Chapter Twenty-Three
Julian stared at the tactical map on the monitor, cross-referencing recent property purchases in the warehouse district with known associates of disbanded criminal organizations.
Six weeks had passed since Patricia suspended him from the Madison Library.
Almost a month since Marcus Vane put a bullet in his shoulder.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so content.
“I’ve got another one.” Silas appeared beside him, in yet another pristine white shirt that somehow looked unwrinkled despite spending the past four hours in the field.
He tapped a location on the screen. “It’s a small-time dealer trying to set up in what used to be Vane’s south sector. Amateur operation.”
“Demographics of clientele?” Julian pulled up the property records.
“He’s targeting high school students near Madison West.”
“Unacceptable.” Julian marked the location in red. “Cillian and Thorn can handle it tonight.”
They’d fallen into a rhythm over the past month. Julian provided intelligence analysis and tactical planning from Shadow House while the guardians executed field operations.
Thorn had been happy to leave a lot of the planning to Silas and Julian. Apparently, one of the main reasons he’d been so grumpy all the time was that he hadn’t been feeding often enough, because he was too busy keeping an eye on the other brothers.
Shadow House was a lot happier place because of the change, and Thorn had even been heard laughing a time or two, which, according to Cillian, barely ever happened.
The warehouse collapse made the news as a gas explosion stemming from the old tunnels.
Julian’s graduate research had proven really useful for establishing plausible cover stories, and while there were some people who swore the “gas” had eyes and roared at people, they were quickly shot down by cynics who preferred to believe the gas story and just get on with their lives.
Vane’s entire organization had been systematically dismantled. The guardians worked through his lieutenant network - dispatching some, and scaring others - but of course, the power vacuum had attracted exactly the kind of opportunistic predators that needed removing anyway.
Julian found the work deeply satisfying.
“Your recovery metrics are fascinating.” Silas pulled up a secondary monitor displaying medical scans. “The mate bond accelerated tissue regeneration by approximately three hundred percent compared to baseline human healing rates. I’m writing a paper for the Archive.”
“The supernatural research database?”
“Uh-huh. ‘Physiological Impacts of Eldritch-Human Mate Bonding: A Case Study in Accelerated Trauma Recovery.’ You’ll be anonymized, obviously.”
“Obviously.” Julian studied the scans showing his shoulder’s progression from bullet wound to fully healed tissue in under four weeks. “Though I’d appreciate citation access when you’re finished. The data on cross-species biological integration could be relevant for future threat assessment.”
Silas smiled, the expression clinical but genuine. “You’re wasted on library archives.”
“I’ve been telling people that for years.”
Footsteps on the stairs announced Rook’s arrival. He carried a plate loaded with some kind of pastry that smelled like cinnamon and cardamom. “Taste test. New recipe.”
Julian accepted the offering and bit in. Flaky layers dissolved on his tongue, the spice balance perfect. “What is this?”
“Kanelbullar. Swedish cinnamon rolls.” Rook sprawled in a chair, grinning widely. “I was stressed after that thing with the arms dealer last night got messy.”
“These are excellent.”
“Yeah?” Rook’s expression brightened. “There’s a whole batch in the kitchen. Cillian’s been hovering around them like they might attack you.”
Julian’s phone buzzed. Unknown number, but the area code was familiar. He answered. “Julian Purdy.”
“Mr. Purdy.” Patricia Holbrook’s voice cut through the line, sharp with administrative displeasure. “Would you care to explain why you haven’t reported to work for the past six weeks?”
Julian pulled the phone away from his ear briefly, checking the date. March fifteenth. He looked back at the screen. “Ms. Holbrook. I wasn’t aware I had a position to report to.”
“Don’t be obtuse. Your suspension ended four weeks ago.”
“I received no notification of that.”
“I sent a letter to your address on file.” Papers rustled in the background. “The board met to discuss your employment status. We determined you could return to work on a probationary basis.”
Julian’s fingers stilled on the keyboard. “Probationary?” His position had been permanent for years.
“That’s right. Temporary employment until you demonstrate improved behavior and team cooperation skills. The letter outlined the specific requirements.”
Across the room, Silas had gone very still. Rook grinned.
“I see.” Julian kept his voice pleasant. “Unfortunately, I never received that letter. I moved residences approximately five weeks ago.”
