Inhuman Resources

by Jes Battis

  “Marcus was sick,” I said. “And his accomplice was one of your own kin. Sabine Delacroix. A former monitor, unless I’m mistaken.”

  “Sabine had her own agenda. We always suspected her of treason.”

  “Well, now she’s exiled. And Marcus is dust. Case closed.”

  But it wasn’t really. Last year, two vampires had come close to killing me at a skytrain station in the downtown core. Sabine had sent them. Obviously, she still had a powerful reach. And Marcus’s last will and testament had brought the Iblis to power by giving it a corrupt artifact to play with—Tremblay’s own athame. Both of them haunted my life, one dead, the other undead.

  “She was exiled by Caitlin,” Modred said. “When Caitlin died, her influence died with her. That includes everyone that she ever banished.”

  I stared at him. “You’re saying that Sabine is free?”

  “Not precisely. But she has far greater mobility than she did a year ago. Unless the current magnate”—he gestured to Patrick, who was snoring peacefully, his face pressed against the window—“reinforces the ban. And that would require mastery that he doesn’t yet possess.”

  I closed my eyes. “So I’m fucked is what you’re saying.”

  “I wouldn’t put it quite so succinctly. But there is cause for concern.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Cyrus said. He smiled at me through the rearview. “We’ve got your back.”

  “No. We do not have anyone’s back.” Modred smoothed his pants, looking irritated. It was an oddly human gesture, making me think that he really was a teenager, all dressed up and on his way to some fancy dinner.

  “Come on. Don’t be so uptight.” Cyrus took a sharp turn, and I found myself pressed against Modred. “Sure, we’re not allied with the CORE, but she’s also a friend of the magnate. That makes her a friend of ours.”

  Modred inched away from me. Touching me seemed to pain him, as if I had some kind of exposed ulcerous sore. “We are not obligated to protect her. The CORE has seldom acted in the interests of our community, and I see no need to do them any favors, friendly or otherwise.”

  “Are you kidding?” I glared at him. “We clean up after you all the time. You let wild, newly sired vamps roam the city, biting whomever they please. I wouldn’t be surprised if a quarter of the most violent, bloody home invasions couldn’t be chalked up to hungry vampires. And you call that cooperation?”

  His eyes narrowed. “The vast majority of rapists, murderers, and thieves in this city are human, Miss Corday. When we discover a rogue kin who’s been feeding ‘outside the lines,’ as you call it, our discipline is swift and just.”

  “Right. I wonder if that system ever caught up with the vampires who killed my teacher. Snapped her neck with a choke chain, while I watched.”

  To my surprise, he looked away. “I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

  “Well, I was fifteen at the time. You could call it a formative moment in my life. I learned that some demons never get what they deserve.”

  “Is it so easy to make those separations? Demon and mortal?” His eyes lingered on me. “You’re part-demon yourself, are you not?”

  “Sure. Not practicing, though.”

  Modred didn’t smile. “You have a virus in your blood. Not the same as the one that all three of us share, but still, a virus. Is it true that most humans contract the M+ virus as a result of interspecies sexual assault?”

  I’d never heard my power so efficiently described as a pathogen before. The M+ virus. It sounded like something from a B-grade horror movie.

  “Cool it, Modred,” Cyrus snapped. “You’re being a dick. I’m sorry, Tess. He’s prejudiced against mages because—”

  “You’ll shut up now, Cyrus,” Modred hissed, “or I’ll rip out your tongue. I have no desire to discuss family matters with a member of the CORE.”

  Cyrus shrugged. “Fine. But you don’t have to be so offensive. She practically saved the magnate’s life tonight.”

  Modred folded his arms. “Her role in the battle was peripheral at best. If I hadn’t arrived when I did, they both might have been piles of ash.”

  His posture reminded me of something. I looked at Patrick, then back at Modred again. I smiled. I’d seen Mia strike the exact same pose when she was losing an argument. The all of you can just go to hell gesture of crossed arms, narrowed eyes, and scrunched-up face.

