with Fisher he'd taken her to a small alleyway where he'd cleaned her face and taken a photo with a portable camera. He'd even brought a rolled bit of cloth that he'd used as a backdrop.
"Quiet," Fisher whispered, bringing Clover's attention back to the platform as he pulled his jacket more closely around himself, his elbow pushing the leather bag behind them in the same motion.
That was when Clover noticed the echo of shoes coming from the turnstiles. She was relieved to see the two men at the end of the platform in the blue uniforms of the police force, not the black ones that belonged to the Bureau. Following suit, Clover pulled her knees up to her body, trying to look colder than she was. She was grateful for the filthy reflection she'd seen in Elliot's mirror now. The police officers flashed some lights at each of the huddled groups, but weren't looking very hard.
As they passed, Clover heard them talking about their wives and a new child on the way. They were just making their rounds, barely paying attention to what they were looking at. Everyone was quiet until they heard the sound of the officers trudging up a distant staircase, then a slow murmur started back up.
"There's a new-owner's brochure in the envelope with your registration papers, and the instruction guide being used in the top finishing schools right now. You have to be sure to follow all the directions or they'll spot you immediately." Fisher continued as though two cops hadn't just walked passed their illegal meeting.
"They don't even care about all this, do they? The police. I mean, they don't even care that the people down here are starving."
"Why should they?" Fisher asked more passively than the subject might have warranted.
"I don't know," she admitted, trying to figure out what to do with the things in her lap now that she'd given her bag away. "I just thought they'd care a bit more about their own kind."
Clover knew there were poor humans, since she often tried to impersonate them to avoid the Bureau. Maybe it was because the most interaction she had with humans was with the workers in the soup kitchens she would duck into when she wanted a hot meal. They seemed concerned with the wellbeing of their poor. She had supposed more of them were the same.
"You're in for a world of unpleasant surprises, kid." Fisher handed her the last package, the heaviest of the set, then he passed her the ratty bag he’d brought with him. "Human or werewolf, we're all monsters."
"Werewolves aren 't monsters." She’d meant her tone to be one of warning, but the weight of the small wrapped kit in her hands had her stomach churning again.
"Well, sometimes we can surprise even ourselves.” It seemed that Fisher had decided their meeting was over because he was pushing himself to his feet, his knees popping as he went, groaning to himself as he stretched his back. "And you should know, that the deeper you dig into this, the more you may realize that I'm right. You're not going to like where this goes.”
Clover stared him in the eyes, the familiar bubbling of defiance making her feel jittery. She reminded herself that no matter how much he helped, he was still a human.
“Just because you’re a jerk who would help with this .” She raised the heavy kit. “But not with getting a uniform, doesn’t mean everyone’s like you.”
“Do I look like your personal stylist? And I got you that because I wanted to see if you’d actually go through with it.” He pulled his knew bag onto his shoulder. "Also, you need to learn to haggle. I would have done this job for three of these watches."
- 08 -
The walk back to Elliot's townhouse was less tense than the trip to the subway, her mind now too distracted by her anger to worry about Bureau agents. Everyone knew Fisher was a scam-artist, but she hadn't expected him to rip her off so badly. She imagined her parents being disappointed, but she knew she was just projecting. She was
"Quiet," Fisher whispered, bringing Clover's attention back to the platform as he pulled his jacket more closely around himself, his elbow pushing the leather bag behind them in the same motion.
That was when Clover noticed the echo of shoes coming from the turnstiles. She was relieved to see the two men at the end of the platform in the blue uniforms of the police force, not the black ones that belonged to the Bureau. Following suit, Clover pulled her knees up to her body, trying to look colder than she was. She was grateful for the filthy reflection she'd seen in Elliot's mirror now. The police officers flashed some lights at each of the huddled groups, but weren't looking very hard.
As they passed, Clover heard them talking about their wives and a new child on the way. They were just making their rounds, barely paying attention to what they were looking at. Everyone was quiet until they heard the sound of the officers trudging up a distant staircase, then a slow murmur started back up.
"There's a new-owner's brochure in the envelope with your registration papers, and the instruction guide being used in the top finishing schools right now. You have to be sure to follow all the directions or they'll spot you immediately." Fisher continued as though two cops hadn't just walked passed their illegal meeting.
"They don't even care about all this, do they? The police. I mean, they don't even care that the people down here are starving."
"Why should they?" Fisher asked more passively than the subject might have warranted.
"I don't know," she admitted, trying to figure out what to do with the things in her lap now that she'd given her bag away. "I just thought they'd care a bit more about their own kind."
Clover knew there were poor humans, since she often tried to impersonate them to avoid the Bureau. Maybe it was because the most interaction she had with humans was with the workers in the soup kitchens she would duck into when she wanted a hot meal. They seemed concerned with the wellbeing of their poor. She had supposed more of them were the same.
"You're in for a world of unpleasant surprises, kid." Fisher handed her the last package, the heaviest of the set, then he passed her the ratty bag he’d brought with him. "Human or werewolf, we're all monsters."
"Werewolves aren 't monsters." She’d meant her tone to be one of warning, but the weight of the small wrapped kit in her hands had her stomach churning again.
"Well, sometimes we can surprise even ourselves.” It seemed that Fisher had decided their meeting was over because he was pushing himself to his feet, his knees popping as he went, groaning to himself as he stretched his back. "And you should know, that the deeper you dig into this, the more you may realize that I'm right. You're not going to like where this goes.”
Clover stared him in the eyes, the familiar bubbling of defiance making her feel jittery. She reminded herself that no matter how much he helped, he was still a human.
“Just because you’re a jerk who would help with this .” She raised the heavy kit. “But not with getting a uniform, doesn’t mean everyone’s like you.”
“Do I look like your personal stylist? And I got you that because I wanted to see if you’d actually go through with it.” He pulled his knew bag onto his shoulder. "Also, you need to learn to haggle. I would have done this job for three of these watches."
- 08 -
The walk back to Elliot's townhouse was less tense than the trip to the subway, her mind now too distracted by her anger to worry about Bureau agents. Everyone knew Fisher was a scam-artist, but she hadn't expected him to rip her off so badly. She imagined her parents being disappointed, but she knew she was just projecting. She was
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