EMERY BASS

The office is as it always is: quiet, stale, and reeking of coffee. Mr. Greyhead is in his own office to the right of my desk, his door closed and the room quiet, and talking to the Mundane officer who we were assigned to earlier this afternoon.

Henry Turner sits in front of me, fiddling with his ponytail and sneaking glances at the closed door. His lips twitch as though he wants to say something, but every time he starts, he looks at my typing hands and stops. Eventually, I tire of his unease and stop my work.

“Yes, Henry?”

The boy—I am ten years his senior, so it seems right to call him as such—takes a deep breath before beginning. “What do you think their relationship is with each other, Miss Bass. I’ve never seen Mr. Greyhead so startled before. I-I of course am asking this because I care—I mean, he is my employer, if anything ever happened to him I would have to go to a different position…. WAIT! I didn’t mean it that way! I-I—“

Henry blushes a deep red, covers his flushed cheeks with his hands, and grows silent. For his own sake, I ignore it. “I’m sure he’s fine. They’ll get it all settled, and Mr. Greyhead would never let his past relationships interfere with the case. Although he has a cold personality, he has his priorities and does his work the very best he can.”

Henry nods. “Of course. But how do you know that it’ll all work out. You don’t have psychic abilities, do you? I thought you were a Lower-Down?”

“I am, Henry, as I have always been for thirty years,” I rise, an idea coming into my head. I am rather bored, might as well do something with my time. Entertaining my younger coworker seems to be the best thing to do. “Allow me to demonstrate,” I say steadily, “I have hardly any magickal abilities to speak of, I am just incredibly perceptive. Follow me.”

We make our way to Mr. Lance’s office, knocking before entering, of course. Mr. Lance is reading what looks to be a report, probably a field one since he is a Higher-Up, and taking rabbit bites from a jelly-filled, powdered sugar croissant. His shoulders are broad, and when standing up, he is even taller than Mr. Greyhead. He has a baby face, with wide eyes and a mouth that looks as soft as it is pink. He hardly ever talks, but is very kind and friendly if approached. I’ve forgotten exactly what his magickal ability is, but if I remember correctly, it has something to do with strength.

When he sees us, he gives a nod and places his work done. Not his snack. Never his snack. To be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever seen the man without some sort of sweet in his hands.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” His tone is polite, though a smile does not reach his lips. It doesn’t cause either of us offense. Mr. Lance is not known for a charming sort of personality. He is blunt, straightforward, and easily tempted and swayed by sugared food.

That last one is by my own discovery.

“Well, Mr. Turner wants me to show him how I read people. We’ve come to you in hopes that you’ll allow me to read you.”

He takes a nibble out of his croissant, watching the way Henry fiddles with his shirt-vest. The boy is always like this around people of higher station. He adores them, even though his own brother and sister are in the same placement. Maybe that’s the reason why, though I’d have to know the full story to come up with the answer.

“Of course. I have no problem with it.”

“Well,” I say, pulling out two chairs for me and Henry to sit in, “what do you want me to find out?”

He thinks for a moment, swiping the jelly off his face with his pinkie and sucking it off in a way that somehow says: I am ever so sorry, but I must not waste any of this jelly goodness. “Where was I yesterday?” He nibbles his snack nonchalantly, but there is muted excitement in his expression.

“A guessing game?” Henry asks. “Is that all you do, Miss Bass?”

“Essentially,” I reply, going into focus.

Mr. Lance seems to have shaved since yesterday. That means he went somewhere nice. And his posture is relaxed, as though he thinks that I will never correctly answer. That means that he couldn’t have been with his sister, though that would be the obvious answer. I look at his croissant, half-eaten. On a normal occasion, he would have ate the thing whole without another thought. And it also wasn’t his usual choice of food.

Someone bought that for him. Someone special.

I smile, my answer in mind. “You were courting someone yesterday, yes? You went to the Greenwood Bakery, and they bought you that croissant you’re eating right now.”

Mr. Lance’s eyes widen. “That—that is correct. How ever did you do that?”

“A magicker never tells her secrets, but thank for for your time, Mr. Lance, sorry to have disturbed you.”

He waves goodbye, giving his croissant a longing look before nibbling on it once again. I drag a shocked Henry out with me and we walked side by side as we made our way back to our sector, he, in stunned silence, and I, fine with the quiet.

After a while, though, he gains control over his voice and says, “How did you do that?”

I shrug. “I used to have to do it a lot. Still have to do it now.”

He looks at me, expecting more, but when I don’t continue, he nods, dropping the subject.

“Do you think Greyhead and Officer Burtrom are done by now?”

“Most likely.” I looked around the walls for a clock to check how long we’d been gone. Henry checks his own watch. Around ten minutes. “Then, yes, they should be done by now.”

And the case would finally start.

——

【I’m trying to write more in my other character’s perspectives (in LIAST) so they can feel more like a…person. Miss Bass doesn’t have a big role, really, but I just wanted to write about her. This prompt reminded me of her. (Btw, she was originally named Mrs. Brown , but I forgot her name and gave her a new one that I like better. I gave her a past as well.

As always, thanks for reading and have a wonderful day/night.】