With a nod and a careful bow, I saw myself out of the Wizard’s presence.
I ALMOST RAN right into the two men arguing in the hallway outside. One was huge, easily the largest man I’d ever seen. Dark-haired and full-bearded, he stood an easy seven feet tall and loomed like a human wall.
“His word is final,” the other man told the giant, and I blinked as he came into focus. By any comparison except the man he stood next to, this man was tall, a few inches over my own six feet. He was shaven bald, and I could see lines upon lines of gold and silver runes tattooed up his neck and onto his bare head.
“You ask me to allow the creation of weap—...” The giant cut off in mid-sentence when he saw me, then returned his glare to the tattooed man. “We will continue this conversation another time, Winters,” he snapped, and strode back towards the lobby.
The tattooed man—Winters—looked at me.
“You’re the new changeling, I take it? My master mentioned you,” he said softly. “Carry on.” He gestured me toward the front door.
Accepting the dismissal as given, I quickly slipped out to see Sarah.
“Who were those guys?” I asked her, as quietly as I could.
“Gerard Winters and Tarvers Tenerim,” she answered. “Winters is my boss—the Head Enforcer.” Looking more closely at the blonde woman now, I realized that the silverish tattoos that traced around her cheeks were made of the same goldish-silver runes as Winters’ tattoos had been. “Tarvers is the Alpha of Clan Tenerim—the senior shifter clan in the city—and the Speaker for the shapeshifters in town.”
I nodded, trying to organize a mental picture of the balance of power and authority in the city. The Wizard was unquestionably at the top, with Winters as his right-hand man. Then Tarvers and Oberis, and I wasn’t sure which of them would be regarded as more “senior”.
“Magus MacDonald said you’d be able to help me find work,” I told Sarah. “Something quick-ish, I don’t know if I can make it more than a week or two after my succor runs out,” I admitted.
“Well, let’s see,” she replied, tapping away at her computer. “What are your qualifications?”
“Umm...three quarters of a mechanical engineering degree and a lot of manual labor?”
“Hrm,” she murmured, absently chewing on the end of a pencil. “Can you drive?”
“Yes, but I think my license has expired,” I answered.
“Oh, right, that’s not an issue,” she answered, and picked a manila envelope up from the desk. “The Magus conjured this while you were in with him,” she told me, and slid it across to me.
I opened it and found a passport, birth certificate and driver’s license with my name, picture and age, but saying I’d been born in someplace called Winnipeg. Everything was complete, including—I checked against a light—all the watermarks and holograms. I could only assume they were correct as well.
Wizards scared me.
“Then yes, I can drive. Why?”
“I have a friend with a courier company who’s desperate to fill a slot ASAP,” she answered. “I can have him give you a call in the morning, if that works?”
“At what number... Oh.” The last item in the envelope, which I was willing to swear hadn’t been there when I opened it, was a top of the line smartphone.
“The phone’s ‘service plan’ goes through a semi-magical relay that taps into everybody’s network—you won’t be getting cellphone bills,” Sarah told me with a smile. “I’ll have my friend—Bill Trakshinsky is his name—call you. Go get some rest.”
Another suited Enforcer—this one in a shaven-headed variety with no visible tattoos—was waiting to take me back to the van.
I managed to stay awake, despite the apparently standard lack of conversation from the Enforcer—Sarah was the only one of them who’d seemed chatty—to make it back to the Manor. The dingy bar had emptied out, but Tarva was still there when I all but ran into the warmth of the building.
“You made it back intact, I see,” the nymph told me with a smile that would have broken the heart of a mortal man. She handed me a key. “Eric wasn’t sure how long you’d be at the Tower, so we booked you a room in the motel across the parking lot. He must like you,” she added, cocking her head at me flirtatiously.
“Why?”
“He and Oberis agreed to extend your succor to seven days,” she explained. “We don’t usually stick to the three days of tradition, so that’s not a lot more than normal, but we usually stick to five or six.” She shrugged. “Your room is booked for all seven, and you have a tab here and at the barbecue place on the other side of the strip mall that Oberis will cover.”
She was right. That was generous, which made me suspicious. I didn’t think I’d made an overly good first impression, but apparently, I hadn’t shoved my foot in my mouth too badly.
For a moment, I was content. Seven days, plus the cash I had on me, should get me through to my first paycheck if Sarah came through with the courier position. Then it all came crashing down with one horrific thought.
To get to the interview, hell, to even get to the motel room, I was going to have to go back outside into that cold.
THE MOTEL ROOM turned out to be worth the trip across the parking lot. It was nothing pretty to look at, but the heat worked, the bathroom was clean and the bed was soft. Three out of three on that list is two out of three better than a lot of places I’d stayed over the last few years.
I was woken in the morning by the ringing of the smartphone to discover that I’d barely managed to get my winter coat and gloves off before passing out on the bed. I groggily crawled across the room to grab the phone.
“Kilkenny,” I croaked.
“Jason Kilkenny?” the voice on the other end asked.
“Yeah, that’s me,” I confirmed, rubbing sleep from my eyes with my free hand.
“Jason, it’s Bill Trakshinsky from Direct Couriers,” the man introduced himself. “A friend of mine said you’re looking for work, and I’m desperate for a driver. Can you come into our office this afternoon for a test drive?”
“Of course!” I quickly agreed, trying to force enthusiasm through my exhaustion. “You’ll need to give me bus directions,” I added, “I’m new to the city and don’t have a vehicle here yet.”
“Sure,” Bill answered cheerfully, and quickly reeled off a series of bus route numbers and landmarks that I carefully wrote down. “Two o’clock work for you?”
If I followed his directions correctly, it would take me an hour to get to his office. That would let me sleep for four more hours and still have an hour to get ready.
The sleep sounded amazing.
“Sure,” I parroted back at him.
BILL MUST HAVE BEEN EVEN MORE desperate than the blonde Enforcer Sarah had implied. There were three delivery trucks sitting in their yard when I arrived, but I didn’t see any drivers when I entered—just a very harried-looking redheaded receptionist. She flashed me a “one minute” finger signal when I entered the spartan office, dealing with a customer on the phone who was clearly complaining about a late package.
“Yes, sir, we’ll do our best, sir,” she concluded, waited a moment more, and then clicked the phone back onto its stand.
“I’m Trysta; can I help you?” she asked with a summery smile, a welcome spark of warmth in the chilly day.
“I’m Jason; I have an interview with Mr. Trakshinsky?” I told her.
“Of course!” Her smile flashed again, and I couldn’t resist smiling back. “He’s on a conference call right now, but if you can wait a minute, he’ll be right with you. While you’re waiting,” she continued, apparently without breathing, “I need to run your driver’s abstract. Can I borrow your license?”