SEDUCTIVE SUPERNATURALS: 12 Tales of Shapeshifters, Vampires & Sexy Spirits (168 page)

Not once. Not even for a first interview. And she knew why. She knew exactly why. Maybe everyone did, even the guards at the gate.

Evelyn cleared her throat one last time and smiled down at the receptionist. “Hello, I’m Dr. Evelyn Vale. I have an appointment with the steward…uh…Mr. Clark.”

Damn it. Steward Clark? Mr. Clark? What did he prefer to be called? She didn’t want to annoy him in the first five seconds of the interview or show she lacked business etiquette.

The middle-aged woman eyed her up and down slowly. Her graying hair was up in a bun so severe it seemed to pull the life out of her face, as though there wasn’t enough skin left on her cheeks for her to crack a smile. She pressed a button, leaned fractionally closer to the intercom, and then a red, forked tongue flicked from her mouth. “Dr. Vale hasss arrived.”

Evelyn blinked but tried to cover her surprise. The most disconcerting thing about mutations was that you couldn’t always tell how extensive they were. Had the woman survived ML52 with just a change to her tongue, or could she sprout fangs and inject venom as well? Most people who manifested dangerous mutations weren’t allowed back into society, but those same people could be considered an asset here.

“Send her in, Felicity,” said a cool, deep voice.

Evelyn cleared her throat. Heaven help her, but it tickled and her mouth felt packed with peat moss. If she could only transfer some of the moisture beading on her forehead and her palms to her dry mouth, she might actually be able to get enough words out to greet who she hoped was her future employer.

You can do this. Today is the day.

She had to believe she was destined for something better than the life she’d been living, that she was made for something more. Immortal Bounty might have turned her down for the past several years, but she was Evelyn Vale, PhD now—a real doctor of forensic parapsychology. She’d almost lost hope, but now Immortal Bounty was the one recruiting her. Damn, life was good.

She entered the room, and the steward held a hand out to her, offering her a chair. He was dressed in a dark suit, and he didn’t attempt a smile, but that was okay—she was beaming enough nervous wattage for the both of them, her lips peeled back in what she hoped was a confident grin.

“Please, Ms. Vale. Sit down,” he told her.

She tried not to be awed by the experience, but the steward himself was fairly awe-inspiring. He was a powerful man in a suave package, like straight out of a men’s clothing magazine, and he’d rocketed to the top of IB Central at what looked to be a fairly young age. If he was a day over thirty-five, she would be shocked. He didn’t have a wide build like the Sentinels she’d seen, but his lean form looked like it still packed a punch.

It was then she noticed that they weren’t alone. Another man sat on a small, black leather sofa off to the side with his hugely muscled arms crossed over his chest. He was dressed in a bounty hunter’s version of casual with black cargo pants, a tight black t-shirt, and sturdy boots laced up past his ankles.

With the size of him, she figured he had to be a Sentinel, and she didn’t get to see many of those around town. On TV, sure, they were plentiful. But those reality TV bounty hunters were just for show, usually the ones who couldn’t get real work with Immortal Bounty or the Governing Body of Greater America. This guy looked like the real deal.

That damn tickle. She began clearing her throat in earnest and it morphed into a choked cough. Her cheeks flamed hot when both men stared back, unblinking. Finally, when her episode subsided, leaving her with watery eyes, the steward inclined his head toward the other man. “This is Sentinel Jesse Hayes, commander of Blue Unit. He’ll be sitting in on the interview. Commander, may I introduce you to Ms. Vale?”

The man gave a curt nod in her direction, but she smiled and addressed them both. “It’s
Dr. Vale
, actually.” She was her family’s only form of financial support, and she couldn’t afford to be lowballed just because she lacked experience.

Tanner Clark opened a folder about an inch thick and began thumbing through the pages. “Recently graduated, yes. Forgive me,
Dr.
Vale.” The way he said it, he didn’t seem too impressed. “Do you know why we asked you here today?”

She glanced at the Sentinel out of the corner of her eye. He was staring at her like she was the enemy, like he was waiting for her to pull a grenade from the pocket of her suit jacket. “I was told it was a job interview.”

