Into the Shadows (31 page)

"No sir, of course not," I said, confirming
the order. I wanted nothing to do with anything that reminded me of
Ragna. Well, maybe except for a dog. No, wait; make that a cat - a
guard cat. Dogs shit outside, and the closest patch of grass was
across the street. Even a cat would be better company than
Milo.

Viggo handed me the other manila envelope.
"Inside is a new identity - driver's license, social security card,
birth certificate, proof of insurance, and gun permits. Use them as
needed." I opened it up to see my new alter ego. The picture on the
Missouri ID was me, but my name was listed as Lee Brock. My actual
birth date is 10/12, but the card had it reversed, 01/21. As fake
IDs went, it was a good one.

"The van in the garage is your new company
car," Viggo continued. "Do not drive your own vehicle anywhere
unless necessary. If you have joined any social media sites online,
do not delete them. But do not be tempted to view them again,
either. Remember, Leo Beck has suddenly departed." He paused a
moment and looked down into the box. "I took whatever else I
thought might be meaningful to you from your house. Your family
photo album, the case with your military ribbons and medals, the
blanket your mother knitted - it's all in here."

"I - I appreciate that." Damn, he knew me
better than I thought. There was nothing else that I had any
emotional ties to. It was just a matter of getting more stuff.

"Also inside this box is a new phone with a
preset number. The ShadoWorks number and those of other people we
both know have been added into the directory. Turn your existing
cell phone off and put in the safe with the other items."

"Yes sir. Uh, what happens to my house?"

"There is little to be done about it. The
utilities will go unpaid and then turned off. One of your friends
or neighbors will ultimately declare you missing. You have no
immediate family. The only will you have was made during your time
in the Marines, where you bequeathed everything you own to your
mother. The state will have to wait the standard seven years to
declare you legally dead and seize your property."

"Shit, seven years? Don't you think I could
get back to being . . . well, me, before that happens?"

"I would hope so, although I have since
learned long ago to prepare for any conceivable outcome. I will
give you this evening to let this information sink in," he said as
he stood. "Tomorrow, go buy appropriate clothing for the sewers. I
suggest hip waders and waterproof gloves at the minimum."

Viggo seemed tired. Not the
'I need a
nap'
tired; I mean that weary-to-the-core tired. It wasn't in
his body language or movements, though. I got the feeling that his
drained aspect was due to some mental or emotional struggle. Stoic
like my father was, but honorable like dear old dad wasn't, I knew
Viggo wouldn't talk about it then - maybe not ever. "I'll be ready
for tomorrow night, sir," I replied.

After Viggo stepped into one of the dark
offices and left, I went through the stuff he brought. None of it
was enough to bring on weepy nostalgia, but I'm glad I had all of
my personal items. The last thing I did before hitting the sack was
to look at the list of contacts that had been put into my fancy new
phone. I wanted to set at least a couple of the numbers up on speed
dial for emergencies.

Of course, there was the ShadoWorks number,
plus the numbers for Barnabus Merritt, Shawn Riordan, Natalie
Stewart, Michael Vestergaard (I assumed that was Ragna's scion, the
Nordic priest), Milo (just Milo, no last name) and someone called
'Roach'. There was one more name on the list, and it shocked the
shit out of me. I slammed my drink and looked again to be sure.

I wasn't familiar with the number, but I knew
the name all too well: Gwen Solomon.

OFFSPRING

'Conflicted' is probably the best word to
describe what I felt that night. On one side of the coin, I felt
somehow betrayed, or at least disillusioned, to learn that my close
friend was not quite what she seemed. Granted, Gwen had contacts
with law officials, high-end clients, and various other people in
specific fields, but I wondered if that was the only reason she
worked for Viggo. She might also have been chosen to help keep an
eye on me. I didn't know if she'd tell me the truth, and I sure as
hell wasn't going to ask Viggo about it. The trust I had in Gwen
was damaged.

On the other side of that coin, though, I
didn't have too much room to bitch. We were both keeping the same
secret from each other; I assumed she'd just been keeping hers
longer. If Gwen
was
keeping track of me for Viggo, that
could only have been a good thing, right? It just felt
underhanded.

