Fred (Book 6): Undeading Bells

by Hayes, Drew

  This time, it was my turn to stand. Krystal had the expertise to do the debrief, Asha added heart and insight, but this was where the clan leader needed to speak. “Yes. In the course of her evaluation, we discovered that Asha’s body appears to have acclimated to the silver, perhaps even absorbed it. She no longer suffers the effects of exposure; she reacts to it like any other metal.”

  Already, Deborah and Claudius were animated, whispering to themselves, but we hadn’t even reached the biggest shock yet. “There’s more than just an immunity. For the moment, Asha’s nails and teeth appear to have the same effect on undead flesh as genuine silver. In effect, she not only has no weakness to silver, she now wields it as naturally as her own limbs.”

  With that, more or less exactly as we’d expected, the room devolved into chaos.

  6.

  Most of the Agency contingent was yelling amongst themselves, frantically discussing a myriad of technicalities and precedents I hadn’t even the slightest bit of context for. Claudius was excitedly yammering away in Deborah’s ear, who was silently staring at the room, taking everything in. Amidst it all, Director Waxwood remained unmoving, unbothered, her face creased only in thought.

  After a long stretch of loud, unprofessional behavior, she finally spoke.

  “Enough.”

  Instantly, the entire room fell silent. Even Claudius slammed his mouth shut; quite possibly the first time I’d seen him acknowledge the order of anyone who wasn’t Deborah. The director’s voice hadn’t been loud, or even all that forceful. It simply carried the weight of unchallengeable authority.

  “Before we have a complete tizzy, let’s go ahead and confirm this wild, frankly unbelievable claim. Fredrick Fletcher is a young vampire—mistakes in the evaluation of Asha Patel could have been made.”

  “There certainly might be more going on. We’re too early on to be sure of much,” I agreed. “Her silver condition is rather undeniable, however. If Claudius would like to come experience the effects for himself, we will happily permit a test to confirm.”

  Claudius moved so fast I had to mentally reevaluate whether or not he was consuming the same speedy blood as Deborah, after all. Perhaps it was just a matter of properly motivating him to action. In no time, he was at Asha’s side, Deborah intentionally trailing some distance behind. He looked over Asha with unabashed interest, rolling up one of his oversized sleeves and offering a surprisingly muscular arm.

  “Push the nails in to different depths; it will give me a better idea of the effects.” That was the only request he had before getting raked by Asha’s new, completely natural weapons; the more I saw of Claudius, the more I saw that he’d been a mage before the turn. Only they had that kind of reckless passion for discovery.

  Extending her hand the way Lillian had instructed, Asha formed her fingers into claws, pressing them down easily into Claudius’s unprotected skin. There were actual gasps from some of the Agency underlings as the wounds appeared, thick blood oozing out along the lines Asha left. No sudden surge of healing followed to stitch them back up; the injuries remained even as Asha’s hand moved away. Before she could rest, another hand appeared in her line of sight—this one, next to her head.

  “The fangs, too,” Deborah said, wiggling her arm. “Have to be sure, you understand.”

  Without protest, Asha carefully bit down on the side of Deborah’s forearm. Just like the nails, her fangs slid in easily, leaving behind lingering wounds as she pulled them free. While she didn’t wince, Deborah did examine her own arm at length, staring hard at those twin holes that had been left behind.

  “Claudius, to the best of my assessment, their evaluation was accurate. These feel and behave like injuries inflicted by silver. Tell me your conclusion.”

  “Conclusion?” Claudius looked as if she’d ordered him to defecate on the floor. “We have barely even begun to test, yet you wish for a conclusion? There are too many variables to evaluate, materials to test, subjects to bring in—”

  “None of which is happening tonight.” Director Waxwood had evidently run out of patience now that the testing was done. “Tell us what you can discern based on the information available.”

