symphathy

[symphathy]

Fuck The Symphath

*It takes a special kind of vampire to feed from someone before killing them. For a half-breed symphath assassin, it’s just another Tuesday. And given the details of how this kill has to go down, I damn well need to be at full strength. Not that Arkyn is likely to put up any sort of fight, but whoever wants him dead might. The location is painfully public during daylight, and at night it’s well covered by surveillance cameras. Most of which are functional. All of which I have been instructed to leave that way, if I want to see my payment. Fucker wants to watch shit go down, and make sure a crispy corpse gets found in the morning. It does limit some of my more entertaining options. I may have made peace with dying decades ago, but I’m not about to let my symphath freak flag fly. Those psychopaths couldn’t get the job done the first time I went to the colony, and I have no interest in being a science experiment for humans again. Pulling out my cell phone, I scroll through a very short list of contacts, stopping at Rehvenge. My thumb hovers over send for a good ten seconds before I switch the screen off and stuff it back in back in my jacket pocket. If he kept the number, and if he’s behind this elaborate maneuver, he could call off the contract. If this isn’t a ploy of his to get my undivided attention, I risk triggering his asinine hero-slash-martyr complex. Again. Fucking sin eater should be a little more self-centered. If it isn’t Rehvenge try to yank my strings, then I lose my only lead on whoever is keeping tabs on me if I don’t follow through. Pulling my local burner from my back pocket, I text Arkyn the address of a motel, and a time to meet me. In an informal community of outlaws, my paranoid habits aren’t out of place. Hourly rate motels keep anyone from ever finding out where you live, and nobody in their right mind would ever use the same one twice. I had a half dozen to pick from in easy walking distance of my designated kill zone. Waiting for a reply, I circle the outside of the dingy motel, making note of all the cars, and cataloging grids. All human, all wrapped up in their own petty lusts and drama. I don’t expect to find any vampires or symphaths nearby, not with the obvious video coverage, but it’s better to be sure. Nothing more exciting than lewd graffiti and the stench of urine and cheap booze for blocks, which is honestly disappointing. I’d rather spend my night torturing some flunky for every secret he’s ever known than killing a kid who ran from a mating. The vibration that hits my ass is the most action I’ve seen in years. A quick check of my phone confirms that Arkyn can make my specified meeting time. Nice that he’s punctual for death. Shaking my head, I make my way back to the crappy plastic motel room. Two chairs, close together, in the largest open space in the room. Neither of us goes anywhere near the bed. Arkyn learned that lesson when I broke his wrist the first time I paid to take his vein. I also pay double what any other female in town does, as there is no way in hell anybody gets to take my vein in return. The sealed envelope full of cash gets dropped on one chair before I comb through the room again, securing the curtains and checking for anything out of place. Nothing about this situation is sitting right, and I need to pretend that it is. Lucky thing deception is right up there with killing on my list of skills. The room is faintly musty, and I shudder at the thought of what a blacklight would do, but the walls are thicker than many of the other cheap motels. My phone vibrates again, a text, followed by a knock. Showtime. Opening the door wide, I stand back, letting the male see as much of the room as possible. He’s a little taller than me, even slouching down in his hoodie. His eyes dart around the room, missing everything he should be checking, but giving him a false sense of security. He nods as he enters, “Xhex.” He waits until I close and lock the door to pull down his hood, revealing dark blonde hair threaded with bright red. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you this soon.” His voice has a vaguely nasal quality that always makes me think his nose got broken, and healed poorly.* Something’s come up. I’m heading out of town, and it may be awhile before I get back. Thanks for coming on short notice. *The male stuffs the envelope into an inside pocket before sitting down on the opposite chair. Cute. He thinks that move is clever, but it’s also predictable. I take my seat in the remaining chair, pressing down on my thighs and the cilices hiding under my leathers as I do. Arkyn rolls up his sleeve, and extends his arm without any preamble. Too many males don’t get the hint the first time around that I really mean I’m only looking for a blood source. The feeding is quick and efficient, his blood like fast food; nothing special, but it fills a void. Releasing his arm, I let him seal the wound himself, following my usual pattern. I can’t risk spooking him before I get him to the kill zone. Not unless I want to knock him unconscious and drag him a few blocks.