The Fangs of Freelance

by Drew Hayes

  “That’s what everyone I talked to about you said, which is why I decided to have this meeting and see for myself,” Cyndi replied. “But let’s save the nitty-gritty for after breakfast. My family had a rule that I’ve kept with me through the years: no politics, religion, or business during meal times. We’re going to talk, at length, Fred. Just not until after breakfast.”

  I contemplated pushing the matter, but Amy shook her head as my mouth opened. Evidently, this wasn’t a trick or a test, which meant my only polite recourse was to respect the rules of her dinner table while I was a guest in her home. It was nerve-racking, yet also a bit reassuring. After the nightmare of dealing with Petre and the Turva clan, a simple request for peace over a meal felt strangely grounded.

  Teleportation and eggs. If the level of weirdness stayed this high, I might just be able to hold my own until the end.

  3.

  The eggs were quite good, which was surprising. Not because I’d assumed a high-ranking mage would be unable to cook, but because I never actually saw Cyndi do anything more than dump the eggs into a pan and heat them up while we made small talk. I’ll admit, I’m not a veteran chef; however, even I know the importance of things like salt and pepper in basic dishes. Yet, when they arrived on a plate in front of me, the eggs were seasoned with shredded cheese and diced chives atop them. As far as magic went, I doubt it ranked higher than a parlor trick, but I was still a bit impressed as I went to work on breakfast.

  Amy, on the other hand, may not have even tasted her food. She blazed through it, stuffing the eggs down as quickly as Cyndi could fill her plate. Granted, Amy had always been one with a prodigious appetite, but there was something different about this. It was like she was stress-eating, trying to hide her nerves in her plate. That was both interesting and worrisome; Amy was never the type to get anxious. Even when we’d been stuck in a room with therian lackeys pounding on the door, trying to find a way to free Gideon from a magical prison, Amy had kept her cool. But this cheerful woman with dated fashion had put her on edge, and I trusted Amy’s judgment enough to take note of that. Nice as Cyndi was acting, that didn’t change the fact that this was a formal visit, not a social one.

  At last the final helping of eggs was consumed, Cyndi managing to put away nearly as many helpings as Amy. Part of me wondered if something about using magic sped up one’s metabolism, but there wasn’t time to ask before Cyndi dropped her plate into the sink. I winced, waiting for the smash or clatter, yet there was only silence.

  “Don’t worry, Fred,” Cyndi assured me, clearly taking note of my reaction. “The plates can’t be broken. They were only partially real to begin with. Once their purpose was served, they fell all the way back to not existing.”

  I glanced at Amy, wondering if there was clarification on the way, but in response, she simply hurled her own plate over her shoulder. Quick as I spun to watch it fall, the plate vanished in the fraction of a moment it left my sight, or perhaps it ceased to exist altogether. Taking a moment, I steadied myself, keeping in mind that there would be many things I didn’t understand when dealing with mages. What mattered wasn’t knowing how these things worked, I had merely to accept that they did and work within that reality. It was the only way I’d make it through this without getting hopelessly sidetracked.

  “Thank you for the lovely meal.” I scooped up my own plate and set it carefully into the sink, purposefully not looking to see whether it was still there or not once I let go. “It’s been some time since I did breakfast late at night, which is what time my internal clock believes it to be. Speaking of, Cyndi, do you mind if I ask where we are? Given the change from night to day, I can only imagine we crossed quite a distance.”

  “It’s a fair question, but not one you’ll be getting an answer to.” Somehow, Cyndi managed to still sound cheerful even as she turned me down. “The politics of magic are not always above board, so I make it a point not to let the location of my homes or myself at any given time become widely known. As for the sunshine, don’t overthink it too much.” Looking around as though there might be people listening, she waved me in close, and then whispered loudly in my ear. “It’s imported.”

  It was right about here that I began to consider the possibility that Cyndi was less eccentric than she seemed and might be outright messing with me for her amusement. Whether that was the case or not, I was still a guest in her home, so I held my tongue and looked perplexed, which wasn’t a very hard look to pull off given how I felt. “What mages can do truly seems to be astounding. Now that breakfast is done, however, may I ask if it’s proper to begin our official discussions?”

