Another bright and vibrant morning dawned on the squalid little apartment, as Byxx forced his eyes to greet another day. He peered through thick blond locks and bleary eyes to spot Khazmine huddled on her stool while she read a text message and bolted upright. She hastened to throw on a proper shirt and her bolero jacket, lace her boots, and prepare to head outside with purpose.
“Hey, Khaz? Why the rush?” Byxx mumbled.
“I have some business downtown this morning.” Khazmine eyed the archfiend as he rolled over from his bedding heap. “There’s been a development. It’s possible that the apartment is being watched. Can you have Curtis train here today instead of going to his place?”
“Sure, but can you explain what’s going on?” Byxx reached for a shirt from the pile, not realizing that it was one of Zayzann’s.
“Yes, but I don’t have time now.” Khazmine moved the faux leather bag to its hook, as Iris had forgotten it again. “I need to check something, and it’s time sensitive.”
“Go on then.” Byxx waved her off as he tucked his long spade-end tail into the waistband of his shorts. “But I expect a full report when you get back, Miss Thing.”
“Acknowledged.” Khazmine playfully teased to throw off Byxx’s suspicions. She activated her “Cassie” camouflage and stepped out into the blistering heat. “I’ll be back soon.”
She managed to overhear Byxx grumbling about some “lousy, stingy Augment” and “never tells me anything” before striding out of range. Khazmine was grateful for some levity this morning, as the text message had shaken her earlier. She read it again while waiting for the bus at its nearby station.
“Cassie. The client wants more information on their target. I gave what I had, but they want more. Target’s location being watched. Please advise.”
Sh*t. Khazmine flinched as she absorbed each letter from the text.
There were so many variables to consider at present, but her primary goal was to meet with Woggs in person and find out more. Khazmine’s patience wore thin as time passed, and she found herself bouncing her leg to distract from the uncomfortable feeling that enmeshed itself around her.
I was hoping to save my insurance for later, but… Maybe I can still hold onto it a little while longer. Khazmine barely waited for the bus doors to open before she darted inside and swiped her city bus pass. No matter. Woggs first, then I can decide.
“I want to hear more. Meet up at the place we first met? Shoot for 1:00 pm.” Khazmine texted back.
The bus lumbered toward downtown, bearing the agitated Augment across the shadier side of the train tracks. From her vantage point on the rickety bus, Khazmine could make out the outline of the GC&S building nestled among the other opulent skyscrapers. She wondered how Iris was faring as her chariot neared the basin of this concrete jungle.
Some thirty-odd stories overhead, Mr. Cavendish dragged his weary body to the kitchenette in hopes of finding some of Iris’s famous coffee. His sleep had been disturbed by troubling nightmares over the last few nights, leaving him with heavy eyelids and a lingering fogginess that hung over him like a sopping wet afghan. It was all he could do to stay awake at the office.
Unfortunately, there was no trace of activity in the kitchenette—not even a mislaid mug or remains of spilled powdered coffee. Desperate for relief, Mr. Cavendish tried his best to prepare a fresh pot in a groggy fugue, only to be met with the rancid stink of burnt grounds. Regardless of its quality, Mr. Cavendish shakily decanted his putrid sludge near his GC&S tumbler, missing the opening entirely.
“Ah, d*mmit!” Mr. Cavendish dropped the carafe into the sink, splashing coffee everywhere. His hand stung with an angry burn that bit through his thumb, index finger and along the soft flesh between them.
Cries of fearsome pain traveled the hallways, alerting a newly arrived Evelyn to his distress. A quick look into the kitchenette, and she was off to fetch help for the injured office manager. Unfortunately for Evelyn, she had no first aid or medical knowledge to speak of, but she did know someone who had basic training. She rounded the corner to where Warren Maker’s office stood and spotted Iris arriving with a canvas tote full of luncheon supplies.
“Iris, please. Come quick!” Evelyn urged between gasping breaths. “Mr. Cavendish’s burned his hand in the kitchenette, and I don’t know what to do.”
“Oh my—” Iris stopped midway through her thought and grabbed the first aid kit from her workstation. “Evee, can you cover my phone for me, please?”
“Uh-huh. You got it.” Evelyn nodded vigorously and gestured to Iris to hurry. “Go on then. That burn looked bad.”
Iris ducked and diverted through the office passageways as fast as her tired legs could carry her. As fatigued as she was, some unknown force gave her a boost of energy to sprint to the kitchenette, where Mr. Cavendish stood cradling his burned hand. By the looks of things, he’d already torn through the emergency kit in the kitchenette and found nothing useful to ease his pain. Iris leaned in and approached the wincing man slowly and carefully, as not to startle him.
“Mr. Cavendish? Are you okay?” Iris bent forward to try and draw his attention. “I’m a first responder for this floor. Is it okay for me to have a look?”
“Ah, it stings.” Mr. Cavendish recoiled at first, before allowing Iris’s frigid hand to clasp the undamaged area of his own. “I feel so foolish. The coffee… It spilled all over and got me on my hand.”
