Undeath and Taxes (14 page)

10.

“He cut the magic?”

“That’s a very,
very
simplified way of phrasing it, but yes, Fred, you’ve got the gist,” Amy told me. She was hovering near Neil, who’d been bandaged and brought up as soon as the fight was over. Despite how bad the wounds had seemed when he was attacked, Neil was already back on his feet and appearing unbothered by the chunks taken out of his flesh. Either mages had greater physical resistance than I was aware of, or someone in the facility had given him more than gauze and antiseptics.

“I actually liked Fred’s phrasing,” Bubba said. “Your whole ‘unmaking the enchantment while simultaneously appropriating the base components’ explanation gave me a headache. It’s a sword. It cut the magic. That’s the sort of shit I can wrap my head ‘round.”

“Technically, it was a theory, not an explanation,” Amy replied. She pulled another bottle from her coat and took a small sip. As she did, the orange glow in her eyes faded to a soft white, and a far more placid expression eased over her face. “I’m just guessing, after all. What Albert did, I’ve never heard of before.”

“Arch said there had been other wielders. Shouldn’t they have been able to do the same thing?” I asked.

“Don’t you ever pay attention?” Neil said. “Arch told us that the sword responds to the soul of the person wielding it. Albert didn’t want to hurt that chimera, but he had to swing the blade anyway. The sword adapted, giving him a way to end the fight without shedding blood. Though Amy is right, it is strange. I’ve been studying constantly, and that’s the first I’ve heard of such an incident.”

“There’s a few legends handed down through the packs, but nothing . . .” Bubba trailed off as the sound of approaching footsteps caught his attention.

The four of us were back in Bubba and Amy’s room, while we waited for Arch and Albert to finish getting the results from the watching mages. Krystal had tagged along at her own insistence, since, at this point ,none of us trusted Arch as far as we could throw . . . actually, several of us could throw Arch rather far, given the proper motivation. Suffice it to say, we did not trust him enough to leave Albert in his care without at least one of us there as escort.

Bubba and I both perked up as we heard the sound of footsteps echoing through the hallway. Neil and Amy took a bit longer to notice the impending people, but as soon as they did, the injured necromancer was on his feet. It was probably a good thing he’d been getting treated when Albert had to leave, otherwise, he’d have a pitched a hell of a fit about coming along. His actions in the last hour had left me with a newfound respect, but that didn’t change the fact that we weren’t home yet and still needed to play nice.

Krystal stepped into view first, followed closely by Arch and Albert. We didn’t even need to ask about the results—the Cheshire grin Krystal was sporting, coupled with the look of sheer relief on Albert’s face, made it abundantly clear before a single word was uttered. Still, it was nice to hear Krystal loudly announce what we’d all been hoping to hear.

“He’s all clear! No magical side effects, no reason he can’t use the sword.”

There were sighs of relief, smiles, and even a whoop from Bubba as we rushed over to give Albert handshakes and hugs. It took a few moments for the clatter of happiness to die down, but as soon as it did, Arch reminded us that he was, unfortunately, still in the room.

“Congratulations, Weapon Bearer. As a representative of the Agency, I wish you all the best on whatever path your new weapon leads you down, and remind you that, so long as you’re adhering to the laws and upholding the treaties, you can always look to us for assistance.”

“Um, thank you,” Albert said. It was an impressive amount of politeness, given that most of us just glared at Arch. To his credit, he did pick up the hint.

“You’re welcome, Albert. To the rest of you, I know I’m not your favorite person right now, but my actions were out of necessity, not malice. If I’d given Albert a half-hearted trial, we might never have seen him swing the sword’s real magic, not until it happened in a place without proper safeguards. Hate me as you need to, just understand that, because of my test, Albert can now go on with his life, having no fear that wielding the blade will cause inadvertent harm to those around him.”

“We don’t hate you, Arch,” Krystal said. She chanced a quick look at us, no doubt taking in the hard eyes on Bubba and the unmasked glare that Neil was sporting. “Well, most of us probably don’t. I know why you did what you did, but I also know there were better ways to go about it.”

