by Kim Fielding
“No,” Abe answered honestly. “I liked being Abe France, but I like it even better being Agent Ferencz. Especially when I have the best partner in the Bureau.”
As soon as the mess in Abe’s house had been cleaned up, he’d returned home and Thomas had come with him. The past year had gone by fast enough to make Abe dizzy. They had both joined the Bureau, which was delighted to have them, and went through an accelerated training. They could have been assigned anywhere, but when they’d asked to stay in San Francisco, the Bureau had obliged. Now they split their time between dealing with an astonishing array of creatures and creating a home that suited them both. And making love. They spent a lot of time on that as well.
“You have that look in your eyes,” Thomas said, his voice huskier than usual.
“Have I? Do you want to chain me to our bed?”
“I always want that.”
Thomas moved behind Abe and wrapped his arms tightly around him, drawing their hard bodies flush. He gnawed gently at his neck and squeezed Abe’s cock through the fabric of his trousers, making Abe moan. Thomas slipped his other hand under Abe’s shirt and gave his right nipple a hard pinch. Oh, God. He could make Abe climax just like this, fast and dirty, and then Abe would spend a long, long time sucking Thomas’s cock, teasing him until Thomas begged, and— Thomas let go and stepped back. “We’ve a meeting to get to.”
“You’re cruel.”
“Only when you want me to be.”
Dragging his feet more than necessary, Abe went to fetch his hat and coat.
A spate of unseasonably warm and bright days had finally passed, leaving the city clothed in its more usual cool fog, like a grande dame in a chinchilla coat. The air smelled of the sea, and when Abe and Thomas boarded the streetcar, it clanked along the familiar streets. In speakeasies and restaurants and stores, people were talking about the stock market crash and wondering uneasily what the effect would be and when the market would recover. But here on the streetcar, people were simply going about their days—off to work or shopping—and all seemed normal enough.
Sometimes Abe and Thomas speculated what might happen if the public knew about the strange creatures that lived undetected among them. “They’d call them monsters and want them all dead,” Thomas insisted. And maybe he was right, but the worst monsters Abe had met had been fully human.
They disembarked the streetcar and walked to Montgomery Street, where Crespo waited for them outside a massive Neo-Gothic building with three towers, the highest of which made it the tallest building in the city. Abe had never been inside.
“Why here?” he asked Crespo as soon as he and Thomas were close enough.
Crespo rolled his eyes. “Long story, pal. The Bureau was considering moving West Coast HQ here from LA, so they rented some office space as soon as this heap was finished.” He hooked a thumb toward the building. “But now that we’re getting a new regional chief, well, it’s best to stick to LA.”
“Why?”
“You’ll see soon enough.” Crespo scowled, which wasn’t very promising.
Thomas scowled back—more impressively, Abe thought; but then again, he was biased. Thomas had certainly had more practice than Crespo. “And he wants to meet with us why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who is this fellow?” demanded Abe, irritated that Crespo was clearly holding back information.
“You need to see for yourself. Just, um, stay calm, okay?”
That was reassuring.
They traipsed through the lobby, footsteps echoing on marble, got into the elevator, and rode to the thirtieth floor. Two stories short of the top, but still higher than Abe had ever been. Because the building was almost new, he was surprised to sense a ghost as soon as they exited the elevator. It seemed content enough, however, pacing silently up the corridor with a spectral nod at Abe as it passed.
Unaware of the ghost, Crespo led Abe and Thomas to an unmarked set of double doors. He opened one to reveal a reception office bare of everything except a coat rack and a small table containing a yellowing edition of the Chronicle. Four interior doors were closed, but the fifth was ajar, allowing a little natural light into the windowless reception room. Dust motes eddied slowly through the air.
“We’re here,” Crespo called. Nobody answered, but he continued onward and pushed the door fully open.
Thomas stepped through after Crespo but before Abe—and had his gun drawn before Abe was fully inside.
Herbert Townsend stood silhouetted in a large, uncurtained window, a cigarette and shot glass in one hand. Apart from him, the room was bare.
“Boys,” he said evenly.
“What trick is this?” Thomas spat viciously at Crespo.
Before Crespo could answer, Abe pushed forward. “Look at him, Tom. That’s not Townsend. Not really.”
The expensive suit barely contained his bulk, and his face was the same. The only surface difference, really, was the lack of rings on his fingers. But if you looked closely, really stared at his eyes, you’d notice the change. The flat sureness and easy malevolence were gone, replaced by something deeper and much more complicated. Something inhuman, but not cruel.
“You’re the new Chief?” Abe asked.
“I was the perfect choice.” His voice was different too, although Abe couldn’t have said exactly how. It carried more emotion, perhaps, and also more power. “Townsend had experience in law enforcement administration and talent at influencing people. Albert Dixon had courage and integrity and a capacity for doing real good.”
With obvious reluctance, Thomas holstered his gun. “What do you want?”
“I’m meeting all my agents. And perhaps recruiting more. The Bureau needs a special kind of man, you see. He can’t be soft, and he can’t be too traditional in his notions of good and evil. He must be able to understand that the entire world is as gray and opaque as the thickest fog.” He gestured toward the windows with the hand holding the glass.
Abe took a step closer. “Are Tom and I like that?”
“You are, my boy, you are. You understand that the line between a moral decision and an immoral one is often whisper-thin, and that what makes a monster isn’t who someone is, but what he does.”
