“What?”
“You know. Let it be written, let it be… Never mind. I’ll tell her. Thank you.”
“Falcon.”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“When the unit was attacked, weren’t you one of the ones who was left without protective gear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He glanced at Genevieve compulsively hoping that she might be impressed, but her smug haughty expression hadn’t changed even a little. He thought she was good for another reaction so he put his hand over his heart and blew her a kiss on his way out. As expected, her face went slack with surprise.
Kristoph Falcon walked away from Operations chuckling, his mood especially light considering how seldom he found things amusing.
As more and more newly transferred J.U. personnel reported for duty, Rev had enough knights on hand to get a rotation schedule underway. That was, after all, the business of the Hunter Division. With so much going on he found lots of excuses to stop by Operations and flirt with Farnsworth.
He began keeping a personal-best score of how many times he could make her blush per visit. The young assistant, Zhawnveyev, loved to see him coming. She’d become his biggest supporter, playing the role of silent cheerleader on the sidelines of the game he played with Farnsworth. When his efforts at being charming or seductively suggestive met with her approval, she would smile and nod. She was like a human date-o-meter.
Rev never failed to ask Farnsworth to go out with him, even if he was there six times in a work day. And she never failed to turn him down. Until she didn’t. Unbeknownst to the Sovereign, Genevieve had been acting as more than a silent ally. Every time Rev left she found another way to respectfully phrase the idea that she thought Farnsworth would be crazy to continue being hard to get or that she thought they made a perfect couple.
“You work so hard. What is the trouble with having some pleasure in life as well? Few men would ever work so hard for the attentions of a woman in this century, especially when they are so charming and lovely as the Sovereign.”
“He’s too young.” Farnsworth almost always responded with some variation on that theme.
“Pish. Pish. Pish. Ridiculous. In France such a thing would never stand in the way of love.”
“Love!?! I think you’re carried away.”
“It is not I who is carried away. He has his heart set on you. Can you not see this?”
“Genevieve, we have work to do. Don’t make me use the boss card.”
With that, or something like it, the issue would be set aside until the Sovereign’s next visit, which would usually be within two hours.
Then one day he didn’t come in at all. Genevieve noticed Farnsworth looking at the doorway and knew she was wondering if she’d rejected his pursuit one too many times.
He was absent the following morning and early afternoon. It was then that Genevieve delivered, or perhaps detonated, a perfectly timed question.
“I see now that Sovereign Farthing is wasting his time. Since you are so clearly not interested, then perhaps you wouldn’t mind if I try to ease his heartache.”
Genevieve controlled her features so that she looked as innocent as a lamb, but on the inside, when she saw the look on Farnsworth’s face, she was wearing a triumphantly wicked grin.
At two o’clock Rev came through the door with an armful of calla lilies and a big smile.
Farnsworth accepted the flowers. When he looked at Genevieve, she smiled and nodded. “You said you like these?”
“I do. They’re my favorite.”
“I believe you, but it seems odd.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re beautiful, but colorless and you’re so… you know, colorful?”
“You think I’m colorful?” Farnsworth was a little taken aback because that would probably have been the last adjective she would have used to describe herself. Genevieve was beaming, thinking the man should have been French.
“Well, yeah. You don’t think so?” Her answer was to blush and bury her nose in the blooms. “I have to get back. Sifting through the reports of what’s happening in the field.”
“Oh.”
Did she sound disappointed? He thought she might have at first, but decided it was wishful thinking.
“So. See you soon?” He started to turn and leave.
“Wait!” She blushed again thinking that might have sounded just a little too forceful. Rev turned around and stepped back up to the counter. She dropped her eyes. “Don’t you have something else to, ah, ask me?”
He looked momentarily confused, but any spectator could have easily read the emotions on his face, which softened when he realized what she was implying. He leaned closer and lowered his voice to a level of greater intimacy. “Will you go out with me?”
“Yes.” Not the least hesitation or timidity. It was emphatic and it was assent.
Genevieve clapped her hands and shrieked quietly. Rev wouldn’t have thought that possible, but she was French.
“Tonight?” Farnsworth looked discombobulated. It was evident her mind was racing around and jumping through work hoops, clothing hoops, hair and makeup hoops. “Tomorrow night.” She smiled, looking pleased and shy.
“Meet me at the Whisterpad at eight and wear something red.”
She looked terrified, but Genevieve interceded. “Tee shirt red? Or sexy with high heels red?”
Rev grinned and looked back at Farnsworth. “Sexy yes. High heels? Probably not. We may walk a little.”
If he’d known that his comments would send his Operations Manager into an afternoon-long tailspin of how one might go about looking sexy in low heeled shoes, he would have taken it all back and said jeans and sneakers.
After he left, Genevieve said, “Do you have something red?”
“Oh. Yes. Sol liked to see me in red.”
“Then they are alike in this way. Yes?”
Come to think of it, Farnsworth realized that Rev and Sol were alike in a lot of ways. She had the brief thought that perhaps she was a magnet to men who were predisposed to be Jefferson Unit Sovereigns, but she dismissed it as quickly as it flew by.
