I suggest that you don't fuck up. Good night, Mr. Beck."

PATROL

I didn't sleep well that night and woke in a surly mood. My conscience wouldn't leave me alone.

There were also some more short dreams about Viggo, but they weren't clear - not like those vivid ones that would preset my mood for the day. Since the battle dream and the burning lady nightmare, I'd only had one more of those vivid ones. I was him, and at the same time not him, know what I mean? I was hunting for something - someone - through sewers and shafts. There were also subway tunnels, so I wasn't in KC. I didn't feel angry or hungry while I hunted; strangely, it was more like a regretful duty. I finally found my prey - another hemo, and I was pretty sure he was another Deviant. Why was I hunting my own kind?

Since I became Viggo's minion, he was a common fixture in my dreams. He'd make guest appearances in scenes that really had nothing to do with him. There was one about my team sneaking through some shitty Afghanistan terrain, and came upon him sitting in a lawn chair under a beach umbrella out in the barren, rocky waste. He sort of grinned and silently toasted us with his big margarita glass.

That night, after shooting at unsuspecting drug dealers, I dreamt of ordering deaths by firing squad. Viggo's face was only a vague flicker in the background. When I woke, my first thought was of what Fletcher wanted me to do next. I wanted to think that he was after something basically righteous - you know, removing criminals - but his method seemed heavy-handed at best. Worst of all was that he used that Jedi mind control Gift, like Ragna had, and made me carry out his version of justice whether I wanted to or not. My opinion of hemos wasn't getting any better.

I decided not to call Viggo about it. He expected information, and I didn't have much to give him yet. I spent the day doing common chores and errands, snuck in a nap, and then prepared to go meet with Fletcher again. With all my guns, combat knives and extra ammo in a duffel bag, I watched the time fly by until after nightfall. I grudgingly headed out, hoping against odds for a calm evening. Yeah, right.

Fletcher was waiting for me at the same park shelter. I set my duffel bag on a picnic table for his inspection. He either wasn't a gun expert or just wanted to see what I had available; either way, he quickly and casually looked at my selection of firearms and seemed content. He then handed me a map and got right down to business.

"Tonight," Fletcher began, "and for every night agreed upon until I say otherwise, you will be on patrol." While he spoke, I pulled out a pen light and looked at the map. "There are three parks I've marked, as you can see." Fletcher paused, and then continued. "Mr. Beck..." When he said nothing more, I looked over at him. I shouldn't have done that. Those damn burning eyes were waiting for me again.

"You will search those parks - my parks - for any criminal activity or unwanted elements and remove them with prejudice," Fletcher demanded, drilling the order into my brain. "For every shift, meet me here soon after sunset to receive my orders. You will begin your tours at 10 p.m. and return to your home at 4 a.m., spending time patrolling one park each night. Take only necessary risks, but do what you must. For now, I don't care if you kill them, hurt them, or simply scare them off, but I want a lasting impression to be made. I want the poison of crime and fear purified. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, elder, I understand." Fletcher was forcing me to be an enforcer, a vigilante. I had to imagine it was a military operation so that I could do whatever was needed and still be able to live with myself.

I started right there in Green Valley Park. First, I drove the lanes to acquaint myself with them. At the same time, I kept in mind certain places where people could park or gather without being seen too easily. Other than a young couple getting busy in the back of a car, the big park was quiet that night. It gave me time to assess the other two parks by their locations. One was a couple miles south of my house, so I was aware of the area... and it wasn't good. The other was further north, sitting next to the rail yards. That was near where I grew up, so I knew it wasn't exactly a slice of heaven, either.

I stayed diligent and mobile - whether by car or on foot - for the rest of the night. Nearing four in the morning, the effects of Fletcher's mind whammy started to wear off. Pressure slowly released from my brain, like a fist unclenching and loosening its control of me. It may sound weird, but I never noticed that pressure the whole time I was under his control. The one side-effect, aside from the dishonor of being used, was that I was fucking exhausted from staying on high alert for hours.

I met with Fletcher again the next night, and he forced me to meet his glowing gaze again. From there, I drove to the south-central park - Spire Park - and circled it a couple times in my car. On one end of the forty-acre park was an old ball diamond with a sagging backstop, plus a tennis court with graffiti all over the asphalt. The middle of the park was sparsely treed with a few gang-marked benches here and there. At the other end of Spire Park was a rusty and littered playground that no children should've played in unless they were brave and recently had tetanus shots.

Once on foot, every weapon I owned except my rifle was on me, all fairly well concealed under my long jacket. In most cases, I figured it would be best to act like I owned the fucking place and intimidate any scumbags out of the park before I actually shot at them. A gun's report scares people, but it would also get the cops on my ass. I had to walk a thin line but do what was needed to make an impression. For the smaller park, I had little chance to put my stealth training to work. Bold aggression was the best tactic.

And I used it that very first night in Spire Park. From the cover of a big, dead tree, I saw three figures hanging out over by the jungle gym. It looked like young teens passing around a joint and a bottle. After taking a deep breath, I walked quickly across the slight downhill grade toward them with both 9mm's in my hands. By the time those idiots noticed me I was only fifty feet away, guns up and going right at them. "You're not welcome here," I said just loud enough for them to hear.

Their surprise turned to alarm pretty quick. "Motherfucker," one of them yelled, "what -"

I started shooting close to their feet; the bullets made soft noises hitting the dirt. Even without the flash and bang that the silencers suppressed, the young punks knew what was going on. I was raising my barrels as I came closer. One bullet hit an outer edge of one kid's baggy pants, and another made a hole in the billowy shirt of the kid next to him. They jumped back and started running.

One kid tripped over part of the jungle gym in his haste to get away and landed hard. Before he could scramble back to his feet, I stood over him with both guns pointing at his face. "If you ever come back here," I growled, "it will be the last time you and your friends go anywhere. I'll spread chunks of you all over this park. Do you understand me?" It took a second, but the kid fearfully nodded. I took a step back. "Now get the hell out of here."

As I expected, they started yelling their threats once they were all far enough away. I didn't know if they were part of a crew or not, but sooner or later I'd point my gun at someone that was. I figured Spire Park was claimed by a gang - hopefully a small group of losers, but I doubted it. I was gonna have to get a ski mask or something, get my rifle threaded for a silencer, and be extra damn careful.

The realization that I was basically starting turf wars without any backup of my own made me queasy.

USED

"Elder, it's going to get worse before it gets better," I said three nights later to Fletcher under the roof of the park shelter as rain poured down. "And when it gets worse, I won't be able to handle all that shit on my own. Here," I gestured out toward Green Valley Park, "it's big enough that I can move around and have fallback positions, so that's okay. But at Spire and Colby Parks, there're only a couple decent sniper locations and nowhere to go if I'm flushed out."

I was under his mind-control command Gift at the time, and he'd asked what the general situation was. There'd been a couple other encounters after those first ones. In both Green Valley and Spire, I noticed cars slowly driving around, more than likely looking for me. I planned on letting them do their lazy recon and let them think the attack was random. Then I'd come at them hard.

In Colby, a heavily wooded park that offered more privacy, I pulled a would-be rapist off of a girl in his backseat and took my anger out on him. I tied him up and made an anonymous 911 call, although it was tough to do while she was screaming at him. She didn't even notice that he was unconscious. The short incident made the news. The girl was quoted in the paper: "A white man with big blue eyes in a ski mask pulled that b****** off me and then f***** his s*** up". The 'bastard' I pulled off her turned out to be a Barrio Mob member, so I figured they claimed Colby Park as part of their territory.

Gwen told me that as gangs went, the Barrio Mob was one of the bigger ones in town. Not exactly what I wanted to hear. I never asked about her source - a police contact was a fair guess. In any event, I was just glad that I had Gwen as my info guru. She also gave me the name of a gun shop that could thread my Remington and had the correct suppressor in stock. I offered to repay her with a nice lunch, knowing she'd press me for details about my new employer then. I planned on keeping my lies simple.

"I understand, Mr. Beck," Fletcher said. He said it with a tone that implied he might've understood but simply didn't care. "Now is the time to truly enforce my issue." He grabbed my shoulder and leaned close. "Strike hard, take the fight to them. Make them remember." Damn that Gift of Control. I wanted to scream out that innocent people might get hurt, but I couldn't. My worry of civilians in the crossfire was mixed with strategies to do exactly as he said no matter who got hurt. "With more of an impact you make, the sooner I can move you on to other targets."

"What other targets, elder?"

"Did you think that the criminals in my parks were the beginning and end of this city's contamination? No, Mr. Beck, they are a result of a greater filth that fostered their growth. Industries and corporations not only belch pollution into the earth and sky, they also spread their corruption into the society of man. Discontent, poverty, greed, fear - that is what leaders of commerce create and rely on to build their false empires! Their injustices must end!"

Fletcher was about to lose his cool, and I didn't want to be around when he did. Especially when I noticed that his fingernails had grown into thick three-inch claws. "I understand, elder," I said, backing away. "I'll continue with my current mission until you say to move forward with your goals."

He dismissed me with a throaty grunt. I felt safer once I was in my car, but still broke a few traffic laws getting the hell out of there. Okay, so I was going to be working my way up; dealers and thugs were just the beginning. I hoped Fletcher wasn't expecting me to start knifing CEOs in their offices, but I didn't put it past him.

Back at Spire Park once again, I soon saw the same big SUV circling the area. I crouched in a good spot of bush and tree cover and waited for a clear shooting zone where there weren't any parked cars. The first .308 bullet hit high in the front windshield. I was able to get another shot off before the driver hit the gas and wild sprays of gunfire came from the lowered back windows. Even with using a bolt-action and having to reload once, I still put at least seven big holes in that SUV before it drove out of sight.

Back at home about an hour before dawn, I called Viggo to give a report. He told me not to give it over the phone, and that he'd 'arrive' soon. Half an hour later, he void-walked into my dark bathroom; for some reason, that unnerved me more than normal.

When I told Viggo about Fletcher's goal for me to be a serial killer of corporate types, he wondered aloud, "I'm not sure how much assistance I can offer to thwart your efforts, and I'm not sure that I should. If you continually failed, you'd lose both credibility and your current position with Mr. Fletcher. Is it feasible to simply wound your targets from a safe distance?"

I thought about the damage that even a small caliber bullet fired from a sniper rifle could do to an arm or leg. "Uh, I suppose that's possible, sir," I answered, "but only if my target is standing in front of a hospital with a trauma team waiting. The poor bastard wouldn't make it very far otherwise."

"It's that effective, eh?" Viggo asked, looking away with a thoughtful expression.

His question didn't need an answer, so I used the lull of conversation to express my main concern. "Sir, I'm not sure why I'm being allowed to be put in this position, and it's not my place to ask. It's just that Fletcher... he's using me, forcing my mind. It's like mental rape. Maybe I have too much pride, but it's humiliating. I come home at night literally sick to my stomach. I feel fucking degraded. Not to mention that I'm pissing off dangerous people. Is there some other way I can carry out your orders?"

Viggo leaned forward in the chair and solemnly replied, "It must be this way for now, Leo."

I don't mind saying that I was depressed as hell right then. My commander was making me serve one demented hemo after another. I hardly had to deal with Ragna's abuse anymore, but then I got rented to some Outsider bad-ass who mind-fucks me into being a tool for his sociopathic vision. And Viggo was letting it happen. Worst of all, I wasn't given a reason why I was being made to endure all that shit. There was no anger at Viggo for it, just a deep sadness that he didn't trust me enough to tell me.

BLOODLUST

Two nights later, I was walking through a lightly wooded section of Colby Park. At that moment I was wondering what white collar targets Fletcher had in mind, when I heard the inarticulate shout of a male voice somewhere ahead of me. I couldn't tell whether the yell was one of alarm or pain when it rang out and then cut short. I kept low and sped up my pace.

In front of me was a thicker stand of trees plus some underbrush, with a small clearing just beyond. Scraping through bushes might have ruined any chance for surprise, so I hurried around to a clearer path. I zigzagged through trees and came to a stop just before the clearing. I wasn't expecting what I saw, and it made me hesitate for a second.

There were two men on the ground ten feet away from me - one prone, and the other kneeling next to him. For a split second, I thought they were in some sort of gay lover's embrace. That is, until I saw all of the blood. The guy lying on the ground was pulled up against the other dude, who had his mouth clamped on the guy's neck.

The guy on the ground looked middle-aged, dressed conservatively, and was pretty much dead. One of his legs twitched, but his arms were limp at his sides and his eyes stared up at the night sky. The dude kneeling next to him - obviously a goddamn hemo - looked like a young hitchhiker that you knew better than to offer a ride to.

The bastard didn't seem content to just bite and suck. Like an animal, he tore at the poor guy's neck with snarls, primal grunts and crude slurps. He was out of control, consumed with draining the guy dry. Blood covered the lower half of his face and the upper torso of his dinner. He was a messy eater.

Right as I was reaching for my guns, the greasy-haired hemo looked over at me with wild eyes while still sucking at the gaping wound he'd made. He suddenly pulled his face away from the gory gash, and let loose some sort of fierce noise at me. It was a mix of a howl and a hiss, made by a red-smeared mouth that opened impossibly wide. I swear his jaws had to have unhinged. The combination of his elongated, bloodstained teeth, demonic eyes, aggressive crouch and feral snarl... it hit some panic button that I didn't know I had. It scared the living shit out of me. I ran away, and fast - a lot faster than I thought I could. It seemed like only seconds later I was near my car. That's when I came to my senses.

That murdering motherfucker must have used some hemo Gift to scare me off. I never would have run away like a coward otherwise. I swore under my breath, unlocked my car and grabbed my duffel bag. Pissed at myself more than anything, I went back down into the long, shallow valley of woods and open pockets to search for him.

It was only a few minutes later that my scope found the hemo prick. It looked like the psycho had chased down a raccoon at the far end of an open picnic space, and had just started tearing the animal apart. I found cover, got a good rest for my rifle, and adjusted the sights. With as clear of a firing lane as I could find, probably two hundred yards out and at higher elevation, I waited until I had the shot I wanted. Finished with his vermin snack, the hemo rose up from his squatting position. Bingo.

The high-powered round caught him just under his right collarbone, where the chest and shoulder meet. The hemo spun from the hit and dropped. The shot made noise even with the suppressor, but not enough to travel far. I grabbed my rifle and jogged over. The hemo was mostly on his stomach, grunting while he feebly tried to get up. The exit wound was pretty gruesome; the back of his dirty windbreaker was ripped open, and his shoulder blade was bone chunks and bloody hamburger.

After I quickly pulled out a couple items from my bag, I turned the hemo over with my boot. As I expected, he was snarling at me, but I didn't think he had the energy to use that same Gift on me again. "How ya feelin', sport?" I asked as I pulled out my silenced 9mm's. He started to roll to his left to push himself up. Well, I couldn't have that. I shot him in the knees, two rounds each. He collapsed again, moaning through gritted teeth. "Oh shut up. I bet that didn't hurt nearly as bad as how you killed guy back there. You know, the one with his throat ripped to shreds, you son of a bitch."

Tired of playing with the blood-drenched hemo, I shot him between his eyes. I knew it didn't kill him; I just wanted him down for the count. I debated ending him, but a fire would draw attention, and I didn't have the cold nerve to cut someone's head off. I decided to stick to my original plan, which didn't involve Fletcher; he never said he wanted anything from my patrols, so I never offered.

About an hour before dawn, I sat back in my recliner with a drink and waited for Viggo. I'd given him a call and said I had a gift for him. I left the kitchen light off, hoping he'd use that space to arrive instead of my bathroom again. When he showed up, I brought him out to my detached garage. The bloody hemo was still on the oil-stained floor where I'd dropped him, tightly hogtied and with three sharpened tree branches jammed through his dirty t-shirt and deep into his chest. Hey, I wasn't sure if I hit his heart with the first or second tries, okay? Better safe than sorry.

"Do you know who he is, sir?" I asked, hoping it wasn't a Deviant.

"I cannot say that I do," Viggo replied, crouching next to the body and shining a flashlight on the face. "If he belongs to the city's community, then he is not well-established. Otherwise, I would know of him." He stood to his full height, still looking down at my catch. "It could be that he is new to the area, or he is possibly a young Outsider that hasn't been introduced to the Doyenne yet. From his shabby attire, I doubt that he belongs to the Adept faction." Viggo turned to me. "And you say he was in the throes of bloodlust?"

"If that's what you call it, sir," I replied with a shrug. "I never knew raccoons could scream."

"Hmm," he commented, as if screaming raccoons were mildly interesting. "Fine work, Leo. I know of a safe place to store this stranger for now, so I will take him with me. What did you tell Mr. Fletcher?"

"Nothing yet, sir - I won't see him again until Monday night, and he never gave me a number to call. I'm not sure if he even has a phone. I figure the guy that this bastard slaughtered in the park will be found before then, so Mr. Fletcher can deal with that if he wants."

Viggo clicked off the flashlight. "Once he learns of it, he will go to Ragna for answers. You should visit her again to alert her before Mr. Fletcher comes with questions. In any event, you are supposed to be her minion, so an occasional appearance in her domain might be warranted."

"Yeah, okay," I said with a sigh. "I have to go pick up my money this weekend anyway."

Once Viggo left with the hemo and I went back inside my house, I finished my drink and went to bed. I fell asleep with the sour thoughts of having to deal with the crazy bitch again.

MICHAEL

It was too late for the Wise Owl Wok to be open when I got there the next night, yet there were a couple of lights on inside. Ragna's huge dog, Gungnir, was sitting outside the door of the place, so she had to be inside. The same attractive Asian woman unlocked the door for me, so I stepped over the dog and went in. Ragna was sitting in her favorite booth, watching me intently as I sat across from her.

Before I could say anything, a young waitress set a steaming plate of cashew chicken and a Coke in front of me. When she left, I asked Ragna, "You were expecting me?"

"I was told you'd show up tonight, and that you'd have an interesting story to tell." Ragna reached into the layers of her filthy clothing, pulled out a wad of cash and set it next to my meal. I was surprised as hell; I didn't have to ask for my pay and then get insulted for asking.

"You were told, ma'am?" I asked before taking in my first bite. I was pretty hungry by then; I didn't eat much during my late lunch with Gwen. Having to lie to my friend ruined my appetite.

Ragna nodded. "Clara Page - you met her once, yes?" My mouth was full, so I just nodded back. "Quite the talented one, our Miss Page; she is... She is not my progeny to speak of personally. Occasionally, she finds her way to my neighborhood to play with my pets and tell me things she's seen." Ragna's gaze drifted off as she went on. "A lovely girl, although she..." Her eyes snapped back to mine. "So, Beck, I hear you've been busy. Quit shoveling food in your mouth like a starved pig and entertain me with a tale before we leave."

"We're going somewhere, ma'am?" I asked around a mouthful of delicious food.

"Oh, yes," she said with a curious twinkle in her eye. "I think you're due some enlightenment."

While eating as much as I could, I told about my run-in with the blood lusting hemo. I remembered to tell Ragna that Fletcher might come around wanting answers about why there was a dead man (and a dismembered raccoon) in one of his parks that I patrol. With the way she nodded - you know, like a story you've already heard - I think she already came to that conclusion. It reminded me that someone can be bat-shit crazy and smart at the same time.

Once we were in my car - without any dogs for once - Ragna gave me directions back to the little theater building where I first saw Elias, a.k.a. Edward Galloway. The modest brick building, formerly known as the Ovation Community Theater, had a new sign up: _Midgard Hearth_. Under that, it said, _An Asatru Fellowship_. I knew what a hearth and a fellowship were, but other than that I had no idea.

Without me having to ask, Ragna filled me in as we walked toward the front doors. The way she kept sampling my thoughts could get pretty irritating. "Midgard is the realm of Earth - one realm of nine. In the Old Norse tongue, Asatru basically means 'belief in the gods'. This is now a Norse house of worship."

"Oh, that's why you wanted the deed for this place. You made it your own church."

"No, you halfwit; I gave it to my scion, Michael. He is a Gothi - that is, a priest of the Norse faith. He made it his own church, and tonight he holds his first gathering. Many years ago, during your human's Second World War, Michael was actually a Christian priest." She chuckled before adding, "I fixed that."

I kept my mouth shut. First, I had no idea Ragna had a hemo offspring, for lack of better words. I wasn't sure what to expect with Michael; I could only hope he wasn't much like his sire. Or was that dam, or maybe dame? I didn't know, and I wasn't going to ask. Secondly, I wondered if Ragna brought Michael into his Norse beliefs with reasoning, or if she changed his faith with a Jedi mind whoopin'. I hoped it wasn't the latter; doing that to your own progeny was a new kind of sick.

Gothi Michael - it sounds stupid when I say it. Anyway, Michael turned out to be a pleasant surprise. He was an averaged-sized guy in his thirties. He had short, dark hair and a full beard, with a little white mixed in both. He was one of those guys with a natural charisma and an easy smile. Michael wore what I'd guess you'd call a tunic; it was white with decorations at the end of the elbow-length sleeves. Around his waist was a wide black belt, with black slacks underneath the tunic. On his wrists were thick leather bands, and he wore rings on both hands. As priest attire went, it was pretty sharp.

Best of all, Michael had no noticeable deformities like most of the other Deviants did. He looked like a normal, happy guy who shook hands with every person who showed up... all sixteen of them. Only a few of the small congregation had that vagrant look; the rest appeared to be common folks. Being a bit paranoid, I scanned the big room for anyone I might recognize, and was relieved to find I didn't.

Ragna didn't go down near the stage to greet her scion, but instead took a seat near the back away from the others. Michael noticed her, smiled, and gave a slight bow.

The theater was decorated differently from the first time I saw it. Except for a couple of weak spotlights, most of the area around the stage was lit by a lot of big candles that made it look cozy. Long banners hung down the walls, embroidered mostly with the shapes of eagles, stags and trees. Down in front of the low stage was a long, heavy wooden table holding cups, plates, pitchers of some sort of drinks, and what looked like loaves of homemade bread. Michael invited everyone to have some, and most of those that did went back for seconds.

Soon enough, Michael was up on stage and began to talk. Unlike Edward's sermon, Michael treated the small crowd like they were friends he was telling stories to. Or maybe like students he was eager to teach. He tried to involve them, asking first names and simple questions that he wove into his examples of explaining the basics of his Norse religion. There was no condemning of other faiths, just a focus on the core of Asatru. Overall, Michael kept it light and informative. He didn't make a believer out of me, but he did keep me interested and entertained.

Throughout the hour and a half that Michael taught us about his religion, I kept thinking that he was a decent guy. Surprising, because of all the hemos I'd met, only Viggo and Barnabus were likeable. I had to remind myself that Michael might seem cool, but he was still a blood-sucking predator.

Along with the free food and drinks, Michael passed out Asatru calendars and pamphlets of the tenets of his religion after he concluded his homily. He thanked everyone for coming out and shook hands with them again as they left. When the last person passed us on their way out, Michael came up the aisle. Ragna told me to go get something to eat and drink while they talked. I hesitated. She plucked the thought out of my head and told me that her scion didn't taint anything with his blood. I helped myself to cider, mead, and rich bread while I waited.

I was washing down a bite when I saw a tall woman step into the auditorium from the lobby. I pulled my Glock and marched up the aisle, stopping next to Michael. The woman was fairly attractive, with long, straight dark hair and darker eyes. She wore cowboy boots, tight jeans, and a leather vest with nothing underneath it. Both of the woman's arms had sleeves of totem-style tattoos. She stood calmly at the door with her thumbs in her pockets.

Ragna didn't even turn her head to see who we were looking at. "It's been a long time, Katala," she said to the woman behind her, "but you still reek of bird shit."

Katala didn't say anything for a long second, I guess refraining from returning the insult. "I am travelling with Jack tonight, elder," she said softly. "He would like a word with you."

"Tell him I'll be along in a minute," Ragna replied, and waited until Katala walked away. Then she stood and said to me, "You might actually be useful for once. Come with me."

While Michael stood there confused and started to ask what was going on, I followed Ragna toward the lobby. I didn't really notice if he trailed behind us or not; I was too busy worrying about what kind of shit the psycho dog-woman was going to get me into this time.

UNEMPLOYED

"Why did your minion leave a dead body in my park?" Fletcher said as a greeting from thirty feet away when Ragna and I came out of the building. What a charmer. The woman named Katala stood a few strides away from him out in the street. She had a big raven on her shoulder. I looked up when I heard a squawk, and saw dozens more of them perched on nearby power lines. Okay, that was disturbing.

"Did you expect Beck to contaminate a crime scene?" Ragna asked in response. "There was blood all around the human victim, and a trail of it leading away to another gore-spattered location. Did you expect him to clean it all up in the dark?"

That shut him up for a second. In a calmer tone, Fletcher said, "From what I can gather, it is being reported as an animal attack for now. I want to know if that is true. It is my domain, after all."

"Your domain..." Ragna said the words slowly. "Yes, it surely is. Evidently, elder Fletcher, your contacts do not compare to mine. Soon enough, some coroner will find saliva on the victim. He'll find the same saliva on a dismembered raccoon not far from the scene. That saliva belongs to some worthless young vampire. I surmise that he lost control and blood-lusted in your park. And the authorities now have his DNA. Supernatural DNA found in _your_ domain. My, that would certainly rip the veil, wouldn't it?"

It was easy to see that Fletcher was getting severely pissed. The thick hair on his arms was standing, and his head lowered like an animal's would before it attacked. "What do you want?" he growled.

I could almost feel the tension as I glanced around. There weren't any people out walking, although an occasional car drove by. Katala's hands were balled into fists, and her birds became restless. Fletcher's arms were away from his body with his hands spread open. Ragna seemed cool as a cucumber. I inched my hand toward my shoulder holster, trying not to be obvious.

"What do I want?" Ragna asked casually. "Seeing as I have the means to alter those reports - whereas you certainly don't - and save you from the torch or the chopping block... Well, let me see..."

She had Fletcher over a barrel and was taking the opportunity to fuck with him. I thought that was a very, _very_ bad idea. Fletcher was on the verge of rage. His claws had grown out, and he'd pulled his shades off to reveal those glowing orange eyes. "Tell me..." His words barely sounded human.

Ragna waited a moment before she said, "Let's start with your eternal servitude and go from there."

That pushed him over the edge, and from there a number of things happened at once. Fletcher bellowed like a beast and began to charge at Ragna. Somehow, Michael was suddenly behind Katala and snapped her neck like dead wood. I pulled my Glock and put four rounds in Fletcher's chest. He hardly flinched and just kept coming at us. I raised my aim for his head when Ragna yelled "STOP" with her hand out, palm facing him. Surprisingly, Fletcher came to a skidding halt right in front of us. I felt the urge to shoot him again as he stood there.

"Ragna," Fletcher began, still furious, "you will -"

"Leave," she hissed, her ice blue eyes still glaring into his, forcing the command into his head. Fletcher turned and walked away. I just stood there with my mouth open, watching him go.

"Someone probably called the police by now," Michael said. "Gunshots aren't common around here."

Ragna ordered me to pick up Katala and bring her inside while Michael ran to get something to tie her up with. Even a broken neck wouldn't keep a hemo down for long.

I dropped the body in an aisle of the theater-turned-church and said to Ragna, "I guess that means I'm not working for Fletcher anymore..."

"I'll miss the money," she said, "but you'll be better off in the end. Fletcher is a fanatic for a lost cause, and it would probably have gotten you killed. You're welcome."

"I'm supposed to thank you?" I glanced to make sure Michael wasn't returning yet, and then quietly said, "Viggo wanted more information about Fletcher's plans. Now I'm screwed, and you get him owing you big time. I guess you could order Fletcher to hand over the list of people he wanted me to hit, but then he'd just change his targets afterwards. So yeah, okay, thanks for that," I ended sarcastically.

Michael hurried from the backstage area with a roll of duct tape and handed it to me. I started binding up Katala nice and tight while he and Ragna discussed the events. From what I could gather while I wrapped tape around the body, Ragna knew to contact Michael earlier that night because of something Clara Page had said. Michael apparently had a minion who worked at the medical examiner's office. I remembered Shawn telling me something about that. Okay, Ragna wasn't bluffing.

Something caught my eye and I looked up. Flickering shadows started to form out of nothing in mid-air right behind Michael. Before Ragna could say or do anything, a hand - Viggo's hand - reached out of the shadows and yanked Michael into them. Just like that, he was gone. The shadows faded a second later. If I didn't already know what was going on, I would have pissed myself. I almost did anyway.

Ragna looked around frantically. Two seconds later a larger collection of shadow gathered near us, creating a large, wavering black hole. Viggo stepped out of it, staring sternly down at her.

Barely able to meet his glare, she timidly asked, "What did you do with Michael?" Wow, the crazy bitch sounded like she cared as much about him as she did her dogs or her shopping cart.

"I safely moved him to a location not too far away. I wanted him gone so that I might speak with you candidly. I assume your scion is still unaware of my existence?"

"Yes, Veleti," Ragna nodded her head nervously, "I've told him nothing."

"Make sure it stays that way. I do not care what story you tell Michael about how or why he was pulled through a void, except for the truth. You will keep your word to me, Ragna."

"Yes, of course." she meekly answered. Watching Ragna cower in front of my angry commander... I was enjoying the hell out of it.

"I know what happened here tonight," Viggo stated with a deep voice of tumbling gravel. "I watched as you cleverly, greedily, turned the situation into your own gain. I cannot blame you for that, but in the process you have thwarted one of my plans and inconvenienced me, Ragna. You have also placed my minion in danger from the Outsider faction, if Mr. Fletcher can rally them all. As of now, Mr. Beck must be removed from your care. If asked, say that he was an irritation and you fed him to your dogs."

Holy shit, now I had the Adepts _and_ the Outsiders after my ass? Hopefully the other hemos would buy Ragna's story that she offed me. Otherwise, I'd have to move and not get a damn penny for my house. I'd also have to stop going to all my regular places. Like Shawn once said, I'd have to stay off the radar, only this time forever.

Viggo leaned down closer to Ragna and said menacingly, "You have disappointed me, Ragna. For your own sake, do not... _ever_... impede me again." I saw her shrink back into her rags. If I hadn't just got fucked over, I'd have been grinning like a madman.

Standing straight and turning to me, Viggo said, "To be cautious, you will need to relocate. Hopefully, it will only be temporary. Gather supplies from your home. I will be waiting at the location where the woman named Natalie served you breakfast. Go."

It was obvious he didn't trust Ragna anymore, not even with which Deviant safe house I'd be at. Grateful that I wouldn't have to put up with the dog-woman anymore, I smiled as I walked out.

HIRED

I thought about my situation while I packed guns, ammo, booze, clothes, toiletries, non-perishable food, and a couple of old photos. There was a good side to the whole mess. Mainly, I presumed I'd be able to serve Viggo directly from then on. I also no longer had to worry about taking orders from demented hemos and forced into scenarios that went against my grain. Still, I wasn't able to do anything I pleased. But, with Viggo personally looking out for me, I wasn't too worried about the other factions.

With my paranoia on a higher notch than normal, I took an indirect route to the building that sat in an old industrial part of town. I was sure I wasn't followed, and relaxed as I neared the place. Some hunched form I didn't recognize held open the tall fence gate to the small parking lot in the back, and already had the one of the two big delivery doors open for me to pull into.

Viggo stepped into the garage bay and leaned on the van parked next to me while I was unloading my Jeep. "Welcome back, Leo," he said without a hint of humor or sarcasm.

"Uh, yes sir, thank you." I adjusted a strap on my shoulder and asked, "So, uh, who's that man out in the parking lot?"

Viggo waved his hand nonchalantly. "Ah, Milo \- he is merely a lowly servant who sees to the most basic of chores. His capacity is diminished, so he's poor company otherwise." As Viggo spoke, Milo shuffled inside and pulled the overhead door closed. "Set down your bags so that we can sit and talk, Leo. Milo will bring your things up to a room he's prepared for you."

As I set the duffel bags down, I asked, "It's not the same room that I was in last time, is it, sir?"

It wasn't quite a smile from Viggo, although the corner of his mouth twitched. "No. Come."

I followed him into the building proper. He paused when he got to the wide entryway to the break room and said, "If you like, find a snack and then meet me upstairs in the lounge."

Hell, I didn't know the place had a lounge. I gathered a few things and went up the creaky stairs. At the end of the hall to my left was my old prison room. Ah, memories - they suck. Directly to my right was a big room that said 'conference' on the open door. It was set up like a living room, full of furniture, tables, and a TV on the wall. There were two windows that both faced the front of the building, giving a view of the wide street below and a vacant lot across the way.

I set down a box of crackers, a can of Pepsi, a glass full of ice, and my flask. I took a seat opposite of Viggo and made a drink. "What do you think?" he asked. I assumed he meant the accommodations.

"This is very nice, sir," I answered. "I haven't looked in all of the rooms, but what I've seen is more than enough. Thank you."

With a shrug, Viggo commented, "There are a few rooms for your use. One is a manager's office downstairs, next to the lobby. Another is an entertainment room, next to your former apartment." Yeah, apartment - that was a nice way to put it. "The last is the former owner's office just down the hall, which has been simply decorated as a bedroom. It has its own restroom. There are two other offices and a small assembly room that haven't been converted. You see, this building used to be owned by a company that distributed small parts to the now-abandoned auto plant four blocks down the road."

"Alright," I said after a sip, "well, it's still great. And no one knows about it, right?"

"Only a few members of my faction, but only I use it. Mr. Merritt was only here at my request while you were being held. To reinforce your sense of security, I'll tell you this: all of the walls are concrete, all the glass is bullet-proof, and there are bars on every window. The garage doors are steel with slide locks. The only other exterior door is in the lobby, and it has coded entry and a series of locks. The back gate is padlocked, and the building has a wireless alarm system. You are safe here, Leo."

"It sure sounds that way, sir. So... What happens now?"

Viggo sat back, crossed his legs and said, "That depends on you, Leo. As it currently stands, the Adepts may not be actively searching you out anymore, but they will not pass on an opportunity to remove you if you are spotted."

"I figured as much, sir."

"As far as I can tell with the Outsiders," Viggo went on, "Fletcher is angry because of how this evening's events played out, and may sway others within his loose faction to look for retribution. Ragna will alter documents to secure a powerful debt from him, so he cannot attack her directly. However, he and others of his faction may strike in other areas that would affect the dog-woman, you included. The variable concerning you lies with how convincing the story of your demise is told."

"It doesn't sound like I have too many choices so far, sir."

Viggo's stare alone told me that I was being an ungrateful shit and that he was giving me all the facts in case I didn't know them. "Sorry, sir," I mumbled behind my drink.

"As of now," he continued, ignoring my apology, "you will have to immediately cut all ties without explanation. That includes neighbors, friends at the tavern and security agency you were formerly employed with, acquaintances from your gun club and dojo, military comrades, the employees of the liquor store you frequent - I mean _everyone_. For your own safety, you should not go near any of those people or places, not even your own home. Not until we see how things turn out."

"I hate the thought of worrying my friends like that, sir."

"I know you do, Leo. That is part of why I see you as so much more than the obligation of an oath. Nonetheless, the chance cannot be taken. What if a member of one of the other factions questions your neighbors - Mr. Sanchez and his family across the street, for example - and is told that they have seen you just the day before? You are supposedly dead. That nice family might then be used as bait to draw you out of hiding. Do you see my reasoning now?"

"Yeah, I do," I said with a deep sigh. "How long could this go on, me staying off the radar?"

"It could be weeks, or months... or even years. Many unforeseen events may alter how long you must conceal your existence. I wish it were otherwise. However, you still have choices, albeit limited."

I drained my glass and said, "Whichever choice serves you best, I'll take that one, sir." I know that made me sound like an ass-kissing brownnoser, but keep in mind that I was in thrall to him. Loyalty and willing service are pretty much your life as a minion.

Viggo nodded, apparently pleased. "You are a fine minion, Leo, and loyal. Loyalty should always be rewarded. What will serve me best is employing you with ShadoWorks - essentially me. Your needs will be met, and a there is a good benefit package plus bonuses based on performance."

That perked me right up. "That sounds great. I gotta tell you, though... Chores like rat herding or reading children's stories to Milo really aren't my strong points."

"Then it is good that you won't be doing those things," he said evenly.

"Uh, okay," I replied while I reminded myself that any form of levity with Viggo was going to fall flat. "What kinds of things _will_ I be doing?"

"A majority of your work will be underground to begin with. You will see to such things as securing loose wiring and cables and moving items from one location to another for a time. In so doing, you will be learning two very important things. One, you will become familiar with the city's sewers and tunnels. There are the passageways the water department has built, and also what my faction has created. You will learn both. I should note that there is a hidden access from this building to a main overflow tunnel, mainly for the purpose of an emergency escape route. You will not work much in this area, though."

It sure as hell wasn't my dream job, but Viggo made it sound important. That was enough for me. "Okay, I'll buy some wading boots and big flashlights. What is the other thing you want me to learn, sir?"

Viggo uncrossed his legs and sat forward. "It is an experiment, if you will. Has Mr. Riordan explained Gifts in relation to minions?"

"Uh, pretty much, sir. He told me that through your blood, we receive physical Gifts that grow very slowly over time. Shawn also said something about other possible Gifts that depended on whose blood it was, although the chance of that was pretty rare. I really didn't understand that part, to be honest."

"Let me help you comprehend it, then. As a rule, minions have physical Gifts of a limited degree. With potent blood, however, a minion can learn other Gifts that his... commander is highly skilled with. In this instance, I am very well versed with the Gift of Shadows. This is what I want you to learn. I believe you have the ability and willpower to bring it out, however limited it may be. And it will be helpful."

He was telling me to acquire a completely alien concept. I panicked a little bit. "I, uh... Sir, I'll do my best, but I have no clue where to start or what to do."

"I will assist you with that soon enough. For now, simply practice being still for minutes at a time while mentally emanating the thought that you want to be ignored. You will see no changes; it is purely to adjust your mind to the basic concept." Viggo stood and straightened his coat. "I have other things to attend to, and you should get some rest. I will return tomorrow evening, and we can begin." He turned to leave but then looked back at me. "Did you have any questions before I go?"

"Uh, yes sir, two." He nodded his assent, so I asked, "Does Milo stay here?"

"No, not unless requested. He has a small house back in the neighborhood behind this building. His phone number is in the office downstairs. He has been told to see to any simple task you need done."

"Okay, cool. My other question was... When I was down in your hidden den, or cave, or whatever, something hit the metal door like a wrecking ball. What the hell was that?"

Viggo told me the answer, and I didn't like it one damn bit.

COMPASSION

The CEO's old office was a large room, big enough for a bedroom set-up and a separate sitting area. The dresser and end table near the queen-sized bed were cheap, especially compared to the couches and coffee table. I wasn't in a position to bitch, though. Viggo was saving my ass, so I would have been a royal dick to criticize the Walmart furniture.

Framed landscape prints had been left on the walls when the parts company closed up; the paintings were bland, but they were better than stark white walls. The adjoining bathroom was fully tiled with striated blue and white marble, and it even had a small closet built in next to the walk-in shower. The former owner of the place had expensive tastes.

Milo had set my duffel bags on the bed, as well as pillows and a set of new sheets. I never got a good look at Viggo's mentally challenged helper before he left; just a squat, hulking body in an oversized hooded jacket. One thing was for sure: I wasn't going to call him for any chores. I'm sure Milo was as loyal to Viggo as I was, but he had access to the place I was hiding in. That made him a liability. I didn't want my sense of security in anyone's hands but mine and my commander's.

I absently started unpacking, distracted by what Viggo told me. He said that each faction of hemos carry a curse, besides the obvious - you know, drinking blood, the inability to get a tan, all that shit. For Deviants in particular, their neat little bane is what they call _'the infliction'_. Sounds lovely, doesn't it?

The blood carries the curse - intent isn't a factor. "If it were," Viggo told me gravely, "the change would be painless and all of our scions would be unscathed". For some Deviants, their bodies go through horrific and torturous changes soon after they're brought into the night. For others of the faction it's the same thing, except it's their minds that are twisted and tormented. That's a big price tag for immortality.

Uncommonly, a new hemo is subjected to both physical and mental 'infliction'. When Viggo told me that, I immediately thought of Ragna. With either type of 'affliction', not all hemos survive the change. Some others become catatonic or are reduced to helplessness; they are mercifully put out of their misery. For those who go through both 'afflictions' simultaneously, the chances are greater that they won't survive one way or the other.

But, if a hemo is strong enough to survive and comes out of it relatively sane, they are stronger for it. A young Deviant hemo has greater initial potential to harness Gifts than newbies from the other factions. Nice bonus, but I'm not sure that's a fair trade for permanent disfigurement or insanity.

Sometimes, though, new hemos will physically survive the change, but their minds can't fully endure it. And voila, you've got a violent psychopath with supernatural power. That's what knocked ever so gently at the metal door of Viggo's den. What's worse, it was _his_ progeny. My commander's compassion denied him from ending his own scion's life... or un-life, if you want to get picky about it.

The psycho's name was Wayne. In lieu of a merciful death, Viggo kept Wayne in secure underground locations. Every once in a while, Wayne would escape his confines and go on a happy little rampage. That'd been going on for nearly thirty years \- yeah, thirty. And I thought Milo was a liability. Damn.

It was an honor to have Viggo confide in me with what had to be a sensitive topic. In hindsight, though, I sorta wished I'd never asked. Infliction - shit, that word was ugly enough before the Deviants used it to describe their morbid, torturous transformation from human to hemo. It was a toss-up whether to pity or hate them for it.

I thought about Wayne, and couldn't decide how I felt about that whole sad, dangerous scenario. He was just another shade of gray in the world of supernatural darkness I was shoved into. Wayne probably didn't have any trace of humanity left in him, but I couldn't exactly label him as evil. I doubted he chose to become a mindless beast. If I ever met him, though, I bet sympathy would be the last thing I felt.

I found an unopened bottle of booze in my bag and moved to one of the couches, where I sat alone in dim lamp light and toasted Viggo's excessive compassion with gulps of whiskey until I passed out.

DEPARTED

Surprisingly, my hangover worked well with that 'ignore me' practice Viggo wanted me to try. After I got up around noon and let off a well-earned two minute piss, I grabbed one of the new sheets from its tidy stack and dropped onto the bed with it over my head. I could only imagine that my disheveled pose implied "ignore me" loud and clear. My mood was more along the lines of "fuck off", but at the time I thought the two were interchangeable.

Eventually, I felt coherent enough to shuffle around the building. After taking some aspirin from a first-aid kit and chasing the pills down with a bottle of water I found in the nearly empty fridge, I checked out all of the rooms. The manager's office next to the small lobby had a large desk with an apparently new computer on it. The assembly room across the hall from the break area had work tables, halogen lights, and a variety of tools in dusty chests. The two small offices upstairs, across from the CEO bedroom, were empty. Thus far, nothing in the building surprised me...

. . . Until I walked into the entertainment room, that is. Its entry sat next to the iron door that was my old cell, and was easily the biggest room in the building. Except for the flat screen TV and Wii plugged into it, the room had that vintage feel. It had a pinball machine, dartboard, chess table, pool table, and an arcade game (someone with a twisted sense of humor chose 'Silent Hill').

My phone unexpectedly rang as I was shooting the five-ball into a corner pocket. I let the unrecognized caller go to voice mail and then listened to the message. It was Natalie, the nice lady who cooked me breakfast once. She said that our patron gave her the number, and that she was on her way over with some supplies. She arrived a few minutes later with a shitload of full grocery bags in her compact car. We finished unloading just as the clouds let loose a heavy rain. Natalie didn't stick around, so I got to sort through all the food and drinks on my own.

Into the evening, I was reclined in the lounge with a drink after a big dinner when Viggo suddenly walked into the room. I jumped up and stood at parade rest. He glanced at me, and then set a big box on the coffee table before sitting down. "Sit," he commanded. "We have things to discuss."

I sat on the edge of my seat, turned the TV off, and waited expectantly. Viggo sat back and stared at the plain cardboard box without saying anything, so I finally asked, "Is something wrong, sir?"

It was another few seconds until he answered. "I realize how unfair this situation is to you, Leo." His black eyes turned to me as he continued. "All of my other minions are free to live their lives, continuing with whatever plans they had before they met me. Circumstances have taken that freedom away from you. I wish it was not so."

"Me neither, sir, but you didn't create those circumstances. You're the one who saved my ass after the ball was already rolling." I felt good that he felt bad for me, if that makes any sense.

Viggo gave a barely-perceptible nod and said, "I have stated my regret. Let us move forward. There are changes and chores to be seen to. First, do you have much money in a bank?"

"Uh, no sir, not too much - I keep enough to cover my checks for utilities, mostly. I mainly buy with cash." I toyed with the joke of asking if he needed a loan, but I knew I'd just get that stare again.

"Good; you will not use your bank card again, at least not for a while. The office downstairs has a small wall safe, with a code for you to set. Put your banking information in there, as well as your driver's license, social security card, military papers, and weapon permits." He pulled the box down between his knees and pulled out two manila envelopes. "This," he said, handing the first to me, "is your actual armed forces transcripts; I took the liberty of removing them, and some other items, from your house before I came here so you could store them safely."

I breathed a sigh of relief, but not simply for the transcripts. "Thank you, sir."

He noticed my reaction. "It was a small matter, Leo. Do those papers hold a strong sentimental value?"

"No sir, not really, but you're having me store them here, in town. I take that to mean I'm not going anywhere. A small part of me wanted to just get the hell out of town and try to leave all this crazy shit behind me. But a bigger part wanted to stay, and not just because you have some plans in motion here that I might get to be useful for. I've been screwed with, and I want to hand out some payback."

"And perhaps you will get your chances," Viggo responded with an agreeable nod.

"Thank you, sir."

"For now, though, concern yourself with safety and concealment. To that end, this location is now yours; or rather, ours, although you will be the only one maintaining residence. Let me know of any alterations you might need, and I will try to make it so."

"Well, uh, actually sir, I'd really like to make the gate out back an electric one instead of the chain and padlock that's on it now. And the same for the garage doors, if it's possible. It'd heighten security."

"Very well, I will have that arranged as soon as possible. For any interior changes," Viggo said while he reached into his coat, "you can do your own shopping." He tossed me a tightly wound stack of cash. "Try not to visit any one store any more than you have to for additional décor; your scars make you notable. In fact, do not become a familiar face anywhere. That includes grocery stores, barber shops, liquor stores or restaurants. And on that note, there will be no deliveries to this address - not even orders from the Wise Owl Wok."

"No sir, of course not," I said, confirming the order. I wanted nothing to do with anything that reminded me of Ragna. Well, maybe except for a dog. No, wait; make that a cat - a guard cat. Dogs shit outside, and the closest patch of grass was across the street. Even a cat would be better company than Milo.

Viggo handed me the other manila envelope. "Inside is a new identity - driver's license, social security card, birth certificate, proof of insurance, and gun permits. Use them as needed." I opened it up to see my new alter ego. The picture on the Missouri ID was me, but my name was listed as Lee Brock. My actual birth date is 10/12, but the card had it reversed, 01/21. As fake IDs went, it was a good one.

"The van in the garage is your new company car," Viggo continued. "Do not drive your own vehicle anywhere unless necessary. If you have joined any social media sites online, do not delete them. But do not be tempted to view them again, either. Remember, Leo Beck has suddenly departed." He paused a moment and looked down into the box. "I took whatever else I thought might be meaningful to you from your house. Your family photo album, the case with your military ribbons and medals, the blanket your mother knitted - it's all in here."

"I - I appreciate that." Damn, he knew me better than I thought. There was nothing else that I had any emotional ties to. It was just a matter of getting more stuff.

"Also inside this box is a new phone with a preset number. The ShadoWorks number and those of other people we both know have been added into the directory. Turn your existing cell phone off and put in the safe with the other items."

"Yes sir. Uh, what happens to my house?"

"There is little to be done about it. The utilities will go unpaid and then turned off. One of your friends or neighbors will ultimately declare you missing. You have no immediate family. The only will you have was made during your time in the Marines, where you bequeathed everything you own to your mother. The state will have to wait the standard seven years to declare you legally dead and seize your property."

"Shit, seven years? Don't you think I could get back to being... well, me, before that happens?"

"I would hope so, although I have since learned long ago to prepare for any conceivable outcome. I will give you this evening to let this information sink in," he said as he stood. "Tomorrow, go buy appropriate clothing for the sewers. I suggest hip waders and waterproof gloves at the minimum."

Viggo seemed tired. Not the _'I need a nap'_ tired; I mean that weary-to-the-core tired. It wasn't in his body language or movements, though. I got the feeling that his drained aspect was due to some mental or emotional struggle. Stoic like my father was, but honorable like dear old dad wasn't, I knew Viggo wouldn't talk about it then - maybe not ever. "I'll be ready for tomorrow night, sir," I replied.

After Viggo stepped into one of the dark offices and left, I went through the stuff he brought. None of it was enough to bring on weepy nostalgia, but I'm glad I had all of my personal items. The last thing I did before hitting the sack was to look at the list of contacts that had been put into my fancy new phone. I wanted to set at least a couple of the numbers up on speed dial for emergencies.

Of course, there was the ShadoWorks number, plus the numbers for Barnabus Merritt, Shawn Riordan, Natalie Stewart, Michael Vestergaard (I assumed that was Ragna's scion, the Nordic priest), Milo (just Milo, no last name) and someone called 'Roach'. There was one more name on the list, and it shocked the shit out of me. I slammed my drink and looked again to be sure.

