Naril
Abstract ProxySummoned to life by a loud ping that fell like a hammerblow against her skull, Val woke up with a cold sweat and the sickly sweet doom that seemed to have followed her back from the Pyramid Club. Fighting a wave of fear, she lurched upwards in a panic and gasped for air, desperately grabbing for her phone and then throwing it halfway across the room before she had even read the email that had brought her back to the land of the living. Burying a sob in her hands, she pushed the blankets aside with a low, weary sigh. She ignored the half-awake complaints from the woman next to her and the fumbling hand that reached for her shoulder. Val didn't remember her name. It was probably Sophia. It didn't matter.
She grabbed a crumpled t-shirt that lay in a pile of clothing at the foot of the bed and threw it on. It smelled of sweat and vodka. A small cloud of glitter attacked her and flashes of the previous night exploded past her retinas, smashing her visual cortex with bright strobe lights and visions of excess. Val grabbed her head between her hands and cursed. Magic infused drugs always kicked hard. And tequila never helped. The young alchemist sat down on the floor several steps later with another groan of pain. She fished a pill out of the back pocket of her discarded jeans and swallowed it dry. Praying for mercy, she grabbed her phone and began to read the latest alert. Squinting to read email 451 out of 450 unread, Val began to feel a growing sense of dread that manifested into absolute despair. Curling into a sad ball on the dusty, glitter strewn floor of her room the young wizard began to plead with the universe at large.
Work.
Work.
Not work.
Not now.
Please no.
Val studied the ceiling for several minutes as she contemplated the excuses she could make. Eleanor Tregellan didn't seem the type to buy a sad story. And the company still believed in her. She hadn't burned enough bridges for them to hate her. They didn't know her, not really. Not yet. The buzz from the pill calmed her. She breathed slowly, enjoying the tingling warmth that crept outward from her core. She was an artist. A real artist with drugs. It was a pity so few people knew. The office. Val closed her eyes and let herself fade from the moment. When she opened her eyes again words floated past her.
Eleanor. The Boss. Springsteen? No. Tregellan. Less Americana. More witchery. Val remembered her from the interview. All those freckles, all that competence, and those gold framed glasses. Val had felt out of her depth when talking to her. Tregellan had intimidated her.
"Fuck," Val muttered, feeling suddenly dizzy.
A rune danced in front of her. She saw a face. The old man from the office. He had strong Gandalf vibes, but where were the Hobbits? She'd heard he was a wizard. Someone had told her to stay out of his office, but she'd managed to sneak a peak when no one was looking. She remembered the mess and the ancient book, she'd wanted to look closer. Most of all she wondered where he was hiding the One Ring. Probably in the chest. Definitely in the chest. She'd have to get the key.
"Get a hold of yourself, Val," she admonished, slapping the side of her face lightly with a desperate laugh.
Davidson. The name meant nothing to her, but she heard faint music and an Ennio Morricone banger danced past her ears. A serious face and serious eyes. A gunslinger with guns, so many guns. She hoped he was like John Wayne. John Wayne in True Grit. Eye patches were cool.
Duclar. French. The name reminder her of Paris. It made her sad. She didn't want to remember. She saw the face of a young man. Blue eyes and a burning cigarette. A mad laugh echoed from nowhere and she tasted a hint of her own fear.
Val forced her eyes shut. She resisted the urge to scream and gulped down her anxiety. She couldn't let them down. Not yet. Not now. She needed rent money. She needed caffeine. And she needed a breakfast burrito. She had to get up. She had a job to do. Her mind made up, Val rose to her feet and walked out of her bedroom. She didn't bother putting on any more clothes. She wasn't a prude. She didn't believe in pants within the safety of her own flat. Well, Milo's flat, but she paid him. Trying her best to walk like a human and not a zombie, Val stumbled through the hallway, past the crumbling kitchen, and walked into the bathroom with a muted grunt in the direction of the bowler wearing young man sitting on the living room floor as he delicately fussed over a kettle of tea and ornate tea set. He waved back at her, but remained focused on his tea.