“We’ll have to agree to disagree,” Arch told her. “Before I take my leave of you all and send you back to Winslow, there is one more matter to discuss.” He turned to Albert, whose face scrunched up in renewed fear. “Albert, that sword of yours is very powerful, and to unmake a creature formed of magic the way it did is a gift I’m not certain it’s ever possessed. Whatever other abilities it might hold are bound to be special as well. Wielding that power is no small responsibility, so, if you’d like, the Agency would be willing to help train you on how to do it.”

Neil grit his teeth, Albert’s eyes went wide, and I felt my back tense. In all the excitement of the chimera, I’d nearly forgotten that this might happen. My eyes were stuck to Albert, who seemed to be having trouble finding the right words for his response.

“I . . . that would . . . could . . . what would that entail?”

“You’d be transferred to an Agency training facility immediately, and would begin learning how to wield your new weapon, eventually becoming an Agent who protects the parahuman world. Given what I’ve seen today, I would undertake your training personally. While I know you dislike me, even Agent Jenkins will vouch for my skill and capabilities as an instructor.”

“Much as I hate to admit it right now, getting personally trained by Arch is a fairly prestigious thing,” Krystal muttered.

“So . . . I’d have to leave everyone?” Albert looked at us with a panicked expression.

“You don’t have to,” I said quickly. “This is your choice, Albert. No one is going to make you do anything.”

“He’s right,” Arch said. “It’s your choice: learn to use your sword in a way that helps the world, or tuck it away and ignore the responsibility you’ve been charged with.”

“Fuck your guilt trips,” Neil spat, wrapping an arm around Albert’s shoulder. “He can make up his own mind.”

Arch crossed his arms. “And what you’re all doing isn’t guilting him into staying around and wasting his potential, to say nothing of the sword’s?”

Albert mumbled something under his breath, so soft that not even I could hear it over the steadily rising voices of people arguing. He shuffled awkwardly and stared at the ground, motions I knew all too well meant he had something to say, but was scared to speak. It was the same body language he’d had when he admitted to accidentally shredding three days’ worth of filing work.

Neil was reaching a fevered pitch. “Why don’t you take that—”

“Why don’t we all quiet down and listen to what Albert actually has to say.” Much as I loathed raising my voice, I knew it was a far easier task for me to accomplish than Albert. He gave me a grateful look, then turned to face everyone.

“Mr. Arch is right. This sword does come with responsibility. I can tell every time I draw it. There are things I’m supposed to do. I don’t know what. Just . . . things.”

Neil began speaking, but Albert stopped him with a hard stare.

“That said, it’s just a sword,” Albert continued. “I’m my own person. I get to choose what I do. Drawing the sword is no different than being turned into a vampire: I still get to decide what kind of person I am. So, no, Mr. Arch, I won’t go with you. I’m going to keep working as Fred’s assistant, keep hanging out with Bubba and Krystal and Amy, and keep spending my time with my best friend. If you really think what I can do is so important, then you can come to Winslow and teach me there.”

“What if I say this offer is non-negotiable? You either come with me, or you get nothing.” Arch’s face was placid as always, hiding whatever true sentiment he felt. The man knew how to play things close to the vest, I had to give him that. It was an excellent skill, but against someone as straightforward as Albert, it was entirely wasted.

“Well, then I would have say—” Albert’s eyes darted over to me, then to Krystal, and then to me again. “I would have to ask you to, pretty please, if at all possible . . . go fuck yourself.”

The room was quiet as death. We all stared at Albert, some of us with mouths agape, shocked at his reply. Albert almost never cursed, and cursing in a way that told someone to piss off . . . that was completely unheard of. I sincerely don’t know how long we would have stood like that if another noise hadn’t broken the spell. It was unfamiliar at first, almost alien in nature. In fact, it was only after looking around and finding the source that I realized what it was.

Arch was laughing.

Not doubled over or anything, just small bubbles of mirth escaping his mouth, clearly unbidden. It didn’t last long, and once he realized, he resumed the usual hard-faced expression. But it was too late. The mask had slipped, and for just a moment, we’d seen past the stony-walled exterior of Agent Arch.

