Pioneer Courthouse Square was not especially busy that weekend night, as a light rain fell upon the bricks of the square. A few homeless youths huddled together near the light rail stop as an older, less mentally stable man in dirty rags walked by them, mumbling to himself. A couple shady-looking fellows in sports team hoodies stood under the eaves of the Starbucks, watching a young couple walk nervously past them. And among all this, a solitary figure, a gaunt, thin man wearing a black fedora, dingy black leather jacket over an equally dirty grey sweater, and jeans, sat on the brick steps texting on his cellphone. He was aware of the life around him, and did not care. Most of the Square denizens either knew the man and feared him, or just did not care for him enough to want to interact with him. One thing he was not aware of, however, was the approach of an attractive olive-skinned lady who sat down right beside him, immediately getting his attention.
"Well, hello, gorgeous," Jesse the Vermin said. "And what brings you out this fine evening?"
"Don't you recognize me, Jesse?" Cressida asked. "I'm disappointed."
"Oh, no, wait, Cressida, right? Bang! I never forget a pretty face, or a smokin' bod, whatever."
"You certainly are the charmer, Jesse."
"Yeah, ain't I? So, what's up?"
"We're looking for information, Jesse."
"Oh yeah? Who's we?"
Just as unexpected was Jeremiah. Unexpected, and certainly not as welcome. "Good evening, Mr. Vermin," Jeremiah said as he sat down on the side opposite Cressida.
"Ah, shit," Jesse cursed, "It's Jeremiah. I am so honored. Not. What the hell is this?"
"We wish to ask you some questions, Jesse," Jeremiah said.
"Yeah, great. Hey, what gives, Cress? Are you now working for the Big Mac? And I don't mean McDonalds! I mean the big 'M', as in Ministry. What, have you turned soft too?"
"Actually," Cressida responded, "'Work' is kinda why I'm here. Turns out my connection has been disconnected permanently. And since I didn't really know anything about the guy, Jeremiah thought you might be able to help."
"Sure, you bet, I can help!"
"Excellent!" Jeremiah said. "Then we must ask you—"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, big guy. You know how this works. You must pay for services rendered in advance."
"How can you pay for services rendered if they have not yet been rendered?"
"Just fork over the cash, big guy!"
Jeremiah reached into his pocket, pulled out a folded stack of bills and handed them to Jesse. "I see you came prepared," Jesse said as he flipped through the wad of money. "Okay, now, what do you want to know?"
"I want to know more about my handler," Cressida said, "And since he's in no position to talk much, I was hoping you could fill us in."
"Yes," Jeremiah said, "All we know is that his name was Chuck, and he was an elf."
"No shit?" Jesse replied, "An elf? So, let me get this straight: our friendly neighborhood hit succubus got her wet work assignments from an elf? That is different. I mean, usually elves just content themselves with making toys, or shoes, or cookies. Not this guy, I guess!"
"Do you know anything about this elf?"
"Not much. Look, the local elf community is kinda clannish. Very close-lipped, know what I'm sayin'? They don't like outsiders much. For an elf to be working out in the human world, he had to have done something pretty bad, you know? Probably banished by the elf king or some shit like that. Anyway, I wouldn't be able to find out much more from the elves than that, 'cause they like vampires even less than they like people."
"Could you help arrange a meet between myself and the elves?"
"Huh, let's see, you're a vampire, that's strike one. You work for Ministry, that's strike two. That's two strikes, bubby. You're almost out."
"You are right about that. That would make us, as they say, hosed."
"Sucks to be you, I guess."
"And there's nothing else you know about him?" Cressida asked, her hand touching Jesse's knee. Jeremiah frowned as he noticed this. He knew she was only trying to get Jesse's compliance, but still, did she need to do that in front of him?
Jesse smiled. "Well, uh, hey, you know, maybe I... hey, wait a minute! I see what you're tryin' to do, and it ain't gonna work, not on me, sister!"
