Kyra could still feel Xander’s gaze, and right then she wished she could read the expression behind those glasses. “Everything is fine, thank you,” she replied to the guard before returning her attention to the Guardian who hated her. “Xander, it’s a building full of Paladins, I’m sure I’ll be okay.”
His jaw clenched, and her stomach tightened. “It’s your funeral.”
Kyra couldn’t help her smile, knowing she would never have a funeral. No, her body would be burned beyond even ash, forgotten in both life, and death.
It took only minutes to get to the forty-second floor, the main operation for the whole Paladin London division. The lift opened out onto a labyrinth of grey cubicles, mostly empty considering Paladins worked more on their feet than at a desk.
Even though she had concealed her chi, she was new there, and was unsurprised by the hostile and curious stares as she made her way towards the office of Commissioner Brooks.
“Miss Farzan to meet with Commissioner Brooks, please.”
“Oh, you made it then,” Barbara, the receptionist said when Kyra approached. “I didn’t think you would turn up.” She pursed her brightly painted lips, long exaggerated lashes fluttering. “You can take a seat, I’ll let Commissioner Brooks know that you’ve made it this time.”
Kyra nodded, taking a seat. She had met the Commissioner a few times to discuss the possibility of work, and each time she had bitten her tongue. He used to be a Paladin for the very division he now controlled, the best according to himself and he made sure you knew it. She wasn’t sure how he had gained the job, his chi relatively weak compared to even Barbara, whose faint scent of clean ozone with an undertone of musky wood highlighted her ability with earthen spells.
No, she doubted he truly controlled Supernatural Intelligence, and was in fact a puppet for someone else.
Barbara loudly chewed gum, popping a bubble every twenty seconds or so. She openly stared, nose wrinkled. “What’s it like to practice black magic?”
Kyra rested her palms on her knees, her attention on the door. “Will Commissioner Brooks be much longer?”
Pop.
“You don’t look evil,” she said with a high pitched giggle. “I never know what to really expect when I see a black witch, aren’t you all damned or something?”
Pop.
“I don’t know, it depends if we make a deal with the devil or not,” Kyra replied tartly. “Or maybe gift him our first born child.”
Barbara’s jaw dropped open with a dramatic gasp, eyes widening. “The devil is real?”
Before Kyra could respond a light brightened at the edge of her desk, followed by a loud buzz.
“Barb, baby,”a whiney voice began when she clicked a button on the intercom.“I need you to run to the pharmacy to get that ointment for my…”
“Miss Farzan’s here,” Barbara interrupted with a squeak. “That black witch you hired.”
Silence stretched.
“Ugh, send her in.”
The large oak door opened silently, the rustic design odd compared to the surrounding office space. Commissioner Brooks sat in a tall leather chair, the silhouette of London a powerful backdrop from the large window behind. He watched her as she closed the door behind, a slim man with greasy red hair dressed in a suit several sizes too big.
The room was reasonably large for an office, with a sleek black glass desk that was covered in dirty fingerprints. Two chairs were placed in front of it, identical to the one he sat in but on a smaller scale. To the right was a floor to ceiling bookshelf, covered in picture frames and random trinkets, with only one space dedicated to actual books. The photographs were all of Commissioner Brooks in various poses, some alone with a brooding expression, and others awkwardly taken with celebrities and politicians.
In the centre, with its own dedicated spotlight was a wand.
“Thank you for meeting me,” Kyra said when he held out his hand, his smile a little on the condescending side. “I appreciate you’re busy.”
“Of course,” he said, his hand slick with sweat when he squeezed harder than necessary. “Please, take a seat.”
He pulled his arm back, his elbow knocking the single frame on his desk. It clattered over, revealing a photograph of Barbara seductively posing in luminous pink lingerie. Her lipstick even matched the underwear. Brooks quickly replaced the frame, setting it beside the chrome lamp with a flustered snigger.
“So,” he began, reclining in his leather chair. “Tell me why you didn’t turn up to the meeting I worked so hard to get for you?”
“I’m sorry, I was…”
“Actually,” he interrupted, smacking his lips. “I don’t care.” He adjusted the lapels of his jacket, resting further back in his chair until it almost tipped. “You embarrassed yourself by not turning up to meet the client, it made you look unprofessional. I very much doubt you’ll ever be able to find legit work in the whole city now.”