Slamming the door behind her, Val undressed and stepped into the shower. The cold kiss of water jolted her awake and she leaned her head against the wall as the water rose to an almost unbearable temperature. Beneath the falling water she felt tears on her cheeks. She needed a way out. She needed more time. She needed Cara. Hot water and soap did not banish her nightmares. She could still see the fangs. She could still smell the sickly sweet death that haunted her.
She had lived her life between nondescript warehouses for some years now, subsiding on a well-tested diet of coffee in Styrofoam cups, instant noodles, loud thumping music, and party drugs. But she'd fucked up. She'd fucked up and now she was trapped. The Sunday Group was her way out. It was her only chance. She could make a buck. She could get out.
A loud thump on the door interrupted her mid shampoo. Milo didn't like it when she wasted water. He said anything more than forty five minutes was a waste of money. Uninterested in another argument, Val turned off the water and wrapped herself in a nearby towel. She flashed him a finger as she walked past him and his low chuckle followed her back to her room. Her friend from the previous night hadn't moved much.
Thirty more minutes passed before the alchemist was ready. She had dressed reluctantly, perceiving real work to be suffering. Her black jeans were tastefully torn at one knee and her t-shirt was a loud electric blue. Feeling a need for some level of professionalism, Val put on a pair of scuffed green canvas sneakers that seemed more than cool enough for a business meeting. She hoped the rest of the Sunday Group would be pleased that she'd even taken the time to do her makeup. She grabbed her jacket from the chair where she had left it on her way out of the bedroom.
Still reaching for some semblance of calm, Val crossed the apartment and stopped at a thick metal door that seemed oddly out of place in a residential apartment. The door latch looked to be fashioned from the rear axle of an old Ford and had been haphazardly welded across the metal lined door frame. The alchemist pulled a key from her pocket and unlocked the door with a gentle twist. Val walked into the room deliberately, carefully disarming the trigger mechanism of the alchemical bomb she had readied and preventing a nasty explosion. She didn't bother to close the door behind her. Milo knew to respect her privacy. She felt a small rush of excitement at the thought of traveling again. She hoped they were going somewhere good. Somewhere cool. Somewhere with good music. Somewhere with good food. And somewhere where she could get pretty drinks decorated with fancy umbrellas on the company dime.
Idly dreaming, Val grabbed a tattered leather bag from a corner of the room where she had left it and eyed the shelves lined with vials of potion that covered all the walls of the room at alarming angles. She hummed to herself as she selected particular phials of pragmatic magic and slipped them into the canvas lined pockets of her bag. She didn't think she'd need a love potion. She hoped romance wasn't a part of the job. She hadn't signed up for that sort of thing. Instead she brought her own distinct takes on the classics. A potion to heighten the senses, a potion to facilitate a hasty escape, a potion to increase strength, and a potion to heal minor wounds. The key she mused to herself with no small measure of pride was adding cherry flavor. Content with her selections, Val added an assortment of alchemical ingredients, basic stock that would allow her to make some useful concoctions if things got heavy. Val closed her bag with a loud thud of metal clasps.
Without a second thought the young alchemist reached for a jar of small pills that she shoved into an empty bottle of Ibuprofen. Shaking the pill bottle playfully, she carefully stashed it in the inner pocket of her jacket. An elicit mixture of color coded arcane drugs of her own design, they varied in potency and effect, from mild buzz to psychedelic magic fueled trip into another plane of existence. They would help her ease the boredom she expected and numb the familiar pain. They'd help her escape herself. They'd keep her functional, but she doubted they'd do much for the nightmares.
The heavy door to the laboratory shut behind her. She had reset the alchemical trap. She wasn't taking any chances. Wrapping the bike lock through the latch, Val locked the door to her arcane collection and pocketed the key. Val trusted Milo, but she wasn't an idiot. He was a friend, a good friend, but friendships weren't an insurance policy when dealing with groups of cranky wizards drunk on their own moral superiority.
"I'm heading out, Milo", Val said, putting on her jacket. Wearing her armor, her memories, she finally felt ready, ready to face the world and the monsters that lurked in the shadows. At least that's what she wanted to believe. If she hadn't known better.
"A party, this early?" Milo asked as she reached for the door knob.
