Bloody Acquisitions (Fred Book 3) Read online

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  COPYRIGHT

  Bloody Acquisitions © Copyright 2016 by Drew Hayes. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Cover design by Ashley Ruggirello

  Cover art Copyright 2016

  Interior formatting by Ashley Ruggirello

  Edited by Kisa Whipkey and Rae Oestreich

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-942111-35-1

  Electronic ISBN: 978-1-942111-36-8

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locals is entirely coincidental.

  REUTS Publications

  www.REUTS.com

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Preface

  A Hunter in the Streets

  Book One – Chapter One

  Book One – Chapter Two

  Book One – Chapter Three

  Book One – Chapter Four

  Book One – Chapter Five

  Book One – Chapter Six

  Book One – Chapter Seven

  A Sheriff in the Country

  Book Two – Chapter One

  Book Two – Chapter Two

  Book Two – Chapter Three

  Book Two – Chapter Four

  Book Two – Chapter Five

  Book Two – Chapter Six

  Book Two – Chapter Seven

  A Lawyer in the Mansion

  Book Three – Chapter One

  Book Three – Chapter Two

  Book Three – Chapter Three

  Book Three – Chapter Four

  Book Three – Chapter Five

  Book Three – Chapter Six

  Book Three – Chapter Seven

  Book Three – Chapter Eight

  A Spy in the Company

  Book Four – Chapter One

  Book Four – Chapter Two

  Book Four – Chapter Three

  Book Four – Chapter Four

  Book Four – Chapter Five

  Book Four – Chapter Six

  Book Four – Chapter Seven

  Book Four – Chapter Eight

  Book Four – Chapter Nine

  Book Four – Chapter Ten

  An Accountant in the City

  Book Five – Chapter One

  Book Five – Chapter Two

  Book Five – Chapter Three

  Book Five – Chapter Four

  Book Five – Chapter Five

  Book Five – Chapter Six

  Book Five – Chapter Seven

  Book Five – Chapter Eight

  Book Five – Chapter Nine

  Book Five – Chapter Ten

  About Drew Hayes

  Connect with Drew Hayes

  Copyright

  Dedication

  This book, the third in a series I wasn’t sure would get off the ground beyond the first, goes out to the wonderful readers who’ve made this possible. Thank you for taking a chance on the strange tales of a socially awkward vampire accountant, whose stories I hope to be telling for a long time to come.

  Preface

  I almost certainly do not know you; however, I shall assume you are a lovely person, and it is my loss for not having yet had the opportunity to meet you. Still, I must assume you and I are connected in some way, for the works you are about to read are selections from a journal of my memoirs. I compiled these not in the belief that the stories within are so compelling they must be told, but rather because I found my unexpected life transition to be so shockingly uneventful—at least initially. I place the blame for my aggrandized expectations squarely on contemporary media, filling my head with the belief that a ticket to the supernatural also put one on an express train toward coolness and suave charm.

  This is simply not the case. Or, at least, it was not my case. I recorded my journeys in the hopes that, should another being find themselves utterly depressed at the humdrum personality still saddling their supernatural frame, they might find solace in knowing they are not the only one to have felt that way. Given the lengthy lifespan of many of the people with whom I associate, there is no guarantee they will have passed on by the time this is read. Therefore, names have been changed as I deemed necessary.

  So, dear reader, whom I suspect is a wonderful person merely in need of a bit of reassurance, take comfort in my tales of uneventful blundering. One’s nature is hard to change; sometimes even death is insufficient to accomplish such a task. But be assured that, while you might find yourself still more human than anticipated, you are far from the only one. You will eventually discover that under the movie stereotypes, imposed mystique, and overall inflated expectations, each and every one of us is at least a touch more boring than our images would indicate.

  And that is not a bad thing.

  —Fredrick Frankford Fletcher

  A Hunter in the Streets

  1.

  “While I’m glad you don’t fall into the old female stereotype of having lots of shoes, part of me wishes you did. I’d much prefer to be lugging around high heels than yet another box full of guns.” As gently as I possibly could, I set the cardboard cube down on Krystal’s empty counter. Normally, there was nowhere near enough kitchen space cleaned off to fit even a single glass, let alone a whole box of armaments, but today was different. Today, her entire apartment was almost stripped bare, with much of the furniture going off into storage or being returned to the rental locations they’d been taken from.

  Today was moving day, which was why I’d been roped into helping to haul the possessions she was keeping—including what had to be an illegal amount of firearms even for an agent—off to her new home.

  “Don’t be such a baby. My collection is nothing. You should see the armory that Arch carts around everywhere.” Krystal emerged from her bedroom, a duffel bag packed with more of her knives, batons, and other melee gear rattling on her shoulder. “Plus, like I’ve been saying ever since the word came down, this is ultimately all your fault. Once the Agency found out what a deal you’d gotten for Arch, they didn’t see the sense in paying for me to have a more expensive, less defended apartment.”

