Following Fabian

by Holley Trent

  He had something to fight for. All Fabian had was guilt.

  For a while, as the men had waited in quiet to move in, he’d thought he’d fight a little for Astrid, too, for dragging her into this mess with all the chaos already happening in her life, but then he saw her training her gun on that Visa. He remembered that she had been the one to rescue him from the camp and did it without moving a single one of her hairs out of place.

  She could take care of herself and probably always had.

  She didn’t need him.

  The guard sputtered, and then went limp at Fabian’s feet. He’d likely only be out for a while, but that was all they needed.

  He joined his brother as the other guard keeled over, covering his face with his hands pitifully.

  “I was just doing what I was told!” the guard said in the same broken Spanish he’d always spat at Fabian and Felipe.

  “Perhaps so,” Fabian said. Suddenly, he was so tired. It wasn’t just from the physical exertion, but everything. Life, maybe. Everything was too complicated. Everything always had been for them. It didn’t seem fair.

  “But, orders or not, you seemed to enjoy your job a bit too much for decency,” Fabian said.

  “A man’s got to get his pleasures where he can.”

  Felipe brought his elbow hard across the guard’s face with a crack that started a torrent of blood from the guard’s nose.

  He coughed and slumped. “Just tell me what you want to know, and I swear, I’ll tell you. Just let me go.”

  “Sure, right,” Fabian said, squatting in front of him. He propped the other man’s chin up and looked him in his soulless black eyes. “Let me ask you this, then, because I am curious. You and your family have been stuck in Jacques’s service for going on two generations now. Did it ever occur to you to try to spare other members of the company from the same sort of misery your fathers conscripted you into? Or does the idea of taking choices away from people who can’t fight back make your dick hard?”

  “Save the lecture for your own father. From what I hear, he’s no better than any other.”

  Fabian and Felipe shared a look. They didn’t have to be able to read each other’s minds like some of the Shrews to know what the other was thinking.

  “You let us worry about our father. You worry about yours,” Felipe said.

  Papá wasn’t off the hook. Not by a long shot. If they all got out of this unscathed, they’d be sitting down for a nice, loud chat. Castillo-style.

  “We’re not going to let you go. That’s out of the question, because the people aren’t going to be able to hold you, are they?” Fabian asked.

  The guard shrugged.

  There were few jails equipped to handle men who could shapeshift on will. The Bears in North Carolina had one, and at the rate the Shrews were going rounding up pendejos, they would likely have to expand it soon. There was probably no better force around to manage it, either.

  “But how comfortable you’ll be will depend on how cooperative you are. Would you be willing to stand as witness against Jacques in a human court?”

  The guard’s jaw twitched.

  “What’s the matter, you afraid he’ll be able to get to you from the inside?”

  “I’m not worried about him. I’m more concerned with all his men you aren’t going to round up today. You think this is it?” He pointed in the general direction of the campground and the park beyond it. “No, he’s got men waiting ahead in the next city. Always has.”

  “What kind of control do you think he’ll possibly have from behind bars?”

  “He’s got his brain, doesn’t he? His knowledge. According to the government, most of us don’t exist. Most of us were born on the road. No hospitals. The only papers we have are the ones we needed to get passports, and most of those were phony. If people take too close a look at them, what do you think will happen to us, huh? Where will they send us? To some detention center until they figure out our origins?” He scoffed. “No, thank you.”

  Fabian uncapped one of the syringes tucked into his coat pocket and jammed the needle into the man’s upper arm. “I hope it burns. I hope as your heart pushes this through your body that you’ll wonder what it is and if it’ll kill you.”

  The guard drew in a raspy breath and clutched his chest.

  Fabian gave him a placating pat. “Oh, it’s fine. It’s for your own good, yes? Isn’t that what you used to tell me?” He ran his hand across the other man’s eyes, closing them.

  The guard’s breathing came out in ragged jags as he fought the drug’s circulation.

