Date: 2021-06-23 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy; Urban Fantasy; Fiction; Vampires; Humor; Paranormal; Magic; dragons; Zombies
Description: With his wedding behind him, Fred is looking forward to nightly life finally settling down. Unfortunately, someone from his past has other, far less peaceful, plans in mind. Finding his clan under attack, Fred must scramble to discover who is working against him and how to fight back. Between securing shelter, trading favors, and keeping up with his accounting business, it won't be easy to stay out of trouble; let alone uncover the identity of his adversary. Faced with an enemy who has no interest in diplomacy, Fred and his friends will have to make hard choices if they want to survive. Choice

Out of House and Home

Fred the Vampire Accountant #7

Drew Hayes

Out of House and Home

Fred the Vampire Accountant #7

By Drew Hayes

Copyright © 2021 by Andrew Hayes

All Rights Reserved.

Edited by Celestian Rince (https://celestianrince.com)

Edited by Kisa Whipkey (http://kisawhipkey.com)

Cover by A.M. Ruggs

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Contents

Acknowledgments

Preface

An Invader In The Home

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

A Mystery in the Mall

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

A Storm on the Mountain

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

A Guest at the Gala

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

A Reckoning of Houses

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Other Novels by Drew Hayes

About the Author

Acknowledgments

I’d like to dedicate this one to all the wonderful accountants who have reached out through the years to share their love of Fred

Extra appreciation to my beta readers who contribute their time and feedback toward making these stories the best they can be: TheSFReader, E Ramos E, and Priscilla Yuen.

I almost certainly do not know you; however, I shall assume you are a lovely person, and it is my loss for not having yet had the opportunity to meet you. Still, I must assume you and I are connected in some way, for the works you are about to read are selections from a journal of my memoirs. I compiled these not in the belief that the stories within are so compelling they must be told, but rather because I found my unexpected life transition to be so shockingly uneventful—at least initially. I place the blame for my aggrandized expectations squarely on contemporary media filling my head with the belief that a ticket to the supernatural also put one on an express train toward coolness and suave charm.

This is simply not the case. Or at least, it was not my case. I recorded my journeys in the hopes that, should another being find themselves utterly depressed at the humdrum personality still saddling their supernatural frame, they might find solace in knowing they are not the only one to have felt that way. Given the lengthy lifespan of many of the people with whom I associate, there is no guarantee they will have passed on by the time this is read. Therefore, names have been changed as I deemed necessary.

So, dear reader, whom I suspect is a wonderful person merely in need of a bit of reassurance, take comfort in my tales of uneventful blundering. One’s nature is hard to change; sometimes even death is insufficient to accomplish such a task. But be assured that, while you might find yourself still more human than anticipated, you are far from the only one. You will eventually discover that under the movie stereotypes, imposed mystique, and overall inflated expectations, each and every one of us is at least a touch more boring than our images would indicate.

And that is not a bad thing.

1

“It just seems a bit . . . much.” Standing in the dark of a cool night, I carefully looked over the vehicle, taking in every detail, of which there were quite a few to note. Thick tires jutted out from the sides of a boxy, tremendously oversized cab, topped with a rack of lights and windows that I’d bet were carrying many more enhancements than a mere spell to mitigate sunlight.

Ah, but if that seems like a curious feature to assume in a vehicle, perhaps I should pause briefly for a moment to explain. My name is Fredrick Frankford Fletcher, and my fear of daylight stems from the simple fact that I am a vampire. While I’d gotten around one of our perpetual weaknesses by gaining a silver immunity, the sun was still a force I had to reckon with.

With me that evening were Al, a summer fey and recent hire to my accounting company; Gregor, my gargoyle bodyguard appointed by a dragon; Bubba, a therianthrope who worked directly for the head of his local organization; and Lillian, my company’s first hire, who’d originally been sent by a rival vampire clan to spy on me. Gathered together in the parking lot of Charlotte Manor, a sentient bed-and-breakfast who’d been our home now for several years by this point, the crowd still felt a bit thin by our usual standards.

It didn’t help that so many of our friends were out on assignment, starting with the one whose absence I felt most keenly. While she’d elected to take the name Krystal Fletcher for private use, officially, my wife was still Agent Jenkins, capable and dangerous operative for the Agency, a covert organization designed to ensure parahuman laws were properly obeyed. They essentially functioned as enforcers for the countless treaties that governed the various parahuman factions, making sure that things stayed as peaceful as possible and hiding our existence from humanity in general. Her being gone was part of the job, something I’d known and accepted when we took the plunge into marriage. At least she’d been able to take some time off for our honeymoon.

Arch, a fellow agent who seemed to be borderline—if not truly—immortal, was also gone on some assignment or other, taking Neil and Albert with him. The necromancer-and-zombie duo had been getting more attention from the Agency since they showed what they could do during the pre-wedding fight (it’s a long story) and were seeing more work because of it. If they hadn’t been offered some sort of official position with the organization yet, it was only a matter of time. Also missing was Amy, our resident alchemist capable of whipping up nearly anything, but who mostly focused on odd concoctions that interested her. She’d been booked to enhance a bar for a local therian wedding.

That left only the House of Fred’s newest official member: Asha Patel, a lawyer who’d been a human friend until several months back. Unfortunately, my sire’s attempt on my life caught her instead, and it was only thanks to turning her in time—and some very special blood—that Asha was still with us in any sense. Adjusting to vampire life had been going smoothly so far (she was holding up much better than I did after the change), and she seemed to enjoy working nights. Asha would be stopping by when her client meeting ended, but that wouldn’t be nearly soon enough to ogle the vehicular monstrosity resting in Charlotte’s parking lot.

I’d barely made it back myself, having just dropped off some contracts in my ridiculous rental vehicle. Battling with the insurance over my old car being bombed was bad enough, but my in-between options all seemed to be huge, gas-guzzling monsters. As someone who might be on this planet for hundreds of years to come, being eco-conscious seemed the only logical choice. It was a sentiment none of the rental agencies near my town of Winslow, Colorado seemed keen on embracing, but my busy schedule had precluded the time to go car shopping. That was why I’d asked Bubba for help, as the most mechanically inclined person I knew.

Standing next to a contraption that appeared as if someone had tried to fuse a tank with an off-road dune buggy, the huge man looked a bit sheepish, even going so far as to rub the back of his neck. “I know what you’re gonna say, and before you raise issues, the engine is a custom job. Got some special materials and enchantments in there to increase fuel efficiency by over fifty percent.”

Lillian let out a whistle, running her sharp nails along the front bumper and failing to leave more than a thin line. “That’s not the only magic on this thing. I can feel the thrum of power weaving through it. This is a hardy hunk of machinery.”

Though I couldn’t feel any such magic emanating, I didn’t doubt Lillian’s assessment. One of the most powerful, terrifying vampirism aspects was our ability to take on the gifts of other parahumans by drinking their blood. It’s why the legends of what we can do vary so greatly between years and cultures: some vampiric abilities are dependent on the blood they’ve recently been drinking. As someone who stuck only to the human stuff, I was about as weak as a vampire could be—some slight after-effects of dragon magic notwithstanding. Lillian had a more varied diet, but I trusted her to obtain that stock through legal, ethical means. Apparently, she’d worked some mage blood into her rotation. That would certainly allow her to sense magic so easily.

Banging once on the tires, Al then seemed to stroke the air around the vehicle, taking what I could swear was a lick of it at the end. “It’s got decent vibes. Not great, but decent.” As a pixie, Al was one of the people whose abilities I understood the least, in no small part because of how rarely she used them. Outside of her magical aura that added haphazard whimsy to the world, Al kept things as professional as possible. From her magically enlarged, human-level size, to her crisp business suit, to the tight braid in her hair, she was a pixie determined to be taken seriously. Given how hard she worked and the speedy progress on her education, I didn’t even mind when my morning coffee occasionally turned into hot chocolate.

Gregor knocked his huge knuckles against the hood once, then nodded. For my stoic bodyguard, it was a ringing show of endorsement. No surprise, as it was his job to keep me safe, and this would be a very helpful tool in that endeavor. On a personal level, I still wasn’t entirely sure if Gregor actually cared about my well-being, not that I doubted his effectiveness at the job. Even if Gregor had loathed me to the core, he’d been put in this position by Gideon, our local dragon, King of the West, and apparently something of a folk hero to Gregor’s gargoyle clan. I didn’t know the entire tale of their history, but it seemed there was little they wouldn’t do to earn his approval. Gregor had been told by Gideon to protect me. He’d have to be shattered into rubble before anyone could stop him from fulfilling that order.

While everyone else had found something to like, I had to stick firm on my assessment. “Bubba, I appreciate the effort, I really do, but I just don’t see this working. It draws too much attention, and not the right kind for my line of work. Imagine the terror one of my clients might feel at seeing an assault vehicle pulling up their drive, or the perils of parking it in a company’s lot next to all the normal sedans. The concern for my safety is touching. Maybe we can veer slightly back toward the mundane, though?”

“Unwise,” Gregor said, blunt and to the point, just as I was learning to expect from him, if or when he spoke at all. “Your last vehicle was turned into a weapon. You have an enemy you know will use it as a target. Make your transportation secure.”

“As a rule, I wouldn’t go expecting Quinn to repeat himself. He’s nothing if not a fan of trying new things.” The name of my sire felt sour in my mouth. Quinn had always been a piece of work, starting with abandoning me after being turned with no explanation or guidance. He’d then kidnapped Krystal before realizing what her profession was (that mistake had cost him an arm), but he still came after me a few years later, armed with a small team of magically controlled vampires. Then there was the bomb planted in my car just before the wedding, a strike that had cost Asha her human life.

Deep down, I knew Gregor had a point. Quinn kept coming, and ignoring him wasn’t going to make anyone safer. Fighting back might have been a nice fantasy, but even if I had that in me, nobody could find him. Somehow, he was staying out of the Agency’s clutches, along with some powerful fey I suspected were after him as well. Quinn appeared only when he wanted, and there was always some kind of destruction in his wake. Still, I didn’t think buying a pseudo-tank was the right solution either. If anything, he’d just view it as a challenge, and I didn’t want to see the collateral damage caused by whatever it took to crack this car’s shell.

“Knew it was a long shot, but Gideon had this sittin’ around, so I figured we might be able to put it to good use.” Bubba gave me a polite tip of his hat, then started to climb back into the cab.

“Hang on!” I protested. “You drove all the way out here—want to stay for dinner? I don’t know what Charlotte is making tonight, but I can say with certainty that it will be outstanding.” That was putting it lightly. It might be viewed as cheating, since she used magical ingredients and preparation, but Charlotte Manor was an incredible chef. Those lucky enough to live on her premises had meals included as part of the cost—easily the best money I spent outside of essentials like blood.

The reputation preceded her, as Bubba’s movements came to a quick halt. “Supposed to go pick up Amy from her wedding gig after I run this back, but for Charlotte’s supper, I’ve got time. I’ll just swing by in this. Bet Amy will get a hoot out of the ride, if she’s in a state of mind to notice.”

Together, we all headed up the stairs onto the front porch of Charlotte Manor. A sentient home built by mages many years before, her original creators eventually met their end trying to start a war with the Agency. While she could appear within the walls in any form she chose, Charlotte was actually the house itself, a fact we all tried hard not to think about where matters of privacy were concerned. Between her ability to maintain the building, provide food, and the layers upon layers of magical security built into her walls, we were fortunate to have Charlotte as an ally. It was thanks to her that we had a safe place to call home.

It was only as I grabbed the front door that I realized something felt off. Usually, Charlotte would have been out on the porch to see the excitement or greet her guests after a long day of solitude. I shook the notion off, dismissing it as paranoia brought on by all the Quinn talk, and pushed open the front door.

The angry screaming that hit me was so loud, I was physically knocked back by several inches as I gaped in horror at the sight awaiting us.

2

To describe the scene as simply mad would be a disservice to the chaos awaiting us on the other side of the door. Movement was flurried and fast as multiple versions of Charlotte dashed around, trying to grab the unusual creatures skittering across the walls, floor, and even ceiling. Each one was roughly three feet long, with spindly legs poking out of thick gray shells. The undulating tentacles probing from the mouth were disturbing, but it was the four scythe-like appendages spaced along their bodies that were more concerning.

Each bladed bug was cutting into Charlotte Manor, attacking the house around them, and as every blow landed, the house let out another scream. I was momentarily bowled over by it all, the shock of being greeted by the unexpected mixed with the confusion of how we hadn’t heard anything from the outside. Then there were the questions of why Charlotte was bothering to manifest all these forms to fight back? She had everyone I’d ever seen in the fray, from the old woman who worked the front desk, to the sharply dressed waiter who served meals, to the young woman in an olden-time dress that I thought of as her default. All of them were smacking at the bugs, largely ineffectually.

Luckily for Charlotte, I was not the only one in attendance, and several of my colleagues were far more adept at mentally switching gears. By the time I’d recovered myself enough to take action, Bubba and Lillian were already inside, each squaring off against one of the invading insects. Al was weaving some sort of bubblegum-looking substance into existence between her hands, and Gregor was waiting at my side. Assuming he was waiting for me to make the first move, I started forward, only to be halted by a thick hand on my chest.

“Too dangerous.”

“What?” I could barely process the words, my brain going a mile a minute as I struggled to understand how the day had suddenly gone so wrong.

Gregor tilted his head through the door, to where both Lillian and Bubba were having trouble with their opponents. The bugs were quick, and their scythes were evidently unbothered by parahuman toughness. If the giant size hadn’t tipped me off that they were supernatural in origin, that certainly would have cinched it. Anything that could hurt those two had to be packing magical augmentation.

Much as I would love to claim I charged in with no thought to my own safety, it would be untrue. Looking through that doorway, I was very tempted to let Gregor hold me there. No shortage of excuses rose up in my mind, attempting to balance the value of myself against that of a friend in peril. There was a time, I’m ashamed to say, when cowardice would have surely won out. But I’d seen danger in more amounts than I ever wanted since joining the parahuman world, and I’d learned an important lesson from those experiences: fear didn’t matter more than the people counting on me.

I grabbed Gregor’s arm and gently moved it aside, both of us aware that he was far stronger. “I’m going in.”

“An unwise tactic that I cannot condone.” The hand started to move back, and my patience wore thin.

“Gregor, listen, we’ve been making great headway these past few months, but I need to make something crystal clear to you: I will not stand by when members of my clan are in trouble and I can help. I understand this makes your job harder, and if you want to quit, then that’s totally reasonable. Until then, however, stop trying to control my actions. I’m going in there to help, and I hope you’re coming too.”

There was a sour glare from Gregor, but his hand remained in place. “You make yourself very difficult to protect.”

“No doubt that’s why the King of the West sent me one of his top people. Someone capable to the task.” It was a bit cheap, invoking Gideon’s title and reminding Gregor that he’d been personally appointed to the role, but Charlotte’s screams were still leaking out and neither Bubba nor Lillian had successfully stopped their bug yet. Charlotte didn’t just require help, she needed a heavy hitter; which was why I made sure Gregor had the extra touch of motivation.

While I can’t take credit for what came next, it was deeply gratifying to watch Gregor’s oversized fists join the fray, blocking a strike intended for Bubba’s leg before spinning around to smash the back half of Lillian’s opponent. Whatever protections these blade bugs had, they weren’t enough to stand against the fists of a gargoyle.

Now that her enemy was slowed, Lillian was able to dart in more easily, her own blades digging into the bits of exposed flesh poking through the cracked shell. As she wore hers down, Gregor and Bubba teamed up on the others nearby. Heavy arms and thick boots combined, transforming the bug from a deadly enemy into a pulpy sludge.

The other bugs in view started to scamper, as if they realized the tide of battle had turned. Some got away, but several were trapped in place by a thick, sticky pink goop that had been hurled onto their feet while I was distracted by the battle. Al was only a few steps away, the pink wad still in her hand, firing off an occasional shot toward the skittering scoundrels harassing our home.

Between the four of them, they were able to drive off the pests in the foyer and drawing room, though we could still hear shouts and thuds coming from deeper inside, where more forms of Charlotte were no doubt doing battle. Her default body, the one in the upscale dress, popped into existence next to me, despite the fact that I was watching the same form run down the hallway with broom in hand. It was a flaw in my perception; I still let myself forget that none of them were actually real. She could make a dozen of this form. It was just one more tool for interacting with guests. The real Charlotte was the house around us, the structure under attack.

“Fred . . .” Her voice was weak, strained in a way I’d never heard before. Then again, I’d also never seen Charlotte manifest so many forms at once, or take any sort of lasting damage. She should have been able to repair the slices they were making instantly; instead, all the havoc remained as the bugs scampered on.

“We’re here,” I assured her. “What happened?”

Shaking her head, it was clear she was working to focus. Limply, her hand rose, gesturing to a small pile of boxes. Most were unopened, the usual assortment of deliveries that came from living in an online world. One, however, was split completely. Lillian was over in a flash, giving a long smell, then a lick.

She hissed slightly under her breath. I was never sure if that was an affectation or an acquired habit from her scarier days. “Magic, and potent at that. Someone must have laid a hell of an enchantment to pack those things into a space so small.” Pausing, she took another sniff. “There’s more than one mystical scent in here, too.”

“Potion . . .” Charlotte pointed to a small area on the floorboards where we could just make out the residue of something spilled and a tiny twinkle of glass. Being friends with Amy, I was well-versed in the remains left behind when a vial of magical liquid had been shattered. “Binding . . . weakening connection . . .”

Whether to prove her point or due to dramatic coincidence, it was at that moment Charlotte’s form did something I’d never seen before: it flickered. Like a signal being lost in static, her manifestation wavered and shimmered, growing insubstantial at times, before finally stabilizing. At least that explained why Charlotte was so limited in what she could do to fight back. Unfortunately, that revelation only raised more questions, and at least one major issue.

Until that moment, I’d been under the impression that we were dealing with some sort of pest invasion or simple misunderstanding. The vial of potion removed such possibilities, much as I would have preferred them. A being like Charlotte was far from common, even among the parahuman world. For there to be something in that box specific enough to affect her . . . this had to be intentional. Someone was targeting Charlotte, making her suffer. Given that she’d been an abandoned building for decades before joining up with me, our association was the only thing that would make her a tempting target.

Anger and shame hit me in equal measure, leaving me as furious at myself for failing to prepare against such a possibility as I was at whoever was behind all of this. There were certainly some choice candidates I could think of, but I tried to not make assumptions. Knowing the true culprit might help us defuse the attack, so I needed to keep my mind open to whatever might reveal itself.

“Okay, situation check,” Lillian declared. “We’ve got some sort of parahuman bugs infesting Charlotte and hacking up her insides, plus she got dosed with something to stop her from fighting them off. That means we need Amy here as fast as possible to whip up a counter. Bubba, if you left right now, what’s the fastest you could get back?”

“’Bout an hour. Could be a lot less if she’s got the required supplies on hand.” He wiped the heel of his boot on the edge of a carpet already ruined by bug innards. Curiously, these creatures didn’t have much in the way of internal organs. They were largely just pulp and blue-green goo.

An hour didn’t seem like much, unless it was filled with fighting blade-armed invaders. Still, Lillian was right, the best protector of Charlotte was Charlotte. We needed to get her powered back up. “Charlotte, with our help, do you think you can last another hour?”

Just as she went to respond, her form flickered again, washing out the words with silence. In the interim, I was surprised to hear Al speak up. “An hour of this should be fine for a construct like her. These things shouldn’t even be the threat they are. It’s surprising she’s hurt by such cosmetic blows. There must be something about those blades designed to make them painful.” Her usually cheerful face crossed, teeth softly chewing on a corner of her lip. “This feels off. Putting together so many magical components would be really expensive. I can’t imagine anyone would work that hard just to cause some panic and annoyance.”

Neither could I, which was a fact that had me worried. Noticing that Lillian was still hunkered down near the open box, I swung my attention back around. If she’d found any sort of clue or hint, we had to know. Whatever was going on, us being in the dark was not going to help Charlotte. “Sniff something else?”

“More magic vibes, more lingering odors, just more.” Lillian pointed to the broken glass on the floor. “I gave that a whiff, and there’s definitely some of it in here, but that’s not all I’m getting. I don’t think we’ve seen all the tricks these things have brought yet.”

Given how effective everything they’d brought had been so far, I was terrified to learn what other hidden cards these bugs might have left to play. Were they intelligent? Was this all their doing? It might seem silly, but living in the parahuman world meant taking as little for granted as possible. I shook off the larger questions of “who” or “how” and focused on what mattered in the moment. We needed to restore Charlotte’s abilities to defend herself, hopefully before our enemies unveiled any new tactics.

My mouth was halfway open, the words telling everyone to spread out formed on my tongue, when we heard the explosions. They came one after another, like a row of ominous dominoes being tipped over. Instantly, the form of Charlotte was gone, though a terrible moan rose up that seemed to shake every board around us. Down the hallway, just at the tip of the stairs, my eyes caught sight of something moving. It was horrible, yet I couldn’t look away. As a vampire, there are very few things that can easily kill us, but one of those elements had just appeared, albeit in an unnatural form.

Green flames raced along the barrier, quickly spreading to the nearby wall. The bugs were no longer our largest concern. Not when Charlotte Manor was burning down.

3

When I felt the pressure around my stomach, I feared some unseen element had approached in our distraction, striking while I was unaware. Looking down revealed I’d been mistaken, though the hand trying to push me back did represent a problem. I planted my feet, refusing Gregor’s attempt at subtly forcing me to evacuate.

Jabbing a finger into my chest, he grunted one word: “Vampire.” With the same hand, he flicked a thumb up, gesturing to the green flames already creeping down the hallway. “Fire.” That established, he once more attempted to push me back, only for me to sidestep the attempt. It was something I knew would require dealing with, but at the moment, all of my focus was on Charlotte.

Smoke was starting to creep along the ceiling. I could hear the crackle of fire burning deeper within the home, yet there was no manifestation present. She’d already been flickering in and out; perhaps trying to contain a fire on top of everything else was simply too much. My mind raced, searching for what we could do to help. Given when Charlotte was constructed, she didn’t have modern conveniences like integrated fire suppression systems. Considering how potent her control was within these walls, it would have been a redundancy anyway . . . except, we’d never considered what could happen if Charlotte lost that control.

While my mind floundered to think of an idea, a colleague had already fully formed a plan. Al stepped purposely away from us, kicking off her shoes in the process. With grand, sweeping motions, her arms raked the air, until it appeared as if she were swirling some sort of wind together between her hands.

“No gumdropping way am I letting this go down. Not even to Charlotte.” Al, who was now floating off the ground, flung her hands forward, and from them came a torrent of clouds. Soft blue clouds with a rainbow shimmer, but clouds all the same. Due to the nature of Al, whose full name was Alstroemeria, there was often a cute, bubbly aesthetic to her magic, which I suspected was part of why she used it so rarely.

This was certainly an exception, and one I was grateful for as the summoned storm began to dump liquid just a touch too pink to be water onto the green flames. The cynic in me knew that it was too easy, so when the flames started to sizzle and shrink without fully vanishing, I was barely even surprised. Someone had mounted an intentional attack on Charlotte Manor. I didn’t imagine they’d cheap out on the magical fire.

Al pushed out a few more clouds before letting her arms fall to the side. “Sourballs.”

Her word choice summed things up nicely. The clouds were buying some time, but at most they were slowing the fire, and only in the sections Al’s magic could reach. Given the number of explosions I’d heard, there was more fire than just what we could see, chewing through Charlotte from unknown positions.

“Time to go.” Gregor stepped in front of me once more, and in my growing frustration and fear, my response grew terse.

“We are not leaving our friend.”

“Your friend is burning down. Our only magic wielder just failed.” Gregor’s thick brow creased in what I suspected was an attempt at consolation. “Accept what is lost, before the flames take even more.”

As a general rule, I tried not to hold Gregor’s brusque nature against him, but at that moment, his words infuriated me. Largely because, as much as I wanted to shout something back, I couldn’t find a reasonable reply. What was I going to do against a burning building? I didn’t have many tricks up my sleeve to start with, none of which were related to fire. I couldn’t just abandon our friend . . . but was getting more people killed any better of an idea? Moments like these were why I suspected leadership roles often went to more decisive people.

My inner debate was ended by the last words I expected to hear from Bubba. “He’s right, Fred. Look at how quick that fire is moving, even fightin’ the rain. The house is lost.” Terrible as that sounded, I knew Bubba Emerson quite well, and that was not the tone he would use to pronounce death on a member of our makeshift family.

“We can’t save the walls, but we can save Charlotte. Gotta grab her travel version, and then locate the core of Charlotte Manor. In there, you’ll find her essence, the thinking center that makes the rest of this place run. If we can get that out and somewhere with enough ambient magic, she can recover.”

It was Lillian who put my own confusion into words, taking Bubba in with new eyes. “Didn’t realize you had such an expertise on these matters.”

“Amy built the travel version while I was around. She likes to talk while she works. I like to listen.” This seemed almost aggressively humble, as I doubted many people could recall the details of Amy’s ramblings on the subject of the arcane, especially when they’d occurred years prior.

In that moment, I had to make a judgement call. Bubba wasn’t our expert in the mystical matters, but he’d just dangled the only tangible thread of hope our situation had. If we tried this plan, it would put everyone at risk. Well, perhaps not Gregor—I wasn’t clear on how gargoyles and fire reacted—but the rest of us were at least somewhat vulnerable to it, if not exceptionally so. Three lives on a gamble that could, maybe, save one. One didn’t need my talent with numbers to see what an awful equation that was.

“Bubba, do you know where the mini-model of Charlotte Manor is?” The item in question was in fact a tiny model of the house in which we stood. It had been constructed to comply with bringing my entire clan to an out-of-town event, and permitted Charlotte a form of being present with us outside the house. We used it rarely, however, as she was by nature a homebody. I had no idea where the item even got stored.

He shook his head. “Last I saw, Amy gave it to Charlotte for safekeepin’.” A very sound decision before the attack, and a deeply worrying one in our situation. If it was tucked away in some corner of the house, there was no telling where, or whether or not it was even possible for us to find it.

Before we entirely lost hope, I heard a distinct sound, a thud coming from one room over. I turned to check the parlor and found a door drifting open. As I looked, it slammed once more, repeating the process for a third and final time before growing still.

“Message received,” I said, hoping she could hear my words. It seemed like Charlotte was still with us, and trying to help at that. That sealed it: if she was still fighting to survive, then there was no way we were giving up. But as the leader of my clan, I couldn’t play a game of trading lives.

Facing the others, I put on my best expression of competence, the kind I wore before exceptionally important meetings. “Bubba, you go get Amy as fast as possible. We don’t know if extra mojo is needed to transport Charlotte, and I’d really rather not find out too late. Al, can you and Lillian make a run to Clover Enchanting and ask for Ainsley or Zane? Tell them Fred sent you. They’re some of the most talented enchanters in the country—maybe they can use something to buy us more time.”

“Leaving you to deal with the armed insects and fast-moving fire,” Lillian countered.

“Poor decision,” Gregor agreed. “Strength of a clan comes from their leader. Protect their safety to protect the greater unit as a whole. Lesser members can be lost with lower consequences.” As if that weren’t enough, he actually stepped in front of me, trying to move me back toward the exit once more.

Because some habits refuse to die, I sucked in a deep, calming breath. Since gaining Gregor as a bodyguard, I’d worked hard to adapt, accepting that some of his practices were for the best overall. Being safety-minded wasn’t a bad thing, nor was letting someone more physically durable than me function as a willing shield. But there were also matters like this that we’d butted up against, points where his philosophy of protection clashed against my own sensibilities. I’d hoped it was something we could work through slowly over time, building a sense of mutual understanding; however it seemed someone out there had decided to push my hand.

“Gregor, listen to me very carefully. My life is not worth more than that of my friends, and more importantly, it is my life. I wasted my first one on cowardice and isolation. How I live this one is up to me. Which means I can risk my safety to save Charlotte if I good and well please.”

Although it might have been my imagination, I thought there was a flicker of annoyance on Gregor’s stoic face. “That is . . . unwise. Your loss represents a greater loss to your clan.”

“Because I’m your charge?”

“Because you are their center,” Gregor said, almost snappily. “All treaties of the clan are connected to you. The Blood Council’s diplomacy efforts are tied to you. You are the leader of your people; your health is theirs, your strength is theirs, your loss is theirs.”

That point was harder to argue with, especially as I noticed neither Bubba, Lillian, nor Al meeting my eyes. Was this the way most parahumans saw leadership? It was something I would have to delve deeper into when time permitted. I needed to know what my people expected of me to do the job well, but this wasn’t the moment for discussing the various philosophies of leadership. Every moment we wasted on debate only shrank our chances of success.

“Maybe you’re right,” I admitted. “This might not be the smart move. But Charlotte has always been here for us when we needed her. She protected us, fed us, cared for us, and now she’s the one who needs help. Charlotte Manor is a member of my clan, and I will not abandon her when there’s still hope. I get that it’s dangerous and strategically unsound, but the only way I know how to lead is by being there when my people need me. Being my bodyguard means you either have to work with that, or tell Gideon you aren’t right for the job.”

I didn’t intend for the last words to hit as hard as they did; it was more meant to express openness toward letting Gregor leave his role if my terms were untenable. In hindsight, though, it’s no surprise why the gargoyle had such a reaction, by Gregor standards. His eyes grew wide, his nose twitched, and he actually took a minor step back. The idea of failing Gideon, of choosing to decline a personally given assignment, was almost painful to him, and I’d just seen a wince.

“You would cast me out?”

“I . . .” My words started to form, then halted. I was about to dismiss the idea entirely, but then, what if Gregor kept trying to stop me? What if he actually put that strength of his to work and dragged me away? Reconsidering my approach, I started once more. “I really don’t want to, Gregor. In ten seconds, I’m going through that door with the hope of saving Charlotte. If you want to come, I welcome the help. If you can’t abide my choice or the danger, that’s fine. Wait out here. And if you’re thinking of stopping me, then please do us both a favor and leave now. I’d prefer to part on pleasant terms.”

After a long stare, even by his stony standards, Gregor inched his head forward. “I will not fail my king. I was placed into your service. Therefore, I shall serve.”

All in all, our little debate had taken perhaps two minutes, and yet in that time, the ceiling was already growing harder to see and the smoke had continued to build. Worse, I noticed that Al’s clouds were thinning, meaning that soon, the fire would be back to full speed.

“Everyone, you know what to do. Move like there’s fire on your heels, because for one of us, there is.” Order given, I dashed through the door Charlotte had slammed, all too aware of Gregor’s thundering form directly behind me.

4

I made it all of five steps before Gregor grabbed my shoulder and yanked me back. An admonishment withered on my tongue as a decorative vase set on an end table nearby was sliced neatly in half. From above, one of the bladed bugs dropped, scythe-arms extended to strike as much as possible. The terrifying entrance was cut short as Gregor grabbed hold of the thing’s midsection and threw it against a wall. There was a distinctive crunching sound and blue-green goo sprayed up to the ceiling. As the body dropped, Gregor whirled on me.

“Do not let haste lessen your judgement. I agreed to follow. Make proper use of my protection.”

The remains of a murderous giant insect sliding slowly down the wall were testament to Gregor being correct. I’d gotten so caught up in the fire that the original threat had momentarily slipped my mind. This attack seemed purposely made for harming Charlotte, but there was nothing to stop the rest of us from being collateral damage.

“Thank you,” I said. More important than that, I waited as Gregor looked down the hallway, not moving until he restarted our advance. With Charlotte’s timber burning, there was no time for repeated mistakes.

We resumed our trek down the hall, soon spotting another door swinging without cause. It led into a spare bedroom, one of Charlotte’s unoccupied spaces waiting for a resident. I feared we’d taken a wrong turn until the next door banged, leading us into a shared bathroom that featured another swinging door, this one leading to a new, narrower hall. Curiously, despite having resided in Charlotte Manor for several years, this was an area I’d never encountered before.

The tighter corridor forced us to slow down, as a bug ambush could be much more effective when we had such limited room to maneuver. Gregor could probably bash holes in the walls if needed, but at this point, there was no telling how much more damage Charlotte would be able to withstand. If he accidentally broke something load-bearing, we could have several stories of blazing building come down on our head.

Creeping slowly along, I noticed something novel along the wall: pictures. Most were drawings, some clearly from children, others done by skilled adult hands. There was even a rogue photograph, or at least some predecessor to modern photography. Everything in this hall was old. Even the air tasted stale. Had this place always been present, simply sealed off from the rest of us?

Occasionally, we would pass by a door, yet none of them so much as wiggled. Each was stock still and silent, forcing us to walk on. The end of the hall loomed in sight, a dead end with an ornate painting hung center on the wall. My eyes were drawn to the art, a portrait of over a dozen people standing in front of a familiar building. We were nearly to it when something else caught my eye, a familiar face smiling at me from the darkness.

There, hung along the older drawings and photos, was a picture of Krystal. Peering down, eyes partly amused, huge bite of cake halfway to her grinning mouth. It was a candid photo from a birthday party some years back, and not the only one. Next to it on the left was a picture of Arch and Albert, lost in discussion about some unknown topic, and on the right, Amy and Bubba were captured mixing some strange concoction on the bar. As I scanned, more familiar faces came into view, my own among them.

I’d never asked why Charlotte wanted a printer that could spit out quality photographs. When the upgrade happened, I’d taken it to be merely part of her overall modernization, like adding internet and using computers. It hadn’t occurred to me, even for a moment, that she might be trying to preserve a piece of us, to hold on to her guests long after they’d gone. But the hall I’d walked down to reach this point told the tale too clearly to miss. A hidden place to remember, perhaps mourn, all of those who’d come before; something to cling to when she was alone once more.

With a few more final steps, we reached the large portrait at the end of the hall. Stepping closer, I squinted at the details, muddily rendered as they were. The home was undeniably Charlotte Manor, missing a few design bells and whistles, but her all the same. As for the people in front, they wore simple clothing, mostly dresses and overalls, though several carried staffs with them. Mages, living on the fringes of society, trying to craft a fortress able to withstand any attack. It was futile, in the end. They stepped up to someone too strong, and Charlotte was left with empty halls decorated by scraps of memories.

The clicking noise caused me to jump; I expected to see more of the bugs come bursting out. It took a few seconds for me to realize that the sound was emanating from behind the painting. Unseen gears were turning as mechanisms engaged, until a muffled clack rang down the hallway. Drifting softly backward, the “dead end” wall shifted to reveal a set of stairs leading down to a basement. In that moment, I was treated to two sights, each conjuring feelings of similar intensity, yet on opposite sides of the emotional spectrum.

My positive sight was sitting on a small table near the bottom of the stairs: Charlotte’s travel model. The tiny version of the house was resting in plain view. I’d have it in moments. Unfortunately, I was slightly slowed by the second sight: flames and smoke sizzling atop the ceiling. Wherever this basement was in the manor, the flooring that composed its roof had already caught flame. Searing embers drifted down from overhead, several of them landing near the model of Charlotte. Realizing the danger, my feet were moving before my brain could catch up.

Gregor, on the other hand, had evidently already taken a moment to process everything, because he was ready to snag me by the arm as soon I shifted. With a heavy glare, he stared me down, not bothering to reiterate his earlier point.

“We need to move! If that thing catches fire, Charlotte is done.”

“Yes. Makes an excellent trap.” With a nod, he tilted his head to a far corner of the ceiling, where I could just make out a hole that had been roughly chopped through the wood. At our angle, there was plenty of the room impossible to see. The sort of areas where deadly invaders could easily lie in wait to spring when an over-eager vampire came rushing into view.

“What do we do then?”

Moving both of us back a few inches, Gregor tapped me on the chest. “Spring it with a stone inside. Be ready to catch.”

That was all the warning I got before Gregor went charging for the model of Charlotte, leaping directly off the stairs and landing so hard it almost seemed to shake the walls around us. I also noted the telltale splat on impact, meaning he’d been right about the trap. Which begged the question: how did these creatures know what we were after? None of them had shown any signs of intelligence, but this felt like one hell of a coincidence to ignore.

My contemplation was cut short as Gregor stepped back into view, flinging a blade-bug off his back and his now-shredded coat. Another bug dove at him, appearing in my field of vision like a face-seeking missile with my bodyguard as its target. Instead of reaching his skull, the bug was met by one of Gregor’s fists—a collision that did not end well for the ambitious invader. Momentarily clear, Gregor hurried forward at his top speed, which wasn’t especially quick even by human standards.

It was fast enough, though. Gregor reached the model as I saw three more bugs step into my line of sight. I barely had time to wonder how he’d fight with the mini-Charlotte in his hands before the wooden structure was airborne. Only then did his warning—“be ready to catch”—snap into place.

In life, I was unathletic to the point of near comedy; however, undeath has its perks. Thanks to enhanced speed, I was able to get under the model in time, catching it gently in both hands to cushion the fall as much as possible. The moment it hit my palms, a flash of light caught my eye. At the far left of the basement, glowing lines were weaving along the stone wall, forming an archway of arcane symbols. Since I’d yet to see the bugs cast a spell, odds were strong it was more help from Charlotte. Getting her traveling body was only part of it, the case to carry around her essence—exactly the sort of thing that would most likely be behind a magical door in a hidden basement.

While I was tempted to go rushing off, Gregor’s most recent lesson was fresh in my mind, especially since he was still dealing with the last of the bug-trio that had attacked him. Horrible as it felt to stand there, watching the ceiling overhead burn, I waited as he wrapped up the fight, finally catching the last bug underfoot and crushing it down the midsection. Gregor looked over, and I thought I saw a flicker of surprise in those stalwart eyes as he noted me still waiting per instructions. Giving me a wave, Gregor started for the glowing archway. While I was significantly faster, he did have quite the head start. That was why, when the beam came down, I was out of range.

There was no warning to it, no loud snaps or creaks, just a sudden cacophony of noise as a huge, flaming beam of wood came crashing down. For a terrible moment, they were both there, frozen in my vision. Gregor, eyes half-raised in surprise, and the huge, fiery beam plummeting down. Then my eyes were shut, on reflex more than anything. Surly as he could be, I counted Gregor as at least an ally, if not a friend. No part of me wanted to see him crushed by kindling.

When I forced my lids apart, however, that was not the sight awaiting me. Somehow, Gregor had gotten his arms up in time and had caught hold of the beam, hands gripped into the burning wood as he held the monstrosity high overhead. Of course, more than just the beam was coming down now— much of the structure it had supported was tumbling onto the heap. I waited for Gregor to toss his burden aside, only to realize that he wasn’t moving.

A quick scan of the area told me why. With the ceiling partially collapsed, flaming debris was drifting down all over that area. Our only clear path left to the archway was the one Gregor was manually holding in place. Snapping to the realization, I hurried over, half-expecting him to stop me as I hunkered down to crawl under the immensely heavy burden suspended in his arms. Looking him over, Gregor didn’t seem to be either in pain or discomfort, not that I had much faith in him to show it if such were the case. I wasted no time, hurrying through to the other side so his task could be done. Once through, I popped up, ready to help however he needed to set the beam down.

Instead, I was treated to a stiff shake of the head. “You’ll need to get back out. Have to keep the exit open.”

Already, I could see the fire working its way down his arms, searing away his clothes to reveal the skin beneath. While some of it was the same shade as Gregor’s face, other patches were a dark gray, expanding its territory before my eyes. “Can you do that? Safely, I mean?”

“I am of the Slate-Claw clan, on a task handed down by the Great King himself.” Kicking a leg down, Gregor planted himself more solidly, utterly ignoring the fire working its way closer to his face. “I would never shame my clan by dying with a job unfinished.”

Groans were coming from the ceiling. Standing around debating wouldn’t help anyone. There was nothing else to do. Gregor said he could handle it, so my only choice was to trust him. Not just for his own sake, but for mine and Charlotte’s as well.

Touching a hand to the stone between the glowing archway, I watched as the rock crumbled away to dust, revealing what seemed to be total darkness waiting beyond. That was especially disconcerting as someone who could usually see despite a lack of light. I needed no extra encouragement, however, as the heat on my back was already plenty of motivation.

Holding the model of Charlotte Manor close, I stepped forward, plunging into the darkness.

5

Whatever mystical barrier the shadow represented, it felt akin to walking through a patch of cold air on a hot summer’s day, or as close to that sensation as I could recall. After just a few years sans sunlight, those memories were growing fuzzy. I imagined that for the longer-lived vampires, such recollections had long been lost entirely.

It took only a second to cross through, but when I made it to the other side, my feet came to a sudden halt. Part of me wondered if the darkness had been some sort of teleportation magic, like Amy’s mentor, Cyndi, had utilized. Of course, had that been the case, then Charlotte wouldn’t have been in trouble, her essence safely elsewhere from the burning building. Still, the mistake was understandable, given how tremendously different my surroundings had become.

Gone were the dated wallpapers and simple architecture; it was as though I’d stepped into a cave made of brass. Smooth metallic walls curved and bowed, forcing anyone entering to follow a gentle leftward curve, blending perfectly into the floor and ceiling. It was beautiful and befuddling all at once. I wasn’t quite sure what Charlotte’s core chamber would look like, yet with a dozen days to do nothing but guess, I never would have imagined a design so . . . organic.

Taking a tentative step forward, too aware of the ticking clock burning above us, I noticed there was a soft light being cast by the metal, one that brightened and dimmed in semi-regular intervals. Forcing myself to continue moving, Charlotte’s travel container tucked carefully under my arm, I kept watching the cycle of the light, trying to discern what it meant. Was it some sort of clue I’d need to reach the center, or merely a magical version of Charlotte’s pulse? I would have loved a bit of guidance; unfortunately, the only one who could give it seemed to have lost her voice.

At least, that was my assumption until I was just about to move around the first major curve in the path. Weakly, so soft human ears might not have been able to hear, I picked up a single word that seemed to whisper from all directions around me.

“Duck.”

My body was hunkered low in an instant—listening to warnings about danger was one of my most well-developed non-accounting skills. A flash of new, far brighter light surged through the air, cleaving the area roughly where my shoulders would have been. It appeared perfectly harmless, but I suspected that was only because nothing choppable had been in the space. If not that for the warning, I might be getting a very personal lesson in precisely where a vampire needed to be cut in order for it to count as decapitation.

“Charlotte?” I kept my voice low, though I had no expectations of being followed. Any bug trying to skitter in would have to get past Gregor, and thus far, they’d been easily distractible. It was more something about this place, a gravitas that demanded shushed tones. “Are you here?”

No direct response, but I was sure the pulse along the walls grew brighter for a moment. Hopefully, that was a yes; just the “yes” of someone conserving their strength. Because if this place had one trap, there would certainly be more. I had to trust Charlotte could squeeze out enough syllables to guide me before her strength or our time ran out.

Creeping along, I balanced the need for expediency against the possibility of being sliced in twain with every step, taking a brisk yet cautious pace. The brass enclosure continued to circle; the whole thing was shaping up to be a huge spiral with occasional branching chambers. None of them appeared to lead anywhere, but I checked each one briefly to be sure. It wouldn’t do to miss Charlotte’s essence because I’d made faulty assumptions about her design.

The next warning came five steps after one such chamber, well before the next turn would block my line of sight. I barely had time to register the words “Left wall” and hug the brass surface before a half-dozen streaks of the extra-bright light tore through the air once more. They flashed continually as I worked my way slowly past, letting me see that this wall of presumed destruction occupied almost the entire passage, save only for my small area of safety. Anyone trying to walk ahead without proper warning would essentially be diving into a mystical wood chipper.

At last, it seemed as though I was fully past, not that I didn’t swing my head in every direction, searching for errant light streaks that might be waiting to take me by surprise. Mid-scan, my eyes thought they captured a flicker of movement back in the direction I’d come; however, when I looked again, there was nothing. Inept as I was by vampire standards, my senses were still well above a human’s capabilities, so I didn’t dismiss it immediately as a mistake. Instead, I leaned on another vampire sense: our outstanding hearing. Letting my selective attention drop, I focused on every sound in proximity, straining my ears for the slightest giveaway. A pursuer didn’t even need to cough or drop some heavy object—the movement of their blood and shifting of their bones would be all I needed.

It was in that moment I realized something that had eluded me: all the sounds outside this brass enclosure were gone. No flames, no creaking wood as it gave way. Something about this place was cutting me off from the outside world. My best guess was that it was either part of the protective enchantments, or this brassy, glowing material nullified sonic vibrations. Either way, after a half-minute of standing in total silence, I had to accept that I’d been mistaken, probably confused by the sheer volume of bright flashes forming the midair barrier.

Resuming my trek, I noticed the confines of the enclosure getting tighter. It was narrowing down as I neared the center, which made me quite worried about where I’d dodge to when the next trap sprang. It felt like a long stretch of time, walking through the constantly closer corridors, but in truth, it was probably no more than a few highly stressful minutes.

At last, after the tightest corner yet, I saw the space open up once more. Before me was a long, straight stretch of hall, the first non-curved area I’d found since entering. On the opposite side was a series of interlocking semicircles I suspected would open into a door. From appearances, it seemed as though I had to do nothing more than walk all the way through.

The walls around me were still gently pulsing with light, just as they had been prior, but this time, I got to see an extra effect. Each time the glow intensified, flashing streaks cut through the air of the hallway, fading when the walls dimmed once more. Even with vampire speed, there was zero chance I’d be able to cross that much space in seconds. I’d be lucky to get halfway. Worse, so far as I could see, there were no clear gaps like with the last barrier. The streaks appeared seemingly at random, with widespread coverage.

“Red light, green light.”

Not quite as obvious or helpful as Charlotte’s prior hints, especially considering that so far as my eyes could discern, all the light was of a borderline-fluorescent variety, no color to speak of. The only other interpretation I could reach was taking it as a reference to the children’s game. Much as my brain initially tried to dismiss it as silly, I’d dealt with enough magic to know that such factors were irrelevant. A game made as much sense as a lock, especially if no one would be expecting it.

Unwilling to entirely trust my guess without some solid proof first, I held out my left hand, waiting until the glow was dim. Guessing at the precise spacing, my left pinky entered the hallway, then came to a halt as I watched the walls brightening again. Flashes filled the air, one of them distinctly slicing through not only my pinky, but also my left palm. It seemed I’d been off in my spacing estimations.

What wasn’t wrong, however, was my interpretation of Charlotte’s hint. Despite the flash that clearly hit my hand, there was no pain or injury. When it faded a moment later, I flexed my hand, finding everything in perfect working order. That was as sound a test as I could hope for, and with time against me, there was no chance for dawdling. Keeping an eye keenly trained on the pulse of the walls, I stepped fully into the hallway, taking several steps before forcing myself to freeze in place.

It took until my second full-body stop to make a mistake, albeit a minor one. When the light blades spun up, I saw the one embedded in my arm, stomach, and neck, but due to a poor angle, missed the one on my heel. I made a minor footing adjustment and instantly felt the pain as my flesh was carved away. If I’d had any doubt on whether or not the defenses were just for show, the searing made it clear just how real they were.

Luckily, this was a trap more suited to stop the living than the undead. Those who are alive have trouble entirely ceasing their movements. Between the need to breathe and their general tendency to fidget, most would have accumulated countless small cuts before the halfway point, even if they knew the trick. My heel was almost entirely repaired by the end thanks to vampiric regeneration, a talent only so many parahumans would be able to match.

Finally, I laid my hand upon the door of semicircles, freezing instantly afterward as the walls brightened once more. That left me in the awkward position of touching the door as it parted, each circle folding into a slightly larger one adjacent, until I was standing there with my hands gripping only air. When the glow dimmed, I hurried through, stepping into a perfectly circular chamber.

This place absolutely thrummed with magic. I could feel it in my teeth like strong bass from an over-powered speaker. Arcane symbols were drawn in spirals all around the walls, connecting and joining together into one nexus point at the center. From that point jutted a giant crystal, also covered in arcane etchings. Light moved through the depths of crystal like a shimmering ocean, intensity rising and falling, sending out a wave of illumination that raced through the arcane spirals before joining with the very material of the walls. I’d just found the source of the pulse. Now, I had to figure out what part of all this was Charlotte’s essence.

“I can’t believe you made it down here.”

Spinning around, I found myself facing Charlotte, the form of her in an overly elaborate dress, the one I thought of as her default. It was curious, matching my mental image of Charlotte while standing next to what could be considered her true form. Cognitive dissonance could wait, though. There were more important matters to deal with.

“It wasn’t my easiest trip around the house,” I admitted.

She smiled grimly at that. “Sorry. Turning off my defenses is never easy, by design, and right now, I’m putting all the energy I can get out into keeping my walls standing. Even that is failing, I’m losing my connection to the house as it burns. Normal fire is bad enough, and this stuff is augmented. Between the potion weakening me, then fighting the bugs, and now suppressing the fire, I’m pretty drained.”

“Then let’s not waste our opportunity.” Lifting the travel box, I jiggled it around as if she couldn’t see. “Al said you could survive in here.”

“For a short time. The magics that make me are complex. I’d need something much more powerful and fortified to be stable.” Her eyes lingered on the giant crystal, which I presumed to be her current home.

It was an issue, admittedly, but not one that had to be solved in the moment. “Let’s get you out, and then find a suitable replacement. Our clan has Amy, I have a strong relationship with two of the most talented enchanters of their generation, and if push comes to shove, there are entities I can ask a favor from. We’ll find a way to keep you safe.”

“I believe you, Fred. I believe you’d find a way, though it wouldn’t be worth the cost. I just . . . I don’t know.” Her form curled in slightly, and I realized that for all we’d been through, this was the first time since we’d met that I’d seen Charlotte afraid. “I’m an old house, set in her ways. I don’t know what it would be like to have another form. This place is me, my body. The idea of being jammed into a new one, of not really being me anymore . . . I’m not sure it’s worth all the trouble I’d cause you.”

“Charlotte, that is absolute—GAH!”

My words were cut off, along with a significant section of my right calf as something suddenly sliced me from behind. Tripping forward, I twisted to find myself staring at one of the blade-bugs, dark blood clinging to its foremost scythe.

Except, as I looked it over, I realized this wasn’t just one of the bugs. This one was different. It had its own arcane symbols painted on the stomach and shell, along with a few on the legs. More eye-catching was the gleaming-red gem stuck directly in the center of its forehead, yet all of that paled in comparison to what came out of its mouth.

“Oh, Fred. I’ll never stop enjoying that look of shocked terror in your eyes. Until I eventually cut them out.”

The voice of my sire, Quinn.

6

Dozens of questions crammed into my mouth, like passengers on an over-crowded subway, but most never made it to the tongue. While I couldn’t figure out all the details of how this was possible, some of them were easy to deduce. Quinn had a background in magic. Even if he couldn’t cast, I’d seen him use enchanted objects multiple times, so getting his hands on augmented fire wasn’t much of a stretch. Presumably, the gem was either some sort of control mechanism or he’d transformed himself into one of these creatures—my gut heavily favored the first option. Quinn was never one to take a needless risk, especially when he had pawns at hand.

There were other issues I didn’t understand like what these creatures were, or how he’d known to coordinate an attack, but these were largely logistical. In the end, the ambitious question that finally forced its way to freedom had nothing to do with the “how” of it all.

“Why are you attacking Charlotte?”

“Why am I tearing down the magical fortress that makes you so difficult to reach? I wonder, what could possibly motivate such an action from someone who enjoys making you suffer?” Perhaps to illustrate the point, Quinn swung two of his scythe-arms down toward my feet. Even wounded, I had more than enough time to dodge aside, the blades crashing down on Charlotte’s brasslike floor instead. Given how slowly he’d moved, it was clear Quinn hadn’t really been trying—no great surprise. He loved to gloat and revel. There was little chance he’d make victory quick. But there was one fascinating thing that caught my eye as I observed the attack.

Around us, I was certain the arcane symbols were growing brighter. Not too quickly, it was a slow, steady transition. What it signified, I had no idea; however, it seemed prudent to keep track of as many factors as possible, especially with the building burning down over our heads.

I rose to my feet as best as possible, my right leg almost healed enough to hold weight. “That is . . . a sound reason, strategically. From anyone else, I’d probably believe it. But I know better. Charlotte wasn’t the one who drove you out of Winslow and kept you from coming back—we didn’t even know her then. She isn’t the creation you love to torment or the agent that sent you running scared.”

Somehow, across whatever magical medium was in use, Quinn managed to convey a fraction of his hatred through the bug’s twisted features. Seeing an insect attempt to glower was keenly disturbing, even by my elevated parahuman standards.

“Fine. I’m doing this because someone rudely refused my wedding present.” Quinn’s blades swept toward me again, not quite as slowly as before. I was still able to hop away, but the space was shrinking, even as he brought them around for another blow. “Really, Fred, re-gifting my bomb to your little pet human was rude enough, then to not even let her keep it . . .”

Another swing, getting closer. Shifting my view, I caught more of the symbols along the walls, further confirming that they were indeed getting brighter. What that meant, where Charlotte’s manifested form had vanished to, and how I was going to transfer her while being attacked were all pressing questions that certainly needed answers. Unfortunately, I was too focused on dodging for my life to give them the contemplation they demanded.