“I like you, Albert. If nothing else, you’ve got some serious brass ones on you. I’ll think over your counter-offer and be in touch. For now, all of you get out of here and go home. I’ve got paperwork to do.”

With that, Arch turned and walked out of the room, leaving us alone.

“It might not have seemed like it, but I’m pretty sure that was him agreeing to your conditions,” Krystal said. “Arch isn’t one to mull things over, and when he takes interest in something, it’s hell getting him to let go. My money says he’s booked a hotel room before we even land.” As she spoke, Krystal urged us forward, back into the halls that would hopefully be the start of our journey home.

“I hope I did the right thing,” Albert said, absentmindedly touching the hilt of his sword.

“You did the best you could.” Bubba added a slap on Albert’s back for encouragement. “That’s all any of us can do. Right or wrong, just keep doin’ your best and things will be okay.”

“Bubba’s absolutely right,” I said. “You stood your ground and decided on the terms you were okay with changing your life for. That took a lot of courage.”

Albert stared up at me, and at last, his usual cheerful grin fixed itself back in place. “You really think so?”

“I truly do, Albert. Now, let’s go home and rest. You’ve earned it.”

A Lawyer in the Manor
1.

When I was first turned into a vampire, I’d known immediately that my employment options had suddenly become vastly more limited. Certainly, there were (and are) jobs out there that have to take place in darkness; however, most of them are either criminal in some nature or simply use a different skill set than what I possessed. Even if I could have talked my way into a night janitor position or dock-working job (which would have been a hard sell given my very apparent lack of muscle), I wouldn’t have been happy. For all its faults, I have always loved being an accountant, and what’s more, I consider myself to be quite adept at it.

In a way, being turned undead was one of the greatest blessings of my professional life, because it forced me to take a step I would never have found the courage to do without sheer necessity: I started my own business. I’ll admit, the first year was a rough one. Not everyone was comfortable dealing with an accountant who kept the sort of hours that precluded daytime meetings and preferred to work through a messenger service. Luckily, a combination of teleconferencing, and rates so low I feel cheap even recalling them, allowed me to get my feet in enough doors to build a reputation. One of the few upsides of being a vampire, or at least, one of the few that comes in handy given my peaceful nature, is that sleep becomes optional. We can only do it during the day, and that’s only if we’re so inclined. With twice as much working time as regular accountants, and a healthy drive to see my fledgling company succeed, I was able to put out quality work in fractions of the time.

After a while, my reputation grew to the point where I had consistent work whenever I needed it, and of course, becoming a CPPA opened a whole new avenue of clients, many of whom were aching for the services I offered. Still, even at the point I had reached after Albert’s sword debacle, there was no getting around the fact that some of the bigger client’s required more wooing than I could deliver via phone, text, and mail. To quote one of Bubba’s favorite sayings: “If you want the biggest fish in the pond, you have to be willing to wade out and get your feet muddy.”

It was that reason which had me on the outskirts of my town of Winslow, Colorado, staring up at a large, pristinely kept building. The architecture was immaculate and clearly Victorian inspired, with three stories and a generous size. Once, it had been home to someone of affluence, but now it served as a bed and breakfast, though I had no intention of availing myself of either of those services. I was here for a dinner meeting with Mr. Price, one of the three partners at Price, Wordsworth, and Stern, a local investment firm notorious for using multiple outside accounting sources to ensure accuracy and compliance. Getting in with them represented a huge amount of well-paying business, and openings came along rarely.

I walked carefully up the steps of the building, my briefcase clutched firmly in hand. It was fortunate that vampires didn’t sweat, as for once, I was able to go into a situation like this without looking like I’d just been caught in a light shower. At my old firm, Torvald & Torvald, I’d been respected for my acumen with numbers, but was never permitted to meet with actual clients. It was a policy I’d neither objected to nor found particularly offensive.

As I neared the front door, I noticed a bronze placard resting just above the frame. In elegant script were scrawled two words: “Charlotte Manor.” Perhaps this would have been comforting, assuring me I’d come to the right place, if there had been any other building within the last two miles that might have qualified as a B&B. The outskirts of Winslow were nowhere near as vibrant as the downtown scene, and I couldn’t imagine a place like this saw very much business, quaint charm and all. Heaven only knew why Mr. Price had chosen this as the place for our meeting, but after all the effort I’d put into getting this far in the interview process, I would be damned if I missed out over a thirty-minute drive.

