I took an offered seat at the kitchen table while Father Orrock filled an electric kettle and plugged it in. He said, “Earl Grey or Scottish Breakfast?”
“I’ve never had Scottish Breakfast.”
He took a jar out of the cupboard and shook it at me. “You’re in for a treat, then. It’s similar to English Breakfast, but it has more guts behind it.”
You getting anything now that we’re past the wards? I asked Maggie.
She hesitated. It’s … tough. Each floor appears to be warded independently. Like I said, the wards aren’t great, but they’re still there. It’s like trying to watch an old tube TV through a bad reception. There’re at least a dozen people in the house. Mostly … younger. Early twenties. Late teens. Like that kid on the stairs.
“What is this place?” I asked Father Orrock.
He turned to me with a look of surprise on his face. “You don’t know?”
I shook my head. “Should I?”
He pursed his lips but didn’t answer. He seemed to consider his response for some time before he came and sat across the table from me. “So the deal hasn’t been broken?”
I spread my hands, truly flummoxed. “What deal?”
Again, he didn’t answer immediately. The kettle soon began to whistle. He poured us each a cup and then filled two little mesh balls with loose leaf tea and dunked them. He set one in front of me, then produced cream and sugar. Once he was sitting again, he gazed at me for an uncomfortably long amount of time, then called over my shoulder.
“Luke, my lad!”
A voice – probably belonging to the young man at the top of the stairs – responded. “Yes, Father Orrock?”
“Could you tell Michael to gather his things, please?”
“He’s here?” I asked, getting halfway up from my seat.
“He is,” Father Orrock made a calming gesture. “He’ll be down in a moment. To answer your earlier question … this is a halfway home for runaway thralls.”
I blinked back at him. “Oh. I guess that makes sense. Is that why Mrs. Montgomery brought you blood the other day?”
“You’ve been watching us that long?” Father Orrock stirred his steeping tea absently. “Hmm. I have friends who supply me with blood so that I can keep the thralls from going mad. Can I ask bluntly: did your colleagues, Jose or Karen, tell you about this place?”
“They didn’t. I had a tip off about stolen blood from a clinic and followed that lady here.”
He gave a sigh of relief. “Good. Jose, Karen, and I have a deal, of sorts. I have the same deal with reapers all around the area: they search for their runaways elsewhere. Never here.”
I knew I was completely out of my depth. I’d never done a runner before – I’d never even given them any thought. “How the hell did you get Jose and Karen to agree to something like that?”
Father Orrock laughed softly. “Well, for one, I convinced them that the runaways never stay here for more than sixty days. This isn’t a place for them to live – just a stopping point for the weary on their long trip to freedom. I made it clear to Jose and Karen, as I do to all reapers that find this place, that I am not a man of violence. But I am friends with the local police and OtherOps agents. I can make life inconvenient if you loiter around my house.” He cocked his head at me. “You don’t know this world, do you?”
I shook my head. “I’ve worked for vampires, but only on bloodbags. Never runners. This is a … special job. That’s why Jose and Karen aren’t on it.”
“I can see you’re uncomfortable with it.”
I bit my tongue. He was fishing for remorse. I’d met enough priests to know they were good at that sort of thing. I didn’t take the bait.
He went on, “Like I said, this is a halfway house. It is a place they can stay briefly until they move on to find someone who can help them break the hold their master has over them. As you probably know, thralls are not your typical contract with the Other. They stand in between – in transition – from humanity to Other. Do you know, Mr. Fitz, the statistics on thralls?”
I glanced over my shoulder. No sign of Michael. No sound from upstairs. I can’t tell if he’s doing the talkative priest thing on purpose or not, I told Maggie.
Shush, I’m trying to listen through the wards. She paused. Huh. I just realized the wards are two-way. So people from outside can’t scry in, but people inside can’t scry out either. Why the hell would he do that?
Beats me. “I don’t know any statistics,” I told the priest.
Father Orrock spread his hands earnestly. “A full seventy-three percent of thralls are disaffected youth. They are the unwanted, the discarded, the unloved. They are foolish, but they are not fools, if that makes any sense. Most thralls are not looking toward a life of immortality. They are simply trying to find community and acceptance. They are preyed upon by vampires – vampires like Boris Novak, who wish only to increase their own power through contractual progeny.”
“I don’t follow,” I said honestly.
“What I’m trying to say, Mr. Fitz, is that a great number of thralls are not willing acolytes lusting to join the ranks of the undead. They are victims. Because of the contracts they are coerced to sign, their victimhood is reinforced by the state, forcing them into slavery even after they’ve realized they’ve made a grave error. Those contracts allow vampires to send people like you to gather their property and return it to them.” He practically spat the word property.
I drummed my fingers on the table, watching him warily. You hearing this?
I don’t disagree with any of it, if that’s what you’re asking. Maggie responded.
Seriously?
I’ve been trying to tell you that since you got the job. Like I told you, I dated Vlad Dracula. Not only that, but my ring once floated around a vampire coven for a few weeks. I was lucky to get out of there undiscovered. The whole thrall experience is a messy, horrible business.
I was ready to disregard the priest entirely, but the fact that Maggie agreed with him so quickly brought me up in a complete about face. I ran a hand through my hair, not caring if Father Orrock could see the conflict in my expression. Well, there’s not much I can do about it but get Michael to the safe house.
“Okay,” I said. “I get it. But I still have a job to do. Is Michael coming down or isn’t he?”
Father Orrock gazed back at me thoughtfully, his head still cocked, wearing a half smile.
“Shit,” I said as realization set in, throwing myself back from the table and to my feet. Maggie, those wards are two-way so that Orrock can distract people while his thrall friends make a run for it! I spun toward the door, only to find my way blocked by a number of young men and a single young woman. They all had the same look: a bit emaciated, with sunken, haunted eyes. Luke was among them, but Michael was not. I didn’t stop to think, simply shoving my way through the group. None attempted to stop me, but they didn’t get out of my way either. I shoved and stumbled, making my way out onto the porch where Maggie immediately barked directions in my ear.
Left on the street, then two blocks over. He’s running north!
I took off in pursuit, cutting through backyards and leaping dilapidated fences. I quickly reached an avenue, crossed it, and kept running north.