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Lindsey's first day at the Governor's Mansion is not off to a good start. The Governor's off this week, which no one told her when she was scheduling her start date, and the Governor's kind of important to getting Lindsey settled into her new role. HR had her name spelled wrong twice on paperwork that she now has to come in early tomorrow morning to sign. And the badge maker wasn't working, so she doesn't even have a key card to swipe into any of the offices. She has to keep knocking to be let in. She hopes it isn't a metaphor.
Finally, though, someone has brought her a cup of coffee.
“Thanks,” she says, taking the cup from a tray offered to her by an oddly overdressed man.
She puts the cup to her lips just as a woman runs shrieking into the room, a clipboard in each hand. “Don't drink that!”
Lindsey, eyes wide, slowly puts the cup back on the overly dressed man's tray. She turns to the woman for an explanation, she's too busy excoriating the coffee server.
“A vampire. I told you to find a vampire. Does she look like a vampire?”
The guy gives Lindsey a look, then shrugs.
“Tell me someone who works for you knows how to identify vampires. I'm not paying you to go around handing out cups of blood to unsuspecting guests. What if you'd handed it to a water sprite? A werewolf? Huh? Go find an actual vampire. Ask them first,” she adds emphatically.
The guy, looking shamed, slinks out of the room.
“Would something have happened to me I drank it?” Lindsey asks, thinking of the dire tone in the woman's voice when she said werewolf or water sprite.
“Oh, no,” she says. “It's just gross.”
Lindsey sighs. “I was really hoping it was coffee.”
“It's the second caterer we've gone through, they're all terrible at species identification. I want a vampire to tell me if their blood is really worth what I'm paying for it.” The woman's catering rant slows. “You want coffee? Let me show you where the kitchenette is.”
“Oh thank god,” Lindsey says.
“I'm Jamia.”
“I'm Lindsey.” Jamia puts one of the clipboards under her arm so they can shake. The warm smile and the fact that Jamia saved her from drinking a cup of blood is starting to turn this day into a little less of a disaster.
Jamia gets called away moments after she's shown Lindsey the coffee maker, which is old but serviceable, and fits right in with the rest of the place. The top three floors of the Governor's mansion had recently been repurposed from whatever mansions did before they were useful for overflow office space. The Clan Code had necessitated more official positions in the Daylighter government for people who dealt with Midnighters in various capacities, and now that security and technology had been updated, Lindsey was in charge of overseeing the transition of storage rooms and empty bedrooms with creepy old brass canopy beds into offices. There were a lot of boxes.
Jamia returns after a few moments, when the coffee pot is bubbling and hissing away, and Lindsey has zoned out trying to remember what organizations accepted furniture donations and boxes marked, “not haunted, just ugly.” Maybe she'd have better luck with that one on Craigslist.
“Sorry to bother you before you're fully caffeinated, but can you sign this?”
“For the woman who found me coffee? Absolutely. What am I signing?”
“You're a witness to me being able to tolerate noon day sunshine. Will you be here at dusk?”
Lindsey thinks about all of the boxes. “Most likely.”
“Right?” Jamia says. “Me too, I still have the catering menus to review and one of them isn't getting sent back to me until second shift Midnighter. Anyway, I need someone to sign this again at dusk to certify I don't have a variable light sensitivity.”
“That seems like a lot to ask for a catering menu.”
“Oh, no, this is for my security clearance to go into the new offices, the un-sunproofed ones and the ones without Fairy clocks.”
“Oh god, do I have to do that, too?”
“Probably. Which department are you in?”
“The Lieutenant Governor's.”
“Then yes, definitely, because the hallway on the second floor isn't sunproofed and that's the way you get to all the other sunproofed meeting rooms. They really need to update it, or there's going to be a terrible fire someday and “we couldn't find a carpet color we liked” isn't going to pass an excuse any longer. Wait,” Jamia says, “You're not just in the Lieutenant Governor's office, you're the new Lieutenant Governor. Hasn't anyone done your onboarding? Where's your binder?”
“I'm supposed to have a binder?”
“Oh my god,” Jamia exclaims, “All internal transfers get a fancy binder with all the info they need to start, I put it together last month so things like this didn't happen. With the Clan Act now, there's no easy way to get started when you get a higher security clearance, you need a week of orientation even with the binder.”
“I'm sorry?”
“No, no, don't be sorry, I'm sorry, and actually, Millicent in HR is going to be sorry. She's never liked my binder idea, but this is exactly why we need it. I'll go track down a binder for you, and I'll help you with all of the paperwork. See you at dusk?”
“Thanks,” Lindsey says, a little breathlessly, though more from the speed at which Jamia moves than anything else she could possibly be thinking about the woman who keeps saving her day .
Lindsey stays past dusk to sign Jamia's form, signs off on another stack of boxes, and then, shoulders aching and brain swimming with all the new policies and procedures of a new position in a new office in a new role, she decides she deserves pancakes.
There's a 24 hour diner just few blocks from the office. It's right on the border between the communities, and looks as though it's been there for a lot longer than there have been transitional zones and restaurant codes requiring separate refrigerators for blood stock.
Lindsey grabs a menu and is going to take a seat at the counter when she hears someone call her name.
“Hi,” Jamia says, from a booth. She has several folders spread out around her plate of waffles. There are coffee ring stains on a few. “You want to join me? I promise I'll put work away.”
“Ok,” Lindsey says. She'd be fine if Jamia kept the work out because Jamia seems like her best chance of staying afloat.
The server lets Lindsey get settled before coming over to offer her coffee and refill Jamia's cup. “Do you want the Daylighter or Midnighter menu, dear?”
“I'm here for pancakes,” Lindsey says.
“Well, we can certainly do that, can't we?”
