Night Shift (Kate Daniels #6.5)(64)

I stood absolutely still as a troll who had to be eight feet tall lumbered down the aisle next to mine and into the IT department’s cube farm. He sat down in an office chair that shrieked in a torture of steel. Of course, everyone else saw a slight, blond, and bespectacled man in a white shirt, tie, and khakis.

I swallowed. “Yes. Terribly.”

Some supernaturals who could pass for human didn’t bother with glamours most of the time. They’d just use clothing to cover their more identifying features. Coats or jackets to cover wings. Hats to cover horns or pointed ears, or sunglasses to cover larger or brighter-than-human eyes.

“The human employee breakroom is around the corner and through the first door on the right. And don’t worry about human-inappropriate snacks being left on the table. We have a strict rule about food in the office. Those employees who require what might be disturbing to our human colleagues have their own breakroom. Badge entrance only.”

“So . . . if there’s Girl Scout cookies on the table in the human breakroom, they don’t contain real Girl Scouts.”

“Correct.”

I’d been joking. I didn’t think she was.

When a supernatural was predisposed to see you as food, you had to go the extra mile to earn their respect. It was kind of like a human being told that they’d be working with a cow. Aside from the obvious lack of intellect—cows being dumber than a bag of rocks—there was the whole working with your food thing. Not much incentive for respect and teamwork.

The politics of an inter-species and inter-dimensional workplace promised to keep me on my toes. I was more than thankful for my two weeks of orientation training where I’d learned more than I ever thought there was to know about supernaturals, up to and including the best way to avoid being swallowed by an annoyed lindworm, and the proper etiquette for greeting a Bolivian basilisk. Very carefully.

Mine was an empty, sad-looking desk. The name plate on the desk read: “Irvine Schremp.” Jenny quickly picked it up with an apologetic grin.

“So what happened to Irvine?” I asked.

Jenny glanced around without moving her head. “Exsanguinated by a school of giant North American sewer leeches.”

I froze. “Drained?”

“Bone dry. They even sucked out his marrow. All in less than a minute.”

Breathe, Mac. Just breathe. Full medical coverage. Full medical. It’s a good thing.

While my eyes started involuntarily darting around to find the nearest exit—just in case, of course—I saw that on the desk closest to mine was a collection of items I wouldn’t have expected to see outside a horror movie or a psycho’s happy fun-time imagination.

And a dental plan. A good one.

There were four shelves on the wall filled with everything from action figures from an assortment of fantasy and horror movies to shell casings from impossibly large guns. More than a few of the monster action figures were missing their heads, or had sharp, pointy objects sticking out of their torsos.

My confusion and concern must have been apparent.

“Desk flair,” Jenny explained. “Mementos of particularly memorable missions.”

The name on the desk plate read: “Ian Byrne.”

“He collected all this him—”

“Oh, no. If your fellow agents deem your actions deserving, they’ll give you desk flair. It’s quite the honor around here.”

This Ian Byrne had been a busy boy.

“Ian’s really good at eradication,” Jenny said.

I glanced at the nightmare-inducing trinkets. “I can see that.”

I looked around at the other field agents and their desks. The only ones that had more flair belonged to vampires and werewolves.

“Ian is the highest-producing human in the company. A real go-getter. He was a detective with the NYPD for five years and was in the military the seven before that. You’re in for a real treat.” Jenny’s green eyes sparkled with near fan-girl glee. “In more ways than one.” She lowered her voice. “You’re the envy of every succubus and half of the incubuses in the company.” She quickly held up her hands. “Though rest assured, SPI has a zero-tolerance policy in place for harassment of any kind—from sexual to trying to have a coworker for lunch.” Jenny suddenly looked distracted, tilting her head to one side. “Madame Sagadraco would like to see you now.”

“Are you telepathic?” River hags weren’t, but I could see where it’d come in handy for attracting a human who was playing hard to get to join her for a dip.

Jenny tapped her right ear with a long, pink-lacquered nail. A really pointed, pink-lacquered nail. She smiled in her cheerful flash of pushpin teeth. “Bluetooth.”

We took an elevator up to the fifth floor and the executive suite. “I’m sure Madame Sagadraco will be with you in just a moment.” Jenny gave me a little finger wave and closed the door quietly behind her, leaving me completely alone in a wood-paneled waiting area that reminded me of something out of Hogwarts.

I’d been introduced to Vivienne Sagadraco, the founder and CEO of SPI, at my final interview before being hired. Maybe she met with every new employee, or perhaps being the only seer in the New York office had earned me the special treatment. The other agents referred to her as the dragon lady, but until I’d met her in person, I hadn’t realized that was meant literally.