More disturbing than the blades seeking my flesh were the words hitting my ears. He knew about Asha? We’d registered her as a vampire with the Blood Council, but outside of that organization and the people of Boarback, it hadn’t exactly been shouted from the rooftops. Him keeping tabs on us would certainly explain how he’d known to time this attack, and his prior bombing of my car, while opening up a lot of worrying notions on just how he was getting his information.

“You want to know why, my failed creation? Pettiness, pure and simple. I’m sick of you always coming out unscathed in our little altercations.” This time, Quinn’s blades were too fast, slicing off a small chunk of my hip. There was no way this creature should be able to outpace a vampire, but the enclosed space combined with his multitude of enchantments were making up the difference and then some. “It’s time for you to learn the cost of agitating your betters. I tried to leave it up to fate with the bomb, yet you insist on refusing to take one simple loss. So instead, I’ve decided to strip away your most valuable tool, one that isn’t merely protected, but is the source of protection you all count on.”

With a sudden burst of speed, the bug surged forward, swinging hard. Just in time, I realized it wasn’t aiming for me, specifically, and swung the model of Charlotte Manor out of reach. In return, I got a slash across my ribs and some insect-like chittering from Quinn. “Excellent. Keep struggling, Fred. I want you to try your very hardest, give it everything you’ve got. That way, when this thing dies, you’ll understand there is no one I can’t take from you, regardless of how you might fight. Not even your fortress itself is safe.”

More than once, it had occurred to me that Quinn might have modeled his life on those of Bond villains, all the way down to the monologuing. Unfortunately, his spiels only ever dove into his motivations. The man was still too smart to give useful details about how he was pulling this off. What the words did buy was time, however, and as I watched the continual brightening of the symbols all around me, I suspected the clock was some sort of factor. With no way to tell what Charlotte was up to, I was just going to have to survive until she pulled it off.

If Quinn’s insect eyes could discern the brightening difference, it held no interest for him, not when he had me to keep swinging at. Faster came the scythes, one after another, sometimes aiming for Charlotte, while other swings were meant for me. There was no question about it: Quinn was toying with us, maybe hoping the house would fully fall and my way out would be blocked. That didn’t seem quite right, though. This wasn’t about killing me; he couldn’t have been sure I’d go running in, or that I’d make it this far.

Besides, based on my history with Quinn, when he wanted my head, he’d come for it in person. That didn’t mean he wasn’t happy to see me squirm—a point driven home as blades cut through the meat of my left thigh. Fast as I was healing, he was dealing too much damage too quickly, and I toppled backward as my balance gave out. Twisting my body when I fell, I formed a shield of myself around the model, dearly hoping my hunch that he’d kill me in person held true. Otherwise, he’d skewer right through my heart and get Charlotte’s escape option in the process.

With a savage chirp, Quinn leapt into the air, coming down toward me with all four blades extended. Too late, I remembered just how much a vampire could survive, so long as they kept their head and heart intact. Presuming he aimed carefully, I represented nothing more than a slight slowing of his blades. My struggles to move away were futile; he was coming down right on me.

Until a sharp brass spike shot up from the ground, impaling the backend of the bug, striking it in a weak joint on the armor where its legs connected. The blow wasn’t enough to kill it, but suddenly, Quinn was stuck in place, scythes slicing the air uselessly as I dragged myself away. When that failed, he turned to the room around us, barely recognizable with the intensity of the light blazing out of every arcane symbol.

“Thanks for the save, Charlotte.” I tried to get to my feet and found myself wobbly. With so much to heal, recovery was slow-going, and at this rate I’d need more blood soon.

“It was partially self-preservation, anyway.” No form this time, her voice came from all around, much louder than before. “Sorry it took so long. Moving the material in here requires a tremendous amount of effort. I needed to gather my strength.”

Laughter rang out, inhuman as chirps and screeches burst in along the usual sounds of mirth. It was never a good sign when Quinn was that delighted, doubly so when he should be mad at losing. “I must say, Fred, in all the ways you’ve been a tremendous disappointment, you are certainly a vampire. The way you feed off the lives and strength of your followers, taking so much more than simply their blood—it’s absolutely inspiring. If only you could see the way she’s burning now, sacrificing herself to pointlessly buy you time.”

My eyes roved for her face, a pointless search, but I wanted to look her in the eyes all the same. “Charlotte? What’s going on?”

“I pulled in all of the me that was spreading throughout the house and halls, then brought it here. Without me working against the fire, it’s raging harder now. There won’t be anything but ash and debris.” While the sadness in her voice was unmistakable, it also wasn’t the only emotion present. There was also anger, and focus, nothing like the uncertain voice I’d first encountered down here. “Don’t let this bastard make you feel bad for it, either. This had to happen if I was going to use the model, and even if it didn’t, I’d have no regrets. I am a home, first and foremost. A home keeps the people inside safe.”

Slowly, the laughter died down, drawing my attention back to Quinn. “Such a lovely sentiment, but it only matters if that little vessel can be used.” Reaching around, Quinn whipped one of the scythe-arms down, cutting into the back of his bug’s body. The slice ran from his rear to where the brass spike had him impaled, and with a disgusting squelch-noise, Quinn pulled himself free. “To do that, you’ll have to beat me, and I’ve made sure all your little helpers are out of the way. Without magical support, the building is too engulfed in flames for any therian or vampire to enter. Your mage is on a call, your spare agent is on assignment, taking your former flunky with them—even that pain-in-the-ass wife of yours is stuck on a job.”

I’d hoped the wound would slow Quinn down. Instead, he was even faster, evidently done with holding back. The bug was a streak across the glowing symbols scattered along the ground, closing the gap between us near instantly and taking me down with a slash to the ankles. It was overhead in moments, two of its four arms stabbing through my shoulders, pinning me to the floor. The other pair lifted higher, as if they’d need momentum for the next blow to come.

“See what I mean, Fred? Your house traded its best chance at holding on until help arrived to buy you a few more seconds. Trading life for life, feeding its vampire master. Pointless, stupid loyalty that changes nothing. I’m still going to destroy this place, and while I don’t feel done playing with you entirely, I do think it’s time to even up our personal score. Unlike my wound, your arms will eventually regenerate, though the process is very unpleasant. Use that time to think about how, in the end, you were unable to do anything, to save anyone. Not even yourself.”

The scythes were suddenly streaking down, and I braced myself for a surge of pain in my limbs, closing my eyes on instinct. When the pain didn’t arrive, I popped them open, jaw quickly falling open in shock. Between Quinn and me, it would have been difficult to say who was more flabbergasted. His murderous blades hung there, less than a foot from my arms, both halted entirely by a pair of hands holding them delicately in place.

“That’s the thing about having friends, you don’t have to do it all on your own. Sometimes, you just need to stall long enough for help to arrive.” In a flash of movement, Quinn was lifted off me and hurled against the far wall, hitting with a wet splat, but holding together. As he worked to right himself, my defender stepped pointedly between us, not even bothering to kick off her heels.

Still clad in a suit from her latest appointment, Asha Patel met the bug’s vicious glare with a dangerous smile all her own. “Come on, Vampa. Let’s see how you stack up to your reputation.”

7

“Vampa . . . sire of my sire. That would make you the esteemed Asha, newest member to the ranks of the undead.” For someone who’d just been tossed around like a toy, Quinn didn’t seem too put out. His bug body gave a small shake, and I noticed a few of the glyphs along his shell flash. Those enchantments had been enough to let him tail a vampire and go unheard; there was little chance whatever he was activating would be anything good for us. “At least you’re not too squeamish to properly fight back.”

Asha didn’t back up a single step as Quinn advanced, though she did alter her balance slightly. Truth be told, I had little idea what Asha was capable of in combat. Lillian had been the one conducting most of her vampiric initiation, as Lillian had far more experience and skill in the field than I, but that meant I’d not yet had occasion to see Asha test herself. Given what little I did know, however, there was minimal need for concern. Augmented or not, no bug was standing up to the blood powering Asha.

“Happy to inform you, Fred and I are quite different people. He didn’t turn another accountant, after all.” Asha advanced on Quinn, fangs flashing as she widened her smile. “He turned a lawyer.”

That was all the warning she gave before her arm lashed out, nearly clipping Quinn’s head. Fast as the motion was, it was also unrefined—something she clearly wasn’t accustomed to. Small errors left room for him to dodge, swinging back at her with three of his four arms, all of them failing to connect as she slipped away by mere inches.

“Psst. Fred. Bring the model over.” Charlotte’s voice was a whisper on the edge of my ear. Between the distraction of combat and lacking a vampire’s hearing, it seemed Quinn hadn’t noticed the instructions. Moving as discreetly as possible, my feet shuffled their way along the metallic flooring, inching ever closer to the thrumming crystal stalagmite.

A sharp contrast to my plodding pace, Asha and Quinn were darting around each other—one with an advantage of speed, the other holding the upper hand in experience, neither able to surmount the other’s defense. They kept circling while I searched the gleaming crystal for a place to attach the model house, before ultimately setting it directly on top.

No sooner was contact made than the small model seemed to snap in place, tendrils of golden-and-white light snaking up like shimmering vines winding their way through the mini-Charlotte Manor. The display at least told me that I was on the right track. Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only one who took notice.

“Look at that, you two are using teamwork to distract me. A weakling’s strategy. No surprise to see you wielding it.” He started over, but Asha was already in his path, firmly blocking the way.

“Funny to get that from you,” she shot back. “As I hear it told, you can’t do anything without your little pawns and helpers. Big bad Quinn the vampire, running his mouth about cowardice when he’s too scared to get his own hand dirty. You didn’t even have the stones to kill me in person, and I was just a human.”

When no immediate reply came, I knew she’d hit a nerve. Quinn was rarely one to choose silence if taunting was an option. The loud snap of his shell splitting open nearly made me jump back. Quinn was changing. Several of the glyphs along his body flashed and then shattered, releasing waves of light and energy along with them. His spindly legs grew thick, the joints sharp. His expanding torso was segmented and long, each scythe-arm now as large as the namesake farming tool, and in the center of its face a cavernous maw opened, dozens of teeth lining every angle inside.

Neither Asha nor I made a move during the horrific transformation; we needed the time as much as Quinn. I could see the energy of the crystal shifting more and more to the handheld home, but it wasn’t done yet. Until Charlotte was fully moved, we had to keep Quinn at bay.

“It occurs to me that I came here to take one of Fred’s people away. The fortress was a nice start, but losing your first successful turn . . . that’s a special kind of pain.” Quinn’s voice remained unchanged, probably because he was using the gem rather than the bug’s body to speak, though that wasn’t especially comforting. He’d started off letting words drip with murderous hate, and that sentiment had only grown stronger through the fight.

Towering over us now, pressing against the chamber’s ceiling, Quinn raised two of his tremendous blades and took obvious aim for Asha. I started forward, sure that I could distract if nothing else, but halted when I noticed her waving me off. She still felt in control of things, and ludicrous as that seemed from the outside, Asha was not someone prone to hubris. If she wanted space to work, then there was some kind of plan in mind.

That was what I thought, right up until Quinn swung. No sudden dodge, no new ability manifested. Asha just stood there as the blades made a direct path for her neck. While I didn’t close my eyes this time, I did lose track of the movements. They were both well past human limits, and verging on the edge of what I could entirely follow. All I knew was that, when everything came to a stop, Asha was once again holding two of Quinn’s scythes.

More specifically, she was gripping the ones he’d swung at her, holding them by the blades, unbothered by the sharpness that should have been cutting her skin. “Saving another form until we thought we knew what you were capable of, holding back for a second wave—smart. It’s always wise to have a few cards to play. But you’re not the only one who knows that trick.”

With a shove, Asha sent both arms flying away, slamming into the walls so hard that small fractures ran through each of the scythes. Before Quinn could react, Asha had crossed the gap between them, letting a single solid punch fly directly into one of the segmented sections of his new torso. Like her other attacks, there was a crudeness that betrayed how new Asha was to fighting, but this one had a much different effect. Her fist exploded through the armored flesh, taking a huge section along with it and sending Quinn’s head and upper arms tumbling back.

Despite the shift in momentum, he refused to go down without a fight. Quinn swung his remaining arms for Asha as he fell, striking at her front and back simultaneously thanks to his new size. She ducked under the top blow and tried to move away from the back strike, but Quinn re-angled his attack at the last moment, bringing a scythe down directly onto her right leg.

When they hit the wall, his blade-arms had fractured all along their surface, whereas this break was much cleaner. One snap, and suddenly the front half of Quinn’s scythe was broken off behind Asha, just above a small scratch on her calf that was already healing. Even I was momentarily agog at that display. I knew the circumstances of Asha’s turning had left her with some exceptional abilities, but this was well above what I’d imagined. Then again, given whose blood she’d consumed, it was perhaps silly of me to make estimations in the first place.

Quinn seemed to share my sentiment, flopping against the ground with his remaining limbs, twisting that horrible mouth, and the gem resting above it, in her direction. “No newly turned vampire has that kind of power.”

“It’s a lifestyle thing. Workout, read, eat right. Maybe more that last one than the other two.” Striding forward, Asha was plainly enjoying this—not that I blamed her. Several months ago, her human life had come to a violent end thanks to a car bomb planted by Quinn. Foiling his plans and wounding his ego weren’t the same as evening the scales, but it probably still felt quite therapeutic all the same.

Although Quinn struggled as she drew near, the fight was clearly over. Asha avoided his meager attempts at attack, strolling up to his head and nodding to the red gem. “I’m sure there’s some sort of magical trap if I attack that directly, let’s see what happens if I smash the head it’s connected to. This outfit is a write-off anyway.”

The dark chuckle from Quinn would have been unsettling on its own. The fact that it was coming when he was on the verge of defeat made it all the more worrying. “Smart, ruthless, and clearly dining on something of incredible power. You hold far more potential than my pitiful attempt at progeny. It was a pleasure to meet you, Asha. As your . . . vampa, I believe you called me, I have now a great interest in seeing how you develop.”

More laughing, then a splat as Asha made good on her word and put Quinn’s puppet to an end. As the red gem clattered to the ground, it sizzled, smoking first before going up in a small blaze. With our threat handled, I turned back to check on Charlotte, only to find the tiny model glowing like a supernova. The crystal stalagmite was almost entirely dark, with only a few motes of light working their way toward the model.

“Thank you.” Unlike before, the words were no longer coming from all around. Now, the noise was leaking out of Charlotte’s travel version—what would have to be her new version until we could figure something out. “Not just for stopping Quinn, for coming here at all. When the fire started, when I realized I was going to lose myself . . . what am I, if I can’t be a house anymore? But I realized something, watching Asha race in despite the fire and hurry through my halls: she used to be human. Like you, Fred. Neither of you wanted your change, yet you’ve still come out the other side as yourselves. I have no idea what it means to exist in another form or state, or if this will even really work, but I don’t want to die.”

“It won’t be the same, but we can build you a new form,” I promised.

“Might not be quite that easy. Doesn’t matter, though. I’ve made my choice. Time to get out of here.” The final blips of light floated up into the house, and with it, the arcane symbols along the chamber went dark. Charlotte had officially moved out. Carefully, I plucked the model off its perch, tucking it under one arm.

Asha and I didn’t waste a moment, darting out into the now-darkened hallways leading to the central chamber. No more flashing barriers of slicing light—those had probably come down when Charlotte consolidated her essence. Given the timing, she’d have started that process around when Asha arrived, sparing her the careful trek so she could make it in time. Even as she was burning down, Charlotte had still been keeping tabs on all of us, trying her best to help out.

Nearing the end of the brass corridors, I was struck by a sudden wave of heat. The dark barrier along the stone doorway was now gone, and with it went any protection from the raging fire. Through the door, I could still make out Gregor, not that I’d have recognized him without the previous context.

Most of his clothes were burned away, and in their place was a thick, gray-colored skin coating every inch of Gregor in view. His arms were still wedged up in place, holding not only the beam but a large collection of debris that had fallen on top of it. We crept our way carefully out through the door, very thankful that neither of us needed oxygen through the growing smoke. Much as I wanted to race past, I couldn’t just leave him like this.

“Gregor, do you need—”

“Fireproof! Go!”

That told us everything we needed to know about the current situation, and I did exactly as my bodyguard instructed. Together with Lillian, we ran for the stairs, leaping over most of them in our hurry to exit. Without Charlotte’s power to fight back the fire, it had gained tremendous ground. Flames were now running along the ceiling and several walls of the main floor. There was no time to stop or think. We could only run, feet tearing across the remains of a place that had been home for many of us, searching desperately for a way out.

Bursting into the parlor, the front door finally came into view. Unfortunately, it was surrounded by flames. Hoping dearly that I hadn’t overestimated my vampiric jumping ability, I did a horizontal leap for the door, managing to thread the needle of the blazing entrance. However, as I’d put no thought into how I’d recover from such a maneuver, I tumbled out into the night, overshooting the porch entirely and skidding along my back in the parking lot for several feet. I heard Asha land nearby, without half the clatter I made, at that.

“Hey, Fred, could you maybe hand me Charlotte before she explodes out of there, potentially taking us all out in the blast?” I looked up to find several familiar faces staring down, and happily handed off the smaller Charlotte to Amy, who’d been the one speaking.

Already, she was pouring some sort of potion on top before turning away, leaving me to crawl to my feet and get a good view of Charlotte Manor. From the outside, it was crazy to believe we’d survived in there. The entire home was burning like it had been soaked in gasoline. Quinn’s special green fire no doubt had a role in that, though most of what I could see was the normal orange variety by now.

It was terrible, standing out in the evening, watching our home, our friend, burn to nothing. Worse, much as I wanted to sit down and mourn, I couldn’t afford such an indulgence. As the leader of the clan, I was responsible for everyone, and there was now a major issue to tackle, one I hadn’t even considered during the effort to save Charlotte.

With our home in ashes, where would the House of Fred go?

8

Were I still on my own, or only with Krystal, the temptation to flee might have proven overwhelming. The longer I spent in the parahuman world, the more I grasped her inclination toward Boarback and the protection offered by Sheriff Leeroy Thorgood. However, it was not a matter of only myself and Krystal to consider. The rest of my clan had lives in Winslow. Businesses, friends, reasons to keep them from picking up and vanishing into the night. I wouldn’t simply abandon the people who were counting on me—at least not until I was certain they’d be taken care of.

With Boarback off the table, there was only one true local option. After an extremely tense ride inside the armored vehicle Bubba had driven over, we arrived at the massive downtown building owned by Richard Alderson, head of the local therian tribe, official ally to the House of Fred, and friend. If the huge number of therianthropes coming and going weren’t enough of a deterrent to other vampires, there was also the fact that Gideon called this place his home. He might not care one way or the other if anything happened to us, specifically, but dragons were hardly known for their hospitality toward intruders. It would take a very bold, or powerful, enemy to come for us on Richard’s turf.

In less than an hour, we were seated in a huge conference room. Bubba had led us there, having received the instruction when he called on the drive over to give Richard fair warning. Charlotte rested on the edge of a huge wooden table, her travel form nearly unrecognizable. Amy had doused the mini-building in a potion that coated it like a clear, thick shell, small sparkles embedded in the material. Layered over the shell were half a dozen streamers of paper encircling the model, each one emitting a slightly different-colored glow. These had been added by the Clovers, part of the reinforcement to keep Charlotte from blowing apart. I had no idea how any of it worked, though I did note that one of the papers was beginning to curl along the edges. We’d bought a bit of breathing room, but Charlotte was still going to need somewhere else to go.

Lillian was pacing the far wall, almost doing a circuit around Gregor. My bodyguard had emerged from the flames while Charlotte was being reinforced—unharmed, as promised. Upon our arrival at Richard’s, he’d been greeted by another stiff-natured man I assumed to be a gargoyle carrying identical clothes to what Gregor had been wearing. If not for the patches of gray still present on parts of his skin, there would be no telling he’d stood inside a fire; gargoyles really were incredibly tough. Amy was scrawling notes on a series of loose papers she’d yanked from one of her many pockets, hard at work on a better fix for Charlotte. Only a few seats down, Al was sitting patiently, tablet in hand as she studied her accounting fundamentals. Across the table, Asha was on her phone, holding the kind of focus that told me she was attending to a work matter. The Clovers had taken their own vehicle—quite understandably, given how cramped ours was—but I hadn’t seen them since we arrived.

It was surreal, sitting in that bland room after an evening of danger and near death. We had been so close to losing Charlotte, and Asha before that. Quinn wasn’t going to stop; that much was clear now. When he’d been targeting me, it was manageable. Between Krystal, my alliances, and a very cautious nature, I’d been able to stay out of reach. Now that he was expanding into going after the people I cared about . . . there was no way to keep them all safe. If Quinn had launched that attack when no one was around, we almost certainly would have lost Charlotte. He’d keep coming, keep trying, and sooner or later, something was going to have to give.

There was no announcement or ceremony before the room’s door flew open, snapping against the wall hard enough to risk a dent. Gideon strolled through, Bubba and Richard on his heels. It was always odd to see what looked like a young boy commanding such authority from the near-giants towering over him. But looks could be very deceiving, especially where the supernatural was concerned. This body was no more than an outfit the dragon donned, one that could be easily changed out should the need arise.

“I am told you have come seeking sanctuary.” Gideon looked us over, weary and all sporting at least some amount of ash on our clothes. “The reports seem accurate indeed. As you are in an alliance with Richard, there is precedent for such a thing. However, this building is home to the King of the West. It is not so simple a matter to bask in my protections. You are far from the first to come requesting such aid. Richard, make your bargain, then we shall attend to mine.”

He stepped away, and the pressure around the room felt as if it dropped substantially. Even being immune to Gideon’s aura—the one that naturally terrified the undead—I was still cowed by his overall sense of power and authority. Looking to see how the others were holding up, my eyes locked first on Asha, then Lillian, as realization struck.

“Hang on, why aren’t either of you cowering?” Lillian was pressed against a wall, eyes wide as she stood in a dragon’s presence, but she still seemed in control of her faculties. Asha barely had much more reaction than to put down her phone. When I’d first met Gideon, just being in the same room had rendered me on the edge of catatonic.

Both women stared back at me with blank expressions, not sure what I was talking about, though thankfully, at least Gideon understood. “I have suppressed it, since I am in the company of non-hostile undead, as I did for your wedding.”

“I didn’t know you could do that.”

Gideon offered what could barely be called a shrug. “When we met, I could not. It was a skill I’d seen no purpose to train. As more undead flooded the city, that view changed, and I sought self-improvement. Don’t forget, you and your clan are not the only ones capable of growth.”

Considering that I’d been ambushed again by my sire, though this time by him using new tactics to go after a fresh target, that seemed prudent advice to keep in mind. No one was static. Anybody could change, even if they were stuck in their ways. If I didn’t take that into account, assume those working against me were also improving, then I was always going to be getting caught off guard.

“The good news is, we’ve got plenty of spare space,” Richard said, taking over for Gideon with far friendlier tones. “Between the rooms for live-in guards and the areas I keep to use as transitional housing, there’s no shortage of places to put you. I should be able to give all of you your own section for a while.”

“You don’t need to go to such trouble for us. Just a safe place to rest is plenty.” I checked the others, most of whom were nodding along—save for Charlotte, who lacked such an ability.

“It’s not entirely just for you.” Richard motioned to me, then Lillian and Asha. “Vampires staying on therian ground is far from normal. Not many tribes strike up alliances with clans, so the occasion hasn’t come up often. But between our years knowing each other and Bubba vouching for you all, my people aren’t going to object. Still, I think everyone will be a lot more comfortable with some buffer space.”

“I’m amazed by the fact that a therian tribe is willing to take us in at all,” Lillian added. “That would have been unimaginable for most of my old clan.”

Richard looked away, scratching his blonde beard. “It wasn’t the easiest of sells, and we’re going to need to do this by the book, alliance-wise. Afraid that means I have to charge you fair market rate for the housing space, as I doubt you want to start incurring any debts.”

Money, of all things, hadn’t even entered my mind. It seemed such a foreign concern compared to the stakes I’d been grappling with, but Richard was right. It had to be dealt with, nevertheless. It wasn’t even really about the money itself, just a matter of keeping things even. Debts were strong in the parahuman world, dangerous things to have overhead. “Please bill me directly. I’ll handle the housing costs for my clan as a whole.”

There was a clatter of objections, especially from my employees, and I waited until they slowly faded out before continuing. “Right now, we’re under attack. Should you have somewhere safer to go, please do not in any way feel bound to stay. However, if you can’t match the protections offered here, then I ask you to please accept Richard’s offer. It’s my duty to ensure that every member of my clan has a safe place to sleep. What do you think I would spend money on that’s more important than any one of you?”

No one spoke directly after that, though Richard gave me a sort of knowing nod I wasn’t fully sure how to interpret. When silence reigned for more than ten full seconds, Gideon stepped back toward the center of the room, easily ensnaring our collective attention. “Since Richard’s conditions are met, that brings us to mine. I do not care for the trouble of house guests, as a general policy, even ones I am unlikely to encounter. However, an alliance is an alliance, and Fred has earned personal favor with me, though this is not a personal matter. It is politics, and certain standards must be upheld. Therefore, in order to enjoy my protections, I shall require the House of Fred to render service. So long as you are useful, I am justified in defending my minions.”

“What did you have in mind?” I wasn’t sure we could really afford to decline the terms, but it wasn’t wise to accept a dragon’s bargain without all the information.

“For you, a task is already in preparation. As for your people, most are either already woven into our network, like Amy, Bubba, and Gregor; are limited by their roles, such as Agent Jenkins; or are not directly useful—with one major exception. Charlotte Manor, are you able to speak in that form?”

All eyes went to the shining model of a house as Charlotte’s voice escaped. She didn’t sound quieter, precisely, but it was a bit odd to hear her voice coming from a single point after our evening’s adventure. “I can. What do you wish of me, King of the West?”

“Assistance. I am told your abilities are clouds above anything comparable. Multiple forms, manifestation of objects, specialized skills—all of which would be quite helpful to the workload of a king. The aides Richard can offer are enthusiastic, but lacking, and gargoyles are ill-suited to mundane tasks. Their might is better used outside of such safe confines.”

There wasn’t an immediate reaction to Gideon’s assessment, though I did see slight twinges of some emotion on Gregor’s face when his people came up. It was Charlotte who pointed out the obvious issue with Gideon’s request; from anyone else, it would have felt indelicate. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to do any of that, Your Majesty. Even to function at a reduced capacity, I’d require a powerful conduit to hold my essence and specific enchantments would need to be laid in every room where I’d need to function.”

“Yes, the Clover twins said as much when they quoted me their estimate. With money to expedite certain materials, they can have the work done by tomorrow evening. As for the conduit, I have no shortage of used-up gems designed for high-capacity magic. At least one should be capable of housing a being as developed as yourself.”

In a way, it was my own fault for momentarily expecting Gideon to be surprised, or to not have realized her limitations. Time with people like Deborah was helping me get better at seeing when a longer game was at work. Thinking over his generous offer, I realized that Gideon had walked into this room knowing exactly how things would play out, and precisely how to guide them.

The small house flashed as Charlotte sputtered. “That’s . . . Your Majesty . . . I can’t ask you for so much, not when you’re already housing my former residents. There’s no need to pay for a rush. This form should hold for a while longer.”

If I hadn’t already known Gideon was a king, his scoff would have been a strong clue. There was a refinement to it, a practiced sound by someone who’d had a lot of time and occasion to bust the reaction out. “What a ridiculous notion. Charlotte, should you accept my offer, you will be the aide to a king. That means anything which affects your ability to function also has an impact on me, however cursorily. Kings do not wait when a mere matter of coin can speed tasks along, nor do they house valued assistants in unsuitable living conditions. You will be at your best, because that is what I shall demand from you in return.”

As best I could recall, this marked the first time I’d seen someone almost bullied into accepting help. For all his rough talk, though, I took note of what Gideon was really doing. He was aiding Charlotte, giving her a new home and space to move around, in a way that skirted things like pride. While I wouldn’t be quite so direct in my approach, there might come a day when I needed a tactic like this as well. Being thrust into a role of leadership had me quite keen on gleaning lessons like these from those with more experience—millennia more, in the case of Gideon.

Finally, Charlotte replied, unable or unwilling to hide the gratitude in her voice. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“There is no need for thanks. You will prove the wisdom of my investment with your performance. However, there will be no more formal titles between us. Such ceremony would merely slow things down. You may use my proper name henceforth. It’s not as if most of your clan had the manners to ask permission, in the first place.”

With a grand, sweeping roll of his eyes, Gideon looked us all over, lingering especially on me. “As for you, Fred, I would advise that you use this reprieve to think on a longer-term solution. Although Richard is too polite to say it outright, this is a temporary measure. Eventually, you’ll have to be able to survive on your own.”

“I know.” Gideon was right, hitting an issue that had been weighing on me since we escaped. Quinn kept on coming, and somehow, he was keeping tabs on us, providing him all the opportunities he needed. Even if I’d had it in me to hunt down and murder Quinn, no one could find him, and there were far more powerful beings than me searching. Since I couldn’t halt the threat, I was going to have to shore up our defenses, make it so attacking the House of Fred was a pointless waste of resources, the kind most wouldn’t even bother with.

It was a solid starting point for a plan. If only I had a single idea for how the heck I was going to pull it off.

1

Living in Richard’s building took some getting used to. For one thing, it was a sharp contrast to the quiet peace of Charlotte Manor. Before, the amount of people coming and going had been severely limited. While there were days it certainly felt hectic while every resident was present, those tended to be blips, and short-lived ones at that. Charlotte took care of those staying within her walls, which included things like dampening the sounds of others when one was seeking peace in which to work.

Seeing as Richard’s building had multiple retail offices, things were quite a bit more bustling. In the mornings came the semi-normal businesses; some parahuman-run, others entirely mundane. Having humans around made discovery slightly riskier, but it was a big hunk of real estate, so Richard had to fill the spaces with those who could afford them. Plus, humans added a layer of security, in their own way. There were all manner of treaties and methods of resolving conflict amongst parahumans, even before one factored in the unsavory options, but bringing humans into the mess meant almost certainly calling down the wrath of the Agency. That was an outcome the vast majority of parahumans knew quite well to avoid.

In truth, I actually sort of enjoyed the mornings and midday. Richard was kind enough to give my clan an office with lodging attached, providing more beds than we could actually fill. Once the day started, I would begin work in the public-facing office, listening through the walls to the scurrying of people going about their daily tasks. It was an oddly soothing sound, one I’d missed from my days as a human cog in a greater corporate machine.

It was as the day turned to evening that things became less serene. Between the nightclub on the building’s bottom floor and the variety of nocturnal parahuman businesses that opened their doors, I often found myself needing to practice selective attention once the sun went down. Even that wasn’t so bad once I invested in a decent set of noise-canceling headphones, making the situation more adjustment than burden.

As for the others, they were adapting well. Charlotte had been successfully moved into a new, more stable vessel, and was able to manifest in a fair chunk of the building. Lillian and Al were usually working with me in the office, as they were employees of Fletcher Accounting Services. Both were accustomed to change and seemed overall unbothered by the shift in our surroundings. If anything, Al appeared slightly more comfortable away from the manor. Gregor already had lodging somewhere else in the building with the other gargoyles, fast turning him into our default guide. Neil and Albert were technically bunking with us as well, but since Arch had elected to change his lodging to an Agency safehouse, they were often away with him, training. Krystal was still rooming with me, though that only applied when she had enough time to actually come home.

Since our wedding, Krystal’s travel schedule had picked up considerably. There was no mystery as to why; we’d been told point-blank that there would be consequences for our shenanigans. Krystal might not have broken any laws, but defying a direct order from the director of her entire organization was bound to carry backlash. While a hefty amount of time on the road was far from pleasant, there were certainly worse punishments I could imagine, and Krystal did seem to be enjoying the chance to travel. Still, I hoped they considered her debt paid soon. Things were never the same without her around.

We’d had roughly two weeks to settle in when I received a summons from Gideon. It was oddly formal, given that he had my phone number. The door to my office opened soft and steady, the hulking shape of a gargoyle stepping delicately through. I was learning to catch the telltale stoop in the shoulders that marked these particularly dense forms from the various therians also running around. Of course, the shoulders were only one giveaway. There was also the stillness. Therians tended to be high energy, and even the calmer ones like Bubba couldn’t hold a candle to the stalwart nature of gargoyles.

This particular one had a severe brow, but a surprisingly kind smile as he set the unmailed letter upon my desk. It was addressed to Fredrick Frankford Fletcher in flourishing script, the sort one would have to take calligraphy classes to pull off. By the time I looked up to thank him, the gargoyle was gone, slipping away while my attention was elsewhere. With no reason to put off the inevitable, I tore open the envelope to find a single piece of thick, cream-colored paper with more elaborate script for a strikingly simple message.

“You have been summoned by the King of the West.”

I read the note a few times, then flipped the paper over to be sure that that was everything. So far as I could tell, it was exactly as it appeared to be: just a very well-made, single-line note. Rising from my desk, I looked over to the empty spots where Lillian and Al would normally be. They were currently on a client call, with Gregor along for protection.

Nobody had been especially happy about that arrangement, but it was a time when I had to put my foot down as the clan’s leader. I was done letting our people be attacked and ambushed. So long as I stayed in the same building as Gideon, Gregor could be freed up to watch over others when they went into the field. Outside of that, members of the House of Fred were encouraged to move in groups whenever possible, limiting our exposure. All of this was a temporary solution at the absolute best, but it was still something, as I struggled to figure out a real fix.

With no one to explain things to, I merely stepped out into the hall to lock the door. Upon exiting, I found three more gargoyles waiting for me, along with the original messenger. My delivery gargoyle caught my eyes sweeping over them and gave a small nod. “We are your escort, to ensure you arrive.”

Whether that was meant to imply guidance or force would mostly likely depend on me and how I reacted to the summons. Gideon didn’t have the term “king” in his title just for show, even if it was easy to forget that from time to time. Pausing only long enough to lock my office and hang a “Back Soon” placard, I motioned for the gargoyles to lead onward.

By the time we stepped off an elevator, I knew where we were going. It was the same room I’d have headed toward without the escort, a place where Gideon had once been caged by a fellow dragon. He’d taken over the room and kept the twisted remains of the cage on display, some sort of powerplay for the benefit of those who went in for such things. I just appreciated that it made him easy to consistently locate. When we arrived at Gideon’s office, all of the gargoyles fell into line around the exterior door, none making a motion for the handle. Taking their cue, I pulled the knob and stepped inside.

Little had changed since I’d last visited Gideon here. A new and slightly larger desk had been subbed out, as well as a secondary workstation in a corner. Clacking away on it was a familiar face, one of the shapes I thought of as Charlotte’s waiters. Collecting and sorting various pages on Gideon’s desk was the old-woman form Charlotte had used to greet guests. Most striking of all, though, was the Charlotte standing near a window with Gideon, furiously scribbling down notes with pen and paper. This was what I thought of as Charlotte’s default form, only it lacked her usual out-of-time gown. Instead, she was clad in a sharp white-and-black suit with a bright-red scarf in place of a tie.

Seeing all three forms of Charlotte in one place was momentarily jarring; even knowing that she’d manifested them all at once before, my mind had still processed them as individuals. But they were more akin to fingers than anything else, minor limbs moved by the core brain that was Charlotte’s essence. As I stared, the old-woman Charlotte looked up, noticing my entrance. Moments later, default-Charlotte whispered something to Gideon. There were a few moments more where he wrapped up whatever business they were discussing—vampire hearing is no help when you don’t speak the language—and then Gideon turned to face me.

“Though I won’t apologize for them, I do not blame you for any annoyance about the theatrics. You know my taste for such things, yet as I cautioned you, this is politics, and in politics, there is procedure. Fredrick Frankford Fletcher, your clan currently resides in the same home as the King of the West, enjoying his implied protection, if not explicit. For this, you are called to serve. Do you object?”

“I do not. I am grateful to His Majesty for the opportunity to repay his kindness.” Given how formal Gideon was acting, it seemed prudent to lean as hard into manners as I was able.

That earned me a small tilt of his head, what I certainly hoped was a sign of approval. “You shall find no kindness here, merely one who protects those he finds useful. Thus far, your people have been a credit to the House of Fred. Their performance is acceptable to exemplary. However, it is time for you to make good as well.”

From Gideon’s desk, the elder Charlotte produced a thick folder, walking over and handing it to me as he explained. “There is a property I invested in some time ago, one which has begun to pay off at last. Currently, I have before me two primary options: there is a proposed expansion that would require a new investment to fund, representing a substantial cost for delayed revenue. Alternatively, an offer has been tendered to buy me out. What the other purchaser has in mind, I have no idea or interest. My concern is which option provides the greatest rewards when weighed against the property’s risk, potential, and so on.”

Flipping through the folder, I noticed that the first section was entirely filled with years and years of cobbled-together budgets, earnings statements, and pages of patchwork information that didn’t fit neatly into a category. Little to no consistency existed in their reporting, even between months. What the heck kind of business was this?

“Gid—Your Majesty, I am more than happy to serve as you need, but I don’t wish to lie to you. The amount of assessment you’re after, it’s more than what I am qualified to offer.”

“Yes, Fred, I am aware that this goes well outside the scope of normal accounting.” At last, a bit of the formality faded from Gideon, though I wasn’t sure mild annoyance was the best replacement. “But you have an excellent head for numbers, a wide amount of experience dealing with various parahuman businesses, and Richard used you in a similar capacity when we were assessing the carnival. You are qualified enough to serve on my advanced team. Before I go to the trouble of gathering and paying a team for the in-depth analysis, I find it best to put a few sets of trustworthy eyes on the situation.”

So long as Gideon had managed expectations of what I could offer, I saw no other issues with the task overall. The only hitch was that I’d skimmed over halfway through the folder and still had no idea how this company I was supposed to be evaluating even functioned. What kind of enterprise had dozens of different reports for the same information, dating back multiple decades, regularly changing in format with no warning?

“Thank you, Your Majesty. Fletcher Accounting Services is proud to have your trust.”

This time, Gideon’s head movement was a distinct shake to the negative. “No, Fred. It is you who has earned my trust, you who has proven honest and steadfast, loyal to those you serve. Do not take the trust of a king lightly, and I encourage you not to lose it.”

For as much as I probably should have responded to the implied threat, a new tidbit of information captured my attention instead. At last, I’d finally found the piece that connected all the disparate financial documents, explaining why it had appeared to be dozens of separate businesses all reporting in their own way: because that was exactly what had happened. Technically speaking, Gideon was evaluating “one” business in the same way that dozens of people clumped together formed “one” crowd.

Looking up, my mind was reeling, and for once it had nothing to do with parahumans, magic, or anything supernatural. This time, I’d been blown away purely by the brashness of a business decision I could scarcely wrap my head around. So much so that I momentarily forgot my efforts toward formality.

“Gideon, you bought a mall?”

2

Levistan Mall, named after some rich developer from several decades prior, sat well past the edge of Winslow, Colorado’s urban center, in one of the seemingly purposeless gaps before suburbia took hold. Once, it had been a central hub for local residents and a major center of employment, but the tag team of shifting communities and internet shopping had dealt grievous wounds. In truth, part of me wondered how the enterprise hadn’t already collapsed.

On the plus side, Gideon’s “advanced team” turned out to consist of people I already knew. Gregor was driving us, the massive SUV clearly built with gargoyle frames in mind, and in the passenger seat, Bubba was reading over his own set of documents. The smart money said that, as with the carnival before, Bubba was on hand to assess structural integrity, the safety of the wiring, and other such specialties I was in no way qualified to comment on. Somewhat harder to figure out the purpose of was Amy, who rode with me in the back seat. That’s not to say I couldn’t imagine that she had one—the scope of Amy’s intellect was vast and her knowledge eclectic. I just really had no clue as to what she might be on hand to evaluate. The most likely guess would be something related to magic, but I expected that would be in limited supply at such a location.

Barely an hour past sundown, we pulled into the Levistan Mall parking lot. There were, to the mall’s credit, a few cars dotting the lot, perhaps even enough to account for more than just the employees. My eyes swept across the vast amount of land this huge structure occupied, mentally overlaying how many new buildings could replace this barely used relic. In truth, I had some fondness for malls; growing up in a smaller town meant going to one was a treat. However, I was there to assess the investment from a fiscal perspective, and there was no denying that Gideon could gain far better returns on his property.

The very notion that he was even considering expanding still confounded me. Were I dealing with someone else, a being who was not an ancient dragon of immense power and experience, I might have suspected the whole thing to be either a joke or some sort of horrific mistake. Gideon was no dope, though, and dragons didn’t part easily with their wealth. There was something of value here, and it was on me to understand what.

Gregor took the lead as we piled out of the SUV, Bubba slightly behind as he paused to crack his back and let out a low whistle. “Haven’t been to one of these in a good while. Wonder if they’ve got a decent food court? Used to love makin’ the rounds to all the different regional cuisines.”

“Damn, that sounds good. I haven’t eaten around the world in forever.” Tonight, Amy looked largely normal, only the magical glimmer in her eyes and a slight violet glow on the ends of her hair signifying that she’d ingested anything magical. From her huge bag, she produced a small vial and downed it quickly. Moments later, even the soft violet shine was gone, though the telltale twinkle in her eyes remained. “We should do that when we get to the good one.”

“There’s more than one food court?” I was having trouble imagining enough foot traffic to support a single collective of restaurants, let alone multiple venues.

In response, I merely got a light chuckle from Amy. It seemed I’d have to learn firsthand; fortunately, a near-empty parking lot meant we had a short journey inside. With Gregor still taking the advanced position, we approached the frosted glass doors which opened automatically, parting wide to reveal . . .

A near-deserted mall, just as I’d expected. Several of the stores did have lights on, and I saw a body or two moving around within them; however, the hallways were entirely ours to enjoy. Strolling through them, I took careful note of the mall itself, assessing the property overall. On the upkeep front, it was actually better than I’d anticipated. No visible signs of disrepair or neglect, not even litter cluttering the walkways. The building as a whole still appeared to be sound—cosmetically, if nothing else.

The trouble was that everything was entirely out of date. From the cut of the tile, to the neon in several signs, to the thick block-glass windows, it felt like stepping back in time. Not in a way of warm feelings and nostalgia either, more like when a service outage reminds you what life was really like before the internet’s conveniences. Retro was having a moment, as it always eventually does, but there were limits. If Gideon wanted his mall to compete with the modern incarnations in downtown Winslow, he was going to have to spend a tremendous amount on updates alone.

Winding our way through the collection of stores, I kept a mental tally of how many were open versus which stayed shuttered. Every unfilled store represented a substantial chunk of lost revenue, and they easily outnumbered the active ones by a healthy margin. Even the food court only had two options to choose from: old pizza or a chain fast-food burger. Gregor didn’t pause for a bite, and neither Amy nor Bubba attempted to steer him off course, perhaps holding out hope that the “good one” would provide better offerings.

Where this secondary food court could even be, I had no idea. Like most malls, Levistan was designed around a pair of anchor stores at either end, with a northern and southern hall of smaller shops running between, forming something of a misshapen loop. The food court was at a middle point, accessible from either of the hallways, making it a junction between the northern and southern routes. Once we passed it, there shouldn’t have been room for another, so I was quite curious to see what Amy was envisioning. Brilliant as she was, Amy’s penchant for testing her own wares on herself meant that sometimes her perception and reality didn’t entirely line up.

It was some ways past the food court, nearing the end of the southern hall, where we would hit the second anchor store, when Gregor’s pace finally slowed. Motioning for us to follow, we went to a small side passage, the sort where I would expect to find restrooms discreetly tucked away. After a short walk, we arrived at a small alcove with three vending machines inside, two of which were in working order.

For a fleeting moment, I sincerely thought we’d found what Amy believed to be the second food court, though that notion was thankfully short-lived. Gregor approached what I’d taken for a broken vending machine, largely due to the “Out of Order” sign and lack of light inside. With great care, he extended a thick finger and started hitting buttons. It took a good deal—my count was around ten—before something finally happened. To our left, what had appeared to be a mere wall of the alcove suddenly slid away, revealing a set of stairs leading downward.

“Don’t see that every day,” Bubba noted. I was glad to have one other person reacting normally; Amy and Gregor evidently found the secret sliding wall to be entirely unremarkable, as they headed inside.

Following their lead, I stepped onto the stairs and instantly realized my mistake. This was not just a set of steps. It was motorized. We were riding an escalator, except it was much larger than any I’d seen before. Generous width on both the steps and between the railings meant that all but the largest of parahumans would be capable of using the device; I’d even met a centaur who could have managed to pack in. As we went lower, new sounds and lights came from below, like we were nearing the end of a tunnel. Although I could have picked out the details in advance if I’d used my hearing more intentionally, more and more this was feeling like an experience, and I wanted to see it as intended.

At last, the overhead ceiling and walls fell away, our escalator now moving through the open air of what turned out to be . . . another mall. Or the same mall, in a way, as the structure appeared identical. Same pair of hallways leading between two major stores, same junction point at the food court. It was essentially an underground mirror version of what sat on top, with several small variations and one major difference.

Unlike the aboveground property, this one was filled with shoppers. It wasn’t Christmas shopping crowds or anything to such extremes, yet a constant stream of bodies meandered through the halls, some veering off into stores, others merely circulating for the enjoyment of the act. Looking down from my angle, the whole enterprise reminded me of a heart, pumping the blood of commerce through the organism known as a mall.

As we drew closer, my focus tightened on the clusters of people, and I began to notice details: the way some of them were dressed distinctly out of fashion, how huge a large proportion of the bodies were. And then there were the overt giveaways, like what I suspected to be a harpy flying up to the ceiling to bring down a lost balloon.

“This is Gideon’s real investment, isn’t it? A parahuman-friendly mall.” The more I looked, the surer I was. It wasn’t quite the overt display I’d seen at a true parahuman convention like CalcuCon, or in an open town like Boarback, but the truth was obvious when one knew what to look for. After years running a business that dealt primarily with parahumans from all walks of life, I could practically smell them. At that thought, part of me wondered if there was a point where I actually would be able to do that, though Amy answering my question drove the curiosity out of mind.

“More than just parahuman-friendly, parahuman in all aspects,” Amy elaborated. “Our escalator is built as large as the space would allow, there are several underground tunnels leading to various parking structures and other access points allowing for covert access, and obviously, the lack of natural light is helpful for any who need to avoid the sun. The businesses are parahuman-owned and run, offering goods we couldn’t sell so easily top-side. PJ will give you the rest of the details; I bet you’re going to have a lot of fun trying to reconcile all those books.”

My brain briefly reeled at the concept. Dealing with the historical financials of actual corporations was bad enough; knowing the parahuman penchant for receipts and bookkeeping, I’d be lucky to get a soggy notebook of half-scribbled numbers. I soon shook it off, reminding myself that I was mercifully only here in an initial assessment capacity, something that hopefully would not require such a deep dive into the mall’s fiscal standing. Based on the number of people milling about, it certainly appeared this one had a better outlook than what we’d just walked through.

“You sure know a lot ’bout this place.” Bubba’s tone didn’t quite make its way into accusatory, but there was a clear curiousness rippling through, all of it pointed toward Amy. Close as the two were, surprises like this probably didn’t crop up all that often.

“Wanted it to be a surprise, plus I had some kinks to get worked out.” Amy stepped off the escalator a few steps behind Gregor, then whirled around on us. “But today, I’m finally ready to share. Glad you’re here for this, Fred, as it technically concerns you as well.”

Pointing us directly toward the food court—this one with far more than two options to choose from—Amy guided our group toward the flashing neon and simmering smells. Passing a few of the stores along the way, I noticed there was an odd trend of theming. One store appeared to have been plucked right from the ’70s, with tie-dye in the windows and a “door” consisting of hanging beads. Next to it was what looked like some sort of greasy steampunk aesthetic—one that conjured images of old-timey factories. Across the hall from there was what looked like a hat store, except the styles they were peddling looked a half-century out of style.

Curious as the retail spots were, my attention was soon stolen away as we entered the food court proper. It was inevitable, as the giant looming sign and cardboard cutout were developments that simply had to be addressed, even if Amy hadn’t been standing there, beaming, clearly waiting for one of us to ask.

Considering the context, we didn’t really need to. The flashing sign reading “Amy’s Alchemic Augmentations” was already a clear hint, and when one paired it with the rows of frozen drink machines lining the wall and the half-dozen stools in front of a metal counter, there was really only one conclusion to draw. Nevertheless, Bubba, being the friend he was, gave Amy the opening she was so plainly waiting for.

“You opened a ba—”

She didn’t even let him finish before the answer came tearing out. “I opened a bar!”

3

“Actually, my place has been open for a few months. Took a bit to get things running smoothly.” Amy motioned for us to pull up stools as she spoke—currently, the only one occupied had a small-statured person wearing an ornate topcoat and hat. We gave them space, taking up position on the opposite end of the bar as Amy continued her explanation.

“It started back when Fred helped me rework my contracts with Cyndi. I suddenly had access to a lot more free cash, and after kicking around a few ideas, I decided to lean into my strengths. Parahumans from all over seek out my creations because sometimes, we all need a buzz. Instead of having them jump through hoops, I opted to bring the product to the people. As a bonus, this turned out to be a good structure for my students’ education, as well.”

Before any of us had the opportunity to spurt some sort of sudden surprise, a pair of smiling faces appeared on the other side of the bar, both clad in crisp white aprons. One wore a nametag announcing himself as Tanner, while the other’s told the world she went by Karley.

“What can we get for you today?” Karley asked. “If I may be so bold, you might best enjoy our Thundering Therian and Unruly Undead mixes.” Her hand gestured to the wall of spinning drink machines, which I now noticed hosted tags announcing their names. Fudged-Up Fey, Dizzy Demon, Centaur Crush—the whole row was like that. Given Amy’s specialization in alchemy, it was a clear implication that each drink was designed to impact a different type of parahuman.

“Or, if you prefer the flavor of another beverage, we offer special shot-toppers to make nearly any option effective. There’s also our array of spices, sugars, and other additives for perfecting your personal beverage,” Tanner added, following up Karley’s initial spiel perfectly and motioning to a nearby table laden with various jars and bottles. Seemed they’d gotten a lot of chances to practice. “There’s also the latest addition, Hexenberry Blast.”

Amy nodded approvingly, then waved them off. “Great openers, way to push the whole product line and emphasize the new stuff, but these lugs are all working. When we’re off the clock, I’ll bring them back for a full tasting.” Pausing her perusal of the bar, her eyes momentarily caught on the array of additives Tanner mentioned, hand reaching out to briefly lift then drop one of the numerous bottles. Not a word was spoken, however, and evidently whatever concern she’d felt was mollified.

She plopped down onto the seat next to me, eyebrows waggling with such freedom, I wondered if Amy had used some sort of dexterity-enhancing potion to achieve the effect. “What do you think? Not a bad use of my spare cash, right?”

“Honestly, my first thought was wondering how this could possibly be zoned and legal,” I admitted. “But I can certainly see the thought at work. You used your income to create a new, potentially greater source of revenue, and it seems like you’ve also made good on the intent to help new mages without letting them get trapped into the usual apprentice contracts. I’m guessing the tasks they handle require low-level alchemy, meaning their time here is a chance to refine those skills?”

“And she pays us!” Karley burst in, jarring me slightly. Both of the attendants were so good at stepping into the background, I had momentarily forgotten they were even around.

“It’s true,” Tanner added. “Mage Wells is not only teaching us, we actually earn a wage for every hour worked here. Can you believe it?”

I worked to keep the incredulity off my face; however, it was no mean feat. I knew Amy’s original contracts had placed her in deep debt that was designed to never be fully paid off, evidently standard practice for magical training. It just hadn’t occurred to me how far-reaching the effects of such an attitude might be.

“Is it not customary to pay those in one’s employ?” I was still looking at Karley and Tanner, but my question was clearly for Amy.

“Dunno. Why don’t you ask every major company that uses unpaid intern labor?” Amy shot back, before turning her attention to the workers. “Karley, it’s time to prepare a new batch of freshening tonic for the frozen drinks. Tanner, why don’t you top off PJ’s Gremlin Grog. See if we can’t get him in a half-decent mood for today.”

The noise that responded was rather . . . viscous, a harumph that came from the very bottom of a throat and made as much ruckus as possible on the way out. Spinning around on his stool, the bar’s sole other customer turned to face us. While I’d taken note of his overcoat and top hat, those same items had obscured the rest of him from view. Mottled gray-and-brown skin poked out occasionally from under a smooth silk shirt and dark pants, orange-yellow eyes peered out from behind gold-rimmed spectacles, and two long, flat ears were tucked into the underside of the hat. In his clawed hand was a neon-green, frozen drink down to its final dregs, and he treated us to loud slurps until Tanner set a fresh glass down in front of him. With a quick motion, the glasses were then exchanged.

“Fred, Bubba, and Gregor, I’d like to introduce you to PJ. He manages the under-mall for Gideon and will also be weighing in on the expansion decision.”

With a loud series of clacks, like clawed toes hitting tile, PJ leapt from his stool and approached. At his full height, PJ’s head was roughly on the same plane as my knee, and I was hardly the tallest of our group. After staring me up and down once, he extended the hand not gripping a frozen cocktail. “Pleasure. What’s your deal?” The tone certainly didn’t sound especially joyful about the meeting; however, I had no idea what PJ’s default demeanor was, nor what was considered the norm for his people, so I tried not to read too much into it.