  I realized that, no matter how old Modred really was, he’d still never completely left adolescence. He may have had the bearing of a centuries-old vampire, but not too far underneath that primeval aura of experience was the soul of a teenager.

  Suddenly, I felt bad for him. I wanted to say how sorry I was that his childhood had been stolen. But maybe he didn’t even remember it anymore. Maybe all he knew was the inhuman coldness of all those years, pushing down on him. The ineffable sadness of watching every loved thing die, while you persisted.

  He was looking at me curiously now. Maybe he sensed my pity. I cleared my throat and changed tactics.

  “You’re right. You arrived just in time. And I’m grateful for that.”

  This disarmed him slightly. He blinked. “No thanks are necessary. The magnate called, and I answered. I was merely fulfilling my duty as monitor.”

  “I was stuck in traffic,” Cyrus said. “Otherwise, I’d have been there like a shot.”

  “You got there just in time,” I continued. “I’ve never seen anything like that strange glove. It had serious magic.”

  “A Vorpal gauntlet.”

  “Is that what it’s called?”

  Modred nodded. “A catalyst that necromancers use to amplify their powers. The gauntlet increases their body’s sensitivity to necroid materia. But it comes at a price. Using it can cause permanent physical damage.”

  “We don’t have anything that cool.”

  “What about your dagger? I find its power impressive.”

  “Really?” I wasn’t sure why that made me feel better.

  He almost smiled. “A sophisticated weapon. Much more beautiful than the guns we’ve been forced to carry lately.”

  “Modred has lightsaber envy,” Cyrus said.

  “I do not. I simply hate guns.”

  “I’m not a big fan of them either,” I said. “But sometimes they can be useful as a last resort. Patrick managed to clip the necromancer a few times with my Glock. I was amazed that he held the gun steady.”

  He looked at me strangely. “The magnate fired a weapon? Successfully?”

  “He sure did.”

  The ghost of a smile returned. “He hasn’t been trained in firearms yet. How curious that he would demonstrate an aptitude.”

  “I’m not sure I’d go that far. But he did manage to make contact.”

  I could see the pride on his face. Maybe Patrick had been right. Modred really was a good teacher, despite his archaic attitudes.

  “Where would a necromancer get one of these gauntlets?” I asked. “They don’t seem to be standard-issue equipment.”

  “Certainly not. The one who attacked you was a baronet. A member of the Dark Parliament, and one of the elite.”

  “Sort of like the imperial guard?”

  “But without the creepy red robes,” Cyrus supplied from the front seat.

  Modred shook his head. “I don’t know what that means. But the assassin came from Trinovantum, the hidden city. Most likely, he was one of the Ruling Nine.”

  “You must have really pissed them off,” Cyrus said.

  “They’re sending the big guns after you.”

  “They’re supposed to be working with us, not trying to kill us.” I sighed. “Although, the two often overlap in this job.”

  “Our sources tell us that there’s been dissent lately in the Dark Parliament,” Modred said. “The apostate is losing power. I wouldn’t be surprised if a rogue faction is trying to strike at you in order to disrupt your investigation.”

  “Do they know as much about you as you know about them?”
/>
  Modred smiled slightly. “We hope not.”

  I didn’t want to get in the middle of vampire power politics. I just wanted to crawl into bed and rub on some tiger balm. I massaged my aching head.

  “Nobody ever cooperates. That’s the nature of every investigation.”

  “True. But if you anticipate dissent, you stand the chance of avoiding it.”

  “You sound like Sun Tzu.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  Cyrus stopped the cab. We’d arrived in front of my house. I hadn’t even realized that we were in the same neighborhood.

  “Wait.” I stared at him. “How did you know my address?”

  “Don’t question small miracles, Tess. Just accept them.” Cyrus smiled. “It was nice to meet you.”

  Derrick and Mia were both sitting on the steps outside. Derrick saw me, and the tension drained from his face. It was a nice feeling. Being worried about.

  I nudged Patrick. “Wake up, magnate. We’re home.”

