Carrie Vaughn - After the Golden Age

A half-dozen reporters were waiting in the lobby of the building where Smith and Kurchanski had its offices. Celia tightened her grip on her attaché and quickened her pace, as if preparing to run a literal gauntlet. Like a pack of jackals, they spotted her and moved across the granite floor to intercept, striding from different directions to trap her. And so, separated from the herd, the gazelle stumbles …

She would have gotten away if she hadn’t had to stop for the elevator.

The reporters swarmed around her.

“Ms. West! Could I ask you a couple of questions?”

“I really don’t have time—”

“Are you working on the Sito trial out of revenge?

The elevator mechanism groaned softly.

“Did you have any contact with the Destructor after those two months you were with him?”

“What exactly was the nature of your relationship with the Destructor?”

Oh, she’d been waiting for that one. The stories people must be making up about that . Ignore them, just ignore them.

“How long did it take for your parents to forgive you?”

They haven’t, she thought.

They kept asking because they knew, eventually, she’d break. It was easy to ignore the difficult, personal, prurient, questions. The one with the easy answer startled her into answering.

A woman with a blond bob and rimless glasses caught her gaze and asked, “What did you do for the Destructor? Malone said you joined him. But what did you do for him?”

Celia smiled bitterly. “Nothing. I didn’t do anything. I was seventeen, I was stupid, I ran away from home, and he took me in and kept me around because it drove my parents crazy.”

Finally, the elevator door opened. She stepped inside and spread her arms across the door, blocking any of them from following her. She wasn’t big or intimidating; they might have just pushed past her. But she glared. “If you could please leave me alone, I’m late for work.”

They blinked, startled for a moment, and hesitated, which gave the doors time to close on them. As the elevator rose, Celia leaned against the wall and sighed.

Mary, the receptionist, caught her as she entered the offices. “Celia? Kurchanski Senior wanted to see you as soon as you came in.”

“Okay.” Did Mary’s smile seem a little stiff? Was her expression fearful?

She went to Kurchanski’s office before taking off her coat or setting down her bag. The door was ajar; she knocked on the frame and carefully pushed it open enough to stick her head in.

“Mr. Kurchanski? It’s Celia. Mary said you wanted to see me.”

“Ms. West, yes, come in.” He was leaning back in his leather desk chair, reading an accounting trade magazine. He set the magazine aside and rested his hands on the desk. “The Sito trial’s been very interesting, hasn’t it?”

That sinking feeling was the other shoe dropping, right down the middle of her gut.

“Yes, sir. It is.”

“You testified yesterday. I read a transcript.”

She gritted her teeth and waited.

“The District Attorney may not have a problem with you being so personally involved. But I have the firm to think about, and its reputation. This isn’t easy to say, but I’d like you to take some time off. You’re a hard worker and I have a great deal of respect for you. But we’ve already had too many questions.”

Questions like, aren’t you worried, can she be trusted, how could she possibly be a good person with that on her record. It was fine, being the daughter of vigilante heroes. But any association with a notorious criminal mastermind? Forget it. A black mark like that never went away.

He continued. “It would be better for all of us. Until this blows over.”

If she could stay numb, she’d be fine. She always stayed numb until she could walk away and explode in peace. “Sure. I understand. Mr. Kurchanski?”

“Yes?”

“Am I being fired, or just … laid off?”

“You’re taking a leave of absence. Until this blows over.”

And if it didn’t? Would she get a call asking her not to come back, ever? “Until this blows over. If it blows over.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Thanks for telling me in person.”

She was glad she didn’t have to get her coat and bag. All she had to do was turn around and walk right back out. She ignored her coworkers staring after her. Or, tried to.

What the hell, she needed a vacation anyway.

She swam sixty laps. Counted every one. Each number made a rhythm in her brain, beating in time to her strokes through the water. As long as she counted, she didn’t think about anything else.

In college, she’d gone back to swimming, her one successful childhood sport, because the water was soft and uplifting. Caressing. Made her feel like another creature, other than flesh. Today, she wanted to be tired. She wanted to be able to sleep without thinking.

She could hit the water as much as she wanted without consequence.

“You’ve reached the offices of District Attorney Kevin Bronson. Please leave a message.”

“Hi, DA Bronson? It’s Celia West. I’ve just been laid off my job. Or given a leave of absence. Whatever. That probably means I’m pulled from the case. I thought you should know.”

She called Mark next. He told her he’d call, but he hadn’t yet, which was why she thought he’d be sure to pick up. But the ringing rolled over to voice mail.

“Mark, I don’t know if you’re ready to talk to me. I don’t know if there’s anything I can say. But I wanted to let you know I’ve been laid off my job over this. I could use a friend right now. Bye.” Now, was he busy or avoiding her? She might never learn.

She spent all afternoon watching TV, dressed in flannel pajamas, eating ice cream out of the carton. She had a bubble bath scheduled for five o’clock, and then planned to order Chinese delivery at seven.

She watched the news to hear what they said about her. Conspiracy theorists had put out the notion that she was still working for Sito, that she was trying to sabotage the prosecution’s case from the inside. She found that one on the conservative talk show that aired after lunch. She supposed a lot of people were thinking that. Otherwise, she’d still be at work, and Mark and Analise would still be talking to her. Her father would let her look at the West Corp archives.

If she were lucky, maybe another bomb would drop at the trial and people would forget about her.

After the bath, during the evening news, the phone rang. The tone sent her heart racing, and she jumped a foot from her seat and floundered for the phone. “Yes?”

“It’s me.” Mark. If she could get him to feel guilty for dissing her maybe he’d bring her supper.

“Hey, hi. How are you? I mean, I’m glad you called. Thanks.”

He was silent. For a moment, she thought the connection had cut out. All she heard was a faint hiss. Then, he drew a breath. “How are you doing?”

Besides losing my job, and my best friend yelling at me, and my boyfriend not talking to me? “Bad. What do you expect?”

“With that kind of skeleton in your closet, you shouldn’t be surprised.”

Of course not. That was why the records had been sealed and she’d kept it secret. “Mark, I really wish you wouldn’t judge me based on something that happened when I was a kid.”

“What else am I supposed to do? It’s … weird, it’s not right. The Destructor is evil, and you wanted that … Are you telling me you’re a totally different person now?”

She kept her breathing calm so that she could speak clearly, nicely, without shouting. “Actually, I’m a lot different. I’ve worked hard to make myself different. I wasn’t a happy person then.”