I guess it all came down to the validity of
our friendship. If Gwen and I became friends simply out of mutual
interests and enjoying each other's company, then great. But I
couldn't know that for sure anymore. It could just as easily have
been that Viggo told her to get close to me and gain my trust for
the sake of knowing more about me. There was no good way to find
out, and I wasn't sure I wanted to.

That night, I had a short dream about Viggo.
He was dressed in rags, sitting on a moonlit ledge outside of a
cave, and was reading a copy of
Paradise Lost
. Don't ask me
what that meant. I have no idea.

I didn't want to dwell on Gwen or another
weird Viggo dream - I only wanted to focus on my new duties. The
'ignore me' practice had a calming effect; I was feeling all
Zen-like when workers showed up to make the gate and garage doors
electric. When they finished, I took the van and went shopping.
Booted chest waders, waterproof gloves, and a hardhat with a
headlamp - everything I thought I'd need for sewer travel. I
wouldn't be getting any dates with that gear on, but I wasn't
expecting any cute chicks to be hanging out near storm tunnels and
drain grates. My guns would be my date.

Viggo showed up a little while after
nightfall, looked me up and down with no visible emotion, and then
led me downstairs into the cramped utility basement. Under a big
tool chest set on casters was a circular metal hatch, hinged on one
side. Not wasting any time, Viggo opened it and climbed down the
rungs. I squirted some Ben-Gay on my finger and smeared it on my
upper lip before I followed. Yeah, that shit stinks, but it's a bed
of fucking roses compared to the gagging reek of a sewer.

The round tunnel we were in was relatively
clean, with only a trickle of dirty water running down the middle.
"We'll walk for a while until we get to a main juncture," Viggo
said, "if only to familiarize you with the sights and sounds of a
city's underbelly. From there, we may void walk to a more populated
location." I hoped like hell he wasn't talking about his horde of
rats. They weren't great company.

We walked for hours, keeping to main tunnels.
That didn't mean they were pleasant; some sections of the sewers
were truly disgusting. I felt like I was visiting the dark, echoing
kingdom of Stench, attended by scurrying bugs and rats. Oh, and
let's not forget the bloated or partially eaten carcasses of dead
animals floating by, or washed up on cement inclines. Those made me
dab on more Ben-Gay.

By the address signs near manhole alcoves, I
could tell we were moving generally northwest toward downtown. I
kept that in mind as I followed my commander, wondering what our
destination was. While we walked, Viggo and I discussed a number of
topics. He started off stating that it was my mother's lineage that
he kept track of, and that he once saved her from what would have
been a fatal car wreck when she was a teenager. My mom was always a
lousy driver, so it was no surprise.

The story of my mom's near-death experience
led me to ask if Clara Page had a premonition or dream about it and
warned him. I gathered enough from what Ragna said to deduce that
the hemo girl was some sort of psychic. I never bought into that
shit until lately, when I began to realize that almost any damn
thing was possible.

"Actually, yes she did," Viggo answered
frankly. "Clara has always had visions, made stronger after her
mind fractured when, as a mortal, she was attacked and crippled. It
occurred during the great depression. I saw potential in her, so I
took away her pain. Clara is one of my offspring."

"Ah, so her . . . and Wayne . . ."

"And four others, if that's what you're
wondering. One sleeps in a catacomb somewhere in Italy. Another is
the Doyen of Munich, Germany. The other two have long since
departed this world."

I didn't know how tender of a subject that
was, so I left it alone. We moved on to the much more mundane
subject of sewers, tunnels and hemo rooms and passages. While Viggo
explained things at length, I kept thinking that a map would've
been a hell of a lot easier. I wasn't going to interrupt him,
though. Besides, he was adding little details of locations, city
employee routes, and Deviant-set traps. There was a lot to commit
to memory. I hoped there wasn't a test later.

We stopped in a particularly putrid
brick-lined tunnel, off of a main drain shaft. I stood next to
Viggo on a narrow walkway, looking down at the black water rushing
by. "Is there something important here, sir?" I asked over the
roaring flow.