* Look, Arkyn? Do you have time to grab a some food, maybe a drink? *His eyes flare, darting between the bed and the door.* I wanted to ask you about a few rumors that have been floating around, and with this sudden trip, I skipped First Meal. *His eyes no longer hit the bed, but bounce between me and the door. Great. So much for not spooking him.* It’s fine if you have to go, but I’d still like to ask a few questions after I get back. *And just like that his posture relaxes, his shoulders dropping as my deviation from habit moves from immediate threat to casual question. Shrugging my jacket on, I walk to the door, not looking back. I always arrive first, and leave first. It’s up to the male now to either follow me, or get followed by me. “You know what? I could use a bite. And a drink. Especially a drink.” Quick glance over my shoulder shows Arkyn sporting a small grin as he approaches the door. He hooks his thumbs into his belt loops, jacking up his jeans. His erection is obvious, and I have to resist rolling my eyes at the cliche move. I don’t like to trade on lust, but it will make this go quicker for me. I have no reason to torture this kid, so if he comes willingly, all the better. Not many people get the luxury of a quick death when I’m involved.* I know a place not far from here. Typical clientele minds their own damn business, the food is decent, and the bar is well stocked. Give me a minute to settle up. *Settling up involves walking into the office and sliding some cash, and the old school key, across the greasy counter to the twitchy human who would never get a job in a reputable hotel. I wipe his mind out of habit. I may be leaving the city, but that’s no excuse to get sloppy. I give Arkyn a tight smile and nod, gesturing away from the motel. I barely register the small talk, responding politely to whatever comments are made about weather, traffic, news; both human and vampire. We’re nearly at the kill zone as I slide a blade out of my pocket and into place up my jacket sleeve.  The word doggen grabs my attention, and I latch onto the opening I was hoping to create.* I was trying to be careful not to panic anyone by asking questions about that doggen. *Like hell. I wanted to create this exact panic. Nervous people make mistakes. I give an apologetic half-shrug as I continue.* It’s not exactly like anyone around here brought doggen with them. Or anything beyond cash and the clothes on their back. He was a real old school number. *Nothing changes about Arkyn’s demeanor, not his posture, his facial expression, or his grid. “My mahmen would hire a doggen to help out with big family gatherings sometimes. Not from a glymera household. That’s about as much exposure as I ever had to doggen. Why are you asking about the doggen anyway?” Not much farther to full camera coverage. Fuck. This is going to burn me in this city.* He showed up in one of the casinos I consult for, and made an impression. So, no doggen coming to take you back to the family. What about the female’s family? No servants being sent to politely drag you back to get your back carved? *As his eyes flare wide, surprise lighting up his grid, I simply shrug.* I’m good at listening. I keep my eyes open, and my head down. I could tell you what every vampire here is running from, and who might be looking for them. I can do that with a lot of the humans too. This doggen though? I don’t know why he’s here, and I don’t like it. *I let that sink in for a few seconds. It’s not a secret out here that I’m the one to talk to for information. Those pieces fall into place quickly, and his expression turns thoughtful. “Her family does have a doggen, but she’s a tiny little female. I thought only glymera types kept their doggen in formal wear these days.” He puts his heels together, his arms down at his side with his hands sticking out as he does a mocking little penguin walk.* One more dead end I guess. Nobody knows this doggen, and nobody will admit to knowing anyone who might send a doggen after them. You’re sure you haven’t pissed off any glymera, or anyone else who might sic their hounds on you? *He’s really making a solid effort, so I push gently at his mind, sifting through his thoughts with him. Nothing. No efforts to hide anyone who might hate him that much. “Sorry. I wish I could help.” He shrugs, walking into perfect view of the cameras.* And I really wish you had a different answer. *I spin on my heel, my hand coming free of my pocket and the dagger finding my palm. With one quick thrust, the blade is embedded in Arkyn’s heart. His hands reflexively jerk upwards, but pulling it out will only end things quicker for him, so I force myself closer to keep it in place.* This isn’t personal. Someone hired me to kill you. If you knew who, we could’ve worked something out. But you don’t. And that makes this a trap that I had to spring. *Finally, the pain and shock register on his face, and he stops batting at the dagger.