The Fangs of Freelance

by Drew Hayes

  “I know you’ve done a little work for the Agency already. The trip to the castle, and of course, all the digital tasks they’ve been sending your way to take care of remotely. This isn’t going to be like any of that, not even the castle. Where we’re going, there is serious danger. It’s a base used by active agents whose location is fairly well-known. They’re a boots-to-ground, first response team for their area. We don’t employ these very often, mind you, but sometimes a lot of chaos all gathers in one city, and having agents constantly around becomes a necessity. So I need you to understand that there is real danger in going to this place, and if I tell you do anything, you cooperate immediately. Before we move on, tell me you understand that.”

  “I understand perfectly,” I said. Arch didn’t look any more flustered or anxious than normal, which was about zero percent on any given day, but there was something heavy in his voice. This was serious, and he wanted to make sure I treated it that way.

  “Good.” Arch didn’t relax, exactly—he never seemed to relax as far as I knew—but his tone did get a touch lighter. “Right now, no one is expecting there to be any issues. They’ve just put away an alchemist who was peddling parahuman potions to humans, so there should be a little time before anyone fills that power vacuum. But, as you can imagine, just because things should be peaceful doesn’t mean they will be. Thankfully, you’ll be exposed to minimal danger. All you need to do is check the inventory of the base’s food, ammunition, fuel, and other basic supplies that have to be stocked in case of a siege. Compare it to what they were at last quarter’s inventory, figure out how regularly orders need to go through, work out a budget . . . I think you’ve got the point.”

  I had. It wasn’t a tough concept to understand in the first place. However, there was something odd about it. “Arch, I made this deal with the Agency, and I’ll honor it, but what you’re asking me to do doesn’t really demand an accountant. Anyone with the ability to do basic math and maybe build a spreadsheet could knock this out no problem. What’s going on? Is this some kind of power play to show me the kinds of places the Agency can send me if I start pushing back on assignments?”

  We had to pause our discussion as the engines flared to life, thundering in our ears as they strained to get us up from the ground and into the safety of the clouds. It dawned on me then that I still had no idea where we were even going, although that felt like the least of my problems in the moment.

  Finally, the engines died down to a steady roar, and Arch was able to reply. “Maybe. I don’t know for sure what’s going on. This stunk to me too, so I tried to shake out a little information before you arrived. All I was able to suss out is that the order to send you over didn’t come from Roderick. It was higher on the chain of command, high enough that no one was giving me a straight answer. That’s why I decided to tag along.”

  “Wait, you weren’t assigned to transport me?” I asked.

  “Fred, I know to you, it seems like I don’t do much when I’m at Charlotte Manor, but trust me when I say they don’t have agents like me spend time being flight-buddies with freelance assets. No, I decided that if they were sending you out like this, then you’d at least have the courtesy of a bodyguard. Technically, I’m doing a spot-visit on the base to see how the team is holding together, but I’m going to be at your side the whole time, just in case.”

  “Thank you for that, sincerely. I’m honestly amazed Krystal didn’t storm onto the flight as well.” When I’d kissed her goodbye, Krystal had looked like she was ready to pistol-whip the first person who looked at her sideways, but she’d let us leave. Evidently, even she had some orders she couldn’t refuse.

  Systematically, Arch pulled guns out from under his coat, checking the sights and clips in each one. “Oh, she would have if I didn’t, no matter what the brass up top said. But she doesn’t have the seniority I do. She can’t just start shoving her way onto missions whenever she feels like it. Not without cause, anyway. Besides, I have an in with this group. I used to be part of it.”

  “I thought you did training,” I recalled.

  “I do whatever I like in between times when they really need me,” Arch replied. “For a while now, it’s been teaching. Before Albert came along, I was helping to get this team up and running. They’re all good agents, mind you, but like most of our kind, they weren’t used to teamwork. I had to smooth out those wrinkles, although it didn’t take very long. By the time Albert needed help, they were already running like a well-oiled machine.”