  While “fault” seemed like an aggressive term, there was no denying that I had set in motion the chain of events which resulted in Krystal’s fellow agent, Arch, moving into the animated house on the outskirts of Winslow, Colorado known as Charlotte Manor. On top of coming with three meals a day and all utilities included, Charlotte was also something of a magical fortress, built by a commune of insane mages and meant to repel all but the most powerful of attackers. Granted, not everyone would be thrilled by the idea of living in a home that was self-aware and always watching, but for people like Krystal and Arch, the loss of privacy was well worth it to be able to sleep with both eyes shut.

  But perhaps I should step back briefly, in case those last few lines seem like the raving of a madman or incomprehensible gibberish. My name is Fredrick Frankford Fletcher, and I am a Certified Public Parahuman Accountant. Also, a vampire. Despite what film and television might have led to you believe, joining the undead does not inherently make one suave, cool, or even particularly more socially competent. What it does do, however, is thrust you into a community that lives in the normal world’s shadow, a society comprised of parahumans. That very community has technically endangered my undead life several times, but it has also helped me me
et a variety of friends I would never have run across in my mortal days, so it’s not that bad of a trade. Krystal, my girlfriend, makes her living working for the agency that polices our kind, ensuring that all the laws and treaties of our various peoples are upheld. It keeps her on the road a lot, which is just one more reason why moving to Charlotte Manor made more sense than her previous arrangement.

  We hauled our respective loads down the stairs, setting them into the back cab of Krystal’s pickup truck, where she’d saved a space specifically for the weaponry. My hybrid was already filled with the more mundane objects like clothing and dishes, rather than firearms and blades. She had the security clearance to be walking around with half a riot squad’s arsenal; I didn’t, and even for vampires, traffic stops are still a possibility.

  “And that . . . is it.” Krystal slammed the door closed, causing me to jump as I waited to hear the guns go off, despite her assurances that they were all unloaded. She chuckled, but didn’t call me out on being startled, likely because I was in the middle of doing her a favor. “Bubba and Amy should be about done with their load by now, so once we get the dangerous stuff inside, we can break for night-lunch.”

  Much as I wished she’d think of a new term for our customary meal around midnight, being my equivalent of a mid-day point, I was never going to object to enjoying Charlotte’s cooking. While it’s true that I primarily need blood to survive, I can still dine on human food. My body gains no nutrients from it, but that’s never really the best part of eating a fine meal anyway, is it?

  “I just have to swing by my place real quick to fire off an email,” I told her. “Promised to have some acquisition forms sent out before morning.”

  “Can’t Albert do that?” Krystal asked.

  “You already dragged Albert and Neil into helping you move,” I reminded her. “They took the first couple of boxes. And anyway, there’s a bit of prep work to do, which puts it out of Albert’s depth. Great assistant or not, some tasks require my personal touch.”

  Krystal leered at me for a few seconds—her way of letting me know I was on thin ice—before finally relenting with a sigh. “I’ll let it slide this time, but don’t take too long. These boxes aren’t going to unpack themselves.”

  “I promise to be as quick as possible,” I assured her.

  “I’d prefer you promise to hire some more help,” Krystal shot back. “Even vampires need rest, you know.”

  She had me there. When I first got my CPPA license and began courting parahuman clients, I’d been fearful there wouldn’t be enough business to sustain the investment. What I discovered was that this was a hole in the market that desperately required filling, and over the past few months, it had been all I could do to keep up with the influx of new clients. Fletcher Accounting Services needed to expand, which was far easier said than done. Parahumans might be in ample supply, but precious few of them wanted to make their living as accountants.

  “It would be nice,” I agreed. “My original plan was to get Albert trained up as he grew more familiar with the practice, and then pay for him to obtain the necessary accounting degrees. But with the sword training, that’s just not viable.” Several months prior, Albert had pulled the Blade of the Unlikely Champion from its sheath. Technically, that didn’t come with any built-in responsibilities; however, everyone had agreed it was best he get comfortable using it, just in case. Which, in fact, was why Arch had moved to Winslow and needed somewhere to stay in the first place. Despite seeming human, Arch was quite old, and renowned for his abilities as a trainer, among other things.

  “I’ll keep an ear to the ground, just in case I come across any good candidates.” Krystal pulled open the door to her truck, then paused to lean in and give me a short, but forceful, kiss. “Don’t take too long with your work, or I’ll let them start night-lunch without you.”

  “Only a few minutes, at most.” She let it be, getting into her truck and heading off before I’d so much as gotten my own car’s door unlocked.

  The truth of the matter was that I knew exactly how long the work would take, and it would be seconds, at most. I’d purposely left it undone specifically so I’d have an excuse to split up from her when the last load was packed. I’m not a terrible liar, but Krystal is an agent for a reason, and telling the truth made it far less likely that the real reason I was going back to my apartment would be uncovered.

