CHAPTER Six MAKING IT WORK
Rosie had taken up the habit of having breakfast in her office in Edinburgh. Two poached eggs, a ginger scone, and Earl Grey tea. It was quiet and, if nothing else, the solitude helped her review the enormity of the work ahead of her and obsess about her feelings of inadequacy. Perhaps incompetency as well.
But that morning was different.
She traveled directly from her bedroom in Jefferson Unit, New Jersey to her office in Edinburgh, Scotia. No doors involved. When she arrived, she picked up the house phone to order breakfast.
When the kitchen answered, she opened her mouth to speak, but Grieve popped into the doorway. “Good mornin’, madam.”
Having thought she was alone, she was startled and jumped, her hand involuntarily flying to her chest as if to protect her heart from an attack.
“Good heavenly days, Grieve. I didn’t know you were here. You almost scared me to death.”
Grieve’s brows drew together above his glasses. He looked perplexed. “I was no’ aware your demise was so easily arranged. I shall be more careful. As to bein’ here. Of course I’m here, madam. ‘Tis mornin’. And there’s much to do.”
Rosie supposed she had it coming. The surprise that was. She’d certainly done the same thing to others too many times to count. The reason for the new ring tone policy had just been made crystal clear.
She realized the kitchen was saying, “Hello? Ms. Storm? Are you alright? Should we send someone?”
Speaking into the receiver. “Sorry. I’m fine. Can you send breakfast?” Pause. “Yes. My usual. Thank you.” She hung up and looked at Grieve. “I’m not easily offed, Grieve. It’s just an expression. You don’t have to be exceedingly careful around me.”
“Very well. I’ll be happy to order breakfast in the future. You have so many more important things to do.”
Rosie had to admit that Grieve had a way of making her feel more important than she had the day before. “That’s nice, Grieve. Thank you.”
“What are your preferences?”
“Two poached eggs. Earl Grey tea. And a scone. I like cranberry, blueberry, chocolate, and ginger. And I like to mix it up so that I don’t have the same thing two days in a row.”
“Very good.”
“So what are you working on this morning?”
She noticed that Grieve looked back over his shoulder at the outer office.
“You know what? Why don’t I come out there? You’ve probably got stuff on your desktop. Right?”
“I do have my desktop and tablet synced, but the larger monitor is easier to read.”
Rosie observed Grieve’s color heighten slightly, like he was embarrassed to admit his eyes were not the best.
Realizing that Grieve was going to make her life so much easier, that her feelings of not being up to the job had already eased, she was feeling stirrings of affection for the little guy.
“With your permission, I’d love to have breakfast in your office while you tell me what you’re doing with your morning.”
She couldn’t tell if Grieve looked relieved, because he didn’t make a show of emotion, or reveal his inner workings in any demonstrable way. But she did observe that his color returned to normal.
“That would be lovely. Please.” He gave the tiniest bow of his head and gestured toward the outer office.
Rosie was fairly amazed at the changes. Sometime between when she’d left the day before and whenever Grieve had arrived, a giant and elaborately carved rosewood desk had appeared. It was grand. A work of art. And so big it took up most of the office space. The top was covered with a three-quarter-inch piece of clear glass, no doubt to preserve the original beauty.
“Wow. You’ve been busy. When did you have the time to do this?”
“I did no’ move the furniture personally. They have people here who do such things. They accompanied me to the palace. I’ve worked at this desk for so many years, it feels like… home, in a way.” He looked up at Rosie. “Of course if you object…”
She laughed. “You can do whatever you want with your office space, Grieve. I want you to be comfortable. This desk… It looks like it should be in a museum.”
Grieve’s head jerked toward the desk as if he was looking at it anew, trying to see it for the first time. “Aye, well, ‘tis a gift from the prince.”
“I can’t imagine how he was persuaded to let you go.”
“The king will be retirin’ soon, passin’ things along. While I’ve been very satisfied with my position, I think ‘tis time for a change for both the prince and me. Expectations of him as king will be quite different. He should be guided by those with more experience in that area of service.”