  This time, I was the one who let the conversation lapse, and my reasons had nothing to do with the roar of the engines. Talk of Albert made me feel . . . actually, I wasn’t sure how to feel. The office wasn’t the same without him, and while we saw each other semi-often, it was almost always in passing. We both had jobs to do, and they demanded much of us. He looked happy, and I hoped he was. Part of me was afraid that the fleeting smiles I saw were an act, though. I’d pushed him into a new direction with his life, and in my heart, I was terrified by the idea that I’d steered him wrong.

  “How is Albert’s training going, anyway?” I tried to be nonchalant about it, but from the way Arch half-rolled his eyes, I didn’t think it was a successful attempt.

  “Good. He’s growing much faster now that we’ve got time to train properly.” Arch didn’t slow down his inspection of his guns as he spoke; if anything, he cleared through them faster.

  “And is he happy?”

  “Most days he is, although sometimes, he wishes he could go back to being an assistant.” If there was one thing I could count on Arch not to do, it was mince words. “He’s been handed a weapon of destiny, with all the duty and weight that entails. It’s a lot to bear, especially for a kid his age. Wanting to run from it is natural, so of course there are days when he feels like going backward. But in the end, this will be better for him. The thing about destiny is that it keeps on coming whether we like it or not. Thanks to you, when his arrives, he’ll at least be prepared to face it.”

  I nodded, looking away from the guns and out the window to the night sky. “As long as he’s happy.”

  “He will be, and he won’t be. Nobody gets a fully happy life all the time, and if you’re trying to lead your friends to one, then prepare for a lot of disappointment. Just listen to what they want, and try to remind them of that when they hit a crossroads. Good leaders point you toward the right path; they don’t drag you down it. Because if they did, it wouldn’t be your choice anymore, and that’s not leadership. It’s tyranny.” Arch finished cycling through his weapons and put the last one away, tucking it seamlessly under his jacket, where it became impossible to spot. “If we’re done talking about Albert, do you have anything else you want to know while we’ve got the downtime to talk?”

  “Where we are going seems prudent,” I said. “And how long will we be there? I do have other clients and appointments, you know.”

  “They checked with Lillian to make sure you were clear for three days, so I doubt it will be any longer than that. Like you said, it’s not a hard job, especially for someone as experienced as you. As for where, have you ever heard of Northview, Maine?”

  I shook my head, since it didn’t ring so much as a single bell.

  “Yeah, didn’t think you would have. Used to be a midsized town until they created a big incentive program to get businesses to build their headquarters within city limits. Tax breaks, cheap land, the works. It was effective. Lots of companies moved or started there, which brought jobs, money, people, and of course, parahumans. It’s a new slice of metropolis, and every parahuman is scrambling to make sure they end up on top of the heap,” Arch told me. “The agents’ job is to ensure they do so within the confines of the treaties and don’t get humans caught up in the turf-war.”

  The plane shook as we hit a patch of turbulence, and I buckled my seatbelt. “Sounds tough.”

  “It’s the job agents sign up for.” I noticed Arch didn’t bother fastening his safe
ty belt as he spoke. “But you didn’t, so I’m going to do my best to make sure you don’t get caught up in anything besides inventory. Remember: keep your head down, stay in the base, and do what I say at all times. Stick with that, and we should be fine.”

  I wasn’t sure if Arch was genuinely optimistic or lying to keep me calm, and he was too inscrutable to figure out which it was. Instead, I turned my head back to the window and looked up at the stars. Something told me this was going to be the last bit of peace I might get for a few days, so I’d better savor it while I could.

  2.

  When Arch had described the place we were heading as a “base,” I’d immediately pictured something heavily fortified, set well away from the general public, with spotlights and big chain-link metal fences around the perimeter. The failing there was on me, because in my curiosity, I’d allowed my imagination to run wild, forgetting the very real obligation agents had to get their work done while blending in with the rest of the human world. So of course their base wouldn’t stand out so overtly. Still, I felt like it was something of a stretch to call the rustic brown townhome near the center of a newly built downtown a “base.” The gate around the yard didn’t even come up past my waist, for goodness’ sake.

