Finngarick (Order of the Black Swan, D.I.T. Book 2)

by Victoria Danann

  “Like, I don’t know, disciplining students.”

  He shook his head. “The only thing that could bring up that much emotion, for me, is thinking you’re threatened or…”

  “Cavorting.”

  “Maybe. But I want you to feel free to talk to me about what happens at work.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Certainly. I’ll talk to Monq about what happened. See what he says. But of course I want you to be able to tell me anything.”

  CHAPTER Six MAKING IT WORK

  Rosie had taken up the habit of having breakfast in her office in Edinburgh. Two poached eggs, a ginger scone, and Earl Grey tea. It was quiet and, if nothing else, the solitude helped her review the enormity of the work ahead of her and obsess about her feelings of inadequacy. Perhaps incompetency as well.

  But that morning was different.

  She traveled directly from her bedroom in Jefferson Unit, New Jersey to her office in Edinburgh, Scotia. No doors involved. When she arrived, she picked up the house phone to order breakfast.

  When the kitchen answered, she opened her mouth to speak, but Grieve popped into the doorway. “Good mornin’, madam.”

  Having thought she was alone, she was startled and jumped, her hand involuntarily flying to her chest as if to protect her heart from an attack.

  “Good heavenly days, Grieve. I didn’t know you were here. You almost scared me to death.”

  Grieve’s brows drew together above his glasses. He looked perplexed. “I was no’ aware your demise was so easily arranged. I shall be more careful. As to bein’ here. Of course I’m here, madam. ‘Tis mornin’. And there’s much to do.”

  Rosie supposed she had it coming. The surprise that was. She’d certainly done the same thing to others too many times to count. The reason for the new ring tone policy had just been made crystal clear.

  She realized the kitchen was saying, “Hello? Ms. Storm? Are you alright? Should we send someone?”

  Speaking into the receiver. “Sorry. I’m fine. Can you send breakfast?” Pause. “Yes. My usual. Thank you.” She hung up and looked at Grieve. “I’m not easily offed, Grieve. It’s just an expression. You don’t have to be exceedingly careful around me.”

  “Very well. I’ll be happy to order breakfast in the future. You have so many more important things to do.”

  Rosie had to admit that Grieve had a way of making her feel more important than she had the day before. “That’s nice, Grieve. Thank you.”

  “What are your preferences?”

  “Two poached eggs. Earl Grey tea. And a scone. I like cranberry, blueberry, chocolate, and ginger. And I like to mix it up so that I don’t have the same thing two days in a row.”

  “Very good.”

  “So what are you working on this morning?”

  She noticed that Grieve looked back over his shoulder at the outer office.

  “You know what? Why don’t I come out there? You’ve probably got stuff on your desktop. Right?”

  “I do have my desktop and tablet synced, but the larger monitor is easier to read.”

  Rosie observed Grieve’s color heighten slightly, like he was embarrassed to admit his eyes were not the best.

  Realizing that Grieve was going to make her life so much easier, that her feelings of not being up to the job had already eased, she was feeling stirrings of affection for the little guy.

  “With your permission, I’d love to have breakfast in your office while you tell me what you’re doing with your morning.”

  She couldn’t tell if Grieve looked relieved, because he didn’t make a show of emotion, or reveal his inner workings in any demonstrable way. But she did observe that his color returned to normal.

  “That would be lovely. Please.” He gave the tiniest bow of his head and gestured toward the outer office.

  Rosie was fairly amazed at the changes. Sometime between when she’d left the day before and whenever Grieve had arrived, a giant and elaborately carved rosewood desk had appeared. It was grand. A work of art. And so big it took up most of the office space. The top was covered with a three-quarter-inch piece of clear glass, no doubt to preserve the original beauty.

  “Wow. You’ve been busy. When did you have the time to do this?”