"No, I wish," Val complained, sighing loudly. "Work. Got a message from the office."
"Office? This that Sunday Group thing you were talking about? No more peddling drugs, ey? You gone straight on me girl?"
"Yes, I'm an upstanding member of society now, Milo," Val said, oozing sarcasm. She crossed her arms and nodded in the direction of her laboratory, "Keep on eye on things will you?"
"Sure, sure, you pay me for the privilege of two rooms and I will guard that privilege with my life."
"Wonderful, just don't let anyone into my room."
"Of course, that's what you pay me extra for," Milo answered without even a hint of offense in his voice.
"And if the cops show up just make sure to burn my kit before they get through the front door."
"What do I do if a council of wizards show up?" Milo asked with a raised brow and a smirk that betrayed his nature.
Val paused in thought for a moment and then offered a shrug, "If a council of wizards show up, make sure to burn my stuff even faster. I don't need them offering me more advice."
"Righto, napalm it is. Let's see those older geezers deal with that," Milo said with a laugh.
Val rolled her eyes at the young trickster, fighting an urge to call him a child. She gestured with a thumb towards her bedroom, recalling a recent complication, "Oh, there's a woman in my room, Sophia, can you make sure she leaves in a couple of hours."
Milo turned and looked at Val with sad eyes full of disappointment. Val knew that she had fucked up and the alchemist felt a wave of self-disgust surging through her. The hoodlum tutted softly, "Sarah, she said her name was Sarah. You'd do well to listen, just once, Val. You can't keep treating people like this."
"Yeah, ok. Sarah, that's what I said. Just get her out of my room."
"Yeah, yeah, but don't expect me to apologize for you."
"What's there to apologize for?" she hissed at Milo, trying her best to channel her shame into anger. Anger was so much easier to deal with. Before she could even turn the door knob, she heard Milo rise from his perch on the couch.
"Wait, hold up Val," Milo said. Even with the bowler hat on his head he was a good head shorter than Val and a fair bit younger. Val always hated how much older he seemed. He lorded his position as household authority over her and spoke of things like morals. She hated the jerk sometimes, but loved him more than she liked. Milo smiled and held out a paper shopping bag. Val made no move to grab the bag and Milo impatiently pulled out a gun from the brown paper bag,"On the house. Something to keep you safe. 9mm Para-fucking-bellum. Czech Steel. Shoots ace. Not a lot of kick. Will last you for a good hundred years. Clips loaded and you've got 16 rounds. Just don't forget to turn the safety off before you start blasting, yeah?"
"I don't need a gun, Milo," Val said, feeling her heart lurch in her chest. She wasn't a fighter. She wasn't even a sometimes fighter. She was a runner. She was a coward.
"Yeah, well wizards always say shit like that and then they take a round to the dome or find themselves eaten by some monster. You're an investigator now, Val, you gotta bring some artillery with you when you hit the streets."
"Fuck," Val said, regretting her life choices for only the fourth time in an hour. "If I get arrested I'm telling them you gave me this."
"Just use some magic, make it look like a rock or something. Use a glamor, can't be that hard. I've seen other pointy hatted fellows do it. Not like the TSA are gonna look that carefully, are they?" Milo replied with a wink.
"Fuck," was all Val weakly managed as she took the gun and stuffed it into her bag. She wasn't ready to kill.
Val strode into the company offices with her tired eyes hidden beneath a pair of sunglasses. She had stolen them from a shop rack on her way to the office. Free was almost always better than $179.95. The alchemist wielded a questionable breakfast burrito she had purchased from an even more dubious food cart in her right hand. She had an office. They had said so on her first day. Well, it was less of an office and more of a chemistry laboratory. She couldn't remember where it was. She didn't feel like asking. It was somewhere in the basement and the idea of stairs didn't appeal to her. She had survived the "L" and the walk down the platform and that was enough adventure for one day. The magical door was a nice touch. She was impressed. She wondered if the old wizard was around, she wanted to take another look at his office.
