Into the Shadows (30 page)

"Yeah, I do," I said with a deep sigh. "How
long could this go on, me staying off the radar?"

"It could be weeks, or months . . . or even
years. Many unforeseen events may alter how long you must conceal
your existence. I wish it were otherwise. However, you still have
choices, albeit limited."

I drained my glass and said, "Whichever
choice serves you best, I'll take that one, sir." I know that made
me sound like an ass-kissing brownnoser, but keep in mind that I
was in thrall to him. Loyalty and willing service are pretty much
your life as a minion.

Viggo nodded, apparently pleased. "You are a
fine minion, Leo, and loyal. Loyalty should always be rewarded.
What will serve me best is employing you with ShadoWorks -
essentially me. Your needs will be met, and a there is a good
benefit package plus bonuses based on performance."

That perked me right up. "That sounds great.
I gotta tell you, though . . . Chores like rat herding or reading
children's stories to Milo really aren't my strong points."

"Then it is good that you won't be doing
those things," he said evenly.

"Uh, okay," I replied while I reminded myself
that any form of levity with Viggo was going to fall flat. "What
kinds of things
will
I be doing?"

"A majority of your work will be underground
to begin with. You will see to such things as securing loose wiring
and cables and moving items from one location to another for a
time. In so doing, you will be learning two very important things.
One, you will become familiar with the city's sewers and tunnels.
There are the passageways the water department has built, and also
what my faction has created. You will learn both. I should note
that there is a hidden access from this building to a main overflow
tunnel, mainly for the purpose of an emergency escape route. You
will not work much in this area, though."

It sure as hell wasn't my dream job, but
Viggo made it sound important. That was enough for me. "Okay, I'll
buy some wading boots and big flashlights. What is the other thing
you want me to learn, sir?"

Viggo uncrossed his legs and sat forward. "It
is an experiment, if you will. Has Mr. Riordan explained Gifts in
relation to minions?"

"Uh, pretty much, sir. He told me that
through your blood, we receive physical Gifts that grow very slowly
over time. Shawn also said something about other possible Gifts
that depended on whose blood it was, although the chance of that
was pretty rare. I really didn't understand that part, to be
honest."

"Let me help you comprehend it, then. As a
rule, minions have physical Gifts of a limited degree. With potent
blood, however, a minion can learn other Gifts that his . . .
commander is highly skilled with. In this instance, I am very well
versed with the Gift of Shadows. This is what I want you to learn.
I believe you have the ability and willpower to bring it out,
however limited it may be. And it will be helpful."

He was telling me to acquire a completely
alien concept. I panicked a little bit. "I, uh . . . Sir, I'll do
my best, but I have no clue where to start or what to do."

"I will assist you with that soon enough. For
now, simply practice being still for minutes at a time while
mentally emanating the thought that you want to be ignored. You
will see no changes; it is purely to adjust your mind to the basic
concept." Viggo stood and straightened his coat. "I have other
things to attend to, and you should get some rest. I will return
tomorrow evening, and we can begin." He turned to leave but then
looked back at me. "Did you have any questions before I go?"

"Uh, yes sir, two." He nodded his assent, so
I asked, "Does Milo stay here?"

"No, not unless requested. He has a small
house back in the neighborhood behind this building. His phone
number is in the office downstairs. He has been told to see to any
simple task you need done."

"Okay, cool. My other question was . . . When
I was down in your hidden den, or cave, or whatever, something hit
the metal door like a wrecking ball. What the hell was that?"

Viggo told me the answer, and I didn't like
it one damn bit.

COMPASSION

The CEO's old office was a large room, big
enough for a bedroom set-up and a separate sitting area. The
dresser and end table near the queen-sized bed were cheap,
especially compared to the couches and coffee table. I wasn't in a
position to bitch, though. Viggo was saving my ass, so I would have
been a royal dick to criticize the Walmart furniture.

Framed landscape prints had been left on the
walls when the parts company closed up; the paintings were bland,
but they were better than stark white walls. The adjoining bathroom
was fully tiled with striated blue and white marble, and it even
had a small closet built in next to the walk-in shower. The former
owner of the place had expensive tastes.