  “I did no’ move the furniture personally. They have people here who do such things. They accompanied me to the palace. I’ve worked at this desk for so many years, it feels like… home, in a way.” He looked up at Rosie. “Of course if you object…”

  She laughed. “You can do whatever you want with your office space, Grieve. I want you to be comfortable. This desk… It looks like it should be in a museum.”

  Grieve’s head jerked toward the desk as if he was looking at it anew, trying to see it for the first time. “Aye, well, ‘tis a gift from the prince.”

  “I can’t imagine how he was persuaded to let you go.”

  “The king will be retirin’ soon, passin’ things along. While I’ve been very satisfied with my position, I think ‘tis time for a change for both the prince and me. Expectations of him as king will be quite different. He should be guided by those with more experience in that area of service.”

  “Very wise of you, Grieve. And his loss is my gain. You know you don’t need to be super formal with me, don’t you? I mean, I’m not royalty. I’ve never even been anybody’s boss before.”

  “You’re quite wrong, madam. You are the closest thing to Black Swan royalty.”

  “Why, Grieve. I’m feeling flattered by you.” She grinned. “So. Stop it. You’ll give me a big giant head.”

  “As you wish.”

  Rosie sat down on the club chair covered with blood-red velvet. It looked like Old World Stuffy period to Rosie, but was surprisingly comfortable.

  “Sit and… what do they call it?” She brightened when the word came to her. She should know it. Glen used it often. “Brief me.”

  Grieve looked even smaller than usual when he sat down behind the monster of a desk, but his considerable air of authority managed to supersede his diminutive stature.

  “There’s so much to cover, I hardly know where to begin.”

  “Order of importance?”

  “I have no’ arranged a list accordingly, but off the top of my head, as they say, the first order of business should be the budget.”

  “Budget?” Rosie said it as if she’d never heard the word. “I just assumed people would be paid according to scale and that it would be arranged through the Employee Resources Department after hiring decisions are made.”

  “For your hunters. Aye. That is the protocol as I understand it. Last night I skimmed through the organization’s ways, means, and methods.”

  “Last night?” Rosie sounded disbelieving, glancing toward the doorway to her office where the enormous three-ring binder had been given a permanent home on a shelf, never to be touched again.

  “Aye. But administrative personnel are handled somewhat differently.”

  “Administrative personnel?”

  “Aye, madam. We can no’ bring your vision to reality with just the two of us.”

  Rosie shook her head slightly. “No. Of course not. What do we have in mind?”

  “My preliminary outlines of structure indicate we need at least four full-time staff. In addition to ourselves, o’ course. Employee Resources will negotiate compensation on your behalf, but we do need to work with our budget.” He looked around. “We also need a place to put them where they can be supervised. I believe we have two choices. There’s adequate space next to the library on basement level or we could put a door in that wall and claim the space beyond.” He gestured to the wall behind where Rosie was sitting. “There are two rooms that are currently unoccupied.”

  “Golly, Grieve. Until a couple of minutes ago, I didn’t even know we had a budget. Truthfully, I’m still not sure of it.” She held up a finger. “You know what? Hold that thought. Or those thoughts as the case may be. I’m just going to step down the hall a
nd get budget clarification.”

  Grieve blinked twice behind his thick glasses, but said nothing.

  Rosie hurried out. She said, “Hello,” as she breezed past Simon’s secretary. The man thought about trying to stop her, but then he realized he wasn’t likely to be any more successful than in past attempts. He wagged his head slightly and said, “Hello,” in a way that seemed grudgingly polite.

  Rosie stuck her head in Simon’s office. He was on the phone. She waited.

  When he ended the call, she said, “What’s my budget?”

  He sighed. “Finally. It always comes down to that, doesn’t it? Surprised it took you this long. How much do you need and what do you need it for?”

  “Grieve says we need four more staff people and a place to put them. He says there are two rooms on the other side of us. We could put a door in his office wall. He says they need supervision.”

  “If Grieve says you need four more people to get this done, you probably do. You have clearance to hire and to reconfigure the space next to you. Your division is getting a budget priority.”