  “Very well.” Something in Claudius seemed to shift. His expression turned stern as the overall ambivalence melted away, replaced by a keenly engaged mind. “Based on what we know, the likeliest explanation is that Sheriff Thorgood’s blood did indeed allow Asha to fuse with the silver in her body, acclimating her to it and even incorporating it into her bones. However, we cannot even take Asha as a true sample of solely the effects from the sheriff’s blood due to the complicated nature of her sire.”

  Though Claudius wasn’t looking my way, I felt more than a few eyes shift over while he continued to speak.

  “It’s possible that this transformation only worked because of some potential for silver immunity passed down in her sire’s blood. Recreating the experiment with another vampire might yield wildly different results. That’s to say nothing of her state at the time of absorption, when her body was going through the shift to undeath, a factor that might well have played a key part in her survival. Frankly speaking, my assessment is that we have far too many factors at work to know with any certainty which were essential and which were superfluous. We’re dealing with a second-generation mutation while still struggling to understand the first.”

  The moment served as a good reminder that no matter how eccentric a member of the Blood Council might be, they hadn’t gotten their positions by chance. He’d just broken down the situation completely, with only a minute or two to process, and brought up factors I hadn’t even thought to consider. His words landed heavily on the audience, silence and thought following his findings.

  Taking his arm, Deborah led Claudius back over to their chairs, but not even the physical and metaphorical removal she was inflicting could stop the curious, evaluating glances he was throwing at Asha. When they were once more seated, all eyes slowly turned to the director. We were clearly in uncharted waters, ones that concerned her directly. In the long-term, her choices could be questioned or worked against, but for tonight, what she said would be law. To us, to the Blood Council, to the Agency itself. We just had to hope that that law fell in a way that kept Asha safe.

  “Given the circumstances of the attack, and the appropriate procedures used, I do not find fault on the behalf of Fredrick Fletcher in the turning of Asha Patel. While he did do so in sight of humans, her condition easily qualifies as a medical emergency. I would, however, remind Mr. Fletcher that he is now out of legal turn-attempts for the remainder of the calendar year, and that should he overreach, there will be consequences.”

  Her gaze fell upon me, and after a moment, I realized that she was waiting for a response. “I can say with absolute sincerity that I have no plans or desires to turn anyone else in the near future. In truth, Asha was one of the few humans I still interact with, so there wouldn’t even be candidates.”

  “For now. Humans, para and otherwise, have a tendency to form bonds quickly. But so long as you stay within the law, that means the Blood Council has several months to continue testing you and Asha. A vampire with a higher than average turn success rate is dangerous enough; if the vampires you create have the potential to mutate further, gaining unseen abilities, that represents a power that could cause a great deal of trouble.”

  To my surprise, Deborah stood, interrupting the exchange. She wasn’t one to jump in, preferring to wait and strike, which was my warning that this concerned something serious. “Director Waxwood, the Blood Council has already begun the process of transferring additional turn-attempts to the House of Fred. By next month, he’ll legally be empowered to turn about twenty per week.”

  My mind reeled at that number, even as I noted it was only the maximum. Luckily, before I even had to contemplate the possibility of such an arrangement, Director Waxwood made her own thoughts known.

  “Denied.” She met Deborah’s gaze, staring the elder vampire down, an
d finding her undead opponent more stubborn than expected. “What he could do was already skirting the line; this takes it a step too far. Mr. Fletcher gets two attempts per calendar year according to the treaties, and that is all he’s going to be cleared for in the foreseeable future. That said, the Agency is not unreasonable. With your steadily increasing sample size, you can continue testing. Once enough data is present to convince us that Fredrick Fletcher can consistently create normal vampires, turn-attempts can again be moved to his house. Until then, we will take things slowly, just in case his line is more dangerous. This way, it can be contained before it becomes a true threat.”

  There was no way Deborah would take this lying down. I was sure she had political schemes already turning in her head while Director Waxwood gave her edict, yet not so much as a frown touched her face. Deborah was perfectly gracious as she accepted the judgment, nodding and returning to her seat, sitting silently at Claudius’s side.