"Only this door," he replied, pointing to the
wall behind me.

I turned around, and . . . well, I'll be
damned. There was an iron door set flush into the brick wall. If
I'd shined a light directly on it, I would've seen it. What helped
to conceal the door was that it didn't have a handle, and it was
covered with algae like the walls were. It blended in without the
need for Viggo to mask it with his shadow Gift.

"Behind this door is one of the many passages
my faction has created. This entry leads to a number of locations.
City workers cannot gain access because the strength needed to open
it is beyond most mortals. You may make an attempt, if you
like."

Wanting to impress, I scraped off some of the
slimy algae from both the door and the walkway in front of it. In
the tight confines, I didn't have much leverage. Still, I managed
to budge it a few inches. Given enough time before exhaustion set
in, I might've been able to open it wide enough to slip through. I
didn't get the chance. Viggo put one hand on the door and gave it a
casual shove. With a grinding sound heard over the water, it
yielded to his inhuman strength and swung open. Either he was
showing off, or he was just impatient to keep moving. Either way,
the display of power impressed the hell out of me.

Past the thick door, I didn't need my
headlamp. The ten-foot square tunnel was strung in both upper
corners with strings of Christmas lights (not the blinking kind) as
far as I could see until the stone hallway gradually curved to the
left. The colorful bulbs didn't exactly put me in a festive mood.
If Santa jumped out from some hidden doorway, I probably would've
shot him.

Viggo shut the door behind us, and we started
walking again while he asked me about what I did in the Marines. I
told him that many of my missions were still classified, but I'd
tell him if he told me to. Viggo did not want me to break an oath,
so I talked about my training instead.

Soon enough, we came to a sort of
intersection in a widened area. Three other hallways led off from
it, plus a wide staircase to my left leading down, and a narrow one
ahead of us going up. Viggo kept moving without hesitation. Okay,
up it was. Another hallway was at the top of the stone stairs, with
an emergency exit door at the end of it. The door had some
high-tech code entry to unlock the push bar.

Viggo pressed some numbers on the touchscreen
and then turned to me . . . but it wasn't Viggo. Instead of the
cracked-earth skin, wiry white hair and inky black eyes I'd gotten
used to, I saw a very different face. Shit, he looked human - still
big and intimidating, but human.

The features of Viggo's face were still the
same - straight nose, strong jaw, thick brows - but his eyes were a
normal brown. Still bald on top, his hair was short and dark. He
looked to be in his thirties, with frown lines and crow's feet. I
immediately thought:
that's what he looked like when he was
human.
I'd gotten so used to his creepy appearance that his
sudden mundane disguise really disturbed me.

DERELICT

Viggo ignored my stare and said, "Beyond this
door may be someone who I have occasional dealings with. Like me,
she is a creature of the night. However, she is what my society
calls a
derelict
; one that, for various reasons, is without
a faction and must survive without the protection of our laws. She
is still young enough to use the term 'vampire', although she's
proven herself to be clever and resourceful. Of course, she is
completely unaware of my true identity, except that I am a Deviant.
In the guise you see now, I am known as Mr. Stone."

I nodded my understanding, saving my
questions for later. Viggo pushed the door open and we stepped
through. There was a short, wood-paneled hallway that led to an
abandoned commercial space, thirty feet deep and about eighty feet
wide. We came into it from one of the back corners. Other than the
distant hum of traffic, it was quiet. I caught the faint smell of
plaster and dust.

The glow of streetlights through the front
wall of display windows made it easy enough for me to see clearly.
The big room was empty except for a few pieces of broken furniture,
and a row of chipped plaster support posts that ran the middle
length of the open room. Just beyond the windows was a sidewalk and
then wide avenue that still had some traffic, even at that late
hour.

"I was wondering when you'd show up," said a
female voice from across the wide space. I looked over and saw a
woman I should have noticed before. From that distance and in the
shadows, I couldn't make out much more than a nice figure and dark
hair as she leaned against the furthest support post.