  “Wow. Thanks. Somehow I thought this might be hard.” Simon redirected his attention to his computer, as if she’d been dismissed. “By the way, I decided on a title.”

  Simon’s eyes slid to hers and his eyebrows went up as if to say, “I can’t wait.”

  “Commissioner!” she said.

  After a few beats and a large intake of breath, he repeated, “Commissioner,” in the driest, most non-committal tone imaginable.

  That did nothing to damp Rosie’s enthusiasm. “Yes! Like in Batman. You know, the Commissioner of Police?”

  “I’m rather pleased to say that I don’t know.”

  “Only I’ll be the Commissioner of Paranormal Police.”

  “Rosie, if it will make your dreams come true to be called Commissioner, it’s alright with Black Swan. The organization’s reputation can withstand a joke or two.”

  She jumped high enough to get three inches off the ground and squealed a little. “Thanks, Sims. You’re my favorite.” Simon went back to his computer, shaking his head, knowing that Rosie said that to anyone with whom she was pleased at the moment. “Commissioner Storm. Let it be written.”

  “Out.”

  “And it’s not a joke. Exactly. More like a tribute.”

  “Out.”

  She threw herself into Grieve’s visitor chair, which protested with a slight creak. “He says money’s not a problem.”

  Grieve cocked his head. “Well, that will certainly be different.”

  “Why? The government has money problems?”

  “All governments have money problems because people are involved. They’re always competing to try to get the most possible for their cause, whether that’s parkland for crops of fae dust or allowances for performance art.”

  “Oh. Yeah.”

  “How do we requisition people? And did we get permission to acquire the space next door for D.I.T.?”

  “Yes. We have permission to punch a door in the wall and take over the rooms on the other side. As for, um, requisitioning people. I don’t know.” Haversfil stared until Rosie got the message. “Be right back.”

  Five minutes later she was back and easing down into the red velvet club chair since it was, evidently, old and fragile.

  “Give me the phone,” she said.

  Haversfil looked at the cradle phone on his desk, which linked him to every other desk in the building. He shoved the unit toward Rosie, who dialed 4357. “Just remember HELP,” she said as she dialed. “It corresponds to 4357.” She looked away. “Hello. This is Commissioner Storm.” Grieve’s right eyebrow cocked at that. “I’m handing the phone to my assistant, Haversfil Grieve. He’s going to order up some office help. The expenditure has been approved by the Director.” Pause. “Okey dokey.”

  She handed the receiver to Grieve and said, “Knock yourself out.”

  While he was conversing with the staffing department, she trotted back down to Simon’s office. His secretary lifted his chin, but seeing who it was, went back to what he was doing.

  “Who do we call about the space conversion?” she asked without preamble.

  “Building maintenance. 6245.”

  “Does that stand for something?”

  Simon smirked. “Yes. Let me know when you figure it out.”

  “Isn’t there a list of numbers somewhere?”

  “Yes. Inside the middle drawer of your desk.” He stopped what he was doing long enough to look up. “Have you even looked inside your desk?”

  She frowned slightly. “No.” Feeling defensive, she added, “I’m not a desk kind of girl.”

  Simon sighed. “Nonetheless. You’ll save wear and tear on the Heriz rug outside my office if you check the list.”

  She saluted and left without a word.

  When she returned, Grieve was off the phone. “6245 gets you building maintenance. They’re the ones you need to talk to about the offices. And I guess there’s a list of who to call for what. Simon said it was in the middle drawer of my desk.” She hurried into her office, pulled out the drawer, and, indeed, there was a slick-looking directory about the size of a door hanger printed on thick glossy cardstock.

  Grieve heard her shout, “Eureka!” from the other room. She dropped the directory on his desk. “Here you go. You need this more than I do.”

  He looked at the list. “An excellent find, madam. I shall put it to good use. Would you like me to secure another for your use or make a copy perhaps?”

