Undeading Bells (Fred Book 6)

by Hayes, Drew

  “If we call in an agent, there’s no telling how that crowd will react. Let’s not add more dynamite to this powder keg just because we think someone out there has a match. Until we know for certain there’s danger, we play things calm. Give him a chance to show us what he’s up to. Once we know what we’re dealing with, we can make smart choices.”

  Lillian nodded, though not without hesitation. “You realize that what you’re describing is using bait to lure a target into the open. Except the bait in this instance is you, and if I’m running between the lobby and the halls, I can’t promise I’ll get there in time, should you need me.”

  I heard the rustle before Al spoke, telltale signs of straightening her back and smoothing out the skirt on her suit. “Perhaps I could help? The assassin is out of my depth, but it looks like all you need upfront is someone with basic organizational skills. Collect the applications, take the names, sit down those who are done and send back whoever is next.”

  “Much as I do love initiative, I’m afraid we can’t ask you to go into the lobby,” I replied. “There’s no way to be sure that Amy’s potion isn’t still lingering in the air, and if it is, you’d become effectively useless once exposed.”

  “Yeah, about that. Mood elevators don’t really work on me.” Moving with surprising confidence, Al walked up to the door and took the handle. She waited a moment, allowing Lillian and me to step clear, before slipping past the barrier quickly and resealing it behind her.

  We watched as Al stepped surely into the lobby, taking deep, visible breaths while she inventoried the situation. There was no loss of coherency or sudden slide into song. After a full minute, she flashed a thumbs-up sign at us before proceeding to collect the various applications that had been scattered along the floor.

  “She’s a fascinating one. Not many use magic to hide even their scent. Ambitious and thorough. Could make for an interesting new coworker.”

  “I suspect we do not yet know the half of it,” I agreed.

  Lillian leaned in, lowering her voice to a whisper, just in case. “What makes you say that?”

  “For one thing, I’m almost completely certain that your jacket didn’t have a glitter pattern woven into it when the night started.”

  At my words, Lillian jerked back, yanking off her suit jacket and staring at the twinkling depths that had suddenly appeared. A wild smirk pulled at the edges of her lips. “Well now, this night is turning out fun in all sorts of surprising ways.”

  5.

  To be honest, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect at the prospect of interviewing spaced-out parahumans for an accounting job. It seemed the sort of situation that could go in any manner of unexpected directions filled with danger and mishaps. Instead, I got the outcome I truly was expecting the least: things went smoothly.

  Turns out, whatever Amy was peddling came with minimal tolerance for, as Krystal would put it, “dealing with bullshit.” From my second interview with a therian whose animal form was that of a bear, and who secretly held dreams of playing piano, it became clear that we were dispensing with the formalities and cutting right to the truth. Consequently, the interviews weren’t just easy sailing, they were actually sort of… fun.

  Not fun in the raucous sense, mind you. This was a blissed-out high, gauging from the outside, the sort of chill that ran to the bone. No, what I found fun was that, when stripped of their facades, most of the people I spoke with were quite enjoyable to hold conversation with. Ben, the bear therian, spent much of his time talking about the confines of the expectations upon him due to his size and strength; it seemed like no one had ever bothered asking where his own passions might lie. We ended things with a powerful hug—something I really should have expected given his name and nature—after which, Ben thanked me for listening.

  That set the tone for the next hour of my life. Parahumans would come in, escorted by Al, who, I realized halfway through the proceedings, technically had no way to open the door from the lobby. The applicants sat, sometimes long enough for me to fire off a single question, before launching into a tirade about where they were in life versus where their ambitions lay.

  The satyr worked a struggling farm handed down for generations, while he dreamed of using of the land and his skills to tap into the state’s recent “green rush,” even if the knowledge was beyond him. I had a mage whose talent for destruction magic was apparently top-tier, yet she wanted to pursue a simple life of research. It was impossible to ascertain the natures of some of the candidates—I couldn’t for the life of me pin down why the tall gentleman with pale green eyes couldn’t be a juggler, even after he lamented that fact for the entirety of his interview. Thanks to the drugged-up applicants, and Al’s unintentional hint, a picture was starting to emerge in my head, an understanding of why so many had shown up for a job they clearly had no interest in.

  It wasn’t about me, or the clan, or even the job itself. We were a way to break free of the system. Every species had its own trappings, expectations, culture, and limits: structures that probably worked for the majority of those within them, but not all. The applicants tonight were those who felt limited by those systems, constrained from the paths they wanted to follow. I wasn’t their goal. I was a way to get out, a way to learn new skills, meet people outside their own cultures. My job was a foothold toward something different that they were desperately trying to grip, and I didn’t begrudge them that in the slightest.

  However, that did mean the number of candidates I could seriously consider was deeply limited, even taking into account everyone’s mindset during the discussions. A few of them did have skills that would mesh well with accounting work, and some possessed dispositions that I suspected would still be amiable when sober. Through it all, though, I must confess a twinge of disappointment. Even the best candidates, like Al, were not in it for the actual accounting; to all of them, that was a tool, a step toward something greater. Part of me wished we could find someone with actual love for the work itself, but companies weren’t run on hopeful sentiments. We needed more staff; competence would have to take precedence over passion.

