by Gavin Green
With a pen light, I made my way through the stalactite cave and over the half-assed steel grate bridge. There was a bright light in the curving, domed tunnel ahead. Barnabus was waiting for me with open arms and a wide piranha smile. His embrace lifted my mood a little. He walked me all the way to their common room - the long chamber lit by blue bioluminescent algae where I was Viggo's gift bearer.
I was casually but happily greeted by Skin, Clara, and Michael. Neva had a warm, sad smile for me; I kissed her cold hand as thanks for watching over me during my infliction. Roach lounged in an office chair, staring at me with an unreadable, cadaverous face. I nodded to him, he nodded back. It was good enough for me.
When Viggo arrived a few minutes later, Neva stood with her violin and played a stirring sonata for me. I was never into music other than to enjoy a catchy tune, but the perfect notes she played and how she combined them invoked a strong emotion in me. By the time Neva finished her haunting tune, I got the feeling she was saying with music that she couldn't replace Al or my mom, but she'd be there if I needed her. It was what I needed to hear right then.
I received other presents as well. Clara gave me a big zip-up hoodie. Barnabus first handed me some language CD's, and then gave me a paper-filled binder. On the cover was written, 'the Book of Becks'. He'd personally put together my family genealogy dating back to a generation before Erlingr, the goblet forger. Barnabus had Viggo as a direct font of information, but still . . . holy shit. Michael shook my hand Viking-style and offered me an awesome drinking horn. Viggo had his special cup; now I had mine.
Viggo had a couple envelopes for me. In one was a short list of stocks for me to begin my portfolio. Not being savvy about stocks, I still knew that a thousand shares of IBM were worth something. In the other envelope was a password for complete access to the hemo-net. Nothing against the stocks, but I was a lot more excited to go visit all the formerly restricted tabs.
Just as everyone (except Neva) began talking amongst themselves, Aldo showed up. I'd thought he'd already gone back to Germany. He came over to me, gave me a bioluminescence kit, and then took me aside and sternly said, "Earn the award of this new life, Mr. Beck."
"Award . . ." I mused. "I'm not sure if that's how I look at it so far, Mr. Skala."
"And I'm not concerned about any of your misgivings, fledgling. Be worthy of having the privilege to say you're the Veleti's scion. It carries weight and respect."
"Does it also mean I get to be a dick to everyone?" Before Aldo could respond, I added, "I understand what you're saying. It's just that I'd rather follow in Clara's footsteps than yours. No offense."
"Not everyone is destined for greatness," he replied with a hint of a sneer.
Hands rested on my and Aldo's shoulders, stopping me from saying some stupid comeback that most likely would've prompted my ass getting kicked.
"I hate to interrupt the camaraderie, good numen," Barnabus said, looking at us both, "but Leo has a decision to make. We are all eager to hear his choice."
I turned to Viggo, who stood closer to the others. They were all looking at me expectantly. "This is about me being formally introduced, right?" I asked. Heads nodded. "I don't know what the best move is." Looking right at my sire, I asked, "You think I should?"
"There are merits for either choice," he began. "You have solitary tendencies, Leo, but you are not a recluse. I believe it will be in your best interest to be known of; awkward situations may be avoided with the decision to be presented. More importantly, you may want the other factions to know you are now among them. Your presence will be a reminder of the failed attempts to control and dispatch you when you were mortal. Now a Deviant, you will be seen as a being to be truly wary of."
Viggo's little speech pumped me up. "Well hell," I said, "let's do it."
"The next scheduled Gathering isn't until mid-September," Barnabus smoothly interjected. "I realize that two months is a relative trifle compared to the span of our existences. However, I see the impatience in Mr. Beck. I also see an urge to conclude affairs in you, Viggo. I suppose I could call for an Emissary's meeting, which might draw the attendance of the Doyenne . . ."
"Thank you, Barnabus, but that will not be necessary," Viggo said. "I have very reliable informants who know of the Doyenne's itinerary for the near future." He then turned to me. "You have two days."
