Silas slipped between the closing elevator doors, brushing against them for only a moment. His hands fiddled with the collar of his white button-up shirt, messing with a tie and frustrated that he’d have to pay more for dry-cleaning. While he always kept a spare change of clothes at work, he despised the large bloodstain that crept from the neck of his torso to the hem around his waist. He continued pulling at the tie, attempting to force it straight, but it seemed afixed at an angle.
“Mr. Everett. I’m surprised to see you late,” Mr. Alden slipped a phone from his pants pocket and glanced at the time. Silas continued adjusting his clothes, smoothing out wrinkles throughout his outfit and buttoning his sleeves. He’d rolled them up during the fight, though he never intended to be covered in blood; it was already turning from a deep crimson to a dark brown.
“Yes, well Sir, I was nearby Faneuil Hall. There was an issue, I was first response,” Silas began, still unsatisfied with his attire. He again brought his attention to the glossy black tie and continued attempting to straighten it, though to no avail. “Did you not hear? Fourth floor, if you would.” He gestured to the large panel of buttons near Mr. Alden, eyeing the list. They were currently in B1.
Mr. Alden leaned toward the panel and hit the buttons for floor four and floor five. “No, no, I didn’t hear. Faneuil Hall? Anything serious?” He asked, returning to his usual straight-backed posture and glancing at the blood covering Silas, who attempted to stifle a yawn before matching Mr. Alden in posture. While Mr. Alden looked intimidating, Silas only ever looked exhausted.
He worked more than Mr. Alden, and Mr. Alden always stayed beyond dark. “Yes Sir. A vampire cabaret,” Silas watched Mr. Alden, examining his boss’ general posture and attitude. He didn’t care for Mr. Alden despite working under him bordering eight years. The lurch of his stomach distracted him, and the elevator began to rise floor by floor. Silas caught a snippet of noise behind the door of the first floor—internal affairs—though not anything distinguishable.
“Though, it was only one vampire from the cabaret who went rogue. I dealt with the issue, and the others have agreed to come in for questioning. I don’t believe they acted together, but we’ll have to see how the interrogations reflect on the matter.” Silas’ spoke directly, the gold standard for matter-of-fact professionals. He would never suggest the cabaret was innocent based off just surface level evidence and their word, especially not to Mr. Alden.
“Yes, I suppose we will. Was a report turned in?” Mr. Alden asked out of obligation rather than expectation. It was clear Silas was only now arriving, and out of any agent, Silas needed the least reminder. But Mr. Alden was proper, and if any agent had an encounter with the supernatural, a full and detailed report was required—whether by paper or vocal, though the latter required a transcription and video recording.
Silas hated being on video. “No Sir, it’s the first thing I’m doing.” He answered, nodding curtly and in time with the elevator chiming to signify they’d reached the fourth floor. Mr. Alden returned the gesture before allowing Silas to step out onto his floor, and Silas was hit with the acrid smell of far too many people for the space. It hadn’t been this busy in years, he thought, and stepped up to the freshly polished plaque on the wall. It read .
Silas sighed and glanced at his wrist, glancing between the watch hands. It was quarter-past-eight, almost three hours past when he would usually arrive, and while Ministry agents didn’t adhere to a particular schedule, they were all encouraged to arrive on time. Silas grimaced, aware that his absence would have been noticed by other agents. He prepared himself for the hushed murmurs, or silence, or explosive questions that would follow upon his entrance; how the agents reacted seemed to change on the given day.
And their reactions would likely be worsened by the large bloodstain across his chest. He set his jaw straight and stepped through the hall, his boots somehow silent despite the tiling, and into the large precinct. Instinctively, he examined the room inch by inch, checking for anything abnormal or threatening. Desks lined the walls, many backed against each other, and they were all covered in computers, case files and other papers. Silas’ own desk sat undisturbed in a far corner, one of the few to not be joined with another’s.
Before he had stepped in, the room was abuzz with noise and conversation, a cacophony of light and sound blustered into a whirlwind. People scratched pens on paper, or typed loudly, or spoke with various civilians. There was the ever-present sound of chairs rolling on the tile floor upon agents getting up to do one task or another.
And for a moment, Silas thought nobody cared this time. Nobody had noticed his absence, despite the usually rabid nature of the other agent’s perception, but he swiftly changed his mind. The room had gone silent, and even the civilians were boring into him. Nobody moved; Silas almost felt like it was a challenge, to see who would dare break the cocoon of silence, but he wasn’t one to engage in pointless battles.
“Back to work!” Silas waved his hand in the air melodramatically, stepping through the clutter and toward his desk. The room quickly returned to its typical din, and though he caught a snippet or two of conversation about him, people generally seemed too busy to care. Not that it was atypical for an agent to arrive covered in blood—or more accurately, it wasn’t atypical for Silas. He’d love coffee and a change of clothes, he thought, but he also didn’t want to delay the report any further.
He found himself at home behind the pale yellow wood of his desk, despite the uncomfortable atmosphere. He learned long ago to tune out the background noise and Silas had found himself sleeping at the desk more than once. It wasn’t too common for agents to be in the precinct in the first place, whether out on patrol, deployed elsewhere or working from home. Though it had become much busier recently, he noted.
He fumbled for the power button of his computer and waited for the ancient thing to whirr to life. He flipped through the stack of paper neatly set aside on his desk, checking first for anything drastically important before glancing at the case files. No new ones had been given to him, though he was also no closer to solving the pile of cases he already had. They’d quickly gone cold, with no new evidence or witnesses.
That was a problem for later. Silas pulled up the form for reports and began filling out each section step by step, giving obscenely accurate and definite descriptions to anything he thought important. He prided himself in his accuracy, and both his bosses and peers regularly complimented him for his inane attention to detail, though it came naturally to Silas. The words flowed like white-water rapids, each scene and moment replayed inside his mind’s eye.
The room was quickly growing in volume, each desk alight with conversation and the sound of progress. The department always moved fast, but with the rise of cases, it’d become common for the precinct to be near its reasonable max population. Half the agents desks had civilians sitting beside them, a rare few had Housefolk talking with an agent, and other desks still were empty. The agents were likely responding to something else, either deployed to a different precinct or on patrol.
