Better Off Undead; The Bloodhound Files

8/4/2019 Better Off Undead; The Bloodhound Files

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NOTE: If you purchased this book without a cover you should beaware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as unsoldand destroyed to the publisher, and neither the author nor thepublisher has received any payment for this stripped book.

This is a work of ction. All of the characters, organizations, and eventsportrayed in this novel are either products of the authors imagination orare used ctitiously.

Copyright 2011 by DD Barant.

All rights reserved.

For information address St. Martins Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York,NY 10010.

ISBN: 978-0-312-54505-5

Printed in the United States of America

St. Martins Paperbacks edition / October 2011

St. Martins Paperbacks are published by St. Martins Press, 175 FifthAvenue, New York, NY 10010.

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O N E

Theres something about being driven to prison thatmakes you think about the past.

The bad parts, especially: lost loves, mistakes youmade, chances you never took, choices you came downon the wrong side of. Me, Im thinking about a were-wolf physician named Dr. Pete who saved my life on twoseparate occasions and got himself killed on attemptnumber three.

Well, not so much killed as erased, replaced by analternate version of himselfa version with a differenthistory, a different past in which hed made some baddecisions. Hard to believe that gentle, caring Dr. Petecould ever have been a member of a crime family, butwe all have skeletons in our closets, dont we? If I hadntgotten a degree in criminal psychology and joined theFBI as a proler, my own violent youth could have pro-gressed into me becoming the kind of person I now hunt.

Okay, maybe not the people I hunt now, more like theperps I used to catch in my native realitythe one with

M*A*S*Hreruns and butterscotch ripple ice cream andthrift-store silver jewelry. Here, nobody even knows what


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2 DD Barant

a gun is, silver is a controlled substance, and butter-scotchfor some bizarre reasonhasnt been invented.Here being a parallel world, an alternate version ofplanet Earth that exists in a dimension right next to theone I came from. I didnt travel here willingly, either; Iwas yanked out of my own apartment in a dreamlikestupor, with nothing more than my laptop, a large hand-gun, and a crate of ammunition for company. Seems the

residents of this reality had a problem with a crazedhuman psycho killing them off, and they needed an ex-pert to deal with it.

I call this world Thropirelem, because the word neatlyencapsulates the three main types of citizens: werewolves(thropes), vampires (pires), and golems (lems). Humanbeings make up a meager 1 percent of the worldwidepopulation, less than a million people, and Im one of

them.So far.I now work for the National Security Agency, based

out of this worlds Seattle, and Ive largely adapted tomy new existence. My current employers keep insistingtheyll send me home one day, just as soon as I catchone Aristotle Stoker: descendant of the infamous Bram,leader of the Free Human Resistance, and prolic serialkiller. Hasnt happened yet, though Ive come close afew times.

In the meantime Im being kept busy. The supernaturalraces are immune to most diseases including mental ill-ness, which means they have very little experience withfull-blown crazy. That is, they hadlittle experienceuntilStoker circulated a subliminal message buried in an Inter-net video, footage of an Elder God designed to makeeveryone who saw it into two things: (a) living mummies,

trapped inside their own immobile bodies for all eternity;and (b) nuts.


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B E T T E R O F F U N D E A D 3

With Dr. Petes help I managed to reverse the rstcondition, but the second one has proven more pervasive.Since millions of thropes and pires worldwide saw thevideohumans and lems couldnt perceive itinsanityhas become a booming industry. Many, many fanged orfurry lunatics, and just one person who understandshow the homicidal ones think.

Me.

All of which is weighing pretty heavily on my mindas Stanhope Federal Penitentiary gets closer. Ive ac-complished some good since I got to this world, but Ivescrewed up plenty, tooand right now it feels like Imheading straight for my biggest mistake of all.

Nickel for your thoughts? my partner says. Thatwould be Charlie Aleph, a golem composed of three hun-dred pounds of black volcanic sand poured into a trans-

parent plastic skin and wrapped in a seven-hundred-dollardouble-breasted suit with matching fedora.Where I come from its a penny.Same here. You just look like you might have more

than one. He pauses. Could be wrong, though.Charlie owns the copyright to the word deadpan,and

hes led an application for wiseass. Think HumphreyBogart by way of the Terminator and youll have an ideaof his style. But he dresses better than either of them.

Hes the one driving me to Stanhope, where I have anappointment with a lycanthrope named Tair. Thats whathe calls himself these daysbut when I knew him, hisname was Adams. Dr. Peter Adams.

Thinking about Dr. Pete, I say.He was good people.I know. My fault he isnt anymore.No, its not. You didnt stab him with the Midnight

Sword.He shouldnt have even been there.


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4 DD Barant

His choice. Gotta respect that.Me and respect arent exactly best buds, Charlie.He nods, one glossy black hand on the steering wheel.