“My name is Fredrick Frankford Fletcher, though most people call me Fred, and I am an accountant. Gideon has tapped my services to help assess the fiscal benefits and dangers of his decision.”

“Uh huh.” PJ gave a deep sniff, then looked me over anew. “Vampire number-cruncher? That’s a new one.”

Evidently, the surprise on my face must have shown, as PJ tapped the flat section near the middle of his face, where two slits could just be seen. “Gremlins don’t have as many advantages as other parahumans, but our snouts are finely tuned for detecting the supernatural. The other two are a gargoyle and a therian, if you need more proof.”

“That’s . . . amazing!” Even I was surprised by the sudden rush of interest, yet I couldn’t help myself. Of all the parahumans I’d encountered, only therians had been able to challenge my vampiric sense of smell, and I was pretty sure that not even they could tell a supernatural creature’s nature from a mere whiff. Was that something I could learn as I aged, or was the talent specific only to gremlins?

There was another thought, following the first—one I take no pride in having conjured. A piece of me, the part that couldn’t help putting equations together, wondered if the power was something that transferred over with the drinking of blood. I shoved it away as soon as I recognized the dangers in such thinking, but there was no denying it had existed. That was the danger of a vampire’s gift: it allowed us to also take power that was not our own. It was part of why vampires had the reputation we did, and the reason I would tolerate no such notions knocking around in my mind. That slope was soaked in slippery blood.

Thankfully, PJ was unbothered by my sudden influx of interest, stepping around me to shake hands with Bubba and Gregor, exchanging greetings. While they went through pleasantries, Amy sidled up to me. “Since PJ is the first of his kind you’ve met, I’ll spare you the awkward questions and do a quick rundown: gremlins are naturally subterranean, though many choose to live on the surface these days. They don’t actually attack technology in the way myths suggest, but they love dark, cozy places to sleep and can cram into spaces vastly too small for them, so people have a habit of finding gremlin nests in engines, often at inopportune times.”

“Which also makes us perfect for a business that exists below the ground. We have a natural sense of direction, no need for disgusting sunlight, and the ability to burrow new paths as needed. Some of us also possess a great deal of wiles and ambition, yet are evidently not trusted enough to be taken at their word.” PJ turned a single eye in Amy’s direction—quite the unsettling gesture. “But we all serve the king, so let us get to the task at hand.”

Stepping away from us, PJ spread his hands out—giving me a chance to notice that each had six fingers—and motioned to the under-mall as a whole. “Levistan Below was constructed in the mid-2000s, when the overhead mall’s value started to plummet. The original building crew was largely gremlin, and soon, they flipped it to a new owner. Given the nature of the construction, however, it was only prudent to keep some gremlins on staff, as there are certain areas it would be difficult for most others to reach.”

That certainly seemed like a calculated inefficiency. If they’d built all of this, then allowing for larger access routes couldn’t have been too difficult. More, it was a smart way to ensure jobs in the future, ones that gremlins would be near sure to fill.

“The first owners did a bit here and there, but it was the second purchase that really turned things around. That was when the themes got added.” PJ motioned to a store selling what appeared to be GI surplus from the middle of the century, adjacent to what purported itself as a small theater now showing “talkies” and boasting of air-conditioning. Across the hall, there was a furry creature peering over a counter of what appeared to be one of the juice shops that had briefly overtaken corner shops for a decade. “Since humans are constantly going crazy for stuff from their past, it was decided that nostalgia might work for parahumans, as well. The hitch was, given our lifespans, it’s hard to single out a specific decade among so many memories.”

As my eyes slid over a kiosk in the mall’s center, with signs bragging about a newly installed nickelodeon, it finally made sense. I’d been trying to find the common decade or theme that would unite such seemingly disparate elements, but my thinking had been too narrow. This mall wasn’t themed to the 1980s, the 1950s, or the 1920s. It was designed to reflect the 1900s overall, sweeping the entire century together into a single mish-mash of half-recalled flickers from the past.

Despite an initial instinct to think it strange, I forced myself to examine the human equivalent under a similar lens. Was it really all that different to cherry-pick elements out of a hundred-year span versus a ten-year one? Perhaps this was just the way brains liked to lump together memories and the joyful feelings associated with them, whether they belonged to a human or something supernatural.

Still walking without looking, PJ continued his history lesson, walking us through the second owner’s ups and downs before a rough market forced them to sell off the mall as an asset, which was when Gideon took ownership. “For the most part, he’s been content to keep sailing the same route as our last owners, only stepping in to finance the occasional upgrade.”

Pausing, PJ motioned to a large fountain that was plainly a new addition. Aside from the sweeping spouts and several small waterfalls, there was a large brass dragon statue resting in the water’s center. While the detail was incredible, as someone who’d gotten an up-close look at the genuine article, I knew how much it paled in comparison to the original.

“That feels like as natural a segue as we’ll get to the topic at hand,” PJ resumed. “About the proposed expansion, there’s been some new developments that—”

Sharp, sudden screams filled the air, coming from around the nearest corner. Before I’d even had time to realize what was happening, Amy and Bubba were both rushing off in the direction of trouble. Gregor moved forward, likely to block my path, so I all but leapt into motion, racing after my friends. That forced Gregor to do a tight turn, almost tumbling over in the process, as he had to chase the vampire he was charged with protecting.

Together, we bolted around the corner, completely unaware of the ridiculous scene awaiting us.

4

Although I hadn’t been around to see them in person, a lifetime of enjoying classic films had given me ample opportunity to see a 1950s-style malt shop depicted in various incarnations. What greeted us upon turning the corner was one of those, only mixed with a hurricane. The glass window could barely be seen through, as soda water gushed against it, blocking the insides from view. Given the crowd of semi-soaked people milling around outside, it seemed that customers were at least able to escape.

“As I was saying, we have seen a sharp uptick in incidents such as this one since news of the proposed expansion leaked out.” PJ was remarkedly calm despite the chaos before us, but then, it wasn’t as if there were dire stakes at play. Sooner or later, someone would manage to turn off the store’s water main, and then the cleanup could begin. So long as no parahumans present were playing by Wicked Witch rules, there shouldn’t be any lasting harm done.

Amy’s forehead creased slightly—no telling what sorts of thoughts were whirling around in that mind of hers. “All plumbing related?”

“If only. Sometimes it’s issues like this one. Earlier today, I discovered an entire store’s lights had all burned out. Then, there are locks and small mechanisms breaking down, not to mention the actual tools. Never something big enough to cause real trouble, just enough to be noticeable and annoying, like the burrito place busting their biggest sour cream gun.” For the first time, I caught a bit of nerves from PJ, as he rubbed the back of his neck, nearly shredding the collar of his coat in the process.

“I am hesitant to advance this theory, as it could cause quite a bit of trouble, but I suspect we might have a case of sabotage. Someone who’s working against the expansion, trying to make this place more trouble than it’s worth.”

It wasn’t often that Gregor shifted without reason, making the somber nod of his head all the more attention-grabbing. “You are wise to be cautious with such accusations. Should my king be directly challenged, he would have to respond in force.”

“Exactly why I haven’t made the accusation yet,” PJ reiterated. “Currently, it’s just a theory. For all I know, one of the owners accidentally bought a cursed doll, and all of this is totally explainable.”

There was a somewhat unnerving moment where I found my own head bobbing in agreement, even as I realized how odd it was that we considered a haunted toy to be a “normal” explanation for the circumstances. I might have spiraled a bit on just how curious my life had become, if not for Amy and Bubba both springing into action.

She had a hand jammed into her bag, already rummaging for some unknown concoction. “Let’s go ahead and eliminate the most likely magical causes. I’ll do detections for spirits, fey, curses, auras, and blessings.”

“Blessings?” Hard as I was working to roll with the punches, there was a limit to how much I could handle without explanation. “Why would blessings cause problems?”

“‘Blessing’ just means a positive personal enchantment, the inverse of a curse,” Amy explained. “Say Crubble, that fuzzy fellow who runs the juice shop near my bar, got himself a blessing for better business. That might manifest by his own stock improving, or by my shit going haywire and sending thirsty customers his way. Still a positive outcome for him, regardless.”

As Amy talked, Bubba had stripped off his overshirt, revealing a tank top underneath. “I’ll help take care of the pipes. They should have shut off by now. This keeps up, you’re likely to have floodin’ in the nearby stores.”

“There’s a safety mechanism to stop flooding, but it wouldn’t surprise me to find that’s been broken as well,” PJ said. “My people should already be investigating it.”

“Then we attack on two fronts,” Bubba surmised. “They’ll try to stop it at the source, we’ll see what can be done up here. Fred, Gregor, I’ll need extra hands, and strong ones don’t hurt.”

My eyes flicked to Gregor for a brief moment before I realized they would already be staring back at me. This wasn’t a choice he was going to make; Gregor would follow me, as he always did. I had to be the one to lead, a lesson that the universe seemed to be driving home at every opportunity as of late.

“We’ll do all we can. Just be sure to give direct, clear instructions to those of us who aren’t especially handy.”

Bubba accepted my offer, and together all three of us strode into the malt shop, our clothes becoming soaked almost instantly. With the glass being obscured by spraying water, it was impossible to appreciate how much of the stuff was getting blasted. It wasn’t a single soda-tap that had busted—every single one of them was gushing like it was their big audition to join a water park. My glasses misted over in seconds, forcing me to lift them to my forehead. Despite the glasses being purely cosmetic after my vampiric conversion, I still felt strange without their weight on my nose.

Another factor that had been hidden to us from the outside: not everyone had, in fact, left the restaurant. Ignoring the pair of women with slightly green skin who seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the indoor typhoon, there was a spindly man in a candy-cane striped apron dashing to and fro, trying to jam what looked like lumps of white cloth into the broken spouts. Amazingly, the clog did work for a short while, but the water was simply too relentless. This couldn’t be normal pressure, not unless the owner was filling up drinks across the room.

“Good day, customers! Please forgive the momentary incon—HBBLLE!” The worker had the unfortunate timing of attempting to greet us just as his latest clog attempt gave way, shooting a dense blast of water directly up his nose. After a moment to recover and wipe his face, he tried again. “Please forgive the momentary issue. We hope to have it resolved soon. I’m Octavio, and I will be with you shortly.”

I was impressed by the optimism as much as the dedication, especially considering Octavio was continuing to get drenched as he spoke. Bubba wasted no time on small talk, spurred on by the spouts ceaselessly showering us. “PJ sent us to help. Got any tools?”

Octavio permitted his professional demeanor to lag slightly, a touch of panic in his eye as he looked over the damp reinforcements that had been sent to his aid. After a quick glance to the remaining customers, he composed himself and nodded to a small door near the back. “Through there, red box.”

It only took Bubba a few moments of searching; he came back with the metal case already opened, his hands rummaging for whatever might be of use. “Since diggin’ round in the guts of this place would take too long, we’re gonna tackle each fountain on its own. Gregor, I need your steady hands to hold the fountains in place. Hard as I’ll have to turn that wrench to kill this kind of flow, if you’re not givin’ counter-force, I’m likely to tear the whole damn pipe out. Fred, you’re doin’ the same thing for the soda bar itself. I don’t want to snap the top off and take all the fountain heads with it.”

Despite knowing Bubba held a role of authority in Richard’s organization, it was somewhat odd to see him so effortlessly take charge. Bubba had a tendency to take a place in the background, chiming in only when requested, or with something of importance to add. Yet today, he walked boldly over past Octavio, ignoring the torrent of water to his face as he kneeled down to access the first fountain’s pipe. Gregor was only a few steps behind, grabbing the top of the spraying fountain and holding it perfectly in place.

Taking my cue, I approached the soda bar, which was more or less the same as one that served alcohol, save for the gleaming and gushing devices poking up through the top. Spreading my arms wide to grab both sides of the bar top, I locked my legs, trying to emulate Gregor’s stillness.

There was a horrible whining grind of a sound that rose from below us, and I felt a sizable amount of force yanking on the pipe hidden by the bar. Gregor held the fountain top to an unflinching degree, and while I wasn’t as perfectly successful, I did manage to keep the bar top itself in a relatively stable position.

“Damnation. Why the hell do these have so much pressure?” Bubba paused, letting out a few ragged gasps before picking up the wrench with a new determination in his eyes. This time, the strength being exerted on the pipes was noticeably increased; it took some real effort to neutralize. However, I also noticed that the water spewing out of the fountain head slowed down. Gregor was able to adjust his grip, and I suddenly had less mist coating my face.

“Keep it up,” I called. “You’re making a difference.”

“Be careful not to damage the pipes!” Octavio added. “I just added the efficiency valves last week, and those are not cheap enchantments to purchase.”

With another mighty turn, Bubba finished closing off whatever valve he’d found for the first fountain, taking the flow down to a mere trickle dribbling out from the remains of its chrome top. There was also a dent that might have been from a gargoyle finger, but as I was hardly an expert in such things, there seemed no reason to share such conjecture.

Pausing to wipe his face—a fruitless endeavor in our indoor storm—Bubba looked back up at Octavio. “Enchanted efficiency valves?” He looked over the nine remaining water sources, still blasting freely. “Wild guess: they cut down on your water bill by replicatin’ whatever liquid you put through ’em?”

“I know what you’re thinking,” Octavio protested. “But I swear, these were quality-made. Lots of shops around here use them. Every little bit helps with the margins. They are supposed to be safeguards against exactly this type of issue.”

“Show me the valve.” Bubba tapped on the pipe he’d just defeated, voice leaving no room for questions or refusal. The man’s natural quiet lent an intensity to his words when he chose to use it, a leadership tactic I admired, but knew was outside my grasp.

Octavio complied, and Bubba leaned in closer, examining some element of the plumbing hidden to Gregor and I by the bar. When in doubt, blaming the magical element was a popular, and often correct, tactic. Except, this wasn’t really one enchanted item going haywire, not if each fountain had its own valve. Assuming the valves were the cause, that meant we were seeing ten enchanted items have the same error at the same time. There might be some sort of mystical domino effect at play, but otherwise, it struck me as one heck of a coincidence.

“Hell’s hounds,” Bubba muttered. “Fred, come over here real quick.”

I did as instructed, working my way around the bar to join Bubba and Octavio in their kneeled position. Here at last, I could see the bar’s inner plumbing that ran up from the floor and into the assorted fountains. My lack of knowledge meant there were no insights to glean; to me, it looked like nothing more than a mash of metal tubing. I could only follow Bubba’s extended index finger to a round piece that was slightly off-color compared to the rest of the metal. Leaning in close, I caught a different odor as well, albeit not one that I could place.

Since Bubba’s hand hadn’t moved, there was evidently something more for me to see. Working my eyes around the metal device, I finally caught what he’d wanted me to notice. There, etched into the side, was an elaborate design of a clover.

It was a symbol I knew quite well, as I’d been involved with Ainsley and Zane Clover for years, well before they were tapped to help Charlotte. This probably hadn’t been made by either individually—it was too large of a company for them to personally touch each component—however, I knew quite well that every item bearing that mark had been held to an extremely high standard. The Clover name was synonymous with quality, a reputation the siblings took great pains to reinforce at every turn.

Bubba and I locked eyes, likely sharing the same thought. Ten enchanted items breaking at once was unlikely enough; ten that were Clover-made glitching out . . . well, nothing was impossible, but it made for a hell of a stretch. The far more likely explanation was sabotage, and that was a very dangerous possibility.

Because if someone was moving against Gideon, the King of the West would absolutely strike back. Furiously, violently, and potentially with far more power than necessary. Even worse, Gideon wasn’t a being who always concerned himself with concepts like bystanders, and we were standing in a mall full of them.

5

“It’s been like this for a few weeks, just since news of the possible expansion started to leak.” PJ paused to wave at a passing couple he evidently knew—not an uncommon interruption as we made our way around Levistan Below. I had little knowledge on how he ran the backend of the business, but from a management perspective, his efforts were evident. Everyone who worked at the mall was greeted by name, and most responded with a friendly tone. PJ might not exactly be beloved, but he did seem well-respected, at the minimum.

We’d gotten halfway through shutting off the soda fountains before the water finally died, PJ’s people having been able to cut it off at the source. While I’d been braced for a lot of toweling off, a new clothes purchase, or a damp evening, Amy had walked around offering sips of a blazing red potion. After a quick nip and a brief second of fear that I’d be set on fire, I found myself, as well as my clothes, all comfortably dry, like we were all fresh from the laundry.

“I know that sounds suspicious,” PJ continued, leading us past a store selling vintage model trains. “But when you work around this much magic, sometimes there’s congestion and these things happen. Between all the parahumans who exude certain auras, the various enchanted items up for sale, and the array we use ourselves, there’s a sort of build-up, like magical vapor. Gets too thick, you start to see crazy stuff happening. Initially, that’s what we assumed was at work.”

Amy stopped walking, forcing the rest of us to do the same, tilting her head back and taking a mighty sniff. It stretched on for several moments, until my excellent ears could hear phlegm shifting around in Amy’s throat, before she finally spoke. “Definitely not what’s at play. If anything, the ambient magic is thin. Based on the lingering pine scent, you just had it purged?”

Holding up half the digits on one of his hands, PJ nodded. “Three times since this all started. It seems to help, for a short while, and then things start all over again. I’m hoping there’s some element we’ve missed, an explanation other than the obvious.”

In a way, it felt like all of us were standing on the trigger of a massive gun. How we moved would determine if the weapon fired, or remained inert. I completely understood PJ’s exhaustive search for an answer other than sabotage. If that really was the answer, it would come with heavy consequences. We had to try our absolute best to rule out any other possibility, no matter how flimsy, if it meant a peaceful resolution.

However, ignoring our only other potential lead seemed imprudent. “You mentioned that this all started when news of the potential expansion leaked. Any chance there are some owners here who are against it?”

In that moment, I learned that gremlin sweat had an iridescent shimmer, as a sudden sheen crept over PJ. Given how close this was to leveling an accusation, and the consequences of such an action, the nerves were certainly understandable. “There are some who are worried about what it might mean for their businesses. These kinds of improvements are usually accompanied by rent hikes, new fees, and other measures designed to maximize profit. Still, I can’t imagine any of them being so upset they’d openly defy the King of the West.”

“’Cept they aren’t doing it openly, are they?” Bubba rubbed his chin, a slow, deliberate process as he mulled. “If, and this is a big old if, so nobody get ahead of themselves, but if somebody wanted to steer Gideon away from expandin’ this place, secret sabotage would be one of their only options. Obviously, nobody here is goin’ claw-to-claw with a dragon, ’specially one that powerful, so the best shot they’ve got is to make it look like a bad investment. Close to what we’re seein’, wouldn’t you say?”

“Ignorant hubris.” It was so rare that Gregor spoke without prompting, the words genuinely took me by surprise. “His Majesty would see through such a ruse instantly, were his noble attention not needed on more important matters.”

For as much as I respected Gregor and had begun to understand him better, I could have done with a tad less unwavering dedication to Gideon. Gregor being around meant that if we did learn anything, the vengeful dragon in town would absolutely hear about it. There was no chance we’d be able to hide any secrets uncovered, which was all the more reason for me to dearly hope there was a reasonable explanation, at least by parahuman standards.

Amy patted Gregor on the back. “No argument here. I’m sure Gideon would have already uncovered the issue. But as his efforts must be put toward greater goals, he’s trusted us to handle these smaller, more manageable tasks. That’s why we have to be thorough, examine all the possible explanations before reporting back. I would never dare bring the King of the West an incomplete report.”

“Quite right,” Gregor concurred, though his expression did turn slightly less severe. Probably. It was usually a bit of a guessing game where reading Gregor was concerned.

From her bag, Amy produced a small notebook and flipped it open. “Thus far, we’ve found the nearby ambient magic tested negative for curses, blessings, and auras. It’s possible someone is masking their work, but they’d need an experienced caster, which opens up a whole can of conspiracy worms. The far more likely explanation is that we’re dealing with an enchanted item. Those don’t leave the same mystical residue as actively cast magic, and it’s pretty much impossible to sweep for one in this setting.”

Before the battle of the pipes, I might not have understood the issue, but Octavio’s valves had made it clear. This whole area was littered with enchanted items—even the shops that didn’t sell them were likely using a few. Picking out the radiating energy of a specific one would be like searching for a single instrument’s note in a symphony.

“Let’s start by working with what we do know.” I looked over to PJ, whose sweaty shimmer had begun to fade. “Would you be willing to introduce us to some of those against the expansion? Strange events aside, that’s what we’re here to assess, and if some of the mall’s tenants have concerns, then we should hear them. They might raise valid issues, ones that could impact the shop turnover and Gideon’s bottom line.”

PJ’s iridescent sheen returned, though not quite to the same degree. “Not many who’ll speak openly against someone like Gideon.”

“Nor would I ever ask them to,” I assured him. That would be something I absolutely wanted to avoid, at least while Gregor was within punching range. “I’m only curious about their concerns for Levistan, the potential expansion, and how it will affect their business. None of which reflect on Gideon; these are mere matters of commerce.”

It didn’t escape my notice that PJ’s eyes hovered around Gregor for some time before he finally nodded. “I can take you to the one heading their group. Most of them aren’t the confrontational sort, but Crubble is an exception.”

“Of course it’s that douche,” Amy muttered. “He’s been mad ever since my bar opened near his juice store. There didn’t used to be a lot of drink options in that area; evidently, he thinks I’m pinching his business.”

Since Amy didn’t actually object, PJ turned us around, heading back toward Amy’s bar and its nearby competitor. One of the perks to a mall was the relatively short distance to any location, and within a few minutes, we were drawing near. As both locations came into view, I noticed several shoppers walking past holding cups bearing the Amy’s Alchemic Augmentations logo across the front, then spotted a small line snaking out from the bar itself.

Crubble’s juice shop, which I now saw was named Juiced and Dangerous, wasn’t entirely deserted either. There were two people seated, slurping on thick, colorful beverages. Not terrible, but a far cry from the brisk business Amy was doing. The two were serving wildly different markets, so one could easily understand the varying interest levels, though I imagined that still wasn’t easy to watch from Crubble’s perspective.

The parahuman in question looked us all over as we approached and gave a disdainful sniff. Crubble was a being not quite like anything I’d encountered before. He bore the most resemblance to a therian in their hybrid form, except those still had the recognizable hallmarks of their animals. Crubble was shaped roughly like a man, albeit a seven-foot-tall one, with fur covering his entire body, tusks, ears the size of salad plates, and small spines along the top of his skull.

As he looked toward us, the two customers turned as well, sending us looks only slightly warmer than the proprietor greeting us. “I say, have the king’s fine representatives deigned to sully their hands at my meager establishment?” If I’d been confused by Crubble’s appearance, his voice left me downright perplexed. It had the sort of polish and refinement I’d most often heard from high-end clients and sitting in expensive restaurants.

“What can I say? Game recognizes game,” Amy replied. She tilted a head toward Bubba. “My bud here has been blocked up downtown for three whole days, so I told him nothing will get your guts churning like one of Crubble’s so-called ‘specials.’”

In a scene that felt right out of a silent film, Crubble opened his mouth and closed it several times, like a fish gasping for air. Finally, he managed to find his tongue . . . assuming that’s what he used in order to talk. “Slanderous viper! How dare you spread such falsehoods.”

“Falsehoods? So you didn’t roll out a juice mix that gave every therian who drank it the squirts two years ago?” Amy was needling now, and her sly grin showed no intent toward stopping.

The expression on Crubble’s face darkened further. “An earnest mistake from not realizing their stomach’s reaction to the combination of certain fruits mixed with artificial sweeteners. One that was immediately rectified, and all cleaning bills paid. Afterwards, I even dedicated my free time to better understanding such potential interactions in order to circumvent such incidents in the future.”

I decided to step in before the two got really going, hoping it wasn’t already too late. “I would love a juice, and as a vampire, I have no known dietary restrictions. Name is Fredrick Frankford Fletcher, but most people call me Fred.”

“Greetings, Fred. I am called Crubble, and as proprietor, I must inform you that I do not stock the blood of any creature on these premises.” The looks I got weren’t quite as dirty as the ones sent to Amy, but I was clearly being lumped in. Or maybe he just disliked vampires—my kind had plenty of negative reputation all our own.

“No blood is fine, not like every human meal has a high true nutritional value. I’ll go with the Veggie Volley. Alive or dead, probably still good for me.”

Crubble reached under the counter, pulling out jugs of colored liquids and a Tupperware container of various vegetables in differing states of freshness. “Commerce has commenced, so let us move on to the true motives of your visit. PJ has informed you that I do not believe the expansion to be a wise move and have begun guiding others to the same conclusion.”

“A real waste of effort, because we both know the owner isn’t going to ask your opinion,” PJ pointed out.

“But I will.” While not the smoothest of transitions, I was making the most of what I had to work with. “That’s why I came over, in fact. I wanted to hear your concerns for the expansion; specifically, what factors have you worried. Depending on what they are, they might indeed be issues that need consideration. Ones we could miss without your insight.”

That earned me a deep chuckle from Crubble, along with some snickers from the pair of patrons. “Abner, Kiersten, if either of you desire refills, please let me know. Should the king’s representative wish to hear my complaints, this might well drag on for a while.”

He slapped a jug of green juice onto the counter so hard it nearly sloshed out the top, pouring without measuring into a large plastic cup. “To begin with, the costs of building below ground are exponentially higher than upstairs, meaning that someone will have to absorb that debt. Anyone with fundamental business knowledge could figure out it will most likely be us, those paying the rent and keeping this ecosystem of commerce flourishing, while the owner will see only expanded profits. That doesn’t even begin to address the influx of potential new businesses cannibalizing each other’s clientele, as we’ve seen with—”

Crubble’s building tirade was cut off by the sudden sound of chaos—a cacophony of objects falling paired with yelps of surprise. His face rippled with shock, the current jug in hand nearly slipping down to the floor. Steeling my nerves, I turned around, ready to see whatever the mall was throwing at us next.

6

Debris was splayed out everywhere: boxes, bags, even a spilled drink from Amy’s bar, the dark-purple coloring slowly oozing along the tile. Thankfully, that’s all I saw, just stuff. Things, items, purchases that could easily be replaced. Every endangered person had either jumped out of the way in time, or been moved. One of the benefits of being around parahumans: they’re pretty capable of taking care of themselves. Shifting my angle, my eyes turned to follow the path of carnage, and I found myself staring at the rear-end of a giant ladybug.

Not a real ladybug, mind you, though for a moment, that was very much my assumption as well. This was mechanical in nature, one of the toy forms of transportation that malls will often rent out to children. My eyes grew frantic as the implication set in; however, it only took a few moments to find the pilot. While diminutive in stature, the thick beard and flask in his hand sent signals that this was not a child—at least, not by human measurements. As he also seemed to be cursing in anger more than pain, it appeared he’d gotten free without major injury.

The noodle shop that had been crashed into, however, wasn’t faring so well. Somehow, the ladybug had built up substantial ramming speed, plowing through a section of the front counter and smashing into boiling tubs of hot water lining the far wall. Sparks and sizzles were emitting from the ladybug, but at least it had come to a full stop. The shop’s workers were slowly pulling themselves into view, shaken yet unhurt.

“Do you now see?” Crubble flung his hand forward, gesturing to the unexpected traffic accident. “Events like this are occurring more and more frequently. Levistan is more than merely an assemblage of storefronts. This space has housed magical items and beings for too long not to be touched in some manner. It possesses a will of its own. A will that does not wish to see loyal tenants driven from its halls.”

“Weird coincidence, how the supposed will of the mall totally matches up with exactly what you want,” Amy commented. Stepping away from the juice shop, she produced a few potions from her bag, ambling over to the crowd and handing one off to a satyr rubbing his left leg. After a few words, he swigged down the vial, wincing at the flavor. Seconds later, he was able to put weight on his injured limb, and Amy was off to help the next person.

I, on the other hand, was still latched on to a different part of his complaint. “What was that about driving away tenants?”

With an indifferent thump, Crubble set my Veggie Volley down on the counter. It was a yellowish-green, not exactly what I’d call an appetizing hue. “This is a process we’ve already witnessed played out with the mall above ground, one that I have no desire to see repeated. An expansion incurs debt, meaning the mall must generate more income to remain profitable. That leads to the seeking out of high-end businesses, who in turn make the location more desirable, allowing a landlord to increase rent. One by one, the old stores will be priced out, allowing those with deep pockets to take our space.”

The rant left me so surprised, I unthinkingly took a swig of my drink. Barely managing to force it all down, the unique taste at least broke me out of my stupor. It wasn’t that I’d assumed Crubble to be stupid, but I was in no way prepared for his concerns to be so . . . reasonable. Parahumans were more prone to worry about a place being haunted or some secret fey hideout; not many concerned themselves with long-term rent spikes.

Even worse, this wasn’t some worry I could easily brush aside. Crubble’s assessment wasn’t wrong—higher-end stores brought in clients with greater discretionary income, which made them very tempting for someone looking at the bottom line. Gideon wasn’t necessarily as heartless as a venture capitalist, but this was an investment, one made with an eye toward profit. He might well decide to steer Levistan in such a direction, and if so, things could easily play out the way Crubble expected.

“There is appeal in that strategy,” I said at last. “However, it doesn’t come without consequences. Longer-term tenants are more likely to stay during a down economy and have the draw of loyal, repeat customers. I’m in no way empowered to speak for Gideon, but I feel confident in saying he won’t move rashly.”

“The King of the West shall move in whatever way he determines to be best. All those in his way will be scattered to the winds.” Gregor wasn’t particularly helping my efforts toward diplomacy, not that I thought he was trying to. Crubble was dancing on the line of critiquing Gideon, and if he stepped over it, I genuinely wasn’t sure what would happen. Or if I’d be able to stop it.

Crubble pulled himself up, standing straighter to better tower over his audience. “Small beings like us, I have no doubt. We would be little more than dots on the ground to a mighty dragon. Yet what will he do with his own enterprise working against him? The will of Levistan is made clear. Not even a dragon can work against such magic.”

“I’d be careful makin’ assumptions about what dragons can or can’t do,” Bubba advised.

“Thank you.” PJ gestured upward, as if sending appreciation to the heavens. “I’ve been trying to explain that for all we know, Gideon can walk in here, breathe fire, and wipe out every trace of ambient magic causing these issues, even if it torches everything else in the process. This problem isn’t going away just because the soda fountains are breaking and one of our transportation devices went haywire.”

Gregor nodded in firm agreement. “Nothing defers His Majesty from what he desires. These incidents are nothing more than minor barriers to be trampled.”

“Yes, of course, how dare the pitiful masses sending him all that gold dare to speak up for themselves.” With a shake of his head, Crubble started putting away the various jugs he’d taken out for my drink. “I am fully aware that none of us could so much as delay the King of the West—such is the chasm of power between us. However, I am fully permitted to take pleasure in some force standing against him, even one as ineffable as the soul of the mall.”

The more Crubble referred to Levistan as a living place, the more I wondered if he was being literal or not. As someone who’d called a sentient mansion home until recently, I was keenly aware that the words might be more than colorful language. This place certainly didn’t seem to be the same as Charlotte, but it would be presumptuous to assume all such entities worked identically. Perhaps Levistan’s consciousness preferred a subtler approach.

“The will of the mall. That’s what we’re going with, huh?” Amy had wandered back over, hands now empty of potions, but holding the cup from her bar that had been dropped. I supposed she wanted to help clean up, or maybe just to keep her branding away from such a scene. “All right then, Crubble, what do you say we put that to the test? Let’s see just who really has Levistan on their side.”

“You have a method to divine such leanings?” Crubble didn’t sound particularly convinced, though I noticed Abner and Kiersten, the two sitting at his counter, gesturing for his attention. Pity for them, after all the earlier barbs, Crubble only had eyes for Amy.

“I do indeed. Ancient rite, dating back to when the mall was first founded. They used this method to settle all disputes that came up in the early days. PJ can back me up, in case you have doubts.”

All eyes shifted to PJ, who was already nodding along. “That method hasn’t been used in some time, but she’s correct about the history. It’s the oldest form of conflict resolution that Levistan possesses.”

Crubble was clearly entranced by the bait, but it didn’t seem like he’d bitten down quite yet. “What would the stakes be, precisely? I have no more power to stop the mysterious goings-on of late than you do to halt Gideon’s ambitions. Neither of us can change the situation.”

“Oh, trust me, the situation is changing.” Amy slapped her cup onto the counter with much more force than was necessary. “Be a good neighbor and toss that out for me. As for stakes, you’re right, it doesn’t really change much. But since you seem to think Levistan has a desire for one of us to come out on top, this is the easiest way I know to ask its opinion. Let’s see who really has the mall on their side, and who has gotten all mixed up.”

We waited as Crubble lifted her cup and slowly tossed it into a bin, his and Amy’s eyes never leaving one another. “So be it. Let us engage in this ancient contest. I expect it will be combat-based?”

“Brawls do sometimes break out, but on the whole, mall hockey isn’t quite that violent,” PJ interjected.

About half of us stared at PJ with mouths agape at that statement. Only Amy and the pair of juice-drinkers were unsurprised by such a casual revelation. Bubba held up a hand, motioning for a mandatory pause. “Hang on just a dang second, the ancient rite dating back to the founding of this place is somethin’ called mall hockey?”

“It was founded in the early two-thousands. We’re not even to the twenty-year anniversary,” PJ countered. “A bunch of parahumans stuffed into one spot without clans or treaties to maintain order will usually turn into a brawl, but we figured out a less destructive method for resolving disagreements; hence, mall hockey. Think like floor hockey, except the layout and features of the mall offer more obstacles. Plus, we added a special condition to mitigate the differences in different parahumans’ baseline physical abilities.”

“Is that right?” Crubble was recovering from the shock, and PJ’s information only quickened the process. “I suppose such an event could be enjoyable. You versus me?”

The hand clapped me on the back before I’d even noticed Amy moving, Gregor and Bubba receiving similar treatment moments later. “No such luck. It’s a team game. I’ll take these three. Hopefully, you can rummage up a few friends.”

“I fail to see any point to such an exercise.” Gregor looked over to me, staring for several seconds. “However, I will participate enough to stay within proximity of my charge.”

While Gregor was complaining, Crubble turned to his pair of customers. “Abner, can you run to Octavio’s and tell him to come pitch in? I’m calling in the favor for helping to clear out his basement.”

Abner hopped from his chair, taking off like a shot as he raced through the mall. The urgency seemed a tad misplaced compared to the casual pace PJ took as he stepped away from us, looking over the surroundings. After a short while, he began to speak in short, husky grunts. If not for the phone in PJ’s hand, I’d have feared he was choking on something, but it soon became clear he was speaking in the native gremlin tongue. Similar sounds were bubbling up from the device, their meaning impossible to discern. Sometimes with a new language, there’s a bit of similarity to latch on to, but this was nothing more than noise to my brain.

“Gear is on the way,” PJ announced. “Should arrive within half an hour, which gives us time to get the playing field set up. You should use it to figure out your respective game plans. Since these are four-person teams, three will be attacking, while one guards. Only the attackers will be mounted. The guards get to move around on their own feet.”

Several of us were taken aback by that revelation, though Bubba was bordering on incredulous. “Mounts? Exactly what sort of mounts did you have in mind?”

“As I said, mall hockey uses specific rules to even out the parahuman playing field. Part of that is taking away the variable speeds we’re capable of moving at. Every attacker is mounted to ensure one can’t merely zip around or knock the others askew. Obviously, that’s not the kind of consistency you can get with a real creature. Hence why we embraced technological alternatives.” PJ pointed behind us, back to the scene of the crash.

No, that wasn’t quite right. PJ was, in fact, gesturing to the half-scrapped remains of the rideable ladybug. It seemed this game of mall hockey would be played from atop mechanical mounts.

7

The rules of the game were not especially complex, probably because there was only so much one could do from atop the back of a slow-moving machine shaped like an animal. Well, slow-moving normally. Once we’d agreed upon the game, PJ ordered some of his staff to bring up the specialty mounts, the ones with certain safety features disabled. We certainly wouldn’t be hitting highway thresholds, but there’s no way a normal mall would permit us to race around at those speeds.

Then again, a normal mall also wouldn’t largely close down with customers still around, just so they could attend a game being played in the space between stores. As the outsider, I’d been provided with a few possible locations, spots big enough to accommodate our event. Letting me choose was supposed to mitigate home-field advantage to a degree, and while I wasn’t sure how effective such a tactic would be, I appreciated the gesture. I ultimately chose a spot near the giant fountain for two reasons, one of which was that it offered excellent space for people nearby to watch.

Space that had been filled and exceeded in no time. While gremlins were still putting up the nets, people were packing in, jostling and climbing to get a good view. I watched them all from atop my noble steed, a mechanical frog with part of his tongue sticking out and eyes going in different directions. If you’re wondering, no, we did not get to select which mount we’d be using.

“Everyone clear on the plan? Fred hangs back from our position, staying near our goal if we’re on offense, theirs if we’re on defense. Basically, we want him always open in case we need to pass. Bubba, you harass these assholes as much as possible, throw that weight around. I’ll signal where I need you in the moment. As for me . . .” Amy paused, reaching into her bag and downing a vial of clear liquid. There was a series of flashes and sparkles washing over her, and when they cleared, I expected we’d see a new effect in play.

Instead, I was treated to the rare sight of an entirely normal Amy Wells, not one magical color, light, or sound anywhere near her. Even the shimmer around her eyes was gone. With a shake of her brown hair, Amy resumed. “As for me, I’ll lead the charge. Not my first time playing this, and I’m pretty good at reading a situation. Especially with a clear head.”

Bubba and I both nodded. Gregor would have been stoic, I presume; however, he’d already been sent to his position. Initially, I’d considered using Bubba as our team’s goalie, until Gregor’s attempt to climb atop a mechanical goat earned screeches of protest from the machine. Gargoyles were not light creatures, so I did some team reshuffling. Although Gregor had little enthusiasm for the game, even if he merely stood there, he would make a substantial wall. I did have another strategy at play, but it was something of a gamble. The best tactic would be to ensure our opponents never got near a goal.

The sharp, shrill blast of a whistle sounded through the mall—our signal to begin approaching the field of battle. Gunning the throttle carefully, my frog and I surged forward, following Bubba atop his caterpillar and Amy on the no-longer-groaning goat. We zipped along the polished floor, through the narrow opening left by the crowd, and arrived just as the others were coming to a halt.

To no surprise, it was Crubble at the front, with Abner and Kiersten flanking him on the sides. That meant Octavio was in their goal, perhaps also put there in case of limited enthusiasm. Crubble rode atop a rabbit with bows in its ears, Abner was seated on a cat with a worryingly wide grin, and Kiersten’s mount was an explosion of color thanks to its parrot-like appearance. At least neither team could claim they’d been forced to ride sillier vehicles; we were all in about the same ridiculous boat.

Standing in the center of the field that had been marked off, between a pair of large potted plants we’d have to navigate around, was our referee: PJ. Given that he worked with both the mall staff and Gideon, our gremlin guide was as close to a neutral party as could be found. Amy had also vouched for his fairness, and with no other viable options at play, that essentially settled the matter.

His outfit was slightly changed. Aside from the black-and-white striped shirt now covering his torso and much of his legs, PJ had a whistle around his neck and a small bullhorn clutched in his hand. Lifting it up, he looked to each team, making sure we were present and paying attention before he began to speak.

“All right, everyone, listen close, because I’m only going over this once. We are gathered here to participate in the great tradition of mall hockey, a contest near hallowed upon these grounds. That said, it’s a weeknight and people are shopping, so this game will have a strict time limit. The winner is the team with the highest score in twenty minutes, or the first to nab three goals. In the event of a tie, I guess you both go home unhappy. The use of any abilities beyond the unavoidable basics of moving your body, such as increased strength or speed, are prohibited. Take a step off that mount, decide to throw a potion into the mix, spin a web in the net—any of that will get your opposing team a free point. Questions?”

After that last example listed, I actually had a fair few, but as the others nodded, PJ seemed to take it as consensus, lifting the whistle to his lips and letting out a shrill blow. From somewhere above, unseen, a red ball dropped down directly in the middle of our field, equidistant between the teams. PJ’s whistle was like a starter shot before a race; suddenly, both teams sprang into motion.

Roaring toward the ball, everyone’s hands dove to the sides of their mounts, where we each had holsters containing a net on a stick that had originally been intended for lacrosse. According to Bubba, the technical term for them was a “crosse,” which made me wonder how those games didn’t get confusing, as well as offered a mild chuckle at me being a vampire wielding a crosse. Whatever the name, I clutched mine awkwardly as I hung back as instructed, watching the teams reach the center and finally clash.

Thanks to his long arms’ exceptional reach, Crubble managed to snag the ball off the ground, flipping it overhead, where it tumbled lightly into the clutches of Abner’s net. He had just enough time to look triumphant before Bubba and the caterpillar slammed against his smiling cat, sending both man and machine spinning back several feet.

The force of the blow was such that the crosse started to spin, sending the ball shooting through the air. It went wild, heading for the edge of the field, until another net popped up into view and snared it from the sky. Amy didn’t even slow down, her movements seamless as she pulled the stick in close, barreling toward the opponents’ goal. Kiersten was the only one somewhat nearby, but the moment she started, it was clear how futile the effort would be. Amy had snagged the ball from a totally unexpected location, meaning she had too much of a head-start. The bigger question was how Amy knew it would be there in the first place.

Zooming down the floors, Amy jerked right to swing around one of the planters where PJ was still standing, then pulled left again to avoid clipping a small staircase to an elevated section, atop which dozens of onlookers were staring down at her. With a quick recovery, Amy turned hard on the steering bars of her goat, setting a good angle on the goal and whipping her crosse forward. The ball sailed, unerringly, directly toward the goal.

Unfortunately, Octavio’s hand was also unerring as it snatched the ball from midair. PJ blew his whistle, signaling a reset, and Octavio tossed the ball up to the ceiling, where it seemed to vanish. That was, until the next whistle, when it came dropping down from the same spot as the first time, right in the center of the field.

Over the next few minutes, I better learned the general dynamics of the teams, and how effective they were against one another. Crubble’s group had a good bit going for them. Their leader was strong, tough, and decisive. He issued orders without hesitation, orders that were swiftly followed by Abner and Kiersten. It made them a powerful, cohesive unit capable of adapting to different challenges as they were presented. Add in the fact that they had another player in most of the scrambles, and they probably should have gotten off to an early, commanding lead.

The trouble for Crubble was that he was squaring off against Amy and Bubba. Their own talents made them difficult enough, which included Bubba smacking crosses and charging mounts to cause ball drops, as well as Amy’s own near-magical ability to predict where the ball would end up. But the real danger of those two was their incredible teamwork. Amy and Bubba were best friends, seemed like they had been since first meeting.

The tremendous amounts of time they’d spent together, combined with both being among the most intelligent people in my acquaintance, allowed them to communicate flawlessly with almost no outward signals. Whenever Bubba needed support, Amy was there causing a distraction. When Bubba tossed a ball seemingly at random, it consistently came down in Amy’s crosse. Occasionally, they would send a ball to me, drawing the others over, then I would pass it back once one of them was clear. The strategy was obvious, yet Crubble couldn’t afford to ignore it and leave me undefended.

Too bad for us, Octavio was proving to be an incredible goalie. He’d snagged every shot Amy had taken, only coming close to missing a single time. It might have been different if Bubba had been able to make some throws with his therian strength, but she was working with the limits of human muscles. After one particularly frustrating catch, Amy was a tad slower getting back into position, and Crubble saw his chance.

“Abner, Kiersten, block that man no matter what!” Crubble snagged the ball in his crosse, flipping around so quickly his rabbit nearly toppled over sideways, desperate to put some distance between himself and Bubba. Amy was too far back to join in as Abner and Kiersten both threw their vehicles in Bubba’s path, giving him the choice of a crash or reorienting, both of which would cost precious time.

Crubble, meanwhile, was tearing a path toward our goal, where Gregor stood with his arms crossed. If someone had mistaken him for a bored bystander who had wandered onto the field by mistake, it would have been a forgivable assumption. I tried to halt Crubble, swinging for his stick, but he managed to avoid the strike as his rabbit darted past. There was no twitch or shift from Gregor as Crubble drew closer, crosse already reared back into a throwing position.

“Putting the big one in the goal might have seemed smart,” Crubble called out, taunting us. “But blocking a shot is all about guts and determination. Doesn’t look like your guy has much of either.” With one last extra push of strength, Crubble snapped his crosse forward, blasting the ball out at incredible speeds. This was no toss from a mage. It screamed toward the goal, success all but inevitable.

Until a thick hand snapped through the air, halting the ball in midflight. Crubble’s face twisted in surprise, then momentary horror as he caught a glimpse of the glower Gregor was sending his way. “You would dare attempt desecration of His Majesty’s great image?” Gregor hurled the ball back to the ceiling, this time with enough force that I heard something let out a ragged gasp.

I didn’t disagree with Crubble on the importance of having motivated players; that was why I’d selected the layout we were using. Gregor clearly wasn’t into this and would participate only out of duty. That said, there was one factor I could always count on to stir Gregor up, and that was his loyalty to Gideon. With the dragon statue behind him—and his goal—Gregor would do everything in his power to let nothing past.

The shock of our goalie’s performance resulted in a mirror of the prior round, where it was Crubble’s team who was unready as the ball came dropping down. Amy scooped it up, but rather than make a charge, she signaled to me. That was all the warning I got before the ball was heading over, vampire reflexes alone allowing me to make the catch.

“Go! We’ll block.” Amy proved that point by gunning her goat’s throttle and surging forward on a collision course with Crubble. Bubba was charging the duo, his crosse out like a limbo bar, trying to make himself twice as wide.

The plan was evident at a glance: time was running out and someone needed to score. Amy didn’t have the raw power to make the throw, and we’d never get a good window without Bubba blocking. I was both stronger than Amy and less essential than Bubba, which made me the perfect candidate to take a toss.

Wasting no time, I spurred my frog onward, zooming toward Octavio at speeds that frankly made me a bit uncomfortable. Behind me, I could hear the clatter of metal on metal, as well as all manner of curse words being bandied about. Amy and Bubba were holding the line; how long it would last was anyone’s guess. I had to make the most of this opportunity.

Sitting high on my frog, I took careful aim, planning to put the ball over Octavio’s left shoulder. As the moment to swing came, though, I found myself momentarily uncertain. How much strength was enough? Was there too much? Could I cause an injury?

Yet as I looked around, the concerns seemed a tad silly. I wasn’t even all that strong by parahuman standards, certainly not by vampire ones. The joy of places like this, playing games amidst other supernatural beings, was not having to constantly worry about what we were doing. If there was ever a place where I could fully give myself over to even something as simple as a game, I could hardly ask for a better environment.

Putting all the pepper I could onto my toss, I flung the crosse forward, sending the ball shooting out. My aim was slightly off, which turned out to be a lucky break. Hard as I threw, Octavio’s arms were still moving fast, right on track for my ball . . . until it took an odd turn and shifted toward his head. The shift caused him to hesitate for a moment, just long enough for the ball to go whizzing past his ear, nearly making contact.

PJ blew his whistle, signaling the first score of the game, but honestly, I barely heard it over the sound of my own cheer tearing out of my throat. In that moment, I could finally see how people found such love in playing sports.

8

Between Amy and Bubba’s aggressive offense and Gregor’s wall-like guarding of the goal, my point was the only one scored before our twenty minutes ran out. As gremlins appeared from the crowd to break down and scuttle away the equipment, clearing room for shoppers to resume their buying, I searched for Crubble to congratulate him on a game well played.

“If you’re looking for our team leader, your friend pulled him aside once the whistle blew.” Octavio had evidently noticed my head swiveling around, walking up to my side with a small bag of taffy in hand. He silently offered me a piece, but I declined. With no toothbrush nearby, those candies were more trouble than they were worth. “I think they’re around here somewhere talking; she didn’t seem to be dragging him far.”

With a quick scan, I confirmed that Amy was indeed missing as well. Curious, but presumably she had some business to take care of. As I looked around, I also noticed that the mood in the mall was upbeat. Even Abner and Kiersten seemed to be getting on okay with Bubba, despite their recent defeat.

“It’s a fun place, isn’t it?” Octavio tossed a few of the dense candies into his mouth, seemingly swallowing them whole. “Crubble is a grump, and too surly even by subterranean standards, but I do understand his concerns. It isn’t the physical change he’s afraid of. It’s what happens to this place as a whole. Are the kinds of vendors paying for a slick, updated facility also the sort who are okay settling their differences with mall hockey?” He shrugged, answering his own question. “Doesn’t seem likely. Then it’s just a matter of the long-term residents being priced out, the new replaces the old, and it’s like we were never here.”

Nice as it would have been to dispel Octavio’s concerns, I knew how viable that future was. Worse, once the change-over happened, there was a strong chance Levistan Below would lose the very charm that brought people in. Above our heads was one of the countless testaments to that very thing dotting the nation, proving that former thriving centers of community could fall by the wayside.

But then . . . that wasn’t merely a moral concern. It was a business one, too, I realized. And if that could negatively impact the bottom line, then I was well within my role as Gideon’s helper to think of ways which might mitigate such an issue. Double-checking that Amy was still gone, I took Octavio over near the fountain, where there was no one near besides Gregor. “Would you mind if I asked you some questions about this place, and exactly how long some of you have been here?”

“Why not? Have to wait for the staff to finish drying my shop anyway.”

Sitting on the fountain, Octavio and I spoke at length about Levistan Below, both its past and its future. By the time I spotted Amy walking around once more, my concerns had metamorphosized into notions, bordering on full-blown ideas. There was still more development needed before I’d be ready to make the full pitch to Gideon, but I had a plan. One that would both honor my duty to Gideon and help preserve this hidden patch of parahuman community.

“Hey, Gregor, would you mind helping Bubba haul some boxes to the truck?” Amy called. “We’ve got stacks of old documents to bring over, and I presume Gideon would prefer we not waste time with me trying to lift things.”

Gregor’s eyes shifted to me, his charge, before once more looking at the mall, my position in it, and the proximity of our closest threats. I was expecting him to protest, but instead, he merely offered a surly nod. “So long as Fred stays put and does not immediately court danger, my services can be put to use.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Amy promised, tossing an arm around my shoulder.

As Gregor headed off, Octavio rose to leave as well. “About time I checked on my shop. Fred, it was a pleasure talking to you. I hope in the future, we have similar opportunities.”

Both men headed off to their respective tasks, leaving me alone with Amy. She didn’t say anything at first, walking over to the edge of the fountain and popping a pair of vials from her coat. Both were put into her mouth simultaneously, then she shook her face back and forth, turning her skull into a cocktail shaker. Only when satisfied did she swallow the concoction, an emerald hue creeping in around the skin of her fingers and ears.

“Oh man, that is exhausting to keep up.” Amy seemed more herself now, the relaxed aura that I hadn’t even realized was missing settling nicely around her, glad to be home. “Thank the sages that work is done; I can finally unwind.”

“Not to be persnickety about details, but I’d say we still have quite a bit to handle. While our victory appears to have earned us some goodwill, there’s still the matter of all the incidents plaguing Levistan Below.”

Leaning back, Amy let out a sigh that brought with it several bubbles from her mouth, one of which took the shape of a butterfly and flapped toward the ceiling. “That’s already been handled. I had a long talk with Crubble about the dangers of confusing mixology with alchemy. He thought switching the agave syrup on my bar’s toppings table would just mess with the flavor of Hexenberry Blast, since his brand uses different chemicals as additional sweetener. Maybe he even hoped I’d get the same therian digestive issues as his old product.”

“Hang on, so this was all Crubble’s doing?” The fellow hadn’t seemed cordial, but sabotaging his own mall seemed an odd tactic to choose.

“Yes and no,” she explained. “Different plants come from different regions, and carry the tinges of their local magic. It’s why all the extra sugars, syrups, and other additions we offer are specifically sourced from places with low ambient magic, or purified by yours truly. Crubble thought he was lowering the appeal of our new product; in reality, his trick turned every cup of Hexenberry Blast topped by a drizzle of agave into an unstable potion with highly chaotic effects on nearby enchanted objects.”

It took me several seconds of sitting there to fully digest the implications of her explanation. That did explain the haphazard nature of the incidents; it was truly random, occurring whenever someone brought a specific combination of drink and additive around enchanted items. Without understanding his actions, not even Crubble had realized that he was the cause. But Amy did. She put it together in the scant few hours we’d been poking around.

“What will happen to him?” It wasn’t a question I necessarily wanted answered, yet I felt compelled to ask. However small, I’d had a part in all this.

Amy’s response wasn’t just quick, it also carried an unexpected cheer. “He’s going to be deep-cleaning all my drink machines for the next six months, and has to wear some of our merch for a few weeks.”

I turned toward her, only to find the sharp eyes already waiting, an explanation on her tongue. “So far as the reports will go, this one was on me. That wacky, undependable Amy made another mix-up and caused some havoc. No ill-intent or starting shit with a dragon, just the usual shenanigans.”

