Payne didn’t smile. “You’re lucky it hasn’t touched you.”
“Oh, good. There’s atouchingstage. That’s awesome.”
The phone crackled. Payne picked it up and spoke with clipped authority. “Rayna. It’s me. I found a civilian, dashing down the streets in Brooklyn. She’s had direct visual contact with the Gray. She’s coherent and not infected.”
A pause. Then he added, “Yes. I’m sure.”
Katie’s eyebrows shot up. “Infected?You’re throwing around horror movie lingo like it’s a brunch menu. Am I gonna start vomiting pea soup or…?”
He put a finger up to silence her. She glared at him, a little insulted.
“Understood,” Payne said, and hung up.
He turned back to Katie. “We’re going to get you protection. But you need to follow instructions. No wandering off. No weird rituals. No journaling in blood.”
Katie stared. “Okay, rude. That was one time, and it wasn’trealblood.”
Payne blinked. “Are you joking?”
Katie smiled sweetly. “Guess you’ll never know.”
He sighed like a man who'd just realized he wasn’t getting nearly enough hazard pay. “I need to brief the team. You stay here.”
“Yeah, no problem. I’ll just hang out with your emergency paperwork and that suspicious filing cabinet that’s humming slightly.”
But Payne was already out the door.
Katie waited exactly six seconds before opening the suspicious cabinet.
Inside the cabinet was… not a bomb, and not a portal to Narnia, which honestly ranked as the top couple of things she’d been expecting.
It was a toaster. A dented, humming, still-warm toaster. Katie stared at it like it might try to talk. Or explode. Or both.
It hummed louder. She reached out, very cautiously, and poked one of the levers.
The toastergrowled.
She yanked her hand back. “Okay. Nope. Not touching that again. You do you, weird, haunted toaster.”
A file cabinet on the other side of the roomclickedominously, but nothing moved.
Now that one started humming too. “Not another one,” Katie mumbled. “Oh my god. Is everything in this office possessed?” She backed toward the door, eyeing the room as if it might explode. When she turned to grab the knob, the doordidn’t budge.
She jiggled the handle harder.
Still locked.
“Oh no, no, no. You didnotjust Fort-Hamilton-me into a locked, spooky basement with demon appliances.”
The overhead lights flickered. Once. Twice. And then a sharpbuzzingfilled the air, like a swarm of angry bees had taken over the fluorescent fixtures. The filing cabinets started to vibrate. Paper began to slide out of the EMERGENCY RELOCATION PACKETS stack and swirl in the air.
Katie ducked instinctively, shielding her face. The humming intensified. The toaster rattled. And then,POP. A slice of bread shot out. It glowed faintly.
She crouched in the corner, arms around her knees, watching it drift gently to the floor like some kind of glutenous prophetic tablet.
“Iamlosing my mind, and honestly, I feel better about that than the alternative.”
Then the door opened. Payne stood there, flanked by a tall, attractive woman in a stylish, red coat and a Burberry scarf that probably cost more than Katie’s rent.