There’s a lot of differences between the magical and mundane species. Some are impossibly powerful and ancient, while others are like mayflies: they appear and live their entire lives in the blink of an eye. But all of the many races I have met have one thing in common; one universal binding feature. Every single one of them gets an unexplained pleasure from peeling the plastic film off a new mobile phone.
Cormac and I arrived outside the offices of Woodford & Boothe the next day. According to their website, they were a small financial firm specializing in mutual funds, whatever those were. They occupied the third floor of a glass ziggurat near Mayor Street where we presented ourselves just before lunch. I still had my old warrant card, but I was wearing my old glamour again, so I got no more than the usual amount of suspicious looks from the receptionist.
“Mr. Buckley is on a conference call at the moment. But if you take a seat, I will tell him you’re here.” I sat in a low leather chair opposite the elevators and examined my reflection in the burnished aluminium doors. My appearance under this glamour was similar to the one that had been destroyed. It was tall and broad enough to mask my actual form below, but this one had a shaved head and an unlikable scowl to its features. It was passable; anyone who saw me would never assume I wasn’t human, but it certainly made it harder to get suspects or witnesses to open up. I absent-mindedly rubbed the spot on my arm where Sir Arthur had drawn blood that morning for a new one.
“You’re gorgeous,” said Cormac, waving his hand between me and my reflection, “stop worrying about it.”
I blinked twice and looked up at him, framing a suitably witty response. I don’t know what it might have been, because the fire alarm chose that moment to begin wailing a loud klaxon through the offices.
I lept to my feet and made for the doors behind the receptionist. “Get down to the exit,” I yelled back at Cormac. “Find Buckley, and keep an eye out for that jogger. He produced his wand and ducked back out through the main doors of the firm, even as people streamed out into reception from the offices beyond.
I pushed past them and peered over their heads, trying to see anyone or anything out of place. They seemed more surprised to see me heading in than they were by the alarm forcing them out. But another fire attack and so close to Buckley had alarm bells ringing in my head louder than the one ringing in the office.
I went through the offices, room by room, checking for signs of the previous night’s assailant. But within a few minutes it was clear I was alone. I found a window overlooking the plaza outside, where the evacuated office-workers were gathering in loose groups. Cormac was easy enough to pick out among them. He stood slightly aside from one cluster, looking up at the windows. He gestured to where I could see Buckley standing with some co-workers and made an exaggerated shrugging motion.
I shrugged back and turned towards the deserted offices. There was no movement, aside from the sliding of share prices along an electronic ticker that circled the room at ceiling-level, and no noise aside from the ringing of unattended phones. But there was a faint smell of smoke.
Following the smell led to a stairwell at the corner of the building. I headed down to find a uniformed security guard attending an open fire escape with a mobile phone in one hand and an old and soot-stained metal bucket by his feet. I waved my warrant card at him and waited for him to put his phone away.
“What happened here,” I asked when his ear was available.
He kicked at the bucket with a lazy tap of his foot. “We put this outside, for the smokers. Looks like someone brought it inside. There was paper in it, and…” he made one of those ‘the thing went up in flames’ gestures with his fingers. “Gotta sweep the building now, anyway. Make sure it’s clear before I can let them all back in. You need something here?”
“Not right now. But don’t let anyone back in until you hear from me.”
Outside, I found Cormac waiting and pacing anxiously by the plaza. As soon as he saw me, he darted forward. “Anything?”
“Office is deserted. Security thinks it was just a careless smoker in the stairwell. Anything here?”
Cormac shook his head. “Just a lot of people pissed they had to leave their desks. Oh, the office checked in. We got positive I.D.s on the three victims. Warburton confirmed, as well as Sarah Flanders and Mark Dillahunt. All three were students together in U.C.D., the school of medicine. The Gardai are sending out people now to inform their relatives.”
The school of medicine. A lot of things suddenly made sense.
I made my way through the crowd to Buckley, and held up my warrant card. “Detective Sergeant Grey. Do you have a moment to answer some questions?”
Buckley seemed surprised at this, and I did not wonder why. “Sure… Is this about the fire?”
I shook my head. “I really only have one question for you. Have you recently donated blood?”
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