MV2: More Travel

They drove north and west, heading out of Oklahoma and towards... Andy didn't know, and didn't care enough to ask. One of their schools, which were supposed to teach him to use and control powers once he knew enough to feed safely.. That was enough for him. As the van made its way along the highway -- moving at night, since Rodney couldn't keep up otherwise and nobody wanted to try shoving his motorcycle into the van itself -- Andy thought through the questions he did want answered. 

"Any more information on Titus?" he asked, glancing over at Steve. 

Steve shrugged. 

Andy said, "Come on, I know you get information that you aren't sharing with me."

This time Steve sniffed, looking amused. "All right. He's a revolutionary. Calls himself Titus Anthropicus. Origin uncertain, but he's been active in the U.S. for at least a century. Violently opposed to the Settlements -- Reservations, they're usually called. He refers to them as concentration camps, and that's..." Steve sighed. "Not entirely right, but not entirely wrong either. 'Reservations' is better. He's got a long history of sabotage, organizing, and at least two deliberate assassinations. The werewolf calls himself Lycan't, and he's... generally been more of a mercenary than anything else. The nightbringer's new, though -- we don't know much of anything about her."

Andy nodded as he took that in. "All right. That helps. So he was... doing his thing, wound up chased by the police, broke into my house and murdered me while his friend ate my girlfriend, and then managed to escape despite looking like a badly-reanimated corpse. And one way or another, he realized -- or expected -- that I'd wake up like this, so he came looking to... recruit me? I guess?"

Steve shrugged. "Maybe. He definitely wants you for something." Which meant maybe the phoenix feather or maybe something else entirely.

Andy nodded slowly. "What about Lorraine, and... was it John?"

Steve chuckled, then fell silent. "I heard how you handled John," he said quietly. "And.. it wasn't subtle, or discreet. You weren't wrong, exactly -- that guy was going to be a problem, one way or another, any way he could find -- but you made yourself look like a threat to civilians, too."

"Sorry." Andy looked away, out the window. "He just... I don't know. Something about that guy really pissed me off." 

Steve nodded, then paused for a long moment. "Lorraine was... mauled. Not fed on, not infected -- deliberately, it seems -- but murdered with claws. John was taken, and we haven't seen any sign of him since. We assume he's traveling with Titus, and probably being trained by him -- possibly as a replacement for you. After you drained him, it would have been easy to tip him over the edge; you might even be able to sense him if he gets close to you, since you contributed to his turning."

Andy shuddered. "Dear God, I hope not." He didn't want that weight on his conscience. 

Steve shook his head. "Not your fault. He would have lived if Titus hadn't intervened. And whatever the faults in our current system, Lorraine wasn't doing anybody any harm. Titus chose to murder her anyway."

"I'm going to kill him," Andy said. "Permanently."

"You're not--"

"Quiet," Andy told the werewolf. "I'm manifesting over here." 

"Yeah." Steve sighed. "Just remember, if you're manifesting then Titus likely is too." He hesitated, again. "So manifest hard."

MV2: The Long Wait

A night passed, and then another, and then another. Andy finally found a rhythm of sorts, sleeping through most of the day and waiting for enough night to fall that he could safely move around. He'd remembered to bring the book of naval history with him, and finished it. 

When he woke again, it was still light outside. He rolled over, checked the two guns he'd been given, and then sighed. He hadn't sensed his maker Titus, and if the others had come for him surely the strike force would have notified them. Either they'd managed to slip away, or Titus had given up, or... or he's waiting for everyone to drop their guard. Which they will. 

He wouldn't, of course. But it was obvious that the plan to lure the three rogues here and destroy them wasn't working. 

So it was no surprise at all when Veronica knocked on his door and said, "We're holding another planning session."

He nodded, rose, and followed her out to the kitchen. 

Steve and Rodney were sitting there; so was Eleni. Andy took a seat and decided to make it easy for everyone. "Nothing?"

"Nothing," confirmed Eleni, watching him from behind her glasses. "Either they don't know where we are, or they know better than to try us."

Andy sighed, and met Rodney's eyes. The vampire nodded. 

"So what happens now?" he asked.

"Best if we get you into a school," Eleni said softly. 

Andy considered that for a long moment. "The schools are protected?"

Steve nodded. "Very thoroughly, and for several different reasons."