  I looked up from my desk at the sound of noise, expecting my next candidate. Instead, I found Al there, a concerned look on her face. “Mr. Fletcher, there’s something I wanted to bring to your attention.”

  My tongue nearly told her to call me Fred out of habit, but I resisted the urge. Formal titles were useful in professional settings, especially as we were still in the interviewing process. Besides, hers was not an expression that invited needless interruption.

  “I’ve been out there talking to people, giving out water, generally keeping things steady. The mage woman—Amy, I believe—had a message for you. Said she couldn’t find some of her vials. Apparently, she took a few out when hunting for the bliss potion and is no longer sure where they ended up. That seemed like something you should know about.”

  That was indeed a serious complication. While I trusted Amy not to have any truly dangerous potions outside of her lab, she and I had differing definitions of the word “danger.” There was genuinely no telling what could be in any of her concoctions. One might turn tiles into tigers, while another would likely be perfect for removing old coffee stains. Amy was an artist, and for her, the act of creating something fascinating was more vital than what uses it had. The stuff she sold was just so she’d have the means to fund her experiments.

  “Thank you for bringing it to my attention. That is indeed a factor I should be concerned by. How many interviews do we have left?”

  “Six or seven, depending on if the sleeping dude in the corner wakes up. Oh, and I guess the centaur has been outside for a while. We think he had to use the restroom, and obviously, human toilets weren’t going to work,” Al continued. “We had a few people go out back to clear their heads, and I took everyone’s keys so they couldn’t get any ideas about driving off. Thankfully, I think someone already took the tengatulon out there, as well. Can’t imagine all those whipping tentacles would m
ake my job any easier.”

  “What was that thing, anyway?” I asked.

  Al took a moment, tapping her chin in contemplation. When she did, I noticed something—almost like a flicker—run across her skin. It was interesting, albeit less so than it probably should have been, since I had no idea the significance of such a display.

  “Sort of like a parahuman version of a bonsai, except it’s alive and constantly working to kill its owner. I’ve heard some people keep them as pets, so they learn never to let their guard down, while others consider it a display of power. There are also a few who just like them. Can never discount strange taste as a factor.”

  My face must have betrayed my worry, because Al visibly read the concern. “Don’t worry. They only go after their owner. Anything else they hit is just collateral damage. Besides, they aren’t nearly strong enough to hurt a vampire; either of you could rip it apart.”

  I bristled at the image, though I did my best to hide it. The destructive reputation of vampires was far from unearned; if anything, most seemed to revel in it. Still, I disliked that such was the solution everyone expected of us. It wasn’t Al’s fault; she had no reason to expect anything different from me yet. Nevertheless, her casual words were a reminder of how the world would view me, unless I showed them something different.

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. While I know that’s how most vampires are perceived, I prefer non-violent solutions to my problems.”

  “I’d heard rumors to that effect. Didn’t entirely believe them until tonight.” Al shook her head, looking me over once more. “If we’re being truthful, I do have a hard time believing you managed to stand against both the Blood Council and the Court of Frost.”

  Interesting. Not many people knew about the Court of Frost’s involvement in my assessment with the Blood Council. Al was apparently more tapped in than I’d expected. As for her disbelief, that was a much easier aspect to mitigate.

  “Good. You shouldn’t believe that, because I didn’t. Stand against them, that is to say,” I clarified. “My clan survived their tests and judgment, nothing more. We didn’t rebel, or strike back, or in any way buck the system. The Blood Council came to test me, and I managed to survive. There’s no greater glory to tell.”

  “You say that, but Hellebore is famous for getting what she wants. Favors from the Blood Council are useful, sure; however, having an agent bound to a contract isn’t something to sneeze—”

  Al was cut off by the sound of a horrific crash coming from out in the hall. Crunching, snapping, and a sudden thud echoed throughout the entire building. She whirled around as I dashed to my feet, both of us looking out the doorway. What met our eyes was the sight of Ben, the therian, in hybrid form as he stomped atop the now crushed door between the lobby and the offices. A mighty roar pushed past his lips as he began to thunderously beat his chest. After a moment, I realized the crowd behind him was cheering.

  “To the snacks!” Ben declared, showing more leadership than I might have expected from our interview. At his words, the bulk of the crowd surged forward, pouring into the halls and spreading throughout the shared office compound.

  Behind him, wearing a look of forlorn loss, Hank stared at the needless destruction, no doubt wondering how in the hell he would explain this come morning. That was a concern to tackle later, as the immediate situation took far greater precedence.

  “Al, go find Lillian. I don’t know if everyone is getting better or worse, but they’re clearly more energetic. We need experienced muscle on hand to keep the peace—or as much of it as we’ve got left. I’ll hunt down Amy and hope she’s come around enough to be of help. Also, stay safe. They look substantially less relaxed than earlier.”

  “You sure you want to go diving into all of that?” Al asked. “There’s probably a decent place to hide while we sort this out.”

  Tempted as I was, it was an offer I had to decline. “Should you become my employee, you’ll learn I’m not the ‘above this’ kind of boss. My idea of leadership is doing my best and trusting my people to do the same. It’s the only real strategy I have, and I see no reason to abandon it now.”