  “Which brings us to you, Mr. Fletcher.” Director Waxwood’s full attention fell on me entirely, a weight I hadn’t been prepared for. Had I needed air in my lungs, I truly think I’d have struggled to breathe. “Although there is no crime to charge you with, I’m sure you must realize how this complicates matters. Putting aside the specifics of Ms. Patel’s condition, a great deal of which can likely be laid at my own brother’s feet, the fact remains that you have now succeeded on two vampiric turning attempts in a row. That you have better chances of success when acting as a sire is now undeniable, and we must consider the possibility that you will have no failures. You are, potentially, capable of turning any human into a member of the undead, a fact that would make you into one of the most valuable political pawns of this century.”

  The weight left as Director Waxwood split her focus, sharing it now between me and Krystal. “While it pains me to say this, I’m afraid at this point, there’s really no other choice to be made. Just like the Blood Council must wait and do proper investigation, so too must you both wait and see where Mr. Fletcher’s position and value shakes out. With apologies, I cannot allow a person of such consequence to be bound in Agency treaties and protections, not even those to be offered to a spouse.”

  I felt Krystal stiffen, even as I was sure I’d misunderstood. “What are you saying?”

  “I am trying to tell you that the marriage is off. For now, at the very least, your wedding has to be canceled.”

  7.

  “Can they really do that?”

  Even after the meeting, I felt dumbfounded. Things had wrapped up quickly once Director Waxwood finished laying down her edicts. The agents all left; Deborah stopped by to say a few parting words to Asha that I barely heard, and to give me a gentle pat on the back. I’d been so worried about the Blood Council being our biggest obstacle, and in the end, they’d been the ones who made the least trouble.

  “Yes and no.” Arch sat down in a desk chair that squeaked even at his slender frame. “The contracts are signed, the paperwork submitted—from a mortal perspective, you’d be fine. But they’re all only good for one day, which is tomorrow. If you two aren’t wed by the end of the day, it goes void like any other unfulfilled document and has to be resubmitted. The trick is that, to actually be married, you need someone to perform the ceremony. Someone with the right standings and authority, the sort of people who would never think to go against the head of the Agency. Even if you did find one to start it, the ceremony itself is magical, meaning that, as soon as it began, you’d have the director and other agents coming to stop you. None of which even mentions the consequences of Krystal disobeying an order.”

  We’d come to Arch’s room in the hopes of finding some sort of recourse; nobody knew Agency bylaws and procedures as well as he did. He was kind enough to find us seats and offer drinks, which everyone save for Gregor accepted, before he hit us with the news.

  Asha looked up from deep within her scotch, eyes narrowing slightly. “Did it have to be phrased as a true command? Because all she ever said was that the wedding had to be canceled. No one actually ordered Krystal to do that directly.”

  “Hmmm.” Arch considered the point, turning his glass in his hand as he kept touching the pocket where his cigarettes lived. “A minor technicality that might shelter her from fallout, but it doesn’t address the larger concern. The one where you can’t actually manage to get married.”

  In a flash of serendipity, at that very moment, Arch was interrupted by the sound of a crisp knock at the door. Gregor opened it, blocking the entrance bodily, before we were treated to what sounded like the sound of stones slamming roughly together. I leapt up, looking over his shoulder, only to find Gregor fist-bumping with another stiff-faced man of similar proportions.

  “The King of the West invites you to his suite, presence requested immediately.” He even sounded like Gregor—in tone, if not actual voice. A fellow gargoyle, then; one who stood there waiting patiently.

  It took me a few seconds to realize that he was going to escort us, because of course an invitation from one in Gideon’s position wasn’t something that could be turned down. Given that whatever he had in mind couldn’t be worse than licking our wounds in Arch’s room, there was no reason to deny the request. With a sense of resolution, we flowed into the hall, following the new gargoyle as he led us to the elevators.