Clark nodded slowly, his gaze raking over her, assessing her, not like a man appreciating a woman. More like an entomologist appraising a specimen. What was wrong with this place? The steward was damn creepy, and the commander seemed hewn from stone. In all her years of dreaming of IB, this wasn’t how she’d imagined it.

The steward thumbed through the pages, lingering, reading. That whole file couldn’t be hers, could it? How could they know so much about her?

“You’ve applied to Immortal Bounty seventeen times in the past five years,” Clark said, “starting before you received your bachelor’s degree in parapsychology from Greater California University.”

“Wow. Seventeen times? I hadn’t been keeping track,” she answered to fill the quiet rift in the air left by his accusation. And there was no doubt, by the tone of his voice, an accusation it had been.

He sniffed. “Your joules readings are quite remarkable.”

She glanced down at her scuffed black heels. “Thank you.”

“So why do you think it is that with your notable scores, you’ve never been offered a position with Immortal Bounty?”

She raised her hand to her mouth and coughed quietly. Her palms had been sweaty enough on the way in, but now she felt as though every pore had sprung a leak. “I couldn’t say, sir. I wasn’t given a reason.”

Clark actually smiled. “Oh, come now, Dr. Vale. You have no idea at all? A highly educated woman, desperate to work for Immortal Bounty, joules ratings some of the highest we’ve seen.”

“I wouldn’t say
desperate
,” she mumbled. Okay, she was desperate. But while she had little else going for her at the moment, she still had her pride. “Is it, maybe…my sensitivity to…possession?”

Clark frowned and thumbed through a few more pages. The Sentinel shifted in his seat, his rock-hard muscles seeming to go even rockier. The steward let her sweat it out a few more minutes, and then he set the folder down on his desk and shut it decisively. “You scored a twenty-three out of one hundred in your ability to resist possession, Dr. Vale.”

She swallowed. “Yes, well, I scored a twenty-eight once…on a different test.”

She could swear Commander Hayes stifled a snort, but when she looked his way, his expression was as steely as it had been since she’d walked in.

“We’ve never allowed anyone to work on this campus with a possession threshold so low. Our wards are strong, but even the kitchen staff have to come in above fifty.”

“Fifty? Really?” Her heart and hope were sinking fast.

She’d known it was too good to be true, hadn’t she? All that positive self-talk didn’t amount to shit. Seventeen tries at this job, and contrary to what she’d led the steward to believe, she remembered every one—had had to sweep up the shattered fragments of her dreams with every blow. She’d decided against a second job so she could get through school, and all the while, she’d had to watch herself and her father grow skinnier and skinnier from lack of decent meals. And for what?

“You see Commander Hayes there?” the steward continued.

“Yes,” she answered flatly.

“He is almost perfectly immune to possession. No one on this campus, myself included, has tested higher.”

Okay, now she was getting pissed. Why bring her down here just to ridicule her? Her face was hot and she felt woozy, but she wouldn’t let these assholes see it. She would save the dejection for the bus ride home.

She pinned the stone man with a steely gaze of her own. “Congratulations, Commander. You must be very proud.” And then she stood. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time, Steward Clark. I’ll show myself out.”

When she turned for the door, Clark’s deep voice resounded from behind his desk. “Dr. Vale.”

She spun but didn’t bother with the simpering smiles. “Yes?”

“I’m not finished with you yet. If you’re going to work here, you need to learn rule number one.”

She blinked. Work there? Was he serious? “Rule number one?” she echoed.

“Yes, rule number one: I make the rules. You follow them. And you haven’t been dismissed.”

“I…uh…yes, sir…Steward Clark, sir.” Hadn’t he just told her she was completely unqualified for the job—not even worthy of washing their dishes?

“Sit down, doctor.”

“Yes, sir.” She walked to the chair on autopilot and almost fell into her seat while the Sentinel simply leaned back into the sofa and crossed his feet at the ankles.

Clark tapped his pen against the thick folder. “We have a special case…one that could use your expertise and unique qualifications.”

“Really?” The dubious word was little more than a whoosh of air from her lungs. She probably looked ridiculous and completely shell-shocked, but it was a little too late to play it cool. Immortal Bounty needed her on a special case!

