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Well, that was embarrassing.
Almost shooting my boss, that is.
Rykerwore his dark brown hair swept back from his forehead and a beard and mustache neatly trimmed to frame his jaw line. With a dash of silver at his temples, he looked like a reformed pirate. Certainly the way he took over reminded me of a captain on the command deck of his ship.
In the aftermath of Ryker’s arrival, things began happening in short order. After telling me to maintain my cover of the intruder with my weapon, Ryker checked on Miss Climpson. To my relief, he pronounced her stunned, but coming around. Then he pressed a button under the edge of her desk, causing a greenish light to bathe us all in a sickly hue. After a bit, there was a faint odor as well, like the air after a lightning strike. Ryker then told me to stand down. I lowered my weapon but remained on alert. The prisoner howled in dismay and began sobbing incoherently.
“I don’t like it, either.” Ryker’s voice lacked any trace of sympathy as he glared down at the prisoner. “But we can’t have you changing on us. I’m surprised and disappointed in you, Billy. You of all people should be on our side.”
Billy? Something other-than-human went by the name of Billy? It boggled the mind. That, and the fact my employer knew the intruder.
Had I imagined Billy’s hands turning into claws?
Ryker grabbed the man by the arm and hauled him to his feet with surprising ease, seating our ‘guest’ with little care for his comfort in the nearest chair. My boss moved with the studied elegance I associated with fencing; I pictured him with a foil in his hand. He reminded me of the mysterious golden-eyed stranger in the office on the day of my interview—there was a similarity of grace there. Instead of swooning at Ryker’s forceful handling of the situation, however, I felt frustrated once more by not knowing the whole story, of being an outsider.
“Side? You think you’ve chosen a side?” The prisoner, unaware of my musings, bared his now human teeth in a sneer. “It’s going to come down to us against them, Ryker, and you know it. Sooner or later, us against them.”
“So you thought you’d steal from Redclaw?”
“Do I have to spell it out? These things, these incredible tools, they’re meant for us. To give us the advantage over them. You’re collecting them and locking them away. It’s stupid.”
Ryker shook his head. “You have no idea what these devices are capable of. No one does. That’s what we’re trying to figure out here.”
“Yeah, well, some people think Redclaw shouldn’t be making all the decisions,” Billy said with snide bravado, which faded when Ryker turned a burning glare on him.
“You’re working for Rian, aren’t you?”
I didn’t know who Rian was, but I knew I never wanted to be on the receiving end of such a look from my boss.
“I didn’t say nothing!” Billy’s sharp voice rang with anger, and perhaps a touch of fear.
Ryker stared at him a moment longer and then turned to me. “Miss Bishop, if you’d see to Miss Climpson? I’ll handle our prisoner.”
A whine grated in Billy’s voice. “What are you going to do with me?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps de Winter will have some thoughts on the matter.”
“Hold on, now. You don’t have to bother the Council over this little business, do you?”
“If you’ve seriously injured Miss Climpson, I’ll deal with you myself.” The chill in Ryker’s voice left no doubt his manner of dealing with Billy would be highly unpleasant. But then he shrugged. “As for bringing de Winter and the Council into the matter, you’ve left me little choice.”
Whoever this de Winter fellow was, the thought of his involvement in the matter turned Billy pale. I moved away to check on Miss Climpson, who stirred feebly.
In due course, I had her sitting in the most comfortable of the visitor chairs with an icepack purchased from the local five and dime resting on the goose-egg lump she had on the back of her head. A hot cup of tea, laced with a shot of Mr. J’s brandy, brought the color back into her cheeks. She fixed a glare on Billy as soon as she could focus her eyes. If looks could kill, she would have drawn and quartered our good friend Billy on the spot.
