reported. That was why the âUnaffiliatedâ part of âPrivate Unaffiliated Paranormal Investigationsâ was so important. The Cosa entire wasnât exactly filled with love and trust: Council looked down at lonejacks, lonejacks sneered at Council, and the fatae thought most humans were jumped-up Johnny-come-latelies, Talent only a little bit better. And what most Talent thought of the fatae could be summed up in two words: treacherous bastards. Have you read a fairy tale lately? Not the Disney kind; the real stuff. Even the good fairies are not the type youâd invite in for tea.
I no sooner had the thought than I looked up and had my attention caught by a good-looking guy sitting across the train from me, slouched in his seat, leather jacket nicely scruffed and jeans worn white in interesting places. Whilenormally Iâm all about the good-looking bad boyâor, occasionally, girlâI shook my head and smiled, to his obvious disappointment. The gills at the side of his neck were a dead giveaway, if you knew what you were looking for. Pickups were all well and fun, but Iâd learned my lesson about playmates on office time. Anyway, mer-folk werenât my thing. Sardine-breath was a total turnoff.
Although it was reassuring to know that some human/fatae relations were still going strong.
The subway dumped me out at my stop, and I emerged into a distractingly normal scene: bright sunshine and busy traffic; people going in and out of the stores and buildings that lined our street. There were only two teenagers lounging on the stoop of the building next to oursâeither the usual gang had decided to go to school today, or theyâd gotten jobs. I gave the two a distracted wave, but didnât pause for our usual exchange of friendly catcalls.
I was buzzed into our lobby by the current-lock the Guys had put there to let team members in without needing to worry about a key, and took the stairs slowly, feeling the burn in my legs. We had an elevator, but I didnât like using it. It wasnât fear, or guilt, exactly. None of us used it anymore, unless Stosser herded us into it, like he had this morning. There were bad vibes in that shaft. And the exercise was good for me, anyway. Current burned calories, but it didnât build muscles.
âAnyone home?â
The office was quiet, and the coffeemaker was turned off; two signs that I was the first back. Where the hell was Venec? It was almost lunchtime; maybe he had run out toget a sandwich? If so, I hoped he brought back extras: I suddenly realized that I was starving. There was a bodega on the corner that made a fabulous meatball grinder, if he hadnât brought in foodâ¦.
I dumped my coat in the front closet, and ran my fingers through my hair, trying to fluff it up. It was cut short again, curling around my ears, and was my normal wheat-blond color, for now. I had been contemplating going back to bright red, but the almost translucent whiteness of the ki-rinâs mane stuck in my head, and I started to wonder if it was time to bleach it all out againâ¦.
âAnd spend half a year waiting for your hair to recover? Maybe not.â I used to change my hair color the way Nick changed his socksâonce every week or soâbut bleaching wasnât one of my favorite pastimes.
Even as I was debating styles with myself, I was moving down the carpeted hallway, the weight of my gleanings a solid, unwelcome presence in my brain. Food, hair, everything my brain was churning over was just a distraction. I didnât want the gleanings in there any longerâ¦but I wasnât exactly looking forward to the unloading, either. I loved my job, but I hated this part.
The room next to Ianâs office was the best-warded one; the walls had been painted a soothing shade of off-white, and the pale green carpet everywhere else had been pulled up and bamboo flooring put down. There was a single wooden table and a single