![Doomsday Exam [BUREAU 13 Book Two]](/res/cobbf/book3.jpg)
stately blonde woman with a stunningly beauti ... ah, plain face, and far too much bust. I prefer women who are small and slim and married to me.
Better , Jessica noted in my head.
Whew. Another daring escape from the jaws of death by Edwardo Alvarez, boy husband.
The stunningly plain woman was carrying a wooden dowel, only about a foot long. Hmm, just a beginner mage. Raul had a staff four feet in length and made of solid silver.
Tagging close behind came a wild haired beauty in a low cut gypsy gown of a thousand colors. Barefoot, she padded into the house.
"Barefoot?” I asked.
Twirling a dial, Prof. Burton shrugged. “Something to do with having to be in contact with the Mother Earth. How do I know? Mages are crazy."
"Darn tootin,” Raul said, pinning a hypnotic vortex button to his T-shirt which now read VOTE FOR ANARCHY! Sigh.
Bring up the end of this conga line, was a thin, pale man dressed in the height of fashion, Gucci shoes, Sergio Valenta three-piece suit, expertly tailored, and if that wasn't a Rolex Presidential watch on his wrist, I'd eat the banister. He even had a gold watch chain looped across his vest, with some sort of foreign coin dangling as a fob. Two watches? Dapper Dan struck me as the kind of person who would wash his hands before going to the lavatory. The only thing lacking was a silver spoon sticking out of his mouth.
As soon as the six entered the foyer of the house, Prof. Burton flipped a switch on the console and the door behind them slammed shut! They turned just in time to see the four great bolts ram into position, and an iron grate slide down from the ceiling. Then in orderly fashion, every window in the building nosily closed, the shutters crashed together and locked tight.
"Whew,” Steven remarked, the twin with black hair. “Lock and load, gang. It's showtime."
The prof pressed a button. A hollow mocking laugh echoed throughout the old mansion and the chandelier tinkled in a ghostly manner.
Working the bolt on his Thompson, the tall slab of muscle with a scar glanced about. “Okay, standard defensive position. Katrina and I will take the front. Steven and Connie cover the rear. Patricia in the center. Sir Reginald on point. Remember, we're here to find an iron jewel, size unknown."
Slowly, the dapper man turned and cocked an eyebrow. “And you were placed in charge by whom, Mr. Sanders?” Even his voice sounded like inherited money.
"Somebody has got to be,” Sanders rumbled.
"Should have decided outside,” Katrina Sommers said in her heavily accented English. She sounded Russian. “Clock is ticking, comrades."
Comrades?
She was recruited in Soviet Russia. Now hush .
Taking a clipboard, Burton put a plus mark next to Sander's name, and a minus next to Katrina. Rules said they were never to mention this was only a practice run with a time limit.
Ken Sanders frowned. “Conference!” he called and they gathered together. After a moment, the team broke apart and Katrina's face was as red as her heritage.
"Positions!” Ken snapped, and everybody moved.
In a shimmer, Sir Reginald Foxworthington-Smythe dissipated into smoke and wafted along the central hallway of Hell House. Neat! Now I sincerely hoped that he passed this final exam. Having an elf in the Bureau would be a definite plus factor. Why, at the yearly picnic, he could bring the cookies!
While the twins, Steven and Connie, handcuffed themselves together, Katrina polished her wooden staff on a sleeve and Ken clicked off the safety on his machine gun. Positioned in the middle of the assault force, the gypsy fingered the tiny gold cross about her neck and muttered something in Latin. She must be Patricia, the Healer. That's who I would want safe and ready to patch my guts back together if necessary.
Working a toggle, Prof. Burton had a door down the corridor creak open and the students dropped into attack formation. But nobody fired. Excellent.
"Who has got a pair of Bureau sunglasses?” Steven asked
Better , Jessica noted in my head.
Whew. Another daring escape from the jaws of death by Edwardo Alvarez, boy husband.
The stunningly plain woman was carrying a wooden dowel, only about a foot long. Hmm, just a beginner mage. Raul had a staff four feet in length and made of solid silver.
Tagging close behind came a wild haired beauty in a low cut gypsy gown of a thousand colors. Barefoot, she padded into the house.
"Barefoot?” I asked.
Twirling a dial, Prof. Burton shrugged. “Something to do with having to be in contact with the Mother Earth. How do I know? Mages are crazy."
"Darn tootin,” Raul said, pinning a hypnotic vortex button to his T-shirt which now read VOTE FOR ANARCHY! Sigh.
Bring up the end of this conga line, was a thin, pale man dressed in the height of fashion, Gucci shoes, Sergio Valenta three-piece suit, expertly tailored, and if that wasn't a Rolex Presidential watch on his wrist, I'd eat the banister. He even had a gold watch chain looped across his vest, with some sort of foreign coin dangling as a fob. Two watches? Dapper Dan struck me as the kind of person who would wash his hands before going to the lavatory. The only thing lacking was a silver spoon sticking out of his mouth.
As soon as the six entered the foyer of the house, Prof. Burton flipped a switch on the console and the door behind them slammed shut! They turned just in time to see the four great bolts ram into position, and an iron grate slide down from the ceiling. Then in orderly fashion, every window in the building nosily closed, the shutters crashed together and locked tight.
"Whew,” Steven remarked, the twin with black hair. “Lock and load, gang. It's showtime."
The prof pressed a button. A hollow mocking laugh echoed throughout the old mansion and the chandelier tinkled in a ghostly manner.
Working the bolt on his Thompson, the tall slab of muscle with a scar glanced about. “Okay, standard defensive position. Katrina and I will take the front. Steven and Connie cover the rear. Patricia in the center. Sir Reginald on point. Remember, we're here to find an iron jewel, size unknown."
Slowly, the dapper man turned and cocked an eyebrow. “And you were placed in charge by whom, Mr. Sanders?” Even his voice sounded like inherited money.
"Somebody has got to be,” Sanders rumbled.
"Should have decided outside,” Katrina Sommers said in her heavily accented English. She sounded Russian. “Clock is ticking, comrades."
Comrades?
She was recruited in Soviet Russia. Now hush .
Taking a clipboard, Burton put a plus mark next to Sander's name, and a minus next to Katrina. Rules said they were never to mention this was only a practice run with a time limit.
Ken Sanders frowned. “Conference!” he called and they gathered together. After a moment, the team broke apart and Katrina's face was as red as her heritage.
"Positions!” Ken snapped, and everybody moved.
In a shimmer, Sir Reginald Foxworthington-Smythe dissipated into smoke and wafted along the central hallway of Hell House. Neat! Now I sincerely hoped that he passed this final exam. Having an elf in the Bureau would be a definite plus factor. Why, at the yearly picnic, he could bring the cookies!
While the twins, Steven and Connie, handcuffed themselves together, Katrina polished her wooden staff on a sleeve and Ken clicked off the safety on his machine gun. Positioned in the middle of the assault force, the gypsy fingered the tiny gold cross about her neck and muttered something in Latin. She must be Patricia, the Healer. That's who I would want safe and ready to patch my guts back together if necessary.
Working a toggle, Prof. Burton had a door down the corridor creak open and the students dropped into attack formation. But nobody fired. Excellent.
"Who has got a pair of Bureau sunglasses?” Steven asked
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