Chapter Four - "Take the deal"

"Any idea what road wraiths are doing here, little brother?" Charlotte asked me as we started to walk into the diner.

The place was a Sanctuary, which is the magical equivalent of consecrated ground, I guess you could say, which meant safety was guaranteed, and if you attempted to cause violence, it would be redirected back upon you a thousandfold. Sanctuary guarantees were nothing to sniff at, and I'd learned from my father that they were to be respected under all but the most dire of circumstances, and even if those circumstances were the case, taking care and pause was always a wise thing. Anyone who had the clout to back up a Sanctuary, and the desire to do it, wasn't someone to be fucked with lightly. I wasn't sure who Bad Barry Bear was, but I was dead certain I wasn't going to piss anyone off while I was inside of his diner.

(It also meant I wasn't going to complain about the extremely high surcharge I would be paying as a member of the Veil having dinner there - that was the 'security deposit,' which was non-refundable.)

"Nope," I said. "You forget to pay your cable bill or something?"

"Are they using road wraiths as bill collectors now?"

"They might as well be... persistent buggers." We moved deeper into the diner and found it was almost entirely empty, with the exception of the two road wraiths over in one corner, and a sleepy old wizard sitting behind the counter. I wasn't sure if that was Bad Barry Bear himself, or just the guy tending the counter. It was a coin toss. "You miss one payment and they never let you hear the end of it."

The thing about wraiths is that most people can't see them for what they truly are, which is generally slightly rotted flesh. Not all of them, mind you - there are a handful that, because of whatever magic disaster they were caught in the middle of, don't have almost any visible damage on them, but those are the rarer ones. The more common ones appear, at least to those few of us who can see them for what they truly are, almost like zombies, pallid pale flesh, sometimes torn or cut, rarely bleeding, the blood flow having stopped when they passed.

A handful of them, most often road wraiths, often had no flesh at all on their heads, and were simply flaming skulls atop of a spinal cord, held together by whatever magics kept them whole. Sometimes they would have skin on their hands, but most of them tended to be little more than animated skeletons, covered in a thin layer of obscuring flame, wearing leather to cover as much of what would normally be exposed as they could.

One of the two road wraiths wore a leather jacket with red racing stripes on the arms, however, and I groaned, because that meant I knew exactly who this was. We'd encountered each other a number of times before, most recently that thing with the basilisk out in Death Valley. That also meant this probably wasn't a chance encounter. "Calvin, that's you, innit?" I said to him as I started to lead my sister over towards the booth they were waiting in.

"You know that it is, Dale," he said back to me in his ridiculously chipper unearthly voice. Calvin wasn't just your everyday run-of-the-mill road wraith - he was a senior member of the IFS, the Interdimensional Ferrying Service. If you couldn't deliver something yourself, and you wanted it there fast and safe, the IFS was absolutely the way to go. Which meant that often times seeing the IFS meant you were being served with a Council Summons, the magical equivalent of a court order to appear. That said, just as often they were either just picking something up or dropping something off. I think Lady Timeworm, the oldest and most respected of the wraiths as well as the founder of the IFS, knew that if they were just serving summons, people would always turn and run, so she made sure that for every summons mission the IFS took, they'd also take one non-summons. Which meant it could be either. "Relax, I'm not here with summons for you or your sister," Calvin laughed, as if reading my mind.

"Oh good," I said as Charlotte and I sat down in the booth with them. "The last thing I need is you lot harassing me."

"Now now, I didn't say we weren't going to be doing that," Calvin said with a slightly more bitter laugh, which immediately made me frown. "We're here with a delivery and a pickup."

"Excuse me?" Charlotte said, her frown moving to join mine.

"The Yuma shamanic totem you're transporting cross country," Calvin said, pulling an envelope from his pocket, tossing it down on the table between us. "It doesn't belong to the living Yuma shamans; it belongs to the unliving Yuma shamans, aka my people. And they want it back. For reasons that are of no concern to you or the living Yuma people."