Milo had set my duffel bags on the bed, as
well as pillows and a set of new sheets. I never got a good look at
Viggo's mentally challenged helper before he left; just a squat,
hulking body in an oversized hooded jacket. One thing was for sure:
I wasn't going to call him for any chores. I'm sure Milo was as
loyal to Viggo as I was, but he had access to the place I was
hiding in. That made him a liability. I didn't want my sense of
security in anyone's hands but mine and my commander's.

I absently started unpacking, distracted by
what Viggo told me. He said that each faction of hemos carry a
curse, besides the obvious - you know, drinking blood, the
inability to get a tan, all that shit. For Deviants in particular,
their neat little bane is what they call
'the infliction'
.
Sounds lovely, doesn't it?

The blood carries the curse - intent isn't a
factor. "If it were," Viggo told me gravely, "the change would be
painless and all of our scions would be unscathed". For some
Deviants, their bodies go through horrific and torturous changes
soon after they're brought into the night. For others of the
faction it's the same thing, except it's their minds that are
twisted and tormented. That's a big price tag for immortality.

Uncommonly, a new hemo is subjected to both
physical and mental 'infliction'. When Viggo told me that, I
immediately thought of Ragna. With either type of 'affliction', not
all hemos survive the change. Some others become catatonic or are
reduced to helplessness; they are mercifully put out of their
misery. For those who go through both 'afflictions' simultaneously,
the chances are greater that they won't survive one way or the
other.

But, if a hemo is strong enough to survive
and comes out of it relatively sane, they are stronger for it. A
young Deviant hemo has greater initial potential to harness Gifts
than newbies from the other factions. Nice bonus, but I'm not sure
that's a fair trade for permanent disfigurement or insanity.

Sometimes, though, new hemos will physically
survive the change, but their minds can't fully endure it. And
voila, you've got a violent psychopath with supernatural power.
That's what knocked ever so gently at the metal door of Viggo's
den. What's worse, it was
his
progeny. My commander's
compassion denied him from ending his own scion's life . . . or
un-life, if you want to get picky about it.

The psycho's name was Wayne. In lieu of a
merciful death, Viggo kept Wayne in secure underground locations.
Every once in a while, Wayne would escape his confines and go on a
happy little rampage. That'd been going on for nearly thirty years
- yeah, thirty. And I thought Milo was a liability. Damn.

It was an honor to have Viggo confide in me
with what had to be a sensitive topic. In hindsight, though, I
sorta wished I'd never asked. Infliction - shit, that word was ugly
enough before the Deviants used it to describe their morbid,
torturous transformation from human to hemo. It was a toss-up
whether to pity or hate them for it.

I thought about Wayne, and couldn't decide
how I felt about that whole sad, dangerous scenario. He was just
another shade of gray in the world of supernatural darkness I was
shoved into. Wayne probably didn't have any trace of humanity left
in him, but I couldn't exactly label him as evil. I doubted he
chose to become a mindless beast. If I ever met him, though, I bet
sympathy would be the last thing I felt.

I found an unopened bottle of booze in my bag
and moved to one of the couches, where I sat alone in dim lamp
light and toasted Viggo's excessive compassion with gulps of
whiskey until I passed out.

DEPARTED

Surprisingly, my hangover worked well with
that 'ignore me' practice Viggo wanted me to try. After I got up
around noon and let off a well-earned two minute piss, I grabbed
one of the new sheets from its tidy stack and dropped onto the bed
with it over my head. I could only imagine that my disheveled pose
implied "ignore me" loud and clear. My mood was more along the
lines of "fuck off", but at the time I thought the two were
interchangeable.

Eventually, I felt coherent enough to shuffle
around the building. After taking some aspirin from a first-aid kit
and chasing the pills down with a bottle of water I found in the
nearly empty fridge, I checked out all of the rooms. The manager's
office next to the small lobby had a large desk with an apparently
new computer on it. The assembly room across the hall from the
break area had work tables, halogen lights, and a variety of tools
in dusty chests. The two small offices upstairs, across from the
CEO bedroom, were empty. Thus far, nothing in the building
surprised me . . .