Ryker telephoned Russo, who arrived with a young man I’d never seen before. Where Russo was dark, the newcomer’s freckles and flaming red hair spoke of Irish descent. The two men stood guard as Ryker went into Mr. J’s office and came out with a set of manacles that gave off a faint green glow. Billy put up a bit of a protest, struggling to avoid having his wrists cuffed, but the fight went out of him as soon as the cuffs were on. After Russo and his helper led Billy away, Ryker flipped the switch under Miss Climpson’s desk and the lighting in the room returned to normal.
A sense of pressure in my head that I hadn’t fully realized yet, receded, the more noticeable for its absence.
Mr. J came bustling in, worried and anxious for Miss Climpson’s wellbeing. Ryker let him fuss and tut-tut for a bit, and then asked him to make sure nothing had been stolen or damaged. Miss Climpson offered to help, but Ryker ordered her back into her seat.
Ryker fixed his gaze upon me. “Miss Bishop. A word with you in my office, please.”
I followed him out into the corridor and down the hallway, past the restroom facilities and to an unmarked door I’d assumed was a utility closet. Inside was a small office, much smaller than I would expect for the head of the firm. At the same time, an authentic Persian rug carpeted the floor and a heavy mahogany desk gleamed in the overhead light. Which made the Magic 8 Ball sitting on the corner of the desk a bit incongruous.
Once again, I wondered how Ryker had observed the workings within the main office, and where he’d been during Miss Climpson’s attack.
Ryker, who’d gone over to a sideboard similar to the one in Mr. J’s office, glanced back over his shoulder when he heard me mutter, “Damn.”
“Problem, Miss Bishop?”
“I just realized I put a bullet hole though my favorite purse.”
Ryker’s unexpected laugh startled me; a sound rich with true amusement. “What I like most about you, Miss Bishop, is that you seem more upset over the ruined purse than the person you shot. Do have a seat.”
I placed my clutch on the desk and took the guest’s chair.
“May I offer you something? Some tea? Or perhaps you need something a bit stronger?”
To my utter embarrassment, my voice quavered when I spoke. “Tea would be lovely.”
“Ah.” Ryker set down the decanter he’d just picked up and opened a drawer in the sideboard instead. “Reaction setting in, I dare say. The best remedy seems to be chocolate.”
He peeled back the paper wrapper of a Hershey bar as he approached and held it out to me.
It was all I could do to refrain from shoving the candy whole into my mouth and leave smears of chocolate around my lips. Instead, I managed a lady-like nibble, eyeing my boss as he took his seat behind the desk opposite me.
Ryker leaned back in his chair and tapped his fingers together. On closer inspection, he was older than I’d thought. Besides the touch of silver at his temples, tiny lines formed around his brown eyes. “I imagine you have questions.”
I nodded. “Several. What will happen to Billy?”
He blew air softly through his lips. “He will have to answer for his crimes.”
“But not to the police.”
Ryker shot me a sharp glance. As I continued to eat the candy bar, a slow smile creased his lips. “No. Billy violated certain, ah, community laws. He will appear before those leaders.”
I nodded. Billy had mentioned the Council. “Like the Freemasons? A secret order?”
“Something like that.”
Approval seemed to simmer in Ryker’s eyes, although I wasn’t quite sure what brought it about. If I had to guess, some underlying amusement resided there as well. Determined to show nothing but complete composure, I folded the paper around the rest of the chocolate and laid the bar beside my purse on the desk. “So you won’t involve the police? Despite the shooting?”
“No. And you needn’t worry about his recovery. He’ll be fine.”
I lifted an eyebrow at his presumption. “I shattered his kneecap.”
At the very least, Billy would need surgery. Or would he? Billy had seemed quick to rally until Ryker had turned on the green light.
“Ah, yes. Your concern for our lunchtime intruder does you credit. Rest assured, Billy will receive whatever treatment he needs. And our people are fast healers.”
Our “people”?
“Sir, was it my imagination, or did this man start to...?” I wasn’t sure how to complete my sentence. Perhaps I was guilty of reading too many pulp magazines. They made a nice change from the classics, but they had a sad tendency to influence my dreams. Could they affect my waking thoughts as well?
