Free Undeath and Taxes by Drew Hayes Page A

through the lobby, I saw a line of attendants snaking out from the registration booth—these would be the actual attendees, rather than the people working behind the scenes. I had been to a convention before, something comic-book based that I’d attended in the fruitless hope of meeting people on par with my level of social skill. At that registration, people had been dressed in all manner of strange and elaborate garb, some so encumbered by their outfits that even basic movements required concentrated effort.
    Such was not the case at the Calcucon registration line. If anything, people looked exceedingly normal; almost aggressively so. It was such a bland arrangement of beings that I would have fit in perfectly, and that was saying a lot. It struck me as strange, but only until I passed through the wide white doors that separated the convention area from the rest of the building.
    Stepping through, I was immediately struck with wonder at the number of inhuman beings casually walking around. Though the convention didn’t officially open until ten, many attendees were already wandering around and checking things out. There were several therians shifted into their hybrid forms, a couple of mages with telltale glowing enchantments around their bodies, other undead that I could only recognize by smell and paleness, as well as a few centaurs and winged creatures I only knew from my CPPA courses. Even the more mundane beings had horns, or strangely colored eyes, or extra arms. Only then did it strike me why the registration line had seemed so unimpressive.
    The people out there were in costume. They’d come from the outer world, where they had to blend in with regular people. Only in here, in the safety of a space specifically set aside for them, could they cast aside their false faces and live as they truly were. In that moment, I genuinely appreciated how fortunate I was to be a parahuman that could blend so naturally into society, without the need for elaborate costumes or costly illusion enchantments.
    I meandered my way through the convention floor, noting how many more booths had sprung up in the relatively short time I was away. Many of the business-based ones caught my eye, advertising things as ubiquitous as parahuman-friendly home retrofits to services as niche as at-home hoof-cleaning. It seemed I would indeed have to grab an information packet or two before we left; getting in front of a crowd this size could do wonders for my budding business.
    At last, I came to the Agency’s familiar booth. I hadn’t realized it at the time, but the booth Krystal and I set up was much larger than the surrounding ones, occupying a space big enough for three normal-sized stalls. Either they were trying to create a subconscious image of size and power, or they were expecting to draw a big crowd. Regardless, things looked more or less the same as when I’d left, with only minor exceptions: the signs were a bit straighter, and the weapons more symmetrically laid out.
    The one large exception was that June had rejoined Krystal at the booth. Both women were sitting on stools behind one of the display tables, clutching cups of coffee next to empty pastry bags, and June was smiling at my girlfriend with the same warmth she’d shown in her greeting. As they realized I’d arrived, June’s demeanor cooled slightly, though not as intensely as I’d been expecting.
    “‘Bout time,” Krystal said, hopping off the small stool she’d been perched on and giving me a quick peck. “Bubba got down here half an hour ago. We already sent him on a coffee-run.”
    “What do you call that?” I pointed at the still steaming cup in her hands.
    “I call it free convention pisswater, because I wouldn’t sully the good name of coffee by comparing it to this.”
    “Yet you’re drinking it anyway.”
    “Still caffeinated,” Krystal said, giving a half-hearted shrug as she took a sip. “And, unfortunately, June and I have to be extra alert.