Jamia gathers her paperwork into one precarious pile. She tops off her coffee with cream and hands it to Lindsey.
“This place is a lifesaver,” Jamia says. “Always fresh, hot coffee and breakfast all day.”
“Have you worked at the Governor's office long?” Lindsey asks. “You know a lot more than – well, me.”
“Only a few years,” Jamia says, “I was brought in with the new hires for Clan Code compliance and, you saw the place, there's still quite a need.”
“I've been drafting laws and speeches for the Governor for a while now, and I thought I knew enough to get by, but - ”
“Yeah, the day to day is a lot more fussy.”
“Really, you're a godsend,” Lindsay says. “Are you - “
“Am I?” Jamia's eyes lift up from her plate, her mouth quirked. And oh, that's not what Lindsey was going to ask.
Lindsey blushes, and she's saved by the arrival of her pancakes. She butters them and pours syrup before daring to look up at Jamia again, whose eyes are still crinkled with amusement.
“I mean, are you a Midnighter? Is that why you know so much?”
Jamia laughs softly. “No, no, strictly Daylighter. I had a....friend who turned into a vampire.”
“I'm sorry, that sounds like quite a shock.”
“No, it's OK, it's a good thing, he was dying. But it was sort of sink or swim, when I got thrown into the world, and turns out I can swim pretty well. But I don't want everyone to feel the way I did. Overwhelmed. Oh, here,” Jamia says, rustling around in her papers, “I found this Perks and Perils of Your New Security Clearance pamphlet. It's old, but I thought it might help.”
From what Lindsey's seen, if this passes Jamia's muster, it will help more than anything else she's been given so far. She pours more syrup over her pancakes and starts to read.
Lindsey's considering ordering a milkshake when a harried looking woman, not much more than a teenager, really, crashes through the door, making the bell jangle wildly. She's holding a knife and brandishing it at the first server she finds.
A hush falls over the patrons as booth by booth, they each notice. “Oh shit,” Jamia whispers.
“Blood,” the girl says, her voice shaking. “Just give me all your blood.”
Lindsey's on her feet before she can think better of it. She can help. She's had deescalation training. In diplomatic negotiation, not armed robbery, sure, but -
“What are you doing?” Jamia hisses.
“Hey,” Lindsey says, taking a step toward the girl.
She turns, shaking the knife at Lindsey. “Don't,” she says. “I'm not gonna hurt anyone, I just need the blood. Now!” she says, turning to the server, who backs up toward the kitchen.
“Ok,” Lindsey says. “Ok, good. I just want to ask. Do you need the blood? Did you get turned?”
“It’s not for me,” the girl says, looking anxiously between Lindsey and the kitchen. “It's for my friend.”
“Your friend got turned?”
“No, Jesus, we know there's a clinic nearby, we're not stupid.”
“No, of course, I didn't mean to imply you were stupid. I'm just trying to see if I can help.”
“If you want to help, you can tell the Fairies to fuck off.”
“The Fairies,” Lindsey says.
“They have my friend, and they won't give her back unless I bring them forty-seven pints of blood. I tried the hospital, but their security is too tight, and the clinic will only give you two bags at a time.”
“What in the world would Fairies want with blood?” Jamia whispers. That's exactly what Lindsey is thinking.
“So you can tell them to fuck off and do their dirty errands themselves, and stop kidnapping people,” the girl spits.
“Actually,” Lindsey says, “I can do that. Alicia?” she calls out, and the girl looks at her like she thinks Lindsey is trying to guess her name, but a moment later, two booths behind them, the woman Lindsey summoned appears.
“I'm here,” Alicia says.
“Holy shit,” the girl exclaims, and as her knife wavers, she raises it up. “I did what they said, I did exactly what they asked, don't take me, too.”
“I'm not taking you anywhere,” Alicia says, coming to stand by Lindsey's side. “I'm here to ask you to take me to the meeting spot, where you're supposed to deliver the blood.”
“They said to come alone,” the girl says. She's close to tears.
“I'm sure they did,” Alicia says. “Whoever they are, they're not Fairy, and they'll pay for using our name to instill fear.”
Alicia holds out her hand. The girl lowers the knife, lets it drop. She closes her eyes, as if expecting the worst, and holds out her hand. Alicia takes it, and in a moment, they're gone.
“Holy shit,” Jamia says, echoing the girl.
The bustle of the diner returns in a rush.
“So who do I call, the police, or the Clan enforcers?” the server behind the counter asks.
Another server says, “I'm not calling anyone. Did you see that? That was Fairy magic, and I'm going to pretend the whole thing never happened.”
“What is wrong with you?” Jamia hisses as Lindsey sits down. She tries to take a sip of her coffee but her hand is shaking too badly. “Are you crazy, you could have gotten stabbed.”
“I don't know,” Lindsey says. “I thought I could help.”
“You clearly did,” Jamia says.
“Alicia's a friend.”
“Alicia. The Head of the Seelie Court. Is a friend,” Jamia says dryly. “She doesn't just pop in to diners to settle disputes.”
“She doesn't like when people use Fairy to scare others.”
“She likes to do it herself?”
That startles a laugh out of Lindsey.
“You're sure you don't want a different job?” Jamia says. “Hell of a first day. Though I don't want to reassign you, we need a solid contact in Fairy and you clearly have an in.”
“Alicia's not as intimidating as she likes people to think. She puts on a show.”
“Yeah, the magic residue she left behind was just an illusion.”
“I'll introduce you. She loves diner food.”
Jamia just shakes her head. “Sure,” Jamia says. “Sure, we'll all go out for breakfast. I need a drink. And I think technically we need to report that we were part of a Class 3 territory dispute.”
“A what?”
“It's in your binder,” Jamia says, and then they both laugh until there are tears streaming down their faces.