  After all, it wouldn’t be much of a surprise housewarming party without the surprise part. Or a cake, specially ordered from a bakery back in Krystal’s and my hometown of Kent. It was a favorite of both of ours, and a nice way to ring in the new with the old. But I needed to hurry. The plan was for everyone to distract her with unpacking while I picked up the cake and brought it to Charlotte Manor.

  Turning on my engine, I started to floor it, then remembered my car was full of Krystal’s possessions—some of which were almost certain to be illegal for a non-agent to have, dishes or no—and resumed a far more moderate pace.

  2.

  It turned out to be a good thing that I was driving so carefully, because, if I’d come racing up to my building, the spiky metal balls hurled under my tires might have caused me to completely spin out of control. As it was, I held on to the wheel as three of my four tires blew out at once, foot pressing on the brake so hard that I worried I’d snap it off, until I came skidding to a merciful stop a few feet from the curb. Thankfully, the late hour and lack of nightlife in my neighborhood meant the streets were clear, so I didn’t hurt anyone as I scrambled to get my automobile halted. That didn’t last long, though. I’d barely begun to reach for the door, my fingers shaking from shock and fear, when a new figure stepped out from a nearby alley.

  He was tall, with close-cut brown hair and a scar just below his left eye. A large brown coat concealed most of his body, but when he moved, I could catch a peek inside, which was not a comforting sight. Wooden stakes, bulbs of garlic, the telltale shine of guns, silver chains, and several other bulges I couldn’t quite make out during my brief glimpse all sent my usually anxious mind into overdrive. His hands dipped inside, coming out with a pair of pistols. Krystal could have told me the make and model, but all I knew was that they were big, and would undoubtedly punch a bloody hole in any part of me they were aimed at.

  I froze, fingers still wrapped around the handle, until he motioned for me to get out of the car. With only one good tire, escape was off the table, so I didn’t have a lot of choice. Besides, I was sure this was some sort of misunderstanding. Maybe an agent had been given the wrong address for a rogue vampire, one who didn’t adhere to the law as carefully as me. A simple call would sort it right out. At least, that’s what I told myself as I climbed slowly out of my car.

  “Don’t move. Don’t try anything.” He barked more than spoke, gesturing with the guns. Now that I was out, I could catch a glimpse of his eyes for the first time, and I noticed how wild they seemed. Every agent I’d met was a bastion of control—even Krystal’s chaotic attitude came with a carefully measured understanding of how much force was needed. But this man . . . I felt like he could begin firing at any moment. That certainty I’d had about the misunderstanding began to erode, ever so slightly.

  “Empty your pockets on the ground.” It struck me that I might just be getting mugged, which was an oddly comforting thought. Possessions could be replaced, and some crook was far less dangerous than a person actually keyed in to the parahuman world.

  I did as I was told, dropping my wallet, car keys, and cell phone to the concrete. As soon as the last item hit the ground, he took quick aim and fired, causing me to jump back and turning my phone into nothing more than plastic debris. Undead or not, guns are scary things, especially when pointed at you, and I decided it was time to try and start extricating myself from this situation.

  “I’m not sure what charges are being leveled at me, but I’m willing to go along peacefully,” I told him. “If you could reach out to Agent Jenkins, I’ll trust her to arrange proper representa
tion. We do still get lawyers, right?” It had never occurred to me until this very moment, yet it suddenly seemed strikingly relevant. America’s constitution did provide representation for all its citizens, but parahumans had a somewhat different set of rules. Since they helped form the country, they’d negotiated their own sets of laws to accommodate the need for things like hunting and magic. Sometimes it meant we could get away with more than normal humans, sometimes less. I imagined due process had to be factored in there somewhere, though.

  “Representation?” He sneered at me, those wild eyes twitching irregularly. “You think I’m dumb enough to take you to the cops? I know what you are, and I know those cells couldn’t hold you for long. Isn’t that right, vampire?”

  The way he said it, like it was a big reveal . . . I think I was supposed to react more. Like the silver chains and garlic didn’t give away what he thought he was confronting. Although, now that I finally had a chance to think about it, why would an agent bring garlic? Vampires are allergic to it, but only in the sense that our lips get puffy and our throats sore. It’s useless in any real capacity, and an agent would definitely know that.

  “You’re not affiliated with the Agency, are you?”

  “Keep talking nonsense, and I’ll do this right here in the street,” he snapped. “No, I’m not part of whatever organization you use. Just a man who saw what was happening and couldn’t stand for it any longer. Took me a long while to find this town’s first vampire, until I thought to stake out the local hospital’s blood supply. Your little flunky didn’t want to talk, loyal one you’ve got there, but I got it out of him eventually.”