“Very wise of you, Grieve. And his loss is my gain. You know you don’t need to be super formal with me, don’t you? I mean, I’m not royalty. I’ve never even been anybody’s boss before.”
“You’re quite wrong, madam. You are the closest thing to Black Swan royalty.”
“Why, Grieve. I’m feeling flattered by you.” She grinned. “So. Stop it. You’ll give me a big giant head.”
“As you wish.”
Rosie sat down on the club chair covered with blood-red velvet. It looked like Old World Stuffy period to Rosie, but was surprisingly comfortable.
“Sit and… what do they call it?” She brightened when the word came to her. She should know it. Glen used it often. “Brief me.”
Grieve looked even smaller than usual when he sat down behind the monster of a desk, but his considerable air of authority managed to supersede his diminutive stature.
“There’s so much to cover, I hardly know where to begin.”
“Order of importance?”
“I have no’ arranged a list accordingly, but off the top of my head, as they say, the first order of business should be the budget.”
“Budget?” Rosie said it as if she’d never heard the word. “I just assumed people would be paid according to scale and that it would be arranged through the Employee Resources Department after hiring decisions are made.”
“For your hunters. Aye. That is the protocol as I understand it. Last night I skimmed through the organization’s ways, means, and methods.”
“Last night?” Rosie sounded disbelieving, glancing toward the doorway to her office where the enormous three-ring binder had been given a permanent home on a shelf, never to be touched again.
“Aye. But administrative personnel are handled somewhat differently.”
“Administrative personnel?”
“Aye, madam. We can no’ bring your vision to reality with just the two of us.”
Rosie shook her head slightly. “No. Of course not. What do we have in mind?”
“My preliminary outlines of structure indicate we need at least four full-time staff. In addition to ourselves, o’ course. Employee Resources will negotiate compensation on your behalf, but we do need to work with our budget.” He looked around. “We also need a place to put them where they can be supervised. I believe we have two choices. There’s adequate space next to the library on basement level or we could put a door in that wall and claim the space beyond.” He gestured to the wall behind where Rosie was sitting. “There are two rooms that are currently unoccupied.”
“Golly, Grieve. Until a couple of minutes ago, I didn’t even know we had a budget. Truthfully, I’m still not sure of it.” She held up a finger. “You know what? Hold that thought. Or those thoughts as the case may be. I’m just going to step down the hall and get budget clarification.”
Grieve blinked twice behind his thick glasses, but said nothing.
Rosie hurried out. She said, “Hello,” as she breezed past Simon’s secretary. The man thought about trying to stop her, but then he realized he wasn’t likely to be any more successful than in past attempts. He wagged his head slightly and said, “Hello,” in a way that seemed grudgingly polite.
Rosie stuck her head in Simon’s office. He was on the phone. She waited.
When he ended the call, she said, “What’s my budget?”
He sighed. “Finally. It always comes down to that, doesn’t it? Surprised it took you this long. How much do you need and what do you need it for?”
“Grieve says we need four more staff people and a place to put them. He says there are two rooms on the other side of us. We could put a door in his office wall. He says they need supervision.”
“If Grieve says you need four more people to get this done, you probably do. You have clearance to hire and to reconfigure the space next to you. Your division is getting a budget priority.”
“Wow. Thanks. Somehow I thought this might be hard.” Simon redirected his attention to his computer, as if she’d been dismissed. “By the way, I decided on a title.”
Simon’s eyes slid to hers and his eyebrows went up as if to say, “I can’t wait.”
“Commissioner!” she said.
After a few beats and a large intake of breath, he repeated, “Commissioner,” in the driest, most non-committal tone imaginable.
That did nothing to damp Rosie’s enthusiasm. “Yes! Like in Batman. You know, the Commissioner of Police?”
“I’m rather pleased to say that I don’t know.”
“Only I’ll be the Commissioner of Paranormal Police.”