I opened up the envelope and took out the single sheet of paper to read. It wasn't a summons, but it might as well have been. It was actually more like the magical equivalent of a 'cease & desist' order, demanding that we immediately turn over possession of the totem to Calvin and his associate, and they would ferry it back to the claimant. In exchange, the wraiths would not attack the Yuma, nor would they attack me and my sister, and any punishments regarding improper care or possession of the totem would be overlooked and forgiven.

Basically, the paper might as well have said, "Gimme that! It's MINE!"

I recognized a shakedown letter when I saw one, and I nearly tossed the thing in his face, or lack thereof I guess, but I kept calm, reminding myself we were in Sanctuary. This kind of thing wasn't uncommon for wraith tactics, as many of their members had come from a path of organized crime before their deaths. This whole 'It would be a shame if something were to happen to you' was one of their go-to moves, and, to be honest, it was more than a little ridiculous, especially them pushing it to me.

"Can they prove ownership?" Charlotte asked them, her tone much calmer than mine would've been if I'd have spoken first.

"Not immediately, obviously, but given a little bit of time..."

"See, that sounds an awful lot like buying time, Calvin," I said to him, sliding the letter back across the table. "If they had a legitimate claim, they could've just gone to the Yuma shamans themselves, and the fact that they haven't makes this feel like you're trying to pull a fast one on us."

The wraith across the table from me shrugged his shoulders, which was impressive to do, but I gave the jacket most of the credit. "My job is to deliver the message, Dale. Take the deal. You don't know these people like I do. They're not good people."

"If they're not good people, why are you representing them, Calvin?"

"Because there are some people even I can't say no to, Dale," Calvin sighed. "I gotta work for a living, and I got bosses to answer to. I know you like to think of your ol' buddy Calvin as the kind of guy who refuses to let anyone stick it to'em, but even I have my limits, chum."

I have to admit, Calvin wasn't stupid, and if he was here, he was more afraid of them than he was of me, which certainly said something. The SoulEnders tended to be the ultimate ace. "And these people think it's a good idea to threaten the sitting Gunslinger and the sitting Huntsmistress?"

"Good idea is a bit much, Dale," Calvin told me. "It's the least bad idea they could come up with given the timeframe they had. Nobody said that anybody liked it. The problem was nobody could think of anything better. Just a lot of things that were a whole lot worse."

"They can't have it, Calvin."

"Well, if you aren't going to give it to me, I have to tell they're going to send more people to come after it. They told me to let you know that," the wraith sighed. "Look, I don't like this any more than you do, Dale, but you don't know these people like I do. They're assholes. Worse than that, they're indignant, powerful assholes who aren't used to hearing the word 'no' ever, under any circumstances. They certainly aren't the kind of people that most people can say no to."

"There isn't anyone alive or dead that I can't say no to," I told him, opening my coat to let one of the SoulEnders become visible just a touch. "And you'd do well to remember that."

The road wraith shrugged at me, looking back outside the diner, as if he was expecting to see the place surrounded, and couldn't decide if he was thankful or sad that it wasn't. "It ain't up to me, Dale. Wish that it was, but it ain't."

"Who's your travelling companion?" I said, gesturing at the wraith next to him. Like Calvin, she was mostly dressed in leather, although her head still had most of its flesh on it, with the exception of her nose that had rotted off, and a patchy hole in one of her cheeks revealing some of the teeth inside. Her face looked a bit bruised, and I imagined that she'd had gone through hell when she became a wraith, engulfed by so much magic, so desperate to live and yet so barraged with pain and agony. She had dark brown hair pulled back into a heavy braided tail, with some singed parts but mostly still held together. Her jacket had two breasts swelling against it, and there was a long sword in a scabbard attached to her back that couldn't be comfortable to sit with, although when she turned, I realized it looked like the scabbard had maybe fused into the jacket and maybe even her back itself, so maybe she just didn't notice anymore.

"That's Gayle," Calvin said. "New partner. Been with me about six months. She don't say much."

"Any reason?"

