Rook

always get in early, and I wanted to hear how it went with your sister.”
    “All right, let’s go up to the residence,” suggested Myfanwy, opening the portrait.
    “You get your own apartment?” asked Shantay incredulously.
    “Well, I kind of have to share it with the Ghost of Pimping Past,” cautioned Myfanwy.
    S o, she had no Grafterness in her?” asked Shantay after Myfanwy had described the entire evening with the sort of detail men believe women normally reserve for recounting dates. “Definitely her real face?”
    “The only surgery that girl has ever had is getting her wisdom teeth taken out,” said Myfanwy. “When we hugged, I knew herinside and out. She’s my sister—I could almost read her DNA. We connected like magnets.”
    “So, she has powers like yours?” asked Shantay, raising her eyebrows.
    “Nope, she’s totally normal. No weird enhancements, no supernatural powers.”
    “Well, that’s good. You must be thrilled.”
    “I am,” said Myfanwy, “but I’m also nervous. What if my brother and sister decide they don’t like me?”
    “They have to like you,” said Shantay. “That’s the good thing about having family.” They were sprawled on some furniture composed of leather, wire, and chrome, going over the reports from the States. Since Dr. Crisp had not yet arrived in America, they consisted primarily of physical descriptions of the Grafter agent and the details of how she got to Los Angeles. “And you still have to meet your brother?” asked Shantay, throwing aside the file and lazily sliding off her chair onto a bearskin rug that seemed to possess some alarming worn spots. Myfanwy would never have sprawled on it, but then, she knew who’d owned the apartment previously.
    “Yeah, and that’s going to be infinitely harder. Bronwyn was three when I left; she didn’t really remember me. But Jonathan was eleven and I guess we were pretty close. I have no idea what I’m going to tell him,” confessed Myfanwy. “I don’t remember much of my life before the Checquy. Do you have any ideas?”
    “You could tell him that years of being on heavily addictive medication have fogged your memory,” suggested Shantay. “Or that when you entered the public service you were obliged to undergo intense sessions of brainwashing. Or that you were hit on the head with a cricket bat and suffered amnesia.”
    “Oh, yeah,” said Myfanwy. “Amnesia, because that’s so likely. He’ll totally buy that—bravo!” She applauded sarcastically, and both women looked up in surprise as a section of the wall rotated to reveal a heavily stocked bar featuring lots of mirrors. “Huh. Clap-on, I guess.”
    “Anyway, you know what the really disturbing part of this is?” said Shantay.
    “What?”
    “You have apparently been pronouncing your own name incorrectly for decades.”
    “Thanks for that,” Myfanwy said dryly. “Regardless, I am not going to change—” The lights above flickered, and she looked up, startled. The phone trilled, and she picked it up. “What’s up, Ingrid?”
    “Rook Thomas” came the secretary’s voice. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but there’s an emergency situation in Bath. The manifestation I mentioned earlier has some unprecedented aspects. The local team is having problems, one of the Barghest teams has already been dispatched from here, and they need a Rook to be on-site.”
    “Oh-kay,” said Myfanwy slowly. The prospect of going to an actual manifestation failed to fill her with delight. She’d been reading some of the files and had learned that far more Checquy operatives died by being torn to pieces than from any other cause. The organization provided an amazing retirement plan, but hardly anyone ever got to use it. “Doesn’t Gestalt normally do these things?” she asked hopefully.
    “Rook Gestalt is concentrating on the Grafter investigation,” Ingrid reminded her.
    “Rook Gestalt has four bodies. Not one of them can go to Bath?”
    “The twins are in the north of Scotland, Robert is in Ireland, and Eliza is in York,” said Ingrid.
    “Fine,” said Myfanwy. “How am I getting there?”
    “A helicopter will be on the roof in a few minutes. You can take your private lift.”
    “Should I wear gum boots or anything? I can’t really recall doing this sort of thing before,” she said.
    “No, what you’re wearing will be fine,” Ingrid assured her. “After all, you’re only there to observe.”
    “Super,” said Myfanwy sourly