Page 64 of Something Worth Keeping
Julian stared at the tactical map on the monitor, cross-referencing recent property purchases in the warehouse district with known associates of disbanded criminal organizations. Six weeks had passed since Patricia suspended him from the Madison Library. Almost a month since Marcus Vane put a bullet in his shoulder.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so content.
“I’ve got another one.” Silas appeared beside him, in yet another pristine white shirt that somehow looked unwrinkled despite spending the past four hours in the field. He tapped a location on the screen. “It’s a small-time dealer trying to set up in what used to be Vane’s south sector. Amateur operation.”
“Demographics of clientele?” Julian pulled up the property records.
“He’s targeting high school students near Madison West.”
“Unacceptable.” Julian marked the location in red. “Cillian and Thorn can handle it tonight.”
They’d fallen into a rhythm over the past month. Julian provided intelligence analysis and tactical planning from Shadow House while the guardians executed field operations.
Thorn had been happy to leave a lot of the planning to Silas and Julian. Apparently, one of the main reasons he’d been so grumpy all the time was that he hadn’t been feeding often enough, because he was too busy keeping an eye on the other brothers.
Shadow House was a lot happier place because of the change, and Thorn had even been heard laughing a time or two, which, according to Cillian, barely ever happened.
The warehouse collapse made the news as a gas explosion stemming from the old tunnels. Julian’s graduate research had proven really useful for establishing plausible cover stories, and while there were some people who swore the “gas” had eyes and roared at people, they were quickly shot down by cynics who preferred to believe the gas story and just get on with their lives.
Vane’s entire organization had been systematically dismantled. The guardians worked through his lieutenant network - dispatching some, and scaring others - but of course, the power vacuum had attracted exactly the kind of opportunistic predators that needed removing anyway.
Julian found the work deeply satisfying.
“Your recovery metrics are fascinating.” Silas pulled up asecondary monitor displaying medical scans. “The mate bond accelerated tissue regeneration by approximately three hundred percent compared to baseline human healing rates. I’m writing a paper for the Archive.”
“The supernatural research database?”
“Uh-huh. ‘Physiological Impacts of Eldritch-Human Mate Bonding: A Case Study in Accelerated Trauma Recovery.’ You’ll be anonymized, obviously.”
“Obviously.” Julian studied the scans showing his shoulder’s progression from bullet wound to fully healed tissue in under four weeks. “Though I’d appreciate citation access when you’re finished. The data on cross-species biological integration could be relevant for future threat assessment.”
Silas smiled, the expression clinical but genuine. “You’re wasted on library archives.”
“I’ve been telling people that for years.”
Footsteps on the stairs announced Rook’s arrival. He carried a plate loaded with some kind of pastry that smelled like cinnamon and cardamom. “Taste test. New recipe.”
Julian accepted the offering and bit in. Flaky layers dissolved on his tongue, the spice balance perfect. “What is this?”
“Kanelbullar. Swedish cinnamon rolls.” Rook sprawled in a chair, grinning widely. “I was stressed after that thing with the arms dealer last night got messy.”
“These are excellent.”
“Yeah?” Rook’s expression brightened. “There’s a whole batch in the kitchen. Cillian’s been hoveringaround them like they might attack you.”
Julian’s phone buzzed. Unknown number, but the area code was familiar. He answered. “Julian Purdy.”
“Mr. Purdy.” Patricia Holbrook’s voice cut through the line, sharp with administrative displeasure. “Would you care to explain why you haven’t reported to work for the past six weeks?”
Julian pulled the phone away from his ear briefly, checking the date. March fifteenth. He looked back at the screen. “Ms. Holbrook. I wasn’t aware I had a position to report to.”
“Don’t be obtuse. Your suspension ended four weeks ago.”
“I received no notification of that.”
“I sent a letter to your address on file.” Papers rustled in the background. “The board met to discuss your employment status. Wedetermined you could return to work on a probationary basis.”
Julian’s fingers stilled on the keyboard. “Probationary?” His position had been permanent for years.
