Indexing by Seanan McGuire Page B

them to death.”
    “Once she’s a
little more confident in her powers, yes, she probably can,” said Jeff.
    We were all
quiet for a moment, contemplating that. There had been no active two-eighties
in the service prior to Demi. We didn’t really know how she would play out—so
to speak—not in any practical sense.
    “She’s going
to be that powerful?” asked Andy finally.
    “She’s going
to be that versatile ,” said Jeff. “In a situation like this, flexibility
is more important than raw strength.”
    “Oh, this just
keeps getting better,” muttered Sloane. “What’s the good news?”
    “If we take
away her instruments, she’ll be essentially powerless—”
    “That’s good,”
agreed Sloane.
    “—until she
finds something else that she can use to make music—and as a Piper, she can
make music from virtually anything,” Jeff finished. “Whether or not we’re happy
about having her assigned to our field team, she needs to stay within the
agency. She’s too dangerous to be left unsupervised.”
    “Then why did
you let Henry suggest activating her?” demanded Andy. He actually sounded
agitated for the first time. I guess being reminded that fairy tales can be
dangerous was freaking him out.
    “Because it
was this or let a Sleeping Beauty impact half the city,” said Jeff. “That, and
I honestly figured the stress of piping the fever into the rats would kill her,
and we wouldn’t have to deal with this part of things. I guess she’s stronger
than I expected.”
    There was a
momentary silence while we all stared at Jeff. Finally, Sloane said, “Dude,
that’s cold. I was almost a Wicked Stepsister, and I’m still impressed
by how cold that is. Are you sure you’re not from my tale type?”
    Jeff sniffed,
looking defensive as he said, “It was the practical solution, and it was tidy.
I like things that are tidy.”
    “And that,
right there, is why not everyone who works here can be on the spectrum.” I
sighed as I pushed my chair away from my desk. “I’m going to go check on our
sleeping newbie. Hopefully she’s having really pleasant dreams, and won’t start
whistling in her sleep.”
    “I don’t think
she could whistle us to death,” said Jeff.
    “Well at least
that’s something,” I said flatly, and walked away.
#
    Being a government agency,
however secret and unusually staffed, means we’ve been supplied with a decent
base of operations by good old Uncle Sam. Being an agency that no one wants to
claim either ownership of or responsibility for means that our “decent base”
started life as a research lab dedicated to biological warfare … before a
big-ass city decided to expand its borders to include the lab’s location. Not
wanting to turn into the Umbrella Corporation from the Resident Evil movies, the US government promptly decommissioned the lab, bombed the whole
thing with enough bleach to kill any creepy crawlies that might be lurking
there, and moved the ATI Management Bureau in. Because fairy tales are
apparently better for property values than aerosolized Ebola.
    To get from
our part of the bullpen to the break room where Demi was sleeping, I had to go
up a flight of stairs, walk through something that used to be an air lock, and
enter the space-age glass and chrome domain of the Dispatch Unit. Four
dispatchers were currently at their desks, headsets in place and eyes glued to
their screens. I tried to look unobtrusive as I followed the path through the
center of the room. Dispatch is a hard, unforgiving job that doesn’t come with
the supposed “glamour” of fieldwork. Just hour upon hour staring at a screen,
waiting for something to pop, and knowing all the while that if you miss
anything, people are going to die.
    I was almost
to the door when a voice behind me said, “Henry? If you’ve got a second?”
    “Sure thing,”
I said, keeping the urge to roll my eyes at bay as I turned around. Experience
has taught me that you should never refuse a reasonable