Ugh.
No wonder I was so crabby tonight.
“You’re late.” Bishop licked his lips with a smacking noise when he caught me staring at his blood mustache. “We’ve been waiting.”
“An hour. Half that was spent talking to the POA. You saw me.” I gestured to the live feeds. “You have a billion cameras mounted across the city, and you watch my every move like I’m the star of your favorite television series.” I indicated the blank monitors. “No one is waiting. They’re probably running late, as usual, just like me.”
As much as I would like to claim I set a sterling example for the team by showing up on time to every meeting, I would be lying through my teeth. Between the circuitous route I took to get here, and never knowing where here was, I ran late as often as everyone else.
Gathering this many people, with lives and jobs outside the OPA, and on short notice, was plain hard. We were lucky when two-thirds of us showed and blessed when we had a full house.
On his way past, he caught sight of Bonnie and almost dropped his mug. “That is not a corgi.”
“No, it’s an Andulian liver worm from the planet Balfonz that I stuffed into a fur suit I bought off eBay. Using its newfound powers of adorableness, it will infiltrate our society. Soon we will all call it master.”
“Can you stop being a geek for five seconds and tell me what the actual hell you’re doing with that gwyllgi on a leash? I hope you asked her permission first. Otherwise, it was nice knowing you. She’ll kill you when she gets free.” He swept his gaze over her again. “Unless… Is the leash spelled?”
“It’s not spelled.” I dropped it. “It’s not even real.”
To illustrate my point, Bonnie vanished the leash and the collar.
“Can I pet her?” He squatted in front of Bonnie, a smile on his face. “She’s so much cuter pocket-sized. I just want to—”
Between one blink and the next, my corgi morphed, becoming a slavering beast ready to devour the arm he extended toward her.
Guess she didn’t like guys getting handsy with her in any form.
“Fuck.” He toppled back like a turtle stuck on its shell. “Damn it.”
The POA trusted Bishop with no caveats, and that meant I did too, whether I wanted to or not.
“We’re investigating the mutilation of nine people, and no one has considered this might have done it?”
A warning growl revved up Bonnie’s throat, and she took a menacing step closer to Bishop.
“Remember what we talked about?” I tugged on a handful of her fur. “The whole wearing-glamour-in-public thing? You need to stay, dare I say it, incorgnito. You’re also going to have to not eat people.”
Grumbling under her breath, Bonnie reactivated loaf mode. Back in her cutesy form, she trotted over to Bishop and offered her head to him for a pat.
“I’m not going to fall for the act twice.” He scrambled back. “Call off your dog, Hadley.”
“Snowball, behave.”
Now, I’m not saying normal dogs can do smug, I hadn’t been around enough to know, but this one sure managed.
“You had no problem with her before,” I pointed out.
“Then she was your problem.” He flexed his hand. “I’m a programmer. I need all my fingers.”
“Come on.” I clasped palms with him and hauled him onto his feet. “Let’s get this meeting started.”
Keeping a wary eye on Bonnie, he returned to his desk. “Her name’s not really Snowball, is it?”
“Only when she’s on four legs.” I shrugged. “And a corgi.” I noticed her sniffing a pair of his boots left out to dry from the last time he’d worn them, and I was grateful she wasn’t a boy who could hike her leg. “The rest of the time, she’s Bonnie.”
“Bonnie.” He tapped a finger on his chin. “Bonnie.” He cocked his head. “Bonnie Diaz? Joined the pack about eight or nine days ago?”
I wasn’t surprised Bishop knew her name and situation, at least the official version. He was a shameless gossipmonger, both officially and unofficially. We couldn’t afford to be caught unawares when we shared a city, what some might consider hunting grounds, with so many often opposing supernatural factions.
Even though I grew up a measly two hundred and fifty miles from here, Atlanta felt like a long way from home. There I mingled with necromancers, vampires, and humans, but that was as diverse as it got. Now I toed a dangerous line by willfully keeping company with a fae.
I wasn’t a necromancer, not really, not anymore. Maybe the Society’s rules no longer applied to me.
Ha.
As if I’d ever been that lucky a day in my life.
Bishop mashed a few buttons, and the shadowy outlines of two men and two women filled the topmost screens. Filters masked their features, and their voices to a lesser extent, but the POA insisted the team remain anonymous for their protection.
I knew the quartet as Lisbeth, Reece, Anca, and Milo, but I had no idea if they used their real names or pseudonyms.
Three of them weren’t just techs but had been deputized to patrol the streets. They wore black garbs to mimic the POA when he was in what we jokingly (except not) called Grim Reaper mode. The overall effect was of him being omnipresent, that you couldn’t walk a dark alley with bad intent without bumping into the guy.
As far as strategies go, it was ingenious. I had to give him that. It did make me consider if I would be expected to pick up the cloak and cowl if—no, when—I took on his role in order to maintain the image.
The apprentice gig meant I had to show my face, the same as the POA, so it’s not like the city wouldn’t know a new POA had been named. They were well aware I was in training, and I got no veil to hide under. I had to be transparent in all my dealings with the citizens of our fair city in order to build their trust in me. The public didn’t get a vote about who became their next potentate, but their good opinion was still worth bonus points in my favor…or against it.
Bishop clearing his throat interrupted my navel-gazing, but the squeal of delight that came next left my ears ringing.
“I’m in love,” Lisbeth announced. “That dog is the cutest thing I have ever seen in my whole entire life.”
“Who’s a little bread loaf?” Milo cooed. “You are, doggo. I bet you’re the tastiest bread loaf.”
Without knowing Milo’s species, I couldn’t decide if he was being funny, but that’s how I chose to interpret his comment for his own safety. Though it might be entertaining to watch a warg or vamp attempt to make a snack out of Bonnie only to have her explode into full-on gwyllgi mode and devour him in a hilarious role-reversal.
Proving she didn’t mind the opposite sex, as long as they stayed on their side of the monitor, Bonnie preened for Milo while he continued to call her various bread-based food items: bun, home slice, toasted ciabatta... As I was starting to reconsider, that he might be envisioning her as the meat in a corgi sandwich, Bishop muted his screen.
“What a lovely creature,” Anca murmured. “Her color is quite extraordinary.”
I noticed she didn’t call Bonnie a dog, but I let it slide. “Who knew they came in white?”
Not me. Probably not Bonnie either. Albinism—or was that amelanism?—occurred in all species, right?