  I was suitably more impressed a few seconds later, as we crossed onto the property and I felt the ethereal tickle of passing over a ward. I hadn’t been through many at that point in my life, but it wasn’t a sensation that was easy to forget. Almost like fingers running gently down your bones. We made it to the front door without issue, and Arch rang the bell. Loud footsteps raced from behind the door, followed quickly by the sound of something metal and heavy being moved. It took a few seconds—a few seconds where I felt oddly exposed given how suburban and pleasant my location seemed—before the door was flung open to reveal a large man with shaggy brown hair in a leather jacket.

  Now, let me pause here, because I recognize that the word “large” has a somewhat shifting meaning in my social circles. This fellow was large by human standards, standing well past six feet tall, with broad shoulders and a muscular frame. It was adequate bulk to be intimidating, even if he would have paled in comparison to someone like Richard. Still, he was big enough that Arch seemed to disappear in the giant, wide-armed hug the man wrapped the smaller agent up in.

  “We just got word that you were coming!” The larger man was squeezing so hard I wondered if Arch would pop, or simply start shooting. I couldn’t remember anyone hugging Arch before, or at least not so freely as this. To my surprise, Arch didn’t fight back or object, he just let the hug run its course until he was set back down on his feet once more. Only then did the man in leather turn to me and extend a friendly hand. “You must be Mr. Fletcher. I’m Agent Persimmons, but everyone just calls me Wallace.”

  I shook his hand, noting that the grip was firm, yet never veered into anything aggressive. “A pleasure to meet you, Wallace. Please, call me Fred. I’ve never been one to stand on formality, especially with friends of friends.”

  “Oh, someone else willing to call this old curmudgeon a friend. Arch, you must be getting soft.” Wallace motioned for us to step inside, which we did as he shut the door behind us. As it turned out, the innocuous townhome had metal walls all throughout the interior, with arcane symbols painted around every window and door in sight. Wallace had to shift several heavy bars back in place to fortify the front door, making it even harder to get through. This sort of set-up was probably a serious fire hazard in terms of easy exits, but it did make me feel less nervous about where I’d be spending my next few days.

  Arch and I followed Wallace down the hallway as he spoke, visibly excited about the visit. “Harris is putting together a meal that should be done pretty soon, Paula and I were cleaning out your old room, and Marj is prepping a cot and cell for Fred. Sorry about that, by the way, but the cells are the only spare space we’ve got to put guests.”

  “Fred can have my old room. I’ve slept on plenty a prison cot in my day,” Arch offered.

  “A cot is fine. I plan to spend most of my time working, anyway,” I replied. In a way, this was better. No comfort meant no distractions, which meant I could get the job done all the faster and we could go home. Amiable as Wallace was, I still had no desire to stay here any longer than needed.

  We turned a corner, of which there were an odd amount in these halls, and nearly ran smack into another vampire. Unlike Wallace, she wasn’t wearing anything leather and had normal human proportions. Dark pants, a gray shirt, and a pair of guns on her waist, she looked professional and collected. Our eyes locked, studying each other, until she smiled with more sincerity than I’d been expecting. No fangs in the grin either, which was a nice change of pace for new vampire meetings.

  “Paula, this is the accountant that goes by Fred,” Wallace said, making quick introductions. “He’s the one the Agency sent for inventory.”

  “I read the memo, but I didn’t believe it. So, you’re the vampire who’s been working as a freelance accountant, huh?” Her voice was gentle, yet I had no trouble making out her words. After the overt evil of Quinn, Petre’s visible disdain, and Lillian’s bombastic nature, it felt odd to meet a vampire that was so composed.

  “I am indeed. Fredrick Frankford Fletcher; though, as Wallace said, please just call me Fred.”