"We have to get you and Rodney fed, too," Veronica added. "After what happened with Lorraine and the kid, we can't risk bringing anyone else out here."

"Hell," said Rodney, "Titus may even be trying to starve you out, push you into an uncontrolled feeding."

Steve nodded. "Veronica and I can get by on regular food, but we can only provide for you two so much. We've been holding back on that, hoping your maker would show." 

"All right, then." Andy nodded. He wasn't looking forward to making another adjustment to his life, however well-intended, but he didn't see any other path forward. Exposing himself as bait was risky -- which at this point he was prepared to accept -- but the others would never go for it, and he wasn't honestly sure he was willing to risk his life... or unlife... like that. He couldn't bring himself to care if he lived or died, but he wasn't actively suicidal either. "Let's do it."

Eleni nodded to him. "We'll be beside you the whole way," she said.  

DoT: Not Them

Verity paused on the bridge, and handed the spyglass over to Vallatha. The younger woman was coming along well, minding her control as she slowly expanded her abilities, and it was a matter of pure shitty luck that she'd fallen afoul of a charm spell. Otherwise, she might have taken the mage captive when they'd first met. 

"I can't tell," Vallatha said at last. "The group's about the right size, but none of them look like the vendor's description -- or the elf I spoke with."

Verity sighed. "We're going to have to take a closer look.  If they're using disguises, a voice might give it away. Could you manage to talk to them?"

Vallatha nodded. "I haven't put on a disguise myself in well over two years, but I can do it."

"Do it, then. You're the only one who's had contact with them; you'll be the only one who can tell. And Mad Mattie wants answers."

"I want answers," Vallatha said, suddenly fierce. "I don't want anybody messing with my mind like that. I hate the idea of losing control like that."

Verity nodded. "I understand. Learn what you can, then, and report back."

* * *

Verity looked up as Vallatha knocked, entered her sanctum, and then dumped herself into one of the chairs. "It's not them," she said. "It could almost be -- they even had a halfling there -- but the halfling was still a child, and I don't think she's throwing spells at anybody. The rest of them... They could be a crew, and possibly Mist Eyes, but they don't match any crew I've ever heard of, and apparently they spend a lot of their time helping out people on their spoke. One of the kids is apprenticed in the bakery, and the woodcarver told me how they heal his hand every morning to help with the pain." She sighed. "And the only elf there was a woman, who kept trying to flirt with me. None of their voices were familiar, either."

"None of that proves that they didn't kill Varna," Verity observed, but she sounded dubious even to herself. 

"It doesn't," Vallatha agreed, "but I would have preferred to find something that does. We could pull them in, find a way to make sure they were telling the truth, but..." she shrugged. "I think we're looking in the wrong place."

"Very well," Verity said after a long moment. "Keep looking. Hard to believe that there might be two such groups, but Mistress Taritha's description wasn't very precise."

"Sudden violence will do that to the untrained," Vallatha observed, and Verity nodded. 

"So we keep looking." She sighed. "This mage will show up, sooner or later. I'd prefer sooner, but if they have any sense they'll have gone to ground after this."

"Is there another way to look?" asked Vallatha. 

"I'll set someone to watch them," Verity said, "and see if they make contact with anyone else. If they're just an up-and-coming crew within the Mist Eyes, though.... It's still possible that's how they went to make their name, but if so only they and Cedric will know it. We can't trust to rumor for this."

Vallatha nodded. "I have a friend who might be good for this. With your permission...?"

Verity nodded. "Tap him. He doesn't have to be brilliant, just observant and unobtrusive." 

Vallatha nodded. "I trust him. You recruited us together, if you remember."

"Ah," said Verity. "Salador." She nodded. "Do it." 

MV: Lying in Wait

It took a bit of practice with bits of trash for targets, and a recitation of the basic rules of gun safety: all guns are always loaded, trigger discipline is foremost, and you only aim a gun if you intend to shoot something. Veronica nodded along, and once Steve was satisfied they handed off a pair of weapons: a .38 revolver, and a pump shotgun with an under-barrel attachment that seemed to be a diving light or something similar.  

"Listen, kid-- Andy--" said Rodney, as he handed over the weapons. "Don't waste your time plotting against us. If you want us to cut you loose, we will. Of course, if you misbehave we might end up hunting you and I think we'd all regret that, but you're not a prisoner."

