Out of House and Home (Fred the Vampire Accountant Book 7) Read online

  Out of House and Home

  Fred the Vampire Accountant #7

  Drew Hayes

  Out of House and Home

  Fred the Vampire Accountant #7

  By Drew Hayes

  Copyright © 2021 by Andrew Hayes

  All Rights Reserved.

  Edited by Celestian Rince (https://celestianrince.com)

  Edited by Kisa Whipkey (http://kisawhipkey.com)

  Cover by A.M. Ruggs

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the author.

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

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Preface

  An Invader In The Home

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  A Mystery in the Mall

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  A Storm on the Mountain

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  A Guest at the Gala

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  A Reckoning of Houses

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Other Novels by Drew Hayes

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  I’d like to dedicate this one to all the wonderful accountants who have reached out through the years to share their love of Fred

  Extra appreciation to my beta readers who contribute their time and feedback toward making these stories the best they can be: TheSFReader, E Ramos E, and Priscilla Yuen.

  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.

  1

  “It just seems a bit . . . much.” Standing in the dark of a cool night, I carefully looked over the vehicle, taking in every detail, of which there were quite a few to note. Thick tires jutted out from the sides of a boxy, tremendously oversized cab, topped with a rack of lights and windows that I’d bet were carrying many more enhancements than a mere spell to mitigate sunlight.

  Ah, but if that seems like a curious feature to assume in a vehicle, perhaps I should pause briefly for a moment to explain. My name is Fredrick Frankford Fletcher, and my fear of daylight stems from the simple fact that I am a vampire. While I’d gotten around one of our perpetual weaknesses by gaining a silver immunity, the sun was still a force I had to reckon with.

  With me that evening were Al, a summer fey and recent hire to my accounting company; Gregor, my gargoyle bodyguard appointed by a dragon; Bubba, a therianthrope who worked directly for the head of his local organization; and Lillian, my company’s first hire, who’d originally been sent by a rival vampire clan to spy on me. Gathered together in the parking lot of Charlotte Manor, a sentient bed-and-breakfast who’d been our home now for several years by this point, the crowd still felt a bit thin by our usual standards.

  It didn’t help that so many of our friends were out on assignment, starting with the one whose absence I felt most keenly. While she’d elected to take the name Krystal Fletcher for private use, officially, my wife was still Agent Jenkins, capable and dangerous operative for the Agency, a covert organization designed to ensure parahuman laws were properly obeyed. They essentially functioned as enforcers for the countless treaties that governed the various parahuman factions, making sure that things stayed as peaceful as possible and hiding our existence from humanity in general. Her being gone was part of the job, something I’d known and accepted when we took the plunge into marriage. At least she’d been able to take some time off for our honeymoon.

  Arch, a fellow agent who seemed to be borderline—if not truly—immortal, was also gone on some assignment or other, taking Neil and Albert with him. The necromancer-and-zombie duo had been getting more attention from the Agency since they showed what they could do during the pre-wedding fight (it’s a long story) and were seeing more work because of it. If they hadn’t been offered some sort of official position with the organization yet, it was only a matter of time. Also missing was Amy, our resident alchemist capable of whipping up nearly anything, but who mostly focused on odd concoctions that interested her. She’d been booked to enhance a bar for a local therian wedding.

  That left only the House of Fred’s newest official member: Asha Patel, a lawyer who’d been a human friend until several months back. Unfortunately, my sire’s attempt on my life caught her instead, and it was only thanks to turning her in time—and some very special blood—that Asha was still with us in any sense. Adjusting to vampire life had been going smoothly so far (she was holding up much better than I did after the change), and she seemed to enjoy working nights. Asha would be stopping by when her client meeting ended, but that wouldn’t be nearly soon enough to ogle the vehicular monstrosity resting in Charlotte’s parking lot.