No, I know what I saw.
Ryker didn’t make it easy for me, merely lifting his own questioning eyebrow.
“Just as he was about to attack me, his nails became claws and his face sprouted fur.” Before Ryker could call me crazy or tell me I was imaging things, I said in a quiet but firm voice, “I saw him change.”
“Ah. I was hoping you hadn’t noticed that.” With a heavy sigh, he went back to the sideboard and poured whiskey into two tumblers, returning to the desk to hand one to me.
I hesitated before accepting the glass. Given my father’s fate, more than most people, I had good reason to avoid alcohol. Yet, whiskey seemed like a better choice than tea right now, especially since tea didn’t seem to be forthcoming. When Ryker had taken his seat again, I continued, “I also noticed when you pressed the switch under Miss Climpson’s desk, you seemed confident Billy no longer posed a threat. Did you turn some kind of dampening field on him? What did he want? Was he after the mechanical spider?”
My questions caught Ryker as he took a sip and he choked. Setting the glass down, he looked at me with mild astonishment. “My word, Miss Bishop. In another century, they’d have burned you at the stake.” À propos of nothing, he added, “What do you go by? Henrietta?”
My eyes narrowed. In my experience, you couldn’t trust bosses who asked for personal information. “My friends call me Rhett,” I spoke each word with careful deliberation.
He nodded. If he sensed my wariness, he had chosen to ignore it. “Very nice, indeed. It suits you.” Something of my expression must have registered with him because he held up a hand. “Please believe me when I say I have no designs on your person. It’s just that I feel you’re wasted in a secretarial position, and I don’t want to keep ‘Miss Bishoping’ you. Unless, of course, you prefer it.”
“You may call me Bishop, if it’s easier.”
He seemed delighted by this. “Like I would Russo or the others? Except for Miss Climpson. She could never be anything other than that.” He leaned forward with a conspiratorial smile. “At least to her face.”
I coughed to conceal a small laugh. No one called Miss Climpson ‘Climmy’ in her presence. In fact, I’d chosen to do so when confronting the intruder solely to alert Miss Climpson I was aware something was wrong, had she been able to hear me.
Ryker picked up his tumbler again, staring into its amber depths. “How would you like to be a field agent, Bishop?”
He hadn’t answered my questions, but his offer was intriguing.
“I suspect I would like it very much, as long as it doesn’t involve sitting in front of a typewriter. What does a field agent do and does the position come with a raise?”
He chuckled at that. “Well, you may have noticed we’re on the lookout for certain unusual artifacts.”
I took a sip of my whiskey. It burned going down but left me with a warm, steadying glow. Dutch courage, but I’d take it. “Artifacts and people.”
“Yes. Two different sides of the same issue. Ever since the war, the world has changed at a rate faster than many of us can adapt to. Some people wake up to find their entire lives turned upside down. New technology is being discovered, some of which is incredibly dangerous. My colleagues and I are a small but dedicated group of people trying our best to keep our world safe as these new challenges appear.”
“Do you think they have something to do with the world-wide use of atomic weapons?”
Ryker’s brows came down over his eyes. “What makes you say that?”
I set my tumbler on the desk, lining it up alongside my purse, the chocolate, and the Magic 8 Ball. “The map in Mr. J’s office pinpoints the locations of many of the atomic weapons test sites. The lines of string identify areas in which some of these artifacts have been recovered by Redclaw. An astonishing number of artifacts are found near areas of nuclear activity.”
He looked confused, so I added, “I made a point of looking up the areas in question to see if there was anything distinguishing about them. The one consistent factor was their proximity to a nuclear detonation.”
Ryker’s expression went blank for a moment, and then he took out a small gold case. With slow deliberate movements, he struck a match and lit a cigarette. He took a deep drag, blowing smoke out through his nostrils before speaking. “I’m glad to see my instincts about you were right. Mr. Jessop was against hiring you at first, you know.”