  “Nnh. Yeah?” He blinked sleepily, looked out the window, and smiled. “Good.”

  Modred opened the door, helping me out of the backseat. His hand was cold. We stood facing each other in the dark for a few seconds. Then I shrugged.

  “Thanks again.”

  “Of course,” he said simply.

  “Good night, then.”

  “Yes. Good night.” He placed a hand lightly on Patrick’s shoulder. “Be safe, magnate. Get your rest.”

  “I will. Thanks.”

  “And you as well, Tess.” Modred gave me an uncertain smile.

  I followed Patrick to the front door. I could feel the vampires watching me, but I didn’t quicken my step.

  If I’d learned anything from reading The Last Unicorn in high school, it was that you never ran from an immortal.

  9

  “You look tired, Tess.”

  Dr. Hinzelmann peered at me from his desk. His small hands were folded politely on top of a green file folder, which, I assumed, held vital details about my life, preferences, neuroses, and failures.

  I gently touched the bruise on my left cheek.

  “Well, I did eat some pavement last night. I got roughly four hours of sleep, and my painkillers haven’t kicked in yet.”

  “Would you like me to write you a prescription?”

  I blinked. “You can do that?”

  “Of course.” He reached into his desk and pulled out a prescription pad. “What are you currently taking for pain?”

  “Motrin and ice cream.”

  He smiled slightly, then scrawled something on the paper. “I’m giving you seven tablets of Vicodin. Take one at night with food and water.” He handed me the paper. “And don’t self-medicate with anything else. It won’t mix well.”

  I put the prescription in my pocket. “Wow. Thank you. Selena just told me to buy a heating blanket.”

  Hinzelmann shrugged. “Sometimes you need a little something extra. And it’s a very small dose. If you come back tomorrow asking for more, I’ll know something’s wrong. For now, it’s mostly just to help you sleep.”

  “I’d need a clone to help me sleep. There aren’t enough hours in the night.”

  “Is the case taking up most of your time? Or is it something else?”

  I settled back into the leather chair. It was almost more comfortable than my bed. I briefly wondered if Hinzelmann would let me have a small nap. I figured he got paid for the session no matter what.

  “Things are a bit crazy at home, as usual,” I said. “Patrick seems to be accumulating new responsibilities as the vampire magnate. Mia is obsessing over colleges. Derrick is trying to push his psi-proficiency to some crazy new level. I think he feels like he isn’t contributing enough to the CORE as a baseline telepath.”

  “Do you feel that he’s contributing enough?”

  “Of course. He can pick thoughts out of people’s brains. A few days ago, he read Selena’s mind like it was a DVD. Perfect accuracy.”

  “But that isn’t quite the same as having a combat proficiency, or being trained as an OSI. He’s more of a consultant than a field agent.”

  I felt myself growing slightly defensive. “He’s a great field agent. He’s been to as many scenes as I have, and he’s learning more each day.”

  “But there’s a limit to Siegel’s abilities. He can’t start a fire with his telepathy, or channel earth materia like you. According to his file, he has no telekinetic or elemental materia proficiencies.”

  “You have his file as well?”

  Hinzelmann gave me a bland look. “Tess, I have everyone’s file. The Department of Psychology and Paranormal Development has files on every employee. We track their physical and mental evolution as agents of the CORE.”

  “That sounds ominous.”

  “It’s just a database. Nothing to fear.”

  “Information is power.”

  “But power is just a word for a vast field of systems that structure our lives from the bottom up. It’s not a static entity that bears down on you. It’s like breathing.”

  “Yeah. I’ve read Foucault, too.” I stretched, grimacing.

  Those Vicodin tablets were going to do a world of good. “It’s all well and good to say that power is some magical force field, until someone’s ripping out your toenails while they interrogate you. Critical theory doesn’t mean a lot in that situation.”

  “Have you been feeling powerless lately?”

  I sighed. “Well, I nearly got shot in the head last night. I had to talk to a bird-demon wearing a raincoat, who told me virtually nothing about the case.” Except that my boyfriend is probably a double agent. “And I’ve discovered that I have almost no aptitude for learning languages.”

