Chapter 11: Homewrecker
The walk through downtown toward Beacon Hill gave Kaine plenty of time to explain the finer points of his current career path. Marcus followed exactly three steps behind, his pale eyes occasionally tracking movement in the shadows between buildings, but otherwise maintaining that eerie focused attention that had become his default state.
"See, the thing about private contracting," Kaine said, stepping over a puddle that reflected the neon glow of a late-night pharmacy, "is that people pay you to tell them things they already know but don’t want to admit."
Marcus’s head tilted slightly—his version of active listening.
"Take tonight’s client. Victoria Ashford, old money, married to some finance guy who’s probably worth more than this entire city block. She calls me because her husband’s acting strange, staying out late, coming home with blood on his clothes." Kaine paused at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. "Now, any reasonable person would assume he’s either having an affair or got mixed up with the wrong crowd. But she jumps straight to vampires."
The light changed and they crossed, passing under a street lamp that flickered ominously. Half the bulbs in this part of town had been shot out by gang members or burned out months ago without replacement. The city’s budget priorities didn’t extend to lighting in areas where the tax base couldn’t afford to complain.
"That’s the thing about this business," Kaine continued. "Ever since the Rift opened and bloodsuckers became public knowledge, every suspicious behavior gets blamed on supernatural influence. Husband’s cheating? Must be vampire mind control. Wife’s acting distant? Obviously been turned. Kid’s staying out past curfew? Clearly feeding information to a nest."
Marcus stepped around a homeless veteran sleeping in a doorway with the carefulness of someone avoiding an obstacle rather than acknowledging a human being. The man didn’t stir—probably used to being ignored by people in expensive clothes.
"Most of the time, it’s just regular human awfulness dressed up in supernatural paranoia. People cheat, people lie, people do stupid things for money or sex or power. Same as it’s always been. The vampires just give everyone a convenient excuse to avoid dealing with reality."
They turned onto a new Street, where the storefronts got cleaner and the security cameras more obvious. This was the border between the working-class neighborhoods and the areas where money lived. The difference was subtle but unmistakable—fresher paint, intact windows, street lights that actually worked.
"But here’s the thing that keeps me in business," Kaine said, nodding to a pair of beat cops who were trying to look important while clearly avoiding the darker alleys. "Sometimes the paranoia is justified. Sometimes the husband really is feeding information to bloodsuckers. Sometimes the wife actually has been turned. And when that happens, the Shadowguard’s response time to wealthy neighborhoods is about forty-five minutes if you’re lucky."
Marcus made a sound that might have been agreement, though it could just as easily have been gas escaping from his undead digestive system.