Page 58 of Nora's Kraken

“I’m here to speak with Mr. Blair,” I tell her. “He should be expecting me.”

She glances at the computer for a moment, and then back at me with a troubled look on her face. “I’ll show you up to his office. He may be running late.”

When I’m seated in the office a few minutes later, I thank Ruthie for her assistance. She slips from the room quietly, still with that concern in her expression, and I don’t know what to make of it.

It’s not the same office I was in the last time I visited the Bureau. Blair’s apparently back in the Director’s office today, one much larger and on the building’s top floor, with dark walls and carpet, and heavy wooden furniture. It’s an imposing place, one that communicates strength and authority.

The reminder he chose the other, smaller office on the day he met with Nora—likely just to make her feel more comfortable—ratchets my tension down some. A little. Not much.

No matter his own feelings on Sorenson and the politics of the relationship between the Bureau and the larger government, Blair’s still firmly on the side of advocating for paranormals and their mates—human or otherwise—and that counts for a whole hell of a lot.

When he finally shows up ten minutes later, Blair’s looking more tired and haggard than I’ve seen him in years. He takes his seat heavily and sets a pile of files and papers off to the side of his desk. With no greeting or preamble, he lets out a long breath and gets right into it.

“I had the distinct displeasure of meeting Sorenson a few days ago,” he says. “When he came to Seattle for a nice little visit with his committee cronies.”

Unable to sit still, I rise from the chair and walk over to the window at the side of the room. The Bureau is located on the fringes of downtown, still walkable to the city, but a day of mist and drizzle makes it impossible to see much further than the parking garage at the side of the building.

“What were they here for?”

“The same political hardball they’ve been at since before the Bureau’s inception.” His voice has an edge to it I can read immediately.

Blair’s spent the better part of the past three decades advocating for the advancement of paranormal creatures. Most of the work he’s done has been quiet organizing and political lobbying, flexing all the muscle and influence he’s built up over the centuries for the benefit of bringing us all out of the shadows.

Knowing what I do about the hurtles and the backlash he’s faced, the age-old anger and exhaustion in him is more than understandable.

“Where is the bastard?” I ask him. “I’d like to pay him a visit.”

It’s not an idle threat, but, as it turns out, Sorenson isn’t in the city anymore.

“Vancouver?” I ask, settling back into my chair as Blair gives me a rundown of the last few days.

“They’re meeting with a Canadian delegation to discuss the visa process for paranormals. Sorenson was a smug asshole about it when I met with him.”

“Prick,” I mutter, and Blair snorts his agreement.

“Indeed. And he’s swinging that prick of his all over the damn government. Backed by his daddy’s money and some other high-profile lobbies.”

“What do they want to achieve up there?”

A troubled look passes over Blair’s face. “There’s rumblings about a reevaluation of the Acts. Or at least parts of them. The visas are one of the first topics.”

“And Canada?”

Blair shrugs. “I don’t think he’ll make much headway there. The Canadians have much looser regulations in place, and there are rumors about them expanding their amnesty program.”

“Montreal’s looking pretty good these days. Maybe Morgan-Blair needs to look at an international office.”

“Really? I thought you had a few good reasons to stick around Seattle.”

Leaning back in my chair, I cross my arms over my chest. “I might have one in particular that will keep me here for the foreseeable future.”

Despite the tension of the conversation, Blair cracks a smile. “How’s Nora handling everything?”

“She’s alright. Shaken over everything that’s happening with Sorenson, and she’s staying with me until we figure out what to do about that asshole, but she’s been very… accepting about everything else.”

The wry light in his eyes is familiar, but instead of the ribbing or bawdy joke he might have once offered, he just shakes his head.

“Moved in already? I admit, I wouldn’t have given you that much credit for getting her to come around so quickly.”

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