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They trudged across the hallway, ducking into the apartment next to mine.
Did someone finally rent it out?
It was the last apartment in the hallway, and it was the biggest one in the building. (I knew because I’d looked into the floorplan of the place when I’d selected the building to rent from.)
It had been empty for at least three months, so it was exciting news that it was going to be filled.
It’s probably a family renting it. Maybe they’ll be friendly?
With that hope to buoy me, I trotted down the stairs heading out to my car in the apartment parking lot.
Arriving at the Curia Cloisters with ten minutes to spare and my smoothie thoroughly thawed, I gulped the mix down as I hustled across the parking lot.
The humidity and heat of the hot evening made my cup a drippy mess, while the sky turned golden as the sun sank lower and lower.
I used one of the side entrances to the Cloisters, blinking when I stepped inside as my body adjusted from the heat to the air-conditioned building and all the fluorescent lights.
I’d parked on the opposite end of the building and purposely entered the main chamber of the Cloisters—which was busiest at this time of day since it was the small window where daylight loving supernaturals and more nocturnal supernaturals could meet.
I waved at Emi, the black-haired secretary seated at the main/information desk, then darted through a few crowds and made my way to a door marked for employees only, which opened into a Cloister employee’s lounge.
At the far end of the lounge—a room with thin carpeting and a few couches bearing some stains that looked suspiciously like blood—another door opened into an empty hallway.
I took the hallway, which was sterile and painted an off-white color, that ended with a locked door.
I scanned my badge at the door, which opened into the Magical Response Task Force locker room.
There was a public door that in theory I could have used, but the roundabout trip to the locker room was necessary. I didn’t want anyone to realize I was the slayer employed by the task force, and using the Cloister’s popularity made it easy enough to avoid attention.
I pulled my shoulders back as I peered around the locker room—all squadmates shared the space, which smelled faintly of wet dog—that was the werewolves—gun powder—a few of us had standard issue sidearms—and flowers—the fae members brought in vases of flowers every three days no matter what time of the year it was.
A few day shift members were still at their lockers, and I spotted Tetiana at her locker two rows down.
I swallowed twice—my mouth felt a little gritty, probably from the chopped carrots in my veggie smoothie—then tried to greet my squadmate. “Hey, Tetiana.”
Tetiana glanced back at me as she removed her cloth hat—a bell-shaped cap made of maroon colored felted wool. “Good evening.”
The greeting was formal, but at least this time I’d managed to saysomething, so I chose to interpret this social interaction as a positive thing while I slipped farther into the locker room.
The room, with its gray lockers, wooden benches, and fluorescent lighting, looked like it could have been used by humans for one of their police procedural shows.
This wasn’t an accident; the department head, who’d been charged with founding the Magical Response Task Force and its parent division the Department of Supernatural Law Enforcement, was a human TV junkie.
Since supernaturals hadn’t previously had any kind of joint law enforcement—the general thought had been that each species should mind their own business—there was no model or protocol for the department head to follow.
So, the Commissioner had borrowed liberally from human TV in creating and organizing the Department of Supernatural Law Enforcement.
The desk area with its cubicles for the higher ups and glass-window offices for the chiefs had clearly been inspired by police detective shows, and the few rooms we used to test any kind of magical evidence had green lights thanks to numerous crime scene investigation shows until the evidence processors started to complain about headaches from the low light.
No one else was in my block, so I felt free to plop my stuff on the wooden bench before I opened my locker—no sense locking it; any werewolf and most vampires who wanted to get into my space could just rip the lock right off.
I stored my bag, then stripped off the dress blouse and pants I wore for my cover revealing the sports clothes I had on underneath, which I also wore under my uniform for added protection/comfort. (They were mostly for road rash prevention, but a few vital spots—like my knees—were also fitted with thin gel padding.)
I slipped my uniform on—fitted pants, and a long-sleeved shirt that had an asymmetrical V-neck as the shirt buttoned on the left side of my torso. The shirt and pants were both a deep, navy blue color with gold buttons, trim, and gold detailing on the shoulders. The Magical Response Task Force patch was sewn in place on the right side of my chest for identification purposes.
My shirt was special order—I had a hood that my mask snapped into that I wore to cover my hair, but I didn’t wear the mask inside the department’s walls.
Next, I used the small mirror I kept in my locker to pin my short hair back.