"She don't like talking," Calvin laughed. "She ain't too good at it, She hasn't had that much practice and when she does try and practice, shit goes sideways much faster and more severely. We learned that our first couple'a jobs together. So now she lets me do the talking, and if shit goes sideways, then she gets to use her more refined skills."

"Which are?"

"Killin' folks, mostly," Calvin said, nodding softly. "Although she's also very good at inflicting pain without killin' someone if she needs to. She's the muscle, when it comes down to it."

"You used to be able to take care of things like this on your own, Calvin," I said to him, my tone playfully scolding him. "You losing a step in the years?"

"More like people are getting more protective of themselves anymore," the wraith sighed. "I used to be able to give summons and notices without so much as a flutter, but now everybody wants to start some shit, and thinks they're Billy Badass or whatever, and they want to dispute with me. Me! I'm just the goddamn messenger. I'm not the one they're mad at, so trying to take it out on me doesn't do nobody any good. Folks used to know that, but now I guess they needs themselves some reminding, That's what Gayle's for. Anyone tries to take a swing at me, Gayle's there's ta remind'em why they ain't ought to do that shit. Bosses like the work I do, so they don't want me roughed up."

"You're at a Sanctuary, Cal," I said. "Nobody's gonna take a swing at you here."

"No, but sometimes folks consider taking a shot as soon as we leave. Sanctuary's protection only goes so far, you know. Here, it's the edge of the parking lot right there. Some people don't like the news I deliver, and they think taking out on me's a good idea."

"That happened recently?"

"Last month."

"Bummer."

"You're tellin' me," he grumbled, waving one hand in the air dismissively. "This sort of work used to be fun. Now it's turning into a fuckin'... a fuckin' day job." The flaming skull shook in annoyance. "It's horrible. I gotta work for a living. I mean, who does that, in this day and age?"

"Gotta get with the times, Calvin," Charlotte said to him. "I'm afraid it's all the rage now - responsibility and respectability."

"Fuck that," Calvin laughed, pointing a gloved finger at her. "I will continue being the degenerate I am for as long as I can, no matter what it takes."

"Yeah, I get it," I told him. "But sooner or later, you're gonna have to get with the times. Anyway, the answer is no, and I'm sure that's not going to make your bosses happy, but if the people who think they've got a claim can come meet me in person, and I'll talk with them directly. One does not snap one's fingers at the Gunslinger and expect him to drop trou and bend over."

"They weren't expecting you to drop trou, Dale," Calvin grumbled. "Just respect their claim. One they assure me is legitimate."

"So legitimate that they don't have any proof of it to provide you? Or me?"

"They're wraiths, Dale. Shouldn't that be proof enough?"

"I'm a human being, Calvin, but that doesn't mean everything humanity's ever done is my fault and I'm liable for it, because somebody offended says so," I told him, rolling my eyes. "That's not the way free will works."

The road wraith reached into his pocket with his gloved hand and pulled out a small stack of twenties, tossing it down onto the booth table as he and his companion moved to stand up once more. Sanctuary tax, even though neither of the wraiths seemed like they'd ordered anything. There were a pair of glasses filled with water that I assumed might have had ice in them. "I don't think the older wraiths much care, Dale, but I'll tell'em what you said. That should cover our bill and whatever you and your sister wanna eat. And hey, Charlotte, my offer still stands. You wanna walk on the wild side, I'm happy to give it to you." He reached down and grabbed his groin with his gloved hand through his leather jacket, thrusting his hips in her direction. "I still got the important bits of flesh working for that kind of thing, if you know what I mean."

"How utterly charmless, Calvin," she said. "I consider myself more adventurous than the next girl, but necrophilia's a bit beyond the pale, even for me."

"Your loss, girl."

"Hey Calvin," I said to him just as he started to walk away from us. "How'd you know we'd stop here, anyway?"

"It's Bad Barry Bear's," Calvin laughed, tossing up his hands, as if my question was ridiculous. "Where the hell else are you going to stop and get a decent meal in the next forty miles? Figured you'd have to stop and eat somewhere. If not here, then where? Besides, Barry's got the best French Silk pie west of the Missouri River."