Anxiety coursed through her blood and Val reflexively palmed the vial of blood she kept in the pocket of her jacket. She wanted it. Even now, she wanted it. She needed it. She need it even now, but she knew that she'd really need it later. She'd need it if they got stuck wherever it was they were going. She'd need it if the job took longer than three days.
Uncertain of how far she was willing to walk, Val collapsed into a tasteful corporate sofa near the door that faced an elegant teak desk and a pretty receptionist. Val thought that she had met her before. Joanna, maybe, Blumenthal, probably. The alchemist would have been content to while her day away watching the slender hands of the secretary dance across her keyboard. There was something terribly exciting about 100 words per minute being knocked out that reminded Val of 150 beats per minute, neon lights, and exposed skin. Val took a slow breath in and felt the urgent pull of neurochemicals as they flooded into her ventral striatum. She felt better already. She felt at ease, but she needed coffee and she needed something to distract her from work.
"Hello!" Val quipped as she bounded to her feet, abandoning her half-eaten breakfast burrito.
"Hello?" the secretary replied, looking up at uncertainly at Val. Her eyes were deep pools of green that Val found terribly entrancing. Her blouse was killer. And her hair cut was stylish. Val liked her already.
"Miss Blumenthal?" Val asked, leaning closer, and resting her arms across the desk. Lips painted a bright turquoise pursed into a wavering smile and Val tucked a strand of stray blue streaked hair to the side.
"Yes, that's right, but please, call me Joanna," the woman replied with a warm smile. "What can I do for you today, Miss Kerensky?"
"I'm here for some sort of meeting?" Val began, gesturing broadly with her hands. "I'm not late am I? I really wanted to make a good impression on E—"
"Ummm, Miss Kerensky," Joanna interrupted.
"Yes, Joanna?" Val said.
"You have glitter all over your jacket."
"Ah, so I do," Val said with an impish smile. "How about you show me where the coffee machine is and I tell you how I got glitter all over my jacket?"
"I can just point you in the direction of the break room—"
"Oh no, that's no fun," Val said frowning sadly. She shifted even closer and tilted her neck just so. "I was hoping to ask you some questions about the office. I'm very curious about some of my colleagues. Particularly, the grey beard with the messy office."
"I guess I can take a short break," Joanna demurred with a short breath of excitement. Val didn't miss the hint of color that danced across her cheeks.
"Wonderful!" Val said positively purring. She offered a hand to the other women as she rose from her seat and leaned in close to whisper, "Now, about that glitter..."
She grabbed a crumpled t-shirt that lay in a pile of clothing at the foot of the bed and threw it on. It smelled of sweat and vodka. A small cloud of glitter attacked her and flashes of the previous night exploded past her retinas, smashing her visual cortex with bright strobe lights and visions of excess. Val grabbed her head between her hands and cursed. Magic infused drugs always kicked hard. And tequila never helped. The young alchemist sat down on the floor several steps later with another groan of pain. She fished a pill out of the back pocket of her discarded jeans and swallowed it dry. Praying for mercy, she grabbed her phone and began to read the latest alert. Squinting to read email 451 out of 450 unread, Val began to feel a growing sense of dread that manifested into absolute despair. Curling into a sad ball on the dusty, glitter strewn floor of her room the young wizard began to plead with the universe at large.
Work.
Work.
Not work.
Not now.
Please no.
Val studied the ceiling for several minutes as she contemplated the excuses she could make. Eleanor Tregellan didn't seem the type to buy a sad story. And the company still believed in her. She hadn't burned enough bridges for them to hate her. They didn't know her, not really. Not yet. The buzz from the pill calmed her. She breathed slowly, enjoying the tingling warmth that crept outward from her core. She was an artist. A real artist with drugs. It was a pity so few people knew. The office. Val closed her eyes and let herself fade from the moment. When she opened her eyes again words floated past her.
Eleanor. The Boss. Springsteen? No. Tregellan. Less Americana. More witchery. Val remembered her from the interview. All those freckles, all that competence, and those gold framed glasses. Val had felt out of her depth when talking to her. Tregellan had intimidated her.
"Fuck," Val muttered, feeling suddenly dizzy.
