I was still puzzling over that exchange as Rod led me out of the R&D department. I noticed as we passed through the corridor that every woman made a point of giving Rod a smile and a come-hither look. I wished I could see what they saw. He smiled back, but it looked like he did it more out of habit than out of any actual interest. He was still frowning, apparently from what Owen had said.

I finally got up the nerve to ask, "What was that about?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. Just office politics. The boss has a pretty small group of people he trusts entirely and relies upon, and I'm on the fringes. He includes me often enough, but never seems to communicate with me directly. It always comes through someone else, most often Owen."

Ah, that explained the apparent jealousy. It wasn't about me, it was about the job.

"Personnel is always on the fringes," I said. "Even in nonmagic companies. It's essential, or else you wouldn't have employees at all, but it's not a direct profit center, so it's often forgotten by the executive ranks."

He brightened considerably. "Really?"

"Yes, really. The people who bring in the money are the ones who get the attention.

Marketing works the same way. You wouldn't sell anything without marketing, but because it doesn't make money on its own, the department gets ignored and is the first thing to be cut when there are budget problems."

"It also doesn't help that Owen is being groomed for bigger, better things, while I'm never getting beyond what I do. Don't get me wrong, I love my job, but I know I'll never be running this company, and one day Owen will be. He'll be good at it, too."

"He just needs a little confidence."

Rod shook his head. "No, he's better off as he is. In fact, I think they brought him up to be shy on purpose. As powerful as he is, you don't want him to be bold."

That sent a shiver down my spine, but before I could ask Rod to clarify, we'd reached another doorway. "This is P and L, the Prophets and Lost department," he said as the door opened.

"Profits and loss?" I asked. That sounded more like a spreadsheet than a department.

"No, Prophets and Lost. This is where we predict the market trends or trace things that seem to have disappeared."

"Like Elvis!" I quipped.

"Exactly!" He didn't sound like he was joking. He ushered me into the office suite, which was decorated like something out of a Gypsy's tent at an old-fashioned carnival. "Hi, everyone!" he said to the dreamy-looking bunch of people who sat around on the velvet cushions. "This is Katie, she's new in Verification."

An elegant woman dressed right out of a fashion magazine—next year's fashion magazine, or what I imagined next fall's clothes would look like if current trends progressed—looked up at me. "Take the bus home this evening," she said.

I blinked. "Huh? Oh, yeah, sure. Thanks. Nice meeting you." I'm sure the bus warning was important, but couldn't she have clued me in to hemlines as well? I'd hate to hem all my skirts, only to find out we'd be wearing them longer next season.

Gemma would kill for that kind of foresight.

Rod ushered me back outside. "Don't let them get to you. It's company policy that you're not supposed to ask them about things like lottery numbers or the outcomes of sporting events, but if they tell you something spontaneously, it's generally a good idea to take them at their word."

"Okay. I'll take the bus, then."

He paused in the middle of the hallway, rubbing his hands together while he frowned in thought. "Let's see, you've already met Sam in Security—he's been talking about you for days. I think he has a bit of a crush. What else do I need to show you?"

I tried not to think about a stone gargoyle having a crush on me. How scary would it be if it turned out that was the type I attracted? Instead, I focused on Rod's question. "How about my office? And all that important little stuff like the coffee room, the bathroom, and such?"

"We'll deal with that this afternoon. Unless you need the bathroom now?" I shook my head. "Okay, then we'd better get you up to see the boss."

"That's Mr. Mervyn, right?" I asked, remembering the name Owen had used. "He was the one at the interview?"

"Yep, that's the one. And let me tell you, you made quite an impression on him." We reached what appeared to be one of the building's turrets, with a long spiral staircase leading upward. I'd barely had a chance to start dreading climbing those stairs when Rod tapped the staircase's center post and the stairs began moving upward, like an escalator.