Chapter 3-79: Chasing an Infection (1/2)
Master Fred accepted his Vaccine back, tapped away. WELL DONE, he complimented me. HE WARMED UP NICELY ONCE ADDRESSED IN NECRUS.
“He did. And while I would prefer to just feed him to the Land, he is adhering to his contract, or he’d be long dead. Mostly, a vylstrigoi is a powerful undead, and he doesn’t want to deal with a potential challenger who is going to get caught and give ghouls a bad name. They look too similar, despite basically being deranged vampires.”
ALERT THE VAMPIRES?, Fred asked, still looking at his phone while Sleipner rolled along on his own cognizance.
“Only if we can’t narrow down the tomb. The local clans should be able to sense a challenger in the area, but the tomb must be in unclaimed territory outside the local baron’s domain. Plus, it can daywalk in human guise to spread the disease, so it’s coming when the vamps are down, and leaving before they rise, most likely.”
The Gnome bleeped up above his phone. “Hey, you two, The Mick is in Pittsburgh, and you really should have back-up... and the vampires will owe you a favor for bringing them in to kill one of these.”
“The Mick?” I asked reasonably, having not a clue who that was.
HE’S AN ENFORCER FOR THE FUILCROI CLAN IN DETROIT. HE’S PROBABLY CHASING DOWN A STRAY THAT RAN TO THE BULIGGATI HERE.
“You want to bring in a vampire enforcer?” I asked archly. “Hello, Heavenbound sitting right here.” I pointed down at Master Fred’s head from behind him.
“The Mick is a clan member, not an Elder. He’s actually part of the Fynnachl bloodline, but their Elder was staked a long time ago, and the clan has broken apart and gone to other Clans. He drifted around and ended up in Fuilcroi, where he was naturally treated like shit. He returned it in kind, rather butchering anyone who got in his way, and ended up the most feared enforcer in the Clan. The fact he’s utterly happy to kill any Blooded who step out of line makes him both loathed and indispensable.
“Pretty nice guy, if you aren’t on his hit list.”
I shook my head at the gnome’s words. “Up to Master Fred.”
I’LL TEXT HIM. His thumbs worked again.
It seemed he had The Mick’s number in the phone’s memory. “You’ve worked with him before?”
HE’S COMPLETELY SHAMELESS ABOUT ASKING FOR HELP WITH ROGUE VAMPIRES AND STRAGGLING UNDEAD. WE’VE PUT DOWN QUITE A FEW TOGETHER, he replied.
It was only a minute before his Vaccine hummed. Hey, Boxer! Sure, I can help put down a stray! Where would you like to meet?
“Boxer?” I had to ask.
SHORT FOR CHATTERBOX. He didn’t even crack a smile.
Okay, The Mick was probably going to be pretty amusing...
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We pulled over to wait in front of an Amanan clinic. I was surprised when he went inside, but he was back out in a few minutes, with a bright red bag of blood plasma in his hand.
The Mick arrived about ten minutes later, and was not at all hard to spot coming. He was driving a pure white Caddister convertible, with crushed velvet upholstery, polished to a gleaming shine and absolutely defying any dust that dared to land on it, with the license plate THE MICK in red letters on white plate. He pulled in next to Sleipner, grinning from ear to ear as he did so, and definitely taking a gander at me.
“Hello! Another apprentice Warlock?... Nope, you don’t have the eyes. Sweet!” He rubbed his hands as he looked at me, and got out of the car. He withdrew something from his vest pocket, and I was very impressed as he bowed to Sleipner and offered it up. “For you, oh Lord of Funerals!”
That looked like a thousand-dollar fifth of Von Gelt dwarven whiskey...
Sleipner’s neigh was a mixture of aloof disdain and ‘sure, feed me.’ Fred accepted it, handed over the bag of blood, and The Mick received it with a sigh.
“Och, virgin Powered blood! You know how to treat a lad, Boxer!” Without the slightest bit of shame, and the definite expertise of long practice, he lifted the bag to his mouth, bit into it with pronounced canines, and began to suck it down. His face radiated bliss, while Sleipner hummed happily as Fred poured in the contents of the glass bottle. I had to draw my head back to stay away from the fumes.
Definitely the most expensive fuel around... well, mundane fuel. Alchemicals weren’t cheap, either.
HOW IS BONE MARROW HOLDING UP?, Fred asked calmly, as Blooded and Unicorn finished their meals together.
He patted his blindingly white vehicle. “Like a smooth riding kitten. No comparison to your own fair ride, but for such a modest fellow as myself, she serves admirably.”
Yep, definitely shameless.
The Mick actually wasn’t that much taller than I was, but he had a chest like a barrel, and moved with an easy, inhuman power and grace that fairly broadcast danger to someone who wasn’t absolutely stupid. His hair was long, black, and wavy, glistening and carefully made up, every strand in place. He affected a day of beard, or maybe he shaved that morning and it was just coming in thick. His eyes were nearly as dark as his hair, a strange combination of mysterious and emotionless, and his very white-toothed smile did not reach them.
His apparel was a blindingly white suitcoat tuxedo, pure as milk, except for the bright red pattern of his tie and kerchief. I lifted an eye at the white tophat resting comfortably on the passenger seat, right next to the long curve of a sheathed dai-katana, also all in white.
“So, to this fair young maiden, er, lady, I am The Mick, enforcer for the Fuilcroi Blood Family of Detroit. Who might I have the honor of addressing?” he asked, and actually sketched a half-bow.
I flicked my finger, and my hair returned to normal. I lifted an eye at him, and waited.