by Alice Bloome
“But you enjoy it,” he concluded. “Don’t you?”
“I’ve lived 26 years of my life without magic, so everything still feels so new and exciting. I know it’s silly,” I confessed, “but I’m always looking forward to every case assigned to me.”
“No matter how minor?”
“No matter how minor,” I affirmed firmly. “There’s actually a running joke in HQ. They say I’m the only agent who’d cry at being given a day off---” I stopped speaking. Oh, cast it. I just realized I had allowed my mouth to run away from me.
Mr. Handsome, however, didn’t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary, and he reclaimed the reins of our conversation with the enviable ease of a practiced charmer. He asked me about my Level 1 lessons and whether I found it easy or difficult. I had the most shameful urge to lie, but in the end, I simply opened my book to a random page and let him see the humiliating truth with his own eyes.
The page I had opened to was heavily underscored with neon highlighters, and the margins on both pages filled with my scribbles. “Be honest, please – does this say passionate about work or desperate to pass Level 1 exams so I won’t be the only neophyte witch in the agency?”
Mr. Handsome grinned. “It’s that bad?”
“Well…considering how my instructor asked me to start saving money so I could afford an expensive offering to Athena, what do you think?”
“Extremely bad,” he answered right away with a grin. I grinned back of course, all the while thinking that I couldn’t remember feeling any happier. Oh, be still, my bewitched heart.
It suddenly occurred to me that we had been talking for some time without having even exchanged names, and I took a deep breath, wondering if I could find the courage to ask for his first. I opened my mouth, but before I could say another word, lightning flashed outside the diner, followed by the power going out. Another second passed, and my phone started playing the theme song of Mission Impossible.
Oh, dear.
This was not good.
Chapter Two
Although CSI in the non-human world functioned as a crime scene investigation unit as well, the letters actually stood for Circe Security Initiative. While history mostly remembered Circe for her failed attempt in seducing Odysseus to become her lover, there was little mention of the kind of life the world’s first self-taught witch led afterwards. This was unfortunate since Circe’s accomplishments following her doomed romance were as great as any other Greek hero.
Sick and tired of being painted as the villainous almost-adulteress, Circe had devoted herself to aiding Thebe in her quest for justice, and her subsequent acts of valor were such that the Titan goddess later on granted Circe immense fortune and a taste of ambrosia. Circe could have been a happily retired immortal after that, but instead she had chosen to spend her extended lease on life training special humans to become self-taught witches like her. Through it Circe had eventually found her renewed purpose, and thus CSI was born.
The agency’s recruitment process varied from case to case, and with mine it had started with an email and a hologram of Circe popping up in my living room. It had taken a while, but the self-made goddess had patiently waited for me to finish freaking out before launching into her be-a-crime-solving-witch pitch.
‘Only one percent of the human population has the ability to be a self-taught witch,’ Circe had explained among other things, and this mainly boils down to how much faith the person has in magic rather than mere skills. She had beamed at me then, saying, ‘It’s how you’ve made the cut.’
Naturally, she had also included a caveat, warning me that if I were to accept her job offer at CSI I would have to leave my life in California and move to Silver Mist. In return, however, I would have my own home, above-average wages with the possibility of earning performance bonuses, and – best of all – I would have magic in my life.
When Circe had finished with her spiel, I had looked at her while thinking about the choice she was asking me to make: my present life, which was the definition of purpose-less mediocrity, and the other life she offered, which was full of the most exciting and magical possibilities.
What do you say then, Blair?
I had only one answer to that. Can I start packing now?
Division offices of all supernatural crime agencies in the area were housed in one of Silver Mist’s historic buildings, a three-story all-white structure with elegant Palladian windows, quoins, and a quietly impressive portico.
Prior to the Civil War, it had served as the town’s post office. Today, it was listed as headquarters of the privately funded Silver Mist Heritage Society, and as far as humans were concerned, SMHS was the company paying for my wages. That much was true, I suppose, but as for my official job position as ‘field researcher’?