Some agents weren’t even in the city. Supernatural cases had been on the rise across the country, and due to the Ministry’s foothold in Boston, they had one of the largest centralized departments, so a few agents had been deployed to other departments to help out with cases in the area. The move was previously unprecedented, but with the small number of agents—there were only so many supernaturally aware people, and less still chose to become an agent—it wasn’t exactly a surprise. Silas had seen the redeployment coming from a mile away, though Mr. Alden asked him not to be vocal about it.
It was a problem that could be solved by being open about the supernatural world, and Silas had long debated with himself if the Ministry’s pretense toward keeping things secret was a good idea in the long run. Most agents in the Ministry were there due to their parents being founders, though a handful of agents had encountered the supernatural and decided to join upon being offered the job. It was routine practice to ask witnesses whether they wanted to be aware of the supernatural and join the Ministry, or have your memory erased.
Silas considered the offer cruel, even if some people were delighted to be offered the latter option. He had been given the option himself many years ago, though he couldn’t think of any worse fate than being robbed of your memories and experiences. He straightened his tie and connected to a printer, queuing his form before sliding out of his desk chair.
He had chosen the former option. Silas would much rather help than live in bliss working a minimum wage job, no matter if it was an easier life, he decided at the time—though that aspiration didn’t quite turn out how his younger self thought it would. He pulled loose the tight bun in his hair, tucking away the hairtie in his pocket and running a spindly hand through his loose hair. He’d tie it back up after changing, he decided.
Right now he was only delaying, he realized. The file room, where the printers sat, might have a line, and the earlier he arrived the better. He slipped between the mess of desks and people before reaching the small flight of stairs that elevated the rest of the floor from the agent’s desk area. He realized long ago that the Ministry enjoyed using elevation to separate the department, and the only other thing on the same level as the agent’s desk area were the kitchens.
It was a power thing, Silas assumed. He passed by Mr. Alden’s office, though the blinds were pulled closed, before silently slipping into the web of sienna-colored halls. He passed by the large windows that decorated them, glancing at the Boston skyline he was so familiar with. He briefly wondered if he’d be deployed elsewhere, due to his nature as one of their best agents—though Silas himself was disgusted by the moniker—before continuing toward the file room.
He decided to knock in case the line extended near the door, though he was only met with the sound of one person yelping. The corner of Silas’ mouth twitched and he stepped inside, quickly shutting the door behind him to snuff out the bright light. The file room was a public area for any agent, though it wasn’t friendly; the room was barely lit and there were boxes upon boxes of case files stacked to the ceiling. It certainly wasn’t safe, and in the midst sat Jackson, the most recently appointed agent.
“Good morning, Jackson. They have you appointed to reorganization?” Silas asked, smiling knowingly and slipping past the boxes, toward the printers. There was nobody in the room but them, and he took the moment to examine Jackson. Silas wasn’t engaged much with the appointment of Jackson since he hadn’t partook in any of his training, due to his otherwise indisposed nature, so there were no chances to get a proper gaige on him.
He had sandy yellow hair and a deep tan, resembling the picture-perfect image of a model. Silas assumed the tan was likely fake, though the looks were certainly abnormal; Silas thought that they drew the eye too much, too instinctually. Maybe he wasn’t entirely human, Silas realized, glancing away and to the pile of paper at the printer. It seemed it’d be a while before it got to his form.
“Yeah, they gave me a week or two,” Jackson stammered, trying to get a better view of Silas, “Holy shit, man! What the hell happened to you?” He yelped, glancing between Silas’ bloodstained clothes and loose hair. Silas realized he must look abnormally unkempt, especially to the inexperienced agent, though it wasn’t atypical for Silas to arrive in bloody clothes. He was one of the few to deal with the violent supernaturals.
“Rogue vampire. Nothing the Ministry couldn’t handle, though it wouldn’t have been nearly as messy if I had my equipment. Supernaturals always underestimate what a human can do without a weapon.” His response was matter of fact, despite the great amusement he was feeling at the recruits reaction. Most agents were jaded and quiet, used to the horrific everyday life of an agent, but Jackson still retained his upbeat attitude. Silas thought it’d be good for the department.
“You did that with your ?” Jackson scoffed in disbelief, despite the affirming nod from Silas. He technically did it with a large piece of splintered wood the vampire had broke in its rampage, though Silas didn’t care enough to argue the semantics. “, I would want to get into a fight with you.”
“Yes, well, it is my job.” Silas answered, patiently waiting for the printer to get to his form. The queue seemed quite long, so despite the printer spitting out page after page, it would likely be a while still. He didn’t want to leave the young agent sitting in silence, especially when Internal Affairs recently told him to stop scaring new recruits—though it was never intentional—so Silas considered how to continue the conversation.
“Did you know they make new recruit organize the file room?” He offered the opening, waiting to see if Jackson wanted to engage. He didn’t want to force the agent into conversing if he didn’t want to, but Silas also wanted the option open. He turned to face Jackson, stepping away from the printer and into his view, allowing Jackson to glance from his piles of case reports and turn his attention to Silas instead.
“No, do they really? new recruit?” Jackson asked, glancing at the boxes of files around him. He wondered what the point of that was, especially since before he’d begun reorganizing the room, the place was spotless and efficient. Jackson doubted he’d be able to reorganize it in a better way; the room would likely end up just as it began.
“They do. It’s ; it’s sorting grains of sand by color, one by one,” Silas continuing, raising an eyebrow. The action added to the ever-present exhausting that painted Silas instead of making him appear amused. “A pointless endeavor, one that could drive somebody insane. One gust of wind, and all progress is ruined,” His tone was firm, “But that’s the point. Our jobs can be monotonous, and feel pointless, so it’s a task to see if you’re up to it. This life.” Jackson had fallen silent, staring at his hands in contemplation.
“I suppose that makes sense, even if it’s philosophical of you,” Jackson responded after a minute, the silence only invaded by the whirring printer and muffled din of the main room. “I mean, you gotta check if someone can handle the boring routine stuff, not just the supernaturals.” His tone was quiet, and he drummed his hands on his khaki shorts. Silas thought it was a good sign: Jackson seemed to be thinking the new information through instead of taking it at face value. With time, he could see Jackson becoming one of the more respected agents.
Though nobody was as respected as Silas. “Precisely, you understand.” Silas watched his report get spit out by the printer and he grabbed at the warm paper, letting the heat bite his fingers. He thought he’d spent too long here already, and should likely change before someone called Internal Affairs about him being a health hazard, though Jackson had another question.