“You’re comfortable lying to Gideon?” Pleasant as he could be at times, Gideon made no secret of his more bloody practices. Being deceived didn’t strike me as an offense he’d take lightly.

Reaching around behind her, Amy scooped a handful of water from the fountain, slurping it down before I could question the safety, to say nothing of the sanity. “It isn’t . . . I guess it is lying, but not the way you’re thinking of it. Consider it consensual deceit.” She paused, opened a small tin, and licked pink powder off the lid before continuing.

“Gideon has a lot of power, prestige, reputation, all of it. But that doesn’t mean he wants to come down and incinerate a building every time someone steps out of line. Even from a time perspective, that’s not a good use of resources. Unfortunately, among some parahumans, dragons included, that can be viewed as a sign of weakness. So if the smaller issues can get handled before they ever reach him, then Gideon doesn’t need to involve himself or risk losing status.”

“And if the issues were mere accidents, caused by a mage he’s shown favor toward, then there’s no one to take revenge on.” The wheels of my own brain had finally managed to catch up with where Amy was leading, and as they did, a great many things fell into place. The chaotic nature of such a brilliant mage, how even her lauded reputation didn’t really stack up to her towering intellect, and all the opportunities it would present to insulate others from potential dragon wrath.

That earned me a pat on the back from Amy, who let out a soft burp with the colors of a fading sunset. “Precisely.”

“That is an interesting arrangement.” I understood her point, and it had given me context to view Amy in a whole new light; however, it felt like there was still something I’d missed. “May I ask, why tell me about it?”

“Because you’ve been grappling with the concepts of leadership and power lately. Even before the attack on Asha, though that amplified things, and with what happened to Charlotte . . . I know you’ve got a lot on your mind. Curse of being so good at catching details.” Amy sighed. “The point is, I wanted you to see that there are more ways to handle threats than with direct strikes. Sometimes, a reputation can be enough.”

Though I nodded, there was a clear flaw in the parallel. “For that to work, I would need a reputation as fearsome as Gideon’s.”

“You might be closer than you realize. The House of Fred has garnered quite a few rumors. But you’re thinking in the moment, Fred. This is a long-term lesson.” Amy lifted a hand, wiggling her three longest fingers. “There are three states of power: what you have, what you’re willing to show, and what you’re willing to use. They don’t all need to be at the same parameters; however, you need to figure out what those values are. Know your strength, know what you want the public to see, and know how far you’re willing to take things if a situation demands it.”

Applying her advice to our discussion’s recent focus, Gideon, I tried to fit what I knew of him into that mold. The power he had was tremendous; his title as king and the litany of fallen foes attested to that, even if one didn’t have the insight of being temporarily bonded to a dragon through magic. The power he showed was on par with what he held, and his reputation reflected it. Yet it was the wielding aspect where things faltered. For as strong as he was, I realized that Gideon very rarely ever took direct action. In fact, outside of times where Sally was threatened, I couldn’t recall him using that incredible might.

“I think I see. You act as insulation,” I said, comprehension fully dawning. “Gideon understands the devastation that would be left if he had to respond to every petty slight, so he uses those like you to keep them from ever reaching his desk.”

Amy’s focus was half-lost on a hallway, one where I could see Gregor and Bubba hauling a huge stack of boxes. “Me, Bubba, even Richard. The fear of Gideon is a much safer way to subdue challengers than with Gideon himself. Of course, that only works because when he does have to wield his power, Gideon leaves a lasting impression.”

There would be no argument from me on that front. The memories of Gideon showing strength were among the more popular features in my nightmares. “What about your reputation, though? Doesn’t this reflect badly on you?”

“Eh, I’d have to give a shit about what most people think for that to be a factor.” Amy was one of the few people I’d met capable of meaning such a statement. Her magic was her art, one that had always been entirely self-directed. “It might be a pain if I had aspirations to climb higher in the mage world, but since I don’t, being a king’s favorite mage gives me all the clout I need. Outside of the social stuff, my actual skills do all the talking that’s needed.”

Amy hopped up from the fountain, pointing toward our approaching duo. “Let’s drop this for now. Gideon will get the full report later.”

The implication was clear: Gregor might not respond appropriately to the truth, even if the full situation was explained. Which was why this was a task given to Amy. If nothing else, I had to commend Gideon’s ability to assess an ally’s strengths and use them appropriately.

We reconnected with Bubba and Gregor, the former handing me a hefty stack of boxes. Parahumans were notoriously reckless bookkeepers. It was a good thing vampires could stay up for days at a clip; I was going to need the time.

“Here’s every receipt, report, and expense breakdown we could find,” Bubba reported, motioning to a cart laden down with a precarious number of boxes. “Really need all this to figure out if expandin’ is a good idea?”

“Oh no, that matter was settled hours ago. Based on my assessment, there is ample profit to be made by adding more space here, especially if the tunnel system is extended to accommodate more areas.” I popped the lid off the top box, skimming through the documents. Messy writing, as expected, but at least the right sections were filled out.

“These are to help me establish an understanding of the costs associated with running a business here, the tenure of existing businesses, and what accommodations can be made so they’ll survive the transition. For example, I’m going to propose that Gideon offers a growing discount on rent for shops with long histories. Not only will that help ensure that all the shops currently drawing customers won’t be priced out, it creates an incentive for stores to come here with long-term plans. If we want Levistan Below to thrive, it needs strong roots.”

I looked up to find a mixture of stares peering back at me. “Don’t tell me you all forgot that I was here for my accounting skills, rather than my excellent goal-scoring abilities.”

“I think we’re just impressed that you manage to get actual business done during these trips,” Amy replied. She reached down and hefted a single box, then meandered toward the bar bearing her name. “You all go ahead. I’m going to grab one for the road.”

Although I had a hunch her beverage wouldn’t be legal in a moving car, as she wasn’t the driver, I opted not to protest. Besides, Amy had already given me a great deal to contemplate; I didn’t want to see what she’d unload if I got between her and her refreshments.

As we hauled the boxes back to the escalator, my mind was already thinking through her words and how they applied to our situation. Quinn had made two attempts on the lives of my people; it would be irresponsible not to expect more coming. Even shoring up our defenses by staying with Gideon was a temporary fix. Sooner or later, we were going to have to do something. And Amy was right about one thing.

When that day arrived, I’d better be very sure exactly how far the House of Fred was willing to go.

1

In my time since joining the ranks of the undead, I had been fortunate enough to witness some truly spectacular sights, yet there was still something to be said for the natural splendor of a mountain. The towering height, the imposing figure it cut against a starlit sky, the breadth of scale as one took in just how vast it truly was. As I stood there, struck by its tremendous stature and beauty, I took a moment to appreciate one of the non-magical wonders of the world.

“Somebody get me a shot of whiskey and some skis!” Krystal’s explosive enthusiasm echoed all around the parking lot, not that I could blame her. She’d been on assignment nearly nonstop since our honeymoon, taking her punishment for defying the Agency’s desires. Whether it was Krystal pushing back, Arch pulling strings, or someone higher up finally deciding she’d earned a break, my wife had managed to finagle a few precious days away from the office.

But of course, life was never that simple. Her time off arrived just as I was due to make a business trip further upstate to meet with a new potential client, and a large one at that. When she’d discovered that the trip would involve me visiting a luxury ski-resort, however, the problem had more or less solved itself. Although, once the rest of the team found out what we were planning, things took a predictable turn of complication.

“Wow! It’s so pretty with the lights all over.” Albert stepped from the large SUV, gazing up at the mountain in wonder. He’d put on a bit more muscle since we last talked, though the changes weren’t coming as fast these days. They weren’t needed as much either, as Albert was clearly past his days of boyhood, looking more like an adult by the week. Given that zombies didn’t age naturally, it was obvious Neil had been putting in a lot of work to help his best friend achieve a sense of growing up.

For his part, Neil wasn’t clad in the usual ensemble of dark robes, trading them out for thick, waterproof pants and a coat that made him appear very nearly off-balance. “The lights are lining the trails. Big Paw offers night skiing, and most people need help seeing in the dark.”

As they admired Big Paw Ski Resort, the rest of our friends climbed out from their various vehicles. Amy and Bubba came over with Neil and Albert, while Gregor had ended up riding with Lillian and Al. Officially speaking, that was due to the worn-out shocks on Krystal’s truck being paired with Gregor’s density. Unofficially, there was no way I was letting two of my people make that trek unprotected. Amy and Bubba had their own combat experience, plus Neil and Albert had been getting a year of direct training under Arch by this point. They could handle themselves. Whereas Lillian was a vampire, a target Quinn well knew the vulnerabilities of, and Al shared my predilection for pacifism. Gregor had attempted to object, though not even he could claim to be a better protector than my wife, the agent with an itchy trigger finger and a literal devil inside.

Nothing had happened on the ride over, thankfully, yet my nerves didn’t truly settle. They never did, really, not since the attack on Charlotte. Knowing that Quinn would target my friends, I was always a little anxious, on edge, eyes hunting for anything out of the ordinary. Part of me knew that it was draining, but the rest kept whispering that maybe if I’d been a little more observant, Asha would still have a heartbeat and Charlotte’s walls wouldn’t be ash.

I did take some comfort in seeing Charlotte’s travel form emerge from the final vehicle, held delicately in the hands of another gargoyle. This one was slightly taller than Gregor, with a scar along the right side of his bald head, standing stock-still as several other figures emerged from the vast vehicle. It was as close to an all-terrain limo as I could imagine, and there were doubtlessly some magical elements helping it along, all solely to transport Gideon, Sally, Richard, and Charlotte’s travel body, along with her handler.

I wasn’t entirely sure why they’d joined our caravan; Gideon had simply announced that they would be going with us that morning. Given that he was a king, a dragon, and our landlord, there was really no debating the issue, even if we’d had the grounds to do so. But in truth, I was the only one who was here for work. The rest were already planning on enjoying themselves. For that sort of plan, the more the merrier.

My eyes finally drifted away from the mountain, shifting toward the main lodge. Big Paw Resort featured a few facilities dotting the slopes, but the huge lodge at the base was easily their main structure. It featured rooms, dining, equipment rentals, lift passes—everything one would need to step out onto the ski runs. That also meant they kept most of the revenue in-house, rather than having guests head out to independently owned shops who wouldn’t be sharing the profits.

I knew that, as well as a multitude of other details about Big Paw Resort, because the owners were contemplating selling. That was, in fact, what had brought me there in the first place. Although, as good a business as Fletcher Accounting Services was doing, I wasn’t quite yet in a position to purchase a mountain resort. Rather, I’d been contacted by the Agency and tapped to come help assess their books. It seemed the Clyne family that currently owned Big Paw had some parahuman affiliations that were part of the business, requiring a parahuman accountant who could dig into those details. As the Agency was still an official ally of mine, refusing their tasks wasn’t something I could do without merit.

Besides, it hadn’t slipped my notice that after I agreed, Krystal finally got a few days of break. I wasn’t sure how wise it was to play that game in the long-term, but for the moment, I was just savoring time with the woman I loved—one who was currently hauling an enormous duffle bag out of her truck. She slung it over her shoulder with a clatter, and I tried not to imagine the various weapons and tools massed up together inside. Hopefully, none would be needed, but there was never any telling that to an agent. Not that I would have tried after what had already happened to two members of our clan. I might not be violence-inclined, but that didn’t mean I would stand in Krystal’s way.

With everyone unloaded, we made our way up to the main lodge. Given the size and current season, it would no doubt have been bustling during the daytime, but one of the perks to traveling by night is smaller crowds. We waltzed in to a near-empty lobby, with only a receptionist at the desk, a small group of men near a fireplace drinking from a bottle of scotch, and two people in office attire seated by the entrance.

Both scanned our group as we walked in, looking us over before evidently deciding that we must be late-arriving guests. As the others handled the check-in, I made my way over, carefully choosing how to handle the introduction. Nothing too presumptive; I wasn’t entirely sure that these were my points of contact, after all.

“I beg your pardon, but given that you’re both dressed more for work than play at this late hour, I wonder if you could point me in the right direction. Do either of you know where the main office is? I’m supposed to meet someone from there.”

They both looked me over, appreciating the slacks, sweater vest, and briefcase now that I was separated from the crowd. “That would make you Mr. Fletcher,” said one of them, rising to her feet. She was tall by human standards, though not veering into model or parahuman height. Her straight, dark hair was pulled tight into a ponytail and her suit was pressed, yet there were clear signs of weariness under the pristine presentation. Bags beneath the eyes, a slight slowness in speech—these were giveaways I recognized well. Not from anything vampire-related, mind you, but as a former cubicle dweller, I’d seen the symptoms of someone burning the candle at both ends countless times over.

“Please, everyone calls me Fred,” I replied, shaking her hand.

“Arlette,” she told me. “Arlette Clyne, and this is my brother, Leland.”

Leland reached over and took my other hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Fred. We’ve heard some great things.” Like his sister, Leland had dark hair and poorly masked exhaustion, along with a very well-made suit.

“I hope to live up to them.” Although it went unsaid, I also hoped the rumors they were referring to concerned my accounting skills, as some of the other tales floating around could be more troublesome. The stories weren’t precisely wrong, so much as they miscategorized my clan’s prior accomplishments, adding a more ambitious motive than what had been present.

“I’m sure you’ll do well,” Leland assured me. “The rest of the associates we have coming in to help will arrive later this morning, but given your nature, we thought you might enjoy some time on the slopes before sunrise. There will be a lunch meeting to talk details—we have a room with enchanted windows for safety—and then tomorrow evening, you can head up the slope to meet Big Clyne, the owner.”

Something swept across Arlette’s face, an expression too complex for me to understand in that brief glimpse. “He was hoping to come down here to meet you all; however, his health has been an issue of late. We decided it would be best to bring everyone to him, instead.”

“Of course. Whatever is most convenient for the client. I am happy to oblige.” I glanced back to find the others making a ruckus at reception and was glad they’d get an outlet for their energy in the form of skiing. Ordinarily, I’d likely have holed up in a room and gotten in some more preparation and research, but time with Krystal had become too valuable in recent weeks. I intended to make the most of what we had and skiing seemed like a sport that even I could handle.

Leland pulled me back to the moment as he gestured to a large sign across the lobby. “Our equipment shop is open twenty-four hours to accommodate nocturnal clients, and they have an expansive range of size options for skis and boots.”

After a moment’s thought toward Richard, Bubba, and Gregor, I could appreciate the need for such a selection. “Thank you very much. We’ll certainly make use of the lovely facilities.” Looking them over, I was struck once again by their clear weariness, which made being up so late all the sillier by the moment. “And I greatly appreciate you both greeting me in person. It was a very nice gesture. Was there anything else we needed to go over tonight?”

“Looks like your friends have handled check-in, so I’d say you’re good to go.” Arlette turned her head suddenly, barely covering the yawn with her hand in time. “We’ve got to be up for a while longer. Word is that the King of the West is arriving tonight as well. Normally, Big Clyne would be here greeting a guest like that to show respect. Being two of his children, we’re the next best thing.”

As Arlette’s words suggested, my friends had indeed wrapped up the check-in process and were mostly heading toward the equipment rental shop as a Bubba-sized bellhop loaded everyone’s bag gently onto a huge cart. Seeing as I was still in a work meeting, it seemed they were giving me space while pressing on with preparations. The sole exception to their migration was a boy with far too much self-assurance for one his age, who walked directly up to me, Leland, and Arlette.

“Tell your father that we were met well. Illness is one of the many burdens the weaker species must bear. I hold no contempt for his absence and wish him a swift recovery. Ready my suite by the sunrise. We will need excellent rest for what this trip demands.”

With that, Gideon sauntered off, followed by the confused stares of Arlette and Leland. It took me a moment to understand why they were baffled rather than cowed, until I realized that Gideon hadn’t actually introduced himself. He’d just assumed that the details would get cleared up and was entirely correct. I wasn’t sure I could ever see myself wielding power the same way that Gideon did, but I still watched every use of it carefully. Observing someone that experienced and skilled, there was always something else to learn.

In this case, it seemed to be the art of delegation, as Arlette and Leland both looked on in uncertainty. As I was the only one still around who knew the truth and didn’t want them to wait here all night, that made it my duty to tell them what had just happened.

“I’m guessing that was your first time meeting Gideon, the King of the West?”

The looks on their faces went from uncertain to incredulous, and I silently hoped Krystal remembered my shoe size well enough to grab me some ski boots. Even with as little of Gideon’s entire situation as I really knew, this was still going to take a while to explain.

2

By the time I’d walked Arlette and Leland through the basics of Gideon’s situation, skimming past the details of why he chose to masquerade as a child, the others were indeed finished renting equipment. Mercifully, between them all, they’d managed to mostly recall my proper sizes. While the boots were a tad snug, I wasn’t in anything approaching pain, and there was hardly any stopping the train of enthusiasm chugging out toward the slopes.

Big Paw Resort was one of Colorado’s many skiing destinations, the obvious proximity to mountains offering countless optimal locations. It didn’t quite stack up to the larger, more famous spots dotting the state, focusing instead on less ambitious prices and warmer service. Given what I’d seen doing a preemptive evaluation of the resort, it was a tactic that served them well.

It certainly helped that Big Paw padded its numbers by also offering more unique options, like the nighttime skiing we were availing ourselves to. It made the most of their limited number of trails, the addition of darkness turning even easy runs into more challenging fare. For a two-mountain resort and only a handful of reception areas, they turned a healthy profit. Excited as I was to dig into the financials and see exactly how healthy, there was first the matter of exploring the resort itself.

As we all trundled out toward the first lift, our journey hit a sudden snag. Gregor’s steps were heavy on the packed snow leading away from the lodge, and as we moved toward the fresher fall, he took a rogue step that sent his left leg knee-deep in the powder. It might not have been quite so strange, except that Amy and Bubba were standing a few feet away, and Bubba’s sizable bulk wasn’t giving him anything near that issue.

With a snap of her fingers, Amy began to dig around in her coat, shuffling in a soft circle on her snowboard as she struggled. “Thought this might happen. You’re too dense for loose snow. A deeper pile and we’d be digging you out.” From one of her inner pockets, Amy produced a miniature water bottle, the contents glowing a faded pink, like old bubble gum. “Buoyancy potion, low dose. This will give you about a day of being lighter, so if you’ve ever wanted to pull off a slam dunk, the chance has arrived.”

Gregor examined the bottle, not quite suspicion on his face, but only because the expression remained as flat as usual. I looked over to see if our other gargoyle in attendance was having a similar issue, only to realize that he was gone—as were Gideon, Sally, and Charlotte’s travel form, for that matter. My eyes flicked to Richard, who was showing no signs of concern, so it seemed unlikely they’d wandered off without warning. It wasn’t as if I needed to worry for them; anything prowling the woods of this place should be afraid of Gideon, not vice versa, and Sally was under his fearsome protection.

By the time my attention made it back to Gregor, he’d yanked the cap off his bottle and was slowly slurping it all down. I wondered if he would have drunk a potion had it been presented by someone other than the alchemist Gideon trusted. Or had Amy earned that act of faith on her own? It was hard to tell with Gregor’s stalwart demeanor, but I liked to think he was forming connections with the others.

One of my own connections suddenly slammed into me, Krystal wrapping me in an embrace and shoving me forward all at once; not an inapt parallel for our relationship as a whole, in some ways. “Come on. Let’s get moving! I haven’t gotten to ski in forever. Who knows when my next day off will be, and we’re burning moonlight.”

Lingering long enough to make sure Gregor was indeed able to yank himself free, I took advantage of our lead, Krystal and I heading to the chair lift and catching one up the mountain. Technically, the benches were large enough to fit three, though that would be pushing it with several of the parahuman builds in play. Looking up at the cables conveying the chairs upward, I was suddenly very grateful that Gregor’s weight issue was handled before we boarded the lift.

Riding upward, Krystal’s hand in mine, we looked out at the snowy terrain. Neither of us had gloves, or even particularly heavy coats. Without fully grasping every detail, I knew enough about the devil trapped inside her to be aware that Krystal ran warm. As for me, one of the perks of undeath is little concern about things like temperature. I was aware of the cold, I could feel it against my skin, but it lacked the stinging bite that had come along when I was human.

My old eyes also wouldn’t have been able to appreciate the splendor of Big Paw’s resort, especially so late at night. The dark meant nothing, this was a vampire’s natural habitat, and I could see the hidden movements of creatures great and small. The wildlife in the area wasn’t especially thick. Considering all the trails running through the woods, tourists had probably scared off the majority of animals. I spotted plenty of smaller game like rabbits darting about, and even a few bigger movements in the thickest part of the trees. For the most part, however, the world stretched out below was silent and still, huge stretches of bright white weaving through islands of green.

When the ride finally came to an end, I found myself staring down an unexpected challenge, but one I should have absolutely remembered was coming: the ski-lift dismount. I’d been warned by many that it was a common stumbling block for those newer to the sport. In effect, it was a simple procedure of letting the skis hit a raised section of snow and allowing the chair’s momentum to push you forward, sending you skiing off toward either trails or the next lift. This was a moment I’d not only researched, I’d even watched several online videos demonstrating proper technique.

Excellent as my research was, all of it flew from my head as the snowy bump in the road approached. Only a squeeze of the hand from Krystal made me lift the ski-tips in time. The upshot was that I managed to stand up. Sadly, it was a short-lived triumph. My form left something to be desired, and rather than the chair pushing against my rear-end, it instead caught me in the back of my thighs, toppling me forward at a precarious angle.

Were I still human, I’d have gone crashing directly down. It was only thanks to my vampiric balance and reflexes that I was able to stay upright . . . as the momentum sent me sailing uncontrollably forward, burying myself headfirst into a nearby snowbank. As I struggled to get free, I tried to tell myself that obviously this happened to other people; the snowbank was likely here on purpose to halt exactly these sorts of incidents. Yet for all my reasoning, I felt firmly sure I hadn’t seen any other head-sized holes in the snow.

“It’s a good thing you don’t need to breathe.” Krystal knocked snow away from my shoulder, clearing a path for her words to reach. Grabbing hold, she gave a firm yank and popped me free, just in time for the last of our group to arrive.

Lillian looked like she was on an assassination job; if not for my vampire vision, I’d have never spotted her black clothing against the pitch dark of the night. Even her skis were black, and I had a strong hunch they hadn’t come from the rental place. Al was a sharp contrast, dressed in an outfit made of bright yellows and greens, with a lovely flower design on her own skis. Given how often I’d seen Al change her outfit with magic, those probably weren’t rentals either. Gregor made a perfect fit between the two, his own gray jacket a nice transition point between the extremes.

Neil and Albert were almost passable as regular tourists, if not for the blade strapped to Albert’s back. The Blade of the Unlikely Champion didn’t like being left alone and wielding a Weapon of Destiny meant dealing with its peculiarities. Behind them were Bubba and Amy, both of whom were on snowboards. Bubba’s outfit featured a fair bit of flannel, but was otherwise innocuous, whereas I suspected that Amy had borrowed her outfit from her old teacher, Cyndi. I based that on Cyndi’s predilection toward all things eighties paired with the electric blues and neon pinks of Amy’s ensemble.

Richard was the most mundanely dressed of the group, assuming one ignored the fact that everything he was wearing had to have been specially made. There was simply no way anything off the rack would fit across that massive frame. Moving slowly, he glided over on skis, visibly comfortable and easing to a stop.

“We heading down, or going further up the mountain?” Richard pointed a pole toward the second chair-lift, one that would go all the way to the top. At the mountain’s peak, I could see the glow of light from a huge house—the Clynes’ home estate. They were up late, probably preparing for the next night’s meeting.

“What’s the difference going further up?” Al asked. She shuffled slightly over, and I noticed the ground around her had turned sort of . . . runny? With a sniff, my nose caught the heavy whiffs of vanilla and it came together: ice cream. Al’s natural pixie energy had a tendency of altering the material around her, making it cuter, sweeter, generally more pleasant. In the joyless terrain of a corporate environment, this made her presence essentially intolerable.

Showing the sort of judgement that demonstrated why she was such an adept employee, Lillian looked over to one of the trail signs, quickly analyzing the information. “It adds difficulty. From here down, the trails are mostly circles and squares. The ones higher up are almost all diamonds.”

“Speaking as a beginner, I’d vote we start out simple,” Albert ventured. “Maybe tackle the harder ones after a little practice?”

I’d just about finished knocking all the snow from my hair and fixing my glasses, enough that I was able to nod in support of Albert’s proposal. “Given how my efforts at exiting the chair-lift went, I too would prefer if we went slow.”

While it would be misleading to say the sentiment was universal, even our more experienced people saw the value in a bit of warming up. Something told me that the groups would break apart by skill level eventually—it seemed a natural way for everyone to tackle the mountain at their own level—but I did enjoy that we were starting off together.

Only when Richard skied himself in front of us all, pointing toward one of the wider, easier runs, did I start to realize precisely why we were starting together. “Okay, beginners, come over near me. You’re going to learn the wedge, one of your key ways of stopping and killing momentum, then we’ll move down the run and work on turns. The key to feeling comfortable on skis is being in control of your speed. Once you’ve got that, the rest is polish.”

“I would very much like that lesson.” I wiped a last patch of snow from behind my ears, fully aware of how nice it would have been to slow myself down a few minutes ago. In theory, I did know about the wedge—it was part of my pre-trip research—but theory hadn’t panned out terribly well, so it was time to give practical instruction a whirl.

Aside from myself, Albert, Neil, Al, and Gregor moved closer to Richard. I wasn’t sure if Gregor was actually trying to learn or was just keeping near his charge; however, he paid close attention as Richard walked us through the basics. Then he had us practice standing in place, more reacting to his calls for “wedge” and “parallel” than anything else. We were training reactions, like the ones I’d so clearly needed on the lift-dismount, as the others went on ahead.

Only once we had ample room before us did Richard give the call that it was time to go downhill. Shuffling forward as best I could manage, I tried not to dwell on the pit of nerves suddenly in my stomach. Given all I’d survived and faced down, a new experience shouldn’t hold that much terror.

Pointing my tips over the gentle edge of the slope, I looked down, took a pointless breath, and let gravity take hold.

3

The night of skiing was, mercifully, uneventful. Don’t take my meaning the wrong way; we had an excellent time careening down the mountain, some of us only avoiding injury thanks to inhuman durability and a dash of natural regeneration. But that was all it was, a night of fun skiing with my friends. No sudden magic spells animating the trees swept through the mountain, and if Quinn had any would-be assassins looking on, then none of them made a move. It was exactly the sort of evening we’d been long overdue for, ones that were becoming increasingly rare.

Even as we bounded around the slopes, my attention never fully lapsed, always scanning the trees, hunting for a potential threat. Knowing Quinn was out there somewhere, planning another strike, cast a cloud of worry over everything. Sometimes it loomed like a coming storm; other days, it was little more than a slight shadow from the sky. Yet it never faded entirely. I wasn’t sure it ever would, or should, for that matter. I’d been taught how dangerous the parahuman world could be. If I didn’t internalize the lesson, it could very well be the people counting on me who suffered for it most.

As the hours of safety wore on, I did relax more, by the end taking the occasional break from scouring the trees to get some control over my speed. On the whole, our group adapted to the downhill sport well. I was far and away the worst of us, and even I only wiped out entirely a handful of times. By the time morning was drawing near, I could manage to stay upright while skiing all the way down a slope—assuming said slope was wide, not too steep, and had no one else in my direct path.

Much as I would have liked to keep going, sunrise was about as hard a deadline as I could imagine, and most of the others decided to head in as well. Aside from myself and Lillian, no one present was strictly nocturnal, yet you wouldn’t know it from looking at their sleep schedules. The supernatural world came alive at night. The dark was its native habitat, and almost every denizen gravitated toward it over time.

After Krystal and I found our room, she was soon snoozing while I took the time to get a few hours of work in before lunch. From the preliminary information I’d been sent, Big Paw was both profitable and surprisingly stable for a tourism-based business. Their offerings to different parahumans, like the night skiing, helped add a layer of reliable clientele amidst an otherwise-fickle industry. The larger resorts would have more runs, but they didn’t have camping areas set aside for therians who wanted to brave the wild. It also helped that Big Paw had been around for decades, long enough to build loyal customers and a strong brand of quality service.

In truth, I wasn’t quite sure what was prompting the potential sale. No giant offer had been tendered by a larger enterprise, nor were there a slew of outstanding debts to cover. If the motivations were personal, that was perfectly fine; however, if there were business reasons for the choice, then I would need to understand them. Assessing the fiscal situation required knowledge of both the assets and the liabilities.

By the time lunch was approaching, I was no closer to solving the conundrum of the sale. With little else in the way of options, I showered, changed into a fresh outfit, and headed down to meet with the Clynes. Gregor was waiting outside my door, escorting me silently along, steps still extra bouncy from Amy’s potion. The resort no longer seemed vacant, nor was it stuffed with bodies. Most of the guests were out enjoying the sunshine on the slopes, driven outdoors by the very same thing keeping me tucked into hallways and away from glass. When I eventually found the room for our lunch meeting, and after convincing Gregor to wait in the hall, I was deeply appreciative that I’d been forewarned the windows were vampire-safe.

That was largely because the far wall was essentially nothing but windows, framed by the wooden walls of the lodge on either side. It was such a dazzling sight that for a moment I forgot that, under normal circumstances, it would be deadly. The mountain gleamed in the noon sun, its crisp, snowy surface virtually glowing in the light. I could even make out the cabin up near the top, surrounded by a thick barrier of emerald trees.

It wasn’t the same as standing in sunlight—that experience is more unique than you realize until it’s gone. There was no soft warmth running along my skin, no slight breeze in the air; I couldn’t ignore the sheets of enchanted glass separating me from that deadly light. Still, it was close to the experience, closer than I’d been in some time, and for a long moment, I just stood there, basking in the filtered light.

“Fred? Is that Fred Fletcher?”

The familiar voice broke my reverie, my mind suddenly gone from a place of serenity to unexpected confusion. I’d noted the presence of other people in the room; however, the stunning sight struck before I’d had a chance to look them over properly. Aside from myself, there were four others present: a short man in a rumpled suit whose once-dark hair was visibly going prematurely white, a statuesque woman who was easily the tallest in the room and was sketching something on a legal pad, an older woman with small streaks of gray showing in her tightly wrapped bun who was punching away on a laptop, and . . . Troy?

Sure enough, that was why the voice sounded familiar. Troy Warner was a former coworker of mine from my human days, when we’d both been employed at Torvald & Torvald. Asha had been there as well, long before she learned of the supernatural and struck out on her own. In fact, it was the last time I’d seen Troy that Asha first stepped into our world. Dinner at what was supposed to be a hidden gem of a bed-and-breakfast had turned into my first meeting with Charlotte Manor. The thought of Charlotte’s walls filled me with a pang of guilt, something I set aside for the moment. This was not the time to get lost in failings of the past.

“Troy Warner. It’s been a few years.”

He was already across the room, greeting me with the casual charm that had helped propel his career. “That it has! I believe the last time was that night we all got food poisoning and hallucinated the house was trying to kill us.”

Though I looked as well as I could, there was no doubt in Troy’s eyes, no hidden quaver in his throat begging to be reassured. The story of food poisoning was not, to him, a delusion wallpapering over the actual events; it was simply the truth. Like most reasonable, rational people, Troy had come face to face with the impossible and refused it. In the cold light of a next day, with no proof to look at for confirmation, it was only a matter of time before the memory would warp and erode, forming into something that didn’t challenge his fundamental understanding of reality. Only a very forceful, determined mind, such as Asha’s, could hold on to the truth, and even then, they’d have to want to. It was exactly this aspect of the human brain that made it possible for parahumans to exist unnoticed.

“It was a crazy night,” I said, agreeing as truthfully as I was able. “Glad to see you’ve recovered well.”

“You, too. The years have been kind.” Troy looked me over, squared jaw bobbing up and down as his head moved. “Did you change something?”

He couldn’t be referring to my wardrobe, as I was dressed in my usual slacks and sweater vest, and while my glasses were purely cosmetic, the frames hadn’t been altered in some while. Physically, there had been a marked shift initially as my body adjusted to its new diet; however, that was many years past, and Troy had seen me since. There was only one major difference that sprang to my mind, so I casually lifted my left hand up, wiggling the ring finger slightly. “Changed quite a bit, I’d say. Got married to a wonderful woman a few months back.”

“Oh yeah, congratulations!” Troy slapped me on the back with what seemed like genuine cheer, even if the blow might have sent a human my size stumbling forward. “Asha told me about that. You did a destination thing, right? I remember her shopping for a trip. Anyway, I don’t think the ring was what I noticed, but good news all the same.”

Sometimes, I forgot that Troy and Asha had not only been an excellent team at Torvald & Torvald, but were also friends. I was glad she’d managed to hang on to that, especially now that she was among the ranks of the undead. A little normalcy was a good, and often rare, thing in our world.

“Should I assume you’re here regarding the potential sale, as well?” I moved further into the room, along with Troy, heading toward the large table where the others were already working.

“Sure am. After Asha went out on her own, they paired me with Ethel over there.” Troy quickly gestured to the older woman with a tight bun before continuing. “The Clynes hired us to check out the books of Big Paw Resort, but it turns out that only covers the lodge, lifts, ski-rentals, and other incidentals. Seems they have another company managing other streams of income, one that required a specialist. Taking a shot here that that would be you.”

“Unless there is yet another stream of income neither of us knows about, and one of these two are here to manage it.” I said the words as a light joke, yet part of me wondered if it were true. Making assumptions rarely worked to my benefit, especially where the supernatural was concerned.

As we approached the table, the others stood in greeting. The tall woman loomed even larger when on her feet; I’d have likely felt intimidated if being around therians hadn’t inured me to such stature. “Mr. Fletcher, I have heard good word of your work. Felisa Torres, a pleasure.”

The commanding introduction’s spell was undone moments later, as Troy’s partner shouldered her way into view and gave me a small nod. “Fredrick. I expect you’re doing well, living the freelance life. Hope it hasn’t made you sloppy.”

“Good to see you as well, Ethel.” Ethel had been at Torvald & Torvald in my days as well, and while she was hardly renowned for her people skills, one would be hard-pressed to find a more respected cruncher of numbers in that whole establishment. As a hard worker with a quiet nature, I’d never earned her ire; though, for the same reasons, we had never gotten close. I was surprised to see she was working with Troy, honestly. Ethel had held no great love for leaving the office.

Our final member was the shortest of the group, the man in the rumpled suit. While he did approach me like the others, there was a clear hesitance in every step. Head down, he barely looked me in the eyes while stating: “Alonso Boer. Nice to make your acquaintance.”

“Good to meet you, too,” I replied, and by the end of that short sentence, Alonso was already back across the table, looking oddly happy to have several slabs of wood between us. A very strange reaction to someone with my general aesthetic and build. Briefly, part of me wondered if he could perhaps suspect the truth, before dismissing the notion. Unless he somehow knew the glass was magic, it would be quite odd to suspect someone of being a vampire while they were immersed in sunlight. Even more so considering I’d shown no signs of my nature thus far.

I had no more time to wonder about Alonso’s reaction, as the doors swung open, revealing several staff members wheeling in carts of food. Close behind them was Leland Clyne, somehow looking even more exhausted than when I’d seen him the night before. Seems my friends and I hadn’t been alone in our all-nighter.

“I’ve hosted enough lunchtime meetings to know nobody is really paying attention until stomachs are full, so you all load up your plates while I get the slides ready.” The weariness on his face never made it to Leland’s voice; he seemed brimming with excitement at the prospect of a three-hour business meeting. The effort was commendable, but I really wished the poor guy could have snuck in a nap. However, this was his business and his meeting, so whether he was tired or not didn’t matter. I was here to do a job; working around the client’s eccentricities was simply another aspect of it.

4

The lunch meeting went well, though I quickly realized how much was review of the resort’s overall business model and financial situation. Still, it’s always prudent to make sure one’s understanding of details is precise, so I paid close attention and took a few notes, just to be on the safe side. The largest piece of new information I gathered was that, to me, it seemed as though Leland Clyne didn’t actually want to sell.

Working in a position where I’ve been privy to occasionally seeing a business change hands, there were usually signs one could expect. Recent major life changes, a burned-out energy, or just the prospect of a massive payday: all of these would explain the sale of long-held family property. Conversely, Leland was showing the symptoms of one still very much involved in their business. His attention to specifics was such that he was able to tell us down to the pound how much snow for the slopes was made by machine per day. That was not the sort of aspect one who was cutting ties would be expected to still keep up with.

Whatever his reasons, Leland led us through the meeting with concise topics and steady confidence, not even sitting until the end despite his evident exhaustion. When the lunch was over, we broke apart, heading off to our own tasks until the evening meeting. Gregor was still waiting to walk me back to my room, earning a few curious looks from my new colleagues. For a brief moment, I considered trying to explain that he was my bodyguard, then I imagined having to field even a few of the obvious follow-ups to such a declaration and thought better of it.

Instead, I went right on back to my room and got to work for approximately an hour, until Krystal woke up. Much as I strive for transparency in these accounts, I’m afraid there will be no record of those next few hours, time that Krystal and I took for ourselves as a newly married couple. Suffice it to say that by the time evening arrived, I had made little progress on any accounting-based tasks.

That was an upside to working ahead: I still felt confident heading down to join with the other meeting attendees. At last, the lodge seemed like an actual vacation destination upon entering, thick with frosty frolickers returning from their day of fun on the slopes. Even those who would embark once more for night skiing were taking a break for food and warmth—probably to add layers, as well. For those bothered by the cold, sunset took the chill to a whole new level.

After a quick scan of the lodge’s main room, I spotted Arlette Clyne, along with the rest of the crew from lunch, save for Leland. In my search, I also noticed Albert, Neil, Amy, and Lillian hunkered down at a large table, while Bubba and Al carted over a tray of hot chocolate. I offered a quick wave, which all but Bubba returned, his hands staying gripped on the tray. Krystal would join them soon; the plan called for another evening on the slopes. When the meeting wrapped, I was supposed to call and join up, assuming there was still time. Phone signal on the mountain wasn’t especially dependable, but eventually they’d hit a service area and get the message. Much as I would have loved to go join my friends, work was what had brought me here, and I had a duty to not only see it through, but to give my very best.

Only Gregor’s silent presence lingered as I walked over to join the other workers amidst a sea of those on vacation. My own arrival was cause for little interest this time; however, several eyes combed over Gregor’s imposing form. There was no avoiding some sort of introduction, so I plunged forward, choosing an interpretation of the truth.

“Hello again, all. Please allow me to introduce Gregor, my assistant.” Technically speaking, Gregor assisted me in not being killed, so the term felt defensible, if not earnest.

It didn’t go over easily with the crowd, either. Troy let out a few whistles and seemed like he was about to grab Gregor’s bicep, then thought better of it. “What does he assist you with, clients who refuse to pay?”

“This and that.” Gregor’s voice seemed even more rumbly than usual—no small feat for a gargoyle—and his glower positively dared Troy to ask for more details. The instant silver lining was that Troy dropped the subject and no one else seemed inclined to pick it back up. Unfortunately, the longer-term downside was that now the assistant story seemed even flimsier.

“I believe that’s everyone,” Arlette declared a few seconds later, when Alonso came racing in, seconds before the deadline. She put no emphasis on the panting man’s near tardiness—almost late wasn’t actually late, until a boss decided it was. Showing more patience, Arlette led us all out of the lodge, into the already-cold night air.

Snow was falling this time, the first flurries from thick, dark clouds that had moved in over the afternoon. Up the mountain, the snowfall appeared to thicken substantially, though not to the point of concern. Without accompanying winds, the snow would pose little danger in a short-term journey. It was an assessment I felt confident in, right up until I saw the poorly masked concern on Arlette’s weary face.

“Okay, everyone, let’s get a move on. You’ll definitely want to be inside soon, especially having to trek through that small storm.” Arlette paused, yanking out her phone and reading a text. Relief swept quickly over her, and she hustled us along. “Leland sent some snowmobiles to wait for you all at the top of the second lift. The walk to the lodge is usually nice, but in this weather, it’s best not to take unneeded risks.”

There was minimal conversation as we boarded our respective moving chairs up, Gregor and I of course being paired together. As we rode higher into the air, the snow grew thicker, clinging to my hair and coat with increasing vigor. Gregor, for his part, seemed utterly unbothered by the clumps of snow accumulating on his head and shoulders, like a surly statue that occasionally shifted to scan a new area for threats. Odd as he could be, I was genuinely thankful to have Gregor there. When it had first been suggested I get a bodyguard, the notion had seemed highly unnecessary. After the attacks on my friends, I’d started to wonder about the cost of hiring guards for everyone in the family.

Except that was a temporary fix, and I knew it. Eventually, the threats would grow beyond what could be stopped with guards, even ones like Gregor. The House of Fred had powerful allies—that was probably what had kept us safe for this long—but treaties and allies had limits, as Quinn had now proven twice. We had to be capable of defending ourselves, at the very least.

My mind wandered at that thought, yet again pondering the greater problems facing my clan, enough that I barely registered we were coming up on the first lift’s end before it was looming right ahead of us. Had I been on skis once more, there could be no question I’d have repeated my dive into the snowbank, if not something more ridiculous. Since this was a work trek, however, I was clad in boots, and when the lift slowed down, it was a simpler matter of hopping off.

Gregor’s hop caught me by surprise, clearing several feet as he sailed out of the chair. I’d nearly forgotten about Amy’s buoyancy potion. I wanted to ask if he had another dose, lest Gregor get stuck in the snow on our trip back down, but there were too many humans within earshot. Instead, I trusted that Gregor had prepared appropriately to do his job, while also making a mental note to text Amy once we got to the lodge, just in case.

Following a short walk through the snow, we arrived at a second lift, this one done in the style of gondolas. The design change was a welcome alteration, as it allowed Gregor and I refuge from the strengthening storm. Instead of being exposed, we could watch as the white flakes pelted the thick plastic windows. I checked my phone, intent on letting the others know not to bother heading too high up, but found my signal was gone. They’d have to notice the weather for themselves, or maybe use some sort of magic to sort the situation. Getting rid of a snowstorm seemed like a tall task to ask from a pair of mages, even with one as good as Amy, but it fit well within the realm of believability for Gideon.

By the time we reached the top of the lift, the storm made it near impossible to see until we were right at the departure point. Hopping out in the small, covered building where the gondola turned around, I stared outside at the wall of white, growing steadily more uncomfortable. Thanks to enhanced vampire sight, including outstanding dark vision, it had been a good while since I last felt unable to see. The obfuscation grated at my nerves, whispering to me all the unseen threats that might be lurking, waiting to pounce. Part of me insisted that such ideas were little more than pointless paranoia, but that piece of my mind had been losing ground for months. Although it was paranoia, it wasn’t pointless. Not where there were legitimate threats waiting for an opportunity.

The rest of the group stood there already, having taken the gondolas ahead of ours. I wasn’t entirely sure if they’d been waiting for us or for someone to come out of the snow to greet them. For a full minute or so, we all stood huddled in that building, watching the storm intensify, wondering what to do next. In a way, the decision was made for us, as a horrific grinding from all around suddenly tore through the building.

Moving largely on instinct, we rushed out into the snow, not as concerned with the cold in comparison. The good news was that the building didn’t come crashing down, though it still sounded like that possibility was in play. Instead, we saw the nearby moving line of gondolas come to a slow, grinding halt, dangling useless in the air.

“Did the snow cause that?” Tory asked.

“I doubt it,” Alonso muttered, his tone changing quickly. “I mean, I doubt the snow alone did. Maybe there’s more wind further down the mountain, or there was a lightning strike.”

Relevant as the gondola shut-down issues were, I found myself distracted now that we were out in the open air. A sharp smell had pricked through my shield of selective attention, pungent enough that it couldn’t be ignored: gasoline. Initially, I was glad to catch the scent, sure that it would lead me toward exactly what we’d hoped to find. I moved forward, tracking as best I could with winds clawing at my face, swirling the smell away from its source. Gregor remained at my side, either set on being steadfast or also aware that something felt off. Behind us, I could hear the others following as well, because what else was there to do? Our rides were supposed to be here somewhere, and the way down was no longer an option.

It took us several minutes to find the snowmobiles; they turned up near the tree line of the mountain’s emerald upper forest. Unfortunately, what we discovered could best be described as the remains of machinery, rather than the snowmobiles themselves. There was a reason the gas had smelled so pungent: one of the fuel tanks had been ripped open, along with the back half of the machine.

Something had torn apart hundreds of pounds of heavy metal, leaving only scraps and claw marks behind. The only bit of encouragement I could find was that there wasn’t any blood, a smell my vampire brain should be able to find no matter what, though I’d never tested that fact in the middle of a storm with gas all around. I scoured the ground, searching for more clues. As it turned out, I should have been putting more thought into where the cause of such chaos might be.

I barely heard the rustling in the trees before everything around me went insane. A roar split the night, screams came from the others nearby, and a thick hand shoved me into the snow head-first. I barely had time to register that it had belonged to Gregor before the sound of something huge colliding with him rang out mere feet away. Having seen my bodyguard’s strength on display many times, I had faith that whatever sprang out was deeply regretting its choice of targets . . . right up until Gregor went sailing past me.

The speed he was moving, the angle of his trajectory—it should have been impossible. Gargoyles were dense and heavy. Hurling one like that would take power on par with Gideon’s. Watching Gregor fly through the air, though, several things struck me at once: the buoyancy potion’s effect was evidently still working well. Two, based on the speed and direction Gregor was flying, he’d land significantly further down the mountain, and we were still stuck up in range of something that could rip machinery apart and fight a gargoyle. Before I could call out to run, one last thing hit me. In this case, however, it wasn’t a thought.

It was a fist.

5

“I knew you’d try something!” Alonso had an oddly triumphant look on his face for a man who’d just sucker-punched me to little effect. It was strong enough to be felt, even to make my jaw sore; however, given what I’d just seen happen to Gregor, such a minor blow was low-ranked in the order of immediate concerns. Alonso’s confidence faded fast as I pulled myself back up to standing, scouring the walls of white for any sign of movement. I hadn’t even gotten a good look at what struck Gregor. All I knew for sure was that it hit a lot harder than Alonso.

“What’s going on?” Troy asked, closely followed by Ethel, who was so heavily padded she more resembled a ball of fabric than a person. Felisa was only a few steps behind, wrapping a thick scarf around her face into double layers.

Tuning them out was easy; the harder challenge lay in the wind. It whipped past us, howling softly, obscuring the sorts of sonar warnings I was desperately straining to pick up. Footsteps on snow was a tough enough task, seeking them amidst a storm felt like a fool’s errand even in the moment, but I had no other ideas. Vision couldn’t be relied on past a few feet, and the wind was causing my nose issues as well; I’d barely been able to run down something as pungent as a gasoline spill. Until we had a way to track our attacker, we were essentially helpless.

Scanning around, my eyes fell on the huge tree trunks signaling a start to the forest. No doubt, somewhere in the vicinity was a scenic path through that would be lovely on a clear day. In this case, however, the dense trees were actually preferable. Inside, we’d get some cover from the wind and snow, perhaps even enough to see what was after us. Anything was better than lingering around in the open.

“He’s done something!” Alonso’s voice snapped me back to the moment, a stubby finger jammed directly in my face. “It’s been his plan from the start.”

I should have felt offended. In actuality, I was more confused than anything. “I’m sorry, what? You think I laid some sort of ambush designed to attack my own employee?”

“Parlor tricks and theatrics. I know about you, Mr. Fletcher. You carouse with all sorts. I’m sure getting him out of the way is part of some bigger scheme to harvest us all.” Alonso’s voice raised toward the end, a mad gleam dancing in his eye.

To my true shock, Troy stepped to my side. “Hey man, I get it, this is a scary situation. We’re stranded in a storm and something obviously happened to our ride. That said, let’s try to keep things in perspective. No need to spin out and accuse each other. There’s a house around here somewhere, and we know it’s uphill. If we move in that direction, we’re sure to spot something.”

“You don’t understand! He’s . . . he’s a . . .” Between the point where Alonso’s sentence trailed off and the conflicted expression on his face, the truth became swiftly evident. He knew I was a vampire, meaning Alonso was likely a parahuman himself. For as much as he wanted to tell them, even in a situation like this one, it wasn’t going to happen. There was no point. Humans didn’t believe that sort of thing without lots of proof, and as Troy himself had demonstrated, they could still find ways to ignore that truth, even when they saw it. Not to mention, outing another parahuman was a major taboo, one that came with serious consequences. It had to be; keeping our collective secret was how we managed to live amongst the humans who so drastically outnumbered us.

“He’s a nice, nerdy, regular guy,” Troy said, finishing for Alonso. “I worked with Fred for years. Dude couldn’t hurt a pile of yogurt. I doubt he’s suddenly into freezing people to death, especially himself included.”

“Perhaps we should have this discussion somewhere less exposed,” Felisa suggested.

I could have hugged her for that, finally steering us in the right direction. “Agreed. Let’s head toward the trees.”

“Because that’s where your accomplices are waiting?” Alonso accused.

“Probably because we won’t be getting ripped new ones by these gusts,” Ethel chimed in.

Amidst the conversation, my ears finally picked up a new sound nearby. It was not, as I’d been scanning for, a footstep on the snow. Instead, I heard the dull thuds of metal shifting, like a heavy piece being moved quickly. I might not have figured it out in time, save for the audible grunt of effort from our attacker and the slight whistle through the air.

“Everybody down!” I screamed the words, the sudden outburst cowing most into compliance. Only Alonso, of course, resisted the suggestion, staring at me defiantly. With no time for talk, I took a page out of my wife’s book and went with direct action. Diving forward, I slammed into Alonso, sending him back and to the ground. Less than a second later, I felt the impact.

Several shards of shrapnel hit my back, only a few pieces successfully burrowing into my coat while the rest bounced harmlessly off. Alonso, on the other hand, had what looked like the front half of a snowmobile crushing his left ankle. Given that the piece of debris would have taken him in the head had he not moved, it was an improvement, though it probably didn’t feel like one.

Moving fast, I lowered my mouth to his ear, making use of our few moments away from the others. “What sort of parahuman are you?”

He twisted his head around, glowering at me. “Why would I tell you? To make killing me off easier?”

“Or because you’re injured, and I have no idea what treatments might help versus make things worse.”

I’m not sure Alonso actually believed me that he was hurt, but at my words, he tried both legs, wincing visibly. “I’ll be fine. I heal fast.”

“In that case . . .” The others were stirring. They’d be back up in seconds. Working quickly, I grabbed the nearest section of snowmobile and rolled it off Alonso’s ankle, no longer concerned it might make the bleeding worse or release vital pressure. If he said he healed, then I’d have to believe him; we couldn’t afford to wait out here in the open any longer.

By the time everyone was risen, I’d shifted the vehicle so that it appeared to have clipped Alonso on its journey, rather than pinning him. We still had a visibly broken ankle to deal with, but that was far more manageable than moving a hunk of snowmobile.

“What in shinola can hurl a piece of machinery like this?” Ethel poked the hunk of cold metal, as if it might divulge secrets when properly motivated.

“Nothing we want to meet up close, I fear.” Felisa was already moving toward the trees; dodging one huge projectile had evidently been enough.

Without discussing it, Troy and I both reached down, helping Alonso stand by each holding up a side. The going was slow, especially compared to how quickly I could have moved while hauling Alonso on my own. But what would be the point of hustling ahead? In theory, I did have the capacity to move much faster than anyone else, and could run on for help. Were Gregor still around, I very well might have taken that approach, trusting him to keep the others safe. Unfortunately, with him out and Alonso injured, if I left, they’d all be sitting ducks.

After all, vampires are far from the only predators that can smell blood.

Leaving them alone was out. All I could do in the moment was focus on moving forward however we managed. Getting into the trees was a good start. After several feet, the wind was no longer right in my ears, and our range of vision increased slightly. From their pockets, Felisa and Ethel produced phones, lighting the way as best they could. Granted, all that afforded us was better views of seemingly endless tree trunks, yet it was still an undeniable improvement from seconds prior.

No one suggested we pause, too aware of how close whatever had just attacked us might be. I kept my ears perked, straining for the slightest of sounds, but the wind was rustling too many branches. Some of them might be caused by a creature following, or it could all be just the product of the aggressive breeze.

After ten or so minutes, Ethel unceremoniously stopped to lean against a trunk. Between the cold, the deep snow, and the anxiety, this trek was demanding a lot. Troy was panting as well, and Felisa made no objections to the break, hunkering down with her back pressed to a tree.

“We clearly need to rest for a moment,” I said, calling out the obvious. “Felisa has the right idea: put something solid against your back. Whatever has been coming after us apparently favors sneak attacks, so let’s not present any needless opportunities.”

Helping Troy and Alonso over, I released my side of the hold, allowing them both to sink down. The experienced parahuman in me knew that I should be doing the same, putting on a show of exhaustion to match with what the others were experiencing. But I just . . . couldn’t. We were being hunted by an unknown predator that was strong enough to handle Gregor and hurl machinery. This was not a good situation, especially for anyone who lacked supernatural defenses. Playing at being mortal wasn’t more important than people’s lives.

