The Utterly Uninteresting and Unadventurous Tales of Fred, the Vampire Accountant

by Drew Hayes

  “Not all of us,” Bubba said, jerking me back to reality. “Most vampires are assholes, admittedly, but everyone in this room knows you aren’t like them.”

  “This is crazy,” I said, walking over to the couch and sitting down. “You’re telling me that these people who took Krystal could be capable of anything. Shape changing, flight, magic—”

  “Not magic.” Amy was quick to correct me. “Only living creatures can access the mana that flows through the world. Drinking the blood of a mage will give them some resistance to magic, especially from the caster they drank from, but no vampire can actually weave magic.”

  “Well, that’s something I guess.”

  “It doesn’t matter. We can’t let you go in after her anyway,” Bubba said. “It’s obviously a trap.”

  “Why trap me? They already had me dead to rights before you got here. Beauregard was so fast he could have gotten my head before I even saw him coming.”

  “Wrong kind of trap,” Neil said, partly closing his tome, but marking the spot with his finger as an impromptu bookmark. “The guy already told you—he doesn’t want you dead. He wants you deadly. The goal is to turn you into another pawn like his guy who drinks therians, or maybe make you crazy and unleash you on the city. Either way, I’m sure that whatever is waiting for you at that church is designed to turn you into a monster.”

  “I think Quinn already accomplished that a year and a half ago,” I said.

  “No he didn’t.” This came from Albert, who managed to uncurl himself and put a reassuring hand on my foot. “Don’t say that kind of thing. You gave me a home and a job when I would have been put back to death without them. You risked your freedom to save Bubba and Krystal in Las Vegas. You even helped us find Neil’s mentor even after he once tried to kill you. You’re a good man who happens to be a vampire. We aren’t human, but that doesn’t make us monsters.”

  From the mouths of babes. Or, in this case, zombie assistants.

  “Thank you, Albert. That was very kind of you.” He returned my praise with a lopsided smile, then scuttled back to the center of the room. I looked back over to Bubba and Amy. “So, what do we do?”

  “We call The Agency,” Bubba said immediately. “I’m not sure what kind of idiot tries to kidnap one of their people, but I know I’ve seen powerful beings turn white as a pale moon at the thought of bringin’ down The Agency’s fury.”

  “They haven’t kept the treaties enforced for over two centuries without having a fair bit of power to swing around,” Amy said. “I’ve heard rumors that if things get bad enough, they even have the right to call on Gideon for assistance.”

  I swallowed reflexively. Gideon was The King of the West, a full-blooded dragon who was several millennia old. I’d only met him once, and he’d been shifted into the form of a small child. He still scared me so bad I’d gone catatonic.

  “There is one flaw in that plan,” Amy continued. “As it stands, an Agency task force might, and I do stress might, be able to be rallied in the span of the next hour and make it here in time. While they would doubtlessly bring enough force to take care of two vampires, we must also face the bitter truth that Quinn has shown all the signs of a man who would kill Krystal as soon as he realized we’d decided not to play his game.”

  “That’s suicide,” Bubba whispered.

  “Undoubtedly. Yet we have to assume anyone willing to kidnap an Agent is already either too delusional to see the danger or so far gone into madness that they no longer care.” Amy touched the side of her head and winced. She reached into one of the countless pockets on her dress and pulled out a small vial that seemed to swirl with green light. A quick motion upended the bottle into her mouth, and a look of tranquility immediately began replacing her pain.

  “I agree with Amy,” Neil said. “That’s why I’ve been digging through my books. I knew I’d read a spell for something like this. I just had to find it.” He reopened the book that he’d had partly closed. I realized it was the one I’d seen him with at the LARP, the inherited tome that taught him his first bit of necromancy.

  “The simplest solution is just to make him think he got what he wanted. Let’s make Fred a monster.”

  3.

  Author’s Note: Since I was not present for the duration of the kidnapping after Krystal was taken from my apartment, she has requested to tell this part of the story in her words, rather than have it relayed.