  I’d barely made it back myself, having just dropped off some contracts in my ridiculous rental vehicle. Battling with the ins
urance over my old car being bombed was bad enough, but my in-between options all seemed to be huge, gas-guzzling monsters. As someone who might be on this planet for hundreds of years to come, being eco-conscious seemed the only logical choice. It was a sentiment none of the rental agencies near my town of Winslow, Colorado seemed keen on embracing, but my busy schedule had precluded the time to go car shopping. That was why I’d asked Bubba for help, as the most mechanically inclined person I knew.

  Standing next to a contraption that appeared as if someone had tried to fuse a tank with an off-road dune buggy, the huge man looked a bit sheepish, even going so far as to rub the back of his neck. “I know what you’re gonna say, and before you raise issues, the engine is a custom job. Got some special materials and enchantments in there to increase fuel efficiency by over fifty percent.”

  Lillian let out a whistle, running her sharp nails along the front bumper and failing to leave more than a thin line. “That’s not the only magic on this thing. I can feel the thrum of power weaving through it. This is a hardy hunk of machinery.”

  Though I couldn’t feel any such magic emanating, I didn’t doubt Lillian’s assessment. One of the most powerful, terrifying vampirism aspects was our ability to take on the gifts of other parahumans by drinking their blood. It’s why the legends of what we can do vary so greatly between years and cultures: some vampiric abilities are dependent on the blood they’ve recently been drinking. As someone who stuck only to the human stuff, I was about as weak as a vampire could be—some slight after-effects of dragon magic notwithstanding. Lillian had a more varied diet, but I trusted her to obtain that stock through legal, ethical means. Apparently, she’d worked some mage blood into her rotation. That would certainly allow her to sense magic so easily.

  Banging once on the tires, Al then seemed to stroke the air around the vehicle, taking what I could swear was a lick of it at the end. “It’s got decent vibes. Not great, but decent.” As a pixie, Al was one of the people whose abilities I understood the least, in no small part because of how rarely she used them. Outside of her magical aura that added haphazard whimsy to the world, Al kept things as professional as possible. From her magically enlarged, human-level size, to her crisp business suit, to the tight braid in her hair, she was a pixie determined to be taken seriously. Given how hard she worked and the speedy progress on her education, I didn’t even mind when my morning coffee occasionally turned into hot chocolate.

  Gregor knocked his huge knuckles against the hood once, then nodded. For my stoic bodyguard, it was a ringing show of endorsement. No surprise, as it was his job to keep me safe, and this would be a very helpful tool in that endeavor. On a personal level, I still wasn’t entirely sure if Gregor actually cared about my well-being, not that I doubted his effectiveness at the job. Even if Gregor had loathed me to the core, he’d been put in this position by Gideon, our local dragon, King of the West, and apparently something of a folk hero to Gregor’s gargoyle clan. I didn’t know the entire tale of their history, but it seemed there was little they wouldn’t do to earn his approval. Gregor had been told by Gideon to protect me. He’d have to be shattered into rubble before anyone could stop him from fulfilling that order.

  While everyone else had found something to like, I had to stick firm on my assessment. “Bubba, I appreciate the effort, I really do, but I just don’t see this working. It draws too much attention, and not the right kind for my line of work. Imagine the terror one of my clients might feel at seeing an assault vehicle pulling up their drive, or the perils of parking it in a company’s lot next to all the normal sedans. The concern for my safety is touching. Maybe we can veer slightly back toward the mundane, though?”

  “Unwise,” Gregor said, blunt and to the point, just as I was learning to expect from him, if or when he spoke at all. “Your last vehicle was turned into a weapon. You have an enemy you know will use it as a target. Make your transportation secure.”

  “As a rule, I wouldn’t go expecting Quinn to repeat himself. He’s nothing if not a fan of trying new things.” The name of my sire felt sour in my mouth. Quinn had always been a piece of work, starting with abandoning me after being turned with no explanation or guidance. He’d then kidnapped Krystal before realizing what her profession was (that mistake had cost him an arm), but he still came after me a few years later, armed with a small team of magically controlled vampires. Then there was the bomb planted in my car just before the wedding, a strike that had cost Asha her human life.

