“let’s head over there.”
We all stand. All except Hannah. “Wait,” she says. “Us?”
I nod. I think I was pretty clear about the whole thing. Hannah turns to Felicity. “You don’t have civil servants to…” She hesitates. “Wait. Is
this
the hazing thing?”
Felicity smiles a little sadly. “This, I am afraid,” she says, “is it. The entire staff of MI37. We are not quite as grand as you may be used to. Everyone chips in here.”
Hannah shakes her head. “Fucking hell.”
I look at her again. And there is nothing in particular about her to dislike. But she feels like a stumble in our gearwork. I just hope this case is small enough to allow us to work around it. So she can do her rotation, or penance here, or whatever reason she’s turned up, and move on, and we can get back to normal, to stability.
We stand. Kayla flips her phone at Tabitha again. “What about this one?”
“You’d break him like a twig.”
A sound makes me glance at Felicity. And she actually did facepalm on that one.
9
All of us except Felicity wedge into the small elevator that leads up from the subterranean confines of MI37 to Oxford’s street level.
“What about that pub?” Kayla asks. “Just going to let that go feckin’ cold are we?”
This demonstrates considerably more interest in our operational procedures than Kayla usually shows. “You’re just trying to get out of carrying all Lang’s crap back to the office, aren’t you?” I say.
“Fecker,” Kayla says as sweetly as she is able, “I could carry that whole building back here without breaking a sweat.”
I have never tested the exact limits of Kayla’s strength. There is a chance this could be true. That said…
“You are still trying to get out of it, though,” I say.
“Feck, yes.”
Clyde giggles. Tabitha scowls, though she’s been doing that pretty much since birth. Hannah is still trying to look at everyone at once and not appear like she’s doing it. She is actually very good at that.
“Look,” I say, “Lang’s apartment is right here. We’ll just pick up the stuff. Then you and I can head to Scotland while Clyde and Tabitha dig through it.”
The elevator doors ping and slide open to reveal MI37’s front door.
“And me,” says Hannah.
I look at her blank faced.
“And me,” she repeats. “You forgot me. I’ll go up to Scotland too.”
“Oh yes,” I say, mentally cursing myself. I have to at least fake politeness. I reach out to open the front door. “Of cour—” I start.
And get no further.
Two enormous figures hulk on our doorstep. One has a fist upraised, as if about to knock.
In keeping with the government’s desire to keep the whole magic/aliens/oh-shit-what-is-it stuff under wraps, MI37 is a very secret organization. So its headquarters are very secret. So our front door looks a lot like the service entrance to the dubious travel agency next door. It was probably originally painted black, but is buried under such an accumulation of graffiti, fliers, and stickers advertising phone calls with women of ill repute, that it’s hard to tell. It would be the sort of doorway someone might hang around in if they wanted to smoke something illicit, except it’s right on one of the main streets leading to the train station.
It is, very much by design, an unwelcoming doorway. It is not the sort of doorway one lurks before. It is certainly not the sort of doorway one stands before with one’s fist raised.
And if the alarm bells didn’t already have me reaching for my pistol and Kayla extracting her sword from its sheath, there is always the fact that the figure’s fist appears to be made of solid bronze.
10
“
Nein
! No! Stop!
Achtung
! Please!”
The bronze fist is now an open bronze palm. It hovers inches before the barrel of my extended gun, glaringly on display on the busy Oxford street.
I hesitate. While it’s an assumption that probably has its roots in the grossest Hollywood assumptions, I still
We all stand. All except Hannah. “Wait,” she says. “Us?”
I nod. I think I was pretty clear about the whole thing. Hannah turns to Felicity. “You don’t have civil servants to…” She hesitates. “Wait. Is
this
the hazing thing?”
Felicity smiles a little sadly. “This, I am afraid,” she says, “is it. The entire staff of MI37. We are not quite as grand as you may be used to. Everyone chips in here.”
Hannah shakes her head. “Fucking hell.”
I look at her again. And there is nothing in particular about her to dislike. But she feels like a stumble in our gearwork. I just hope this case is small enough to allow us to work around it. So she can do her rotation, or penance here, or whatever reason she’s turned up, and move on, and we can get back to normal, to stability.
We stand. Kayla flips her phone at Tabitha again. “What about this one?”
“You’d break him like a twig.”
A sound makes me glance at Felicity. And she actually did facepalm on that one.
9
All of us except Felicity wedge into the small elevator that leads up from the subterranean confines of MI37 to Oxford’s street level.
“What about that pub?” Kayla asks. “Just going to let that go feckin’ cold are we?”
This demonstrates considerably more interest in our operational procedures than Kayla usually shows. “You’re just trying to get out of carrying all Lang’s crap back to the office, aren’t you?” I say.
“Fecker,” Kayla says as sweetly as she is able, “I could carry that whole building back here without breaking a sweat.”
I have never tested the exact limits of Kayla’s strength. There is a chance this could be true. That said…
“You are still trying to get out of it, though,” I say.
“Feck, yes.”
Clyde giggles. Tabitha scowls, though she’s been doing that pretty much since birth. Hannah is still trying to look at everyone at once and not appear like she’s doing it. She is actually very good at that.
“Look,” I say, “Lang’s apartment is right here. We’ll just pick up the stuff. Then you and I can head to Scotland while Clyde and Tabitha dig through it.”
The elevator doors ping and slide open to reveal MI37’s front door.
“And me,” says Hannah.
I look at her blank faced.
“And me,” she repeats. “You forgot me. I’ll go up to Scotland too.”
“Oh yes,” I say, mentally cursing myself. I have to at least fake politeness. I reach out to open the front door. “Of cour—” I start.
And get no further.
Two enormous figures hulk on our doorstep. One has a fist upraised, as if about to knock.
In keeping with the government’s desire to keep the whole magic/aliens/oh-shit-what-is-it stuff under wraps, MI37 is a very secret organization. So its headquarters are very secret. So our front door looks a lot like the service entrance to the dubious travel agency next door. It was probably originally painted black, but is buried under such an accumulation of graffiti, fliers, and stickers advertising phone calls with women of ill repute, that it’s hard to tell. It would be the sort of doorway someone might hang around in if they wanted to smoke something illicit, except it’s right on one of the main streets leading to the train station.
It is, very much by design, an unwelcoming doorway. It is not the sort of doorway one lurks before. It is certainly not the sort of doorway one stands before with one’s fist raised.
And if the alarm bells didn’t already have me reaching for my pistol and Kayla extracting her sword from its sheath, there is always the fact that the figure’s fist appears to be made of solid bronze.
10
“
Nein
! No! Stop!
Achtung
! Please!”
The bronze fist is now an open bronze palm. It hovers inches before the barrel of my extended gun, glaringly on display on the busy Oxford street.
I hesitate. While it’s an assumption that probably has its roots in the grossest Hollywood assumptions, I still
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