  “Asking permission to start . . . you might be the most polite vampire I’ve ever met, Fred.” Grabbing a towel, Cyndi cleaned off her hands and motioned to the living room, where a pair of large, overstuffed golden couches were waiting. I’ll give Cyndi this: the woman picked a signature color and stuck with it. We made our way over, Amy and I taking one couch, and Cyndi sitting on the other.

  There was a lot of silence as we sat there, until Cyndi snapped her fingers once. I blinked in surprise, and when my eyes opened, there were three champagne flutes filled with bubbling orange liquid on the coffee table between us. “Can’t very well do brunch business without mimosas,” Cyndi said, reaching out and taking one. I mirrored her, though I made no motion to actually drink from the glass. Alcohol might not mean much to an undead constitution; however, I’d been around Amy long enough to know there were plenty of other chemicals that could rob me of my wits. She seemed to be thinking similarly, as Amy sprinkled a bit of purple powder over her own drink before gulping it down.

  “Let’s get down to business, as you’ve requested.” If Cyndi was bothered by me not drinking, she hid it well, taking a long drink from her own glass without so much as a waver in her smile. “Fred, you may not realize this, but Amy is a very special alchemist. Her natural talent is incredible, her magical capacity means that one day she could be an archmage, and she’s received personal lessons from the King of the West. I know we mages are mere humans with cheap tricks to you real supernatural creatures, but you’ll find—”

  “I beg your pardon?” The words slipped out, and if I could have blushed, I would have. Interrupting someone during such a formal occasion was the height of rudeness, and I knew far better than to let such a failing of the tongue occur. “I’m so sorry, that came out in surprise. I didn’t mean to interrupt. Please, continue.”

  “No, let’s halt here for a moment. What did I say that took you off guard?” She leaned in, just a little, and I caught a hungry glint in her eye, not unlike how she’d stared down at the eggs.

  “It’s just . . . your comment about me thinking less of mages. I was surprised to hear such an expectation. The things you all can do . . . I feel like I’ve barely scratched the surface, and it’s mind-blowing. Do the other parahumans really look down on you?”

  Cyndi took a long draw of her mimosa and turned her eyes to Amy. “He sounds curiously sincere.”

  The champagne flute in Amy’s hand was turned up, bottom in the air as she finished draining it. I also noted that her glowing hair had shifted color to a lavender shade, one that seemed to be actively moving around as I looked at it. “Fred is a bit of an odd one. Abandoned vampire, so the old prejudices weren’t bred into him.”

  “I see. That would account for much.” Cyndi turned back to me, still grinning. “To answer your question, Fred, mages are rarely granted the same respect as other parahumans, until they need something from us. Because our skills can be learned, theoretically every human could be a mage, which they believe cheapens what we do. Never mind the fact that anyone can also paint, yet only a few will be true masters of the craft, while many will merely push colors around a canvas. The mere fact that our skills are teachable is a strike against us. Again, until they need something.”

  “For what it’s worth, I know Amy is special, even among people who wield magic, and I value her highly. A
s a friend, and as an alchemist.” In truth, the former was the only real part I’d ever looked for in Amy. While her skill with potions and the like had helped our friends many a time, I’d never needed much from her in the way of magic.

  That seemed to please Cyndi. She settled deeper into her couch, pushing herself back against the cushions. “Well, this meeting is going better than I’d dared to hope. Very well, Fred. You seem like a genuine fellow. Plus, you didn’t trip any of the wards I set up to detect dishonesty, and Amy isn’t flashing any of the secret signals to indicate that she needs help, so it appears to me that there’s nothing unsavory afoot here. A mage belonging to a vampire’s clan is unorthodox and strange, but as a whole, we mages tend to be less hung up on tradition than some of the older parahumans. If she’s happy being with you, and you’re happy having her, then I don’t see why you’d need me to intervene.”

