“What?” Considine looked back at where I’d been standing, his eyes drifting to the tellers. “Oh. It was a dragon shifter seal.”
I shook my head. “I’ve walked through the seals Tutu puts on her buildings, and they havenevercut me off from my powers.”
“Yeah, because this seal is different,” Considine explained. “It’s on the teller desks. It’s designed to cut off supernaturals from any mental powers—it’s done to assure honesty from both the clients and the tellers so glamours, commands, pheromones, and so on can’t be used for any funny business.”
“Dragon seals can do that?” I asked.
“In small, controlled areas, yes. That’s what the emblems are for—the center point for each individual seal.” He pointed to the roaring dragon emblems on the center of each teller stall. “It’s not possible to put them on the whole building—it would cancel out the magic Tutu’s runs on, and the area affected is too small. But most supernaturals don’t even notice it on the teller stalls. You likely only felt it because you’re always keyed into your senses.”
“I see.” I studied the desk, disturbed.
Considine squeezed my hand. “We were going to pinpoint whatever sap’s heart is about to explode?”
“Right. Okay.” I swung our joint hands again, then trundled up to the desk. I scanned the maze of cubbyholes that held all the different paperwork, then started rifling through them.
Considine stood at my side, seemingly lazily, but our new spot in the center of the lobby gave him a better look at the room.
From here, we could see beyond the lobby and into the loading station.
Tutu’s didn’t operate like a usual bank—and not just because it used magic to protect its assets. No, what made Tutu’s unique was one of the strongest security features: its moving systems.
Vaults, lockboxes, and all storage spaces were organized into blocks that moved underground through various docking bays. When a client came in and requested to see their storage space, the block was summoned and brought into the loading station. The block was then shuffled off into one of several viewing rooms—which we couldn’t see from this angle—for client privacy.
I picked a form at random, plucked up one of the fancy pens—emblazoned with the franchise logo and a dragon—and started doodling on it. When I glanced up, I caught sight of a nervous woman.
She was standing by the entrance, wearing a full winter jacket despite the sheen of sweat that gleamed on her forehead.
I looked back down at the forms. “By the doors,” I whispered to Considine. “Female. Human, I think. She’s not wearing any wizard House crests.” I pointedly looked at the tellers, who were helping a fae noble complaining about annual fees.
The werewolf guard stationed by the counter nearest to us must have overheard our whispered conversation, because I saw his eyes slide toward the woman, too.
“I see her,” Considine said. “If we approach her together, she’s going to run.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “I’ll go after her.”
“That’s too dangerous, you have no idea in what manner she’s armed,” Considine whispered as he leaned over me with an adoring expression befitting our couple front.
“Yes, but I look a lot less dangerous than you do.”
“That’s your opinion.”
“That’s reality. Besides, this could be nothing.” I squeezed his hand, then said in a louder voice. “I forgot some of the information we need in the car. I’ll be right back!” I placed the doodled-on form in front of him, pulled my hand free from his, then headed for the entrance.
I wished I’d worn a pair of sunglasses—then I’d have an easier time looking at the stressed-out woman without drawing her attention.
She was in maybe her late thirties, and had long black hair that had to be dyed based on her untinted, blonde eyebrows. I didn’t recognize her, but I was certain she was a true human, and not a wizard or a sub-variety of wizards. Her eyes almost popped out of her head when one of the guards stationed deeper in the building walked past the edge of the lobby with a young hydra wearing a harness and vest getup like what some police dogs had.
I paused at the entrance, directly next to the woman, trying to see if I could figure out what she was doing.
She clutched a cellphone. Technology was allowed in Tutu’s, so why did she have a white-knuckled hold on it?
I took too much time, and her eyes—hazel—met mine.
Shoot!
I looked back over my shoulder to wave at Considine—giving myself a reason to linger.
He was standing with the werewolf guard, holding the form I’d given him—they were talking about the woman, I’d bet.