* I’m supposed to make sure you’re still here for the sun. If there’s anyone you want me to tell that you’re gone, talk fast. I’ll give them your cash, too, if you want. *He coughs up some blood, but shakes his head. At least he’s smart enough not to beg. I always make sure the fun ones beg, but this is not a good kill.* Alright. I’m not going to make you suffer any longer. *Hooking my leg behind his, I rip the knife free of his chest, and spin around to slice his throat. As I do, I pointedly glare at each camera in turn. As his grid flickers to darkness, I drop his body, and quickly rifle the pockets, taking anything of value. My envelope of literal blood money, cash and credit cards from his wallet, and the cell phone. Dropping the wallet beside the body, I climb the fire escape of an abandoned building nearby. Good sightlines on both Arkyn, and a number of the approaches. The fake ID in the wallet should hit the news, letting any friends he had know that he’s gone. Pulling my burner cell, I take a picture of the body, and text it to the specified number. Almost immediately, I get a reply text -WAIT- is all it says. Like I would do anything else. My entire body is on high alert. Anybody stupid enough to approach me right now will be eating a bullet. Or twelve. I stretch out my senses, as much to calm myself as to make sure I don’t get taken by surprise. Dawn is still hours away, so I can’t get complacent. The minutes tick by as I plan what I want to do to Rehvenge, or whoever decided to play Fuck The Symphath, for putting me through this bullshit. If the contract had come through regular channels, and not been my blood supply, this would be just another assassination. Finally, after hours with nobody getting closer than two blocks, the sun creeps along the street, inching closer to Arkyn. As his skin starts to blacken, before bursting into flames, I wonder idly what it is that makes vampire flesh so much more flammable than human. Taking another picture, I text my secondary proof. If anything is going to happen, it has to be now, Another text hits the phone, and a notification to my cell. The real phone is a banking notification, telling me funds have been transferred in to my account. The burner simply says -PAID-, which is followed by a picture of me, with my knife at Arkyn’s throat. I turn towards the camera that would have had that angle, only to hear a pop, as it explodes in a crackle of flames. Another text to the burner -See you next Tuesday- has me rolling my eyes. Not falling for that bait after springing this trap. First, I have no intention of still being here in the next hour, let alone the next week. Second, it takes make more than unsubtle juvenile name calling to ruffle me. The final text has me questioning if this is really Rehv’s doing, since that petty shit is not his style. Whatever. Caldwell is thirty-eight hours away, if I drive straight, and follow the speed limit like some candy ass motherfucker. Dematerializing back to my Ducati in stages to make sure I’m not followed, it hits me; whoever set this up either knew I can tolerate the sun, or expected me to die too. Throwing on the backpack I left strapped to my bike, I hop on, and kick the motorcycle to life. Somebody is going to pay for this, and the sooner I get back to Caldwell, the sooner I can figure out who I need to make bleed.* #FuckTheSymphath

[symphathy]

Lucky In Vegas

*Las Vegas is a far cry from Caldwell. While it is possible to get further away without leaving the continent, Vegas makes one hell of a hiding place. Over one hundred thousand visitors every day, give or take, makes this city a perfect place to disappear. I’ve lived here for years. It’s not home, but it is a perfect base of operations for me. And a very unlikely place for vampires to live between the sun, and the lack of basements. Probably why so many who run from society’s rules end up here. Lucky me, I’m not only the only symphath, but also the only half breed who can be out in full daylight in this city. Pulling my Ducati into the reserved parking, I nod at the security guard, who pulls himself quickly up to his full height. “Afternoon Miss Hess. Didn’t expect to see you here today.” I smile tightly as the waves of panic roll off the human, beads of sweat breaking out on his leathery brow.* Nobody ever does, Terry. Nobody except the boss. I just go where I’m told I need to be. *Easing past the open gate, I turn to stare at the guard, just long enough to make sure he’s on edge. No idea who I’m here for today, but I like to put the fear of me into everyone. I make damn good money enforcing for the various crime families and legitimate business criminals who run this town. My rules are simple enough, though people try to test them from time to time. I don’t get involved in the politics. I clean house within organizations so that I can work for everyone. Taking my usual spot close to the employee entrance, my nose wrinkles at the smell in the air. I really hope I’m not here to scare kitchen staff toking on their breaks. Zero challenge. As I step inside, a tiny blonde jumps up from her lean against the wall. She quickly smooths her suit, juggling a stack of files and manila envelopes from one arm to the other to do so. As always, her grid is locked down tight, but this is as close to jumpy as I have ever seen her.