I had only one answer to that.Can I start packing now?
DIVISION OFFICES OFall supernatural crime agencies in the area were housed in one of Silver Mist’s historic buildings, a three-story all-white structure with elegant Palladian windows, quoins, and a quietly impressive portico.
Prior to the Civil War, it had served as the town’s post office. Today, it was listed as headquarters of the privately funded Silver Mist Heritage Society, and as far as humans were concerned, SMHS was the company paying for my wages. That much was true, I suppose, but as for my official job position as ‘field researcher’?
Yes, well, I suppose that could be true, too, as long as no one asked too many questions about the nature of my, err, research.
The downpour of rain lashing the streets of Silver Mist had erupted into a full-blown thunderstorm when I finally made it past SMHS’ double doors. By this time, I also looked like I had gone into the shower fully clothed, with my umbrella having given up on me halfway.
“Good morning, Blair.” Mary Lou, the pretty, dark-haired tree nymph working behind the reception counter, gave me a sympathetic smile as I struggled to shove my umbrella into the garbage bin, its canopy turned inside out thanks to all of the huffing and puffing the wind gods had done under Zeus’ command.
“It’s crazy out there,” I said between chattering teeth as I turned to face her, having finally emerged the victor in my fight against my retired umbrella. I was about to ask Mary Lou if the electricity was back on or CSI was running on back-up power when the doors behind me opened again—-
Swoosh.
And I found myself flying across the lobby.
“Oops.” The sickly sweet voice was unfortunately familiar, and by the time I picked myself, I wasn’t at all surprised to find Roseanne’s lovely face sporting a false look of regret. “I am so sorry, Blair,” the silver-eyed witch gushed. “I didn’t see you at all.”
Yeah sure, I thought gloomily.I’d believe that when harpies crawl.
Roseanne dela Cruz had it for me since day one, and I had no idea why. Someone like her shouldn’t even have noticed someone like me.
Unlike everyone at CSI, she was a natural-born witch, a direct descendant of Hecate herself. Moreover, she held a high-level position at the CIA (that’s Council of Illusory Arts, and yes it was also the supernatural world’s version of the Central Intelligence Agency). Her attention should have been taken up by all-important issues like security on Mt. Olympus or the growing threat of demons escaping from the Underworld, and definitely with no time left to think of me as a rival in either a personal or professional capacity—-
“Gosh, I still can’t get over how tiny you are.”
And yet for some reason, it’s exactly how Roseanne seemed to think of me.
“I really do wonder what could Circe have seen in you,” the CIA agent said with a sigh.
You know how body shaming’s a huge thing in the human world? Well, in this world, it was all about one’s height. Tall was the new normal, and like how all prejudices went, I found it completely unfair. It was not my fault that immortals and supernaturals were all born five-seven and up. So really, it was their height that was unnatural, not mine.
Right?
Roseanne clucked her tongue. “You’re making quite a mess, too.” She looked meaningfully at the puddle around my feet, an unfortunate result when I had shrugged out of my blazer earlier and squeezed the water out of it.
I was still trying to think of a safe, smartass reply to Roseanne’s words when Dike, my superior in CSI, went on the PA, and her cuttingly clear voice blasted out of the speakers like a stream ofice. “Everyone has five minutes to get to their assigned meeting rooms. Anyone who doesn’t make it – find another job.”
Gaea bewitched!
It said a lot about Dike that Roseanne and I didn’t even look at each other as we raced up to the second floor and made a mad dash to our meeting rooms, Roseanne taking a right turn to get to CIA while I swerved to the left for CSI.
Dike was one of the Horae, the collective term used for Daughters of Justice (which they literally were, being offspring of Thebe), and if rumors were true, she was the most powerful among her sisters as well. Considering Dike’s bloodlines and skills in the battlefield, her appointment as head of CSI’s New England division – rather than the Mid-Atlantic or the Pacific – didn’t make any sense even to a neophyte witch like me. Silver Mist might be unique for nonhumans making up a whopping sixty-eight percent of its local population, but surely that couldn’t be it alone?
It was such an intriguing mystery that over the centuries it had become an urban legend of sorts, with theories ranging from scandalous to downright crazy. Of course, one could have simply gone up and ask Dike why as well, but since that was likely to involve dying with one’s neck being squeezed by the goddess’ bare hands, no one had ever been foolish enough to make the attempt.
Where a powerful justice-seeking goddess was concerned, some questions in this world were just better left unanswered, and it was also why everyone at the conference room shot up in their seats, backs ramrod straight, the moment Dike strode inside.
Tall, olive-skinned, broad-shouldered and with hair trimmed in a no-nonsense bob, Dike carried herself like the immortal warrior she was, her aura of strength making her all-too-normal pantsuit and leather clogs feel as intimidating as a suit of armor welded by Hephaestus himself.
“Good morning, agents. I trust you’ve all received our text alert?”
All twenty of us simply nodded, trained by Dike herself not to bother with the usual yes, ma’am / no, ma’am, which the goddess considered a mere waste of time.
And as for the text alert, it had been as to the point as you’d expect it to be, considering Dike’s preference for brevity. Zeus out of control; everyone required to report for duty A.S.A.P.
It had me leaving Panda’s in a hurry, knowing that our director wasn’t the type to use A.S.A.P. lightly. I hadn’t even any time to explain myself to Mr. Handsome, managing only a quick, profuse apology before dashing out of the diner and straight into the storm.