  This seemed to interest him. “Are you trying to acquire a new language?”

  “Yeah. I wanted to add something to my CV, so I’m learning Spanish.”

  “And how is that going?”

  “I tried to watch an episode of DuckTales en español, but I could barely understand any of it. Did you know that Uncle Scrooge is called Tío Rico? And it’s Patos Aventuras. Which doesn’t even make sense. What are ‘duck adventures’? Shouldn’t they be ‘duck adventurers’ instead?”

  “I believe that would be Patos Aventureros.”

  I closed my eyes. “Of course you speak Spanish. Everyone does.”

  “I took a few online courses. But that’s not the point.” Hinzelmann tapped his fingers on the green file. The secret, sordid history of my life. “People tend to learn languages for one of three reasons. Relocation, post-secondary education, or romantic entanglement. Which category would you say most describes your situation?”

  Shit. All I’d wanted to do was distract him with a non sequitur about my life, but now the conversation was taking a dangerous turn. I couldn’t let anyone think that I might be involved with Lucian. If Selena suspected that we’d even shared a platonic coffee together, she’d skin me alive.

  “I heard there’s a pay raise that comes with having a second language.”

  “Why not learn a demonic dialect, then? Wouldn’t it be more useful to read vampiric script?”

  “I’d rather watch an Almodóvar film. It would be nice to actually get the jokes instead of just looking at all the hot naked men.”

  “Learning a language takes years, and it can be incredibly frustrating. Do you feel like you have the patience for that sort of endeavor?”

  “I don’t know. But it’s not like I have any hobbies. It’s nice to have an activity that isn’t connected with my job in some way.”

  “You could go to the gym. Some people find that relaxing.”

  I laughed. “I already have to train several hours a day just to keep in shape. Whenever I’m on a treadmill, all I can think about is how similar it feels to running through a dark alley. The only difference is that we get towel service.”

  “What about art, or creative writing?”

  “Seriously? I don’t feel like writ
ing poetry about the viscera that I saw yesterday in the morgue. And the only thing I ever learned to draw as a child was a replica of Garfield with a thought-bubble above his head. I used to spend hours trying to get his whiskers right with the flesh-colored crayon.”

  “We have some great art therapy programs.”

  “I think I’m fine with the Vicodin. Thanks.”

  Hinzelmann got up and walked over to a cabinet in the corner of the room. He opened it to reveal a cherry red Gaggia espresso machine—the precise model that Derrick had been begging me for.

  He smiled infuriatingly at me. “Cappuccino?” “You’ve had that here the whole time?”

  “It’s new, actually. I just had it installed.”

  “Wow. I want your job.”

  “Don’t be too sure of that.” He manipulated some complex dials, and the whole thing started to hiss and steam. “I went to Johns Hopkins for six years, and I’m sixty thousand dollars in debt. I also had to do a practicum at the Sagremor Asylum for the Paranormal. It wasn’t exactly fun city.”

  He poured two shots of espresso into a white porcelain cup. Jesus, did he have a whole sideboard in there?

  “Isn’t Sagremor maximum security?”

  “Yes. Designed to hold those with exceptionally violent powers.” He handed me the steaming cup. “I met a pixie there who could turn himself into a cloud of mustard gas. Cranky little bastard. Killed thirteen orderlies.”

  “You’re bullshitting me.”

  “Okay. You’re right.” He shrugged. “It was only seven orderlies.”

  I sipped the coffee. “This tastes like everything good in the world. I think I may have underestimated you, Dr. Hinzelmann.”

  “That’s fine. It comes with the height differential.” He sat back in the office chair, pumping it up four or five times until we were at eye level again. “Most of my professors thought I had a form of achondroplasia, so they were always trying to enroll me in studies on dwarfism. They just wanted to get another grant.”

  I didn’t really know what to say. “That sucks.”

  “It wasn’t so bad. They always lost sight of me in the lecture hall, which gave me the chance to copy off the people sitting next to me.”