WRAITH CASE STUDY AUGUSTA PINE
IDENTITY SECURITY DIVISION
THE ESPRESSO INCIDENT DEbrIEF
I plopped down on Prefect’s desk and said, “I should not have to work on weekends.”
Prefect hated when I sat on his desk. The corner of his mouth twitched in displeasure. “You’re not working. You’re studying. Or at least you’re supposed to be.”
“It’s a Saturday,” I said. “I should be asleep.”
“It’s two in the afternoon.”
“My point exactly.” I picked up one of his knickknacks: a snow globe depicting the Manhattan skyline. “Why am I even here? You’re the one writing up the reports on our last three assignments.”
Prefect didn’t look up from his typing. “I am. But I need you just in case I have to corroborate certain details. And they’re due on Monday.”
We had been on the move constantly for two months.
There had been a hacked amusement park, the heist of a rather valuable painting, and a thoroughly boring week spent spying on an old lady we thought was a master criminal but it turned out her neighbor was stealing her internet so her crimes wouldn’t be linked to her own IP address.
After all that, it was almost a relief to return to the ISD offices.
Almost. But not quite.
When we weren’t working, I was supposed to be furthering my education with a homeschooling app Prefect had downloaded onto my visor.
But I learned better on my own. If someone gave me an internet connection, a computer, and a new interest, I’d become an expert in about twelve hours.
But the monotonous drone of the learning app just made me want to fall asleep.
“Go back to your cubicle,” said Prefect, glancing up at me. “Better yourself. I’ll come get you if I need you.”
I tilted my head. “Someone’s feeling paternal.”
“Education reduces recidivism rates,” he said. “Do you need me to use smaller words? Study.” He looked back down at his computer, smirking.
I raised my eyebrows. “You’re crabby. You need coffee?”
“I’m on my third cup.”
“Which means you’re desperately behind schedule,” I said, scooting off the desk. “I’ll get you another cup.”
“You’re just trying to avoid your schoolwork.”
“I can’t hear you, I’m too far away,” I said, walking out of his office.
I wound my way through the maze of cubicles. On a Saturday, the ISD offices were mostly empty. There were only a few other people: a handful of junior agents, a wraith handler called Centurion, and Leo the Intern.
Our floor had a small kitchen that held a fridge filled with all sorts of forgotten horrors, a coffee machine that refused to die, an electric kettle, and the snacks that people would occasionally bring to work.
Leo was in the kitchen. “Uh-oh,” I said. “You’re not having soup for lunch again, are you?”
Leo was ISD’s only intern. Typically, the Identity Security Division didn’t do interns.
We were a highly secretive agency and those who worked here were subject to binding confidentiality.
But Leo was the son of a senator. A senator we needed to keep happy in order to get more funding.
Hence, a sudden intern position opening up.
He had dark blond hair, light skin burnished gold by time spent in the sun, and a jawline that could have sliced bread.
He was also … How do I put this politely?
He was the stupidest person I had ever met.
He didn’t need an NDA to keep our secrets.
I was pretty sure Leo didn’t know what we did, how we did it, or even what day of the week it was.
“Augusta,” he said, holding up his hand for a high five. I always obliged him. It was easier that way. “You’ve been gone a while.”
“Assignments with Prefect,” I said. “You know how it is.”
He absolutely did not know, but he nodded eagerly.
“Someone brought in muffins this morning,” said Leo. “I made sure to save you one. It’s in the paper bag with your name on it.”
Sure enough, sitting on the counter was a small white bag with a chocolate chip muffin inside. “Thanks,” I said, a little touched. He beamed at me. With his connections, Leo would only ever fail up. That he was genuinely kindhearted made it harder to resent him.
I turned, ready to bully the coffee machine into making a cup. It was older than the president, produced coffee with the taste and texture of freshly churned concrete, and had stubbornly refused to die no matter how many people tried to sabotage it.4
But the old coffee maker was gone. In its place was something else. Something pristine, silvery, and high tech. Something that looked as though it belonged in an Italian café.
“What,” I said flatly, “is that?”
If Leo noticed my disappointment, he didn’t say. “It’s an espresso machine,” he said happily. “It came with the last supplies order. I was helping unpack stuff and there it was.”
This machine was the kind where all you had to do was press a button and it would produce a perfect shot of espresso, latte, macchiato, hot chocolate, or Americano. It even had a small pot for those who preferred drip coffee.
I scowled at it. “What else did I miss?”
