That night, Joey brought home ‘Significant Artifacts of East Asia’, not a Company-written manual this time, but one he had heavily annotated during his first three readthroughs. A few times Joey had thought of asking for permission to go to local estate sales in search of other magical artifacts that could be useful to their team, but he’d always chickened out before bringing it up to Mac. Anyway, he knew that there was a team at Home Office specifically for tracking down artifacts; if a crew needed more magic items they could requisition them.
It took two El trains for Joey to get from HQ in Andersonville to his small Pilsen apartment. Hours at work were flexible, so he often didn’t get home until late. Now he let himself in the door, stepping out of the crisp autumn night. He dropped his messenger bag on the little bistro table that sat with two stools against the wall. Joey slumped into the kitchen, where the counters were clear except for a small coffeemaker.
In general, Joey’s apartment was tidy, not due to any intrinsic habits but simply because he didn’t have many belongings and wasn’t at home very much. Once a month Joey would half-heartedly spray down the place with all-purpose cleaner and do some dusting, but he only ever paid particular attention to his bookcase. He’d sought out the decent-sized collection of books on his own, and had used them to do extensive research into potential ties to the supernatural community. He’d been over all of it too many times to count, which was why he would sneak books out of work for pleasure reading. Mac didn’t know that Joey did that, but he probably wouldn’t be surprised.
Opening his fridge, Joey looked for anything resembling dinner. Nada. Sighing, he went to his cabinets, surveying the contents. Looked like it was the Sad Man’s Dinner for him: he pulled a jar of queso and a can of chili down to the counter and went hunting for the can opener. He dumped the contents of jar and can into a large Tupperware, stirred perfunctorily with his only wooden spoon, and popped the mix into the microwave.
Joey ate his Sad Man’s Dinner with tortilla chips at his bistro table, hunched over on a too-small stool and staring into space. Dessert was an overly ripe banana with peanut butter, and once he’d finished with that, he retired to his thrift store couch with ‘Significant Artifacts’ and settled in for a good read.
When he woke up in the morning with marks on his face from having slept on a hardcover, Joey would flop off the couch, choke down a protein shake, shower, shave, dress in another outfit made up of holey jeans and a worn button-down, and head back to work.
Lather, rinse, repeat. Such was a day in Joey Wilson’s life.
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Friday afternoon saw Joey manning the front end of HQ: their cover, an antiques store with a faded sign. Joey had no idea what the sign had once said on it, and neither Mac nor Frankie seemed to remember. Still, it was obviously an antiques store, what with being filled with antiques, and the hours sign was clear enough: Thursdays and Fridays, 10am-2pm. They didn’t see many customers, even though Joey had recently done a cursory wipe-down of the formerly dusty windows and straightened the display of sun-faded furniture and tables of knick-knacks.
There was a box sitting out full of trinkets that each held a simple protective spell in case clients needed one and couldn’t provide their own. Joey wasn’t sure how that had wound up in the front, as these items were definitely not for sale. He reminded himself to replace the box in the van later.
Normally not much could pry Joey out of his happy place surrounded by books in the back room, but since Shay had quit, Joey was the only one not in the field, and thus the only one to open the store. This deception was performed weekly so they could file their state and federal income taxes. All such teams employed by the Company had fronts similar to the antiques store.
Joey was filling out backlogged Company paperwork by the cash register when a petite Indian teenager came crashing through the door. Joey looked up from his paperwork and the girl crossed to the counter, put her hands on it, and leaned in to look at him.
The girl was wearing an outlandish assortment of clothing, clearly aiming for a certain look. Black fishnets under a pleated black mini skirt paired with a pale blue corset with black lace, along with other black and light blue accessories. Her hair was in two high ponytails, which tipped forward as she looked Joey up and down.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“Can I help you?” offered Joey, leaning back in his chair to counter her.
“I’m Indira,” she said, finally stepping back and putting her hands on her hips. “I’m your new Spy. As long as I’m in the right place.”
Joey pulled out the faxed printout Mac had left him. “Oh, yeah. Yes. This is the right place. Indira Khutan?”
“You must be the Researcher.” Indira was chewing gum. She blew a bubble and the scent of grape wafted over the counter.
Belatedly, Joey stood and stuck out his hand to shake hers. She accepted; she had a firm grip, certainly firmer than his. “That’s me. Joey.”
“You don’t look like a ‘Joey’,” she said, tilting her head to one side.
