It hadn’t exactly been a difficult call to bring in the Extracurriculars. After the recent wave of … what had been called ‘terrorist’ attacks, but could better have been called ‘schoolyard pranks, writ large’, the international community had decided that their usual go-tos were no longer a viable operative force, and had proceeded towards supernumerary units.
They varied widely, of course. Some of them took a mathematical approach, others were varied in terms of pattern and theory. There had been a small number of applicants attempting to use colour theory and linguistic … well, she was tempted to call it ‘absurdity’, but after the vast number of pranks and temporary thefts which they’d somehow managed to solve, the whole department was about to give them an office door right next to the tarot card readers.
At the moment though, Jessica Lennier was having a bit of a hard time taking the person in front of her seriously.
It wasn’t that Lennier wasn’t taking her job seriously. She was in the monochrome pantsuit required for the new dress code in the new department which was entirely focused on dealing with absurdities. Crisp as her documentation might have been, her expression was much more likely to give her interviewees a papercut. And her tightly-folded hands clasped as she surveyed the person before her.
“A phylactery.”
As she tried to keep herself from sneering, Lannier let herself remember that it wasn’t the fault of the person before her. They were fine. They were just someone who she asked to come in, and … they weren’t upsetting. They even sounded apologetic.
For a moment, Lannier felt a rush of shame, and she let out a sigh before she could stop herself. It wouldn’t have been so evident if her whole department hadn’t been so totally overwhelmed.
“I’m sorry, could I have your name again? I want to make sure I have it down right.”
The interviewee gave a surprisingly shining smile, and just gave their name as “Eden Flinder”, before they carried on.
“So what’s a phylactery?” Lannier had to ask, because it wasn’t exactly part of the standard training exercises. Oh, she knew what it was — she’d played Dungeons & Dragons way back in the day, back when it was en vogue.
Flinder took a moment, then a deep breath… and then she explained in quiet terms, the story of Koschei the Undying, and the way in which this might have informed some other people who wanted to gain immortality by turning themselves into half- and quarter-people, and…
By the time Flinder had finished her explanation, Lannier wanted to take a break outside the room. It certainly explained a lot. Their perp had plopped right into the Seine. She’d fallen off London Bridge. She’d certainly wound up perforated by 54 gunshot wounds and wound up disappearing not long after.
By this point, Lannier was looking Flinder straight in the eye.
“How many do you think she’s made?”
“I don’t know.” Flinder shook her head, and gestured outside the cell. “But when you searched me… you took that one piece of evidence I had. The ‘magic bullet’ from the death of John F. Kennedy. Look it up. It’s small, though. She must have made… so many…”
Lannier took a deep breath, then nodded. “C’mon. We’ve got some psychometrics on staff. I think, anyway. Might have some seers, see what might happen. Plus, the best computers out there. At this point, everyone wants to fund us.”
She smiled at the small girl in the grey hoodie with the rose-cut eyes.
“Maybe we’ll catch this Carmen Sandiego after all.”
