“Please take a seat. Would you like some refreshments?”
“No, thank you.”
Thomas and I sat. I put the cage with the will-o’-wisp onto the coffee table. The woman disappeared through a door behind the counter.
Thomas was clearly itching to ask some questions, but instead he just sat quietly. Dream client, although I would’ve preferred that none of this had happened and his son was home instead.
The undead signatures were buzzing about in my head like a swarm of angry hornets. Ugh. The urge to reach out and squish a couple was almost too much.
My first meeting with my father was public and bloody. Despite the somewhat impactful nature of it, very few members of the People outside of my father’s inner circle have ever seen me or met me in person. Most of those who witnessed me enter the Swan Palace were dead, killed in dangerous assignments and in the two battles of Atlanta.
All of this was very much by design. My father hadn’t wanted me to become a viable alternative to his rule. He had much preferred that I remained a whispered rumor, a long-lost heir who could but probably didn’t exist. The moment the Swan Palace visitors had seen me shatter his blood ward, their days became numbered. Only a handful of them had survived, and all of them made it a point to put as much distance between me and themselves as possible and kept their mouths shut.
All that meant was that I could enjoy relative anonymity. I just had to make sure I didn’t do anything to announce that I was Roland’s daughter.
The vampiric sparks crawled across my mind, stabbing me with their light. Easier said than done.
A man entered through the side door. Average height, average build, dark hair, deep bronze skin, somewhere around thirty. Neat, fit, almost military bearing, clean-shaven. He wore a black jumpsuit loose enough to allow full freedom of movement but tailored enough to double as a military uniform of sorts. The top quarter of his left sleeve, covering the shoulder all the way to mid-biceps, was bright red.
The color had to be an indication of rank. What happened if they went up or down in rank? Did they get a new uniform, or did they rip their sleeve off and replace it?
I squinted. Oh, Velcro. Well, that was a flex. Velcro cost a pretty penny.
“Where is Malone?” the woman asked him softly.
The man shook his head and approached me. Uh-oh. They should’ve passed me off to HR or the legal department. Personnel in both of those would likely wear suits. The People took their corporate image seriously.
“Director Shaw would like a word,” he said.
Straight to the top. Woo.
I picked up the will-o’-wisp, smiled at Thomas, and followed the man out through the front door.
THE FARM really did resemble a college campus. It felt planned, a complete microcosm, unnaturally clean and carefully managed, with buildings designed by the same team of architects and landscaping arranged with a definite vision in mind. We passed a bookstore and a small café with outdoor seating on the patio, which was mostly empty, except for two groups of patrons. A couple of people wore business clothes. Everyone else had some red on their jumpsuits.
A five-navigator team jogged down the street past us, wearing the same jumpsuits as my escort, each with a narrow yellow stripe on their shoulder. Their vampires loped next to them, keeping a jerky pace.
All five navigators were young, the oldest in their mid-twenties. All five had bloodshot eyes, and the bags under their eyes were big enough to carry my weekly haul from the produce market. The last man, a lanky, glassy-eyed redhead, stumbled. His vampire’s eyes flashed bright red. The glow dimmed back to smoldering red-amber, but that flash meant his control was hanging by a hair.
My escort stopped and stepped into the street. The team crashed to a tired stop in front of him. The navigators turned to face him and went to parade rest, their undead sitting on their haunches in front of them.
“Unit ID,” he said.
“Yellow Team 2,” the leading navigator said. She was short and slight, with long, dark hair put away into a bun, brown eyes, and a wary expression as if she expected a sudden punch to knock her to the ground.
“Name?”
“Journeyman Zhou.”
My guide walked down the line and stopped in front of the last man.
“Name?”
“Journeyman Edwards.”
“Do you need to tap, Journeyman Edwards?” He said it in a quiet, deliberate way that seemed familiar somehow.
Edwards blanched. “No, sir.”
“Infinity,” my guide ordered.
The team simultaneously stepped to the side, widening the distance between themselves.
Edwards swallowed. His vampire circled him, weaving between him and the next navigator like a dog dodging poles at an agility competition.
Right, left, right…
Eye flash.
…Left, right…
The vamp’s eyes went bright red, the light mad and fueled by bloodlust. Edwards cried out. The undead lunged at the nearest navigator, lightning-fast, and froze, poised on its hind legs, wicked claws spread an inch from the young woman’s throat. She shook like a leaf but didn’t break formation.
The vamp folded itself back into a crouch with almost mechanical precision, sitting on its haunches. Its mouth opened, and my guide and the vampire spoke in the same voice in stereo.
“Team Leader Zhou, in your opinion, should Journeyman Edwards have tapped?”
Zhou closed her eyes for a long moment and opened them. “Yes, sir.”
“Did you order Journeyman Edwards to tap?”
“No, sir.”
“Why?”
“Journeyman Edwards has tapped twice already. Tapping a third time would get him kicked from the program, sir.”
“So, you prioritized the feelings of your team member over everyone’s safety.”
It didn’t sound like a question.
“Yes, sir,” Zhou confirmed.
“Journeyman Zhou, take your team to your superior and inform them that I’ve relieved you of your post. Journeyman Edwards, report to the personnel office for out-processing.”
“Please,” Edwards said, his voice a hoarse whisper.
My guide just looked at him.
Edwards turned around, his fists clenched, and marched back the way he came from.
“Dismissed.”
The team executed a turn, formed back into a line, and jogged to the right, disappearing between the buildings. Edwards’ vampire remained, still sitting on its haunches.
“Harsh,” I said.
“But necessary.” This time only the guide’s mouth moved. He must’ve decided the undead speaker had served its purpose.
He invited me to keep walking with a small gesture. We resumed walking toward the tall arena looming against the evening sky. Edwards’ vampire trailed us, perfectly in sync with our pace, like a loyal, well-trained dog. This man wasn’t just a Master of the Dead. He was good enough to head his own office.
“Before a navigator can move to tactics, they must prove their ability to control the undead. We deprive them of sleep, give them contradictory orders, force them to perform nonsensical, menial tasks, all of it designed to simulate the stress of real warfare. They are told they have three chances to tap, which is to admit that they’re unable to maintain navigation and ask for a break.”
“And if they tap three times?”