“I have heard that,” he agreed.
“The others here?” Indira chucked a thumb toward the back of the shop.
Joey was already pulling out his cell phone and shooting a text to Mac. “Just a sec.”
After a minute, during which Indira started poking through a display of tarnished jewelry on the counter, Mac appeared from the back room. Frankie followed him.
“Kid, you can just yell, we’re right back there,” admonished Mac, and no, Joey would not be doing that. “Indira, right?” he continued as he reached the front of the store. Mac and Indira shook hands.
Frankie was leaning back on one heel, arms crossed and looking dubious. “This is a whole child,” she said to Mac.
“I’m nineteen,” said Indira, clearly annoyed.
“Mac, you can’t let an actual child be our Spy,” Frankie said as if Indira hadn’t spoken. “It’s unethical.”
“Technically in the U.S. she’s an adult,” said Mac.
Joey, irritated, put in, “Guys, she’s right here.”
Mac and Frankie looked to Indira, who was tapping her foot and looking very out of place next to Frankie’s cargo-pants-and-a-t-shirt and Mac’s trousers-and-a-polo.
“Do you always dress like this?” Frankie demanded.
Mac held up his hands. “Frankie, play nice.”
“Yes,” said Indira. She blew another bubble with her bubblegum and popped it audibly. Frankie threw up her hands in disgust and stalked to the back of the store, disappearing into the back room.
“She’ll come around,” said Joey softly, and Indira gave him a little smile.
Mac put a guiding hand on Indira’s arm and gently nudged her toward the back room. “Frankie will take you through the paperwork and go through the house rules. Then you can both take off, it’s a slow day today.” As Indira wove her way through the furniture, he called, “No gum on the job.”
They heard Indira curse quietly to herself before she disappeared into the back, leaving Joey alone in the antiques store with Mac.
“Wanted to talk to you, kid,” Mac said, and gestured to Joey to take a seat. Mac sat in an ornate green chair and Joey settled back into the wooden one behind the low counter. Placing his hands on his knees, Joey waited patiently as Mac gathered his thoughts. Finally, Mac said, “Word’s come from on high that you’re going into the field.”
Joey’s stomach sank to his feet.
“They said they want me more in the office, and we’re understaffed already, so—”
“But who’ll be Researcher?” protested Joey, trying to keep his nerves from his voice.
“Still you,” said Mac. “But you’ll also be Swing. I’ll help more with paperwork and research, too, since you’ll be out on gigs.”
“But,” began Joey, then couldn’t think what else to say and started gnawing on his lower lip.
“Hey, we’re gonna train you. Take a breath.”
Joey let loose a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding, and inhaled again noisily, pressing a hand to his chest and shifting in his chair so he faced toward the front windows.
“Hey, hey,” said Mac, standing and putting a hand on Joey’s shoulder. Joey noticed for the first time that it had taken Mac a little more effort than it used to to lever himself out of the chair. The hand on Joey’s shoulder squeezed a little bit and Joey struggled to breathe more evenly. “For a big guy, you’ve got a soft heart. I’ve always thought that about you.”
Joey looked up into Mac’s eyes, which were warm. Mac got it. It was at least reassuring that Joey didn’t have to explain himself. “Is there a raise that comes with this ‘promotion’?” Joey finally half-joked when he’d gotten more of a hold of himself.
“Yeah, that’s a no,” said Mac with a smile. “I managed to wrangle you hazard pay like the rest of us, though. Buck up, kid,” he said, and gave Joey’s shoulder a little shake before letting it go. “I’m requesting more staffing, maybe we won’t have to keep you out there for long. I got some homework for you to help you prep that I’ll bring out.”
“I’ve read all the Company manuals,” said Joey, brow creased.
“Not the fieldwork ones.”
“Oh.”
“I’ll bring ‘em up and then tomorrow we can talk through them, okay?” Mac clapped Joey’s shoulder once more, then strutted toward the back, calling over his shoulder, “You’ll do fine, kid!”
Once he was alone, Joey folded his arms on the counter and buried his face in them, mind dull with dread. There was a jingle from the shop door and the sound of footsteps as a customer entered. “No,” said Joey sharply from the depths of his folded arms. The footsteps retreated and the bell jingled once more with the customer’s exit. Joey sat up, scrubbing his hands over his face and back over his locks before dropping them to his sides, and resigned himself to his fate of eventually dying at the hands of a magical creature.