“Rosie, if it will make your dreams come true to be called Commissioner, it’s alright with Black Swan. The organization’s reputation can withstand a joke or two.”
She jumped high enough to get three inches off the ground and squealed a little. “Thanks, Sims. You’re my favorite.” Simon went back to his computer, shaking his head, knowing that Rosie said that to anyone with whom she was pleased at the moment. “Commissioner Storm. Let it be written.”
“Out.”
“And it’s not a joke. Exactly. More like a tribute.”
“Out.”
She threw herself into Grieve’s visitor chair, which protested with a slight creak. “He says money’s not a problem.”
Grieve cocked his head. “Well, that will certainly be different.”
“Why? The government has money problems?”
“All governments have money problems because people are involved. They’re always competing to try to get the most possible for their cause, whether that’s parkland for crops of fae dust or allowances for performance art.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
“How do we requisition people? And did we get permission to acquire the space next door for D.I.T.?”
“Yes. We have permission to punch a door in the wall and take over the rooms on the other side. As for, um, requisitioning people. I don’t know.” Haversfil stared until Rosie got the message. “Be right back.”
Five minutes later she was back and easing down into the red velvet club chair since it was, evidently, old and fragile.
“Give me the phone,” she said.
Haversfil looked at the cradle phone on his desk, which linked him to every other desk in the building. He shoved the unit toward Rosie, who dialed 4357. “Just remember HELP,” she said as she dialed. “It corresponds to 4357.” She looked away. “Hello. This is Commissioner Storm.” Grieve’s right eyebrow cocked at that. “I’m handing the phone to my assistant, Haversfil Grieve. He’s going to order up some office help. The expenditure has been approved by the Director.” Pause. “Okey dokey.”
She handed the receiver to Grieve and said, “Knock yourself out.”
While he was conversing with the staffing department, she trotted back down to Simon’s office. His secretary lifted his chin, but seeing who it was, went back to what he was doing.
“Who do we call about the space conversion?” she asked without preamble.
“Building maintenance. 6245.”
“Does that stand for something?”
Simon smirked. “Yes. Let me know when you figure it out.”
“Isn’t there a list of numbers somewhere?”
“Yes. Inside the middle drawer of your desk.” He stopped what he was doing long enough to look up. “Have you even looked inside your desk?”
She frowned slightly. “No.” Feeling defensive, she added, “I’m not a desk kind of girl.”
Simon sighed. “Nonetheless. You’ll save wear and tear on the Heriz rug outside my office if you check the list.”
She saluted and left without a word.
When she returned, Grieve was off the phone. “6245 gets you building maintenance. They’re the ones you need to talk to about the offices. And I guess there’s a list of who to call for what. Simon said it was in the middle drawer of my desk.” She hurried into her office, pulled out the drawer, and, indeed, there was a slick-looking directory about the size of a door hanger printed on thick glossy cardstock.
Grieve heard her shout, “Eureka!” from the other room. She dropped the directory on his desk. “Here you go. You need this more than I do.”
He looked at the list. “An excellent find, madam. I shall put it to good use. Would you like me to secure another for your use or make a copy perhaps?”
“You know, not really. I’d rather you just take care of all that stuff.” Grieve nodded. “Does that sound bad?”
Grieve turned to her with a quizzical expression. “No, madam. Why would it?”
“Because maybe I should be doing some of this myself?” She bit into her bottom lip.
For the first time, she saw a ghost of a smile on his generally expressionless face. It took a few years off his somewhat enigmatic age.
“’Tis no’ an idea that makes sense to me. I’m no’ inclined toward bargains, but will propose one for the sake of expediency. I will no’ attempt to hunt down varmints who have no business in our world if you will trust me with organization and administration.”
“Grieve,” Rosie said flatly, “I bless the minute Simon decided to take the decision away from me and send you. You’re an angel. Much more so than the real angels I know.”
“Then we are agreed. Is this a good time to sort through my ideas thus far?”
“Excellent.”