I wasn't familiar with the number, but I knew the name all too well: Gwen Solomon.

OFFSPRING

'Conflicted' is probably the best word to describe what I felt that night. On one side of the coin, I felt somehow betrayed, or at least disillusioned, to learn that my close friend was not quite what she seemed. Granted, Gwen had contacts with law officials, high-end clients, and various other people in specific fields, but I wondered if that was the only reason she worked for Viggo. She might also have been chosen to help keep an eye on me. I didn't know if she'd tell me the truth, and I sure as hell wasn't going to ask Viggo about it. The trust I had in Gwen was damaged.

On the other side of that coin, though, I didn't have too much room to bitch. We were both keeping the same secret from each other; I assumed she'd just been keeping hers longer. If Gwen _was_ keeping track of me for Viggo, that could only have been a good thing, right? It just felt underhanded.

I guess it all came down to the validity of our friendship. If Gwen and I became friends simply out of mutual interests and enjoying each other's company, then great. But I couldn't know that for sure anymore. It could just as easily have been that Viggo told her to get close to me and gain my trust for the sake of knowing more about me. There was no good way to find out, and I wasn't sure I wanted to.

That night, I had a short dream about Viggo. He was dressed in rags, sitting on a moonlit ledge outside of a cave, and was reading a copy of _Paradise Lost_. Don't ask me what that meant. I have no idea.

I didn't want to dwell on Gwen or another weird Viggo dream - I only wanted to focus on my new duties. The 'ignore me' practice had a calming effect; I was feeling all Zen-like when workers showed up to make the gate and garage doors electric. When they finished, I took the van and went shopping. Booted chest waders, waterproof gloves, and a hardhat with a headlamp - everything I thought I'd need for sewer travel. I wouldn't be getting any dates with that gear on, but I wasn't expecting any cute chicks to be hanging out near storm tunnels and drain grates. My guns would be my date.

Viggo showed up a little while after nightfall, looked me up and down with no visible emotion, and then led me downstairs into the cramped utility basement. Under a big tool chest set on casters was a circular metal hatch, hinged on one side. Not wasting any time, Viggo opened it and climbed down the rungs. I squirted some Ben-Gay on my finger and smeared it on my upper lip before I followed. Yeah, that shit stinks, but it's a bed of fucking roses compared to the gagging reek of a sewer.

The round tunnel we were in was relatively clean, with only a trickle of dirty water running down the middle. "We'll walk for a while until we get to a main juncture," Viggo said, "if only to familiarize you with the sights and sounds of a city's underbelly. From there, we may void walk to a more populated location." I hoped like hell he wasn't talking about his horde of rats. They weren't great company.

We walked for hours, keeping to main tunnels. That didn't mean they were pleasant; some sections of the sewers were truly disgusting. I felt like I was visiting the dark, echoing kingdom of Stench, attended by scurrying bugs and rats. Oh, and let's not forget the bloated or partially eaten carcasses of dead animals floating by, or washed up on cement inclines. Those made me dab on more Ben-Gay.

By the address signs near manhole alcoves, I could tell we were moving generally northwest toward downtown. I kept that in mind as I followed my commander, wondering what our destination was. While we walked, Viggo and I discussed a number of topics. He started off stating that it was my mother's lineage that he kept track of, and that he once saved her from what would have been a fatal car wreck when she was a teenager. My mom was always a lousy driver, so it was no surprise.

The story of my mom's near-death experience led me to ask if Clara Page had a premonition or dream about it and warned him. I gathered enough from what Ragna said to deduce that the hemo girl was some sort of psychic. I never bought into that shit until lately, when I began to realize that almost any damn thing was possible.

"Actually, yes she did," Viggo answered frankly. "Clara has always had visions, made stronger after her mind fractured when, as a mortal, she was attacked and crippled. It occurred during the great depression. I saw potential in her, so I took away her pain. Clara is one of my offspring."

"Ah, so her... and Wayne..."

"And four others, if that's what you're wondering. One sleeps in a catacomb somewhere in Italy. Another is the Doyen of Munich, Germany. The other two have long since departed this world."

I didn't know how tender of a subject that was, so I left it alone. We moved on to the much more mundane subject of sewers, tunnels and hemo rooms and passages. While Viggo explained things at length, I kept thinking that a map would've been a hell of a lot easier. I wasn't going to interrupt him, though. Besides, he was adding little details of locations, city employee routes, and Deviant-set traps. There was a lot to commit to memory. I hoped there wasn't a test later.

We stopped in a particularly putrid brick-lined tunnel, off of a main drain shaft. I stood next to Viggo on a narrow walkway, looking down at the black water rushing by. "Is there something important here, sir?" I asked over the roaring flow.

"Only this door," he replied, pointing to the wall behind me.

I turned around, and... well, I'll be damned. There was an iron door set flush into the brick wall. If I'd shined a light directly on it, I would've seen it. What helped to conceal the door was that it didn't have a handle, and it was covered with algae like the walls were. It blended in without the need for Viggo to mask it with his shadow Gift.

"Behind this door is one of the many passages my faction has created. This entry leads to a number of locations. City workers cannot gain access because the strength needed to open it is beyond most mortals. You may make an attempt, if you like."

Wanting to impress, I scraped off some of the slimy algae from both the door and the walkway in front of it. In the tight confines, I didn't have much leverage. Still, I managed to budge it a few inches. Given enough time before exhaustion set in, I might've been able to open it wide enough to slip through. I didn't get the chance. Viggo put one hand on the door and gave it a casual shove. With a grinding sound heard over the water, it yielded to his inhuman strength and swung open. Either he was showing off, or he was just impatient to keep moving. Either way, the display of power impressed the hell out of me.

Past the thick door, I didn't need my headlamp. The ten-foot square tunnel was strung in both upper corners with strings of Christmas lights (not the blinking kind) as far as I could see until the stone hallway gradually curved to the left. The colorful bulbs didn't exactly put me in a festive mood. If Santa jumped out from some hidden doorway, I probably would've shot him.

Viggo shut the door behind us, and we started walking again while he asked me about what I did in the Marines. I told him that many of my missions were still classified, but I'd tell him if he told me to. Viggo did not want me to break an oath, so I talked about my training instead.

Soon enough, we came to a sort of intersection in a widened area. Three other hallways led off from it, plus a wide staircase to my left leading down, and a narrow one ahead of us going up. Viggo kept moving without hesitation. Okay, up it was. Another hallway was at the top of the stone stairs, with an emergency exit door at the end of it. The door had some high-tech code entry to unlock the push bar.

Viggo pressed some numbers on the touchscreen and then turned to me... but it wasn't Viggo. Instead of the cracked-earth skin, wiry white hair and inky black eyes I'd gotten used to, I saw a very different face. Shit, he looked human - still big and intimidating, but human.

The features of Viggo's face were still the same - straight nose, strong jaw, thick brows - but his eyes were a normal brown. Still bald on top, his hair was short and dark. He looked to be in his thirties, with frown lines and crow's feet. I immediately thought: _that's what he looked like when he was human._ I'd gotten so used to his creepy appearance that his sudden mundane disguise really disturbed me.

DERELICT

Viggo ignored my stare and said, "Beyond this door may be someone who I have occasional dealings with. Like me, she is a creature of the night. However, she is what my society calls a _derelict_ ; one that, for various reasons, is without a faction and must survive without the protection of our laws. She is still young enough to use the term 'vampire', although she's proven herself to be clever and resourceful. Of course, she is completely unaware of my true identity, except that I am a Deviant. In the guise you see now, I am known as Mr. Stone."

I nodded my understanding, saving my questions for later. Viggo pushed the door open and we stepped through. There was a short, wood-paneled hallway that led to an abandoned commercial space, thirty feet deep and about eighty feet wide. We came into it from one of the back corners. Other than the distant hum of traffic, it was quiet. I caught the faint smell of plaster and dust.

The glow of streetlights through the front wall of display windows made it easy enough for me to see clearly. The big room was empty except for a few pieces of broken furniture, and a row of chipped plaster support posts that ran the middle length of the open room. Just beyond the windows was a sidewalk and then wide avenue that still had some traffic, even at that late hour.

"I was wondering when you'd show up," said a female voice from across the wide space. I looked over and saw a woman I should have noticed before. From that distance and in the shadows, I couldn't make out much more than a nice figure and dark hair as she leaned against the furthest support post.

"I did not expect you to be here so early, Audra," Viggo/Mr. Stone said as he began to walk toward her. I followed a few steps behind him.

As we approached, Audra clicked on a penlight and pointed it at a recliner near her. The back of the chair was facing us until she stretched out one long leg and swiveled it. Sitting on the ripped padding of the chair were a number of cardboard boxes of different sizes. "I had some free time," she said in response. "Anyway, I got everything on your weird list. You've got the money, right?"

Viggo/Stone stopped a few paces away from Audra, which meant I was close enough to get a better look at her. Holy shit, she was gorgeous! She was of average height, with thick black hair to her shoulders, vivid green eyes, and had an athletic body and full hips under her body-hugging pullover and snug jeans. I caught my drool just in time. While Audra seemed cautious, her full lips were set in a subtle, crooked grin that almost made me groan.

While I was staring at the stunning woman, I remembered that I looked like a retarded fisherman. Okay, I had my Super Shorty on my back and my Glock in a shoulder holster, but I still felt like a dork.

In answer to Audra's question, Viggo/Stone pulled an envelope from his coat and held it out to her. When she leaned forward and snatched it from his fingertips, he said, "The other half, as agreed."

Audra opened the envelope and began to count. "It's not that I don't trust you, Stone," she said while her fingers deftly went through the bills. "It's just that I don't trust anyone."

"As would I in your situation, Audra, but I never break my word. I hoped you would have realized that by now." When she shrugged, Viggo/Stone went on to say, "I will be very disappointed if what I ordered is not in the boxes. I rely on your honor." He looked at me and pointed to the chair.

While I went around behind him to pick up as much as I could hold, Audra chuckled and said, "I don't know about honor, Stone, but I know it is bad business to cheat a good client." I stood straight with a stack of boxes in my hands and noticed her looking at me with a smirk. Without taking her eyes off me, she asked my commander, "A minion, Stone? That's a first for you. Taking him spelunking later?"

"More like scavenging. I'm sure you're familiar with the concept," he answered coolly.

"I am," she answered agreeably, "but the things I look for don't need to be blasted with a sawed-off shotgun." Audra slipped the envelope into a back pocket and casually stepped away. "It's always nice doing business with you, Stone. Call me again when you need more odds and ends. Happy hunting."

I watched that swaying ass, and the rest of Audra, push open one of the front doors and walk out of sight. "Damn," I muttered, not intending for the word to fall out of my mouth.

"Had an effect on you, did she?" Viggo asked rhetorically. "To my knowledge, Audra does not have the Gift of Enchantment, which means your reaction is truly visceral."

"Yeah, she was... I mean... Damn." I turned to him and asked, "Okay, how does that happen? Uh, I mean, being without a faction. Did she choose that for some reason?"

Viggo/Stone shook his head. "One never becomes a derelict as a matter of choice. It could have been that her sire brought her into the night and was then killed or forced to flee very soon after. Perhaps she was a member of a faction and was banished from their ranks for a severe transgression. Or, it might have been that a nomadic being turned her and moved on without offering any mentoring; the Outsider faction is known for such a tactic to test their progeny's survival instinct. In most cases, a Doyen may choose to enforce an informal bylaw of sanctioning progeny, and the sire in question did not abide."

"No shit?" I asked, surprised. "You mean that any of you in town need Le Meur's approval to do that?"

He shrugged. "It is not a core law, but any unapproved scion commonly has no rights. Nor do derelicts."

I thought for a second while my commander turned away and gazed out the windows. "So... Audra; she's constantly on the run?" I asked.

Still facing away from me, he nodded. I noticed that his wiry white hair was back. "Audra has more to fear than others. Still, she has adapted well, learned quickly on her own, and has proven herself useful."

"Is there possibly a pack of derelicts around town that help each other out? I mean, it must suck being out there on her own."

"As far as I know, she is the only derelict in this city. A great majority of her kind don't last long." When he turned back to me, I saw the Viggo I was used to - inhuman and scary as hell. "Don't dwell too much on it, Leo," he said. "Audra is ultimately a thief. I assist in her survival for no other reason than pity, and that well is beginning to run dry."

Glimpses of faded shadows began to flicker around Viggo. The conversation was going to a place that was making him edgy. When Viggo got edgy, I got nervous. "So, these boxes..." I said to change the subject. "I'm sorry sir, but I can't quite get all of them."

Viggo stepped over to the chair and picked up the last box, a heavy one, and cradled it under his arm. "I do believe I mentioned taking you to a more populated location," he commented, and then held his other arm open to me in invitation. "Come, we'll pass along gifts and enjoy some needed camaraderie."

I had no fucking clue what Viggo was talking about, but it sounded a hell of a lot better than trudging through more sewers. I stepped into his grasp, and then once again into the void.

UNDERGROUND

Maybe I was getting used to void-walking, or maybe it had something to do with being Viggo's minion. Either way, I was only a little dizzy and queasy when my feet found solid ground again. I couldn't see a damn thing in front of me, and I thought better of sticking my hand out into the darkness. The air was cool, clammy and stagnant. The sound of my foot moving on the hard, gritty ground made a slight echo, so I figured we were underground again.

I heard Viggo behind me taking in a deep breath through his nose, like he was catching a scent of something. I waited another second in silence and then asked, "Sir, can I turn my headlamp on?"

"Very well, but do not face my direction."

I didn't ask why not. The headlamp had reflectors in it, giving off a wide radius of light. We were in what would technically be called a cavern, although it looked like a deep, wide crack into bedrock. The fissure was about six feet across where we stood, although I could see that it widened further ahead of me.

"There is a... creature further back behind you that is very sensitive to light," Viggo explained. "I should go tend to it for a short time. You may venture ahead if you like. Once you reach a set of metal stairs, stop there and wait for me."

"Yes sir." When I heard him move away from me, I slowly started forward. If there were any dangers ahead, I was sure Viggo would have told me. The coarse stone walls on either side of me receded into an elliptical cavern fifty feet wide and twenty feet high. The area was cluttered with loose rock, numerous little puddles, and a shitload of thin stalactites hanging overhead. The echoes of my footsteps and of dripping water were amplified in the wide space. I reminded myself that I was safe and kept moving.

Even though the ground was bedrock, I was able to see a thin path formed by loose rubble pushed to either side like crumbled curbing. It led around puddles and in-between a handful of naturally formed pillars. After about five minutes of walking, the walls gradually curved back in and the uneven ceiling steadily sloped down. I was starting to feel a little claustrophobic. My light reflected off something metal on the ground not far ahead. I could feel that the bedrock floor was slanting down toward it.

I got closer and saw that the metal was three long sections of industrial floor grates, supported by two heavy girders. The simple but sturdy bridge stretched over an abrupt chasm, a twenty-foot wide crack in the earth that my light couldn't see the bottom of. The ceiling curved into the nearly vertical wall across the chasm. The other end of the inclined bridge connected to roughly circular hole in the far wall.

The bridge itself looked strong enough, but I took no chances. I found a heavy rock and tossed it onto the first section of grating. Moving forward, I picked it up and repeated the process on the second and then third section of metal grating. I had to push the stack of boxes along with my foot. I was hunched over by the time I got near the circular cave mouth because of the lowered ceiling, and had to stay that way for the first few feet into the new cave. There was dim light ahead; I took it as a good sign.
Once through the cave mouth, I stepped onto flooring made of large flagstones. I swiveled my lamp all over and saw that I was at one end of a long, wide man-made (or hemo-made) half circle tunnel that slowly curved off to the right. The glow of lighting somewhere ahead shone on the cut stones along the left wall. More than once I looked up to admire the craftsmanship, and eventually noticed the small camera mounted in the ceiling about one hundred feet in. The length of the tunnel felt like a few football fields, but I saw the end of it coming up. Beyond the tunnel looked like another natural cavern.

Yep, I was right. The next space in front of me was crudely rectangular, with a much higher ceiling than the twelve-foot high tunnel I just came out of. The light came from the far right corner, where a single light bulb shone over a large door that was at the top of a ten-step metal staircase. Damn, it was about time. There was also another security camera bolted into the stone higher over the door. What helped to illuminate the cavern were all the broken shards of mirrored glass scattered along the outer walls. It also let me see another cave tunnel that continued beyond the stairs to locations unknown.

I set the boxes down next to the staircase, took a long swig from my flask, and waited for Viggo. I was about to sit on the stairs when suddenly the big door up and behind me burst open and slammed into the railing. It scared the shit out of me. But what came through that door, though... it was worse.

RESTRAINT

He - it, whatever - was fucking enormous. I wasn't too worried about details right then, so all I saw was a nearly eight-foot tall guy who was probably four feet wide at the shoulders. Most of his pale face was covered with a matted brown beard, and mud-slicked hair pulled up into a topknot. The only thing he wore was what looked like stained drapes as a toga. The monster-dude wasn't muscular, but every part of him was thick. The one thing I really noticed was his expression: pissed off. Maybe that was his natural look, but I wasn't going to wait until it was too late to find out.

I pulled my Super Shorty. Screw the Glock; I needed stopping power against the barbarian from hell. If he was a minion, he'd be tougher than normal anyway. If he was a hemo, though, I was in deep shit.

I thought the hairy giant wasn't happy to see me to begin with, but he went berserk when I drew the gun off my back. He bellowed and came at me, putting one bare foot on the third step down and swung the other with a kick that would've snapped my neck. He was fast for his size, but not nearly enough for me. When his gigantic foot sailed past me, I grabbed my gun with both hands and used it to push up on the back of his calf. The giant's leg went higher than he expected and threw him off-balance. His planted foot slid off the metal stair, and he slammed back-first onto half of the steps. He grunted; I cringed.

The giant sat up, glaring at me. "Take it easy, tiny," I said. "I don't want trouble." My worry was that the giant was another of Viggo's minions, so I was reluctant to shoot him. He roared again and launched off the dented stairs. He charged and swung with a telegraphed punch. I was easily able to duck under it and turn as he passed me. Okay, fuck reluctant; I wasn't going to keep playing tag with the huge bastard.

Before the giant could turn around, I aimed low and blasted his big butt at close range with a round of double-ought buckshot. He howled in pain and rage, grabbing at his ripped and bloody toga.

Over his broad shoulder, the giant's crazy, beady eyes found me. His crooked teeth were gritted, but he still managed to fling spittle out onto his beard with each heaving breath. While he slowly turned to face me, I stepped back hoping Viggo would show up and intervene. Never bet on hope.

With one step the giant was in my personal space like an oncoming avalanche, swinging again with a fist the size of my head. Once again I bobbed under it, and all at once lost my restraint. I was sick of hemos and their minions coming after me; hit teams, mind control, you name it. Because of them, I had to abandon my own home and go into hiding. My life and freedom were taken from me. Well, fuck them. Payback started with the oversized turd in front of me.

Point blank, I shot the giant in the ribs. Grunting and grasping at the vicious wound in his side, he staggered back on unsteady legs. Without hesitating, I raised the barrel and shot him in the chest.

The buckshot did its job. The booming blast turned the center of his chest into a grisly crimson mess. I saw the shock in his eyes and didn't feel one damn bit of remorse. The giant more than likely went down, but I never got to find out.

"You asshole," an unfamiliar male voice yelled behind me at the same time a cold hand grabbed me by the back of my neck. Before I had a chance to do anything, I was lifted off my feet and forcefully flung to one side. Airborne, I smashed sideways into a rough stone wall. I heard my shoulder pop and felt my ribs break at the same time. The side of my head felt wet as I slumped onto the hard ground. I might have seen movement and heard voices, but my vision was dimming and I couldn't make sense of sounds.

As soon as the pain began to flare, my brain decided to call it a day.

HEALING

The taste of something familiar and strong woke me. It was harsh, sweet, and potent in a smooth combination - Viggo's blood. One of my eyes fluttered open to dim light, and a blurry shape looming over me. There was a noise - I couldn't understand it at first, but I recognized it as Viggo's deep, ominous voice. I wanted to listen and obey, but all I heard was mumbled tones.

And then pain flooded in. Most of my entire right side throbbed with gut-wrenching agony. I gasped, which created a whole new world of searing torture. My left eye sprung open; only my left, because my right eyelid didn't want to cooperate. All I could make sense of was Viggo's cracked face looking down at me. I tried to speak, but could only force a wet cough.

When Viggo spoke again, I realized what he was saying; seeing his lips move helped to make sense of the words. "Heal yourself, Leo. Concentrate," he commanded. "You have my blood in you. Use it. Focus on mending."

I followed his order. Shutting my eye, I blocked everything else out and focused what energy I had, picturing Viggo's strength coursing through my veins and healing me. Pain was spiking in my side, so I directed my efforts on my smashed ribs. I gnashed my teeth through the slow process of muscles and bones shifting to their intended positions. I flexed my jaw, and then willed my energy into my shoulder and upper arm. Next was the side of my head; I didn't know how messed up it was, but it sure as hell didn't feel good. Before I could try to fix my unbending knee, I passed out from exhaustion.

The next time I woke, it was to the sound of a violin being played. I don't know shit about music, but it was obvious that there was a lot of talent involved. Skilled hands hit perfect notes and the virtuoso melody was soothing, but a deep echo gave it a haunted feel. It made me think of my parents; mom was the music, dad was the echo. I ignored the throbbing in my leg, kept my eyes closed, and just listened.

Too soon for my liking, the music ended. A moment after the last note faded, there was applause from a small audience of what sounded like four or five people. After that, I heard conversations begin, although they were garbled by echo and distance. The air was still and musty, with sweet incense that I could almost taste. Plus, there was a faint odor of raw meat mixed in. My right eye was still crusted shut, so I looked around with my left. I was in a dark space; dim light glowed far off to my right where the voices were. I was on a soft but ugly couch, and still in my sewer gear. I slowly sat up to get my bearings.

The first thing I noticed was that the floor under me was made of sections of metal grates, like the bridge over the chasm was. I guess somebody bought 'em in bulk. The couch was against one smooth stone wall of a twenty-foot square room. Ten feet to my left was a heavy iron door. Across from me was another couch, with Viggo's boxes stacked next to it. To my right was another room half a level up with stairs cut into the stone to access it, like a split-level house. From my angle, I could only see part of the low ceiling of the large room beyond. Pale blue light reflected off its smooth surface.

Next to my couch was a small table that held a dog bowl full of water and a rag. I assumed it was for me. While I sat in the near-dark and scrubbed dried blood off my face, I caught sluggish movement below the grated flooring. Searching, I found my cracked hardhat next to the table and checked the headlamp. I was surprised it still worked. I stretched my bad leg out to the side, leaned over, and shined the light down. That wasn't such a great idea.

Below me, I saw... Try to picture an animal that was equal parts rat, Doberman, and nightmare. Then give it growth hormones. Patches of black fur partially covered muscular, dull red skin. Once you have that in your head, picture five of them sleepily lying around fifteen feet below you in a den of soiled blankets and bones. Then, because some idiot shined a light down on them, picture those five animals suddenly glaring up at you with yellow eyes, baring teeth the size of your thumb. When they started snarling and howling, I turned the light off and reactively pulled my foot off the floor.

"Ah, you are awake," Viggo said from the top of the stairs. "Have you seen to the rest of your injuries?"

"Uh, almost; I still need to work on my leg. Oh, by the way, sir, I had no idea I could do that - you know, actively heal myself - with your, uh, Eidolon blood. It's ... Damn, you should bottle that shit."

"I am glad you approve, Leo, although there are limitations for a minion. As you found out, the strain of mending your wounds was quite taxing, no? For me, in comparison, there would be no fatigue. The need to feed, however, would come along sooner."

"Oh, okay," I said, realizing how hungry I was. Ignoring the craving for a cheeseburger, I asked, "Was that giant your minion, sir?"

Viggo came down the handful of stairs and leaned against the waist-high wall. "That giant is simply called Brute, and technically yes, he is one of mine. Other Deviants feed him their blood as well, so he is more thought of as a servant of the faction. Brute has the mind of a pet, but is also aggressively defensive. It was a mistake to send him to carry in the boxes when Roach saw you on the monitors."

"So it wasn't completely my fault?"

He shook his head. "We all are aware that Brute is not fond of other Deviant minions. I believe he sees all of you as potential challengers to his favored position down here in the deep caves. Despite the considerable damage you inflicted, he will soon be back at his post."

"I really didn't want to hurt him, but he scared the living shit out of me. He looked like he was gonna rip my head off, so I pulled my -"

Viggo stopped me with a raised hand. "We watched the replay on the monitor. While Roach does not agree, Mr. Merritt and I feel you were justified in your actions. Now, focus on healing your leg. There are still introductions to be made and gifts to be given... even if some are not fully merited."

"Yes sir." I looked down at my leg, and once again saw the animals below us looking up. "Uh, sir," I said while pointing down, "what exactly are those?"

He glanced down. "They are a pack of decades-old canine minions whose diet over the years has solely consisted of vermin and carrion. Being quite intelligent, they have a variety of uses." Viggo then cocked his head slightly to one side and asked, "Would you care to adopt one?"

"No fuckin' way," I blurted before I could stop myself.

CHAMBER

After I healed my knee and managed to stack the boxes so I could carry all of them, I followed Viggo up the stairs into the upper-level chamber. It was basically a deep stone vault carved into bedrock - by a machine, I assumed, because the surfaces were fairly smooth. The area was twenty feet wide and probably eighty feet deep, with three evenly spaced, four-foot thick stone pillars. The ceiling was about ten feet high, but seemed lower because of the other dimensions. By all the cobwebs along the walls, it seemed that housekeeping wasn't one of Brute's skills.

On the subject of Brute, it was the hemo called Roach who sent him to come 'assist' me. Yeah, right. He knew Viggo wasn't there yet, and also knew there would be trouble. He was either an asshole in general, or he was yet another supernatural prick who had a personal problem with me.

The far end of the vault was aglow with bluish lighting, adding another level of spooky to the place. That light came from what I later learned was a bunch of filtered aquariums with bioluminescent algae in the water. Those aquariums were spread around, sitting on tables between all the mismatched living room furniture. If it weren't for the setting, I would've thought that glowing algae was pretty damn cool.

The blue glow let me see the people at the far end, but I was distracted by what was on either side of Viggo and me as we walked. Banners and flags, some of which I didn't recognize, were hung randomly on the walls. Stacked on the floor in front of them were wooden crates of various sizes and squat bookshelves full of dusty tomes. There were even a few archaic sets of armor on old-style mannequins. It all looked like a history nerd's wet dream.

I turned my attention once again to the far end of the room, and was having some serious anxiety. Okay, more than likely I wasn't in any real danger, but I was going to be surrounded by hemos once again. It was a fair bet that none of them were as pathetic as that Adept, Evan Dean, which really made me feel like a kid lost in gang territory. I had complete faith in my commander, but I also remembered that one of the hemos ahead of us angrily flung me at a rock wall. I wasn't expecting any hugs.

I hesitated for a second, wishing I could down a few drinks first. Viggo sensed my anxiety and paused with me. He didn't say a word or even look at me; he just waited. I didn't have the words to thank him for that small act of kindness, so I didn't even try. I let out a deep breath, whispered a quick "Okay", and we resumed walking forward. It was time to meet some of the gang.

DEVIANTS

Viggo and I arrived at the end of the long chamber. Bathed in the eerie bluish light and stark shadows were five figures, only two of which I recognized. Barnabus Merritt lounged on a couch to my right, and Clara Page sat near him in an overstuffed chair that made her look smaller. We approached those two first. Viggo had me set down the boxes and gave the heaviest one to Barnabus.

"As promised," Viggo said to him, "a token of my appreciation for your continued assistance. The collective works of Thoreau; I believe you wanted these at some point, yes?"

"Ah, yes indeed, my friend," Barnabus said with a smile as he sat up and accepted the gift. In the glow, his bulging red eye was a violet color. "Oh, by the by, I've learned something that might interest you. We haven't spoken since before the emissary meeting two nights past, and it held a few interesting topics. One of which was about the Adept's own Mr. Dominic Riva and his recently wayward young scion. Favors are being offered for information concerning the whereabouts of a Mr. Sebastian Horn, who has been missing for nigh on a week."

"Interesting," Viggo commented. "I had not heard of Mr. Horn before. Considering that Riva is the scion of Lady Le Meur, however, I am sure that she gave him permission to create progeny. Do we happen to have any information about where this fledgling might be?"

"I know where he is," Clara said softly as she wrote in a notebook on her lap. "Viv told me." With those simple words, that little girl had everyone's attention. The hemo behind us stopped typing on his laptop, the violin player stopped tuning a string, and my peripheral vision caught another guy sitting up straight.

Like everyone else, I turned to Clara, waiting for more information. I saw the same cute black girl that I first met a couple months back - still shy, still wearing a poncho and stocking cap. She glanced up, saw us looking at her, and dropped her head down to start writing again. I wondered who the hell Viv was.

"And what exactly did Vivian tell you?" Viggo prompted her in a calm tone.

"She said he was a bad man. She said he didn't pay attention, and that he got powder in his blood." Clara then looked up at Viggo. "Viv said that you know where he is, too."

"I do, do I?"

"Yes, father," Clara replied, and then pointed at me. "Your human caught the bad man, and you hid him away. Viv told me where. I promise I won't tell."

Holy crap, she was talking about the blood-lusting hemo I put down in Colby Park. That guy was an Adept? I could only guess that the powder she mentioned was cocaine, heroin or uppers, and that Horn either personally sniffed it or drank from someone who'd taken some. Yeah, she said "he didn't pay attention" - the hemo probably drank from an addict who'd just gotten a fix. What an idiot.

"I know you won't, Clara; you are very good at keeping secrets," Viggo said. He turned, pulled a box from the stack, and handed it to her. "I got you more notebooks, plus pens with different colors of ink."

"Thank you, thank you!" she said with an adolescent's joy. Clara was a supernatural being brought into the night over eighty years ago, and she still had the mind of an innocent girl. I felt sorry for her, being so fucked in the head like that. And I still didn't know who Vivian was.

While Viggo pointed out some of the items to Clara, Barnabus said to me, "It's good to see you up and about, Mr. Beck. You and I should converse sometime; I'd imagine you have some interesting accounts."

"Uh, yeah, sure, that'd be great. I'm staying at the last place we met."

He smiled those piranha teeth at me and said, "I'll keep that in mind," and then returned to his book.

At Viggo's gesture, I picked up the remaining boxes and followed him the few steps to the violin player, who sat on a padded barstool back in one corner. Dressed in only a gauzy black gown, the woman was willowy and tall. Her long milky hair hung straight, and her alabaster skin was riddled with wavy blue veins... even throughout her long, smooth face. Unlike an albino's pink eyes, hers were dark, sunken, and unblinking. I didn't know if it was her ghostly looks or that she smelled like death, but something about that violin-playing hemo reminded me of screaming murder and it spooked the shit out of me.

"Again, Neva, that was a beautiful composition," Viggo said as he took one of the few boxes left and handed it to her. "Since I admittedly know nothing of violin bows, here is a selection."

Holding her violin in one hand and accepting the gift in the other, Neva bowed her head low to him. When she sat straight again, she didn't say anything but had an expression that could have been taken as gratitude. To me, though, it just looked like a sad smile. But who cares; I wanted away from her.

Viggo and I moved on. There was an L-shaped desk in the other corner stacked with a bank of over thirty small video monitors. Sitting in front of the desk in a leather office chair was an emaciated, dark-skinned cadaver staring at me with a scowl. He was basically a skeleton with a thin layer of skin pulled tightly over the bones, covered by a bathrobe and slippers. If he wasn't giving me a 'fuck you' stare, I would have laughed at him. But then I noticed the rips in his taut skin, like the one in his cheek where I could see his molars grinding together. I didn't feel like laughing anymore.

Before Viggo could say anything to him, cadaver boy hissed, "What's your new toy still doing down here with us, Stone? Your trigger-happy piece of shit has caused enough trouble."

Weird, he just referred to my commander as 'Stone'. I wondered why Viggo would hide his true identity from some of the hemos in his own faction. That I was aware of, the only ones who knew who he really was were Ragna, Barnabus, and Clara. Ragna had that sight Gift, so maybe she saw the truth. It could've been the same for Barnabus and his creepy eye, although I wanted to think that he was just cool enough to keep a secret. And if Viggo didn't tell Clara the truth, I bet the mysterious Vivian did.

"We have already discussed this, Roach," Viggo replied. "I stand firm that my minion's reactions were justified, especially when our most aggressive guard was erroneously sent for an unnecessary task. But I would rather not continue to point fingers. What's done is done, Brute is healing well, and I have already fixed the stairs. Here," he held out a large, light box, "a gesture of goodwill."

Roach slowly accepted the box and opened it. "Hey, sodium bulbs," he said, apparently pleased despite his mood. He then looked up at Viggo and said, "Thanks... and sorry about being snappy. Other than the plants, Brute is usually my only company, ya know?"

"I understand," Viggo said with a nod. "No offense is taken. However, I expect a better attempt at civility if you and my favored minion cross paths again." Hell fucking yes! I was the favored minion!

Roach acknowledged the statement with a nod and left it at that. Viggo and I turned to move on, and that's when I noticed a hallway cut into the stone. It was between the desk full of monitors and an aquarium table, leading back into darkness. Roach saw me looking down that narrow corridor and said with a smirk, "Go ahead. I dare ya." Viggo reached back and pulled me next to him.

We moved a few steps over to the couch across the room from Barnabus and Clara, where a small guy slouched with a laptop on his beer belly. By the size of his high-top running shoes propped up on a table, his feet were bigger than mine. He wore a baggy jogging suit and a pageboy cap over his short hair. It was tough to tell what color any of it was in the blue light. He had normal features and a wide smile. The only thing odd about the guy was the two-headed snake that slithered around on him. He ignored it.

"Here you are, my cunning friend," Viggo said to him, handing over the last box. "And I believe you had something for me as well?"

"You betcha; I'm emailing it to you now." He took the small box from Viggo without looking at it, tapped a couple times on his keyboard, and then looked up at me. Still grinning, he said, "Hangin' in there, kid?" He spoke with an accent. It was different from Fletcher's, but not by much. I guessed Irish.

"I'm doing alright, uh, sir." I called him sir because I hadn't been instructed on how to address any of Viggo's Deviant buddies that I hadn't met yet. If calling him by that respectful title didn't work, I figured I'd be waking up on a couch again and needing to heal.

The short hemo's grin widened with a chuckle. He leaned to one side, looked past me, and said across the room to Barnabus, "Check that out, he called me sir."

"If he only knew..." Barnabus replied without looking up from his book.

"Leo," Viggo said, gesturing with an open hand to the smiling hemo still reclined on the couch, "this is Mr. Scanlon O'Shaughnessy. For various reasons, he uses the simple moniker, 'Skin'."

What a weird nickname. I guess my opinion showed on my face because Skin said, "Yeah, you heard right, kid. You'll figure it out sooner or later." He slapped the cushion next to him. "Have a seat and let me show ya my latest little piece of work."

I looked to Viggo, who nodded. When I settled in next to Skin, both heads of his snake hissed at me. Gently brushing the mutant snake away, Skin turned the laptop my way. It showed stills of a large and well-decorated bedroom, lit by a few small lamps. On the king-sized bed was a fat, older guy wearing only a t-shirt and socks. On top of him was a short-haired blonde woman barely out of her teens; the only things she was wearing were a garter belt and a smile.

"What we have here," Skin said, leaning closer to me and clicking to another shot, "is a certain city zoning administrator trying not to have a heart attack while his wife is in Atlanta. He had no idea how the girl got in, but it didn't take much persuading to let her stay a while. This fella has been a bit of a stickler allowing permits for one or two industrial sites up for reconstruction. Sites we might find useful, ya see. Catching our old boy in flagrante should make him change his mind."

"It was pretty stupid of him to have cameras on in his bedroom," I commented. "And if he didn't bring that prostitute home with him, then his security sucks."

"Yeah, well," Skin said, laughing, "she had a little help getting in, and told a few finely crafted lies to, ah, put him at ease. Oh, and those aren't his cameras. Nudge, nudge, wink, wink, eh, kid?" As blackmail went, it looked airtight. That fat old man screwed himself more than he did the whore. "Now look at this," Skin went on, opening a different folder on the screen. "Back on Valentine's Day, I got -"

"Perhaps some other time, Skin," Viggo said, looming over us. "Mr. Beck and I need to move along before night ends. We are coming into yet another season of long days, and we shouldn't waste the precious little time available. Enjoy the discs \- I believe they will suffice."

I got up and stood next to Viggo while he wished everyone a good evening. We left the chamber the same way as how we came in. I didn't look down as we walked across the grate flooring with the pack of whatever the hell they were down below us. The metal door at the far end opened into a rough tunnel lit by a hanging bare bulb. The short tunnel ended at another door, which opened to the metal stairs where Brute attacked me. It was morbid, but I had to look at my own bloodstains on the cave wall.

I followed Viggo into the long, curving hemo-built tunnel. Halfway through, he stopped and said we would void-walk back to my new place. Void-walking... Call me crazy, but I was getting used to it.

DETAILS

"I imagine you have a number of questions," Viggo said as he sat back in an upstairs lounge chair. He had allowed me time to go mix a strong drink beforehand; I sat across from him and nursed it. "However, I should also meet with the fledgling Mr. Horn, who is currently my guest."

"Yes sir, I figured as much," I said, and then took a drink. That first gulp of Jack and Coke calmed any of the residual jitters that still lingered.

"I will summarize information for now, and we can speak more in depth soon. Now, to begin... this city's faction of Deviants are quite eclectic, no? As you may have guessed, my scion Clara's mind did not fare too well during the infliction, but it is probable that she was unstable when she was human. After being brought into the night, her mind truly splintered. Vivian is an aspect of her own psyche; she is the conduit of Clara's visions, whispering secrets and rarely coming to the fore.

"The one named Neva does not or cannot speak. She stays underground, and does not concern herself with the machinations of the world above. The main reason for this is because of the rare trait in her blood that we refer to as the 'taint of horror'. I'm sure you sensed it. The taint prohibits her from most social interactions, although we fellow Deviants accept her regardless. As a form of gratitude, she regales us with music that stirs the soul.

"Roach, as you've unfortunately found out," Viggo continued with a deeper pitch to his voice, "has difficulty concealing his emotions. He is a bitter, cynical type, although he contributes generously to the faction coffers. Roach is a businessman of sorts, and does not stray from his tight circle of employees and contacts. Nor does he stray much from our Deviant-made catacombs, infrequently venturing out to see the stars. He is normally difficult to pity, although I sometimes do."

So far, what he'd told me about his fellow Deviants troubled me. I mean, they were all a far cry from stable, and then add the fact that they were all immortals with supernatural abilities. That kind of power in shaky hands was like throwing shit in a room full of fans.

"Lastly," Viggo concluded, "was Mr. O'Shaughnessy. I enjoyed seeing him again; he and I converse mostly by electronic means. He doesn't travel underground often, so I took the opportunity to talk with him at length while you slept. You might say that Skin is in the extortion trade, but he most often targets those who are already corrupt in some fashion. Because of the nature of his 'craft', as he calls it, he is also a font of information. And, if nothing else, he is entertaining."

"Yeah, I got that feeling when I met him, sir," I said, stalling until I could politely form the question that came to mind. "I, uh - I was wondering, sir... Well, a while back, when I was kidnapped and kept in that museum, remember? Anyway, there was this Adept minion named Sarah who thought there were only five or six, uh, members in each faction. Including you, I've met ten Deviants - Wayne makes eleven. So, was Sarah way off count, or do you guys move around a lot so the number isn't constant, or what?"

"There are the rare few in each faction who have wanderlust, the Outsiders most of all. Most often, though, we tend to be territorial... at least for a good length of time. That, however, does not truly answer your question. In all honesty, a number of Deviants have not introduced themselves to the Doyenne. They are essentially trespassers, even if Le Meur is unaware of their presence in her city. I am one of them, as are Clara, Neva and Wayne." He stood and adjusted his coat. "When the timing is right, I will introduce myself."

The way Viggo said that last part told me that it wasn't going to be a festive occasion. I stood as well and said, "Uh, yes sir, I'm sure you will. By the way, thanks for taking me with you to... wherever we were. Other than having to shoot a giant and being smashed into a wall, I hope I wasn't a pain in your ass. I was honored to be there with you."

As a reply, Viggo patted me on the shoulder and then walked past me. At the doorway of the lounge, he half-turned and said, "Do not think I forgot you, Leo. I placed your gift on the desk in your office downstairs while you were preparing your beverage. I will contact you soon."

COMPUTER

After Viggo found a dark corner and left, I finished off my drink and then made another to bring with me to the office. Lying on the keyboard was an envelope. I moved it aside and turned on the new computer. The basic set of programs had been set to shortcuts, and the screensaver was the logo for USMC Force Recon. Like I've said before, Viggo knew me too well.

I looked in the envelope and found a note and a flash drive. I plugged the drive in and clicked to access it. A new screen popped up, asking for a decryption code to proceed. I looked at the note; at the top of it was written a password: catabolism, although it used alternative keys to be spelled as 'c@T@b0li$m'. I thought it was a pretty weird word to use - hell, I wasn't even sure what it meant at the time - but it turned out to be a clue of things to come.

The message on the hand-written note said: The installed flash drive and code will access a private server. Data for current duties will be found in the icon named 'Planner'. Other icons have been placed for perusal, although everything found within is considered highly confidential. You will also find that some files and links are restricted until you earn a higher security clearance. Once you have committed the password to memory, destroy this note.

PS: We should talk sometime. -G-

Gwen, it had to be Gwen. I'd been avoiding giving her a call, mostly because I was still conflicted about her involvement in the dark world I'd been thrown into. Still, she was a good friend, and I felt like a bit of a dick for ignoring her.

Besides the 'Planner' icon in the classified database, there were others called 'Forum', 'Games' and 'Maps'. In the Planner folder was a calendar filled with various chores for the next couple of weeks. The chores were shit like shopping for simple hardware (mostly tools and wiring, small cuts of lumber, glass jars and disturbing amounts of car battery acid). I also had to remind certain people of their obligations, pick up ordered supplies and deliver them to specific locations, secure underground cables, and remove tunnel debris. I was disappointed that 'exploring brothels' wasn't mentioned anywhere.

Each of the chores had linked comments giving details I had to be aware of. At the end of each comment was the reminder to "practice being ignored at any opportunity - report any success". Okay, will do. I was pleasantly surprised to see on the calendar that once a week I was to train for both martial arts and marksmanship. The comment under those was that I had to find facilities beyond the suburbs. There was a college town about forty five minutes away that most likely had both.

Under the only other tab in the folder was another calendar, but it was for local events that hemos were either hosting or involved with. The night before, for example, there was an art gallery party. Yeah, sorry I missed it. Coming up soon was a literary meeting; some event called an Open Gathering; and in just a couple days was the rock concert that Shawn's band, Glazefinger, was going to be part of.

The Forum link was a chat room for Deviants only, and apparently worldwide. It had tabs for different discussion topics, labeled as: Blood Politics, Rants, Open Season, Arts and Crafts, and Want Ads. Damn, those guys stayed connected. The only tabs I could access were the last two. Arts and Crafts had photos of sculptures and enormous mushrooms, open invitations to recitals, and art forgeries for sale. The Want Ads had everything from requests for illegal goods (drugs, body parts, etc.) to minion pets for sale.

I hoped the Games folder wasn't as bizarre. In it was a listing of ideas for pranks - some of them dangerous and violent - to be played on non-Deviant hemos. There was also information about online games that some members of the supernatural community liked to play on private servers; one for hemos (marked as 'V', and inaccessible) and another for us minions (M). That seemed kinda ridiculous. I mean, how much fun could World of Warcraft be when you're a creature of fucking legend?

The last icon, Maps, was what I really needed to familiarize myself with. There were tabs for dozens of American, European and African cities, but I was only able to open the one for Kansas City. The first of three layering, interactive maps was street level; it highlighted sewer ports, Deviant-run buildings, Civil Ground locations, and even some hemo domains.

The second map was of the sewer system known to the city's Public Works and Water departments. There was a shitload of lethal booby traps all over the map, although they were only tripped when their sensors detected very low body temperatures. A schedule was posted of sewer worker inspection times and locations, plus any planned repairs or other projects. That info gave me the opportunity to practice 'being ignored' on city workers. It'd either work, or I'd run like hell - an adventure one way or the other.

The last map was of a lower level of tunnels, rooms, and cave pockets that no human knew about. The Deviant-made level showed entry points from sewer lines, and from basements of buildings and factories. It was all more extensive than I would've guessed. For the sake of orientation, I moved around on the map looking for familiar places and expanding my view from those. There was a large index of symbols to familiarize myself with, and the flag notes spanned pages. I had a lot of studying to do.

Hours later, when bleary light from a gray dawn crept through the office window, I turned the computer off. After putting the flash drive and Gwen's note in the vault, I sat back and rubbed my eyes. I was glad that I had the next two days off, or I'd have been dragging ass through my first chores. The main reason I was still awake was because I was still trying to get my head around how modern and organized the Deviant faction was. To be fair, my only comparison was stupid vampire movies, but I don't remember seeing a craigslist for grotesque blood-suckers in any of 'em.

MOTIVES

Twelve hours later I was at Gwen's place where we had pizza and drinks and an earnest conversation. She began her service to our "mutual patron" - as she put it - on the day I applied at Silas Security. Gwen assured me that, despite keeping a secret file on me, our friendship occurred naturally. I was relieved to hear those words; she was relieved that she no longer had to keep it from me.

Then Gwen told me something that ruined my appetite. She'd heard from one of her police sources that one of my neighbors - Miss Loretta, as it turned out - had filed a missing person report on me. I hated that I was making that nice lady worry; her heart didn't need any extra strain. When Gwen told Cordell about it, he wanted to take time off work to look for me. Guilt trumps pizza.

Gwen also knew more about most of the Deviants I'd just met than I did. She first described Roach as a gardener of sorts, and that his plants were in demand. My comment that he served sewer lettuce with rat piss vinaigrette got me a scowl that could make children cry. Roach grew cannabis, and had quite a few well-hidden underground rooms full of weed crop. The sodium bulbs should have been a clue, but I'm not in the pot scene. Evidently, he was about the biggest dealer in town.

She also knew quite a bit about Barnabus, so I sat back with another drink while I listened to the condensed story of him. Mr. Merritt was a frontiersman in what is now West Virginia sometime in the late 1600's, trading furs with one tribe of Indians while at odds with another. She said that Barnabus wouldn't tell her much after that, other than being attacked and forcibly brought into the night in the summer of 1695. I figured the omitted part was filled with pain and hard times.

It was fun knowing shit that Gwen didn't - specifically Neva and Skin - and teasing her with the info. I finally gave in and gave some details on the marble-skinned violin player who still gave me the shivers from just thinking about her. I talked about Skin a little, too, but not much. I wasn't sure why.

When I asked what Gwen's orders were since I was no longer the focus of her reports, she said that she was supposed to pass along any gossip from her own contacts. The shocking thing was that when she mentioned our "mutual patron" again, she referred to him as Mr. Stone. Ho-lee shit. I knew something else she didn't, and I knew better than to say a single fucking word about it.

I crashed on Gwen's couch, had some waffles with her in the morning, and then had to get moving. I had a busy day ahead. Saturdays were the best days for martial art and shooting practice out in the college town, so I had to go get those set up. The concert was that night; Viggo's flag note for it in the Planner told me to wait at my place for him so we could go together. Not the date I expected, but I wasn't going to bitch about it.

Viggo arrived soon after sunset. He met me in the kitchen/break room, where I was refilling my flask. "Have you spoken with Gwen?" he asked from the entryway.

"Yes sir," I answered with a nod. "She and I straightened things out, and I didn't tell her anything she didn't need to know." I pulled the concert tickets out of my wallet and walked over to him. "Here you go, sir. Look, there's a little seating chart printed on the back."

Viggo stared at the tickets in my hand. "I haven't needed to use a ticket to gain entry into anyplace since before the Chinese invented toilet paper. Both are equally useless to me." Well, okay then.

We void-walked again, and came out into one of the event center's dark, unused balcony suites behind the stage. The lights were already dimmed, and the crowd of nearly six thousand was noisy. I could already smell pot. The first band wouldn't start for at least half an hour; Glazefinger came on after them.

"You will need to stay near me and refrain from speaking unless I deem it safe," Viggo said. "I will be using a Gift that cloaks us both from sight."

"I understand, sir. Ragna did the same thing for me once."

"Good. Now look to our left." I saw a few more unused suites as they curved around to the side of the stage. In one of them was two dark shapes looking out over the crowd. "The taller of the two is a daemon named Enric Tomasino. He is a respected Adept, and the Doyenne's enforcer of our laws. The shorter one is a relatively young Adept named Moses Dupree, who acts as a spotter and agent for Mr. Tomasino. In any venue where my kind would gather, expect to find those two as well."

I followed Viggo over to the open door of Tomasino's suite and quietly slipped in. He and Dupree were facing away from us, both using binoculars to scan the crowd. Dupree was dressed in jeans and t-shirt, while Tomasino wore a tailored suit. An overcoat was draped over one of the chairs between him and us, along with a scabbarded sword lying across two armrests. Yeah - an actual sword. I bet Tomasino could've quoted all the Highlander movies.