Yes, well, I suppose that could be true, too, as long as no one asked too many questions about the nature of my, err, research.
The downpour of rain lashing the streets of Silver Mist had erupted into a full-blown thunderstorm when I finally made it past SMHS’ double doors. By this time, I also looked like I had gone into the shower fully clothed, with my umbrella having given up on me halfway.
“Good morning, Blair.” Mary Lou, the pretty, dark-haired tree nymph working behind the reception counter, gave me a sympathetic smile as I struggled to shove my umbrella into the garbage bin, its canopy turned inside out thanks to all of the huffing and puffing the wind gods had done under Zeus’ command.
“It’s crazy out there,” I said between chattering teeth as I turned to face her, having finally emerged the victor in my fight against my retired umbrella. I was about to ask Mary Lou if the electricity was back on or CSI was running on back-up power when the doors behind me opened again---
Swoosh.
And I found myself flying across the lobby.
“Oops.” The sickly sweet voice was unfortunately familiar, and by the time I picked myself, I wasn’t at all surprised to find Roseanne’s lovely face sporting a false look of regret. “I am so sorry, Blair,” the silver-eyed witch gushed. “I didn’t see you at all.”
Yeah sure, I thought gloomily. I’d believe that when harpies crawl.
Roseanne dela Cruz had it for me since day one, and I had no idea why. Someone like her shouldn’t even have noticed someone like me.
Unlike everyone at CSI, she was a natural-born witch, a direct descendant of Hecate herself. Moreover, she held a high-level position at the CIA (that’s Council of Illusory Arts, and yes it was also the supernatural world’s version of the Central Intelligence Agency). Her attention should have been taken up by all-important issues like security on Mt. Olympus or the growing threat of demons escaping from the Underworld, and definitely with no time left to think of me as a rival in either a personal or professional capacity---
“Gosh, I still can’t get over how tiny you are.”
And yet for some reason, it’s exactly how Roseanne seemed to think of me.
“I really do wonder what could Circe have seen in you,” the CIA agent said with a sigh.
You know how body shaming’s a huge thing in the human world? Well, in this world, it was all about one’s height. Tall was the new normal, and like how all prejudices went, I found it completely unfair. It was not my fault that immortals and supernaturals were all born five-seven and up. So really, it was their height that was unnatural, not mine.
Right?
Roseanne clucked her tongue. “You’re making quite a mess, too.” She looked meaningfully at the puddle around my feet, an unfortunate result when I had shrugged out of my blazer earlier and squeezed the water out of it.
I was still trying to think of a safe, smartass reply to Roseanne’s words when Dike, my superior in CSI, went on the PA, and her cuttingly clear voice blasted out of the speakers like a stream of ice. “Everyone has five minutes to get to their assigned meeting rooms. Anyone who doesn’t make it – find another job.”
Gaea bewitched!
It said a lot about
Dike that Roseanne and I didn’t even look at each other as we raced up to the second floor and made a mad dash to our meeting rooms, Roseanne taking a right turn to get to CIA while I swerved to the left for CSI.
Dike was one of the Horae, the collective term used for Daughters of Justice (which they literally were, being offspring of Thebe), and if rumors were true, she was the most powerful among her sisters as well. Considering Dike’s bloodlines and skills in the battlefield, her appointment as head of CSI’s New England division – rather than the Mid-Atlantic or the Pacific – didn’t make any sense even to a neophyte witch like me. Silver Mist might be unique for nonhumans making up a whopping sixty-eight percent of its local population, but surely that couldn’t be it alone?
It was such an intriguing mystery that over the centuries it had become an urban legend of sorts, with theories ranging from scandalous to downright crazy. Of course, one could have simply gone up and ask Dike why as well, but since that was likely to involve dying with one’s neck being squeezed by the goddess’ bare hands, no one had ever been foolish enough to make the attempt.