  “You know, not really. I’d rather you just take care of all that stuff.” Grieve nodded. “Does that sound bad?”

  Grieve turned to her with a quizzical expression. “No, madam. Why would it?”

  “Because maybe I should be doing some of this myself?” She bit into her bottom lip.

  For the first time, she saw a ghost of a smile on his generally expressionless face. It took a few years off his somewhat enigmatic age.

  “’Tis no’ an idea that makes sense to me. I’m no’ inclined toward bargains, but will propose one for the sake of expediency. I will no’ attempt to hunt down varmints who have no business in our world if you will trust me with organization and administration.”

  “Grieve,” Rosie said flatly, “I bless the minute Simon decided to take the decision away from me and send you. You’re an angel. Much more so than the real angels I know.”

  “Then we are agreed. Is this a good time to sort through my ideas thus far?”

  “Excellent.”

  Grieve nodded. “Today I will meet with Building Maintenance about the offices. Hopefully we will also be able to set up interviews. For today.”

  “You don’t believe in wasting time, do you?”

  “’Tis the most precious thing you have and the one thing you can no’ get more of.” Grieve cocked his head. “O’ course, as I understand it, the probable length of your life is uncertain. I suspect it gives you a different perspective.”

  “Maybe,” Rosie said carefully. “That doesn’t mean I’m not concerned about the lives of others.”

  “No. O’ course no’. I did no’ mean to posit that suggestion. No offense was intended. Just an observation.”

  “No offense was taken, Grieve. So you’re doing office and personnel today.”

  “Aye. I’ve set up a meeting for you with Dr. Monq. I believe you know him?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Inside out. What am I meeting with him about? Exactly.”

  “Comin’ up with creative ways to get your hunters on a level playin’ field with elementals. If he’s successful with, em, Travelpass, ‘twill be only the first step in a process. As I’m sure you know.”

  Rosie didn’t know what he meant, but didn’t want to appear totally incompetent. So she nodded. “What do you see as the second step?”

  “Gettin’ your hunters the ability to step off world at will and run down troublemakers is all fine, but when they catch up with the beasties…” Referring
to elementals as ‘beasties’ did cause Rosie’s feathers to stir a little, since some of those Grieve referred to as ‘beasties’ were friends and family, “…they need the means not to just defend themselves or remain unscathed, but to take the like into custody for whatever process the Director decides upon.”

  “Unscathed,” she said drily. Truthfully she hadn’t thought about the dangers of sending Loti-born hunters up against elementals, and was a little shamefaced for having not considered it until pointed out by Grieve. Of course there were myriad problems with the entire scenario, some of which might be insurmountable.

  She knew that Simon ran Black Swan like a chess player, always thinking several moves ahead, and she would bet that, even though she’d been stupidly oblivious to the hows of the operation, he probably had something in mind.

  “Be right back,” she said as she darted out the door. Simon’s secretary looked up just long enough to roll his eyes as she passed. She stuck her head in his office.

  “Let me guess,” Simon said without looking up. “It has just occurred to you that elementals would laugh at your hunters and perhaps extinguish the inconvenience with a swipe of the imagination.”

  Rosie gaped. “Well, that explains a lot about your ruthless rise to power and the way you’ve held onto the job of top cop for so long.”

  Simon turned her way and looked at her for the first time. In a not so friendly way. “There was nothing ruthless about my promotion to this position. I simply proved myself best person for the job. I’ve stayed here because I continue to be the best person for the job. Are we clear about this?”

  “Indubitably.”

  “Good.”

  “But is that how you’ve done it? You’re a mind reader?”

  “Do not be more ridiculous than usual, Elora Rose. I’m not a mind reader. I’m a student, and therefore predictor, of behavior.”

  “Right? What am I gonna say next?”

  He sat back and lazily lowered his lids to half mast. “You’re going to ask if I have a plan for sending hunters into other dimensions to track the purveyors of mystery and get them back safely.”