“I’m going to climb up a little and see if I can spot the house.” Ascending a tree was hardly a blazing act of courage, yet I still caught the surprise in Troy’s face. Then again, maybe he was surprised I still had so much gas in the tank. Given the difference in our builds, he no doubt expected to have more strength and endurance, a misconception I’d have been happy to let him hang on to.

“Really think you’ll see anything through the storm?” Ethel asked.

“No idea. But just going uphill is an imprecise strategy, and this is not a time to dally. If I can get us some sort of bearing, I have to try.”

With a few test pulls on the lower branches, I hopped up and began to climb. Truthfully, the most challenging part was moving at a pace slow enough to not arouse suspicion. A thinner tree might have required dexterous leaps to get from one hold to the next, but these were positively bursting with branches. Despite my best efforts, I snapped a fair few off as I rose; there was simply no room to slide past.

Finally, as I reached a point where the wind was tearing at me once more, I could see beyond the other trees around us. I just wished there was more to the view than the snowstorm washing away the world. Still the same wall of white, but there was something new on the wind. A smell, one I hadn’t been able to catch on the ground. Turning my head as I sniffed, my eyes finally pierced the milky veil and located a small glow of light. There it was, the Clyne home, and by the smell of things, there was quite a roast cooking. From my perch, I carefully mapped the area leading to the house, picking out trees distinctive enough that I could track our progress. There are times when it pays to have a mind for details.

Going back down was faster than climbing up, mostly thanks to the path of broken branches I’d already made myself. By the time I made it to the ground, the others were largely on their feet, though still with backs to the trees. Everyone but Ethel jumped slightly when I came rustling down, and Alonso let out a small yelp.

Keenly aware of the hope on their faces, I cut right to the chase. “I saw the house. It’s still a ways off, but I think I can lead us there, or at least through the forest.” Once we were back in the storm, navigation would hold its own challenges, ones I hadn’t found solutions for yet.

“He could be leading us anywhere,” Alonso pointed out, the fire largely gone from his voice. The ankle appeared slightly better, but had gotten smashed up pretty bad. Even a therian would need some recovery time, and he might not heal anywhere near as fast as they did.

The slight sound of tsking came from under Ethel’s heavily padded outfit. “I’m sure being saved was an embarrassing experience, but these preposterous claims are getting tiresome. The man is literally helping to drag you along; if he wanted you dead, all he’d have to do is stop.”

“Besides, so long as it had a roof, I’d take my chances on a murder-cabin at this point.” Felisa shook her head, knocking as much snow off as possible. The cold was probably seeping in, spurred on by the fierce winds. I didn’t think any of them were in hypothermia danger, but lingering in this weather without proper equipment couldn’t be healthy. It was a sharp reminder that while my only concern was the monster, the humans were vulnerable on multiple fronts.

Alonso didn’t object when I retook my position at his side, joined once more by Troy. Making sure Ethel and Felisa were with us, we pressed forward, deeper into the forest, hoping to find salvation on the other side.

6

We’d been going for around another fifteen minutes when the first howl came. Initially, it sounded like the wind was picking up, until the note continued to rise in pitch and fury, building to a crescendo that was more roar than anything else. Hard as I strained to listen, there was no telling exactly where it came from through the storm. Our pursuer might lie in any direction.

“Sounds like we’re dealing with a bear, I guess?” Troy suggested. There was a franticness in his eyes, one I’d seen before in Charlotte Manor. It was the face of a man desperate to cling to reality, aware that his grip was starting to falter.

Felisa shook her head. “I’ve been camping and hiking since I could walk and have heard many a bear. That is not what they sound like.”

“Also feel reasonably certain they can’t lift, aim, and throw pieces of machinery,” Ethel added. “We keep breezing over that, don’t we?”

Troy paused to adjust his grip on Alonso, the third time he’d done so in the past few minutes. He was clearly getting tired, they all were. None had been dressed for prolonged exposure to a snowstorm. If we didn’t reach safety soon, our attacker might not prove to be their greatest threat. Despite the evident weariness, Troy still kept his voice steady. “It was probably trying to rip into a food pouch and rolled away the snowmobile, just happened to be in our direction.”

“You call that a roll? It literally flew through the air. I heard it whistle.” Ethel’s eyes shifted from Troy, her current partner, to me, the only other person here she’d known before the day’s start. “How about you, Fred? Think we’re dealing with a rogue bear?”

“I’m not sure what is out there,” I replied quite honestly. “All I know is that, based on that sound, we haven’t lost it yet.”

No response this time. Although, in fairness to Ethel, that was probably because we heard another howl tearing through the night. Like the first, it was still too hard to pin down, but there was one discernable difference. The noise had gotten louder, meaning we were either dealing with an expert ventriloquist capable of throwing their voice, or, more likely, our pursuer had drawn closer. Without another word, we hustled forward, exhaustion shoved aside by the humans as they soldiered on.

It wasn’t until I spotted the next tree marker on our path that we paused for a few minutes. Determination was well and good, but they were still bound by physical limits. Occasional rest was essential, especially at this particular marker. Based on my mental map, there was only one more small chunk of forest left before it had appeared to break into nothing more than a few scattered trees. Getting to the Clyne home would mean crossing a section of open snowfield, one where we’d have no cover from the storm or whatever unseen presence wished to do us harm. Our only option at that point would be to sprint; I’d just have to hope the humans still had fuel in their tanks when we reached that area.

With everyone half-collapsed against trees, lost in their own breathing, I took a moment to check on Alonso. Picking his spot carefully, I’d propped him up out of the way, using a tree apart from the others, hoping that everyone else would disperse. It didn’t buy us room to shout, but a covert conversation was possible, especially if he also had better than human hearing.

“How are you feeling?”

“Scared, though embarrassment is starting to outpace it rapidly.” It seemed Ethel’s shaming had managed a slight effect, perhaps enough for us to have a conversation without accusations getting hurled.

I hunkered down, minimizing the distance our words had to travel. “Alonso, would I be correct in assuming you’ve heard an assortment of rumors about me and my clan? Ones that perhaps paint me as ambitious and power hungry?”

His slightly surprised nod confirmed my suspicions. It wasn’t the first time I’d encountered this issue, the tales of my exploits being warped in the rumor-mill of Winslow’s parahuman community. When most parahumans saw a new clan formed from all sorts of supernatural beings making potent alliances, they presumed all that power was being gathered for a reason. There had to be a purpose for such a strange tactic. Few ever considered that it was simply a gathering of people who genuinely cared for one another.

“Those stories have been greatly exaggerated,” I explained. “Truthfully, I’m just an accountant who happens to also be . . . well, you know. The incidents I have been involved in were situations like this one: things that happened around me where I was just lucky enough to survive.”

“Well, I guess let’s hope that streak continues.” Alonso tried to laugh, but the movement shook his leg, causing a wince of pain. Looking it over, there was distinct improvement; he did heal pretty quickly. In another half-hour or so, it might bear weight. Pity that was time we lacked.

I’d thought that was the end of things; however, Alonso continued. “I’ve heard the rumors for a few years. Have some friends in Winslow, so I got wind of things early on, before the really crazy stories started coming out. I should have known better, but when Leland and Arlette told me you’d be here, fear got the best of me. Sorry, Fred. I’m not necessarily saying I think everything is fiction, but you saved my life a minute after I slugged you in the face. A guy who does that should get the benefit of the doubt.”

“I understand. Some of the people in our world with scary reputations live up to them well, and you don’t always know which those will be. Apology accepted, and I’m glad you’re willing to look past the rumors. This is a tough enough situation without us working against each other.”

Alonso fidgeted, enough that I worried the others might notice. Checking on them, I noted all three slumped over, breathing heavy as they struggled to recover. It was only then that I remembered moving higher up meant thinner air, yet one more hurdle slowing them down. I was torn. The longer we stayed out here, the worse they would get, but hurrying along could drop them entirely. Dragging four people in the snow was probably doable for me, just not while protecting them from an unseen monster stalking us.

By the time I looked back, Alonso had finished his fidgets, producing a small blade from his pocket. For a fleeting moment, I thought he was about to try to stab me, the apology nothing more than a bluff to make me drop my guard. It would have worked, had that been his gambit, though the blade’s effectiveness would be another matter. Thankfully, such was not the case, as Alonso yanked one of his gloves free and pressed the knife to the edge of his left hand, avoiding the palm.

“Much as I’d prefer just words, a real offense demands a real apology, and those take the form of action.” Gently, Alonso opened up a small wound on the side of his hand. “I’m a therian, by the way. Probably nowhere near as strong as what you’re used to, but any little bit should help.”

Waving hurriedly, I leaned back, scanning again to be sure no one was paying us any attention. “There’s no need for—”

“Fred, those three are wiped. Between the pace, the weather, and the terror, sheer adrenaline is probably all that’s keeping their muscles in motion. I’m at least an hour out from recovering; shifting would speed things up, but not by enough. You’re the only one of us who can still move normally. We both know there’s a clearing coming up, the likeliest spot where the next attack will come. Since you don’t seem willing to abandon us, which is appreciated, you’re either going to have to haul everyone across at top speed or handle the attacker. Either way, you need every advantage possible. We need you to have every conceivable edge.”

He lifted his hand higher, and the scent of blood called to me. I hadn’t been nearly so drawn in by the red liquid that fell from his leg, yet the hand I could scarcely look away from. Parts of my brain protested the idea, but I faced the mental objections, rather than letting them immediately win out. Was this unethical? Alonso knew what I was, and offered his blood freely, so no real issue there. I wasn’t terribly hungry at the moment, true, but that wasn’t the reason to drink. There were no others to count on up here; even if my friends knew I was in danger, they wouldn’t have a way to reach us in time. Instead, I was the cavalry for this trio of humans and one wounded therian. It was a task I felt woefully underqualified for, which ultimately made the decision for me.

Very carefully, and drawing as little attention as possible, I leaned in and drank from the wound on Alonso’s hand. It hit me like a jolt, akin to a shot of espresso on the tongue. As a rule, I stuck to predominantly human blood obtained through legal resources provided by the Agency. There had been necessary exceptions through the years—a drop of Gideon’s blood being an exceptional standout—yet I was still unprepared for the difference. It wasn’t bad by any means, and I pulled away feeling like my senses had suddenly shifted.

There was no precise detail that I could set a finger upon. The wind still whipped, the snow still raged, yet somehow, I felt more at home among them. Without actually seeing, I could tell the way the ground wrapped around the upcoming trees, sense the subtle shifts in the sway of the branches.

“Sorry, I’m pretty weak by our standards,” Alonso said, jamming his already-healing hand back into the glove. “Most of us would have been walking on this leg by now.”

“I’m not sure what you mean. This seems quite potent as is.” My legs felt oddly tense, I realized, like they were building tension for a jump I hadn’t known was coming. “If I’m not being too bold by asking . . .” I let the question trail off, noting that the others had begun to stir. Our time to talk freely was drawing to a close.

That earned a small chuckle from Alonso. “Your first time trying some mountain goat?”

“Very much so.” I took a few steps, gauging my strength to make sure there hadn’t been any unexpected spikes in muscle capability. It would be a surprise, given Alonso’s assessment of himself, and not one I wanted to encounter when we were under attack. No bursts of power welled up in my steps, and I didn’t go flying forward or anything of the sort, which was a genuine relief. Getting a sudden shot of strength without knowing how to use it could be a burden rather than a boon.

When I reached down to help Alonso up, I did note that he felt somewhat lighter, meaning the blood had augmented my muscles. Knowing by how much would require time for testing, which we obviously didn’t have. It wouldn’t matter, anyway. Our plan was the same regardless: keep moving toward the house. There were no other choices, especially with the humans’ endurance fading.

Troy started over to help me haul Alonso, but I shook my head. “It’s okay, I’ve got him.”

There was a flash of genuine protest on Troy’s face, until exhaustion overpowered it. He was visibly wiped and grateful for the break, even if he didn’t want to accept it.

“You’re surprisingly fit for a man of such slight build,” Felisa noted.

It was a fair point, and one of the reasons precisely why I shouldn’t have been showing off my strength in such a fashion. But there was simply no other option I could see, short of leaving these people to their presumed deaths. Troy had managed to mentally wallpaper over a sentient house coming alive and threatening to kill him. I’d have to hope the same happened with memories of the oddly athletic accountant.

“I do a lot of running.” If one looked at the statement in a large sense, referring to life as a whole, I actually felt it was defensibly honest. “The good thing is I don’t think we have a lot longer to go. Slightly more forest, then a clearing, then the house. We’re nearly there, everyone, just keep at it.”

The words might have caused a swell of optimism, were it not for the howl that followed them seconds later. Louder again, which meant closer. Perhaps waiting for us to step out into the open, which was something we’d very shortly have to do.

As the group headed toward the clearing, I wracked my brain for potential solutions. When we reached the open snowfield, there would have to be some kind of plan. And whatever it was, I’d have to be the one to pull it off.

7

No sudden bursts of brilliance struck me by the time we reached the forest’s end. Most of my mental energy had been on keeping tabs on the humans and listening for the slightest hints of movement. Unlike before, it was no longer entirely fruitless. Whatever power I’d taken from Alonso’s blood was helping me navigate, like I’d gained an innate sense of direction, and that made pinpointing the nearby noises slightly more manageable.

From what I’d gathered in our walk, it seemed as though our attacker was hanging to the edge of the forest, most likely too large to fit within the tight confines. In another scenario, we could have hunkered down to wait there for help. Unfortunately, the weather precluded such a tactic. If we went that route, I might as well toss the humans out as bait and make a run for it; they’d have about the same odds of survival.

So far as I could see, we only had two viable options, both of which were built on exceedingly simple strategies. The first option required I go on ahead, crossing the open snow field at top speed and hoping there was help nearby to bring back, while everyone else hunkered down inside the forest and waited. Not the worst of options, but I didn’t like how much was left to chance. There might not be enough people in the lodge to fight back against our pursuer, and then who knew how long it would take for help to arrive from down the mountain—plus, there was the matter of leaving everyone undefended. Just because they hadn’t been attacked in the trees so far didn’t mean they couldn’t be reached, only that whatever was chasing us thought it would be easier to get them when they emerged. If it ran out of patience and came calling, it would find effectively defenseless prey.

Sadly, I wasn’t sure that my other idea held much more promise. If I went out first, slowly, making sure to draw the creature’s attention, I could ideally act as bait while everyone else ran across. It would require me to hold our attacker’s focus, though—bodily, if necessary. Out in the open, if it caught up with anyone but me, they’d be done for. A punch that could send even an extra-buoyant Gregor flying would turn humans to mush.

For as much as I didn’t like either plan, the second one held a slight advantage, only in that there were more variables under my control. Running ahead required bailing on the others, while hoping several factors broke in a lucky direction. Playing decoy was a more focused task, but also a harder one. In the end, it came down to a matter of what I felt would give everyone the greatest chance of survival. I’d been narrowly escaping danger for several years by that point, so at least I had a little practice. It was time to see what I’d learned.

“Everyone, I’m going ahead to draw it out.” I paused for a moment, expecting protests to rise up. However, only weary stares looked back. They didn’t have the spare energy for superfluous objections and had probably already done the same mental math. There was only one person still spry and lively, who stood even a slight chance of making it through an encounter. “When I’m sure it’s near me, I’ll whistle. That’s your cue to run like hell.”

In one small bit of mercy, it was impossible to miss the looming form of the Clyne home, or the myriad of windows shining with light. They wouldn’t have trouble finding their way. It was just a matter of buying them enough time to make it.

“What if you die?” Felisa’s words could be seen as callous, but given what they were facing, it was a very relevant concern. Once I went, they’d likely soon follow.

“Then hope it fills up on accountant,” I replied. “Anyone who has a better plan, please feel free to speak up. I am definitely not married to the idea of walking out there and playing decoy.” Despite my best efforts, fear managed to creep into my voice. I couldn’t help it; the idea of being alone with some huge attacker scared me.

Ethel trundled forward, giving me a short hug, a surprising show of familiarity, even from a former coworker. “You’re a good man, Fredrick Fletcher. Try to survive.”

“Hang on, this is too much,” Troy protested. “I can’t let you go alone.”

“I don’t think two is going to make a difference. It’s not a fight, it’s a distraction.” Patting Troy on the shoulder, I dipped my head toward our injured teammate. “Besides, they’ll need your help hauling Alonso. I’ve got this.” In truth, I had no idea how in hand the situation would be, but I knew my chances were far superior to anyone else who was present.

After a few seconds of begrudging silence, Troy finally sighed in acceptance. “I hate it, but I guess you’re right. There’s no point in multiple people playing bait.” He didn’t stop there, shaking his head with disbelief. “Man, the years sure have done a number on you, Fred.”

“Really? I still feel the same as always.” I very nearly touched my mouth to be sure fangs weren’t showing, halting my hand at the last moment.

“Are you kidding? No way would the Fred I knew go out to face some mountain animal solo. Hell, even rallying people together like this would have been beyond you. Working for yourself seems to be paying off.” Troy returned my pat to the shoulder, whacking me once before heading over to haul up Alonso.

Felisa was a few steps behind him, pausing by my side briefly. “Mostly likely, not all of us will survive this. It was a pleasure to meet you, Fred. I hope there is occasion for more socializing in the future, but tonight, I simply wish you the very best of luck. For everyone’s sake.”

Continuing on, she joined Troy in lifting up Alonso, and soon Ethel was with them as well. The three clustered together, preparing for their next move. Knowing they couldn’t start until I did, my feet were soon moving, carrying me toward the veil of snow blocking out so very much from view. Still, I kept walking, because as crazy as it was, this was still the best chance for group survival.

I was struck by the wind as soon as I left the cover of the trees. It had never fully died out, but the sharp intensity was dulled. Exposed, it felt like needles of ice were poking at my skin. Not enough to hurt me, more a sensation of discomfort. Scanning the area once, I chose a diagonal angle to the house and started walking. With zero clue on our pursuer’s location, the best I could do was open up the way for everyone else. Assuming the creature followed me, I’d be moving it away from the direct path the others would take, while also getting myself nearer to potential safety.

After a few steps, it was already harder to see the trees behind me; they turned into shadows concealed by the storm. On I went, ears perked up, eyes straining, working with every sense I had to try to detect a threat before it was upon me. When I felt like I’d gotten nearly halfway across the field, even maintaining my inefficient diagonal angle, it occurred to me that at some point, we should have planned for what to do if the creature wasn’t around.

Spinning on my heel, I turned to head back and discuss a new contingency plan. That spin was the only reason I got a few extra seconds of warning. It wasn’t even that I could see the creature approaching, more that I could tell from the way the snow was swirling that something huge was racing through it. Thanks to Alonso’s blood aiding my perception, I had just enough time to leap out of the way.

What was intended to be a short hop went unexpectedly awry, however, when I shot a full ten feet straight up into the air. Something about the act of jumping had garnered an enthusiastic reaction from my legs, showing far more power than I’d seen while walking around. Probably another effect of therian blood, and one I’d have to investigate at a later point in time. Since I was already airborne, I took a moment to pucker my lips and let out a sharp, long, shrill whistle that pierced through the night.

Below, something huge barreled past where I’d been standing. By the time I landed several feet away, I could already hear the humans crashing out of the woods, running for everything they were worth. There were more sounds than just theirs, though. It seemed our pursuer wasn’t keen on giving up on me after a single dodge.

I could hear it panting, loud and heavy as thick bones shifted audibly. My hearing seemed to have been slightly amped up. Even with the wind once more whipping, I was able to catch some subtle details of movement. Enough to know there was another charge coming a split-second before it started. This time, there was no accident in my high, vertical leap. I actually tried to put some power into the jump.

I soon realized that was a mistake, as I shot myself what seemed like twenty-plus feet into the air, tumbling rump over teakettle as I came crashing down, landing in the snow with a soft crunch. Scrambling up, I searched the area, silently cursing myself for losing track of the attacker. For a fleeting, horrible moment, I imagined it had kept moving, running directly for the unprotected humans. So terrible was the mental image that I felt an unexpected sense of relief when the thundering bulk of muscle came barreling down on me. An attempted hop to the side was slightly too slow; some part of the enemy clipped my ankle and spun me around.

Rather than skid to a halt in the snow, I felt my left arm snared in a mighty grip, lifting me up into the air. The creature pulled me in close, finally offering a decent view of itself as I was sniffed over. White fur the color of snow covered it from head to toe, which explained why it was so darn hard to see, even amidst a storm. Antlers like shaped icicles jutted from its head, a bestial skull like a mix between a bear and a deer. Limbs that were too long for its hefty body jutted out, one holding me aloft near its snout. A few tentative sniffs, and then a low growl rumbled in its throat. Its huge, toothy maw started to open wide, and I decided I didn’t want to find out if vampires were digestible by mountain monsters.

With one arm held, I decided to make the most of my current borrowed blood-ability. As the creature pulled me in close, I waited until it was just in range, then used my jumping ability to leap away. Of course, for that to work, my captor would have had to loosen its grip, which was why I picked my launching pad carefully. I might not be able to actually hurt something so massive, but a bop on the snout is enough to stun most animals for at least a few seconds.

Both my feet crashing down onto its nose for an enhanced leap was enough to catch it by surprise, loosening the grip on my arm right as I tore into the sky, coming down again nearly fifteen feet away. I hadn’t found much use for abilities gained through blood—most ranged from useless to troublesome for someone like me—yet the jumping talent was one I could definitely get used to. While there wouldn’t be much actual use for it in day-to-day accounting, it was still pretty darned fun.

The joy was quickly tempered as I noticed the growls coming from nearby. Evidently, my escape had done more than stun. It had aggravated the creature. Technically, that was a good thing, as it meant the focus stayed on me, while the humans kept running. From what I could tell, they’d gotten further than halfway to the lodge, racing for all they were worth. Not that it would matter if the attacker’s focus shifted, however. This creature could cover that ground in seconds. They had to be in the lodge before I could count them as safe.

Seeing little else in the way of options, I clapped my hands together, purposely making noise. “Hello there? I don’t suppose there’s any chance you can speak and this whole thing is a huge misunderstanding?”

The swipe of a huge hand sporting claws the size of kitchen knives felt like a concise response to the question. I dodged away, the constant growls actually making it slightly easier to track, but the next swing came close enough to trim a few hairs. With a carefully controlled leap, I hopped back to create some distance, only to find that it could close the gap in a few short bounds. Something had changed. It was no longer content to play with its prey. The attacks were too vicious. I’d fought back, enough to be deemed a threat. The kind that had to be disposed of.

Backpedaling, my mind raced as I considered my options. Real fighting was out. Even if I’d had the taste for it, I lacked the skills or strength to follow through. I could attempt to drain its blood like I had once with a bear, only the bear hadn’t possessed long limbs with which to peel me off. Latching and hanging on was unlikely to work. I’d need to bite and move, again calling on a combat skillset I didn’t possess.

In my worry about turning things offensive, I permitted my attention to falter for a moment, but that was all it took. A backhand caught me in the shoulder, sparing me the claws while still sending me spinning to the ground. By the time I looked up, the creature was already above me, maw opened in a horrific sneer as it stared down. Planting a sizable foot atop my chest, it reared back its head, letting out a roar of triumph that felt as though it ripped across the entire mountain. Even the wind was a whisper in comparison.

Horrified as I was in that moment, certain that my end had arrived, my terror only grew when I heard what came next. Another roar answered the creature’s—only this one was even louder. I feared there was a larger version of this thing somewhere, perhaps masquerading as a tree, and about to come tearing forth. My sole comfort was the sound of the humans scrambling up steps and banging on a door. It seemed like they’d made it.

That is, it was my sole comfort, until I noticed the creature over me and its sudden fear. No longer a conquering killer, the antlers twisted frantically as its head moved back and forth, searching for something, presumably the roar that had answered its own. Ultimately, I saw the source first, though that was purely due to a matter of angles. As my captor scanned the ground, I was facing upward, toward the sky. That was why I saw the massive form rip through the clouds, dispelling the storm overhead with a few flaps of tremendous wings.

I should have been overjoyed to see Gideon’s approach; it would mean I had a chance at being saved. Except what I saw filled me with far more terror than even what being face to face with this fearsome beast had conjured. Because what I saw was not a dragon flying out of the sky.

Instead, I saw two.

8

Years of living amidst the parahuman world had given me what I thought to be significant inoculation to overwhelming shock, but that moment proved just how pitiful my resilience really was. Struck by the sight of a second dragon soaring overhead, I simply looked up, dumbfounded, utterly wasting my moment of distraction to slip away.

The mistake became apparent as my assailant’s head shifted, eyes peering back at its captured prey: me. Something seemed off, however, as its clawed hand pressed to its skull, head shaking momentarily. Whatever the issue was, it quickly faded at the sound of my movement, a careful attempt at escape only alerting it further to my presence. Looming high overhead, its mouth parted, revealing a waiting cavern of blades to tear me apart. Worse, based on the angle it was coming down at, it seemed the plan was to start with my head.

Jaws open, it reared down as my feet scrambled to find purchase. Whatever designs it had on dinner were quickly dashed, however, as something heavy struck directly in the beast’s chest, sending it sprawling through the snow.

After seeing a pair of dragons burst from the sky, watching a dark form suddenly crash against my attacker’s torso and knock it away wasn’t quite so stunning a surprise, though I was no less grateful for it. With the snow of the storm fading, I quickly recognized the shape of my savior.

Half-covered in snow, showing signs of visible annoyance, and currently shrugging off his coat stood my bodyguard, doing exactly what he’d been tasked with: putting himself between me and danger. Without a word, he glanced behind to check on me, probably also to make sure I wasn’t moving out of position.

I returned the look with a smile. “Good timing.”

That got me a mere nod, Gregor’s occasional drops of conversation having dried up in the face of a real threat. A threat that was scrambling to its feet, but not as quickly as it had been moving. Something was wrong, more than just what Gregor could have done by knocking it over.

“Gregor, I know asking you not to hurt that creature while fighting it is an impossible task, but can you refrain from killing it?”

Almost as though it heard my plea for mercy, the snow-beast charged, arms wide and jaws snapping. Despite the chaotic nature of the attack, as soon as it drew near, one of its hands curled into a fist, smashing toward Gregor like a hammer. Most likely, it was hoping to send him flying again, but that desire was all for naught, as Gregor easily slipped under the swing, countering with several short, solid jabs to its sternum. I heard the sound of something cracking, and from the way the creature staggered back, I had a feeling it wasn’t Gregor’s fists.

The stagger turned into reeling as our assailant swayed back, collapsing to the ground. Directly next to it were several of its own prints from a few moments prior, giving me a sense of scale to confirm a growing suspicion. It wasn’t just moving slower anymore. The size of the creature had also been reducing. That was all I needed to put most of the pieces together. Mountain monsters might be real, but I doubted they were capable of magically changing shape—unlike therians.

Unfortunately, while the size might be leaving our opponent, it still had ample fight left inside. Climbing back to its feet, it let out a horrific wail of a howl, charging toward Gregor. There was no calculated tactic this time, just a flurry of limbs smashing down. Blow after blow rained against Gregor’s body, some even managing to push him back through the snow, but none could replicate the earlier feat of sending him sailing. Now that Gregor could see the blows, he shifted his weight and countered as they came, refusing to be knocked out of the fight once more.

When the creature let loose a particularly sloppy set of slams, Gregor caught it in the jaw with a well-timed hook. The blow sent the creature stumbling away, where it collapsed into the snow, steam rising as it panted heavily. With a soft howl, it tried to rise once more, legs shaking under the effort.

“Dad! Stop!” The words shook me from the scene of combat, drawing my attention to the approaching shapes coming from the direction of the Clyne home. Arlette and Leland were racing toward us, followed by a trail of what looked like staff members. Though Leland had been the one to call out, Arlette was faster on her feet, reaching the recovering creature before anyone else.

She was on it before I could think to call out a warning, hands patting the still-sizable skull, stroking its white fur softly. “The storm has broken. It’s okay. The mountain is safe, and so are we.”

Something like a shudder slipped through the creature, and with it seemed to go the last of its desire for combat. Shaking, it shrank further, fur shifting back into flesh as claws became nails and the horns appeared to melt away. Within seconds, Arlette was holding a man she bore an unsurprising resemblance to, one visibly her senior. It didn’t take much deductive work to realize I was finally meeting Big Clyne, the owner of the resort.

Arlette might have been the fastest, but the rest of the entourage wasn’t too far behind. Big Clyne had barely been in human form for five seconds when several attendants bringing clothes arrived at his side. They covered him quickly, offering warm water and food as if he’d been pulled from some sort of cave.

Only Leland Clyne separated from the pack, after ensuring his father was stable. Walking over, he paused by Gregor, waiting to see if the bodyguard would halt him. When nothing came, he continued forward, stopping in front of me. “I suppose I owe you an explanation.”

“It would certainly be appreciated,” I replied. “But before any of that, did the others make it to you safely?”

My question gave Leland pause, though only for a brief moment. “They did, which was how we knew where to find you. Everyone is recovering inside, and there didn’t seem to be any lasting damage. Even Alonso’s leg will be better by morning.”

A great deal of tension slowly eased out of my back as the burden of others’ safety was lifted from it. I genuinely didn’t know how Krystal could do this sort of work daily. Just keeping myself alive so often felt like a herculean task; adding others to the mix made it exponentially worse.

“As for that explanation,” Leland continued, “I’m sure you’ve figured this part out, but my family is a line of parahumans. We’re not quite therians—our forms would never be mistaken for natural animals, though there are similarities. Strength, healing, bestial senses, and the obvious shape changing.”

The group was helping Big Clyne back toward the manor, so we began to follow as Leland explained, Gregor staying a few steps away, yet always close enough to jump in should the need arise. There was a time I might have found the closeness unnecessary, but it had become reassuring of late. Especially after nights like this one.

“We’ve been called much through the years. Wendigo is the current favorite, as it’s certainly less of a mouthful than being the abominable this or that. For the most part, we live as other parahumans, only calling upon our other selves when necessary. When a snowstorm hits, however, our more primal natures are stoked, similar to the effect of a full moon on a therian.”

I nodded along, with little else to contribute besides the reassurance that I was listening. The speed of Leland’s words was picking up, enough to give me the sense that perhaps he’d wanted to be able to talk about this for a while.

“Usually, we can keep them in check. I mean, the teenage years are a little dicey, but that’s true for every species.” Leland paused again, an expression of weary sadness temporarily etched into his face. “Then, a few years back, our dad started having trouble remembering things. Little stuff at first, but it eventually got worse. We went to all the doctors and mages we could find, but at best, all they can do is slow it down. By all accounts, it’s tied to him growing older, like weakening bones and fading muscle.”

“I would have thought the augmented healing would stop such decay.” Perhaps it wasn’t the best moment to get bogged down in logistics, but I did want to understand the situation.

Leland shook his head. “Time wears down all things, including our ability to recover. We’re part of the natural world, tied to the cycle of life and death. Neither man nor beast is immortal, so the same holds for a combination of the two. Aging slowly isn’t the same as not aging at all.”

The words struck me, forcing my mind to take a quick stock of my own loved ones. Krystal wasn’t aging until she passed on her curse, Arch sure seemed immortal, Lillian and Asha were both fellow vampires, and Albert was a fellow undead. Charlotte might be in the same boat, and Gregor was part stone, so who knew how to calculate a lifespan there. Everyone else, though, they were at the mercy of time. I’d been working to think in the longer term, but in doing so, I’d failed to consider that my timeline wasn’t the same as those around me. All of the therians, like Bubba or Richard, the mages like Amy and Neil, even dragons such as Gideon—they aged. Assuming no murders or accidents, which was a big assumption indeed, my life would stretch long beyond the ends of theirs.

It was a notion I found profoundly lonely, and I tried to take a maudlin cheer in knowing that I’d most likely be killed by someone stronger long before such a predicament could ever arise.

For Leland, there was little to be said other than the obvious, which I obliged. “I’m sorry your family has to go through that. Hopefully someone out there will be able to find a cure.” Once, this might have been an empty platitude, but the silver lining to a world with snow monsters stalking through ski-resorts was that there could very well be some magical cure.

His body shook, and it took me a moment to realize he was chuckling, though there was no mirth apparent on his face. “You just got attacked by the head of our resort, and I’m the one getting apologized to. No, Fred, I’m the one who’s sorry. You should never have been in that position. The storm took us by surprise. We thought he was secured with his medical staff, and by the time we realized he was gone, the snowmobile team was radioing in to let us know they’d been attacked and were taking shelter. We sent some staff out looking, just clearly not enough. Again, I’m sorry, Fred.”

“No lasting harm done to me or Gregor, I believe.” With a look to my bodyguard, he gave a stiff nod of confirmation. “There we go. No lasting harm done. The others might have concerns, but so far as you and I go, consider the matter behind us.”

“It’s not that simple,” Leland protested. “You’re our guest, and that implies protection on its own. For the head of our household to attack you without provocation, well, those are major breaches.”

Parahuman politics could be such a pain. I tromped a few more steps through the snow, mulling the issue over. “Leland, would it be hubris to say I was most likely going to be hired for this account?”

“Not at all. Your reputation is excellent. Plus, you came on an official referral from the Agency. Most of this was formality.”

“Then how about you agree to give me the job as ‘apology’ for this incident and throw in a few season passes so my friends can tag along when I visit?” I proposed. “I’m not looking to hold you over a barrel for something that was a genuine accident, especially where everyone came out the other side safely.”

“The offer is generous, but I’m not sure I . . . can . . .” Leland’s voice trailed off as his eyes went wide, staring directly behind me. I never felt so much as a single gust of wind or heard a whisper of crunch from the snow, yet I knew who was behind me the moment Gregor fell to his knees.

The voice came clear as a bell from the mountainside. “Accept the kindness from one still naive enough to offer it. He can be stubborn about such matters.”

I caught sight of Leland managing a soft wiggle of his head—the best nod he could come up with in the moment. By the time I’d fully turned around, Gideon was in his usual form, that of a young boy, though not as young as when we’d first met. If not for the terror in Leland’s eyes and the claw marks in the snow, I might have thought he’d arrived in that shape as well.

“Fred, you are to come with me,” Gideon announced. “We need to have a discussion.”

9

Rather than head toward the house, as I’d expected, Gideon turned and walked back in the direction of the woods. I followed dutifully, the stroll much more pleasant now that the storm had finally broken. We passed the first thick trunks and continued, heading deeper into the modest forest, until we had to be near its center.

Pausing, Gideon’s hand flashed near a trunk. By the time he moved on, I could see a strange symbol etched into the bark. Selecting another tree opposite the first, he made another mark, then two more as he walked about. As soon as the fourth symbol was in place, I felt the air around us change. Suddenly, the wind was gone, a gentle warmth running through the area. Given that neither of us had been especially bothered by the chill, I presumed there were other purposes to the spell beyond that of mere comfort.

“Do you understand what you have seen today, Fredrick Fletcher, head of the House of Fred?”

The words took me by slight surprise, though that was nothing compared to hearing Gideon use my full title. This was not some flippant curiosity; the question came with weight. I could only imagine my answer would do the same.

“Had you asked me in a different tone, I would have said yes, and explained the situation with Leland and Arlette’s father. But no, I do not believe I understand what it is you are referring to.” Having no idea what Gideon wanted to hear, I had to hope that honesty was the best policy.

He nodded, showing no signs that my answer was unexpected. With a wave of his hand, the snow on the ground flowed upward, shaping itself into the form of a small chair. A similar gesture in my direction, and I now had a snow-chair of my own. It was a neat trick, one well within the abilities of a dragon, yet something about it also struck me as familiar.

It was not the time for questions, though, as Gideon settled heavily down into his soft, snowy seat, his expression much too world-weary for the youthful face he wore. “You have spoken the word Tiamat before, or at least mouthed it to Mr. Emerson when I appeared distracted. Tell me what you believe it to mean.”

I swallowed hard on reflex. This was a topic where Gideon was especially protective, and ruthless. “A sort of dragon birthing blessing. I know dragons have a lot of fertility issues. Apparently, it’s someone or something who helps with that.”

“About what I expected,” Gideon sighed. “In the stories of our people, Tiamat was the mother dragon, the source from which we first sprang. So great was her love for her children that she swore to shepherd us past even the limits of mortality. Those referred to by her name are considered to be Tiamat reborn, a blessing from our very creator to aid us in times of need.”

History was not where I’d expected the conversation to go, and I could come up with little in the way of response. “Then it’s a more important title than I realized.”

“The title is nothing compared to the person who wears it.” Gideon looked at me in such a way that I could feel his full attention, and even being the focus of so much power was discomforting. “A Tiamat is a sacred being amongst dragons. To raise even a claw against one would be considered a blood crime against all our kind, and should the Tiamat be in danger, every dragon present is expected to lay down their lives to keep them safe.”

“Wait, what about that dragon who trapped you and was working magic on Sally? Wasn’t that having a negative effect?” I distinctly remembered Gideon’s concerned reaction, to say nothing of the consequences of his rage.

“Sinorah, a forlorn fool chasing old myths. There are legends scattered throughout the ages of ways to transfer one’s innate magic, such as the burden of the Tiamat. All of them are nothing more than fantasy, yet they find new believers just the same. She sought to attempt such a method, fearful that Sally would reject her role in dragon society. While I punished Sinorah harshly, I confess that I understand her desperation.”

His breath floated lightly in the air, a sharp contrast to the heft of his words. “There are few of us left in this world. A handful compared to what the tales say once existed. And there is not one I wouldn’t kill if it was required to keep Sally safe. I say that without malice. Were the roles reversed, I’d expect—nay, demand that they do the same. That is the importance of a Tiamat. That is why we guard them so fiercely, even protecting the very secrets of their existence. That is why we must speak now, Fredrick Fletcher. Before, you knew rumors. Today, you saw truth.”

In all the excitement of not dying, I’d nearly forgotten what I witnessed when the storm was broken up. “Then, that second dragon . . .”

“Sally Alderson,” Gideon confirmed. “We came up to practice her flying, an activity not easily managed in the city.”

“If I ask ‘how,’ will I get an answer other than it just being magic?”

Surprisingly, I didn’t get the curt nod I was expecting. Instead, he held his hand flat in the air and shook it slightly. “We understand a bit. When a therian breeds with a different parahuman, most often the child will also be therian; their lineage runs strong. That said, the child will occasionally bear distinctions of their other parent. A child of a therian and a mage, for example, will likely have a talent for magic and a bit of innate resistance, on top of their therian abilities. Sometimes, however, if the other parent has an especially potent magic of their own, the effect is more pronounced. Therians can be born who can shift into entirely different sorts of beings, even magical ones. In extraordinarily rare cases, that includes dragons.”

A dragon-shifter. That was what made her the Tiamat, and why I’d never seen Sally show even the slightest bit of her therian abilities, even by accident. They must have been teaching her control since Gideon first came on the scene, if not sooner. Assuming she had even a sliver of the power Gideon could wield, that would be a tremendous amount—all the more so for a child. So many things tumbled into place, yet I didn’t have time to reflect on the revelations, because Gideon was still talking.

“Which brings us to you, Fredrick Fletcher. Were you not already in an alliance with Richard and a friend to Sally, I’d be tempted to fry you on the spot rather than risk a potential leak.”

This time, when he paused, I made sure to pipe up; this was not a conversational path I wanted to travel too far along. “Aren’t there already rumors about her being a Tiamat?”

“The parahuman world drips with constant rumor. Look at your own situation, the reputation fueled by tainted testimonies and misinterpreted events. Currently, there are rumors of three other Tiamats in different parts of the globe, all of them false.”

Strange as our discussion was, I couldn’t help but perk up at that news. “Are you sure? What if one of them—”

“I know they are false because I started them.” Gideon cut me off, rising suddenly from his chair. “Just as I appointed other dragons to guard them, fueling the illusion further. That is just one of countless measures great and small that I have taken to protect that young woman. Rumors do not concern me. What concerns me is an eyewitness, one known for his honesty and forthrightness. If Fredrick Fletcher were to tell what he’s seen, some will listen.”

For a fleeting moment, I almost asked if that even mattered, given that Gideon served as her guard. But I knew better. While Gideon had been my ceiling of power in the parahuman world for a long time, he wasn’t actually at the top of the food chain. Sheriff Leeroy and Director Waxwood were both more powerful, and there was no assurance they were the only ones.

Gideon was trying to protect the people he cared about and was afraid of what the world might throw at them. It was a sentiment I could empathize with all too well, especially after Quinn’s most recent attacks.

“What about a bet or a bargain?” Thinking back to my dealings with the dracolings in Las Vegas, I remembered a key detail about the way their magic impacted the deals made. “I once saw Krystal magically silenced as part of losing to a dracoling. If we take away my ability to tell anyone, then we don’t even have to worry about an accidental slip-up.”

The stare peering back at me was fierce and thorough, like Gideon was scrubbing me down to the soul, looking for even the slightest hint of trickery. “The binding of a dragon’s magic is no small thing. Do you understand what you are offering?”

“Gideon, I don’t want harm to come to Sally, Richard, or any of you. If me saying a few wrong words could call down that much trouble, then I’d honestly rather not even take the chance. I have zero intention of telling anyone, so a binding changes nothing.”

At last, the long stare broke as Gideon released a drawn-out sigh. “This would be simpler if you were more craven. Very well, Fredrick Fletcher, I shall accept your oath. In exchange for the vow, I grant you trust, greater than what you have ever carried before. You may speak of the rumors, but what you saw today remains forever sealed. Swear to me that you will never reveal the secret of Sally Alderson.”

Moving slowly, aware of the importance of such a moment, I slid off my snow-chair and kneeled down. “I swear to you, Gideon, King of the West, that I will never reveal what I know, that Sally is a Tiamat, nor that I have seen her in her dragon form.”

I felt the magic ripple through the air, similar to the night I wed Krystal, yet also distinctly different. By the time my last word was spoken, a shock went through the air. Something told me there was a lot more than just my word to keep the promise now in place.

“Very well. I accept your oath, Fredrick Fletcher, leader of the House of Fred. Let it serve as a token of goodwill between your clan and the King of the West.” Gideon motioned for me to rise, which I did. “That concludes our business. We may return to the cabin when you are ready. Should anyone ask, I called you here to discuss the employment of Charlotte Manor.”

The fake excuse took me a bit off guard. “Wait, what would we have to discuss? Is there an issue?”

“Only that her talents have been criminally underutilized. Charlotte has proven to not only be an incomparable assistant, she’s been a great aid to Richard and Sally, not to mention a source of joy. I would happily offer her a permanent position in my employ; however, she is a member of the House of Fred, and therefore, I would need your permission.”

“It kind of sounds like you really are asking if Charlotte can stay for good,” I pointed out.

“Yes. It does.” He smiled, a grin much too calculating for such a small face. “Though I have yet to make any formal offer, and this would of course be predicated on Charlotte accepting. I do not enjoy employees who work against their will.”

To be honest, part of me wanted to kick back at the idea. I couldn’t just let Charlotte go like that. She was family. Thankfully, I recognized the instincts of selfishness quickly, especially considering Gideon’s words. He wanted nothing more than to present an offer. If I stood in the way of what would make Charlotte the happiest, then that was treating her like a possession, not family.

“I’ll sign off on whatever Charlotte wants. After everything she’s done for us, that’s truly the bare minimum I owe her.”

Gideon chuckled, heading toward one of the trees inscribed with a symbol. Before he could reach it, I called out. It was a question that had been burning inside me for years, one I didn’t dare to ask. Realizing I might not physically be able to after this was the push I needed to finally get it out.

“What’s going to happen to Sally?”

He halted in his tracks, turning to look at me, eyebrows lifted slightly.

“When she grows up, I mean. When this Tiamat title falls on her in earnest. What’s really waiting for her?”

I could see the trees swaying outside the barrier, pushed by the powerful winds that couldn’t reach us in here, a place casually sealed off by Gideon’s power, which he had just so damn much of. The weight of that might seemed to sit upon him as he found his voice.

“As I said, Tiamat is a sacred figure. When she is of proper age, they will raise her to the highest echelons of dragon society. She will be protected at all times, cared for with absolute devotion. Every dragon will court her, hoping to earn the honor of mating.”

“And what if she doesn’t like any of them?”

Gideon’s eyes narrowed slightly. “The Tiamat does not age like a therian, Fred. As she gets older, her power will grow into that befitting a dragon. Her lifespan is akin to ours, and every known magic will be made available to bolster that further. Over the course of centuries, it is inevitable that bonds will form. Beyond that, there is the constant burden of guilt and expectations. Of knowing an entire species looks to you as a savior, that whole bloodlines will die out without your intervention. I’ve done my best to prepare Sally for attacks along such emotional angles, but as time wears on, they will only grow more effective.”

That last bit sent my next remark skidding off into the forgotten section of the brain, along with childhood phone numbers and any password older than two months. “You’re preparing her to resist being manipulated by dragons?”

“I am making every effort, though her gentle nature and kind disposition do make things more challenging.” Gideon threw me something of a short glare, not that I could understand why. “But yes, to address the implied question, I am preparing Sally to meet her fate on solid footing. She is the Tiamat, there is no changing that truth. However, it is my hope that she will be able to determine what that means for herself.”

Gideon walked over to the nearest tree with a symbol, hand outstretched but not touching it quite yet. “Dragons born of a Tiamat are in no way weaker or lesser. Many grow to become quite powerful in their own right. Some have even earned the title of king.”

The implication hit harder than any of the blows Big Clyne had swung my way. That at least explained why Gideon knew so much about the mindset of a Tiamat. By the time I’d mentally recovered, all four symbols were gone and the wind was pushing against us once more.

“Let us head to the cabin. By now, your friends have likely been gathered up and brought to join. You can handle the traditional apologies and making nice while I explore their offerings of cocoa. It will be a delicious comfort when you all turn to me, asking if I can somehow heal their patriarch’s malady, in spite of me showing no such talents beforehand.”

It would be a lie to say the very thing had not occurred to me, even knowing what a long shot it was. Only now, I considered it from Gideon’s perspective. The hope that would be shining in Leland and Arlette’s eyes, the expectations from his allies, all because dragons could seemingly do anything. Maybe there was a reason Gideon had to be so distant. If I had to bear those gazes, knowing there was nothing I could do to help . . . it would take a toll, that was certain.

“Fortunately, I have heard rumblings of a flower in certain parts of Australia that might be of aid. Experience has its benefits.” With that, he was heading toward the house, leaving me to stumble along in his tracks.

1

“I won’t get into any trouble.”

The glower staring back at me showed no signs of being convinced, though that was to be expected when plumbing Gregor’s expression for any clues.

“Gregor, my plans for tonight are to do what I’ve been doing all week: catch up on work. We were already busy enough, and now I’m also covering Big Paw Resort as they transfer assets and ownership from Big Clyne to his kids.”

More glower, unfazed by my protests.

“Okay, fine, I’ll grant you that even when I don’t plan on trouble, sometimes one of the others will pull me into it, but that’s off the table tonight, too. Neil and Albert are with Amy, traveling back from Australia, Bubba is busy with Richard, Krystal and Arch have been on assignment for over a week, Lillian took Asha and Al out for what she called a ‘morale building’ dinner and drinks, and Charlotte is fully occupied helping Gideon.”

In different circumstances, realizing how thin the crowd around me had gotten might have left me feeling vulnerable, but staying in the same building as Gideon came with an undeniable sense of security. Dragons were not known for their love of intruders, and this one was especially territorial.

Finally, Gregor’s arms unfolded. “Very well. A contingent of therians have been ordered to stand guard outside your door, along the halls, and at all entrances to the floor. They will have to do until I return.”

I winced at that, already imagining the sorts of grumbles my enhanced hearing would pick up from the poor souls tasked to that job. “It’s really unnecessary. You’re going to be gone for one evening. I got along for years without you, remember?”

“You were kept alive by the combined efforts of multiple agents and several parahumans with exceptional abilities, none of whom are present,” Gregor corrected. His brow creased, something almost like worry appearing. “If you do not intend to take your safety seriously, then perhaps it is better that I remain.”

Setting my pen aside, I looked up from the documents I’d been half-perusing, making sure that Gregor knew he had my full attention. “You should go. This is an important celebration for the Slate-Claw clan, one that there’s no reason to miss. The very dragon whose deeds you’re honoring has promised to keep this building safe, and I will not leave it for any reason short of imminent, undeniable danger, such as fire. Does that put you at ease?”

With the expected stiffness, Gregor nodded his approval. “The therians are staying posted.”

“Fine by me. I have no intention of leaving here, anyway.” Richard had set us up in small suites, an obvious former office space that had been converted to sleeping quarters that could be used on the fly. It wasn’t a whole lot more than a desk, kitchenette, bathroom, couch, and bed, all of which suited me fine. I didn’t need much to get by, and whichever frills I missed were all the more motivation to keep hunting for acceptable new accommodations. Thus far, my prospects had been less than promising.

The thought of minor missing comforts did give me an idea, though. “If you wouldn’t mind, order some food for the therians standing guard. It won’t make up for the sudden task, but it should at least make the chore more pleasant.” Thankfully, this was an errand that could be handled with a phone call and minimal security risks. Richard’s building had a restaurant-sized kitchen that was generally churning out some sort of food nearly nonstop. Therians were known for their appetites, and this building hosted a tremendous amount of them.

“Very well.” Gregor pulled out his phone and pressed a few keys with surprising swiftness, then pocketed it once more. I expected further protests or disagreement; however, it seemed Gregor considered the matter settled. He turned and left my room wordlessly, passing by a hulking therian fellow that had taken up a post outside the front door.

I hadn’t gotten many details out of Gregor as to what tonight’s event entailed, only that it was a yearly celebration honoring Gideon’s triumph over Traxmort, some sort of monster that had threatened to wipe out the entire Slate-Claw clan. Given the tight-lipped nature of my bodyguard, even getting that much had been a struggle. Still, I could tell it was important to him, proven by the fact that Gregor was actually willing to take a night off.

I was glad to see him get a touch of downtime and had no intention of getting into trouble that might cut it short. With Gregor gone, I hunkered down into my work, keyboard clacking mightily. Enhanced vampire dexterity didn’t come into play for many of my usual tasks, but an improved typing speed was a perk I’d learned to relish.

By the time I looked up, afternoon had given way properly into evening—at least, based on the clock on my wall. Given the general relationship between vampires and therians, Richard didn’t have any rooms with enchanted glass between the guest and the sunlight—plus, there were the risks of intruders to consider. Ultimately, using a room with no windows at all was the easiest solution, which was functional but often left me feeling a bit adrift in time.

Taking a break, I went to my mini fridge and produced a serving of blood. There were no doubt magical means to bring the blood to a more palatable temperature; however, I’d elected to go with a more modern solution. By purchasing a portable sous vide machine and rigging it to a small pot, I was able to create a water bath at roughly the same temperature as the human body. While this method took slightly longer than microwaving, it resulted in a smoother, more enjoyable flavor. With Charlotte’s kitchen burned away like the rest of her, I was having to find my indulgences where I could.

I took my time enjoying the meal, scrolling through recent texts from Krystal to see if there were updates on her return. I knew she’d be getting back that night, just not any clue as to when. Clicking over to a long-winded missive from Albert, I was pleased to hear they’d found the flower Gideon suggested might help Big Clyne. Considering that Albert was asking me if I knew how to get blood mixed with sap out of clothing, though, it probably hadn’t been without trouble.

When my blood was drunk and my glass washed, I sat back down to continue working. Except, something was wrong. Off. A fleeting feeling, one I’d have dismissed without a moment’s consideration, before I’d been taught better by Quinn’s attacks. An element of my environment had changed, and I needed to know what.

By default, sight was the first to be checked, since my eyes were already open as I glanced about the room, finding nothing. As my most powerful sense, scent came next. A building as busy as Richard’s had countless smells wafting through the air at all times. There was a strong funk of therian, which was to be expected when one was stationed by the door, but nothing potent jumped out. Next came sound, and at last my brain finally bit deep into the detail that was tweaking the edges of my perception.

It was the breathing. Too deep and relaxed, like a lazy song, not the sound of someone standing on guard. More was missing as well—the soft footsteps and subtle sounds of movement I actively ignored were no long present. My guard appeared to be unconscious, and as I listened harder, I caught similar breathing styles throughout the hall. Someone had evidently knocked out everyone tasked with guarding me, which meant that sooner or later, they’d be coming through my door.

Panic welled up in my throat. However, I managed to wrangle it back down. Granted, being penned into a room with no escape routes wasn’t ideal, but I wasn’t entirely out of options. Little use as I generally had for it, wielding vampire strength meant that a building’s walls were technically more suggestions. Sheetrock and wood were nothing, but the brick would take some time. I had no idea if what I was up against would be faster or stronger than me, so taking minutes to carve my way out might be a bad plan. Alternatively, I could burst out the front and run for help—assuming there was a hope I’d be faster than my attacker.

More than anything, what I needed in that moment was information. Some clue as to how the therians had been knocked out. Brute force, magic, maybe a type of gas? Until I knew the tactics I was dealing with, I couldn’t be sure what the best strategy to avoid them would be. Moving as silently as I was capable of while clad in a pair of loafers, I made my way to the door, eyes cautiously peering through the peephole.

