Just then a young man with spiked hair came limping into the room. His pants leg was shredded from the knee down. "For the record, that dog-soothing spell you translated doesn't work," he said to Owen. "I don't know if it's the translation or the spell itself, but . . ." He gestured toward his tattered pant leg.
Owen winced. "Sorry about that, Jake." He made a note on his whiteboard. "I'll look into it. You'd better go see a healer."
Jake limped away. "Dangerous line of work," I commented.
"That wasn't an authorized test," Owen said. "Some of us can't resist trying out something we've read about. Most of us are more careful, though." He grinned abruptly. "But when you're in a tricky situation, the last thing you've read is generally what comes to mind. That's the risky part about working in theory. You never know if it's going to work when you need it."
Rod laughed. "Yeah, remember that time when you—" He shut up immediately when Owen shot him a glare. "Anyway, what they do here isn't without its risks, but fortunately for you, you won't need to work much with R and D."
"You're welcome to visit anytime, though," Owen said. "We'd be happy to answer any questions you might have about magic, and this is where the resident experts are."
"I'll start a list of questions, once I know enough to even know what I should be asking."
"Well, we have a tour to finish," Rod said, taking my arm and guiding me away with what almost seemed to be a hint of jealousy, which struck me as odd. For one thing, I'm not the kind of woman who inspires jealousy. I've never had anyone fight over me. For another, it wasn't like Owen had said or done anything to inspire jealousy. It was probably my imagination.
After a second Owen came after us. "Oh, I almost forgot. Mr. Mervyn wants to see Katie when you're through with the tour, and then he's called a lunch meeting for the usual suspects."
Rod groaned. "Nice of him to give me advance warning. We're not all precogs, you know. Good thing my calendar's clear."
"He cleared everyone's calendar last week, as usual."
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.
"Magic?" I asked.
He shook his head. "No, mechanics. This is new. The boss likes to tinker, and he hates climbing stairs. He thought this was far more interesting than an elevator. I suspect there was some magic involved in the invention, however."
We stepped onto the spiraling escalator, which deposited us in a lush office suite.
There was a reception area with a fairy hovering over a chair behind a giant mahogany desk. Behind her was a pair of ornate wooden doors, and off to the side there appeared to be another office. "Oh, good, you're here," she said as we approached. "He's been expecting her."
The doors swung open and we stepped into the boss's office. It looked like pretty much every CEO's office I'd ever seen—not that I'd seen a lot—with fancy furniture, thick carpets, and elegant artwork on the walls. I got the impression, however, that this furniture was really antique and not a modem reproduction. The far wall was all windows overlooking City Hall and the park, while the adjacent wall had a nice view of the Brooklyn Bridge.
I shouldn't have felt intimidated about meeting the boss, but I did. My dad was CEO
at the store, but he was just Dad. I'd never met the CEO at my last job. The newspapers painted portraits of extremely wealthy, powerful men who'd never notice a low-level flunky like me. I suddenly felt like a kid called into the principal's office. I wondered if I should bow or curtsy. From what I'd heard about some chief executives, falling on my face on the floor and chanting "I'm not worthy" wouldn't be out of the question.