03 Hello Frank
The elevator smelled musty. It was huge and opulent but it felt old, all brass and outdated textiles. Adam stared at their reflection in the polished doors, his eyes largely unfocused but occasionally flashing that odd deep flash she saw at dinner.
“This is where he lives?” she asked and his eyes shifted to her in the reflection. He nodded.
“And works,” he said. “You didn’t know?”
She shook her head and looked up at the numbers ticking up above the door. “We’ve met twice. The first time I almost killed him. The second time we made the deal.”
He turned to her, almost brusquely. “Why?”
Ophilia mimicked his turn and realized too late that he was close. He didn’t yield any space and so neither could she. Thirty minutes ago she wanted him closer. But now she may have to hurt him or even kill him and sometimes she needed a running start to do such things.
“I was hurt,” she said, meeting his gaze. “Some of my people were compromised. It made sense at the time.”
He held her gaze long enough for that gentle heat to return and then he nodded and turned away.
“I am not judging,” he said. “At all. I was just curious.”
So now he knew that she could make deals. She could compromise. But in a way he had already known that. She would make a deal or take a bet. Even if the outcome wasn’t certain and the payoff might hurt.
She turned back to their reflections. “This elevator is slow.”
He nodded. “It’s the oldest one in the building. Goes all the way up to the penthouse office.”
Adam had hacked the security panel in about three seconds. It would have taken Norman at least thirty, maybe as long as a couple of minutes.
“And what am I doing again?” she asked.
“He’s terrified of you. Let me do the talking and you find ways to use that terror to keep him off balance. Stand behind me so that he won’t see you until we get off the elevator.”
She moved behind him as the elevator slowed.
“You do realize he might have security.” And she still wore the black dress, strappy heels and no panties. Adam appeared capable but if he was then why did he need her?
“He’s alone,” Adam whispered. “But be prepared to move if I’m wrong.”
The elevator eased to a rattling stop. Ophilia closed her eyes.
I need to be fast.
Her body responded. Or rather they responded by altering her neurology and tightening her muscles to make her reflexes faster. Her perception of time slowed which made conversations awkward but she could adjust. She realized that the lines along her arms and legs would have briefly illuminated as they made the adjustments but she stood behind him. He couldn’t have seen anything. Later, he might notice the light scars that ran like lines on a circuit board up the sides of her legs and arms, across her shoulders and down either side of her spine. The scars on her arms and back only showed in certain light or if she got too much sun but making adjustments also made them more noticeable for a while. She was particularly self conscious about the lines on her legs and kept them covered with concealer. But if she asked for adjustments, the lines would glow like needles of neon under her skin while they worked.
She didn’t like the scars. But she needed the adjustments to protect her friends, kill monsters and make deals.
The elevator dinged and the doors opened in slow motion. Adam stepped out and she followed but he moved painfully slow. Ophelia scanned left and right, sweeping from the corners to the center as they moved into the room. She saw no one, not even Frank which meant he was in front of Adam.
“What the hell,” Frank said. The words stretch slightly in her ear and she dialed back her reflexes to compensate. “Adam, why would you do this? This is highly irregular and I must say, I find it a bit insulting.” His accent was mid-atlantic and northeastern, like a gangster from a 1950’s movie.
Which fit. The decor of the office appeared like a time capsule from that era with leather couches and a massive oak desk that looked almost presidential. Memorabilia and pictures in striking black and white from the Vegas club scene hung on the walls save for one which was lined in
floor-to-ceiling bookshelves with leather bound books kept more for decoration than reading.
Adam suddenly peeled away. Ophilia squared her shoulders and glared.
“Hello Frank,” she purred.
Frank fell back and almost tumbled over the corner of his desk. “What the fuck, Adam?” he growled. “What the fuck you do doing bringing that thing in here? Into my house!”
Ophilia slinked forward and he slipped behind his desk with the agility of a younger man. He appeared to be in late fifties with jet black hair that silvered at the temples. His face was all sharp angles straight out of noir cinema and his impeccably tailored suit wasn’t far behind in style. His expression was a mix of rage and fear. The first time they met, she had pounded him into submission and had her bowie knife out to take his head when his goons showed up. The second time he had front loaded his goons and she found herself in sorry shape after finishing them off. Then they had made a deal.
She lifted an eyebrow. “We good, Frank?” she asked. “We still good on our deal?”
“Fuck!” Frank spat. “Fuck, Adam! How could you do this?” His hands dropped and she blinked to the edge of the desk. Frank threw up his hands defensively.
Ophilia smiled at his reaction. “Keep your hands where I can see them,” she said. “Or I’ll forget all the deals I’ve ever made and rip your head off right now.”
Adam cleared his throat behind her. She held Frank’s gaze and watched as sweat beaded on his forehead. She could smell the Rot. He was hungry or at least he hadn’t eaten lately.