Rather than a slumped-over body or a trail of blood, what I found waiting for me was far more terrifying: a familiar face. Deborah was staring at my door, no doubt easily tracking my movements and fully aware of how close I was standing. The thin wooden barrier wouldn’t even be an impediment if she struck; I’d seen flashes of how fast she could move.

My mind raced at the implication of her presence. A vampire breaking into a therian’s building was bad enough, but Deborah wasn’t just another fanged member of the undead. She sat upon the Blood Council, the ruling body that governed vampires, serving as their Prudence. It was as nebulous a title as the rest of the council, but I knew she was handed tasks requiring cautious thought and careful evaluation.

She’d been originally tasked with deciding if I was fit to lead my own clan, and while I’d managed to pass with approval, a part of me never stopped being afraid that she might turn up out of the blue with a change of heart. Exactly the sort of scenario it seemed like I was encountering as she smiled at me through the peephole.

“Not bad. You noticed the change, figured out what it was, and didn’t immediately fling the door open. That’s growth. But peephole cameras are relatively cheap and can send the feed anywhere. In case the person on the other side also has exceptional hearing.”

There was a fleeting moment where I considered refusing to open the door, before better judgement settled in. It wasn’t the door keeping Deborah in the hall. She was merely being polite. It would likely behoove me to do the same. Besides, bad as the scene appeared, I didn’t think Deborah would actually break into Richard’s home and start killing his people. That could start a hell of a diplomatic incident, especially considering Gideon was technically involved.

Pulling open the door, I was able to see the therian Gregor had left nearby, leaned up against the wall and still breathing heavily. Definitely just asleep, and based on the half-eaten roast turkey leg inches from his hand, I had a hunch there was some sort of potion involved.

“Did you taint the food I ordered them?” Peering out into the hall, I saw more slumbering forms and abandoned meals, adding credence to the theory.

“Thanks for that, by the way,” Deborah confirmed, stepping inside without being asked. As she slid past, I noticed there was a small bundle folded in her arms. “I was going to just sneak up and jam a little of the magic-dust up their noses, the food method is much more pleasant.”

I closed the door, more for some shadow of privacy than anything else. If she’d gone through this much effort to see me, I imagined the reason had to be important. “How the heck are you planning to explain to Richard that you doped his men?”

“I told him it was painless, would give them pleasant dreams, and then offered a fair chunk of cash to cover restitution.” Deborah was unbothered by my question, faring better than I did with her answer. She seemed slightly more put together than usual; though a vast gray coat concealed the bulk of her form, I noticed the addition of makeup and glittering earrings. Had she dressed for diplomacy and then come for me immediately after?

Seeing me stymied, she took the opportunity to roughly thrust the package she was holding into my arms. “This part is all above board, even drugging the guards. With Gregor out this evening, I’m back for one night to resume my old job as your bodyguard. Thing is, I’ve got somewhere I’ve promised to be, so you’re going to have to tag along too.”

My hands were ripping into the package before I’d registered they were moving, some piece of me accepting the inevitable even as my brain continued protesting. “I don’t suppose the fact that I promised Gregor I wouldn’t leave would sway you?”

“You actually promised you wouldn’t leave unless there was imminent danger in staying,” Deborah corrected, causing me to instantly wonder just how long she’d really been waiting in that hall. “If you want to stay, that’s your choice. I’m not here for a kidnapping. But hear me well, Fredrick Fletcher. Should you leave with me tonight, I can say with certainty that you will not be breaking your promise.”

The package gave way under my suddenly motivated hands, parting to reveal several layers of dark, smooth fabric. A suit. Deborah had brought me a suit. A suit that, apparently, if I didn’t wear out with her, would lead to me being in real danger. Scary as it all was, I did feel somewhat better knowing she was here in her old role. If Deborah was guarding me, then I would likely be safe unless she decided otherwise.

“Where are we off to?”

“The gargoyles aren’t the only ones throwing a hoopla this evening,” she replied. “You and I are going to be guests at a dinner party held by one of the local vampire clans. I believe you’re familiar with the House of Turva.”

2

The suit fit perfectly. Not well, mind you, perfectly. As though I’d gone for a meeting with a tailor who carefully took each measurement to craft the material, then had me back to tweak every stitch until it was just right. Except, I’d never been to such a meeting, leading to a lot of questions on just how the hell Deborah could have had such a thing made. It was technically the least worrying part of my situation, which was perhaps part of why it kept popping into my head. The alternative was to dwell on my impending dinner with the House of Turva.

It had been some time since I’d last had to deal with them. The House of Turva had come to Winslow, Colorado several years prior and essentially been a pain in my side ever since. They started by sending Lillian as an infiltrator, then attempted to annex me into their clan, and had ultimately called in the Blood Council when I formed my own. After that, I’d more or less hoped the matter to be settled. It was a level of optimism that bordered on foolhardy, perhaps even crossing the line.

“You really can’t give me any hints as to why we’re here?” The private road we were driving down had gone on for some time; we were now out of the main town and into some of the small surrounding hills. Conversation had been sparse, which was odd. Deborah generally wasn’t one to openly hold things back. Typically, she was happy to answer anything honestly, probably because she was confident no one would ever actually ask the right questions to pick up on her plans.

“Sorry, just a bodyguard, not an informant,” she replied. Twisting the wheel, she took a sharp turn, veering us around a line of trees and bringing an enormous mansion into view.

My mouth might have hung open as I drank in the sight before us. A huge swath of manicured lawn sat before a massive, sprawling home that could more readily be called an estate. The style was visibly opulent. There were tuxedoed staff waiting outside to take cars and offer drinks, and everything about the scene screamed “luxury” as loudly as it could manage. It was a bit much for my own tastes, but I could certainly appreciate the amount of funds and effort that had gone into such a property.

“It seems the Turva clan is doing well for itself.” The more I looked, the more small details I spotted, like what appeared to be diamonds lining the nearby flower pots.

Deborah shrugged. “Monetarily, sure, but that’s most vampire clans. Humans love old stuff, and we tend to collect it. Individuals don’t necessarily fare well with funds in the long-term, but get enough vampires together and one of them will be able to bother with things like investments. I’m curious to see the sorts of income you generate over a few hundred years.”

We joined the quick-moving line of cars, soon approaching the front. As we readied ourselves to exit, Deborah reached over and grabbed my arm. “Before we go in, Fred, no matter how odd things are, try to roll with it. You need to see this through to the end. And I would highly recommend you decide whether or not you trust me soon. Wavering isn’t going to make this easier.”

Seconds later, no doubt specifically timed so I wouldn’t have a chance to ask follow-ups, her door popped open as our valet arrived. She appeared and smelled human, as did the other workers. Perhaps they thought this was nothing more than a catering job? That idea lost traction as I stepped out of Deborah’s vehicle and found a flute of bubbling red liquid offered to me.

“Blood-infused champagne, sir?” The glass sat on a tray full of near duplicates, their steadiness a testament to the waiter’s dexterity. While my initial reaction was to refuse, Deborah had told me moments prior to roll with it. We were at a party, so it seemed only natural to hold a drink. Whether or not I would actually sip was a matter that could be sorted later.

Deborah came around the car holding her own glass, one with a few glugs already taken off the top. When handing over her keys, Deborah had also taken the opportunity to shed her coat. Beneath it was a tasteful black dress with patterns of purple woven into swirls. She glided along, every step confident and sure, motioning for me to follow.

We made our way into a large receiving hall, where there were more staff members with drinks. No food, though, which did line up with what I knew of the Turva clan. Evidently, their official stance was that blood was the only true meal fit for vampires, though it appeared that blood mixtures were also acceptable. The hall itself was more decadence, with marble making up the floors, massive paintings hung along the walls, and an intricate mural of flowing blood resting upon the ceiling. The guests who’d stepped in before us were hustling past, eager to join the revelry, but Deborah cut a decidedly slower gait.

She took her time in the hall, pausing to admire each of the paintings in turn. They were predominantly scenes of battle, ones that featured vampires as key players. There were occasional variances, such as a somber vampire man standing atop a mountain, a swarm of vampires surrounding a lake, and a silhouette of a figure immersed in a river of blood tinged with gold.

It was in front of the last painting that Deborah came to a stop, taking it in fully. “Look closely, Fred. This is a tale of the first vampire. One of the origin myths, an explanation for how we came to exist. Some believe the first vampire was a mighty warrior who rose up against a tyrannical god, fighting to the brink of death. With his last strength, the warrior dealt a killing blow and was bathed in the divine blood, from which he drank deeply. The power in the blood gave him life, even though his body had died, and the first vampire walked the earth.”

“It’s a lovely piece,” I remarked, because if nothing else, the art was certainly well crafted. After taking another moment to consider her words, a detail popped out at me. “You said ‘one’ of our origin myths? We have more?”

“As many as humans, therians, mages, and every other creature sentient enough to wonder about the cause of its own existence.” Deborah pointed to the painting with her half-empty champagne flute. “This is the most popular, the tale you’re likeliest to encounter, so I felt it was worth explaining. Would you care to hear another? I have a recent favorite, if you’re so inclined.”

“I’d love to.” Tentatively, I took a slight sip of the blood-champagne, wanting to blend in as a reveler. It was delicious, my mouth lighting up at the unexpected combination. A vampire tongue was built for blood—it activated our tastebuds like nothing else—and with this trick, the flavor of the champagne was heightened to similar degrees. After a single sip, I knew I’d have no more than the glass in my hand. This would be much too easy to lose track of, and life with Amy Wells had made it very clear that vampires could get intoxicated under the proper conditions.

We continued moving down the hall at a leisurely pace as Deborah shared her story. “The myth starts similarly: a mighty warrior rising up against an evil tyrant. He traveled the lands, finding the greatest champions among every people, gathering them together to topple their shared enemy. But when the battle finally came, their opponent was too strong. Even together, their force was unable to overcome the tyrant. When the enemy gathered their power and unleashed a horrific attack, the warrior protected his comrades, taking the brunt of it himself.”

This was certainly a less triumphant tale, yet I found myself drawn in all the same. It was not how I’d expected a story about the origin of vampires to begin.

“The warrior lay dying as the enemy recovered. The end seemed inevitable. Yet to his surprise, the champions who remained gathered around him, weaving a new magic. They cut their veins to share with him their life, their strength, their power, dripping the blood down his throat. Together, their force had been inadequate. But now, they would fight as one. By the time the tyrant was ready, it was too late. The first vampire was born, and his fury would not be denied.”

Since the story seemed to have reached its conclusion, I spoke up. “It’s a very nice myth. Oddly nice, actually. A bit more emphasis on teamwork than I would have expected.”

“That one isn’t an especially popular tale,” Deborah admitted. “Truth be told, I didn’t pay it much credence for a long while myself. However, it piqued my interest lately while doing some digging on another project. Specifically, I’d been looking into how a vampire might become immune to silver.”

The massive hall suddenly felt intensely tight. Deborah was dancing very close to my big secret, which might be out to the Blood Council, but which I certainly hadn’t shared with the House of Turva. She’d told me in the car, though: either I trusted her or not. There was no point in constant stressing. Forcing my voice to remain steady, I chose my words carefully. “How does the myth relate to silver?”

“It doesn’t specifically, except that the first vampire was said to hold no such vulnerability. In fact, some legends say there were generations who lacked the weakness. There were other small differences, as well. Supposedly, they could create new vampires with far better results than our modern attempts. The majority of our scholars credit this to them being exceptionally powerful, but others believe it points to a weakening of our magic. That what we have is a lessened, corrupted version of that original spell.”

“But silver disrupts magic,” I pointed out, very eager to keep our conversation away from turn attempts.

That earned me a mild shake of the head from Deborah. “Not exactly. I mean, yes, it does, in the same way a blade disrupts flesh. Normally, we just use it that way. However, mages keep silver on hand as a tool, because it has many more uses than that. Sticking with the blade analogy, think of what a surgeon can accomplish using the same tool. With vampires, it’s believed to sever the connection between the magic animating us and our actual body, slicing between the metaphorical seam. Perhaps the original version of that enchantment had no such weakness to exploit; the bond between flesh and magic formed perfectly. Or maybe it’s just like the tremendous majority of origin myths: a story we tell ourselves to feel like we have a place in the world. We’d never know unless we found one of those early vampires, or somebody managed to restore a vampire’s magic to its theorized original form.”

“I suppose there’s little merit in looking for truths among legends.” The words were as close to an honest reaction as I could muster without comically spitting champagne. There were certainly some holes to account for, as was to be expected with ancient, passed-down lore, but a lot of the details lined up with my own experiences. I knew the Blood Council had been digging around into explanations other than just “dragon magic,” but had never anticipated the answer might come from such a direction.

“They’re called myths for a reason,” Deborah concurred. “Still, there is one more effect mentioned in the legends that’s of interest. As it was told, while the first vampire would eventually be forced to take the blood and strength of his enemies, the true power came when it was shared freely. If a vampire wanted to test such a theory, they would need only drink from the veins of a willing parahuman. Of course, we’d need a vampire immune to silver first.”

Though we’d tried to keep it slow, our walk through the hall was near its end, a vast ballroom entrance looming nearby. Nervous as I’d been about this event, I was glad for the distraction. Deborah’s real message was abundantly clear: she’d found clues toward a potential explanation for my altered abilities and was offering me a way to test it. Given my history, she wouldn’t expect any samples to already exist. After all, the vast majority of my consumed blood was human and purchased through parahuman channels. The only times she knew I’d drunk from the veins of anyone, they were either humans like Asha, or the blood was unwilling, such as the dead mage we’d found on our first outing together.

As much in the loop as Deborah was, she wasn’t aware that a few weeks prior, I’d been given an unexpected opportunity to drink from a willing parahuman. At the thought, my legs tried to bunch up, instincts still at the ready despite the small amount of blood nearly a month past. Even when I’d taken the sip, I’d been surprised at how potent it was. It could just be my imagination, I reassured myself. It wasn’t like I had a lot of experience with therian blood, and one data point did not a trend make.

I pushed the concern to the back of my mind as something to worry about later. Assuming I survived walking into a room full of vampires who hated me, that was.

3

There had been no galas in my old life. Certainly those at the top of the company were likely to attend such events, but as a mere cog in a much larger machine, I was never near qualifying for an invitation. Even if that weren’t the case, I wouldn’t have gone. There would have been excuses offered about work to be done and staying on schedule, but the simple truth was that the old me knew he wouldn’t belong in such a place.

Living as an accountant amidst the equivalent of supernatural secret agents and incredibly powerful parahumans had severely numbed that particular anxiety through the years. It was still true that I didn’t belong—all the more so considering the relations between the House of Turva and myself, but that was true of situations I found myself in daily. The week prior, I’d crawled through sand tunnels to meet with a manticore and discuss whether or not “claw wax” was in fact suitable as a medical deduction; compared to examples like that, a fancy party didn’t hold quite the same level of intimidation it might once have.

Nevertheless, I kept my head on a swivel as we walked through the entrance, determined not to make any easy mistakes that the Turva clan could exploit. As I scanned the enormous ballroom and realized just how many vampires were present, my grip on the champagne flute tightened slightly. There were quite a few; at least thirty, from what I could tell. They were easily identifiable, not only by the pale complexions or fangs openly on display, but by the sheer decadence of their ensembles. Dresses dripping with diamonds, suits woven of visible finery and accentuated with lavish accessories—there were even a few actual tiaras being worn. Part of me wondered if the owners had been actual royalty once upon a time, or if they were merely keepsakes from adventures long past.

Beyond the vampires, there were also plenty of humans. I didn’t fully understand the complexities of it, but there were methods available through which to hire mundane help for such a role. All I knew was that it involved extremely long-term contracts with the magical equivalent of an NDA, as well as substantial cost. In that way, I quickly realized, the human staff was yet another display of wealth. This was less a party than it was a pageant built to display the House of Turva’s sound financial standing.

“The woman in the silver gown is Arterin. She is speaking to Temmor, and standing off to the side, looking a tad miffed, is Estivo.” Deborah’s voice cut through my brain’s silent reeling at the number of potential enemies. Across the room, a smaller vampire draped in a cape of what appeared to be peacock feathers snapped his head over with a dirty look already fixed in place. The expression warped suddenly and forcefully as he realized who he was trying to stare down. Wide-eyed, he merely nodded a greeting and then looked to the ground. Deborah offered a wiggle of her fingers with the champagne-flute hand as a technical greeting. “And, as Estivo just demonstrated, remember that everyone present has incredible hearing, and some of them can sort through all this racket.”

Had I not just seen it happen, I might have called the idea into question. Between the self-important voices, the clatter of glassware, and the constant stream of orders to the waitstaff, I couldn’t imagine picking more than a few connected syllables from the ruckus. But I’d been a vampire for only a few years, while others here had been practicing for literal centuries, if not millennia. Using my own skills as a standard for what all vampires could do would lead to me being constantly taken by surprise.

Strange as it might seem, the short exchange did help settle my nerves a touch. Not because everything we said would be heard and scrutinized, as had obviously been Deborah’s main message, but rather, I felt better thanks to Estivo’s reaction. It was a sharp reminder of just how dangerous and respected my bodyguard was. If I’d had to choose between squaring off against every other vampire here with Deborah on my side versus all of us against Deborah, I would pick her as the ally every time.

“Wonderful, so glad to see that you both could arrive.”

I knew that voice the moment it spoke, even if I hadn’t noticed him slipping up behind us. Turning, I found myself facing Petre Turva, an unusually genuine smile affixed in place. It appeared as though he actually was happy to see me there, which only made my worries come flooding back. Petre and I did not have a cordial history; that he was glad I was there did not bode especially well for whatever it was he had planned. Still, nothing unsavory had occurred yet. In fact, they’d been excellent hosts. So long as things stayed pleasant, I had no intention of being the one to break that peace.

“Thank you for your kind invitation and warm reception,” I replied. “I did not anticipate attending such an event tonight, and it’s an honor to be included.”

“Truly, our pleasure.” Petre tilted his glass forward and clinked it against my own. That gesture alone made me almost completely certain he was planning to kill me. “A small token to bury the past as we move toward the future.”

Shifting his attention, Petre began to bow. “My most esteemed Prudence, it is with great—”

“None of that.” Deborah grabbed Petre by the shoulder and yanked him back up to standing with an effortless motion. “Tonight, I am not here as the Prudence of the Blood Council. Attending these things officially comes with all manner of red tape and headaches. I am here only as myself, watching over Mr. Fletcher.”

For a few seconds, Petre looked confused, then something else flashed ever-so-briefly in his eyes before it was back to perfect humility. “Of course. I do understand the complexities of one’s position. It is my honor to welcome you, Deborah. Please, avail yourself of the refreshments. There will be more coming, and we plan to close with a vintage kept magically preserved for over fifteen hundred years.”

With a short bow, nothing like the deep one he’d been building toward for Deborah, Petre excused himself and went to keep schmoozing. Weird rivalries or not, he was on hosting duty, and this night was obviously about a whole lot more than just me. He hadn’t been surprised to see me, though, which added more questions to what was quickly turning into a massive pile.

I desperately wanted to ask Deborah for an explanation. However, I had to keep in mind that every word we said was essentially public. Whatever was afoot, the wrong words from me could potentially blow it. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have bothered with the warnings. Rather than risk probing for some tidbit of information with an audience listening in, I instead opted to fall back on her main piece of advice: to trust her. At this point, surrounded by potentially hostile vampires, I’d already bet my life on Deborah’s protection. If a betrayal was coming, then knowing that fact wouldn’t change the outcome, and if it wasn’t, then I might just make things worse.

“When he referred to a magically preserved vintage, I’m guessing that that meant wine?” If anyone out there was keeping tabs on our discussion, I was determined to keep the topics as mundane as possible.

“Blood-infused wine, like the champagne, but you got the gist of it.” Perhaps to illustrate her point, Deborah took a short sip off her rapidly dwindling glass. “Aging the stuff isn’t easy. You need enchanted bottles at the minimum, and a storage area with magical wards—it attracts some real nasty crawlers. But in trade-off, we can age ours for much longer than humans. The magic prevents our wine from making the jump over into vinegar.”

By this point, I had accepted with near certainty that the House of Turva had some sort of scheme in mind. I did hope they would at least wait until the end to spring it, though. Sampling such a wine was not an opportunity I’d likely have again anytime soon, especially if they really did make a run at killing me. I didn’t expect we’d have any more galas together after such an incident.

There was a clatter of breaking glass from across the room, and I looked over to find a muscular vampire draped in fine furs seated at a table, arm wrestling with a tall woman wearing what I could only describe as black-tie armor. The design of it was so intricate and decorative that it had to be ceremonial, yet there was no denying the heft of the metal strapped to her body, leading me to suspect that it could still take a fair few blows. As the two stayed locked in combat, several humans scampered through to sweep up the glasses that had been knocked to the floor in the match’s haste to start.

“Morbram and Slennia,” Deborah said, pointing first to the man in furs and then the woman in armor. “A word of advice, never get between them. That rivalry goes back a very long way and has run through several clans. Where one goes, the other follows.”

“Vampires can change clans?” I considered that to be surprising largely because, when the House of Turva had been attempting to annex me, I’d gotten the impression that leaving wouldn’t be an option.

“Technically, yes, it’s just not easy for most. Those two have been around long enough that their original houses were both wiped out. Since they’re exceptionally strong, most clans are happy to have them, and for the same reason, it’s not worth trying to stop them if they decide it’s time to leave.”

Deborah paused, patting me lightly on the shoulder. “Even the ones who might be powerful enough to leave a clan generally don’t. The idea of life out there as a solo vampire, without the support and protection they’ve come to depend on, is too daunting. Believe it or not, surviving on your own the way you did is impressive, even if most other vampires would never admit it.”

While it didn’t feel especially impressive, I mumbled out a short reply of thanks all the same. This was not the place for humility, at least based on the dress code. When I’d first looked at the suit Deborah procured, I’d thought it was overkill. In reality, the nicest outfit I owned would have been shown up by much of the waitstaff, to say nothing of my fellow vampires. It at least helped me feel like I was blending in, despite that being a clear delusion.

Overhead, the lights dimmed and brightened several times, as though we were at a theater nearing curtain call. That actually turned out to be an appropriate interpretation of the signal, as all of the milling vampires began making their way to the nearest table. The tables were still barren of solid food, but each seating area now hosted several glasses of different liquids, presumably all infused with blood. In addition, waitstaff were bringing around specific cocktails to various seated vampires— evidently, some had laid out their orders well in advance.

Deborah led me to a table like most of the others, save that we were the only two seated at it. Much as I was tempted to assume it was some sort of slight directed at me, the more logical explanation was that someone of Deborah’s stature warranted her own space, and I was there as her guest. We’d only been down for a moment when a waiter brought a bubbling martini glass and set it down in front of me.

“I ordered for us both. Hope you like it.” That was all the explanation I received before Deborah took a long drink from her own bubbling refreshment. Following the lead, I tried the cocktail, finding it a pleasing mix of sweet, sour, and of course, blood.

When the lights next went out again, they didn’t flicker back on. Instead, one glow appeared from a miniature spotlight, centered on a man in the center of the room. Petre looked out at the crowd, his eyes no more bothered by the dark than any of ours. He was already smiling, yet when his gaze fell upon me, his expression grew all the brighter.

I tried to keep a neutral face as I sipped more of the bubbling cocktail. Hopefully, I was at last about to discover what this whole evening was about.

4

“It was in the year 1798 that the revered Yuralson Turva set foot upon America’s shores.” Petre hadn’t substantially raised his voice, yet every word was clear, largely because the entire room was deathly silent. Only the human waitstaff made any noise, their lungs and hearts unable to help the sounds of living, and even those seemed somehow quieter.

“A vampire of ambition and insight, he left behind a limited future with his brood, instead opting to strike out into the new frontier. With him came a small collective seeking our fortune, exploring a land where it was rumored that even vampires would be welcomed. As he journeyed, Yuralson gathered up the greatest among the humans he encountered. The wisest, the strongest, the swiftest—from these, he would pluck the truly exceptional, offering them a chance to walk the path of endless night.”

The sound of Deborah taking a sip from her drink nearly caused me to jump in surprise. I caught a few side-eyes sent her way, but no outright dirty looks. Calling out someone of Deborah’s position over a minor gaffe wouldn’t end well for the accuser, which I suspected might have been why she did it in the first place.

“Yuralson’s retinue grew, until at last, he could resist the call of leadership no more. Founding this clan, he generously bequeathed his name unto his most trusted and loyal followers. A tradition that persists unto this day.”

If I hadn’t already known that Petre had the Turva last name, the smug expression on his face would have made the point clear. It would be easy to assume he was the head of the clan, rather than its second in command. Considering their founder was still around, though, it was no wonder Petre had been so eager to get rid of me. He was trying to prove himself, and coming up short against an abandoned vampire accountant couldn’t have helped his standing.

“Yet in this new land, old problems arose,” Petre continued. “Grudges carried across oceans, hunters stalked our coffins in the day, and our fellow parahumans turned into the attack hounds called agents. Time and time again, we searched for a place to settle, only to be driven out into the night. Burned out of Maine, savaged by therians in Ohio, banished by the House of Sondmere in Illinois, each attempt at settling was met by endless challenges. Determined to deliver his people from their woes, Yuralson moved abroad, working to strengthen the House of Turva in lands without limitation on our numbers. Still, hard as he strives to build us a new home, our fortunes here have remained cursed. Many of you no doubt remember our last den in Montana, where the fey came creeping in through an undetected breach, forcing us to flee in the night, hunting for a suitable new home.”

A creeping sense of dread settled into my stomach the longer Petre went on about this particular topic. It sounded as if what was present here did not represent the entirety of the Turva clan. Assuming that their house had been formed under the Agency treaties early on, by this point, they could already be allowed dozens of official members. If their leader had been gathering followers elsewhere, someplace without parahuman treaties limiting clan sizes and agents to enforce them, there was no telling how many might be in their ranks. The House of Turva was limited on how many vampires it could officially claim, but there was no such restriction on the number that were loyal to their leader. That was an untold amount of vampires, all of whom I suspected were now looking toward Winslow, Colorado as a potential new home. The gala certainly didn’t feel like a farewell party, after all.

It was also somewhat strange to hear about the problems their clan was facing. For so long, the House of Turva had seemed like nothing more than a threat to my people’s safety. I’d managed to forget that they were their own entity facing challenges. Was it that hard to find a stable home for a clan of vampires? Living in a town protected by an incredibly powerful dragon might not have given me a good sense of the experience.

Petre had paused after the mention of Montana, however he found his voice once more, moving closer to the center of the room. The spotlight followed, never losing track of the monologuing vampire. “This is where our story turns for the better, as those of you present already know. Our clan ventured south, into Colorado, where we discovered this wondrous little city that had sprung up. True, it stinks of therian, but they are held in check by reverence to their overgrown lizard.”

A sharp look came from Petre to me, and Deborah lightly patted my arm as if to soothe. It genuinely took me a moment to realize he was trying to rile me up by insulting Gideon. The tactic had little effect for a multitude of reasons, including that I could think of few beings less in need of defending than the ancient dragon. I tried to catch Deborah’s eye; yet her gaze held fast on Petre, so I turned my attention back in the same direction.

“Aside from a few minor quirks, this town has worked out wonderfully well for us. To that effect, I would like to extend a special thanks to one of our guests this evening: Fredrick Frankford Fletcher.”

Petre pointed to me as he spoke, and on cue, a new spotlight blared down upon my seat. I tried to get away with just a wave, but once Petre motioned that I should stand, there was no avoiding it. Rising to my feet, I tried to appear neutral and respectful as I looked to the crowd.

“It was thanks to Mr. Fletcher that the local therians were open to the idea of a non-aggression treaty, allowing us to settle here. His inroads with Richard Alderson are no doubt part of why we have had such an easy transition into our new home. Everyone, if you would, a round of applause.”

Clapping rang through the air, and I didn’t care for any of it. Something was off, a fact I’d known since walking in, but now, it was starting to feel like the dangerous kind of off. Many of the vampires present looked bored and checked out; however, those who were engaged failed to hide the glimmers of a savage glee. They were clapping with the enthusiasm of people who knew what’s still to come.

“That is why it seemed only fitting that he be present tonight, as we celebrate an end to our travels, and the settling down of the House of Turva,” Petre declared, finally taking the focus back onto himself. I noticed the light over my head didn’t fade, however. I could only presume it was because he wanted everyone to see my face at the announcement. Thankfully, he hadn’t exactly been subtle in the lead-up, so I’d largely figured out that this was where things were headed. It allowed me to replace a surprised expression with what I dearly hoped was a warm, happy one.

“That is wonderful to hear,” I said, breaking Petre’s monologue. “I know our clans haven’t always seen eye to eye, and I appreciate the gesture of this invitation. Since you’ve decided to settle down and live peacefully, let me be the first to welcome you to Winslow as your official new home. I hope the Houses of Turva and Fred have many years of friendship and community.”

Petre shot me a familiar dead-eyed gaze; it was the look I usually got from him, when he wasn’t tickled about some secret. Perhaps he’d been hoping I’d commit a diplomatic slight and give him cause for recourse, or he just didn’t like being interrupted. Whatever the reason, it was short-lived, as Petre’s uncharacteristic cheer returned.

“Ah yes, forgive my impudence, dear Mr. Fletcher. I allowed the details of your turning to slip my mind, forgetting that as an abandoned vampire, you would lack understanding of what such a declaration entails.”

Snickering lifted up from parts of the audience, a dark laughter rippling through the celebratory surroundings. It seemed we were nearly at whatever surprise they were looking to spring. Much as I wanted to look over to Deborah for reassurance, there were too many eyes on me. Whatever was afoot, I still represented the House of Fred and every member of it. I wouldn’t give Petre the joy of seeing me falter.

“Oh? Then if you would be so kind, I’d love to better understand the situation.”

Petre looked happy enough to do a jig, assuming he was an entirely different person. I’d given him as broad and open a setup as possible, hoping that we could get on with things. Not knowing was only wearing on my nerves; at least once the threat was in the open, I could start thinking of solutions.

“Of course, Mr. Fletcher. It would be my pleasure to educate you on such matters. You see, vampire clans do not generally live in proximity to one another. Too many vampires in one location strains the supply of blood, and causes excessive public incidents when conflict arises. Which it always does. That is why the Blood Council long ago established that a vampire clan may take claim of a city, naming it as their territory.”

For the first time, Deborah finally broke in. Unfortunately, it was not to announce that Petre’s whole statement was utter falsehood. “Technically, the claim can be on a city or similar geographic area; there are some sections of forest out there that clans have taken over. And obviously, the claim only applies to other vampires. No therian or mage is going to care about our internal politics. Otherwise, an excellent explanation.” She lifted a glass to Petre, in what I suspected was an attempt at placating him after the interruption.

Either Petre was unbothered by the intrusion or he was smart enough to pretend that was the case, giving Deborah a respectful nod. “As one with your intellect can no doubt discern, the Turva clan has finally agreed to make Winslow our new true home, on my recommendation. We are in the final stages of the process right now, with only a few more formalities to take care of.”

The room went still once more, no one daring to flinch. Evidently, we’d finally reached the real purpose of the night, at least where I was concerned. Petre’s already-stiff demeanor tightened by a few degrees, and he gave Deborah a formal bow. “In the presence of my clan, with the Blood Council’s representative present as witness, the House of Turva does hereby formally inform the House of Fred that they are being expelled from Winslow, Colorado as we prepare to take possession. Do you have anything to say before being cast out?”

“Wait . . . you want to kick me out of Winslow?” It was, actually, not as bad an announcement as I’d feared. Given the Turvas’ usual aggression, I assumed this was leading to them threatening to wipe out the House of Fred, or something to that effect. Considering our living situation, it might not even be that hard of a sell to the others. Krystal’s love of Boarback was no secret, and I could appreciate the peace of mind that would come from living under Sheriff Leeroy’s protection. Still, the idea of being booted from our home didn’t sit right. Finally letting myself turn to Deborah, I didn’t bother whispering. “Can he do that?”

“That’s what we’re here to find out,” Deborah replied coolly.

Interesting. A “yes” would indicate that it was a done matter, a “no” that he was overreaching. Thinking over the choice of words with what I knew about Deborah, my best hunch was that this was a test. Maybe for Petre as much as me, seeing if he could convince or force me to go.

“Should I decline the House of Turva’s generous offer of relocation, what then?” It was not a question I’d have felt confident enough to ask without a Blood Council vampire at my side, but I couldn’t imagine showing cowardice would go over well. No matter how much tension was in my gut at the moment.

Petre laughed, pointedly sweeping his arms around to gesture at all the other vampires in attendance. “Why would you want to do such a thing?”

It hadn’t been a plan, more just trying to keep up as things unfolded. However, in that moment, I saw a sudden opportunity. One I couldn’t pass up. “Because the entire premise is not only flawed, it’s fundamentally ridiculous. And since you asked, I will be happy to explain why.”

5

Calling a Blood Council policy silly with a member of said Blood Council not only at my side, but serving as my sole line of defense, was an admittedly risky move. Yet it was Deborah’s presence that made it all the more important I take this opportunity. She was not the sort to endure a lecture, and I had no chance of gaining a formal audience with any other member. Well, perhaps Claudius would have agreed to a meeting, though he’d have spent the entire time poking and prodding me. The point being, it was a chance to strip down and examine an archaic policy around someone whose opinion on the subject could lead to change. I’d been in the business of bureaucracy long enough to appreciate how rare such opportunities were.

“Vampires can’t share the same territory, because we’ll hunt it dry and kill each other. Really? That seems to take a rather diminutive view of our species as a whole. It asserts that we have less self-control than the humans we began as. They are able to pack in one atop another, but we’re so lacking in holding our impulses at bay that being neighbors will lead to a bloodbath?”

“Humans get into fights all the time,” Deborah countered, still calmly seated. “The difference is that they don’t rip down entire buildings or wipe out whole crowds in their scuffles. Our very strength makes such interactions dangerous, all the more so when surrounded by humans. There is a tipping point past which even the most fantastical elements can no longer be denied. When the humans get whipped into that sort of frenzy, they become a horror all their own.”

It would have been hard to argue much with Deborah on that topic—one only needed a cursory awareness of history to note the examples of carnage left behind when humans went monster hunting. I could scarcely imagine all the stories lost in the swirling mists of time, ones that only those who’d lived through them would know: people like Deborah.

“Is simple non-aggression truly that difficult among our kind?” I turned, pointing to Petre. “He just mentioned that such an agreement had been reached with the therians, beings you also mocked and insulted openly to a warm reception, whereas even the concept of living peacefully alongside your fellow vampires is unacceptable?”

Some of the long-held frustration for my situation had begun leaking through, annoyance at all the needless hostility over issues as ridiculous as clans and geography bleeding through. Compared to a demented sire trying to kill off all my friends, it all just seemed so sophomoric and pointless. Yet here we were, years into a conflict over just such an issue and still plodding through, no closer to resolution in a fight that never had a purpose to begin with.

“What do we gain by treating one another like presumed enemies? What benefit does this offer to vampires as a whole? Deborah, you say the humans are dangerous, but that danger comes from their ability to unify. To work together toward a collective goal. From the bottom of my heart, I can’t understand how at least you don’t see that for the strength it is. A strength vampires could have, if we traded just a bit of pride in for a measure of trust.”

There was no quick rebuttal from Deborah this time. She sipped softly on her drink while mulling over my words. I had zero idea whether any of my points reached her, but at least she’d heard them. If she saw merit, Deborah would do some thinking of her own on the idea; that was all I could hope for.

Once it became clear that Deborah wasn’t responding, however, Petre felt emboldened to rejoin the discussion. “The weak always love to talk about the power in togetherness, willfully ignoring the fundamental truth: there is no such thing. When those like ourselves are forced to join with weaklings, such as you, they do nothing but slow us, lessening the clan as a whole. Instead of being used to the fullest, our might must be wasted protecting and caring for those lower than ourselves. What you call ‘unity,’ I call parasites taking from others the strength they lack themselves. A concept that should be quite familiar to you, Fred.”

“It should be familiar to all of us. You basically just described the blood-drinking process we use to live,” I pointed out. While I could tell Petre had been insulting me, between the archaic language and his poor choice to target my ego, keeping an even head wasn’t proving to be much of a challenge thus far.

My reply left him momentarily stymied. Evidently, he genuinely hadn’t considered the parallels in his own analogy. That was the trouble with not having anyone around who felt empowered to give constructive feedback; that sort of snafu could have been caught whenever he’d obviously rehearsed this all. Even me standing and talking had been at Petre’s insistence, so I suspected things were still going to plan. And that couldn’t be a good sign.

“A few turns of phrase will not save you from the truth, Mr. Fletcher. There is no purpose in coming together with lesser vampires, to say nothing of allowing other parahumans into one’s clan. Power comes from strength, which is why the House of Turva trains all of its members in the fundamentals of combat, culling those who lack what it takes. We have no needless hangers-on, at least since you were kind enough to take Lillian off our hands. Frankly, she was probably overdue for a stake anyway—hers was more a turning of circumstance. She was never truly good enough.”

Petre had been trying to get under my skin since the night started, and he’d finally found a target worth hitting. My jaw locked as he insulted one of my good friends and valued employees, all too aware that losing my cool would only play into whatever scheme was afoot. The fact that Petre so clearly wanted me mad was all the more reason to stay calm.

My tongue, unfortunately, didn’t turn out to be fully on board with that strategy. “If you were unable to see Lillian’s value, then it reflects a tremendous failing on you as a leader. The only thing greater than her capability to learn is her dedication: to her work, to her friends, and to her own betterment.”

“Hardly. She managed to stay just useful enough to stay alive, and barely at that,” Petre scoffed.

“That so? Then tell me, how have your newly turned vampires fared in her absence?”

For the first time, Petre looked truly off-kilter. Not merely annoyed or unsure, but like I’d hit a tender area he was in no way prepared for. His eyes narrowed, flitting quickly around the room like he was hunting for something. Perhaps a guilty expression, if he believed some bit of information had been leaked. Though it all happened in the span of seconds, I knew what I’d seen. What we’d all seen.

“Resulting to rumor-mongering? You truly have grown desperate, Mr. Fletcher. Some of the turned simply cannot adjust to the change, losing their grips on reality as a whole or rejecting the gift that they’ve been handed. We have encountered an unfortunate spike, nothing more. Live long enough, and it becomes inevitable.”

It was my turn to scoff, and I must admit it was far less refined than Petre’s. Though, in my defense, he’d had a lot more time to practice. “I haven’t heard a single whisper about any of that. The reason I knew you’d be having trouble is that Lillian was the one who used to counsel your newly turned vampires.”

A flicker of surprise flashed across Petre’s face, and for reasons I couldn’t fully process at the time, that lit a genuine flame of anger in my gut. “You didn’t even know?” I shook my head, working to keep myself in check and only partially succeeding. “Of course you didn’t. Of course you would never see the value in that skill, or care enough to even take note of it. Because sitting down and helping people who just lost their very lives isn’t scary or intimidating, so what possible worth could it be bringing to the House of Turva? Lillian did something no one else in your clan could manage, and you never had the slightest inkling just how valuable she was until right this moment.”

There was muttering again, though it wasn’t especially joyful. More confused, perhaps even interested. Petre was losing his sway on the audience. He’d appeared vulnerable, if only for an instant. Even that was too much for him, as became clear when his expression warped. Gone was the gloating cheer. In its place came the familiar dead-eyed glare, a look that made it absolutely clear just how much disdain Petre held for me.

“Very well then, Mr. Fletcher. Since even now, you are too cowardly to rise to a challenge, let us move on to the final phase of tonight. As you now know, the House of Turva is claiming Winslow, Colorado, and as such, we must deal with any other vampire clans.”

“Right, you all want to kick me out of town.” I tried to sound casual, but it was impossible to miss the change in atmosphere. Tension was suddenly hanging heavy in the room, and it felt like every undead body was a single twitch away from leaping out of their seats.

“That is one method for claiming a town, yes,” Petre agreed, making sure to show his fangs as he spoke. “The far simpler method is to simply wipe them out.”

Much as that was an obvious threat, I managed to not panic just yet. The fact that Petre was talking, rather than attacking, meant that things weren’t quite that simple. Had I been in a clouded frame of mind—the exact sort that Petre had been trying to draw forth all night—I might not have fully considered the situation. As it was, I reached down and took a long sip of the champagne. It held the appearance of a casual nonchalance in the face of being threatened with murder, while also offering a chance for me to compose my words and thoughts.

“Except, if you were to attack and kill me, that causes problems. Richard Alderson’s pack has an alliance with the House of Fred, and even if you were willing to risk the therians, there’s no way you’d knowingly anger their friend, the dragon. I’m guessing that’s why you’ve been trying to bait me since I walked in, the consequences don’t kick in if I start the fight and you can claim self-defense.”

Petre seemed worryingly unbothered by my retort, his grim smile growing wider to put his teeth on maximum display. “You are correct on all accounts, Mr. Fletcher. It was my sincere hope to do things properly, making what’s to come run smoother. That said, there are potions to fog over or alter a memory, so while it will be costly, by the time any questions are asked, we shall collectively recall your savage attack. Hard as we tried to restrain you, in the struggle, your head was taken off. There will be no proof otherwise, merely a pile of dust.”

I looked down to Deborah, only to find myself staring at an empty chair. By the time I turned back to Petre, Deborah was standing at his side, finishing off another glass of champagne. She was so fast, I couldn’t even see her leave.

Petre wasn’t laughing anymore, though there was a terrifying merriment in his eyes. “Ah yes, your so-called bodyguard. Since a Blood Council member must be present to witness the claiming of a territory anyway, we asked the Prudence if she would be so kind as to deliver you. Saved us the trouble of snatching you off the street or feigning diplomacy.”

Finishing her glass, Deborah set it down before glancing over at me. There was no wink or smirk, no sign of familiarity to show that it was all an act. I reminded myself that on such a stage, those would be visible to everyone and defeat the point. It was a small, temporary comfort, but I still clung tightly to it. There was nothing else to do; I’d bet my life on Deborah. If it went bust, then that was the end.

“I think it is about time we get on with this,” Petre said. “House of Turva, kill Mr. Fle—”

The words were cut off by a sound like a gunshot. Even though I’d been watching the entire time, my vision was unable to track what happened. Only in the aftermath could I put the pieces together. Petre had been knocked across the room, where he’d smashed a dent in the wooden wall. He lay on the ground, hand gripping his jaw, staring with a mix of fury and terror at Deborah. All that had changed about her was the position of one arm, the limb that had clearly been used to backhand Petre.

“As I said when you greeted me, I am not here tonight as a member of the Blood Council. I am the bodyguard for Fredrick Frankford Fletcher. If a single one of you moves to take his head, do not expect the same gentle touch I just showed Petre.”

6

“This is treachery!” Petre screeched the words, genuine shock and a healthy amount of embarrassment thick in his voice.

“This is a lesson, and a warning,” Deborah countered. “Do you know why part of claiming a territory involves dealing with all other vampires in the area? It’s more than the archaic reasoning Fred was poking holes in.” She walked casually over to the nearest table and picked up a new bubbling glass, eyes sweeping to make sure she had the focus of everyone in the room. Also, probably checking to see if anybody was considering making a move.

“Holding a territory means eventually dealing with other parahumans, be it by force or diplomacy. Were the Blood Council to grant such rights to a clan who got themselves wiped out in a few years, it would only serve to make vampires as a whole appear weaker. We make those who would hold such an honor prove they have the power to defend it, through whatever means necessary.”

She finally looked directly back at Petre, who was still holding his jaw, though it would surely be mended soon. “Knowing that, would you care to venture why you are in this situation?”

For all the hate burning in his eyes, Petre had the sense to keep his tongue somewhat in check. “I made the mistake of asking for your aid.”

“Right, and wrong, though if you pulled out a single word, it would be fully correct.” Deborah paused to sip from her new drink, a shift that offered me an unexpectedly clear view of the expression on Petre’s face. It wasn’t just surprise this time. There was an unmistakable look of sheer terror.

“I’ll be clear, in case anyone else hasn’t followed,” she continued, sending another long look into the crowd. “Because I do want you to talk about what has happened here today. This message isn’t merely for Petre. It extends to every vampire who would commit such a blunder. Petre asked to claim the city and was told the tasks needed to prove he was capable of being trusted with such responsibility. Tasks that he decided to tackle by turning to the Blood Council for help, asking me to use my connection with Fredrick Fletcher as a means to lure him away from his allies. A request that told me Petre Turva did not fundamentally understand the importance of his tasks, nor the reasons for fulfilling them. I suspect tonight’s lesson has corrected that failing.”

Staggering to his feet, Petre waved off another vampire who reached forward to offer a hand. “I’d protest that a simple refusal would have worked just as well.”

“We’ll have to disagree on that front. I find lessons stick better when they come with consequences. Speaking of, I believe I said this was a lesson and a warning. Since I don’t like teaching the same class twice, I’ll expect word to spread of what happened to Petre, who ran cowering to the Blood Council rather than handle his own business. The next time this happens, I’m not going to be as forgiving. And if the story doesn’t get around, I know who to hold accountable.”

Some piece of me had wondered if she really expected Petre’s own clan to spread gossip about him getting humiliated, but the visible fear that washed over the crowd put such concerns to bed. Despite the fact that the Turva vampires outnumbered us by at least ten to one, none made so much as even a single gesture of aggression. Even the arm-wrestling pair were sitting still and silent. The first time I’d witnessed the fear inspired by the words “Blood Council” was from Lillian, and it was fast becoming evident her former clan had similar sentiments.

Petre took a few steps closer to us, slow and non-threatening, very aware of how dangerous his enemy was. “To be clear, lest I commit another error in mistake, is this the Blood Council officially rejecting our proposal?”

For the last few minutes, I’d been feeling progressively more hopeful that this was all a one-night inconvenience that would be handled swiftly. Seeing the first shake of Deborah’s head, I felt that optimism drain out of me like someone had ripped the bottom off a half-full bathtub, even before the she said the actual words.

“It is not. While you, Petre, made a serious error, the claim as a whole has merit. However, instead of having the advantage of surprise you once possessed, the other occupying clan is now aware of your intentions. That will make your task all the more difficult, providing a better chance to demonstrate your capabilities.”

In that moment, I suspect Petre and I were near mirrors of one another, both at once suddenly confused and worried, though likely about very different subjects. I’d been all but certain things were done when Deborah smacked Petre across the room, but evidently, that wasn’t much of a discussion-ender in vampire circles. Watching her calmly sip from a drink while holding an entire room at bay with the threat of physical violence, I forced myself to remember that Deborah wasn’t merely my bodyguard.

She was the Prudence of the Blood Council, the ruling organization that oversaw all vampires, at least in our country. There were limits on what she could do without betraying that role, and more importantly, limits on what she would do. Deborah was unlike most other vampires I’d met. She had a sound sense of morality, though it might not have aligned with a human’s version. Even if she actually liked me as a person and wasn’t merely using her skills as a diplomat, that preference wouldn’t lead to overt favoritism.

Besides, as she’d literally just told Petre in as simple language as possible, Deborah expected us to be capable of solving our own problems. I was the leader of a vampire clan, a role she’d approved me to hold. Dealing with this was part of it. In fact, given that I’d been totally unaware of what was in the works, Deborah had given my entire clan a huge opportunity, even if it was predicated on punishing Petre’s mistake. Now, we had a chance to fight back. Much as I hoped that would be metaphorical, everything I knew about the Turva clan said otherwise.

That didn’t mean I was going to give up easily, however. After having just given a lecture about the importance of diplomacy, I had to try walking the walk, if only to prove that it could be attempted. “Petre, what do you say we just try talking things over? This city is huge and growing every year. I’m positive we can find a way to live here together, even when the entire House of Turva arrives.”

The whip-fast turn of his head made me momentarily concerned for Petre’s neck, before remembering the obvious lack of such a need. “Do you think you possess leverage now, because you know that we are coming?” Perhaps even without realizing it, Petre took a few steps closer. “You impudent little—”

His words stopped along with his feet as Deborah poked the stem of her champagne glass into his chest, directly above the heart. “You have the look of someone about to get themselves beheaded. I’d recommend composing yourself.”

Since she’d quieted him, I decided this was as good a time as any to answer the question he’d posed. “I do, in fact, have leverage. You all signed a non-aggression pact with the therians, whereas I have an actual alliance. Now that they’ll be alerted to what you’re scheming, even if you did move in, you’d have an actively hostile therian element to deal with. That’s without even mentioning my more cursory alliances with the local mage community and the Agency. I may not know every detail, but openly gunning for me comes with dangerous consequences. Is peaceful negotiation really that bad in comparison?”

Were it not for the vampire holding a literal death threat to his chest, I truly believe Petre would have made a lunge for me in that moment. His face twisted, the unfiltered rage and hate he felt finally letting itself fully burst forth. “Pathetic.” He spit the word, though was careful to keep it pointed entirely in my direction. “Even now, you fall back on the strength of others to fight for you. A pitiful coward to the very end.”

“We’re vampires,” I reminded him, determined to remain as calm as he was furious. “Every one of us lives off the strength of others. It’s the very essence of our power. Whatever the might in your fists or speed in your feet, it isn’t really yours. That’s power you took from someone else. The difference is that my people choose to lend their strength. I don’t have to steal it.”

Being an abandoned vampire meant I hadn’t gotten properly introduced to our culture as it was. That was why I was unprepared for the mixture of shock and absolute loathing that spread across Petre’s face. Evidently, pointing out where the bulk of our abilities actually came from was either a big social gaffe or a high insult—regardless, I suspected the outcome would be the same.

“Such youth and naivety,” Petre replied, his voice worryingly more subdued. It was like he’d gone so far into anger that he was past the boiling fury to a much darker, deadlier place. “The trouble with external power is just that, Mr. Fletcher. It is external, meaning it can be taken away. Allies picked off, one by one, while the blood we drink remains just as potent. When you are stripped of your protection, when you have only yourself and the power you’ve taken, that is when a vampire’s true strength is on display. That is when you will be lacking, Mr. Fletcher, and the inevitable will finally take its course.”

“It’s a very scary concept, I’ll give you that, but not much for a bluff.” I was keeping my eyes trained on Petre, even with Deborah close at hand. He looked about ready to go for the kill and accept the consequences, which would be little help to my already-murdered self. “Even if you have the numbers to take on Richard’s pack with the full House of Turva, that ignores the dragon on their side.”

“The King of the West cannot be in all places at all times. One does not need to take on the entire pack; a stray at a time will get the job done. Against proper planning, power, and tactics, even deadly foes can be felled. One by one, we’ll get them, from the mighty Richard Alderson to even your inordinately strong new vampire.”

Something about that threat stuck out to me more than the venom dripping off every word. I turned the words around carefully, forcing myself to think past the moment, struggling to find what was so off. Then, like a switch, it clicked, and when it did, I felt a hard, dark sphere form in the center of my stomach.

“Deborah, have any recent discoveries made by the Blood Council been made public? Ones involving newly turned vampires, specifically.” My voice was still calm, but even I could hear that it sounded wrong. Too flat, too distant, and much too heavy.

“They have not. All work and testing is kept strictly between the Blood Council, the vampires in question, and their clan leaders.”

My last hope for another explanation died with Deborah’s words. For the second time, Petre and I were near mirrors, only he wasn’t prepared to see the deep anger forming on my brow. To be honest, I wasn’t entirely ready for it either—hostility is far from my default reaction—but apparently, there was a limit. If there was ever a situation where anger was called for, this would certainly be it.

“Meaning that the only people who know how strong Asha is are those members of the Blood Council, my clan, and of course, Quinn, since he fought her via proxy. I suppose he might also have shared that information after the fact, if he had any co-conspirators. The sort who were nearby, and could keep an eye on my clan’s comings and goings in a way he’d never be able to. People who wanted me dead, but who couldn’t manage to do it themselves.”

I stared Petre down, waiting for some semblance of surprise, an explanation to rise up, even a sputtering half-attempt at denial. None of it came. Because I was right, and we were all going to have to live with the consequences of that.

“You helped Quinn try to kill Charlotte.”

7

“Quite a bold accusation, Mr. Fletcher, especially for someone with no proof. Rumors get around. I’d merely heard a tale or two about your recently turned associate.” Placating as Petre’s words were, the cruel glee beaming from him told an entirely different story. The excuse was nothing more than a platitude for the sake of denial. “Even if I were the culprit, you must learn to cope with such small inconveniences. A house is a simple thing to replace.”

Logically, I understood that Petre was still trying to get under my skin, hoping I’d make a mistake. That didn’t change the fact that it was now working, unfortunately. Hearing Charlotte referred to as nothing more than a replaceable thing only made the hard stone in my gut tighten further. My head, however, remained clear.

Which was why, instead of rising to the bait, I instead found myself realizing something I wasn’t even sure I wanted to know. Right then and there, I could end Petre. The man had proven himself particularly vulnerable to his own strategy, boiling over at relatively minor provocations. He was visibly unaccustomed to being publicly challenged in any way. With me being polite, I’d unintentionally riled him into a direct death threat from Deborah.

What if I stopped being polite?

How many pokes at his actual vulnerable spots would it take before anger outweighed sense? How many verbal jabs before he forgot the certain death standing between us? I didn’t think it would be many, especially if I picked the right targets.