He seemed to rack his brain for any memories of the last month. “Well, our floor has a new janitor. Oh, and Steve tried to ask out Marco but Marco gave him the whole ‘I don’t date coworkers and also we just had a six-hour sexual harassment remote seminar.’”
“Oh, Steve,” I said. “Yeah, I had to watch that seminar, too.”
“Oh, Steve,” agreed Leo. “Also Harold is retiring.”
I frowned. “Harold?”
“You know, the lady with the dark hair,” said Leo helpfully.
“Oh, Herald,” I said, understanding. Another wraith handler.
“That’s what I said,” replied Leo.
“When did the new coffee wonder arrive?” I asked, with a nod toward the espresso machine: The words “Brewtiful Day” were written across it in cursive.
“About a week ago,” said Leo. “It does great hot chocolate. I just downloaded the app to get the machine to make one.” He pointed to a steaming mug on the counter. “You should try it.”
“Well, let’s see if this machine’s up to Prefect’s standards,” I said.
I reached down and hit the cappuccino button.
And in that same moment, the entire floor went dark.
Our office technically does not have windows. We have squares of illuminated glass meant to give the impression of windows. Without the power, we were plunged into pitch darkness.
Voices rang out from the cubicles.
“Who blew a breaker?”
“It must be a blackout.”
“None scheduled for today!”
“We have generators—even if there was a blackout, we should still have power.”
“What’s going on?” asked Leo. I could hear him behind me. “Was that you, Augusta?”
I bit my lip to stifle a sarcastic reply, that no, I had not in fact somehow managed to switch off the entire building’s power while trying to make coffee.
Or—at least I didn’t think I had.
“Stay here,” I said.
After three years, I knew the office by heart.
I settled my hand on one of the cubicle walls and traced a path toward Prefect’s office.
He kept a battery-powered lantern at his desk, and it cast a glow across his face.
“Right,” he was saying into his phone. “Uh-huh. Of course.” When he hung up, he looked at me.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Something just triggered a lockdown procedure. An outside signal was detected—someone is trying to break into our systems.”
I wasn’t claustrophobic but I hated the sensation of being trapped. “We’re stuck in here?”
“Doors are all locked, elevators won’t arrive, lights are off,” he replied. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Well, at least I have an excuse to get an extension on my reports.” His hand fell away and he looked at me with tired eyes. “I don’t suppose you managed to make that coffee.”
“Um,” I said. “About that.”
The espresso machine sat on the counter, looking utterly innocent. We all stared at it.
Prefect aimed a flashlight at the machine. “You’re sure the lockdown initiated when you tried to make my coffee?”
“Oh, yes,” I said. “Exact moment.”
“It can’t be the problem,” said Steve. He was an agent trainee in his early twenties, with auburn-brown hair, a pale countenance, black-rimmed glasses, and a lanky build. “It’s a coffee machine.”
“Who requisitioned it?” asked Keiko. I’d put her in her midthirties. She was a Japanese woman with sleek dark hair she kept in a bob. She was an ink technician—or, put into layperson’s terms, she designed biometric tattoos.
“It wasn’t me,” said Steve. “It came last week, with a shipment of office supplies.”
Leo said, “Coffee doesn’t cause blackouts. That’s alcohol.” He looked at me, totally sincere. “Or were you trying to make a”—he lowered his voice—“special coffee?”
I stared at him incredulously. “Of course not.”
“Don’t say it like that,” said Leo. “I once put bourbon in my dad’s espresso maker to make coffees for a party.”
“Did it taste good?” asked Keiko, in the tone of a person continuing a conversation out of morbid curiosity.
“Oh, no, it caught on fire,” said Leo. “And then I chucked it out a third-story window.” He looked rather proud of himself. “The apartment was fine. The Mercedes it landed on … was not as fine.”
Prefect looked as though he was getting a migraine.
Centurion strode into the kitchen. He was a middle-aged Black man with a shaved head, goatee, and finely cut suit. He wasn’t overly friendly, but he always gave me a polite nod in the hallways. “Ms. Pine,” he said. “You were the one to discover the problem?”
I was an anomaly in more ways than one. Most wraiths didn’t hang around the ISD offices. In fact, wraiths were normally kept far away in dormitories or undercover on assignment. But I supposed that the higher-ups wanted to keep the only underage wraith under greater supervision.
“I’m not sure if I discovered it,” I said, “but when I hit a button…” I waved vaguely at the surrounding darkness. “This happened.”
Centurion and Prefect shared a glance.
“It went through security, right?” said Centurion.
“I have no idea,” replied Prefect. “Until three days ago, Augusta and I were in Atlanta.”