Khadijah is about to speak when her phone rings. She takes the call while Veda paces. When she disconnects, she lays a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
“To go where?”
“Does it matter?”
A call from Clinton, asking Khadijah to stop by the FCD and pick up Ruth’s belongings, determines their destination. They enter the building through different lines; Veda’s cursory glance and amulet checkby security are nothing compared to the intrusive security measures Khadijah endures. When the guard makes a derogatory comment, Veda steps forward, but Khadijah shakes her head. Veda gives the guard a nasty look before following her friend.
Veda decides to sit in the waiting area, feeling uncomfortable as is. She’s torn between locking eyes with every person who passes and skimming through a year-old magazine when her phone rings.
“Are you busy right now?” Gabriel asks as soon as she picks up.
“I’m actually in the waiting area of the FCD, what’s going on?”
“Seriously? I thought you never—”
“It’s a long story,” Veda says.
“We can talk about that later. For now, can you come up to the fourth floor? I’ll meet you at the elevator. There are a few things I need to catch you up on.”
“Khadijah is here with me. Can she come, too?”
“Sure thing. I’ll call security and give them your names. Just register your Imprint.”
It takes thirty minutes before Khadijah returns carrying a brown bag and wearing Ruth’s hat, irritation etched on her face. Veda tells her about the detour as they walk to the security desk together. They give Khadijah a hard time with clearance to the fourth floor, but a second call from Gabriel makes it happen.
The elevator ride is quiet, tense, and Khadijah is understandably grouchy. Classical music filters from the speakers, bringing back memories that sour Veda’s mood. She hasn’t listened to this kind of music in years, but the melody lives in her head, a reminder from that night. Khadijah sneaks worried glances.
True to his word, Gabriel meets them outside the elevator. “Sorry about security,” he says. “What brings you all here on a Saturday?”
“Khadijah came to pick up Ruth’s belongings.”
“Ah, yeah.” Gabriel whistles low. “I heard about the hell Hiram raised yesterday. I got a call about it, but by the time I got here, he was already gone.”
He leads the way to the investigators’ office, mentioning he’s putting in a few hours while August is bug-hunting with Francisco’s little cousins. Artificial lights make the office look clinical. The silence sterilizes the atmosphere. There’s a woman sitting at her desk, fiddling with the lavender plant while reading through papers. She looks up when the door shuts behind them. Petite with blond hair and innocuous eyes, her friendly smile feels familiar.
“Oh, sorry, Veda, Khadijah. Meet our overworked secretary, Seren Landry.”
Veda gives her a cursory glance, still unable to recall where she’s seen her before, but finds nothing odd except the flush that starts at her neck and disappears into her blond hair. Gabriel follows her line of sight and flashes a grin.
“Hey there. It’s nice to finally meet ya, Khadijah.”
“Do I know you?”
“It’s hard to forget you.” At her raised brow, Seren continues. “You’ve spent a lot of time in holdin’. Seems the enforcers have it out for ya, thanks to your uncle.”
“You’re not wrong.”
Seren’s eyes slide to Veda, and she tilts her head. “Veda, is it? You look familiar.”
“I was just thinking the same thing.”
“I’ve traveled a lot, basically since I quit medical school about seven years ago.”
Everything slots into place. That Southern drawl is memorable. “Did you happen to go to the Redwood Institute of Mage Medicine at Riverty University?”
“Yeah, I did.Oh!Veda, as in Veda Thorne, right?”
Gabriel looks back and forth between them. “You know each other?”
