Page 24 of Colin Gets Promoted and Dooms the World

Fourteen

The plan I devised that evening amounted to four simple steps:

Figure out what the Thing is.

Stop it.

***

Promotion.

Laid out like that, it seemed very doable.

Unfortunately, I remained stuck on Step 1 for the next couple of days.

Google was surprisingly unhelpful—what is faceless monster with shadows for head got me absolutely nowhere—and I was too busy at work to sneak away to the Repository.

Blood Sacrifice Thursday came and went, the Old Ones received Their due, and before I knew it, Friday arrived and I found myself scrubbing the smell of human suffering out of one of the chairs in Ms. Crenshaw’s waiting room.

I was still working at it when she stepped out of her office.

“Is the chair a lost cause?”

Settling back on my heels, I turned from where I knelt on the floor. “Maybe? That contractor really did a number on the upholstery.”

Ms. Crenshaw crossed her arms. “And it came so highly recommended. Well, we certainly won’t hire it again. I have no patience for incontinence.”

Few people do, I reflected philosophically.

I was about to get back to work when Ms. Yamada appeared in the doorway.

The head of Personnel was a tiny woman with wings of white in her dark, glossy hair and a stare that could stop a charging rhino in its tracks.

No one in our building was more feared. Her gaze flicked across me in momentary assessment before turning to my boss.

“Good morning, Margaret. Do you have a moment?”

“Of course. What do you need?”

Ms. Yamada pursed her lips before speaking. “A number of employees have failed to report for work in recent days. More than usual.”

Ms. Crenshaw tilted her head to one side. “That’s concerning. Is it affecting our quotas?”

“It’s starting to, yes. I’m drafting in new people as quickly as I can but, as you know, there’s significant lag time in getting them trained up. Our quarterly projections are trending downward.”

Keeping my head down, I scrubbed at the chair’s upholstery while listening closely.

“Agents of the Seraphic Conclave have been detected in the city,” Ms. Crenshaw said. “Could they be in the midst of a purge?”

“I don’t believe so. My people found no traces of violence at the homes of our employees, and you know how the Conclave likes to leave messages behind.”

“Our Outreach division has been monitoring some unusual communications from within the NYPD. Reports of missing persons have skyrocketed over the past week, mainly here in Manhattan but also in some of the other boroughs. The authorities are at a loss to explain it.”

I peeked over my shoulder. Ms. Yamada was frowning at the floor, arms crossed. “I know Tomas was looking into the employees who vanished here in the building,” she said at last. “Has he had any success?”

“No. His people keep dying. I asked him yesterday to investigate these other disappearances in the city and the results were the same.”

Silence fell as the two women looked at each other. “If our quarterly projections continue to trend downward,” Ms. Yamada murmured at last, “Management will notice. And They will want answers.”

“I’ll speak with Tomas again,” Ms. Crenshaw replied crisply, “and loop in Barney as well. He might be able to learn something from our investors.”

“Wonderful. Thank you, Margaret.”

“Of course, Sachiko. I’ll keep you informed.”

As Ms. Yamada glided from the room, I stopped my half-hearted scrubbing and turned to look at my boss. She was already tapping away at her phone. “This seems bad,” I observed.

Her dark eyes rose to meet mine. “Potentially, yes. A few hundred missing people is relatively unimportant, but our oracles dying is more of a concern.” Lowering her phone, she added, “Clear my schedule for the rest of the day, Colin, and cancel my lunch order.” Then she was gone, leaving only the sound of her Louboutins receding down the hallway.

Levering myself off the floor, I tidied away the cleaning supplies and then cleared her calendar.

While I did so, I considered the encouraging news that these disappearances were now starting to affect the company’s bottom line.

That meant Ms. Crenshaw would be extra grateful when I stopped the Thing.

I might even get a commendation from Management!

I had no idea what that might look like—an intern of my very own?

Free ice cream in the cafeteria?—but it would probably be pretty great.

For the rest of the day, I indulged in elaborate fantasies in which I stood in front of the executive board and announced that I, Colin Harris, had saved them all.

They chanted my name and lifted me onto their shoulders while Ms. Crenshaw, with tears in her eyes, told me she was incredibly proud.