  I started to relax, right up until I felt something land on my lap. Glancing down, I found myself staring at a stack of white papers, all neatly typed-out. “What’s this?”

  “Just crossing the Ts and dotting the Is,” Cyndi said. She swirled her glass in her hand, and it refilled with mimosa before my eyes. “Since Amy is part of your clan, you could technically use that position to try and force her out of various contracts, or into renegotiations for deals long settled. That contract is you waiving the right to cause such mischief. You don’t seem the type to start trouble, but the higher-ups will only be at peace once you show them that by signing.”

  I picked up the contract, eyeing Amy carefully as I did. She still looked nervous, but not outright bothered. If she was worried about something, this contract probably wasn’t it. Still, I’d spent far too long in the business sector to sign anything without reading it carefully. Taking a cursory flip through the pages, I noticed that I wouldn’t be signing away any more rights than what Cyndi had indicated, but there were a lot of those rights I’d be giving up. Just how much power did a leader have over his clan?

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to read this thoroughly,” I said.

  “Of course,” Cyndi replied. “I’d expect nothing less. I’ve got an office you can use; please look over it until you are absolutely satisfied.”

  “Great.” I took the pages and stood, putting my mimosa back on the coffee table, untouched. “While I’m at it, would you mind if I looked at copies of all the contracts Amy is currently beholden to? Wouldn’t be very smart of me to sign away these rights without knowing if she might need some renegotiation help.”

  “Certainly. They’ll be in the office when you arrive.” Despite the agreeable words, I noticed that Cyndi’s smile dipped, just for a moment, at my request. It was too late to retract it though, and even if I could, it wouldn’t have been a wise move. There was something in those contracts that the mages didn’t want me to see, which meant I needed to hunt it down. Knowledge was always useful after all, especially when they might have a grip on one of my good friends.

  4.

  Mage contracts, as I learned that day, were extremely arcane. I realize that sounds like I’m trying be cute and make something of a pun, so let me pause to assure you that I mean the word exactly as it was intended: these contracts used outdated terms and language that was highly difficult for anyone not exceptionally well-versed in business matters. While my own contract was simple and straightforward, the ones that Amy had signed were a whole other level of complexity. I spent several hours looking through them, using my laptop to cross-check digital books on parahuman law, and by the end, I had reached an undeniable conclusion: Amy was getting screwed.

  Her business, which had originally been funded by more established mages who covered the start-up costs, was paying back huge percentages every month for interest rates that ballooned and escalated seemingly almost at random. Whoever had built these trappings was a fiscal wizard; they’d set Amy up so that no matter how her business grew, it was virtually impossible for her to get out of the initially incurred debt, in spite of the fact that she’d now paid off the amount by nearly ten times over. It was no wonder they didn’t want anyone having the power the force a renegotiation for any of Amy’s contracts. Cyndi could have probably paid for this beach house and all the “imported” sunshine off Amy’s previous year’s payments alone. Did she have any idea how badly she was getting screwed, or was she, like so many parahumans before her, just cutting a check every month without really questioning where it all went? It was the biggest failing I’d found in the supernatural world: no one bothered to understand the ins and outs of their financial burdens the way they should have. Someone really needed to start an education outreach program, or something along those lines.

  For now, however, I had my plate full with Amy’s situation. My first impulse was to kick down the door, stride into the living room, and boldly declare that we would be voiding everything she signed and the mages could go to hell if they didn’t like it. I quickly tossed that idea aside for several reasons, firstly being that I didn’t know if I actually had the authority to do that, and secondly because I’d never really been the type for striding or bold declarations. While the second issue wasn’t going away anytime soon, I did have the power to change the first problem. Cyndi had, mercifully, left the wi-fi password along with my stack of contracts in the office—a room that was mostly tasteful, aside from the framed album covers of eighties bands—so I composed an email to the only lawyer who dealt with parahumans that I knew and trusted: Asha Patel. Finances I could handle, but for this, I was going to require a precise understanding of the laws applying to me, Amy, and Cyndi, so it was time to consult an expert. Hopefully by now, it was approaching morning in Colorado, so she’d see the email and get back to me. I’d have texted as well, just to cover my bases, but there was zero reception inside Cyndi’s beach house. Given her concerns over privacy, it was hard to begrudge her that, though it did make my task more difficult.