Andy gave him the most withering look he could manage. "I have three targets," he said quietly. "As disappointed as you might be to hear it, none of you qualify." He hesitated for a brief moment, then reached out and squeezed Rodney's shoulder. "And I keep my word."

Rodney managed a grin. "We won't have to make a hunter out of you," he predicted. "You've got the drive already."

Andy considered that. "You're just saying that because I know what I want and I have ideas about how to get there."

"Hunting can be done reluctantly, or joyously, but it should always have respect for the prey," Veronica said firmly. "Even Rodney acknowledges that."

Andy nodded. He had guns now. His maker did too, or his allies did. A wight, a werewolf, and a nightbringer. In theory, the strike team should be able to take care of them -- but they'd dodged the team once before, and rescued the werewolf from Andy and his rescuers. He didn't intend to underestimate them. He'd never expected to find himself in a gang war between monsters and monster-cops, but apparently that was where he was.   

MV: Retreating Further West

Andy wasn't sure where they ended up, only that it was still short of midnight when they arrived. "Nearest town's Lawton," was the best he'd been able to get out of any of his three guardians. Steve had taken the mattress that ran down the side of the van, and promptly passed out, leaving Veronica to do the driving; Rodney was pacing them on his motorcycle. 

Andy had never seen the appeal of motorcycles. They were too loud, too risky, too vulnerable. But sitting in the passenger seat of the converted van, he found he was starting to find the sound of Rodney moving around them reassuring. 

"Steve told me you asked for a gun," Veronica had said once they were on the highway. 

Andy had nodded. "I'd rather have it on record."

Veronica thought about that for a long moment. "The woman we report to is Margaret Hamilton. She's completely human, and very much by-the-book. The odds of her approving something like that officially are... not good."

Andy had considered that. "Is there any way I can contact her directly?"

Veronica had hesitated. "Maybe. If you want to convince her, it should be during daylight -- but you don't seem to pass out the way Rodney does, so that should be doable."

They'd fallen mostly silent after that, and when they pulled onto the small property in the brush-land just outside the Wichita Wildlife Refuge Andy had done his part to bring their things inside. He was strong, but strong wasn't enough to give him a life. Not outside of the current business of running, hiding, and hoping to ambush the monsters who'd killed him. 

This new place was a single-story farmhouse with an attached barn, mostly empty; Andy didn't get much chance to look around before Rodney bustled him inside. The interior was more of a surprise; the central section was built of thick concrete walls and ceiling, heavy doors, and carefully-isolated electronics. The outer areas -- kitchen, living room, study -- were ordinary enough. The small complex of bedrooms and bathrooms were a subtle fortress. 

"You still awake?" asked Steve, mid-morning. 

Andy nodded. "Nerves," he said simply. 

"Well, Veronica briefed me and I'm about to phone in to Margaret. You ready to make your case?"

Andy nodded. He was. 

Steve tapped his phone, and waited while it rang: once, twice... "Sign in," said a woman's voice. 

"Watch Team Barn Owl, reporting, verification Zero-One-Alpha."

There was a momentary pause. "Proceed." 

"At target's request, we've relocated to strike zone outside of Lawton. Our team is in place; Strike Team should be right behind us and digging in."

"Understood," said the woman's voice. "There have been developments. Volunteer Lorraine Duchamp is dead, and feeder John White is missing. We found their car just before noon."

Andy felt a surge of dread go through him. Titus, again. He knew next to nothing about the wight that had made him, but in that moment he was ready to kill him. 

"Understood," Steve returned. "Target has a request."

"Does he?" asked Margaret. "Put him on."

Andy leaned towards the phone, which was set on speaker. "I'd like a gun," he said simply. "I need to be able to defend myself. I know how to shoot, I will pass any readiness or safety check you want to give me, but I want to do this right. What do I need to do to make that possible?"

There was a long pause, and then the woman's voice said: "You've been cooperative, and you are in active danger. If your guardians judge that they can trust you with silver ammunition, I'll back their call."

Steve leaned forward. "Andrew, here, is the most reliable candidate I've seen in a decade. I'd trust him not to shoot me in the back."

"All right. I'll trust you on this one. Run him through basic safety. If he know it, give the kid a gun. And kid? Be responsible with it."

Andy nodded, even knowing that Margaret couldn't see him. "Only the three who destroyed my life," he said firmly. "And Steve gets the gun back as soon as they're down."