Then I made Sunil and Tamsin rub my feet and fetch me coffee while addressing me as Senior Vice President in Charge of Kicking Ass.

Everything was going to be amazing, just as soon as I figured out what to do.

On Sunday afternoon, Eric took me and Amira to visit the Cloisters, the Met’s incredible museum of medieval art.

As we explored its hushed stone corridors and courtyard gardens, I understood why this was one of his favorite places in New York.

Once we’d had our fill of the Middle Ages, we sprawled on the verdant grass of Fort Tryon Park, watching kids run around screaming while their exhausted parents reconsidered their life choices.

I studied Eric surreptitiously as he lounged casually on one elbow, muscled torso on full display in a tight T-shirt.

A gold chain encircled his neck and there was something suspended from it, its outline visible beneath the thin cotton.

In a dizzying moment of dissociation, I imagined that I was that thing, lying against his warm skin, listening to the pulse of his heart.

I came back to myself only when he reached out to clasp my hand in his.

Amira watched us with the satisfied expression of a successful matchmaker. “I’m so glad I brought you two together. You’re adorable.”

I blushed self-consciously and ducked my head as Eric twined his fingers through mine.

“And I’m glad you encouraged me to tag along today,” she added. “Things have been so strange lately. Colin told me about those traffic accidents in Midtown the other day, and all I see on social media lately are stories about missing people. If I weren’t here, I’d be doomscrolling at home.”

My good mood evaporated. “Yeah,” I mumbled. “It’s weird.”

“What do you think is going on?” she asked us both.

I shrugged uncomfortably.

Eric slowly let go of my hand. “I don’t know,” he responded quietly.

“C’mon. You must have theories.” Amira generally pursued answers with the same ruthless single-mindedness of an apex predator hunting its prey. It made her an excellent scientist but, at times, an inconvenient friend.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” I insisted a little wildly. “Just an optical illusion.”

They both eyed me skeptically. “What do you mean?” Amira asked.

“Or a hoax,” I suggested. “Yeah. A hoax! All these missing people are actually in New Jersey, and in a few days there’ll be a big reveal and we’ll all laugh about how freaked out we were.”

“I’m not sure that’s the case,” Eric murmured diplomatically.

“New Jersey?” Amira repeated.

“I don’t want to talk about it!”

The two of them exchanged a glance, then obligingly switched to discussing their yoga class and its cast of colorful characters.

Eventually, Amira said that she needed to head home and work on the paper she was co-writing with her advisor.

We all got to our feet and I gave her a hug before sending her on her way.

For a while, Eric and I strolled the pathways of the park, hand in hand.

The skies clouded over as the afternoon faded toward evening and a brisk wind started to blow in from the river, making the greenery around us sway and bend.

Eric became more and more subdued as our surroundings darkened, and eventually I gave his hand a little squeeze. “Are you okay?”

Looking up from the pathway, he hesitated, then offered a faint smile. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

“About what?”

After another brief pause, he said, “Why don’t we get out of the city for a little while?”

I blinked at him as my steps slowed. “Like…on a holiday?”

“Sure. Yeah. You, me, and Amira. I’ll rent a car and we can drive upstate.”

I stopped walking, gently pulling him to a halt next to me. “Where’s this coming from?”

He didn’t meet my eyes, looking instead at his shoes.

“Something bad is happening in the city,” he said quietly.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I’m worried that it’s only going to get worse.

” His gaze lifted to mine as he reached out to grasp my other hand in his.

“So let’s go. Now. Toss some clothes in a suitcase, persuade Amira to play hooky for a few days, and go someplace safe. ”

“You don’t feel safe here?” I asked, my voice sounding strained to my own ears.

“I’m starting not to.”

My fingers tightened around his. He was right, of course—something bad was happening, and it was my fault. He was scared, because of me. My heart broke a little. This wasn’t right. The last thing I wanted to do was cause Eric pain, but that was exactly what I’d done.

The silence stretched until Eric said quietly, “I’m sorry to ruin the mood. It’s just—I’ve never fallen this hard for anyone before. Maybe that’s what really scares me. All I want to do is keep you safe.”

“I want to keep you safe, too,” I whispered, and it was true. I did. Stopping the Thing suddenly felt urgent in a way that no promotion ever could.