“The business I must discuss with you is of a delicate nature, of course.” He sniffed. “Secrecy has always been our way.” He said it like I should’ve known.
There was more rustling and he finally stepped from behind a tree in front of me.
My mouth opened, and then closed. I had no earthly idea what kind of a supe he was. He was short—under five feet—and his dark brown hair was spiked up around his head like a porcupine. He was dressed casually in khaki pants and a white long-sleeved button-up, paired with a navy blazer. The nicely pressed outfit conflicted with his full beard, bushy eyebrows, spiked hair, and overall unkempt look. “What are you?” I asked before I could help it.
He appeared to be offended at my question, dusting off his shirtsleeves before answering. “My name is Jebediah Amel and I’m a warlock.” He ended with another sniff. “Most of the time when I encounter another supernatural, they introduce themselves first and then ask my name, not what I am, which is quite personal to most supes.”
“I’m sorry,” I replied, feeling a little flustered. He was so proper, and he obviously thought I should know the supernatural etiquette of things, which I didn’t. “You took me by surprise. I’ve never seen a warlock before and, as excuses go, I’m a young supe, which you probably already know. But you did take me hostage,” I pointed out, “so niceties at this point are not exactly high on my list. I’m not in the habit of asking someone’s name after they kidnap me.”
“You are very young,” he agreed, nodding quickly, the spikes on his head not swaying an inch. “I will give you that. The youngest I’ve ever had the pleasure of dealing with.” He’d uttered the word “pleasure” like it was a dirty word. “But some advice for the future? In order for you to succeed in this business, you must be professional at all times. You must address powerful supernaturals in a way that they justly deserve. Anything else is an insult.”
“Business?” I was too stymied by the first part to worry about the second. “Succeed in what business?” I asked.
“The Coalition, of course,” Jeb said as he folded his hands in front of him.
“You consider the Coalition a business?” The thought was preposterous.
He nodded like I was daft. “Of course it’s a business. Keeping the peace and dealing with the supernatural race is nothing but a business. Think of it like a kingdom—or a queendom, as it stands—and the supernaturals who inhabit the world are your serfs. Running it smoothly takes hard work, but in the end it boils down to efficiency and paperwork.”
“Paperwork?” I gaped. This night couldn’t get any stranger. There was no way I was having a conversation in the middle of the woods with a warlock who looked like Zach Galifianakis. What do you think? Is this guy a raving lunatic? I asked my wolf. Did we just get kidnapped by some sort of supernatural deviant? She growled, flashing me a picture of Jeb long ago. Wow, he really hasn’t changed that much. Still had the beard and the hair. My wolf seemed to be familiar with him, even though she didn’t give me any more information.
“Well, paperwork completed by myself and my underling. For you, since your work will mostly be out in the field, there will be less paperwork and more combat. But once you are done with a specific assignment, there will, of course, be papers and such to fill out.” He waved his hand in dismissal like the busywork I’d have to complete would be a minor inconvenience.
“So you’re telling me you give me assignments, and my job as Enforcer is considered ‘fieldwork’?” I’d never imagined the Coalition would run like my PI firm. Marcy took the calls, scheduled the appointments, and Nick and I went out on the jobs.
Jeb made this giant life change sound simple.
“Yes, of course that’s how it works.” His expression was comical, his eyes scrunching up and his thick eyebrows going in low to form a V over his nose. “How did you think you were going to be alerted when things needed to be set right in the supernatural world? Did you assume there would be some kind of supernatural gong that would go off every time there was an emergency? Or a light shone into the sky like humans like to portray in the movies?” he asked.
“Are you talking about the bat signal?” I asked.
He waved me off. “It is of no consequence. The assignments come from me”—he gave his chest a clap and then had to stifle a cough—“as my special talent is scrying for such things, which is why I attained this position in the first place, like my father before me.”
“I see.” I didn’t see at all.