* Tina. Everything good here? *Her eyes flicker briefly to the stack in her arms before she pastes her perfect smile on her face. “Busy day, Miss Hess. While I understand that you receive a certain, shall we say... leeway, within the organizational structure, I would appreciate you not receiving personal deliveries on casino property. I believe you have rented a mailbox for such things, yes?” Arching  a brow, she hands the top envelope over, much like someone serving papers in a movie. Glancing down, I see the only markings are X. Hess in English, and Xhex in the Old Language. I level my gaze at Tina as I slide the unopened envelope into my inner pocket. She clears her throat awkwardly. “I was reluctant to accept without a proper name, but his description was spot on, and he was incredibly polite. Your first name is Alex, yes?” I resist to desire to roll my eyes, the rip hers out. She’s just doing her job, and she’s less nosy than most.* That’s an Anglicized version of my name. It’s clearly a family issue. *I stare pointedly at the files she still carries, hoping to push past this breach in protocol. My protocols, not the rules of the fussy little blonde in front of me. “Of course. Hungarian, right? Aren’t you going to open it?” A wave of suspicion rolls off of her, a rare slip. Whatever the reason is for me getting this call today, it’s big,* I take care of personal business on my own time, and I will make sure that whoever had this delivered here understands that it was not appropriate. Now. I didn’t come here to pick up my mail, so shall we get on with it? *She purses her lips, but nods once before spinning on her heel as she falls into pattern. Rattling off two dealers suspected of helping players cheat, three wait staff who may be dosing drinks, and one guy in the cage who has been accused of light payouts, I wonder when she’ll get to the main event. I take a deep breath as she nears the door out onto the floor, knowing this is my last moment of peace before the overly cheerful bells and whistles assault my ears. She turns to hand me a sheet of paper with the pictures I’ll need out on the floor, her arm full of files braced on the push bar of the door. “When you’re done with these, you’re needed upstairs. Use the VIP elevator, not the security one.” With a twist of her fingers, I see the access card tucked behind my usual to-do list. “Try not to take more than three hours. You can always go back on the floor if you need more time after.” I take the items, and with a single push, I am in the middle of all the lights, sights, smells, and sounds. My eyes skim the paper, then the room, locating who I need before I fold the page, and pocket both it and the card. If I’m not supposed to use the security elevator, that means the bigger issue tonight is with the security teams, maybe even the head or security. I can’t stick to my list. This could be a test, or someone running a distraction scam. I adjust my sunglasses as I pick a route that will take me near almost every employee. Nobody knows how I always manage to find the dirty employees, or exonerate the innocent ones, let alone how I always manage to do it so quickly. My favorite theory is the one where I used to be an interrogation expert for the CIA, but got fired for extreme brutality. Thankfully, the greed outweighs the lust in active gambling zones, and I only have to dislocate one wrist to get a hand off my ass. The desperation runs thick in these places, every human dreaming of making it big, until they’re so far down they just pray to break even. I bleed off the worst of it, fueling my bad side, and giving the humans a few artificial moments of peace. As I suspected, most of what I’ve been asked to look into is smoke and mirrors. Except the guy in the cage. People with chips in neat, tidy stacks get neat, tidy payouts. Every disorganized jumble of chips loses a few, only to reappear for one of his partners. Skimming his mind, I can identify two that are in the casino right now, though he has as many as six. That one will get some special attention after my meeting upstairs. The wait staff? They’re not dosing drinks. One of the bartenders is taking cash to dose drinks, though. I’ll leave him to the humans. A tap on my shoulder brings my head around to one of the younger servers, and I sift through her thoughts in a heartbeat. Sharp mind, terrified to have drawn the short straw to be the one who has to keep bringing me soda water, but more scared that she’ll lose her job on a bullshit excuse once