  Deep down, I knew Gregor had a point. Quinn kept coming, and ignoring him wasn’t going to make anyone safer. Fighting back might have been a nice fantasy, but even if I had that in me, nobody could find him. Somehow, he was staying out of the Agency’s clutches, along with some powerful fey I suspected were after him as well. Quinn appeared only when he wanted, and there was always some kind of destruction in his wake. Still, I didn’t think buying a pseudo-tank was the right solution either. If anything, he’d just view it as a challenge, and I didn’t want to see the collateral damage caused by whatever it took to crack this car’s shell.

  “Knew it was a long shot, but Gideon had this sittin’ around, so I figured we might be able to put it to good use.” Bubba gave me a polite tip of his hat, then started to climb back into the cab.

  “Hang on!” I protested. “You drove all the way out here—want to stay for dinner? I don’t know what Charlotte is making tonight, but I can say with certainty that it will be outstanding.” That was putting it lightly. It might be viewed as cheating, since she used magical ingredients and preparation, but Charlotte Manor was an incredible chef. Those lucky enough to live on her premises had meals included as part of the cost—easily the best money I spent outside of essentials like blood.

  The reputation preceded her, as Bubba’s movements came to a quick halt. “Supposed to go pick up Amy from her wedding gig after I run this back, but for Charlotte’s supper, I’ve got time. I’ll just swing by in this. Bet Amy will get a hoot out of the ride, if she’s in a state of mind to notice.”

  Together, we all headed up the stairs onto the front porch of Charlotte Manor. A sentient home built by mages many years before, her original creators eventually met their end trying to start a war with the Agency. While she could appear within the walls in any form she chose, Charlotte was actually the house itself, a fact we all tried hard not to think about where matters of privacy were concerned. Between her ability to maintain the building, provide food, and the layers upon layers of magical security built into her walls, we were fortunate to have Charlotte as an ally. It was thanks to her that we had a safe place to call home.

  It was only as I grabbed the front door that I realized something felt off. Usually, Charlotte would have been out on the porch to see the excitement or greet her guests after a long day of solitude. I shook the notion off, dismissing it as paranoia brought on by all the Quinn talk, and pushed open the front door.

  The angry screaming that hit me was so loud, I was physically knocked back by several inches as I gaped in horror at the sight awaiting us.

  2

  To describe the scene as simply mad would be a disservice to the chaos awaiting us on the other side of the door. Movement was flurried and fast as multiple versions of Charlotte dashed around, trying to grab the unusual creatures skittering across the walls, floor, and even ceiling. Each one was roughly three feet long, with spindly legs poking out of thick gray shells. The undulating tentacles probing from the mouth were disturbing, but it was the four scythe-like appendages spaced along their bodies that were more concerning.

  Each bladed bug was cutting into Charlotte Manor, attacking the house around them, and as every blow landed, the house let out another scream. I was momentarily bowled over by it all, the shock of being greeted by the unexpected mixed with the confusion of how we hadn’t heard anything from the outside. Then there were the questions of why Charlotte was bothering to manifest all these forms to fight back? She had everyone I’d ever seen in the fray, fr
om the old woman who worked the front desk, to the sharply dressed waiter who served meals, to the young woman in an olden-time dress that I thought of as her default. All of them were smacking at the bugs, largely ineffectually.

  Luckily for Charlotte, I was not the only one in attendance, and several of my colleagues were far more adept at mentally switching gears. By the time I’d recovered myself enough to take action, Bubba and Lillian were already inside, each squaring off against one of the invading insects. Al was weaving some sort of bubblegum-looking substance into existence between her hands, and Gregor was waiting at my side. Assuming he was waiting for me to make the first move, I started forward, only to be halted by a thick hand on my chest.

  “Too dangerous.”

  “What?” I could barely process the words, my brain going a mile a minute as I struggled to understand how the day had suddenly gone so wrong.

  Gregor tilted his head through the door, to where both Lillian and Bubba were having trouble with their opponents. The bugs were quick, and their scythes were evidently unbothered by parahuman toughness. If the giant size hadn’t tipped me off that they were supernatural in origin, that certainly would have cinched it. Anything that could hurt those two had to be packing magical augmentation.