We stood there a while and listened to their sporadic conversation. Dupree mentioned a couple names as he spotted them. Tomasino said he spotted Riva, and said it with some contempt; weird, considering they were both Adepts. The two briefly discussed the growing number of missing hemos. They assumed Ragna had the Outsider Katala, still had no leads on the young Sebastian Horn, and then mentioned the Deviant named Harlan that I'd met once. I knew Viggo had Katala and Horn, but didn't know anything about the crazy bum who had the very human ability to piss on cars.

Viggo and I moved on when the concert started. We didn't have much of a chance to talk, so I split my time watching the show and keeping an eye on people near us. I have to admit, Glazefinger was pretty damn good. Shawn sounded even better live than on the CD, and he brought a lot of energy to the stage. During his solo, Viggo leaned close and said, "Very talented, yes?" I nodded. "A pity it will be his last performance." When he pulled away, I saw him looking at the stage with a grimace of disdain.

I leaned up to Viggo's ear. "I don't understand, sir. Did Shawn offend you or something?"

Viggo shook his head, waited until the solo was over, and then told me, "Mr. Riordan will do something backstage after their set is over, reacting to an inhaled substance. The action will be foolish enough to lift the veil. That is, unless I intercept him. And I will. I must."

He will do something, as in future-tense? "Clara?" I simply asked. He nodded solemnly. Okay, Shawn was gonna fuck up somehow. I was concerned for him; all things considered, he was a fairly cool guy. "Does it have to, uh, go to that extreme, sir? Couldn't you just lock him up for a while or something?"

There was no reply until the song ended. "This is not Mr. Riordan's first offense," Viggo finally said, "and I will not abide recklessness. Moreover, his usefulness as an informant has dwindled to naught over the years. The fitting penalty would be to deny him my blood." He paused and gently put a hand on the back of my neck. "I've fed Shawn for over thirty years," he continued. "I know him well. He would rather have me end it all than to lose his Gifts and become an old man overnight."

I almost asked if Viggo could give Shawn to another Deviant to be their minion, but I didn't want to push the issue. My commander's mind was made up, so that was that. I hoped Shawn took it like a man.

When Glazefinger finished playing, Viggo led me to a dim hallway that led to the concourse where vendors, bathrooms and exits were. He told me that he hoped I'd been practicing the mindset of 'being ignored', because my first real test had come. Until he returned, I was to stay in that area and remain unnoticed by anyone. Nothing like a little pressure to get me motivated.

Viggo showed back up twenty minutes later as Mr. Stone, and apparently could only see the young couple making out right next to me. I waved at him. It was the first time I ever saw Viggo smile.

UNEXPECTED

My first official evening on the job as a ShadoWorks employee was smelly, disgusting and disturbing. I had a long list of sewer-related chores that had me trudging all over midtown. Well, underneath it. The stench in those old brick tunnels was going to soak into my pores, I just knew it. I had to wade through a lot of human waste and, to give myself credit, only gagged once or twice. The only thing I hadn't expected was the occasional random noise echoing through those slimy tunnels. I knew what went bump in the night, but that didn't mean it still wasn't spooky as hell.

I woke up the next day to a boom of thunder. Rain was pouring down, and weather reports said it wouldn't let up for a while. I checked the Planner and saw that, because water in the tunnels would be high and fast, my chore schedule had changed.

First on the list was a daytime task to wait for a delivery at a warehouse and take the supplies back to my place for the time being. After that, I had to go make any necessary repairs to the pipes in a long steam tunnel under UMKC's college campus. The flag note pinpointed an obscure access grate for me to use to get down there, and suggested a few types of metal patching material.

Six hours later I was spraying a crack with specialized sealant, wondering what was in the small crates that I'd picked up earlier. I was so caught up in my own thoughts that when a woman's voice said, "Well, hello again" just a few feet away from me, I jumped about a foot off the ground.

"Aw, did I scare you?" she said with a chuckle as I turned to see who had somehow snuck up on me. Shit, it was the derelict, Audra. The tunnel was lit, so I could see her much better this time. She was wearing all black - sneakers, sweats and a hoodie. Her glossy black hair was pulled into a tail, hanging over the backpack slung on her shoulder. She had a mischievous glint in her green eyes, and lips curled into the grin that I remembered. And that body... Dammit, she looked better than the first time I saw her.

"What - what are you doing down here?" I stammered.

Audra put a hand on her hip and answered with a rhetorical question. "Did you think your boss is the only one who knows all the ways to get into the admin building?"

Why in hell would a hemo care about student records? "No, I mean... I just didn't expect -"

She reached out with a fingertip and softly grazed it along the scar on my cheek. "Hmm, nice; did you get this as a normal human, or was it caused by Deviant blood?"

"What? No, uh, I was wounded in combat, in Afghanistan. My unit was on a mission. We tripped an IED. Uh, that's a kind of bomb." Holy crap, I was talking like a dork.

Audra's grin widened. "Calm down, handsome. No need to be nervous with me. Your boss is a good customer; I won't do anything to ruin that." She moved closer and said with a sultry voice, "Too bad you already belong to Stone. We could've had some fun."

"Uh, fun?" Getting freaky with a hemo? I hadn't really thought about it. Okay, that girl Macie with the big tits crossed my mind a few times, but that was before I found out what she really was. I was getting warm and sweaty; I blamed it on the steam tunnel.

She gave the slightest of shrugs and ran her hand down my arm. "I don't normally play with my food, but yeah - fun." I guess Audra saw the confusion in my eyes. "You haven't been told about vampire sex yet, have you?"

I gave a shrug of my own. "To be honest, ma'am, no, but I figure it involves blood. Uh, no thanks."

I had no idea what Audra's response was, because I suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to reach some destination. I wasn't sure where, but the intense need to immediately go blotted out any other thought. Audra forgotten, I turned and ran back to the ladder at the near end of the tunnel. I didn't just lift the heavy access grate, I tossed it. Luckily, no one was between me and the van or else I would've run right over them. I burned rubber off the tires peeling out and gunning it every chance I got.

Once I got onto an inner-city highway, I flew north toward downtown. It slowly became clear to me where I was headed: the Realm Management building. Specifically, I was being pulled toward Emmeline Le Meur. There was no way in hell I wanted to go there or be anywhere close to her again, but I couldn't stop myself. I was on a collision course with trouble. Ah, deep shit, we meet again.

BECKONING

If the downtown streets weren't so empty at that time of night, I would've killed someone... and without much dignity. Death by panel van and a couldn't-give-a-shit driver is no way to go.

Taking the last corner on what might've been only two screaming tires, I saw a small group of people out front of Realm Tower. How nice - a welcoming party. I drove the driver's side of the van up onto the wide sidewalk and screeched to a halt. As soon as I hopped out, two of the men outside trained their assault rifles on me. They stood fifty feet away on either side of the main entry; big glass doors which opened into a huge lobby that I'd walked through a couple times before.

Besides the two armed guards, there was some dude off to the left who was lingering casually up against an ornamental light post. There was also a silhouetted figure watching from the dimly lit lobby. I practically ignored them both, instead focusing on the guy standing in front of the doors and between the guards. It was Evan Dean, Adept and douchebag extraordinaire.

I started walking right for him. I was less than halfway to the doors when a single round went off loudly, and a bullet pinged off the cement in front of me. I resisted the demanding call that urged me forward, but just barely. I was shaking with the effort of standing in place.

"Ah, so the rumor was false," Evan said with a smirk while lazily swinging chains in his hands. "Myself, I never believed a single thing your dog-woman ever mumbled through her dirty scarf. Who would take the word of a disgusting Deviant? They are nothing but unhinged thieves and liars, all of them. And now you stand here before me, Mr. Beck, proving my words true."

"I don't want any trouble," I said through gritted teeth. "I just need to go see Le Meur."

"Well of course you do. A calling of immense power, was it not? I'm told that my Lady made a strenuous effort to beckon you, the troublesome and tenacious human that rightfully belongs to her. But I can't let you go storming into Realm headquarters without an escort. That would be imprudent and against orders. No, no, Mr. Beck," Evan explained as he held out the chains that I suddenly realized were two sets of shackles, "you will be presented with the proper attire. Now, remove your weapons and kneel."

Slowly, I stepped forward - not with a surge of bravery, or because I had balls too big for my own good. The pull, the mental summons, was dragging me forward. And I sure as hell wasn't going to kneel in front of that cocksucker. "No," I growled, taking another step. "Your guards are gonna have to kill me."

Another loud report went off, and I felt like I got hit in the stomach with a hammer. Evan laughed when I doubled over clutching my midsection. "Rubber bullets, Mr. Beck - I'm sure you'll survive. And as much as I would enjoy giving the order to have you put down like a dog, Lady Le Meur demanded that you be alive and coherent when you submit to her once again. She would much rather enjoy you groveling at her feet than having to dump your corpse down a storm drain."

I looked down at my boots, willing them not to move. As my right foot began to slide forward, a brown rat darted in front of me, paused, and then scurried off. My mind flooded with thoughts of Viggo; his honor, the respect and trust he gave, and the expectations of his favor. I couldn't let him down, couldn't be weak. I raised my head and stared Evan in the eye. "Fuck you, and fuck your Lady, too. I'm leaving."

His expression changed from smug to stunned, which strengthened my resolve. The guards lifted their guns to take aim; they were gonna have to shoot me in the back to stop me. As I turned, I saw the guy off to my left make a simple gesture. I took half a second to look him over. Black dude, average height, athletic build, cardigan and slacks, short hair, thin beard, and held a cane in his hand. It was Moses Dupree, the toady of Tomasino. He wasn't looking at me, though. He was looking behind me.

I spun, turning my back on Evan, the guards, and Realm Tower. Standing in front of the open van door, sporting a jacket with the Realm logo on it, was my former dojo instructor Phillip Aoki.

Shit, because of me, some Adept bastard got Phillip. Behind me, I heard Even say to the guards, "Save Mr. Aoki the trouble. Subdue the target."

As I quickly whirled back around and pulled my Glock, another voice loudly said, "No."

Crouched, I hesitated. So did everyone else except for Evan, who was looking back at the opened glass door of the building. Enric Tomasino stepped out from behind him with a stern expression on his youthful face. Tomasino was a clean-shaven and handsome guy with wavy brown hair and a predator's gaze. I knew the look; some battle-hardened vets had it. He wore a suit without the jacket, and a sword strapped on his back.

"What is this, elder?" Evan asked while Tomasino strolled a few paces out to my right. "I have orders."

"You were going to have the human attacked while his back was turned, Mr. Dean," Tomasino replied with a scornful tone. "Your complete lack of integrity prompted me to step in. If our Doyenne wants the man detained, then of course he will be. But not by an act of cowardice."

The guards lowered their guns. Somewhat relieved, I turned back to Phillip. "We don't have to do this, okay?" I said to him. "Let's just hop in the van and go somewhere to talk it through. Hell, I even know a great little Chinese place -"

"No, Leo, I'm sorry," Phillip said, cutting me off. "My Lady Le Meur told me to bring you to her." He glanced at my gun. "Are you going to shoot me? I was told you'd given up your honor, but I'd rather not believe it. Face me as you should."

Fuck, fuckity-fuck. There was no way out of it. There were rubber bullets and a sword-wielding hemo at my back, and my former sensei in front of me getting into an attack stance; two crappy choices. Blowing out a sigh, I pressed one hand to my bruised stomach and looked at Phillip. He was calm and patient and dead-set on bringing me to the hemo bitch. Resigned, I put the Glock away and slipped the holster off.

Phillip wasted no time. As soon as I stepped back with a defensive posture, he attacked. I was forced to block or evade his initial barrage of jabs and low kicks. That flashy aerial bullshit doesn't happen in a real fight. I threw a few back, mainly gauging any advantage I had. His technique was speed and discipline, while my military training was all about survival and quick subdual. Phillip was always quick, but he was now stronger than I remembered; it was harder to deflect his direct strikes.

I quickly realized that I had superior strength and position speed, whereas Phillip had smoother attacks and better accuracy. He was using them to try to wear me down and pick me apart. I had an opening and let it close, all because I didn't want to seriously hurt him. I got a hard kick in the thigh for my stupid consideration. That wasn't going to happen twice.

Feigning a punch and leaving myself open, Phillip took the bait. I slipped the straight kick he aimed for my solar plexus, came in close and hooked a knuckle punch to the side of his neck. When he winced, I drove a knee into his ribs, grabbed under his arms and heaved him backwards at the side of the van ten feet away. The impact was almost scary - he crashed into it a lot harder than I intended. Oops.

Stunned and winded, Phillip leaned against the now-dented van for support. I rushed forward and threw an uppercut. He couldn't quite dodge the punch; my fist caught him in the eye instead of on the chin. The hard shot hammered his skull back against the van with a metallic thump. Phillip Aoki dropped to the concrete with his eyes rolled to the back of his head, but at least he was alive.

I didn't have time to feel sorry for Phillip or congratulate myself. One of the guards behind me was yelling something, and I heard a low but constant noise of unsettling motion. That noise was growing. Turning my head to the left, I at first couldn't quite make sense of what I saw. Under the glow of nearby streetlights, a massive undulating and thick carpet was flowing from the pavement onto the sidewalk, coming toward us from a distance. When it came close enough, I saw that enormous swath for what it actually was. Rats.

LEGIONS

There had to have been thousands of them, a low tide of brown and gray and black swarming toward the front of Realm Tower. The throng of rats I saw down in the sewer was nothing compared to it.

More rats came from underneath and around the van, parting to avoid me. Another vast horde was coming from the other direction. Tomasino and Dupree were backing up toward the building entrance, both with blades in their hands. The guards were spraying rounds wildly, trying to keep the oncoming wave of vermin at bay. Evan was already inside the lobby, attempting to lock the doors.

Forming a wide semicircle around the building entrance, the army of rats suddenly stopped. Tomasino and Dupree looked confused. The guards, who were already out of ammo, backed up against the locked doors; they looked ready to shit their pants.

From my angle, I saw a void of inky blackness form in the lobby behind Evan. It flickered and expanded, and then Viggo stepped out of it. He wore his dark hoodie and overcoat as always, but this time the hood was pulled up. Under it was... nothing - literally nothing but blackness, like he placed a part of the void over his face. I hadn't seen that grim reaper guise before. Once was enough for me.

Poor, stupid, cowardly Evan never knew what hit him. Viggo grabbed him by his blonde hair and back of his jacket, lifting him off the ground without any effort. My commander then swung the douchebag like a battering ram at one of the glass doors. That glass was thick and tempered, probably able to withstand wind and debris from an F4 tornado. Viggo shattered it with Evan's face.

When the glass exploded out, the unsuspecting hemos and guards ducked and covered their heads. They watched, stunned, as Viggo reared back with Evan's limp, bloody body and smashed the other door. All at once, the army of rats surged forward and into the building. The hemos and guards stood statue-still while the rats swarmed around and past them. They remained tense even after the last one scurried by. In the following calm, I could hear the consistent bleat of a security alarm.

Viggo casually tossed Evan's blood-stained body out onto the glass-littered cement; it skidded a few feet before coming to a stop. My commander then stepped forward under the large doorframe as shadows began to eerily gather and shift around his body. With his rumbling tombstone voice, he stated, "The Doyenne hoped to take one of my minions. I give her legions. Let my generosity be noted."

The guards ran; I would've too if I were them. Dupree, apparently braver than he was smart, impulsively slashed at my commander with his cane sword. I lurched forward to protect him, but there was no need. Viggo caught the blade in his hand; I don't think it even cut his palm. Turning his head toward the awestruck Adept, he rotated his grip and bent the sword until it snapped. Dupree glanced at Tomasino and took a few quick steps back. I grabbed my discarded gun and waited to see how it played out.

Longsword still in his hands, Tomasino said, "Your minion... So Mr. Beck is not a servant of Ragna?"

"He is not, and never was."

"Then who are you to lay claim, if I may ask?"

Instead of answering, Viggo said, "Please sheath your sword, Mr. Tomasino. I do not wish to offend your pride by taking it away from you." I think Tomasino had an idea of the power he was dealing with and reluctantly slid his weapon back in its scabbard. "Because of your noble conviction," Viggo continued, "I will only be taking Mr. Dean and Mr. Aoki when we depart. Were you of low character, the van would be crowded. Alas, Mr. Dupree's integrity is still in question, but I am tolerant. Tell the Doyenne that I will introduce myself to her when I deem the timing appropriate."

"You plan on taking Mr. Dean?" Tomasino asked, not sounding very surprised. He slowly reached for his sword again and said, "Unfortunately, I cannot allow you to do that." I got the impression that his heart wasn't in it.

"As a matter of self-preservation," Viggo replied calmly, "perhaps you should find some leniency in your code of honor. Besides, it was your Lady Le Meur who initiated an abduction of her own this evening. I am responding in kind - an eye for an eye, as they say. Unlike what she would offer, I give my word to return Mr. Dean to the care of his faction in due course, and in better condition than his current one."

Tomasino took a second or two to think it over. "Very well," he finally said, dropping his hand away from the sword hilt. It was obvious that in any scenario, Evan would be taken.

"It is good to see that you employ wisdom with your position as the Doyenne's enforcer, Mr. Tomasino. Until we meet again - and we shall - I bid you farewell."

I took that as the signal to get busy. I hurried over to Evan and simply dragged him back to the van, as well as the shackles that were meant for me. Viggo slid into the passenger seat while I threw Evan in the back. I locked the shackles on Phillip and gently rested him next to the disfigured douchebag. Coming around to the driver's door, I saw Tomasino still standing there in front of Realm Tower. I felt sort of embarrassed for him, although he really didn't have a choice. When it came to Viggo, no one did.

THUNDER

Phillip was to remain a 'lodger' at my new place, in the same room I was kept in. At least it was in better condition for him than what I had to deal with. Viggo suggested that Milo could fetch supplies and deliver food to Phillip, but I said I'd do it myself. I was advised to have little to no interaction with my houseguest; solitude would encourage clarity of mind. I knew the truth of that.

Before Viggo left with Evan's body late that night, he told me to keep an eye on my Planner for changes in my schedule. I couldn't say that I minded if a sewer maintenance chore got pushed back, but I was a little anxious about what it would be replaced with. I had a feeling that after the chaos at Realm Tower, the stakes had somehow been raised.

While I was buying gas station food for Phillip about an hour before dawn, a question came to my mind. I texted Viggo on the way home, asking how he knew where I was earlier when Le Meur beckoned me. His answer was to the point. 'Audra called - I checked GPS tracker app that was downloaded into your phone before giving it'. Orwell's 'Big Brother' had some competition, not that I minded. And yes, before you ask, '1984' was one of the paperbacks given to me during my own captivity. I read it twice.

Since the Planner hadn't changed when I checked it the next day, I went shopping. Besides groceries for Phillip, I got myself a punching bag, workout equipment, and a nice home gym. After setting all of it up in one of the empty offices and then fixing myself some dinner, I didn't have long to wait until sundown.

I lounged around for a while with a drink or three, surfing the net to catch up on local news. There was no mention of a break-in at Realm Tower, let alone shots fired or a rat invasion. No surprise there; the Adepts most likely had the top brass of the police in their pockets, and maybe the media too.

Then I saw a report with a name that caught my eye. Following a tip, police found the bodies of bank owner Stanley Everett and his wife in a packing crate in a warehouse. One of the pictures that were included with the story was a shot of the building; the sign on it read, 'Trade Solutions Import/Export'. I knew that name; hell, I had a business card for it. That was Declan McKenna's company. I wondered if Gwen knew any more about that whole thing.

Giving enough time for night to settle in, I checked the 'hemo-net' for any updates in the Planner. Sure enough, there was. I was to attempt being unseen again until two further successes were achieved to strengthen my skill in that Gift. Any other duties were contingent on the completion of that one. The flag note told me to begin as soon as possible, and for detailed reports to be made.

An hour later I stood in the parking lot of a nightclub, next to a light pole with a dead bulb. I picked that particular club because Cordell mentioned in the past that he went there once in a while. Unless I made myself ignored, the predominantly black patrons were sure as hell gonna notice a white guy standing near their cars. On the bad side, Cord didn't stop in that night so I didn't get the chance to at least see him. On the good side, though, none of the clientele coming or going gave me a second look.

Checking the sewer map after I got home, I saw that the Water Department had a routine sewer line inspection planned for the next day. Even better, it was only about two miles from me. I put some ham sandwiches through the slot of Phillip's door the next morning; I ignored his loud demands for answers and went down to the basement to use my personal sewer access. The inspection was set for an area that I hadn't explored yet, so I had to scout it beforehand.

Finding a niche where one circular tunnel connected to a larger one, I pressed myself back into it when I saw the beams of flashlights further down the pipe. The workers' lights passed over the side of me once or twice, but they kept moving while they talked about a coworker finding a shitload of dead rats and shattered glass in a downtown pipe. When they walked past, one of them looked right at me but didn't even hesitate. I went home again, washed the stink off, and typed my second report with a smile.

An encrypted message from Viggo was waiting for me when I checked that evening. He first gave me short but strong praise for adapting to the Gift of Shadows so quickly. I think my military stealth/stalk training helped out quite a bit, but it felt good to get Viggo's approval no matter how I earned it.

Viggo's message also told me to expect Mr. Merritt to visit later that evening; he would be "delivering items for further testing, as well as information". I liked Barnabus, although I couldn't figure him out. From what I was told, he came from a very rustic and unsophisticated beginning. That clashed with the Barnabus I knew, who came off as more of a philosopher or college professor. Granted, the deer pelt pullover he always wore didn't go along with my scholar concept, but still.

Barnabus called before he showed up; I opened the parking gate and let him pull in. I greeted him as he got out of his sweet ride - a sky blue 1951 Chevy truck in perfect condition. He had me help him bring two big boxes inside, saying they were mine to keep. Sitting in the break room, I opened the box in my hands and found all sorts of pet supplies and food. Barnabus opened the other box, and a big cat lifted its head out to look around.

That thing was fucking huge, three times the size of what I imagined a normal cat to be. It had a gray and white coat of long hair over its broad frame, and felt solid when Barnabus handed it to me. I figured it was an altered minion cat by its size, although it seemed mellow and friendly... and didn't have any weird mutations. "Is this one of yours?" I asked him.

"Not at all," Barnabus said airily. "Per a request of your lord, I had one of my own minions visit an animal shelter and pick out a pet befitting the circumstance. I believe a fine choice was made."

"Wait," I said, looking away from its green eyes to his mismatched ones, "this is a normal cat?"

"He is a Maine Coon breed," Barnabus explained as he began setting the pet supplies on the table. "They are the largest of domestic cats. The shelter employees named him Thunder; he seems to respond to it well enough. However, that can be altered if you choose."

I didn't know shit about cat breeds, especially that one. "No, Thunder sounds like a good name, I guess." I set the big cat on the table and turned back to Barnabus. "Not that I don't appreciate it, Mr. Merritt, but why did you get me a cat?"

Barnabus leaned back and crossed his legs. "There were two reasons for that," he said. "The first, as I stated a moment ago, was because a request was made to find you a suitable pet. The second reason filtered my choice. Given the vague parameters, I asked Ms. Page what type of animal she thought you'd be inclined to favor. Without hesitation, she said that you wanted a cat. She was correct, I presume?"

"Huh, yeah, she was. But," I said, petting Thunder while he sniffed at the supplies, "you said something about befitting the circumstance. What circumstance?"

"The circumstance of a pioneering endeavor," Barnabus replied with conviction. "Thunder is not merely meant to be a pet; he is also the focus of your continued training. That I am aware of, you will be the first minion to put effort into learning the Gift of Fauna. The attempt itself is an auspicious occasion."

"Fauna... you mean like how my commander controls rats, or how Ragna can do some wild shit with her dogs? I'm supposed to learn how to do that?" I asked skeptically. The Gift of Shadows was one thing, but becoming a 'beast master' like that stupid 80s movie? "Look, Mr. Merritt, I get along fine with cats and dogs, but I didn't really grow up with 'em. I'm out of my depth here."

"Then if only to appease your lord," Barnabus said evenly, "you will strive to attain an understanding of it." His voice was calmer when he added, "My own ability of that Gift is laughable compared to that of your lord or elder Ragna. Nonetheless, I can offer a few simple instructions that may set the course for your initial approach."

I huffed out a sigh of relief. "Yeah, that'd be great, thanks."

"Afterwards, your lord will assume the duties of your education. On that note, he also asked that I give you some details of historical value this evening."

"History was never my best subject in school," I said with a frown. "But if he wants me to learn it, I'll do my best."

Barnabus nodded. "I believe that there are two elements to help a student succeed. The first is a proper attitude, which you at least somewhat possess. The second is an interest in the subject matter." He leaned forward, aiming that bulging red eye at me, and asked, "Do you have any idea what 'the Veleti' actually refers to?"

I only had a vague notion that the Veleti was a tribe or clan or something, and that Viggo was once one of them. I'd always wanted to ask him about it, but he seemed reluctant to divulge anything. I was being given a chance to learn about my commander's past, so hell yes I was interested in the subject matter.

HISTORY

I set up the litter box and food bowls for Thunder and left him on his own to explore his new home. Not long after Barnabus and I went upstairs to the lounge to relax for my history lesson, the big shaggy cat joined us. Apparently, he wasn't the solitary type. I didn't mind that at all.

Barnabus first explained why he was giving me this information rather than Viggo. It was a matter of perspective, he said; my commander felt that a third party would offer the facts with more objectivity. Fortunately, Barnabus was one of the very few beings in existence who knew those facts.

Viggo was born in the mid-fifth century CE in an area that is now eastern Germany. He was brought up in a time when his parents joined with other Slavic common folk to repel the last remnants of Roman oppression from their lands. That group formed into a strong tribe, calling themselves the Veleti. They ventured north to expand the holdings of the tribe's growing numbers. Coming across smaller tribes, the Veleti either assimilated them into their ranks or conquered them if there was resistance.

Expanding into and settling of what is now northeastern Germany, the word 'Veleti' became a blanket title for all of the smaller tribes that formed under its rule. Viggo belonged to the original body of the Veleti, and at a young age became a warrior for his people. Besides dealing with any internal conflicts, there were continuous clashes with Obodrites and Saxons. It sounded like Viggo led a hard, bloody life.

One late autumn day, sometime in the later fifth century, Viggo and two of his men had begun the long trek back home after a hunting trip near the North Sea. They were woken up that night by the sound of distant chanting. Viggo and his guys were camped on the edge of a forest; the noise came from deeper into those woods, and they decided to check it out. I thought about that scene, moving through dense woods at night to check out a bunch of strangers chanting. Those guys had balls.

It wasn't hard to find the chanters; they had a few torches burning around the perimeter of a small clearing. The leader of the group was a woman whose inhuman presence had Viggo's guys wanting to get the hell out of there. Viggo, on the other hand, was immediately attracted to her.

Long story short, he approached the assembly alone. The leader, who was revered by her people as a goddess, apparently liked Viggo's bravery and imposing size. She made him a minion that night, and ordered him to hunt down his two men and bring them back to her. He managed to do it; they weren't far away, and weren't a match for him. Two nights later, one of Viggo's men was tied to a tree and sacrificed in a bloody ritual. About a week later, so was the other one.

Just to make it clear, both Viggo and the priestess/goddess woman were basically pagans - a lot of people back then still were. Barnabus didn't elaborate, so I didn't know if all pagans worshipped the same set of gods or what. In any case, the priestess had a very different way of expressing her particular set of beliefs than Viggo's people did. Or maybe she was just on a power trip, and it was all about the blood. No one knows for sure.

Her name was Fennore. She was a hemo in Ireland and had been doing her druid goddess thing for a long time there. That ended when Christianity swept over the island in the early fifth century. She and her followers, which included most of her mortal descendants, got a big boat and got the hell out. They sailed under England and all the way around Denmark, finally landing in Obodrite territory. Fennore had some trouble with those people, so she and her followers started migrating east near the coast.

For the sake of her follower's safety, Viggo convinced Fennore to have them join the Veleti. She stayed away from those settlements, feeding on animals and human sacrifices brought by her followers when they visited. As Fennore's minion, Viggo spent a lot of his time with her. She knew he felt a strong duty and connection to his people, so equal time was allowed for him to be with them as well. Even better, Fennore realized that ordering Viggo to attack his own men that first night really upset him, so she never asked that he bring another sacrifice unless it was an enemy. Aw, how nearly human of her.

I shouldn't have thought too poorly of Fennore. I mean, Viggo saw something good in her, so I should've at least kept an open mind. By the things Barnabus told me, though, that wasn't easy to do. But just to stir the pot, it turns out that I was very distantly related to her. I'll get to that in a bit.

Things went on that way for a while. Fennore's followers blended in, some changing their names to Germanic ones or marrying in. Viggo divided his time between being seen among his people, getting into battles and skirmishes with enemies, and visiting Fennore. I guess they had a real connection. She brought him into the night, and they became lovers. I wondered how that worked. Barnabus avoided the topic of bodily functions and explained that the sharing of hemo blood is very intimate, and gives greater ecstasy than feeding on human blood ever could. Better than a strong orgasm? I had my doubts.

A number of years later, when it seemed the right time, Viggo made a point of letting his closest friends know he was going out on a scouting trip. Then he simply didn't return; his death would've been assumed. He and Fennore found a large cave that had a small entrance a mile or so inland and stretched underground to a rocky coast. They remained in that domain for decades. The war parties that travelled nearby made feeding easy.

During that time, Fennore gathered more followers as well as some of her own distant descendants to live in a section of the huge cave. Those humans who weren't related eventually became compliant to Viggo's presence after he and Fennore continually fed from them. I guessed it had some mellowing effect, like a lobotomy. Fennore continued her rituals; Viggo didn't get involved, and left her to it.

After a long while, though, Viggo got restless; he wanted to be with his people again. Over a generation had passed for them and all the faces he knew were gone, but he didn't care. The people were still Veleti - his people. So Viggo slowly introduced himself as some powerful being to the new generation of the tribe, soon establishing himself as a local warlord. In a fairly remote area, he had a fortress built that was big enough to bunk Fennore's lineage and his own trusted warriors. It sounded pretty cool.

Fennore and her followers still did their dark druid stuff, but only in the fortress courtyard or out in the woods. People found out anyway. Viggo took his company out on raids to make sure his domain was secure. As a bonus, his people prospered from the loot he brought back. In those fights, he sometimes ran into other hemos, most of whom were leading the enemy's forces. Being of a greater scion, he killed or defeated all that he met. Word spread from those encounters. Viggo and Fennore became recognized names, and not necessarily in a good way.

More years passed while the Deviant couple kept up with their habits and interests. A trio of supposedly young hemos came to the fortress one night, asking to serve in their company. They spent a long time gaining Viggo's and Fennore's trust, all the while using their mental Gifts to sour the villager's thoughts. It didn't work so well in reference to Viggo; he was a good and generous leader. On the other hand, the villagers were always nervous about Fennore. It was easy to turn their fear of her into hate.

Those young hemos belonged to a small sect that used their immortal blood to delve into some creepy occult shit. Barnabus used the word 'macabre'. I guess the sect didn't like what Fennore was up to, or saw her as some sort of spooky competition. Minions were made out of some of the village leaders, who kept everyone riled up during the day. It was getting ugly in Viggoville.

The trio of hemos waited for Viggo to take his men on another extended war march, and then made their move the next day. The short version is that most of Fennore's followers were slaughtered, and her human lineage hid in secret rooms within the fortress when the villagers finally managed to break in. Fennore, apparently too arrogant to think humans would ever revolt against her, laid there slumbering without any defense. She was wrapped in about a ton of chain and then staked.

That night, the trio of hemos carried Fennore out of the fortress and waited for scouts to tell them what direction Viggo would return from. They got the info and used all that chain to secure her to a stone post on that edge of the village. The bastards waited until Viggo and his men were barely in sight, set Fennore on fire, and then used their Gift of the Void to escape. There was no way he or his warriors could get there in time to put her out, but they charged forward anyway.

The stake burned away, freeing Fennore, but she was engulfed in flames by then. At first she could only scream in agony, but then was able to form her last words when she saw Viggo through the flames that were licking her face. Fennore called out, telling him to watch over her lineage, and to swear to it. Viggo bellowed back that he would, but was never sure if she heard him.

Fennore's last word was her lover's name before she crumbled into dust. I knew that before Barnabus said it; the dream I had months before was still vivid in my mind. Barnabus could paint a good picture with words, but it couldn't compare to actually seeing it.

Viggo couldn't face the betrayal of his own people, not for a long time. Taking his men, he left the village to its fate. Using info from fellow Deviants, he finally found those responsible. Viggo wasn't sure how many members of the sect there were - he went wild with bloodlust as soon as he entered their domain.

Barnabus explained that when a hemo is physically drained by another, down to the point of husk or ashes, the victim's essence is pretty much consumed. While the act can transfer knowledge or power, there is a great risk of destroying one's own essence in the process. If that happens, the mind loses all connection with reality forever. It's the reason their law of death was created.

Viggo went back to the cave that was his home years before and claimed it as his domain again. He would have stayed there for a very long time, but he had humans to watch over. So, it turned out that I was related to a hemo who thought she was a deity and performed sacrificial murders. Wonderful.

"I've rambled on long enough for now," Barnabus said, standing up. "I hope that small piece of your lord's personal history was enlightening."

I got up as well. "It sure as hell was. Thank you."

We walked in relative silence until we got to the garage. After pushing the door remote, I asked, "So, uh, Mr. Merritt, about those Fauna tips you were gonna give me..."

"Ah, quite so," he responded, waving a finger at me. "To start you on that journey, I suggest this: begin with initiating eye contact. Be calm, be confident. Do it often. Methodically extend the time of your gaze, let it linger."

"What, that's it?"

"It may take longer than you assume, Mr. Beck, but very well. I will expound further. Once you feel truly comfortable capturing Thunder's attention in that manner, begin to focus your mind on simple thoughts while doing so." He gave a single nod as if that crumb of advice was a meal.

"Okay, uh, thanks. And I mean for everything." I made sure the gate closed after Barnabus drove out in his classic Chevy. "Think simple thoughts?" I said to myself. Shit, I'm the king of simple thoughts.

PARANOID

There was a new chore in the Planner for the next day. I had to buy some hardwood lumber and have it cut into short lengths. Then I had to wait until I got a text and deliver the lumber to a specific address. More duties would be given at that time. Sounded simple enough.

Since I was in the hemo-net, I decided to browse. I came across a want-ad of some Deviant in Detroit who was paying top dollar for live midgets to be delivered; the price went up for any previously mutilated subject. It was getting damn tough to have any type of respect for almost any hemo bastard, let alone the twisted ones that had nothing human left in them.

I was stewing in disgust when Thunder hopped up on the desk and rubbed his cheek on my arm with a purr. Huh, social cat. His antics for attention got rid of my dark mood. I tried locking eyes with him as Barnabus suggested, but he turned and left the office. I was gonna suck at that Fauna Gift.

Gwen and I met at some greasy spoon the next day for lunch. Considering that I was still technically missing - at least in the human world - we sat in a rear booth for concealment. She was a little jumpy and nervous, tapping her purple nails on the table and glancing out of the booth. "Well, this is a new look - paranoid Gwen," I said conversationally. "Are you acting like that to freak me out, or do you have a real problem?"

"Oh, I think it's real enough," she replied, fidgeting with her menu. "And the cause of my problem is Mr. Leopold Beck, thanks so much."

"What, me? What the hell did I do?"

"What did you do... Hmm. Let me start with a little background. One of my main duties for our mutual patron is to download data from various security cameras around the city and store it in a private server. All human and vehicular traffic is automatically run through a recognition software program. There are lots of profiles already loaded, so the program flags any reoccurring hits. I review the flags and make reports. With me so far?"

"Yeah, pretty much." Gwen had started rolling up her plastic menu and then releasing it. "If you're going to order coffee when the waitress comes," I said, taking the menu out of her hands, "make it decaf."

She moved on to fussing with her utensils. "So, two days ago I was reviewing a tape from a security camera at the front of a downtown parking facility that our mutual patron controls. That camera sets off lots of flags, mostly at night, and mostly getting matches on cars coming from and going to a big, fancy building right down the block on the other side of the street. Guess who I saw, Leo."

"Uh, the Doyenne?" I had no clue; I was throwing rocks in the dark.

"Oh, no, no," Gwen answered dramatically. "I saw someone much more familiar. A white van screeched to a stop in front of that building, and you got out."

"Oh shit."

"Oh shit is right. I saw the whole thing, Leo \- the entire veil-ripping scene. I watched you and some Asian guy going at it karate-kid style, only faster than you should've been able to. Oh, and then there was the Great Vermin Incursion; that was a toe-curling hoot. Should I even mention the guy whose head was turned into pulp after our Mr. Stone was finished with him?"

"No need." Our waitress arrived; I sent her off with two hasty orders of the cheesesteak special. "Alright, so you saw what went down. At least the footage is in safe hands. It is in safe hands, right?"

The offended glare I got as a reply told me I might've just put Gwen's technological skills into question. That suspicion was confirmed when she quietly sniped, "Go shit in your hand."

"Okay, sorry. So if it's not that, then what's got you so worked up?"

"The next day, yesterday, I was taking calls on the Silas business line when someone rang and asked to hire you as their personal EP. I said you were no longer with the company, and they hung up. After that, it got weird."

"For you to call something weird, it has to be way out there."

"I mean weird scary, dummy. When another call came for you and got the same reply, they wanted to hire any other EP you worked with on a regular basis. Right before lunch, a caller knew Cordell and Diego by their names and wanted to hire them. I think it's a good thing they're both contracted right now. Last but not least, one more call came in mentioning your name; when the creep couldn't get any info on you, he asked who I was! Me, Leo!"

Shit, anyone I might've been close to had become targets to use against me, just like Phillip. He just wasn't a good enough friend to be effective. I was sure Viggo had a shitload of resources and influence to cover my ass, but I doubted he could match the combined clout of the Adept faction. I had no way to protect Gwen, other than to get clearance to let her hide at my place. If that wasn't allowed, though, I couldn't think of many options. "Maybe you should take a vacation," I suggested.

"I can't right now - that's the icing on the cow patty. Silas is going to be audited by the IRS next week, so Crane wants me and Leona from payroll to be there at all times. If one of the other factions is behind the audit, it means they'll have access to details about every employee. I left messages for Mr. Stone about it, but he hasn't responded."

I watched Gwen absently bent her metal butter knife around two of her thick little fingers. I took that away, too, and put it in my pocket. "Okay, I'll try to get hold of him, too. We can just get our meals to go, and you can get back to work. I doubt you're in the mood to eat right now anyway."

"No, not really." She rummaged in her big purse for a second and then looked back up at me. "Wait; when you texted me this morning, you mentioned cheap lunch and something about a local report you saw. What report?"

I waved it off. "Don't worry about it right now, it's no big deal. Hey, just to be safe, maybe you shouldn't take your normal route when you head home later. Circle a block once in a while, and keep an eye on your mirrors. Come to think of it, you should probably find another place to stay tonight. If I hear back from our patron before you do, I'll give you a yell."

I followed Gwen out of the lot and for about a mile after, making sure she didn't have a tail. On my way to a hardware store for the demanded lumber, I took my own advice and turned a twenty minute drive into forty. I took the same precautions on the way home, taking side streets and watching every car behind me. Paranoia sucks.

WALDO

Knowing I had to drive later that evening, I didn't hit the booze too hard. I received Viggo's text just before the nightly news. I was only given an address, and to check with the guy at the gate. Okay, there was a gate - not much of a clue. I quickly googled the address; it was an inner-city cemetery. I wondered if Viggo was trying to be spooky on purpose, or if it was a prerequisite for anything Deviants did.

I got to the address a short time later, noting the rough neighborhood I was in. Elmwood Cemetery was surrounded by a big cement wall on every side, so I couldn't get a look at the place before I pulled up to the tall iron gates. The guy who opened them for me was scruffy, middle-aged, and didn't have much of a personality. He handed me a hand-drawn map of the cemetery that only showed the narrow lanes that ran through the place. An X was drawn in one area, with the word 'Waldo' written next to it.

The lane that the X sat on had a string of mausoleums built into the low knolls on either side. I hopped out of the van and was about to turn my flashlight on when I heard Viggo's voice call to me. The Waldo family mausoleum was built with a tiny low-walled patio out front, big enough for stone benches to sit on either side of its iron-barred door. My commander sat there, waiting for me.

"Good evening, sir," I said quietly; it didn't seem right to make much noise in the solemn setting. "I have the lumber you asked for. Do you mind if I ask a few questions while I'm here?"

"We do need to talk, Leo, but deliver the wood first." He leaned over and pulled the mausoleum door open, revealing its pitch black interior. "There is an empty crypt shelf on the right. Stack it there."

When I finished unloading the hardwood cuts of 2x4, Viggo invited me to sit on the bench across from him. "Let us first be rid of your curiosities, and then we can discuss further duties."

"Yes sir, thank you. Uh, the first thing on my mind was... what the hell did Le Meur do to me? I mean, I was just fixing a pipe and talking to that derelict, Audra, and out of nowhere I had some crazy urge that pulled me toward the Doyenne."

"That pull you felt was the product of a higher ability within the Gift of Enchantment. Remember how we once spoke of a range of abilities as a Gift increases in power? What she used on you is most often referred to as Magnetism. Practitioners commonly employ it to wordlessly summon a minion or known human to their side. The Doyenne must have taxed herself to have so strongly drawn you to her."

I nodded at the explanation and then asked, "Was that Audra chick involved? It seemed kinda weird to run into her down in a steam pipe under a college."

"So far as I know, she had no participation in the events of that evening other than to alert me of your suspicious behavior. As to why Audra snuck into the administration building, I can only assume that she was scouting student files." Even in the dark, Viggo must've seen the confusion on my face. "Many of us are very thorough and demanding when seeking a viable choice for progeny," he explained. "Some look for a certain attitude and skill set, while others seek candidates that are talented or educated in specific fields. Either for herself or for a client, I presume Audra was gathering information on potential scions."

"Okay, I get it - gathering intel, that makes sense." I took a deep breath before I asked my favor. "So, uh, since Le Meur called the bluff of my death, everyone I care about is in an even more dangerous position than before. I think Gwen might be a target. Can she crash at my - uh, our - place for a while?"

Viggo shook his head. "The looming danger will end soon. Until matters are settled, it will be as when you first came to your new abode. I have arranged for Miss Solomon to take safe refuge elsewhere."

"Yes sir, I appreciate that."

"Let us proceed with your updated duties, shall we? I planned for certain events to come at a much later time, but the threat to your life has forced my hand. The Doyenne is now aware of an unknown Eidolon in her city that watches over you. Instead of claiming you once more to spite the Deviants, she now most likely wants you dead. Lady Le Meur is no fool, however; she is wary of incurring my wrath. Still, her pride cannot be quantified."

Those vague words made me feel like shit. "Sorry to have fucked things up for you, sir."

Viggo waved off the apology with a flick of his hand. "Your safety is the only important thing; my oath demands no less. You have a particular ancestor who was much more of a burden, but we'll speak of him later." He reached into his coat pockets, pulled out a couple items, and tossed one of them to me. As I caught the bundle of wrapped cash, he said, "Buy a new outfit tomorrow. If not formal attire, make it nearly so. You will be presentable."

"Yes sir. Uh, presentable for what?"

He tossed me the other item, a key and remote fob on a key ring. "You will have a new vehicle. The van was seen by Adepts and Realm personnel. It also would not be the favored mode of transportation for the guest you will be chauffeuring to me."

"Yeah, I guess a van with a big dent in the side is kind of easy to spot. Uh, where's the new ride?"

"It is behind the cemetery chapel you passed on your way in. Leave the van next to it. Tomorrow night, just before midnight, a jet will be landing at a small airfield - the Truman Regional. It sits on the eastern outskirts of the city. You will collect my guest, along with his assistants, and bring them here to me."

"Back here? To this cemetery - to Waldo?" I thought that was a strange order, although I shouldn't have. With my commander, the unexpected had become the norm.

"Yes, here; pull right up in front. My guest is very important, very powerful. You will be courteous and respectful at all times."

"Of course, sir. Uh, can I know who your guest is to address him properly?"

Viggo nodded and said, "His name is Aldo Skala. You will call him sir or Mr. Skala if he allows it. I once told you that one of my scions was the Doyen of Munich, Germany. It is he, coming to visit his sire."

A few minutes later, I parked the van next to my replacement car. It was a newer Audi sedan, gleaming silver in the moonlight. Damn, it was sharp. I got in and began familiarizing myself with all the bells and whistles. After a minute, I glanced in the backseat, thinking that in about twenty four hours a Doyen - not to mention Viggo's scion - would be sitting there. I doubted he was going to call shotgun.

TASKS

Despite protests from her boss (knowing Crane, it was more like whining), Gwen left work early the next day to go clothes shopping with me. Her choice sure as hell had nothing to do with putting her fashion sense to work because, honestly, she didn't have any. I think it was more that she felt secure with me. It wasn't just that Gwen thought she'd be safer in my company than at a building full of EPs - that would've been one hell of a compliment, and something she would never admit. The main thing was that we were both tangled in the web of the hemo world; it gave our good friendship an even stronger bond.

While we browsed slacks in an outlet store, Gwen told me about the 'residence' she was allowed to use. It was Shawn Riordan's old place, a small abandoned fire station. It was refurbished, and the brass pole was left in. I thought it sounded cool. She wasn't as excited, and asked if I wanted any of the musical instruments, equipment, or any of his other shit that was sitting around. One Glazefinger t-shirt was enough for me.

I brought up Stanley Everett's death while Gwen picked out hideous shirt and tie combinations. She wasn't aware that the warehouse he and his wife were found in belonged to Declan McKenna. She did, however, know some other stuff about the case. Everett's son, a lawyer in Denver and sole beneficiary of their wills, came back to town after he lost communication with his parents. He met with detectives before they were found, and then once more afterwards to be ruled off the suspect list. Since then, no one has seen or heard from him.

On a whim, I asked Gwen to do some discreet digging on Trade Solutions Import/Export. When she turned to type the business name into her phone as a reminder, I quickly put her clothing selections back. I sure as hell wasn't a fashion guru, but a peach shirt with a purple paisley tie might've gotten me killed in the wrong company. I chose an outfit that was nicer than my old suits, all in grays and black. Gwen frowned at the selection; screw it - I liked boring.

The lone ground controller at the Truman airfield accepted a bribe; I parked the Audi next to the end of their single landing strip and waited. The private jet landed on time and taxied to within one hundred feet of me. I expected the Doyen of Munich to exit the jet wearing something nicer than the Muddy Waters t-shirt, cargo pants and combat boots he had on. It was his two large assistants who wore suits.

When Mr. Skala got close enough, I could see the details of his appearance. He was about my size, built solid, and had an air of authority. Dark blond hair hung in a loose style over his black eyes - completely black, like Viggo's. It looked as if a layer of rough-textured beige plaster had been spread over his skin, and little chunks of it had chipped off. Bizarre and inhuman, just like his sire.

Mr. Skala stopped less than ten feet away and silently studied me for a moment. As his huge minions stopped behind him with their hands full of luggage, he stepped closer. Taking in my features and facial scars, he asked in a thick German accent, "You are Mr. Beck, the current holder of my sire's oath, yes?" The question came with a hint of irritation in his gruff voice.

Great, Viggo's scion didn't like me already. I would have liked the chance to at least earn his contempt first. "Yes sir," I answered without emotion. "Allow me to get the door for you." I didn't wait for his nod.

Once the luggage was stuffed into the trunk and the minions stuffed themselves into the car, we began the forty minute drive back to Elmwood cemetery. The three of them had a few short conversations in German, so I had no clue what they were saying. I took a couple glances at the guy sitting next to me in the front passenger seat; he looked like over three hundred pounds of nothing but muscle and ugly. I couldn't help but wonder if he would've turned out that way normally, or if drinking a lot of Deviant blood gave his genetics a nudge.

Viggo was waiting for us in front of the Waldo mausoleum. He and Aldo warmly gripped each other's shoulders, both saying their hellos in German. I watched the two luggage-toting minions step into the small mausoleum, followed by their master. Either there was an underground passage connected to it, or the damn thing was like a clown car. Viggo told me to check my Planner and then sent me home. Not to sound like a whiny bitch about it, I felt a little excluded.

SUSPECT

I woke up to Thunder licking my eyelid. My alarm clock showed that it wasn't even five in the morning yet. Less than three hours of sleep made me a grumpy prick. I was about to tell the cat to fuck off and then bury my head in a pillow when I noticed my phone vibrating with a new text. Grunting, I clumsily grabbed it off the bedside table and held it close to my blurry eyes. Two texts and two missed phone calls, all from Gwen in the last twenty minutes. I was suddenly awake, wondering if she was in trouble.

Fumbling with the buttons, I opened the first text. 'TURN ON CHANNEL 9 NOW! JUMPING JESUS, WHAT HAPPENED?!' I had no idea what Gwen was freaking out about. I rolled out of bed, shuffled to the lounge and fell back into a chair with the remote in my hand. Since I was up - sort of - I decided to find out what she wanted me to see before I called her back and chewed her ass for waking me long before the sun was up. I did enough of that for years in the military.