“What happens if I don’t finish on time?” His tone was worried, meek in the face of punishment. Silas smiled softly, looking down at the cross-legged agent—who resembled a marble sculpture. It wasn’t a matter of finishing on time, just that you clearly put in the work, and Jackson was.
“That’s not for you to know, now is it?” Silas proffered, though it wasn’t his true response. He took a moment to think. “In our line of work, you don’t always succeed. Criminals get away. People die. You lose friends,” He continued, though it seemed to only make Jackson more worried, “What matters is that you tried. That you did the you could. Leave nobody doubting that, and you’ll be fine.”
It wasn’t a direct explanation, Silas wouldn’t allow Jackson that, but it was also enough for the message to be clear. Jackson nodded once and Silas stepped toward the entrance, wrapping his hand around the bronze doorknob. He hoped Mr. Alden wasn’t too delayed with whatever affair he had on the fourth floor so he could turn in the report, though Silas would take the time to grab coffee if he was.
“Oh, Silas?” Jackson bloomed, a sunflower amidst the dull white papers, “Would you like to do anything after work? Get me used to the trade, y’know? I’m sure you have some stories!” The cheery kid offered, briefly pitching his voice up in excitement. Silas stopped at the doorway, hand unmoving, and the smile fell from his face.
He answered without looking back. “Mr. Everett, if you would. And no, Jackson. I don’t an . And there are certainly no stories to tell.” He turned the doorknob, waiting for the quiet click of the door opening before exiting the room. Silas didn’t wait to hear if Jackson responded, instead escaping into the bright halls. The sun had rose past the skyline now, shining obliquely into Silas’ eyes.
He sighed. The young ones always learned that there were better agents to go to for after-work hangouts or discussion, though it did take some longer than others. Silas had a reputation within the department, and it was not one that made people go to him for fun, though he did offer a place of safety—if he was in the office. It was impossible to get in contact with Silas if he was at home. Nobody knew where he lived, and he never answered his phone outside of work.
Nobody minded, though. It was rare for Silas to be anywhere but the office or on duty, and it had become a common joke to tell him that if he worked any more he’d become his own department. Silas found it an amusing sentiment, even if untrue. He shifted back into motion, stepping past the windows and toward both Mr. Alden’s office and the main area. While the door remained closed, the blinds were now open, so Silas glanced inside. Inside was Mr. Alden, with his usual cropped brown hair and firm posture, though a familiar red-haired woman sat opposite him. Rayne Harper.
Mr. Alden spotted Silas, too, glancing past the woman in front of him. He waved Silas inside with a snappy gesture, and Silas gently pulled the door open, slipped inside and then closed it behind him. Mr. Alden gestured to the blinds, so Silas closed them, submerging the room in relative darkness. The only light was from the window behind Mr. Alden, framing him like a god.
“Mr. Everett, come, sit down. And is that the report you have for me? Ever efficient, Mr. Everett, ever efficient,” Mr. Alden nodded repeatedly before turning on the overhead lights with the press of a remote. “Awfully dark, my apologies.” The room was suddenly filled with white light, the fluorescent lamps adding a dull hum. Silas slipped into a second chair opposite Mr. Alden, glancing at Rayne and the mess of freckles dressing her cheeks.
He knew her very well, and would have offered a greeting if Mr. Alden didn’t interrupt him. “Here, let me take that report from you.” Silas nodded, wordlessly handing him the papers before leaning straight-backed in his chair. He let a hand drift away and toward Rayne’s wrist, giving it a gentle assuring squeeze before removing it. She glanced at him inbetween chewing on her nails. Mr. Alden added the papers to a pile on his desk, likely to get to them by the end of the day. “And change after this, ? It’s not professional to be out like that.”
Silas grit his teeth in frustration, but maintained his neutral expression. He had prioritized doing his job over his appearance, and Mr. Alden usually made no comments on any other agent’s professionalism. Silas decided Mr. Alden must be in a bad mood, before suddenly finding himself worried it was because of the woman next to him. She had that effect on his bosses, though he usually tried to keep her separated from any Ministry contact. Something had happened.
Silas spoke first. “Sir, what is it you need of me?” He slid further back into the seat, allowing himself to press against the headrest. He laid his hands in lap, gently placed over his knees. While Silas had his own issue with Mr. Alden, he was quite the capable boss; he wouldn’t distract Silas from work with no reason. He could just be asking for Silas’ report, or perhaps the scene had been observed by more civilians than Silas thought.
“Yes, right, well. I have an assignment for you.” Mr. Alden smiled widely at Silas, though it didn’t reach his eyes, before looking at Rayne. “...Unfortunately, both of you.” Mr. Alden grew quiet, staring at Rayne, who wilted under his gaze. Silas coughed. He wasn’t an impatient man, but Silas had work to do, and he also knew how uncomfortable Rayne was under any attention from the Ministry.
“Right, my apologies,” Mr. Alden snapped his attention back to Silas, breaking eye contract with Rayne, though she’d never met his eye. She shifted in her seat, still silent, hiding behind her messy red hair and choosing instead to look at her nails, nearly bit bloody. Her teeth were sharp, so she had to be careful. “Well, that is… It’s not exactly for , Mr. Everett, but for your .” Silas bit his tongue.
“The job is for ,” The name was harsh on his tongue, “As her… , we’ll say, are required for a situation. There was an unnatural occurrence off in this backwater town near Tulsa, out in Oklahoma. The local department does not have any, staff for the the situation, so we’ve been asked to dispose of our resources in Boston.” Mr. Alden offered, though the picture was not nearly as clear as he seemed to have thought it was. Silas waited for Mr. Alden to say more, to give any more detail, but they only sat in silence. A minute passed.
“...And I’m being called in as her handler. You’re not asking for my permission, Sir,” Silas stated, and Mr. Alden shook his head in indication that he wasn’t, “So you want us both to go. To Oklahoma. Is that what you’re saying, Sir?” Silas asked, cringing at how Mr. Alden spoke of Rayne. He thought it was rude to call on her for anything, since Rayne never wanted to be under the Ministry’s thumb in the first place. But she was, subjected to their service for a crime that she—beyond all doubt—had no hand in.
“Yes, Mr. Everett. Rather astute definition. To be more direct,” Silas realized he was being tested, “There was a large… in magical energy in the town of Chouteau, and all agents with an aptitude for tracking magic are already indisposed. This is something the Ministry enjoys doing,” Mr. Alden glared at Rayne, who whimpered quietly. “We would never ordinarily send a on a mission with an , much less their own handler, but the magnitude of magic is something only suited to your clearance.”