There was a momentary pause, and then Margaret said, "You have yourself a bargain, young man." 

MV: Decision Point

It was just after dark, and Steve led him over to the kitchen table. The lingering scent of food was a minor torment, a reminder that Andy couldn't -- or shouldn't -- eat regular food anymore. Veronica was there as well, and... Lorraine? Yes, that was her name. Sitting beside her was another young man, this one a sandy blond... maybe in his twenties? And sitting between Steve and Veronica was a woman in a sort of Hijab, wearing glasses so dark that Andy couldn't see her eyes. 

They looked like a council of war. 

Cautiously, Andy took a seat and looked around the table again. 

Steve nodded back to him. "You remember Lorraine, I trust," he said, and Andy nodded. 

Lorraine leaned forward. The gray in her hair and the lines in her face were both fading; he could see that clearly, and was relieved by it. "This is John," she said, tilting her head to the sandy-haired young man beside her. 

"Um," he said. "Hi. I'll be your victim tonight, I guess." He grinned, then. "Sorry, I haven't ever been drained by a wight before. Forgive me for being a bit shocked?"

Andy shrugged. "I certainly was," he offered. 

Lorraine chuckled, and Steve moved on. "Our companion in the glasses is Eleni Livingstone. She's in charge of the strike team." 

Andy nodded carefully to her. "Thank you."

She offered a brief, professional smile. "Pleasure to help. I'm here to ask you to make a decision."

Andy considered that, but only briefly. "What kind of decision?"

"What to do next," she answered him easily. "The strike team is in position here, but we can't stay here -- not without the risk of shooting up the neighborhood. I am confident--" She glanced at Steve. "--that we can get you safely to one of the schools, and also that this would be the safest choice for you." She hesitated as Andy waited. "The alternative would be to pull out, let your team take you to someplace more remote, and see if your presence lures in the three rogues so we can trap them."

Andy studied her for a long moment, but couldn't discern anything through the sunglasses. Rodney reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, then extracted a twenty-dollar bill and set it neatly on the table. Eleni turned slightly in his direction, then shook her head at him. Her expression, as much of it as Andy could make out, might have been exasperated.

"Kill them," Andy said, keeping his voice quiet but firm. Eleni turned her attention-apparent back to him. "Otherwise I'm just waiting around wondering if they're going to find me again. I'd rather take the immediate risk."

Steve nodded, and Rodney put the bill away again. "Could have been an easy twenty for me," he remarked in a tone of idle regret. "Too bad." 

"You get paid plenty," said Eleni. "All right. We're agreed. Lorraine, you and John take care of the kid while we pull things together. The moment you're clear, we're off."

Most of the table rose, monsters scattering to their duties. Andy sat there, watching as Lorraine brought John around to him. 

"You could turn me, right?" asked John.

"Into this?" asked Andy, more shocked than he cared to admit. 

Lorraine said, "John," but he shook his head. 

"I was just asking," he said. "I mean, look at him. He's ugly, but he's strong -- and if I'm dead, this bullshit sentence is up and I'm free."

"That's not how it--" Lorraine sounded as if she was doing her best to be patient. 

John scowled for just a heartbeat -- long enough for Andy to see how much he wanted the change, wanted to run loose as a monster. How much he wanted to do violence, even as a mortal man.

He stood up abruptly, his chair scooting away behind him and toppling over, and slapped his palm down over John's face. "You want to be food for us? A victim? Okay."

Lorraine started to reach for him, but Andy brushed her aside and kept his hand in place for that critical few seconds. When he loosed it, John, staggered and dropped: brittle, elderly, and weak. "Don't tempt me," he said, and turned away. "This is your sentence, not your salvation."

Lorraine dropped to her knees, checked John over, then sighed. "Andy..." 

He sighed. "Sorry," he said, with only a token attempt at sincerity. "I'm still new at this. I'll keep better control next time."

"If there is a next time," Lorraine said quietly. "At least you didn't kill him."

"I wouldn't give him the satisfaction," Andy said quietly, then sighed. "Sorry," he repeated. "This guy should be kept far away from anybody who actually might turn him, though."

"I know," said Lorraine. "Look, I know this is part of your new nature, but try to keep a handle on it, okay? I'll have to write it up, but I can note it as a one-time thing. Don't make it a habit." 

Andy nodded and stepped out of the room. Behind him, on the floor, John gasped out, "Fuck. You." 