her pregnancy shows. I pull out a twenty, and hand it to her as I take my drink. I have enough pull that I may be able to get her a different job here, since I happen to know of two that will be opening up. Circling through the card tables next, none of the dealers pay me any attention at all. The dealers in question aren’t monitored by the same floormen. In fact, they’re across the pit from each other. I circle again, stopping to watch a woman on a winning streak, which allows me sightlines on both dealers. There’s definitely something off, but with less than an hour left, I need to go digging if I don’t want to come back down here. Grabbing a seat beside Hot Streak, I signal the dealer, and drop the minimum bet as I scan employee grids. Nobody seems out of line. Until I take a closer look at the pit boss. I’m not picking up on his full signal set, but I’ll pull that out of his brain later. The basic ruse seems to be that he signals his floormen, who then question a dealer, distracting them for players to swap cards. If the cameras aren’t catching this, it’s because someone is making sure nobody looks closely at the footage. Forcing my way deeper into his mind, I barely glance at my cards, or my bets, for the next half hour. Finally confident I have the bulk of the scam, I give a mental shove to one of the onlookers, causing him to jump and spill his drink. Knocking my own over, I make a show of trying to clean myself up as staff comes scampering with napkins. Whatever the guy was drinking was absolutely rancid, and splashed on several people, but not me. Backing away from the shouting match that has started, I ease my way toward a wall to keep a low profile on my way to the VIP elevator. Punching the button for my floor, I ease back against the wall, quickly ticking through my options. Wait to be told why I’ve been asked upstairs tonight, or go on the offensive as soon as I walk through the door. If the head of security is in that office, my only option is attack. I won’t let that bastard try to spin this. He may not be the mastermind behind all of this, but he’s either complicit or incompetent. Keeping my eyes closed, I pull off my sunglasses to rub the spot right between my brows. The elevator is a welcome break from the noise and smells. The envelope in my pocket is burning a figurative hole in my brain, but it has to wait. I slide the shades back on as the door chimes and opens. The wide hallway has two guards at the end, flanking the double doors into the boss’ suite. Nobody inside the casino uses his name, he’s just the boss here. I wouldn’t want my staff calling me Melvin either, to be honest. It’s easy to pick up on his grid, on everyone’s really, since my aviators are the only thing I wear to disguise my sin eater side out here. Melvin, his head of security, and Tina are all inside. This place would fall apart without Tina handling the everyday shit. I nod to the goons on the door, having my read on the room before their hands even hit the handles. One whispers into his watch, no doubt announcing me, before they swing both doors wide for me. Not one to waste an entrance, I stalk right over to the head of security, wrap my hand around his neck, and slam him up against one of the pretentious pillars.* Did you really expect me to fall for your fake ass incident reports? I would have to be blind, and stupid, to miss what was really going on down there. I hope you hid all the cash you skimmed better than you hid your your scams. *Melvin chuckles softly. “I told you she was good, Drew. Didn’t I tell him that, Tina?” The piece of meat gurgles, terrified at being tossed around so easily, but at least he doesn’t piss himself. He’s turning a darker red, so I adjust my grip slightly, not looking to kill him yet.* Do you want the rundown of what I already discovered, or should I take him to the quiet room for a full confession? *And that’s when the fucker pisses himself. Of course. The quiet room is pure fiction, but hang a sign on a perpetually locked door, and rumors will do the work for you. A wave of smug vindication rolls off of Tina, and she places her stack of folders on the desk in front of Melvin. “This is a full account of all the anomalies I’ve found so far. I’m certain Miss Hess has her own observations to add, which should back up my findings.” Locking eyes with Drew, I start rattling off everything I’ve seen tonight, digging in his mind for other tidbits I could have reasonably observed. His eyes somehow get wider with every word, a large ring of white forming around the muddy hazel irises. Melvin sighs heavily. “Much as I would love to let you make this one disappear, I’m afraid I need to make a public example of him. In case we miss any of his plants when we clean house.” I narrow my eyes, and give one last squeeze before dropping the former head of security to the ground.* Let me go through them. I’ve got a few ideas where to start. *I cross my arms over my chest, ignoring the stench of urine and quiet sobbing from the floor.