Grieve nodded. “Today I will meet with Building Maintenance about the offices. Hopefully we will also be able to set up interviews. For today.”
“You don’t believe in wasting time, do you?”
“’Tis the most precious thing you have and the one thing you can no’ get more of.” Grieve cocked his head. “O’ course, as I understand it, the probable length of your life is uncertain. I suspect it gives you a different perspective.”
“Maybe,” Rosie said carefully. “That doesn’t mean I’m not concerned about the lives of others.”
“No. O’ course no’. I did no’ mean to posit that suggestion. No offense was intended. Just an observation.”
“No offense was taken, Grieve. So you’re doing office and personnel today.”
“Aye. I’ve set up a meeting for you with Dr. Monq. I believe you know him?”
She rolled her eyes. “Inside out. What am I meeting with him about? Exactly.”
“Comin’ up with creative ways to get your hunters on a level playin’ field with elementals. If he’s successful with, em, Travelpass, ‘twill be only the first step in a process. As I’m sure you know.”
Rosie didn’t know what he meant, but didn’t want to appear totally incompetent. So she nodded. “What do you see as the second step?”
“Gettin’ your hunters the ability to step off world at will and run down troublemakers is all fine, but when they catch up with the beasties…” Referring to elementals as ‘beasties’ did cause Rosie’s feathers to stir a little, since some of those Grieve referred to as ‘beasties’ were friends and family, “…they need the means not to just defend themselves or remain unscathed, but to take the like into custody for whatever process the Director decides upon.”
“Unscathed,” she said drily. Truthfully she hadn’t thought about the dangers of sending Loti-born hunters up against elementals, and was a little shamefaced for having not considered it until pointed out by Grieve. Of course there were myriad problems with the entire scenario, some of which might be insurmountable.
She knew that Simon ran Black Swan like a chess player, always thinking several moves ahead, and she would bet that, even though she’d been stupidly oblivious to the hows of the operation, he probably had something in mind.
“Be right back,” she said as she darted out the door. Simon’s secretary looked up just long enough to roll his eyes as she passed. She stuck her head in his office.
“Let me guess,” Simon said without looking up. “It has just occurred to you that elementals would laugh at your hunters and perhaps extinguish the inconvenience with a swipe of the imagination.”
Rosie gaped. “Well, that explains a lot about your ruthless rise to power and the way you’ve held onto the job of top cop for so long.”
Simon turned her way and looked at her for the first time. In a not so friendly way. “There was nothing ruthless about my promotion to this position. I simply proved myself best person for the job. I’ve stayed here because I continue to be the best person for the job. Are we clear about this?”
“Indubitably.”
“Good.”
“But is that how you’ve done it? You’re a mind reader?”
“Do not be more ridiculous than usual, Elora Rose. I’m not a mind reader. I’m a student, and therefore predictor, of behavior.”
“Right? What am I gonna say next?”
He sat back and lazily lowered his lids to half mast. “You’re going to ask if I have a plan for sending hunters into other dimensions to track the purveyors of mystery and get them back safely.”
Rosie’s interest seemed to grow even more intense. “There’s no way you could come that close without…”
“Busy, Rosie. Limited time. Ask your question.”
“Did you…? Do you have a plan?”
“Partially formed because, frankly, you know a lot more than I do about how things not-of-this-world operate. I’m putting a lot of faith in the Black Swan Science Department.”
“Monq.”
“In short, yes. He’s known for miracles. But like a lot of geniuses, he can’t innovate to solve a problem until he knows what the problem is. In other words, you’re going to have to come up with your wish list. Figure out what you’d want if you could ask for anything. Then we’ll see how close he can come.”
“Okay,” Rosie said thoughtfully. “But it could take time to do that. Years even.”
“I see you don’t share my faith in the Monqster.”
Rosie’s eyes widened. Not only was it out of character, and extremely nerdy, of Simon to refer to Thelonius Monq as the ‘Monqster’, but it made Monq more…
“Simon. I think I’m beginning to understand you. You just made Monq seem more approachable so that I’d be able to think clearly when I meet with him.”