Wargs Revisited

"Got the perfect one for you, Bonethorn." 

"Seriously? I mean, okay, I'll ride a warg into battle, but don't expect me to-- hey! Get off! Stopping licking my ears-- that tickles!"

"See?"

"Grimstick, did you pick out the absolute least murder-y warg in the whole pack?"

"Not sayin'. But Willrender here isn't goin' to be a good companion for just any goblin. He wants scratches -- under the chin and behind the ears are best, but he'll take what he can get. You get wounded in battle, he'll probably just cuddle up beside you." 

"Well then, who's a good boy? Is it you? Is it?" 

"He seems to like you. Goregrim had cracked him over the head with a mace by this point."

"Goregrim is a sad excuse for a goblin. Great warchief, but he's just so angry all the time. Can't be good for his blood pressure. Not like you, Willrender, you sweet, sweet puppy."

"Keep your voice down!" 

"All right, I'm sold. I'm riding a warg into battle, and it's Willrender."

"Good. Now, whatever you do, don't expect him to bite anybody. You just ride him, keep him line with the others, and do your thing."

"Which is what?"

"Eh? Shoot arrows at the elves, Bonethorn. Willrender won't mind that, he just doesn't want to bite anybody himself."

"Right. Yes. Violence. I forgot about that part. Who's a cute giant murder puppy? Is it you?"

"Stop talking to the warg and focus. You're going to need to learn to ride him..." 

"Like this?" 

"...Like that. M'kay, I'll just leave you two to get acquainted. Remember, battle's in three days." 

MV: Elusive Sleep

By noon, Andy was about ready to climb the walls. He'd retreated to the ground-floor bedroom and made sure the blackout curtains were fully closed, but no amount of lying on the bed was enough to let him relax. He wasn't sure whether that was because he didn't feel entirely safe, or whether he'd simply had too much sleep -- or whatever passed for it -- already.

He pulled a book off the shelves almost at random, and found himself reading about naval warfare in World War I. Naval-gazing, he thought to himself, and chuckled quietly. Likely there was a whole hidden history here, spirits and monsters and sorceries all contributing to the outcome of the battles and the course of the war; he'd have to ask about that later. 

The book did its job, at least: after half an hour or so, he was settled enough to lie back and let himself drift. He didn't dream this time, and wouldn't have sworn that he slept except that when Steve came to get him it took a minute or so to wake back up. 

"Are they--?" Andy cut himself off, reaching out and realizing that his maker wasn't close enough to sense. 

Steve studied him for a moment, and Andy shook his head. "I can't feel him."

"Good," said Steve. "The strike team got here just after noon, but this is a safehouse -- not the best place to stage an ambush or even an arrest. Don't want to put the neighbors in danger, after all."

"Tulsa," said Andy, remembering. "Yeah, let's not get anybody else killed." He hesitated, then asked, "Is there any chance I could have a gun? I actually do know how to shoot."

Steve hesitated. "Let me think that over. Officially, no -- too big a risk. But this whole situation is dangerous."

Andy nodded and didn't say anything else. He was still dressed, and when Steve wandered back out of the room he slipped back into his shoes and followed.  

A Conversation 'Twixt Goblins

"Grimstick,these are wargs." 

"Yes! The traditional mounts of our people! ...Is that a problem, Bonethorn?" 

"You want me to ride into battle on the back of a warg?" 

"Keep your voice down, boy! Why is that a problem? Goblins have been riding wargs for a thousand years! It's a great honor!" 

"It just seems kind of dangerous." 

"Dangerous? 'Course they're dangerous! That's why we ride 'em! Strike fear into the hearts of humans and elves!" 

"I mean, dangerous to us." 

"Nonsense, boy! Gryphons is dangerous. 

You fall off one of those, and splat -- yer dead. Y'fall off a warg, you just get laughed at. Wargs is how goblins fight the Bigs. Well, wargs and ambushes." 

"I just feel like maybe I should be riding something that won't eat me if I get wounded in battle." 

"Like what?" 

"Like a pony, maybe?" 

"You know what happens if you show up to battle on the back of a pony when everybody else is ridin' wargs?" 

"...Wargs eat me?" 

"There you go." 

"...Okay, fair point. Put me on a warg." 

"I knew you'd come round. Too smart fer yer own good, but yer still a goblin at heart."