The channel 9 morning news was showing the weather. Great, more rain on the way. I switched over to channel 5; they had just started into their lead story at the top of the hour. It was an update on the case involving the murders of Stanley and Mary Everett.

"Upon reviewing footage from a security camera inside the warehouse where the couple was found," the reporter said, "police are looking for a suspect that an inside source says is strongly tied to the case." A photo appeared on the screen next to the reporter. Stunned is a good word to describe my reaction.

It was me.

The picture came from my military I.D. badge. I included the shot with the few dossiers I'd handed out. Off the top of my head, the only people I could think of that had a copy of it were Viggo, Ragna, Silas Security, and Le Meur's business minion Dominique Rondeau. Goddammit.

"Former Marine sergeant Leopold D. Beck is wanted for questioning in the May 2nd homicides of the Everett's. Beck, a highly-trained veteran of numerous military operations in Afghanistan, should be considered armed and extremely dangerous. Call the tips hotline if you have any knowledge of his whereabouts. There is a reward for any information leading to an arrest."

What the living fuck? I had no clue how I was being fingered for Stanley's murder, but man, I was being set up good. Because of this, everyone I knew probably thought I was at least somehow involved in it. First, all my friends thought I was dead or a wandering drunk or abducted by aliens or whatever, then they heard I was alive and a suspect in a murder case. Fucking wonderful. And the cherry on top was that everyone now knew my real first name.

Just like all the other times I had been screwed with in the last handful of months, some damn hemo was behind it. Whether it was Le Meur or McKenna or one of the other supernatural assholes that I left a poor impression with, they had ruined my life.

I didn't bother listening to Gwen's messages. I called her back on my way down to the kitchen to make a drink. Yeah, it was only five in the morning, but so the hell what? I deserved a stiff belt. She answered her phone with, "What does the D stand for?"

I could always count on Gwen to say the unexpected. "What? I thought you were gonna start with telling me how completely screwed I am, or asking if I was really involved."

She made her annoyed sigh dramatically audible. "You being screwed is a given, and I find it offensive that you would wonder if I even entertained the thought of you having anything to do with it, Leo. You're being framed, pure and simple. The questions are: who, why, and how?"

Ah, Jack and Coke, the mellow-maker. I slammed down my first drink before I replied, "The 'who' is any hemo who didn't find me to be an absolute delight, which is most of 'em. The 'why' could be anything from me being a pain in one of their asses, to nothing more than one of 'em thought it'd be funny. Don't expect me to know what they think, or anything about the fucked up games they play. As for how I'm getting pinned for this, that's a damn good question. I need to see that tape, Gwen."

"Don't expect me to be able to get my cute little hands on it. That footage is a hot commodity right now. No one I know could get near it, and wouldn't take the chance of making a copy if they could. Sorry, Leo, you're going to have to see what our patron can do. Until then, what are your options?"

"Shit, I don't have any options, Gwen. I'm in a safe place. I can't go out for anything, not anymore - my face is all over the news. The only thing I can do is wait until tonight and talk to the boss."

"I'm sorry, Leo, I really am. You know I'd help if I could. Don't go getting any wild ideas about how to fix this and get yourself in trouble. Well, more trouble."

"No way. I'm staying put."

"I expect the police will call or come by the office today, digging up what they can about you."

"Do not defend me with them, Gwen. Don't incriminate yourself, stay neutral."

"I'm a professional, dummy. They won't get a twitch out of me."

I spent the rest of the day trying to keep myself busy. I cooked Phillip a quick breakfast, and made a few half-assed attempts to get into a staring contest with Thunder. I'd read that cats view that as a challenge or a threat, but he didn't seem to mind. I also left a message for Viggo when he woke, explaining the fun new turn of events. A good hour was spent with the punching bag, which I beat the shit out of. The rest of my time was spent trying not to get hammered, and failing miserably.

VIDEO

A wet sensation on my nostrils woke me later that evening; I'd passed out in a recliner around dinner time. My eyes opened and saw Thunder sitting on my chest, and Viggo standing in front of me. My whole body jerked in surprise. Thunder didn't budge. Sobering up quick, I set the cat aside and stood. Okay, make that only fairly quick on the sobering - the room wobbled when I hopped out of the chair.

"I recant an earlier statement," Viggo grumbled. "You are the most troublesome of your entire lineage."

"Sorry, sir. I don't mean to be." I swallowed down a hint of bile and steadied my feet.

Viggo's posture slightly relaxed. "Intent was never your undoing, Leo. You simply continue to be placed in precarious situations, and by the local members of my race. Perhaps now your level of distaste for many of them rivals my own... But that is a discussion for another time."

"Yes sir, I look forward to it." I was relieved that my commander felt the contempt for hemos that I'd learned to feel. Hell, that opinion was inevitable with all the shit they'd given me. I would have never wanted Viggo to know how I felt if his opinion opposed mine. But with his words, I no longer had to worry about being diplomatic when the topic came up.

"Because of the message you left," Viggo continued, "I began my own investigation of sorts. I may not be able to thwart the mortal authorities by clandestine means, but I am quite able to determine some of the true facts of the case."

"Sire," a gruff, accented voice said from the doorway of the lounge, "I am capable of completing the task on my own." Aldo Skala leaned against the doorframe. His jeans, blue turtleneck and wavy blonde hair reminded me of a smug catalogue model, but his crumbling-plaster face ruined the effect.

I hadn't even noticed Skala was there; I was focused on Viggo and trying to stop my vision from swimming. I couldn't get my booze-soaked brain to figure out why Viggo's moody European scion was there, or what he was talking about.

"If you knew exactly where to go," Viggo said to him, "then I would agree with you, Aldo. As I told you earlier, you have a greater grasp of modern technology, while only I know the precise location. We go together." He turned back to me. "Leo, Mr. Skala and I must go, but we will return for you very shortly. At that time, you will come with us. You have ten minutes to prepare. As a cautionary note, I do not believe that void-walking and inebriation is a wise combination."

Viggo and Skala stepped out of the room into the dark staircase and then disappeared. As soon as they were gone, I went down to the kitchen and dunked my head in the sink that I filled with cold water and ice. My commander and his scion returned sooner than I would've liked, but by then my senses were clearer and I was wide awake.

Huddled together, we all void-walked into a dark corner of the first Deviant den that Viggo brought me to. It was the one that was a mix of cavern and studio apartment. It was as I remembered it; wires clamped all over the walls, the bed sitting back in a natural recess of stone, an array of electronic equipment, and the iron submarine-style doors on either end. The only new addition was the Deviant called Skin setting up a camcorder on a tripod.

"Hey, kid," he said with an easy smile. "Stepped in some more shit, did ya now?"

I wasn't sure how to reply to that, so I didn't. Skala handed Skin a clear CD case. Viggo explained to me that Mr. O'Shaughnessy had been asked to help because of his audio and video expertise. Footage of 'my' crime had just been borrowed from an evidence room, copied and returned. Besides studying that new copy, Skin was going to access Gwen's security camera files and cross-reference for any possible matches of everyone in the database.

But first, a video was going to be made of me moving around for the purpose of contrasting my shape and gait patterns with whoever the real killer was. The concept felt vaguely gay.

"Couldn't you and Mr. Skala just have kept the original, sir?" I asked while Skin filmed me walking and carrying a heavy area rug on my shoulder. "With no evidence, there's no case."

Viggo shook his head. "Copies have undoubtedly already been made. I do not know how many or where they might be, so retrieval is impossible."

I set the rug down with a sigh. "I'll never have anything like a normal life again, will I, sir?"

"For what purpose, Mr. Beck?" Skala asked from a nearby reading table he was sitting at. "Do you truly wish to resume your place among the ignorant cattle? Consider where you are, what you've seen, and your newfound abilities - all because you have been shown the true, dark reality. How many others of the vast herd of shuffling bovines are as fortunate as you? It should be your privilege to knowingly be in the presence of immortal beings." He frowned at me. "Normal life? What an insulting regression."

Viggo scowled at his progeny. Skin kept his head down and busied himself with the video equipment. I kept my lips tight, fighting the urge to point out that billions of human 'cattle' unknowingly kept Skala and all his kind in check. Even though humans didn't know they held that power, the hemos did. The only reasons I didn't point that out were because Viggo wouldn't take kindly to my lip, and that I didn't have those billions of people right there to back me up.

ANSWERS

Twenty minutes later, I sat on the edge of the bed feeling like a liability. Viggo and Skin were busy studying computer screens and talking among themselves, leaving no room for a third set of eyes. Skala remained at the reading table, flipping through the pages of a thick book. Rather than sitting there like a useless piece of shit and feeling sorry for myself, I decided to get some answers of my own.

I sat across from Skala, rested my elbows on the table, and waited until he looked up from his book. "Not to be a bother, sir," I said, "but I was wondering what I did to piss you off."

He raised a cracked eyebrow in mild surprise. "I would rather call it continuous resentment. If I were angry with you, Mr. Beck, you certainly would not be allowed to converse with me."

"Okay, fine, you feel continuous resentment toward me, whatever that means. I'd like to know how I earned it. I've got enough enemies as it is, Mr. Skala - I don't want my commander's scion as another."

Skala pushed his book aside, leaned forward on the table and said, "Your master brought me into the night nearly twelve hundred years ago. I will spare you any descriptions of the cruelties of life in the middle ages. My sire told me of his oath, and showed me the current recipient of it. That man was a pig in all ways but shape. His eldest bastard boy wasn't much better; a thief with hardly a hint of honor. After him was a callous warrior with no empathy. The lineage of that sordid sort continued.

"For over ninety years did I stay near Viggo and assist him. When I decided to make my own way, I still returned to visit my sire throughout the decades and centuries. All the while, he remained true to his oath, watching over human descendants that were not his own. In all of that time and having met so many of your forefathers, only two did I think merited Viggo's guardianship. Two, out of dozens. My sire has spent his existence watching over people who did not deserve his sacrifice. That should explain what I meant by continuous resentment, Mr. Beck. History has tainted my expectations of your line."

Well, shit, how was I supposed to argue against that? Skala might've been harsh in his judgments and tended to stereotype me because of a few assholes in my family tree, but he was thinking of Viggo and wanted what was best for him. I would've done the same. "I'm sorry most of my ancestors didn't quite measure up, sir. I could say I'll try to change your opinion, but it's not your approval that I want."

Skala's response was interrupted by Viggo, who said to us, "As there is no obviously no reception here, I must go see if an informant has been able to gather any further information. I shall return shortly." He walked over to a dark alcove and was gone a second later.

I turned back around, and into Skala's unnerving stare. "We both have my sire foremost in our minds and hearts," he stated in a low and quiet tone. "For that alone, I will reserve further judgment. Do not, however, think that performing simple chores and staying out of the way will alter my view. I am not your enemy, Mr. Beck, but I am not your friend, either. I hope that satisfies your curiosity." Not waiting for a reply, he pulled the book back in front of him and lowered his head.

With that conversation obviously over, I went over to where Skin sat and watched a replay of the tape with 'me' in it. The time counter on it showed 2:16 a.m. of May 2nd. The camera angle showed a nearly empty cargo area. Light spilled out of an office window on the left side, giving a dim glow to a wide swath of the warehouse floor. A vague silhouette was back in that office, unmoving, apparently waiting. I couldn't tell if it was McKenna or not.

The roll-up receiving door on the far end of the warehouse lifted a few seconds later. A figure stepped in with a body on his shoulder. He toted the dead weight over to a four-foot square crate and dropped it in, and then did the same for another body laying just outside. When the suspected murderer was done sealing the crate, he seemed to nod to the silhouette and walked out.

The camera quality was grainy, but the guy looked a lot like me. Not exactly, but close. When he crossed through the light, I could see he wore the same style of leather coat as me. He also had the same facial hair, haircut and scars that I did. Someone went out of his way to make himself look like me. "So that's supposed to be me, huh?" I asked myself out loud.

"Bollocks!" Skin said, sitting next to me. "The man on the screen has a different posture and walking gait, plus he doesn't have your arm strength. The structure of his jaw is a tad off, and his hands are paler than yours. There are other small signs, but no, kid, that ain't you. As for him," Skin reran the video and pointed at the silhouette, "I'm fairly sure someone manipulated some pixels. I don't think there is anyone in that office at all - a clever ruse to pinch ol' Declan McKenna in the process."

"So who was the guy carrying the bodies?"

Skin shrugged and turned back to the two monitors in front of him. "That may take a wee bit to figure out, considering that I can even find a match from all of your master's security clips."

I flinched when Viggo unexpectedly spoke from directly behind me. Fuck, he was sneaky; I didn't even know he was back down there with us. "Miss Solomon has learned that the dissolution of business arrangements between Mr. Everett and Realm Management was caused by an undermining offer by Trade Solutions Import/Export. I happen to know that Mr. McKenna does enjoy thwarting the Doyenne's endeavors however he can."

Skin swiveled in his chair to face Viggo. "So Le Meur had Everett iced and set up ol' Declan and your minion here \- both being right pains in her arse - to take the fall. I have to give her credit; well played."

"Have you found any possible matches yet, Scanlon?" Viggo asked.

Skin shook his head with a small frown. "I've yet to determine who she used for the dirty deed. There was no forced entry, so it had to be someone versed in bypassing security systems. It's either that, or your Beck impersonator had some help."

We all took a moment to consider the possibilities. From Skin's line of work, I bet he knew all sorts of career criminal types. It could've been one of them, but I doubted it; what self-respecting Adept would use a lowlife for the job? The help could've also come from an Adept's minion who had those kinds of skills. Lastly, Le Meur could have hired or forced another hemo to be an unseen accomplice, one who had a lot of experience in that kind of work. I glanced at Skin for a second, and then let that idea go.

"One thing at a time," Viggo said. "Concentrate on who the man in the tape could be." He then put a hand on my shoulder. "I will return you to your home now, Leo. You'll need your rest, for tomorrow may prove to be quite eventful."

INNOCENT

The first thing I did when I woke up was check the hemo-net for any new notes in the Planner file. Viggo had deleted all the old shit and wrote one new message. Apparently, Skin had come up with a short list of possible matches. I was given one name and more info about him than I needed, all thanks to Natalie and her IRS files. The guy was an 'asst. mgr. of facility security ' at Realm. I was told to "secure subject ASAP and hold in a Deviant location for eventual questioning".

I shoved some dry goods through the slot into Phillip's room, fed Thunder, and then started making preparations. The Realm guy worked third shift, so I planned on him being asleep when I got there about noon. Banging on the door enough to wake him up, or using a crowbar to gain entry were both really noisy - and therefore really bad - ideas. I also sucked at picking locks, so there was only one option left.

Hello, internet, almighty mentor of future criminals. I watched a YouTube video on how to make and use a bump-key for getting through a deadbolt. I used the tools up in the dusty assembly room to make a spare key from my old house to look just like the one in the video. Two lock tests later, I was satisfied.

Under an umbrella to keep the heavy mist off me, I walked a mile or so to a gas station and called a cab from there. I gave the driver the address when he showed up and gave a good tip when he dropped me off. As I walked through the parking lot of the guy's complex, I realized I had mixed feelings about what was going to happen to him. If I was sure he was the guy who set me up, he'd be on the wrong end of my pent-up anger before I turned him over to Viggo. If he wasn't, though, then the poor bastard didn't deserve the day ahead of him. But hey, life sucks - wear a cup.

The bump-key worked like a charm on the first quick try. Natalie's info told me the guy filed single on his taxes and no one else used his address for theirs, so there was a good chance he lived alone. Inside the apartment, it was roomy, clean and quiet. As suspected, my target was lightly snoring in his bed.

I stood at the foot of his bed and nudged it. When his eyes crept open, the first thing he saw was a pistol with a silencer pointed at him. "Hello, Mr. Finch," I said evenly. "You're about to have a bad day."

To his credit, he stayed calm. Propping himself up on the bed, Finch asked, "What do you want?"

Next to a dresser was a chair with clothes thrown on it. I grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt and tossed them to him. "Put those on," I ordered. I swept the other clothes off the chair, sat down and said, "I'm gonna start with the rules. If there's a gun under your pillow and you go for it, I will shoot you in a place that causes lingering, pants-crapping agony. If you... Look, there are a lot of other reasons why I'd shoot you, but only one reason why I won't. Do you get what I'm saying?"

"Yeah, I get it," he slowly replied while pulling the t-shirt over his head.

"Lay on your bed, on your stomach, facing me." When he complied, I asked, "Do you know why I paid you a visit, Mr. Finch?" He shook his head. "You might have trouble remembering, but were you recently ordered to do some work at a warehouse? Oh, and before you answer, I should mention that if I think you're lying to me, I will turn your groin to gristle. I'm a very good shot."

That statement added fear to the wariness and anger in his eyes. "A warehouse? No, I work in the same building every night. I swear."

I had my fair share of reading the expressions of unreliable Afghani informers, so I knew some of the tell-tale signs. I studied Finch for a second and then said, "Fortunately, I believe you. Unfortunately, I'm not the only person you need to convince."

Keeping my 9mm trained on him, I got up and moved the pillows. No gun. I then pulled a cover off one of the pillows, stuffed it in my pocket, and told Finch to slip some shoes on. I took his keys and wallet off the dresser, and then let him take a piss - bathroom door open, of course - before we left. I'm a nice guy like that.

I stayed ten feet behind Finch on the way to his car. He was surprised I knew which one it was; I told him that I had more info on him than he'd be comfortable telling his own mother... whose address I also had, by the way. He drove. I sat in the backseat and navigated. We pulled up behind an abandoned building in a desolate neighborhood. After we got out, I bound his wrists behind his back with a spool of thin wire and put the pillowcase over his head. Once I got him in the backseat and told him to lay down, we were on the road again.

Eight long hours later, Mr. Finch and I were in a small, condemned apartment building not far from where I took over driving his car. The place was listed on the hemo map file as a Deviant hideaway, stocked with a few basic and hidden supplies. Finch was blindfolded, secured to a support beam, and had duct tape over his mouth most of the time. I didn't like doing that to an innocent guy.

Viggo came up the rickety stairs fifteen minutes after I called him. He motioned for us to speak in another room. "I do not know if you are good at judging a person's character," he said. "Nonetheless, give me your impression of Mr. Finch. Speak plainly, Leo; we are pressed for time this evening."

"I really don't think Finch is our guy, sir. He obviously works for the wrong people, but I don't think he's a minion. I talked to him a little bit, and I'm pretty good at sniffing out bullshit. He's not a bad guy."

Nodding, Viggo replied, "I will keep that in mind when he is questioned. As much as I trust you, we can take no chances. You should go find a way back home now; Mr. Finch's vehicle will need to stay here."

"You, uh, don't want me to stay, sir?"

"I don't think you would want to. While I have numerous Gifts, I cannot alter memories or perceive lies with penetrating insight. Elder Ragna does have those Gifts, and she will arrive here soon. I doubt you wish to spend more time with her. Moreover, you will need to make yourself ready in whatever attire you deem appropriate; the Open Gathering is later tonight, and we are going to attend."

TOOL

I had a blast getting home. No cab was gonna come to the neighborhood I was in, so I had to hoof it over a mile to a safer area. The heavy rain came with gusty winds, rendering my umbrella all but useless. Because of my drowned-dog appearance, I had to prove to the taxi driver that I had money before he'd let me in. I had him stop a few blocks from my place and didn't give much of a tip. I had to use my keys for the first time to get in; I fumbled with 'em in the rain while Thunder watched from the window.

An hour later I had a meal in my belly, business casual clothes on, and a drink in my hand. A text from the ShadoWorks number told me to be ready by eleven. I had twenty minutes to burn. Thunder was keeping me company in the office, so I decided to give another shot at keeping his gaze. A few minutes into it, Thunder looked out into the hallway and then hopped into my lap. I looked down at him and then back to the doorway. Viggo was standing there with my ancestor's metal goblet in his hand.

"It is difficult to catch a cat unaware," he said conversationally. "You don't seem very surprised, either."

"Uh, no sir. Some of my latest dreams involving you have been about you showing up unexpectedly or just lurking in a dark spot. I'm getting used to it."

Viggo shrugged. "As I understand it, a minion who shares strong affinities with his lord will have glimpses in his sleep of a past not his own. You and I were once warriors, and we both hold similar values in high regard. I am therefore not surprised that I am the occasional focus of your dreams." He sat down across the desk from me and changed the topic. "You should know some things before we go."

"Yes sir, I was wondering about a few things."

"I thought you might be." He set the goblet in front of me and continued. "To begin with, you were correct - Mr. Finch was not the culprit. Ragna erased today's events from his mind. I drove him back to his apartment, put him back in bed, and placed a spilled bottle of sleeping pills on his bedside table. Mr. Finch will rationalize a reasonable excuse from there; the human mind is amazingly adaptive."

"Alright, great, I'm glad I was right about that. Then, uh, if Finch wasn't the imposter, who was?" I picked up the ornate goblet. It was half full, and the dark liquid inside carried the aroma of secrets and power and Jack Daniels. I downed it all at once.

Viggo absently gazed out the window behind me. His thick brows came down into a scowl, and flowing strips of shadow began to blur his form when he said, "Edward Galloway. He could have cut his hair to any shorter fashion; it would return to its original length the following night. Cheap Halloween kits can make believable scar tissue, and appear even more realistic from a short distance."

"That motherfucker," I growled. Ragna had the right idea when she wanted Galloway taken out, but I didn't want to admit that out loud... or even at all.

"Mr. Galloway was the tool, and I believe there was a hand that used him. Most certainly an Adept. I strongly suspect Emmeline Le Meur, although there is no proof to support my claim."

"Will he be at the Open Gathering?" I asked, handing the goblet back to him.

"If Mr. Galloway has no concerns of being found out, then he will attend for the sake of socializing. If, however, he has paranoid tendencies, the Gathering is one of the few places he is safe. To be clear, the Doyenne will declare the location of any Gathering to be Civil Ground, if only temporarily. Either way, Mr. Galloway will be there."

Viggo's angry shadows were fading, which was a relief. I had a stupid question, but decided to ask it anyway. "I guess that when I see him there, I'm not allowed to shoot him in the face. A lot."

"Sorry, no," Viggo said with a hint of regret. "Weapons are not allowed on Civil Ground, excluding the Doyenne's enforcer. Violence of any sort will not be tolerated. The use of any Gift, however innocuous, is also forbidden. These rules have been in place for centuries. You will adhere to them."

"Of course, sir." I pulled my Ruger out of a pocket and set it on the desk. "When are we going?"

"Mr. O'Shaughnessy will arrive at any moment. We will ride with him."

Viggo and I started discussing Thunder and the Gift of Fauna when a car honked out front. We walked out and saw an oversized black cargo van, extended and with a raised roof. Skin hopped out of the passenger door wearing a brown velvet tracksuit and tan pageboy cap. I would have laughed at nearly anyone else wearing that outfit, but the pimp/ridiculous mix didn't look bad on him.

Skin first bowed his head to Viggo and then said to me, "You sit up front with Kurt, kid."

While Skin opened one of the rear doors for him and Viggo, I climbed into the passenger seat. Behind the wheel was one of Skala's mammoth men, who stared at me indifferently. "You must be Kurt," I said, trying to be pleasant. He only nodded. I looked over my shoulder into the back of the van; it looked like the inside of one of those mobile command units that police use. Two chairs on casters sat in front of a bank of electronic equipment and monitors that took up one whole side of the van.

I was about to ask what was going on when Kurt held a piece of paper in front of my face. "I need route. GPS ist scheisse," he grunted in broken English. "You know this place?"

I looked at the address written on the paper and... son of a bitch. "Yeah, I know it," I said with a sigh. It was the Everett mansion.

CAMERA

"Mr. Skala's tie clip has been fitted with a miniature recording device," Viggo began to explain as we drove through the night. His understanding of modern technology was a little sketchy.

"If I may, elder?" Skin said to him. I was watching the road, so I assume Viggo gave him a nod to put things in simpler terms. "It's a spy cam, and it picks up audio. It gets fed to one of the receivers back here. Mr. Skala's limo is waiting near the Everett place. When we pull up behind it, I'll go turn his cam on and ride the last couple hundred yards with him to the valets waiting out front."

"Leo, you and I will watch the monitor for a time," Viggo told me. "When the Doyenne calls for a formal convening, we shall join the festivities."

"Yes sir. Uh, what exactly is a convening?"

"During a Gathering, a Doyen - or sometimes a faction emissary - will call for all in attendance to congregate for the purpose of bearing witness to decrees of various sorts. Those decrees range from granting progeny to administering justice, with many things in between."

"I've got this set to record," Skin said to Viggo. "I'll have to watch it later on. The reactions to your scion should be damn entertaining. And that won't be the best part!"

We made it to the upscale neighborhood. I gave Kurt more instructions until our van finally pulled up behind a limo parked a few lawns away from Everett's. Skin hopped out and got into the limo. Viggo told me to come watch the monitor with him. The camera came on just as I was sitting down. We couldn't see much inside the dark limo, but the screen brightened when Skala stepped out a minute later.

Two guards were waiting on either side of the wide front door. Holy crap, they were Frank Cantrell and Carla Dykowski, the detectives who tried to fuck with me a couple months before.

"Do you know those people, Leo?" Viggo asked. "You had a reaction."

"Yes sir, I know 'em. I told you about my run-in with those two outside of a bar a while back. They were also probably the ones who passed along my ties with Phillip Aoki to Le Meur, although they actually work for Dominic Riva. I owe them one for Phillip."

"Ah, I see. The path to your retribution may be clear; I happen to know that Mr. Riva is currently out of action. As for how much the Doyenne might interfere in the future..." Viggo shrugged.

On the screen, Skala walked into the large, chandelier-lit foyer. Moses Dupree stood there, most likely to greet hemos and announce their arrival. Skala was evidently not covering his true appearance; Dupree flinched, but composed himself pretty quick. When Skala gave his name and title, Dupree looked like he crapped himself. I was fairly sure that was impossible for a hemo, but I liked the reaction.

"Is it another rule that your people can't lie when on Civil Ground?" I wondered out loud. "Otherwise, couldn't some other unknown Deviant claim to be Mr. Skala?"

"Fabrications are a part of gatherings," Viggo said. "Some of my own faction members revel at selling lies at these social functions. I find them distasteful. Countering your query is Mr. Dupree, whose Gift of Discerning is quite strong. At his level of ability, knowing fact from falsehood is involuntary. When my scion spoke, Mr. Dupree automatically knew his words to be true."

Aldo Skala moved leisurely around the huge house, muttering short hellos to everyone who bowed to him or gave a respectful greeting. Barnabus Merritt came up to him a little while later, offering a handshake and a monster's smile. They started speaking in German, so I took that as my chance to talk to Viggo again. "It seems like anyone who knows Mr. Skala is kissing his ass, sir."

"As well they should," he replied. "Herr Aldo Skala is nearly twelve hundred years old - an ancient Eidolon to most. He led war parties for my people in the centuries after he was brought into the night, although he was originally a Pomeranian. Tiring of war as I did, he turned his interests to espionage for profit. A few decades before the time of your American Revolution, Herr Skala took to slumber deep in Deviant-carved catacombs below Munich. An occurrence during your Second World War stirred him; he claimed the city and has ruled it well ever since. He is preceded by his age and his blood, which is more potent than most active elders. The name of my scion is known to many."

Unlike Viggo, who was busy keeping an oath for the sake of my lineage, his own progeny had a chance to sleep for a while. I tried not to dwell on the guilt and moved on. "There are more people in there than I expected. I've seen some faces that I recognize and a few I don't, but hardly any Deviants - only Skin, Mr. Merritt and Roach so far. Does your faction avoid these parties for some reason?"

Viggo pointed to the screen as Skala's cam shifted one way or another. "Some in attendance are merely minions. You will notice they never sit, and stay near their lords or ladies. Some of us bring a minion to a Gathering on occasion, although many do not. Attempting to bring an entourage is frowned upon. As for the absence of some of my faction members, those not presented to the Doyenne will not attend for obvious reasons. I have yet to see Ragna or her scion, Mr. Vestergaard, but they may have..."

He was distracted by something that the audio picked up in the background - a crash and some yelling. Hmm, something was amiss in the house of hemos. The view on the monitor turned chaotic from all the sudden movement of people around Skala. The scene began to steady as he pressed forward through a small crowd of onlookers. Someone screeched. A male voice yelled, "Lady, no!" And then a raspy bellow echoed through the mansion, a roar of rage that formed one word: "YOUUUU".

I knew that voice. Ragna had made it to the party after all, and no one was happy to see her.

OFFENSE

Skala's cam faced the center of the large foyer. Thick chunks and shards of wood littered the marble floor. I guessed that's what was left of the front door. Also down on the deck among the debris was Moses Dupree, bleeding heavily from one ear and scooting to the far side of the crowd.

On the left side of the screen, Enric Tomasino held steady in a battle stance. He hadn't pulled his sword yet, but I figured he was well-practiced at pulling it pretty quick. Cowering behind Tomasino was Edward Galloway, whose expression was a weird mix of satisfaction and scared shitless.

Barely in the camera's view on the right was the Norse priest, Michael, who was trying to hold back his wild-eyed lunatic of a matriarch... or dark mother, or bitch, or whatever. Ragna kept her ice-blue glare on Galloway, snarling and straining against Michael's desperate grip. Her scarf had come loose, revealing her nightmarish chin and neck. Something had made her go ape-shit, and she was holding the cringing Adept responsible. Ragna and I finally had something in common.

"What made her snap, sir?" I asked as we both kept our eyes on the monitor.

"Good question," he murmured. "I will have the answer soon enough."

Ragna was just breaking free of Michael's grip when Barnabus ran forward, tackling her. Together, they held the dog-woman in place and spoke calmly to her. She stopped straining, lying on the floor under two grown men, but still stared daggers at Galloway. He was looking anywhere but back at her.

Tomasino said, "Mr. Merritt, please allow elder Ragna to stand if you think it safe to do so. It is unfitting to have someone of her esteem pinned to the ground, even with her transgression."

I thought that was a very bad idea. Barnabus thought so, too. "She is still beyond reason, Mr. Tomasino. If I might suggest, do not meet her stare and please remove Mr. Galloway from sight." I guess just the mention of his name set Ragna off again. She shrugged off both Barnabus and Michael, getting to her knees. Damn, that twisted cripple was strong. They reclaimed grips on Ragna's arms, holding her in place and denying her the chance to get to her feet.

"Vanquish her," came the command from off-screen. I remember Le Meur's voice well; it was normally warm honey, but right then the honey was cold and mixed with venom.

Skala shifted the cam in her direction. The Doyenne stood three steps up on the wide staircase behind the circle of onlookers. Coiffed hair, flawless skin, shimmering dress, big amber eyes; it was tough to forget her. Wait, forget tough - it was impossible. At least for someone with a working dick, that is.

Frowning, Tomasino turned his head toward Le Meur. "Milady?" he asked, apparently surprised.

"Doyenne," Barnabus called out, "elder Ragna is subdued. There is no rea -"

"I gave an order," Le Meur said coolly, interrupting him. "Stake the dog-woman, have her bound, and bring her to me before dawn. See to it, enforcer."

Even from three hundred yards away, I could feel the tension. It was thick in the van, too; shadows were coming off of Viggo like creepy tendrils - pulsing, crawling... yearning. I felt the urge to go sit back up front with Kurt, who had a much smaller chance of making me piss my pants.

On screen, Tomasino reluctantly began to pull the sword strapped to his back. The camera moved; we realized that Skala had stepped out from the crowd, facing Tomasino and Le Meur. "With all due respect to your worthy and earned positions in this city," Skala said formally to them, "I request that you allow a Deviant to deal with one of his own. Not to undermine your authority, enforcer." Tomasino shrugged.

"You must be Doyen Aldo Skala," Le Meur said. The audio picked up whispers of other hemos repeating his name. "While I am honored to have a visitor of your status in my city, why would I allow you to remove the offender? Your faction would no doubt show her lenience. Justice would not be served."

"There is no contesting that elder Ragna has violated one of the rules of Civil Ground. She will not be spared fair and stern punishment. Her offense will be dealt with accordingly. On that I give you my word. One of the reasons for my presence in your city concerns her. Grant me the burden of Ragna's penance; I am sure that equitable recompense can be negotiated for your clemency."

"He's pretty smooth," I commented to Viggo. He merely nodded, and then said, "You will notice that Lady Le Meur did not ask the reason for Ragna's unhinging. I believe she already knows why."

"It's pretty obvious it has something to do with Galloway. Ragna wanted to rip him apart."

"Yes... the tool takes the blame for damage done. The wielding hand can easily feign innocence."

The cam angle showed Le Meur standing there, weighing her options. The crowd waited. Skala suddenly moved; the camera swung and spun. I was pretty sure he bent over and turned around. I caught a quick glimpse of Ragna's wide eyes and hands gripping her shoulders. A few hemos gasped. Skala stepped back, steadying the shot. Ragna was still kneeling, but a big shard of wood was jammed in her chest. The dog-woman was staked. Her previous expression of demented fury was replaced with one of surprise.

The camera spun again. Skala turned back to Le Meur and said, "I hope that satisfies your reservations."

She smiled faintly and nodded. Skala called his other minion, Karl, to carry Ragna back to his limo and guard her. Barnabus led the stunned Michael away from the scene. Le Meur moved forward through the dispersing crowd and stood in front of Skala. From the angle, I could only see from the bottom of her jaw to just below her tits; most of the screen was filled with the top half of a shimmering red dress.

"And what exactly brings you to my city?" Le Meur asked.

"Business."

"Hmm. If it is a new endeavor that you are researching, perhaps Realm Management could help you explore the possibilities. The recompense you owe might be found in a joint venture."

"Ah, no. Let me clarify; family business."

"Is that so? Your progeny resides here under my fair rule? Do you mean..."

"All in good time, Lady. When you convene your subjects, I shall formally present myself and make my reasons known."

Barnabus found Skala a short time later in the billiards room, saying that Michael told him what made Ragna go nuts. Sometime during the day, a car that was eventually found out to belong to one of Galloway's minions was seen driving through her domain. The people in that car set out large amounts of poisoned meat in vacant lots. Almost all of Ragna's pets, plus other animals attracted by the smell, were dead by the time she woke. I could easily picture her flipping out about that.

The two continued talking, this time in English. Barnabus had just asked Skala what he planned to do with Ragna when Moses Dupree - wearing a new suit - politely interrupted them. "Excuse me, elder Skala, emissary Merritt. The Doyenne has called for a convening in the great room."

Hot damn, game on.

CONVENING

As Viggo and I walked down the dark, quiet street with opulent houses on either side of us, I asked, "What are my orders, sir?"

He kept his gaze fixed on the Everett mansion ahead of us. "Stay one step behind me and to my right. If I give an order, you need not answer - simply do it. Do not speak unless I ask you a question, and do not reply to anyone else who might address you directly."

Viggo's shadows of anger hadn't started dancing again yet, but I was sure it was only a matter of time.

We crossed over onto Everett's lawn and approached the front. Cantrell was on a stepstool, nailing a blanket over the frame of where the door used to be. Dykowski saw us coming and signaled her partner. Cantrell pulled one edge of the blanket aside and said something to whoever was in earshot inside. Recognizing me, they stood tense on either side of the hung blanket. "Good evening, sir," Dykowski said to Viggo, ignoring me with everything but her piggy eyes.

Viggo paused at the entryway, giving the detectives a chance to react to his true appearance. Jet-black eyes fixed on Dykowski; she gulped and began to sweat. Keeping his glare on her, Viggo asked me, "Do you wish to address these two before we go in, Mr. Beck?"

"Yes sir, thank you." I glanced from Cantrell to Dykowski. "I don't care about your badges or who you really work for. If I ever see either of you again, expect pain - a lot of pain."

Both of their stares kept switching from me to Viggo, but they didn't say shit. Probably a wise choice. I stepped forward, pulled the blanket aside, and we stepped in.

The last time I was in the Everett mansion, it was dark and quiet with a lingering odor of gunpowder and blood. This time the place was annoyingly bright, crappy instrumental music played through the house speakers, and the cloying scent of roses wafted by. The current ambiance was the lesser of two evils.

Waiting in the foyer for us was Dupree. He steeled himself for Viggo's grotesque appearance and cold black eyes. Wisps of shadow had begun to lift and sway off of my commander's form. Dupree's eyes went wide and he took a step back. "May - may I have y-your name, sir?" he forced himself to ask.

"Lead me to your Doyenne," Viggo growled, sounding like death itself. Without another word, Dupree turned and led us to the east wing of the mansion. "You remember my voice and attire from the other evening downtown, yes?" Viggo asked him as we walked. Dupree nodded quickly. "Then you would be wise to stay in my company for the time being."

Past the large dining room was a short, wide hallway. It opened up into the great room, an area with a two-story high ceiling and enough space to seat forty people. The crowd of twenty-plus hemos and minions was gathered in the near half of the room, all facing away from us. Around a few bodies, I could see Le Meur sitting in a fancy chair next to a large unlit fireplace at the far end of the room. Tomasino stood nearest to her. We stayed back and listened to the conversation in progress.

The Outsider elder Jack Fletcher was voicing his concerns about two members of his faction who had been missing for some time. Le Meur said that she shared his distress because two of her own people couldn't be accounted for, and another had been taken by a powerful stranger. She turned to Barnabus and asked if the Deviants were having the same problem. He nodded, admitting that Pedro Viera and Harlan couldn't be found or contacted. Nervous murmurs filled the room.

Putting his left hand on Dupree's shoulder as a reminder not to run off, Viggo leaned toward me. "I see you craning your head," he whispered. "Who are you looking for?"

"Mr. McKenna, sir," I answered just as quietly. "I didn't see him on the monitor. Here, either."

"While Mr. McKenna would find refuge on Civil Ground, it would only be temporary. I presume that the Doyenne has put the full weight of her influence into all but destroying him. You've had a taste of Le Meur's power, Leo; she has used the same Gifts and more to keep key mortals under her thumb. Police commissioners, corporate heads, and directors of social media - her local manipulation is expansive. Were Mr. McKenna here tonight, authorities would no doubt be alerted and waiting for him once he left the grounds. He would not fare well in a holding cell that had a window..."

"So he's on the run?"

"A fugitive, yes. His home, his properties, even his vehicles cannot offer a safe haven. I suspect that his assets have been seized and his accounts frozen. Declan McKenna finally overstepped his bounds in his attempts to subvert Emmeline Le Meur's dominion."

That had to suck for McKenna, not that I felt any pity for him. He was used to money and nice shit and throwing his weight around. And then, suddenly, he's forced to grab what he can and disappear. His minions - Blake and the other one - would be watched, too, so crashing with them wasn't an option. Neither was getting help from anyone in his loose-knit faction, not even his sire Fletcher; no one would want to share McKenna's trouble. He was fucked, simple as that.

In the great room, other comments were being made about various faction members in the past that simply disappeared. I figured that if Viggo was involved with all of those cases, he had a good reason.

Le Meur refocused the crowd's attention on announcements of introduction. First was a hemo who moved from Florida and wanted to make K.C. her new home. She introduced herself as Isabel Greco of the Adept faction, and said she was an artist of different mediums. Art, shmart - I was only interested in her exotic and dangerous looks, probably a blend of Asian and South American heritage. Le Meur welcomed Greco to the city, promised they would speak again soon, and then moved on.

The next announcement kicked my ass. "By my allowance, one of the Outsiders has brought another strong individual into the night," Le Meur stated. "Jade Clayton, please step forward."

A fairly petite, tattooed woman walked to the center of the room. Faded jeans tucked into knee-high boots, gypsy jewelry, and an unbuttoned jean jacket vest with a t-shirt underneath - she had a certain style. Her pale white skin contrasted to her dark red hair, pulled into a long braid. Jade was cute rather than beautiful; her large brown eyes added to the effect. I looked closer and saw that her black t-shirt had neon lime lettering that said, 'Soylent Green - Tap the Resource'. I found out later what that meant.

"Thank you, Doyenne," Jade said to Le Meur and then turned to address the other guests. "Nearly two months ago, I was granted the right of progeny. I was of course elated and honored. My issue was that I had no human in mind to award with the dark exchange. So few of them are worthy these days, as I'm sure you all know." Jade was comfortable with public speaking, that was for damn sure. "The Doyenne knew of my plight, and kindly offered choices from her own pool of minion candidates." She turned back to Le Meur and continued. "I am happy to say that I selected one of those choices, considering him worthy to join our numen ranks. Doyenne, I present my scion, Cordell King."

No fucking way.

HERALD

Cordell King - my buddy Cord - stood and went to Jade's side. He must've been sitting in one of the chairs against the wall, or else I would've noticed his big frame. I didn't understand... Cord, a new hemo? I was stunned. My mind was a blender full of questions.

Towering over Jade, Cordell didn't appear to be confused or nervous at all, as I might've expected. His demeanor was stern and proud. He also had a whole new look. Cordell used to be painfully predictable with his constant wardrobe choice of slacks, polo shirt and blazer. In casual settings, he took off the blazer. Going along with his change of species, Cord wore his military boots, black jeans, a long-sleeved pullover that clung to his muscles, and a sleeveless motorcycle jacket. His brown eyes had somehow lightened in color, emphasized by his dark skin. A new look for a new badass.

Cord turned to the Doyenne, bowed and mumbled a few words. She nodded to him and asked Jade, "The exchange was recent, no? I can sense new blood coursing through him."

"Last night, Doyenne."

"I thought your faction was of the habit to test a new scion's mettle, leaving him to his own devices for a time. Did you doubt Mr. King's ability to survive?" The question didn't come off as insulting; it was more like creating conversation. It was clear that Le Meur and Jade Clayton got along, or pretended well.

"Quite the contrary, Doyenne," Jade said with a smile. "Mr. King learned to be resilient long before I met him, so I saw no need to put him through our trial of determination." That was true. Cord never spoke of his childhood much, but I knew he had it rough. His mom died young, his dad worked all the time, and he had to watch over his little sister. Living in a dangerous neighborhood didn't help. I bet every day was a test. Cord finally enlisted at nineteen; the Corps gave him a whole new set of challenges.

Le Meur congratulated Jade and Cordell - basically a polite dismissal. When they stepped away, she announced, "Tonight, we have the pleasure of having an unexpected guest among us." She stood and held one hand out in Skala's general direction. "Here to present himself at our Gathering, I am honored to welcome the Doyen of Munich, Germany, the renowned Herr Aldo Skala."

Confidently stepping out into the open area, Skala scanned the semicircle of hemos with a disapproving glare. That made me smile. He slowly turned toward Le Meur. In his gruff voice and thick accent, he said, "I told you I was here on business \- family business. To be clear, that does not include elder Ragna, who is not of my line. I did not come here for her, nor am I here to present myself to the likes of you, Lady Le Meur. I, Aldo Skala, come to this Gathering as a herald."

Obviously pissed but trying not to show it, Le Meur asked with a snotty tone, "A herald? For who?"

Skala turned his back on her and held his arms out wide to the crowd. "I am the scion of the walking shadow..." Viggo's outline began to lose definition. He moved Dupree aside and started forward.

". . . The offspring of stygian vengeance..." Skala continued. The room ahead began to subtly darken and gather a gloom, like someone was turning down the dimmer knobs for the chandeliers. Shadows of the guests began to move of their own accord, sliding up the walls and twisting into grotesque shapes. Everyone in the room was suddenly either tense or openly scared.

". . . And the keeper of oaths," Skala concluded. "You all stand in the presence of a true Eidolon, as bugs under a heel. None of you are worthy." His utter contempt for them was nearly palpable, like a slow, lingering punch in the face. "To all of you undeserving numen, I present... the Veleti."

RECKONING

In front of us was Barnabus and Skin; both stepped out of the way. Just as Viggo strode into everyone's view, the fireplace spontaneously roared to life with flame. A few hemos screamed in surprise and alarm. Shadows slithered along all the walls, all forming into constantly shifting demonic shapes. I'd seen Viggo do something like it before, but not to that degree. A number of the hemos were reacting to the new, threatening ambiance like I did the first time I saw it. Three minions ran out of the room in fear.

Skala bowed to my commander and then stepped away. Viggo turned his gaze around the room, never letting his menacing black eyes linger. "To those of you who have the ability to gauge truth from lie," he said with a voice of burning gravel, "consider these words and let your senses be the judge. I am Viggo of the Veleti, Eidolon of the Deviant faction and eldest of all conscious numen."

"Truth," Barnabus said loudly. Moses Dupree echoed him. Edward Galloway fell to his knees and bowed his head in the presence of one of his false gods. Tomasino yanked him back to his feet.

Viggo turned to Le Meur with an expectant stare. "Truth," she said quietly while cautiously easing into her chair. "Welcome, Veleti," she said, regaining her confidence. "We are all indeed honored that you have come to introduce yourself at this Gathering. If you would like -"

"I did not come here for presentations and pleasantries," Viggo growled. "I came here for a reckoning." He let his black eyes roam over the nervous, silent crowd for a second and then pointed a finger at a middle-aged hemo with iron gray hair and a sharp suit. "You, Nathan Powell. Setting aside the unethical treatment of your lowly Realm Management employees - for now - I will address a greater infraction under your control. Namely, the illegal dumping of your commercial waste. It stops now. If I hear of another occurrence, I will force you to build a hovel out of your company's trash and live in it."

Powell just stood there slack-jawed. Viggo moved his finger and aimed it at Jack Fletcher, who had the balls to glare back. "Your attempts, both failed and successful, to sabotage machinery at numerous industrial plants have been noted, Mr. Fletcher. While I applaud your fervor, it will not continue without reciprocation. Should you halt any company operations again, you will find your cherished parks infested with plant-damaging insects. If that does not deter you, the situation will become personal."

I could see that Fletcher was about to lose his cool. His hands were balled into fists, and he shook with the effort of restraining himself. A second later, he spun and stormed out of the mansion.

Viggo wasn't done yet, not by a longshot. He faced Jade Clayton with a cold stare; Cordell moved slightly in front of her as protection. My commander said that her continuance to use her radio show to incite protests of area foundries irritated him. If she kept it up, another rat infestation would occur to once again collapse her pipes, chew through her power lines, and use her shower as a litter box. I recalled him once sending a horde of rats off to fuck with someone. His threat told me who and why.

Next on Viggo's list was a tough-looking Outsider named Lexian Grimm. I had no idea what kind of business Grimm ran, but Viggo told him that dumping body parts into the storm drain at the back of his property was prohibited from then on.

Surprisingly, Viggo then turned to Roach. In a less threatening tone, he said, "First, my deception as simply another Deviant named Stone was done for a measure of privacy; no slight was meant toward you. Secondly... While I do not condone or condemn your business, the distribution of your product needs to be curbed. It is being filtered into grade schools, orphanages and the like. I am not enforcing my own morality on you. However, the unchecked sales will create a stigma in and of this city - a stigma that will have a chain-effect. I will not allow that."

Edward Galloway had kept his head down since Viggo arrived, but he couldn't ignore his god standing in front of him. He fearfully lifted his head, looked into the eyes of the abyss, and quickly dropped his head again. "You are a fool that has been used, Edward," Viggo stated. "But a willing fool, weren't you? You wanted retribution for elder Ragna's actions against you, for the humiliation you suffered at the hands of her minion. That minion - Mr. Beck - is actually mine. You did not have the clever mind to get the justice you felt was deserved, so you turned to one of your faction to assist you, is that not so?"

"Yes, lord Veleti," Galloway whimpered. Aside from the tricky and cruel shit he did, I wanted to break his nose just for being such a pussy.

Viggo stepped back. "Mr. Galloway, you will accompany me when I leave this evening. If you flee, your desperate escape will be short-lived. I will hunt you. I will find you. I will put you in the black mouth of madness, a hungry place that will swallow your screams and your sanity."

Galloway slumped to the floor again, sobbing tears of blood. Tomasino left him there that time.

Finally, Viggo settled his inky gaze on Le Meur. She must've gotten worked up while he made his threats and basically assumed authority over what she saw as her show. Her scowl and sneer took away from her unearthly beauty, but only a little. "Are you quite through passing judgment, sir?"

"You should feel honored, Miss Le Meur - I have saved you for last. Now mind your tone with me."

I thought she was pissed before. I was wrong. "Spew your final threats and leave," Le Meur hissed. "As Doyenne, I say that you are no longer welcome here. I will forgive that you infested my entire building with rats, but you will take your damnable minion and go! And Edward will be leaving with me, not you!"

"You always were rash, Emmeline," Viggo replied calmly as he moved to stand in front of her. "You have sat too comfortably in the seat of power."

"I won my seat decades ago, Viggo," Le Meur retorted, leaning forward. "I have earned the right, and I am due to reap its rewards. Your own scion would say the same."

"I agree," he said with a nod. "You earned your position by your own merits. But," he pointed a finger at her, "you keep that seat only because I allow it."

"Allow it!" Le Meur barked. "Allow it? You are not the one to allow, vermin king. Perhaps your legend is overrated, Veleti, just as you underestimate me. I have the power to rule!" My commander, overrated? Impulsively, I began to step forward. Skala's hand on my shoulder stopped me.

Viggo shook his head like he was dealing with a moron. It only infuriated Le Meur more. "Your power, such as it is, only afforded you the seat," he said, "but obviously not the wisdom to rule well in it."

"Wiser by far than the weak-minded Deviant whom I deposed!"

