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Rod cleared his throat and gestured toward me with a flourish. "Ladies and gentlebeings, may I present to you Miss Kathleen Chandler. Katie, to her friends."
time, I let myself take the subway. I didn't want to have to carry extra shoes, and I didn't want to arrive at the interview tired and sweaty. I got off at City Hall and crossed the park, pausing to flip a penny in the fountain for good luck. Then, following Rod's instructions, I crossed Park Row and headed down a narrow side street that apparently did exist, even if it wasn't on any map. Again I saw what looked like a medieval castle, with an entrance that looked more like it belonged on a cathedral
than on an office building. But the shield on the wall next to the giant wooden doors bore the same logo as Rod's business card, so I knew this must be the place.
There was a gargoyle perched on the portico that sheltered the door, and I could have sworn I saw it wink at me as I gathered my nerves and stepped toward the door. I reached to push the door open, but before I touched it, it swung open on its own.
The interior was dim, most of the light coming through stained-glass windows set high in the walls. Once my eyes adjusted, I saw a security guard seated at a raised desk in the middle of the lobby. Instead of the polyester rent-a-cop uniforms you usually saw on building security guards, he looked like he was wearing royal livery, with the company logo embroidered on his sleeves at the wrists.
I stepped up to the desk and said, "I'm Kathleen Chandler. I have a ten o'clock appointment with Rodney Gwaltney of Personnel."
He ran a thumb down a giant book that lay open on his desk and said, "Ah, yes, Miss Chandler. We've been expecting you." He placed his palm on a crystal ball that sat on his desk and said softly, "Rod, your visitor is here." Now, that was an unusual intercom system. The crystal ball was held by a pewter dragon sculpture that looked like something I'd once seen on sale at a Renaissance festival. The crystal glowed, then the guard looked back at me, smiled, and said, "He'll be with you in a moment."
It didn't take Rod long at all to come down the sweeping staircase at the back of the lobby. "Katie, good to see you," he said. "Right this way." He escorted me toward the stairs, saying as he walked, "Unfortunately, we don't have elevators in this building. I hope you don't mind the stairs."
"My apartment's a walk-up. I think I'll manage," I said as I followed him.
If I'd been intrigued before, now I was downright curious. What kind of company would be based in a building like this? It was a pretty safe bet that I could rule out anything in the high-tech industry. I remembered what Owen had said the other day about predating computers. Something financial, maybe? That wouldn't be out of the ordinary around here. "Curiouser and curiouser," I muttered under my breath.
"What was that?" Rod asked.
"Nothing. Just feeling a bit like Alice."
We'd reached the top of the stairs and now faced a pair of doors almost as impressive as the front doors. "Well, Alice, welcome to Wonderland," he said as the doors swung open.
I'm not sure even Alice would have believed what I saw inside that room.
four
I felt like I'd stumbled into a Broadway-caliber production of Camelot . This was no conference room. It was a great hall, with soaring, Gothic-arched windows—complete with stained-glass crest insets—along one wall, banners hanging from a wood-beamed ceiling, and a giant round table in the middle of the room.
Seated around that table was an example of just about every weird type of person I'd seen in New York—the kind of weird that others didn't seem to notice. There were a few women with fairy wings, several people with pointed elf ears, and some tiny gnomes like the figures I'd seen in parks around town and assumed were a bizarre form of animatronic lawn decor. The gnomes sat on pillows piled high in their chairs so they could reach the conference table, while the fairies floated inches above their seats.
Either the company was celebrating Halloween a month early and I'd interrupted an elaborate costume party, or there was something very, very weird going on. I voted for the latter. While I knew it was possible to strap on a pair of wings or add points to your ears with plastic tips, there was no way a normal person could shrink into a gnome, and these were very clearly living beings, not lawn ornaments.
Mixed in with the freak show were a number of people in ordinary business attire. I recognized Owen, looking particularly handsome in a pin-striped navy suit. He flashed me a smile, then ducked his head and blushed furiously.
Rod cleared his throat and gestured toward me with a flourish. "Ladies and gentlebeings, may I present to you Miss Kathleen Chandler. Katie, to her friends."
I felt about twenty pairs of eyes on me as every person in the room turned to look.
Feeling self-conscious, I gave them as big a smile as I could muster and fluttered my fingers at them in an awkward wave. Rod stepped forward to pull a chair out for me.
I sat down, then he helped me scoot up to the table before taking the seat next to me.
He clasped his hands together on top of the table, and suddenly he was a polished business executive rather than a sleazy pickup artist. "As you're all aware," he began,
"we've increased our recruitment efforts substantially in recent weeks. Unfortunately, immunes are few and far between, and they don't last long in this city. The new varieties of antipsychotic drugs aren't helping matters, because those apparently undo the immunity and make people susceptible again. That reduces the pool even further."
"We're working to find ways to counter that," Owen put in, clearly in business mode, for he spoke strongly and clearly, and his skin tone remained even.
"In the meantime," Rod continued, "it leaves us at something of a loss. We need immunes now more than ever, and there aren't as many to be found. That's what makes Miss Chandler here such a rare find. Not only is she entirely immune—according to every test we've put her through—but she seems to have held on well to her sanity and common sense."
He might have spoken too soon about the sanity. I felt like I'd left it behind somewhere out on the street. I must have looked as confused as I felt, for an elderly man seated across the table from me remarked, "Obviously, she hasn't yet been briefed."
Rod snapped to attention, and I assumed this must be the head honcho. He was a distinguished-looking gentleman with silver hair and a neatly trimmed silver beard and mustache. It was hard to tell just how old he was, other than that he was quite old.
"No, sir," Rod stammered, having now lost all pretense of swagger. "I thought it was best to wait until—"
