Chapter 3-79: Chasing an Infection

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...

------

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.

He blinked, furrowed his brow, and then exclaimed, “Ah ha! Traveler! As Hurn is my witness, a celebrity has come forth to meet this gentle servant! I am humbled to be in the presence of such an august personage, dear lady!” he proclaimed, and bowed again.

Okay, he was definitely a character. His eyes were as flat and hard as obsidian as he said that with all smiles.

“You have a ringingly Good endorsement, Lord Mick,” I returned affably, gesturing at Fred in front of me.

“Ach, no lord am I, my Lady...” he began.

“You can pick Lord or Thug, sir; take your pick!”

“Nobility suits me well!” he replied instantly, even clicking his heels as he straightened up. “What brings you along on such a messy job as this, fair lady?”

“Caught in transit, as it were. I’m your support.” I flicked up my hand, and he watched as my Shards came up, one, two... seven... His dark eyes narrowed thoughtfully at the multiple fires burning on them. “Ranged support,” I added, waving at the two of them. “Lord and ‘lock can handle the heavy stuff, of course.”

“I see. Forgive my curiosity.” He had a note of more professional respect in his voice. He glanced at Fred, who just nodded. “What are we hunting?”

“A vylstrigoi.” His brow furrowed darkly. “We’ve spoken to the Ghoul Lord of the city. He believes a certain Mortimius Kethettar may have passed on abruptly, and made the transition to an improved life form which is nevertheless intruding on his domain, anticipated delicacies aside. We have an address, and can certainly search the area for his tomb, but he is likely out walking the streets and spreading the plague which is affecting the city... which is how we discerned his presence.”

“I see. A vylstrigoi... and a spellcaster?” he inquired, and I nodded. “I see why Boxer wanted some backup. How would you like to proceed?”

“Master Fred will investigate his home address and search the grounds for his tomb. He will be faster and more effective than either of us at doing so.” The Mick conceded the point. “Since you are here, I will take a ride with you. We will circle the area, find the path of the disease, track him down, and then you will force him to ground and flight. He will naturally return to his tomb, and we can finish him there.”

“Trust me with your blood, do you?” He seemed more amused than anything. He glanced at Fred, who just nodded again. “Well enough. Bone Marrow and I shall serve as your chariot, and charioteer!” He bowed again, and gestured me to his ride.

I slid off Sleipner, who hiccupped a flash of blue fire out of his tailpipe abruptly. Fred rolled his eyes slightly, gave me a wave, and the unicorn bike peeled off silently and smoothly. A second after it pulled out, it was gone from sight, trailing a rather faint yet potent blue smoke...

The Mick stared after Master Fred thoughtfully as I made my way around his car. I opened the door on the far side, he turned around to weigh me again, put on the charming smile, and slid into his seat.

Instead of placing his Sword and Hat in the back seat, I took them from his hands, and put the latter right on his head. “We want him to see us coming.”

His smile turned slightly feral, and a hint of red showed in the depths of them. “Indeed!” I slid into the seat, and yes, it was very soft and comfortable. Very seductive, in its own way. “How would you like me to proceed?” he asked.

“I can detect the path of his disease. He MUST return to his tomb every seventh day to engage in Torpor. Vylstrigoi radiate the plague, leaving an open trail of it. I am going to make the assumption that he is not using the sewers to get around, as the smell would drive people away and make a target of him. We are going to cut across the roads between his house and the city. There will be multiple trails of disease from him going back and forth.

“We will follow the most recent one, which will lead us to our target.

“You will engage him, and force him to flee. If we kill him here, his soul will flee into some rat or bird close by, and simply go regenerate his body.

“When it comes time to kill him, you must let Master Fred do so. I will lend him a spell to ensure that the damned soul does not escape.”

He made an impressed face. “A good enough plan.” He turned the key, and started the car, which awoke with a powerful, yet quiet and marvelously-tuned rumble.

“Nice,” I complimented him, and he beamed. Obviously, he loved his car. He backed out into the street, and we were on the way. His tall white hat was totally obvious with the top down, and didn’t waver a millimeter in the wind.

He brought up a map of the area on his console, zooming in for me. I indicated the address that Master Fred had found, and he blithely picked out the road he wanted to take across, and headed there.

---

Ten minutes later, we were on Library Road, heading northwest along the shoulder, ignoring the passing cars as I concentrated, holding up my hand.

Ting! I held up my first finger. His eyes gleamed and he nodded, keeping at the slow and steady pace as we rolled towards the intersection with Saw Mill Run. I brought up a second finger, and then a third before he made the right turn, and we went down that way.

Four. Five. Six!...

We went another mile, and he coasted to a stop. “Which one?” he asked, glancing at the mirror.

“Five.”

He made the U-turn shamelessly, and zipped back in that direction, turning right on Stewart, and then left on Mullooly as I pointed. He followed my hand as it pointed off the road, followed the curve around to Ivyglen, and picked up the trail on the far side, going down Spinnweber.

“Make a note that there’s a big cemetery off to our right,” I pointed out.

“Got it,” he nodded.