"Your predecessor - Mr. Dixon - was a disturbed fool. While you are not that, neither are you cut from the cloth of leadership. Since the beginning of your reign, I have watched you act with selfish impunity and, at times, cruelty. For years, members of every faction have gone missing. You have done nothing about it except to surround yourself with servants and security. You say you have power, but you use it only to serve your own petty desires. As a Doyenne, you... Hmm." Viggo turned to me. "How would you describe her leadership, Leo?"

"She sucks."

He turned back to her. "Well, there you have it." Viggo was provoking her, pushing all the right buttons. He was attacking her vanity and challenging her rule. I was glad to help.

By then, Le Meur was paler than usual - almost Neva white - and her amber eyes glowed with fury. "Ah, I see now!" she yelled. "You want my seat! You think your intimidating tricks and your insults will drive me from it? You are a greater fool than Dixon!" Le Meur was near hysterical. I guess taking a verbal beating in front of everyone pushed her ego over the edge. She had lost control, just like Viggo wanted her to. "You don't know the extent of my power! If I hadn't declared this mansion as Civil Ground, you would be groveling at my feet, you grotesque, rat-drinking leech!"

Viggo smiled - the kind of smile that chills a room. Or, in my case, a spine. "Groveling, is it? By all means, Emmeline, subjugate me with the full magnitude of your paltry Gifts." It had come to a breaking point. I felt it. I bet everyone in the room felt it.

Le Meur sprung to her feet, nearly in the same rage that Ragna was in a couple hours before. "By my authority," she bellowed, "I declare that this location is no longer Civil Ground! Now I will make you my slave, Veleti!"

Viggo's smile widened.

POWER

A silent wave of power washed through the large room. It broke over me, forcing me down to one knee. There was nothing in my world but Lady Le Meur. For a moment that felt like forever, her radiance and overwhelming control consumed me. It was a familiar feeling. Somewhere deep inside, I despised it.

That moment ended when a pair of unnaturally strong hands roughly lifted me up with ease and shook me. Through a haze of Le Meur's power, I looked at the cracked plaster face and gleaming shark eyes of Aldo Skala. He was in my face, way inside my bubble. With another violent shake, he growled, "You have the blood of the Veleti in you! Show some resolve!" Then he head-butted me. I'm sure it was soft for him, but to me it felt like getting my skull pounded by a rock. "Beck! Be worthy of your lord!"

The combination of Skala's words and the growing lump on my forehead broke Le Meur's powerful spell. I blinked a couple times and nodded to Skala that I had my wits. When he moved out of the way, I saw everyone else bowing their heads or down on a knee. Le Meur stood tall with her arms leisurely spread and a wild look in her golden eyes. Viggo stood before her with his head down. With him facing away from me, I couldn't see his expression. I was about to go to him when he lifted his head and spoke.

"As I said, Emmeline, you are rash."

Le Meur's face contorted with pure rage. Her scream pierced the room. She lunged at my commander, but he was ready for it. Hell, he was waiting on it. Viggo casually backhanded her; the deceptively light blow was enough to slam Le Meur back into her chair with blood drooling out of her slack mouth.

He stepped forward, looming over her. "In losing your impotent temper, you have forgotten the tenet of lineage. The mental Gifts of Enchantment and Control have no effect on those of purer blood than the wielder. Or perhaps you did not forget, and arrogantly believed that your proficiency in said Gifts would overcome an irrefutable truth. My blood is purer than yours, Doyenne - much purer by far." I guess that explained why Skala wasn't affected, either. "You have not seen a true Eidolon's power. Therefore, I will give you a sample..."

Viggo stepped back and turned to one side, holding up an open hand. When he clenched it into a fist, the crackling flames in the fireplace snuffed into smoke and ashes. The room deepened in gloom from the sudden loss of firelight. I hadn't seen that trick before, but I knew it wasn't his best one.

In one fluid motion Viggo reached out, palmed Edward Galloway's skull, and dragged him in close. Shadows stretched away from the walls, wrapping around Viggo as he began to twist with Edward in his grip. At the same time, the unnatural gloom was drawn to them. The shadows quickly condensed and darkened around the two until they became a swirling blur of blackness. With a pop that was felt rather than heard, the eerie hole of inky nothingness collapsed in on itself like a silent implosion. Viggo and Edward were gone, swallowed by the void. It began and ended in less than three seconds.

Nearly everyone stood in place and glanced around nervously, unsure of what they just saw. Hesitantly, Tomasino stepped over to Le Meur and handed her his handkerchief. After wiping her lips and chin, she turned her head to Aldo Skala and shouted, "What is this? Where is Edward Galloway?" Skala only stared back at her. Le Meur looked away from him and stood up. "Mr. Dupree," she demanded with a bitter tone, "I want you to go search the mansion and the grounds."

"You don't understand, do you?" Skala asked. "Or do you simply refuse to acknowledge the power you've been shown? Either way, Mr. Galloway will not be found. Perhaps you should to sit back down, Doyenne; this isn't over yet."

BARTER

"Indeed it is not," Viggo said as he walked from the hallway toward the center of the room again. A number of hemos flinched with surprise. "I now speak to all of you who have just learned of me. Listen well, for I will state my warnings only once." He stopped a couple paces in front of Le Meur and turned to face everyone, his form only slightly blurred with pulsing shadow. "There is property across this city that I have declared as mine; if you trespass, I will know of it and will return the favor. I also control or have affiliation with many humans in key positions; if you tamper with them, I will tamper with you."

"Excuse me, sir," Enric Tomasino spoke up, "but how are we to know which places and people you have laid claim to?"

Viggo looked at him. "Initially, you will not know, so I suggest you tread lightly. I will say, however, that after this evening, I will consider this home as under my protection and one of my domains." He then turned to one side to address Le Meur. "That means you will no longer use your Gifts on the late Mr. Everett's son, Steven, who currently sits below us in the basement storage room awaiting your next order." I wondered what happened to that guy; Gwen said he cut contact with everyone soon after he came back to town.

Le Meur averted his gaze, looking away with her lips pressed tight. "Yes, of course," she finally said. Forced into obedience, most likely feeling humiliated, I figured that after we left she was going to lash out at some poor undeserving bastard. As long as it was a hemo, I didn't care.

Turning back to the crowd, Viggo continued. "As most of you have minions, you obviously have an affinity for them to one degree or another. The same can be said of mine. Just as you would take offense to their ill-treatment, I do as well. Take Mr. Beck here as an example. He has been the target of abuse, manipulation and attempted murder on multiple occasions. No more. Any further malicious meddling with him or any of my other minions will incur the full weight of my wrath."

"And what of Mr. Beck currently being wanted by the mortal authorities?" Skala asked knowingly.

"Ah, that." Viggo faced Le Meur again. "I must commend you, Doyenne. Well played. Your handling of Mr. Galloway, whom I know to be the real culprit, took finesse."

". . . Thank you," she replied hesitantly.

"I wonder whether he came to you with his concerns of Ragna and Mr. Beck, or if you saw opportunity in his plight and approached him." Viggo shrugged, adding, "I will find out soon enough."

"Where is Mr. Galloway?" Le Meur calmly asked.

"Safely hidden away for now. He is in the good company of Mr. Riva, Mr. Dean and others of your fine faction." Her eyes widened at that admission, but she kept her mouth shut. "I could simply demand that you have my minion removed as a police suspect, but I consider myself fair and honorable. Therefore, I wish to barter with you."

"To what end?" I liked how her voice had that cautious, suspicious tone to it. She was in a corner.

"Let us begin with the matter of the modified video from the warehouse." Skin stepped forward and handed Viggo a CD case with a disc in it. He held it up and said, "This is a copy of the original. It has been altered by Mr. O'Shaughnessy only to point out certain features that differentiate Mr. Beck from the true culprit, Mr. Galloway. Have it entered into the case file."

"And in return?"

"I give you the chance - no, the opportunity \- to retain your position and make yourself worthy of the noble title. The alternative... Well, while I presume that you miss your absent Adepts, I am sure you would not wish to join them."

"This is your version of barter?" Le Meur asked incredulously. "There's not much choice to be made."

"The other trades I have in mind are not so severe. For example, I ask that your police officials remove Mr. Beck as a suspect from the Everett murder case, whether they find credence with the new evidence or not. In recompense, I will return Mr. Riva to you. Further, I request that you use your influence to publicize Mr. Beck's innocence in every form of media. Once you have done so, I will also release the fledgling Sebastian Horn to your care."

I was a little embarrassed to be the focal point in a room full of hemos, but I was also humbled that Viggo was going out of his way for me like that. I wasn't his only motive, but I was grateful nonetheless.

Le Meur stewed with a scowl. "Why does your method of barter seem so much like extortion?" she asked. I wasn't sure if the question was supposed to be rhetorical or not.

"This is no ultimatum, Lady Le Meur," he said, taking a step toward her. "You have a choice, or you can refuse the offers of trade altogether. However, it would be in your best interest to accept the terms." The demoralized Doyenne hesitated. I wanted to feel sorry for the arrogant bitch, but... nope, nothing. "Dwell on it," Viggo suggested. "Speak with your emissaries if you choose. I will expect an answer within twenty four hours." He ended their exchange by turning away from her one last time.

Skala spoke up. "Sire, if I may intrude?" He waited for Viggo to turn and nod. "Deviants aside, I tire from this poor company. If you have no further need of me this evening, I will take my leave." Yep, another slap in the face to nearly every hemo in the room. For a second, I thought Skala wasn't so bad after all.

"Of course, Aldo, and thank you." Viggo then said to me, "I must speak to Mr. Merritt for a moment, and then we will depart as well."

Standing pretty much by myself in the great room, I saw that some of the hemos were cautiously exiting while others kept their place, unsure of what to do while Viggo was still present. Jade Clayton and Cordell were in the latter group, standing against a wall with uneasy expressions. I glanced over my right shoulder to make sure Le Meur was done being a pain in the ass; she was talking in whispers to Vincent Zapada, the Outsider emissary. Better him than me.

I walked up to Cordell, not sure what to say. He didn't look pleased to see me. Before I could even get out a hello, he quietly said, "Your master is the devil's own, Leo. You should go away."

That caught me off-guard. "Whoa, Cord, what the hell did -" He and Jade turned and walked away, arm in arm. She'd turned him against me, or dismissed me because I served Viggo. On one hand, I thought, 'fuck 'em'. On the other hand, though, I didn't want to lose a friend; I didn't have many to begin with.

"Leo," Viggo called to me, "we are leaving now." I walked over and stood next to him, relaxing myself for another void-walk. He gave me a strange stare, and then said, "I meant in the normal fashion. We will leave as we arrived."

"Oh, uh, yes sir." Great, my first impression on the remaining hemos, and I looked like an idiot.

INTERACTION

There was bound to be a lull after the big scene at the Everett mansion, and I welcomed it. I'd also call that night Viggo's coming out event, but that gives off the wrong impression. 'Night of the Veleti' has a nice ring to it - let's go with that.

All in all, the spoiled Gathering had positive results. Viggo let everyone know he was in town, and they'd better watch their hemo asses. Everything he claimed or controlled - me included - was off-limits under penalty of Veleti retaliation. The Doyenne had been put in her place by both warning and bitch-slap. Declan McKenna was on the run or in hiding. Notices were given to specific hemos that they better knock their individual shit off. The only down side was Cordell, but there's no way to unmake a hemo.

Viggo called me the next evening to say that I was no longer wanted by the police, and that a short statement of my innocence would be released the next day. It was a weight off my shoulders. I hoped it also meant I could no longer be listed as missing, if only for Miss Loretta's peace of mind.

Part of me wanted to move back to my old house, just to try and reclaim whatever little bit of normalcy I could find. But what would that be? I mean, I wasn't going back to work at Silas or at Keegan's again. To tell the truth, I felt a lot more secure in my new place (I started calling it 'the thunderdome', after my cat). Plus, not having to pay any bills was a big bonus.

I once again had some freedom, and wanted to use it to stop by for a visit with my former neighbors. While I was in that area, a few drinks at Keegan's sounded good, too. If my luck held up, maybe Tanya would give me some hot 'I-missed-you' sex. Work schedule permitting, I hoped that all of those scenarios became semi-regular events.

A text to Gwen was returned immediately, saying that 'Mr. Stone' called her as well. I figured it was up to Viggo if he wanted her to know the truth or not, so I left it alone. Gwen also mentioned that Cordell had quit Silas abruptly; over the phone, he only told her that he accepted another position that started immediately. Again, I had to bite my damn tongue.

I tried to call Viggo to ask about Gwen's clearance, but couldn't get through. He must've gone down below the city somewhere. On the hemo-net, I left the question about her in the Planner. A message was already in there for me, saying that Barnabus would be arriving later that evening. The reason for the visit wasn't stated, but Barnabus was good company... as long as I didn't look at him too much.

I spent my time with a drink and Thunder, researching the Veleti tribe until Barnabus showed up. Once he got there, we discussed a few hemos I noticed at the Gathering. I knew of a number of them, but I was curious about the ones I didn't recognize.

The Adept Nathan Powell was the business brain behind Realm Management. Outsider Lexian Grimm owned a seedy bar that served humans and hemos alike, with a corral of prostitutes that did the same. Jade Clayton (who I was really curious about) had a syndicated radio show that catered to the activist and rebel demographic. I wasn't sure why she chose Cordell; he was a live-and-let-live kind of guy, or at least used to be.

Barnabus checked on Phillip to gauge his 'Doyenne detox level', as I put it. He also wanted to practice his Gift of Control on a resisting mind. When he joined me in the lounge, I had a few more questions about hemos in comparison to the legends. No reflection in mirrors? Bullshit. The concept of ringing bells to run 'em off was, as Barnabus put it, "the most idiotic fallacy I have ever heard of in my extended life".

I then mentioned the time that I saw Harlan in a parking lot, pissing on a car. Barnabus told me that a small percentage of Deviants can ingest regular food and drink, but get no nutrition from it. They do it only for the purpose of expelling waste to disgust unsuspecting onlookers. Apparently, pissing on someone's shoes or vomiting on their evening gown was quite the party trick at hemo Gatherings.

The last topic of the evening was about Phillip. I was worried about him missing, and the stress it was no doubt causing his family. Barnabus said he managed to find out that Phillip told his father he was taking some time off to travel - a lie created by Le Meur. I was relieved to hear it, but still wanted him to get back to his normal life. Barnabus confided that he was just beginning to acquire the ability to alter or remove memories, but he'd do his best when Phillip was once again his old self.

Waking up the next day without much of a hangover, I did the necessary crap and then checked Viggo's Planner for any updates or pending chores. Nothing there - I had the day off. Still being cautious (you might call it paranoia), I bought a prepaid phone and used it to make some calls to people who worried about me. I had a bullshit story ready for my absence, something vague about a Marine duty and I couldn't talk about it. As for being wanted by the police? Just a case of mistaken identity.

All my friends were doing okay. Diego had only a slight limp by then, and was in good shape. Miss Loretta was glad I wasn't dead, and then told me to mow my lawn. Hector talked about his kids; Anna was pregnant again. Keeg and Deb invited me to a night at their bar with complimentary food and drinks, within reason. I promised each of them I'd visit soon.

After a trip to my new dojo and gun range outside the city, I grabbed some dinner for Phillip and myself. An hour after sunset I turned on the computer, logged into the hemo-net and checked for anything new in the Planner file. Viggo left a return message that he would talk to Gwen the following evening, and wanted me to join them. As long as he was spilling the beans, I wondered who else was going to show up. I mean, it would've been stupid to think that Gwen, Natalie and I were his only minions.

While I had the private server open, I browsed around again. I figured Viggo's coming out of hiding was leaked by then, but it wasn't mentioned in my limited social files. Going back to the Maps folder, I saw a couple new flags on the sewer level. Attached to the flags was a copy of a Water Department report detailing vandalism in two utility tunnels; one under a downtown hospital, the other below an industrial park in a low-rent area. I blamed the damage on punk kids in serious need of a beating.

Before I logged off, I got a new message alert. Viggo sent an update, stating that at 10 p.m. the next night I was supposed to pick up Gwen at her townhouse. We were then supposed to go to a midtown diner called Ollie's All-Nite Coffee Shop, where another of his minions - a Mr. Benjamin Traeger - would be waiting. I was then to proceed to a cement sewer port next to a gravel parking lot on the western edge of the huge Kansas City rail yards.

Viggo's message explained that the port led to the alcove where we began from to visit one of his Deviant dens. I was told to guide them to that den. Yeah, the sewer route with the rats, false wall, and creepy staircase. Gwen and Mr. Traeger were in for a big fucking surprise.

HOARDER

On the drive to pick up Mr. Traeger, Gwen wouldn't shut up. She started off grilling me about where I got the nice car. Then she talked about how happy she was to move back to her old place from the refurbished fire station. After that was an endless string of questions about Viggo because she thought I knew more about him than she did. She was right, but I wasn't going to rub that in. Coming within sight of the diner, Gwen started asking about Traeger as if I knew about him, too.

Benjamin Traeger - just Traeg, as he liked to be called - was a lanky guy in his early forties with thinning gray-brown hair and a four day beard. He was dressed for the warm night in blue running shoes, urban camo pants, and a blue t-shirt with a big logo on it. That logo was for Traeger's Trading Post, the biggest pawn shop in the Midwest. At least that's what the t-shirt boasted. Traeg seemed like a nice enough sort, although he had a no-nonsense vibe. Being a minion of Viggo for over fourteen years, that vibe made sense. Knowing where I stood with Viggo, I wasn't too jealous of him.

On the way to the sewer port, Gwen and Traeg worked out a possible deal for all of Shawn Riordan's guitars, amps and other shit. I pulled into the deserted lot, spotted the cement casing for the sewer entrance, and popped the trunk. Traeg was silent when I handed him galoshes, rubber gloves, a safety mask and a small flashlight; Gwen looked nervous as hell.

"The ladder rungs are slimy as shit, so be careful," I told them as I lifted the iron grate from over the hole. "There will probably be rats down here. They work for Viggo just like we do, so don't kick 'em or anything. They might run ahead to let him know we're on our way. Smell that?" They both nodded, grimacing. "It's a lot worse down there. The mask will help, but not completely. If you have to throw up, remember to pull it out of the way first. And no matter what, do not breathe in through your mouth. Trust me." My little speech didn't sit too well with Gwen.

While we moved along the walkway next to that disgusting trench, I learned some things about my fellow minions. Gwen may have been as strong as hell, but she had shitty balance; twice she almost slipped into the gurgling brown water. She also had a stronger stomach than I gave her credit for. Traeg haggled for a living, but he clammed up when he was tense. When he did talk down there, though, he swore like a drunken sailor.

When we got to the phantom wall, Traeg didn't want to accept the illusion until I pushed him through. Gwen, on the other hand, wanted to keep stepping back and forth through it. She stayed between me and Traeg going down the spooky stairs, keeping a too-firm grip on my shoulder. At the end of the curving hallway, the submarine door was slightly open. I poked my head through and saw Viggo sitting on a couch watching TV. "Good evening, sir," I said, pushing the door open. "Should I assume there's no worry about Wayne visiting tonight?"

"No, that situation has been remedied. Come in, all of you."

Gwen and Traeg stepped in to the cavernous room, staring all around. Soon enough, Gwen sat across from Viggo while Traeg took his time looking at all of the old knick-knacks lying around. He reached into an upside down medieval helmet sitting on a table. By the sound of his hand rummaging around in it, the helmet had a small pile of stuff in it. Traeg pulled out a big, rough-edged bronze coin and studied it for a few seconds. "Do you realize how much this is worth?" he asked Viggo.

My commander thought for a moment. "I do not believe I've brought one of those to your store before, unless one of its like was mixed in with the pouch of gold and jewelry I regularly bring to you. So, to be honest, I do not. Although, judging from your reaction, Benjamin, I would venture to say a tidy sum."

"A tidy sum..." Traeg repeated. He looked at me and said, "Look, I know coins. On a quick sale, I could get four grand for this."

"Holy crap, are you serious?" I asked, and then stepped over to him and the helmet. It was half full of all different kinds of coins. I held up a gold one and asked, "Is this a fucking doubloon? Seriously?"

"Yes, it is," Viggo answered for Traeg. "Fellow medieval numen did not refer to me as the 'Dark Dragon' out of happenstance; I have always had a tendency to hoard. Now come have a seat. I did not invite all of you down here to admire my trinkets."

"Yes sir, sorry," Traeg and I said, putting the coins back.

When we sat down near Viggo, he began with some information. "I have seven other minions." He browsed through a short stack of files on the coffee table in front of him. "There is a sorting director of a local trash company, a Public Works supervisor, a personal property manager, a police dispatcher, a construction company owner, a janitor at Realm Management, and an informant in the IRS." The last one was Natalie. I had no idea about the others.

"Of my many minions, only you three do I trust with most of my secrets. The others are loyal, to be sure, but I do not feel a bond with them as I do with you. Not to dehumanize the others, for they are all fine people, but those minions are essentially tools I must use from time to time. Other than the false name of Mr. Stone - used for my own security - everything I have told each of you is true."

"Thank you for that," Gwen said sincerely. Traeg and I echoed her sentiment.

"I know you all have questions," Viggo continued, handing me the DVD remote. "I have something for you to watch, and perhaps some answers will be given. Leo will address your queries about the video; he was there, after all. I will return shortly." He got up and walked toward the dark corner back by the bed. I didn't watch - I'd seen it before. Gwen and Traeg turned their heads to watch him, saw the corner get even darker, and then Viggo was gone. By their reactions, neither of them had seen that trick before. Traeg shouted "What the living fuck?" while Gwen started mumbling "Oh my God" over and over.

Keeping in mind what they were about to watch, I said, "Calm down. You haven't seen shit yet."

CONNECTING

Both Gwen and Traeg had the same access to the hemo-net that I did, although theyd given it different names. From it, they'd seen posts for Gatherings before. They'd just never been to one and had no idea what went on at them. I started my commentary with Herr Aldo Skala, the hemo who wore the camera. I was immediately questioned about the word 'hemo'. Traeg used the term 'vamp'. Gwen called them either 'numen' or 'the predators'. To each their own.

I had to hit the pause and reverse buttons more than I wanted to; Gwen asked about everyone who passed in front of the lens. They watched the scene of a raging mad Ragna like it was a horror movie, which it basically was. Neither of them knew about Ragna before then. In fact, they didn't know about a lot of hemos, Deviants included. Gwen had heard of Roach and Barnabus, and recognized a few faces from working with video feeds. Traeg knew Skin, but by his long Irish name; they'd haggled a few times through the years.

We watched the part -twice - where Viggo put a few hemos in their place. The few seconds where he gathered shadows and disappeared, though... They had me replay that like five or six times. Gwen was both excited and shocked to see Cordell on the screen. I told her that he was one of them now, and admitted that it was pretty much my fault.

Traeg was asking about scions and hemo lineage when Viggo came back. My commander fielded a few questions and then got to his point. "I want each of you to be better informed. Your interaction will remove some of the burden from me. Exchange computer addresses and phone numbers, but do not pass any sensitive information through the latter. A new file and icon will be made for your Deviant drives - a minion chat room, if you will. Stay connected. If there is a need for supplies, contact Benjamin. Gwen can offer assistance with questions of various natures. For any security issues, talk to Leo."

Gwen and I already had each other's info, so we typed our numbers into Traeg's phone while he did the same with ours. "On occasion," Viggo continued, "I will send you a report that the other minions have sent me. Therefore, familiarize yourselves with these people." He turned and spoke directly to Gwen. "You especially. Along with your current duties of analyzing camera feeds, you will compile intelligence from these various sources. As we have discussed earlier, you will be compensated if time constraints do not allow you to keep your vocation."

"Yes sir, it's a generous offer," she replied. "I'd still like to see if I can do all that and keep my job, if you don't mind. I'll only need a week or less to know if I can."

"Of course," Viggo answered. Addressing us all again, he said, "On the topic of compensation, personnel of ShadoWorks - whether full or part-time - shall begin receiving regular pay instead of cash as needed."

I was a full-time employee. I figured because of Gwen and Traeg's jobs, they were part-time. Gwen had an offer to go full-time, but I didn't think Traeg would give up his business to do the same. Viggo most likely wouldn't have wanted him to, either. "You don't have to do that, sir," I said. "I can't speak for everyone, but I bet we'd all agree that how you've been doing things is fine with us." The others agreed.

"This decision is as much for my benefit as it is for yours," Viggo replied. "It will remove the inconvenient chore of passing around cash at various times for whatever mundane needs you may have. I will explain the process..."

It boiled down to this: ShadoWorks had access through a Deviant-run company to buy anonymous credit cards with a good limit. Those got issued to full-timers. The same card with a much lower limit would be given to part-timers. If the limit was reached - meaning I wasn't spending my money - then another card would be issued to me. The whole thing was handled by Viggo's property manager, so no aliases had to be used. When I'd buy shit, the only name showing up was that Deviant-run company. It also masked the listing of most purchases. As a topper, Viggo said he'd give out spending cash whenever it was time for a cup o' blood. It sounded like a damn good plan to me.

I was essentially off the tax radar. Hey, fuck it - I'd served my country and taken one for the team. Shit, a lot more than one. Don't go thinking I was one of those anti-government whackos; I was still patriotic, but I thought I'd done my share. No more taxes? No more red tape, paperwork or charges for... hell, pretty much everything? Who wouldn't take that deal? I was all in.

Viggo said we should get back to our homes. He gave Gwen and Traeg the option of either going back the way we came - they hated every slimy step of it - or experiencing his personal mode of travel. Traeg hesitantly accepted the chance to take a void-walk. No, I didn't warn him about it. Gwen was excited to try it, too, but her excitement was mixed with fidgety nervousness. At her request, Traeg went first. After he and Viggo were swallowed by the void, she asked if I'd done it before. I told her I had, and the first time left me speechless. I was intentionally vague. Sometimes I'm evil like that.

Five minutes later, Viggo reappeared and called Gwen to him. Presto, they were gone, and it was closer to ten minutes until he came back. "How'd they do, sir?" I asked, curious as hell.

"Mr. Traeger barely managed to control his convulsing stomach," he replied as he walked over and sat across from me. "Miss Solomon feinted. Once I roused her, she assured me she was fine."

I couldn't help but grin; Gwen was going to catch so much shit from me. "I should get moving as well, sir. I don't trust the Audi sitting by itself in a parking lot, no matter how barren the area is. Oh, uh, about that car... It's a damn nice car, sir. In fact, maybe too nice. It's pretty high profile, which really doesn't fit me. And it kinda sticks out in my new neighborhood. I appreciate you lending it to me, but could I maybe start driving my Jeep again?"

He frowned. "Your vehicle is still known to certain parties. One of them still might be foolish enough to ignore my warnings and go after you if they recognized it. The chances of that scenario are quite slim, but I would prefer to take no chances whatsoever."

Disappointing, but he had a point. "I can just trade my car in and get another."

Viggo shook his head. "No, that entails a paper trail, which is what we are trying to avoid. Return the Audi to Elmwood Cemetery. Take your vehicle to Mr. Traeger; he may have vehicles available. If so, and if one of them suits your needs, he will manipulate the paperwork and offer you a fair deal. Otherwise, inform me and we will make other arrangements."

"That sounds great, sir. I appreciate it." I stood up to leave.

"Do not thank me yet, Leo," he said seriously. "Check your Planner in the morning; an update will have been sent by then. Your new task will be outlined. An unpleasant task." The shadows around Viggo began to slither and distort. Okay, bad sign. "Something has occurred. I want answers."

QUINN

There was indeed a new task for me when I got on the hemo-net late the next morning. It was a file simply named 'Quinn' and had a handful of notes attached to it. The first attachment was a video clip of a news story that aired while I was driving my fellow minions around the night before.

There was an attack and explosion at Quinn Industries, a chemical processing factory a couple miles north of downtown. A woman and a man assaulted a second-shift employee who just got off work. They beat him, took his security badge and wallet, then shot the poor bastard in the head. They charged into the facility using a secondary door. The male suspect shot at any third-shift worker nearby, while the female suspect threw Molotov cocktails from a gym bag she carried with her.

One of the crude bombs made it into a flammable compound mixing area, and boom. It was an enclosed space, so the explosion was confined. Otherwise, the whole place might've blown sky high. As it was, there were fires and some structural damage. One worker died from a bullet to the chest, and another didn't make it out of the mixing room. Six other employees were wounded; two from gunfire and four from the explosion. Other workers were hospitalized for possible noxious fume inhalation.

The two suspects escaped. The police had leads, but were asking for tips to assist their investigation. That told me they didn't have shit, and I wondered why. I mean, a company like that had to have security cameras set up inside. Maybe a few outside, too. Even if some of the cameras got fried in the blast, their footage up until then would've been sent to a server in an office somewhere.

Viggo's first typed note after the video said, 'Since ShadoWorks is the primary stockholder of Quinn Industries, I have a vested interest in its productivity. Attached below is a security video that has not been released to the police. Clearly seen in the video are the two culprits. The reason for suppressing this evidence is simple. I want them first. I want answers. The police can have whatever is left.'

Well damn, that was definitive. I texted Gwen, saying that her skills were needed ASAP. While I waited for a reply, I watched the next video clip. The interior security camera was pointed at a loading dock and the back exit door that the man and woman came in through. Viggo was right; the camera caught clear images of both of 'em. The guy had an AR-15, shooting it as soon as they came in. Two nearby Quinn workers ran like hell. The woman didn't start throwing Molotov's until she was almost off-camera. I replayed the short video a few more times to memorize their faces.

Gwen texted back, just short statements: 'Not a good time - auditors here - will call later'.

Shit. I needed her help, especially for the recognition software. Rather than throw a fit, I drained my big cup of Irish coffee and moved on to the next note. It was a listing of Viggo's other minions; each came with a photo and relevant data. Under the list was a comment saying that all of the above have been made aware of us (Gwen, Traeg, and I). They only knew us as 'cohorts'. If contacting one of them, I must introduce myself with that title - no name given. Sort of clandestine, but I stayed anonymous.

I was allowed to contact those other minions for the purpose of gathering info. The problem was that none of them worked in areas that were gonna help me. The dispatcher would've been the closest to what I needed, but I doubted she had the clout to use police computers to find a facial match with the two suspects. It was a fair bet they already had records.

A thought occurred to me, so I typed a return message to Viggo. The attack might've been considered an act of terrorism, which meant the local FBI office was involved. The CEO of Quinn would have known if that was the case or not, and Viggo had access to the CEO. Hell, he probably had him in his pocket. If the FBI was running the case, our best bet was to gain control of the lead investigator. If Viggo agreed, that part would be on him. He wouldn't see my message until that night. Yeah, inconvenient.

It was all a matter of going with the best option. Gwen had the recognition software and could compare the faces against anyone in her databanks. She also got info from a cop once in a while, but there was no guarantee he/she could or would use police technology just for her. Even if that did pan out, having an FBI agent as a reliable contact would be pretty damn handy anyway.

The last connected note from Viggo was a short list of directives. Find the assholes (he called them culprits). Subdue them by any means necessary. Make sure that at least one of them survives my attack. Depending on location and circumstance, I was to either bring them to Viggo or call him and he'd come to me. He made it sound simple. Experience told me that it hardly ever was.

I had plenty of time to kill. So, after a workout and a drink, I decided to take care of my car issue. Per Viggo's order, I left the Audi where I first saw it in Elmwood Cemetery. A thunderstorm was moving in, so I jogged over to the office/crematorium by the gate and waited under its awning for the taxi I'd called. I didn't check the weather beforehand, and didn't bring my umbrella. I'm a moron.

The rain was coming down in sheets by the time I was dropped off a few blocks from the thunderdome. That was twice that I stood in the rain fumbling with my keys while my cat stared at me through the window, the asshole. After changing into dry clothes, I took the Jeep out one last time.

Miss Loretta was outside watching the late morning lightning show when I showed up. We talked from our respective porches; I promised I'd mow my lawn when weather permitted. I boxed some other personal shit to bring with me, wanting to make the thunderdome feel more like mine - like home.

TRAEGER

The name 'Traeger's Trading Post' made me think of a quaint, western-style shop. That mental image was way off the mark. Set out on the far side of one of the city's southeastern suburbs, the building was the size of one of those long cattle barns. There were two warehouses attached to the back of the main building, forming a huge U. The parking lot out front had plenty of room for customers. I parked close to a big iron gate on one side of the lot, where I guessed larger items came and went from the back. The place sat on an acre at least, and the back half was surrounded by security fencing. Quaint, my ass.

Inside, everything was behind a counter that bordered the interior of the long rectangular building. Like a jewelry store, only as long as a football field. And when I said everything, I meant everything. That place had it all. Trading cards, guns, watches and rings, guitars, electronics, artwork, tools, CDs and DVDs, toys, housewares... the list went on and on. There were also touchscreens to see the images of the big items like cars, motorcycles, tractors, boats, ATVs, mowers, appliances, and furniture.

Everything from backhoes to butt-plugs, Traeg had it. Yeah, he even had a backhoe. There's a joke in there somewhere about backhoes and butt-plugs, but I'm not clever enough to find it.

Traeg and I talked in his office, where I told him about the Quinn incident before we moved on to a possible car swap. When I explained my lack of info, he said, "So you don't know who or where they are. Not yet, anyway. That sucks. Have you got everything you need for every possibility?"

"Uh, I've got stealth gear, good weapons and enough ammo. Is that what you mean?"

"Sort of, but I was really thinking more along the lines of surveillance equipment. I've got some cool gadgets. I could cut you a good deal, Leo."

I couldn't stop myself from grimacing. "Damn, I don't know, Traeg. Even with the deal you'd make for me, those kinds of toys are pricey. I'm not exactly rolling in the dough."

"Alright, tell ya what, we can go with a loaner option for now. Let's go look at some stuff I have in mind." We went out to the sales floor, where he showed me some stuff that would be pretty handy in general for the kind of work Viggo wanted me to do. Traeg offered to let me borrow anything I wanted for a small, non-refundable deposit. If I broke it, I bought it. If I wanted to keep something, we'd work out a payment plan. Deal. I chose night vision goggles and a powerful sound amplifier with a small parabolic dish. Just to cover my bases, I bought an expandable steel baton. Enter your phallic joke here.

As for cars to trade my Jeep for, Traeg didn't have many to choose from. Then again, he knew a way to write up the paperwork for any of them as a company car for ShadoWorks. All I needed to provide was my fake ID. I couldn't get a better offer than that.

At the far end of one of his warehouses, just past a pontoon boat and some outboard motors, were the cars. The first one in the row was a pimped out Cadillac Eldorado. Uh, no. The next car surprised me: it was Shawn Riordan's IROC-Z. Again, no; I liked the vibe of Glazefinger, but that didn't mean I wanted to sit in it. Next was a BMW sedan. I thought Viggo would like me choosing another German car, but, like the Audi, it was too nice. Next to last was a '71 Plymouth Hemi Cuda; I bet the owner cried letting that baby go. I always wanted a muscle car, but it wasn't practical. And it was purple, for fuck's sake.

The last choice was the only sensible one. The big blue Dodge Ram 1500 4x4 was less than five years old, not too many miles on it, with only had a few dings and dents. It was a regular cab, and had an attached matching blue camper shell. The only flashy parts to it were the slightly oversized tires and big-ass V8 engine. It was worth more than the Jeep, so Traeg offered me a no-contract payment deal. For coming off as a hard-nosed bastard, he was actually a really good guy.

Back in the office, Traeg offered me a drink to conclude our deals. He was a rum man, so I just kept to my flask. I asked him about the perks of working for Viggo for so long. The first word Traeg could think of was "lucrative". He mentioned how Viggo started coming in with rare coins, unstamped bars of gold and silver, small antiques, and a steady supply of fine jewelry. Our commander never haggled much; he just wanted cash and was content with the going rates.

I hinted at the question of Traeg's physical perks. "One thing's for sure," he said with a rare grin, "my dick hasn't turned all big and ugly like some of those damn rats of his have. Shawn worked for him the longest, at least around here; I heard a rumor that Viggo's kept some minions around for a long, long time. Anyway, Shawn was fast, fairly tough, and stronger than he looked. That kid had skinny arms. I'm not quick, but I got Viggo's tough skin. A few years back, some punk tried to rob me with a crappy little revolver. I swung a tire iron, he let off a round. He still talks with a stutter. I got a bruise on my arm."

Laughing, I said, "You probably didn't need the tire iron."

Traeg shrugged. "I might be a little stronger than normal, but nothing to brag about. And I'm not shit compared to our boss. I once saw him hit some other vamp with a car." Traeg leaned forward in his chair to emphasize his point. "He wasn't in the car - he swung it."

"A car... He beat up someone with a car. You have got to be shitting me."

"I shit you not. That other vamp was a tough mother; one of Viggo's punches put him down, but not out. When he started to get back up, our boss grabbed a compact Toyota by its tow hook and swatted him into the side of a building. I tell ya, Leo, that wall looked like a Jackson Pollock mural with a body smashed into it."

I'll admit it. When I got home that rainy afternoon, I had to look up who Jackson Pollock was to know what the hell Traeg was talking about.

COMPARISONS

"That's not the news I was hoping for, Gwen." She'd finally me called back a few hours after I got home. Her cop contact wasn't an option.

"What can I say, Leo? Does 'too damn bad' work for you? He's a desk sergeant. He can't go waltzing off and start playing with databases that most likely have restricted access anyhow. Oh, and since it'd be for personal use, he'd be lucky if they only fired him."

"Okay, I get it," I said with a sigh. "I don't want you to abuse your friendship. If I knew his position or rank or whatever, I wouldn't have put you in a bad spot. Sorry." Just to lighten the mood, I playfully asked, "Who is this friend of yours, anyway - a special fella?"

"That's none of your beeswax, mister. Look, I can still run your faces through my ShadoWorks software. The chances of getting a strong match in my system are slim, but it's worth a shot, right? All that I ask in return for my handy programs and awesome skills is that you have to tell me what you're working on. I want every juicy detail."

I showed up at Gwen's place an hour later. I'd already forwarded the videos and notes about Quinn Industries to her, so all I brought with me was dinner. While we ate chicken, I talked about Traeg and his pawn shop. Gwen turned on her facial recognition shit and did a comparison run with the two terrorists. The best choice it found for the guy was a 34% similarity match, and a 21% match for the woman. We studied those comparisons. It wasn't them.

Because it was a Friday and Gwen refused to work weekends, we both had time to chill out and talk about all the new stuff we had in common. The rain had let off, so I took her outside to show off my new truck. "Huh," she grunted with a shake of her head. "Big weapons and now a big truck... Exactly how small is your penis?"

Glaring at her, I replied, "I'm also the proud owner of a cat. Does that balance the testosterone scales?"

"Depends," Gwen volleyed. "How big is it?"

I opened my mouth to answer, and froze. I wasn't going to win that one. Luckily, an incoming phone call saved me. It was the ShadoWorks number. When I answered, all Viggo said was to be available for the next evening, and to be ready for any number of scenarios. He then told me he wanted to talk to Gwen. I'd forgotten about that GPS tracker app in my phone.

By her answers, I could tell he was asking about the two 'culprits' and the recognition software. She told him the results, listened for a second, and then handed the phone back to me. "Yes sir," I said.

"The disappointing outcome of Ms. Solomon's search has altered my plans. I am making arrangements as we speak. By dawn, there will be details of new duties in your Planner. I will want you at your best tomorrow evening. Am I understood?"

"Yes sir." Basically, if I was drunk or hung over the next night, I was in deep shit.

As I put my phone back in my pocket, Gwen curiously asked, "Well...?"

"Well... I guess I have the night off. Something's going on tomorrow, but I'm not sure what. I might slip you a clue if I figure it out."

"You're such a turd. Get outta here; go get a good night's sleep. And you better give me an update."

"I'll make you a deal," I said as I climbed up into my truck. "Tomorrow I'll tell you all the particulars, and then you tell me all about your desk sergeant boyfriend." I pulled out of Gwen's driveway with her still standing there, staring daggers at my grin.

I fought the urge to stop in at Keegan's for a drink or three... or seven. Hardly entertaining the slim chance of Tanya wanting to churn some butter with me, I went straight back to my place. I wasn't proud of my willpower. Hell, I thought it was a lost opportunity to enjoy my freedom, but Viggo had set his expectations. As well as my deep loyalty, there was the fact that he could kill me with his pinky finger. I had all sorts of incentives to follow his order.

By the time that I'd cleaned my guns, put in a good workout, and scooped Thunder's neglected litter box, it was late and I was exhausted. I crawled into bed after a shower, wondering what was planned for the next night. I didn't wonder long; I was out like a light in a few seconds.

As usual, I dreamt of Viggo. That night, though, it was different. I was at one end of a long and roughly carved stone hallway. It was lit from above by a string of bare bulbs, which were powered by lazily hung extension cords. The hallway walls were lined with dozens of thick wooden doors on both sides, and all set closely together. I didn't see Viggo, but I heard him speaking. The only words I remember were the ones he'd said to me and Traeg not too long before. "I have always had a tendency to hoard..."

AGENT

Following the day of rain, the next morning was clear and relatively cool for mid-June. Too bad none of the damn building's windows would open. I went ahead and did some chores - a load of laundry, gave Phillip more supplies, blah-blah-blah - before seeing what Viggo had in store for me.

In the Planner, the new message told me to be at a given address at 10:00 that night. There weren't any details, so I figured I'd bring nearly every weapon I owned. The heavily armed Boy Scout, that's me.

While my PC was on, I browsed local news headlines; stupid and ignorant are two different things, and I couldn't afford to be both. Okay, so... The Royals won again. There was more vandalism in another utility tunnel, this time under a manufacturing complex. A big charity run was coming up. A leaking gas line caused a house explosion. The mutilated body of a man was dumped onto the lawn of the late Stanley Everett. The headlines were basically: good, bad, good, bad, and holy shit.

Needing directions to the address Viggo gave, I found out the place he wanted me to meet him at was in a suburban strip mall. Not exactly dramatic or secluded, was it? I was expecting something a little more clandestine than a vacant store between a deli and a nail salon.

With an afternoon to burn, I found a different barber for a high-and-tight haircut, ironed some slacks and a shirt, and otherwise hung out with Thunder. Speaking of my cat, I was getting nowhere with that Gift of Fauna thing. I didn't want to let Viggo and Barnabus down, but it didn't look good.

I showed up at the location a few minutes early. Lights from the parking lot showed that both the glass front door and display window had closed blinds. Neither on the door nor on the marquee out front were any signs to say what the store used to be, if anything. I was about to knock, but then figured that Viggo might've left the door open for me. It was unlocked, but there was someone else besides him waiting for me in there.

The relatively small and empty place was dark; light from an open backroom door allowed me to see basic shapes. One of those basic shapes was a woman, twenty feet from the door. She sat casually in a folding chair next to a card table. Without being able to see much detail, I could still make out that she was long and slender, had her hair pulled into a ponytail, and wore some sort of loose pants and a windbreaker. She was in the process of sharpening a long knife with a whetstone when I came in.

"Who're you?" I asked, trying to sound polite as I stepped further into the open space. Not sure if I did, though. My social skills were always a bit sketchy.

Ignoring my question, the woman lazily jabbed her knife toward the door to the back like she didn't give a shit. "They're waiting for you," she said quietly. Then, like I wasn't there anymore, she returned to making her blade razor sharp. What a fucking charmer. If there was an orphanage on fire, she seemed like the type who would've brought marshmallows.

Viggo and a stranger were in the back room. It was another bare space, but the ceramic floor and wall spigots suggested it used to be a kitchen. Instead of sinks and grills and all that shit, a large and sturdy table sat in the middle of the room. The stranger sat on the far side of it, with Viggo standing next to him. "Good evening, Mr. Brock," Viggo said, making it clear we were using aliases. "This gentleman," he gestured to the stranger, "is Special Agent Jerome Rutherford of the FBI."

From what I could see of him, Rutherford was an average-sized, dark skinned black guy in his late thirties with a shaved head, thin mustache and round glasses. I thought the normal look on his face would've been one of intensity and intelligence, although at the time he appeared to be a little confused. He eyed me with some apprehension, probably able to discern at least some of the weapons under my coat.

As I sat across from him and nodded a hello, Viggo continued. "This location is used as an FBI meeting place, where Agent Rutherford and his associates meet with informants. Tonight, however, the roles are reversed. The hidden cameras and listening devices have been removed. Agent Rutherford and I have come to an understanding. Is that not so, Agent?"

"It is, Mr. Stone," Rutherford replied in a deep bass voice. He was quick to answer; being a new minion had a very strong effect on the guy. Maybe he was used to having control, and being suddenly obedient was something he needed. You know, like how hot-shot lawyers or CEOs go to a dominatrix. That's the best guess I've got; I'm not a damn therapist.

"And, as we have discussed, my cohort Mr. Brock will be my liaison if I am unavailable," Viggo continued. I was pretty sure that meant if he was down in the sewers. "Mr. Brock," Viggo addressed me, "the good Agent has been informed of our current needs and has been given the necessary data to complete the task given to him." The task was obviously to identify the Quinn terrorists.

In front of Rutherford was a phone next to a DVD in a case. "Do you have my number, Agent?" I asked.

"No sir, Mr. Brock. I was told to exchange the number on this new phone with yours. I suggested to Mr. Stone that normal emails aren't secure, so any information should be passed along in person. If you don't mind, I will only use this phone to give time and date to meet here without revealing the address."

"That sounds good to me." I looked up at Viggo and asked, "Was there anything else, Mr. Stone?"

"Yes, but only that you should expect to hear from Agent Rutherford by morning with positive results. Plan to meet with him again soon after." He looked down at Rutherford. "Trade numbers and be on your way, Agent."

After Rutherford and I gave our phones back to each other, he hurried out of the room without another word. I didn't hear him say anything to the woman, either. Two seconds later, the front door opened and shut. Not caring if that woman overheard me, I just had to ask, "Who is that lady out front, sir?"

He cocked his head slightly to one side. "Surely you are not so naïve or proud to think the only minions that I have acquired are the ones in this city. Runa has served me since the Black Death."

Okay, I was naïve and proud.

TRAILER

Agent Rutherford sent me a text before I went to bed that night. It simply said, 'Task is complete. I have positive results.' I replied for him to meet me again in ten hours. I knew Viggo wanted his culprits ASAP, but I still needed to make a plan with whatever Rutherford found.

The door to the vacant store was open again, so Rutherford was already there (he'd given a spare key to Viggo, who locked up the night before - the key was then given to me). The Agent seemed calmer and more composed than the night before. Not that I was worried about him; I was just glad I didn't have to deal with a nervous wreck who'd been told too many supernatural secrets.

There was a file on each of the terrorists. As I suspected, they both had criminal records. Hell, they were both still on parole for the same crime - a murder that was knocked down to 2nd degree manslaughter. Ya gotta love our legal process. Some of their individual priors included weapon possession, assault with a weapon, battery, burglary, and eluding. In most cases, the charges were reduced - some down to misdemeanors - in order to flush the two pieces of shit through the system.

The guy was Mitchell (Mitch) Whitney, 36, dishonorably discharged from the Army at 19 after one year in. Police knew him to be an outspoken homophobe and white supremacist. The file had a recent line-up photo of Mitch, and a list of his tattoos. Under listed habits, he was suspected of meth use, had a gym membership, and tried getting into a couple local fight teams to get some MMA matches.

The woman, Maxine (Maxi) Knut, wasn't much better. She and Mitch had the same parole officer four years back; that's how they met and hooked up. Prior to Chuck's violent and racist influence, Maxi was a freelance scumbag. I guess being a diagnosed kleptomaniac with a bipolar disorder and anger issues pretty much set her course. Well, boo-fucking-hoo. She was a sociopath, the same as her boyfriend.

Mitch and Maxi lived in a trailer home a few miles somewhere beyond the suburbs. Once I got home, I used google maps for the layout of their address and made a plan. The setting was great for me. It was a rural site, so neighbors weren't a problem; straight roads, letting me see any traffic; lots of trees and ground foliage to dampen any noise, not that I wanted to make any. Their place sat alone on a small lawn, with a thick band of woods separating their backyard from some train tracks. About a quarter mile beyond that was an old farm road with no other houses nearby. I planned to go that night.

Loaded for bear and toting Traeg's loaned toys, I locked the truck and headed into the field. Feeling a little exposed, I hurried between the rows of some low crop to the thin tree line ahead. The train tracks beyond that were recessed about five or six feet. I had cloud cover, so concealment was pretty easy on that dark night. The quiet and the open space behind me reminded me of some military missions that I didn't want to dwell on. I kept moving across the tracks, up the far bank, and into the woods.

The night-vision goggles really helped me over uneven ground and avoid twigs. There was light ahead, so I kept my head down until I was near their edge of the woods. Finding a good spot, I took my goggles off and looked through the leaves. I was near one back corner of the trailer home. A light was on over the sliding glass door; Mitch was out back, attaching a 20 lb. propane tank to his grill. From inside, I heard the muted noises of music playing and voices talking. I turned on the little sound amp and pointed the hand-held dish at the trailer.

There was definitely someone else inside with Maxi. Great, they had company. I could tell their guest had a deep male voice, especially compared to Maxi's, but both their words were garbled from the Metallica CD that was playing. Safe in the woods, I waited for a better time to make my move.

I thought maybe I'd be bringing Viggo three people instead of two. That thought died when the back door slid open and the guest stepped out, followed by Maxi. Nope, definitely not three people - maybe none at all. To be technical, I wouldn't have called the unexpected guest a 'person'. I was pretty sure that Jack Fletcher hadn't been human for a very long time.