Ophilia slowly turned and walked the length of the desk, one painted nail trailing along the polished wood. She turned her attention to the pictures on the wall, strolling almost casually as if she had lost interest in the situation. She let her boosted reflexes fall away. If she kept herself wound tight she would exhaust herself quickly and if things escalated to a fight with Frank, she would have to adjust for strength to match his.
“So, Frank,” Adam began.
“Jesus, Adam.”
“Tell me about the wraiths, Frank.”
The pictures on the wall were absolutely historical, a gallery of celebrities and starlets of the 1950’s with the lights of Vegas as a backdrop. Frank was in at least every other picture, shaking hands, grabbing ass, appearing to be important among the Hollywood elite. He looked for the most part the same as he did now.
“Wraiths?” Frank said. “Like ghosts?”
She turned and stomped her high-heeled foot as she put her hands on her hips.
Frank looked from her to Adam and back again. He shrugged. “What?”
“Frank,” Adam began again as he gripped the back of one of the chairs in front of the desk. “There is a very delicate situation developing as we speak. I need information and I need details. You help me and we can negotiate.” He motioned to Ophilia who had returned her attention to the pictures. “We can all negotiate.”
“Maybe,” Ophilia muttered.
“But,” Adam continued. “If you refuse to give me the details I need then I will get on the elevator and leave. And you and Miss Goodfellow can negotiate without me.”
She turned and sauntered back to the desk. “How about that, Frank? You like how I negotiate, don’t you?”
His face went red and menacing. “You fucking bitch-”
“Frank!” Adam snapped. He gave Ophilia a look as she leaned against the desk and smiled at him. “Wraiths, Frank. What are they?”
Frank took a breath, straightened the vest of his suit and sat down in his chair. He rolled forward and placed his interlocked hands on his antique ink blotter. “Wraiths are a myth, Adam.”
“Like vampires?” Adam shot back.
Frank was silent for a moment. “Even among vampires, wraiths are a myth.”
Adam released the back of the chair and stood up, slipping his hands into his pants pockets. Ophilia watched him out of the corner of her eye. The hands in the pockets had levels of meaning. It could say “I don’t feel threatened” but it could also mean “I don’t view you as a threat”. Subtle. Plenty of room for ambiguity. In the conversation, he was neither taking or giving ground.
This situation had evolved so fast that she barely had time to process anything. But it was weird and weird is what she did best and Adam Trajan was a very interesting brand of weird.
Adam dropped his head almost dejectedly, sighed heavily and then lifted his gaze again. “I feel betrayed, Frank.”
“Adam, It’s business.”
“You are a vampire,” Adam replied. “How is that ‘business’?”
“You didn’t need to know that.”
“Does my father know?”
“No.” He leaned back into his leather throne. “At least I don’t think so.”
Ophilia was listening but her attention fell to the bookshelf. Something wasn’t right. She slid off the desk, pulled down her skirt and resumed her casual strolling. She focused on the books. She had assumed they were decorative and she was right. Random titles, old outdated law books from various states. They looked impressive from a distance.
“Tell you what, Frank,” Adam began. “I’m going to tell you what I think I know. You stop me if I’m wrong.”
Silence from Frank.
“A wraith is a very powerful supernatural being. Some would call it undead but I truly despise that term.”
“A myth, Adam.”
“A wraith,” Adam continued. “Can create a revenant, what the average horror movie connoisseur would call a vampire. Vampires drink blood to survive or else they rot.”
Ophilia walked along the bookshelf from the left to the right. She could feel Frank’s gaze drifting across her back occasionally.
Adam took a breath. “That sounds like some sort of auto-immune disease to me but whatever.”
“The vampire part,” Frank said with a slight stutter. “That part is correct. Hey, can you reel in your pet.” He stabbed at her with a bladed hand. “She’s freaking me out with this act and we don’t need that.”
There it was. The long shelves ran the length of the wall but the last four feet were separated and slightly misaligned by maybe a millimeter. Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the shelves for a switch. The shelves were covered in a very thin layer of dust but the dust was smeared in front of Frank’s copy of Pride and Prejudice. She pushed on the spine of the book and it depressed inward with an audible click. A four foot section of wall swung away from her on hidden hinges, revealing a dark hallway that smelled of mold and death.
“Holy fuck,” Frank breathed. “How much of this do you think I will take, Adam?”
“What’s in there?” she asked coyly.
“Nothing,” Frank answered, sharply. “Nothing at all. It’s old and I only use it for storage these days.”
Ophilia looked into the darkness. The smells were old. He might be telling the truth.
“Look,” Frank said, leaning forward again, his palms open imploringly. “Adam, just tell me what you want.”
Adam turned slightly towards her. “Miss Goodfellow, would you please close that for me?”
Of course, he had to ask nicely. She struggled to pull the door shut. There had to be a secret handle that made it easier.
“Frank, I do apologize. But so much of this is very new to me and I need an education.”
“And then what Adam?”
“And then we renegotiate.”
“So tell me. Tell me what I can do.”