INFORMANT
The evening was muggy, not that I was really affected by it anymore. Viggo told me that in winter, a hemo's breath didn't plume - something about how our low core temperature didn't produce hot air. The idea he was trying to get across was that, besides not being affected by weather unless it was drastic, an observant eye might notice that my breath didn't frost in the cold.
Forget that, it's beside the point. It wasn't fucking winter anyway. It was two nights after my Deviant welcoming party, and my new hoodie wasn't uncomfortable in the humid July air. Viggo wore his, too, plus his long coat over it. We'd just void-walked to one of his downtown parking garages and began strolling south toward the city's "arts district" that unofficially started a half mile away.
We were both using our 'blending in' abilities, so it wouldn't have mattered if we were losing chunks of flesh like a couple of damn lepers, let alone a lack of winter breath or summer sweat. Since no one could see us, the topic was moot. I just wanted to make my own point about that. Alright, I'll move on.
From what I heard, most of the K.C. galleries displayed modern art slop. It was the kind of stuff that rich assholes would rave about because they were bored and entitled, and then praise the talentless hacks that made it. Just my opinion, but if it wasn't cool photography or Norman Rockwell, then it was crap.
Yeah, okay, I was a little edgy. I wanted the introduction bullshit over with, and I wasn't too thrilled about standing in front of Le Meur again. I wasn't afraid - I just hated the bitch.
There was a lot more pedestrian traffic down where a number of galleries were clustered together. We were headed toward a busy block; there were a few limos parked out front of a well-lit art gallery, and people milled around out front. Viggo turned away from it and led me to the next street over. Other than being lined with parked cars, that street was quiet. "Once I speak to my informant just around the far corner," he whispered, "we will proceed blended and follow him into the building. The Doyenne is somewhere inside. Another assistant of mine should be there as well."
Before we began walking again, I had to ask, "Who is this informant of yours?"
"A recently blood-bound daemon," he answered without any elaboration. Thanks, Captain Vague.
We went around the corner and saw a guy forty paces ahead, in the dimness between two streetlights. He was leaning against a shiny Mercedes and talking on his cell phone. I couldn't see his face well, but what I could see told me he was a douche. The sleeves of his blazer were rolled up, he wore one of those skinny ties, and he had on the dumbest pair of striped slacks I'd ever seen. And then I recognized him: Dominic Riva. I hadn't seen that jackass since Barnabus buried two axes in his head.
"What the hell?" I whispered. "Your informant is a fucking Adept? And he's blood-bound?" I recalled Viggo saying that Riva was "out of action", but I didn't know my sire was the reason for it.
"Of course he is blood-bound," Viggo murmured back. "It is the one true way to ensure loyalty. Mr. Riva and his progeny, Mr. Horn, were released when the charges against you were dropped, as promised. It was only practical to claim their fealty beforehand."
His casual explanation shocked me. "Are you kidding? I don't care if he's a douche and Horn is a raccoon killer, that's messing with free will. It's like . . . slavery."
"Do not dramatize the situation, Leo. This practice is not uncommon amongst us, so you should learn to accept the reality of it. I have bound every one of the numen I have collected."
Collected? Viggo was collecting . . . Oh shit. All the missing hemos, and all the ones he took for "safe keeping" - Ragna, Pedro, Evan Dean, Edward Galloway, the bird-woman Kat
ala, and probably more that I didn't know about. It was a big step up from coins and trinkets. Viggo was hoarding hemos.
The sudden realization of my sire's disorder left me speechless. He took my silence as acceptance. "We will allow Mr. Riva to see us," he continued. "I will order him to hold the door of the gallery open before he steps in. Blended in, we will enter first. From there, we shall see about meeting with the Doyenne."
I numbly nodded, not wanting to respond; I was afraid of what might've come out of my mouth. I saw Viggo in a new light, and it wasn't complimentary. That's an understatement - it offended my sense of honor, something I thought we had in common. The collected hemos had no choice - something I knew about - and that made Viggo's hoarding immoral in my book. In a way, it made him no better than Le Meur. The worst part of it was that he believed he was justified to impose servitude.
If there's a single word for crushing disappointment, I don't know it.
