Three Cursed Gods

04 : A LONG-LOST FRIEND

McKayla leaned, her hands on her knees, the doors to the police precinct swinging wildly behind her. She was panting—a cause of her having run three blocks to get there on time. Captain Abrams was already annoyed about her working on the Rhapsody case; she didn't need to give her more reason to take her off it.

The precinct was very industrialized and efficient—everything was in a muted tone of blue or gray, with a minimalistic approach to the design. Officers were spread out, some walking around, some seated in their tiny cubicles, talking with their colleagues or civilians who had come in to make a complaint. There was quite a buzz of chatter, but talking seemed to cease whenever McKayla passed by a conversation on her way to the elevators. She could feel the gazes on her back, intent and unrelenting, and sighed inwardly. None of the officers knew about the true nature of her job; they couldn't, thanks to the Masquerade. Trying to explain anything Descendant-related to an Ordinary never worked—the words never seemed to reach their ears, as if it was snatched out of the air by some old magic the Gods had put into place. So, to the police of that precinct, McKayla Robinson was a representative from some obscure branch of the government, who didn't really do much.

She wasn't the only ORDER representative for this part of Queens, of course; there was another woman, Detective Patel, about twenty years her senior, who she sometimes collaborated with for large cases. They shared an office on the third floor, an office which McKayla sorely wanted to return to, togo over her files, but she knew that her Captain was expecting her, which was why she pressed th e button for level two instead. Patel was a Descendant with a Manifest—she was able to control gusts of wind—and they shared a cordial relationship. However, she had been on leave for the past six months, vacationing somewhere in Europe with her fourth husband (her marriages were a source of constant gossip in the precinct). McKayla didn't mind being left on her own, in fact she preferred it; no one else to worry about in dangerous situations.

There was a ding, and the doors of the elevator slid open, giving McKayla a view of the second floor. It wasn't much different from the first, save for the fact that the doors were now replaced by a floor to ceiling, wall-to-wall window, matching the one on her own level, which provided a clear view of the street below.

Again, as she strode past the cubicles, there was a sudden hush, but she ignored it, her head held high. She reached the captain's office, situated in the far corner but the door was closed, leaving her to peer inside the window. The captain was at her desk, facing in McKayla's direction, and she was speaking with a man seated on the other side of the table—the new ORDER representative, probably. The captain hadn't noticed her yet, so she took a few moments before knocking to evaluate her temporary partner for the next few weeks.

His back was to McKayla, but she could see that he was broad-shouldered, with dark fluffy hair that curled at the nape of his lightly freckled neck. He was wearing a black bomber jacket, and was leaning back, his arm resting on the back of his chair—a relaxed pose that made McKayla instantly dislike him. Policing was serious business, and when talking to a captain, one had to be sitting straight and be focused, not sprawled on his chair like some high school jock.

McKayla shifted around to try and get a better angle to see more of the man, and in doing so, alerted the captain to her presence. Abrams' eyes flicked up to her, stopping in the midst of whatever she was saying to pin McKayla down with that cool assessing gaze of hers. The man didn't turn around for some reason, just squared up his shoulders as if preparing for something he was reluctant to do. She scowled at his back—she wasn't that bad!—before remembering that her captain's eyes were still on her and hastily plastering a bland smile on her lips instead.

After a few moments of uncomfortable shifting on her feet, Abrams sighed and got up and opened the door for her to come in. Every time she saw the captain in person, she was shocked by the pure intensity that seemed to radiate off her. Abrams wasn't a Descendant but she definitely had some magic in her blood—the attention that she commanded out of her staff was quite otherworldly. It didn't hurt that she cut a striking figure too, all dark skin and hazel eyes that seemed to flash when she got angry. She was tall as well, and always impeccably dressed in a suit, with a cropped afro and gold hooped earrings.