A rune danced in front of her. She saw a face. The old man from the office. He had strong Gandalf vibes, but where were the Hobbits? She'd heard he was a wizard. Someone had told her to stay out of his office, but she'd managed to sneak a peak when no one was looking. She remembered the mess and the ancient book, she'd wanted to look closer. Most of all she wondered where he was hiding the One Ring. Probably in the chest. Definitely in the chest. She'd have to get the key.
"Get a hold of yourself, Val," she admonished, slapping the side of her face lightly with a desperate laugh.
Davidson. The name meant nothing to her, but she heard faint music and an Ennio Morricone banger danced past her ears. A serious face and serious eyes. A gunslinger with guns, so many guns. She hoped he was like John Wayne. John Wayne in True Grit. Eye patches were cool.
Duclar. French. The name reminder her of Paris. It made her sad. She didn't want to remember. She saw the face of a young man. Blue eyes and a burning cigarette. A mad laugh echoed from nowhere and she tasted a hint of her own fear.
Val forced her eyes shut. She resisted the urge to scream and gulped down her anxiety. She couldn't let them down. Not yet. Not now. She needed rent money. She needed caffeine. And she needed a breakfast burrito. She had to get up. She had a job to do. Her mind made up, Val rose to her feet and walked out of her bedroom. She didn't bother putting on any more clothes. She wasn't a prude. She didn't believe in pants within the safety of her own flat. Well, Milo's flat, but she paid him. Trying her best to walk like a human and not a zombie, Val stumbled through the hallway, past the crumbling kitchen, and walked into the bathroom with a muted grunt in the direction of the bowler wearing young man sitting on the living room floor as he delicately fussed over a kettle of tea and ornate tea set. He waved back at her, but remained focused on his tea.
Slamming the door behind her, Val undressed and stepped into the shower. The cold kiss of water jolted her awake and she leaned her head against the wall as the water rose to an almost unbearable temperature. Beneath the falling water she felt tears on her cheeks. She needed a way out. She needed more time. She needed Cara. Hot water and soap did not banish her nightmares. She could still see the fangs. She could still smell the sickly sweet death that haunted her.
She had lived her life between nondescript warehouses for some years now, subsiding on a well-tested diet of coffee in Styrofoam cups, instant noodles, loud thumping music, and party drugs. But she'd fucked up. She'd fucked up and now she was trapped. The Sunday Group was her way out. It was her only chance. She could make a buck. She could get out.
A loud thump on the door interrupted her mid shampoo. Milo didn't like it when she wasted water. He said anything more than forty five minutes was a waste of money. Uninterested in another argument, Val turned off the water and wrapped herself in a nearby towel. She flashed him a finger as she walked past him and his low chuckle followed her back to her room. Her friend from the previous night hadn't moved much.
Thirty more minutes passed before the alchemist was ready. She had dressed reluctantly, perceiving real work to be suffering. Her black jeans were tastefully torn at one knee and her t-shirt was a loud electric blue. Feeling a need for some level of professionalism, Val put on a pair of scuffed green canvas sneakers that seemed more than cool enough for a business meeting. She hoped the rest of the Sunday Group would be pleased that she'd even taken the time to do her makeup. She grabbed her jacket from the chair where she had left it on her way out of the bedroom.
Still reaching for some semblance of calm, Val crossed the apartment and stopped at a thick metal door that seemed oddly out of place in a residential apartment. The door latch looked to be fashioned from the rear axle of an old Ford and had been haphazardly welded across the metal lined door frame. The alchemist pulled a key from her pocket and unlocked the door with a gentle twist. Val walked into the room deliberately, carefully disarming the trigger mechanism of the alchemical bomb she had readied and preventing a nasty explosion. She didn't bother to close the door behind her. Milo knew to respect her privacy. She felt a small rush of excitement at the thought of traveling again. She hoped they were going somewhere good. Somewhere cool. Somewhere with good music. Somewhere with good food. And somewhere where she could get pretty drinks decorated with fancy umbrellas on the company dime.