  In a world full of vampires, werewolves, fey, dragons, and all the countless other subvarieties of parahumans we’ve classified so far, I tend to stand out as an easy target. Bad guys take one look around a room and decide the blonde gal with the nice cans and the lack of any markings of a supernatural heritage is the easiest prey there. Some of these bastards are hundreds of years old, yet they still haven’t learned the lesson of not judging a book by its cover. Well, until they meet me, that is. My point is that while I was very inconvenienced by being kidnapped from my boyfriend’s apartment, it was hardly my first abductee rodeo.

  “Could you put on some music or something?” I was currently chained to an altar in the rear of a formerly abandoned church. Quinn had done a nice job setting the ambiance. Then again, the crazy ones always do have a flair for getting the décor right. All the symbols of Christianity had been wrecked or torn, what looked suspiciously like blood was splattered in key places along the walls, and hanging in the front of the church were the corpses of two sizable men, both clearly supernatural given the spots of fur and animal features interspersed across their bodies. Oh, and there were ghouls scattered about, hissing and snapping as they awaited a command.

  Ghouls can be split up into two categories, lesser ghouls and greater ghouls, or Ghoul Lords. The first kind are mindless, ravenous, flesh-devouring machines. They have no sense of who they were in life. All they know is an endless, unabating hunger. Somewhere along the line, people mixed up the mythology of ghouls and zombies. Zombies are like Albert, corpses reanimated for service. It’s the ghoul apocalypse people are actually stockpiling for and writing endless fiction about, though a lesser ghoul won’t turn a human with its bite. The only ways to make lesser ghouls are with necromancy or from the bite of a Ghoul Lord.

  Those guys are far more dangerous, able to command any lesser ghouls they create and still in possession of their full mental faculties. If not for a vampire’s ability to steal powers, Ghoul Lords would likely be near the top of the undead power structure.

  Anyway, while the ghouls milling about weren’t attacking anything, the sound of their clacking jaws was still annoying as hell, hence my request for music. Plus, I was bored. So sue me.

  “Such a brave damsel,” Quinn said, perched a few feet away on a decaying pulpit. I’ll give him this—the man picked a theme and stuck with it. “There’s no need for such demonstrations of bravery. It will not change your fate.”

  “Uh huh. That’s great and all, but I was serious. You guys have obviously been holed up here a while. You’ve got to have a television or something. I’ll take a boombox. The clacking is starting to give me a headache.”

  Quinn threw back his head and laughed, a rich and elegant tone that had clearly been worked on until it was perfect. Great, this was a motherfucker who actually practiced his evil laugh.

  “I do love the bravado you Agents show in the face of certain death,” he said, I think intending it as a compliment. “Sadly, we have no such entertainment devices. Our kind is beyond the need for such petty distractions.”

  “Buddy, there’s an all-vampire group in my department that goes and sings karaoke every Wednesday night. They also took three days off when the last Call of Duty game came out. I happen to know for a fact that Freddy still has an active World of Warcraft account and a giant movie collection. Save the Anne Rice shtick for someone who doesn’t work with, and freaking date, your kind.”

  Quinn had me by the throat in less than a second. Whatever he’d been drinking imparted a lot of speed. His face had contorted into a wild snarl, fangs
bared as room-temperature breath swept over me. I could feel the tension in his fingers, the concentrated effort not to crush my throat. He had so much strength it was hard not to, especially because it was obvious how much he would enjoy it. A smart hostage would start playing nice very quickly.

  “Well, I know you haven’t been drinking the blood of a mouthwash monster, that’s for damn sure.”

  A bulge of the eyes, a tremor of the fingers, and then I was hurled back to the ground. Damn.

  “Nice try, but I’m afraid I won’t be giving in that easy,” Quinn said, walking back to his pulpit. “If you were dead when Fred arrived, he might feel compelled to turn tail and flee. I’ve no intention of letting him go that easily.”

  “Right, you think you can turn Freddy into a blood-thirsty monster. Someone didn’t get quite enough oxygen to the brain when they changed, did they?”

  “Oh, I’ve come to terms with the fact that I misjudged your boyfriend when I turned him. I’d assumed his spineless nature was a result of his physical frailty, and that a bit of power would allow years of anger and repression to take hold. Imagine my surprise when I came back to discover the man I’d turned really was just a fearful, weak-willed coward. So much so that even with the powers of a vampire, he still shrinks back from confrontation and challenge.”