  “I’ve dealt with much worse management styles than that.” Al licked her lips once, smearing the gloss I was sure hadn’t been there minutes ago. “Look, if things get really bad…”

  “If things get bad, run.” I jumped on the opportunity to finish that thought before she could gather her words. Al was in too deep as it was. She had no obligation to see this through to the end. “This is my problem, and in truth, I’ve already let you help more than an interview candidate should be imposed upon. Don’t worry about us; this is sadly fairly expected for one of our clan outings. You’ve more than proven yourself already. I can say without hesitation that you’re the current top candidate for the job and will definitely be getting a call back.”

  A blink of surprise, then a nod. “I appreciate the concern. How ’bout I still try to see if I can find Lillian before giving up and bailing?”

  More crashing, this time from deeper in the building. “Good plan, but we should both hurry. Otherwise, there might not be much building left to save.”

  6.

  Since I was hunting Amy, the simplest method was to follow the crowd. It was an easy trail: a rambunctious horde of parahumans isn’t the most careful of groups, to say nothing of the ruckus I could hear coming down the halls. After a brief jog through the newly scratched and dented walls, I arrived at the scene of the revelry, stopping dead in my tracks.

  The kitchen area was ravaged. How they’d gutted it so efficiently in such a short amount of time was a genuine mystery, especially given their collective mental state, but every cupboard’s door had been ripped away, the contents hurled toward the center of the room, where others were descending on the feast. Someone had similarly looted the refrigerator, a chip station, and what appeared to some sort of cereal cubby. All of it was being tossed about, devoured, and then thrown to the next person in a Bacchanalian event centered around cheap office food.

  They were definitely getting more energetic. Part of me wanted to believe that meant they were also getting more sober, but Amy had products with secondary, even tertiary, waves of effect. This could just as easily be a new, more problematic version of their existing trip. As my eyes scanned, however, I did catch sight of a familiar face. She was ripping into a bag of mass-produced cookies with a dangerous look in her eye—though, I’d seen Amy do the same in many situations, so that didn’t speak much to her state of mind.

  “Hey! Amy, are you with us?” I was over in a flash, prioritizing speed above appearances. The longer this went on, the more the damage piled up. Carefully, I took her by the shoulders, trying to meet her eyes.

  A few blinks, a long swallow, and then Amy was looking back at me. “Woooo, this batch is potent . I’d have sworn I’ve been at a music festival for the past few days.”

  “Your talents continue to amaze. Do you have any sort of antidote, maybe, on hand?”

  Amy reeled like I’d struck her, an expression of naked disgust on her face. “Antidote? Fred, would you demand an antidote to a ten-course gourmet meal, or an expertly played symphony? The experience is the point . I would never create an antidote to lessen it.” She finally tore into the cookie package, ripping it in half and wolfing down the food in mere moments. “Might work on including an appetite suppressant next time. Munchies come on hard with this mix.”

  That was more help than I’d expected from Amy in this state, and as she dived down for another piece of snack food, I made no move to stop her. She was, after all, just as influenced as everyone else, and at least I now knew not to waste time looking for a cure. My eyes scanned the room again, taking in the diminishing food supply and trying hard not to think about what would happen when it was gone. There were gas stations a few miles up the road that this cavalcade of crazy might very soon decide to march upon, and once a mass of parahumans descended on a civilian business, it would be a short wa
lk to agents showing up.

  Worried as I was about the ruckus, a flash of motion in a doorway caught my attention: someone big, moving quickly and surely away from our area. Seeing as the only non-drugged people were Al, Lillian, and myself, none of whom were especially muscular individuals, that only left our mystery man. Al and Lillian were elsewhere, Amy was on the ground scrounging for more food, and Bubba appeared to be in an arm-wrestling contest with the aspiring juggler. With all my allies either occupied or compromised, it was on me to see what this fellow was up to. Part of me felt as if I should stay and try to control the crowd; however, a quick look around demonstrated how ludicrous that was. The crowd was too wild and too large; I’d never be able to stand in their way. At the very least, I could ensure they were in a safe area, with no secretive figures stalking about planning mischief.

  Using care to walk quietly, I made my way over to the doorway where I’d seen the motion. No signs of anyone, but a focused concentration of effort helped me pick up the sound of talking coming from deeper in the building. I crept along, fast as I dared, yet not giving away my advantage just yet. There was a chance that surprise could be useful—as a distraction, at the very worst—and right now, we needed any help we could get. As it was, I’d already started evaluating how much repairs for this place were going to cost my company, and that was in the most optimal of situations—assuming no one got hurt, for example. Those sorts of damages were much harder to square.

  It didn’t take long for the words to become clear; only the absolute din coming from the kitchen had drowned them out, and that faded as my position changed. I recognized the first voice quickly: it belonged to Gregor, the densely built man I’d met in the hallways, and our apparent intruder.

  “Please move. This has already taken too long. I do not wish to harm you, but the job must be done.” Calm, which was tempting to take as a good sign, except time spent with Arch had taught me well that “calm” and “peaceful” did not inherently go together.