  “What else did you always tell me when you were dragging me from one camp to the next?” Fabian tapped his chin contemplatively. “Oh, right. Right, I remember now. “You said it would be so much easier for me if I’d just go with the flow. Take what was owed to me.”

  He uncapped another needle and jammed the guard’s other arm. That dosage would probably put him down for a day if what the Shrews’ doc said held true. The best Doc could do was guess the amounts as she’d only examined two other Visas during her career.

  Hopefully, they wouldn’t run out of drugs before they got the camp cleaned up. The last thing they needed was for the guards on site to run and tell the enforcers on standby.

  He stood and clapped his hands clean on his jeans.

  A rumble shook the camper, followed by a rapid succession of gunshots and male shouting.

  The door burst open, and he prepared to phase to invisible, stopping when he sighted Marsh climbing up with gun leveled.

  The agent sighed upon seeing them. “Getting messy out there. These motherfuckers seem to come out of nowhere.”

  Felipe shook his head and skirted around the agent. “It’s an illusion. Hormonal thing, according to Mr. Tolvaj. Tricks your brain. There are less of them than you think, but still plenty enough. If you look at them through periphery instead of face-on, you can see exactly where they are.”

  Felipe phased, likely joining the fight outside, and Fabian took off after him. Felipe had always been the one to take the lead when they were performing. He set the pace, established their timing. It made sense that he be the first one out now, though Fabian would be lying if he said he didn’t envy his brother’s decisiveness. Maybe if he spent a few months with the Shrews, he’d be able to tell his head from his asshole, too.

  Shrews…

  He quickly phased to invisible to assess the scene while Marsh scuttled sideways toward a Bear-on-Visa scuffle. Fabian had to give it to him, the man learned fast. At least when it came to his job. Evidently, he hadn’t been such a quick study when he’d been with Astrid. If he had been, he wouldn’t have been so eager to change what she was.

  Where is she?

  Didn’t matter. She could take care of herself.

  He knew his role. He was supposed to be suppressing guards to cut off Jacques’s muscle—to make it more difficult to flee on his own—but concentrating on el negrero seemed to be an impossible endeavor when his perfect woman was out there somewhere, probably getting into a scuffle, and nowhere to be seen.

  “Fabian!” Felipe shouted from his place next to a facedown enforcer. “Ven.”

  Fabian phased back to flesh and bone and hurried toward him, palming two syringes as he ran.

  “How do you do this shit?” he asked as his brother immobilized the guard further and held his arm still for Fabian.

  “Do what?”

  “Do this work when your mind is on something else. Tell me you’re not thinking of Sarah right now.”

  “I’m always thinking of Sarah.” Felipe pulled the man’s other arm up. “They shot her, remember? Could have taken her and my child from me. Trust me, I never stop thinking about that.”

  Fabian landed the needle and tossed both syringes into the provided disposal bag.

  “You’re not going to be able to put what worries you to the side and forget while you fight,” Felipe said, already fading. “You learned to use it as a lens. It’ll focus your emo
tions into something that’ll help you. Think about that.” Then he was gone. Off to the next unassuming guard.

  A lens, Felipe had said.

  Fabian finally spotted Astrid with Dana and Patrick behind a trailer they believed belonged to the Were-cat Billy. Billy hadn’t shown his face during the entire throw-down, and no one had checked to see if he was still in there. He could have sneaked out, shifted, and ran at the first sign of trouble, and they would have been none the wiser. He’d been low priority and didn’t have a guard on him, but now that the fracas was winding down, it made sense that the Shrews try to get him.

  Astrid’s face was a serene mask as she reloaded her weapon, probably with silver bullets, just in case.

  Patrick had his shirt off as he scanned the commotion around them, probably ready to shift into his cat form at the least provocation. Revenge-minded or not, he wasn’t going to let anything get near Dana. Dana was his priority, and Fabian saw that again and again.

  It made sense. Dana was his future. All the other shit was the past. Unchangeable.

  He knew what mattered most.

  So did Fabian.

