by Hayes, Drew
Table of Contents
Somewhere Old
Someone New
A Partner Borrowed
A Place of Blue
Trust, Friendship, and Love That’s True
Undeading Bells
By Drew Hayes
Copyright © 2019 by Andrew Hayes
All Rights Reserved.
Edited by Erin Cooley ([email protected])
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.
Acknowledgements
This one goes out to all you wonderful readers who made this possible. Thanks to everyone who has been with Fred and the gang on the journey, and rest assured that there is still more to come.
Special thanks to my beta readers who are always here offering outstanding feedback to make these books better: E Ramos E, TheSFReader, and Priscilla Yuen.
Preface
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.
—Fredrick Frankford Fletcher
Somewhere Old
1.
The whine of the engines slowed as our turbulent travel neared its end. Even without the ability to lose my stomach, after being batted around the sky by heavy winds, I had to rise from my seat with care.
My fiancée, Krystal Jenkins, looked unbothered by the flight to East Texas. Admittedly, that was par for the course with her. Unlike myself, Krystal had a natural air of composure, like no situation was too much of a challenge. Despite the late hour, her brown eyes were electric with excitement and worry, occasionally darting down to the gun stored expertly on her hip. As an agent of a more or less unnamed secret government organization dedicated to the policing and peacekeeping of parahumans living in America, she was quite familiar with the firearm, to say nothing of the skills she boasted when things got truly dangerous.
Ah, but perhaps I should pause briefly, lest that last paragraph has you think me mad. My name is Fredrick Frankford Fletcher, but most everyone in my life calls me Fred, and I am a vampire. By this point in our tale, I’d been one for several years and had dipped enough toes into the parahuman world to have met other supernatural beings. Technically, Krystal wasn’t in that group, as we’d known each other back during our human days, though her work for the Agency had brought her into the fold as much as her relationship with me. Most of the other parahumans I’d met were friends, or at least people who felt neutral toward me. Regrettably I did manage to pick up a few interested parties who weren’t so cordial.
My sire, Quinn, was the least predictable. I could never be sure if he was insane or brilliant; except, the mere fact that he was able to avoid the Agency’s pursuit proved the latter attribute had to be at least part of the equation. Of course, he’d also thought I’d go wild and kill countless humans, so he certainly wasn’t infallible. Aside from Quinn, my largest issue to date was another vampire clan that had moved into my town of Winslow, Colorado: the House of Turva. They were crafty, coming at me through the treaties and systems of our kind, staying within the law to ensure the Agency couldn’t help.
The final faction I now had to keep track of wasn’t technically an enemy—not yet, anyway—however, they were in my life due to the Turvas. The Blood Council, the ruling body which governed all vampires living in the United States under the secret treaties signed at the nation’s founding, had taken an interest in me. Originally, they’d done so to see if I was competent enough to lead my own clan, the House of Fred. After they learned I was immune to silver as a consequence of dragon magic, their interest became far more piqued.
Tender fingers ran along the back of my scalp, soothing my active mind and nerves. “You okay in there? That was a quiet flight, even for you.”
“Still nervous,” I admitted. “I know there are checks in place—that’s why we’re meeting them here. I understand that the town is safe, cut off from the rest of the world, and I believe you when you say the security here is up to the task. Rationally, I mean. It’s just hard getting it to sink in. I mean… you know how powerful Deborah was. There’s going to be her and another member of the Blood Council present. It’s hard to imagine someone could stop them from taking me if they pleased.”
“Freddy, I’m not going to lie to you.” Krystal’s hand guided my head, pointing my own eyes toward hers. “Badass as I am, I’m not sure I could beat a member of the Blood Council. I also don’t think they could beat me. I could probably wrangle us an escape, or some sort of stalemate, but that’s not really the point. I definitely wouldn’t be able to defeat two of them working together.”
It was a strange mix of reassuring tone and expression, paired with words that promised failure. My confusion must have been evident. I caught the sly grin tugging on her lips, a sure sign I was following exactly where she wanted.
“Now, ask me if Sheriff Thorgood can beat them.”
“Could Sheriff Thorgood defeat—”
“Yes.” Immediate and certain, there wasn’t a quiver of doubt in her. While I had no idea what Sheriff Leeroy Thorgood actually had in terms of parahuman abilities, I did know he’d trained Krystal when she first discovered her true nature. She held the man in high esteem, true, but Krystal was also exceptional at her job, which included the ability to assess potential threats and allies accurately. If she was sure, then it was warranted. I didn’t need to know the specifics; I trusted her.