You got me there.More like Facebook friends. You know, the kind

that lurks in the background and never posts anything.Right.Then you unfriend them and they send you an angry

three-page e-mail demanding to know why you thinkyoure better than them and that theyve never forgivenyou for stealing their boyfriend in the fourth grade.

Sure.I sigh. Tell me Im doing the right thing, Charlie.Why? You suddenly gonna start listening to me?No, but its a good starting point for an argument.Like thats a requirement. Most people need a rea-

son to argueyou just need a place.I do not.Yeah, youre right.You call this an argument?If I do, will you disagree with me?Probably.He shrugs. What the hell. Youre doing the right

thing, Jace.I sure hope so . . .

The last time I was in Stanhope, I was almost bitten bya redheaded werebitch named Cali Edison. This time Iintend to be a lot more careful.

The guy handling intakes is a stocky lem with thesame high-gloss, transparent skin over black sand Charliehas, and the same slightly irritated, slightly bored de-meanor Ive seen in too many prison guards. He checks

our credentials, makes us stand in a warded circle to tellhim if were carrying any mystic contraband, conscates


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Charlies short sword and the two spring-loaded holsterslled with silver ball bearings he wears up either sleeve,and more or less ignores my gun. Its not that hesincompetentits that a global spell cast in the twelfthcentury has made the very concept of a rearm seemridiculous here since then. Despite the fact that my RugerSuper Redhawk Alaskan has the power to put a basketball-size hole in his chest, the guard is incapable of viewing

it as anything more than a toy.What is that thing, anyway? he says, eyeing it in

my holster. Some kind of hair dryer?Yeah. Does a real good job of blowing things away.The guard shakes his blocky, hairless head. Well,

keep an eye on it. Lot of thropes in here are vain enoughto want something like that. Probably try to steal it ifyou give em a chance.

Ill keep that in mind.Tairs already waiting in the interview room, sittingon a wooden chair and chained at the neck, wrists, andankles to a steel post with just enough silver in it tomake him veryuncomfortable if he tries to change form.More precautions than they took with Cali, but Tairsalready developed a rep as a dangerous customer in theshort time hes been incarcerated here. Of course, a lifesentence for treason will give you a pretty solid founda-tion to build on.

He smiles at me when Charlie and I walk in, the sameopen, slightly wry smile that Dr. Pete used to give me. Iwonder if hes been practicing itthe way Tair leered atme every time we met was a lot less subtle. Hes wearingan orange jumpsuit, hes still got the streak of gray dyedinto his shaggy brown hair, and he still reminds me of ayoung Harrison Ford.

Hey, Jace, he says affably. Good to see you. Youbring me a cell-warming present?


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6 DD Barant

Theres a table in the middle of the room, with twochairs behind it. Charlie and I sit. Maybe I have, Tair.Maybe Im here to tell you that all your troubles areover, all is forgiven, and theres a big pile of cash justoutside the wall thatll cushion your fall when you pole-vault over it to freedom.

His smile gets wider. I missed you, too. You lookingafter her, Charlie?

Charlies stare is as at as a snake on the interstate.Always.

Good. I know Special Agent Valchek has a tendencyto get herself into situations she cant get herself out of.

Unlike you, says Charlie.Ha! Tair barks. Well, you got me there, pal. Or

should I say, you got me here.That could change, I say. I keep my voice as neutral

as possible.Oh, I doubt that. Tair sounds more amused than fa-talistic. Im not going to testify against my former em-ployer, Jace.

Even though hes dead? Tair used to work for aninternational arms merchant named Silver BlueuntilCharlie decapitated him.

His organization is still up and running. In fact, theyvealready made at least two attempts on my life since I gothere. If this bothers him at all, it doesnt show.

I havent heard anything about that.He shrugs, the chains giving a metallic tinkle with

the movement. Took care of it myself. Didnt want youto worry.

Maybe its the mood Im in, maybe its Tair playingmebut just for a second he sounds exactly likeDr. Pete. Its the kind of thing hed say.

Im not here to get you to testify, Tair. Im here witha different kind of offer.


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The sly look this produces on his face is a lot morelike the Tair I know. Dr. Pete and I went on exactly onedate, and nothing much happenedbut going out withTair would have been very, very different. Not that Iwould have let him get far, but . . .

Damn it. Did I mention he looks like a young Harri-son Ford?

If youre thinking about conjugal visits, well have to

get married rst, he says. If, that is, I say yes. I mean,this is awfully sudden

Howd you like to have your sentence reduced?He pauses, studies me. Sees that Im serious. What

did you have in mind?Sorcery. Theres a Shinto priest who says he can

reverse what the Midnight Sword did to you. Returnyour original persona.

He looks at me blankly for a second, not giving any-thing away. Bringing back your beloved Dr. Pete. AndI would do this because?

It would greatly reduce your sentence. Enough thateven early parole would be possible.

Ah. He thinks about it for a second, staring at aspace just above my head. You cant do this unless Igive you my permission, or we wouldnt be having thisconversation.

