buildings were connected with old-fashioned cobbled paths that always made Alysia wonder why an organization dedicated to peace and inclusiveness for all creatures who lived alongside humanity—shapeshifters, witches, vampires, and other oddities Alysia had only ever heard of—couldn’t design a Haven that was wheelchair-
friendly.
Of course, Alysia had never met a witch, shapeshifter, or vampire with mobility issues.
The witches had even been able to mostly x Alysia’s bum knee, which had gone to hell again after she’d spent hours kneeling on the oor of the Cafe au Late. She exed it now experimentally and hoped she would not need to climb too many stairs to move in. The witches could bring down the recent swelling, but magic could not undo scars that her body now accepted as part of itself.
Her introspective pause gave the welcome wagon time to arrive, in the form of two
Haven #4 mediators. They reintroduced themselves warmly, as if they were not all standing under an ominous winter sky.
Alysia had looked up the les of her soon-to-be coworkers, so she knew that the young-
looking girl who called herself Lynzi had been in SingleEarth since the 1960s and had been walking the planet Earth for almost a thousand years before that. The woman with her was
Sarik kuloka Mari, a tiger shapeshifter. The word
Mari wasn’t a real Mistari tribe; it was the name adopted by the few tigers who had abandoned the Mistari homeland and culture and chosen instead to live as citizens of the
United States.
Sarik’s features were the striking blend of African and Asian common among tiger shapeshifters, but she had straightened and lightened her hair so it was a shade paler than
Alysia’s, and the makeup and clothing she wore dulled her honey-colored, almond-shaped tiger eyes and hid a body built to turn heads. Even her perfume was something subtle and floral, appropriate for a woman whose job was to make people trust her.
Alysia didn’t discriminate much by species. At that moment, the important part was that the two nonhuman girls were probably each able to bench-press Alysia’s weight one-
handed. That was nice, since Alysia had not been looking forward to lugging her belongings inside with only human strength and a bad knee.
“This is all you have?” Sarik asked as she and Lynzi maneuvered a large trunk out of the back of the car. The trunk was too bulky for any one person to carry easily, even if it didn’t weigh a ton, but Sarik and Lynzi together were able to manage it. Alysia took her laptop bag and a large du el containing mostly computer peripherals, which left only one large suitcase behind.
“I’m not much of a material girl,” Alysia replied. Someone from Haven #1 had taught her the term. Some people connected it to spirituality and some people connected it to
Madonna, but one way or another, they tended to smile or chuckle when Alysia used it.
Alysia’s apartment was on the second oor. Lynzi unlocked the door and handed Alysia the key as she explained, “It’s nothing fancy, but Haven Number Four is residential, so we have a fitness room and recreation areas, and you have access to all that.”
“Almost all,” Sarik amended. “There’s a section of the grounds currently being used by a pair of orphaned Mistari cubs we took in a few days ago. I’m sure you heard about them.”
Alysia raked her memory, but nothing relevant surfaced. “I tried to go over everything I could about Haven Number Four before accepting the position, but I must have missed it.”
“An organization-wide memo went out when the cubs were found, calling for someone who speaks their language,” Sarik explained. “I assumed you’d have seen it.”
“I probably did, but I didn’t know any tigers yet,” Alysia answered, “so I wouldn’t have given it much thought.” SingleEarth had thirty-seven Havens in the continental United
States, plus one in Alaska and many in other countries. Memos along the lines of “I need an expert in …” or “Does anyone speak …” shot along the network constantly. “Are there any other important guests I should know about?”
“You met Diana Smoke when you interviewed,” Lynzi answered, “but she was only here until we lled your position and will probably head out once she’s sure you’re settled. Her responsibilities don’t let her stay anywhere long. Where do you want this trunk?”
“Just put it anywhere for now,” Alysia answered as she set her bags on the couch. The one-bedroom apartment wasn’t a palace, but it was a huge step up from the studio she had previously rented. It was also fully furnished and rent-free because mediators were expected to live onsite.
At the sudden intrusion of classical music, each of them glanced toward their phones—
except Alysia, who had surrendered her company-provided phone at Central and was still waiting for #4 to provide the smartphone upgrade they had promised.
Lynzi’s rst words after “Hello” were “Yes, I’m with Alysia.” Alysia’s ears were not good enough to pick up the reply, but obviously the conversation was not intended to remain a mystery for long. “Keep her there. I’ll bring Alysia right down. Thanks.” Lynzi hung up and, shaking her head, said, “That was Mary, from the admin building. I’ll show you the way. Sarik, do you mind bringing the rest of Alysia’s stuff up?”
“No problem,” Sarik answered. She asked Alysia, “Do you want me to lock up after, or just leave the keys inside?” Alysia didn’t need to speak; her reaction must have shown on her face. “I’ll lock up,” Sarik said. “If I can’t find you, I’ll leave the keys at the front office.”
“I imagine it’s a bit of culture shock, coming here from Central,” Lynzi remarked as they left the apartment.
“A bit,” Alysia admitted.
“After we see what Mary needs, I’ll give you a tour of the place and introduce you to some of our residents,” Lynzi assured her.
SingleEarth. Her experience with them so far had shown most of them to be powerful beyond comprehension, and arrogant enough to match. Yet Lynzi seemed to be happy playing tour guide.
The lobby of the administration building was utterly nondescript; it could have been any o ce waiting room. Chairs and couches o ered comfortable places to sit and wait while reading one of the popular magazines on the co ee table. The back wall had pamphlets for advocacy and support groups. Some were well-known domestic violence hotlines and shelters, like American Humane. Others described symptoms of “rare” diseases that tended to actually mean the patient had blood that wasn’t entirely human. The pamphlets didn’t say anything about magic or the paranormal but suggested appropriate people to contact about relevant symptoms.
The woman there waiting for them, ipping through a pamphlet on psychorizia, was dressed in a snappy skirt suit and jacket and was—as far as Alysia knew—completely human.
“Madeline Brooks, isn’t it?” Alysia asked, o ering an open smile and a handshake to the anchorwoman of one of the national news stations. CNN, ABC, something or other; Alysia couldn’t recall which one. “I’m Alysia Marks. What can I do for you?”
Alysia was almost certain she knew exactly what had brought Madeline to SingleEarth, because she had recently put quite a bit of e ort into avoiding this woman’s camera crew—
not entirely successfully, though at least she had only been a nameless background gure instead of an interviewee.
“I’m trying to do a follow-up to Tuesday’s co ee shop holdup,” Madeline said. “One of the victims gave me your information.”
Like many successful reporters, Madeline had a warm, glowing smile and the kind of aura that invited those around her to open up and speak freely. The feeling she inspired was a lie and a trap, but Alysia had always been good at guarding her tongue.
“I would love to help you out,” Alysia said, “but I’m afraid that any information I have is privileged. Why don’t I give you the contact information for our public relations department? They can tell you more about our organization.”
“Your own story wouldn’t be privileged,” Madeline said. “How did you happen to be there?”
