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“Keep me updated,” says Chief Santagar and hangs up the phone.
He turns to me. “What work have you been doing these past couple of years?”
“Nothing relevant,” I say shortly.
“Have you pursued any training to refine your psychic skills?”
“No,” I admit, feeling embarrassed.
He frowns. “Have you sought any psychiatric help following your experiences at Wintersdeep Castle?”
“I don’t want to talk about that,” I say tersely.
He sighs. “It would benefit you to take steps to process the grief from your mother’s death—”
“I’ve processed my grief!” I cry out.
He gives me a stern look, and continues, “If you truly want to work for the Agency I recommend that you train to become a registered Oracle and spend some time learning to work with your gift. Come back to me in a few years.”
He leaves it unsaid that this is what I should have been doing with my time these past couple of years. It does not make me feel better.
“I don’t have years!” I snap. “This Agency hasn’t caught DCK in years. I don’t want to read in the newspapers about dozens more of his murders. He needs to be caught now.”
“And you think you alone can do what the entire international Agency of Otherkind Investigations hasn’t yet been able to achieve?” he says tartly.
“Yes!” I snap, sounding more confident than I truly feel.
He gets to his feet abruptly and goes over to his office door. “If you’ve got no new information, then you’re wasting my time. My secretary will show you out.”
“Please!” I say softly, hating how weak I sound, knowing the little voice will berate me for it later.
He shakes his head.
Challenge him, says the little voice. Ask him what he’ll give you if we solve the case faster than his people.
He’s not stupid, I tell her.
But he’s a man. And men’s egos are so fragile. I bet he’ll offer a reward. Let him underestimate us.
I listen to her out of desperation. “I could just go ahead and start investigating without you,” I tell him.
“I wouldn’t recommend that,” he says sternly.
“And what if I can solve this case faster than the Agency, will you admit you’re wrong?” I demand.
He laughs. It is not a mean sound. More like he is appreciating my nerve.
“Even you have to admit that I would deserve my job back if I could do that,” I persist.
“Perhaps,” he says. A small smile quirks the corners of his lips. “I’d like to see anyone outwit Constantine Storm.”
I stand up from my chair, elated, ready to dash out and begin right away.
He holds up his hand to halt me. “You are not to interfere with the crime scene or witnesses or do anything illegal.”
I scowl at him, refusing to agree. I won’t make any progress at all under those terms.
“If you do,” he continues, “I will hold you accountable for your actions. You will be locked up, young lady, and I don’t want to see that happen.”