Silas was fuming. He wondered who Mr. Alden thought he was, calling her a werewolf, implying that she was some rabid beast, before realizing that he was Mr. Alden. There was nothing Silas could to, so he maintained his neutral expression. His body didn’t twitch in anger, and he retained his picture-perfect professionalism. It was something he’d learned long ago. “Yes Sir, I understand. That is to say, I and Ms. Harper are to go to the town of Chouteau and investigate the magical energy. If the cause is a person, are we to bring them in?” Silas asked, and Mr. Alden nodded. The room went silent again, and Silas was anxious to leave.
“Is that all?” He asked, glancing at Rayne, who had officially chewed her fingers raw. He thought he could see a few leaking blood, though he also knew they’d heal by the time they were out the front door. He’d hoped that Rayne might be treated better with time away from the Ministry, but it was swiftly becoming clear that some things never changed. Rayne was a rare case, and Silas initially felt bad for her. It was the reason he’d offered to be her handler, even if it wasn’t a job title he enjoyed.
“No, no. The higher-ups, higher-ups, want a report in by tomorrow. Better if you can get the job done by then. Even better if you can keep your on a leash this time.” Alden answered before waiving them away, like he’d never said anything wrong, and Rayne stood immediately. She was ready to leave, too, though Silas needed to stay for a moment longer. He did the mental calculation ins his head, trying to think if one day would be enough, before realizing they’d have to drive. It wouldn’t be enough time.
“Sir, respectfully, I must ask for more time. It would be, at minimum, a twenty hour drive there, and while I do not refuse driving for such a time, it need not be said that driving without sleep would endanger civilians. I politely ask for more time for myself, and Ms. Harper, to attain our various belongings and to get there within time.” Silas was firm, letting his frustration edge into his tone. For a moment, Silas may have appeared more like the boss than Mr. Alden.
Mr. Alden chewed his lip. “Yes, alright, you may have a week. thought that was an unreasonable ask anyway,” Silas felt his frustration rise, “Though you leave by the end of the day. The higher-ups wouldn’t be happy if you didn’t. I’d start packing right away; I’ve already given your cases to other agents, so no need to worry.” He waved them away again, and this time Silas listened. He stood, slowly, maintaining his professional stature, but Rayne pulled him out of the office by his arm before he could respond.
By the time Rayne pulled him into the hall, away from prying eyes, he’d slipped from her grip. “Silas-” She began, but he quickly interrupted her, glancing at both ends of the hall. He didn’t want to be heard by other agents, and he didn’t want any rumors to start. Rumors died slow in the Ministry. “,” He corrected cooly, though when Rayne flinched, he softened his tone. “While here, it’s Mr. Everett, Ms. Harper.” She nodded her head meekly.
“Mr. Everett,” She began again, and this time without interruption, “Do I really have to do this? I mean, I have work tomorrow. I afford to lose this job.” She begged, and Silas bit the inside of his cheek. He couldn’t tell her that she was free to go, he’d been ordered to bring her along, even if he’d prefer if she was allowed to stay. He could handle this job on his own, theoretically; he had done far more complex things than tracking down magic.
Silas was constantly advocating for Rayne to be uninvolved in any Ministry going-ons, even if the Ministry found it quite useful for a lycanthrope to be under their thumb. He had protected her quite a lot already, but directly disobeying orders would likely only make things worse. He sighed, frustrated by the position he was put in.
“Unfortunately, Ms. Harper,” She deflated in hopeless acceptance, “I must say yes, you have to. Though I’m sure I can get the Ministry to come up with a reason for your absence.” He continued, and that made Rayne light up. She tried to hug him, though Silas quickly stepped away, and she suddenly remembered where they were. Rayne pulled back and nodded in acceptance, and despite her calm demeanor, Silas could tell she’d be wagging her tail—if she had one.
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Rayne didn’t say anything else, instead choosing to stand there, silently beaming with joy. The loud din of the precinct echoed through the hall, and Silas glanced between her and the hall. “Now, come along, Ms. Harper. I need to change, and since ,” He spit the word out, making it clear he wasn’t happy she was forced into this, “Been assigned a mission, I’ll need my equipment. And my jacket. Locker rooms,” He flicked his head toward the general direction of the precinct, and Rayne nodded.
They walked through the main area, and a few agents gave the duo an odd look. Silas considered that perhaps there was no way to entirely stop the rumors, though the looks were mostly directed at Rayne. It was better to ignore them, so the two slipped past the main area and into the connecting hall with the elevator. He pressed the button and waited patiently, though Rayne fidgeted anxiously beside him.
Eventually, the elevator arrived and they stepped inside the empty box, suffused by the light’s amber glow. Silas leaned over and hit the button for B5. The first two basement levels were devoted to a small parking garage, but below that was the storage and training facilities. Silas took his badge from his shirt pocket and slipped the access card from a small container in the back, sliding it into the receptacle in the elevator panel. The elevator chimed before slowly moving downwards, giving Silas time to take the access card back and slip it into his badge.
“You’ve never been to the sublevels, have you, Ms. Harper?” He asked, cocking an eyebrow and glancing at her. He’d grown quite close to Rayne during his time as her handler, though nobody in the department needed to know that. It’d be unprofessional, he thought, and though this mission was unexpected, it might be a good break for both Rayne and him. If it turned out to be simple, like he thought. It was also possible Mr. Alden hadn’t told him everything.
“No, I haven’t. Should I be worried?” Rayne asked, looking at him in turn. She caught the amber light reflecting off his blue eyes, and despite his otherwise cold stature, she could see the warmth in them. She didn’t enjoy lurking in the Ministry longer than they had already, it was clear how much everyone hated her. People wouldn’t even use the correct terminology, and she desperately wanted to ask Silas why he hadn’t spoken up when Mr. Alden called her a werewolf. The term felt gross in her ears.
But she understood he couldn’t. “Not particularly. It’s nothing unusual, B5 is a mixture of things. Locker rooms, gym, armory. A place for agents to store things they may want but don’t want to keep at their desk. It’s not exactly against rules to bring people there, it’s just ill-advised, since both weaponry and personal belongings are kept on the floor.” He shrugged, though it did little to settle Rayne’s nerves.
