by Tina Gower
“Have you spoken with Officer Ian Becker recently?” Gretchen asks in a casual tone.
My stomach does a flip, and I get a little shock of a twinge in an unmentionable place at the mention of just his name. It’s as though my little errant werewolf thought summoned my boss to mention the one wolf I didn’t want to discuss.
“No.” I smooth out my gunmetal grey pencil skirt and clear my throat. I tip my glasses straight, they flop back to tilt. “We haven't spoken.”
And it’s absolutely true. We’ve not spoken one word while he sleeps next to me every couple nights in bed. During the day we’ve taken careful steps to avoid one another. Well, at least I have. Becker is probably just busy being his usual workaholic cop self. It might explain why I’ve not seen him the past four nights, but instead of breathing a sigh of relief, I’m unable to sleep wondering if Becker is okay. Did I do something wrong? Did he find a pack and no longer needs me to regulate his body?
Gretchen sets her work aside, lacing her fingers into a prayer position. The background flute works itself into a climatic crescendo, then tapers off, stopping all at once. Now it’s just the relaxing sounds of wind.
Her expression melts into concern. “How’s Jack Roberts doing?”
My stomach cramps although it shouldn’t—this is an easier topic. Much happier. At least I have the black-and-white answer and it’s not as messy as how I continue to allow the police department’s liaison into my bed for nightly snuggle sessions. Or how I dream of his naked body.
I put a finger on the frame of my glasses near my temple to keep them straight. “Jack is progressing. The doctors say he’ll be ready for some physical therapy sessions. MRI is showing he has some damage and is expected to have a long recovery, but he’ll walk again. To what extent, will depend on how his PT goes.”
Talking about Jack digs at my compulsion that there is still something about that case that didn’t add up, but it’s just my ego gasping one last breath. I don’t like being wrong.
I pull out my phone and show her a recent picture of Jack sitting up in retraction, goofy grin and what little hair he has sticking out in multiple directions.
Gretchen reaches across her desk to cover my hand with hers. “Wonderful.” Her hands are warm, but the kind of heat that reminds me how cold I am.
I resist the urge to pull away. She shouldn’t be so nice to me, considering Jack was my last case. The one I’d assumed to succeed only to utterly fail due to a rookie mistake. Short story version: he had a high probability of a homicide death and Becker talked me into keeping the case between us, so we could go rogue and impress our respective bosses. Plus Jack insisted for me to serve as his actuary. We kept him from the murder plot, only to have him get hit by a car the next day. We were so focused on removing all the risk factors we forgot to put a watch on his name in our own department. And did I mention he’s an oracle?
Yep, pretty much the most high-profile client you can protect. The main ingredient to our forecast net and the whole reason my job even exists. Without oracle predictions we have nothing to run numbers on. No probability of fate occurrence. It would be like a coach accidentally killing the star pitcher.
Okay, a little over the top. Jack is a weather oracle in a city that has a fairly mild climate, but I didn’t want to be the reason anyone died on my watch. Certainly not due to my negligence. And he didn’t die; I just maimed him.
Gretchen eyes me like she’s trying to determine something. Eventually she lets a short breath out of her nostrils. “All right. I’m sure you know I didn’t call you in here to rehash the Roberts case, but I can tell you’re still hanging on to it.” She scoots her office chair closer to me, although the desk inhibits her from getting too near, and I get a waft of her ginger and cloves perfume. “This job isn’t like anything in traffic.”
Right. Thank gods. But…
She holds up a finger after my mouth automatically opens in protest. “Sure, they have the occasional death, but that’s all we deal in. Death. Accidental death is even harder because we get cases that are unavoidable and all we can do is watch the probability increase with no course of risk aversion.”
I shift in my chair. “With all due respect—”
“Michelle Kitman was the exception. We won’t see another like her in our lifetime.”
Cue the pause where my boss looks off into the distance remembering our profession’s greatest member. Fuck Kitman for being so perfect. I equally want to hate Kitman and find a way to become her best friend. Seeing the look of admiration in Gretchen’s eyes makes me, in this moment, grip the armrest. My fingernails dig into the cloud-like mesh. I don’t want to hear that Kitman is an anomaly and nobody else can rise to that level of greatness in our lifetime.
I want to be the next Kitman. And I could totally do it if I could just catch a break.
Gretchen blinks to awareness and passes me a file. “I think given the last few weeks have been incredibly stressful for you, I wanted to assign you something to take your mind off all the death cases for a bit.”
I flatten my back against the chair and glare at the file like it’s poison. “What do you mean? I’m still an Accidental Death Actuary, right? I’m not being reassigned.” My heart bangs against my ribs as though they’re prison bars. The mesh chair reflects my heat a little too well and suffocates my pores, causing me to sweat.
Who would have bet I could screw up so soon after starting? The last time I was demoted it took at least six months and an affair with a married man in my department. He reported our relationship to HR after the breakup and got promoted for his honesty. I got demoted to the hell that is Traffic and forced to sign paperwork admitting my relationship and absolving the department of fault for any wrongdoing that might have resulted of said relationship. In return I got to keep my barely-anything-to-brag-about salary.
Gretchen’s eyes go wide at my reaction. “Oh no. That’s not what this is. It’s just someone from Ever After Predictions has requested one of our actuaries to consult on a project. They’ve been having problems with their system.”
I ease a little but remain on guard. What would a private company that’s pretty much a dating service want with death actuaries? Their commercial pops into my head unexpectedly.
Hands clasping. The words Predictable Love materialize in the center of the screen.
The silhouette of lips kissing. Scientifically Proven Attraction. As the words fade, the silhouette becomes more defined until we see the couple. Then quick flashes of a dozen happy couples holding hands, gazing into each other’s eyes, kissing, hugging.
Then bam. Blinding white screen and a sexy male voice whispers, Your Soul Mate is a click away.
I very nearly mouth the words, which shows how powerful, or annoying, the ad is.
Gretchen slides the file closer to me. “You’re expected at Ever After’s main offices at 2:00 p.m. Why don’t you leave for lunch now and use the extra time to go over the case notes?”
I glance at the clock. It’s 11:45 a.m. Technically, I’ve lost long lunch privileges for the next thirty days, because I refused to respond to a summons. Another residual of Jack’s case, but I don’t regret the decision. We were close to zeroing in on the culprit and if I’d reported to the summons, we’d have put several oracles’ lives in danger.
I take the file with hesitation, pressing my lips together with a look that’s more of a question to my boss.
She leans back in her chair. “Just take the case, Kate. You’ll likely work through lunch anyway, so we’re not breaking any rules here. If this comes back to hurt you, I’ll explain to the higher ups you were working under my orders.”
I tuck the file under my arm and nod. “Thank you.”
“Wait until you see the case. It’s a doozy. Ever After is having some sort of problem. People are getting matched to dead people.” She lets out a giggle that she covers with a cough. “I can’t make this stuff up.”
So much for keeping me away from cases that involve de
ath. I walk as fast as I can without breaking into a jog away from her office and collect my things like a convict released on parole.
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