As I stepped through the door, a small bell tinkled overhead. The sound echoed off the wooden walls, stopping only when it hit one of the many plush carpets running the length of the halls. To my right was a welcome desk with cubby holes set behind it, a cash register that easily dated back to the turn of the century, and an old woman with a warm smile. I’d scarcely made it two steps in when she greeted me.

“Good evening, young man. Are you here to take a room or for the dinner party?” Once upon a time, I might have described her voice as ancient; however, meeting beings who counted their lifespans in centuries had removed such wanton hyperbole from my thinking. Her voice was merely appropriately old for the number of years she’d evidently been alive, yet it was still friendly and welcoming. This place wasn’t all superficial charm, it seemed.

“The dinner party, I believe. I assume that’s the one being held by Mr. Price?”

She nodded, an action far more time consuming than it might have been for a younger person. “You’ll be eating in our dining room. We don’t usually rent that out in respect to the other guests, but you managed to get lucky and catch us when we were empty.”

Though the words were delivered in the same cheery manner as earlier, I found myself questioning their truthfulness. Somehow, I highly doubted that it was very hard to find this place without many guests. Of course, having been raised with half a modicum of decency, I kept such notions to myself.

“I can’t imagine why, your home is perfectly lovely.” That part was certainly true; everything from the molding to the paintings on the walls looked vintage and hand-crafted. “Would you be so kind as to point me to the dining room?”

“Well, aren’t you a polite one.” The old woman gave me a larger smile, this one appearing more genuine than what she kept on for guests. “Just go down the hall. The doors should be open and on your left. You can’t miss it.”

“Thank you very much.” I began my trek down the lengthy hallway and within ten steps, I knew exactly where I was heading. Despite usually keeping my vampiric hearing under control, it still tuned to ear-catchingly loud noises on its own. Mr. Price’s robust voice certainly qualified as such a sound, his booming tones racing through the air to all who might be within reasonable vicinity.

“Now, none of that,” I heard him say. “We’ll talk shop when everyone gets here, and not a moment before. Get yourself a drink and relax. This is the social part of the evening.”

Then, having tuned into the conversation, I overheard a new voice. This one was softer and more controlled than Mr. Price’s, though achieving either of those things was hardly a mean feat. Despite its delicate nature, the sound of that voice froze me in my place. I stood, halfway between steps, as it spoke.

“We certainly understand, Mr. Price, I just wanted to answer any lingering questions you might have while we’ve got this opportunity.”

I knew that voice. It belonged to a woman who’d led several meetings a month during my tenure at Torvald & Torvald, one of the top minds in the legal department. She was one half of the best closing team the company had to offer, paired with an accountant who was all wavy hair and white teeth instead of actual numbers knowledge. Almost on cue, I heard his voice.

“Besides, we can save you the trouble of spending dinner with the second-stringers. At Torvald & Torvald, we’re dedicated to being the best. Our reputation speaks for itself.”

And there it was, the old dynamic duo still in action: Asha Patel and Troy Warner. This made matters far more complicated. Not only did they represent some incredibly stiff competition, but they represented an issue I hadn’t really dealt with since reconnecting with Krystal: talking to someone who’d known me when I was alive.

I’ll admit it: I briefly considered turning tail and racing out of there. By this point in my memoirs, I can’t imagine that bit of information will shock or amaze you. However, I am proud to say that I fought that urge down and instead, continued my trek forward. I’d known going in that this wouldn’t be an easy client to win, and I refused to give up before even trying. I might have been a useless coward in most matters of life (as well as the supernatural), but by God, I was a good accountant, and on that single battleground, I refused to concede.

With a quick adjustment of the tie I’d worn over my pressed button-down shirt, I finished walking down the hallway and stepped into the dining room. As far as heroic charges went, I doubt it would make anyone’s top ten, but for me, it was enough.