I’m stuck in a meeting with Chief Glass; Enchanter Ulysses and his Second, Heather; Sentinel Cadence; and Sheldon – who took over as the head of the Order in the eight months following the disaster with Elena Silvyn. Carver faced the Order’s Inquisition after the substantial losses in Boston, who decided that it was best she retire…in other words, a graceful means to fire her for what happened under her watch. I always thought I’d be sort of excited to see Carver go, but that was before Joseph Sheldon took over. Carver could be harsh, but she did try to be fair. Most of the time. Sheldon’s a hammer, he drops his decisions with force and finality. Chief Glass and Ulysses have a good chance of questioning him given their seniority, but me? I may as well be a glorified fly on the wall in these meetings for how much weight my voice carries.
Ironic, since I think my voice is a lot more commanding now after starting Testosterone therapy, and yet I’m cut off even more than when I was a rank and file Centurion.
“We must find a way to minimize Castillo’s operations,” Sheldon says. Castillo is the topic of conversation in most of these meetings now. Not only because word got out about his marriage to Elena, but because he’s become quite the public figure in Boston these last few months.
“Isn’t he mostly responsible for what work has been done in South Boston?” I ask.
Sheldon narrows his eyes at me, but I don’t look away. “He’s using reconstruction efforts to launder money from his illicit activities.”
I see the reason for concern, but at the same time…I can’t help feeling that the benefit outweighs the negative in this scenario. Castillo’s funding is really helping to crew the construction projects, the fact a lot of his werewolves are working said projects only adds said benefit. Werewolves are a lot stronger than mundanes, they’re getting work done in record time. It may not bring back all the lives lost when that part of the city crumbled, but at least it looks like there’s a future there after all.
“The fact that he’s being commended in the Boston Globe is a problem,” Sheldon continues, and I know he’s solely addressing me. “It would behoove us to consider further restrictions on the supernatural community living in the city. This is a calamity waiting to happen.”
“Seriously?” I blurt out. “How is that going to help anything? We’re already in the shit with almost all of them since we so expertly fucked up trying to deal with Elena.”
“Averline,” Chief Glass says in warning.
“I allowed you to stay in this position out of respect for Carver,” Sheldon cuts in. “I can easily revoke your status.”
It’s tempting to tell him to ‘go ahead’. I think I would prefer working with the rest of the Centurions again instead of dealing with Sheldon on a near-daily basis. I keep quiet, not out of respect for Carver, but because I know someone has to have the balls to challenge Sheldon no matter what threats he makes.
“We can continue donations to the restoration efforts,” Ulysses begins when the silence lingers. “We should not stop funding just because Castillo is doing the same thing.”
Sheldon twists his mouth into a frown and I assume he thinks that is perfect grounds to pull back support. And people say I have a problem with pride…
“Be prepared to review laws and regulations tomorrow,” Sheldon’s using his dismissive tone, and I’m just happy this meeting is coming to an end even if I know he hasn’t dropped the idea of revamping the restrictions we put on the supernatural community. He doesn’t say we’re free to leave, he just grabs his things and sweeps out of the conference room like a movie-style vampire.
Ulysses, Heather and Cadence follow without a word, but Chief Glass stays back. “I want you in an hour early, Averline. There’s some training I’d like to go through with you.”
“Alright,” I reply. I’m keeping my fingers crossed it’s more on the combative side of things than administrative. I’m so sick of paperwork.
He nods and also departs. I wait a minute before I stand, stretch and make my way to the elevators. I’m glad that I don’t bump into anyone on the way out, I’m tired and frustrated with the meeting – not ideal for chitchat. Plus my shift is long and I’m still not used to it; Chief Glass told me to give it a full year at least. I start my day at noon and I’m not out of headquarters until around five in the morning. My life has become work, sleep, work, sleep and the occasional hour off for counseling.
I should go home and fulfill the second half of my new existence by crashing until it’s time to come back here, but I feel an urge for better company. I haven’t seen or talked to Henry in a while. My new schedule doesn’t leave much time to visit a vampire, especially since I put him in enough danger from the sun and refuse to ask him to come out during the daylight anymore. As I step onto Beacon Street, I pull out my phone and tap his name. It’s still dark enough that he should be up and about.
Stolen story; please report.
Or not, since the call goes to voicemail. Come to think of it, it did that the last two times I tried calling him. I’m trying not to worry as much as I used to, but I’ll never not worry about Henry. I’ll pay for it later when I slog through work later today, but instead of deciding to go back to my house, I choose to take a trip to Roslindale and Henry’s apartment.
The trains aren’t running yet and I can’t wait the extra hour for them to start, so I hail a taxi and give the driver Henry’s address. We make good time, but I’m running out of that predawn darkness and I hurriedly pay the driver (probably leaving way too much of a tip, but hey, hopefully it makes his day), and head into the condo building that houses Henry’s apartment. I go up the stairs and down the hall to the heavy door marking the apartment entrance and knock. There’s no answer. I wait, in case he’s already settling into that weird comatose state vampires enter when they get rest, and needs a minute to rouse himself. Three minutes go by and I knock again, loudly.