New Nightmares

Lot of weird dreams over recent weeks. Notable among them:

1. A thing like a deformed baby roughly the size of a squirrel, but with adult-sized hands on short wrists growing out of its sides. It was trying to pull me into a very small (like, 5") hole in the wall, and if I hadn't pulled harder it would have... absorbed and consumed me. 

2. A completely separate dream. I liked the part where I was camping with my friend. I enjoyed the part where we were LARPing with a bunch of other campers. I was less pleased with the weird rival family throwing rocks at my head. The tarot-ish reading that passed for the post-funeral reading of the will was weird. Having a random toddler get caught between the inner and outer doors of the elevator and fall down the shaft was horrible. 

There was a lot of "trying to find my sword again" in there, which I think is usually a sign of my brain trying to gear up to Get Things Done.  

Most recently, I had a -- slightly broken-up -- sort of Addams Family wedding scenario, except that the various parties involved were actually trying to kill each other. There was a river, which varied in width in various areas, where people would swim -- but there were also eels in there, carnivorous and about fourteen feet long, maybe eight inches across. The one I threw off was only eight feet long, but hit had been cut short. There was a point where I was walking on the pipes just under the water, and then back to the main areas where I needed to be; and then a lot of dastardly dealings, including the intrusion of the Shadow Tooth, which turned out to be a projection controlled by a yoga instructor whose controller I took away. 

It was all very weird, and I loved the strangeness of the settings.  

MV: Near Dawn

He'd meant to find a book, he really had. The television and its late-night movies were almost distraction enough. Watching the clock told him the time, but the knowledge didn't seem to mean anything. Andy settled back, wondering vaguely what might happen if he just stayed on the couch... or walked out into the dawn. 

"Hey there." 

Andy blinked and reluctantly looked up; a woman with curly dark hair was standing over him. "Do I know you?" he asked. 

She shook her head, a faint smile curling her lips. "Not at all," she said. "I'm Lorraine. I'll bring you a volunteer tomorrow, but for tonight, I'm standing in." She knelt down beside the couch. "Feed."

Andy kept his hands still. "It's fine. I don't want to."

Rodney came around the end of the couch and sighed. "You may not want to, but you need to. Word is you're good at doing it gently, but you have to have something. So do I."

Andy shook his head. "Let it be. It's not worth it."

Rodney drew in a sharp breath, but Lorraine held up a hand. "Would you believe me if I told you that I think it is?" She raised her head, studied him for a long moment, then reached out and lifted his chin. "Your keepers have been tasked with a lot of dumb assholes who've been turned to the dark over the years. Carol says you aren't one of them. She likes you, and Loida does too. Do you have any idea how rare that is?"

Andy shook his head. "I'm just trying to frustrate the bastard who made me," he said quietly. 

"Then do it by staying alive," Lorraine told him. "Feed."

He hesitated, then reached out and laid his hand on her head. The contact was immediate, and it was all he could do to force it down to a minimum. He snatched his hand back, clutched it to his chest. Definitely a monster...

Lorraine rose, with touches of gray in her dark hair and new lines on her face, but she smiled down at him. "Well done," she said. "I'll be back, and you'll see you haven't done me any permanent harm." She glanced at Rodney. "We'll get someone for you, too."

Andy waited until she'd gone, then turned a glance towards Rodney. He was feeling a little better, and apparently his curiosity had come back. "You don't drink, like, packaged blood?"

"Not if I can help it," Rodney said quietly, taking a long look around before sitting down beside him. "It's not just that it's less helpful and the taste is off, it's that it's actually a pretty valuable resource in mundane medicine. If I drink from a human, they're maybe a little woozy but they'll be fine in a day or two. If I raid a blood bank, maybe somebody dies from a motorcycle accident when they could have been saved." He looked around again. "If Steve or Veronica says anything, though, it's because it tastes disgusting."

MV: Rest and Recuperation

He would have slept again if he could have. The feather was still warm in his hands; it was the only spot of comfort in this whole bleak existence. The movie had changed, the good guys victorious, and now Andy was watching something where a group of soldiers was being stalked by some sort of alien hunter. Not Predator, though; this looked to be some sort of late-night rip-off. 

Rodney sighed and stood up. "My shift," he explained, when Andy glanced at him. "Hopefully the wolves will wear each other out and sleep. You're in the ground-floor bedroom, so make sure you keep the curtains closed. Once the sun comes up, your maker won't be able to move around -- not easily, anyway. The shadowbringer can move around, but won't have any but the most basic powers. The wolf will be the greater danger, but since we have two wolves here..." The vampire shrugged. "You're as safe as we can make you."