  “You’re wrong. Freddy isn’t bold. I’ll give you that, and, yeah, his first instinct is usually to take cover, but he’s also the kind of man who always does his best when the chips are down. I’ve seen him face his fear several times to help when people he barely knew were in need.”

  “So I’ve heard. Which is what I’m counting on,” Quinn said. “You see, I know that he is currently trafficking in the company of a necromancer. Once upon a time, that was my specialty as well. Dedicated student that Neil is, I’m sure he’s uncovered the spell of Mortis Invictus by now. It’s a charming little ritual that taps into an undead creature’s true potential. All our powers are augmented tenfold.”

  “Let me guess—it also amplifies your bloodlust proportionally?”

  “And our aggression. Though the spell’s description leaves out those choice tidbits, they must be gained through experience. How did you know?”

  “Because, otherwise, you wouldn’t be so cheerful about the possibility of a super vampire knocking on your door. Though I’m still not sure how you win if you temporarily turn Fred crazy, and he tears your head off.”

  “I’ll be fine. Thank you for the concern. That’s what the ghouls are for. And while the physical effects of Mortis Invictus are temporary, opening the door to that side of the mind is something that can never truly be undone. Add in the guilt over his inability to save you, and the rage from when I kill the rest of your friends, assuming he doesn’t gut them himself the minute the spell takes hold, and I suspect dear Fredrick will be a wild beast before New Year.”

  “Hoo boy. This night is not going to end well for you.” I should have been more concerned. Quinn was crazy, but the kind of crazy that thought well ahead. Luckily, I knew what he hadn’t noticed. I’d mouthed a message to Fred not to follow me because I would be fine. Coupled with his own natural reticence, there was no way he was going to come try and save the day, so there would be no need to cast some stupid undead steroid spell. Still, it had been a good plan. I’d have to make sure to kill Quinn first when this came to a head. Guys like him usually had escape plans to enact if given half a chance.

  “Keep telling yourself that,” he said.

  I opened my mouth to pop off another reply, but a familiar sputtering engine cough slammed my jaw shut in surprise. Bubba’s truck was bearing down the street, which meant those damned idiots were going to try and play cavalry despite all basic logic. I was an Agent, for hell’s sake. Did they really think I couldn’t deal with a Bond-villain wannabe who happened to sport fangs?

  “Sounds like the fun will be starting soon.” Quinn stationed himself at the pulpit in a somber, expecting pose. We were both tense, waiting for the crunch of brakes and sound of approaching footsteps. In that anticipation, we were both sorely mistaken.

  The front of the truck smashed through the partially-rotted wood doors, crashing through the first two rows of pews and rolling over several ghouls before coming to a stop. The driver’s door flew off, and I do mean “flew,” as it was thrown effortlessly against the wall by a pair of pale hands. With aching slowness, the creature emerged from the truck’s cab, moving like a snake as it danced around a mongoose.

  His glasses were gone, revealing a pair of eyes that were throbbing with a dark red light. The normally-fastidiously-fastened collar had been left open, blood staining the fabric along with his mouth, throat, and chest. I really didn’t want to think about where all that blood had come from. Strangely, the sweater vest still clung tightly to his torso, adding a surreal element of familiarity to the monster that had formerly been my boyfriend. His fangs were fully extended, and he greeted the room with a hissing snarl.

  “Fuck,” I whispered. This had just gotten much more complicated.

  4.

  Freddy, or whatever remained of him in the red-eyed monster staring at us from across the church, let out a snarl and smashed his hand through the nearest pew. Splinters went flying, tearing through a few of the nearby ghouls, much to their confusion. Those things would have been on Freddy like drunks on an unguarded bar tap if he’d had a heartbeat, but whatever supernatural hunger drove them didn’t crave undead flesh. The working theory was that this instinct was woven into the magic that animated them, since without it, creating ghouls would just become a wild feeding frenzy on one another. They would still attack if they were commanded to, though I still wasn’t sure who was pulling their strings. They were definitely under someone’s control. That much was obvious. Otherwise, they’d have tried to devour me as soon as they caught a whiff of my scent, and this whole ugly incident would have been over already.