Simon smiled. “Keep me posted on your progress.”
He went back to whatever he’d been doing on his computer before she’d interrupted.
Feeling a little energized and a little excited after her talk with Simon, Rosie forgot about Grieve’s chair and threw herself into it.
It creaked.
Grieve winced.
Rosie pretended not to hear the creak or notice the wince. “He expects me to identify the problems for Monq. Kind of give him a direction, I guess?”
“A good plan. If it’s not presumptuous, may I inquire as to what you will say?”
Rosie slumped in the chair, then looked over her shoulder at the open door. She got up, closed the door that led to the hallway, and returned to the chair, easing down carefully. “Grieve. Can I count on confidentiality?”
She suspected the change in Grieve’s expression was as close to surprise as she would ever see. “O’ course, madam. I would ne’er repeat what I hear or see in my capacity as assistant to the Commissioner.”
Hearing Grieve’s self-assigned title made Rosie smile. “In that case, I’m gonna take a leap of faith and just put it all out there.”
“Very well.”
“I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“In an existential sense?”
“No. In the very real sense of being over my head in this job. I have no idea what I’m doing. You can claim credit for every step forward. Truthfully, you should be Commissioner.” Grieve cleared his throat and looked uncomfortable. “How do you feel about lighting the way for me?”
“I accepted this position because I believe in the work.”
“You do?”
“Very much so. ‘Tis a noble vision if e’er was one. I’m very happy to do anything I can to assist you. You are sellin’ yourself short. There’s no one in this world capable of makin’ this work as you can. ‘Tis the other reason I accepted this position. ‘Tis an honor to work for you.”
Rosie blinked twice and then laughed out loud. “Okay. You’re punking me now.”
“I assure you I am no’… punking you. If some of my thoughts are useful, I’ll be very pleased for you to take credit, as that’s no’ something that particularly interests me.”
Rosie shook her head. “I would never take credit for your work, Grieve. I just want to be sure that you’re okay with giving me guidance while you’re working for me because, in normal circumstances, it would be the other way around.”
“Perhaps. But these are no’ normal circumstances.”
“No.”
“And, to a point, perhaps you have more support than you’re thinkin’. There’s the Director, myself, and there’s the fact that you keep confidence with the Sovereign of Jefferson Unit. Do no’ discount how helpful he might be. The man knows quite a lot about organization, administration, and implementation. I read that he was just a child when left in charge for the first time. A veritable savant.”
“Depends on how you define child. He was eighteen.”
“Just so. No small accomplishment.”
Rosie’s chest inflated with pride in her husband until it forced a full-blown silly grin. “He is amazing. I hadn’t forgotten that. I just think maybe he’d rather think about non-work things when he’s not, um, working.”
“You might be surprised. The man is dedicated from what I hear. Dedication is what makes gettin’ up every day worth doin’, is it no’?”
“You know, Grieve, I’ve only known you for a couple of days, but I’ve decided I like you. A lot.” Grieve’s expression didn’t change, but he turned a delightful shade of Victorian pink. And cleared his throat. “So tell me every one of your potentially useful thoughts. Who knows? Maybe I’ll even expound on them. It’ll be like a brainstorming session. I’ve never done brainstorming, but how hard could it be? Right?”
“Right.”
“So lay it on me.” Grieve hesitated like he wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “That means tell me what you got. Oh, wait, you know what? We should get stocked up on supplies first. Let’s get a pot of tea and some of those dainties they make at this time of day.”
Grieve lifted the receiver of his ‘house’ phone and dialed the kitchen. “Would you be so kind as to send a service of Earl Grey and petit fours?” Pause. He looked up at Rosie and half smiled. “Aye. Offices of D.I.T.”
By the time the tea service arrived twenty minutes later, Rosie and Grieve were engaged in a very productive ‘brainstorming’ session.