Adam began to pace in front of the desk and Ophilia made her way to the leather couch. She sat down, back straight and crossed her legs in smooth, feminine motion. His pacing was another trick. He was ramping up the tension even as Frank was trying to defuse it.
“I lost contact with an associate about a month ago,” Adam began. “I believe that you had some business with him. I think you made a deal.”
Frank’s expression darkened ever further. Adam stopped at the center of the desk and looked down at him.
“You can make other vampires, can’t you? But they don’t always take and they would never be as strong. Wraiths make revenants. Revenants make vampires. Those vampires may be able to live off of blood or they may pick up a taste for human flesh. I believe the street terms are ‘bleeders’ or ‘eaters’. “ Adam pulled his hands from his pockets and put his knuckles on the desk. “Have you made any vampires lately, Frank?”
Frank looked up at him, his features clouded with a new darkness, unflinching and unnaturally still. When he spoke it was a low, hard whisper. “Your associate,” he said. “I didn’t know, alright? Look, people find us occasionally and want to be turned. It ain’t often but it happens. They want to live forever or they saw some movie or read some book. They rarely survive and even if they do live through the change, they can’t handle the life and they rot. Or they turn eater and someone like her takes them out.”
“And they pay money.”
Frank nodded. “A lot of it. Otherwise, why do it?”
“The name he was using was Ricardo González.”
Frank held his gaze for a moment. “That sounds about right.”
Adam turned away from the desk with his eyes closed. Ophilia couldn’t tell if it was an act or if the “death” of his associate was actually affecting him.
“Adam, I didn’t know he was one of yours,” Frank said. “I would have never agreed if I had known.”
“He tried to make more,” Adam said.
“I told him he couldn’t. They don’t come out right. They’re just humans with a craving for raw meat-”
“-that break psychotic.” Adam finished as he turned back to the desk. “He made a pack of them trying to make vampires. And now he has taken a child, a very special child to feed to them.”
Ophilia sprang to her feet. “What?”
“He thinks that they will absorb her power and make them true vampires.”
Her mind raced. There was only one special child that she knew of that would fit that description. “They have Serita,” she said.
Adam looked at her with a sudden turn of his head but his expression didn’t change. “Yes,” He looked back at Frank. “They have Serita.”
Frank held up his hands. “ Who the fuck is Serita?”
“The only thing that matters right now is where she might be. I need a list of your safe houses.” He turned and walked slowly toward Ophelia. “All of them.”
“Fuck!”
Ophilia’s ears hummed with rage. Adam focused his eyes on her’s as he approached. “I have a team waiting to sweep the safe houses and report if they find anything.” He was between her and Frank. “If they find anything, do you want them to go in or do you have another idea?”
Her rage bled into a purpose. “I’ll handle it but I have to get my kit from home,” she said.“My real home.”
Adam nodded. “If it looks like things are getting out of hand, my team will move in.”
Frank scribbled furiously on stationary.
“Fine,” she said.
“Here,” Frank said, holding up a sheet of paper. “This is all of them. I never use them but I told your boy that they should be good.”
Adam returned to the desk, snatched the note and pulled out a cell phone. He snapped a picture of the note and then began typing on the phone as fast as a teenager. “There,” he said. “We should hear something soon.” He referenced the note. “Some of these are out of the way, though.”
“So, we’re done, right?” Frank asked.
Adam glanced at Ophelia. “I am,” he said. “You have connections to my father. I can’t really change much without a very awkward conversation that I’m not prepared to have. So, for me, nothing changes.”
Frank appeared relieved. “Good,” he breathed. “That’s good.”
Adam lifted an eyebrow. “Miss Goodfellow?”
The archenites responded to her stress. She was strong and fast right now and she wanted Frank dead. But for Adam, nothing changed. If she killed Frank then things changed.
“After tonight,” she said after a long slow breath. She had to calm down. She would need to be sharp later. “I find your bleeders on the street, I’ll end them.” She shifted her gaze to Adam. “And if Mr. Trajan decides he can handle a little bit of change, then I’m coming for you.”
Frank went dead still again. He was angry. And hungry. The smell of rotten meat filled the room. His eyes almost glowed red.
Yeah, get angry. Get hungry. Make a mistake.
Adam held out his hand. “Let’s go, Miss Goodfellow.”
She smoothed out her dress and took the offered hand. He moved it to the crook of his arm.
“Goodnight, Frank,” Adam said and then escorted her to the elevator as if they were walking into the restaurant she couldn’t remember. The door opened when he punched the button. They stepped in and turned. Frank glared at them from the desk. His eyes sunk into his skull, glowing as pinpoints of red light. Black streaks filled his hollowing cheeks.
Ophelia smiled at him and leaned flirtatiously into Adam as the door closed. A shriek of primal rage rattled the elevator doors. Adam’s arm tensed under her hand.
She hit the button for the ground floor.
“You owe me one,” she said.
Adam nodded.
“You have no idea.”
