Bad Moon:Book One in the "I Am Chaos" series.

Chapter 7: Fear and Fire

Chapter 7: Fear and Fire

Brandon had texted me while I was at dinner with Cal, and I read it as I headed over to the Ash and Crowley building: The front desk had my name and would hand me an elevator key that I could use to access the tenth floor. Brandon would meet me there.

The Ash and Crowley building was a floor taller than the Prudential Center, making it the tallest building in Boston. As I approached, it was difficult not to be intimidated by the sheer size of the glass and iron edifice. I wondered if sorcerer Houses were actual, physical places. If so, was this Ash House. And who was Isis Crowley?

I followed Brandon's directions, getting the elevator key from security, entering the elevator, and pressing the button for the tenth floor. The ceiling was mirrored, and I couldn't help but look up at myself. I was dressed for work, in a pair of maroon slacks, black ankle boots and a cream-colored silk blouse, but with my hair pulled back, I looked younger than usual. And small, fragile. You aren't any less human than you were before.

I hoped, as the elevator dinged, and I walked out into a muted, carpeted hallway, that I looked more confident than I felt.

"Hey there," called a voice to my left. I pivoted, spotting Brandon hanging half out of a doorway. "This way," he said, motioning me forward.

At my apartment last night, Brandon had been dressed in jeans and hooded pullover. Today he looked corporate. He had on a pair of well-tailored black trousers, an attractive, checkered blue shirt, and a silver tie whose bright tones complemented the deep brown of his skin. He wore a pair of statement oxfords: peacock blue with silver tips.

"Nice shoes," I said.

Brandon ignored the comment and held the door open for me. I walked into what could only be described as a dojo: A long room with tinted windows and black rubber flooring. There were a series of expensive exercise machines in the corner: a water rower, a peloton bike, a boutique treadmill, and a bunch of weight machines and free weights. There were punching bags, a ballet bar set up near the window, and a small desk and chairs over near the far wall.

"What is this? The office gym?" I asked. The silence was making me nervous. Brandon smiled politely, all business, and headed over to the desk, where he held out a chair for me.

"Thanks," I said.

"No problem. How are you feeling after Saturday?"

"The truth? Overwhelmed."

Brandon nodded, but didn't respond. He turned to boot up the computer. We're going to get started on the computer?

"Okay," he said. "Before we get going, I need to get you into the system." His fingers flew across the keyboard, his other hand working the mouse, pulling up screens and inputting passwords. It was all so mundane. I'd have thought sorcerers had a more – I don't know – magical way of keeping records. 

"Full name."

I opened my mouth to tell him, but then I snapped it shut. I crossed my arms over my chest. "Not yet." I wasn't about to sign onto what Cal had called "indentured servitude" without knowing more. "I have some questions. Who is Vehendi?"

Brandon stopped typing and looked over. For a moment I thought he was going to ignore my question. But then he said, "When he's not being possessed by a demon?" 

I waited.

Brandon sighed and sat back. "We're actually not sure. He's Italian. He used to be a member of Ciccone House, one of the four Houses in Italy, but our sources tell us he left several years ago to freelance. Since then, nobody has heard from him."