"Jesse," Jeremiah said, "If you know anything, anything at all!"
"Okay! Jesus, you guys are persistent. Fine. Like I said, I don't know much. All I know is that once upon a time, there may have been a local elf who may or may not have been mixed up in some serious shit. I mean, big-time operators, capisce? And since elves are known to be tight-lipped, he was a perfect go-between, between himself and whoever he was working for. Whoever that might be, which I don't know."
"Are you quite sure you have no idea?"
"Not only do I have no fucking clue, I don't want no fucking clue. If these guys had an elf and a succubus in their pocket, then they're pretty badass, meaning big time trouble. Meaning they scare even me, and I'm a vampire!"
"Beyond that, you know nothing."
"Didn't I say that already? Beyond that, I don't know shit. Sorry."
Jeremiah looked at Cressida. "Let us go. Sadly, this has been a waste of time."
"Hey," Jesse said, "No waste of my time, in fact, it was pretty lucrative. But, hey, any time you need more info, drop me a line, why don't you?"
Jeremiah and Cressida stood then walked away, leaving the Vermin sitting on the brick steps in the rain. As they moved across the Square, Cressida came close to Jeremiah. "Sorry about that, Jeremiah. I really wanted to help."
Jeremiah stopped and sighed. "Sadly for Scott, I will have to tell him we have hit a dead end. We have nowhere to go!"
Cressida looked into Jeremiah's deep brown eyes. "I think of a few places we could go, Jeremiah." A sly smile appeared on her face. Jeremiah likewise smiled.
*
"So! How was your weekend with Dawn?" Irene Campbell asked Scott as he stumbled out of his bedroom that Monday morning. "Was it romantic?"
Scott rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he joined his mother in her kitchen. "You are so chipper in the mornings, mom. Why?"
"Lots of coffee!"
"Not how, mom, why!"
She shrugged. "Some people are morning people. I always have been. You, on the other hand, take after your father. He never was a morning person either. He always needed his morning coffee."
"I remember. What would he have said? Oh yeah! 'Give it to me blacker than midnight! And no sugar or cream, that'll only dilute it'!"
Irene giggled. "Now that does sound exactly like your father! So, anyway, tell me all about your weekend!"
Scott looked away in deep thought, considering how to discuss the less bizarre elements of that weekend without divulging any of his secrets to his mother. He was relieved that Tim now knew his secret and was still his friend. The thought brought him some comfort. Scott had not intended on telling Tim about his vampire nature, and hoped Tim would never find out; unlike with his mother, who he did intend to tell, but could never work up the courage to follow through.
"What's the matter? Oh, my gosh, are you and Dawn okay?"
Scott looked at his mother and smiled. It was a forced smile. "Dawn and I are just fine, mom. And yes, it was a very romantic time. I'm just still a little wiped from the weekend."
"And that's it?"
"Yes, mom. Well, no, it's all the stress I've been under. I had to get a continuation so I could work on my master's thesis, which hopefully I'll be able to finish by this winter."
"Well, of course you did! You have other things on your plate. A wedding, for example?"
"Yeah, there's that, and yeah, I'm stressed over that too."
"I remember your first wedding. Oh, you were stressed over that, too. Of course, you didn't have the extra burden of your master's studies then."
"And that's another point of stress. My first marriage didn't work out so well. I'm hoping the second time will be the charm."
Irene got up from her chair and put her arms around Scott. "Oh, Scotty, I'm sure it will be. You've changed quite a bit since your divorce!"
She was right about that, to say the least. "Changed? What... what do you mean?"
"Well, the way you carry yourself. You're so much more confident now, but not in an arrogant way, and you're a lot stronger too. When do you find the time to work out?"
"Oh, well, I find the time."
"And it's generally been a good thing, too, although you remember that time, about a year ago?"
Uh oh. He certainly did remember that time, about a year ago. Every once in a while, Irene would bring it up and he would try to evade the issue. "Yeah, look, mom, I was under stress then, too, and wasn't handling it well."