“Look, I’m gonna have you run it under cool water, okay?” Iris tugged on his arm to direct him to the sink. She diverted the broken carafe pieces to one side of the sink and started the tap to trickle a steady stream of water until it was cool enough to soothe his burn. “That’s not too cold, is it?”
“Not at all. It’s a little cooler than room temperature.” Mr. Cavendish allowed Iris to hold his hand under the stream of pattering water. “Shouldn’t it be ice-cold?”
“No, we don’t want to make it worse.” Iris kept the hand under water and examined the reddened skin. “And don’t put an ice cube on it either. You can get frostnip much easier once the skin is damaged.”
They stood together at the sink for over five minutes, as Iris’s hands grew steadily colder than the sink water. Mr. Cavendish had grown quiet after his initial question and found himself straining to find topics to keep the conversation going. The prolonged silence allowed Mr. Cavendish to take a few deep breaths to calm himself, and he picked up the fragile, aromatic hint of sweet flowers wafting from Iris. He couldn’t place the bloom, but he was certain that the scent was both captivating and familiar.
“There now.” Iris turned the tap off and appraised Mr. Cavendish’s scalded fingers. “I know it still feels awful, but this gel should help. I’m warning you that it may feel cold as I put it on, and that’s all right. Hold still for me, okay?”
Mr. Cavendish complied as Iris uncapped and applied a greenish-colored burn gel to his injured hand. As she had predicted, the gel was surprisingly cold, and he shivered during its application. Iris’s fingers left a whispering, ticklish feeling behind as they grazed Mr. Cavendish’s wound. This caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end and forced a sharp inhalation from the overstimulated office manager.
“Excellent job, sir.” Iris praised as she dug around the kit for a non-stick gauze pad. “Just one more thing, and we can wrap up in here. I want you to keep this pad on your burn until you can get some proper medical treatment, understand?”
“Yes, I’ll drop by the Urgent Care near here and get it checked out during lunch.” Mr. Cavendish assured her. He couldn’t tell if his eyes were bleary from tiredness, pain, or another feeling he couldn’t quite place. “Thank you, for your help.”
“It was my pleasure, sir.” Iris tidied up the spent medical supplies and busied herself emptying the sink of broken carafe pieces. “Don’t forget to get it looked at, okay?”
Mr. Cavendish was about to speak again, but was interrupted by the unexpected appearance of Evelyn, whose head poked in from the hallway. “Hey, Iris, Mr. Maker is asking for you. He’s on the line with Mr. Hutchison from Helix Limited and it isn’t going that well…”
The rest of the afternoon was spent fielding client phone calls for Mr. Maker and running tedious errands for him. No sooner had she finished one task than Warren bellowed out for her to start something new. By late evening, Iris was dead on her feet, with every muscle throbbing for rest.
Warren had no intention of letting his foolish servant off the hook and forced her to stay late into the night with his ridiculous demands. She’d had to call Salvatore to cancel her ride earlier anyway, and alerted Khazmine and Byxx to her current predicament. The hours wore on and Iris’s morale ebbed away like a vanishing tide.
“Wow, ten o’clock already, huh?” Warren smirked from the comfort of his executive task chair. Iris stood in front of his desk, bearing a huge stack of invoices that were ready to be finalized, and was not permitted to sit or rest once she’d entered his office. “What do you have there?”
“Invoices, sir.” Iris’s head bobbed slightly, and she caught herself from nodding off. “Is it all right to leave them here for tomorrow?”
“No.” Warren stared coldly at her with a darkened expression. “They’re due before midnight. I trust you can manage them in my absence?”
“But sir, the last buses stop running in less than an—”
“If you were faster at this, you wouldn’t have to stay so late.” Warren interrupted. “If anything, this is the direct result of your ineffectiveness. Don’t go blaming me or the invoices for your failures.”
Warren tossed a final invoice for Iris to stamp across his desk and gathered his belongings to depart. His courtesy extended as far as holding open his office door for her to leave first, but he was indifferent and dismissive of her after that. The elevator bell dinged to signal his exit, and all was silent in the office.
Iris battled tears welling up and despair setting in. She knew better than to weep in the office, if for no other reason than it would make her eyes sting more than they already did. After taking a few deep breaths, she focused on the hopelessly tall stack of invoices and raced to stamp them all and enter their eight-digit codes into the system before she could go home. By eleven thirty, Iris was numb to even her cellphone vibrating with anxious calls and text messages from her roommates.
She was on the last of the stack of invoices, moments away from passing out at her desk, when a pungent, antiseptic stench wormed its way through the office. Iris’s heart rate escalated immediately, fresh air filled her lungs to capacity, and her pupils dilated as wide as possible to let in more light. It was difficult to tell if the bitter, metallic taste in her mouth was from the strange chemical smell or from a rush of adrenaline. A jolt of energy flashed through her tiny body, and Iris felt compelled to beat a hasty retreat from the office.
The final, unfinished invoice lay abandoned on her desk as Iris raced from the open office and made a mad dash to the elevator. The stink grew stronger as she made her way to the exit, and Iris finally recognized the eerie odor for what it was.
It was the smell of an impending thunderstorm.
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