Page 9 of Nora's Kraken

Well, if Ihadany chance of winning her. Those hopes seem to have dwindled near to extinction now.

The Tower’s lobby is busy, and I nod a brief greeting to security before heading toward the elevators. The inside of Morgan-Blair Tower is sleek and modern, outfitted in dark gray concrete floors, three-story windows that let in the morning’s watery gray light, and fixtures of black and silver metal. In the middle of the lobby, a large water wall stretches to the third floor mezzanine.

The image the building and company project to the world is one of modernity and strength, a sprawling conglomerate of shipping and manufacturing and a dozen other ventures that are the product of more than a century of careful planning and tending.

The image it projects to its employees and stakeholders, however, is rather different.

Each being who works for Morgan-Blair Enterprises holds company stock as a part of their compensation, and the vast, vast majority of those employees are paranormal creatures, who have always found a place here to make a good living.

It’s been that way since the earliest days of my partnership with Blair.

The elevator dings, and I’m the last one off. My office is on the top floor, with brilliant views of Seattle and the Puget Sound. My office manager, Veronica, calls out a greeting as soon as I step out into the reception area, though her words die off as she catches my eye.

“Everything alright, Mr. Morgan?”

“Fine,” I tell her, hoping my voice doesn’t have an edge to it. “Can you hold my calls and meetings for the next hour?”

She nods, and I thank her before heading into my office, shutting the door behind me and crossing to the wall of windows opposite the door.

Even with as unbalanced as I feel, I’ll never tire of this view.

Blair and I first set up operations in this part of the world over a hundred years ago. It had been humble, in the beginning, a venture we’d taken from England to New England, to the opportunity-rich west coast. Shipping yards and factories established, more than a century of carefully letting others be the face of the business so we could remain in the shadows. It all led up to the construction of this tower ten years ago, followed by the public revelation of our identities shortly after the passage of the Acts.

Even with all of that in mind, it’s hard to dredge up much pride for it this morning.

Leaving the windows, I sink heavily into my chair, staring blankly at the assorted files and reports and papers waiting for my attention, not really seeing any of them.

My mind won’t rest, and nor will my instincts, which apparently haven’t gotten the loud and clear message I need to leave my mate alone.

What happened to Nora to make her react the way she did?

The memories of her fearful face, the sight of her retreating, and the shakiness of her voice swirl in my mind with Blair’s warnings to tread lightly.

What isn’t he telling me? Who is she?

Unable to let it go, and fully aware I’m likely crossing yet another line, I power up my computer and start searching.

Somewhat unsurprisingly, simply entering ‘Nora Perry’ doesn’t bring up any useful results. Because of course it doesn’t. That would be more mercy than I deserve.

My mind whirs. Maybe it’s a false name. If she’s got some kind of past she’s trying to run from, it would make sense.

Thinking she’d be more likely to change her last name than her first, and knowing I’m out of luck anyway if I’m wrong, I do a few fruitless searches for ‘Nora’ and ‘Lenora’ paired with Seattle, criminal records, and a handful of other dead ends.

It’s not until I input ‘Nora, Congress’ with the vague idea she might somehow be associated with someone in government, that a photo on the fifteenth or sixteenth page of search results captures my eye.

There. That’s Nora.

Her hair is different, dyed a lighter shade of blond. She’s younger and noticeably thinner, and she’s wearing more makeup than she has been the times I’ve seen her, but that’s her. I’m so busy studying her in the image that it takes a few seconds to realize who she’s standing next to.

Daniel Sorenson. Son of one of the country’s wealthiest industrialists, and a three-term congressman.

Stomach knotting, I click the link and read the accompanying article. The photo’s caption lists her name as Nora Wheeler, and it also lists her as… Sorenson’s girlfriend.

My two hearts beating fast in my chest, I do a little more searching and find a plethora of articles about a couple who, by all appearances, was in an elevated place in Washington, DC society. Daniel Sorenson comes from old money, and if what’s been written about him is true, he’s on a fast track for a sparkling political career and a life firmly ensconced in privilege and power.

A life that apparently included Nora at some point.

All the photos and articles she’s included in end abruptly about three years ago. After that, there’s just… nothing. No articles about a breakup, nothing more than some passing references to Sorenson’s newly single status and a handful of additional articles speculating on his status with other women he’s appeared in public with during the years since.

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