CHAPTER FOURTEEN
1872 Words
The elevator chimed as the car settled on their floor. John had to hold onto the railing for a moment to hold his stomach down. It was bad enough that his hair brushed the top of the car, setting off his claustrophobia, but the express movement had made him motion sick. He got out last and felt better with his feet on solid decking.
“Ro-baby, you okay? You look gray.”
“I’ll be fine, hon,” John said after gulping back some sourness.
Allie looked over the landing. the frosted glass entry to DuBois Mercantile just down the dark green wallpapered corridor to their left. The polished marble tile floor clicked from her heels as all three walked up to the door. John’s steps were silent as usual, despite his size. It always disconcerted Allie that no matter where they were, even on dirt and gravel roads, she could never hear such a big man walk. She made a note to ask him about it once they got out of the building.
That is if we get out of the building, she corrected herself. She knew full well that all three were well past skirting legality impersonating Federal Agents. They locked people up for that, fresh air and sunshine piped in every other Sunday, if you were lucky. She tried to ignore the twinge of conditioned guilt she felt flashing the fake badge. “Act like you belong, and no one will question it,” an old saying of her grandmother’s that popped into her head as she pulled on the door’s brushed metal handle.
The lobby was a sharp contrast to the warm browns, reds, and dark greens of the rest of the building. The bright white walls were nearly blinding against the white polished floor. Reminds me of that movie from the other week, Alien Covenant; the opening scene in the white room and the throne. The lobby was open to the rest of the workfloor, scattered as it was with short walled cubicles. There wasn’t anyone behind the thin espresso reception desk. There wasn’t anyone on the floor from what the three could tell. Several banks of lights were still off with a few exceptions scattered throughout the open floor plan.
“I guess we’re too early.” Becca said, breaking the silence.
“Then who unlocked the doors?”
“Over there,” Allie said, pointing across the floor to a set of darkly stained wooden double doors. There was another desk just outside the doors’ swing radius. Sitting on the blotter was a half-full steaming coffee cup, a picture of an adorable kitten chasing a butterfly adorning its surface. A few creamy bubbles spun on the surface. The rich smell filled the air as the trio made their way closer to the door. Just as Allie reached up to knock, the doors opened suddenly.
“Oh! s**t!”
“Excuse me?” Allie raised an eyebrow at the young lady that was now clutching her chest.
“I’m sorry!” Veronica lowered her head in apology. “I mean, ‘Do you have an appointment?’” Her dark face was flushed red in embarrassment.
“Oh! No, sweetie,” Becca said, switching on her charm. “We were hoping to see Mr. DuBois ‘off the books’ as it were. We’re working on a case and were hoping that he might be able to help us as a consultant.” She flipped out her fake badge and flipped it back before it could be closely scrutinized.
“Oh! A case!?”
“Don’t worry, your employer isn’t involved but we do need his expertise. Do you think he would mind?”
Veronica chewed on her full lower lip as she considered the request. She looked back over her shoulder as though she could see through the opaque wood.
“Let me ask,” she said meekly after a noticeable pause.
She opened one of the doors a sliver and slipped through. Becca watched her carefully as she left, tilting her head slightly as she caught a flash of white fur dangling beneath the hem of the young secretary’s short skirt. A knowing smile began to crack on her face before she brought herself back into a semblance of disciplined focus. Through the door they heard the secretary’s muffled soprano followed by a brassy tenor. She returned seconds later.
“Mr. DuBois is concluding with another matter and will see to you momentarily.” She waved at a small bank of padded black chairs against the wall. “Would you care for something to drink while you wait?”
So polite, thought Allie. If she types as well as she takes care of visitors she would be a perfect secretary.
“We should be fine,” John rumbled. “But thank you, Ms…” He quickly looked at the nameplate on her desk before flashing her a kind smile. “Ms. Marlow.”
Veronica sat down at her dark spindly deck and trained her focus on her monitor. The swift clack-clack-clack of a keyboard echoed through the mostly unoccupied room. They sat down to wait. While Aliie scrolled through her phone, Becca started drawing on a small notebook she had in her suit jacket’s inside pocket. The scratching from her pencil on the course heavy paper did nothing to drown out the keyboard. John sat there looking around the office, his hands folded into a dhyana mudra on his lap, the fingers of one hand overlapping the fingers of the other with thumbs touching as though he was gently holding an egg.
