We started walking again and I told J.B. about Puck. When I finished he seemed stunned.
“Why would Puck take an interest in you?”
“That seems to be the question of the hour,” I said as we approached the front doors of the Agency.
“Puck never takes an interest in anything except himself, and maybe Titania,” J.B. said as we entered the lobby.
We had to go through the usual screening process—biometric scan, metal detector, abandonment of anything that resembled a weapon. I was glad I’d left Lucifer’s sword at home. It really bothered me to leave it with security. And now that the Agency management had decided I was persona non grata, it was possible that they might decide to confiscate it, and then I’d really be up a creek. That sword had saved my life more times than I could count.
“I don’t know why he’s interested in me,” I said as we entered the elevator just past the reception desk. “But I should tell you that I’m not certain he’s a faerie. Or at least, not only a faerie.”
“What do you think he is?” J.B. asked.
“He told me that he was older than Titania and Oberon, and said he’d been Lucifer’s enemy forever,” I said. “What could possibly be as old as Lucifer?”
J.B. looked troubled. “Not a lot.”
“That’s what I was thinking, too. Either he’s an angel or a demon in disguise, or he’s some creature we’ve never seen before.”
“Why would a creature of such power hide himself in Titania and Oberon’s court for centuries? Why would he pretend to be inferior to them?” J.B. asked as the elevator rose to our floor.
I shrugged. “You got me. Apparently I don’t think the right way. Every time I turn around I find machinations within machinations, and in case you haven’t noticed, being sneaky is not my strong suit.”
The elevator opened and we stepped out. There were still a fair number of people working at their cubicles, even though the hour was late. Death never slept.
“I’ll call you when I’m finished,” J.B. said, heading toward his office. “Be a good girl for an hour or so, will you?”
“Define ‘good,’” I said, but he was already out of earshot.
It was hard not to notice that other Agents gave me a wide berth as I walked to my cubicle. Chloe had told me I’d developed some kind of reputation in the Agency. I was hardly ever there anymore, and when I was it seemed that something crazy had happened around me, so I could see why nobody was interested in saying hello to me.
My desk was covered in a thin layer of dust. Apparently even housekeeping was afraid to enter my space.
There were a bunch of forms in my in-box, most of them related to pickups that I’d done over the last two months. I hung my coat on the hook in the corner of my cubicle and sat down with a sigh, pulling the papers toward me and taking a pen out of my drawer.
The Agency is pretty well locked in the mid-twentieth century, technology-wise. The forms have to be filled out by hand or typed on a typewriter, and there are four copies of each attached in different colors.
Many Agents had suggested that paperwork would be less onerous and more efficient if we could fill out the data on a computer, but upper management was not in the least interested in efficiency. They did not like change. Change implied that something had been done incorrectly before, and management did not like to be told that they had done something incorrectly. Which was probably one of the many reasons why they didn’t like me.
After about forty minutes of laborious printing, I dropped the pen on my desk and pushed my chair back. I was rubbing the cramp out of my right hand when I realized someone was standing in my cubicle behind me.
I whirled around and came to my feet, ready to defend myself if necessary, my hand automatically groping for the sword that was not there. My chair rolled on its casters and crashed into my desk.
A man stood there, a rather heavy man with an amused expression on his face. He was only a little taller than me, and his stomach was round and protruded in front of him. He had hangdog jowls, very little hair and small blue eyes.
“I assure you, Agent Black, that no violence is necessary.”
I dropped my hands to my sides. “Who are you?”
“My name is Sokolov, and I am the assistant to the chairman of the board of the Agency.”
“Really? The chairman?” I said, leaning back against my desk and crossing my arms. I was surprised that one actually existed. I’d always figured he was a figment of J.B.’s imagination. I’d never seen him. “What does the chairman want with a lowly Agent?”
“You are hardly lowly, Agent Black,” Sokolov said. “The chairman has asked me to tell you that your first responsibility is to the souls of the dead, irrespective of the complications of your paternity. As such, you are hereby ordered not to engage in any pursuit of Azazel the fallen angel, particularly as it relates to the incident of today.”
“The ‘incident’? You mean the one where a bunch of your Agents were kidnapped and a whole lot of innocent folks were killed because the upper brass wants to stick their fingers in their ears and say ‘la-la-la’?” I asked.
“It is not for you to question the actions of your superiors,” Sokolov said.
“Too bad I don’t think anyone is superior to me,” I said.
“You should be careful, Agent Black. You have people that you care about, do you not? You wouldn’t want to see them hurt because of your inability to take orders,” he said silkily.
I pushed away from the desk and marched up to Sokolov, getting in his personal space. He smelled like peppermint and onions.
“Don’t you dare threaten me,” I said, my temper snapping. “You don’t know what I’m capable of.”
“On the contrary, the Agency knows precisely of what you are capable. As a further notice, you are hereby warned that any further adventures beyond the Door will result in your immediate death at the hands of the Retrievers,” he said.
I blinked. “I haven’t gone beyond the Door. No Agent can.”
“You set off the alarms at headquarters at approximately four eighteen p.m. this afternoon. Your excursion was of ten minutes in length,” Sokolov recited.
“Four eighteen p.m.? But I was asleep…” I started to say; then my voice faded. That was when I’d dreamed of Gabriel, and Puck had appeared. I thought it had just been a fantasy implanted in my head by Puck. Had I really gone beyond the Door?
Sokolov nodded, as if he’d confirmed some suspicion. “Despite the fact that you were unconscious of your actions, you are not permitted to go seeking the soul of your loved one in the land of the dead. Should this occur again, you will be punished accordingly.”
“Going to send your bogeymen after me?” I asked.
“I would not sneer so if I were you, Agent Black,” Sokolov said. “The Retrievers would not be kind to you.”
“You’ve delivered your message. Now move along,” I said.
Sokolov’s face hardened. “You should take the Agency more seriously, Agent Black. We have the power to destroy you utterly.”
The Agency’s messenger boy turned on his heel and retreated from my cubicle. I pulled on my coat like I didn’t have a care in the world. I was sure they were watching me on the security cameras, and I didn’t want anyone to think I’d been even remotely affected by Sokolov. I picked up the sheaf of papers I’d filled out and walked toward the drop box where all the soul forms were collected. I pushed the forms through the slot and continued on to J.B.’s office.
His secretary was missing from the outer office, gone home for the day like a normal person who had a life. I knocked on the closed door and opened it before he could respond.