* Turning, I see a gleam in the boss’ eye, and Tina’s face closes up tight. “Honestly, I think that is a wonderful idea. Especially with you as my new head of security. Yes?” Funny, I never noticed how much Melvin looks like a spray-tanned weasel before this moment.* No. I will go through your staff, question them, and make my recommendations, but I will not take that job. I need the freedom to leave on little to no notice, and I don’t have that if I’m running security. *The man deflates visibly. Clearly, he hoped to get me away from my freelance ways, It’s not like he’s the first to try it. Tina is the picture of relief. She’s mentally broadcasting her top picks for head of security, and her opinion that I am entirely too volatile to be anything other than a special consultant.* Speaking of little notice, I need access to the security feeds for today. Somebody brought my personal business here, and I want to know who so that it never happens again. *Melvin is quick to agree, especially once Tina pulls out the bottom file folder filled with potentials for the security gig. The two goons from the door, who have been watching the whole time, drag Drew from the office. No doubt to clean him up before the cops get here. Too bad about that handprint bruise on his neck. Tina waves me over, handing me another access card. “This will get you everything you need. I’ll start sending in employees for you to question. They’ll have a great view of Drew waiting for the police, so that should make your life easier.” I don’t even ask about payment as she goes back to her list of candidates. They’ve never stiffed me on a transfer before, and I really don’t need the money. True to her word, the card from Tina gives me full access to the security suite, and employees start filing in minutes after I arrive. The next several hours pass in a blur of questions, and notes that have little to do with my questions. The guilty human mind goes beyond open book, straight to giant billboard for someone like me. Crossing one major shift change still leaves a lot of employees to question, but Tina shows up with a schedule to get me a face to face with everyone else in short order. She flits over to a printer as I stretch, preparing to leave. “Sorry I gave you grief about the envelope earlier. It didn’t sit well with everything else that was going on around here. This is your guy.” The picture she hands me is pure old world butler, complete with immaculate white gloves. “I know you’re not happy about him bringing this here, but could you go easy on the guy? He was so friendly and polite, he made the Canadians look rude. And anybody walking around dressed like that is clearly only following orders.” I give a nod, and say Scribe only knows what to placate her. Doggen. Someone sent a fucking doggen to find me. Someone knows where to send a doggen to look for me. Not good. I slide the picture into the same pocket as the envelope, and make my way back to my Ducati, my mind churning. Rehvenge could find me, but a simple phone call is more his style. Most of the vampires I know about around Vegas are running, not keeping a tidy household. There are a few doggen in the city, but the elegant manservant look smacks of glymera doggen. Nobility, wealth, and pompous posturing. Name after name crosses my mind, each quickly discarded, as I ride to my nondescript house in an equally nondescript neighborhood. Once my bike is parked and locked in the garage, I check all my doors, windows, and weapons before finally opening the envelope bearing my name. Emptying it onto a table, the first thing I see is a very large sum, even for me. In the Old Language are details regarding proof of kill, and an account number. My account number. The page is the only item that fell out, so I flip it over. The face staring out from the picture is the male I currently have an arrangement with for my blood needs. Fuck. Not only is someone tracking my movements, they’ve done their homework without me knowing about it. I could bolt right now. It wouldn’t be my first time disappearing. Looking around the tiny house, I see nothing to give any hints of who I am, what I am, or anything that could be used to trace my movements. If I leave the bike, I’m one more unsolved missing person on a police blotter. But maybe, just maybe, this will be the fight that finally kills me. Not the male himself, but the trap where he is the bait. I’ve spent decades looking for a way out of this empty existence. The trouble is, I can’t find it in me to go down without a fight. The entire symphath colony didn’t kill me. The human researchers had their torture facility burned to the ground for trying. I’ve lost count of how many petty thugs and mid-level mobsters I’ve put in their graves for getting in my way. This situation is different, a trap made just for me, possibly with full knowledge of my abilities. I might get lucky this time. Isn’t that why everyone comes to Vegas?*