Andy looked up at him, then forced himself to speak. "Thank you."

Rodney sighed. "Vampire's not a bad bit. It was a shock, and I could have done without dying -- but that's the price of recruitment, and my maker was determined to bring in younger Kin with new perspectives. The fact that I turned out to be a traditionalist has frustrated her for half a century now."

Andy nodded, though he had the feeling that he was being humored -- or that Rodney was trying to comfort him. Either way, he just wasn't up for it. "Wight's a shock," he said quietly. "How common are we?"

Rodney hesitated, then said: "Surprisingly. Wights can't pass for shit, but they -- you --  get along surprisingly well. A few work for the Authority, a lot go into the reservations, and the rest... well... I doubt the wolves mentioned it, but there's a whole-ass criminal underworld and a lot of wights decide they're happy to take jobs as enforcers or necromancers there."

Fucking hell, no, Andy decided. "I wanted a normal life," he said, calmly.

Rodney shook his head. "You're still holding a phoenix feather, so I won't swear to anything -- but I don't think you get that. It's not impossible -- remote work is absolutely a thing, and some wights legit pull it off --  but you need particular sets of skills. Accounting, or IT, or just night shift for a security company." He grinned cynically at that last.

Andy nodded and turned his attention back to the television. It was a bit after midnight, and maybe not long until dawn; he'd lost track of the time.

MV: The Mirror Is Not Kind

Andy studied his new self in the mirror and concluded that Veronica was right: he was never going to pass for human. His hair, once a full, dark brown, had turned white at the roots. How is it still growing out if I'm dead? he wondered, but then decided that he had other, weirder things to worry about. His skin was gray and thin, the play of muscles underneath clearly visible...

I'm a monster. There wasn't any way to hide it, either. Even a ski mask and goggles wouldn't disguise the pale blue of his lips or the equally pale corpse-gray of his skin. Veronica had said that his hair wouldn't hold dye, but that was almost beside the point. His skin would give him away far before his hair did. Tattoos, or a fuck-ton of makeup, and even then... He'd never much participated in theater, except for that one time the teacher had specifically asked him to do a particular stunt involving rope-work, but he'd had friends who had. He knew that doing makeup well wasn't easy.

Surface appearance aside, he didn't look bad. His musculature had always been solid; becoming a wight hadn't changed that. He'd never been much for team sports, but anything he could do alone -- track and field, gymnastics, wrestling, fencing, climbing -- he'd happily taken part in.  Even a year of karate, right before his mother had decided that he should focus on something less violent, like guitar or (the following year) piano.

His mood, already dark, fell further. No, there was no coming back from this. Let his family think him dead, let him wish he could come to Amy's funeral to grieve and perhaps apologize... it was better to come to terms with it now. I have claws, he reminded himself, and I can see in the dark. Balanced against everything else, that didn't seem like much.

He came out of the bathroom, crossed to the living room, and sat down on the far end of the sofa from Rodney, who was watching some old buddy cop flick from the 1980s, with a mismatched pair of policemen forced to work together. Andy watched one of the cops throw himself off a rooftop after handcuffing himself to a would-be suicide, and thought, Yeah, I know exactly how you feel.

"That bad?" asked Rodney, quietly. Steve and Veronica were moving around in the house behind them, airing things out and setting things up.

When Andy didn't answer, Rodney settled back into the couch and turned his attention to the movie again.

MV: Lifestyle Adjustments for the Living Dead

Steve sighed, then turned to look at Andy. "Don't let Rodney fool you. He plays it off with his 'werewolf good, vampire better' bit, but he's fully devoted to the team and we're lucky to have him -- even if he can only safely come out at night. He can also turn into a wolf, which is not a skill all dracs bother to develop."

Veronica nodded. "He can be a bit of an ass at times, but he comes through when it counts."

Andy sighed. "Don't mind me. I'm probably just cranky from the whole 'having my life completely derailed' thing."

Steve huffed an almost-laugh. "Yeah, well, no reason you shouldn't be."

"Do we have books?" asked Andy. "Or an Internet connection?"

"Books yes, Internet no," Veronica told him. "It's too much of a security risk. We swap out phones every time we go out on this kind of assignment, too."