"Wasn't handling it well? You were seeing things, and acting out in some very peculiar ways! No, I'd say you weren't handling it well at all!"
"Yeah, well, I'm all better now."
"Good," She gave Scott a brief peck on the cheek before sitting back down at the kitchen table to have another sip of coffee. "Because we never did have that talk."
Damn. "Talk? What talk is that?"
"Scott, you've been so secretive, and so different, and we were going to talk about it."
"Talk? Are you kicking me out, mom?"
"Very funny, young man."
"I am joking, of course, Dawn and I have been looking for a place, and that's yet another source of stress. We haven't found anything in our price range that we like, not in this market, anyway. We may end up having to rent for a while."
"And you are once again avoiding the subject."
"I am not! I really am stressing out about finding a place! Actually, I could settle on this condo we found over in Wood Village, not far from Tim's place. Dawn's not crazy about it, but I keep pointing out to her that if we just spruce it up, spend some time, effort, and money on improvements, then it'll be something. Anyway, that's what I keep saying."
Irene put down her coffee cup and looked up at Scott, casting that look at him. That look was a look of deep concern, and Scott knew it. Scott liked that look even less than he liked her angry look. "Scott, are you going to avoid talking with me yet again? Soon, you'll be married again, and I don't know when we'll ever have a good chance for a serious discussion."
"Mom, of course we'll have plenty of chance for a serious discussion. Dawn and I will hang out with you every once in a while, and I'll call."
"I know, Scott. Maybe I shouldn't keep prying. God knows, I've tried not to, I really have. And you keep telling me that you'll talk to me about everything that's going on with you, but you never do. Maybe it's too much to ask. You're an adult man with responsibilities, and you have the right to your own life. If you don't want to tell me what's going on, that's up to you, but I'm your mother. I'll never stop worrying about you."
Scott sighed. Tim now knew his secret, as did Larry and Dawn. He thought his mother should probably know as well. Scott owed her that much, at least. He thought it would be a relief, just as it was with Tim, to get the truth of his new nature out in the open with his mother.
Scott straightened his posture as he listened to the rhythm of the world around him, to the slight breeze, the birds, neighbors up the street, a car driving down the street. After taking a moment just to listen, Scott found resolution. He would tell his mother the truth. He had to.
"Okay, mom. You wanted the truth, I will tell you the truth. The fact is, I have become a---" Doorbell. Oh no, how inconvenient. "Uh, anyway, mom..."
The doorbell rang again. "Scotty? Why don't you go get the door, and we'll talk later, okay?"
"Sure thing!" Scott said as he ran from the kitchen to the front door. Oh, who could it be on a Monday afternoon? The mailman? UPS? Girl Scouts? Mormons? Whoever it was, Scott did not care. In fact, he was rather looking forward to the Mormons. He'd call for mom, and she would come and engage them in endless theological debate while Scott would slink stealthily away.
Scott threw open the door. There, standing on the other side, was a man, tanned, tall and well built, wearing a gray sport coat and light blue open collar shirt. He had ruggedly handsome features, tall cheekbones, square jaw, and hair that looked as though it had been dyed, since a few flecks of gray showed through the jet black. Here was a man who made efforts to conceal his age and was doing a fairly good job at it, but Scott guessed the man was well into his fifties.
"Yeah? Can I help you?"
"Um, yeah," The man asked in a mellow southern drawl, his voice quaking a bit, betraying a hint of nervousness, a fact that Scott could confirm as he noticed small spots of sweat beading on the man's smooth skin. "Is this the Campbell residence?"
"Yeah, that it is. What do you want?"
"This is the home of an Irene Campbell, formerly Irene Applegate?"
"Yeah, it is. Why?"
"And you must be Scott Campbell."
"Yeah, and you are?"
"My name is Doug Campbell. And I'm your brother."