Deader Still

4

The cab dropped us off in the East Village on Eleventh Street in front of the Lovecraft Café.

Up front was our cover operation—a coffee shop, its exposed brick walls covered with a variety of old movie posters. The furniture was a mishmash that ranged from hideous to vomitous, but there was a soothing charm to the room. A mix of regular customers and Departmental agents filled the room, and, as usual, Mrs. Teasley was reading someone’s fortune using a soggy pile of coffee grounds.

“You okay, kid?” Connor asked. I looked down and noticed that my gloved hands were shaking.

“I guess not,” I said. “I’m guess I’m still bothered by what I saw.”

“Good,” Connor said, sounding almost cheerful.

“Good?” I said. “What the hell is good about that?”

He put his arm around my shoulder conspiratorially and steered me toward the coffee bar that ran along the entire right side of the room.

“It’s good,” he said, lowering his voice, “because the second you see something like what we saw on that boat and it doesn’t affect you, it’s time to get out of this business. You remember that.”

“You don’t look so spooked,” I countered.

“I’ve got years of practice at hiding it, kid. Believe me, there’s nothing I saw there that doesn’t have me shaking on the inside.”

Connor stepped to the counter and bought two iced mochas. He slipped one over to me. I wondered how the caffeine and sugar was supposed to reduce my shaking, but it seemed to work. We headed toward the back of the coffeehouse and entered the curtained-off movie theater that lay behind it. The old-world style of the 1930s architecture always took my breath away, and this time was no exception. The enormous and ornate chandelier high overhead sparkled as light from the movie projector danced among its many crystals. On the screen, Sigourney Weaver was sneaking around a metallic Gigeresque spaceship in a tank top and undies.

Connor and I continued down the movie theater aisle and keycarded our way through a door marked “H.P.,” heading into the Department proper. The general bull pen area of the front offices of the Department of Extraordinary Affairs was a spacious cubicle farm. The far wall was carved with arcane runes of warding and below them was a series of doors. I had no idea where most of them went, but with new divisions springing up every month, it was no wonder. Connor and I moved past the general bull pen and headed farther back to another section, where our improvised partners desk sat.

I say “improvised” because in reality it was just two desks pushed together so we could face each other. It seemed to help out when we were bouncing ideas off each other on a case. We dropped our stuff off at our desks, and I slipped my bat off of its holster and slid it into my top-left desk drawer.

I looked over at Connor and then we both turned to check out the whiteboard that hung higher up on the wall and overlooked the entire room. Behind it, arcane glyphs like the ones in the bull pen scrolled along the entire wall and radiated power. But the board, while not magic, had a power of a different kind.

It now read: “It has been 737 days since our last vampire incursion.”

I turned back to Connor. He nodded, then gestured toward the board. I crossed through the bustling activity of cube dwellers and investigators scurrying back and forth. Against the wall was a ladder that led up to the whiteboard. I started up it, only to have someone tug on my pant leg when I was about four rungs up.

“Someone already changed it today, Simon,” a familiar voice said. I turned to see Godfrey Candella standing below me, looking the same as he had at the dock, the neat part of his black hair matching the perfect knot of his tie and his black horn-rim glasses.

“Someone already did that today,” he repeated. “The number’s already been switched.”

I smiled at him.

“I’m sure they did, God, but I don’t think they were about to do this,” I said, and continued up the ladder, my nerves tingling.

When I was twenty feet up, one by one, everyone in the room fell silent, until the only sound was that of my shoes against the rungs of the ladder. I reached the top and from the thin lip at the bottom of the whiteboard, I grabbed the eraser and ran it through the 737. A collective gasp rose from the rest of the agents. I picked up the marker and wrote a large zero in its place.

A nervous cheer from the crowd broke the silence. It felt strange, given the dark implication of it, but part of me was also beaming with pride for being the one to have discovered the first sign of vampires in Manhattan in over two years. Divisional leaders and members of the Enchancellors Board came streaming out of doors and down the stairs, genuine concern on their faces. By the time I climbed down, Inspectre Quimbley stood waiting for me at the foot of the ladder along with Godfrey and Connor.

“Are you sure, boy?” the Inspectre asked, serious as can be. “I trust you have three points of collaboration?”

I nodded. Although I had only attended the afternoon seminar “Pains in the Neck” on the subject of vampires, the one thing I remembered was that we were required to have at least three solid signs of vampirism before calling for a Department-wide warning.