Well, that figures, Andy thought. "All right. I'm going to go find something to read."

Steve nodded. "If you're curious, find the bathroom and take a look at yourself in the mirror. I don't know what happened in your dream, but you look just about as good as wights ever get."

"Oh?" asked Andy. He tilted his head for a long moment, then went to go find out.

Rodney accosted him as soon as he got inside. "Hey, kid. Sorry I pissed you off." He actually sounded sorry, which was something of a miracle as far as Andy was concerned. Most grownups weren't very good at apologizing. "I like annoying my co-workers, but they're used to it. Didn't mean to catch you too."

Andy stopped, studied him, then nodded and offered his hand. "Fresh start?" he asked. "I don't think I'm doing my best either." 

Rodney snorted. "You've been a wight for what? Three days?"

"Maybe?" 

Rodney nodded. "Rough time. Remind me later, and I'll tell you how I was when I was first turned." He glanced back at the door to the garage. "Meanwhile, I'm going to go settle back before my co-workers realize I'm trying to be a decent person." He reached out, shook Andy's hand, and then quickly retreated to something that looked like a living room.

"Bathroom?" asked Andy. 

"First door on the left." Rodney called back. 

Andy drew a deep breath which didn't help at all -- being undead definitely had its drawbacks -- and went to go look at himself in the mirror.

MV: Fire Omens

Steve froze, staring at at the feather in his hands. "Where did you get that?" he asked, carefully. 

Andy yawned. "Not sure. I was asleep. Dreamed about a giant, burning bird, though. Is it yours?'

Steve shook his head slowly. "Nope. I think it's yours. It's... Veronica? Would you come take a look at this before I say something completely idiotic?"

She came around the van, and looked at Andy and the stray flame-colored feather. "Is that a fucking phoenix feather?" she asked. 

"I think so," said Steve. "Thank God. I was afraid it was just me."

"The fuck am I doing with a phoenix feather?" asked Andy. He figured it had probably fallen out of somewhere and his sleeping mind had turned that into the dream with the bird, but Steve was talking like it had actually fallen out of his dream. 

"...I don't know," Steve admitted, "but let's get you something to keep it in. I can't begin to imagine how you got the attention of something like that -- that shit's for shamans and witches and the like -- but it might be..." He fell silent.

Finally, Veronica filled in. "It might be very important," she said. "The kind of thing your maker might be hunting you for, if they knew you could acquire it."

"How would they know that?" asked Andy, suddenly panicked. It was one thing to have a powerful wight looking for him; it was something else again if his maker could somehow tell the future.  

"Know what?" asked a third voice, and Andy launched himself out of the van with twisting movement that landed him right between Steve and Veronica.  

"Jesus, Rodney," said Veronica. "Good way to get yourself shot." 

The new arrival was a tall man, broad-shouldered but otherwise slender, wearing black jeans, engineer boots, and a motorcycle jacket. He held a silver motorcycle helmet in his left hand, and his hair was bleached blond. At first glance, he could have passed for human.

"How'd you get up here so fast?" asked Steve, putting his pistol back in its holster. 

The vampire shrugged. "With an expensive motorcycle and a reckless disregard for speed limits. And there's nothing funnier than sneaking up on werewolves when they're not paying attention."

"You've clearly never watched British comedy." Andy spoke without thinking, then realized he was standing there with his claws out and put them away. 

"Ah," said Rodney, turning his attention to Andy. "You must be our newborn wight."

"Must I?" asked Andy. 

Rodney's eyes widened suddenly. "Is that a phoenix feather?" he asked. "Oh, my. Enterprising, defiant, and favored by the Great Spirits. I like you already."

"Yeah, well, just wait 'til you get a chance to know me," Andy told him. He didn't trust Rodney's words, and while he might eventually come to respect the vampire he was feeling a little raw about anybody messing with the people who'd been taking care of him since he'd woken up dead -- even if they were all supposed to be on the same side. 

"Do I even need to tell you how much I prefer What We Do In The Shadows?" Rodney asked. 

Andy rolled his eyes. "Of course you do." He's not a vampire, he's a fucking cliché. "I'm sure we'll get along famously."

Rodney evidently could read between the lines. He sighed, and said, "Well, then. I'll retire into the house and wait for my shift to start. I suppose it's too much to hope that my help might be properly appreciated."