RIGHTS
Dominic Riva eyed me suspiciously, but didn't say a word while Viggo told him what to do. The simple plan of going into the gallery went off without a hitch. Well-dressed snobs unknowingly moved out of our way and ignored us. The posters near the front doors touted that night's showcase artist, Sebastian Horn. He apparently was a rising star in his recently human days.
Some of the conversations I picked up on were about meeting Horn when he made his arrival, and asking about the new direction of his work. Yeah, I guess being a hemo would alter his perspectives.
I tried not to dwell on Viggo's mental glitch, so I looked at the displayed art as we roamed the roomy interior. I gotta admit it - Horn was pretty damn good. His oil paintings were large and very detailed, his watercolor work was bold and catchy, and his small sculptures were all lifelike. I was studying a gloomy painting - one of Horn's most recent pieces - when Viggo nudged me.
I followed him back to a corner where a hallway led off. It was posted as employees-only and there was a security guy standing nearby, but we ignored both and strolled on back.
It was an L-shaped hallway lined with doors for offices and supply rooms. Turning the corner, I was surprised to see Grigori Olinchenko standing next to an office door. He was leaning against a wall and cleaning his nails. When Viggo and I allowed ourselves to be seen, though, he snapped to attention.
"Grigori, I did not expect to find you at a function such as this," Viggo said quietly as we approached.
"I didn't either, elder, especially with how crowded it is. May I ask who your imposing friend is?"
"Ah, my apologies; you have met Mr. Beck before." Olinchenko's eyes widened as he stared at me. Viggo continued, saying, "He is the reason we are here this evening. What is yours?"
The question brought Olinchenko back to Viggo. "I followed your suggestion and met with my emissary, Mr. Zapada," Olinchenko answered. "He took an interest in my photography and insisted I meet with the Doyenne. Once he introduced me, I was invited to this hosting to discuss sales of my own work. I wait back here to avoid the crowd while I wait to see if I can make some money. Did you have need of me?"
Because of the respect Olinchenko was showing Viggo, I wondered if he was blood-bound as well. For that matter, did my sire have any real friends at all? Did hemos like Barnabus and Skin admire him for who he was, or were they simply forced to kiss his butt? I didn't know anymore.
"Perhaps," Viggo answered. "Besides Doyenne Le Meur and Mr. Horn, who else is in the room?"
"Emissary Zapada, for one; he seems . . . quite taken with the Doyenne. I find it troubling. Also within is the enforcer, a Mr. . . ."
"Tomasino," Viggo said. "Good, there will be proper witnesses. Since they are aware of your presence, Grigori, I ask that you make them aware of ours. As I recall, the Doyenne is not overly fond of uninvited guests. Would you herald us, please?"
It sounded more like an order than a question. Olinchenko nodded and opened the door. I was the last one to walk in, so I didn't catch anyone's initial reaction when he said, "Doyenne and esteemed numen, the eldest Eidolon has requested an audience." He then shut the door behind me.
The office was fairly spacious. There was a desk and chairs to the right, a couch to my immediate left, and a wet bar across from it against the far wall. Le Meur, wearing a casual business suit, had just stood from her chair behind the desk. Zapada, in stylish clothes to compliment his Greek features, was getting up from his chair in the near right corner. Neither of them looked happy at the intrusion.
Horn sat nearest to us, in a chair across the desk from Le Meur. The last time I saw him was just after I jammed tree branches in his chest; I wondered if he remembered. Sitting there in jeans and a dress shirt, his young face under a mop of sandy brown hair held a mix of emotions. Enric Tomasino, on the other hand, showed only his wariness. In a sharp suit as always, he stood near the wet bar that he'd laid his big sword on.
"Grigori," Zapada said through clenched teeth, "what are you -"
"I will be quick," Viggo butted in. "It is not my intent to disrupt your evening, which, for Mr. Horn's sake, I hope is a pleasant one."
"Thank you, elder," Horn said quickly.
Le Meur glared at the young artist and growled, "Be quiet, Sebastian." She then turned her glare to me and Viggo, not that we were worried about it. Her bark no longer had any bite, but I guess she had to put on a show for the sake of her bloated pride. "You've already barged in," she said, casting a withering glance at Olinchenko, "but you said you'd be quick. State your business and be done with it, Veleti."