ASSAULT

Damn it, there was a hemo involved. And not just any hemo, either. It made sense that Fletcher was behind the attack on Quinn Industries. Among other radical ideologies, he had a deep-seated hatred for anyplace that created a little pollution. Viggo putting Fletcher in his place at the Gathering probably focused his anger to go after specific targets. I wouldn't have been surprised if he was also responsible for dumping a body on a property that my commander had openly claimed.

I pointed the dish at them to hear what they were saying. ". . . not to light that thing until after I left," Fletcher said angrily to Mitch. "I've told you I'm not fond of open flames."

"Yeah, sorry - forgot. But it's just a grill. I - I'm not settin' the woods on fire or nothin'."

Fletcher clamped a hand around Mitch's neck, lifted him off the ground and tossed him a few feet back onto the lawn. "You're pathetic, Whitney," he stated with a growl while Mitch rubbed his bruised neck. "I know you don't speak out of insolence, so it must be sheer stupidity. A fool and a slut; what a pair I've chosen. You may burn your overpriced meat after I'm gone. Now get up."

Maxi just stood on the small set of stairs, not moving. I guess to take Fletcher's attention away from Mitch, she meekly said, "We could really use the rest of that money, if it ain't a bother."

The burly Outsider turned his shaggy head to her. "Ah, so you can buy more steak, marijuana and cheap beer? Never fear, I keep my word. You'll be given the remainder of what I promised soon enough. No matter what, I want you both ready for the next mission in three days. Have I made myself clear?"
Mitch and Maxi both nodded their heads. Fletcher gave each of them an uncomfortable glare, and then walked out of sight around the far side of the trailer. I couldn't see any cars from my position, but I didn't hear one start up, either. It was surprising that Fletcher was on foot; it would've been a long ass walk to get back to his parks in the city. Not wanting him within earshot, I planned to wait a while longer. That time would also give the couple time to get mellow from pot while their steaks cooked.

Much sooner than I expected, Mitch said the meat was ready. He apparently liked his steak black and bloody. Maxi came out with a platter, but no lawn chairs or anything. Shit, they were going to eat inside, where cell phones and any weapons were. I didn't want them to have the slight chance of getting to one or the other before I got to them. The time had come.

I charged in fast from the dark - much faster than any normal guy - and caught them both by surprise. Using the butt of one of my 9mm's, I hammered Mitch in the forehead. As he crumpled and dropped his spatula, I spun to Maxi. She was still holding the platter with two hands, eyes wide and mouth hung open. Without hesitation, I swept her legs. The platter went flying. She landed on her back with a grunt. My silenced gun was in her face half a second later.

Maxi had a stunned look on her thin face, which was framed by short, greasy brown hair. Her eyes were bloodshot. Her teeth were bad. She might've been cute once, a long time ago. Life hadn't been very kind to her, though. At 32, Maxine Knut looked 40 and going downhill fast. Too damn bad.

Trying to be professional, I calmly said to her, "Roll onto your stomach, arms out from your sides." When she hesitated, I added, "Don't be stupid, Maxi. This is the easy way."

As she slowly began to comply and roll onto her side, I heard Mitch groan "God dammit" behind me. He must've had a skull like a fucking Samoan. He was already getting to his hands and knees. I leaned over and hit him one more time at the base of his skull.

Just as I delivered the knock-out blow, Maxi yelled. I turned back. She'd pull a .22 revolver from the back of her jean shorts and squeezed off two quick rounds before I could kick her arm away. I momentarily ignored the sharp pain in my ribs, using my other leg to kick her in the side of the head with my combat boot. That fucking bitch shot me. I kicked her again. And damn it, the report from that .22 was loud.

I was stupid, so damn stupid. Between the two, I figured Mitch might've been carrying a pocket revolver. That's why I went for him first. My black shirt was wet on my left side. Half a foot around to my back, it was wet there, too. I was pretty sure the bullet passed between two of my lower ribs.

Hoping no one heard the shots, I secured Mitch and Maxi with zip ties and gags. Even with me being a little stronger than normal, pulling them both toward the woods made my wound flare with hot pain.

I stopped, released the limp bodies, and tried to slow my breathing. I shut my eyes, concentrating on closing the entry and exit wounds like Viggo taught me. I stood there on a dark edge of the lawn and felt a last small trickle of blood being forced out as the bullet wound closed. My ribs were still sore, but I felt a hell of a lot better.

Mitch was bulky with muscle and a bit of a beer gut, so I dragged him through the trees first. After tossing Maxi down next to him near the train tracks, I went back one more time. I wanted to turn off the grill, pick up the platter, pocket the revolver, and generally tidy up in case a neighbor came snooping around. You know, get rid of any suspicious signs. I also planned to run inside the trailer to see if there was anything lying around that might've told me what their "next mission" was.

I was halfway between the woods and the trailer's small deck when I noticed movement. The shadowed shape of a large animal came through some trees on the far side of the backyard. Large animal - yeah, right; it was the biggest fucking wolf I'd ever seen. It was staring at me with glowing, lava-orange eyes. I'd seen those eyes before. They belonged to the bad-ass hemo who'd left a few minutes before. I was so screwed.

FIRE

The wolf sniffed the air and took a few leisurely steps further into the light. With its tongue lolling out, I swear it was smiling at me - a hungry smile. And then, in just a matter of a few seconds, the wolf arched up and silently transformed into a crouching Jack Fletcher. He was still smiling at me.

No one ever explained to me that a hemo could turn into a giant wolf, so seeing one revert back into human form like a horror movie trick left me flat-footed. The trick was especially good because when Fletcher changed back into normal form, he was wearing clothes. It was his same old outfit of faded black jeans and red flannel shirt, but I wasn't concerned about his lack of wardrobe at the time.

"I don't want to take an animal shape while I'm tearing you apart, Beck," he said in a Scottish-accented voice full of dark humor. "I want you to hear my laughter while I'm gutting you." He sniffed again and turned his head toward the area of the woods I'd just come from. "It would be inconvenient if you've killed them, but I'd expect no less from you, Beck. You've been a pain my arse nearly from the start." With a wider grin, he began moving forward. "Let's remedy that, shall we?"

I figured a hemo in wolf form could run me down no matter how fast I ran. So instead, I pulled the Super Shorty from my back holster. Fletcher, near the deck by then, hesitated, but his smile quickly returned. "By all means, shoot me if your hands are steady enough," he said with a growl in the back of his throat. "That worked so well for you last time," he added sarcastically. Yeah, the time I put four rounds in his chest and he barely noticed. Something like that wasn't easily forgotten.

Thing was, I had no intention of shooting Fletcher again.

Pivoting the Shorty a little to the left, I put a big slug into the propane tank, up near the top of it. No, it didn't blow up like you'd see in movies, but a thick stream of propane gas blasted out of the ruptures. In less than a second, the flames from the still-lit grill caught the gas. An arc of flame was sucked to the tank below, creating a sustained ten foot pillar of yellow fire roaring out of it.

Fletcher literally freaked out. He turned back to wolf form and took off like his tail was burning.

I didn't waste any time, either. Chock full of adrenaline, I was through the dark woods in a few seconds. I tossed Mitch and Maxi's limp bodies down by the train tracks, not caring about their conditions other than not killing them. With the same strength borne of fear, I launched them up the other embankment. A line of crops probably got fucked up when I dragged the two bodies across the field.

Paranoid of seeing orange eyes back in the tree line, I threw the couple into the back of the truck and got the hell out of there. Once back into suburbia, I pulled over on the side of a highway to take a few deep breaths and calm down. Downing half my flask helped.

Hoping Viggo wasn't down below where there wasn't any reception, I called his cell as I drove. He answered on the second ring and, in vague terms, told me to meet him at the condemned apartment building where I brought that Realm security guy.

Viggo and the minion Runa were waiting for me when I came in the back entrance. He sent her to bring Mitch and Maxi in, and then pointedly looked at my shirt. I told him I was okay and that I wouldn't take anyone for granted again. Then I described the short scene with Fletcher. "I knew your kind didn't like fire, but... damn."

"Those with loose control of their emotions tend to have stronger reactions to it - a survival instinct, if you will. I have had time to temper my own reaction to fire, enough to garner some modest skill with the Gift of Flames. Lighting a fireplace, as I did at the Gathering, is nearly the extent of my ability."

"It was still pretty impressive, sir. Nearly everyone in the room took two steps back."

"It had the intended effect," Viggo said to finish the topic. "You have done well by me for your work this evening, Leo. Some time away from duties has been earned; five nights should do. Feel free to take your leave. Runa will assist me with the questioning of Mr. Fletcher's minions."

"I could help you question them if you'd like, sir," I offered. "I have some experience with interrogation."

"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."

I'd turned and had one foot on the wall again when Olinchenko responded. "They may be Outsiders, but they are not my people, Mr. Beck. I don't even know them."

Only turning my head, I asked, "Are you saying you've made yourself a derelict?"

"No, of course not, although I normally live like one. Those strigoi you mentioned, they're like extended family. We are strangers to each other, but they will be polite to me."

"Polite," I repeated sarcastically while turning back to face him. "I doubt some of them know how."

"Yes, polite," Olinchenko said sternly. "Unlike them - if what you say is true - I have been polite to you, as tradition dictates they will be to me. Your accusations have only one constant, Mr. Beck, and that is you. Why do so many strigoi dislike you? Is it them, or is it you?"

"It's not that easy. I didn't start this."

"All the same, I'd prefer to move on and let you tend to your anger. Unfortunately, you are a direct link to the Veleti. I want to repay my debt. I need to. It sits on me like a yoke on an ox. It is no longer my way to force an outcome, Mr. Beck, so I ask you to tell your commander I am here to serve him." Olinchenko paused, and then added in a milder tone, "For well over a century I have looked for clues of the Veleti, listened for whispers of his passing. I found nothing. Do not deny me this chance." His last words were stated like a command, but there was a hint of desperation in them, too.

Shit. "Alright, I'll tell my commander about you, and that you'll be on this Civil Ground if he wants to meet with you. I doubt that'll happen tonight, so find a place to stay. Will that do?"

"That will do," Olinchenko replied evenly.

I wanted another drink, but I wasn't in the mood to hang out at Keegan's anymore that night. Instead, I went home and thought about why most of the hemos weren't fond of me. Like Olinchenko asked, was it them or was it me? Nah, fuck that. It was them.

COOKOUT

I was on the road early the next morning, out to the college town for target and dojo practice. While I was out there, I got all the crap I promised to bring to the cookout. The weather was cooperating that day, with partly sunny skies and fairly mild temps for late June. It was going to be a good day to enjoy myself and forget all the supernatural bullshit, at least for a while.

One of the things I wanted to forget was Olinchenko, but I couldn't. I wanted to hate him, wanted him to be a prick so I could be further justified in my view of the Outsiders. Well, except for Cordell - I couldn't hate him. Thing was, I ended up respecting Olinchenko. That didn't mean I liked him, but I could sort of understand where he was coming from. I left a note on the hemo-net for Viggo about him, and hadn't heard any more about it.

I didn't have any of my own guests coming to the cookout. Traeg had a valid excuse, Diego already had plans with his family, and Gwen backed out late. I asked if she was having more feinting spells. She promised me a slow death. I gave Phillip and Thunder some food, and then headed out again.

I showed up at my old house before the neighborhood guests came over. There was more than enough time to pull my grill and extra lawn chairs from my garage over to Miss Loretta's front lawn, which was larger than mine and had shade trees. My lawn was fenced and bare, and probably still blood-stained.

Hector, his pregnant wife Anna, and their three little dream-killers were the first to come over. Next to show up was Miss Loretta's older sister Lynette, followed by a handful of other neighbors. Next to last to arrive was Miss Loretta's younger brother and his wife. Their daughter - the one who wanted to rent my house - pulled up a few minutes later. She was worth waiting for.

Introductions were made all around, but I had trouble looking away from my neighbor's gorgeous niece. Miss Loretta's brother Lamar was a healthy guy in his forties, about my size but barrel-chested. I already knew he was a wing nut lifer - specifically, an Air Force Captain - so I snapped him a salute when we met. It wasn't strictly mandatory, but it showed respect. Lamar's wife Denise was an attractive white lady with blonde and gray hair pulled up in a bun. They lived out near Whiteman Air Force base, which was close to the college town I went to on weekends. Huh, small world.

Then I was introduced to Lamar and Denise's daughter, Valerie Foster. She had dark brown hair that hung in loose curls over smooth caramel skin. Her eyes were a bright hazel, and she had the kind of smile that could make men do stupid things. The derelict, Audra, had a similar effect on me, although her appeal was all danger and lust. Valerie was sort of the opposite. Her trim figure was sexy, but she had a simple charm and fresh good looks.

Valerie blushed while Miss Loretta praised her accomplishments. She'd graduated college a couple years back, spoke three other languages, and had just recently landed a job as some sort of copyrighter at some company downtown. All that was great, but it also meant she was smart enough to steer clear of a devil dog like me.

The rest of the day in Miss Loretta's front yard went great. Everyone ate their fill, with enough leftovers for everyone. Valerie (she asked me to call her Val) liked my house; we made an informal agreement and she was free to move in when she wanted. I knew that between her "Auntie Lo" and her father, Val would keep the house in shape. I kind of wished it had issues so that I had an excuse to come over.

As the afternoon turned to evening, neighbors said their goodbyes. I gave Val a set of house keys and my number - of my regular phone, not the one Viggo gave me - and told her to call if she had any other questions about the house. I shook hands and said my farewells, but had to endure a smothering hug from Miss Loretta before I could leave.

Thunder warmly greeted my bag of leftovers when I got home. Feeling lazy, I spent the rest of that evening slumped in front of the TV. Hell, to be honest, I was a lethargic shit for the next two days as well. I did a few necessary chores and got in a couple short workouts, but for the most part I lounged in calm solitude and neglected my hygiene. It was pretty damn awesome.

CRATES

My vacation ended all too soon. There was a long list of tasks waiting for me in the Planner. Most of it was more mundane shit - dropping off supplies here and there, and checking certain sewer tunnels. I didn't mind. Repetition only familiarized me with locations.

On my second day back at work, there was a strange chore. I was to pick up two wooden crates, deliver each one to a different address, open them and leave. The addresses were familiar, so I looked them up. Yep, just as I thought - both were parks that Fletcher controlled. I used to patrol each one. A map in the notes flagged a pick-up point; the crates were behind the dumpster of an abandoned building. Each one was three-foot square, and fairly heavy. First stop: Green Valley Park.

I drove into the big park just as the day began to really heat up. A note in the Planner told me to leave each crate in a clearly visible location, to be discreet, and not to touch the contents within. So, fifty feet away from the first picnic shelter along the paved park road, I unloaded the first one. After prying open the top with a crowbar, I saw that the crate held a large sealed plastic bag full of odd, lumpy items. Curious, I looked closer...

Body parts - the crate was full of human body parts.

Heads, feet, forearms, fingers, chunks of flesh - you name it. Random parts of dead people all piled in together. Some pieces were rotting. Some looked chewed on. Almost all appeared to be severed, but not in that surgically-removed way. More like chopped-with-an-ax kinds of cuts. Despite the heat, I got cold chills. I backed away slowly, turned, and hurried to my truck.

The crate I dropped off in Spire Park held more of the same. Fletcher was going to have cops and media all over his havens for a while. I figured he also was going to have to do some explaining to Le Meur and the emissaries. I made a mental note to catch the 6-o'clock news that evening.

Two nights later, I had a box of housewares - mainly light bulbs - that Viggo wanted me to deliver to him. It was humid down below in some unfamiliar tunnels, but at least I didn't have to walk through any streams of shit soup. The cockroaches kept me company.

Following the directions, I got to the end of an abandoned shaft and had to crawl through a dry tunnel connected to it. The snug tube ended at a small antechamber, with an open iron door to my left. On the other side of the door was a Deviant den, one I hadn't been to before. Except for the rough stone walls and low ceiling, it was set up like a large office. There were even a couple framed paintings hung up.

Viggo sat behind a big oak desk, staring at a computer monitor with an irritated expression. Before I could offer a greeting, he glanced at the box I was carrying and said, "Set that on the table behind me."

After setting the box down where he wanted it, I turned and noticed that he was playing computer solitaire. "Is it not letting you win, sir?"

"An internet cable has been cut once again," he replied, turning the game off. "The continued vandalism has begun to test my patience, Leo."

"Yes sir, I bet it has. Uh, not to change the subject, but about those crates I dropped off..."

"Ah, yes. I have not seen any eyewitness reports of your activities. Well done." His simple praise was sincere, but I detected that weariness of spirit in his voice again.

"Uh, yeah, thank you, sir. What I was wondering, though... And I hope you don't mind me asking. Uh, it's about a delivery receipt at the bottom of one of the crates. That wasn't on the news; I got a message from your police dispatcher about it today. I'm not sure what that was about. Was it intentional?"

Viggo stared at me until I got uncomfortable, which wasn't long. He eventually said, "Everything I do is intentional, Leo. Mr. O'Shaughnessy retrieved a billing receipt from the garbage bin behind a drinking establishment called the Rattlesnake Saloon. It is owned and operated by the Outsider, Lexian Grimm."

"Oh, right - I remember him from the Gathering."

"Yes; he rarely attends those functions. I warned Mr. Grimm about his dumping of victims into the sewer system, if you recall. He did not heed my warning. On my order, Mr. O'Shaughnessy placed the receipt in one of the crates to implicate Mr. Grimm in the grisly discovery. Another minion collected the human remains; I considered that chore beneath you."

"Well, I would've done it, sir, but I sure as hell don't mind that you passed that one onto someone else."

"The other minion in question was better suited for that task. I try to delegate duties according to skill sets. For example, another task has presented itself - a task well-suited for you." Viggo tapped on the computer monitor. "The vandalism in the utility tunnels has become a nuisance. Find the petty criminals and put an end to their irritating crimes. All other chores will be suspended until this has been seen to, but do not linger with this task to avoid them, Leo."

"No sir, of course not," I replied. "Does it matter how I handle this?"

Viggo gave me another black-eyed stare. "I would place that question in the category of lingering."

Grouchy message received. I left before it got any worse.

PLAN

Later that night, I requested all the underground vandalism reports from Viggo's Public Works minion. Copies of them were emailed to me the next morning. One Irish coffee later, I was ready for work.

First of all, I thought it was just internet wires being fucked with. Cable, landline, and local power lines were being cut as well. Where water and gas valves were available, they were being shut off. Since there wasn't any obvious profit from it, someone was being a real dick for no good reason.

There were more reports of vandalism than I thought. Once I had the incidents listed by time, date and location, a loose pattern was easy to see. Three different areas kept being targeted, most likely because of easy access to them. The dickhead (or heads - there might've been more than one) moved in a loop between locations of A, B, and C. Location A was hit every three or four days; so was B, but always one day after A. Location C was every seven days. I guessed even dickheads needed an occasional day off.

Judging from complaint calls, almost all of the vandalism happened right around sunset or just before. The Public Works guy had put in a requisition for motion sensors, alarms and locks, but it hadn't been approved by his superiors as of yet. Go figure.

Location A was the obvious choice. I knew the area because a number of Viggo's chores (both above and below ground) brought me there. It was the old stockyard district just southwest of downtown; half of the buildings out there were empty. The service tunnels in that area were large to accommodate all the water and steam pipes for all the (former) businesses. Newer companies took advantage of the roomy underground and placed junction units for all of their phone lines and fiber optic cables.

There were other sewer routes into that area, but the easiest access point to get to those junctions was a large grate in a delivery alley between rows of currently empty buildings. I'd taken that route once; I'd take it again. One of the parking lots that Viggo owned was only about half a mile away, so I planned on leaving my truck there and walk. Location A was due to be hit again the following evening, so I had time for a recon trip to be sure of my plan.

With my 'ignore me' trick, there were lots of spots down there to hang out and wait. All I had to do was find a dark corner and hope the dickhead(s) came by the spot I picked.

Later that night, I was still thinking about any variables to my plan when there was a knock at the front door. The thunderdome was in a fairly desolate neighborhood to begin with, and I'd never seen anyone (besides me) walking around at night. Anyone who knew where I lived would've called first. Well, except for Viggo, and he would've just stepped out from the dark stairwell.

Gun in hand and with Thunder following me, I peeked through the plate glass window. I blinked and looked again. Clara Page stood there in the dark on the weedy sidewalk. Still in her purple poncho and stocking cap, she gazed back at me with big, innocent eyes. An awkward second later, she waved at me with one hand and held up a half-full grocery bag with the other.

I opened the door and scanned left and right before looking back down at her. "Uh, hi Clara," I began hesitantly. "What're you doing here?"

"Someone said I should stop by and bring you a present." She held the bag up to me. As I slowly took it from her tiny hand, she looked down. "Oh, a kitty," she said. "Can I come in and play with it?" I didn't have much of a choice; she brushed by me and squatted down to pet Thunder.

She'd apparently gotten over her wariness of me. Hey, great, but that didn't tell me why she showed up out of the blue. I shut the door and asked, "Clara, did Viggo ask you to come here?"

"No, not him..." she replied vaguely while picking up my oversized cat. Okay, she wasn't going to mention Vivian. With Thunder in her arms, I could barely see the top half of her. "I went shopping," she said through the fur. "I ain't - haven't - done that for a long time. I got all your favorites, I think."

I stepped closer to the hallway light and looked in the bag. Inside was a can of sweet corn, a bag of steak fries, and a thick rib-eye. Yep, she somehow knew my favorites; it was only a little spooky. "Uh, hey, thanks. I don't know what you got me this food for, but it was very nice of you. I, uh, already ate dinner tonight, so I'll cook this up tomorrow."

"Have it for supper, not lunch," Clara said, while she walked past me with Thunder contently on her shoulder. "Can me and the kitty go watch some TV? I promise to brush him."

She was already heading to the stairs when I answered, "Uh, sure. The big TV is up in the lounge."

"I know," she said airily.

Clara was a few steps up the stairs when I added, "His name is Thunder."

"I know," she replied, still moving.

"Okay, uh, let me know if you need anything," I called up the stairs when she'd gone out of view. "I'll be down here -"

"In your office - I know," she called back from upstairs.

Okay, that was fucking weird. I couldn't get my head around any part of that.

An hour or so later, I looked up from my computer and saw Clara staring at me from the doorway. She was as stealthy as Viggo. "Oh, hey, sorry - I didn't see you standing there. Is everything okay?"

She nodded her head and said, "Uh huh. I'm gonna go now. Thanks for letting me play with the kitty. He's nice. Maybe I can come and play with him again sometime?"

"Sure, you're welcome here anytime."

Clara gazed at me for a second, and then said, "Okay, thanks. Bye." She turned to leave, but looked back at me with an odd expression on her cute little face. "You should shave tomorrow, too."

I didn't have a reply on hand for the random comment, and she was gone before I thought of one.

BOOM

The setting sun was still above the horizon when I climbed down through the alley grate. I'd done some basic recon earlier that afternoon and didn't see any potential problems. As the strangest young lady I'd ever met had suggested, I shaved and trimmed my goatee when I got home from the recon drive. The steak dinner I cooked was fucking awesome, if I do say so; I could still taste it as I pulled the grate back into place over my head.

Fifteen minutes later, I stood in the corner of a dark alcove behind some ventilation pipes. The only light in there was dim, cast by the small signal bulbs on the row of control boxes next to me. It wasn't much later that I heard voices out in the main tunnel - two voices, getting closer.

By the time they were close enough that the echo didn't garble their words, one of them said, ". . . told you before, man. We have to turn it up a notch. What we've been doing obviously isn't gettin' the job done, is it? Don't worry, I got this."

"I'm not so sure," a deeper voice replied. "We were told to disrupt -"

"And that's what I'm doin'. I'm just uppin' the ante. Trust me, this'll make 'em notice."

By then, I could see the beams of their flashlights and one of the guy's feet. I didn't have a good angle unless they came into my area. It sounded like the guy who was going to "up the ante" was across the hall, in what the city power and light workers called an electrical vault. It was nothing like a bank vault, though. The room had no door and was filled with bundles of wire and an underground transformer. The way he was talking was getting me nervous, and I wondered who they wanted to notice.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing, Johnny?" the deeper voice asked from further away.

"Have a little faith," Johnny called out. "I used to be a fireman a long time ago; we were trained in this sort of shit." There was a pause, and then he said, "I'm almost ready in here. Once it starts sparkin', there ain't no stoppin' it. And we better be back outside when it goes boom."

"How big of a 'boom' do you mean?" the other one asked. I was wondering the same thing.

"I mean, boom, man," Johnny said with a chuckle. "The pressure of the blast might make manhole covers a couple blocks away shoot in the air. Yeah, like I said - boom."

My nervousness just jumped from mild to holy shit. I had to move and take them down. Stepping out from behind the pipes I saw the flashlight of the one I assumed was Johnny, thirty feet away. I noticed the other beam somewhere further back in the tunnel that separated the electrical room from my recessed area. The guy back there would spot me when I made my move, but that couldn't be helped.

As fast as I could, I charged at Johnny. He never saw me coming. My left shoulder buckled his ribs. The momentum carried us into a big breaker panel. I jumped back and reached for a weapon. To his credit, the guy named Johnny wasn't quite out of it yet. He groaned and wobbled, but started getting to his feet. His flashlight was on the ground, still on, so I could only see his general shape. It was enough.

Johnny never really got the chance to get back up. I snapped my expandable steel baton to full length and beat the shit out of him with it. There wasn't much technique to my attack, but it worked - he was down and out. I heard running footsteps; the other guy was retreating. Kneeling, I grabbed the flashlight and shined it on Johnny, mostly to make sure I didn't fuck him up too bad.

The face I saw was familiar. A little bloody and marked up from the baton, but I knew him. The last time I saw that guy, we were on Civil Ground; he wore a stocking cap and had dog shit smeared down the front of him. He was one of McKenna's minions, which meant the guy who just ran off was most likely Blake. I had one of those 'oh shit' moments.

The old stockyard district was a good place to hide if you needed to lie low, so a fair guess was that McKenna wasn't far away. I had to catch Blake before he could report to his boss. With another burst of speed, I ran down the tunnel after him. He had a big lead, but I was hoping my enhanced speed could catch up to him pretty quick.

I reached the wall-mounted ladder rungs and sped up them, nearly leaping out of the uncovered grate. The sky was dark by then, but I could still see. Twenty feet down the alley, a metal service door was swinging shut. I was gaining on him.

Surging forward once more, I caught the door before it closed. Holding it open with my foot, I pulled out my phone and speed-dialed Viggo. He didn't answer, so I left a whispered message that there was an unexpected situation and that he might want to come. I exchanged the phone for my little Ruger and peeked inside.

It was a near-empty storage room, lit by a few flickering ceiling lights. Blake was thirty feet away on the far side of the room, leaning against a stack of palettes and trying to catch his breath. There was a set of swinging doors next to him, but he'd stopped running for some reason. I'd only met Blake a couple times, but I didn't take him for a coward or a weakling. I didn't trust the situation.

A hand came around the door I was holding open, grabbed me by my clothes, and yanked me into the room. "Don't be shy, Mr. Beck," Declan McKenna said, still gripping my shirt and jacket. "I've been waiting for you to show up."

Two 'oh shit' moments in less than five minutes - it was a new record for me.

UNINFORMED

Declan McKenna, hemo Outsider on the run, glared at me with red-flecked lunatic eyes. He shook me with one hand like I was a child. He shut the back door with his free hand and growled, "I've been debating how you should die once I had my hands on you."

I wasn't going to offer any suggestions. Instead of trying to say anything as he kept me off-balance, I pointed my Ruger at his midsection and started pulling the trigger.

A couple things happened at once. McKenna let go of me and stumbled backwards. Blake got there just as my gun emptied, and landed a side kick to my chest that knocked me back hard against the door. He had some skill. I managed to block his follow-up swing, and counterpunched with a jab to his nose. He took a step back, his eyes immediately watering. Taking one step to the side - away from the doubled over McKenna - I launched a kick to the side of Blake's knee. I heard the pop as it dislocated.

Just as Blake was dropping with a groan of pain, something hit me in the side of my head. For a second, I thought it was a brick. Confused, I stared at the white linoleum floor, wondering why I was laying on it. I turned my heavy head and saw McKenna coming at me. Most of his dress shirt was bloody, his young face was contorted with rage, and his normally slicked blonde hair was a mess.

Still trying to regain my senses, I looked over at Blake. He was still down, holding his knee. I had just started to wonder how he'd gotten ten feet further away when McKenna jerked me to my feet by my neck. He was in my face, snarling. He started to say something, but I stomped on his foot first. When he flinched, I threw a hook to his bloody gut. It didn't have the effect I was hoping for. Hell, it didn't have any fucking effect at all.

McKenna, keeping a hand clamped on my neck, grabbed my jacket with the other hand and heaved me across the room. I sort of remember being airborne for a second, but the impact of smashing into the stack of wooden pallets was unforgettable. I'd crunched a lot of the thin slats with my back, and found myself in an awkward reclined position in a bed of broken wood that my body just made. Aside from feeling like a bag of hammered shit, there was sudden hot pain in my left shoulder and right butt cheek.

There was no time to inspect my wounds, or even try to get up; McKenna was coming at me again. Reaching for me, he started to say, "You'll be happy to know I've made -" I cut him off with a boot to his face. It only pissed him off even more. He grabbed the collars of my shirt and jacket and yanked me out of the ruined pallets. Using the momentum, McKenna spun and slammed me into a wall.

My breath left my lungs with a grunt, and my skull smacked the cinderblock wall hard enough to make me see stars. McKenna held me there with one hand; my feet were a few inches off the ground. "You've caused me quite a bit of grief," he said with clenched teeth. "Your actions placed me into a costly deal with no return, and then you forced me to kill one of my own minions."

"Wait, I didn't -"

"As if that wasn't enough," McKenna said loudly, pulling me away from the wall and slamming me back into it, "you dumped the body of one of my business partners in my warehouse! It was the opening Le Meur needed. It no longer matters if she put you up to it, or if it was a damned Deviant plot. I've lost everything I have here, but I wasn't going to leave without getting some vengeance first."

McKenna was seriously uninformed. I guess being on the run kept him out of the loop. "Whoa, hold on," I said, trying to focus. "That video... it was a set-up - both of us. I didn't do it."

"Oh, yes, I saw in the newspaper how the police no longer considered you a suspect. How nice for you, Mr. Beck, that some numen cared enough to pull you out of the fire. There's no escape this time. You ruined me," he said, seething, "and now it is your turn to suffer."

He let go. I dropped unsteadily to my feet. The storage room seemed darker; I thought I was slowly blacking out. Still stunned, I never noticed that McKenna's fingers had grown claws... Not until he used them on me. With an angry sneer, he swiped at me once and then walked away.

My stomach felt hot. I numbly looked down and pulled up my ripped shirt. Blood was gushing out of three long horizontal gashes in my flesh. More alarming was my guts bulging out of them.

I'd seen similar wounds in combat, and knew that was it. Game over.

DECISION

I was trying in vain to keep my innards from spilling out, so I didn't pay attention to anything else. That is, until someone screamed. I looked up from my wounds and saw the blurry form of Viggo literally ripping Declan McKenna apart. Blood flew in arcing sprays. Blake was still down, but not holding his knee anymore. His head was a lumpy pancake with crimson syrup poured all over it.

My pressing hands felt the pulse of my open wounds. They were deep; nerves were cut, so all I really felt was a tingle as a chill began to settle in me. I slid and slumped against the broken stack of pallets, sort of propped up on my hip. Okay, not my best day. The screaming had stopped. Good, it was annoying. The chunk of wood in my butt cheek hurt worse than my splayed-open belly. That was weird.

I wished Al was there, doing his best to make me laugh. I didn't want my mom to cry anymore. A vision of Val Foster came to mind - a gorgeous woman, an opportunity lost. Keeg and Deb, Miss Loretta, Diego, Gwen and Traeg... there'd be no more smiles, no fond farewells. Who would take care of Thunder? I'd failed Viggo, my commander, the father I wished I'd had. Damn, I needed a drink.

Viggo had crouched down in front of me, his black eyes staring into mine. I chuckled and said, "I told Barnabus you needed moisturizer. I thought that was funny." He didn't smile. "Sorry... I'm sorry I kept being a pain in your ass, sir."

He glanced down to my stomach and then back up to me. "It is I who should apologize, Leo."

I leaned my head back against the rough wall. "No, it's okay... It's okay. You can rest now." My breath came short and choppy; I wondered if one of the claws nicked a lung. "I had a steak dinner, best I ever had. Clara went shopping for me." Viggo's eyes widened with surprise. "Yeah, I think she knew..."

He nodded and said, "Leo, had I known how things would turn out, I would have -"

"But you didn't, you couldn't have. No regrets, sir." My hands were trembling. I didn't trust them. "Could you get my flask for me?"

Viggo patted my jacket and found it. He unscrewed the lid and brought the flask to my mouth. I felt bad he was doing that for me, but just one gulp helped. "I give you one last choice," he said as he wiped my lip for me. "I can bring you into the night, or," he held up my little Ruger, "you can end your pain."

I smiled and shook my head. "Gun's empty... only one I brought."

He hung his head. "There is no other humane way, Leo. I will not strike you; I cannot. To be selfish, I will not let my hands cause your demise. My oath will not allow it. I cannot let that be my last memory of you." Viggo looked me in the eye once more. "Come with me, Leo - let me take you into the night," he said almost pleadingly. "Even though it will damn you, it will save you as well."

"It's your choice now, sir," I said with a labored breath. "Make me a fucking hemo, or stay here with me until I'm gone."

Viggo made a quick decision. "Not here," he murmured as he scooped me up with ease. We spun into the void; I didn't mind it at all that time - the last time. He brought me to a place of stone walls, cool air, and the scents of dust and potpourri. Viggo set me in a soft chair; leather, I thought.

My brain was weaving in and out of consciousness. I barely noticed when Viggo gently pulled my right arm away from my wounds. Feeling the weak pulse in my wrist, he stated more to himself than to me, "There is not much life left in you to take." Eyes closed, I laid my head back into the cushion. There was a momentary sharp pain in my wrist that turned into pure intensity. It faded, and I blacked out.

I woke again when I felt the trickle of a warm, strong liquid in my mouth and running down my throat. Thinking Viggo was giving me more Jack from my flask, I instinctively swallowed. It wasn't Jack Daniels - it was better, so much fucking better. I let my mouth hang open for more, and it was given. My eyes sprung open. Viggo stood over me, pulling his wrist away from my face. "Welcome back, Leo. Welcome to your new life," he said with a touch of sadness.

Confused, I looked down at the rips in my gut. They were still pushed open by my innards, but the blood had stopped. For each wound, I pressed my guts in, pinched flesh together, and visualized it knitting back together. The first wound healed quickly; the next two even more so. Other than a sense of clarity, I didn't feel any different. Turning my head to Viggo, I said, "Was that it? That wasn't so bad."

He shook his head slowly. "Technically, you have been brought into the night. You are a member of the Deviant faction and, more importantly, my scion. Whether you can remain so... will soon be seen."

"Whoa, uh, what the hell does that mean?"

Viggo crossed his arms and stated ominously, "By this time tomorrow night, you will be in the grip of the infliction. Your world will be nothing but pain."

THIRST

Huh, infliction and pain... Not two of my favorite words. I was a little rattled by them.

"You are far from fully fed," Viggo told me. "We should fix that. Can you stand?"

"Yeah, I think so." When I eased myself out of the leather chair, I realized a few things. First, I still had big slivers of wood stuck in me. Second, I didn't feel any of the aching effects of being tossed around. Third, and most evident, was that the blood-bond to Viggo was gone. I still respected him more than I can say, but I had a clear perspective on all of the things he'd said and done. I immediately began to question some of those things that were simply accepted before.

While Viggo helped me pull out the slivers, I looked around at the room he brought us to. It was a small chamber made of stone and mortar. A few pipes ran through it, up near the high ceiling. There was only one door, metal and rusty. Other than the nice recliner chair, the only other thing in the room was a widescreen TV mounted to a wall. "Where are we?"

"A private retreat," he replied. "The entrance has been cloaked. I have others. This one, however, is near feeding locations, both above and below. For now, we will only take sustenance from down here. You must gather strength and learn your new Gifts before attempting to stalk humans."

"Stalk humans?" I asked. I was a little unnerved by the idea. "I knew it was done on a regular basis, but I never pictured myself doing it." Holy shit, hunting people for blood... The concept of being a hemo hadn't sunk in yet. I'll admit it - I was scared.

Viggo led me through the door out into a curving, narrow brick hallway lit with sporadic bulbs. It had a shallow trench cut into the center of the floor; the lumpy contents in it were moist, but there wasn't enough fluid to make it flow. The resulting stench was a mix of mold, vomit, and sour milk. It made me doubt I could be one of the sewer-dwelling Deviants like Roach or Neva.

We turned left at a tunnel junction. It led to a T, where our tunnel met a wide drainage shaft. There was a sort of tiny sandbar where the two met, although that sand was really sludge with a sprinkling of broken glass. How lovely. Frolicking on that little underground beach from hell were about a dozen big rats. "Okay, now what?" I asked.

Viggo turned to me. "Tell me how you feel."

"Well, I gotta take a piss, and I'm hungry. But, uh, like a cheeseburger kind of hungry, not raw rat."

"Is that so? Indulge me, Leo. Run your tongue over your teeth." I did, and was surprised to feel that my canines were very pronounced and sharp. Viggo saw my expression. "When a numen body is depleted of blood, the teeth for feeding will grow automatically. You must slake your thirst."

"Uh, are there any other options?"

"Only one; you can deny your need. Soon enough, it will cause you to lose control, fully in the throes of blood-lust. You will attack anything, not stopping until you are fully sated." The explanation reminded me of the wild hemo in the park that I shot. I still felt bad for that raccoon.

"Listen well, Leo," Viggo continued. "Because of your strong lineage, your blood is concentrated. A large quantity will be needed to replenish you if you become hungry."

"So... it's like I have a big-ass gas tank, and it takes more to fill it up when I'm low, right?"

Viggo stared at me for a second; I guess he wasn't thrilled with my analogy. "Essentially yes," he said. "And, like a fuel tank, you can go further with yours than most others. They must 'refill' more often. Moreover, you can use your stronger blood to augment your physical abilities and empower Gifts that require it. As an example, Mr. Fletcher needs to channel a small portion of his blood into the effort of transforming into a wolf."

"Are you saying I can -?"

"No, I do not have that Gift, so my blood would not have passed it along to you. There are many others I do possess, however, and we shall explore what you instinctively may already know, in due course. For now, though," Viggo said as he waved an inviting hand toward the rats, "drink."

I'm not going into the details other than to say I almost couldn't do it, and that biting into a squirming, dirty rodent was going to take some getting used to. Okay, they were rats, but their blood tasted good. Viggo told me while I grabbed another docile rat that I didn't have to worry about diseases or anything. Eleven rats later I was still hungry, so he used his Gift of Fauna to call more.

A short time later I was full, and completely disgusted with myself. I sat in the sludge with blood spilt down the front of me, surrounded by over forty dead rats. Fighting a gag impulse, I stood up and pissed into the streaming water. I stood there for nearly two fucking minutes draining my bladder. As I zipped up, Viggo commented that I wouldn't have to worry about that bodily urge again - ever.

"No offense," I said to him, "but I think I wanna be alone for a little while." We went back to the hidden room, where Viggo told me I'd tire soon and that the chair was comfortable for resting. Before leaving, he said he'd be back the next evening.

I sat back in my ruined clothes and turned on the TV. The channel it was on reminded me the date was July Fourth. Fine, whatever - I'd had a different version of fireworks that evening. I was thrown twenty feet into a stack of wood, had my head bounced on a wall, got my gut ripped open, was turned into a hemo, and bit into one squealing rat after another. Regular fireworks were for pussies.

Ignoring the giant cockroach on the pipe above me, I changed channels until I came across a 'Dirty Jobs' marathon. I eventually dozed off convinced that the host of that show was some Deviant's minion.

INFLICTION

Even though the recliner didn't stretch out like a bed, I woke up feeling good. Wait, change that to great. Strong, alert, fluid in my movements - my new vitality was looking for an outlet. I wasn't going to beat the shit out of the chair, so I calmed myself with a kata. I still felt like a live wire afterwards, but I gained composure and control over my body.

Three minutes later, that composure and control were gone.

The pain started in my stomach. It settled in my bowels and gathered strength, causing me to flinch and grunt from cramps. The king of all shits was on its way. When Viggo walked in, I yelled, "Toilet, NOW!"

He put his arm around me. We void-walked and came out in another stone room. I really didn't notice anything else except for the toilet in the far corner. I didn't care that there was no privacy. Viggo told me to flush often, and then stepped out of the room. Holy shit, it was like I overdosed on that stuff you're supposed to drink before a colonoscopy. Someone thankfully thought ahead; there was a new six-pack of toilet paper on the floor next to me.

It must've been twenty minutes of grunting, groaning and constant crapping. I put my face in my hands, noticing that I wasn't sweating like I would've expected to be after shooting out ten pounds of shit. Oh, sorry, was that too graphic? Deal with it. I did.

I cleaned up (which took a few more flushes) and looked around. The room was carved out of solid stone, about twenty feet square and without much in it. There was a rusty shower pipe and drain in the corner across from the toilet, a cot against a wall, a low ceiling with one overhead bulb, and an iron door in the far corner. That door had one of those slide slots for looking in. It also had locks that prevented me from getting out.

I started with a patient knock that quickly escalated into cussing in rhythm to my fist hammering on the door. I stopped when I saw the dents I was leaving in it. A while later, Viggo and Barnabus opened the door and came in carrying large cardboard boxes. Viggo set his box on the floor, pulled an apple out of his coat pocket and tossed it to me. "Take a bite," he requested. I did, and it went down fine. About ten seconds later, it came right back up. I didn't quite make it to the toilet. "You do not have Harlan's ability to ingest food," he stated conversationally. "No more steak or cheeseburgers for you, Leo."

"Yeah, thanks," I said as I glared at him. To be fair, though, there wasn't any other way to find out. The apple also helped to drive home the point that I wasn't human anymore.

"The emptying of your bowels signals the beginning of the infliction," Viggo said with some compassion. "You will remain in this room until it is over. We have brought you some items for your stay."

I wiped my mouth and fought back the despair of being imprisoned again. "Okay, thanks."

Barnabus set his box on my cot. "I have selected a number of fine reading materials for you, Leo," he said, trying to sound upbeat. "With any luck, you'll be able to focus on the well-crafted literary prose instead of, well, anything else. And do not become disheartened if you unintentionally damage any; I happen to own more copies of each of these works."

Reaching into another coat pocket, Viggo pulled out two rubber balls. He was about to toss them to me when I had sudden, painful spasms in my hands. Viggo waited while I tried to get my fingers to uncurl. He set the balls next to me and said, "These are for simple entertainment, and to grip when more pain comes." He turned back to his box and tipped it over. The flaps opened, allowing a shitload of rats to come scrambling out. "These are meant for sustenance should you expend excess energy during your stay. I do ask that at least one is spared so you may continue your practice of the Gift of Fauna."

"You may find," Barnabus added, "that success will come sooner for you now."

"What about -" An unexpected, stabbing pain in my spine interrupted me. "What about my cat?"

"Clara now has a spare key to your abode, and will look after your pet," Viggo answered. "I have your phone, keys, wallet, and gun. Nothing was lost. I will soon return them to you."

"Okay, okay," I stammered as my teeth began to ache. "My friends - they're going to worry."

"One thing at a time, Leo," Barnabus calmly said. "You can decide how to handle those matters once this is over. Your sire has expressed to me that two of his minions have been told of the situation, so don't needlessly concern yourself with them for now."

"Alright, thanks," I said, forcing out the words. "I appreciate all this, but maybe -" I flinched when my dick started burning - "maybe you should both leave now."

They turned and exited without a word. Soon after the echo of the shutting door faded away, all of my nerve endings screamed at me. I screamed back. The pain had just begun.

I've felt my share of pain before, and I've seen braver men than me endure more than I have. But none of that compared to the infliction. Torturing my body was not enough - it attacked my mind as well, challenging my sanity and twisting my memories into nightmares. I won't try to explain the excruciating agony I went through; I don't have the words, and you couldn't imagine it if I did. I wouldn't want you to.

The pain seemed endless, although there were a few merciful breathers. I tried reading Barnabus' extra copy of Paradise Lost a couple times, but waves of searing pain made more than a few pages impossible. The balls were never used for fun; I never had the chance to be bored. I squeezed the balls to toughen my will when the infliction tried to trick me, break me. Some of the rats were used as food, but as few as possible. I raged a few times, and blacked out more than I care to admit. Time had no meaning.

The infliction's last assault was the worst. When it was finally over, and before I lost consciousness for the last time, I knew who I was. I woke up sometime later on the floor, with my head on someone's lap. I looked up and saw Neva smiling at me as she brushed my hair with her fingers.

When I was human, Neva's 'taint of horror' truly freaked me out. But just then, as she held me, it wasn't so bad. Once I was past that, her porcelain skin and blue veins were almost exotic. Her milky white hair almost glowed. If her looks weren't so alien, she would've been beautiful. I fell back to sleep knowing I was safe, and that all of my memories were intact.

I woke again when the door shut; Neva was gone. With nothing better to do, I picked up a rat and gave the Gift of Fauna another shot. Within seconds, I was smiling.

I was on the cot when Viggo slid the door slot open to check on me. I had a nice little surprise for him. On the floor in the center of the room, I had the surviving rats gathered. I'd told each of them to move to a certain spot and stay there. When Viggo looked in, he saw 'IM OK' spelled out with wiggling vermin. Sorry, the apostrophe was dinner.

APPEARANCES

Viggo stepped in and looked at my side of the iron door, which I'd put a huge dent into at some point. He turned to me and said, "We should talk."

"Yeah, uh..." I stopped for a second, realizing that my voice sounded lower and scratchy. "I'm not sure when I did that. I kinda lost it a few times. Don't worry, I'll pay for it."

"A door is not my concern," he replied as he walked over to me. "As the rats suggest, you are mentally sound, yes?"

"It sure as hell feels like it. There was once or twice I had a tough time with reality, but I'm good."

"From casual observation, I tend to disagree." Before I could argue with Viggo's opinion, he said, "Have you taken a good look at your hands, Leo?"

"Yeah, as a matter of fact, I have." I held my hands up. They looked like desert stone; splotchy beige skin, rough and dense. They had sharper angles, minor pits and imperfections, and hairline cracks. They were larger, too, but still as flexible as they used to be. "Accepting these was one of those tough times I was talking about. The new look of my junk was the other tough time, but I'm not gonna go there."

"Ah, good," Viggo said, obviously relieved. "I assumed that your mind forced you to ignore your new appearance. It has happened to others in the past, and their denial bloomed into greater neuroses. I would say that you have adjusted quite well, although you have not yet looked upon your own face. Confidentially, I find your visage much less disconcerting than your brother Aldo's."

Coming from the hemo with a face like Death Valley, that didn't mean much. Still, I took it for how it was intended: a left-handed compliment. And... crap, Aldo the asshole was my brother now.

"To be truthful," Viggo said, patting my shoulder, "I have been quite concerned for the last five nights. You were very vocal at certain times, and worryingly quiet at others. I am happy to find you in such good condition, Leo."

"Five nights, are you shitting me? I would've guessed half that!"

He replied with a shrug. "The infliction has been known to take up to eight nights to run its course. But let us not linger on it; you are intact, and we can venture forward. Now, of course, more immediate matters shall be seen to, but there are also many other topics to discuss."

"Alright... Other than coming to terms with this whole numen thing, getting used to the new me, and hopefully not drinking rats by the bushel for the next thousand years, what else is there?"

Viggo stepped back as he said, "There is the issue of setting your financial base, if you allow me to assist in that regard. There are also subjects such as stalking prey, and if you choose to be formally introduced into our society. For now, though," he took another step toward the door, "let us leave this chamber of pain and see to more pressing concerns."

"Whoa, wait - what was that thing about a financial base?"

"I will say this for now," Viggo said with a frown. "ShadoWorks employees must be available for daytime tasks, as you well know. Unfortunately, you are now excluded from that. You were a fine worker."

"What, I'm fired?"

"Leo, you no longer meet the criteria," he answered with a shrug. "Consider it an opportunity for greater prospects. As I have done with my other scions, you will be offered a type of inheritance. From what I gave to Aldo, he has built a small but powerful European corporation. However, if you would rather turn to a criminal enterprise - which I will condemn - or perhaps find a third shift 'work-from-home' position, that is your choice..."

"Uh, no, no, your offer is very generous. I just didn't know what you meant."

"As I said, we will discuss it later. Come with me," Viggo said as he turned toward the door. I was led in a different direction through a short zigzag of tunnels, up a flight of stairs, and into a dusty section of a steam tunnel. Not far from the door we came through was an old, forgotten city worker's break room. A kitchenette, card table with folding chairs, and narrow bathroom door made for a cramped little room. Viggo opened that narrow door and stepped out of the way.

I stepped into the tiny bathroom and hesitated when I reached for the overhead light's pull chain. I was afraid of what waited for me in the dirty mirror over the sink. I'd made peace with my new hands, but hoped in vain after the infliction was over that my face was the same, scars and all. I mean, Clara, Skin and Michael looked pretty damn normal. Why not me? I'd already felt my face, though, and knew I was out of luck.