“Assumin’ that, as Simon says, Monq is able to produce the serum, we need to outline the goals of your unit. Do you have some thoughts about priority?”
It surprised Rosie to realize that she actually did have some thoughts on that. “We need to try avoiding life or death situations. If we have elementals who are just getting off on fucking with us…”
Grieve cleared his throat. “Language, madam.”
“Indeed, Grieve.” Rosie took the gentle reprimand good-naturedly. “We don’t want to end lives unnecessarily. Or at all, really. This has been going on for a long time, if what the people in Arcane History tell me is true. So we might want to start out with a system that gives everybody a chance to change their ways.” Grieve grunted as a space filler and a means of indicating that he was listening. “So I was thinking that we need a way to issue warnings.
“Okay. You’ve had your fun, but there’s a new sheriff in town.” She brightened. “Hey! Maybe I’d rather be called Sheriff than Commissioner. Sheriff Storm sounds good, doesn’t it?”
“It does, madam.”
“Okay. I’ll give that some thought. Where was I?” She looked at Grieve, but before he answered, she remembered her train of thought. “What if we had a global radar system? Like a net that covered the whole world and a means to track visitors who don’t belong here.”
“How do you see that being accomplished?”
“The system would look for biology that doesn’t strictly conform to Loti norms.”
She waited for Grieve’s response.
“Let’s say that such a creature is detected. What is D.I.T.’s response?”
“Check it out.”
“And?”
“See what they’re up to?”
“And?”
“Why do you keep saying that?”
“What is the deterrent?”
Rosie looked away and sighed. “Tell them that open no-questions-asked transit and immigration is closed permanently. That, if they want to be here, they need to prove they’re adding value and not causing mischief. Or worse. If they have a good reason for coming and going, we can issue some kind of credentials.”
That got Grieve’s interest. “Credentials for elementals? Could they no’ manufacture forgeries at will?”
“Oh, well, yes. They could. I was using ‘credentials’ as a euphemism for tagging because elementals are not wild animals. But the principle would be the same.”
“I’m no’ followin’.”
“We need to tag all the elementals who are coming and going so we can begin keeping records and try to figure out who is beneficial and who needs to have their license to transit pulled permanently.”
“By taggin’, you mean…”
“That’s where Monq comes in. We need to permanently implant trackers that can’t be removed, each with its own uniquely identifiable signal.”
“No easy task that.”
“Well, everybody keeps saying Monq is a genius. Let’s find out.”
“Hmmm. So how are you plannin’ to persuade visitors to accept these permanently implanted trackin’ devices that can no’ be removed and, I assume, will ne’er need either replacement or maintenance.”
“We’re not going to give them a choice. They come to Loti. They get a tag.”
“Ah.” Grieve’s head fell back as if realization had dawned. “I see. And how will the visitors be implanted with, em, tags?”
“Forcibly.”
“Aye. But how?”
“I’ll accept suggestions from Monq?”
Grieve gave her a ghost of a smile. “You’re a fast learner, madam.” Grieve was furiously, but intermittently typing notes into his desktop for reference. “I suppose you’ve considered that global monitorin’ on a twenty-four-seven basis could require a bank of personnel.”
“I know. There’ll be no way to tell how many until we get underway. But this is Simon’s baby. He’s indicated that the funding will support what we need to get the job done.” She tapped her fingernails on the desk. “I think I like Sheriff Storm.”
She smiled, imagining how fun it would be to insist that Glen call her Sheriff in bed. He would laugh and say, “Only if you call me Sovereign and agree to do what I say at least half the time.”
“Madam?”
“Hmmm?”
“How are you plannin’ to revoke licenses to enter Loti?”
“Haven’t got that far.”
“So what will your hunters be asked to do?”
“Chase down visitors. If they catch up to them, they need to accomplish two things. A tag and a talk.”
“A talk,” Grieve said drily.
“Yes.”
“Am I wrong in thinkin’ that you’ll be hirin’ people more for skills as warriors than diplomats?”