Yes, I admit.Uh-huh. So this isnt about what you can getfrom

meits about what youre willing to giveme.Charlie stands up. Cmon, Jace. Lets go. This mook

doesnt know a good deal when he hears one.Tell your pet sandbag to sit, Tair says. Lets discuss

this.I nod at Charlie, and he sits back down.

Youre asking me in essence to commit suicide.Why should I?


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8 DD Barant

Its not suicide. Youll still be aliveyoull even re-tain some memories of your time as Tair. Mostly, thatllseem like a dreambut the priest assures me that atyour core, youll still be the same person. Youll havethe same soul.

Interesting metaphysical dilemma. A psychic lo-botomy in return for a get-out-of-jail-free card.

Its better than spending the rest of your existence

in prison. Whats a thrope life expectancy these daysthree hundred years?

Depends on the bloodline. Plus your diet, gettingregular exercise . . . oh, and not getting shanked for yourpudding. But lets say Im provisionally interested.

The procedure would be performed at a Shintoshrine

Hold on. You havent heard my provisions yet.

I raise an eyebrow. You think youre in a position tobargain? Im giving you an opportunity here.He shakes his head, still smiling. No, youre not.

Youre giving yourselfa chance to get a friend backgood old safe, boring Dr. Adams. Im not getting a damnthing; he is.

Then why ask for anything? Youre not going tobenet anyway.

His smile fades. Because theres more to me thanjust self-interest. The doc and I had the same parents,the same friends, the same childhood. Hell, I still havethe same genes. You really think Im not capable of car-ing about anybody but myself?

That stops me. Tair may be arrogant, he may be ruth-less, but everything he said is still true. He and Dr. Peteused to be the same personits the reason I cut Tairmore slack than maybe I should.

Before I tell you what I want, he says, I need youto understand a few things. About me and my history.


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Which one? Charlie growls.Lets start with what you recall about good ol Dr.

Pete. About what happened to him and how he becamethe person you knowsorry, knewand loved.

I ignore the last two words of that statementTair isconvinced Dr. Pete and I had a thing, mostly based onhis own inated ego. Hes wrong. Mostly. I know hewas studying human medicine. He did some moonlight-

ing as a biothaumaturge to help pay for his educationactivating illegal golems for the Gray Market.

Golems that were used, essentially, as disposableslaves. Tair glances at Charlie. Hows that sit withyou, Charlie? Whipping up members of your race for alittle hard labor, then turning them into cement mixwhen theyre worn out?

Charlie doesnt rise to the bait. He just stares back,

unblinking, about as readable as a block of granite.Tair shrugs. Better than no life at all, I guess. If youcan call what you do livingno sex, no food, no chem-ical recreation. Hey, I heard a great lem joke the otherdaywhat do you call a golem with no eyes and noears? A levee.

Charlie smiles. Its not a friendly gesture.Enough, I say. I know Dr. Pete was approached

by the Gray Wolves, this worlds Maa. They wanted himto work for them full-time. He turned them downandthey slaughtered his entire pack.

Tair says nothing for a long moment. His face is care-fully, completely composed, and when he nally doesrespond, his tone is casual.

Yeah. Thats what happened, all right. And thatswhere the good doctor and I parted company.

The Dr. Pete I knew had gone to the authorities. They

had introduced him to the Adams pack, a group com-posed of orphans and outcasts with no place else to go.


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10 DD Barant

Id met themthey were a large, boisterous clan, closelyknit and ercely loyal. Theyd given Dr. Pete the strengthto pull himself together, to keep going and become thehealer hed always wanted to be, while their afliationwith the NSA had protected him from reprisals.

But that was before an insane shaman had plungeda powerful artifact called the Midnight Sword intoDr. Petes chest. The Sword had altered key points in

Dr. Petes personal history, changing good decisions inhis past into bad ones and physically kicking him backa week or so in time. Hed woken up with a head full ofmemories that had never happened and a name hedchosen for himself years ago: Tair.

He tries to keep his tone light, but I can hear theemotion hes trying to hide. See, I didnt run to thecops. I just ran. The killers tried to make it look like a

robbery gone wrong, but I wasnt fooled. Didnt add up,didnt make sense, not any of it, not at rst. Know whatmy reaction was, when I nally got it? When I nallygured out that this was meant to recruitme? I was in-sulted.

I dont say a word. Neither does Charlie.I mean, they thought I was so insecure,so gullible,

that I would just blindly accept the murder of my entirepack as some sort of horrible act of random violence.That I would welcometheir invitation to join them with-out even thinkingabout it.

The stress in his voice is trying to break out, hittingcertain words harder than others. He doesnt let it.

When I realized I wasnt in any danger, I surfaced.Let them contact me. Let them . . . comfortme. He al-most spits the two syllables out. Got inside their de-fenses, got them to trustme. It was a game I playedhow

good could I become at fooling them? How far could Igo to prove I was worth trusting?


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Better Off Undead; The Bloodhound Files