left. "Business casual," I called after him as he disappeared upstairs, though he probably wouldn't have a clue what that meant.
Twelve
"Thank you for your report, Agent Maxwell. Your request for reinstatement is denied."
Hermann Briggs was an unsmiling man under the best of circumstances, but as he faced us now, he looked positively dour. I'd met with the Austrian only once before, most of which had consisted of a thirty-minute tirade about the proper pronunciation of his name (Airrr-mahn) and the filthiness of American diction. After which, I'd privately dubbed him Airrr-mahn Munster, and hoped never to see him again.
So as luck would have it, he'd been chosen as our Society contact. And he seemed to have been grossly misinformed to boot. "With all due respect, Mein Herr --" I trilled the R's until the tip of my tongue began to go numb-- "I never asked to be reinstated."
By the drumming of his fingers on the tabletop, I could see my extra effort hadn't impressed him. "When you requested additional support for Zephylostrav...."
"HIM!" I interrupted, jabbing an impatient finger at Zeph, who looked up from his pasta in alarm.
Scowling, Briggs continued. "From the wording of your request, Father Markus believed you intended to resume your former duties. Given the nature of your release from his service, that request is categorically denied. If you wish to request assignment to another nephilim, feel free--however, don't expect too much. You were given a very generous settlement at the termination of your previous services. I cannot speak for my superiors, of course, but I believe they would consider this to be, how would you say? A done deal."
I'd sat through his monologue with what I hoped was a sickeningly sweet smile on my face. I cleared my throat before rebutting. "Listen real hard. I. Don't. Want. To be. Reinstated! I want you fools to clean up the mess you've made! What were you thinking, leaving Zeph without a Warden for over a year? He was a ticking time bomb the other night! Thank God he had the good sense to come looking for me instead of going on a rampage through--hey, where were you before you came looking for me, anyway?"
He'd had been staring at me wide-eyed from about the halfway point of my rant. He didn't answer my question. Instead, he said, "Father Markus made the right decision."
"Huh? About what?"
"Presumably about leaving him unwarded." Briggs set his fork down--he'd barely touched his food, anyway. "After the incident with Agent Simms, we were unwilling to risk another Warden to the job."
Guilt and humiliation radiated from Zeph in a palpable wave. "How is Ardith?" he asked softly.
Briggs flicked a glare at him, but looked steadily at me as he replied. "She has made an adequate physical recovery, though she still suffers from pain and delusions, and likely will for the rest of her life. She has refused any cosmetic surgery, saying what you did to her is beautiful and she never wants to forget it."
I swiveled fully around in my chair. "What did you do to her?"
He avoided my eyes, speaking toward his plate. "I told you."
"Not in enough detail, apparently."
"Does the Society's decision make more sense to you now?" Briggs condescended.
I took a long sip of my wine before answering. "No, actually. It seems even more like an asinine half-measure now than it did a minute ago."
"One we fully intend to rectify." He reached into his suit coat, pulling a thick envelope from an inner pocket. "The nephilim is to accompany me to our safe house in Prague, where his condition will be properly addressed. Enclosed you will find a passport and an airline ticket. I will meet you at International tomorrow evening."
At least, those were the words I thought I'd heard. Suddenly I could barely think as a bolt of remembered pain lanced through my upper body. Zeph's memory, but it felt so real I could hardly stay in my seat. My limbs twitched with the urge to fall on the floor and writhe. "Stop it!" I
Twelve
"Thank you for your report, Agent Maxwell. Your request for reinstatement is denied."
Hermann Briggs was an unsmiling man under the best of circumstances, but as he faced us now, he looked positively dour. I'd met with the Austrian only once before, most of which had consisted of a thirty-minute tirade about the proper pronunciation of his name (Airrr-mahn) and the filthiness of American diction. After which, I'd privately dubbed him Airrr-mahn Munster, and hoped never to see him again.
So as luck would have it, he'd been chosen as our Society contact. And he seemed to have been grossly misinformed to boot. "With all due respect, Mein Herr --" I trilled the R's until the tip of my tongue began to go numb-- "I never asked to be reinstated."
By the drumming of his fingers on the tabletop, I could see my extra effort hadn't impressed him. "When you requested additional support for Zephylostrav...."
"HIM!" I interrupted, jabbing an impatient finger at Zeph, who looked up from his pasta in alarm.
Scowling, Briggs continued. "From the wording of your request, Father Markus believed you intended to resume your former duties. Given the nature of your release from his service, that request is categorically denied. If you wish to request assignment to another nephilim, feel free--however, don't expect too much. You were given a very generous settlement at the termination of your previous services. I cannot speak for my superiors, of course, but I believe they would consider this to be, how would you say? A done deal."
I'd sat through his monologue with what I hoped was a sickeningly sweet smile on my face. I cleared my throat before rebutting. "Listen real hard. I. Don't. Want. To be. Reinstated! I want you fools to clean up the mess you've made! What were you thinking, leaving Zeph without a Warden for over a year? He was a ticking time bomb the other night! Thank God he had the good sense to come looking for me instead of going on a rampage through--hey, where were you before you came looking for me, anyway?"
He'd had been staring at me wide-eyed from about the halfway point of my rant. He didn't answer my question. Instead, he said, "Father Markus made the right decision."
"Huh? About what?"
"Presumably about leaving him unwarded." Briggs set his fork down--he'd barely touched his food, anyway. "After the incident with Agent Simms, we were unwilling to risk another Warden to the job."
Guilt and humiliation radiated from Zeph in a palpable wave. "How is Ardith?" he asked softly.
Briggs flicked a glare at him, but looked steadily at me as he replied. "She has made an adequate physical recovery, though she still suffers from pain and delusions, and likely will for the rest of her life. She has refused any cosmetic surgery, saying what you did to her is beautiful and she never wants to forget it."
I swiveled fully around in my chair. "What did you do to her?"
He avoided my eyes, speaking toward his plate. "I told you."
"Not in enough detail, apparently."
"Does the Society's decision make more sense to you now?" Briggs condescended.
I took a long sip of my wine before answering. "No, actually. It seems even more like an asinine half-measure now than it did a minute ago."
"One we fully intend to rectify." He reached into his suit coat, pulling a thick envelope from an inner pocket. "The nephilim is to accompany me to our safe house in Prague, where his condition will be properly addressed. Enclosed you will find a passport and an airline ticket. I will meet you at International tomorrow evening."
At least, those were the words I thought I'd heard. Suddenly I could barely think as a bolt of remembered pain lanced through my upper body. Zeph's memory, but it felt so real I could hardly stay in my seat. My limbs twitched with the urge to fall on the floor and writhe. "Stop it!" I
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