I clicked on the light, faced the mirror, and did my best not to freak out. I was too stunned to cuss.

To begin with, my shoulders were wider, and the fun that the infliction had with my spine made my posture slightly hunched. Through my tattered clothes I could tell that my chest was a bit broader, but the overall shape of my frame hadn't been affected much. I leaned in for a closer inspection...

My hair, still intact, was coarser and darker brown. My face had the same stone complexion and rough texture as my hands. My brows had become thick; one was set lower than the other, giving me a perpetual scowl. The blue eyes I inherited from my mom were darker and set back into the sockets. My facial creases were deeper, more pronounced. The scars on my cheek, jaw and neck had turned into roughly chiseled grooves. My ears hadn't changed shape, but they had hairline cracks like the rest of my face. I looked like an angry sculpture, carved by a demented artist.

I came out of the bathroom pissed off, and a little hysterical. I bellowed at my calm sire, "What the hell did you do to me! I look like the statue of a fucking monster!"

Taking my outburst in stride, Viggo said, "Some general traits of my line are passed along with my potent blood. I daresay you should have expected it. As deformities go, yours could have been much worse. Would you rather look like Roach or Mr. Merritt?"

"I'd rather look fucking normal, like Clara does. This whole crusty skin thing sure as hell didn't get passed along to her! How the hell did that happen?"

"Hmm, the smooth chocolate skin, the large doe eyes. Did you think that is Clara's true appearance?" He shook his head. "She keeps her Deviant form constantly hidden. The façade rarely slips, even while she slumbers. That concealed aspect whispers to her, offering random insights. Clara has given it the name of her long-lost twin: Vivian. Your sister carries the traits of my line, but she hides them."

My sister... Something about that concept appealed to me. Just for a minute, I forgot about my own new, horrific looks and thought about what Clara went through every damn night of her Deviant life. I still had room to bitch about my own situation, but I didn't feel the need to dwell on it as much.

LEARNING

The next number of nights was sort of chaotic, but I learned a lot of shit. Mostly, I got an idea of what it meant to be a hemo. I also learned about myself, and all of the simple habits I had to break. At times, I felt like I was in field training, but that's where the comparison ended.

I still had the same thoughts and opinions as before, but the ancient blood coursing through me formed an underlying... current, I guess, that affected my emotions. Intensity, passion, aggression - maybe it was all of those together. Viggo called it the 'dark ardor', and warned me about controlling it. I guess it could be described as having a shorter temper, and then apply it to every emotion.

Viggo left me alone for the rest of that first night to let me stare at myself. I guess he figured one night was enough, because the next night he brought me to a junk yard. I was put through a few tests to find out if I had potential in a few hemo Gifts. Viggo was persistent with the pressure of getting my best efforts, but not like a drill instructor. He was both stern and encouraging. It helped.

The first thing I learned was that I didn't have any further ability with the Gift of Fauna. I could give simple instructions to an animal, but that was it. To be honest, I didn't expect much else. Viggo didn't seem deterred. Changing gears, he then told me to study my own moonlit shadow stretching across a dented car hood. As I watched my silhouette, he whacked me across the back with a car antenna. I barely felt it. When he did the same with the bumper of an F150, though... that I felt, big time.

Further back in the big junkyard were rows of wrecked motorcycles. He chose one at random and told me to pick it up. When I hesitated, he stepped close and said I could achieve the feat simply by urging the potency of my blood. Any strength I'd gained through a physical Gift would only make it easier. Holy shit, he was right. Not only did I pick up that rice-burner, I also threw it twenty feet.

Viggo used his Fauna Gift and called some stray dogs to us. The three mutts that showed up looked pretty damn pathetic. I thought my sire kinda dropped the ball until he explained that his call was only for sick or injured dogs. He wanted me to 'refill my tank' after exerting myself, and I could mercifully end their suffering in the process. My mind flashed back to Ragna, a vacant lot, and an injured pooch. I used her example and gave each mutt a happy thought before I drained them.

While we were out there, I noticed a few other little things. I didn't need to catch my breath after doing something strenuous. My muscles didn't ache. I never came close to sweating, even with the muggy night air. No yawning, no coughing, no sneezing, no booger build-up in my nose, no need to stretch my muscles. Mosquitoes couldn't get through my thick skin. Even with the moon out, I knew I could see better in the dark than I ever could before. Everything was subtly different.

We left the junkyard and drove to a familiar midtown area. Viggo made a few calls on the way, and then told me park behind a specific building. It turned out to be the one where I'd first met the hot derelict, Audra. The backdoor was already unlocked, so we went on in. The centuries-old minion named Runa was inside, setting up camping chairs near the back wall of the large open room. Those five chairs were set up in a fairly tight circle; I had no idea what Viggo had in mind.

Runa studied me for a minute, and then respectfully bowed her head to me. I felt pretty awkward. There I was, the Veleti's newest minion brought into the night, while she'd been his servant for longer than I could imagine. I wondered if she hated me for it, and discreetly asked Viggo about it. He said that Runa was a dichotomy in that regard; she had no problem spilling blood, but she would drink no more than necessary to prolong her life. Runa had no interest in becoming a hemo. I envied her a little.

Viggo sent her off on some errand to go find some guy named Mr. Lucida. The way he phrased the task made it sound like a bitch of a mission. When Runa left, Viggo told me that his guests would soon be arriving. He wanted to see if I could keep myself 'ignored', even while moving around. It sounded like a pretty big challenge, but I was ready to try.

Gwen showed up first, followed by Traeg. Then a third person showed up - a tall, thin blonde guy who wore a polo shirt, khaki pants and loafers. He looked like a lawyer on vacation. As it turned out, I wasn't far off the mark.

None of them noticed me when they came in. Viggo introduced the guy to them only as Mr. Staalsen, a minion visiting from Europe. When they all sat, the discussion was about me. Viggo had already told them I'd been brought into the night, but he evidently didn't give any details then. Staalsen just sat and listened while the other two asked questions. Traeg, reserved as always, only wanted to know how the infliction went and if I was okay. Gwen, obviously tense, had more than that on her mind.

"To begin with, what is this infliction?" she asked. Viggo answered with a short but honest explanation, which made her even more upset. "Is Leo recovering or something?" was her next question. Viggo said that I was currently learning about my new capabilities. Vague and smooth - I called it 'hemo talk'.

And then Gwen's questions came out rapid-fire. "No offense, but is Leo all hideous now?" "Is he still, you know... Leo?" "We're not in any sort of danger now, right?" "With him becoming a predator, does it mean he's lost his sexual urges? I only ask because he never hit on me, so I thought he might be gay. Does that matter anymore?" "Did Leo ever make a pass at you, Traeg?"

I'd moved through the shadowy room, closer to the group while Gwen rattled off her questions. Rather personal questions, too, which pointed out that she was oblivious of my presence. I watched my step on the littered floor and got pretty close. Mr. Staalsen glanced in my general direction once, but only for a second; his calm expression never changed and he continued to ignore me. My Gift of Shadows had become stronger. I wished I could've done my new trick back during a few recon missions.

Viggo knew I was there, so he never lost sight of me. Having pure black eyes had the advantage of shifting his gaze without anyone knowing. I stood behind Gwen; he gave me a barely perceptible nod. I leaned down next to her ear and said, "I'm not gay."

Staalsen's whole body flinched. Traeg jumped out of his chair, cussing. Gwen screamed and then turned around to yell at me. "Dammit, Leo, don't you ever -" Then she saw me, saw my face. And she screamed again. Not exactly a compliment for my new, fragile self-image.

INITIATIVES

While Viggo and Mr. Staalsen moved off to talk privately, I sat down with Gwen and Traeg and answered their questions. I wouldn't wish the infliction on my enemies, but it was all Viggo could do to save my life. I wasn't sure yet if it was a good choice or not. I said that as far as I could tell, I was the same ol' Leo on the inside and they had nothing to fear from me.

The reassurances seemed to calm Gwen down, which was my goal. In a more relaxed mood, I told them about the events leading up to McKenna kicking my ass and ripping my guts open. I wished I had more details of what Viggo did to that fucker in return.

Viggo said Traeg and Gwen were excused for the evening. On their way out, I told them we'd all get together again soon at the fire station. After they left, I was formally introduced to Rolf Staalsen. He was a Norwegian minion of Viggo's who met with him at least once a month, whether by Viggo void-walking or Staalsen buying a plane ticket. His current visit was at Viggo's request, and for my benefit.

Mr. Staalsen worked for ShadoWorks in the capacity of property manager over all of the Scandinavian holdings Viggo owned. Okay, an important guy. Staalsen spoke perfect English, and with hardly any accent. He explained the basic concept for his visit: Viggo was giving a handful of his northern European properties to me. Basically, the minion oversaw the properties while I sat back and got paid. It was by no means a fortune, but it would still be a fairly steady monthly sum I could easily live on.

"Are you sure about this?" I asked Viggo. "I hate the idea of taking money out of your pocket."

"Leo, do you have any idea how much property I own around the world?"

Not having a clue, I looked to Staalsen for help. "Sorry," he said, "I didn't bring my spreadsheets here. In Scandinavia alone, however, I know for a fact that ShadoWorks owns a total of sixty-six developed sites, mostly in commercial and industrial zones."

"Oh... uh, okay, when you put it that way..." Damn. With the assumption of free housing, no bills, and my truck being insured as a ShadoWorks vehicle, even a small income was mostly profit. Hell yes.

The next night, I sat down with Staalsen and Viggo at a nicer location. Viggo's local financial manager, a recluse named Keith who had some sort of social phobia, was on speaker phone. We hashed through all the shit. Well, mostly Staalsen and Keith did; I mostly just sat there and thought up names for the LLC that they were putting together for me. I didn't have to get too creative about it. By the next day, after the application was approved, I was the anonymous owner of Norbeck Limited.

After the meeting, Viggo and I sat alone and discussed how I'd feed myself. I really wanted to figure that out; I couldn't keep relying on him for my new basic needs. Yeah, I know \- Viggo was giving me a place to live and an easy income. I felt a little guilty about it, but I wasn't fucking stupid enough to refuse all of it. Still, I had to gain some of my independence back.

Okay, so feeding, hunting, stalking, becoming a true predator. One option was to make a minion out of a blood bank worker. However, there weren't many in the right positions, and they were probably already spoken for. I pushed the idea aside and moved on.

Alright, I should explain something at this point. I knew I couldn't drink Jack Daniels straight - or with coke, either - but I found out I could have a half-shot chaser after draining a rat. For one thing, it made the blood taste even better to me. For another, that sip of Jack made the thought of physically drinking an animal's fluid somehow more bearable. I don't know why. Ask a shrink.

With that in mind, the next idea was right up my alley: stalking drunks. Like a pervert, I'd be creeping after piss-stained alcoholics, and coeds who made bad choices. Yeah, it was just as classy as it sounded. Thing was, it worked. Well, when I had the chance.

There's a certain district in my city called Westport. It's an area of themed eateries, craft shops, and a wide selection of bars. That was the logical place to test my stalking skill, but I figured other hemos went there as well and I didn't want to be spotted. Viggo told me not to worry, he'd be watching.

The next night was a Friday, a perfect time to practice. Westport had a constantly moving pedestrian crowd. That made it easy for me to walk around with my new 'ignored' ability. Viggo called it "blending in". I was scared at first. As I walked by or through crowds of people on the wide sidewalks, I soon noticed that they involuntarily walked around me or got out of my way. No one looked right at me.

One guy went so far as to veer away from me. When his girlfriend stopped and asked where the hell he was going, he said in a confused tone that he didn't know. 'Blending in' was gonna be damn handy.

I'd found a narrow, unlit alley and waited there for the right prey to come along. I waited a while. The right prey meant I was looking for one or two people walking past, not part of a group, and stumbling drunk. As Viggo once said, the human mind was adaptable, and would create a logical scenario after being fed from... but not a lucid, fully coherent mind. That was a big fucking exception.

That's where some Gift abilities came in. One trick of the Gift of Control could make a victim forget, or have the memory altered. I didn't have that one. An ability of the Gift of Enchantment could make the victim think it was a pleasurable intimate encounter. I didn't have that, either. The Adepts, some Outsiders, and a very few Deviants knew those two Gifts. I wasn't one of them.

There was also a higher ability in the Gift of Shadows that made the hemo simply disappear; the victim would mentally give the encounter a different explanation. Nope, I couldn't do that yet. There was also a trick of the Fauna Gift that turned the victim into emotional putty, mellow to the extreme, letting the hemo do as he pleased. I sucked at the Fauna thing.

That left the option of lying in wait for innocent, hammered people who wandered past me. I hoped they'd pass my attack off as an attempted mugging. I also hoped they didn't puke on me. There could also be a situation where the victim might, uh, bump his head; drunk and stunned would've made it easy. I wasn't too proud of having that idea to begin with, but a guy's gotta eat.

Viggo had warned me beforehand that the 'dark ardor' would be felt when taking blood from a human. He described the taste as pure ecstasy - especially compared to rats - and that I had to stay in control. Not staying in control meant I'd have a dead body on my hands.

After three hours of standing around and bored out of my damn mind, I learned that I could bend my own shadow. Viggo later told me that it was the first step into learning the Gift of the Void. It freaked me out at first, but then I started to experiment with it. On the alley wall, I contorted my shadow in all sorts of ways; I stretched it, made it wiggle, and even managed to make it look like I had four arms and a tail. Twisting my silhouette into different shapes got easy after a while, so I pushed further.

I focused on the old-style streetlamp just down the block and tried to dim it with my shadow. Other shadows from parked cars and door frames extended toward the lamp. Those weren't really shadows, though. There was a soupy, yet smoky, quality to the silent shapes. I got the creepy feeling there was a dark sentience in them. More fascinated than unnerved, I willed those slithering ribbons of darkness to complete their mission. They slid up the cast-iron pole and smothered the light.

Shocked by the unexpected event, I lost my concentration, which made the void-strips (for lack of a better term) suddenly fade. Knowing I had that ability both thrilled and disturbed me.

Luck finally came my way just as I was about to go back to my truck. A completely shitfaced guy came my way, using building walls to keep himself upright as he stumbled along. It was easy to pull him into the alley facing away from me and sink my big teeth into the side of his neck. And, holy shit, Viggo was right - that first sip was like having a full-body orgasm while eating a whiskey-marinated bite of steak.

I had control; fuck dark ardor. I licked the two punctures so they'd close, just like Viggo taught me, and then shoved the guy back out onto the sidewalk. He staggered and fell against a parked car, rubbing his neck. Then, without looking back, he walked off on unsteady feet.

That was it, I was a hemo. I felt the same way about that fact as I did with creating void-strips.

DEPRESSED

Viggo wasn't enthusiastic about my surprising grasp of the Void Gift, although I think he actually smiled. He was also pleased that I had more confidence in sustaining myself. Before void-walking out of the Westport district, he said, "You have done very well, Leo. The rest of the night is yours. What would you like to do?"

Without having to think about it, I replied, "I wanna go home for a little while."

"Then I will take you there. Keep in mind that I have arranged an event for the faction to welcome you the night after tomorrow. If the timing pressures you, I will postpone it."

"Nah, two nights is fine. I just need a chance to chill out on my own for a bit. If I go back out tomorrow, I'll go stalking someplace else where I don't have to worry about anything or anybody interfering."

Viggo thought about it for a second, and then nodded. He created a void and enveloped us with it. We stepped out into the small, dark office of the thunderdome. As we walked out into the hall, we heard Clara's distant voice say, "I'm upstairs with Thunder." I didn't know how she knew we'd just arrived, and I didn't want to. That little girl was spooky.

As we went up the stairs, I had a sudden thought. "Oh shit - Phillip. I hope Clara fed him."

"He is no longer a concern," Viggo said casually. "During your infliction, Mr. Merritt checked on Mr. Aoki. The man's memories were altered to an acceptable degree, and he was then released to return to his home and his life. I do not believe Lady Le Meur will take any further interest in him."

That was a relief, all of it. Phillip never deserved any of the shit he was put through. For him, at least, it all ended well.

Thunder greeted me with his odd purrs while he rubbed against my calves. Clara, without looking away from the TV in the lounge as she sat back in an overstuffed chair, told me, "I've been telling him what a good keeper you are, and to look out for you." Then she turned her head away from her Pixar movie and looked at Viggo. "Hello, father," she said. "I did like you asked. It fits okay."

I turned to Viggo with a curious expression, or at least as curious as my new face would allow. "Your bed sat between windows," he said. "That obviously would not do. So, at my request, Clara moved your bed down into the basement."

"I had Milo go clean down there first," Clara added.

"Thank you for that," Viggo said to her, and then turned back to me. "I presumed you did not want a coffin. If you prefer, one can be obtained and placed where your bed formerly sat for sake of ease."

"No, uh, thanks all the same. You presumed right."

"Very well," he said. "We will leave for now. I will come to collect you for the faction introduction."

"Okay, cool." To Clara, I said, "Thanks for looking after Thunder for me." I still wasn't used to hearing the new rumble in my voice; I sounded like I needed to clear my throat.

"Sure," she replied as she crawled out of the big chair. Passing by me, Clara paused and looked up. "I'm glad you shaved. Your new face would've looked silly with whiskers."

"Yeah, you're probably right."

"It isn't as weird as father's is," she went on, still referring to my face, "but it's alright." Her unflinching gaze and candid opinion of my features left me feeling a little less self-conscious. "Don't mope, okay?" Clara added with a smile. "Wait 'til you see Mr. Lucida - you won't feel bad then. Okay, see you at the party." She stepped over to Viggo, who gave me a farewell nod, and they both walked off.

After they left, I went down to the kitchen and dug a knife into my finger to let a few drops of blood mix with the water in Thunder's bowl. No pet of this hemo was gonna die from old age.

When the cut closed, I went another flight down to the small utility basement to see what it looked like. Not bad, really. Milo had obviously cleaned everything up, put a new coat of paint on the walls and pipes, and laid a big area rug down. Pinning down one edge of the rug was my bed. Clara had hung a few posters with tape on the walls for decoration. The 'hello kitty' had to go.

I went back upstairs and... And I let my stupid, frail male ego get the best of me.

I brought two mirrors into the master shower and propped them up. I needed to see the full effect of the Deviant infliction. The old bomb scars on my side, left thigh and butt cheek were turned into rough grooves, just like the ones on my face. My entire body was a dusty beige rock formation, shaped into etched muscles. The veins in my arms had turned into faded brown striations, like marble. And, like a fucking masochist, I studied my junk again. I mean, it was still there, but... damn.

I was depressed for the rest of the night. Not even Thunder's friendly attention helped.

My first thought when I woke the next evening was that driving anywhere was going to be a pain in the ass. I don't mean physical issues with operating a vehicle; that wasn't a problem. I mean things like people seeing my inhuman face at stoplights, or getting pulled over for whatever reason. That could've caused serious problems. It was then I saw the real value in minions. I was going to need one.

Using the hatch in my new basement bedroom, I went down into the bowels of my neighborhood. The cramped sewers were thick with cockroaches and other creepy-crawlies; something I'd gotten used to. I came up a few blocks away from a drain port at the back of a string of rundown buildings. I went around front while willing myself to be 'blending in'. Not that there was a crowd to blend in with. I was pretty much by myself out there, except for a drunk passed out on the cracked curb.

Leaning against a telephone pole, I studied the businesses that shared walls. The crappy tavern in the middle was the only one with lights on. To the right was a crappier two-story apartment building. On the right of the tavern was a repair shop that was in need of a wrecking ball.

Across the desolate street was a littered, weed-choked parking lot that gave me a view of any patrons who might go stumbling out of the tavern. I watched a few of them come and go - mostly go. They were the lower rungs of society; aging pensioners living off disability checks, or unemployed trash sucking the welfare tit. They didn't shell out for whiskey, or enough of it to make them targets.

So there I was, a newly-made monster. I sat alone in the dark, on a crumbling low wall at the back of a bleak lot that faintly smelled of piss. Sewer grime was smeared on my overalls, and there was a roach under my t-shirt. I crushed little chunks of cement in my hand out of sheer boredom while I waited to make some loser's night even worse. And then a drizzle started to fall... That was a nice touch. It sounds pretty glamorous, doesn't it? Yeah, fuck you.

AWARD

Viggo showed up the next evening in his usual macabre way, and escorted me away in the same fashion. We stepped from one shade of black to another. There was a trace of an echo when I scuffed my boot on the gritty, hard ground. Okay, we were most likely underground, and not in a sewer.

"As before," Viggo quietly stated to me in the pitch dark, "you may venture forward into lighted areas. My attention is needed for something further back into the darkness, and then I shall be along."

Well hell, he'd brought me back to the cave that ultimately led to the cavern where I met the charming minion named Brute. Oh, and the prick called Roach, sort of. "Okay, I gotta know," I said, not sure if I was facing him. "What's back there?"

"If you must know," Viggo replied from a couple yards away, "a species of stygofauna resides in the subterranean lake behind me - a species that has been considered extinct for eons."

"So, it's a fish, right?"

"Technically yes, although the mutations brought about by my blood has given the creature unexpected abilities. That, more so than it being a lost species, is of great interest."

"A fish..."

Viggo was silent for a few seconds before he gruffly said, "Just move along as you did before, Leo."

"Yeah, that turned out just peachy the first time, didn't it?" He didn't respond to my sarcasm, so I walked away. Maybe I shouldn't have been a jackass about Viggo's extinct fish thing. I was just moody from the night before; I'd gotten a glimpse of my new life, and I was less than enthused. Then again, I just learned that Viggo unintentionally put my life in danger to go visit a fucking fish.

With a pen light, I made my way through the stalactite cave and over the half-assed steel grate bridge. There was a bright light in the curving, domed tunnel ahead. Barnabus was waiting for me with open arms and a wide piranha smile. His embrace lifted my mood a little. He walked me all the way to their common room - the long chamber lit by blue bioluminescent algae where I was Viggo's gift bearer.

I was casually but happily greeted by Skin, Clara, and Michael. Neva had a warm, sad smile for me; I kissed her cold hand as thanks for watching over me during my infliction. Roach lounged in an office chair, staring at me with an unreadable, cadaverous face. I nodded to him, he nodded back. It was good enough for me.

When Viggo arrived a few minutes later, Neva stood with her violin and played a stirring sonata for me. I was never into music other than to enjoy a catchy tune, but the perfect notes she played and how she combined them invoked a strong emotion in me. By the time Neva finished her haunting tune, I got the feeling she was saying with music that she couldn't replace Al or my mom, but she'd be there if I needed her. It was what I needed to hear right then.

I received other presents as well. Clara gave me a big zip-up hoodie. Barnabus first handed me some language CD's, and then gave me a paper-filled binder. On the cover was written, 'the Book of Becks'. He'd personally put together my family genealogy dating back to a generation before Erlingr, the goblet forger. Barnabus had Viggo as a direct font of information, but still... holy shit. Michael shook my hand Viking-style and offered me an awesome drinking horn. Viggo had his special cup; now I had mine.

Viggo had a couple envelopes for me. In one was a short list of stocks for me to begin my portfolio. Not being savvy about stocks, I still knew that a thousand shares of IBM were worth something. In the other envelope was a password for complete access to the hemo-net. Nothing against the stocks, but I was a lot more excited to go visit all the formerly restricted tabs.

Just as everyone (except Neva) began talking amongst themselves, Aldo showed up. I'd thought he'd already gone back to Germany. He came over to me, gave me a bioluminescence kit, and then took me aside and sternly said, "Earn the award of this new life, Mr. Beck."

"Award..." I mused. "I'm not sure if that's how I look at it so far, Mr. Skala."

"And I'm not concerned about any of your misgivings, fledgling. Be worthy of having the privilege to say you're the Veleti's scion. It carries weight and respect."

"Does it also mean I get to be a dick to everyone?" Before Aldo could respond, I added, "I understand what you're saying. It's just that I'd rather follow in Clara's footsteps than yours. No offense."

"Not everyone is destined for greatness," he replied with a hint of a sneer.

Hands rested on my and Aldo's shoulders, stopping me from saying some stupid comeback that most likely would've prompted my ass getting kicked.

"I hate to interrupt the camaraderie, good numen," Barnabus said, looking at us both, "but Leo has a decision to make. We are all eager to hear his choice."

I turned to Viggo, who stood closer to the others. They were all looking at me expectantly. "This is about me being formally introduced, right?" I asked. Heads nodded. "I don't know what the best move is." Looking right at my sire, I asked, "You think I should?"

"There are merits for either choice," he began. "You have solitary tendencies, Leo, but you are not a recluse. I believe it will be in your best interest to be known of; awkward situations may be avoided with the decision to be presented. More importantly, you may want the other factions to know you are now among them. Your presence will be a reminder of the failed attempts to control and dispatch you when you were mortal. Now a Deviant, you will be seen as a being to be truly wary of."

Viggo's little speech pumped me up. "Well hell," I said, "let's do it."

"The next scheduled Gathering isn't until mid-September," Barnabus smoothly interjected. "I realize that two months is a relative trifle compared to the span of our existences. However, I see the impatience in Mr. Beck. I also see an urge to conclude affairs in you, Viggo. I suppose I could call for an Emissary's meeting, which might draw the attendance of the Doyenne..."

"Thank you, Barnabus, but that will not be necessary," Viggo said. "I have very reliable informants who know of the Doyenne's itinerary for the near future." He then turned to me. "You have two days."

INFORMANT

The evening was muggy, not that I was really affected by it anymore. Viggo told me that in winter, a hemo's breath didn't plume - something about how our low core temperature didn't produce hot air. The idea he was trying to get across was that, besides not being affected by weather unless it was drastic, an observant eye might notice that my breath didn't frost in the cold.

Forget that, it's beside the point. It wasn't fucking winter anyway. It was two nights after my Deviant welcoming party, and my new hoodie wasn't uncomfortable in the humid July air. Viggo wore his, too, plus his long coat over it. We'd just void-walked to one of his downtown parking garages and began strolling south toward the city's "arts district" that unofficially started a half mile away.

We were both using our 'blending in' abilities, so it wouldn't have mattered if we were losing chunks of flesh like a couple of damn lepers, let alone a lack of winter breath or summer sweat. Since no one could see us, the topic was moot. I just wanted to make my own point about that. Alright, I'll move on.

From what I heard, most of the K.C. galleries displayed modern art slop. It was the kind of stuff that rich assholes would rave about because they were bored and entitled, and then praise the talentless hacks that made it. Just my opinion, but if it wasn't cool photography or Norman Rockwell, then it was crap.

Yeah, okay, I was a little edgy. I wanted the introduction bullshit over with, and I wasn't too thrilled about standing in front of Le Meur again. I wasn't afraid - I just hated the bitch.

There was a lot more pedestrian traffic down where a number of galleries were clustered together. We were headed toward a busy block; there were a few limos parked out front of a well-lit art gallery, and people milled around out front. Viggo turned away from it and led me to the next street over. Other than being lined with parked cars, that street was quiet. "Once I speak to my informant just around the far corner," he whispered, "we will proceed blended and follow him into the building. The Doyenne is somewhere inside. Another assistant of mine should be there as well."

Before we began walking again, I had to ask, "Who is this informant of yours?"

"A recently blood-bound daemon," he answered without any elaboration. Thanks, Captain Vague.

We went around the corner and saw a guy forty paces ahead, in the dimness between two streetlights. He was leaning against a shiny Mercedes and talking on his cell phone. I couldn't see his face well, but what I could see told me he was a douche. The sleeves of his blazer were rolled up, he wore one of those skinny ties, and he had on the dumbest pair of striped slacks I'd ever seen. And then I recognized him: Dominic Riva. I hadn't seen that jackass since Barnabus buried two axes in his head.

"What the hell?" I whispered. "Your informant is a fucking Adept? And he's blood-bound?" I recalled Viggo saying that Riva was "out of action", but I didn't know my sire was the reason for it.

"Of course he is blood-bound," Viggo murmured back. "It is the one true way to ensure loyalty. Mr. Riva and his progeny, Mr. Horn, were released when the charges against you were dropped, as promised. It was only practical to claim their fealty beforehand."

His casual explanation shocked me. "Are you kidding? I don't care if he's a douche and Horn is a raccoon killer, that's messing with free will. It's like... slavery."

"Do not dramatize the situation, Leo. This practice is not uncommon amongst us, so you should learn to accept the reality of it. I have bound every one of the numen I have collected."

Collected? Viggo was collecting... Oh shit. All the missing hemos, and all the ones he took for "safe keeping" \- Ragna, Pedro, Evan Dean, Edward Galloway, the bird-woman Katala, and probably more that I didn't know about. It was a big step up from coins and trinkets. Viggo was hoarding hemos.

The sudden realization of my sire's disorder left me speechless. He took my silence as acceptance. "We will allow Mr. Riva to see us," he continued. "I will order him to hold the door of the gallery open before he steps in. Blended in, we will enter first. From there, we shall see about meeting with the Doyenne."

I numbly nodded, not wanting to respond; I was afraid of what might've come out of my mouth. I saw Viggo in a new light, and it wasn't complimentary. That's an understatement - it offended my sense of honor, something I thought we had in common. The collected hemos had no choice - something I knew about \- and that made Viggo's hoarding immoral in my book. In a way, it made him no better than Le Meur. The worst part of it was that he believed he was justified to impose servitude.

If there's a single word for crushing disappointment, I don't know it.

RIGHTS

Dominic Riva eyed me suspiciously, but didn't say a word while Viggo told him what to do. The simple plan of going into the gallery went off without a hitch. Well-dressed snobs unknowingly moved out of our way and ignored us. The posters near the front doors touted that night's showcase artist, Sebastian Horn. He apparently was a rising star in his recently human days.

Some of the conversations I picked up on were about meeting Horn when he made his arrival, and asking about the new direction of his work. Yeah, I guess being a hemo would alter his perspectives.

I tried not to dwell on Viggo's mental glitch, so I looked at the displayed art as we roamed the roomy interior. I gotta admit it - Horn was pretty damn good. His oil paintings were large and very detailed, his watercolor work was bold and catchy, and his small sculptures were all lifelike. I was studying a gloomy painting - one of Horn's most recent pieces - when Viggo nudged me.

I followed him back to a corner where a hallway led off. It was posted as employees-only and there was a security guy standing nearby, but we ignored both and strolled on back.

It was an L-shaped hallway lined with doors for offices and supply rooms. Turning the corner, I was surprised to see Grigori Olinchenko standing next to an office door. He was leaning against a wall and cleaning his nails. When Viggo and I allowed ourselves to be seen, though, he snapped to attention.

"Grigori, I did not expect to find you at a function such as this," Viggo said quietly as we approached.

"I didn't either, elder, especially with how crowded it is. May I ask who your imposing friend is?"

"Ah, my apologies; you have met Mr. Beck before." Olinchenko's eyes widened as he stared at me. Viggo continued, saying, "He is the reason we are here this evening. What is yours?"

The question brought Olinchenko back to Viggo. "I followed your suggestion and met with my emissary, Mr. Zapada," Olinchenko answered. "He took an interest in my photography and insisted I meet with the Doyenne. Once he introduced me, I was invited to this hosting to discuss sales of my own work. I wait back here to avoid the crowd while I wait to see if I can make some money. Did you have need of me?"

Because of the respect Olinchenko was showing Viggo, I wondered if he was blood-bound as well. For that matter, did my sire have any real friends at all? Did hemos like Barnabus and Skin admire him for who he was, or were they simply forced to kiss his butt? I didn't know anymore.

"Perhaps," Viggo answered. "Besides Doyenne Le Meur and Mr. Horn, who else is in the room?"

"Emissary Zapada, for one; he seems... quite taken with the Doyenne. I find it troubling. Also within is the enforcer, a Mr...."

"Tomasino," Viggo said. "Good, there will be proper witnesses. Since they are aware of your presence, Grigori, I ask that you make them aware of ours. As I recall, the Doyenne is not overly fond of uninvited guests. Would you herald us, please?"

It sounded more like an order than a question. Olinchenko nodded and opened the door. I was the last one to walk in, so I didn't catch anyone's initial reaction when he said, "Doyenne and esteemed numen, the eldest Eidolon has requested an audience." He then shut the door behind me.

The office was fairly spacious. There was a desk and chairs to the right, a couch to my immediate left, and a wet bar across from it against the far wall. Le Meur, wearing a casual business suit, had just stood from her chair behind the desk. Zapada, in stylish clothes to compliment his Greek features, was getting up from his chair in the near right corner. Neither of them looked happy at the intrusion.

Horn sat nearest to us, in a chair across the desk from Le Meur. The last time I saw him was just after I jammed tree branches in his chest; I wondered if he remembered. Sitting there in jeans and a dress shirt, his young face under a mop of sandy brown hair held a mix of emotions. Enric Tomasino, on the other hand, showed only his wariness. In a sharp suit as always, he stood near the wet bar that he'd laid his big sword on.

"Grigori," Zapada said through clenched teeth, "what are you -"

"I will be quick," Viggo butted in. "It is not my intent to disrupt your evening, which, for Mr. Horn's sake, I hope is a pleasant one."

"Thank you, elder," Horn said quickly.

Le Meur glared at the young artist and growled, "Be quiet, Sebastian." She then turned her glare to me and Viggo, not that we were worried about it. Her bark no longer had any bite, but I guess she had to put on a show for the sake of her bloated pride. "You've already barged in," she said, casting a withering glance at Olinchenko, "but you said you'd be quick. State your business and be done with it, Veleti."

Letting Le Meur's bitchy attitude pass, Viggo said, "As our laws mandate, and with good numen to bear witness, I have come to present my scion. Doyenne, this is Leo Beck. You may have heard of him."

I don't know what thoughts passed through Le Meur's mind just then, but, judging by the expression on her angelic face, none of them were good. She held her temper. "I do not acknowledge Mr. Beck. I will not accept this introduction. He must leave my city, now."

I wasn't able to tell, but I bet Viggo rolled his eyes. "You cannot deny a proper introduction," he calmly explained. "Nor can you cast out any numen without cause. Mr. Beck has broken no law, vampire or mortal. He has been presented to you. It is done. I bid you all a good evening."

Just as Viggo turned and gestured for me to open the door to leave, Le Meur said, "You are forgetting something, Veleti." He and I turned back to see her smug expression mixed with a scowl. "I never gave you permission to create progeny."

Shadows began to roll off Viggo. "That is not a core law," he replied, low and ominous.

"So? As the Doyenne, I have every right to use and enforce it at my discretion." The bitch was almost smiling, thinking she had the upper hand. It didn't last long.

Viggo stepped closer to her; his form was out of focus, and the room began to dim. "Emmeline," he said, his voice sounding like a volcano about to erupt, "your vanity and your despotism have left you undone. In your posturing, you have overlooked the rights of your subjects." He used a single finger to push the desk out of his way, making Horn scoot his chair back.

I noticed that Olinchenko moved nearer to Zapada, and Tomasino rested a hand on the hilt of his sword. I kept my place, as tense as everyone else.

"What right is that, Veleti?" Le Meur asked with a snotty tone. She had more balls than brains.

"The right to challenge your rule," Viggo answered as he reached for her.

A lot of shit happened at once, although I mainly focused on Viggo. Tomasino pulled his sword out. Olinchenko grabbed Zapada, who was yelling at him to let go. Horn stayed in his chair, covering his head with his arms. Le Meur was fast, but was also backed into a corner. She hit Viggo with a blur of punches; they had no effect. He clamped a big hand around her slender neck and lifted her up. Distorted shadows and void-ribbons swirled around the room, disorienting everyone except my sire.

Darkness was quickly gathering behind Le Meur, who struggled in Viggo's iron grip. The two Outsiders were grappling; Zapada seemed stronger and faster, but Olinchenko had wrestling skills. They distracted me from noticing Tomasino moving forward and raising his sword.

I darted forward and caught one of Tomasino's arms, ruining his attack on Viggo. Faster than I expected, he pivoted and reversed his swing. The flat of his blade smacked me in the side of my head and sent me reeling. He could've cut me with a sword edge, but for some reason didn't.

Catching myself on the arm of the couch, I saw that Tomasino had returned his attention to defend Le Meur. A vertical, wavering black pit had formed behind her. The widening hole into the abyss obscenely rippled and swelled, giving the impression it was hungry.

Tomasino swung hard. The blade hit Viggo on his left side, slicing through clothes and biting into tough flesh. Barely flinching, my sire turned his head at the distraction. I surged forward again and grabbed Tomasino by his suit. Using all the strength I could muster, I twisted and flung the enforcer as hard as I could toward the far side of the office.

I apparently didn't know the extent of the power I had on hand. Tomasino sailed across the room and smashed through the far wall, tumbling into the unlit storage space next door.

"You do not deserve any further lenience," Viggo thundered at Le Meur. I turned to watch as he held her close, their noses only inches apart. "You do not deserve mercy," he continued. "You do not deserve the tolerance of your betters. Your blood does not merit spilling. You are not worthy."

Legs kicking, hands uselessly slapping at the arm that held her up, Le Meur franticly pleaded. "No, Veleti, do not do this! I beg you!"

Viggo ignored her. Thrusting her away from him into the black pit, he simply said, "The void welcomes you." Le Meur and her screams were swallowed as she fell away into cold, dark nothingness.

POLITICS

Emissary Vincent Zapada let out a bellow of rage and tore away from Olinchenko's grasp. Before he could charge two steps forward, Viggo swung a backhand fist that caught Zapada in the face. The crunching impact slammed the emissary to the floor in a heap. What a stupid bastard.

It was over. The distorted shadows dancing around the office immediately faded away to their natural positions. That's when I noticed Horn, who was cowering on his knees over by the wet bar.

From the across the room, Tomasino said in a demanding tone, "What have you done?" He was stepping back through the hole he'd just made. His tie was crooked and his suit was dusty from drywall, but he otherwise didn't appear to be hurt. "Where is the Doyenne?"

"For all intents and purposes," Viggo stated evenly, "Emmeline Le Meur is gone. Accept it as fact so that we can move on. There are details to be handled."

Tomasino hesitated; he was in a tough spot. "Look," I said to him, "I know it's your job to protect the Doyenne, but like Viggo said... she's gone. We've got some shit to handle here, and we could use your help, okay?"

There was a sudden pounding at the door, and a muffled voice started asking questions. I guess that someone being thrown through a wall made a bit of a ruckus. I yanked Horn to his feet and harshly whispered for him to handle the guard out in the hallway. We all waited in silence while he cracked open the door, smoothly apologized for the noise, and said that everything was fine.

As soon as the door shut, Tomasino said to Viggo, "Eidolon, if you will not return Lady Le Meur, then we have a vacant position. A vacuum in power will draw unwanted attention."

"I am quite aware of the possible consequences," he replied while looking down at Zapada's limp body.

I felt a rush of panic, thinking that my demented sire was going to blood-bind the Outsider emissary into servitude. "Grigori," I quickly said, "can you bring Mr. Zapada around?" Viggo turned and gave me a curious look; I did my best to ignore it.

"Yes, although he might be in the same state of mind before the Veleti downed him."

"Do it anyway," Tomasino said. "If he is still in a rage, I will calm him. We need all of the emissaries to make important decisions. That is, unless the Veleti plans on taking the city throne."

Viggo shook his head and said, "The only interest I have in the throne is to see a proper leader in it." He pulled out his phone and added, "I will call Mr. Merritt and ask him to contact Mr. Powell so that they both might join us here. Excuse me."

"I - I hate to sound petty," Horn spoke up, "but I'm expected out in the gallery."

"Yeah, okay, just give me a second." I glanced around, getting priorities straight. Olinchenko was knelt over Zapada. Viggo was on the phone with his back to us. Horn was still shaken from the eerie shadows and Le Meur being thrown into the void. Tomasino remained tense. I asked him, "What's the big fucking deal if we don't have another leader for a little while? Can't the emissaries handle the political shit until they choose one, or however it works?"

"If only it was that simple," he said with a sigh. "A vacant seat of power will draw contenders who want it. They may wait for our faction emissaries to decide, or they may try to take the empty throne by force. The latter would make targets of the emissaries and me. I'm not fond of that idea. And that, Mr. Beck, is only the initial danger we'd have to deal with if the city throne is not filled soon."

"Uh, alright, what else is there?"

"The Consortium... I'd rather not dwell on that now, especially if the seat can be filled and avoid it."

"Okay then," I said to Tomasino, "here's what I had in mind. I need you to bring Mr. Riva back here; I'd ask Grigori over there, but he doesn't like crowds. Riva will introduce Mr. Horn to the people out there, now that Le Meur's gone." I looked over to Horn. "Hey, he's your sire, anyway, so it only seems right. Mr. Zapada is coming around. The rest of us will make sure he's a good boy. When the other emissaries show up..." I glanced at Viggo, who nodded while still holding the phone to his ear, "it'd only be proper that the enforcer escorts them back here, right?"

"It would," Tomasino agreed.

"Good, then they can pick a new Doyen between them, and no one will be the wiser except to know there's been a shift in power. Does that sound okay?" They nodded, and I turned to Horn. "Give me your phone. I don't want any of this leaking out."

While he handed over his cell, Tomasino said, "I will collect Mr. Riva's as well," and then left the office.

Zapada didn't fly off the handle again. He sat on the floor in the corner with a stunned expression. At Viggo's request, Horn and Olinchenko watched over him. My sire led me to the far side of the office and quietly, sternly asked, "Why did you do that, Leo?"

I shrugged, playing stupid. ""I used to be a unit leader. I'm used to stepping up and making a plan on the fly. Sorry if I stepped on anyone's toes." I wasn't sure if Viggo knew he had a serious 'hoarding' problem. If he did, then he just realized I recognized it and was going to be either defensive or pissed. But if he didn't think he had a problem, then I might've just denied my magpie of a sire another shiny hemo.

"While your leadership skill pleases me for other reasons, that is not what I -"

The door opened, thankfully interrupting our little chat. Tomasino came in with Riva. All three of the Adepts left again a few minutes later. I caught another break and avoided Viggo's questions as Zapada kept him busy with pathetic begging to bring Le Meur back.

Less than fifteen minutes later, Tomasino came back in with Barnabus and the Adept emissary Nathan Powell. They didn't waste any time outlining the problem and discussing their proper procedure to endorse a new leader. Each emissary had at least one faction member present to confer with and decide what was best for their members.

Their mind-numbing chatter reminded me why I never watched C-SPAN. Olinchenko and I sat over by the desk to keep an eye on Zapada; we were pretty much bored as hell with the political bullshit.

Powell, looking like a white-collar workaholic, nominated himself. Tomasino countered, saying that the emissary was already busy with running Realm and wouldn't endorse him. Zapada stood, straightened his clothes, and asked that Le Meur be reinstated. Unexpectedly, it was Powell who argued against it, saying that his own faction elder's policies were flawed.

Viggo finally spoke up. "This is how I see it. Miss Le Meur will not be returning. Mr. Powell has other priorities, and therefore not endorsed by his own faction member. Mr. Fletcher, the only elder of the Outsider faction, is far too volatile to be given power." Zapada nodded his agreement of the assessment. "I know for a fact," Viggo went on, "that Mr. Merritt has no desire to claim the throne; he has personally told me so. Mr. Zapada's objectivity is currently compromised." Everyone nodded except Zapada.

"Pickings are getting slim," I whispered to Olinchenko. "Wanna be Doyen?"

"Pardon my parlance," he whispered back, "but fuck that."

"So, in my unbiased view," Viggo concluded, "there is only one choice - a good choice, no less." He turned to Enric Tomasino.

"Me?" the enforcer asked, shocked. I was pretty surprised myself.

"You have fared admirably in your duties as enforcer," Viggo explained. "Your only failures were events in which I was directly involved. And in those encounters, you displayed courage and honor. I doubt any of your peers could find fault in that."

"I endorse the Veleti's choice," Barnabus said to the group. "I formally nominate Mr. Tomasino of the Adept faction for the seat of Doyen. His many Gifts are noteworthy, his martial skill is easily up to the task, and I know him to be a learned daemon. Along with restraint and wisdom, he has noble character."

Nearly everyone nodded - even Powell, however reluctantly. Zapada just stared at his own shoes.

"Thank you for the kind words," Tomasino said, "but I'm not sure I'm comfortable accepting this."

"A good ruler does not rest easy in the seat of power," Viggo wisely said.

With an unreadable expression, Tomasino regarded everyone in the office. ". . . Very well," he finally said, "I humbly accept the position of Doyen."

I followed everyone's lead when they stood and bowed to him. All hail the sword-wielding wop.

PONDERING

Using every excuse I could think of, I avoided Viggo for the next few days. He called once or twice and left a couple messages in the hemo-net, but didn't stop by. The latter fact led me to believe he knew what was bothering me. Did it also mean that on some level he knew what he was doing was wrong? I didn't have a damn clue. Viggo wasn't killing anyone, although some glitch in his head was saying it was okay to take that whole blood-binding thing and fucking run with it.

You could make the argument that Viggo has blood-bound a shitload of humans and that it's not much different. You might wonder how it's simply accepted. Well, it just is. Argue and wonder all you want, it's been a part of hemo society for maybe thousands of years.

Like I said at the start, any given human is one of three things - ignored, a tool, or dinner. Since I started stalking them, my perception had changed. Hell, it had to, or I'd fucking starve to death. Even if I looked normal, I couldn't hang out with someone like Miss Loretta anymore; too much had changed. Only other hemos could understand, and the plain truth is that humans were one peg down now.

My point is that making minions is no big deal, but blood-bonding a hemo is serious shit.

Sure, I felt sorta bad for Riva and Horn and whoever else was blood-bound to my sire. The good thing for them was that they were out making money, getting shit done, and generally living their lives, un-lives, whatever. They were still slaves, but it was an 'on-call' type of thing.

The question that kept crawling into my brain was what about all the others Viggo collected and staked? Where were they? What was he doing with them, if anything? How could my sire justify the stealing of their lives? I mean, those poor bastards were locked in prisons of their own minds, unable to move, every conceivable freedom taken away. What a fucking nightmare.

Maybe some of the hoarded hemos deserved that hellish fate. I don't know. I assumed one of Viggo's scions, Wayne, was in that collected group; he deserved death, not to be trapped in his own psychotic head. Ragna deserved some sort of penalty for her actions, but not to be held in an indefinite limbo. Edward Galloway and Evan Dean, on the other hand... They were assholes, but their punishment didn't fit their crimes. I'm actually surprised I said that, but there it is.

On the night when Enric Tomasino was voted in and reluctantly took the title of Doyen, I slipped out while everyone was still talking. I wasn't ready to have that serious conversation with Viggo yet, and he would've cornered me at some point. I needed a fresh perspective, but didn't know who I could trust.

Wait, I take that back. I trusted Thunder, and confided in him when I finally got home. The overgrown hairball was a good listener, but wasn't shit for advice. He silently expected me to figure things out by myself and then dozed off on the couch. Sleep - maybe that was the answer. And no, I wasn't referring to me getting some shut-eye. I wasn't referring to me at all.

Barnabus also left some messages in the local hemo-net chat room. He let his fellow K.C. Deviants know that Doyen Tomasino had called for another Gathering to formalize some shit and name some hemos for administrative positions. I figured I was expected to attend, although it wasn't mandatory. Maybe I'd get a chance to straighten things out with Cordell. It'd also be a safe place to have the talk with Viggo that I'd been avoiding.

You know that feeling of nervous expectation \- kind of tense, kind of excited, and mostly wanting to get something over with? Yeah, I fucking hated that feeling.

GATHERING

A week had passed, one damn long week. I walked around my shabby neighborhood, learning street names and remembering which little houses were noisy for one reason or another. I fed a few times, coming away from them with short-lived beer buzzes or pot highs. Clara stopped by one evening to play with Thunder; while brushing him, she talked about Ragna's dogs and the mysterious Mr. Lucida. Viggo called the night before the Gathering and offered to take me there with him. I respectfully declined.

It was kind of a pain in the ass getting to Tomasino's first Gathering. It was up in a penthouse apartment at the top of a luxury high-rise building. That figured. The new Doyen was basically cool, but he was also an Adept; being flamboyant every now and then was required.

The choice of entry into the building initially got under my skin, but I didn't take it personally. Hemos who didn't have an issue with security cameras were welcomed by attendants into the elegant lobby (I saw pictures online), where they were then escorted up in a classy elevator. Those who had a problem passing for human - meaning most Deviants - got to be met by nervous guards outside a rear delivery door. Armed with Mac-11s and thermite grenades, they silently ushered me up a service elevator to a closed-off floor. From there, they walked me over to the private lift everyone else got to use.

I stepped out of the elevator and into an enclosed foyer, where two more guards and Mr. Dupree were waiting. He was shutting the door behind him, apparently just having let in another guest. I pulled back the hood of my jacket so he could see me. Dupree studied me curiously for a couple seconds and then asked, "Your name and faction, sir?"

Frowning, I answered, "It's me, Leo Beck. What, you don't recognize me?"

"Leo Beck," he repeated, a little surprised, "the Veleti's minion?"

"Not anymore, buddy - I'm part of the family now. Can't you see the resemblance? Don't worry; the new Doyen already knows about me. Hell, he probably has a dry-cleaning bill for me to pay off."

