Брайан Макклеллан - Blood Tally

She’s definitely lying about this being nothing, Maggie told me. But I can’t get a line on what else is going on.

I figured. I bit my bottom lip, irritated with this strange protective feeling I suddenly had for Ada. Knowing that you had Stockholm syndrome doesn’t make it any easier. Fuck. I guess I have to find this dumb kid. I pulled the picture out of my pocket, gazed at Michael for a few moments, then put it away again. Whatever is happening with Ada is going to affect me too. Keep your eyes peeled and your senses sharp. I may not like thralls, but I like the idea of being dicked over by a Vampire Lord’s lackey even less.

I began my search for Michael Pavlovich at the Walz Branch of the Cleveland Public Library. What I really needed was a workable file on Michael. Boris’s refusal to help on that front meant that I needed to construct the file from scratch – known associates, old workplaces, possible cell phone numbers. Very basic investigative stuff. Of course, I could save myself a whole lot of work if I just had access to a preexisting file.

Michael being a thrall, and all the legal paperwork that came with it, probably meant that OtherOps had at least a cursory file on him. Problem was that my friend Justin, who I would normally call for this kind of favor, had been pretty cagey since Nick the Necromancer smashed up a Starbucks, then my truck, trying to get at Maggie’s ring a few months ago. I refused to answer OtherOps’s questions about the attack, and the investigation was still ongoing.

So calling Justin was off the table. Lucky for me, one of my regular informants had sold me a low-clearance OtherOps login and password.

I found a public computer with the screen facing one of the walls and logged into the OtherOps account. It didn’t take long to search their records for Michael and, as I suspected, they did have a file. What I did not expect was how large the file actually was. I checked to make sure no one was around to see me browsing an encrypted government website, then settled in for the read.

Michael graduated from Lincoln West High School in 2015. Within a week of his graduation, his parents reported him missing. He was eighteen, so a bulletin had been posted but no amber alert. Three months later, Michael reported himself safe to the local police department. A couple weeks after that, his thrall paperwork was filed. By the time Michael turned nineteen, Michael was officially a thrall of Boris Novak. But the file didn’t end there.

I tapped the screen. Look at this. Six months after becoming a thrall, Michael and Boris filed jointly for a restraining order against Micheal’s family. Sounds like they were not happy about his new life. Restraining order renewed the following year. His mother died the next year, and then nothing else in the system. Michael was left to his fate. I felt a brief pang of sadness over the thought of a heartbroken mother trying to bring her son back from slavery and the system working against her. Michael might be a dumb piece of shit, but she certainly didn’t deserve that.

Just out of curiosity, I clicked off of Michael’s file and searched for Boris Novak. The website gave me an error with a little message saying that Boris’s file was above my stolen login’s security clearance. I clicked back to Michael and sat back, eyeballing it for a few minutes.

The file didn’t tell me a lot, aside from the fact that Michael had likely alienated all his family and friends by becoming Boris’s thrall. There was a slightly updated photo, this one taken the day the thrall paperwork went through, but the most valuable thing on the webpage was a list of known contacts and their phone numbers. I took a screenshot and emailed it to myself.

Any thoughts on this? I asked Maggie.

She sniffed. That the whole thing is gross.

No disagreement here.

I mean, you shouldn’t be involved. Look, I know it’s not your fault, Ada has your leash and all that, but …

I took a deep breath and waited for a scolding. But?

But you’re tracking down a runaway slave. That’s …

“Despicable,” I finished for her aloud. “Yeah. I know.”

Maggie fell silent. I tried to shake off my own disgust. I sighed softly to myself, logging out of the OtherOps website and wiping my browser history before heading back out to my truck. I sat in silence for a couple of minutes, the two of us unhappily sharing the same head, before I turned myself back to my work. I started on the list of contacts and began to work through them, phone tucked against my shoulder and a pen and paper laid against the steering wheel.

I spent the next couple of hours in that position. I called thirty-seven different numbers – some of them from the list, and others gleaned through internet searches. By the time I was done, I still felt super gross about my job and was hot, sweaty, and frustrated on top of it. I hung up when the last number came back as disconnected and tossed my phone onto the passenger seat. “Nothing, damn it. Nobody has seen him in years. Mom is dead. Dad is working on a fishing boat off the Alaskan coast and won’t be back for a month.” I paused when Maggie didn’t respond. “Look, I know what I’m doing is horrible. I wish I had a choice. But Michael, and people like him, sign up willingly for this shit. They want to be vampires. They think it’s worth slavery to gain immortality. They backed out of the contract. I’m not the goddamn bad guy.”

I knew I didn’t have any real conviction behind the words, but I really needed to believe it in the moment. It came as a kind of reprieve when Maggie finally replied. The comment was out of line. Sorry. You’re right.

I could tell by her tone that she still disagreed, but I also recognized the gesture of reconciliation. It was enough. “Thanks.” I picked up my phone and dialed a number. It rang a couple times before picking up.

“Zeke’s Pawn and Charity, Fred speaking.” The voice sounded exactly like Danny DeVito. It made me laugh every damned time.

“It’s still Fred, is it?” I asked. “It’s Alek.”

“Hey, bud! Yeah, still going by Fred. Damned loan sharks are looking for Zeke. How’s that OtherOps login working for you?”

“Like a charm. Wouldn’t mind a higher clearance level next time.”

“Good, good. I’ll see what I can do, but you know that gets way riskier. Is that what you’re calling about?”

I hesitated for a moment. “Not exactly. I have kind of a weird question.”

“I just had a couple elves in here trying to sell me their sex toy collection, so it won’t be the weirdest part of my day.”

That image cheered me up a little. Even Maggie laughed. “Do vampire thralls hang out?” I asked.

“Eh?”

“Like are there discos or clubs or whatever the hell kids call them these days that cater exclusively to thralls?” One of the things I’d learned in my career is that most of the Other were just like humans. They sought out their own kind to create hierarchies, form protective covens, or even just to socialize.

“Discos? Damn, Alek. What decade is it?” Zeke seemed to consider the question. I could hear him shuffling through some papers. Some bottles clinked, and he said, “Yeah, I think I can help you there. Fifty dollars?”

“Sure. Put it on my tab.”

“Right. You’re looking for a place called Sip’n’Bite.”

“You’re joking.”

“Nope. You know those soda-stream places that are popping up everywhere? It’s one of those. Pretty good business model, from what I’ve heard. It’s ninety-eight percent a totally normal junk food hangout locale.”