  Quinn let out a low whistle. “That necromancer had some serious skill. This is quite a transformation. Pity, I imagine at least some of that blood staining your boyfriend’s neck belongs to the would-be magician. Or should I say ‘belonged’?”

  That line was probably already clichéd in whatever century this dick was turned, yet for some reason, it got under my skin. Probably because I had already had the same thought moments before. Who all had been coming to the party? Nick, Bubba, Albert, and Amy. Amy or Bubba might have been able to fight off Freddy, but if he’d drank from one of them first, then the others were fucked. My stomach turned the longer I stared at the red streaks on Freddy’s skin and clothes. Stupid idiot. Why hadn’t he just stayed away?

  “Hey, Quinn,” I called, working hard to keep my more fearful emotions off of my face. The only thing he was allowed to see was my anger, and I had plenty of that to spare. “When this is all over, I’m going to tear your limbs off and leave you with your dick exposed to sunlight. Then I’m going to get a mage that can heal you and repeat the process until I get bored.”

  He glared at me. I think he imagined I would have started begging for my life by now. I probably didn’t fit into his expectations for how this was supposed to work. Welcome to the Krystal Disappointment Club, asshole. Tell my father and ex-fiancé “hi” at the next meeting.

  “I’ve had enough of your mouth,” Quinn said at last. “I was going to kill you first, but I think I’ll let you live a bit longer while we subdue the man you seem to care so deeply for.” He raised his hands, the sleeve on his right arm falling back enough to reveal an ornate bracelet giving off a dark glow. At least that explained the ghouls. Undead couldn’t cast magic, but they could use enchanted items, if they knew how. “Ghouls, Beauregard, put our guest in more of a listening mood.”

  Just like that, the murder switch in the ghouls’ brains was clicked on and they began rushing toward Freddy. I noticed the hulking form of Beauregard moving forward as well, but he did so at a much more casual pace. Thankfully, Freddy saw all of this too, though it seemed his sense of pri
orities was different. Rather than swatting at the ghouls bearing down on him, Freddy did what he’d always done best. He jumped, dodged, and evaded. He ran like hell. The only difference in this and the Freddy I’d known since high school, the one I started to . . . have feelings for, the one I’d been with only hours earlier, was that this Freddy didn’t try to get away from danger. He was running, all right, running straight at Quinn.

  This, far more than the previous command, seemed to kick Beauregard into high gear. The large vampire clearly hadn’t been expecting Freddy to make a beeline for his boss. It took him so long to correct his course that Freddy was able to make it halfway to the pulpit. Then again, Beauregard didn’t intercept Freddy so much as crash into him, so the progress was definitely balanced with some setback.

  Freddy surprised all of us, though. Instead of just collapsing like he had in his apartment, he flipped over the shoulder cracking into him and landed on his feet on the other side. As soon as his loafers . . . Oh, sweet heaven, he was still wearing those, wasn’t he? Anyway, as soon as his loafers touched the ground, he was off again, fangs glinting in the light as he snapped furiously. Whatever was driving him along, it seemed to be single-mindedly set on Quinn.

  Beauregard was surprised by his opponent’s gymnastic talents, but that wasn’t enough to make him forget what his job was. With more grace than a man his size had any right possessing, he spun around, tried to grab Freddy by the arm. It was unsuccessful, though barely. The magic amping up Freddy was impressive, no doubt about it, but I could see why Quinn was relatively unconcerned. If his lackey had enough skill and power to keep up with Freddy, then the mastermind almost certainly did.

  A few more failed swipes, a few more frantic steps forward, and Freddy was nearly in spitting distance of his goal. Unfortunately, that was because Beauregard got tired of pawing at him and took it to the next level. He surged forward, wrapping Freddy in a powerful hug that no amount of nimble movement was going to get out of, then threw the two of them to the ground. They met the concrete with a mighty crunch, and for a moment, the world was silent. Had either of them been living, the sounds of heavy breathing would have filled the air. Instead, there was only smug satisfaction practically echoing from Quinn, the clacking jaws of the pursuing ghouls, and a sullen quiet from the vampire pinned only a few feet away. He’d made it so close, though I had no idea what he’d thought would happen if he—