  Astrid nodded, and they scattered—the ladies to the door and Patrick to the emergency exit window on the other side. Unless Billy was climbing out of the roof, he wasn’t going to get away. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to fight to hold his ground. Men who thought they were out of options usually fought the dirtiest.

  Fabian used that lens his brother was talking about and made a quick decision.

  His future, not his past. He had to try for that future, even if he failed.

  Someone else could take care of Jacques. Someone who cared.

  He ran to the door to give the women some cover while they opened it, and Astrid gaped at him, as if surprised.

  He held out a hand, and she took it immediately, pushing back the glove to touch the skin of her wrist.

  Cold. He needed to warm her up.

  “One to open, one to enter, one to watch your backs. Okay?” he said in Spanish.

  She nodded. “Okay.”

  With a grunt, Dana peeled the door open as if the RV were a tin of beans and she was the best can opener on the market.

  Astrid ran immediately past her and up the short staircase, holding her gun out and shouting, “Put your hands where I can see them!”

  Dana followed her up, and called out, “All clear. They’re both down! Get Patrick in here.”

  Fabian didn’t need to be told twice. He eased around the RV and shepherded the angry Were-cat to the door.

  The encampment had gone a bit quieter in the past few minutes, and although there were plenty of scuffles ensuing—including one very big Bear knocking around a familiar guard for sport—most of the attention seemed to have shifted to the RV that Jacques was in.

  Of course he wasn’t going to go down without a fight. He was making it difficult for anyone to get too close by throwing what appeared to be smoke grenades out of the window. Others might have been surprised a circus owner would have such devices on hand, but Fabian had long since stopped being stunned by the man.

  An agent Fabian didn’t recognize ran up to the vehicle and tossed the smoking can away from the scene. Operatives decked out in black riot gear moved in closer, flanking the big tin can on all sides. Waiting.

  Jacques could toss out all the deterrents he wanted, but, really, he was already screwed. Papá was inside, and if he wanted to kill Jacques quick and easy, all he needed to do was put his hand through Jacques’s body and phase back to his solid form. Assuming Jacques truly had a heart, it wouldn’t survive the spearing.

  But, Papá awaited word, just like those agents.

  He awaited word that people who mattered were safe, and that what Jacques had built was well and truly on its way to crumbling.

  He’d want to make Jacques confess.

  And if he didn’t, well…

  Fabian was glad to not be Jacques.

  Fabian raised his hand in signal to Tamara, who nodded and blew what was probably an ear-piercing whistle to the folks in close range.

  Someone near the back trail let out an acknowledging hoot, and in a moment, Felipe appeared at Fabian’s side.

  “Ready?”

  Jacques tossed out another smoke grenade, but this time, no agent ran forward to retrieve it.

  Fabian looked back at the other RV and saw, through the windshield, Patrick arguing with an obese older man whom Astrid seemed to be straining to restrain.

  Billy.

  He had to be fighting back hard if Astrid was struggling. She’d managed to haul Fabian’s ass to safety, and didn’t doubt she could suppress Billy if she weren’t trying to be careful.

  Some people just needed hurting.

  Billy swiped a clawed paw and her, and she narrowly missed getting slashed.

  Yes, that fucker needs hurting. Fabian seethed. He should have never left her side. Maybe she could take care of herself, but why should she have to?

  He looked back to his brother, uncertainty gnawing at his gut.

  He didn’t want to cut and run, even if the idea of confronting Jacques made his blood run cold. He wanted to pitch in and do cleanup, and had he had been in an action-adventure movie at the moment, he’d spring to action.

  He’d dispatch Jacques with one quick blow.

  But, heroes in action-adventure movies didn’t tend to be triggered into catatonic uselessness upon entering the orbit of their foes.

  And heroes in action-adventure movies wouldn’t admit that they’d rather play second fiddle in the ordeal if it meant helping someone they loved do her job.

  Felipe squeezed his shoulder. “You don’t have to say anything,” he said as he started to fade. “You shouldn’t be here at all.”

  And he was gone.

