Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
Reuben closed the door behind them and moved to a cabinet, pulling out an unmarked bottle and two glasses.
"Sit," he said, pouring amber liquid into both glasses. "You look like hell."
Simon sat in the worn leather chair across from Reuben's desk but didn't touch the drink. "I'm fine."
"No, you're not." Reuben settled into his own chair, studying Simon over the rim of his glass. "When's the last time you took a full dose?"
"This morning."
"Don't lie to me." Reuben's voice stayed calm, but his eyes sharpened. "I can see it in your hands. The tremor. You're rationing again."
It wasn't a question.
"The doses make me slow," Simon said.
Reuben leaned back in his chair, studying him. "Tell me the truth. How long?"
Simon hesitated. His boss would not like the truth. "Thirty-six hours ago."
"Christ." Reuben rubbed his face. "And you went after a vampire like that? Do you have any idea how stupid that was?"
"I was in control."
"You think you're in control." Reuben's voice hardened. "Just like Richardson thought he was in control. Just like Keane thought she was in control."
Simon recognized the names. Other hunters who'd gone through Reuben's special program. Other hunters who weren't around anymore.
"I'm not them."
"No," Reuben agreed. "You're not. You're my best student. One of the few we managed to save after—" He stopped himself. "The point is, you're valuable. Too valuable to lose because you think you know better than the people who rebuilt you."
Rebuilt. That's what Reuben always called it. Not trained. Not changed. Rebuilt.
Reuben leaned forward. "The pills keep the worst parts of you locked down. You remember what you were like when I found you? The rage? The violence? You attacked three of my men before we got you sedated."
Simon remembered fragments. His mother's blood on the floor. The vampire's teeth. Then nothing but red haze until he woke up strapped to a medical table with Reuben standing over him.
"That wasn't me," Simon said quietly.
"No? Then who was it? Who broke Thompson's arm in three places? Who bit through the restraints until his mouth bled?" Reuben's eyes never left his. "That rage is still in you, Simon. The program didn't remove it. We just gave you the tools to control it."
Simon bit his tongue to keep his silence. There was nothing he could say in response that wouldn't sound as if he were pissing on the gift Reuben had given him.
He didn't want to sound insolent in front of the man who'd given him a new lease on life.
"Your supplements are not optional," Reuben said. "Two pills every twelve hours. It's not a difficult ask when they're the only thing standing between you and what you could become."
Simon met his gaze. "What I could become is a better hunter. When I reduce the doses, my senses sharpen. I can detect them from farther away. I'm faster and stronger."
"You're playing with fire." Reuben stood, moving to look out his office window at the city below. "Do you know how many recruits we put through the program after your cohort? Twelve. Do you know how many survived?"
Simon knew the answer. "Three."
"Two," Reuben corrected. "Sigal succumbed last month." An uncharacteristic sigh escaped Simon's mentor.
Simon found he didn't want to know exactly how Sigal had been lost.
Whatever had happened to the young redhead would not happen to him.
"This is a serious matter," Reuben said.
"The process that saved you nearly destroyed you.
We pushed your body and mind to the absolute limit.
We turned your trauma into a weapon." Reuben shot him a look.
"But weapons need maintenance. Skip that maintenance, and they become unreliable.
Dangerous. To themselves and everyone around them. "
He turned back to face Simon. "Harmon doesn't know about the program, that's why he keeps trying to partner you up. But I know what happens when you're off your doses too long. The aggression. The impulsiveness. The way your judgment starts to slip."
"My judgment is fine."
"Really? Then why did Charlie Dracul escape?"
Simon didn't answer.
Reuben returned to his desk, picked up a familiar prescription bottle, and held it out. "Two pills, every twelve hours. No exceptions. No rationing. No trying to give yourself an 'edge.'"
Simon took the bottle. The label read 'Haloperidol' but they both knew that wasn't what was inside. The real compound didn't have a civilian name.
"If I find out you're skipping doses again," Reuben said, "I'll pull you from fieldwork myself. Permanently."
"You can't—"
"I made you what you are, Simon. I can unmake you just as easily." Reuben's tone wasn't threatening. It was matter-of-fact. "The Organization trusts me to keep you functional. If I say you're compromised, that's it. You're done."
Simon pocketed the pills. "Understood."
Reuben studied him for a long moment. "Your mother would be proud of what you've become. A protector. A shield against the monsters."
"She'd be alive if I'd been this back then."
"You were fifteen. You were helpless." Reuben's voice softened slightly. "That's not what you are now."
No, Simon thought. Now he was something else. Something Reuben had created in a laboratory with experimental procedures and illegal chemicals. Something that could hunt monsters because part of him understood them in ways normal humans never could.
"Take a dose now," Reuben ordered. "Before you leave."
Simon pulled out the bottle, shook two pills into his palm, and dry-swallowed them. Reuben watched to make sure he didn't palm them.
"Good." Reuben moved back to his desk. "Now, about Charlie Dracul. Tell me what really happened at that laundromat."
"The target didn't match the profile."
Reuben pulled out a tablet, swiping to what Simon recognized as the intelligence file. "Charlie Dracul. Suspected in three killings last month. Seen near the warehouse district where those bodies were found drained."
"Except there were no bodies. I checked the police databases. No missing persons reports matching those dates. No homicides with that MO."
"You think Intelligence fabricated the reports?"
"No." Simon had considered it, but it didn't make sense. "I think someone fed them false information. The witness statements are too detailed to be mistakes. Someone wanted us to think Charlie Dracul was dangerous."
Reuben set down the tablet. "And your actual observation of the target?"
Simon almost laughed. Almost. "He crashed into a wall trying to use super-speed, then bounced off a soap dispenser and left in a laundry cart."
Silence.
Reuben's gaze narrowed. "You're joking."
Simon wished he were. But… "I watched him ricochet around the laundromat like a pinball. He has the power but no control. Like he's never used it before."
Reuben was quiet for a moment. "New vampire?"
"Has to be. Weeks old at most. But that doesn't explain the Dracul name. No fledgling would dare claim that lineage without backing."
"Unless he doesn't know what it means." Reuben stood, pacing to the window again. "Tell me about the convenience store."
Simon blinked at the subject change. "What about it?"
"You went there and talked to the manager."
Of course, Reuben knew. He probably knew every step Simon had taken since leaving the laundromat.
"The manager said Charlie fainted when a customer came in with a nosebleed, that he dropped and they had to mop around him."
Reuben made a sound that might have been a suppressed laugh. "A vampire who faints at the sight of blood."
"It doesn't make sense."
"No, it doesn't." Reuben turned back to him. "Which means you're missing something. Either Charlie Dracul is the greatest actor in vampire history, or…"
"Or someone's setting him up."
"The question is why." Reuben returned to his desk. "And who benefits from us eliminating a harmless fledgling."
Simon had been wondering the same thing. "Could be vampire politics. Maybe he offended the wrong coven. Get the hunters to do their dirty work."
"Or setting you up." Reuben gathered the papers. "You're our most effective hunter. If someone wanted to test our capabilities or distract us from something else..."
"They'd send me after a nobody and watch what happens."
"Exactly." Reuben locked the folder back in his cabinet. "But that's irrelevant for now. You have forty-eight hours to bring him in, and Harmon won't care if the intelligence was fabricated. What matters are the results."
"I understand, sir."
Results were all that ever mattered.