I swallowed hard. I didn’t want to know if werewolves or vampires or alien body snatchers surrounded me. At the same time, I couldn’t afford to operate in ignorance. The last time I’d turned a blind eye to events taking place around me, I lost everything in the world that mattered. “Because I’m not like you.”
“Yes, and no.” His voice was gentle. Smoke wreathed his head as he chose his words with care. “Whether or not you realize it, you have shown tendencies we normally associate with members of our community. Some of the technology has responded to you, which only happens to people of a certain genetic makeup. We think it’s possible you may have a recessive gene.”
With that, Miss Climpson’s obsessive interest in my work habits took on a different meaning. She hadn’t been waiting to see if I’d make a mistake as much as observing me in case I showed a flair for handling the technology.
Ryker met my eyes as he continued smoking, almost as if he could read my thoughts. For all I knew, he could.
“Redclaw has a big task ahead. Locating these devices before someone gets hurt, helping people adjust to the changes that have come into their lives, and helping them find family who have gone missing. Also, keeping the tech out of the hands of people who would use such information and power against others, including, sometimes, our own government.”
“When you say people who would use this technology against others, you mean ordinary humans pitting themselves against the ones who have somehow mutated since the use of atomic weapons?”
He gave a slow nod, as though he were giving himself time to craft a response. “We don’t think of it as mutation as much as coming into our real selves, but yes. Right now, our numbers are small. We need the help of smart, resourceful people such as you. The only typing you’ll do is the filing of your own reports. What say you, Bishop? Are you in?”
I didn’t know how to respond. Logic would dictate that I support the side of humans against the unnamed ‘others’ Ryker described. But Ryker seemed to suggest I wasn’t as human as I thought. Besides, I’ve always had a thing for the underdog.
Giving my boss a wry smile, I picked up the Magic 8 Ball and rotated it back and forth in my hand. It was heavier than I expected and, like some other objects I’d held at Redclaw, generated an odd warmth in my hands. I closed my eyes and thought about Ryker’s offer and then opened them as I rotated the ball so the advice printed on the floating triangle within appeared in the small window.
Trust your instincts.
I had to smile at that. Pretty sage advice for a kid’s toy. Looking up, I saw Ryker eyeing me. One eyebrow lifted, prompting me for my answer.
Was there ever any doubt I would say no? I set the toy back on the desk and held out my hand. “I’m in.”
Ryker shook my hand with a smile and then removed a file from a drawer on his side of the desk. He held it out. “Excellent. I have your first assignment.”
I opened it. To my utter surprise, attached to the sheaf of typewritten pages within was a small black and white photograph of the man I’d run into that day outside The Blue Moon. The man I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about. “Sir?”
“Meet Peter Knight. A former atomic scientist who has dropped out of sight. A British ex-pat who came over during the war to work with the government but has now gone missing.”
My heart sank at the sight of the photo. Though my impression of the man on the street was fleeting, I was sure this was the same person. The same elegance of bone structure, the same hard line of his jaw. Even though the image was in black-and-white, the photo captured the clear intensity of his eyes. But if Redclaw was interested in finding him, then he must be nothing like I had imagined. “So he is... one of you then?”
I couldn’t say “us.” Not yet. I was still reeling from the revelation I might have the gene.
Ryker frowned, stubbing out the remains of his cigarette. “I don’t know, though it seems unlikely. As far as we can tell, the shifter gene is present in not quite ten percent of the population at this time. But the person best suited to evaluate and catalog the technology has decided against helping us. Which means Redclaw has to look outside its usual pool of applicants for someone with the same scientific background. The full resources of Redclaw are at your disposal, naturally. If you find him, we’ll take over from there.”
I’d do more than find him. I’d bring him in. I’d prove to Ryker—and Redclaw—he was right to hire me.