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We were still discussing the optimum frequency of lasagna consumption as we left the restaurant, his arm around me. I’d almost entirely forgotten my worry about magic exposure, but before we reached the end of the block, I heard a voice call out, “Hey, Kathleen!”
I almost didn’t respond because no one called me by that name, other than sometimes my mother when she was really angry, but then I remembered that this was the name I’d given at the meeting. I turned to see a man leaning against the wall. It was one of the homeless guys from the meeting, the one who’d talked about seeing gargoyles. I hadn’t introduced myself to him, but he must have overheard me talking to the meeting organizer.
“Hi,” I said, somewhat warily.
He beckoned me closer, and after a glance at Owen, I moved over to him. “Your gargoyle friends talked to us, like you said,” he whispered. “So it’s really real?”
“Yes, it is,” I assured him. “Seeing things like that means you’re special, not crazy.”
“They offered my friend and me a job. Should we take it?”
“Did they tell you what kind of job?” I’d had a lousy time in the verification department where most magical immunes started at the company, but most of that had been because of a terrible boss. He’d been exposed as an agent of the magical mafia, so things were bound to be better there now. Still, I wasn’t sure it was the best place for a guy who’d been living on the streets because he thought he was hallucinating.
“They want us to keep an eye on things. We’ll have a place to live, but we can stay out here as much as we want. We’re not big on the indoors and offices, and stuff,” he said.
It sounded like MSI Security, so I smiled and said, “You should definitely take it. That’s my department, though I mostly work in an office. Welcome to the team.”
“I see you’ve also joined the recruitment group,” Owen teased as we continued heading toward home.
“Well, immunes are rare, and I figured that knowing the truth might change that guy’s life, and his friend’s. Sam’s good to find a way to work with them that doesn’t scare them away. I can imagine it would be tough for them to adjust to an office job. I doubt all their problems will be solved overnight.”
“And having undercover agents on the streets, people no one will notice, could be a real asset to us,” Owen said, nodding. “Good thinking.”
“At least something good will have come of all this.”
We passed a corner store, and I said, “Mind if we pop in here for a second? I need to stock up on my weekly tabloids.”
“I don’t think we have much to worry about if a story comes out there,” he said. “And you already know that the most accurate stories probably come from our people.”
“Yeah, but I consider it the canary in the coal mine. If they start reporting it, it might eventually make its way into something people will actually believe. Besides, I want to know where Elvis has been lately.”
I loaded up on newspapers and hoped I didn’t run into anyone I knew the rest of the way home. I’d hate for anyone to think I actually read these things. Then again, almost everyone I knew would know why I was reading them. My mother must have been rubbing off on me, making me worry far too much about what people thought about me.
We passed through Union Square as we headed toward my apartment. There was a decent-sized crowd there, more than I would have expected on a weeknight. “I wonder what’s going on,” I said. “It doesn’t look like a concert or festival.”
“It looks like someone is speaking. Probably something political.” He kept walking, but I tugged on his arm.
“Maybe we should see what it is. I have a feeling.”
“I thought I was the one with a mild case of precognition.”
“Humor me.”
We paused at the rear of the crowd, and I barely stifled a low moan. The man who’d spoken at the magic watching meeting stood on a soapbox, shouting through a megaphone. “You can’t deny the evidence,” he was saying. “We’ve recorded too many incidents. Magic is real!”
A number of people in the crowd chuckled. This being New York, I suspected a lot of them thought this was some kind of performance art piece.
“Yes, magic is real, and it must be stopped!” the man shouted. “Magic is evil. Power corrupts, and there is no way anyone with that kind of power can remain uncorrupted. What are they doing while they keep the secret? Are they using their power to run the world? How high does this go in the government? We deserve answers!”
I watched the crowd, trying to gauge the reaction. It didn’t seem like anyone took him seriously. At least, no one shouted in agreement. When he started a “Stop magic now!” chant, no one joined in.
But then a pair of men dressed all in black stepped up, snatched his megaphone, grabbed his arms, pulled him off the soapbox, and hauled him away. He shouted, “You see what they’re doing! They’re trying to keep me silent! Don’t let them!” Without the megaphone, his voice was barely audible, and it faded as they dragged him off. I couldn’t see where they took him from where I stood. The crowd was in the way, and I wasn’t tall enough to see over all those heads.
“Do you see where they took him?” I asked Owen, though he wasn’t that much taller than I was.
He stood on tiptoes and craned his neck, then shook his head. “Sorry, no.”
It still seemed like the crowd was assuming it was a performance art piece. No one had rushed to the man’s rescue, so they must have thought the men were part of the act. And there was a distinct possibility that they were. It could all have been staged to make his message seem more credible.