Letting Le Meur's bitchy attitude pass, Viggo said, "As our laws mandate, and with good numen to bear witness, I have come to present my scion. Doyenne, this is Leo Beck. You may have heard of him."
I don't know what thoughts passed through Le Meur's mind just then, but, judging by the expression on her angelic face, none of them were good. She held her temper. "I do not acknowledge Mr. Beck. I will not accept this introduction. He must leave my city, now."
I wasn't able to tell, but I bet Viggo rolled his eyes. "You cannot deny a proper introduction," he calmly explained. "Nor can you cast out any numen without cause. Mr. Beck has broken no law, vampire or mortal. He has been presented to you. It is done. I bid you all a good evening."
Just as Viggo turned and gestured for me to open the door to leave, Le Meur said, "You are forgetting something, Veleti." He and I turned back to see her smug expression mixed with a scowl. "I never gave you permission to create progeny."
Shadows began to roll off Viggo. "That is not a core law," he replied, low and ominous.
"So? As the Doyenne, I have every right to use and enforce it at my discretion." The bitch was almost smiling, thinking she had the upper hand. It didn't last long.
Viggo stepped closer to her; his form was out of focus, and the room began to dim. "Emmeline," he said, his voice sounding like a volcano about to erupt, "your vanity and your despotism have left you undone. In your posturing, you have overlooked the rights of your subjects." He used a single finger to push the desk out of his way, making Horn scoot his chair back.
I noticed that Olinchenko moved nearer to Zapada, and Tomasino rested a hand on the hilt of his sword. I kept my place, as tense as everyone else.
"What right is that, Veleti?" Le Meur asked with a snotty tone. She had more balls than brains.
"The right to challenge your rule," Viggo answered as he reached for her.
A lot of shit happened at once, although I mainly focused on Viggo. Tomasino pulled his sword out. Olinchenko grabbed Zapada, who was yelling at him to let go. Horn stayed in his chair, covering his head with his arms. Le Meur was fast, but was also backed into a corner. She hit Viggo with a blur of punches; they had no effect. He clamped a big hand around her slender neck and lifted her up. Distorted shadows and void-ribbons swirled around the room, disorienting everyone except my sire.
Darkness was quickly gathering behind Le Meur, who struggled in Viggo's iron grip. The two Outsiders were grappling; Zapada seemed stronger and fas
ter, but Olinchenko had wrestling skills. They distracted me from noticing Tomasino moving forward and raising his sword.
I darted forward and caught one of Tomasino's arms, ruining his attack on Viggo. Faster than I expected, he pivoted and reversed his swing. The flat of his blade smacked me in the side of my head and sent me reeling. He could've cut me with a sword edge, but for some reason didn't.
Catching myself on the arm of the couch, I saw that Tomasino had returned his attention to defend Le Meur. A vertical, wavering black pit had formed behind her. The widening hole into the abyss obscenely rippled and swelled, giving the impression it was hungry.
Tomasino swung hard. The blade hit Viggo on his left side, slicing through clothes and biting into tough flesh. Barely flinching, my sire turned his head at the distraction. I surged forward again and grabbed Tomasino by his suit. Using all the strength I could muster, I twisted and flung the enforcer as hard as I could toward the far side of the office.
I apparently didn't know the extent of the power I had on hand. Tomasino sailed across the room and smashed through the far wall, tumbling into the unlit storage space next door.
"You do not deserve any further lenience," Viggo thundered at Le Meur. I turned to watch as he held her close, their noses only inches apart. "You do not deserve mercy," he continued. "You do not deserve the tolerance of your betters. Your blood does not merit spilling. You are not worthy."
Legs kicking, hands uselessly slapping at the arm that held her up, Le Meur franticly pleaded. "No, Veleti, do not do this! I beg you!"
Viggo ignored her. Thrusting her away from him into the black pit, he simply said, "The void welcomes you." Le Meur and her screams were swallowed as she fell away into cold, dark nothingness.