“We didn’t have a direct sighting of the vampire,” I said, “but everything else seems to match up.”

“Let’s hear them, then,” the Inspectre said, his eyes widening.

Godfrey pulled out a Moleskine notebook and started writing like mad.

“The event took place at night,” I said, “so that makes it a possibly nocturnal creature. Second, the victims exhibited blood loss accompanied by the puncture wounds on their necks, but there was very little blood at the scene. Third, it was a foggy night and the woman at the docks said she had seen several dogs at the site. Animal familiars of the creature or shape-shifting into wolf form, perhaps?”

“Well,” the Inspectre said, “your last point seems a bit of a stretch, but I think we can count the blood loss and puncture wounds as two separate things, so you still have three points.”

I took a brief minute to tell him what Davidson, Connor, and I had discovered on the boat while the rest of the agents and higher-ups gathered closer. I felt like I was sitting around a campfire telling ghost stories, only this was a lot more intimidating.

When I finished, there was a moment of office-wide silence.

“So,” I said, trying to hide the nervousness in my voice, “do we gear up? Is there some roomful of vampire-slaying equipment that we get to break out?”

Connor came over and clapped me on the shoulder. “Easy, kid.”

The Inspectre said, “The Department of Extraordinary Affairs takes an alert like this very seriously, but there’s a lot of red tape and paperwork to put in downtown. We haven’t mobilized something like this in well over two years.”

“Paperwork?” I spluttered. “With all due respect, sir, people are going to die if we don’t move on this quickly.”

“The kid’s right, Inspectre,” Connor added.

The Inspectre looked at Connor for a second, then turned back to me, staring straight at me and speaking in a deliberate tone.

“Perhaps the two of us should take this off the office floor,” he said. It wasn’t a question, but an order barely veiled in politeness. Before I had a chance to respond, he turned away from me and headed back toward the stairs leading up to his office. The crowd parted before him like the Red Sea. He stopped for a moment without turning and said, “I believe you all have assignments you were working on . . . ?”

The spell of silence broke and everyone scattered to the four corners of the office—everyone except Director Wesker, who took the time to shake his head at me in disappointment before heading off to Greater & Lesser Arcana. No one stopped to ask me questions. A few of the White Stripes—the agents whose exposure to paranormal activity had left them with skunklike stripes in their hair—stopped to whisper with Connor for a second, but then they left and the two of us were alone at the base of the ladder.

“Well, that was anticlimactic,” I said. “I guess we should be getting upstairs.”

Connor shook his head. “Not me, kid. The Inspectre’s invitation, in case you didn’t notice, was very pointedly for one.”

My heart leapt into my throat. “But we’re both on this case. You’ve got more experience with these things . . .”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” he said with bitterness. I watched his face close off from me, and I wished I had something to say that might help, but I was at a loss. “Somehow I think this has something to do with your special little club . . .”

The Fraternal Order of Goodness. I should have thought of that myself. No wonder Connor seemed upset. He was far less bitter than Thaddeus Wesker about being passed over for F.O.G., but it was a minor point of contention between us.

“Whatever,” I said, and headed upstairs to find the Inspectre. He stood behind his dark oak monster of a desk, his hands resting lightly on top of two stacks of paperwork.

“Close the door behind you, please?” he said, his voice concentrated yet quiet.

As I shut the door, I couldn’t help but get that whole summoned-to-the-principal’s-office vibe. By the time Inspectre Quimbley gestured for me to have a seat in one of the big leather chairs opposite him, I felt like a third-grader.

“I suppose you’re feeling like I dressed you down a little there,” the Inspectre said. He sat down himself and shifted one of the piles of paper crowding his desk out of the way so I could see him better.

“A little, sir, yes.”

“Perhaps you think I acted a little less enthused than you would have liked?” he asked.

“The thought had struck me.”

“I’ll let you do the mental legwork on this, son,” he said. He folded his hands on top of his desk. “Why do you think I reacted the way I did?”

Away from the crowd, I hoped a cooler head would prevail, so I set my mind to putting myself in the Inspectre’s shoes. How would I have reacted if one of my agents had just made a bold and possibly terrifying accusation that would affect every other division in the Department?

“Because . . . of the mixed company we were in?” I asked, piecing my thoughts together as they came.

The Inspectre grinned. “Continue . . .”