Rosie’s brow furrowed. She crossed her arms and pressed her thumb into the indentation above her upper lip. “You’re right about that. I need to give some serious thought to the hiring process. Is it harder to teach warriors to be ambassadors or to teach ambassadors to be warriors?”
“I would guess ‘twould be harder to teach ambassadors martial arts.”
Rosie nodded. “That’s what I think, too. I’ve known warriors who became excellent negotiators. Still, it’s good to know that I’m looking for people with a range of skill sets.”
“Just so.”
“When I find the right people, we’re going to have to set up training. Training camp. We’re going to want to include diplomacy. Honestly, with elementals, I don’t think diplomacy will work. Um, ever. But it’ll make me feel better to know we tried.” She looked at her watch. “What time is my meeting with Monq?”
“He has you scheduled for lunch in his study at… five minutes from now.”
“Thanks for helping me get some clarity so I don’t sound like an idiot.”
“That would be quite impossible, madam.”
“In all your spare time, will you start thinking about training camp? I need a secluded place with sleeping quarters and a big enough dining room for everybody to eat together.”
“How many are we anticipatin’?”
“I’m hoping to find twelve hunters. Add myself, somebody to teach ballet, somebody to run Elora-style workouts, somebody to teach diplomacy, and people to clean, cook, launder, that sort of thing.”
“Very well, madam.”
“I have no ideas for Monq as far as how to help my hunters defend themselves against elementals.”
“What would you say is the primary issue?”
Rosie thought for a minute. “That elementals can avoid a confrontation by simply disappearing?”
Grieve nodded slightly. “I concur. What are elementals made of?”
“Pardon?”
“Composition. For example, I’m flesh, bone, blood, air and a few ounces of chemicals.”
“Oh. I see what you mean. This is hard to explain. Elementals are more principle than substance. They exist as non-physical beings unless they want to present themselves as physical. The saving grace for us is that they have to take physical form to move around, communicate, influence… more or less everything they’d want to do. But they could lay low as vapor if they chose to.”
Grieve looked worried. “When mortals go to war with gods, the outcome doesn’t favor us.”
Rosie raised her chin. “We need to make the gods more mortal and make the mortals more invincible.”
Grieve’s mouth might have moved a centimeter toward a smile. It was hard to tell. “Two questions come to mind. When they take on physical form, can they be harmed? Could they be trapped?”
“Yes to the first. They can be harmed, but are pretty much impossible to kill. They’re not immortal per se, but they live a long time. Comparatively. Could they be trapped? That would solve a lot of problems. If they could be contained, whether in physical or vapor form, they couldn’t avoid conversation.”
“’Twould be a way to give your hunters a fightin’ chance. O’ course, if I understand the function of the unit, elementals may no’ be the only pursuit.”
“That’s true. There are other possibilities. One step at a time?”
“You’ve laid the groundwork for innovation and development that could result in happy surprises. You have a lot to discuss with Dr. Monq.”
“I’ll give it a try. Guess I’d better get going. Hold down the fort and I’ll see you tomorrow. Same time. Same place.”
“I shall be eager to hear the outcome of your talk.”
Monq served Rosie pretty Frenched lamb with au gratin potatoes and steamed spinach.
“You know the last time I dined with you in your study, you were playing matchmaker.”
“It’s not really matchmaking when the couple is fated to be together and desperately in love.”
Rosie laughed softly as Monq poured wine. “You make us sound like Romeo and Juliet.”
“With a better ending.”
“Well, there’s that. It’s dinner for me so I don’t feel decadent drinking heady red wine with a hint,” she sniffed, “of lavender. But you should.”
Monq laughed. “Few things could make me feel decadent. But regardless, I’m just pretending to drink. The point is to loosen you up so you relax and tell me everything I want to know without hesitation. That’s how I keep up on my Black Swan gossip. I ply guests with delectable dining and obscenely expensive wine.”
“I’m honored, but I really don’t have many secrets worth a bottle of wine like this one.”
