“Sounds confusing,” she said. I nodded. “So you’re a part of the government then?”
“Yes and no,” I said. “We’re official, but they don’t really acknowledge us.”
“Really?”
I nodded. “Look around you. Are most government offices hidden behind a hipster coffee shop-slash-movie house? Remember that guy on the television before?”
It was Irene’s turn to nod.
“David Davidson. He’s our liaison to the Mayor’s Office. The fact is that the bulk of citizens in Manhattan-and more importantly to him, the registered voters-are simply not ready to cope with the notion that The Big Apple’s government deals in the supernatural. ‘Living Voters are Happy Voters!’ is his motto. Besides, most residents turn a blind eye to it anyway. It’s New York City. Weird shit happens.”
“And people just ignore it?” she said, fascinated.
“Mostly,” I said. “Even though it’s right under their noses. Most occurrences end up being reported in the daily New York rags. Urban Bigfoot in Central Park, alien abductions on the Great Lawn…”
Before I could finish my diatribe on the finer points of half-assed journalism, I sensed watchful eyes upon me. I scanned the room only to find Thaddeus Wesker-Matrixy sunglasses forever hiding his eyes-looking in our general direction while he verbally bitchslapped a team of people from his division.
“So Wesker’s in charge of both Greaterand Lesser Arcana now?” I asked.
I knew little about the man except that he was very, very scary. I had heard that he had impressed the Enchancellors by carving the latest batch of arcane runes into the walls by himself. I also knew that he seemed perpetually pissed off. Somehow, he still looked like slickness personified as he yelled at the elite squad-black hair slicked perfectly straight back and sporting just the right amount of five o’clock shadow at all times.
Irene gave him a quick glance and just as quickly turned away.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
“It makes me uncomfortable to look at him,” she said, her voice trembling with weakness.
“Relax,” Connor said. “It’s not you, Irene. Everyone gets the same spooky vibe from him.”
“Makes me wonder exactly how Mr. I-Wear-My-Sunglasses-at-Night got involved with us men in white hats in the first place,” I said.
Connor continued along the main aisle of the cubicle farm, and lowered his voice. “He volunteered to head up the Witchcraft backlog around here, kid, and when they merged departments with Greater Arcana during the City Hall budget crunch last week, he simply stared the other directors down for leadership. And he pulled that trick again over the newly formed Greater and Lesser Arcana that rose from the ashes.”
“Authority through intimidation,” I said. “Nice.”
Irene looked terrified.
“Don’t worry,” Connor offered with reassurance. “I don’t think you’ll have to deal with him.”
I smiled at Irene and stepped closer as we continued walking.
“When I was first training, the big threat for us newbies was that if I didn’t keep on my toes, the teachers would assign me to one of Wesker’s seminars over at Witchcraft.”
“Well, I don’t care for him,” Irene said. “He gives me the heebie-jeebies.”
“I said the exact same thing!” I exclaimed.
Connor looked at me with eyebrows raised, but said nothing. He turned and walked on.
The back part of the office was hidden from the front by a ceiling-length dark red curtain that ran from wall to wall. It deadened the sounds of the hectic world of the filers and cube dwellers for the rest of us working behind it. Connor pulled it aside and the three of us passed through the narrow gap into the back office. The atmosphere was more casual back here, but still too waiting-room for my tastes. We headed toward a quiet corner, where several leather couches were surrounded by a glass table that was cluttered with file folders and old coffee mugs. We waited for Irene to take a seat before the two of us sat.
The luck of the draw put Irene directly opposite me again. Now that we were a bit more familiar by a whole ten minutes of talking, I was able to look her in the eyes without shying away like a teen at a high school dance. Strangely, the life that emanated from her had woven its own little spell over me. My eyes fell into hers…for how long, I wasn’t sure. Connor cleared his throat loudly, pulling me out of it. Irene was still looking at me, smiling.
I blushed like a fool in reaction, feeling a strange mix of pride and embarrassment at being the focus of her attention. I looked to Connor for guidance, but he merely shrugged in response.Thanks, pal.
“Irene,” Connor said, clearing his throat once again. “I’ve got some good news and some bad news. Which would you prefer to hear first?”
She turned nervously back to me, seeking some kind of guidance, but I remained silent. The debriefing part of dealing with spirits was Connor’s territory and I wasn’t going to overstep my bounds here. In my first four months I had already stepped on enough toes while scrabbling to learn the intricate ropes of paranormal investigation.
“I think I’d like the good news first, please,” Irene said after a brief hesitation. One of her hands moved to cover her mouth as she braced herself. Even the good news might be dreadful.
Connor put on his most chipper voice and said, “The good news that the kid and I have to share with you is this: You havenot been relegated to a flaming, fiery hell, complete with pitchforks, demons…the whole works.”
I was sure he hoped his tone would lighten the situation but the panicked look in Irene’s eyes told me that Connor had failed completely. What remaining color there was in Irene’s face drained away. Her body flickered in and out. “If that’s the good news, I don’t know if I’m prepared to hear the bad.”
Connor scratched his temple, searching for the right words. I couldn’t imagine there would ever be a right choice of words in a case like this.
“Well,” he said, opting for unadorned bluntness this time, “let’s put it this way. You’ve recently become less…earthly.”
“Meaning what, exactly?” she asked.
“Meaning…” Connor said, drawing the word out like a sigh. He was buying time, hoping for inspiration to strike. It didn’t. Connor was off his game around her, for reasons I couldn’t quite figure out just yet. “Meaning…you’re dead. You’re what we call ‘the recently living,’ which is the PC term to use these days according to the Mayor’s Office.”
Irene slumped back against the couch, attempting to take in Connor’s sudden, life-changing (or was it death-changing?) statement about her entire worldly existence. I could only imagine what the poor woman was going through. I knew that I wouldn’t take it well if someone walked up to me and cheerily said, “Hello! Sorry to piss in your cornflakes, but you’re dead. Have a nice afterlife.”
Irene sat statue still for the next five minutes. Only the muffled sounds of the office indicated that the world continued on around us. Finally, she leaned across the cluttered table, and beckoned for us to lean in as well.
“I don’t buy it,” she said.
“Don’t buy it?” Connor scoffed. “You don’thave to buy it, Irene! It’s afact. You ‘buying it’ doesn’t change anything! As a matter of fact, you’ve already ‘bought it,’ if you follow my meaning. Look!”
Connor picked up the folders on the table and, one by one, threw them at her. Well, through her. They vanished into the space her semitransparent body occupied, but I heard them hit the fabric of the couch behind her. Gone was the sensitive Connor who opened doors for the undead-he obviously felt shock tactics were in order to get Irene through her “denial” phase. But it was too much for Irene and her eyes brimmed with tears as she attempted to brush the protruding folders away from her body.