“I’m afraid I can’t give you the details until you’ve accepted our offer and have signed the proper paperwork, but it would involve your possession.”

It felt as though the floor dropped out from under her. She couldn’t have heard him right. “My what?”

He raised his brows as though she were dense.
“The use of your body, Dr. Vale.”

She glanced at the young commander, but his jaw was locked tight, the muscles in his cheeks bunching. “I’m a…I’m a forensic parapsychologist, Mr. Tanner, with a doctorate in post-Collision metaphysics. I received the highest honors in my graduating class. I was born to be an IB Investigator.”

He nodded. “And you will be—when you accept our offer. You’ll have full benefits. A life on the campus. A percentage of the bounty on every case your team leads. And a starting salary that would make your past struggles nothing but a bad memory.”

“But you said…possession. To use my body.”

She felt sick. Evelyn had always been the proverbial “easy target”. She had spent her life in fear of being overtaken by one spirit or another. And she had been, time after time, losing control over her body and her choices, being completely controlled by someone else. She couldn’t do it. No job was worth it. Nothing was worth it. But then she thought of her family. If she didn’t provide for them, who would?

“Evelyn…can I call you Evelyn?” the steward asked, but he didn’t wait for an answer. “You’re just the type of investigator we look for, but you’ve never been given a chance because of your unfortunate little problem.”

He smiled and folded his hands, but the way his gaze bore into her was a palpable force. “This is your chance. Every employee has a one month probation period. Show us what you’re made of. Prove that you can handle working in this environment and coming into contact with malevolent spirits without succumbing. And when succumbing is what is called for, show us that you’re willing to do what it takes to complete an assignment. Do this, and your life at Immortal Bounty will be a long and happy one.”

She pressed her lips together. “But you’re talking about willingly being possessed.”

“Do you know the average age of retirement from this company?” the steward asked her.

“No,” she answered, not following his train of thought.

Clark steepled his hands and tapped his thumbs together. “Forty-seven. Which may not sound like much, until you know the average age at which an IB Mark has accumulated enough wealth to retire comfortably for the rest of their natural lives. Tell her, Commander.”

The commander’s nostrils flared as though he didn’t enjoy contributing to the conversation. “Thirty-four when they’re recruited straight out of college. A little longer at your age.”

“Exactly,” Clark said. “Which tells you two things, Evelyn. Number one, that half the Marks who work here do so because they love it—not because they need to. And number two, that sacrificing a little in the short term could be the best, most lucrative decision of your life.”

She brought her hand to her cheek. Everything was tingling. She wasn’t sure she could feel her feet anymore. “Can you tell me what exactly I would be signing up for?”

“I’m sorry,” he answered. “We’re contracted directly by the Governing Body of Greater America, and the GBGA dictates that our operations remain classified to all non-Immortal Bounty employees. I can assure you, though, that you will be in no danger. A Sentinel would be with you at all times.”

She breathed slowly, trying to think this through rationally, but her mind screamed that she couldn’t hand her body and her will over. She couldn’t say yes to this. She’d only been a child when The Great Collision happened, but even so, she was old enough to remember the fear and chaos and how the fabric of the country had torn to shreds in the aftermath of the disaster.

She’d heard there had been a time before that day when most American families had had enough to eat and the majority of the population could find work, but that America was dead and gone. If her father wasted away from hunger, there was no agency that would lift a finger to help him now.

The steward gave her time to mull it over, and then she saw something shift in his gaze. It reminded her of a poker player who knew his hand trumped all. “This assignment will be short, Evelyn, but your career at Immortal Bounty will be long.”

He pulled something from the drawer of his desk and held it up for her to see. It took a minute to adjust her eyes to the glare of the shiny metal and read the small letters etched into the badge. That was a real IB/GBGA badge.
Evelyn Vale, Investigator
, it read. And under it was a contract with the seal of the Prime Executive of Greater America.

When the steward pushed the badge and contract toward her, she leaned over his heavy wood desk and carefully took them from his grip, her eyes not leaving the gleam of the metal badge in her hand. She’d made something like this when she was young with the lid of an old aluminum can. But this one…this was the real deal. It would perch on her hip or the pocket of her jacket and announce to the world that she was the real deal, too.