Where a powerful justice-seeking goddess was concerned, some questions in this world were just better left unanswered, and it was also why everyone at the conference room shot up in their seats, backs ramrod straight, the moment Dike strode inside.
Tall, olive-skinned, broad-shouldered and with hair trimmed in a no-nonsense bob, Dike carried herself like the immortal warrior she was, her aura of strength making her all-too-normal pantsuit and leather clogs feel as intimidating as a suit of armor welded by Hephaestus himself.
“Good morning, agents. I trust you’ve all received our text alert?”
All twenty of us simply nodded, trained by Dike herself not to bother with the usual yes, ma’am / no, ma’am, which the goddess considered a mere waste of time.
And as for the text alert, it had been as to the point as you’d expect it to be, considering Dike’s preference for brevity. Zeus out of control; everyone required to report for duty A.S.A.P.
It had me leaving Panda’s in a hurry, knowing that our director wasn’t the type to use A.S.A.P. lightly. I hadn’t even any time to explain myself to Mr. Handsome, managing only a quick, profuse apology before dashing out of the diner and straight into the storm.
Tension in the air heightened up a notch as the black-haired goddess spared us the briefest of glances. “All of you seemed to have made it. Good.” That was high praise already, considering it was Dike, and the tension eased, just enough for us to slightly relax against the backs of our seats.
“At present, we have a Category 3 Hurricane in our hands. INTERPOL’s confirmed that today’s inclement weather is a direct result of Zeus’ actions.”
I drew my breath sharply at Dike’s words, and the look on other agents’ faces told me that I wasn’t the only one worried about Dike’s revelation. As divine head of the Olympian pantheon, Zeus held dominion over the skies, and him being ‘out of control’ could mean anything from a repeat of Hurricane Katrina or, even worse, a tsunami devastating even landlocked towns that could’ve served as temporary refuge for evacuees.
“The Anemoi is doing their best to mitigate the damage, but the backlash is expectedly severe.”
The Anemoi referred to the four most powerful wind gods: Boreas who commanded the North Wind, Notus from the South, Zephyrus from the West, and the youngest of them, Eurus, who commanded the East Wind.
The four winged immortals had sworn by the river of Styx to obey all of Zeus’ orders, and such vows were double-edged swords. Their own bodies had to absorb the damage every time they disobeyed one of the thunder god’s directives.
“All attempts to interrogate Zeus have been unsuccessful so far. He’s locked himself in his battle tower, and all the information INTERPOL has been able to glean is in your dossier.” Dike snapped her fingers, and case folders appeared in front of each of us.
“Right now, the CIA has all its agents out on the field, and their priority is to rescue humans and protect them in the event this matter escalates. INTERPOL, on the other hand, has focused their efforts in lending assistance to the Anemoi in whatever way they can.”
Dike’s glance swept over the room. “That leaves us, the CSI, to investigate behind the scenes. We need to get to the bottom of this. We need to find out what’s making Zeus act out of character.” She rose to her feet and gestured towards the doors of the conference room, saying, “Now that you all know what to do---” She made a little wave of her hand, and the doors flew open. “Dismissed.”
A moment later, the goddess vanished from view, and noise burst inside the room as everyone started talking. I headed over to my friends, Tristan and Maria, who had been dating each other since their rookie year. “Has this ever happened before?”
“Not in the five years we’ve been working for the agency, no,” Tristan answered grimly.
Maria pointed to my clothes, which were still dripping wet. “Want me to fix that?”
I nodded in relief. “If you don’t mind?”
“Piece of cake.” Maria cast a drying spell, and a few seconds later, I was feeling refreshed and wonderfully dry.
Tristan inhaled appreciatively. “Something smells familiar.”
I rolled my eyes, but I was grinning as I retorted, “Like anyone would believe you don’t recognize your girlfriend’s shampoo.” And now my hair smelled like it, too, a bonus perk of Maria’s spell.