“You’ll be fine. Nobody sane will question me.” He said confidently, which did help Rayne feel more relaxed. She could rely on Silas, he’d made that evident time and time again, and his level of notoriety within the Ministry commanded a level of respect. “I’m just going to pack my gear, take a shower, grab my to-go bag. The necessities.” He assured, though his smile was grim. The armory didn’t like their gear being taken out of state, though they’d be forced to give him whatever he asked for.
He didn’t want it to turn into a situation. He’d use his personal equipment. “Okay,” Rayne said simply, before suddenly realizing something and bursting alight in excitement. “Actually, can I take a shower, too?” Silas was surprised at the question and took the moment to examine her, outside the purview of Mr. Alden. Admittedly, he thought, she did look rather ratty. Her red hair was messy and matted, and she’d clearly been sweating, despite the cold season. Her skin looked dim, instead of it’s usual warm color, and her freckles were faded.
He shrugged. There wasn’t any reason she couldn’t, though he didn’t have a change of clothes for her. “That should be fine. We’ll stop by your apartment so you can grab clothes, , whatever you may need.” He decided she could use his soap, if she was fine with that, so it didn’t particularly matter to him. If anyone made it an issue, he’d bring it to Internal Affairs. They gave him plenty of leeway.
“Aw, we’re not going to yours? You have to show it to me sometime. Please?” Rayne begged, and Silas smiled softly. He shook his head no and repeated, for what must be the hundredth time, that she would never know where he lived. Nobody did, and he liked it that way. What he didn’t say is that it stopped the Ministry from snooping around his personal life, which was a bad habit of theirs.
The elevator came to a sudden stop, sending a yelp reminiscent of a bark careening from Rayne’s mouth. She shied away, embarrassed, and Silas avoided commenting. He didn’t want to make her feel any worse than she already did, so he calmly stepped from the elevator and toward the nearby armory window. The gym and locker rooms were down the hall, but he decided to request his gear first; he felt unsafe without it available.
Rayne followed him, looking around the space wide-eyed, despite its sterile white nature. It looked like a hospital, with white linoleum floors and white-painted walls. Only the ceiling was a dull grey, and even the fluorescent lights were entirely white. She wondered if the Ministry made it feel impersonal on purpose, or if it was just a consequence of the building.
The armorer looked up from their computer. “Mr. Everett. I didn’t expect you so .” They said, though it was clearly a lie. Silas was always in sooner, and he knew it was likely a prodding question, a given due to his bloodstained attire. He didn’t want to bother explaining, much less to the head armorer—he considered them a snake, always seeking out rumor and drama.
The reports were public anyway. Anyone within the Ministry could read them. “I’m here for my personal gear. Nothing company issue, I’m being deployed out of state for a week.” He explained, and he could feel the hair on his neck rise. He hoped the armorer wouldn’t pepper him with more questions; most agents only ever used company gear, though the Ministry allowed storing personal items in the armory if an agent chose. Few did.
“ of it?” The armor asked, pulling up Silas’ profile, alongside his personal effects. It wasn’t an exhaustive list, only the things Silas was already wearing or decided to store at work. He owned much more, though he kept the particularly powerful items hidden away. He decided to be more specific, for the sake of brevity.
“I’d like my personal firearm, the AHX19S, four magazines stocked with silver-steel bullets,” He winced, suddenly remembering Rayne was standing nearby. She didn’t look bothered, too busy staring at a large plaque denoting the rules for the gym. Silver was used on all manner of magical creatures, and Silas reprimanded himself for worrying. Just because Rayne was a lycanthrope didn’t mean she thought it was for her.
And it wasn’t. “I’d also like my silver-steel knife and sword, please.” The armorer jotted down his requests and hummed after each item, only stopping when he’d finished. Silas would’ve asked for more rounds since he could store them in the car, but he couldn’t remember how many he’d put into personal storage. He didn’t want to bother asking.
“Sure, Mr. Everett. We’ll have that out in a few.” The armorer paused for a moment. “You’re traditional, Mr. Everett. One might think you’re sixty if they looked at this list!” They guffawed, though Silas was unimpressed. He glanced away, toward Rayne, who had moved on to looking at a facility map. It was a mess of colored lines, and Silas never got used to the secret levels being omitted from it. “I mean, a ? You’re the person here who’d carry a sword. Especially with the .” The armorer said the word with fiery disgust.
Silas didn’t feel any particular way about magic. If it helped get his work done more efficiently, then there was nothing to dislike. Silas had nothing else to say to the armor, so instead he nodded toward Rayne and indicated he was done. She hopped along after him, boots clomping loudly on the linoleum floor. His own footsteps made no noise.
They stepped into the locker room, the environment quickly changing from stark white to a gentle blue. Lockers lined the walls, and the middle of the room was filled with bench seats and tables, in case anyone needed them. It wasn’t a large space, though this was only one locker room. There were more, this is just where Silas’ locker was. He always kept a spare change of clothes at work, exactly for situations like today.
He opened his own personal storage and pulled out a few items, including soap. Everyone had their own locker, and the showers were completely private, separated by small airlocks so that people could shower and dress in private. The Ministry could afford the amenity. “You can use my soap, if that’s fine, Ms. Harper. I showered this morning, I just don’t want vampire blood caked on my skin.” He explained, and Rayne suddenly looked more apprehensive.
She slipped onto a bench seat, pulling off her muddy boots and glancing up at the still-standing Silas. “The soap is fine, but… That’s ?” She asked curiously, a little surprised. Silas being covered in blood was normal, but the Ministry and Boston’s cabaret’s had been on good terms recently—or as good as they could reasonably be. Rayne hadn’t heard of any altercations, despite the rise of supernatural attacks.
“Mm.” He didn’t elaborate, instead organizing his new outfit. It was nearly identical to what he currently wore: dark blue suit pants, a white collared shirt, a black tie and black boots, though the new outfit had black suit pants instead. He glanced around the locker room, letting himself analyze every shadow cast by the pale light. It seemed completely empty of anyone else, and there were no showers running. People must be busy, he thought.
Rayne grabbed a comb from the pile of belongings he’d taken out and reached up to his head. She glanced at him first, and when he shrugged, she began running it through his medium-length hair. It wasn’t knotted, but she rarely saw his hair down, so she wanted to examine it more. Silas almost always kept it in a bun, she’d learned, and the glossy black hair looked good loose.
