This, Mandy thought, is why they don’t let Shiloh speak to the clients. Mandy herself was not all that professional, but any illusions Cat might have had about their organization as a whole had probably been stripped away now.
Mandy bristled slightly under Shiloh’s tirade, too meek and too new to retaliate, but unable to help a rush of offense. She had her guesses about Morgan, but without a better frame of reference, she couldn’t do much more than guess. Shiloh said it wasn’t her secret to tell, and Morgan hadn’t volunteered the information; it didn’t seem fair to blame the rest of them for not prying.
Frowning at the tabletop, Mandy pulled her fingers distractedly through the ends of her ponytail. Morgan didn’t talk about herself much, probably because people less comfortable with the supernatural tended to look at her askance. Mandy knew what that felt like—went to great lengths, in fact, to minimize her differences so that it didn’t happen.
As a fellow outsider in PHI’s mostly-human club, she’d thought she was respecting Morgan’s privacy... but maybe, as a fellow outsider, what she’d really done was let her down.
Amongst all of the bickering, Mandy heard Emma offer a small correction to the play-by-play she’d had been giving Cat: “Not trying,” the tall woman said, a trace of smugness in her voice, “succeeding.”
Mandy’s frown shifted, becoming a thoughtful stitching of her eyebrows. She looked up at Emma—impressed as always by both the woman’s height and her presence—and said, “Can you also use that to find Morgan?”
"I can't track Morgan, but I can..." Emma trailed off, belatedly realising that no one in here knew what had happened out in the office.
"A few moments ago, someone used transit projection, probably a crude variation of a Cramer-Brichaeau invocation, to..." She trailed off again, noticing the incomprehension on the faces of her colleagues—except for Shiloh, who looked aghast.
"Someone used magic to attack the office; Morgan is in pursuit." She took her hand completely away from her athamae. The pen hung defiantly in mid air.
"I can find the source of the attack, which I suspect is where Agent Blackwood is headed."
Mandy nodded, taking a second to jot down the name Emma had dropped on the edge of her discarded crossword puzzle, writing it out phonetically so that she could figure out the proper spelling later. It was a place to start, at least, as was the spell. Everyone would probably want to jump on it, but there was a question she needed to ask first—Emma had mentioned an attack, and Morgan wasn't the only person who'd disappeared.
Hesitantly, Mandy asked, "Is...Jacob okay?" Her eyes flitted briefly to the door and away. She was afraid to even acknowledge the possibility that it hadn't been him to get hurt...
Emma blinked, taken aback for a moment by what, to her mind, was a non-sequitur. A slow blush coloured her cheeks. She hadn't even considered Jacob.
"Ah, yes, he and his daughter are fine. The girl... sustained a minor injury, nothing serious." It seemed a little unprofessional to go into too much detail.
Mandy nodded a second time, fingering the edges of her crossword puzzle. She’d done what she could to bring the group back to the matter at hand. It wasn’t her job to decide what happened next.
Mandy bristled slightly under Shiloh’s tirade, too meek and too new to retaliate, but unable to help a rush of offense. She had her guesses about Morgan, but without a better frame of reference, she couldn’t do much more than guess. Shiloh said it wasn’t her secret to tell, and Morgan hadn’t volunteered the information; it didn’t seem fair to blame the rest of them for not prying.
Frowning at the tabletop, Mandy pulled her fingers distractedly through the ends of her ponytail. Morgan didn’t talk about herself much, probably because people less comfortable with the supernatural tended to look at her askance. Mandy knew what that felt like—went to great lengths, in fact, to minimize her differences so that it didn’t happen.
As a fellow outsider in PHI’s mostly-human club, she’d thought she was respecting Morgan’s privacy... but maybe, as a fellow outsider, what she’d really done was let her down.
Amongst all of the bickering, Mandy heard Emma offer a small correction to the play-by-play she’d had been giving Cat: “Not trying,” the tall woman said, a trace of smugness in her voice, “succeeding.”
Mandy’s frown shifted, becoming a thoughtful stitching of her eyebrows. She looked up at Emma—impressed as always by both the woman’s height and her presence—and said, “Can you also use that to find Morgan?”
"I can't track Morgan, but I can..." Emma trailed off, belatedly realising that no one in here knew what had happened out in the office.
"A few moments ago, someone used transit projection, probably a crude variation of a Cramer-Brichaeau invocation, to..." She trailed off again, noticing the incomprehension on the faces of her colleagues—except for Shiloh, who looked aghast.
"Someone used magic to attack the office; Morgan is in pursuit." She took her hand completely away from her athamae. The pen hung defiantly in mid air.
"I can find the source of the attack, which I suspect is where Agent Blackwood is headed."
Mandy nodded, taking a second to jot down the name Emma had dropped on the edge of her discarded crossword puzzle, writing it out phonetically so that she could figure out the proper spelling later. It was a place to start, at least, as was the spell. Everyone would probably want to jump on it, but there was a question she needed to ask first—Emma had mentioned an attack, and Morgan wasn't the only person who'd disappeared.
Hesitantly, Mandy asked, "Is...Jacob okay?" Her eyes flitted briefly to the door and away. She was afraid to even acknowledge the possibility that it hadn't been him to get hurt...
Emma blinked, taken aback for a moment by what, to her mind, was a non-sequitur. A slow blush coloured her cheeks. She hadn't even considered Jacob.
"Ah, yes, he and his daughter are fine. The girl... sustained a minor injury, nothing serious." It seemed a little unprofessional to go into too much detail.
Mandy nodded a second time, fingering the edges of her crossword puzzle. She’d done what she could to bring the group back to the matter at hand. It wasn’t her job to decide what happened next.
