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His eyes are the color of dirty window glass, sort of grey. Those eyes glared at me now. "I'm with a client, Anita."
I spared a glance for the man sitting across from him. It was Kaspar Gunderson. He was dressed all in white today, and it emphasized everything. How I could have ever looked at him and thought him human was beyond me. He smiled. "Ms. Blake, I presume." He put out a hand.
I shook it. "If you could wait outside for just a few moments, Mr..."
"Gunderson," he said.
"Mr. Gunderson, I need to speak with Mr. Vaughn."
"I think it can wait, Anita," Bert said.
"No," I said, "it can't."
"Yes," he said, "it can."
"Do you want to have this particular talk in front of a client, Bert?"
He stared at me, his small grey eyes looking even smaller as he squinted at me. It was his mean look. It had never worked on me. He gave a tight smile. "Are you insisting?"
"You got it."
He took a long, deep breath and let it out slowly, as if he were counting to ten. His flashed his best professional smile on Kaspar. "If you will excuse us for a few minutes, Mr. Gunderson. This won't take long."
Kaspar stood, nodded at me, and left. I closed the door behind him.
"What the hell are you doing coming in here while I'm talking to a client?" He stood up, and his broad shoulders nearly touched from wall to wall.
He should have known better than to try and intimidate me with size. I've been the smallest kid on the block for as long as I can remember. Size hadn't been impressive for a very long time.
"I told you no more clients that are outside my job description."
"Your job description is anything I say it is. I'm your boss, remember?" He leaned over his desk, palms flat.
I leaned into the desk on the other side. "You sent me a missing person's case last night. What the f**k do I know about missing persons?"
"His wife's a lycanthrope."
"And that means we should take his money?"
"If you can help him, yes."
"Well, I gave it to Ronnie."
Bert leaned back. "See, you did help him. He would never have found Ms. Sims without your help."
He was looking all reasonable again. I didn't want him reasonable. "I've got Elvira Drew in my office right now. What the hell am I supposed to do with her?"
"Do you know any wererats?" He had sat down, hands crossed over his slightly bulging middle.
"That's beside the point."
"You do, don't you?"
"And if I say yes?"
"Set up an interview. Surely one of them wants to be famous."
"Most lycanthropes go to a lot of trouble to hide what they are. Being outed endangers their jobs, marriages. There was that case in Indiana last year where a father lost his kids to his ex-wife after five years, because she found out he was a shapeshifter. No one wants to risk that kind of exposure."
"I've seen shifters interviewed on live television," he said.
"They're the exceptions, Bert, not the rule."
"So you won't help Ms. Drew?"
"No, I won't."
"I won't try and appeal to your sense of greed, though she has offered us a lot of money. But think what a positive book on lycanthropy would do to help your shapeshifting friends. Good press is always welcome. Before you turn her down, talk to your friends. See what they say."
"You don't give a damn about good exposure for the lycanthrope community. You're just excited about the money."
"True."
Bert was an unscrupulous bastard and didn't care who knew it. It was hard to win a fight when you couldn't insult someone. I sat down across from him. He looked pleased with himself, like he knew he'd won. He should have known better.
"I don't like sitting down across from clients and not knowing what the hell they want. No more surprises. You clear clients with me first."
"Anything you say."
"You're being reasonable. What's wrong?"
His smile widened, setting his little eyes sparkling. "Mr. Gunderson has offered us a lot of money for your services. Twice the normal fee."
"That's a lot of money. What does he want me to do?"
"Raise an ancestor from the dead. He's under a family curse. A witch told him if he could talk to the ancestor that the curse originated with, she might be able to lift it."
"Why double the fee?"
"The curse started with one of two brothers. He doesn't know which one."
"So I have to raise them both."
"If we're lucky, only one."
"But you keep the second fee anyway," I said.
Bert nodded vigorously, happy as a greedy clam. "It's even your job description, and besides, even you wouldn't let a fellow go through his life with feathers on his head if you could help him, now would you?"
"You smug bastard," I said, but my voice sounded tired even to me.
Bert just smiled. He knew he'd won.
"You'll clear clients with me that aren't zombie raisings or vampire slayings?" I said.
"If you have the time to read up on every client I see, then I certainly have time to write up a report."
"I don't need to read about every client, just the ones you're sending my way."
"But, Anita, you know it's just luck of the draw which of you is on duty on any given day."
"Damn you, Bert."
"You've kept Ms. Drew waiting long enough, don't you think?"
I stood up. It was no use. I was outmaneuvered. He knew it. I knew it. The only thing left was a graceful retreat.
"Your two o'clock canceled. I'll have Mary send Gunderson in."
"Is there anything you wouldn't schedule in as a client, Bert?"
He seemed to think about that for a minute, then shook his head. "If they could pay the fee, no."
"You are a greedy son of a bitch."
"I know."
It was no use. I wasn't winning this one. I went for the door.
"You're wearing a gun." He sounded outraged.
"Yeah, what of it?"
"I think you can meet clients in broad daylight at our offices without being armed."
"I don't think so."
"Just put the gun in the desk drawer like you used to."
"Nope." I opened the door.
"I don't want you meeting clients armed, Anita."
"Your problem, not mine."
"I could make it yours," he said. His face was flushed, voice tight with anger. Maybe we were going to get to fight after all.
I closed the door. "You mean fire me?"
"I am your boss."
"We can argue about clients, but the gun is not negotiable."
"The gun frightens clients."
"Send the squeamish ones to Jamison," I said.
"Anita"--he stood up like an angry storm--"I don't want you wearing the gun in the office."
I smiled sweetly. "Fuck you, Bert." So much for a graceful exit.
16
I closed the door and realized I had accomplished nothing but pissing Bert off. Not a bad hour's work, but not a great accomplishment. I was going to tell Ms. Drew that I might be able to help her. Bert was right about good press. I nodded at Gunderson as I passed him. He smiled back. Somehow I didn't think he really wanted me to raise the dead. I'd find out soon enough.
Ms. Drew was sitting legs crossed, hands folded in her lap. The picture of elegant patience.
"I may be able to help you, Ms. Drew. I'm not sure, but I may know someone who can help you."
She stood up, offering me a manicured hand. "That would be wonderful, Ms. Blake. I certainly appreciate your help."
"Does Mary have a number where I can reach you?"
"Yes." She smiled.
I smiled. I opened the door, and she walked past me in a cloud of expensive perfume. "Mr. Gunderson, I can see you now."
He stood, laying the magazine he'd been leafing through on the small table beside the Ficus benjium. He didn't move with that dancelike grace that the other shapeshifters had. But then swans weren't particularly graceful on land.
"Have a seat, Mr. Gunderson."
"Please, Kaspar."
I leaned on the edge of the desk, staring down at him. "What are you doing here, Kaspar?"
He smiled. "Marcus wants to apologize for last night."
"Then he should have come in person."