"You promise?"

"Mad Calvin's guarantee. The pie's on me, either way."

The two road wraiths made their way to the door and exited the building, heading over towards their bikes, a couple of old vintage Harleys that were practically indestructible. As soon as they climbed on top of the bikes, they started up the engines, as the two bikes turned into supernovas of supernatural fire and flames before rolling out onto the highway, streaking off into the night, leaving singular burning trails behind them, two squiggly lines of eldritch green fire extending off into the night's domain.

"What the hell have you gotten me mixed up in, Sis?" I asked Charlotte as the sleepy wizard came over to the table, scooped up the money and dropped a couple of menus in front of us. He also pushed a piece of the French Silk pie over my direction. "I was under the impression this was a simple drop'n'dash, not travelling with contested contraband."

"I'm as in the dark about this as you are, Dale," she said, reaching into her pocket to pull out her cellphone. "But I'm going to get some answers." She waited a moment then narrowed her eyes, pushing a button on her phone again. "I don't like that one bit."

"What's that?"

"Went straight to voicemail."

"Yeah, that doesn't exactly fill me with confidence," I said. "I thought she said she was going to be available for us to reach this whole trip."

"That is what she said."

"Absolutely positively no mysteries, no cryptic backstories, no strange, buried motives. Nothing in my wheelhouse, and nothing to stress me out, you said. A simple cross-country delivery trip that's practically a vacation you promised me. And now look at us. Tangled up in wraith politics, which are notorious almost as complex as dragon politics. Oof." I grabbed the menu and looked at it for half a second. "Burger, medium well, no tomato, no ketchup, no mustard, with cheese and bacon. Fries for the side, curly and/or cajun, if you have'em. And a Coke."

"Pepsi okay?"

I sighed then shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. Sis?"

"Scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, black coffee," she told him.

"You got it."

The wizard waiter left and a few minutes later returned with our food, as Charlotte and I considered what we knew about Ali Wind Rider, the woman who'd given us this job to begin with. What we realized was it wasn't a whole lot.

Ali had originally been referred to the family when she'd first moved to the Bay area by Digger, better known as The Apothecary, and that meant I couldn't just phone him up and ask him for more information. Like it or not, though, Digger was generally a pretty good judge of character, and the fact that he'd vouched for her to us was no slight mark. Digger knew not to waste my time, so anyone who he sent my way was serious business, and he did his homework. Part of the reason Digger had gotten as far in life as he had was that he didn't take anything on blind faith. He knew that who you worked with was what determined how long you lived in this business, and while he was happy to peddle his drugs to whoever wanted to buy, the information he gathered was his main hustle, and lots of people weren't smart enough to realize that. The whole stoner vibe he gave off was a carefully cultivated persona designed to lower people's defenses and make them more trusting of him. He was also a protected member of the Protected Caste, for reasons that are far too complicated to go into here, but needless to say he's earned in spades. There weren't a whole lot of people I could say I believed pretty much anything they told me, but Digger would be on that very short list.

Ali and my sister had been what I would loosely describe as 'friends' for a few years now, but my sister is one of the hardest people to get to know, just because she keeps so much walled up inside. Her friends didn't feel like they knew her very well, and they didn't feel like they hung around that often. Ali had been a little too old for her to consider dating me, and I also got the impression she wanted something much more stable and dependable in her life when we'd first met. She'd described me as 'a troublesome boy,' even though I'd been well into my thirties. Okay, thirty-two, but you know what I meant.

"I'm not thrilled by Ali not answering, sis," I said to her. "That's not what she promised us when you were pitching me the gig. I distinctly remember her saying she was going to be available for us to ask questions if anything came up while we were travelling."

"So do I," she replied. "And I too am not happy that she didn't answer my call."

"What the hell would the wraith shamans want with the totem? Did she tell you anything more about what the damn thing is for?"

"No, she didn't. And she promised me this was going to be a milk run, something nice and easy for us to cool down on," she sighed. "After your Atlantean mess and my Eureka vampire slaughter, I figured we could each use a bit of time out of town."

