Into the Shadows Page 22

  Hell, I didn't know the place had a lounge. I gathered a few things and went up the creaky stairs. At the end of the hall to my left was my old prison room. Ah, memories - they suck. Directly to my right was a big room that said 'conference' on the open door. It was set up like a living room, full of furniture, tables, and a TV on the wall. There were two windows that both faced the front of the building, giving a view of the wide street below and a vacant lot across the way.

  I set down a box of crackers, a can of Pepsi, a glass full of ice, and my flask. I took a seat opposite of Viggo and made a drink. "What do you think?" he asked. I assumed he meant the accommodations.

  "This is very nice, sir," I answered. "I haven't looked in all of the rooms, but what I've seen is more than enough. Thank you."

  With a shrug, Viggo commented, "There are a few rooms for your use. One is a manager's office downstairs, next to the lobby. Another is an entertainment room, next to your former apartment." Yeah, apartment - that was a nice way to put it. "The last is the former owner's office just down the hall, which has been simply decorated as a bedroom. It has its own restroom. There are two other offices and a small assembly room that haven't been converted. You see, this building used to be owned by a company that distributed small parts to the now-abandoned auto plant four blocks down the road."

  "Alright," I said after a sip, "well, it's still great. And no one knows about it, right?"

  "Only a few members of my faction, but only I use it. Mr. Merritt was only here at my request while you were being held. To reinforce your sense of security, I'll tell you this: all of the walls are concrete, all the glass is bullet-proof, and there are bars on every window. The garage doors are steel with slide locks. The only other exterior door is in the lobby, and it has coded entry and a series of locks. The back gate is padlocked, and the building has a wireless alarm system. You are safe here, Leo."

  "It sure sounds that way, sir. So . . . What happens now?"

  Viggo sat back, crossed his legs and said, "That depends on you, Leo. As it currently stands, the Adepts may not be actively searching you out anymore, but they will not pass on an opportunity to remove you if you are spotted."

  "I figured as much, sir."

  "As far as I can tell with the Outsiders," Viggo went on, "Fletcher is angry because of how this evening's events played out, and may sway others within his loose faction to look for retribution. Ragna will alter documents to secure a powerful debt from him, so he cannot attack her directly. However, he and others of his faction may strike in other areas that would affect the dog-woman, you included. The variable concerning you lies with how convincing the story of your demise is told."

  "It doesn't sound like I have too many choices so far, sir."

  Viggo's stare alone told me that I was being an ungrateful shit and that he was giving me all the facts in case I didn't know them. "Sorry, sir," I mumbled behind my drink.

  "As of now," he continued, ignoring my apology, "you will have to immediately cut all ties without explanation. That includes neighbors, friends at the tavern and security agency you were formerly employed with, acquaintances from your gun club and dojo, military comrades, the employees of the liquor store you frequent - I mean everyone. For your own safety, you should not go near any of those people or places, not even your own home. Not until we see how things turn out."

  "I hate the thought of worrying my friends like that, sir."

  "I know you do, Leo. That is part of why I see you as so much more than the obligation of an oath. Nonetheless, the chance cannot be taken. What if a member of one of the other factions questions your neighbors - Mr. Sanchez and his family across the street, for example - and is told that they have seen you just the day before? You are supposedly dead. That nice family might then be used as bait to draw you out of hiding. Do you see my reasoning now?"

  "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 co
ffee 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."

  "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."