“You didn’t update your contact information with Human Resources?”
“I wasn’t aware I needed to, given my employment had been terminated.”
“Your employment was suspended, Mr. Purdy. There’s a significant difference.”
“Not according to my final paycheck, which listed ‘termination’ as the reason for my payout of accumulated leave.” Julian had reviewed that document thoroughly. “But this is ultimately irrelevant, as I’ve accepted a permanent position elsewhere.”
Silence stretched across the line.
“You found other employment?” Patricia’s tone suggested that it was somehow an inappropriate response, but then Julian remembered she often sounded like that when talking to him.
“Yes. A position as a research and analysis consultant. It’s a permanent contract, with substantially higher compensation, and I’m working with colleagues who value accuracy over politeness.” Julian smiled at Silas, who nodded approvingly. “Thank you for calling, though. It’s been illuminating.”
“Mr. Purdy, I don’t think you understand the implications of…”
“I understand perfectly. You suspended me for being correct about provenance documentation, then expected me to return under probationary status to prove I could be a ‘team player.’ Which, translated from administrative euphemism, means you wanted me to stop identifying errors that made you look incompetent.” Julian’s voice stayed level, pleasant even. “I’m not interested.”
“This is extremely unprofessional.”
“No, Ms. Holbrook. Suspending your most qualified archivist without pay for accurately identifying documentation failures is unprofessional. Expecting me to return on probation after failing to properly notify me is unprofessional. I’m simply declining a position that no longer serves my interests.
I believe I am meant to say something like have a nice day, but I really don’t care if you do. Goodbye.”
He ended the call.
Rook burst out laughing. “Holy shit. Did you just quit a job you were already fired from?”
“Technically, I was suspended, not fired. She was very insistent about the distinction.” Julian set his phone down. “Though her failure to properly document my employment status could create interesting legal complications for the library’s HR department.”
“Have I told you how much I like you today?” Rook said. “You’re vicious, and you do it with a smile.”
The shadows in the corner of the room shifted. Cillian materialized, moving with that preternatural stillness that meant he was agitated. “I was watering Gerald. I was only gone five minutes. Who upset you?”
Julian wanted to grin. Cillian had developed a strange affection for his plant.
Apparently, none of the guardians had ever tended a plant before, and Cillian was fascinated by it.
There was even talk of getting more plants so Gerald wouldn’t get lonely, despite Julian being unsure that was even possible for a succulent.
“No one upset me. I’m perfectly fine.”
“Your heart rate increased. Your cortisol levels spiked.” Cillian’s eyes had gone fully black. “Who was on the phone?”
“My former supervisor. She called to inform me I could return to work on probationary status after she failed to properly notify me of the board’s decision four weeks ago.”
Cillian’s form blurred slightly at the edges. “She suspended you without pay, failed to communicate reinstatement terms, and now expects you to work in a diminished capacity?”
“Yes, but it’s irrelevant because I…”
“She should be visited.” Cillian’s voice dropped an octave. “She needs to be shown the error of her administrative failures.”
Silas shook his head. “We don’t ‘visit’ people for poor workplace management.”
“She caused Julian distress.”
“She caused Julian mild annoyance,” Julian corrected. “There’s a significant difference.”
“You said her name with the same tone you use for threat assessment targets.”
“Patricia Holbrook is not a threat. She’s an incompetent administrator in dated power suits who mistakes process compliance for actual competence.
” Julian stood, moving to where Cillian hovered at the edge of corporeal.
“I’m not upset. I’m satisfied. I just quit a job that never valued me for a position where my skills are actually utilized. ”
Cillian’s shadows reached for him automatically, wrapping around Julian’s wrists. “You’re certain?”
“Completely. Though I think you need to spend some time among humans.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ve been in Shadow House for three days straight and you’re getting twitchy.” Julian laced his fingers through Cillian’s. “You can take me for coffee. A proper date, like when you were courting me.”
The tension in Cillian’s form eased slightly. “You want to go out?”
“I want to drink overpriced coffee and watch you intimidate baristas with excessive eye contact.” Julian smiled. “It’s entertaining.”
“I don’t intimidate them on purpose.”
“I know. That’s what makes it entertaining.”
Rook snorted. “Domestic bliss. Adorable.”