In the end Genevieve came up with a perfect solution. She loaned Farnsworth a designer bag big enough to hold a pair of shoes so that she could switch from heels to flats when necessary.
That was the moment when Farnsworth predicted a long and illustrious career in problem-solving for her talented assistant.
The construction underway to reconfigure parts of the facility was being supervised by Operations, of course, and that was one of the main reasons why Farnsworth had needed to take on an assistant.
It was a new chapter in the history of Jefferson Unit. There would be more active hunters in residence than ever before and there were additional housing issues such as the marital status of recalled knights. Those who were married to other employees of The Order were to be allowed family quarters, which were slightly bigger. There weren’t many of those, but enough so that it presented a planning consideration.
Ram and Elora already occupied an apartment big enough for themselves, a child and a very large dog. Elsbeth and Sir Fennimore were getting married and three other knights qualified if they so desired.
Fennimore had taken his physical therapy seriously. Between that and the constant hands on care and encouragement of his wife-to-be, he was out of the wheelchair, walking with a cane and telling everyone he’d be ready for rotation in a few days. When people smiled, it wasn’t an indulgence. They gave him an odds-on chance of doing whatever he claimed.
Of the other two, one hunter was married to a surgeon – always a welcome addition to an active hunter unit. The other was married to a scientist whom Director Tvelgar arranged to have transferred to Monq’s research unit.
All was handled with relative ease. A little paperwork. A little shuffling. The last couple to be granted married quarters, however, was a surprise.
Reports from the field after the first night of resumed patrol w
ere alarming. The hunters described a situation that was everyone’s worst fear. The vampire population had rebounded fast. Whereas they used to spot one or two a month, the teams who went out that first night reported visuals on more than they could chase down.
They were going to have to put on hip boots, wade in, and get the numbers trimmed down quickly or it was going to get exponentially worse.
The next day after the Sovereigns all over the globe began sharing initial data, Baka walked into Jefferson Unit, took the elevator down to Sublevel 2 and knocked on Rev’s door. When Rev looked up and saw who was standing in the outer office, he was sure that his knee jerk reaction gave him away. Whereas Farthing had never met Baka, Sol had known him better than most.
Rev forced his features to appear neutral as he rose to greet the visitor.
Baka extended his hand. “Istvan Baka.”
“Baka? I’ve heard of you.”
Baka replied with a small smile. “No doubt.”
Rev gestured to a chair facing his desk. “Tell me something truthfully.”
“Ask,” Baka said as he moved toward the chair.
“Before I sit down and get comfortable, do I need to keep a stake in my hand? I’ll hide it under the table for political correctness of course.”
Baka raised an eyebrow. “Funny. I wasn’t expecting you to be entertaining. The guy who sat in that chair before you was the antithesis of that.”
Rev instantly stiffened, feeling defensive about the reputation of his former self. “What do you mean? I’d been led to believe he was a stand-up guy.”
“Oh he was,” Baka rushed to say, “in every sense of the phrase. He was also serious as a DOA pronouncement.”
Rev frowned at that, but supposed the vampire was telling the truth.
“Yes, well, a little levity never hurts.”
“I’m a believer.”
“So what can I do for you?”
“I’ve seen the early reports, most of them. New York seems to be hardest hit by the resurgence of the virus.”
Rev pursed his lips and steepled his fingers. “Initial assessments point toward that conclusion.”
“I’d like to be stationed where I can do the most good. That seems to be here.” Baka waited for a reaction before continuing, but Rev said nothing. “If you agree, my wife would be coming with me. She’s been working in the field as part of my team. I don’t know if you’re aware of her, ah, our history, but she has some unique gifts.”
“I am aware that your wife would be an asset to any operation lucky enough to get her. We’ll take her. You stay in Paris where you can do the most good.”
Rev said it with a perfectly deadpan inflection and had to admit he thoroughly enjoyed the look on Baka’s face when the vampire apparently thought he was serious.
“I… I…”
The Sovereign decided to let him off the hot seat and released him with a chuckle. “The look on your face was priceless, vampire.”
Baka caught on at the first hint of humor and started nodding as if to say, “You got me.”
“Joking aside, is that the only reason why you’re asking for a transfer to J.U.?”
Baka stared at him for a few beats. “Probably not. My friends are here. And if it’s all the same to you, please don’t call me vampire.”
“When did you get to be a sensitive fella?”
“What makes you think I wasn’t always a sensitive fella?”
Rev locked eyes with Baka for a second. “Exactly right. Why would I think otherwise? Just out of curiosity, are you dispersing the rest of your team?”
“You mean…?”
“Animal House.”
Baka winced a little at the tag. He knew the kids could be unruly, but for months he’d worked with them on a nightly basis and was acutely aware that they were volunteering their services for free with no motivation other than a little guidance on honor and responsibility from Jean Etienne. He thought they’d outlived the Animal House thing. Or should have.
On the other hand he questioned why he was being resentful and defensive on their behalf. They didn’t care what they were called. All they truly cared about was blood and “femmes”, particularly when those two things came as a package.
