Connor pointed to the directory on the wall straight across from the elevator, and from the listings, there was really only one choice.
Most of them were pretty standard, ending in “LLC” or “ amp; Associates.” Only one of the listings truly stuck out. It was three simple letters done up in a Gothic bloodred font. The clincher, of course, was the fact that they had been laid out on the directory to look as if they were actually dripping blood.
S.D.L., they read cryptically. An arrow pointed down the hall to our left.
“Not much for subtlety, are they?” I asked.
“If they were subtle, they wouldn’t be cultists, would they?” Connor said, and started down the hall cautiously. “I suspect we’ll find out soon enough what they stand for. You might want to have your negotiating tool ready.”
I pulled my bat free and hid it under my coat once it was extended. “Should be lethal enough if it comes to it, I think.”
“Just follow my lead, kid. Don’t be overhasty to use it, all right? If things get hairy in there, I’ll give you a signal.”
“Right,” I said.
My body was cold from the accumulated sweat of the downtown chase, but it was also a reaction to my discomfort with the situation. The idea of pulling my bat in defense against a group of humans, regardless of their fanaticism, didn’t sit well with me. Beating a bookcase to death was one thing. Attacking humans was another. I tried not to overanalyze the situation, wanting to take things as they came.
The frosted glass doors at the end of the hall gave no hint as to what went on behind them, but the letters “S.D.L.”-this time over a foot high-marked the entrance. Connor crouched and pressed his ear to the door, listening carefully while I tried to center myself with several deep breaths.
“I can’t hear anything,” he said. “They must be soundproofed, or else it’s a lot quieter in there than we’re expecting.”
“Maybe we should pull ourselves together before going in,” I said, tucking my shirt in. “It’s an office building, after all.”
“Fine, Mr. Blackwell,” Connor said.
He stood up, straightened his tie, and ran his fingers through his sandy mop of white-striped hair, which did nothing to change the frantic-looking muss. I checked my grip on the bat as I smoothed down my coat for lack of a tie to straighten.Appearance is everything, Quimbley had told me in one of the early seminars. If you looked calm and composed upon entering the unknown, it went a long way toward controlling whatever situation might arise.
“You ready?” Connor asked.
I shook my head.
“We’re never ready,” I said. “Doesn’t mean I’m not going through that door, though.”
“Good,” Connor said, clapping me on the shoulder. “And remember, no caving anyone’s skull in unless I tell you to.”
I paled at his suggestion, hoping it wouldn’t come to that.
I was prepared for a lot of things when it came to cultists and the dark arts, but what we saw when Connor threw open the doors took me totally by surprise.
12
Connor and I stepped into the spacious waiting area of a normal-looking office space. The furniture in the main reception area was sleek, silver, and modern. The walls were covered almost completely by inspirational posters showing kittens clinging to tree branches begging the workers toHANG ON, BABY! Other posters thanked God it was Friday. Motivational quotes were written across posters of dazzling sunsets and peaceful oceans. Hundreds of memos were plastered on a large bulletin board, many of which carried official-looking seals from the state of New York. Dozens of workers toiled away at desks, and each desk had its own pile of paperwork that threatened to topple over and bury the person working there. It was a little comforting that their office looked as overburdened as ours.
I recognized the mark of it all.
“Government work.”
Connor tapped me on the shoulder and pointed at the wall directly behind the reception desk. “They’ve got to be kidding.”
The letters on the wall were the same style as the ones listed out on the directory and the ones on the glass doors, except this time they spelled out the full name of the operation.
The Sectarian Defense League.
The receptionist sitting just below them at the desk was a heavyset woman with welcoming eyes and straight black hair pulled back so hard it stretched her face. She looked up from her magazine and noticed us for the first time. She smiled pleasantly…for a cultist.
“Can I help you?” she asked with the hushed tone of a librarian.
There seemed to be no need for the hysteria or theatrics that I was prepared to engage in, and I relaxed momentarily-even though I was still confused by what purpose this office served. These were businesspeople, reasonable office folk who could be dealt with in a civil manner. Things could proceed calmly.
And thingswould have proceeded calmly had I given Connor a chance to speak, but the cultist who had been swinging the kukri at us was too fresh in my mind and I snapped. This was where he had come. We were dealing with practitioners of the occult here and I rushed toward the desk.
“You’re damn right you can help us!” I said with menace. “We’ve come for the fish.”
The woman stared back, perplexed. I could tell she had no idea what I was talking about, but shehad to know something.
“Which fish is that exactly?” she asked nervously. Her smile faltered.
“You know what fish!” I said, and threw my jacket open, freeing the bat. I whacked it hard against the reception desk. The woman jumped back, startled, and nearly toppled over in her chair.
“Simon,” Connor said, reaching for my arm, “calm down.”
It was already far too late for calm. Every last person who had been working at the desks had leapt up and surrounded us. At first glance this assortment of temps and assistants had looked like any other group of office workers, but now I could see the raving fanaticism in their eyes. These were a determined-looking bunch of extremists that hid behind a thin veil of office pleasantries and seventy-dollar ties. We had to do something to gain control of the situation I had so hastily created…and fast. The mob of angry workers had us boxed in.
“Sorry about that little outburst,” Connor said, making direct eye contact with the receptionist. His grip on my arm became viselike. He pushed down until my arm and the bat slipped out of view below the counter. “My friend here’s a little…overtired. You see…we’re here on behalf of the D.E.A.”
“But we’re environmentally friendly!” the woman pleaded, still eyeing me with nervous fear. “We recycle. We don’t dump any contaminants. Honestly!”
In general the Inspectre didn’t like us throwing around the name of the Department, but we were still recognized by the city government and allowed to invoke that status if we thought it might have some sway.
“Not the Department of Environmental Affairs or the Drug Enforcement Agency,” I said bitterly. “The Department of Extraordinary Affairs.”
As soon as the words left my lips, the crowd around us snarled and began chanting in ever-increasing volume, drowning out Connor’s further attempts at reasonable negotiation. I moved back to back with Connor and surveyed the room for any signs of escape. With a bout of hopefulness, I noticed the mob of workers thinning in one particular direction and I thought this might be our chance to make a quick exit. Before I could grab Connor and drag him toward it, however, I saw the reason for the crowd’s dispersal.
A tall, shapely blonde plowed her way toward us with a clipboard in her hands. Her attractiveness and my chivalry aside, I wanted to smack theI know something you don’t know look right off her pretty blond head.
“I’m afraid you two will have to leave…” she shouted over the noise of the crowd. “Now.”