When that fails to bring different results I try again. A door does open, but it’s not Henry’s. It’s his neighbor, an older woman wearing a frayed bathrobe, her dark hair frizzy and unkempt.
“Do you know what time it is?” she asks grumpily.
“I’m sorry, I was trying to reach my friend,” I reply.
“Harold?”
“Henry.”
“That’s right…he keeps strange hours.”
“Yeah…hence me being here now.”
“I haven’t seen him in months.”
“What?”
“I said I haven’t seen him in months.”
I take a slow breath. It is my fault for expecting her not to simply repeat herself at my surprise. “Do you know where he went?”
She shrugs. “I assumed he moved. We weren’t really close. He kept strange hours.”
“Moved?” What the fuck? Why would he move without telling me? Is he in some kind of trouble?
“You can ask the landlord,” the woman adds. “He comes Friday mornings to tend the plants.”
“So today?”
“It’s Friday, isn’t it?”
“What time does he usually get here?”
“Between 9 and 10 o’clock.”
That will give me a couple hours of sleep, although I’m not sure how successful I’ll be now that I’m anxious about Henry. I can’t believe he’d just…leave without a word. “Thanks. Sorry for bothering you,” I say, feeling distant from the present as my mind does its nasty habit of assuming the worst.
She retreats into her apartment without a word, but at least she doesn’t slam the door. With nothing else to do here, I decide to go home and have a power nap before downing an unhealthy amount of coffee so I can function for the rest of the day.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
I’m back at Henry’s by 9:30, rushing up the stairs and through the door like a hurricane. I ignore the stairs this time and go towards the back of the building, exiting the narrow door there and looking around quickly. There’s no grassy backyard, just more concrete leading to the street running parallel to the one in front of the building. There are potted plants, however, and I feel a swell of relief when I see the middle-aged man bent over one and tugging out small weeds from dark soil.
“Are you the landlord?” I ask.
The man straightens and looks at me quizzically. “Yes…? Can I help you?”
“I’m trying to find Henry Stone, he’s one of your tenants. Or was…I’m not sure now.”
He looks uncertain for a second, and then dawning comprehension lights his expression. “Are you Mr. Averline?”
“Yeah.”
“Mr. Stone told me to expect you eventually,” the landlord says. “Come with me, please.”
Now I’m uncertain, but I follow him back into the building with a million questions in my mind as he leads me to a small office on the ground floor. He starts rummaging through stacks of paper that don’t seem like they’ve been organized in decades, not pausing to pick up those which fall to the floor during his search. When he fails to find what he seeks in the large stacks, he turns to the desk and opens the drawers, tossing things aside without a care until he sucks his teeth in an obnoxious way and holds up an envelope. “This is for you. Mr. Stone asked me to keep it for you.”
“Did he say anything else?” I ask, taking the letter as it’s held out to me.
“No. He paid to break his lease and move out, but apart from giving me notice we didn’t get into it much.”
Dammit, Henry…
“Thanks for this,” I say, pocketing the letter. I’m burning with the need to read it now, but I’m afraid of its contents and I don’t want to react in front of a stranger.
“Sure. Anything else?”
“No.”
The landlord gestures to the door and I vacate his office, moving towards the front entrance while he goes to continue gardening. I’m in a bit of a daze as I get back on the train to return to Dorchester. It moves too slowly, and I find myself annoyed with every stop as if I didn’t expect it to make its routine rounds to every station in between. When I finally get to Fields Corner, I push my way through the crowd and jog back to my house.
After getting unreasonably frustrated with my uncooperative keys, I finally make it inside and shut the door roughly behind me, not bothering to go any further and pulling the letter from my pocket. I rip it open and read its contents three times without taking in a single word. I force myself to take a breath and go over it more diligently.
Riley,
I’m sorry to disappear like this. I know you’ll be upset about it, but I have to do it this way. Something has come up, and I’m sure you would have insisted on helping me but I can’t risk getting you involved. Not this time. I promise that when I return I will tell you everything, and though I know you’ll disregard my request, I must ask that you don’t try to find me. Please, I need to deal with this on my own.
With love,
Henry
The letter slips from my fingers and while I am hurt that he chose to go about it this way, I’m more angry than anything else. He’s right. I’m not about to simply twiddle my fucking thumbs while I wait for him to resurface. I’m going to find him, and I’m going to help him…I just need to be smart about it. The Order has never been keen on Henry, and the likes of Sheldon are more distrustful of him now after his alleged friendship with Brianna and Castillo. I can’t rely on them, or not all of them…Chiaki’s solid, even after her demotion.
“Sorry,” I say, as if he’ll hear it. “I can’t just let this be…”