Monq gave her a knowing smile. “Maybe you don’t. But how about that husband of yours? He knows everything that goes on around here and I’d bet dimes to dollars that the juicy stuff gets shared.”
“Until now, I honestly didn’t know that he was in possession of juicy stuff to share. He’s been holding out on me! I’m sure he’s going to appreciate that oversight and want to reward you for bringing it to my attention.”
Monq’s eyes narrowed. “Sly.” He sighed. “So what is it you need?”
“Lots of things.”
“At least you’re honest. Most people try to ease me into their visions by starting slow.”
“No time for slow. Simon is driving this project and has it in his head that it should have been up and running, full tilt, as of yesterday.”
“I see. Well, hopefully it will be more interesting.”
“What do you know about the project?”
“I know what you just said, that Simon is behind it and that he seems to have a personal stake. He ordered us to figure out the serum thing. Which we’re doing.”
Rosie perked up. “Does that mean it’s a done deal?”
Monq cocked his head. “There’s little you could dream up that we can’t improvise our way to. A permanent correction to the vampire virus is one of those things. For now.”
“I’ve got so much juicy stuff for you to work on.” She stole the word juicy and repeated it, hoping it would help get the desired reaction. “It’s going to stimulate you in all the right places and make you glad you wanted to be a scientist when you were a little boy.”
“I wanted to be a cowpoke when I was little.”
Rosie laughed. “It’s a good thing you changed your mind ‘cause they drink rotgut, not thousand dollar bottles of wine.”
“Hoo doggie.”
“You know, normally your eccentricity is endearing. But don’t say ‘hoo doggie’ again. It’s creepy and makes you sound like a perv.”
He shrugged as he carefully dipped a bite of lamb in mint sauce. “So we’re burning daylight.”
“Burning daylight,” she said drily. “Monq, you work in Sublevel 3.”
“I know,” he smiled as he chewed. “But it sounds better than saying, ‘Hurry up, I have other things to do’.”
By the time crème brulee and coffee were served, Rosie had verbally sketched out her ideas. Monq had asked a few questions and recorded verbal notes to a handheld recording device.
He sat back, steepled his fingers, and pursed his lips.
“I don’t know how to read what you’re doing there,” Rosie said. “Does this body language mean ‘piece of cake’ or ‘can’t be done’?”
“What’s my timeframe again?”
“Right now I’m hiring. At least, best case scenario, that’s what I would be doing if I wasn’t here. Let’s say finding the right people and getting them to say, ‘Yes. I’m in,’ takes three weeks? Then we’re going to need at least a month to train and have people begin to bond with partners. But the last ten days of that month should be spent learning to use the tools you come up with. So forty days, give or take?”
“That’s a tall order. Frankly, my dear, I’m not sure even I can do it, but hope springs eternal. So I’ll give it a go. We’ll have to set everything else aside, but since you have the Director’s backing, that’s not a problem.”
“You’ll keep me posted?”
“Yes, Ms. Storm. I will keep you posted.”
“Sheriff Storm.”
“What?”
“That’s my title. Sheriff. You know, like ‘there’s a new sheriff in town’.”
“Are you sure whimsical is the way to go? You want to be taken seriously, don’t you?”
Rosie had never thought in terms of being taken seriously or not. She’d always just assumed she would be. “Are you not taking me seriously?”
“I was right up until you said you wanted to be called Sheriff.”
She huffed. “Do you have a better suggestion?”
Monq tilted his head back so that he was looking at Rosie down his nose. “Yes. Commander.”
Rosie ducked her chin. The word hit all the right bells, whistles, buzzers, and buttons. She played it over in her head a few times, liking the sound of it more every time she heard it internally.
“Yeah,” she said slowly. “You might be right.”
“What a surprise,” Monq said sarcastically. “Now skedaddle. I’ve got stuff to do.”
“You can’t talk to me like that. I’m Commander Storm.” He rose and opened his study door. “Thanks for lunch. And wine. Especially the wine. If you have questions, just call.”