  That done, I shut my laptop and headed back to the living room, where I found Amy still seated on the couch. She’d pulled a book from her bag, some weighty tome with a language I didn’t speak, and was deep in its thrall when I entered. At least, I thought she was until she spoke, eyes never leaving the page. “You finish signing yet? I’d rather not stay here any longer than we have to.”

  I looked around, scanning for Cyndi’s bubbly presence, but her braid and denim were nowhere to be seen. “Where’s our host?”

  “Went to check on some experiments and take a dip on the beach,” Amy replied. “She tried to make small talk after you left, but eventually she got the hint that I wasn’t interested.”

  “Why not?” I sat down on the couch opposite Amy, where Cyndi had been before. “Granted, the fashion is a bit odd, but she seems nice enough.”

  “Cyndi’s fine for what she is; I just don’t enjoy associating with anyone like her.” Amy let out a long sigh, closing the book and dropping it into her bag. “It’s hard to explain what magic is to someone who has never held it or molded it, but trust me when I say that it’s incredible. The feeling . . . try to imagine holding the power of creation between your palms, shaping reality with your will, altering the very composition of existence, even on a small scale. Every mage who has reached journeyman-level has felt that experience, but instead of chasing after it, some of them do what Cyndi did. They have the world’s greatest miracle in their grasp, and rather than devoting themselves to studying and understanding it, they get caught up in the politics of deciding who should wield what. She could be an archmage by now, if she hadn’t decided to become a politician.”

  I’d heard magic referred to as an art before—even Cyndi had compared them to painters just a few hours ago—but it wasn’t until that moment that I truly understood that Amy saw herself as an artist as well as a scientist. It certainly explained some of her more reckless, impulsive behaviors through the years. She was swept up in her craft, taking bold risks and experimenting on herself to achieve that fleeting sense of perfection.
But it also meant that I needed to rethink my plan for her contracts. Bad deals though they were, I wasn’t the one bound to them. Being a leader didn’t mean deciding what was right for the people trusting me, it meant finding out what they wanted, and then fighting for that.

  “If you’d like me to, I’ll sign the contracts right now and we can leave,” I offered. “However, I feel you should know that the deals you’re already in are terrible. They’re gutting your finances deeply, and if we can push the terms even a little bit, we could drastically change how much income you’re keeping. That’s only if you want to, though. If you’re happy with things as they are, then that’s all I need to hear. And if you’re not, then I’ll use every ounce of leverage my position offers to get you into better deals.”

  “Fucking money. It always comes back to that, doesn’t it? You know, when I first found magic, when I first discovered how much more there was to the world than what I’d been led to believe, I thought this kind of shit was behind me. Who would spend a lifetime chasing the almighty dollar when there was fucking magic in the world, right?” Amy reached into her bag and pulled out a bottle that had once been full of water, but was currently holding something that looked like blue lava. She sipped it slowly, the veins under her skin glowing visibly once she did. “Turns out, even the power to reshape the world around us has a dollar value tacked on. What am I going to do if I get more of it? I like my house, and my lab. I make enough to do my research, and I never miss rent. I just can’t see how it’s worth the fight.”

  “For you, it’s probably not,” I said. And that was true. While they were gouging Amy left and right, she was a highly valued alchemist with a robust list of clients, including the King of the West. She made enough to be fine. “But it is worth noting that nothing about that contract seemed tailored to you, Amy. Most of it looked like boilerplate. I think they’ve used those terms to get a lot of new mages under their thumbs, people who didn’t know any better or couldn’t imagine they’d need to get a contract vetted after just discovering magic. If you had more of your own income, you could afford to invest in new mages yourself, offering them much more fair conditions than what they’d otherwise see.”