"I don't know why you're worried about the Eureka mess. You did the right thing, and you shouldn't worry about it. I know you're unhappy about the slight bit of collateral damage--"

"Two innocent people died, Dale," she snarled at me. "And because of my actions."

"And Dad and Uncle chose you for the Huntsmistress position because they knew you'd be capable of dealing with the occasional mishap, and that if anyone could've prevented it, you would've."

"You don't know that, Dale."

"What I do know, sis, is that cornered vampires use hostages any way they can, so even if those two people were alive when you made your initial assault, which I'd like to point out, you still don't know that they were, if anyone would've been able to save them, it would've been you. But we can't save everybody, no matter how hard we try. Like Dad used to say, if you want your faerie tales to have happy endings, never get to know actual faeries. The real world's a bummer sometimes."

"I just can't shake the feeling that maybe if I'd waited longer, I could've saved--"

"Sis. Nobody has a perfect track record. Not you, not me, not even Dad, bless his departed heart. And even if there was some way you could've known there was two live people in there at some point, you saved hundreds, if not thousands, of additional people by putting down those vamps who were hunting well outside of the Accords. Bloody hands come with the job."

"I suppose you're right, little brother," she sighed as the wizard waiter set my sister's food down in front of her before doing the same with mine and me. "It's the not knowing that haunts me."

"That you just have to get used to," I said, grabbed the saltshaker to dust my French fries with more sodium. "I'm a little surprised you haven't already. But I've been meaning to ask you a question about that job."

"Shoot," she said, taking a sip from her coffee.

"Were these finally the vampires that sparkle?" I said, timing it just late enough to avoid getting her to spit take hot coffee all over my face as she broke down giggling.

"Those damn books," she laughed. "I swear, if I ever do come across a vampire that sparkles, I'm just going to blow him away, Accords be damned, just in case he accidentally inspired those insipid books. You know that she had to get that idea from somewhere and it was probably some damn European vampire on holiday, showing off for someone he thought he could score with."

Good. I'd gotten her laughing and out of her mental funk. The Eureka nest had been a dug in barrow of vampires who'd been feeding off the locals and various drifters and homeless people well outside of the Hunter Accords, and as such, the Huntsmistress and her team had been sent in to clean it up. What intel had failed to reveal was that there were two people being slowly fed on inside of the barrow, and a grenade tossed in might have taken their lives. The reason I say might is because Hassan, her second on that strike force, said he thought they must've been already dead before the grenade went off, but the damage was too severe to tell one way or the other. But there wasn't definitive proof either way, so I assumed the best, my sister assumed the worst, and nobody knew the truth.

We'd been making fun of those 'sparkling vampires' books for years now, ever since they'd come out, and now that they'd made those five movies from them, it had become something of a running joke among our community that someday we were going to find 'the one that sparkles' who had to have accidentally inspired the whole damn thing. We were all sure it was someone, much like there was an actual vampire who inspired Bram Stoker, drunken lout that he was, to create Count Dracula, although Stoker's account, garnished though it was, wasn't too far from the truth. We probably have Florence Balcombe, Stoker's wife, to thank for that. She and childhood friend Oscar Wilde had an encounter with a vampire when they were young that many Veil historians contributed to the creation of both Dracula and The Picture Of Dorian Gray, although nobody can prove it.

"So, what do you want to do, sis? This is technically your gig. I'm just along to provide muscle," I said with a smug grin as I dug into my burger.

"We stick to the agreed upon plan. We stop in and check on Little Larry, clean up whatever mess is currently afoot there, then we carry on taking the totem out to New York, as agreed upon. I haven't seen anything yet that means we should abandon our commitment, have you?"

"Give us pause for consideration, maybe, but abandonment? No," I agreed. "Alright then. You should keep trying to get ahold of Ali, though, so we can see if there's any more to this particular snarl we need to be in the loop about."

"If there's one thing I'm sure of right now, little brother, it's that there are a great many loops around us that we should be in, and yet, we find ourselves out of."

"Go us."