skills, but until I had Connor’s many years’ experience under my belt, I’d have to contend with my larger Leaning Towers of Paper.
We had used the Spidey PEZ Dispenser several times since that early training session, and I knew he kept it in the desk somewhere. I sat down at it, excited at the prospect of helping out Connor with his missing brother, and not for a second feeling guilty about going through his desk. In the past six months, I had been over there hundreds of times to get forms, Post-its, and whatnot from him.
I slid the desk drawers open, one by one. The usual assortment of crap was in them—Post-its, pens, a microcassette recorder, an assortment of half-empty vials, presumably for that ghost-capturing mixture he always had on him. In the bottom-left drawer, a clipped bundle of papers caught my eye and I pulled them out. Some of them were Xeroxes from the historical archives, but others were simply newspaper clippings or memos. The top article came from in-house and showed the archives’ heading. Underneath the heading was an article detailing the night I had dressed as Zorro at the Sectarians’ museum bust. I flipped to the next page. This copy of a file described the night I had assisted Connor with that rogue spirit in an alley near Washington Square, the very night Connor had become a White Stripe. I skipped all the way to the bottom of the pile and found that even the first entry was also about me—a welcome mention in the Department’s HR newsletter. Connor had kept all of it. Having found this emotional treasure trove made me feel a little awkward about going through his desk, even though my intentions were good. I stood up and shut the drawer. I couldn’t do this right now.
I was both warmed by the discovery and ashamed by my behavior. Only when someone nearby spoke up did I snap out of it.
“Lost?” Connor asked, half joking and half suspicious. I looked up and there he was, standing in the main aisle by our desks, still in his trench coat.
“Umm, I was looking for a requisition form for getting myself a new cell phone,” I lied, patting his stacks of casework as if I had only been giving a cursory look at what was visible. “What with the old one melting in the Oubliette … I thought you might have a form.”
Connor shrugged. “Not sure, kid. I’d check with the supply room. I think they have a twenty-pager you have to fill out, one of the kinds that still uses carbon paper, so your fingers should be good and purple by the time you’re done. And remember to press down firmly. I think it’s a 21-10, if I remember correctly. And you’ll have to get Jane’s signature on it as well.”
“Jane?” I said, startled. “What for?”
As if we were two sumo wrestlers sizing each other up, Connor territorially circled to his side of the desk and I went back to mine.
“Well,” Connor said, slipping off his coat and sitting down, “technically, she’s the official offending witch for melting your cell phone, and the Department likes to keep records on that sort of thing.”
Even though Jane had been taken under Wesker’s wing in Greater & Lesser Arcana, I hadn’t really thought of her as a witch. Until she had turned my phone into a smoldering mess, I hadn’t even known she had the ability to do such a thing. Now I knew differently. She was clearly dabbling in something powerful.
“Where’d you run off to?” I asked, wanting to change the subject.
Connor grabbed about an inch of paperwork from the top of the pile in his in-box. He winced in faux pain and dropped the paperwork on his desk, flexing his hand.
He sighed and said, “Couple of Faisal’s old followers were brought in and some of the White Stripes needed a hand getting them down to booking. Got a little rough.”
I was shocked to hear the mention of Faisal Bane. “You mean the Sectarians are still operating?” I asked. “I had hoped we’d put them out of business.”
Connor laughed and looked up at
We had used the Spidey PEZ Dispenser several times since that early training session, and I knew he kept it in the desk somewhere. I sat down at it, excited at the prospect of helping out Connor with his missing brother, and not for a second feeling guilty about going through his desk. In the past six months, I had been over there hundreds of times to get forms, Post-its, and whatnot from him.
I slid the desk drawers open, one by one. The usual assortment of crap was in them—Post-its, pens, a microcassette recorder, an assortment of half-empty vials, presumably for that ghost-capturing mixture he always had on him. In the bottom-left drawer, a clipped bundle of papers caught my eye and I pulled them out. Some of them were Xeroxes from the historical archives, but others were simply newspaper clippings or memos. The top article came from in-house and showed the archives’ heading. Underneath the heading was an article detailing the night I had dressed as Zorro at the Sectarians’ museum bust. I flipped to the next page. This copy of a file described the night I had assisted Connor with that rogue spirit in an alley near Washington Square, the very night Connor had become a White Stripe. I skipped all the way to the bottom of the pile and found that even the first entry was also about me—a welcome mention in the Department’s HR newsletter. Connor had kept all of it. Having found this emotional treasure trove made me feel a little awkward about going through his desk, even though my intentions were good. I stood up and shut the drawer. I couldn’t do this right now.
I was both warmed by the discovery and ashamed by my behavior. Only when someone nearby spoke up did I snap out of it.
“Lost?” Connor asked, half joking and half suspicious. I looked up and there he was, standing in the main aisle by our desks, still in his trench coat.
“Umm, I was looking for a requisition form for getting myself a new cell phone,” I lied, patting his stacks of casework as if I had only been giving a cursory look at what was visible. “What with the old one melting in the Oubliette … I thought you might have a form.”
Connor shrugged. “Not sure, kid. I’d check with the supply room. I think they have a twenty-pager you have to fill out, one of the kinds that still uses carbon paper, so your fingers should be good and purple by the time you’re done. And remember to press down firmly. I think it’s a 21-10, if I remember correctly. And you’ll have to get Jane’s signature on it as well.”
“Jane?” I said, startled. “What for?”
As if we were two sumo wrestlers sizing each other up, Connor territorially circled to his side of the desk and I went back to mine.
“Well,” Connor said, slipping off his coat and sitting down, “technically, she’s the official offending witch for melting your cell phone, and the Department likes to keep records on that sort of thing.”
Even though Jane had been taken under Wesker’s wing in Greater & Lesser Arcana, I hadn’t really thought of her as a witch. Until she had turned my phone into a smoldering mess, I hadn’t even known she had the ability to do such a thing. Now I knew differently. She was clearly dabbling in something powerful.
“Where’d you run off to?” I asked, wanting to change the subject.
Connor grabbed about an inch of paperwork from the top of the pile in his in-box. He winced in faux pain and dropped the paperwork on his desk, flexing his hand.
He sighed and said, “Couple of Faisal’s old followers were brought in and some of the White Stripes needed a hand getting them down to booking. Got a little rough.”
I was shocked to hear the mention of Faisal Bane. “You mean the Sectarians are still operating?” I asked. “I had hoped we’d put them out of business.”
Connor laughed and looked up at
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