Night Shift (Kate Daniels #6.5)(63)

Why all the attention? From what I understand, it all started with two little words: indoor plumbing.

Folks usually think of creatures of myth and legend as living in fairy-tale castles, enchanted forests, and having magical this, that, and the other thing—but it’s basically a medieval kind of existence. And I don’t care how it sounds in books or looks in movies, that kind of life ain’t pretty. It doesn’t matter how highfalutin a Seelie royal you are, or how much magical mojo you’ve got going on, or how much gold and jewels you’ve got piled in your treasure room, you still gotta go. So for a Seelie royal, their chamber pot might be gold, but they’re still pissing in a pot. My grandma Fraser told me that the big influx to our world was kicked off by the invention of the flushable toilet. Heck, I’d cross over for indoor plumbing.

And now that human technology had reached smartphones, tablets, and other gadgets that would have previously been called magical, there was no keeping supernaturals away. Think about it. What would you rather have: one guy singing off-key with a half-tuned lute in your great hall, or Lady Gaga, the Stones, Hank Williams, Jr., or anyone else you wanted to hear. on your phone, anytime, at your fingertips? That there’s a no-brainer.

The wealthier supernaturals (Seelie Court royals and the like) or those with long life spans (or death spans, if you prefer) like dragons, vampires, and werewolves, have had time to save their pennies into hoards to be able to bankroll any lifestyle to which they wanted to become accustomed. Other less well-to-do supernaturals have come here wanting the same things as the rest of us: a good job, nice house, 2.5 kids/spawn, and a dog.

However, regardless of species—human or supernatural—there’s always a small percentage that are power hungry, megalomaniacal, or just plain bat-shit crazy. As an added bonus, their powers get a boost when they come here, which in turn has an unfortunate tendency to supersize their greed. And when the treaties or bindings that may have made them behave back home don’t mean squat here, you might as well put out a sign for the all-you-can-take-or-conquer buffet.

SPI’s mission is twofold: keep the world safe for supernaturals and humans alike, and keep humans in the dark about things that go bump in the night. SPI has offices worldwide, and their agents are recruited from the best of the alphabet agencies, police forces, military special ops, and are supported by the sharpest scientific and academic minds.

Then there’s me.

I wouldn’t be doing my new job with a gun, blade, or hand-to-claw combat.

I was the only seer in the New York office, and only one of five in the entire worldwide company. A seer’s job was to point out the supernatural bad guys, then step aside so SPI’s badass, commando monster hunters could take them into custody—or if necessary, take them out. As a seer, any veil, ward, shield, or spell any supernatural could come up with as a disguise might as well not exist. I could see right through them. I got the satisfaction of keeping the world safe, and I got full medical coverage. If Bigfoot was on a rampage hurting innocent campers, I’d hunt him with a butterfly net if it meant having a decent dental plan.

I’d gotten the grand tour when I’d officially accepted SPI’s offer—and after I’d signed a nondisclosure agreement. In blood. Mine. The head of HSR was a voodoo high priestess, which took contracts and company loyalty to a whole new level. I was supposed to have started a week ago, but HSR called me last week to say that they needed to push my start date. They were still paying me, so I was more than happy with a week’s paid vacation before I’d even started work.

“Your office is in the main agent bull pen,” Jenny was telling me as she led the way to a pair of massive steel doors. She looked human to everyone else, but I knew that she was a river hag, though “water spirit” was the more politically correct term nowadays. Though river hags mostly looked like humans anyway—that is, if you took a human, made her skin the color of the Wicked Witch of the West, and exchanged dental work with a piranha. I always thought they had to live in a body of water. Turned out any size body would do, and I’d been told that SPI had a pool in the basement for its water-dwelling employees to use during breaks. You didn’t need seer vision to spot them; they left wet footprints all over the place. During my two-week orientation, SPI’s hallways had always been dotted with those Warning: Wet Floor signs.

SPI’s New York headquarters was located under Washington Square Park in Greenwich Village. The SPI complex was deep and wide—eight stories of deep and the entire park’s worth of wide. There was a subbasement, basement, parking area, then what was called the bull pen on the main floor that was ringed with five stories of steel catwalks connecting offices, labs, and conference rooms. The bull pen was filled with desks, computers, people, and not-people. The largest shift was on duty right now—the night shift. Even supernaturals who weren’t nocturnal tended to do their thing at night. Humans were essentially the same, but without the fangs, claws, and paranormally bad attitudes.

“Our seers have always been assigned the corner office,” Jenny was telling me.

“Corner office” was right. My office was against the wall, in the corner.

“Our seers have preferred to be seated where they can see everyone,” Jenny explained at my less-than-enthused reaction. “No one else would know the difference if one of our more physically imposing agents walked up behind them, but as a seer, you see everything all the time.” The woman giggled and smiled, her perky petunia lipstick framing a mouthful of dainty fangs that were at odds with her pink sweater set and pearls. “That must be terribly exciting. How I envy you.”