“Well,” I said after a slight hesitation, “there were members of every division on hand down there, including the Enchancellors. If you had blown your cool in front of all them . . . Well, I’m sure there was a lot at stake politically, all dependent on your handling of the situation.”

He nodded in agreement. “I meant what I said in front of all them, Simon. The wheels of change and progress are indeed slow around here. We will be investigating this matter, but most likely it won’t be at the pace that either of us want.”

“So we’re just supposed to sit here and wait it out while the Enchancellors send out interoffice memos and get all the right signatures lined up?”

“I didn’t say that, either,” the Inspectre said, raising a finger. He gave me a wry smile mixed with a look of what I hoped was infinite patience. “If we’re dealing with vampires, it’s a big thing to mobilize troops and equipment for dealing with them. The Enchancellors answer to the city of New York and err on the side of being obsessively careful in these matters. You forget, though—you’re part of the Fraternal Order of Goodness. We have been around much longer than the Department and we answer only to ourselves. The Department rose up around us only because there was a need for us to interface with modern government, but F.O.G. allows you to work above and beyond the constraints of the Department in some capacities. In some cases, while the governmental red tape of the Department will take forever, the secret nature of F.O.G. will allow us to start moving forward more quickly. I believe that something of this caliber would be such a case. If vampires don’t count, frankly, I shudder to think what would.”

“So is there something I can do to get the ball rolling on this?” I said, feeling a bit overwhelmed at the prospect.

The Inspectre nodded. “Until the Enchancellors say the rest of the i’s are dotted, yes. I want you and Connor to continue looking into this on the sly, but do not, under any circumstances, put yourself in serious harm’s way.”

I wanted to ask if it was okay to put myself in minor harm’s way, but stopped myself. I wasn’t about to get into what constituted the fine line between the two. Frankly, coming in to work at Other Division every day was, by definition, putting myself in harm’s way.

“Now,” the Inspectre continued, “since this is technically Fraternal Order business, I’m putting you in charge of this.”

“Over Connor?” I said, not wanting to outrank my mentor. It didn’t feel right.

“He’s not part of the Order, son. He can assist you on this, but you have to be careful to keep Order business out of his ears. It’s a fine line between the D.E.A. and F.O.G., I know, but it’s up to you to walk it.”

“Wait,” I said, raising my hands like I was waving back the idea. “Inspectre, please, you can’t. My partnership with him is already strained . . .”

The Inspectre dropped his fatherly tone, dead serious.

“Dammit, boy. When I first told you that you’d face severe challenges by being part of the Order, I wasn’t merely talking about the Things That Go Bump in the Night variety. Part of your responsibility is learning to handle others.”

I sat silently, not wanting to say anything to exacerbate the situation.

“Is this going to be an issue, son?” he asked.

Of course it was going to be an issue. “No, sir.”

“Good,” the Inspectre said, returning to his usual self. He began rummaging through one of the file folders on his desk. “I need you to keep the Order’s eye on things in this investigation, Simon, until the Enchancellors are ready to make a move. I’ll try to hurry along the process, but you can well imagine how long that might take.”

After my three months of paperwork settling the case of the ghost of Irene Blatt and the whole Metropolitan Museum of Art debacle that came with it, I imagined it might take roughly an eon or two to light a fire under the right people in the Department. At the moment, though, I was powerless to do anything about it. Maybe I could talk to Davidson to speed things up downtown. That was, if Connor didn’t kill me for being put in charge of him on this.

The Inspectre looked lost in thought as he went through the file in front of him. I realized he had moved on from our conversation.

I backed toward the door, showing myself out. Just as I was about to close it gently behind me, the Inspectre spoke up again.

“Oh, my boy,” he said, looking up from his paperwork.

I pushed the door back open.

“Sir?”

The Inspectre raised his hand and stroked his handlebar mustache. “I think we should step up your combat training to meet Fraternal Order levels, you know, with all this vampiric activity going on. For now, I want to see you every day for Unorthodox Fighting Techniques. I’ll see to it personally, of course, so put aside some time starting later today, won’t you?”

A ball of dread filled my stomach, but I nodded. More training most likely meant more danger in my near future, and that never filled me with the warm fuzzies. I gave a weak smile and closed the Inspectre’s door.

I headed for the stairs, wondering how much I couldn’t tell Connor while moving forward with all this. If a scrub like me tried to pull rank on a mentor like him, I suspected he wouldn’t take it well, even if passing the Oubliette meant I was technically now his equal in the Department.