Tristan laughed and tugged a lock of his girlfriend’s hair, admitting easily, “It’s my favorite scent in the world.”
“Do you mean that?” Maria teased.
The way they looked at each other was my cue to leave, and I cleared my throat and said, “Thanks again, guys.” But as expected, the other girl didn’t even seem to hear me. The couple might be top-notch Level 5 agents, but I had also been around the pair long enough to know that they liked spending the first few minutes of the day flirting before getting down to business.
Spinning around on my heel, I flipped my case folder open on my way to my cubicle and began thumbing through the dossier Dike had provided. With Zeus locking himself away and Mt. Olympus being a strictly immortals-only zone, there was no way for any CSI agent to hope for more information beyond what our case file provided. If we wanted more clues, we were only limited to those of this world, and we had to unearth them (pun intended) on our own.
When I reached my workstation, I detached the photos from the folder and started pinning them one by one to my corkboard.
The first set of photos was of Mt. Olympus, and they were as majestic as I remembered from previous case files, with its towering all-white columns that seemed to reach all the way up to the earth’s stratosphere.
The second set consisted of photos of Zeus as taken by the Olympians’ resident doctor, the once-mortal Hippocrates, just a few hours before the thunder god had started exhibiting strange behavior.
A headache with still unknown cause, medical reports already with NSA.
Dark longish hair and bearded with soulful blue eyes, the thunder god reminded me of the Sad Keanu meme that had gone viral a few years back.
Too handsome for his own good, I couldn’t help thinking.
Many deaths among immortals could have been so easily prevented if Zeus had simply remained loyal to his Fates-chosen wife Hera.
I studied the photos one at a time, trying to find something – anything – that shouldn’t be in them. Nothing jumped out, and so I decided to print photos of Mt. Olympus and Zeus from a previous case. I compared the two sets to each other. Everything was in the exact place…everything was the same…except…
Why did Zeus’ hands seem to sparkle in the newer set of photos?
It was as if his hands were sprinkled with…
Gold dust.
Chapter Three
Panda’s was still bursting in the seams when I returned. It was a few minutes past six in the evening, and with the power still out, most of Silver Mist’s locals had decide
to take advantage of the only place in town with electricity. No vacant seats on the counter, no empty chairs or anything, and the noise level was ten times louder than usual, like people inside were trying to drown out the sound of rain and thunder.
Nevertheless, there was a strong sense of togetherness in the air, and it made me cast a wistful look on my surroundings, thinking that this was one of the reasons why I had really looked forward to moving to Silver Mist. It was easy to drown in anonymity when living in the city, and that was what had exactly happened to me in California. It was also what I hoped to change by moving to a small town, and Silver Mist had certainly been more I could ever hoped for.
I was a real person here, and I got to enjoy real conversations and real friendships with other real persons.
“Hello again.”
My heart skipped a beat at the familiar voice, and when I turned around it was exactly as I had feared and hoped at the same time. It was Mr. Handsome, this time with an elegant gray overcoat thrown over his suit, and the golden locks of his hair slightly wet. The sight made me want to run my hands through it, and the urge was so strong I found myself hastily clasping my hands behind my back.
“H-Hey…” I stopped and verbally foundered, remembering too late we hadn’t been able to exchange names.
The corners of his lips curved up. “It’s Paul Theodore.”
Paul. His name was Paul. A simple, traditional name, and it suited him. Returning his smile with a tentative one of my own, I tried my best to keep my voice steady as I introduced myself. “I’m, umm, Blair---”
His grin widened, and I stopped speaking.
Oh, cast it.
Not him, too---
“Your name is really Blair---”
“Don’t say it,” I pleaded.
“And you’re training to be a full-fledged witch?” he finished with a chuckle.
“Ha. Ha. Ha.” I made a face as Paul’s broad shoulders rocked in silent mirth.