Idly dreaming, Val grabbed a tattered leather bag from a corner of the room where she had left it and eyed the shelves lined with vials of potion that covered all the walls of the room at alarming angles. She hummed to herself as she selected particular phials of pragmatic magic and slipped them into the canvas lined pockets of her bag. She didn't think she'd need a love potion. She hoped romance wasn't a part of the job. She hadn't signed up for that sort of thing. Instead she brought her own distinct takes on the classics. A potion to heighten the senses, a potion to facilitate a hasty escape, a potion to increase strength, and a potion to heal minor wounds. The key she mused to herself with no small measure of pride was adding cherry flavor. Content with her selections, Val added an assortment of alchemical ingredients, basic stock that would allow her to make some useful concoctions if things got heavy. Val closed her bag with a loud thud of metal clasps.
Without a second thought the young alchemist reached for a jar of small pills that she shoved into an empty bottle of Ibuprofen. Shaking the pill bottle playfully, she carefully stashed it in the inner pocket of her jacket. An elicit mixture of color coded arcane drugs of her own design, they varied in potency and effect, from mild buzz to psychedelic magic fueled trip into another plane of existence. They would help her ease the boredom she expected and numb the familiar pain. They'd help her escape herself. They'd keep her functional, but she doubted they'd do much for the nightmares.
The heavy door to the laboratory shut behind her. She had reset the alchemical trap. She wasn't taking any chances. Wrapping the bike lock through the latch, Val locked the door to her arcane collection and pocketed the key. Val trusted Milo, but she wasn't an idiot. He was a friend, a good friend, but friendships weren't an insurance policy when dealing with groups of cranky wizards drunk on their own moral superiority.
"I'm heading out, Milo", Val said, putting on her jacket. Wearing her armor, her memories, she finally felt ready, ready to face the world and the monsters that lurked in the shadows. At least that's what she wanted to believe. If she hadn't known better.
"A party, this early?" Milo asked as she reached for the door knob.
"No, I wish," Val complained, sighing loudly. "Work. Got a message from the office."
"Office? This that Sunday Group thing you were talking about? No more peddling drugs, ey? You gone straight on me girl?"
"Yes, I'm an upstanding member of society now, Milo," Val said, oozing sarcasm. She crossed her arms and nodded in the direction of her laboratory, "Keep on eye on things will you?"
"Sure, sure, you pay me for the privilege of two rooms and I will guard that privilege with my life."
"Wonderful, just don't let anyone into my room."
"Of course, that's what you pay me extra for," Milo answered without even a hint of offense in his voice.
"And if the cops show up just make sure to burn my kit before they get through the front door."
"What do I do if a council of wizards show up?" Milo asked with a raised brow and a smirk that betrayed his nature.
Val paused in thought for a moment and then offered a shrug, "If a council of wizards show up, make sure to burn my stuff even faster. I don't need them offering me more advice."
"Righto, napalm it is. Let's see those older geezers deal with that," Milo said with a laugh.
Val rolled her eyes at the young trickster, fighting an urge to call him a child. She gestured with a thumb towards her bedroom, recalling a recent complication, "Oh, there's a woman in my room, Sophia, can you make sure she leaves in a couple of hours."
Milo turned and looked at Val with sad eyes full of disappointment. Val knew that she had fucked up and the alchemist felt a wave of self-disgust surging through her. The hoodlum tutted softly, "Sarah, she said her name was Sarah. You'd do well to listen, just once, Val. You can't keep treating people like this."
"Yeah, ok. Sarah, that's what I said. Just get her out of my room."
"Yeah, yeah, but don't expect me to apologize for you."
"What's there to apologize for?" she hissed at Milo, trying her best to channel her shame into anger. Anger was so much easier to deal with. Before she could even turn the door knob, she heard Milo rise from his perch on the couch.
"Wait, hold up Val," Milo said. Even with the bowler hat on his head he was a good head shorter than Val and a fair bit younger. Val always hated how much older he seemed. He lorded his position as household authority over her and spoke of things like morals. She hated the jerk sometimes, but loved him more than she liked. Milo smiled and held out a paper shopping bag. Val made no move to grab the bag and Milo impatiently pulled out a gun from the brown paper bag,"On the house. Something to keep you safe. 9mm Para-fucking-bellum. Czech Steel. Shoots ace. Not a lot of kick. Will last you for a good hundred years. Clips loaded and you've got 16 rounds. Just don't forget to turn the safety off before you start blasting, yeah?"