  Fabian let out a breath, rubbed the heels of his palms against his eyes, and allowed himself to feel emasculated for all of five seconds.

  Then he squeezed his hands into fists, felt his gut fill with anger about something he actually gave a shit about, and headed toward the Were-cat’s RV.

  Times were changing. Felipe didn’t need him. He didn’t have to be Felipe’s partner anymore.

  Fabian had a new one.

  * * *

  Senior phased into his physical form with a great deal of effort.

  He held his translucent hands in front of his face and let out a shuddering breath as all his organs resumed their normal functions.

  He couldn’t keep doing this. He wasn’t supposed to keep doing this. This might be the last time.

  The last time he did anything.

  He nodded at the son who’d materialized beside him, and Felipe made quick work of subduing the guard covering the camper’s front window. A chokehold and quick stab with a syringe.

  The guard shouted out, and Jacques turned.

  “What is wrong with—” His cold eyes widened as he took in Senior.

  Senior could almost see the wheels turning in the other man’s head as he tried to make sense of who was standing before him.

  Not his Felipe. Not his Fabian.

  No. The one Jacques had been harming by proxy for around thirty years.

  Senior peeled his dry tongue off the roof of his mouth and licked his lips. “So, we meet again.”

  Jacques said nothing. His eyes flitted wildly as he looked around, and Senior noticed exactly when they landed on the gun on the banquette.

  Senior got there first and grabbed it, leveling it at his old rival.

  “I should kill you now,” he said with a nod. “Yes, I think you deserve it, I don’t think anyone would shed one tear at you being gone. And that’s such a sad thing, isn’t it? To die having built the kind of life where you’ve turned everything around you into poison. You know what happens when you poison the well? Huh?”

  Jacques didn’t respond, but Senior hadn’t expected him to.

  Senior set the gun on the floor and shook out his numb, flickering hands.

  Come o
n, not now.

  Felipe eased up behind him, and Senior put up a stilling hand. “No. I messed up. You let me fix it.”

  “Papá…”

  “Go find your brother.”

  “He’s with Astrid. He’s being taken care of.”

  Senior couldn’t help but to notice it wasn’t the other way around, and that saying that way was probably intentional on Felipe’s part. Maybe one day it’d be Fabian doing the caring-for, but right now, he needed minding. Senior hoped his son would be receptive of it. Castillos tended to get themselves in trouble for stubbornness. When they didn’t run, that is.

  Jacques slid his hand into his jacket, and Senior reached out and grabbed his wrist.

  He shook the knife out of the other man’s hand and clucked his tongue.

  “Stupid, aren’t you? Without all your guards and people around to fear you, you’re nothing. Just a fool who couldn’t hack it as a fortune-teller because he had more pride than empathy. You’re predictable.”

  “If I am so predictable, then you should know that walking into my domain and expecting to get close without harm coming to you is equally stupid. You think this is it?” Jacques waved a hand, and whether he was indicating the camper or the troupe or something more, Senior didn’t know.

  Didn’t really care, either.

  “You think I don’t have plans for every contingency? That you’ll be able to do away with me and not suffer for it?”

  “Skip the villain speech,” Felipe said with a groan. “I’ve heard enough of them in the past few decades.”

  “Well, well. Look who’s learned to speak English.”

  “No thanks to you.”

  “I do suppose any old dog that’s lying around will pick up a new trick every now and then whether he’s trying or not, though.” Jacques’s thin lips pulled into a sneer, and Senior’s numb fist hurtled toward Jacques’s face…and went right through it.

  Jacques jumped back defensively, and then barked with laughter upon realizing what had happened. “You always did have a good sense of humor, didn’t you Castillo? Oh, that is a good one. You’re a bit too tender for violence aren’t you? I believe Jacqueline suggested as much about you. That you were soft.”

  Senior grated his teeth. Maybe he had once had more pacifistic tendencies like Fabian seemed to. Funny how those wore off given suitable stimulus. “You let me worry about being soft. You worry about surviving the day.”