  “And I’m Paula. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” She walked past me, to Arch, though she didn’t wrap him in a hug like Wallace did. Instead, they just shook hands briefly before she smiled again. “Will you have time to face me while you’re here? My accuracy has improved quite a bit since our last duel.”

  Arch didn’t answer right away, which was unusual for him, but eventually he tipped his head forward in agreement. “As long as we hit the shooting range when Fred is working nearby, I don’t think that will be any sort of conflict.”

  Paula smiled again, then continued down the hallway in the opposite direction. Quiet and to the point, now there was something I hadn’t seen a lot of among parahumans. We kept walking, stepping into a kitchen where a man who looked like he was in his early twenties was racing about, various foods flying around him.

  That’s not hyperbolic language, by the way. Eggs, celery, carrots, and a whole chicken were wobbling through the air as this man ran between the stove, oven, and several mixing bowls on the counter. Occasionally, he’d reach up and snatch an ingredient from mid-air, tossing it into a bowl almost haphazardly before turning his attention elsewhere. Wallace tried coughing loudly several times to get his attention, but eventually, he gave up and spat out the cook’s name. “Harris!”

  “Huh? What? Ten more minutes!” Harris whirled around on us, a streak of flour on his cheek that I couldn’t imagine he’d gotten through normal means. “Oh shit. Arch is here already?”

  “I told you he was here when I ran past to get the door,” Wallace said. There was exasperation in his voice, but the sort that was resolved to knowing that no amount of frustration would change the situation. This was clearly Harris at his usual, and as a teammate, Wallace had made peace with that a long time ago. “And the vampire next to him is Fred. He’s going to be doing inventory for the next few days, so try not to do any big runs on the food supply until he finishes.”

  “What, you want me to cook for our guests with what’s in the fridge? You ask me to shame my pride as a chef.” Harris defiantly put his hands on his hips and stared Wallace down. Before either of them could dig in for a long fight, Arch stepped forward and broke the tension.

  “So, it’s a chef these days, huh?” Arch turned to me, something almost like a smile on his face. “When I left, Harris was training to be a top-tier mixologist, and before that, I believe it was a sculptor, and before that—”

  “I will not apologize for searching tirelessly to find my true calling,” Harris snapped. His expression turned sheepish when he realized who he’d been short with, and the next time he spoke, it was with a more subdued tone. “Sorry, I get a litt
le testy when I’m mid-recipe. You all head on down, I’ll call you when the food is ready and I can have a more even-tempered conversation.”

  Wallace took the cue, leading us past Harris and the floating food to a set of stone steps leading downward, ones I was positive hadn’t been part of the home’s initial construction. Once we were on the stairway, Arch leaned into me and whispered, “Harris is a great caster, a prodigy with the makings of an eventual archmage. But he says too much magic on the brain can make your mind stagnant, so he’s always trying to master new hobbies as distractions. It’s a pain, but it does seem to make him better at magic, so we all learned to put up with it.”

  It hadn’t escaped my notice that we were barely through the door and Arch was already lumping himself in with the rest of the group. I wondered how long he’d spent working with them, and why he’d been so ready to leave a place he clearly felt at home. Was Albert really important enough to have left somewhere like this behind?

  The stairs went on for a while, as we passed several floors and still kept descending. When we finally stopped, it was because the stairs had as well. They went down no further than the floor we were on. Stone was all around us—I was certain that this area definitely wasn’t on any permits at city hall—and more arcane symbols dotted the walls at regular intervals. Wallace took us down a short hallway to a large open area with several doorways.

  “To the left is our makeshift jail. It isn’t very nice, but we’ve got one cell without silver bars at least, so that’s where you’ll be staying, Fred. Up ahead are the training rooms, and one of our ammo storage areas. It seemed like a bad idea to store all the guns and ammo in one place, especially near the jail, so there’s a few rooms through the house you’ll need to visit to do a full inventory. On the right, however, is pretty much all of our goods that aren’t dangerous. Food, toiletries, water, flea shampoo, all the essentials.”