That didn’t mean I wasn’t still at tad curious, however.
“Does it even matter who I was going to ask about?”
“In theory, sure. In practice, I’m pretty sure you only know one parahuman who would be able to even fight in the sheriff’s league, an
d I highly doubt you were about to guess Gideon.” Krystal let go of me, stepping over to the luggage that was tamped down in the plane’s rear.
I was glad for her timing, because I’ve no doubt the dumbfounded expression on my face was quite ridiculous. Gideon was an acquaintance of ours, sometimes even an ally, who also happened to be an ancient dragon and the King of the West. His magic was technically the reason I was in this mess, since helping him was what cured my silver allergy. Gideon was also what I used as the ceiling of my parahuman power scale. In every situation we’d encountered, save only for the time another dragon was involved, he was utterly unassailable: a being of seemingly near-infinite power, masquerading in the form of a child, who conquered every foe who dared offer even the slightest challenge to his authority.
And he was only in Sheriff Thorgood’s league ?
Had I possessed more time, I might have actually taken a moment to sit and ponder the implications of that. How much higher up did the power scale go? What other potential demi-gods should I steer clear of?
Sadly, I did not possess such free time. Krystal and I had flown to Boarback, Texas with a purpose. Multiple purposes, in fact.
The first was the far more pleasant one: the planning of our wedding. Given that Krystal’s job often led to her interacting with a wide variety of parahumans, we’d decided to hold the event in one of only three towns built specifically for supernatural creatures. Boarback was a hidden hamlet, a place where creatures of all shapes and powers could live openly, without the pretense of being human. This also meant they had the food and facilities for almost any type of parahuman, which would make things easier on our different kinds of guests. Of course, since we didn’t live in Boarback, a trip had been necessary to handle the details and in-person touches. That was originally why we’d planned the outing.
Unfortunately, the Blood Council had somehow found out about it, and decided to send representatives for what they were referring to as a “comprehensive condition evaluation,” which was apparently code for testing me six ways to Sunday to see if my silver immunity offered any other perks. I didn’t even have the option of saying that this was unlikely: I’d already discovered one such side effect when Quinn tried to dominate my mind via his bond as my sire, only to fail completely. Much as I’d like to claim strength of will, I’d never even felt the compulsion. Whatever connection he’d been trying to use was either broken or gone, and the only explanation for something that crazy was good old dragon magic. The experience had shown that the request for further testing was not only reasonable, it was actually the sort of thing I should have done for myself years ago.
Finished with freeing her bags, Krystal tossed mine over as well—much stronger than her slender form betrayed. “Take it easy. We’ll get settled in before sunrise. After I grab a nap, we can use the tunnels to go do our wedding stuff, then deal with the Blood Council tomorrow. You’ve got a whole day to be anxious, so don’t use it all up tonight. It’s a marathon, not a sprint.”
Even as she teased, Krystal stepped back across the small expanse of the plane and took my hand. “It’ll be okay. They don’t have any grounds to take you. Between the treaties and the deal we hammered out for you, you’ll be safe. If the Blood Council makes an aggressive move, they’ll do it knowing they call down the full wrath of the Agency. The higher up someone is, the more serious it gets if they break the rules. And if the Blood Council did something that dumb, we’d have to drop the hammer just to send the message to everyone else that we don’t take that shit. They know it, and we can both agree that Deborah isn’t the type to make sloppy moves.”
In an odd way, my former bodyguard’s competence was reassuring. If she struck, it would be hard and swift, and likely from an angle I’d never see coming. Which meant that something this obvious was unlikely to be her method… unless that’s exactly what I was supposed to think.
At that moment, I realized Krystal was right. Wrapping myself in knots wasn’t going to make any part of this process smoother. Granted, I continued to be anxious, because fear isn’t quite that reasonable or easy to dispel, but this understanding did help ease my nerves—albeit slightly. If nothing else, I had a day with the woman I loved to look forward to, exploring one of her favorite places in the world. On the off chance the Blood Council was planning to kill me, I could think of few better ways to spend my final day. There was no reason to let them taint what was supposed to be a happy, relaxing weekend.
I held our bags while Krystal opened a heavy door at the front of the cabin and leaned in, speaking briefly to the pilots I hadn’t met. Seconds later, a loud hiss sounded as the plane’s door unsealed, opening slowly from the top. I was fairly sure these kinds of small-propellered planes didn’t normally have such complex security or automatic features, but that was a perk of flying on Agency transportation. They took their security quite seriously, and not without good reason.