“And a man who loves another man?” Abe took a step closer to Thomas, who moved in to wrap his arm around Abe’s waist.
“Such a man has seen firsthand how starkly the world can judge.”
Townsend drained his drink—whiskey, Abe guessed—and placed the glass on the windowsill. Then he took a last drag before crushing out his cigarette in a ceramic ashtray. “There are lines. Good and evil. Alive and dead. Friend and enemy. And we think of them as these very solid things, these impassable walls. But you know as well as I, Abe, that those lines are flimsy and porous. People pass through them all the time.”
Thomas stiffened. “I didn’t ask for a lesson in philosophy.”
“It’s not philosophy,” Townsend countered. “They’re cold, hard facts. The most important facts of all. And it’s the central mission of the Bureau. We could talk about repentance if we liked, because it’s important too. But it’s only a stepping stone, a means to an end. The Bureau is in it for the long game and so am I.” He smiled. “So it’s fortunate I won’t die anytime soon.”
“What is the long game?” Abe asked. He almost knew, like a word on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t quite grasp it.
“You push in the right directions. Those lines? You twist them slowly, very slowly so they won’t break, but with a gentle nudge here and there, so that, in the end, they’re in the right place.”
Abe shook his head. “Are you talking about salvation? Because I don’t—”
“Not in the come-to-Jesus sense, no, not at all. I mean redemption in a broader sense. The protection of everything that’s valuable in people—and not just in human people. That is my long game, and the Bureau’s. It’s a hard one, boys. But is it your game too?”
Abe still didn’t fully understa
nd, and judging by Thomas’s frown, neither did he. Yet something about what Townsend was saying rang true. Maybe it was a con: Townsend saying what Abe wanted to hear. But he hoped it wasn’t.
“Tom?” Abe said quietly.
Thomas let go of Abe’s waist and tugged at his shoulder so they faced each other. Thomas’s eyes were the same gray as the fog outside, but a light shone deep within them just as the sun blazed behind the fog. And after a moment, Thomas’s mouth stretched into a broad, fierce smile. “Yes.”
Abe lifted his chin at Townsend. “Our game too.”
“Very good, my boys. Difficult times are coming—times to test us all.”
Abe and Thomas exchanged glances and shrugged in unison. They’d faced difficult times before, and yet here they were.
Townsend rubbed his hands together. “I have a new assignment for you. We’ve been getting reports of something nasty in the California Delta. It’s been destroying levees and has drowned a few children. Or so the stories say. I’m sending one of my boys up from LA to work with you on this. Interesting fellow named Grimes.”
Thomas took Abe’s hand and started walking to the door. “Right. He can brief us when he gets here.”
Abe grinned as they hurried to the elevator. The monsters could wait. But as for the comfortable bed with the sturdy headboard waiting at home—along with the handcuffs he could escape but never wanted to? They were calling him right now.
About the Author
Kim Fielding is very pleased every time someone calls her eclectic. A Lambda Award finalist and two-time Foreword INDIE finalist, she has migrated back and forth across the western two-thirds of the United States and currently lives in California, where she long ago ran out of bookshelf space. She’s a university professor who dreams of being able to travel and write full time. She also dreams of having two daughters who fully appreciate her, a husband who isn’t obsessed with football, and a house that cleans itself. Some dreams are more easily obtained than others.
Kim can be found on her blog: http://kfieldingwrites.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/KFieldingWrites
and Twitter: @KFieldingWrites
Her e-mail is [email protected]
THE BUREAU OF TRANS-SPECIES AFFAIRS
For many years the United States government has been aware that Homo sapiens is not the only sentient species inhabiting the country. Some other species were native to the continent, while others immigrated along with humans. Early on, these nonhuman species (NHS) were largely ignored when they lived peacefully within human communities. At other times they were deemed a threat and local efforts were made to eradicate them. The federal government was not involved in these early efforts.
During the Civil War, both the Union and Confederate armies recruited members of the NHS, with varying degrees of success.
By the early 20th century, some local law enforcement agencies expressed frustration with their inability to deal effectively with the special needs of NHS. Localized incidents of mass violence occurred in several locations, most notably the Omaha Zombie Epidemic of 1908, the Manchester (New Hampshire) Melusine Drownings of 1911, and the Eugene (Oregon) Sasquatch Riots of 1915.
In response to these incidents, as well as a heightened desire for increased federal control, President Wilson created a new federal agency in 1919 called the Bureau of Trans-Species Affairs. The mission of this agency was to communicate with NHS, to control them, to investigate reported dangerous actions committed by them, and to bring them to justice or eliminate them when necessary. Since then, the Bureau has been quietly active throughout the United States. Its jurisdiction has expanded to include humans who engage in magical or paranormal activities.
Over the decades, a great many dramas have unfolded among the people who work for the Bureau. The Bureau stories are a collection of these tales. Each involves different protagonists and is set in a different era, yet all focus on the adventures and struggles of the Bureau's agents. These novellas can be read in any order.
***The Bureau of Trans-Species Affairs: Strength, Intelligence, Honor***
More about the books in this series.
Book One: Corruption
Book Two: Clay White
Book Three: Creature
Volume One (Compilation of Books One through Three)
Book Four: Chained
Book Five: Conviction
Volume Two (Compilation of Books Four and Five)
Book Six: Conned