Silas grabbed at the last piece of his outfit. To anyone not in the know about the supernatural, it’d look like a normal black windbreaker, decorated with the FBI logo. But to people who were supernaturally-aware, the Ministry logo and chevron pattern would be clearly visible. The logo was plastered across the back, with large loud lettering stating the Ministry’s slogan: . The badge had similar illusion magic.
Rayne shuddered, looking away from the windbreaker. The sight always brought back awful memories, even if it was Silas wearing it, so she brought her attention to his hair and finished combing it. Afterward, she stood, and Silas didn’t wait for an explanation. He handed her the soap and she moved toward the shower, hesitating for only a moment before slipping inside and closing the door.
Silas did the same, heading to his own shower. He brought in the change of clothes and methodically undressed, piece by piece, storing the dirty outfit in a waterproof container in the airlock. He put the clean outfit in a separate one and examined his boots. They looked entirely ordinary, but he’d originally ordered them from a spellcaster. They had enchantments imbedded into the sewing, muffling any sound made by them.
He stepped into the shower and let himself submerge under the warm water. He watched the water run down his body, stained red for only a moment before again running clean. He’d take a proper shower later, he thought; this one was just about cleaning off any noticeable blood. It didn’t take long, so he stepped out after only a few minutes and thoroughly dried himself with a towel.
Just as methodically as he’d undressed, he put each piece of clothing on one by one. He ended up deciding to go without a tie, since a week of on-the-ground deployment was in his future. If they did end up fighting anything, it’d only serve as another weakness, he thought. He shook more moisture from his hair, suddenly frustrated at how relaxed the warm shower made him. Next time he’d take a cold one, he thought.
He was out before Rayne, so he took the time to adjust his clothes in the mirror. He’d shaved that morning, but he knew by the end of the week he’d likely have to deal with stubble. He didn’t look forward to the experience. He opened the container where he’d put his belongings, sliding the various small things like pens and notebooks into his pockets. He always kept his badge inside his shirt pocket, and he found the space uncomfortable without it there.
After that, he decided to simply sit down and check his phone. It’d give his hair time to air dry, and he waited patiently for Rayne to finish. It only took a few more minutes for her to rejoin him, and she looked markedly better, though Silas assumed the lack of a bloodstain did lots for his own appearance. He slipped the dirtied clothes into his locker, deciding he’d either dispose of or clean them later, before taking out his to-go bag. It was a brown suitcase, and he’d packed it when the deployments began, though he didn’t expect to end up needing it.
He looked at Rayne to speak, though found himself tongue-tied. She really did look better, he thought, her entire appearance rejuvenated. Maybe she needed that shower more than he’d thought, and a worry that she wasn’t taking care of herself clawed its way up his legs, pulling on his shoulders. He swallowed the lump in his throat and reminded himself to stay professional.
“We’ll grab my gear and be on our way. We’re taking my SUV, by the way,” Silas ordered, though Rayne wasn’t going to argue in the first place. His car was cleaner, more spacious and generally nicer. Rayne’s own own car was a beater and practically a warzone in comparison. She doubted it’d last a long drive like that anyway, so she shrugged.
“Lead the way.” She gestured toward the entrance, and Silas hefted the brown suitcase up. They stepped back into the clinical white halls, and though Rayne was curious to know about the gym, she understood they had to get going. Silas handed the suitcase to Rayne before stepping up to the armory window, looking down at the shrivelled head armorer.
Rayne watched them bore into each other in a silent exchange; she couldn’t begin to understand what it might mean. Eventually, the armorer heaved a sigh and began handing over item after item. She started by sliding a metal briefcase through the window, alongside a leather holster, before following it with a matching saber and dagger, unmoving in their wooden sheaths.
Silas nodded, taking the time to attach the holster to his belt. It was fairly large, retaining a spot for his handgun and three magqazines, one attached to the holster and two more behind it. Silas opened the metal briefcase, attaching the magazines and sliding one into the handgun. He tapped the magazine but didn’t rack the gun, choosing instead to slide it into the holster. He did the same for the dagger, though chose to carry the sword for now. It’d be too cumbersome to drive with.
The whole scene was done in less than a minute, showing off Silas’ practiced efficiency. He thanked the armorer and led Rayne away, despite her desperately wanting to see more of the restricted floors. She wondered what it was to work at the Ministry without being a lycanthrope. She wanted to know just how different people treated each other compared to how they treated her, but they were back inside the elevator before she could mention it.
Rayne glanced at his holster, curious. She’d never seen the handgun, but it also wasn’t the one Ministry agents typically carried, so it was likely just Silas’ personal preference. He leaned over and hit the button for B1, ready to get out of the Ministry building. Rayne seemed to have calmed down, which he considered surprising, but his own nerves had only grown. It was probably the longest he’d been in the building with Rayne around.
“So, stop by my apartment, let me pack and then we’re on our way?” Rayne asked, glancing at the sword in his hand. She shifted the suitcase to her other hand, despite its weight being nothing for her. She ran through a list of what she’d need in her head, though she always struggled with packing. She hoped she wouldn’t forget anything important.
“That’s the idea. We can stop at a gas station for snacks, if you want, but I’m also happy to get food on the road. We can figure out where to sleep while in the car. I just want to get on the road, honestly.” He answered neutrally, though his tone had a softness creeping in. Rayne knew he was one of the more professional hunters, at least compared to what she’d seen from the Ministry, but she always forgot just how much gentler he was with her in relative solitude. She hated when he called her Harper.
Rayne held the question itching at her tongue. They stepped out into the parking garage and Rayne shivered, the cold air nipping at her wet hair. She shook like a dog before spotting Silas’ SUV, parked near the entrance, and began moving toward it. She felt anxious, but she also knew it was a question she had to ask.
She slipped into the passenger seat and Silas slipped into the driver’s seat. Rayne’s throat felt tight, and Silas took a moment to take the suitcase from Rayne and put it in the back seat. She breached the question, letting the words tumble out. “Uhm.” She wasn’t sure how to ask. “If I’m helping with a case, thanks to me being a lycanthrope…” Rayne hated using werewolf. Nobody called them that anymore, especially since it wasn’t correct under modern classification.
That didn’t matter to most of the Ministry, though. They were content to not care, even if Silas was one of the rare few who did. She’d never asked if it was because he cared about being correct, or if he cared about her. “Am I still supposed to take my suppressants?” Her voice was meek, and Rayne felt like she couldn’t breathe. The air felt heavy.
