CHAPTER 9
LAURA HAD PLANNED the detention of Fallon Moor for early in the morning in order to free up time for the rest of the day. She was glad she did, since between the initial interview of Moor and the subsequent paperwork, she didn’t get upstairs to the public-relations department until noon.
The chaos on her desk did its best to depress her, but she retaliated by remaining focused. The reception for Draigen macCullen produced layers of pressure that she hadn’t anticipated. Working for Guildmaster Orrin ap Rhys as his public-relations director and for Terryn macCullen as his top undercover agent created conflicts that were becoming harder to ignore. At this point, she recognized that Rhys was no fan of the Inverni—neither past nor present—and enjoyed fanning the flames of their disagreements. As a diplomatic extension of High Queen Maeve’s court, the Washington Guildhouse was playing a major role in discrediting the Inverni position—and Laura was finding her job as public-relations director bumping up against her moral and personal ethics as a friend and colleague of Terryn.
Regardless of her job title on the Guildhouse letterhead, Laura’s public-relations position had expanded over the years by a slow accretion of tasks and favors that had nothing to do with her primary job. Her inherent drive to get things done had clouded the fact that she had let things get out of control. Hiring Saffin Corrill as her assistant helped manage the unwieldy numbers of responsibilities, with the added benefit of finding someone she could trust. Where Laura didn’t want to say no to people, Saffin had no problem booting them to the curb.
To complicate things more, Rhys didn’t know she worked for InterSec. Terryn, of course, knew about her Guild work but made it a point never to ask her for inside information. Which made things harder, since the decision to reveal or not reveal was hers. Depending on the situation, she sometimes was forced to make a choice between Terryn and Rhys, something that did not always sit well depending on which job hat she wore.
Which all came down to why she had become more involved in Draigen macCullen’s reception than she would have otherwise. Rhys had assigned the lead responsibility to Resha Dunne, but Laura wanted Draigen’s meeting with the president of the United States to succeed. If Draigen succeeded, Laura wouldn’t have to draw a line in the sand with Rhys regarding how far she would go to discredit Terryn’s clan. If Draigen succeeded, Laura’s personal feelings for Terryn wouldn’t make her feel obligated to disclose Guild strategies against the Inverni to him. She didn’t want Draigen to succeed. She needed her to.
Saffin arrived with a stack of folders, which she laid out along the front edge of Laura’s desk. “This folder contains top-priority issues. This one has potential issues. This one has issues I don’t think are issues. And this one has issues that I know aren’t issues. Some people need to find better things to do with their time.”
Her efficiency amused and gratified Laura. She and Saffin had worked together for years, knew each other’s rhythms, and helped each other get their jobs done. Without Saffin, Laura’s double life would have been impossible. She had saved Laura’s reputation several times—once literally saved her life.
Brownies by nature were skilled organizational personalities with a knack for order and efficiency. Those talents came at a price. Stressed by an obstacle in their path to successful completion of a job, they transformed into boggarts—a manic version of their normal selves. She had seen the effect recently with Fallon Moor. The physical transformation was exhausting for brownies—and dangerous to the people around them. “Going boggie” had a range of behaviors from an annoying relentlessness to outright violent acts.
Without comment, Laura observed the healing cuts on Saffin’s face and arms. Saffin had been caught in the recent terrorist attack at the Archives and gone full boggart. Her body became a killing machine to save her life and the lives of others. While Laura knew it was a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, she couldn’t help feeling responsible for what Saffin had done, especially since Laura had had to encourage it to save them. If Laura had prevented the attack in the first place, Saffin wouldn’t have been hurt—or hurt others. Saffin hadn’t blamed Laura. She didn’t dwell on what she had done but accepted it as the inevitable outcome of her nature. Laura wished she could be so comfortable in her own skin.
“How about I take the office complaint folder, and you take the reception one?” she asked.
Saffin flipped her wispy blond hair over her shoulders. “Sure. Of course, that means the reception hors d’oeuvres will be vegetarian, people will have to get their own, the music will be rockabilly, and I might consider some kind of role-playing party game to loosen everyone up.”
Laura shook her head. “You do not like rockabilly.”
Saffin smirked. “Neither do fairies. Everyone will leave early, and I’ll have enough leftovers to not cook for a week.”
“You convinced me. I’ll take the first folder,” Laura said.
Saffin sighed. “Have it your way. A Stray Cats reunion would have been awesome.”
Laura pulled the folder closer and flipped it open. “I won’t be in tomorrow, but text me if you need anything.”
“No problem.” Laura picked up a slight pause before the reply. Saffin was the only person outside InterSec who knew about Laura’s double life. She had figured it out on her own years ago. That she kept it to herself—not even discussing it with Laura until recent events exposed her knowledge—assured Laura that she could rely on Saffin to keep it a secret. From experience, she had no doubt that Saffin would have no problem running the office without her.
Saffin picked up the papers in the desk out-box. “I’m going for a mani and a pedi. Be back in an hour.”
“Should you be telling me you’re running personal errands on company time?” Laura said.
Saffin grinned as she walked out the door. “It’s for the reception. That makes it work-related and a tax write-off. Is this a groovy country or isn’t it?”
Laura chuckled. If there was one thing she could count on, it was Saffin Corrill not missing a detail. She spent a few minutes reviewing the folders and making notes. She checked her watch. She wanted to be gone before Saffin returned because she wasn’t, in reality, going to be gone. Despite Saffin’s knowing about her InterSec life, she didn’t want to become nonchalant about it.
She retrieved her handbag from under the desk and opened the closet door behind her. Pushing aside the coat and spare outfits, a warding spell keyed to Laura’s body signature made the back of the closet appear to be solid. Laura stepped through the wall and disappeared from her office.
Laura Blackstone #02 - Face Off
titlepage.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_cover_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_toc_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_fm1_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_fm2_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_tp_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_cop_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_ded_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_ack_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c01_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c02_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c03_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c04_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c05_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c06_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c07_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c08_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c09_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c10_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c11_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c12_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c13_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c14_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c15_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c16_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c17_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c18_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c19_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c20_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c21_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c22_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c23_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c24_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c25_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c26_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c27_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c28_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c29_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c30_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c31_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c32_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c33_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c34_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c35_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c36_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c37_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c38_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c39_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c40_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c41_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c42_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c43_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c44_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c45_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c46_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c47_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c48_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c49_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_c50_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_bm1_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_bm2_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_bm3_r1.xhtml
del_9781101188859_oeb_bm4_r1.xhtml