July 30

She grins, after a moment. “You got it,” she says. “I looked at a couple places… everything’s so expensive there, but the subways run out far enough to get people in and out fairly well.”
“You just be careful,” I say. “If the T is anything to go by, the subways in New York are going to be even worse.”
“Heh, I’m probably gonna head out to that flea market this weekend and find a taser,” she says, laughing. “And maybe I could get the midget to teach me kung fu.”
“That’s… wow, that’s not just racist, that’s inaccurately racist,” I say, smiling. “Where’s the office in the city, anyway? Close to Tiffany’s?”
“I’m not sure, but I think so,” she says. “I’ll know next month– they want me to go out there to sign the paperwork. The address they gave me was across the street from the World Trade Center, though.”

The afternoon passes without too much incident, but the feeling of unease just keeps growing in the pit of my stomach as every moment passes. Around six in the evening, my phone rings. “Hello?”
“Frannie,” the female caller says. “I notice you had a chat with the Order.”
“Lisa,” I growl. “What do you–”
“Relax, Fran,” she says. “I’m just calling to confirm our appointment for tomorrow. I don’t know what you talked to Peter about, but I hope he didn’t put you off our meeting.”

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