John carefully opened his awareness and immediately began to feel sick. From behind DuBois’s office doors came waves of unsettling force. It was as though it was trying to insinuate itself inside John, possessing him. John instinctively threw up his mental shields to guard his psyche from the onslaught. Disembodied whispers began to worm their way in and John shook his head as if to shake them out of his ears.
Allie felt the movement and looked up from her phone at him, seeing his furrowed brow against unusually pale skin. She reached over to his hands.
“Are you okay—”
She trailed off as her hand met his and the whispers began to assault her as well. She felt the waves push at her from the door causing another influx of voices. Old voices to her, in a language that was somehow familiar despite the archaic phonemes. Her studies so far had included Gaelige, Modern Irish, as it was the language used by the Order when using means of communication that had a possibility of being monitored, but she hadn’t been exposed to Old Irish yet. Despite her lack, she was beginning to understand what the whispers were saying: promises of power, of wealth, of long life. She pulled her hand away and the whispers faded. She continued to look at him.
“I’ll be fine, Allie,” John finally said after pausing to close his third eye. “Must be something I’m allergic to,” he said softly, winking at her.
He looked over to see what Becca was sketching. It was the secretary but instead of what she was wearing, a light blue women’s business suit with pencil skirt, but in leather harness complete with fox ears and tail while posing for an OnlyFans photo shoot.
“Ma’am,” John started. “You have a singular focus.”
Becca just looked up at him and smiled, proud of the fact and hearing the admiration in his tone outweigh the sarcasm that his words would normally convey.
“Mr. DuBois is ready to see you now.”
“Thank you Ms. Marlow,” Becca said, closing her sketchbook and getting up from her seat. She kept her professional face on and gathered the other two up with her eyes. John got up and held the door open as Allie and Becca passed the threshold. The office looked like more of the same, stark white, but had a large mirror-backed glass shelf behind DuBois’s desk. There were various items and mementoes scattered sporadically on the staggered shelves. John’s eye glanced over the clear slabs and found the source of the promising whispers, an old knife with a blackened pitted blade: Nemhain’s Talon.
Even with his awareness subdued with his shields and closed third eye, he could still see the swirling mass of power that emanated from the object. The promise of all that power shook him to the core. It was a struggle of will to tear his eyes away from the Talon. Allie and Becca sat in the only two seats other than the magnate’s in the room. John stood behind them, hands clasped loosely behind his back.
“Ms. Marlow says that you are from the Bureau? What can I do for you?”
“We are from the Seattle office here on special authority. You can contact our section chief at this number if you’d like to verify,” Becca handed DuBois a white and blue business card with the “Seattle” office number embossed on the thick cardstock. “During our investigations into one of your competitors, we found evidence of a corporate spy in your organization. Not only has he been passing corporate secrets to your enemies, but we found evidence that he’s also been selling state secrets to… well let’s just say to people not interested in the continued security of the United States.”
“Wh-what would you like from me?” DuBois was obviously shocked at the sheer bluntness of the redhead.
“Overtly, nothing. Covertly, we would like your cooperation in catching this particularly enterprising individual. You don’t have to answer right away,” Becca said. “I’ll leave our contact information with your secretary.”
“Of course…” DuBois was a bit speechless. He was expecting a long drawn out meeting. Probably for the best, he thought as the three “agents” left.
After a few minutes, he paged Veronica on the intercom.
“Ms. Marlow, have they left?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That was close,” he chuckled. “I’m almost glad you talked me into letting you wear your dress before making coffee.”
“Sir?”
“Yes, Ms. Marlow?”
“May I please have my panties and blouse back, sir?”
“No, but you may bring me some more coffee. Maybe you can negotiate for them too…”
“Yes, sir.” She smiled to herself. She had some ideas on how to “negotiate.”
***
“Was it there!?” Becca asked excitedly.
“Oh, yeah. Allie?”
“Yeah, I saw it.”
“But were you able to ‘see’ it?”
“Yes, actually. The whispers faded when I let go of your hand but…”
“Yes?”
“I can still see, I guess you call them auras, right?”
“Yes.”
“It’s starting to fade though. Weird!”
“So, now what do we do?” Becca asked thoughtfully.
“‘Step one, underpants. Step three, profit,’” John quoted.
- Writer