Thankfully, the less primal parts of my brain soon piped up, accounting for factors like the ethics of killing by proxy and Deborah’s sentiment on being used as a tool. Still, even the fact that such a notion had swum through my mind, however briefly, was worrying. I wasn’t sure the sentiment of retribution was entirely wrong, knowing now what he’d done, but not like that. If beating Petre meant using the exact same tactics as him, I’d be hard-pressed to call it a real victory.

“Charlotte is a member of my clan, a recognized parahuman, and a dear friend. I don’t imagine anything I say will make you understand or care about the sentient being who inhabited those walls, any more than you care about the pain she endured. So I won’t bother with words.”

Silently dismissing Petre, I turned to Deborah. “Unless there are any more major revelations, I’d like to leave. It seems I have much to do.”

“As if we’d just let you wa—” Another unseen smack and Petre was hurled back into the wall. He tried to hurry back up, but quickly realized that Deborah was crouched down next to him, having followed after she sent him flying.

“That one was a mercy, a small kindness from the Blood Council. Had you successfully threatened to not let my client, and by proxy me, leave in peace, my hands would be tied. I don’t dislike your ambition or resourcefulness, but they must be tempered by sound judgement. In this world, when you overstep, you never know what you’re walking into.”

Then she was up and back at my side. “Let’s head out.”

I took one look around the room and the countless eyes fixed upon on me—some curious, some mad, and one set glaring with focused hatred. We couldn’t be away soon enough.

Getting out was a sharp contrast from the last few minutes, in that it was exceptionally uneventful. By the time we reached the entrance, Deborah’s vehicle was already pulled around and waiting. Either there was a person with enhanced hearing among the valets or somebody had called ahead to give them warning—in that moment, I didn’t have the spare mental energy to think about it.

Once we were driving, I opened my mouth to speak, only to find Deborah’s finger quickly pressed to my lips. I wasn’t sure why we needed to stay quiet while driving away—even vampire ears have limits—but this wasn’t the time to stop trusting Deborah. Not after what she’d just walked me through.

Within five minutes, we pulled into a gas station where another car like Deborah’s was waiting. Exactly like it, in fact, down to near-identical license plates. No sooner had we stopped than Deborah was heading out, so I followed. From the driver’s side of the other car came a human, who exchanged keys with Deborah silently. We all entered our new transportation, and as the engine turned over, Deborah finally explained.

“They’ll have put some sort of bug or tracker in there while we were busy. We’ve got people to sweep for it, but it’s a pain out in the open like this, so it’s faster to do a switch.” Sometimes, it slipped my mind that Prudence was more than just a title, and that Deborah fit her role exceedingly well. Moments like these were a sharp reminder of never forgetting that raw strength was not what made Deborah truly dangerous. “Now that we can finally chat, I’m sure you’ve got quite a few questions to ask and maybe some yelling to do.”

“Yelling?” I considered the option, wondering what possible value there would be in that. “Did you expect me to be mad at you?”

“Expect is a strong word,” Deborah said. “I considered it possible. What you learned and heard tonight would cause anyone to have a reaction. Anger would be an understandable one, and I was prepared for some of it to slosh over onto me.”

I followed her reasoning and couldn’t say it was particularly wrong. Parts of me did want to blame Deborah, especially knowing how easily she could have waved all the trouble away. But then, that wasn’t why Deborah was here.

“I do realize you’re playing Petre and I against one another, just so we’re clear. Me not being mad about that doesn’t mean that I don’t see it. However, you’re a member of the Blood Council, who oversees all vampires, including Petre and myself. This is an official situation, and your options were limited. I appreciate the help you were willing to give, even if it did serve your own ends.”

“And what ends might those be?” Deborah inquired.

“Not a clue. But I’ve known you too long to assume anything otherwise.”

That earned me a short cough of laughter, followed by a long, drawn-out sigh. “Suppose I deserve that. You’re sort of right, as well. I did turn the situation to something more useful than it could have been. Had things gone without incident, I expect the House of Turva would already be successful in their efforts. It is possible I’m wrong—you have proven surprisingly plucky in the past—but most likely the House of Fred would be no more. If we were lucky, you’d be swept into our protection under Claudius’s care, with all the poking and prodding that goes with it. Petre takes an easy win, learns nothing, and a fascinating new experiment of a clan comes to a swift end.”

“Instead, we’ve been pitted against one another. Either Petre overcomes the various challenges we represent, or the House of Fred rises to the occasion.” Maybe I should have been mad, but I didn’t have much practice at it. Not to mention, it felt like what meager anger I did have was all being concentrated toward Petre.

“Whoever wins will be stronger from the experience, adding to the collective might of vampires as a whole,” Deborah confirmed. “Even if I have individuals whose company I enjoy, my duty is to the entirety of our species.”

I watched the lights on the highway zip by, momentarily thinking we’d taken a wrong turn. I’d forgotten we were headed to Richard’s instead of Charlotte Manor. There was no new flush of anger at the realization—that limited pool was well spent—only a sense of renewed determination. The House of Turva wasn’t done, and if I didn’t want to see another entity I cared about suffer, it was time to start planning.

“What are my options here?” I asked. “As an abandoned vampire, I don’t want to overlook something because I didn’t know about it.”

Deborah eased off the gas a touch, slowing our ride home. “About what you’d expect. You can always run, a tried-and-true classic, but it would hurt most diplomatic attempts for your clan afterward. Petre’s commanding a clan that isn’t even all that powerful compared to some at the top. If the House of Fred flees from them, it’s going to be assumed you’ll run from anything. May as well dissolve the clan before you go, it won’t last long with that reputation.”

Leaving was the soundest idea, from a safety perspective. My friends all had other connections to fall back on, places where they would be protected, while Krystal and I slipped off to Boarback. Even Charlotte would be okay; if anyone could rebuild her, it was Gideon. “What if we don’t want to run?”

“Then you have to fight.” Her voice was matter-of-fact, driving home the certainty of the outcome. “It’s that, or let them kill you. Claiming a territory doesn’t have to be accomplished with violence, but I think it’s safe to say Petre is set on his current course of action.”

We left the highway, venturing into downtown, where my temporary abode awaited. “Whatever you decide, I’d do it soon. There’s only a couple more hours of night to go, and all that’s stopping Petre from striking is that he doesn’t know when my shift ends. He won’t give an aware enemy unnecessary time to prepare. By sunset tomorrow, they’ll be ready to make a move.”

I wondered what sort of move it would be. Given that I could stay holed up in a building guarded by a tribe of therians and the King of the West, Petre would most likely use bait, which meant I needed to get everyone together as quickly as possible. They didn’t even realize we were under attack.

My phone was already out as we neared the parking garage connected to Richard’s building. A mass text first to make them aware, followed by individual calls so I could confirm everyone was safe. Before I could get started, though, there was one last item to handle with Deborah.

“The Blood Council doesn’t play favorites, and I know better than to ask for help after what happened with Petre, but I do have to ask: are deals off the table?”

“I suppose it would depend on the deal,” Deborah replied, an answer as cautious as the woman offering it.

“I’m not sure of that myself yet. What comes next will be determined by my clan together. This is a choice that involves all of us. That said, in at least one potential scenario, I foresee the need for expediting certain areas of bureaucracy. Places where the Prudence of the Blood Council could make sure things move as fast as possible.”

She considered the idea as we entered the garage, making our way up several levels. “I think fast-tracking a few things is an acceptable level of involvement; it doesn’t change what’s happening, only speeds things along. Assuming the trade was worthwhile, of course, and I should warn you now, we already have a finance manager.”

“Just as well. I doubt my schedule would have the time to accommodate your needs. I was thinking of something more along the lines of turn attempts.”

The slow turn of Deborah’s head was a strange contrast to her usual fluid movements. “As I recall, the Agency Director forbade us from transferring turn attempts until your condition is better understood.”

“She did. However, there’s no rule precluding me from using some of my yearly attempts on the people you designate. Not serial killers or other such monsters, but I know there are humans the Blood Council values. Ones who might be in a dire situation, like Sheri, where I can offer genuine help. You know me well enough to choose appropriately. While we can’t be sure my attempts will work every time, they’ve at least shown better odds than most.”

“That is the sort of deal the Blood Council would be most interested in. I’m just surprised you’re willing to make the offer,” Deborah admitted.

I was, too, but in that moment, it all felt clear. Sooner or later, I was going to have to turn again; the potential I represented was too great to be ignored. Deborah knew me and my moral limits. She’d find people I’d be okay with turning, probably even do a better job than I could manage on my own. Part of me hoped it wouldn’t come to that, despite experience telling a different story.

With the vehicle stopped, I opened my seatbelt and the door. “Then please stay by your phone. Once I finish this meeting, I’ll reach out one way or another. And thank you for everything, Deborah. The protection, the information, and especially the guidance. I appreciate what you’ve done for me, even if I didn’t always love the methods.”

“Good luck, Fred. With whatever you decide.”

Exiting her car, I strode through a few feet of garage before entering the building proper, phone already in hand. It was time to gather the House of Fred.

8

It took approximately two hours to gather everyone. Two of the most tense, stress-filled hours I’d ever lived through, waiting as, one by one, the people I cared for reported back their safety. Bubba was the first, as he was around helping Richard, who was also invited to join our meeting. Whatever happened between my clan and the House of Turva, there was a strong chance the therians could be drawn into it. Knowing that they were an ally, I couldn’t dismiss the possibility that Petre would turn them into targets.

Next came Lillian, Asha, and Al, who were wrapping up their evening out anyway. Their good cheer evaporated quickly at the look on my face, understanding fast setting in once I explained the situation. Not too long afterward marked the return of Neil, Albert, and Amy, having landed and sent the flower to Big Paw Resort via messenger. It didn’t escape my notice, the way Albert’s hand rested on the hilt of his blade when I gave them an account of the night so far, nor was I sure it should be discouraged.

I’d just gotten word that Gideon would be bringing Charlotte and Gregor to join us in our selected conference room when the person I’d most been hoping to see strolled through the door. Krystal was back, and not a moment too soon. Our embrace of reunion soon morphed into something of a stress-hug, I confess, as I hurriedly briefed her on the situation. She took the news more calmly than I expected, pausing to make a quick call before promising to join us after she changed.

That call, as it turned out, was to Arch, who showed up before Krystal was done getting into less bloody clothes. Given the personal nature of the issue and Arch’s general policy of professionalism, I hadn’t expected him to get involved, and from the way he hung to the edges of the conference room, it seemed uncertain if he intended to.

While waiting, I sent off warnings to every other connection who might become targets, like the Clover siblings and Cyndi. Odds were slim that Petre wanted to pick a fight with an entire other parahuman organization, but he hadn’t seemed particularly clear-headed when I left. I preferred an abundance of caution to an endless lifetime of guilt if something happened.

After about two hours, it was done. I’d collected the House of Fred, along with our closest friends and allies, into a huge conference room inside Richard’s building. Everyone was abreast of the situation. The faces looking back at me were a collection of fury and fear, with the former being far more prevalent. With Krystal’s second arrival, clad now in a near-identical outfit to that which she’d arrived in, only sans gore, we could finally begin.

Just as I was about to stand, Arch stepped forward. “Before this gets started, I wanted to explain my role here. Agent Jenkins has asked me stand in as witness and observer to these events, testifying that she did not offer information or assistance that compromises her position. My role is to protect the integrity of the organization and Agent Jenkins herself, should any accusations come forth after the fact.”

“Since we’re married, this is my fight, too,” Krystal explained, probably just for my benefit. None of the others had seemed surprised by the announcement. “But just mine, not Agent Jenkins’s. That means I can’t use any Agency tools or weapons, nor can I give you Agency intel to wield against them. I can actually throw down, but only if they make the first physical move.”

That was more than I’d even hoped for; at most, I was expecting Krystal to offer guidance and moral support. Having her actually present would be all the better. Reaching over, I took my wife’s hand for a few seconds, feeling the strength in her grip back. I had no idea if I could get through everything we were facing, but we were going to try. Together.

This time, there was no interruption as I got to my feet, making sure to meet every eye in the room. “The House of Fred is under attack. There is no getting around that fact, unpleasant as it might be. If we do nothing, then one way or another, our clan will come to an end. Most likely in the next twenty-four hours, as we’ll expect the House of Turva to strike after the next sunset.”

None of this was new to them, I just had to lay it all out, put forth our situation plainly, so it could be properly examined. “As I understand it, our two choices in the matter are to run or fight. If we decide to run, I am going to heed the wisdom of someone I trust and formally dissolve the House of Fred. For the employees of Fletcher Accounting Services, you will be more than welcome to come with us to Boarback and continue your work; I’ll take care of travel and housing costs. That offer stands for all of you, in fact, though I know the majority of you have lives here. Are there any major issues with the ‘running away’ plan that I left out?”

No response, not that I’d expected much of one. There were details I could offer if pressed, a small bit of logistical work my brain had already been muddling through. Fleeing was, after all, my particular specialty. Which was part of the reason I’d wanted everyone together. There was another path to consider, one where the others had far more insight to offer.

“Then let’s move on to the next option. Bubba, if this were your problem to solve, how would you handle it?”

Bubba stiffened momentarily, clearly not expecting to be called upon; however, he quickly found his wits. “They drew blood, metaphorically, when they went after Charlotte. Now that we know, offerin’ peace only makes us seem chickenshit. I’d have to go with fight.”

“I’m sorry, Bubba, that’s my fault. I should have been clearer.” His sentiment was not a surprise. In fact, I had a hunch everyone in the room would say about the same. We’d get to that, though. First, it was important to establish what we could do before making choices on what actions we’d take. “I meant that question in a logistical sense. Assuming diplomatic avenues were exhausted and conflict was inevitable, how would you go about dealing with the House of Turva?”

“Ah, I see.” Bubba’s jaw set as he reconsidered the question. “Sorry if this is a bit brutal for you, Fred, but I wouldn’t wait until the next sunset. Vampires’ biggest weakness is the sun, and it’s one therians don’t share. Knowin’ their address, I’d rally the tribe, bring in a few pieces of demolition equipment, and rip the place open. Bust through the outer walls, make sure they’ve got no exits, and then—apologies, Charlotte—light the whole dang place on fire. What the flames don’t burn, the sunshine will.”

That was horrifying in its efficiency and how well-considered the tactic was. I kept all such feelings from my face, however, giving Bubba a grateful nod instead. “I can certainly see how that would work. What about you, Amy?”

“I probably would have seen this inevitability coming years ago, then started making and stockpiling cans of pressurized gas mixed with powdered silver. Something that could be shot through a window or hooked into an A/C unit that would cause painful paralysis on any vampire it came into contact with, unless they just happened to have an immunity.” Just when it seemed like Amy might present an entirely reasonable plan, that dangerous smirk twisted up at the edge of her mouth. “Then about a year ago, I’d have gotten bored and started messing around with some specialized silver, to fascinating results.”

And so it went as we progressed. Albert and Neil would use one’s necromancy to slow and stun the vampires, while the other wielded his blade. Lillian and Asha were both on board with torching the Turvas’ home, only they would use third parties, due to sharing the vampiric sunlight allergy. Al would gather her fellow pixies together and drive them out through discomfort and nuisance. Krystal would walk through the front door with gun drawn and devil ready. Lastly, we arrived at Charlotte.

She was sitting at the table, wearing what I’d thought of as her default form, only updated to a modern pantsuit. I’d asked specifically for a room where she could manifest, as this concerned her more than anyone else currently present. For the most part, Charlotte had shown little reaction as the tactics were discussed. We sat, waiting for her to weigh in, a small storm working its way across her brow.

“As a house, I do not have much experience with the idea of offense. My design, my role, my purpose, all of it was defensive. A home is a place of comfort and protection, meant to keep those within it safe. My impulse is to say that it is unwise to seek danger when it can be avoided.”

Lifting her head, Charlotte looked at the bland gray walls and equally dull carpeting. “But we are not within my walls anymore. They’re gone, because I couldn’t protect myself or the rest of you. Just like I couldn’t protect the people who built me.” A distinct ring of sadness filled her voice, quickly smothered out as she hurried onward. “Sometimes, even when you try to avoid it, danger still comes. In those sorts of occasions, I can wrap my head around the need for offense. What I want more than anything is to keep you all safe. Removing the threat seems like the best long-term option. If you need my blessing to sanction that, then you have it.”

I gave Charlotte the same thankful nod as the others, considering each of her words. After nearly a minute, I rose up from my seat for the second time to address the room. “Despite our clan bearing my name, it belongs to all of us. What happens to it is of consequence to every member, and therefore, our future should be determined collectively. I suspect we can keep things simple with a show of hands. Who here is for running away?”

Only Albert appeared to consider it; my gentle-hearted assistant and I had similar feelings toward conflict. But even his hand remained still, however, as the seconds ticked away.

“Who would rather fight?”

They didn’t all fire into the air like I’d asked for volunteers at a top-shelf wine tasting. Each arm was slower, more deliberate. They understood what they were voting for, most likely better than I did. Many of those present had either been born parahumans or had spent decades in the culture. Hard as I’d worked to avoid them, these kinds of conflicts were inevitable, as was the seeming solution. They knew what had to be done and were telling me thusly.

There was one arm that drew a reaction of shock, though. One arm that lifted up unexpectedly, causing flickers of confusion and a single outright gasp. One arm that nobody foresaw rising, signaling just dire our situation was.

My arm.

I stood with the rest of my clan, hands lifted up as we came to our consensus. We weren’t running away. Not this time.

“All right, everyone, we have incredibly little time to prepare, so I’ll keep this brief. You’ve all told me how you’d deal with the House of Turva, and I greatly appreciate the insight. We’re well out of my depth in this arena, and I’d have never conceived of half the ideas you brought forth. Moving forward, I expect we’re going to be drawing a little from each one. Having multiple types of parahumans is one of our largest advantages, so we’ll need to make use of it. I’m going to lay out my own plans, and while they might not line up with what you’d choose, I ask that you hear me out to the end.”

Krystal leaned forward, looking up at me from her seat with a playful, dangerous smile. “Now this has got to be interesting.”

I smiled back at her, working hard to hide the terror at what we were contemplating. “I’m sure there will be a lot of details that need to be altered, but at its core, my plan is . . . well, Deborah once told me that mercy is a form of strength.”

Turning my gaze from Krystal, I took in the rest of the room. My friends. My clan. My family. The people Petre wanted to snuff out, for no reason better than pettiness and politics. They’d put their faith in me as their leader. It was time to see if I was up to the task.

“To put it simply: we are going to show a horrifying amount of mercy.”

1

It took me well past sunrise to have enough in place. Not every call was answered right away, nor did every request go smoothly. Deborah in particular was a stickler with her extra conditions, though I had to admit her reasoning held merit. By the time we were as ready as possible on short notice, it was midway through the morning, the sun slowly making its way up through the sky. I could watch it through enchanted glass and digital feeds, but never experience the real thing. No matter how lovely, the light would kill me like every other vampire. Not even dragon magic or silver immunity had changed that. It was the grand, unifying weakness of all vampires. The reason that the House of Turva had to wait until nightfall to make a substantial move.

Thanks to the magical glass inside our car, however, I could keep working even during the day. My hands shook ever so slightly as I looked over the documents in my hand for the umpteenth time. By this point, I knew every word down to the dots on the “i”s and none of it had changed. This was how I soothed myself, though: staying as prepared as possible. So much of what was in motion was outside my comfort zone; the only thing I could do was focus on the parts that were familiar. However, bureaucracy and paperwork were likely only half the battle this time. Worse, the other half would be actual battle.

A hand came down gently on my arm, squeezing once. Krystal sat next to me in the back seat, Arch on the other side as he fiddled with the head-strap for his camera. She ran her fingers up my arm, around the back of my neck, and gently stroked the back of my head with her nails. “It’s okay. This is the kind of situation where I’d be worried if you weren’t nervous.”

“Are you?” It was hard to imagine a mere handful of vampires scaring Krystal after what I’d seen her accomplish, even without all the help we’d arranged.

“Freddy, I’m fucking terrified.” The answer took me back nearly as much as the sincerity behind it. “Being borderline unkillable might seem like a great deal, but that package also comes with living on while other people you care about die. It means coming back from missions as the sole survivor, wondering if you could have done anything differently. Losing any of you is one of the few things that scares me, and my husband is the one most at risk.”

I wanted to tell her we’d be safe, but that wasn’t really a promise I could make. We’d done everything possible, taken all available precautions, planned for as many contingencies as we could conceive. But even with all that, I knew it might not work. Life wasn’t numbers. It didn’t always make logical sense. A little luck in one direction, or a single careless decision, and it could all fall apart.

We hit a rough patch in the road and bounced slightly, the vehicle’s impressive shocks absorbing what turned out to be a rather prodigious pothole. “Sorry,” Asha called back. “Still getting used to this thing. It handles like a damn boat.”

She and Gregor were occupying the front seats, by necessity. As reckless as our plan in general might have been, we’d minimized risks wherever possible. The rest of the clan was either already in position or following behind; we only had so many seats per automobile. Truth be told, our group was among the last to arrive. Between last-minute preparations and the nature of our planned arrival, we had to be the final ones to show up. Or rather, I had to be. Once I hit the scene, the dominoes would be officially tipped. There was no going back after that.

A buzz on Krystal’s side drew my attention; she was getting a text from someone already in position. “Human patrol just circled the grounds again. Looks like they’re definitely on an every-fifteen-minute circuit. No other signs of substantial defense. Almost like they’ve got nothing special to be afraid of.”

It was hard to blame the Turva clan for such thinking; I’d hardly have classified myself as a substantial threat in their shoes. Unfortunately, that was precisely why we were in this mess. The parahuman world ran on a hierarchy of strength. Much as I respected her, I held no illusions that Deborah had been voted into her position on the Blood Council. She had it because Deborah was powerful enough to do the job well. The prior night, I’d watched her walk into and out of a building filled by hostile vampires without dealing permanent damage to anything other than the walls. Such was her strength that they didn’t even entertain the idea of standing against her. And on the other side of the spectrum, someone like me looked like low-hanging fruit.

Scanning the trees, I recognized some of the surroundings and realized we were getting close. “It’s time to take care of the humans, as many as they can get a hold of. They shouldn’t be in any danger from us, but I don’t trust Petre to show the same consideration.”

Removing their guards was a risk, even if the hired guns would experience no more discomfort than stiff limbs from a sound slumber. Having access to a renowned alchemist came in just as handy for mortal threats as parahuman ones. Amy had easily produced a potion to drop any human into dreamland. The fact she’d had it readily on hand should probably have been of some concern, but I was just grateful for the resource.

Still, once the guards were gone, there was a chance the Turva vampires might notice. According to Lillian, most in the House of Turva slept during the day, keeping with their need to act as proper vampires. It wasn’t a hard rule, though, and some did wander about when the sun was up. Still, I knew the risk was worth it. If I truly couldn’t avoid going down this path, then I was determined to walk it in my own way.

Krystal nodded as her hands went to work, typing to Richard, who would deliver the missive to the many therians already surrounding the perimeter, just out of sight among the foliage. A vampire would have spotted them for certain—the scent alone would be a tip-off, but none of the humans strolling in the sunshine possessed such senses. I’d been a bit surprised at the ease with which Richard agreed to help out; part of me suspected he was glad for the opportunity. Making an alliance with a vampire, then housing several, couldn’t have been an easy sell to the other therians. This was more in line with what they were used to, and he seemed happy to allow the indulgence.

I’d have been more worried if our plan called for the therians to be inside, where that sentiment could manifest into malicious violence; however, they would be sticking to the perimeter. Even the ones who were chomping to pick a fight with a nest of vampires didn’t want any part of what we were planning to unleash. Outside of the members of our car, there weren’t many parahumans who would. Instead, the therians were present to handle the humans on the outside, as well as offer some supplemental support.

Taking a few familiar turns, we drew closer to the property. Thick metal gates had been ripped from their hinges, and judging by the gouges clawed into them, I suspected the culprit to be none other than Richard himself. He’d seen a chance to remind any of his followers doubting his judgement just how strong he was, and the therian leader had taken it. The more I observed those in leadership roles, the more sense I found in Amy’s summary of power. There was the amount we had, the amount we were willing to show, and the amount we were willing to wield.

If there was any advantage I held over Petre, it was that I had an incredible understanding of what everyone in my clan was capable of. Not merely their parahuman abilities, either. I knew their skills, passions, and even their occasional hobbies. Petre had missed one of his underlings filling a fundamental role in his clan, but I listened to everything the others would share with me. I knew how much power our clan really had.

How much we were willing to show was another matter. For a long time, it had seemed prudent to fly under the radar, to avoid inviting interest from other, more dangerous parties. But despite my best efforts, that interest had arrived all the same. Our old tactic wasn’t working and hadn’t been for some while. The attack on Asha was proof of that and should have been enough to make me realize we were due for a change. Instead, I’d faltered, completely underestimating the amount of danger we were in, and Charlotte had paid for it.

It was time to show more of what the House of Fred could do. How much would be showmanship versus actual threat . . . that was an area I still hadn’t fully come to terms with. I would have to soon; the entire plan hinged on me being able to deliver a believable threat. I wasn’t much of a liar and had little confidence I could bluff someone as old and experienced as Petre. Whatever I said, it had to be the truth. Otherwise, even the slim odds we had of success would vanish.

Asha drove past the ruined gate, up onto the perfectly kept grass. Somewhere, I was sure a dedicated groundskeeper was howling in rage, but this was only the start of our vandalism. Setting the vehicle at a precise angle, she shifted the wheel slightly and jerked us to a stop. She spun lightly around in her seat to look back at us. “This is pretty much the point of no return. Let me know when you’re ready.”

“Are the humans clear?” While I didn’t see any, we had to be sure. There were no takebacks on these sorts of mistakes.

“All of the ones on patrol have been sent to sleepy-land,” Krystal reported. “Thermal imaging shows a few inside, but our area should be empty for the moment.”

That still sounded a touch too risky. “Asha, would you be so kind as to lay on the horn? We’re going to have to wake up the vampires soon, and it will give the humans a warning to clear out.”

I’d barely finished asking when her hand pressed deep into the steering wheel, producing a noise bordering on the volume of an airhorn. Why on earth such a sound would be needed, I couldn’t begin to imagine. The vehicle had protective features that went well past the point of overkill. Then again, that was why we’d asked to borrow it in the first place, so I hardly had room to complain.

Our transportation of choice was, in fact, the same vehicle Bubba had brought me that fateful day at Charlotte Manor. For the job we had in mind, there was no better option. It would hardly do for some lucky guard to shoot out one of our tires on the approach, stranding Asha and I on the lawn until sunset. Besides, the absurd level of durability was going to be essential as well.

After ten full seconds of horn blast, I tapped Asha on the shoulder, not even bothering to attempt speaking over the ear-splitting sound. She released her hold on the center of the wheel and met my eyes. “Go time?”

“Afraid so,” I replied. “Everyone, make sure you’re buckled up.”

There was just enough time to check our fastenings before Asha jammed the accelerator to the floor. We’d had some discussion about the best method of entry, considering what we had planned. There were several covert options, ones I would have found overwhelmingly favorable on any other day. However, today was as much about the way we did things as what those things were. Half the purpose was to send a message—one powerful enough to see the day end without anyone being killed.

For that to work, we were going to have to make one hell of an impression.

Our tires caught the lovely grass, spinning it up as we rapidly accelerated. The bay of windows was no doubt enchanted, which made them all the more expensive. My mind momentarily started adding up the cost before I managed to shove the distraction away.

Despite its bulk, the vehicle could get moving fast. I had no idea how quickly we were going when we hit the edge of the house, but it was enough to ramp off a small, decorative ledge around the garden. So it was that we entered the Turva mansion while airborne, smashing through their enormous bay of windows.

The House of Fred was officially on the scene.

2

Glass crunched beneath our feet as we all exited the car. I was the last to step out, flanked on either side by Asha and Gregor, briefcase clutched tightly. We were roughly twenty feet into the grand entrance foyer, far enough that even the furthest-reaching beams of light would be nowhere close. If we were still here by the time the sun was peering directly through that angle, it would be the least of our concerns.

With a quick sweep, I spotted one of the vampires from the prior evening, a fellow named Temmor, with pale hair and eyes currently so wide they resembled a cartoon. His mouth opened and closed, floundering for words that wouldn’t come. If the Turvas had expected any action on my part— already unlikely—then they still wouldn’t have anticipated anything so aggressive.

Since Temmor was having trouble finding his tongue, I took the chance to speak. “Good morning. My name is Fredrick Fletcher, leader of the House of Fred. Would you mind fetching Petre for me? We have business to discuss.”

There was a moment where the uncertainty appeared to almost physically weigh our greeter down. This constituted an invasion of their territory, if not an outright attack; however, my understanding was that those were rarely paired with polite greetings. We were a sudden, unexpected anomaly, a headache he most certainly didn’t want to deal with. After several moments of indecision, Temmor scampered out of sight, racing deeper into the house.

None of us moved away from the vehicle, not yet. For the moment, it was our best chance of escape if the Turvas had some unexpected card to play. We were especially vulnerable at that moment, as preparations for the next phase were yet underway. Should we need to flee, the car was our only way out. Though the House of Turva no doubt owned similarly outfitted vehicles in their garage, those would all be useless shortly. Our smashing entrance was the signal for readying several other steps, but I hadn’t pulled the trigger yet.

No part of me really expected my opening move to work. It was more about the act of making it, of truly doing everything I could to resolve things peacefully. After my speech the night prior, I couldn’t very well demand any less from myself. Besides, exhausting every diplomatic option was the only way I could see to make peace with using a non-diplomatic strategy.

After roughly three minutes, we heard new movement. This was not merely one vampire, however. It was a mass of bodies, at least ten, though Petre did prove himself to be among them, stepping soon into the forefront.

“Mr. Fletcher, this is quite the surprise. Did you leave something in your haste to scurry away last night?” His smugness suddenly shifted to suspicion as he surveyed the people surrounding me. “Two agents have joined you in this little assault? I have high difficulty believing their involvement to be officially sanctioned.”

“You are correct.” Arch stepped forward, pausing long enough to take a drag from his already-lit cigarette. Since he wasn’t permitted to smoke in the car, he’d had one in hand the moment we stepped out. It still wasn’t good form to smoke indoors, but considering the situation, I didn’t have any particular objections. “Agent Jenkins is here solely as Krystal Fletcher, acting only in her capacity as a partner to Fredrick Fletcher. I am here acting as witness, and to ensure that all parties adhere to applicable laws and treaties. There will be video record, as well.” Cocking a finger on his free hand, Arch pointed up to the camera affixed to his forehead.

Petre absorbed the information calmly, his self-satisfied smile sliding back in place. “I see. So after realizing the direness of your situation, you decided to make an all-out assault. Yet the only forces you could muster were the woman you turned, the agent you married, a paid bodyguard, and a witness. Even by the low standards I hold you to, Mr. Fletcher, this is an especially pitiful showing.” He turned back to face the rest of the vampires. “This is what happens when you depend on the strength of others. Once they inevitably leave, you shall only have your own weakness remaining.”

That simple statement told me more about Petre’s past than I’d ever needed, or wanted, to know. Under ordinary circumstances, I’d have felt bad for him. In that moment, however, essentially all of my emotional energy was tied up in anxiety and fear. Emotions I tried feverishly to hide as my hand dipped into the briefcase, emerging with a stack of papers, which I handed to Arch. He headed in Petre’s direction, now established as a neutral party.

“If you’ll look over the documents Agent Davenport is delivering, you’ll find that I’ve put in an application with the Blood Council to claim Winslow, Colorado for the House of Fred. You might also notice that the request has been given conditional approval. There is the matter of another vampire clan in our territory to deal with first.”

Half-swiping, Petre snatched the pages from Arch’s hand, looking them over. “There is no method by which you could have gotten approval in such . . .” Given his trailing off, I could only assume he was looking at the photocopy of Deborah’s handwriting, signing as the Prudence. “Such blatant favoritism, and after I received a public rebuking . . . this will not stand! I shall rouse the rest of the Blood Council.”

“Complain all you like. It wasn’t favoritism. I made a deal, and not just with Deborah.”

The edges of the pages were crumpled from Petre’s grip, crinkling as he slowly flipped over to the next sheet, gaze darting between the documents and me. What he saw next halted those eyes in place, taking in possibly the last thing he’d expected.

Wisdom. Wrath. Power. Control. They were the other four roles of the Blood Council, and each one had signed off. It hadn’t been easy, nor cheap. Getting the others on board had cost me an extra four future turn attempts, one for each signature. But I was taking no chances. With the entire Blood Council’s individual approval, my claim was beyond iron-clad. Petre had shown he was willing to use them against me once before; I wasn’t giving him the chance this time.

“I will give you the credit earned, Mr. Fletcher. Your capacity for leeching off the strength of others truly knows no bounds.” With deliberate care, Petre crumpled the pages into a ball, dropping it softly to the floor. “Very well. You have an equal claim on the city. An impressive, and ultimately meaningless feat. For all your talent with paperwork, it shall take real power to hold that claim.”

“That is one option,” I agreed. “Another is the idea I advocated for last night: coexistence. I know you think you’re going to win, Petre, but just for a moment, consider what happens if you don’t. All the work you’ve put into building new lives here—gone, just like that. Returning to your leader as a failure, right when he believed you’d found him a place to call home, then sending the others out to search once more. I don’t want that for anyone, not even you; especially when there’s more than enough space for everybody here. Sit down with me, and let’s talk. There is a way out of this where everyone can be happy, if we’re willing to find it.”

Even as I spoke them, I knew the words were falling on deaf ears. That was all right, though, because the truth is that none of it was really for Petre. This was my last-ditch effort, a final long shot at a gentle resolution. There was nothing else I could think of, no other bureaucratic tricks to unveil. At most, I hoped some of the vampires listening might be more open-minded, especially once the matter had been settled. Regardless, I had given everything I could, tried all avenues for peaceful coexistence.

With a firm step, Petre placed a foot atop the crumpled pages, grinding them against the smooth floor and errant shards of glass. “I am sick of your chatter, your moralizing, and the ridiculous presumptuousness with which you conduct yourself. You think to offer me a way out? To try to cast doubt in my mind with fictional tales of failure? Ridiculous, pointless efforts.”

Petre took a step forward, causing Gregor to shift slightly, better covering me from his angle of approach. “I have known many of your kind, Mr. Fletcher, and I have detested each one. Hucksters employing mind games and trickery to see their ends met. Your tactics are especially adept, I will admit: utilizing the guise of ignorance to be underestimated, wielding the might of others as an active deterrent, undermining your opponents with appeals to emotion to lessen their focus. None of which will be of any help to you today. I have lived lifetimes longer than you, seen through such charlatans before. Save your slippery words. They won’t save you today.”

Retreating back his single step, Petre turned back to the rest of the vampires watching our exchange. “Mr. Fletcher made a bold bluff, you see. He came storming in as if he held greater leverage, attempting to intimidate us into living alongside his bastardization of the sacred vampire clan. I’m sure such tricks have worked before, but today, he faces no easily frightened mages or moronic therians. No, today, Mr. Fletcher must contend with vampires of the House of Turva. It is time he learned what it is to face a true opponent.”

While he was riling up the troops, Krystal gave me a covert tap on the hand, our signal that everything was in place. Since it appeared that pure diplomacy was truly and officially off the table, that meant it was time to transition to the next phase. Bracing myself for what was to come, I lifted my hand, extending all five fingers.

“If we’re past the point of politeness, then I’m going to level with you, Petre. You don’t even make my top five.” I wiggled, then lowered my thumb. “Bottom spot goes to the mage ghost who almost took over my body so he could try to unleash hordes of monsters.”

Next came the pinky. “After that, I’d go with the serpentile mercenaries who shot a rocket at my car and tried to ambush me with an action-movie’s worth of guns.”

Petre looked more confused than anything by my antics, which was just fine. Once more, he wasn’t my true intended audience anyway. Now that everyone’s attention was on me, I took my time lowering the ring finger. “Third hardest would have to be Hellebore, a high-ranking fey of the Winter Court. That was just a negotiation, but it was tough enough to warrant the spot.”

For the first time, some of the vampires in the background looked uncertain. I’d just name-checked someone with real power as a former opponent. Enduring a negotiation might sound less impressive than surviving a battle, until one has experienced what it is to bargain with the fey.

“Second hardest is the always-imposing Blood Council,” I said, taking down my middle finger. “I have you to thank for that evaluation, but I can’t be too mad. Meeting Deborah has given me a much greater insight into the logistics of being a vampire, as well as what it means for me as a person.”

Just one finger left, but this one remained up as I continued. “Top spot, unfortunately, I have to give to Quinn, my sire. Between the multiple attempts on my own life and the people I care about, he’s the most constant and ruthless threat. He’d have betrayed you, too, sooner or later. I’m sure helping Quinn seemed to further your own ends, but it would have come back around. He’s like you, Petre. He only sees people as tools to be used.”

I paused for only a shadow of a moment, being sure I understood what I was doing. Instead of the flood of doubt I was bracing for, there came an unexpected wave of certainty. The House of Turva had rebuffed every attempt at settling things with mere discussion. There was no other choice but to move on to more advanced negotiation tactics.

“Still, I will give him this: dealing with Quinn has forced me to learn the value in thinking trickily. Such as, for example, giving watching allies a countdown in plain sight.”

With a deliberate motion, I lowered my final finger. It barely had time to touch my palm before the first cannister came blasting through a window, gray mist already spurting forth.

3

To the untrained eye, it would have appeared as though a curiously colored tear gas had been fired into the home, shot through dozens of windows simultaneously at various locations throughout the house. While that similarity might have fooled humans, vampires had another, far keener sense to alert them to danger. As soon as the gas spewed forth, I watched as horror and fear gripped hold of the Turva clan members; even Petre’s face twisted in disbelief. The scent was unmistakable, tapping an alertness in our brains that was nearly on par with the scent of blood. Except, that was connected with sensations of pleasure, and this was directly on the opposite side of the spectrum.

“Silver!” Petre seemed to hiss the word, though I will admit there was a lot of hissing around us, thanks to the cannisters.

At his voice, the vampires already stepping back began to run, racing deeper into the mansion, hoping for safety. Not all of them were so quick to flee, however, some putting together the obvious issue with me employing such a tactic.

“Balderdash,” announced an undead man from the back. He wore a well-cared for, yet decades-out-of-style suit as he shouldered forth, standing on par with Petre. “He and his helper would both be caught up as well. It’s clearly some sort of trick, probably made by one of the mages he carouses with.”

Evidently determined to prove his hypothesis, the well-dressed fellow strode boldly forth into the advancing cloud. He wore a grin of triumph for roughly two seconds before grasping his throat and collapsing to the ground.

“I see. You’ve decided to try to kill all of us together, rather than be driven out. More prideful than I’d expected. Perhaps you had potential, after all.”

Since the gas was fired into the edges of the rooms, and we’d all been grouped in the center, the mist was surrounding us slowly, cutting off escape options one by one. Those who didn’t retreat soon would lose the ability to do so entirely. Not that there was an actual escape; by this point, Albert and Bubba had activated the secondary units attached to the air-conditioning. Soon, the same mist would be flooding out every vent, making it truly inescapable.

Knowing that, I took my time producing the next items from my briefcase, handing one red marker each to Asha and Krystal. “It is my sincere hope that we can still end today without any loss of life. But make no mistake, I have not put my people nor myself in any danger. Asha, if you would.”

Without a flicker of hesitation, Asha strode into the spreading mist, quickly enveloped by the glittering fog. I didn’t understand the mechanics of it, but Amy’s creation moved slower than a normal gas, while also remaining longer. It was a trade-off that meant setup took more time; however, once the mist was in place, we wouldn’t have to worry about it dispersing.

Unlike the Turva vampires, Asha had no reaction to the cloud. Considering that Asha was immune to silver in the first place, Amy’s specialized, low-purity version floating through the air certainly wouldn’t cause her any bother. As it had been explained to me, lowering the purity of the silver reduced the effectiveness, which, in this case, was desirable. A true silver mist would have been literal torture, searing their skin and lungs, whereas this was intended only to render them helpless. Amy had even mixed in some pain-numbing agents as a precaution.

We were there to send a specific message, and it wasn’t one of cruelty.

The sight of Asha walking unbothered through the same substance that had instantly dropped one of their own was enough for several of the Turva members to break. They spun around, planning to race back up the hall, only to see that mist was now drifting in from other sources as well. Panic created congestion, and while several did get away, three were driven into the fog, dropping soon after.

Petre, however, remained in place, flanked by a few faithful followers. Even facing a threat as primal as silver, he couldn’t bring himself to run from me. “I refuse to believe that you have truly employed such a tactic. Through what disgusting means would you have found a way to resist silver? What corruptions would have to be worked on the magic of a vampire? No, this must be more of your trickery, though I do not understand the method. It is a cunning bluff, yet a bluff all the same.”

I didn’t bother to debate him; there was little need or point. Instead, I merely looked to the wave of fog washing up on our respective positions. Slow as it had been, the mist was about to swallow the room entirely, including all the vampires at its center. “I suppose we’ll see.”

To my surprise, I did feel a slight tingle along my skin as the cloud hit, but I soon realized that that was likely the pain-dulling ingredients Amy had worked in. Though I might be immune to silver, alchemy was another story. The reaction across the room was far more pronounced. Most of the other vampires dropped in short succession, just as the first had. Petre and one other both stayed standing; however, they were covering their mouths and coughing.

That was the drawback to using weaker silver: the stronger vampires wouldn’t be as affected. They had greater fortitude and experience, plus I knew firsthand that Petre was adept at blocking out the pain of silver’s effects. None of that really mattered when dealing with the pure stuff, it was just too potent, but it meant our mist was only going to slow some of them down.

More coughing rang out as Petre and his accomplice tried to endure, until one of them slumped quietly to the ground. Now on his own, facing down threats entirely unbothered by the aerosolized attack, Petre’s survival instincts finally overpowered his ego. Turning, he raced deeper into the house, through the now fog-filled hallway. There were doubtlessly spots in the manor where the gas was thinner, maybe even untouched, but those would only shrink over time.

Based on what information Lillian could provide on the Turva clan, it was unlikely that Petre would be the only one able to still function. They didn’t act so aggressively without the power to back it up. Nevertheless, time was on our side for a change. The longer they stayed indoors, the more silver would hit them, rendering them weaker and weaker.

We would likely encounter resistance as we moved deeper inside, but we had several cards left to play as well. Victory was achievable; even someone as cautious as myself could admit that. Unfortunately, just winning wouldn’t really be enough for what we were aiming to accomplish. That meant that there could be no letting up, now that conflict had started. This was my one chance to end things without bloodshed. For the sake of everyone—very much including the Turva vampires themselves—I had to make it work.

Once we were sure the area was clear, our team began advancing. Gregor stayed in front of me at all times, constantly sweeping for any threats. Gargoyles, as it turned out, were among the few parahumans not vulnerable to silver. In trade-off, they lacked the incredible healing abilities so common among parahumans. It would take an industrial jackhammer to do it, but if you could cut off one of Gregor’s limbs, there would be no regeneration. That revelation had raised quite a few questions of my own about the origins and nature of gargoyles, though they would have to wait for a more opportune time.

While my bodyguard stayed close, Krystal and Asha made their way around the room, checking on each of the vampires. After ensuring that none were having unanticipated reactions to the gas, they used the red markers in a specific, consistent motion. One quick swipe around the neck, leaving a bright-red ring behind.

I wasn’t going to walk in and order the wholesale slaughter of an entire clan, no matter the anger about what had happened to Charlotte. But the fact was, I could have done that, on at least a technical level. The option was always there, the power in reach, even if I’d never have the ruthlessness to give such an order.

A red ring of marker around the neck was a minor inconvenience for a week with good soap; no physical harm done. The message, I hoped, would linger sometime longer. Much like the sun, beheading was a surefire way to permanently kill a vampire. It wasn’t one of the more popular methods, given its usual difficulty, but the task would be far simpler on one rendered helpless. As easy as the swipe of a pen.

Arch followed behind us, taking in everything on the camera. I knew of at least one entity watching the feed and suspected a few more. Considering the general parahuman casualness toward violence, part of me even wondered if this was some sort of pay-per-view equivalent. It didn’t seem likely in this case, but I wasn’t convinced the idea didn’t exist somewhere.

In that formation, we worked our way through the first room, making sure to drag any downed vampires into the center. With so much of the glass broken out, we didn’t want to risk them being hit by the sun before everything could be resolved. I didn’t anticipate it would require anywhere near that long, but there was no reason to take the chance.

Once the first room was cleared, we headed into the hallway, taking care of the vampires who’d collapsed in their attempts to run away. When we reached a junction, there was a brief moment of deciding where to head to next, until I caught the racket rising on the left. There were yelps and shouts, along with crashes and bangs. Whatever was going on, it was chaotic, which gave me a sound suspicion of what we would discover.

For once, I didn’t have be told to hang back as Gregor approached a large white door. Behind it, the noises were only growing louder, though I’d started to notice some occasional coughing as well. With a burst of motion, Gregor plowed right through, taking the door clean off the hinges as he bashed his way into the garage. What awaited us was a curious combination of nature and machinery.

There were over a dozen cars parked in the huge structure, some costing well into the hundreds of thousands of dollars, all of which resembled miniature gardens. Flowers burst from headlights, vines wove around tires; entire, fully grown crops were sticking out of the engine compartments. The mist was thinner here, since the room lacked direct air-conditioning or windows. It was only leaking in through the other door, near which three vampires were swatting at an array of shifting lights buzzing around their heads.

One moved to slam the door shut, only to have his pants fall around his ankles. He did manage to brush the knob and knock it closed, though—for all of two seconds until a light zipped down and popped it right back open. More of the lights were elsewhere in the garage, causing foliage to grow, knocking over everything not nailed down, and generally causing a hell of a commotion.

From behind a luxury vehicle in a garish shade of yellow popped a familiar face. Al gave us a wave as she stood to what we considered her normal height, clad in a very formal business ensemble that happened to be made entirely out of leaves. “Looks like the entrance went okay. Everything here is disabled. We just had to distract those three while the last engines were sticky-bunned.”

Pixies, being fey, were as unconcerned with silver as I would be with their poisonous metal: iron. Between that and their infiltration talents, they made the perfect team to ensure none of the Turva clan slipped away before we were done. Nuisances though they were, however, the pixies Al had brought along also made substantially smaller targets than a gargoyle, two vampires, and a pair of agents.

In seconds, the trio turned their attention to us. Moments later, they were dashing across the garage, all thoughts of fey entirely cast aside. There was no talking to these three; their intent was as obvious as the fangs extended in their mouths. With the silver slowly spreading in and a cavernous space to fill, the conclusion was inescapable.

We were going to have to fight.

4

As it turned out, “fight” was perhaps too generous of a term. Given that the three had endured at least limited exposure to low-grade silver, they were far from at their best when they charged our group. Before they’d even made it halfway across the space between us, I realized they were barely moving faster than humans. That meant they were weaker than me—already quite a low bar by vampire standards.

The first one to reach us took in the scene and evidently decided that Asha looked like the easiest target. Given that his other nearby choice was a hulking mound of gargoyle protecting me, it seemed a reasonable decision. Unless one had seen Asha’s strength for themselves.

He ran toward her with his hands curled into claws, only to have both forearms grabbed before he could react. Asha never stopped, taking her body in a full rotation, lifting the attacking vampire off his feet as she spun, before letting go and flinging him back down the hallway we’d come from. I saw him stiffen shortly after hitting the encroaching mist, finally frozen by the silver’s effects.

By the time I looked back, the second vampire had reached Gregor, her long arms allowing for a decent reach as she scratched along his chest. While Gregor’s overall response was similar to Asha’s, he had a very different methodology. Snapping his hulking hands out, Gregor wrapped one around the top of the vampire’s head, another around her waist, and then simply chucked her down the hallway to join her friend.

The final member of their trio was slowing down, having seen what happened to the other two in short order. It was already too late, as Krystal slid up on his side, tripping him over while he was distracted by Asha and Gregor. Once he was down, she hopped back as Asha stepped in, lifting and throwing the downed vampire in short order.

While Krystal went down the hall to check on the three and mark their necks, I took a moment to marvel at Asha’s raw power. It had been months since her change and drinking Sheriff Leeroy’s blood, and there were no signs that its effects were fading in the slightest. That was a huge relief on one hand, as I wasn’t sure how her body would react to the silver embedded in it without the blood’s protection, but was also one more element that would interest the Blood Council.

Hopefully, today’s demonstration would buy us a little breathing room on that front, as well. Deborah wanted to see what our newest vampire was capable of; she was getting a real-life field test filmed on record.

Krystal walked back into the room, popping the cap on her marker. “All three are down. Where to next?”

I listened for any new sounds, and while there was commotion all over the house, none were immediate enough to pinpoint their location. “Not sure. Let’s see what Neil thinks.”

We stepped back into the hall, Krystal fiddling with an earpiece from her pocket. It wasn’t high-end or even magical, since Agent-tech was strictly off-limits. Rather, it was just a Bluetooth device we’d had for taking work calls on the go. That would do for what we needed, though, which was a simple line of hands-free communication. Punching in the number, Krystal tapped her fingers impatiently, waiting for connection.

“Hey! Yeah, we’re good so far. Silver dust is working amazing, but we’ve scooped all the low-hanging bats. Us? We’re just past the entrance, near one of the halls into the garage. Uh huh. Neil says head left for two more hallways, then take the direction away from the entrance. About four in that area.”

Following our necromancer’s directions, we made our way through the estate, soon finding the vampires in question. These four had been asleep when the ruckus raised them, coffin lids popped open and frozen figures inside. My guess was that they’d tried to get up, inadvertently exposing themselves to silver once the coffins were breached. We tried to shift them to more comfortable positions, after marking their necks.

That was how our next ten or so minutes went: calling in to Neil, finding new targets, and marking them off. Having a necromancer on hand gave us access to all manner of powerful spells; however, even those paled in comparison to the amount of information Neil offered. Normally, he could pinpoint the location of undead, and despite the silver in the air, he was still able to get us general areas. It was tedious work, but also necessary. We were not here to show we could defeat the House of Turva.

We were here to show we could cut through them effortlessly. That none could have escaped. It was imperative that every vampire present understand the power dynamics at play. The House of Fred needed to be so daunting that the idea of disturbing us without cause was seen as ludicrous. I didn’t require a reputation fearsome enough to stand on par with organizations like the Blood Council or even the stronger vampire clans.

Just one big enough to be left alone, so we could live in peace. That was all we’d wanted from the start, but the House of Turva couldn’t let us be. Hence why we were traipsing through their lavish mansion, drawing red circles around every pale neck we encountered.

Along the way, we occasionally caught sight of a human or two cowering. If they seemed receptive, we tried to direct them to the exits, though most took off running as soon we spoke. Curiously, I found we weren’t running into any vampires still moving, which I’d expected more of. Neil had flagged a concentration of undead in the grand ballroom, and as we encountered more and more paralyzed vampires, I formed a hunch.

“If it’s obvious enough for me to put together, I’m guessing the rest of you have already assumed that those who could move through the mist consolidated their force in the ballroom?” We’d just finished with the final straggling House of Turva vampire, a man who’d been halfway through sneaking a sandwich when the fog hit. After marking his neck, I also moved him away from the human food, fully aware of both the official Turva stance on such indulgences and their passion for torturous punishments.

“Took it as a given,” Asha agreed. “Do we know how many?”

Krystal repeated the question, then paused and cocked her head to the side, working to hear. “Says we’ve got five in there.”

Five vampires strong enough to endure silver exposure and keep functioning. At least one of them was Petre, who’d gotten a full dose of the stuff, but who knew how weakened the rest would be. Definitely not ideal, especially considering that there was no calling on reinforcements. Al was a pacifist, therians like Bubba and zombies like Albert would be affected by the silver, and all those who weren’t tended to be too vulnerable.

Ideal or not, we were committed to the course of action. Winding our way back through the halls, we reached the doors to the ballroom, all of which were sealed shut. I quickly spotted the rags and cloth poking through the bottom; they’d tried to block out as much of the mist as possible. Most likely they’d muffled the vents similarly. Probably not enough to halt the spread entirely, but certainly adequate to slow it down.

Once more, I stood back as Gregor approached the door, though this time, I found Krystal at my side. She said nothing. This close, we were certainly within range of enemy hearing. Instead, her hand took mine, fingers interlocking, as we waited for the hulking gargoyle to strike. Everything that had come so far was mere preamble. The real show started shortly. A feature in which I would play a pivotal role. I still didn’t know if I was capable of pulling it off, but I’d grown steadily numb to the concern. The course was set; worrying would do me no good. I’d simply have to give my all, and then deal with the consequences after.

This time, the door didn’t cave instantly to Gregor’s might. Either it was heavily reinforced or outright enchanted, because instead of breaking open, the hit only put a dent in the wood, one roughly the size of Gregor’s shoulder. He backed up immediately to try again, this time going further and hunkering down lower. Evidently, Gregor didn’t take kindly to a door resisting his entry efforts, as the next attempt was both more substantial and more successful.