. . . Until I walked into the entertainment
room, that is. Its entry sat next to the iron door that was my old
cell, and was easily the biggest room in the building. Except for
the flat screen TV and Wii plugged into it, the room had that
vintage feel. It had a pinball machine, dartboard, chess table,
pool table, and an arcade game (someone with a twisted sense of
humor chose 'Silent Hill').

My phone unexpectedly rang as I was shooting
the five-ball into a corner pocket. I let the unrecognized caller
go to voice mail and then listened to the message. It was Natalie,
the nice lady who cooked me breakfast once. She said that our
patron gave her the number, and that she was on her way over with
some supplies. She arrived a few minutes later with a shitload of
full grocery bags in her compact car. We finished unloading just as
the clouds let loose a heavy rain. Natalie didn't stick around, so
I got to sort through all the food and drinks on my own.

Into the evening, I was reclined in the
lounge with a drink after a big dinner when Viggo suddenly walked
into the room. I jumped up and stood at parade rest. He glanced at
me, and then set a big box on the coffee table before sitting down.
"Sit," he commanded. "We have things to discuss."

I sat on the edge of my seat, turned the TV
off, and waited expectantly. Viggo sat back and stared at the plain
cardboard box without saying anything, so I finally asked, "Is
something wrong, sir?"

It was another few seconds until he answered.
"I realize how unfair this situation is to you, Leo." His black
eyes turned to me as he continued. "All of my other minions are
free to live their lives, continuing with whatever plans they had
before they met me. Circumstances have taken that freedom away from
you. I wish it was not so."

"Me neither, sir, but you didn't create those
circumstances. You're the one who saved my ass after the ball was
already rolling." I felt good that he felt bad for me, if that
makes any sense.

Viggo gave a barely-perceptible nod and said,
"I have stated my regret. Let us move forward. There are changes
and chores to be seen to. First, do you have much money in a
bank?"

"Uh, no sir, not too much - I keep enough to
cover my checks for utilities, mostly. I mainly buy with cash." I
toyed with the joke of asking if he needed a loan, but I knew I'd
just get that stare again.

"Good; you will not use your bank card again,
at least not for a while. The office downstairs has a small wall
safe, with a code for you to set. Put your banking information in
there, as well as your driver's license, social security card,
military papers, and weapon permits." He pulled the box down
between his knees and pulled out two manila envelopes. "This," he
said, handing the first to me, "is your actual armed forces
transcripts; I took the liberty of removing them, and some other
items, from your house before I came here so you could store them
safely."

I breathed a sigh of relief, but not simply
for the transcripts. "Thank you, sir."

He noticed my reaction. "It was a small
matter, Leo. Do those papers hold a strong sentimental value?"

"No sir, not really, but you're having me
store them here, in town. I take that to mean I'm not going
anywhere. A small part of me wanted to just get the hell out of
town and try to leave all this crazy shit behind me. But a bigger
part wanted to stay, and not just because you have some plans in
motion here that I might get to be useful for. I've been screwed
with, and I want to hand out some payback."

"And perhaps you will get your chances,"
Viggo responded with an agreeable nod.

"Thank you, sir."

"For now, though, concern yourself with
safety and concealment. To that end, this location is now yours; or
rather, ours, although you will be the only one maintaining
residence. Let me know of any alterations you might need, and I
will try to make it so."

"Well, uh, actually sir, I'd really like to
make the gate out back an electric one instead of the chain and
padlock that's on it now. And the same for the garage doors, if
it's possible. It'd heighten security."

"Very well, I will have that arranged as soon
as possible. For any interior changes," Viggo said while he reached
into his coat, "you can do your own shopping." He tossed me a
tightly wound stack of cash. "Try not to visit any one store any
more than you have to for additional décor; your scars make you
notable. In fact, do not become a familiar face anywhere. That
includes grocery stores, barber shops, liquor stores or
restaurants. And on that note, there will be no deliveries to this
address - not even orders from the Wise Owl Wok."