“I’m drowning in paperwork here,” I said. “And half of it isn’t even mine!”
Jane looked a little panicked. “You are going to get out on time, aren’t you? Mamma Mia, remember?”
I laid my head down on my desk, the coolness of the papers feeling nice on my forehead. “I think I can pull it off,” I said. “Please tell me that someone in one of our divisions can bend time. There’s a space-time vortex around here somewhere, right?”
“Aww, Bunky,” she said, tousling my hair. “I think Arcana has it closed for repairs.”
“Really?” I said. “We have one?”
Jane shook her head. “Nope. Don’t think so.” She went over and sat at Connor’s side of the desk. “But what you do have is me, to help you.”
I lifted my head and looked around. “For real?” I lowered my voice. “What about Wesker? Doesn’t he need you up at Tome, Sweet Tome cataloging those books in the Black Stacks?”
Jane shook her head. “I told him one of them bit me in a ‘lady place’ and I had to have it checked out. He didn’t really ask questions after that.”
“Great, then,” I said. I started flipping through one of the piles in front of me. “Can you find me a T-642?”
Jane pulled up a pile of papers off the top of Connor’s desk and held them up for me. “Are any of these them?”
I stared across the partners desk at her.
“What?” she said. “We don’t get all this paperwork in the arcana division.”
I looked at the forms in her bunch and grabbed the appropriate one out of it.
“Thanks,” I said. “Make sure you put them back the way you found them, okay? Connor was a bit anal about things before he left.”
Jane looked at the neat towers of paper over on Connor’s side of the desk. “He is coming back, right?”
“He’d better,” I said. “I mean, I’m glad he took the time when he did. He took it pretty hard when the address we found for his missing brother turned out to be a dead end…”
“That wasn’t just a dead end,” Jane said. “The whole block had been demolished, probably to make way for another Trumptastic eyesore…”
I sighed. “I just wish Other Division had the budget to get a temp in here.”
“Like I said,” Jane said, batting her baby blues at me. “I’m here to help. Remember, I was a temp.”
“Yes, for cultists.”
She started sorting out several of Connor’s stacks. “Same diff,” she said. “Just less bloodstains on the paperwork.”
The two of us fell silent for most of the afternoon, plowing through case files, research requests, and requisition forms. Several of the piles started to shift in size or dwindle away as I interofficed forms to the four winds. I was thrilled to find that several inches of Connor’s in-box could simply be shredded, as they were catalogs from Gravediggers Monthly, Parapsychology Today, or The Sharper Image. In the end, with Jane’s help I not only managed some progress in my existing caseload; I had a somewhat detailed report of the creature from the grocery store set to go off to the Inspectre’s office. I carried it upstairs and slid it under his door and ran off again before I could be cornered into anything else. When I got back to my desk, Jane looked ready to leap out of Connor’s chair.
“We good to go?” she said.
“If we leave now,” I said, scooping up my shoulder bag. “If traffic’s light, we can hit the Theatre District before curtain.”
Jane jumped up from her chair and the two of us headed back through the office, out into the theater, and up the center aisle as Hannibal Lecter listed some of his favorite ingredients when dining on the census taker. Jane leaned over to me and spoke softly.
“You know, all this paperwork? Kinda makes me long for the old days.”
“When we started dating?”
“No,” she said, “before that. My Sectarian days, back when I was all villainous and trying to kill you.”
I pulled aside the curtain at the top of the aisle, the one that led back into the coffee shop. “Really?”
Jane nodded and stepped through. “At least it was interesting. And involved less paper cuts.”
“True,” I said. We fell in step side by side. I threw my arm around her and squeezed her tight as we headed toward the door and the street. I leaned into her. “I miss you trying to kill me, too.”
3
It was funny how quickly a lovely evening could go straight to hell, all in a span of twenty minutes. The concrete and glass canyons of Manhattan zoomed outside the windows of our minivan cab. It sped along at a brisk pace, unlike the conversation between Jane and me. That had put on the brakes and skidded to a halt… possibly even spun out of control.
“You could have let it go to voice mail, Simon,” she protested, turning away with a flip of her ponytail. She wouldn’t look at me. Instead she pretended to busy herself smoothing her short black skirt over her long, lean legs. “We haven’t been actually out in weeks.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but she cut me off with her finger pointing in my face.
“Taco Night does not count as ‘out,’ Simon. Especially when it starts off with a monster.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, flipping my phone shut and sliding it into the inside pocket of my leather half trench, “but duty calls. Even more so when it’s Inspectre Quimbley on the phone. It’s another graveyard call coming in. I have to check it out.”
Jane let out a sigh. Her adorable mouth puffed out into a full-on pout. She was playful, but I could tell she was still tweaked by the interruption.
“What if it had been Director Wesker calling?” I continued. “Are you telling me you would have ignored your boss?”
“Fine,” she said. She looked a little mischievous. “But you owe me.” She ran her finger down the front of my shirt.
“I know,” I conceded, trying to switch my mind from date mode to business mode. Her finger tracing its way down my body in the back of the cab wasn’t helping. I looked out the window and tapped on the partition between us and the driver. “Pull over here, please. Just through the light on the left.”
Jane leaned her head over to look out the window. “The Financial District?”
“Great for date night, I know,” I said. I slid a twenty through the window to the driver and got out of the cab before offering my hand to Jane. She took it despite being a little perturbed and let me help her out. To our right was the Port Authority station that now stood where the World Trade Center once had, but neither Jane nor I dared walk toward it. No one from the Department of Extraordinary Affairs went down to Ground Zero these days.
I turned to look at the building nearby as Jane grabbed her purse out of the cab. Trinity Church loomed dark and quiet in front of me, but it wasn’t the church itself I was here about. What I was looking for lay just inside the enormous wrought-iron fence that surrounded the church. I was looking at one of the oldest graveyards in the city and from within it, I could already make out a tornado of ghostly figures swarming up through the air. I felt like I was watching something straight out of The Haunted Mansion. I slid back the side of my coat, and pulled my retractable bat free.
“Drive away,” I told the cabbie. I flicked the switch on the side of my bat, causing it to shikt out to its full length. “Terribly fast.”
The cabbie looked to my bat and then took a look at the swirl of ghostly activity coming from just beyond the graveyard gates. He stepped on the gas and the cab screeched away, its door pulling free from Jane’s hand, slamming shut.
With all the Wall Street day traders and office jockeys in the area gone this time of night, it was as quiet as a crypt everywhere except, oddly, the series of crypts and graves before us. Jane flexed her hand and turned to check out the graveyard spectacle.
“Lovely,” she said. “You sure know how to show a girl a good time.”