Silas was stopped in his tracks. He grinded his teeth, suddenly frustrated he hadn’t asked Mr. Alden that exact question. It was rather important, and if they wanted Rayne specifically to help with this job—thanks to her being a lycanthrope—they should have been clear, he thought. He shifted the sword into his other hand before sliding the sheath down toward his feet, letting it sit between his legs.
He rubbed his eyes. He felt exhausted. “Ms. Harper-” He began, but Rayne interrupted him. “Rayne. Please?” Her voice was unsure, but he finally looked at her and smiled. “Rayne…” His voice was gentle. She waited for him to tell her off, to say that she was being ridiculous. He reached over and put a hand on the back of her head, gently running his hand down the back of her wet hair.
“...No, I’m not going to make you take them. If you’re going to help me, you’re to. If the Ministry didn’t intend that, they should have informed me.” Rayne choked on her spit, letting our a torrent of coughs, accidentally detaching herself from his touch. He had not just said that, she decided, though the words echoed throughout her mind.
“You mean I can ?” She muttered, shaking in disbelief. She hadn’t thought she’d ever be allowed to stop taking the magical suppressants, no matter how many times she’d complained or how torturous they were. Silas had never given a definite answer, either, which she supposed he couldn’t have. While he was important to the Ministry, he couldn’t simply tell them to do whatever he wanted.
Silas put an arm on her shoulder, trying his best not to look worried. “I’ve heard you in the past, you know.” His tone was gentle, and Rayne’s shaking slowed as she came to terms with the situation. “I know they’re not… . I’ve been trying to get them to stop with the,” He almost said treatment, and the thought nearly made him throw up. “With the drugs. Though I can only begin to understand how awful they are.”
Rayne wanted to hug him. She would have, if the car seats weren’t in the way. Instead, she muttered a thank you and leaned into Silas’ touch, happy to have at least one person rooting for her, though Silas’ wasn’t always around. The reminder that Silas cared, even if he was usually indisposed by his job, was nice. Initially, she’d struggled to trust who she saw as just another Ministry lapdog, but Silas’ efforts to protect her made it clear he was genuine.
They sat there for a few minutes, not talking, and Silas didn’t mind. Rayne, in turn, examined his vehicle. She desperately wanted to find a piece of trash inside one day, or for the black SUV’s paint to be chipped somewhere, but she never could. The vehicle was a display of just how professional Silas was, and at some point, it’d turned into a game for Rayne to attempt to find a flaw in his stature.
It was an amusing game for both of them. “Ready to get going?” He asked, and when Rayne gave up their game and nodded, Silas smiled smugly. He slid his car keys into the ignition and let the vehicle start, pulling out of the parking garage with practiced ease. Rayne let her head fall against the headrest, though she needed to adjust it first. She wondered who he’d had in his car for it to be different, and she briefly considered he’d gone on a date before discounting the possibility. It was likely another agent.
They rode in silence, stopping frequently. Rayne was happy Silas always stopped slowly, without the lurching motion from slamming the break. She got motion sick easily, even if she enjoyed car rides. Rush hour was somehow still going on, and the streets were packed, though she considered that they were also in the center of the city. Rayne couldn’t afford an apartment so centrally, so she knew it’d be better once they got to the outskirts of the city.
She fidgeted in her seat, impatiently watching cars drive by while they sat at a stand-still. “You want to play music, don’t you?” Silas asked, breaking the silence and glancing away from the road for only a movement, not that they were moving. Rayne met him with a look utter guilt, and for a moment, Silas’ neutral front broke. He rolled his eyes and opened the seat’s armrest, pulling out a cord for her. He shook his head, smiling wide.
“Knew it. Got a USB-C cable just for you, actually. Just don’t put anything hyper on, okay?” He passed over the charger, taking the moment to rub the back of her head again. He knew it helped her feel at ease, and he also knew the visit to the department had stressed Rayne out. He’d rather she be relaxed than stressed, so if letting her play music helped, she could play all the music she wanted to, he thought.
Rayne took a few minutes to scroll through her phone before finally playing something. Silas wasn’t exactly a music person, but he didn’t mind it if someone else wished to listen to music. Eventually, traffic began to clear and they were speeding along in a timely manner. Silas knew where Rayne lived, so he didn’t need directions.
“Don’t forget your old clothes, by the way,” Silas reminded her after a few minutes, mindlessly examining streetsigns, passerbys and other cars while driving. Rayne was confused; she didn’t understand at first why she’d need old clothes. She looked to him for an explanation, but he appeared to be waiting for her to understand. After a start, she suddenly realized.
“Oh my god. Because I’ll have a tail,” The excitement in her voice was overwhelming. She looked down at her outfit, the most professional thing she owned—it was almost identical to Silas’ attire, she realized, before blushing—and considered what that might feel like again. For her shapeshifting to be allowed again, for the magical energy to course through her.
“And a glamor. Don’t forget that.” Silas assumed she owned a glamor. They were common enchantments, placed upon clothing or sometimes in perfumes, to alter the appearance of people or items. His jacket and badge were good examples, he thought, and it was common for Housefolk to own some.
“Yeah, all my old clothes are enchanted. It’s the only reason I didn’t get rid of them, really. I… Never thought I’d be allowed off the suppressants.” She answered, the excitement fading. She wondered if she’d have to start taking them after the week was over, or if the Ministry might allow her to stop.
“When does the medication wear off, by the way?” Silas glanced at Rayne’s head, half expecting the animal ears to pop into existence. He was curious when she’d sprout her animal features; lycanthropes, he’d learned, usually let them out to varying degrees. Some favored a full transformation, allowing them to navigate the street as a coyote or wolfhound or other various breed, but others still preferred less. He knew Rayne kept to a minimum while still allowing her to shift a little.
“Well, I have to take them nightly, so… Tomorrow morning, at the earliest.” Rayne shrugged, though it was only an attempt to hide the fiery excitement burning her up. The magical suppressants were like an ice bath, ruining every one of Rayne’s senses. Her vision was worse, she felt detached from her body, even her emotions felt numbed at times. Even worse, she’d get phantom pains from the missing animal parts.
They weren’t a minor inconvenience. Taking them made the very act of living difficult, and when she’d originally agreed to them, she didn’t know what it’d be like. The first night she’d taken them, she’d had to call Silas, who she’d only just met. The night was blurry, now, but she remembered that Silas had almost taken her to a psych ward out of worry.