Dupree gazed at me for another second, I assume to use his Discerning Gift thing to make sure I was telling the truth. Tapping the tiny transmitter in his ear, he said to whoever was listening, "Mr. Leo Beck, Deviant, no minions." He listened to a short response, and then tried to smile as he opened the door.

I stepped into opulence. In front of me and expanding to my right was the biggest living room I'd ever seen. Low-lit crystal chandeliers hung over three different sets of leather furniture. The couches and chairs sat on real fur throw rugs so they wouldn't scratch the marble floors underneath. On the far side of the living room was a wall of huge sliding glass doors that all led to a deep outdoor balcony facing north. Classical music played through ceiling speakers. Framed art and tapestries were hung on every wall. The scent in the air was a subtle blend of vanilla, baby powder and leather. I was so out of place.

A few hemos were sitting. A number more were out on the balcony. A breeze of cool night air wafted in from the open doors, carrying murmured conversations. Behind me to my right was an eat-in kitchen with fancy bar stools at the counter. Out across from it was an open dining room, although the normal furniture was replaced with a pool table and more seating. Of course, the dining room had access to the east side of the wraparound balcony. What self-respecting penthouse wouldn't?

Between the kitchen and the dining room was a wide hallway leading back to other rooms. There was another hallway just like it to my left. I assumed that they connected somewhere way back behind me, lined with plush carpet and stylish lighting. The place was fucking huge.

Stepping in from the balcony directly ahead of me were three hemos, two of which I recognized. Aldo Skala stood between Tomasino and some hemo I'd never seen before. Skala was wearing a Stevie Ray Vaughan t-shirt under his blazer, while Tomasino was in slacks, vest, and dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. The stranger - a tall, younger-looking guy with long blonde hair and a naturally stern face - had on a long blue velvet jacket with a big sapphire necklace over it. In comparison, I didn't have one lick of style. If I'd known fashion sense was a hemo prerequisite, I wouldn't have let Viggo turn me.

The three were talking amongst themselves when I approached, so I stopped a few polite paces away. They were talking in German, so it wasn't like I could join in anyway. Facing my direction, Skala noticed me first and frowned - big surprise. Besides boots, jeans, and my new hoodie, I had on a pair of heavy duty work gloves I found in the workshop of my place. Hey, sue me, I wasn't exactly comfortable with my new looks yet. I returned his crusty, judgmental glare with one I hoped he saw as, "you're a dick".

The other two noticed me. Tomasino nodded a hello and said, "Thank you for attending, Mr. Beck."

"Yeah, uh, sure, no problem," I replied, and then stepped forward with my hand out. He didn't hesitate to shake it, but did glance down at the glove. "Rough hands," I mumbled.

"I don't mind," he said pleasantly, and then turned to introduce me to the stranger. "Leo Beck, allow me to present elder Adept Dorian Riniker, lately of Vienna. Elder Riniker has agreed to become part of this city's collective, and shall be filling a needed position."

I remembered to bow first; he was an elder, after all. "Well, uh, good to meet you, sir."

Riniker gave a slight bow of his head. "Sprechen Sie Deutsch, Herr Beck?" he asked.

"Uh, no, sorry - I still have trouble with English." The only German I knew was 'nein' and 'gesundheit'.

"Ah, pity," he said in a neutral way that could've been condescending or just a regular reply. "It seems we all have a commonality between us. As you and Herr Skala are both scions of the legendary Veleti, Mr. Tomasino and I are also related in such a way. He and I are scions of the renowned European Adept Heinrich Mueller, who was of course key in the establishment of the Hapsburg Dynasty."

Like I knew what the hell that was. "No shit? That's impressive," I replied, trying to sound like I meant it.

"Mr. Beck," Tomasino said as he stepped forward, "I wonder if you and I might have a quick chat."

"Of course, Doyen; how can I help ya?"

"A private chat, if you will," he amended as he put his hand on my shoulder and led me away. Heading toward the hallway, we passed a trio of Outsiders - Lexian Grimm, Jade Clayton, and my former friend Cordell. They all nodded to Tomasino, but only gave me a passing glance.

Stepping into a small study, Tomasino shut the door behind us and said something. I didn't catch what he said because the room smelled strongly of Pledge, which distracted me for a few seconds. "Is there something wrong, Mr. Beck?" he asked, getting my attention.

"Uh, no," I answered, turning to him. "Everything's fine. What can I do for you, sir?"

"Let's have a seat." Tomasino gestured to the two padded chairs somewhat facing each other, separated by a small, ornate wooden table. When we both eased into our seats, he said, "I would begin with pleasantries, but I believe we both share the desire to skip idle banter and get to the heart of a matter."

I tried to grin when I said, "I don't even like wasting time agreeing with that."

His smile at my response seemed genuine. "I've heard a thing or two about you, Mr. Beck," he began. "For instance, you were quite capable of doing more than merely tossing me out of the way..."

I didn't really want to discuss flinging my new Doyen through a wall, but he evidently did. Hey, his party, his rules. "Yeah, maybe, but I wasn't pissed off at you or anything. You had a shitty C.O. who put you in some bad spots. Despite her stupid-ass choices, you still tried to do your job." Tomasino reluctantly nodded. "It takes serious balls to stand against Viggo, and you did it more than once. I respect that."

"Not that it did much good," he said with a wry grin.

"It made him think highly of you, and that's not easy to do." I shifted in my chair and asked a similar question in return. "So, you turned your wrist. Why'd you only give me the flat of your blade?"

Tomasino thought about it for a second. "Honestly, the main reason I did so was because I didn't want your sire to truly lose his temper. As you said, I did what was required and attempted to defend the Doyenne, however ineffectual I might be against the Veleti. And I was. I presumed he would take less affront of a full attack on him than on his new scion. I didn't want his rage focused on me."

"There's no shame in that, sir. No one would want Viggo coming down on them."

"I suppose," he replied, and then seemed to refocus his thoughts. "One other subject, Mr. Beck, and then we can rejoin the others. When you and your sire came to the art gallery that evening... I wonder if the Veleti knew how events would play out. He chose a private place, yet surrounded by humans. He used blood-bound Adepts as informants. He met with the Doyenne in a restricted setting, rather than at a formal Gathering or on Civil Ground. He very well may have known Lady Le Meur's foolish reaction, perhaps even counted on it." He sat forward and asked, "Did Viggo plan to remove her that night?"

That was a damn good question, and I didn't have an answer.

BALCONY

I always figured Skin was sort of a hustler, but I didn't have any proof until we made a bet while playing pool. We'd both won a game against each other. Before we started the tiebreaker, I stupidly suggested a wager. His beady little Irish eyes lit up, and I knew right then I made a mistake. He was sandbagging during our first two games. That fucker wasted no time clearing the table, never missing a shot.

Skin was also a bullshitter, telling stories of wild things he'd done and famous people he'd met. The whole time of circling the table and sinking balls, he never shut up. I didn't mind. Hell, I didn't even mind being suckered; he was entertaining, especially at a dull party where most of the other hemos pretty much ignored me.

I stepped out of the way to let Skin drop the 8-ball when I saw Cordell by himself out on the balcony. He had his back to me, looking out over the city lights. I walked out there and leaned on the railing next to him. Keeping my eyes fixed on the view of downtown at night, I said, "I couldn't have imagined anything like all of this if they paid me. How about you, Cord?"

He turned his head and asked, "Do I know you?"

I'd forgotten that the infliction messed with my vocal chords a little. I'd gotten used to it, but old friends wouldn't recognize my voice over the phone anymore. "It's me, man - Leo." Cordell flinched and took a half step away. "Yeah, I know," I said, understanding his reaction. "I'm not used to the new me, either."

He silently studied my profile. I just kept looking out at the lights. "Leo, you -" he began and faltered. "The Veleti - that monster - he brought you into the night?"

I shrugged. "It was either this, or he got to watch me die... slow and painful. He left it up to me. Afraid of death or too stubborn to give up, I'm not sure. Maybe I was both. Right or wrong, I chose this."

"But - but becoming a scion of the Deviant fiend?" Cord said with disgust. "To be a cursed child of the devil, that's what you've chosen. I don't know you anymore."

When he turned to walk away, I barked, "That's bullshit, Cord!" He stopped, but didn't turn back around. "I'm still me, at least on the inside. No one and nothing is going to change that." Cordell stood still for another second, and then started walking away again. "You fucking coward," I growled. That got his attention. I went on as he spun to face me. "No matter what I've gone through, I always looked after my friends. You know that. Hell, Cord, you've done the same. Maybe it's you who isn't the same anymore, and you took the easy way out. I can't believe my friend would replace old trust with new hatred."

He came right up in front of me, glaring down into my eyes. "You know better than to call me a coward."

"And you should know that I'm nobody's bitch." I stared back at him for a second, but my heart wasn't in it. I kept my dark ardor in check. Sighing, I continued in a softer tone. "Dammit, Cord, I'm not the Veleti. I couldn't be, and I don't wanna be. I'm Leo, you're my friend, and we've both been through some very surreal shit. It hasn't changed who we are, has it?"

Cordell's light brown eyes lost their intensity, and he took a step back. "I don't have all the facts yet," he replied with a calmer voice. "The truth isn't as easy to find anymore. I'll think about what you said, Leo, but my opinion of your sire hasn't changed. The things I saw him do..."

"Yeah, him - not me," I said. "Look, man, forget our sires for a second. We can -" I stopped myself short, not wanting to push. I'd said what I wanted to. "Alright, I'll stop bothering you. But if you ever need me, or just wanna talk ... you've got my number."

He stood there uncertainly for a second, and then walked away. I didn't feel much better about where our friendship was, but at least he didn't throw me off the balcony.

I was still out there a few minutes later when two figures approached from my left. Barnabus was coming over to me with what was obviously another Deviant next to him. I was introduced to Rolando Lucida. And damn, Clara was right - looking at him made me feel better about my new looks.

Rolando, as he gruffly preferred to be called by fellow Deviants, had four limbs and a head... and that's about as human as he got. He was short with an elongated skull. His legs were long and his torso was squat. His skin... Shit, he didn't have skin; it was a chaotic patchwork of fur and scales. Rolando had the ears and disgusting nose of a bat, overly large snake eyes, a tusked mouth like a boar, and a hard fin on top of his scaly bald head. Holy shit, he was one ugly hemo.

He stood there fussing with his new clothes - all denim, except for hiking boots - while Barnabus told me about him. The recently-returned Deviant was an explorer, all underground. He'd been part of the city's collective for decades, but was rarely seen. Evidently, there were a lot of subterranean caverns and lakes in the Midwest, too deep and unreachable for normal archeological ventures.

Hearing that, it made sense that Runa's quest to go find Roland sounded like a longshot. But, there he was. Either Runa somehow found him, or he was coming back to the surface anyway. Either way, it was clear by the way the explorer kept looking up that he wasn't used to seeing stars above him.

Rolando didn't seem like a smooth talker, either, but I had no problem with that. He asked if I'd been presented, gave a nod when I said yes, and then watched Tomasino chat with some female hemo in a checkered dress further along the wide balcony. That's when I noticed the rock climber's hammer in his belt loop. If I'd known weapons were permitted, I would've loaded up.

It was a few minutes later, after Barnabus and Rolando had moved on, that I noticed a hush in the hum of conversation inside. Glancing back into the penthouse, I saw Viggo striding through the living room. Any nearby hemos clammed up when he walked by. A few even bowed their heads. My sire didn't even look at them. Conversations resumed after he went down a hallway and out of sight. I told myself that sooner or later that night, I'd be the one searching him out for a talk instead of vice versa.

Not long after Viggo's arrival, the formalities of the Gathering had begun. Tomasino stood in front of a big corner fireplace (obviously unlit) in the living room, where he spoke to the crowd. His short speech was mostly about honor - honored to be Doyen, honored to be endorsed by the Veleti. He ended by saying he expected the collective to honor and respect the individuals selected for seats on his council. It was a pretty smooth segue into his next order of business.

Tomasino named the elder Dorian Riniker as counselor; a right-hand man, I guess. Barnabus and the Adept Nathan Powell were asked to keep their places as emissaries. Former Outsider emissary Vincent Zapada had stepped down, leaving a vacancy. However, a newcomer of that faction had applied to take Zapada's place. I thought he was speaking of Grigori Olinchenko until the woman in the checkered dress stepped forward.

It was technically a dress, but something like you'd see at a Highland Games festival. It was a long tartan skirt of green and black, with a matching wide sash from hip to opposite shoulder. Under that was a white shirt with puffy sleeves. The woman herself was fairly attractive; average height and build, dark brown hair halfway down her back, and light eyes. The real appeal, though, was her air of confidence.

Given permission to speak, she turned and addressed the crowd. In a thick accent (I learned later it was Scottish), she said her name was Kyla Mackenzie. Getting right to the point, she told everyone that she'd known Jack Fletcher for a very long time. They fought together in clan skirmishes and against the English in centuries past. She knew Fletcher had a wild heart; she'd come to tame it again. And, if allowed to be emissary, she'd bring honor back to her faction.

It was a nice speech, but Mackenzie was just another Outsider - unpredictable and with anger issues. In my mind, none of them except Cordell had any honor to begin with.

Then I found out why Rolando Lucida was called for. Tomasino named him the new enforcer. He was a fellow Deviant and all, but... that guy? I was judging by appearances, which normally isn't fair; in the case of hemos, extremely so. For all I knew, Senor Ugly was a damn juggernaut.

Not one for public speaking, Rolando simply told everyone that he was impartial and expected everyone to abide by the Doyen's laws. There would be no leniency, and penalties would be harsh. Without any bullshit, he said how it'd be - I liked that. It reminded me of a couple drill sergeants I trained under.

I leaned against one of the open glass doors and watched the small crowd begin to fan out and mingle again. Over by the kitchen, I saw Mackenzie talking with Viggo. I left the balcony and made my way over to them. The Outsider spoke for another few seconds until she realized she was between two large and gruesome Deviants, neither of whom appeared to be interested in her words.

When Mackenzie smoothly excused herself, I said to Viggo, "I think we should talk, sir."

He regarded me for a second before saying, "I was under the impression you had taken issue with me for some reason. That has changed, I presume?"

"No, it hasn't," I answered honestly. "I just needed to get my head straight first."

"And what would you like to discuss, my scion?" There was a hint of challenge in his voice.

I held back the sarcastic reply that came to mind. "There's a room back that way where we can talk privately," I said instead. "Would you join me, sire?"

Viggo nodded, and we began walking. Unlike the chat I had with Cordell, I had to hammer my point home until he relented... Or until he blood-bound me again to stop me from being a pain in the ass, whichever came first.

ASSURANCES

The door to the study I formerly spoke with Tomasino in was open, although the room was occupied. Dominic Riva was talking with the artist Isabel Greco when we interrupted them. I wanted that specific room for its calming, Pledge-scented effect. With Viggo behind me, I said, "We need this room. There are others to choose from."

Greco started to object when Riva cut her off, saying, "Sure, no problem." I imagine Viggo gave him some sign to get his ass out. The blood-bound douche even dusted the seat off after he stood. "There you are, Veleti. We'll move along." He took the confused Greco by the arm and led her out past us.

I shut the door as Viggo sat. "I have seen similar behavior like yours from Aldo," he commented while I took the seat facing him. "We were further along in our relationship than you and I are. His moodiness was fueled by jealousy - envious of my power, covetous of my wealth. It caused a rift for a time. Revolt from one's child is to be expected, and comes wearing any number of masks. Is that the basis of this?"

"Nope, not one bit," I calmly replied. "I'm not a greedy prick like Aldo. I'm not angry. I'm not resentful."

Viggo relaxed a little. "I would have been surprised if you were. I never saw you as that type, Leo. That being said, you did imply there was an issue between us. So, if we are not here to discuss a grudge or some sort of irritation on your part, what topic did you have in mind?"

I didn't want to dwell on the problems anymore, just the solution. I figured Viggo was going to want something specific at the back end of this, and I'd have to play dirty to get what I wanted. "Sir, I think you should rest now."

"Rest? Would you care to elaborate?"

"Yeah, I mean, uh, the Eidolon siesta, the millennium nap. You know what I mean. You're long overdue." When he frowned, I pushed. "Look, you fulfilled your oath. It's over. After all those centuries of watching over my line as you promised, it's done. You kept that promise and then some. Sir, you're world-weary, I've noticed it for months. Maybe it's tough to accept after so long, but you can stop now. You need to."

Viggo turned his head away toward the window. I couldn't tell what was going on in his head. "I have just sired you," he quietly said. "How can I leave you now? You are so new into this dark world..." He then looked back to me with an indignant glare and asked, "Have I not been fair and kind to you, Leo? Have I not been generous? Why do you wish me away?"

I couldn't tell if he was genuinely offended, or if he was trying to play me so there'd be no objection when he kept on with his hemo-hoarding compulsion. Honestly, I wasn't affected either way. "Wait a second, sir. This isn't about me pushing you away. This is for your benefit. You said you'd rest when your oath was fulfilled. Well, it's fulfilled. I'm the last of my line."

"That does not mean my work is complete. You are my scion. I would be remiss in my duty as a sire to leave you to your own devices so soon. I watched over my other scions for years."

I believed Viggo was sincere with that last bit. "I appreciate your concern, I really do. It's just that I don't want to..." I hesitated, thinking of turning it up a notch. Sure, what the hell. "Dammit, don't you get it? I felt guilty enough knowing I was the reason you stuck around so long. Now you no longer have to, and you still linger out of a different sense of obligation. All because of me - I did this to you."

"I am grateful for your selfless concern, but... you still have much to learn."

I sat forward and said, "I know. I know I do. And of course I don't want you gone, but I couldn't live with myself if you stayed. How's that for selfless?" Viggo was about to speak, but I pressed my case before he could. "It's not fair to keep you here any longer, sir. You're tired. I see it. You deserve to rest now. You've earned it. I've already learned a lot from you; I can go to the other Deviants for anything else."

Viggo seemed to accept my logic. Well, most of it. "And which one would you turn to, Leo? Neva - fine company, no doubt - but she obviously cannot offer counsel. You and Roach are on tenuous terms at best. I would not consider Mr. O'Shaughnessy a fitting mentor, unless you choose to learn foul jokes and various ways to relieve fools of their money. Clara does have sporadic insights, but she also has the mind of a young girl. Gothi Michael knows scant more than you do. Mr. Lucida would likely refuse. And Mr. Merritt's time will be taken for the foreseeable future."

"Why do I have the feeling you already have someone else in mind?"

"Because you know me well enough," Viggo answered simply. He sat straighter in his chair and moved on with his own agenda. "You have made a compelling case, Leo. I was not fully aware of the inner struggle you faced. And, truth be known, you are correct; I long to slumber. However, I require some assurances so that my sleep is not troubled..."

"Like a mentor?"

Viggo nodded. "That is one assurance, yes, with provisions."

"I should tell you now, sir; this won't be one-sided. You'll have to barter for your assurances." I didn't plan to show my cards at that point, but I couldn't be a sneaky prick and spring it on him later.

His thick eyebrows rose, and one corner of his mouth curled upward - holy shit, a rare Viggo smile. "Ah, a scion after my own dark heart," he said. "Very well, let us see how you fare."

I agreed to have a mentor of Viggo's choice, someone I could turn to with any problem or question. In return, I wanted Traeg and Gwen turned over to my care. I also requested any other minions of his that would age dramatically or die if he released them.

No, I wasn't hoarding. I just wanted to save who I could, and let them retain their normal lifestyles. In Gwen's case - and any others who hadn't been minions too long - I planned to stop feeding blood. Once they were clean, I'd give them the choice of being my minion. I was not going to force or coerce anyone into being my servant. And no, I didn't tell Viggo any of that.

He agreed to my request, but amended that his oldest minions could choose between me and Aldo (if he wanted them). Besides Rune, I had no idea how many other old minions he had. It was a responsibility I really didn't want. I didn't know what those old minions did for Viggo, and I didn't care. If my plan worked out, I was gonna have enough on my plate to deal with. I privately hoped they all chose Aldo.

We negotiated on a few other little things - including me getting roped into checking up on his stupid fish - until Viggo got to his last subject of concern. "There is one more issue, perhaps the most important one," he said. "You must look after Clara for me."

There it was. I normally would've been happy to agree, no deals or barters necessary. I liked the girl. She was a little lost, a little broken, but she had a good heart. It was obvious Viggo treasured Clara like a real father would his own daughter. And, in a truly shitty move, I was going to use that emotional bond against him. "Clara, hmm; that could turn out to be one hell of a chore..." I drew it out like I hadn't already planned that exact scenario. "Alright, fine," I finally agreed, "I'll look after her..."

"Ah, good; now we can -"

"If," I interjected.

"If what?" he asked cautiously. "I thought you simply agreed."

"Not so easy, sir - you wanted to see how well I barter. I have to pay you back for tricking me into that whole extinct fish thing. Now, I'll look after Clara... if you give me all of your hoarded numen."

I'd never felt like a bigger piece of shit in my life. I just hoped it was worth it.

CELLS

"You do not know what you are asking for," Viggo said in a rumbling, serious tone.

"I think I have a pretty good idea, sir."

A frown crossed his cracked-earth face. "If you truly did, then you would know that I cannot agree to your terms in their entirety. And to use your sister as a pawn..." He shook his head in disapproval.

"Sir, we've both got our own agendas. I just had to play the game for mine. You should've known that I'll always look after Clara - you didn't have to ask. Either you doubted my character, or I'm a better actor than I thought. It doesn't matter now; I still respect you, I still look up to you, and I'll miss you while you're gone. But you have some numen stored away somewhere, and they'll do me a lot more good than they would a slumbering Eidolon. So, tell me why you can't agree to the 'terms in their entirety'."

Viggo stood, held an arm out, and said, "Let me show you why."

Void-walking into a place of darkness and stale air, Viggo told me, "There is no other way to this location than by the means we have just taken." I could tell by the sounds that he opened a nearby door and stepped into an adjoining space. A bare bulb clicked on in an overhead socket. Blinking the spots out of my eyes, I saw that I stood in a stone hallway. In front of me was the open door that led to a small room. Behind me, the hallway went for another ten paces and stopped where the bedrock had collapsed.

A large stone sarcophagus dominated the small, roughly square room. Carved onto the heavy lid were letters and runes. Near it on the floor was a box of wooden stakes. To my left was a matching wrought iron set of desk and chair, and a car battery on the floor next to them. Attached to the battery was a pair of wires that ran up the wall and across the ceiling, powering the bulb. The wires continued to my right, into another chiseled hallway.

Viggo gestured for me to take a better look down that lit hall. I stepped into the room and went to the entry of it. I stood there for a minute, looking at the hallway I dreamt of once. Into the bedrock was cut a six-foot wide passage that stretched a long way back. It looked bigger because of the high, uneven ceiling. Along both sides were rough entrances into small rooms, dozens of them, stretching away into the distance. Each entry had an iron gate for a door, with a simple latch for each.

"Holy shit," I blurted before I could stop myself, "how many hemos have you got down here?"

"The number of numen stored here is not as important as why some of them are here. Some were merely irritants," Viggo explained with a shrug as he started down the hall of gates. "Mr. Dean, for example, is in this room here." I peered into the room; the hallway lights shone on a simple wooden coffin with a manila folder lying on top of it. "I promised Mr. Tomasino I would release him," he said with a twinge of regret. "I will see to it tomorrow evening."

It was worse than I thought. Dozens of hemos were staked and thrown in boxes down there. Their cheap tombs sat in the dark cells of a lost underground tunnel. Some of those poor bastards, like Dean the douche, were prisoners only because they were pains in the ass. How much of a problem could Dean have been for Viggo? Hell, I could kick his butt when I was human. And here was a kicker: some of those hemos had been locked away a hell of a lot longer than Dean. Viggo stole their lives for being irritating. "Okay, so what about the others?" Part of me didn't want to know.

"Many of them are the reason I cannot fully agree to your request. Some have developed serious derangements." I almost made a comment about the irony of him saying that. "Others," he continued, "have succumbed to the dark ardor; they have degenerated into beasts in constant states of blood-lust. None of them should be allowed to rise again, although it is not for me to end their existences."

I wondered if Viggo ever listened to himself. He'd already passed judgment, so why half-ass it? Then again, I got why some of them were down there in the first place. "Does anyone else know about all of this?" I asked. It'd be good to know who knew what.

"Only to a vague degree," Viggo casually answered. "I did state at Lady Le Meur's last Gathering that I was the cause of disappearances within the collective over the years. But as for all this, only Aldo and you have seen it. Clara, through her insights, is aware of it. Aldo has offered in the past to do away with those individuals who are unfit for society. For his sake, I did not allow it; systematic elimination such as he proposed leads down a cold, dark path. I presume you have no intentions of placing any of these individuals into his stern care?"

"No - hell, no," I quickly replied. "That might make me greedy like him, but I don't care. Skala won't get anything from me other than hospitality and a thin layer of respect."

"Although he is one of my own scions, I understand your perspective."

I wanted to ask about the Deviants who were most likely locked away - Harlan, Wayne, Pedro, and Ragna at least \- but I figured we'd come across each one soon enough. I planned to read the folders of each and every hemo down there, and make my list of who I wanted.

Yeah, I know, that was pretty damn judgmental on my part, too, but I couldn't take them all. By the sound of it, there were some hemos better left down there. I couldn't fix 'em, and I wouldn't kill 'em, so there really wasn't an option. Sometimes having a conscience sucks.

NUTSHELL

Reading files and making my own notes took a while, but I'd made my selections of hemos who wouldn't automatically go ape-shit when I woke them. We were both sleepy by the time we were done. Viggo slept in the sarcophagus. He decided to get used to the padded interior since it was where he planned to take his extended slumber. Good placement, too - no one would ever find him down there.

I had no other options than to lay down on the cold, hard floor for some shut-eye. Nothing new there; I'd had to deal with the same type of accommodations a few times while on military missions overseas. That didn't mean it didn't suck. Surprisingly, though, I didn't have any sore muscles or numbness when I woke up. It was one of the few perks of being a hemo.

Moving filled coffins and ourselves via the void, Viggo and I stepped out into one of Traeg's warehouses. I chose that location to temporarily store the chosen hemos because there was room for them to be hidden, it was relatively safe, and I couldn't think of another good spot. Viggo called Traeg to let him know what we were doing and not to fuck with the cargo. Once the coffins were stacked in a corner and covered with a tarp, we void-walked back to the thunderdome.

Up in the lounge, Viggo commented on my place. He said it was functional and had its uses, but he hadn't planned for it to be a permanent residence. He called it drab, and that the neighborhood was lean for proper feeding. I didn't want to look a gift-horse in the mouth, but I had to agree.

"No scion of mine should be relegated to such a locale," he stated. "Leo, I offer you better lodgings of your choosing. Bear in mind that it should either be completely hidden, or given a public purpose for the sake of camouflage. What would you desire?"

"Public purpose... You mean like a business or something?" When he nodded, I said, "Well hell, if there was a house or apartment magically attached to a shooting range, I'd be tickled pink."

Then it was time for more red-tape bullshit. Considering I'm referring to people's lives, that sounded pretty glib. Then again, getting bogged down in the morality of it all wasn't going to do me any good.

For the next goddamn week, it was nothing but meetings, discussions, messaging, and more meetings. Getting all the minions organized and deciding on plans was a brain-numbing pain in the ass, all just so Viggo could take an extended vacation in a stone coffin. I'm not gonna drag you through the details, so this is it in a nutshell in case you give a shit:

* My mentor turned out to be Grigori Olinchenko. Viggo had the wandering Outsider pay off his debt by sticking around for a while to help me if I needed it. Grigori didn't seem to mind.

* ShadoWorks gave my LLC, Norbeck Limited, a chunk of land in a growing eastern K.C. Suburb; that land had a recently vacated bowling alley on it (closed because of lease violations).

* Viggo had his construction minion design and began rebuilding the interior of the bowling alley into an indoor shooting range, complete with a restricted-access apartment below part of it.

* I named the shooting range 'Corrective Action'.

* A huge chunk of starting capital was given to Norbeck to cover all fees, construction costs, décor and fancy touches, upcoming salaries, full inventory, and any other damn thing I could think of.

* Gwen chose to work for me. Traeg was farmed out to Skin - a logical move.

* Viggo insisted - more like demanded - that I include two of his personal property managers, reclusive Keith Pierson and Norwegian Rolf Staalsen, as minions. I did.

* Besides Gwen, Keith and Rolf, my other necessary minion choices (because of how long they'd been serving Viggo) were the Water Department supervisor and the construction company owner/operator.

* Rune, one of Viggo's elder minions (and the only one I knew), decided to continue in my service; her candid opinion of Skala was unflattering.

* I offered Gwen a job as general manager of Corrective Action, and contacted Diego (who had been relegated to light contracts at Silas) about the floor manager position; they both accepted.

* Skin took over Gwen's security tape scanning duties; Barnabus was given Agent Rutherford of the FBI, the janitor at Realm, and Natalie at the IRS.

I realize shuffling all of Viggo's minions around like that makes it sound like we were herding cattle and bringing them to auction. . . Well, shit, that's pretty much what it was. I wasn't fond of the idea or the practice, but Viggo made it clear that having human pawns increases the odds of a hemo's survival. And I was all about survival.

FAREWELL

It was time to say goodbye to Viggo. All the loose ends were tied off, all his ducks were in a row, and he was ready to go. More than ready, actually - I'd never seen him so mellow and content. He, Aldo and I were once again in the Deviant cave, the one with modern electronics, a bed in an alcove, and bits and pieces of history scattered around the big room.

I had to ask, "Sir, why are we meeting here? I thought we'd all be down where your sarcophagus is."

"You were hoping to perhaps tuck your sire in? How sentimental," Aldo interjected with a sour tone.

"Could you stop being a condescending shit stain for one minute?" The words slipped out before I could stop myself, but I didn't regret saying them.

"Scions, please," Viggo said casually from the comfort of a recliner chair. "I will not let bickering be the last words I hear for centuries. Leo, to answer your question, Aldo has not mastered the Gift of the Void to the degree I have. He can transport himself only, so you would be trapped there. That limitation is why your blood-brother flew into town; he wanted two of his minions with him."

I was in no position to throw that in Aldo's face. "Oh, okay," I said quickly to move past it. "What about Clara? Why isn't she here with us to see you off?"

"I have already spoken with her." He turned his head to Aldo. "She has been made aware that you will also be leaving this evening, and that she may call you at any time for any reason." Viggo ignored his frown and said to me, "Clara has also been informed of the location of your future residence, Leo."

"And she'll always be welcome there, sir. Don't worry, I'll keep my word."

Satisfied with my response, Viggo changed the subject. "Aldo, you only slumbered for 144 years, but you were woken prematurely. I expect to rest for much longer. However, I will allow you, Leo, to rouse me once you are able to travel to my resting place."

"What, you mean void-walk? Uh, okay." I turned to Aldo and asked, "How long did it take you to learn the Void Gift to that level?"

He locked his shark eyes on mine. "The stronger the ability of a Gift, Mr. Beck, the longer it takes to acquire it." With an implied challenge, he gave me the answer. "I practiced for nearly four centuries to learn void-walking."

Well, fuck. I couldn't picture forty years ahead, let alone four hundred.

Viggo spoke again, pulling me from my thoughts. "None but you, my own progeny, know without doubt that I am going to take my slumber at last. It would be best to keep that secret, if only for the sake of keeping the local collective wary."

"What of the two Deviants to whom you offered a number of your lesser minions?" Aldo asked.

Viggo shrugged. "Although Mr. Merritt and Mr. O'Shaughnessy have strong suspicions of my plans, they have no fact or proof. I did not insult them with lies, but neither did I disclose any motives behind my generosity. While they may have most likely come to the correct conclusion, I believe they both have the wisdom not to speak of their presumptions."

"Yeah, I don't think they would," I agreed.

Viggo pushed himself out of the chair. "It is time to bid this age of gadgetry a fond farewell." We stood, and he shook our hands. "My good scions, I must depart. May you fare well and account for yourselves honorably. Auf Wiedersehen." He straightened his coat and walked back into the shadows near the bed. As an expanding pocket of the void gathered in front of him, he turned and looked at me. "Leo," he said, "you have begun well, but you should have had better insight when you bartered with me. The 'hall of gates', as you called it... Did you think that was the only one?"

Son of a bitch - I should've known. I was about to say something, but he turned and disappeared. No long, weepy goodbyes for my sire. Viggo was gone. There was an unexpected loneliness attached to that fact, and also a mild sensation of freedom. I wasn't going to dwell on it.

"I must be on my way as well," Aldo announced, like it was just as big of a deal. "Kurt and Karl have my luggage and await my presence."

Trying one last time to be nice, I asked, "Did you want a ride back out to the airport?" I was hoping he'd say no, but I at least made a half-assed effort. A wasted effort, as it turned out.

"No need," Aldo replied with a surly tone. "Goodbye, Mr. Beck." He went to the same dark spot as Viggo had and, without another word, created his own void and stepped into it. I wasn't sorry to see Aldo go. I wondered why he stuck around as long as he did. Then again, he was gone, so I stopped giving a shit.

I stood there in silence for a few seconds, alone in a cave decorated with someone else's extensive past. On my way out, I noticed something on the table next to the sturdy iron door. On a whim, I thought, Eh, fuck it, someone's bound to take it \- may as well be me. The helmet full of coins jingled as I made my way up the narrow stairs.

STRANGE

Three nights later, it was only about an hour before dawn when I pulled my truck into the big garage of the thunderdome. It'd been a good night. I was actually happy. Go figure.

I woke up with an idea of how to plan my minion feedings. Viggo needed to feed his minions every five weeks or so. With my slightly weaker blood, the time got condensed. So, I thought of the lunar cycle. Every new moon, I'd meet all my minions individually. Not a bad plan, right?

The evening started with a meeting I'd arranged with Gwen and Diego at the refurbished fire station. I figured since they were going to be running my gun range, they'd better get used to each other. Gwen knew how to run things and keep a tight ship; she did it all at Silas. Diego, besides being good with people, knew more about guns than I ever would. I was relieved to have them both.

I'd planned ahead, and Gwen was on board. I let her and Diego talk for a while before I made myself known. Using a trick I learned from Viggo, I used strips of the void to cover my face within the hood of my jacket. Diego freaked out a little, but not too bad. Gwen and I talked to him about the well-hidden, darker existence we were involved with. I gave him the choice to be part of it.

Gwen drank first from my Viking horn. With her assurance, Diego sipped and then gulped. He stopped smiling when I let my face be seen, but his stare was one of intense curiosity rather than horror.

After the meeting with Gwen and Diego was another short one with Ed Lockwood, the construction company boss. I met him at his house with the intention of getting to know him better, and also to get a set of keys to my new place. While I was there, I told Ed I wanted a big garage bay attached with a security door from the storage room. Hey, I was a business owner; I wasn't gonna leave my truck out in the parking lot.

The sign for Corrective Action was up, the reworked exterior was almost complete, and the lot had new tar and paint. The inside was coming together quick. Permits were hung on a wall, codes were being met, and there was probably less than a week's worth of work to be done.

There were plans to open the doors around the first of September after Gwen and Diego hired a staff, got a website going, advertised, and stocked up on inventory. All I cared about was getting a t-shirt with the cool logo on it. You know - priorities.

Finally, I checked out my underground apartment. There'd never been any plans made for it that I knew of, so it was left up to Ed. A plain door in the main-level conference room led to a large metal one five feet in. It required a pass-card and a code to open. That led to a wide cement staircase going down at least twenty steps to another big metal door at the bottom. There was also a video camera at each door. Once past the second card swipe and key-code, I was in my new place.

It was still bare bones - unpainted cement walls and a pile of new furniture in the large living room - but I liked it. There was more space than I expected, and more rooms than I knew what to do with. I wanted an office and a spare room for guests. Those were covered, with a few rooms to spare.

I drove back to the thunderdome in a good mood. On the way home, I thought of the next Gathering and what I planned to do there. I hoped to arrange a number of meetings with Tomasino and a few others - maybe the faction emissaries - where I'd bring a couple of Viggo's hoarded hemos. Although they'd be bound to me when I woke 'em with my blood, I had no intention of keeping it that way.

The effects of the unavoidable blood-binding would wear off in a month or so, and the formerly staked hemos would be free... albeit with a debt. Once revived, they'd be made aware that they owed me big time, and then were free to go. I planned to wake one or two at a time, spreading it out to give me time to refill my tanks. The details obviously weren't worked out yet, but I felt pretty confident that Tomasino and the emissaries would go along with it.

The main thing was, I'd be distinguishing myself from Viggo and trying to compensate for his crimes. If it mended some fences in the meantime, I couldn't complain. Another bonus was the fact that big favors would be owed to me. Hemos were heavily into holding debts over each other's heads, although even a life-debt didn't mean shit if there weren't witnesses. Viggo's way was just wrong - he played his own game. I was going to play the hemo game, and start out with a stacked deck.

Opening the door from the garage, I expected Thunder to be lying there in the hallway waiting for me like he normally did. The other strange thing I noticed was the glow on the stairs from an upstairs light. The only light I left on before leaving was in the kitchen. Needless to say, I got tense.

9mm in hand, I crept down the hallway. I spun into the kitchen. Empty. Since the stairs creaked, I just raced up them. The second story rooms were dark except for the lounge, where two of the lamps were on. I swung my gun into the room, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

Thunder was asleep on the far end of the couch. Like most cats, he was a light sleeper, so seeing him lying there breathing deeply as his tail twitched from a dream was weird. I'd also never seen him sleep on the couch before, so something was definitely off.

Strangest of all, I felt a breeze as I stood there in the entry to the lounge. Yeah, a breeze - inside my place where the windows didn't fucking open. I turned, looked up, and saw a big hole in the ceiling. The half-moon was just visible from my angle. The hole was roughly circular, but with clean edges. There wasn't any drywall on the hall floor. I was confused as well as paranoid.

And then a pair of glowing, lava-orange eyes came into view at the end of the dark hallway. Shit.

BLOOD

"Surprise, surprise, Mr. Beck," Jack Fletcher growled from the far end of the hallway. "Since I'll be eating your soul in a moment, I suppose we can do away with formalities... Leo."

"Yeah, I guess we can, Jack," I managed to reply, even though my mind was spinning with questions. I was always careful about being tailed. Did he somehow track me anyway? Did someone sell me out? The list of who could've was short, very short. I didn't have time to mull it over right then - I had a hemo to piss off. He was already angry, but I needed him over the edge. That's where mistakes are made.

"Just so I know," I asked, thinking of how to get to my other guns in the bedroom, "why are you here? Is it because your boy Declan went out screaming like a girl and got turned into separate little piles of dust? Or maybe it's because Viggo made you look like a trouble-making little bitch in front of everyone? Either way, you know he'd kick your ass in a heartbeat, so you come after me instead, right? What a fucking coward you are."

"Your sire can't save you now, and I tire of your weak chatter," Fletcher said as his eyes lowered, telling me he was crouching to charge. There was no time to wonder if he knew Viggo was gone or if he just planned to finish me quick. In a sudden rush, the burly Outsider came at me with those damn claws.

I was the taller of us, but Fletcher had more mass. He planned to use it to either smash me back into the lounge, or jam his claws into my chest. Neither sounded good. I knew from experience that hemo claw wounds were much harder to heal. I guessed it was a supernatural weapon thing. I hadn't asked.

I emptied my Glock into him as he barreled forward. The bullets stood him up straighter, but he hardly lost any momentum. I dropped a split second before Fletcher got to me and used my head and shoulder to take his legs out from under him. He tumbled over and past me into the lounge. The collision with some of the furniture finally woke Thunder, who came running past me out of the room.

I backed up to the door of my bedroom as Fletcher quickly got back to his feet like an animal. As fast as I was, there still wasn't enough time for me to get my Super Shorty and load it before the bastard was on me again. I was quicker, and most likely stronger, but he had those damn claws and was the toughest son of a bitch (except for Viggo) that I'd ever seen. I needed to create some space.

Closer than before, Fletcher stood at the entry to the lounge with his back slightly hunched. He glared at me, ready to pounce. "You act like you're the one with the advantage, asshole," I said. "I'm just waiting for you to make another stupid move."

"Keep running away, scared rabbit," Fletcher countered while he took two slow, prowling steps forward and ripped off his tattered shirt. "Your blood will taste sweeter from the effort."

"Come on then, prick. I don't have all night." Yeah, big talk; I was in deep shit.

Fletcher lunged forward, swinging a vicious set of claws. Reacting on instinct, I caught his arm at the wrist. He was a little surprised that I stopped his attack cold, so I took advantage of the moment. A front kick sent him reeling back against the banister. I rushed forward to press the attack and planted my boot in his chest with a running side kick.

I meant to knock Fletcher over the banister and onto the lower half of the split-level stairs. I forgot my strength, though, and sent him through it instead. Wood went flying as he rocketed backwards. He slammed into the wall of the stairwell and tumbled down the last few steps to the first floor.

There was no pause; I heard movement as soon as Fletcher went out of view. Just as I began to wonder what condition he was in, I heard him say, "Are you coming down, or am I coming back up?"

Fuck, he was tough. I ran into the bedroom and grabbed my Super Shorty from its case. I heard the stairs creak as I loaded the mini-cannon with whatever shells were handy. When I spun, he was coming at me again. With time for only one shot, I aimed high. Buckshot ripped into the right side of Fletcher's face at point-blank range. The compact spray cratered his cheek and ruined his right eye.

The force of the deafening blast sent Fletcher back against a wall. The bastard didn't go down. I guess that fact rattled me, because he managed to lurch forward and swing again. He was too far away to hit me, but his claws sliced two holes in the outstretched barrel of my gun.

Useless as a firearm, I swung the gun like a short club and dented the side of his head. The hit spun him, and he fell away from me to his hands and knees. I grabbed my combat knife with every intention of cutting the bastard's head off. Yanking his head up from behind with my left hand, I reached around with the blade and slashed.

There was no sense of penetration, no piercing of flesh. Fletcher chuckled - yeah, chuckled - and then raked his claws through the muscles of my right forearm. Blood gushed and muscles were severed. Shit, I just lost use of my right hand. And worse than that, it fucking hurt.

The knife fell out of my twitching hand, so I took a step back and kneed him in the back of the head before he could turn around. Fletcher went down flat and slid a few feet on the hardwood floor, but immediately started to get back up.

Ignoring the blood pouring out of my burning forearm, I stepped forward and snapped a jab into his smiling mouth. My knuckles broke one of extended incisors. Fletcher blinked once, smiled again, and swung an open backhand. I ducked under it, stepping to the side. Two hard hooks to the gut made him buckle, but not enough. He got hold of my shirt and yanked me in close.

Stupidly, I went with the motion and head-butted Fletcher in his face - a grisly face that had already begun to heal. He head-butted me right back. I pulled his hand off me and stepped back to clear my vision. He swung again. I stepped out into the hallway to dodge the claws, but one of them ripped through my shirt and across my right shoulder.

My straight left to Fletcher's bloody eye socket didn't have much leverage to it, but it still managed to make him stumble back a few steps. "Is that all you got, you little bitch?" I taunted, hoping to make him attack wildly again so I could take advantage of it. My wish was granted, sort of.

Fletcher charged again. As he came in close, I leaned to my right and caught one of his reaching arms. I spun with the raging hemo's momentum and hip-tossed him toward the staircase. The tenacious fucker grabbed my arm as I flung him, and we both flew over the edge.

I hadn't really tested my exerted strength, but I knew it was disproportionate to my body. Well, I just had my first test. My focused power was enough to send two good-sized men hurling through the air. Unfortunately, I was one of them. Fletcher and I smashed down onto the lower case of the stairs, which was cement under the wood planks. The impact made us lose our grip on each other. We both tumbled out onto the first floor a few paces apart. I was next to my office door, and he was near the kitchen.

I'll admit it, I was hurting. The claw wounds wouldn't close, so my upper right side was blood-soaked. Landing hard on those damn stairs screwed up my left knee. My blood loss was sapping my strength. Looking at Fletcher as we both stood, though... He wasn't doing too great, either. His face had stopped healing and was still pretty gruesome, he was pale as a sheet, and he was favoring his left side where I'd driven two hooks into his ribs. I think my greater progeny was keeping me in the fight.

Wanting to finish one way or another, I was the one who charged forward that time. A flying knee to the chest slammed Fletcher back into the doorway of the kitchen. He rolled to his left and stumbled into the lit room. I quickly followed. He was waiting for me.

Both of his hands latched onto my shirt as I ran in. He used my speed to slam me to the floor, and was on top of me before I could spin away. Our legs struggled for position while I held one of his arms at bay; my fucked up right arm could only block incoming swings. After one claw managed to stab me in the chest, I was able to pin that arm down against his thigh. That's when Fletcher gave a broken-tooth grin, opened his mouth wide for a bite, and leaned his head down toward my face.

We both heard a gasp. Fletcher looked over his shoulder, and I leaned my head to one side to see who the surprise visitor was. At that moment, I thought any interruption was welcome. I was wrong.

"... Leo?" asked a soft, trembling voice. At the entry to the kitchen was my doe-eyed sister Clara.

SISTER

Frozen in place by shock and fear, Clara stood there with a couple Disney DVDs clutched to her chest. She'd innocently come into danger, and I was going to have one hell of a time keeping my promise to watch out for her. In a panic, I yelled, "Run, Clara! Get outta here!"

Fletcher sprung off me like an animal and raced the few steps over to her while I scrambled to my feet. He grabbed her by the neck and lifted as he spun, pinning her back to his chest. Holding the terrified girl against him, he pressed his free hand of claws against her poncho and then smiled at me. "Ah, and who do we have here? Clara, is it?"

"She isn't part of this, Jack," I said, trying to keep my voice calm. "You only came here for me."

"Oh, but I can't let an unexpected gift like this pass me by, Leo. I can tell that this fresh young thing is important to you, just as Declan was to me. Now you can know my anguish before I put you down once and for all." Fletcher sniffed her ear and added, "I sense old blood in little Clara. Perhaps it'll taste as sweet as yours."

From out of the dark hallway, Thunder suddenly landed on Fletcher's head. Screeching like a feral beast, my awesome cat clawed at his face. Roaring in surprise, the elder Outsider flung Clara by her neck across the kitchen. I saw blood as she was tossed away, so the claws must've sliced at her throat. Thunder was knocked away a second later, but it was all the opening I needed.

With my last reserves of energy, I laid into the bastard with my good limbs. My right boot to the side of Fletcher's head drove him sideways into the near wall. He bounced back and thrust his claws at me, but his swing was sloppy. I dodged, grabbed his arm as I spun my back to him, and broke his elbow over my shoulder. I drove my own elbow backward into his stomach, then turned and threw an uppercut into his exposed armpit. The punch to the nerve cluster there made him crumple to the floor. I shoved Fletcher the rest of the way down and stomped on the side of his neck. He didn't move.

I was about to go get one of the broken banister spindles from out in the hallway to jam into Fletcher's heart, but dizziness made me stumble. I was out of gas. Hell, the room was dimming from my wavering consciousness. I took a few steps and put my hand to a wall for support.

And then the hamstring of my right leg flared with almost unbearable pain. Fletcher had dragged himself the few feet to reach me and buried his claws in the back of my leg. I went down yelling and slumped against the floorboard.

"Now, before I finish you," Fletcher said with labored breath as he struggled to stand, "you get to watch me slice your little friend into bloody ribbons. It's only fair, don't you think?" He turned toward the kitchen cabinets where he'd thrown my sister. "Say goodbye to Leo, Clara."

The room dimmed even more. That time I knew it wasn't failing eyesight, because the resulting gloom began to gather and spin. Following the shadows was a swirling breeze that quickly turned into a strong wind. I looked over to Clara, but I only saw a monster in a purple poncho. With a harsh, booming voice, she said, "My name is Vivian!"

The wind intensified, focusing on Fletcher. Strips of the abyss began adding in to the mix of airborne napkins, splinters of wood, and cat food. Weak on his feet, Fletcher was buffeted backward. Then, like they were sucked in by a tornado, those black strips converged around his neck.

I thought the strips were going to be used to choke him, like I basically had done to a streetlamp. Instead of constricting, though, Clara/Vivian used them to open a void - with Fletcher's neck in the middle.

He didn't even have time to fully reach up and claw at the darkness circling just under his chin. Trying to tear it off him would've been useless anyway. With a primal scream, my sister closed the void.

Fletcher stood there motionless, his long hair wafting in the dying wind, and with a thin layer of his neck gone. His fading orange eyes opened wide before his head tumbled off his shoulders.

Only a second after Fletcher's head and body fell to the floor, they turned to dust and were swept around the room from the last of the breeze. I dropped my forehead to the floor from both pain and relief. Less than a minute later, I felt a small hand in my hair. "Leo, are you okay?" Clara softly asked.

I looked up and saw the same cute face I was used to. She had a dish towel pressed to her neck, and a worried look in her big, dark eyes. "Yeah, I'm okay," I lied. "Are you?"

"I'll be alright," she replied with a shrug. "Maybe we should eat something. I'll call some rats."

"Yeah, that'd be great," I said as I propped myself against the wall. Thunder quietly padded back in and settled himself next to me. He deserved pampering from then on.

"I hope Thunder doesn't eat them all," she added with a small smile, acting as if she'd forgotten what just happened. Clara then picked up something next to me; it was one of the DVDs she brought. "After we eat, will you come watch this with me?" she asked. "Some parts are kinda scary."

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