  These were, on the surface, normal elevators that we’d been taking regularly since our first arrival. Yet on that night, I saw something new. Our gargoyle guide tapped a claw above the buttons on what looked like a blank metal panel. Green light rippled outward, and the elevator rose. Higher than any other floor. Higher than the building actually reached into the sky. Then, with a ding, it stopped, doors parting to reveal a massive foyer.

  We were in a suite that took up roughly the same size as an entire floor of the hotel: huge, sweeping ceilings, polished marble floors coated in the thick, furry hides of animals that didn’t look even remotely familiar. The furniture was mostly oversized—a decorating standard when one dwelled with therians, especially ones like Richard. Most surprising of all, the scene was already bustling, and with familiar faces, at that.

  Albert and Neil were over near a buffet line that was piled high with shrimp, crab, and other things they weren’t hurriedly shoveling onto their plates. Al, Lillian, and June were sharing drinks by a roaring fireplace, while Lillian held the enchanted model of Charlotte Manor. Amy was standing over a punch bowl, staring like a master chef as she held two different-colored potions in her hand, adding them a drop at a time. Richard and Bubba sat on a vast couch, with Richard’s daughter Sally seated next to him, looking a tad drowsy. It was late into the evening, after all. Slowly drawing near midnight, in fact; the start of what was supposed to be my wedding day.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “Come on now, Freddy, even you can recognize the start of a party when you see one.” Krystal put a hand on my shoulder, leading me deeper in. “Though, I’m not sure what the occasion is anymore.”

  The voice came from behind us, despite the fact that there was no way he could have snuck around. “Kings do not need reason for revelry. But if you must know, Sally was promised a party, and it seemed you two would be unlikely to throw one any longer.”

  Gideon stepped forward into sight at last. I hadn’t really noticed day-to-day, but he looked older than when we’d first met—no surprise, since his form was made to match Sally’s growth. They were nearing their teenage years, a concept I didn’t even want to imagine when applied to an ancient dragon with Gideon’s power. There was something else in his expression that was unfamiliar, a trait I wasn’t sure I’d seen before. It wasn’t until he spoke again, with voice lowered this time, that I finally recognized the pity in his eyes. “For what it’s worth, I find such bureaucracy ridiculous. My condolences on your ceremony.”

  I was momentarily taken aback, as no part of me was expecting sympathy from Gideon. “Thank you. It’s deeply disappointing, obviously, but I’m trying to take a lon
ger term view of things. In a few years, when all the political stuff settles down, we can get it handled.”

  A snort that was a tad more dragon than human escaped Gideon’s lips as he shook his head. “Honestly, parahuman or true mortal, you all make the same mistake of thinking that time is some endless resource. I have lived for millennia, watching lives as long as my own and as fleeting as a mayfly, and each one seemed to believe it would go on forever. In comparison to this world, our time is incalculably brief, and of that limited slice, there will only be a small section in which we are truly happy. Do not take it for granted, do not let it be pried easily from your grasp, and never assume our time with anyone or anything is endless. A piece of wedding advice, for when you do decide to try.”

  Then he was gone, walking over to Sally, Richard, and Bubba. I turned, only to realize that Gregor and our escort gargoyle had both been bowing the entire time Gideon was present. Only when he’d moved on did they lift their heads, Gregor taking a position at my side while our escort went back to the elevator.

  As the group we’d arrived with broke up, I found myself shifted to the side of Asha, who carefully led me over to the bar. Krystal aimed for the buffet, and Arch all but ran toward the nearest balcony, cigarettes already in hand. (I was pretty sure none of the rooms of the Bristle Inn even had balconies, though neither was this the time to get bogged down in dragon magic.)

  “I don’t know if I said this or not, with everything that happened, but… thanks, Fred.” As Asha reached for the nearest bottle of scotch, no attention paid to the label, she kept talking. I had a feeling she needed to do it all in one go. “This night has been totally batshit, which I only realized after saying it is kind of a pun for us, and I think it’s going to take me weeks before I’ve fully processed everything. But I’m still here, alive in a sense, and that’s thanks to you. Wanted to make sure I told you I appreciate it, especially in light of what it cost you.”