Rayne was scared. The idea that the Ministry could make these effects permanent terrified her, and Silas had reassured her multiple times that he’d do anything to make sure the Ministry didn’t use something so drastic. She wondered what horrifying magic the medication was, if it was even magic, that it could sever someone’s magical connection.
She shuddered, though Silas didn’t seem to notice the worry suddenly coursing through Rayne. He drove in silence for a while, and Rayne let other thoughts fill her head and push out the depressing memories. Soon, they arrived at her apartment, and Rayne slipped out of the car. Silas decided to stay in the car, so he waited patiently for her to return.
It took Rayne half an hour to pack. She took the time to change out of her Silas-outfit and into something more natural for her, fumbling through her wardrobe and pulling out a pair of grey cargo pants, a green camo shirt and a grey beanie. She knew where her denim jacket was, so she started packing more clothes instead, making sure to take some older stuff.
After making sure she wasn’t forgetting anything—and luckily, she’d remembered to grab everything she needed, even toiletries—she rejoined Silas, throwing her green suitcase into the trunk. He hadn’t turned off her music, she noticed, and the image of hunter-by-trade Silas Everett sitting in his SUV listening to hyperpop was the picture of absurdism. She giggled, quickly stifling the laughter when Silas gave her an accusatory look, sharp enough to cut steel.
It softened upon seeing her outfit. “You look good,” He complimented, and Rayne found herself swiftly shut up. He’d never complimented her before, and she wondered why he’d said it, or where it came from. Maybe he was just in a good mood, she considered, so she took the compliment with a simple nod. She felt oddly queasy.
“So we’re going to… Chouteau?” Rayne asked, ready to move on. She pulled out her phone and prepared to type the town into her maps app, attempting to sound it out in her head. She struggled with the word, and Silas quickly noticed, spelling it out for her. She assumed it was likely French, and upon inputting the route, Rayne was surprised to find the drive was almost exactly twenty hours. Just like Silas had said to Mr. Alden.
“Have you been there before?” She asked, slipping her phone onto her lap. She left the audio directions on, since there was nowhere to put her phone where Silas could easily see the map. Silas didn’t seem to mind, though; he knew Boston well, so he’d have no issues getting them going in the general direction. He rolled his shoulder, and Rayne found herself briefly wondering if he was up to the drive before snuffing the worry out.
“No, never. I know the area a bit, though. There’s a few Housefolk charted in the system near there, and we’ve had to involve one of the spellcasters in the area a few times at this point. They have expertise we don’t, after all, though don’t let the Ministry know I said that.” He joked, and Rayne ws very happy to see his professional despondency fading. His biting neutrality made her feel small, and it was a far cry from the fuzzy feeling she felt when he spoke softly, his voice carrying warmth of a cup of cocoa.
“Silas,” She smiled, the name slipping off her tongue comfortably. Saying it felt easy, “You don’t think the spellcaster had anything to do with it, do you? I mean, massive flux of magic…” She trailed off, but the implication was obvious. Silas didn’t respond immediately, trying to reckon with the idea that the spellcaster was, in fact, involved, though he hoped they weren’t.
The spellcaster had been a decent resource, and he himself had spoke with them about a case before, even if they generally preferred to stick to themself. They certainly weren’t fond of the Ministry, he’d concluded that after their meeting, but the offer of money seemed too good for the spellcaster to pass on. Silas admired their professionalism, too, recalling the neatly organized office space. The chairs were far plusher than the ones at the Ministry, and their massive workshop had fascinated Silas.
“Let’s hope not.” He tried to think of the spellcaster’s name, though for some reason it slipped his mind. “They’re a nice person. Well, nice enough. I’d hate to see them wrapped up in something like this. Maybe,” He considered, “It was just a rogue experiment gone wrong, and I can shift the blame elsewhere.” He’d rather protect someone relatively innocent than put them under the ire of the Ministry.
Or have to kill them. Working for the Ministry was his whole reason for living, but he also understood it was deeply flawed. He doubted that if he was aware of their reputation upon being initially offered the job that he would have joined, but he’d also stopped caring after his own personal reputation surpassed the organizations. Now most Housefolk knew his name.
“Yeah. Okay. I guess we’ll have to see, right?” Rayne tried to sound cheerful, but it came out tired and weary. Silas nodded in agreement, bobbing his head in time with the music, and she took that as a good sign. She scratched her head, the lack of ears itchy, and leaned against the headrest again. She’d been working too much, she decided. Her entire body was sore, and she always felt thirsty, though she also knew it was nothing in comparison to Silas.
“Get some rest, Rayne. We’ll stop for food soon, I want coffee. And feel free to order as much as you like; I have the company card. I barely use it anyway, I doubt you’ll hit my limit.” He suggested, and Rayne suddenly realized Silas was definitely attempting to be sweet, or as sweet as he could. Whenever they met for their mandated weekly appointments, Silas would offer her food, especially because he knew she wasn’t the richest. Silas didn’t enjoy being her handler, she knew that, but she was also grateful it was him. And really, she considered, it was just the situation Silas hated. Rayne hoped he considered her a friend.
Rayne acknowledged him before letting herself sink into the void of noise the music gave her. The sound helped stimulate her brain, and she eventually found herself falling asleep despite not thinking she would. Silas turned the music down a little, though he also understood it helped her rest, so he kept it on. By the time he shut it off, it was midday, and he’d woken Rayne up for food.
They’d stopped at a fast food place, and they both ordered before finding seats. Silas picked at his chicken nuggets, though fast food was generally too greasy for him, while Rayne tore into a burger and fries. Silas was grateful for the chance to stretch his legs, since they’d grown stiffer than cedar oak.
He started up a conversation with Rayne about her job—he couldn’t talk about his—so she ranted to him about all the awful customers that had come in, or how much of a pain her boss was being, or whatever drama her coworkers had started. Silas listened along, though eventually Rayne turned the conversation onto him, forcing him to talk about the books he’d read recently.
After they finished eating, Silas said he wanted to get a headstart on tomorrow, so they drove long after dark. Rayne agreed with the prospect, happy to be out during the night. She always felt more alive when the moon was out, like a puzzle piece clicked into its slot. Though it didn’t last too long, since Silas explained he was feeling too exhausted to continue driving. They stopped at a hotel and got rooms.
One more day of driving until they arrived at Chouteau, and Silas explained they’d likely meet with a few other local Ministry agents to assess the situation. One more day until they could begin to learn what caused it; one more day until they could learn who caused it.