Unlike the last time I’d flown to Boarback, the door didn’t open to reveal an empty field surrounded by trees. The field was still there, as were the trees, but what differed was the presence of people. Our arrival must have been better timed today, as I could already see the beat-up truck Sheriff Thorgood used to navigate the rough terrain. Except, that wasn’t the only vehicle present. There was also an SUV, an expensive-looking one that I knew at a glance had an array of extra features. I’d seen enough like it by this point to catch the signs—not to mention, I was keenly aware of Deborah’s preferred taste in transportation.
“Those motherfuckers,” Krystal muttered over my shoulder, clearly reaching the same conclusion.
There was nothing for it, so I made my way down the stairs. No sooner had my feet touched the grass than the doors on both vehicles opened. From the truck came Sheriff Thorgood, looking casual and unworried despite the odd circumstances of our meeting. From the SUV emerged Deborah, one of the five ranking members of the Blood Council. Her official title was Prudence: she dealt with strategy, long-term planning, and everything else where it paid to have someone with a cool head and a knack for seeing the bigger picture. Whether it was an act of teasing or friendship, I didn’t know, but Deborah was wearing a large, puffy sweater, something I’d only seen her don during her time as my guard.
The person accompanying her was one I didn’t recognize. He was plainly a vampire, with hair shaved close to the scalp and a long, thin frame, like he’d been stretched out just a tad more than was wise. His ensemble was unremarkable save for his jacket, which was somewhere between the bastard child of a lab coat and cargo shorts. The pockets were located in almost comically awkward locations, except there was nothing funny about his determined approach as he strode up to meet me. Deborah got ahead of him, fast as always, though she seemed a tad put off by his sudden charge.
“Fred, Krystal, good to see you both again. I’d like to spend more time on pleasantries and catching up, but I think it best we kick this off with an introduction. I’d like you both to meet Claudius, acting Wisdom of the Blood Council, and a man who was quite insistent upon making your acquaintance.”
I turned to the advancing form, putting on my best professional-networking face. “Hello there, Claudius, pleasure to meet you.”
“Yes, yes, era-appropriate greetings to you, too.” From one of his seemingly innumerable pockets, Claudius produced a blade that, when pulled free of its sheath, gave off the unmistakable scent of silver. “Now then, if we can get down to business, I would very much like to stab this through your chest.”
2.
It was certainly an unusual greeting, even by parahuman standards; however, there were two positives to take away from the encounter. The first was that, low a bar as it may seem, Claudius was at least trying to get my permission before he stabbed me. Several of the vampires I’d met would have stabbed first and perhaps offered up a half-hearted apology after, if even that.
The second point of encouragement was that Deborah clearly recognized the insanity of such an introduction and hurriedly jumpe
d in to smooth things over. I’d hoped that having the one Blood Council member I sort of knew act as a diplomat would make finding common ground with this new person easier—or that she’d at least keep him from killing me by accident. I felt reasonably sure that none of them wanted me dead yet; not when my condition was such a promising find.
“Sorry about that,” Deborah said, laying a firm hand on Claudius’s shoulder. “Before turning, Claudius was a mage, the kind who did better with studies and theories than his fellow human beings—habits that have only been reinforced over the centuries. He doesn’t actually want to murder you, Fred.”
“Of course not. I want to prove this entire enterprise to be a waste of my impossibly valuable time.” Claudius was a man who spoke with absolute confidence, as if even the notion of his wrongness was unfathomable. “Mr. Fletcher, while I applaud your skills in pulling the wool over our Prudence’s eyes, you’ll find that I am not so easily flimflammed. No vampire is immune to silver: it flies in the face of our very understanding of magic. Once I jam this in your sternum, the pain will be too great to use your trickery, and we can be done with this nonsense.”
In an odd way, his accusation was a relief. It was encouraging to hear that not everyone on the Blood Council even believed my ability was real; the fewer people who were interested in me, the better. Not to mention that this was one test I had no fears about passing. Although it had brought me, overall, more trouble than aid, I really was immune to silver. Now that the secret was out, I had nothing left to hide.
“I’m sorry if this is a silly question—Deborah can speak to my lack of vampire knowledge—but that won’t count as being staked, right? My understanding is that said stake needs to be wood, but I want to make sure that a knife doesn’t count.”
Claudius looked even more ready to knife me, but Deborah mercifully took the time to explain. “Usually, it does need to be wood, but there are some enchanted objects that can surprise you, so the general rule is don’t let anything hit you in the heart when you can help it. As for the knife, no one said anything about a heart. Just jam it on the right side and show Claudius its effects.”