If they had truly understood the multilayered implication of the nickname, they would probably laugh and demand to be called Animal House.
“Well, they agreed to help when the circumstances were considerably different. Factors have changed, as you’re aware. To say that the mutation is a game changer is an understatement.”
“Go on.”
“They’ve agreed to continue to help, but want more flexibility.”
“What does that mean?”
“They, um, want to set their own hours.”
“I see. That may present some problems for whichever Sovereign ends up trying to keep them reined in.”
“Well…” Baka looked unsure how to proceed.
“Well what?”
“I was hoping you might want to be the Sovereign with the problem of keeping them reined in.”
Again, Rev found himself staring at Baka while he thought through all the potential ramifications. “Traveling with a circus, are you?”
“That’s one way to put it. It may seem like a motley crew of mixed species and abilities, but the bottom line is that we’re vampire hunters.”
He took a good long look at Baka as he sifted through Sol’s memories. It was definitely not the same Baka that Sol had dealt with. For one thing, he didn’t have that creepy amused look about him, like he knew a secret that he wasn’t sharing. Trying to talk to a vampire who looks like he knows something you don’t makes for high blood pressure and uncomfortable squirmage in one’s chair.
Rev sucked in a big breath and let out a long sigh. “That’s the hook all right. Hard to turn down. Even if I wanted to.” He shook his head. “So we would need married housing for you and…”
“Heaven.”
“Yes, Heaven. Nice name. And the crazy kids?”
“They don’t really require living arrangements.”
“Well, that’s a definite plus in their column.”
Baka smiled and looked hopeful. “Is that a yes?”
Rev seemed distracted, like he was juggling too many things at once. “How did you get here, by the way?”
“Hitched a ride on a company plane. I’m afraid there may not be enough residual trace of immortality to keep me alive in the passes, according to Jean Etienne’s speculation. And my wife isn’t willing to chance it. So I fly the old-fashioned way. In a jet.”
“Yeah. Monq is still working on the idea for separating a person’s particles, transporting them elsewhere, and reassembling them on arrival. If you think traveling the passes comes with risk, just imagine that!” Rev shook his head. “Are you spending the night then?”
“Yes.” Rev turned away and seemed to become immediately engrossed in something on his monitor. “Sovereign Farthing?”
“Hmmm?”
“When do you think I might expect an answer regarding my request for transfer?’
Baka could read every emotion that passed over the Sovereign’s face – something that never could have been said about Solomon Nememiah. In rapid succession he watched surprise become confusion. That quickly changed to understanding and resolved in a slight embarrassment.
Rev stood up and extended his hand. “Welcome to Jefferson Unit, vam… uh, Baka. We’re glad to have you and your crew.”
CHAPTER 12
Farnsworth was so unaccustomed to getting calls on her personal phone that it took her a minute to identify the odd buzzing as her phone vibrating on her desk. Looking at the face, she saw that it was a text from Farthing.
I understand it could have gone either way at this time of year, but it seems the weatherman says cold. So bring your coat. And hat. And mittens.
She laughed at the last thing and repeated, “Mittens,” under her breath.
“Hmmm? You said something?”
Actually it sounded more like sumzing when Genevieve said it.
Farnsworth looked up and blushed like she’d been caught doing something untoward. “Um, well, Sovereign Farthing texted to say I should bring a hat and mittens because it will be cold tonight. For our date.”
Genevieve blinked. “And this makes you blush? What is it about hats and coats and the mittens that makes you blush?” She smiled. “Oh. You are planning to make love wearing just hats and mittens?” She said it as offhandedly as if she was asking if they were having Italian or seafood for dinner.
“You say these things to embarrass me, don’t you?” Farnsworth’s face had gone bright red.
Genevieve blinked. “Embarrass? No.” She shook her head like the idea of deliberately setting out to cause her boss embarrassment was unthinkable.
Farnsworth took a deep breath. “I just have to remember you’re French and look at things differently. I just thought it was sort of, I don’t know, endearing. Nurturing. That he thought about me being cold.”
“But of course. He likes you very much.”
When Farnsworth arrived at the Whister pad, she was wearing a red dress, a long but stylish wool coat, and she was carrying a large outrageously expensive bag that contained slip on sneakers, a hat that wouldn’t ruin her hair for days, and a pair of extravagant red leather gloves with faux Canadian fox fur trim. When she stepped off the elevator she found a date waiting with a smile that lit her up like a shot of bourbon.
The Whister dropped them at The Order’s 63rd Street location, which was just four blocks from the newly reopened Café Des Artistes, close enough to walk. When they arrived, Rev leaned over and said something inaudible to the maître d, who responded with a smile and a nod. They were seated in a back corner booth. It was the sort of place where wait staff knew not to interrupt a sentence in progress, to be present when needed without hovering when unwanted. Quiet and elegant for fine dining with anyone. Romantic and seductive when with the right person.
Dinner was one of those two and a half hour experiences that would be remembered when all the ordinary nights of ordinary meals were long forgotten.
Knights of Black Swan, Books 7-9 (Knights of Black Swan Box Set Book 3) Page 14