"I don't need a gun, Milo," Val said, feeling her heart lurch in her chest. She wasn't a fighter. She wasn't even a sometimes fighter. She was a runner. She was a coward.
"Yeah, well wizards always say shit like that and then they take a round to the dome or find themselves eaten by some monster. You're an investigator now, Val, you gotta bring some artillery with you when you hit the streets."
"Fuck," Val said, regretting her life choices for only the fourth time in an hour. "If I get arrested I'm telling them you gave me this."
"Just use some magic, make it look like a rock or something. Use a glamor, can't be that hard. I've seen other pointy hatted fellows do it. Not like the TSA are gonna look that carefully, are they?" Milo replied with a wink.
"Fuck," was all Val weakly managed as she took the gun and stuffed it into her bag. She wasn't ready to kill.
Val strode into the company offices with her tired eyes hidden beneath a pair of sunglasses. She had stolen them from a shop rack on her way to the office. Free was almost always better than $179.95. The alchemist wielded a questionable breakfast burrito she had purchased from an even more dubious food cart in her right hand. She had an office. They had said so on her first day. Well, it was less of an office and more of a chemistry laboratory. She couldn't remember where it was. She didn't feel like asking. It was somewhere in the basement and the idea of stairs didn't appeal to her. She had survived the "L" and the walk down the platform and that was enough adventure for one day. The magical door was a nice touch. She was impressed. She wondered if the old wizard was around, she wanted to take another look at his office.
Anxiety coursed through her blood and Val reflexively palmed the vial of blood she kept in the pocket of her jacket. She wanted it. Even now, she wanted it. She needed it. She need it even now, but she knew that she'd really need it later. She'd need it if they got stuck wherever it was they were going. She'd need it if the job took longer than three days.
Uncertain of how far she was willing to walk, Val collapsed into a tasteful corporate sofa near the door that faced an elegant teak desk and a pretty receptionist. Val thought that she had met her before. Joanna, maybe, Blumenthal, probably. The alchemist would have been content to while her day away watching the slender hands of the secretary dance across her keyboard. There was something terribly exciting about 100 words per minute being knocked out that reminded Val of 150 beats per minute, neon lights, and exposed skin. Val took a slow breath in and felt the urgent pull of neurochemicals as they flooded into her ventral striatum. She felt better already. She felt at ease, but she needed coffee and she needed something to distract her from work.
"Hello!" Val quipped as she bounded to her feet, abandoning her half-eaten breakfast burrito.
"Hello?" the secretary replied, looking up at uncertainly at Val. Her eyes were deep pools of green that Val found terribly entrancing. Her blouse was killer. And her hair cut was stylish. Val liked her already.
"Miss Blumenthal?" Val asked, leaning closer, and resting her arms across the desk. Lips painted a bright turquoise pursed into a wavering smile and Val tucked a strand of stray blue streaked hair to the side.
"Yes, that's right, but please, call me Joanna," the woman replied with a warm smile. "What can I do for you today, Miss Kerensky?"
"I'm here for some sort of meeting?" Val began, gesturing broadly with her hands. "I'm not late am I? I really wanted to make a good impression on E—"
"Ummm, Miss Kerensky," Joanna interrupted.
"Yes, Joanna?" Val said.
"You have glitter all over your jacket."
"Ah, so I do," Val said with an impish smile. "How about you show me where the coffee machine is and I tell you how I got glitter all over my jacket?"
"I can just point you in the direction of the break room—"
"Oh no, that's no fun," Val said frowning sadly. She shifted even closer and tilted her neck just so. "I was hoping to ask you some questions about the office. I'm very curious about some of my colleagues. Particularly, the grey beard with the messy office."
"I guess I can take a short break," Joanna demurred with a short breath of excitement. Val didn't miss the hint of color that danced across her cheeks.
"Wonderful!" Val said positively purring. She offered a hand to the other women as she rose from her seat and leaned in close to whisper, "Now, about that glitter..."