Whatever protections were on the entrance didn’t extend past itself, as Gregor’s charge knocked the door back, tearing out the hinges and what sounded like hunks of wood from the wall. It skidded through the room, coming to rest at the feet of what I almost mistook for animated piles of clothes.

It took me a second to piece together what I was seeing together. Both figures were clad in pants, jackets, cloth over their mouths, ski-goggles around their eyes, with other accessories covering all possible parts of their body. Truth be told, it was a smart solution to the silver fog, using on-hand resources to gain a manner of protection. Some would get through, but it would buy them time.

No sooner was the door opened than both waiting figures struck. They opened fire, shots roaring in my ears as the sound rebounded through the small space. The noise was short-lived, as Gregor plowed forward, causing ricochets where hit and slamming them both down. The pair scrambled up quickly; however, he’d already crushed their guns beneath his feet. Considering the number of occasional humans we’d spotted, I greatly appreciated him putting a swift end to the casual spray of bullets.

Moving together, the heavily clothed duo wound around Gregor, trying to slip past him. One managed to get clear; however, the other found their jacket clutched in a set of thick fingers. For all the protections their ensembles offered, there were also inevitable drawbacks.

The other was on a course directly for me, so intent they didn’t even notice Asha moving to intercept until it was too late. Like Gregor, she also targeted the clothing, though not for the same reason. Whereas my bodyguard had used his snag to yank the attacker back and get a grip on their limbs, Asha simply grabbed fistfuls of bulky material and tore it free. In seconds, she’d ripped off the jacket, hat, and goggles, revealing the spitting-mad face of Temmor underneath. He lunged for Asha, teeth snapping down hard, but now that most of his skin was exposed, she had an obvious course of action.

Grabbing him by the jaw, Asha repeated her spin-throw from the garage, though this time, not quite as precisely. Rather than flying out into the foggy hall, Temmor instead crashed heavily against the wall, leaving a substantial dent behind. Asha winced at the impact, tension slowly draining as she realized he was okay. Krystal grabbed the stunned vampire’s ankles and dragged him into the hall, soon joined by the flying form of Gregor’s opponent. Unlike Asha, he did not miss his second throw; however, based on the sound of impact, it did sound like he’d overdone it a tad.

Swiftly following the toss, a new noise reached my ears. Laughter and clapping, coming from the center of the room. Another pair, but not quite as densely clothed as the prior two. In fact, I recognized both from the prior evening, their distinctive outfits mostly unchanged. Morbram still had layers of furs atop thick muscles, and Slennia’s tall form was again clad in armor. The only major additions were some scarves wrapped around both their necks and a matching pair of gas masks on their faces.

“I expected to say the gargoyle is obviously the most dangerous, but she doesn’t move like any newly turned vampire I’ve ever seen. Much too strong, as well.” Morbram turned his masked head toward Slennia. “Shall we call them even?”

“Certainly makes for a better fight,” Slennia concurred. “Two-on-one offers no challenge, and we end up squabbling over points. Call them even, settle it on time?”

“First to defeat their opponent wins.” Morbram and Slennia shook hands, the entire exchange occurring as though we weren’t even there. Which, so far as they seemed concerned, we might as well not be.

Before I had time to even contemplate attempting a dialogue, they’d finished their handshake. Less than a second later, we were under assault.

5

I’d never seen Morbram or Slennia in action before, so had no standard of comparison previously set. Witnessing the speed with which they tore through the room, though, I could only hope they’d gotten the barest of exposures to the silver. Because if I was seeing them fighting while substantially weakened, I shuddered to think what they’d be capable of at full strength.

Slennia was the quicker of the two, reaching Gregor and greeting him with a kick to the torso. It was amazing that she could move like that despite the armor, which evidently offered far more flexibility than I’d expected. More impressive, however, was that the blow sent Gregor back a few steps. Knocking a gargoyle off their footing was no small task, and she was only getting started.

Morbram reached Asha not long after, opening with several swings. Being quicker than Gregor, Asha was able to avoid most of the strikes, though the ones she was forced to block landed with worrying force. Had I been the one taking them, my bones would almost certainly be fractured. Asha didn’t seem that bothered, but she might well be keeping up a brave face.

I looked to Krystal, about to give the go-ahead, when she met my gaze with a soft shake of the head. “Not yet” seemed to be the interpretation. We’d known these two would be here, and had every indication that their dangerous reputation was well earned. While we’d made certain to have a backup strategy—one I was on the edge of invoking—this was also an opportunity.

The House of Fred was attempting to show how powerful we were, the sort of force not worth messing with. If two of our people could hold their own against Morbram and Slennia, it would tremendously help to reinforce that message, at least among vampires. Gregor had been certain he could handle the bout, and Asha was unexpectedly excited by the chance to truly test herself. Nevertheless, I watched the fights carefully, ready to call out to Krystal the moment I thought our friends were in danger.

As Gregor and Slennia squared off, I understood why she’d chosen him as an opponent. With her height advantage, Slennia had a reach close to Gregor’s, whereas Morbram would have had to constantly get in close. Every blow was precise and potent, usually shifting Gregor by a few inches as well. However, for all the manhandling she managed, Gregor didn’t appear to be substantially injured. Her strength might be enough to move him, but that didn’t mean it was enough to hurt. I wasn’t sure what he was up to, as he barely blocked another flurry; letting an opponent wear themselves out didn’t work against the undead.

Asha’s battle was more typical, in that she was at least attempting to avoid her opponent’s strikes. Morbram was faster than his muscular form would indicate; however, Asha still held a clear speed advantage. Based on how little her arms moved when blocking those powerful fists, I suspected she was stronger, as well.

Unfortunately, she was also a newly turned vampire against one who’d had lifetimes of practice fighting for survival. Their difference in raw power couldn’t overcome Morbram’s level of skill. With a quick series of steps timed to more punches, Morbram tripped Asha and sent her sprawling. He spun around, eyes locked on me, and I suddenly wondered if there would even be enough time to enact our backup plan before he crossed the distance.

We didn’t get the chance to find out, as Asha’s hand gripped Morbram by the ankle. I’m not sure what he expected her to do with that hold, considering she was lying prone on the ground, but it was clear he didn’t think that it would be much. Certainly not the rapid series of motions that actually came.

Slamming her free hand into the ground, Asha shoved herself to a standing position, whipping up Morbram by the leg as she rose. The movement didn’t stop as she reached her feet; she snapped her arm forward and released, hurling Morbram into almost the exact same spot she’d sent her first vampire. Only this time was no accident.

Morbram had to adjust his gas mask after the impact, giving Asha a wary stare. “What in the name of the ancient bloods have you been eating? It’s outstanding!” I could hear his smile despite his covered face; the man sounded positively elated.

Booms of impact took my attention back to Gregor, who was finally fighting back. More than that, he was turning the tide. Every attack from Slennia was either dodged, blocked, or countered, hitting in a weak spot presented by her own movements. I finally realized what Gregor had been up to; he was learning her timing and finding vulnerabilities. Slennia certainly wasn’t helpless, but it was no longer a mere assault. Now, it was a fight. Or rather, a slugfest, as both traded blow after blow, neither seemingly able to wound the other.

The bout with Asha and Morbram was reaching a similar stalemate. While she was capable of hitting a few successful strikes, they did little damage and none of it lasting. He, on the other hand, was able to land most of his hits and holds; they just didn’t matter much in the face of Asha’s raw power. After a particularly complex trip maneuver, Morbram actually took a few steps back and spoke.

“Credit where warranted: you make a fine opponent. Once you have the training to properly use that strength, you might even pose a threat to me. What a day that would be.” The exuberance was a bit off-putting to me, but Asha appeared unbothered.

“Let’s be clear, I’m a threat right now. This has just been some friendly sparring.”

Gregor and Slennia’s bout didn’t seem nearly so friendly. The two were a whirlwind of strikes, knocking one another apart from the fray and then charging right back in. I wasn’t even sure they were still paying attention to the rest of the room.

Morbram, on the other hand, had his attention piqued. “I want to hope that’s not just empty pride, but experience tells me otherwise. Still, I’m intrigued, and you’ve proven it to be possible. Show me how you can be a threat.”

His arms were raised and waiting, clearly with no intent to make it easy on her. “If you can impress me enough, I might just be willing to step aside.”

Briefly, Asha looked to me. While there wasn’t any way to utilize this plan without showing off the silver immunity Asha and I shared, she still had some secrets left. The properties of her teeth and nails were especially potent ones. Whether or not it was better for those to be hidden weapons or sources of fear, I had no idea. Nor did she, I suspect. All we could do was make choices in the situations we were presented. I nodded at her, giving her what reassurance I was able.

The abilities, like the secrets, were Asha’s. Only she could decide the best way, and times, to use them.

Dashing forward, Asha took several swings at Morbram, none of which came close to connecting. He was simply too good, and now that the promise of danger had been raised, was visibly stepping up his game. After letting her hit the air a few times, Morbram struck back, landing a blow right in the stomach. She didn’t even try to block it, which I found confusing right up until Asha’s hands closed around Morbram’s forearm.

Hitting him was beyond what she could manage while he was dodging; Asha had already realized that. She’d been baiting him into a counterattack, leaving her torso open as a big, empty target. Between her advantage in speed and knowing roughly where the arm would be, she’d managed to catch his limb before it could pull back. Morbram still didn’t seem too concerned. Asha might be stronger, but she hadn’t been showing arm-ripping levels of power.

Of course, Morbram didn’t know what everyone in the House of Fred did: that it wasn’t Asha’s speed or muscles that made her dangerous to other parahumans. It was a lesson he paid in pain to learn, as all ten of her sharp fingernails dug right into Morbram’s flesh. There was no yelp or squeal, only a sudden grunt as the pain of silver suddenly tore through him.

Asha didn’t make the suffering last longer than needed, quickly pulling her nails back, though she didn’t loosen her grip one iota. Now that Morbram knew how she could hurt him, he probably wouldn’t be so willing to let an arm be captured. Silence hung between the two, punctuated by the constant sounds of combat from Gregor and Slennia, whom it now seemed were undeniably ignoring everyone else.

“Unreal.” Morbram finally spoke once more, staring at his arm and the ten lingering wounds. Injuries that should have healed in seconds. “I know it’s impossible, yet the pain in my veins cannot be denied. My body knows silver. This is nothing like that gas.” He finally looked up to Asha. “You are intriguing indeed. Much too interesting to be stamped out so soon.”

“I’m going to need you to officially give up before I’m letting go.”

That earned her a laugh. “I can’t give up until we have a real bout. As you said, this was friendly sparring. I won’t stop you from moving forward, though. I’ve had enough entertainment to make the trip worthwhile. If your clan collapses, seek me out. We will make sure you are trained properly.”

Slowly, Asha released her grip on Morbram, who pulled his arm in to examine more closely. “That said, Slennia is her own person, and I doubt she has any interest in stopping.”

Every bit of wall and flooring around Slennia and Gregor was either ripped, smashed, or shredded as the two continued hammering on one another. Styles and tactics changed, just not the end results. They were too well-matched; Gregor’s toughness and Slennia’s healing canceled out the rampant injuries that should have been accumulating.

“I’d say we’ve proven our point,” Krystal ventured. From her pocket, she produced a small black pouch. Pulling open a golden drawstring, she poured a small bit of bone-white sand into her palm. Even with the Clovers selling it at near cost, this had been among the most expensive items we procured for this day, and it was worth every penny.

Locking on to her target like she’d been instructed, Krystal gently blew across the pile in her palm, sending it wafting into the air. The graveyard dust swirled and danced, as if captured by invisible currents, a living stream that dipped and soared until finding its winding way to Slennia. Unbothered by her gas mask, I watched as the floating white sand vanished through the filter.

Seconds after the dust reached her, Slennia froze in place, coming to a perfect halt. Gregor was halfway through a punch, which he managed to throw to the side just in time, rather than hit his now-helpless opponent. Looking at the sudden statue-impression Slennia was enacting, Gregor paused for only a few seconds before hustling back to my side.

“You had something like that the whole time? Judging by the size of the bag, at least enough for me as well.” Morbram laughed as he walked over to Slennia, checking on his friendly rival to see that she was all right. The graveyard dust hadn’t caused any pain. It was a magical implement specially designed for dealing with the undead. So potent that neither Asha nor I could even touch the stuff, hence why it had been handed to Krystal. She might not be allowed to use Agency resources, but items we purchased ourselves were fair game.

“No wonder Deborah has taken a shine to you,” Morbram said. “Petre’s up ahead, trying to call the leader of the Turva clan. Funny thing, seems like all our lines are down and he can’t get a signal on one of those portaphones you all carry.”

More chuckling from Morbram, who I dearly hoped wasn’t planning to rush us from behind. I didn’t think binding him with graveyard dust after he willingly stepped aside would be right, though, so it was a risk we’d have to live with. Besides, if it came to that, I’d have to trust in the others to figure something out. Everyone had done their parts so far. Now mine had at last arrived.

It was time to talk with Petre.

6

We found Petre next to what I initially mistook as a pile of misplaced kindling. It was in the furthest, rear section of the ballroom, away from even the bits of silver mist that were leaking through. He was tapping on his phone as we approached, likely trying to find a way to reach the outside world after calls had failed, surrounded by the shattered remains of chairs and tables. As we drew near, he dropped the device into his pocket and picked up a broken hunk of wood in each hand. Long, narrow pieces that ended in sharp points.

Stakes. Petre had made stakes while he was calling for help, and judging by the focus of his gaze, I knew who they were for. It wouldn’t be about winning, or even surviving. He wanted me dead, and it seemed there was no reasoning him out of that desire. Nevertheless, I called out to him.

“It’s done, Petre. Every other vampire on these grounds has been dealt with. You’re the only Turva still standing, whereas we haven’t lost anything other than Gregor’s jacket.”

My bodyguard’s exterior coat showed the signs of battle his body should have: torn and shredded from both the toll he’d taken on it and the constant barrage of blows. I gestured to the barely intact piece of clothing. “I’m sure you’re very strong, but I also know you got a face full of silver when it came through. Put the stakes down and let’s finish this.”

“Finish this?” Petre’s grip tightened on his weapons. He shifted his footing, as well. Gregor moved in response, putting more of his bulk between us. “Do you know what awaits one who loses as I have? Death, Mr. Fletcher. Simple and sheer death. If not by your hands, then by Yuralson’s for my failing. Defeated by the forces of a vampire less than a decade since turned, even if none of the actual power commanded was yours. Pitiful to the very end.”

It had been a long day, on the heels of a long night; I rubbed the bridge of my nose under my glasses, letting my exhaustion and exasperation show in full. Annoyed was exactly the right kind of energy for how I wanted to play this, at least to start, and it wasn’t exactly much of a reach. “Honestly, Petre, at this point, it’s just sad. You probably feel like a brave warrior holding out to the very end, but you look a lot more like a child throwing a tantrum, refusing to accept the inevitable. And since you clearly can’t figure this out, let me make it abundantly clear: the barbs about me being weak are never going to land.”

I moved my hand from my face to look at him, gesturing to my unimpressive physique, garbed in a sweater vest and khakis, all twinkling slightly from the silver mist. “I know I’m weak. I’ve always known I’m weak. I’m not ashamed to need other people. You, on the other hand . . . there’s a thing called projection that might be worth reading up on. A little introspection could do you a world of good.”

It was then that Petre made his move. Credit to him, it was an impressive one at that. Diving down, Petre grabbed a long hunk of wood, what used to be the top of a table, and hurled it toward us. As it came, so too did all of the junk that had been piled on top, creating a sudden airborne sea of debris. Gliding through it like a pale shark, Petre raced toward me, a stake in each hand once more.

Of course, Gregor was already moving to intercept. The elder vampire had proven intensely predictable, at least where I was concerned. From the moment he started moving, we all knew where the attack was headed. Quick as he’d been, Petre had no chance of actually maneuvering around Gregor. It seemed like he’d realized that, shifting his angle as he approached. Only as he drew close to his target did I realize the true plan.

There was no threatening or attempt to take Asha hostage, actions that would have only slowed him down. Petre displayed zero hesitation, driving the first of his weapons toward her chest, aiming for the heart. Asha got an arm up to block in time, only to find the second stake already en route as well. Although she had the advantage on speed, Petre’s surprise had worked. He slipped the attack past her attempt to guard, driving the dense piece of wood into her chest.

Snaps rang out as the stake splintered against Asha’s sternum. Despite the force that had been driving it, her bones were too strong. That wasn’t to say she was immune to staking—there were ways to hit the heart through the ribs with precise aim—but a brute force attack would require something much sturdier to break through.

In the end, all Petre’s gambit accomplished was to tear a hole in Asha’s blouse. That, and prove to me one last time just how necessary our course of action was. He didn’t know Asha from any other vampire; Petre’s grudge was with me, yet he’d been ready to kill her just like that.

The broken stake fell apart in his hand as Petre stared, dumbfounded. That proved to be a mistake, as Asha lightly jabbed him seconds later, sending him staggering backward. Slowly, the older vampire looked at the ruined hunk of wood, letting it drop to the ground. He whirled around without warning, eyes locked on me, ready to spring now that he was closer.

Only to find Gregor’s sizable hand waiting, catching Petre by the throat and holding on tight. As I already mentioned, Petre was predictable, albeit capable of a curveball or two. Gregor saw what was coming and made himself ready, getting an excellent grip as a reward. He knocked the other stake from Petre’s hand, ignoring the vampire’s struggles to break free. With speed out of the equation and silver in his system, Petre had no hope of matching Gregor.

After a few seconds, Petre stopped flailing. Instead, he started to laugh. A strange, warped cackle that echoed through the huge, empty room. “So you’ve caught me, Mr. Fletcher. Now what? Will you bloody your hands and end this? Or are you going to have one of them attend to the task instead? Frankly, I doubt you even have the stomach to give the order.”

Here it was at last: my part to play. I had to make Petre understand, to convince him that this fight wasn’t worth the cost. I had to make the House of Fred seem like a real, tangible threat, otherwise he would just try again. Knowing what would happen if he did, that was the scenario I was working so hard to avoid.

“You’re right,” I agreed, mostly because he was. “I’m not sure I could ever order the killing of someone. My hands might not be doing the work, but I’d still be part of it. Even knowing you had a role in attacking Charlotte and watching you try to kill Asha seconds ago, I still can’t cross that line.”

Ignoring his half-strangled neck as only one who didn’t need air could, Petre’s eyes took on a downright malicious gleam at my words, no doubt in part because they meant he wasn’t about to die.

“But you have also fundamentally misunderstood the dynamics at play here. It’s not my role to call for your killing. Show of hands, who here would take Petre’s head off right now?”

Krystal and Asha put theirs up right away, Gregor adding his free limb a few seconds later. Even Arch gave a half-lift that was almost more of a wave. Only mine stayed down, as I stared at the elder vampire.

“In a way, I ought to thank you, Petre. You’ve forced me to do some introspection of my own, simply by refusing to leave us alone. I’ve been so hesitant to use any of this power; living my human life as a weakling means I’ve seen how often it’s wielded for the wrong reasons. Greed, pettiness, hate, sometimes no reason at all, it never takes much for the strong to push others around.”

My eyes momentarily shifted to my friends, weary and disheveled, their lives upended hours ago by news of a vampiric threat. A fight they’d never picked, yet one that kept returning over and over, never to let them be. A conflict that the time had come to finally end.

“But it isn’t kindness to let someone abuse you, nor is it cruelty to stand up for yourself.” Carefully, I stepped closer to Petre, watching as Gregor clamped down on the man’s wrists preemptively.

“I’m not naïve. I understand how the world works: the powerful take what they want, and everyone else has to endure. The way I live is a conscious choice. I like treating others with respect, doing work that’s helpful, building a life I can be proud of. Even if there are more efficient ways, methods I could use to gain lots of money or power, they wouldn’t make me as happy. I value my integrity and kindness like you value your strength.”

Though my eyes didn’t waver, my mind momentarily brought forth an array of faces. The friends who were with me in the room, the ones who were outside lending support, and some too far away to get involved. All of whom could be targeted next, unless this worked.

“Unfortunately, I do not value those traits more than the lives of the people who’ve put their trust in me.” Releasing a slow sigh, I stepped away, letting Petre’s vision take in the others alongside me. “I might not have it in me to call for your execution, but I wouldn’t have to. Every member of my clan wanted to wipe you all out, Petre. Not sidelined and slapped with a bit of embarrassing ink, but beheaded or thrown into the sun. The only reason they aren’t is because I asked them not to. I wanted to show your people mercy, avoid dragging others into the consequences you earned. Make sure you fully understand that.”

Lifting my hands up, I tilted my fingers skyward and pressed the palms together. This was about putting on a show, after all. “That’s why I am begging you to take this warning. Because if you don’t, if we have to make this real, nobody wins. You’ll be cut down, and we’ll have crossed over a line there’s no coming back from. But that’s how it will go if you refuse to accept defeat. I can only get away with one warning. The next time you come for the House of Fred, I won’t be getting involved. In fact, just this morning, I appointed one of our members to handle such issues in the future.”

Pointing her hand in a finger-gun, Krystal fired off a shot at Petre, adding a wink for good measure. “It’s an extra fun role for me, because if you try to pull any bullshit that breaks the treaties, I get to go all-out.”

“That’s your threat?” Petre demanded, wiggling to keep his jaw free. “You’ll stand aside as they do your dirty work?”

“Not my dirty work, ours,” I corrected. “These clans are supposed to be units that work together, not clubhouses where you can indulge your ego. They don’t want your head because you sullied our honor, they want it because you helped try to kill one of our family.”

“It was a house!” Petre spat, mouth snarled up in rage. It didn’t seem like anything was getting through, but there was always hope. Maybe with time to think, away from the eyes of his enemies, Petre could grow to understand the wisdom in letting go.

To my surprise, Gregor tightened his grip and shook Petre slightly at the outburst. “Charlotte is a beloved friend and trusted ally,” I corrected. “One that you should be incredibly grateful survived your scheme. If she were gone, I genuinely don’t know that I could have stopped my clan from true revenge.”

Since my audience was literally captive, I took my time reaching once more into the briefcase, removing a new stack of papers, thinner than the first. “Before we get to your punishment, I do have one final box to check.” I turned to Arch, or rather, to the camera strapped atop his head. “Have I successfully dealt with the rival vampire clan in my territory?”

I’d barely gotten the last syllable out when my phone began to vibrate. It had been hooked up to whatever system they were using to broadcast the video beforehand; forgive the lack of details, but it was all well past my technical comprehension. Fishing the device out of my pocket, as expected, I saw Deborah’s name running across the screen. For good measure, I hit the speaker button, making sure that everyone present would be able to hear the verdict.

“Good afternoon, Deborah. I presume you’re calling with a verdict?”

“You have clearly presumed much more than that.” The new voice froze me in place. It all but dripped with authority. Whoever this man was, he was either in charge or believed himself to be with absolute conviction. “It is not merely the Prudence who chose to watch your antics today. The full Blood Council gave their approval, so the full Blood Council has borne witness.”

Almost everyone looked dumbfounded, save for Arch, whose mouth was pulled into a slight grimace. It was my sole hint at the speaker’s identity, before the voice continued.

“As we have never exchanged informal monikers, you would know me by my title: Control.”

7

Hectic as it had been, so far, the day had overall gone to plan. The House of Fred had not only put on an undeniable display of power, we’d done it without any lasting injuries, assuming one didn’t count egos. Hearing from the man called Control was a curveball, but not necessarily a poor omen. As he said, I was the one who’d negotiated every member of the Blood Council into signing off on my project. They had every right to look in and see how things went.

Still, I chose my next words with the utmost caution. In the hierarchy of the Blood Council, one person sat at the top. Prudence, Wisdom, Wrath, and Pride all worked under Control, who held the reins of leadership. It didn’t appear that he was a tyrant with total authority, but I definitely got the impression that he had final say on most matters. That was without even considering the fact that in order to hold such a role, he’d need the strength with which to defend it. Deborah was far and away the most powerful vampire I’d met, and Control could presumably beat her.

Absolutely not someone to make an enemy out of with a mistake as easily avoidable as poor manners.

Making a slight bow to the camera, I kept the phone held up so everyone could hear. “My apologies for the presumption. I knew this only as Deborah’s number.”

“It is, but no one picks up their damn phones anymore unless they know the number.” Authority established, Control’s tone grew less severe. While it remained strong and confident, I no longer felt like every word was an edict that demanded to be obeyed.

I resisted the urge to smile at what almost seemed like a bit of light humor, instead nodding in agreement. “A wise strategy indeed. As you are currently speaking for the Blood Council, I humbly repeat my question. Has the House of Fred successfully dealt with the other vampire clan in our territory?”

“Arguably, no,” Control replied, causing my whole body to freeze in terror. “Not only do your rivals still live, much of the work done today was handled by parties exterior to your clan. Therians, mages, fey, and so forth.”

A new voice spoke now, another I hadn’t heard before. Crisp and polite, yet with unshakable certainty in her words. “The strength of a clan is measured in how much power it can consistently call upon, whether that be internal or external. Cultivating relationships can be more beneficial than crafting muscles. Fred has forged official alliances and successfully utilized them. One cannot deny what he has accomplished in that regard.”

Silence crackled over the phone, none of us daring to break it. Finally, Control spoke once more. “Pride is correct. Might is might, even if it is risky to tie your well-being to the good graces of others. What argument do you have for sparing every enemy life?”

I waited a few seconds to see if anyone would pipe up. When none of the other Blood Council members spoke, only then did I answer. “Deborah once told me she thinks of every vampire under a thousand years old as a child. Someone still growing and learning, more ignorant than anything else. Petre probably isn’t going to change or learn from this, I fully understand that. But he wasn’t the only member of the Turva clan here today. Rather than killing so many of my fellow vampires, I chose to give them a chance to grow. To find a new path. Ultimately, isn’t that better for vampires overall? Instead of losing from our ranks, we gain ones who understand their own vulnerability, at the very least.”

“It seems to me that all you have done is bind them. That’s a very limited scope of learning.” Control didn’t sound convinced, but he also hadn’t shut me down entirely. I was going to have to choose to take that as encouragement.

“With respect, I do not have the authority to enact the next phase of my plan until victory is declared. That’s why I was checking in.”

“That seems a bit conven—” To the shock of everyone present, Petre included, we heard a voice break in over Control’s.

“Oh, will you shut up and just approve it already! They clearly wiped the floor with these mooks. I want to see what happens next.”

Despite the aggressive tone, it was not Wrath who spoke those words—a voice I’d still yet to hear. Rather, I recognized the sounds of Claudius, Wisdom of the Blood Council and more than a slightly eccentric personality. Once upon a life, he’d been a mage, and as yet still carried many of their tendencies even after the change. The man was staggeringly smart, just selective about where he seemed to apply that intelligence.

“Wisdom and I will be having a chat about that outburst,” Control said at last. “However, he does raise a point. The force displayed today is indisputable, and while I cannot yet say I fully approve of the methods, I also cannot argue that the rival vampires are not under your thumb. Very well, by the order of the Blood Council, the House of Fred has successfully taken hold of their territory, gaining the rights and responsibilities associated with such a claim.”

A weight floated off my shoulders at the sound of those words. It wasn’t over yet, but that was a huge step forward. For all the tricks we’d pulled out, approval was ultimately a matter of discretion. It had been entirely viable that we’d put in all this work, only to be denied for some minor technicality or error. With approval officially given, however, the matter was settled. While there would be headaches down the line from the added responsibility, in the moment, all that mattered was that we could move forward with the next phase of the plan.

“As leader of the House of Fred, I thank the Blood Council for their time and their trust in providing me with such an opportunity. I would also like to set forth my first declaration with the Blood Council as witness: all clan members of the House of Turva are hereby formally banished from Winslow, Colorado as of the next sunrise.”

Petre’s eyes flashed, and he attempted to struggle slightly, an inclination that Gregor halted in its tracks. I wondered if, under it all, he could still register just how easily they were getting off. For attempting to kill another member of their clan, most vampire leaders who were able would have wiped Petre’s people out and never looked back. Banishment was an inconvenience, but they could find a new home with enough time—the one thing every vampire had in abundance.

“That is within your power,” Control confirmed. “As it is your responsibility to enforce.”

“No need to worry. My clan is prepared for that. It’s also a rule that’s gone out to every ally of mine in the city. Some of whom are much more enthusiastic than I am about violence.” My gaze flicked to Petre, making sure he understood. My inclinations for mercy wouldn’t protect him from Richard’s therians. If he came back to Winslow, it would be putting his life in his hands. I hoped he would be smart enough to stay away, but there was only so much I could do to defend Petre from himself.

Since Control had been nice enough to give me room to speak, I kept going, not wanting him to hang up and miss my chance. “There is also another declaration, if you would be so kind as to witness.”

“Two at the start? You’ve certainly come prepared.” It might have been my imagination, but I thought there was a touch of amusement in Control’s voice. “Very well. Proceed.”

“Thank you.” With no idea how this announcement would go over, I said a silent prayer of thanks that the Blood Council was only here digitally, as opposed to in person. “My second declaration is that all vampires who lack clans and abide by parahuman laws are welcomed in Winslow, Colorado. They may not be claimed or annexed against their will; however, those wanted for prior crimes or the like can be extradited. They will not be accosted by other local parahuman forces we are aligned with unless cause is given. They may not hunt, but are free to live here so long as their blood is gained through legal means or services. This offer applies to all vampires who lack a clan, including any that choose to leave the House of Turva.”

Laughter was the first sound to come through the phone, charming and delightful, which meant it had to be coming from Pride. “How delightfully vicious. Killing off a clan would certainly be a fearsome display, but this is a far more insidious tactic. Having members prefer to exist without a clan rather than stay in the House of Turva is a devastating insult. It essentially says their organization is so worthless a vampire is better off on their own. Instead of contenting himself with a mere defeat, Fred has struck a poisonous blow to the House of Turva’s reputation.”

Sure as I was that Pride’s words were accurate, the truth was that I hadn’t expected or planned for any of that. I just wanted to give an exit to those who were looking for one. Vampires similar to Lillian, who could thrive if they got out from under the thumb of Petre and those like him. If the Blood Council wanted to see it as a power play, though, I wasn’t going to stop them. Granted, this would make the rest of the Turva vampires mad, but they weren’t exactly going to be thrilled about our stunt in the first place.

“Very well, the declaration is recorded,” Control replied. “We will inform the silver-exposed vampires as they are treated, offering them a chance to formally withdraw from their clan while under the observation of our witness.”

While I started off happy at my order being approved, the more Control talked, the more confused I grew. “Treatment? The low-grade silver exposure shouldn’t be too bad. Do you expect they’ll need special recovery?”

“Unlikely. However, we have not had the opportunity to study vampires exposed to this particular type of assault, so the victims have been collected for observation as they recover. In recompense for their participation, they will be fed blood with especially potent healing properties.” Control had barely finished the words before Wisdom was yelling again.

“But not before we’ve had a chance to look them over!”

There was a beat of silence that I had to imagine was Control willing himself not to audibly sigh. “As I was saying, recovery efforts have already begun. I believe there is only one more body to account for.”

“I wouldn’t really call Morbram and Slennia ‘bodies,’ but they were more than happy to catch a ride out of here.” At last, it was the voice I’d first expected to hear over the phone, the one belonging to Deborah. Except, it didn’t come from the speaker; instead, it originated a few feet from Gregor.

Standing there was something I nearly mistook for a cyborg. Tight, woven material covered every part of her body except for the head, which was hidden in a dark helmet with a black screen obscuring the face. If she hadn’t spoken, I’d never have known Deborah was in there. The suit obscured every detail aside from height, and with the helmet, even that was slightly wonky.

Leaning forward, her voice rose as she shouted to the phone. “Claudius, the suit is working perfectly so far. Filters have scrubbed any residual silver before it hits my lungs and my skin is fully protected. Great work.”

“When you finish, bring it right back along with the test subjects,” Claudius replied. “I’ll want to see the rate of filter degradation as soon as possible.”

Ignoring the rest of the room, Deborah sauntered over to where I was standing, still dumbfounded. “You have an anti-silver mist suit?”

That earned me a pat on the shoulder. “Amy’s a genius and all, but she’s far from the first person to hit on this idea. Though far fewer people have made it work, we’re always working to counteract our weaknesses before they can be exploited. Since you presented us such a perfect testing ground, I couldn’t resist giving the newest model a test drive. Plus, I had to make sure you didn’t get too big for your britches.”

“Pardon?” I had no idea what she was driving at. The rapid number of surprises after an already heavily stressful day had left me feeling drained.

“It’s not such an issue with you, but a lot of vampires would walk away from a win like this with a big head,” Deborah explained. “You did great, I won’t deny that, just keep in mind the level of enemy you were up against. One mid-tier clan, whose founder wasn’t even here. It isn’t so easy to catch everyone off guard, even with the talents of multiple parahumans. I’d hate for you to start feeling invincible and go take on someone past your abilities. This is just a little reminder of that.”

While I had no intention of going down such a road, I could understand the concern. I even appreciated it; the display showed she didn’t want me to die, if nothing else. “Believe me, after all of this, the last thing I want is to pick more fights. My sincere hope is that we can finally be left alone.”

Turning the giant helmet around in a theatrical sweep, Deborah took in the entire ballroom, then motioned to the house as a whole. “I think it’s safe to say the little threats will be sufficiently scared off by the display you put on today. However, this also puts you on the radar of stronger dangers. My guess is that you’ll have your peace, Fred. Just don’t waste it, because the next time an enemy comes calling, they won’t underestimate you. Not after this.”

In a way, it was exactly what we’d gone in hoping for. The House of Fred was now a known threat, no longer a powerless clan to be easily preyed upon. I didn’t doubt that Deborah was right about the eventual consequences, but that was a concern for another day. In that moment, I felt such a rush of relief that I had to lean on Krystal for support.

At least for now, I’d done it. The House of Fred was safe.

8

Exhausted as I felt, the work was far from over. While Deborah had taken care of safely evacuating the vampires, we still needed to debrief all the allies on site about how things had gone, then go through formal thanks and goodbyes. After that came meeting with the members of my own clan, checking in to make sure no one was injured or otherwise had a pressing need.

By the time I finally made it back to Richard’s building, sunset was a few scant hours away. If I wanted to rest, which I dearly did, then this would be my last chance until the following morning. For reasons I can only presume to be magical, a vampire’s ability to sleep is tied to the daytime. Tempting as my bed was, there was a final matter that still needed my attention.

Making my way to Gideon’s office, I found Charlotte already there, holding open the door. She was smiling softly, wearing the form I’d always thought of as her default. A gray suit still replaced her long-out-of-fashion dress, though I found myself missing the old look. But even for the undead, times were always changing.

“Congratulations,” she greeted. “I heard everything went perfectly.”

“Nobody was killed or seriously hurt. I can’t ask for a much better outcome than that.”

A snort came from deeper in the room. Tilting my head past Charlotte, I saw Gideon at his desk; no great shock, as this was his office in the first place. Not bothering to actually look up, he did deign to somewhat explain his reaction. “It took you so long to deal with one simple threat, and even then, you dulled your fangs as much as possible.”

“It is a risk,” I agreed. “But there was no method I could think of that didn’t invite some reprisal. If I’d wiped out most of his clan, the House of Turva’s leader would certainly try to respond in kind. Instead of ending this feud, it would only escalate. So I embarrassed them. Hopefully, that level of slight won’t be worth the effort of trying to attack us, especially considering they are no longer welcome in town.”

Gideon’s gaze finally rose from his work, meeting my own. “And if they do come for revenge?”

“As much as I abhor violence in the general, self-defense is a necessary exception. If the Turvas return, they will find a House of Fred unwilling to let harm come to its members.” My eyes turned to Charlotte. “I’m sorry, if I’d taken a bolder stance sooner—”

“Petre might have been helping, but don’t forget that it was Quinn who did the actual dirty work,” Charlotte interrupted. “If he hadn’t gotten the information he needed from the House of Turva, he’d have tried another way. I know you’ve been carrying around guilt about what happened to me, and it’s time to stop. The only thing that could have stopped Quinn was finding and killing him before the attack, something that a lot more powerful people than you are already failing at.”

“He has proven exceptionally slippery.” Gideon’s half-hearted addition to the conversation yanked my attention back in his direction so hard I actually took a few steps further into the room, barely noticing as Charlotte closed the door and followed.

It shouldn’t have been that surprising; Quinn had now caused major disturbances twice within Gideon’s territory. Of course the dragon would want to keep tabs on such an element. “You haven’t been able to find him either?”

A mild ripple of exasperation creased Gideon’s youthful face as his index finger scratched a groove into the desk. “Indeed. Considering that Quinn is now successfully hiding from the collective forces of the fey, dragons, vampires, and the Agency itself, he must have stumbled upon some incredible manner of concealment magic. One that will falter eventually, as they always do, but for the moment, he remains impossible to find or draw out.”

That last part wasn’t entirely accurate, strictly speaking. There was one thing that consistently pulled Quinn out of hiding, a grudge he’d fixated on to the point of obsession, centered on what he deemed a failed creation: me. When Quinn saw a chance to come after me, he took it, often in person. I had a hunch that if we ever did want to finish things with my sire, I’d have to be the bait sitting on the hook.

“In the meanwhile,” Gideon continued, “we need to attend to a logistical matter: namely that of your housing. While Richard is soft-hearted to a worrying degree, I have no such qualms with telling you that with the imminent vampire threat removed, now is an appropriate time to take your leave.”

My head nodded on reflex. I’d already been thinking along the same lines. It wasn’t truly safe out there, nowhere really was, but with his pipeline of easy information cut off, Quinn would have a harder time ambushing us. I had a few properties in mind, even if they’d need some serious shoring up to be secure enough for Krystal’s standards.

“There is just one issue that will need to be addressed first. Charlotte, would you join us?” Gideon motioned to Charlotte, who walked over, materialized a new chair next to me, and then sat down in it. “Some weeks ago, I offered you a permanent position in my employ. The head of your clan has given his blessing. You are free to accept or reject my offer with no consideration to prior allegiances. When presented with the offer, you requested time to think. Circumstances have now brought that time to an end. Have you reached a decision?”

“I have.” No hesitation, not even a flicker of uncertainty. Charlotte had clearly been giving the matter serious pondering and had found an answer she was sure of. “Thank you, Gideon, for your generosity and kindness. When my body was destroyed, I felt completely adrift, without a sense of self or purpose. Working with you has helped me as I recovered, giving me a place to put my focus. That said, it was Sally and Richard who made me remember something I’d lost long before the fire came.” Charlotte paused for a brief moment, a light smile on her lips.

“A home doesn’t have to be a house, doesn’t have to be any kind of building specifically. What makes a home are the people who live inside it. The memories they share, the highs and lows experienced under its roof, the emotions they pour out that soak into the very walls. There’s a reason that homes passed down through generations have auras all their own. That energy builds up over time. The mages who created me theorized that the first of my kind formed naturally from homes that were cherished and fed for centuries.”

She looked around the room, at the four walls, ceiling, and floor limiting our space. “I wasn’t made to be an office complex, but I wasn’t intended to be a bed-and-breakfast either. The roles they serve are different, as are the energies they draw forth. Upstairs, however, there is an actual home. A place of comfort and love, where two people are living. Not staying or resting, living.”

“Sally has grown rather fond of you,” Gideon replied. “With her father’s constant work and my own various duties, she has enjoyed the additional company.”

“I’ve loved our time together, as well. It’s reminded me of the purpose I lost when my creators were killed. Whether it’s because it’s my nature or just a joy for the experience, I like being a home. Feeling the love of those inside, keeping them safe when the world is dangerous, the bond that forms; I miss all of it.” Charlotte’s confidence faltered, her eyes looking down. “I appreciate all that you’ve done for me, I truly do, but what I want more than anything is to be a home to lots of people again. That’s not something I could do here.”

Three times, Gideon drummed his fingers along the desk. No expression, no hint at what he was feeling, not even of whether or not he was going to leap over and murder us both for daring to refuse an offer. Nothing, until he finally muttered a few words. “Unfortunate, though not unexpected.”

Reaching into his desk, Gideon produced a thin folder. “Since you will be leaving my employ soon, we come to the matter of your compensation.” He began to leaf through, half-muttering as he talked. “Considering the length of term, the quality of services rendered, the value of the position filled, and accounting for your specific requests . . . how perfect. I’d nearly forgotten about that one. I believe this would be adequate, though there are comparable options.” Gideon yanked a page out of his folder and slid it over to Charlotte.

She didn’t even look down. “Please, I can’t accept anything else. You housed my residents, stabilized my essence, even provided me with the means to manifest inside these walls. The work I’ve done can’t be worth more than that.”

Gideon’s face grew serious as he rose from his chair. It didn’t add much height, considering his stature, yet I found the gesture intimidating all the same. “No more than that? No more than mere emergency aid to a clan my landlord has an alliance with? You are not an aspiring squire shining swords in the town square, begging for a pittance. You have spent this time loyally and efficiently serving at the right hand of a king. Those who serve well are rewarded justly. That is a core truth for any king who wishes to hold their title.”

He stayed standing, staring Charlotte down, until she finally picked up the paper and looked it over. Only then did he return to his seat, several seconds before the page lowered once more.

She sat it back on the desk, brow knit in confusion. “I don’t understand. It’s information about a local apartment building.”

“A home does not have to be a house.” Gideon repeated her own words back to her. “It is a place where people live, sometimes for generations, and you wished to be a home that could accommodate a great number of people. Communal living is not as popular as when you were crafted. This is a more viable way to house multitudes beneath your roof. If you prefer something more traditional, there are plenty of other options.”

“You . . . you can’t buy an apartment building for me,” Charlotte protested.

“That is correct, I cannot. Predominantly because I already own that building, as I do a tremendous amount of property around this city.” Gideon waved his folder, emphasizing the point. “I keep a healthy real estate portfolio for investment purposes. Some were bought long ago, when prices were cheap, others I’ve scooped up for low costs after they’ve had parahuman disturbances. That one in particular had several incidents around the property in short succession, leading to a very motivated seller.”

Leaning over, I peeked at the page in Charlotte’s hands and nearly let my jaw drop. I knew the address listed along the top of the page before I even noticed the black-and-white photos printed further down. It was a location I was extremely familiar with, because that was where I’d been living when I first met Krystal. My old apartment and office, where Albert and I had been roommates. Considering that Quinn had broken in and a vampire hunter had ambushed me right in front of the place, I had a hunch as to what the source of those “incidents” that led to the sale was.

“Obviously, I’ll hire the Clover mages to outfit the building properly, making sure it’s capable of utilizing your full capabilities. You’ll also find there’s a basement that can be repurposed to hold a new core crystal, easily sectioned off from the rest of the complex. There is only one request that I will make: the right to lease a room within your new body. Sally would like to visit, so I intend to secure her a place for just that.”

“This is too . . .” Charlotte stopped herself, already aware that refusing the generosity wasn’t going to work. “Thank you, your highness. I will make sure the word is spread that you reward those who serve well even beyond what they feel is deserved.”

To my surprise, Gideon seemed unconcerned with the pledge. “Tell others or don’t, I have no care either way. I’m not doing this for a reputation. I’m doing it because you will remember the treatment. And in a hundred, or even a thousand years, should I truly need your help, even if our ties are strained, you will know there is value in service rendered.”

When it came to thinking in the long-term, Gideon was an excellent example to learn from. While an apartment building wasn’t cheap, in exchange for it, he was gaining an incredibly appreciative Charlotte. At the very least, she could be an emergency safehouse for those he needed protected; in the future, who knew how they might be able to work together. I’d never encountered another being like Charlotte; evidently, they were far from common, especially ones as powerful as her. It was a chance to make a rare being into an ally, one Gideon had used to the fullest.

“Not to mention,” Gideon added, “I haven’t given up on winning you over just yet. I want you to accept this with the full knowledge that you’ve earned it, but I also want you to ponder something. If this is what I offered upon refusal, what sorts of rewards might be waiting once you accept?”

His eyes flicked to me, letting me know the matter was settled only for now. Gideon was definitely adept at thinking in the long term, and it seemed I was going to need to start catching up.

9

Stepping through the front doors was a curious mix of the familiar and alien, often interweaving. In the two weeks since Charlotte had officially been named the new owner of the apartment building, there had been a flurry of activity. Repairs, updates, and cosmetic refreshes were the official reason for the temporary closure, during which the tenants were put up at a hotel it turned out Gideon also owned, but that was only the cover story. While those improvements were occurring, the true reason for the shutdown was the amount of magical work that had to be done.

I hadn’t even tried getting into the specifics. All I knew was that Ainsley and Zane Clover had gone into the building on a Monday, carrying literal wheelbarrows of magical materials, and had emerged four days later. Ainsley was alight with energy after the challenging nature of the work, while Zane wolfed down a sandwich and a beer before passing out in the back of their car.

All that effort had been necessary just for creating the mystical network through the building and a core to house Charlotte’s essence. My mind boggled, wondering what it would take to actually create another being like Charlotte.

Once the changes were finished, the true move had occurred. Although I’d been wracked with tension the entire time, terrified that something would go wrong while transferring our friend, everyone who understood magic assured me it was perfectly safe . . . when properly prepared and not done hastily in the middle of a fire. Nevertheless, my back didn’t unknot until Charlotte was fully moved into her new body, which was still a strange way to think about my old apartments.

The recent changes actually helped, in that regard. Fresh paint and décor made it feel different enough—new, but not. It was something I’d have to get used to, as I was now officially calling it home once more. When Charlotte took over, the building had been at roughly half-occupancy, and my old unit was still available. Strolling along past the mailboxes, I saw that several vacancies were now filled, some with familiar names. I was renting rooms for the rest of the clan; Albert and Neil were now roommates, the easiest and most obvious pairing done off the bat. Lillian had her own place, though she’d graciously offered some space for Al when our pixie worked late and didn’t want to commute. Considering the size Al could drop down to, I didn’t imagine the area would take up much room.

Arch had booked his own accommodations with Charlotte—or more likely, the Agency had done it for him. On top of my old apartment, now home to Krystal and myself, I’d rented another to serve as an office space/spare room for Gregor. He refused any suggestions that he would need an entire living space, but also wouldn’t hear of leaving his post for long sections of time. Since I had the office anyway, I was able to persuade him that sleeping nearby would be adequate, and an unused room was there regardless.

I wasn’t too surprised to learn that Asha had also decided to make the move. After what she’d been through, having a safe place to call home would be helpful both logistically and emotionally. Especially when it also meant living around friends who would come running if there was trouble.

“Good evening, Mr. Fletcher.”

The voice finally snapped me out of my reverie, jerking my head from the names on mailboxes and over to the front desk, where the helpful smile of a familiar elderly woman awaited me. The greeter from Charlotte’s old foyer now had a very slightly updated wardrobe to match the modern settings of her new lobby.

“Good evening, Charlotte. How are things going today?”

“Quite well. We’ve had several interested parties. Evidently, word is spreading. In fact, I’m currently showing an open apartment down the hall from you, so if you’re heading home, you might meet a new neighbor on the way.”

“Given the prices you’re setting versus the quality you’re offering, that’s hardly a surprise.” I started heading for the elevator, not bothering to say farewell, because I wasn’t actually walking away from Charlotte. Almost as if to prove the point, I found one of the old waiters from her dining room in the elevator, now clad in a bellhop uniform. I hoped she wasn’t showing off this form to the normal guests; it seemed bound to raise questions.

With a tilt of the cap, he pressed the button for me, already keenly aware of where I was heading. “It’s working well, though as you and Asha warned, the rental jackals came sniffing immediately. Trying to snap up my rooms, only to leave them empty or leased out to any stranger they see fit, the absolute nerve. Once they saw the penalties in Asha’s contracts for all sub-rental activities, most were scared off.”

“Not everyone?” I was surprised. Asha had been especially vicious in that piece of work.

“Had one who I presume thought he could still get away with it. Oddly, his lock mysteriously jammed not too long after he left. I expect in a few days I’ll get a confused renter asking why their key doesn’t work, and that should be all Asha needs.”

The ding of the elevator signaled the arrival to my floor, so I headed down the hall, already catching sounds of Charlotte’s voice coming from an open door not too far away. Within a few steps, she’d entered my view. This was her younger “default” form, still in its modern fashion, though with a splash more color thrown in.

Next to her was a tall man with a few days’ of stubble, three child-shaped bundles of energy bouncing around his legs. Two girls and one boy raced between their legs as Charlotte continued her spiel, gesturing to the kitchen.

“As you can see, new appliances have recently been installed, although, if cooking isn’t your thing, one of our residents loves to put on nightly dinners at our rooftop lounge area. It’s a nice time. Everyone sits together at the big table and talks about their day.”

That was one of the many resident “perks” Charlotte had devised to both make herself more enticing and help foster a sense of community. She wouldn’t force people to interact; however, she was more than willing to bribe them with a free meal.

While the father was looking at the stove, his son began to climb up the side of the brick fireplace, a feature I was one hundred percent certain the apartments didn’t have before the renovations. The boy was impressively nimble, using the breaks in the bricks as handholds to ascend.

Finishing his examination of the appliances, the father slowly rubbed the back of his neck. “Ma’am, I appreciate the time, but I really don’t think we’re going to be able to afford this. Prices like what you have won’t last. I’d just be moving everyone again when my lease was up and the new rates hit.”

Without warning, the climbing boy’s ascension came to an end. One handhold proved too smooth and his grip gave way. He was tumbling toward the brick base of the fireplace when a curtain shot out from the nearby window, slowing him down until he came to a gentle rest. It was the first time all three children had stood still, as they stared wide-eyed at what was once more nothing but a normal piece of drapery.

“I certainly understand your concern, which is why you’ll find it in our contract that rates cannot be raised more than one percent in the process of renewing a lease. Additionally, we offer terms of up to five years, if you’d rather not risk even that cost increase.” Charlotte didn’t so much as flick her eyes to the kids while assuaging her potential renter’s concerns. She didn’t need to. She was everywhere around us, a concept that I’d once found somewhat unnerving and now took great comfort in.

“Dad! The curtain moved. This place has a ghost!” One of the daughters was pointing at the curtain in question, voice not filled with terror so much as excitement.

Charlotte turned to them, a grin already in place. “I’m sorry to say, we don’t have any ghosts here at Charlotte Arms yet. A few vampires, a pixie, a wizard and his guardian, plus some that are still a secret.” Putting a finger to her lips, Charlotte winked, and I was pretty sure the curtain twitched.

Since she had things well in hand, I started walking past, stepping into view as I headed toward my own apartment. Before I could get by, Charlotte’s voice rang out once more. “Mr. Fletcher over there, for example, is something really scary. He’s an accooooooountant.” Even with the wiggling of her fingers and drawing out of the word, she wasn’t able to make my title actually sound too spooky.

Having been called out, I paused and gave a polite greeting. “Good evening. I take it you’re considering becoming one of our neighbors.”

To my surprise, the father gave me a careful once-over, then moved swiftly closer while Charlotte was over near the children. “Hey man, what’s the deal here?”

“Like the rates? I think she’d know better than me.” I tilted my head over to Charlotte, who could hear every word but was pretending to be distracted.

“No, like, what’s the catch? A place this nice, let alone this size, is worth triple what they’re asking. There has to be something up here.”

In a way, he wasn’t wrong. There was something strange afoot, considering he was standing inside a sentient apartment building talking to a vampire. Everything was certainly not as it seemed. “The owner is something of an eccentric, with a strong desire for community. They wanted these to be the sorts of apartments people stay in for lifetimes, maybe even pass down to their children, so Charlotte Arms is as welcoming as possible. For what it’s worth, I can say with absolute honesty that you’d be hard-pressed to find better apartments, and there’s nowhere in the world I’d rather call home.”

He still seemed unsure, though my words did lessen the stress creases in his brow. “Can’t ask for much stronger of a referral than that.” Shouts of activity came from his kids, quickly pulling the man back into what I suspected would ultimately be his future dwelling.

Leaving Charlotte to her new tenant, I continued down the hall to my apartment, where Krystal would no doubt have some sort of excitement cooked up for the evening. In other rooms under the same roof, the rest of my makeshift family was going about their lives, watched over by a caring presence we’d all learned dearly not to take for granted.

It had been a long few weeks, but at last, the House of Fred was finally home.

Other Novels by Drew Hayes

About the Author

Drew Hayes is an author from Texas who has now found time and gumption to publish a few books. He graduated from Texas Tech with a B.A. in English, because evidently he's not familiar with what the term "employable" means. Drew has been called one of the most profound, prolific, and talented authors of his generation, but a table full of drunks will say almost anything when offered a round of free shots. Drew feels kind of like a D-bag writing about himself in the third person like this. He does appreciate that you're still reading, though.

Drew would like to sit down and have a beer with you. Or a cocktail. He's not here to judge your preferences. Drew is terrible at being serious, and has no real idea what a snippet biography is meant to convey anyway. Drew thinks you are awesome just the way you are. That part, he meant. You can reach Drew with questions or movie offers at NovelistDrew@gmail.com Drew is off to go high-five random people, because who doesn't love a good high-five? No one, that's who.

Read or purchase more of his work at his site: DrewHayesNovels.com

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