Ian Byrne plus these guys equaled six SPI agents who were less than thrilled that I’d joined their ranks. I’d managed to gain half a dozen intensely resentful coworkers in less than an hour on the job, probably setting some kind of company record.
And I didn’t have to jump far to land on the conclusion that the five agents resented me because not only had I witnessed their humiliation; but as a seer, I was equipped to fix on my first night on the job what had landed them in trouble. Like any corporate newbie, I wanted to prove myself; but at the same time, I didn’t want to be that employee, the one who was followed by snide and resentful whispers wherever they went.
Vivienne Sagadraco had made it clear that failure was not an option. And being the sole employee who could see through any glamour those leprechauns could come up with, any further failure would be all mine, to have and to hold from this day forward. I wanted to keep my shiny new job. A human boss would deliver a tongue lashing, and write up an incident report for their personnel file. I wondered if vampires and dragons had a more fangs- and claws-on management style, resulting in the offending employee becoming the blue-plate special in the executive cafeteria. I knew I didn’t want to find out. And key to not finding out was to not disappoint the boss—or my manager.
The main conference room at SPI headquarters resembled a scaled-down version of the Security Council Chamber at the UN. I’d taken a tour when I’d first come to town and had decided to get the tourist stuff out of the way. That way when I got a call from back home, I could say “Been there, seen that.”
A massive U-shaped table dominated the room, with the light from a pair of projectors—one mounted in the ceiling, the other in the floor—coming together to form a hologram of SPI’s company logo, a stylized monster eye with a slit pupil. The eye slowly spun, a placeholder for whatever visuals were going to be used in the meeting. Plush and pricey executive office chairs were spaced every few feet around the table.
The five agents who were in the doghouse were wearing suits that screamed “feds”—at least that’s what they said to me based on my TV viewing. The other five agents—three men and two women, and presumably the ones tasked with cleaning up the Suits’ mess, were casually dressed. This included Ian Byrne. I hadn’t been sure what was considered approved SPI seer attire, so I went with slacks, blouse, blazer, nice pumps, along with a small silver crucifix and a water pistol filled with holy water—supernatural business casual.
Alain Moreau—aka my manager, the vampire—was standing preternaturally still and silent at the front of the room. In addition to being my manager, Alain Moreau was SPI’s chief legal counsel, second-in-charge, and Vivienne Sagadraco’s go-to guy. He wore an elegant black suit that probably cost more than my first car. His white-blond hair, pale skin, and light blue eyes reminded me of Anderson Cooper, minus the giggling and sense of humor.
After being hired and introduced to him, I’d immediately put a permanent park on any urges involving blood-sucking lawyer jokes.
Moreau quickly made the introductions. Since the Suits were in the meeting, presumably they were being given a chance to redeem themselves. That said good things about my new employer. I tried for a friendly smile at each handshake. Four of the Suits smiled back, apparently willing to let bygones be bygones. The last one decided that crushing my hand would make his ego feel better. I squeezed right back, managed not to wince, and kept right on smiling.
Asshat.
Then Moreau introduced me to the “Casuals.” Two of the men and one of the women were elves, and the remaining man and woman were human. A lot of elves found their way into police and federal agency work. For some reason, they had a thing for law and order. All of these agents seemed perfectly nice; and even better, none tried to break my fingers.
The ogre stepped forward. “Some background on tonight’s . . . challenge.”
He said that last word in a way that would easily translate to “fiasco.” Some of the Casuals were having trouble stopping smiles at the Suits’ collective expense. With the exception of the Hand Crusher, the others took the ribbing with good humor.
“Normally, SPI is not in the bodyguard business, but as a favor to the local Seelie Court, we escorted a soon-to-be-married leprechaun prince and his bachelor party buddies for a night on the town.” He glared briefly at the Suits. “Apparently, the prince didn’t want bodyguards.
“Our agents were tasked with keeping the prince and his party where we could see them,” the ogre continued. “As a refresher, a human’s gaze can hold a leprechaun prisoner. However, the instant the human looks away, the leprechaun can vanish. So where was the first place the prince and his roving bachelor party wanted to go? A strip club.” The ogre shot a glance at Alain Moreau. It was almost apologetic. “SPI prides itself on agents that are highly trained and disciplined.” He scowled. “Obviously putting five male agents in a strip club and telling them they can’t look proves that there’s been a training oversight on the discipline side because the prince and his boys flew the coop before the first G-string dropped.”
The Casuals couldn’t hold it in any longer. Snorts and snickers filled the room. Personally, I thought the biggest mistake had been sending in five straight male agents.
Hand Crusher had a red face. “Like you would do any better.” His comment was directed at a stylish red-haired woman sitting next to him.
“We can and we will,” she assured him. “Sir,” she said to the ogre, “never send a man to do a woman’s job.”
“Settle down, people.” The ogre’s voice went low, gravelly, vibrated the floor under my feet, and clearly meant business. “Leprechauns are masters of disguise and can make themselves look like anyone. We now have five magically disguised leprechauns running amok and unguarded through New York’s adult entertainment establishments.” He leveled those yellow eyes on every agent in the room, Suits and Casuals alike. “The prince made no secret of his bachelor party plans. And in the Seelie Court, information is just as big of a commodity as gold. Even if he’d tried to keep it secret, it wouldn’t have stayed that way for long. We have to find them before the opposition does.”
The ogre did some click and drag, and the SPI monster eye logo was replaced by five completely average-looking human men on the screen. There was a name below each photo.
“These are our subjects’ usual glamours.”
“Any chance they’ll still be using them?” Ian asked.
“Better than average. The agents originally assigned to the prince and his party will be deployed to the less likely but still viable clubs. They might get lucky.”
“That thinking’s what got them in trouble last time,” Ian muttered.
“What other form can they take?” the redhead asked. “Male? Female? Animal, vegetable, mineral?”
“First two, yes. Last three, unknown.”
“So we’re looking for a male or female who may or may not turn into something with four legs, roots, or a rock.”
That earned her some chuckles.
Alain Moreau stepped in, and the humor instantly vanished. “Apprehend them quickly and bring them here. We will keep them here until all five have been collected, at which time they will be returned to Belvedere Castle.”
I couldn’t have heard that right. Belvedere Castle had been built in Central Park in 1869. I’d visited during my round of doing the tourist thing. It’s a combination weather station, observatory, and exhibition rooms. And every Halloween, they have a haunted house. I would have definitely noticed if there’d been fairies living there.
“The one in Central Park?” I asked.
Moreau hadn’t told them where I was from, though judging from the smiles and barely hidden smirks, they’d figured it out as soon as I opened my mouth.
I’m from the mountains of North Carolina. My words have a couple of extra syllables; so sue me.