“So, there was never an elder vampire there?”

“No. Not presently anyway. It certainly sounded like an elder safe-house, what with the tunnel and the undead guardian,” Lefse said.

Mabahazi flipped through the papers he had already read, as if new information would spring forth. Despite his dislike of Lefse, he knew the burly man generated good reports and that the folder before him contained all the possible information on the assignment. The knowledge only made his confusion that much greater. “So, the Voice of Arrangement pairs Isaac up with a team of vampire hunters and then sends them to kill a vampire, except there’s no vampire at the location. Have you ever known Arrangement to make that kind of mistake before?”

“No, but I don’t believe it did.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Sure, there was no vampire, but my gut tells me the Voice knew exactly what was going on there. I have heard a rumor of a rogue vampire elder that’s taken to rural areas, ostensibly to fire up some kind of vampire rebellion, but nothing has been verified. Maybe the Voice was just sending a message. I think we’re just not important enough to be in on all of the reasoning.”

Statements like that were what kept Lefse on Mabahazi’s bad side and the Head Librarian glowered. “Are you sure you didn’t miss anything? Maybe Isaac was less than truthful?”

Now Lefse took his turn to glower at his professionalism being questioned. “Not that I know of.”

The Head Librarian sighed. “What the hell is a bubba anyway?”

Lefse shrugged. “Some kind of undead hillbilly, I guess. I’m unfamiliar with the species.”

“Of undead?”

“No. Hillbilly.”

Mabahazi snapped and slammed the folder. “Okay, that’s enough.” He waved Lefse out, not even bothering to say the word “dismissed” this time.

After the librarian had stomped away, Mabahazi leafed through his current stack of reports. Below the folder marked Isaac Unknown was one labeled Gregory Scott. Reports for Gregory came in like clockwork, once per quarter, and they did not make for good reads in Mabahazi’s opinion. An avid serial killer, the man preyed on homeless individuals at the behest of the Voice. The next folder detailed the work of Sophie Eddon, a psychic who most recently helped find a missing child. Then came a magician known as Santeel, who murdered people by means as unexplainable as they were unbelievable. After that was a healer who miraculously cured an entire chemotherapy hospital wing. Then a masked assassin with a deformed face.

So on and so forth. Death and salvation. Horror and hope. Blood and miracles. Every good deed seemingly balanced with something vile. He just didn’t see the point.

At least the acquisition of relics was a part of the job he could understand. Removing these powerful objects from world circulation was akin to taking explosives away from children. This made sense, even if being denied access to these artifacts still rankled him. At least he could briefly see them and confirm their existence, which satisfied his cravings just a bit.

From early childhood, Mabahazi had been obsessed with magic. His mother had been a Vegas showgirl and he had spent countless hours at shows on the strip, from headliner acts in casino theaters to sleight-of-hand street corner shysters. His favorite had been a man by the stage name, The Great Hanzani. A master of such classics as sawing his assistants in half, levitation and vanishing, Hanzani’s finest moment had been catching a fired bullet with a pair of tongs. Mabahazi’s wide, child’s eyes had never grown tired and he had later fashioned his own nom de plume in honor of the Las Vegas magician.

As much as he loved the spectacle, he was far more interested in, even haunted by, what occurred behind the stage curtain. Be the tricks real or fake, Mabahazi knew the true enlightenment and power resided there. Even as an awestruck youth he had realized he was just a rube in the crowd, one of the astounded masses who existed with their wool permanently pulled over.

The feelings were no different at Arrangement. Despite his intelligence, his rise in the ranks, and his long list of achievements, he remained on the wrong side of the curtain. Such knowledge, such power, passed through his fingers on a daily basis, but he was still just an impotent spectator. He may as well be tearing tickets for a Vegas show.

He suddenly realized he was glaring with furrowed brow at the phone on his desk. Even this was too bold a move for him and coughed into his hand to clear his throat and averted his eyes as if he has misspoken at a meeting with his superior.

Being put in his place by a silent telephone didn’t improve his mood and with a dejected sigh, he went back to reading about the adventures of others.