The Night Firm Series/C3 Book 1 The Interview
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The Night Firm Series/C3 Book 1 The Interview
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C3 Book 1 The Interview

Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light; I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night. ~ Sarah Williams

Another man pushes past him into the room, turning to face Sebastian, then glancing at me. "You two know each other?" he asks. He has the same British accent as Sebastian.

"No," Sebastian says, pulling his eyes away from mine and taking a seat as far from me as possible.

It takes me a moment to really see the other man, but when I finally look at him, I have to do a double take.

I might be in a room with the two sexiest men that have ever lived. And I'm not even exaggerating.

Man #2 is just as tall as Sebastian, though his build is leaner. His hair is a lighter brown and shorter, cut stylishly, and his eyes are ocean blue rather than the forest green of Sebastian's, but the two men share the same sharp cheekbones and nose.

He smiles at me, and I'm dazzled by his charm and his dimpled chin as he introduces himself. "I'm Derek Night," he says as he takes my hand to shake it. The moment we touch, I'm lost in his eyes, adrift in an endless ocean, nearly drowning in him. I can almost smell the salty spray.

I realize I'm holding my breath and I suck in air as my head spins.

He pauses a moment, staring into my eyes as if he also feels this connection. Cocking his head, he releases my hand. "Curious," he says under his breath, before taking a seat near me. "This is my brother, Sebastian, but you seem to already know his name?"

I nod, returning to my seat. "We briefly met in the subway a few hours ago." Brothers. That makes sense. Damn, they come from good genes, though.

Derek raises an eyebrow at his brother. "You took the subway?"

Sebastian shrugs and still doesn't look at me. He seems pissed, and I'm assuming it's because he thinks he's wasting his time interviewing someone who doesn't even want the job.

But I do need the job. And I can probably do the job, once I figure out what the job is.

Derek sighs as if he's used to his brother's mercurial moods. He returns his focus to me. "Once our other brothers arrive, we can begin. I apologize for the long wait. We had an emergency with a client that took longer than expected."

My heart hammers hard in my chest at the thought that there are more of them. Isn't two enough? "What kind of business is this that it handles client concerns in the middle of the night?" I ask.

But before my question can be answered, the door opens and two more men walk in. The air around me crackles with unseen electricity and I wonder if I'm the only one who can feel it. The four of them together overwhelm my senses and I brace myself against the table, my flash buzzing under my skin and in my head, making me dizzy.

Derek stands, smiling at the new arrivals. "Everything go okay?"

The tall blond with eyes such a pale blue they're almost white nods. "It's handled." He looks my way. "You must be Miss Oliver?"

I nod.

"I'm Elijah Night." He doesn't offer to shake my hand, and I'm equal measures disappointed and relieved. He's taller than the others, lean, and his light blond hair is longer and pulled back into a tie at the base of his neck. He's pale with a face that looks to be carved from marble. He pours himself into the chair with ease and grace, like a wild animal settling in.

In fact, all four brothers have an animalistic energy to them. Wild and untamed, despite the expensive suits and polished exterior.

The last brother steps forward and extends his hand, a small frown on his face. "I'm Liam Night," he says. "Welcome to The Night Firm."

He studies me with golden eyes that look like twin suns as we shake hands. He's shorter than his brothers, but only by an inch or so, which still makes him quite tall, and he has wild, dark auburn hair that is stylishly disheveled. When we touch, it's like touching fire but without the pain. A deep burning in my soul, a warmth that spreads through me. I'm melting under the heat of it, under the heat of him.

I pull my hand away as graciously as I can. "Nice to meet you."

He holds my eyes a moment longer, then takes a seat.

Four sets of eyes are on me, and I sit back down, trying not to fidget. The collective stare of the Night brothers is disconcerting. Each of them is entirely unique. Entirely original. And yet, I can feel their connection to each other. I can see the family resemblance. I can feel it in their intensity and power.

"We realize this is a bit of an unusual interview," Derek says, smiling. "Thank you for agreeing to come."

I nod. "I'm certainly intrigued. Do I now get to find out what kind of job I'm applying for?"

Once again, the most critical question I need answered is interrupted when the door opens, and a woman pushing a cart walks through. She is tiny, standing not much taller than four feet--if that--with long silver hair pulled back into a braid that rides down her spine. She wears a white robe tied around her waist with a knotted sash. Her face is lined with age and softened by kindness. Her silver eyes are clear and piercing. When she sees me, she smiles as if she's been expecting me--like we are old friends becoming reacquainted. She leaves her cart to take my hand in hers. Her skin is thin and soft, like aged crepe paper.

"It's such a pleasure to finally meet you, my dear," she says in a different accent than the brothers. More Irish than British. "I'm Matilda Night, the grandmother of these boys. If they give you any trouble, you just let me know. I brought snacks and drinks for everyone."

She gives a pointed look to her grandsons before passing out drinks. The brothers have glasses of what look like red wine. An odd choice for a job interview. She hands me a cup of tea and a plate of cookies.

"Thank you," I say, my curiosity about this job and this family ever growing.

Matilda pats my hand and shuffles out the door with the cart, closing it behind her, but not before she gives me a mischievous wink.

I pick up the tea, grateful for something to keep my hands occupied, and blow on it, then sip, surprised to discover it's chai, my favorite, with just the right amount of cream and sugar. Interesting.

"Your grandmother is sweet," I say to the silent room. The brothers exchange secret glances that clearly hold hidden layers of meaning I'm not privy to--the kind of sibling communication I used to have not so long ago--and the pang of seeing it still alive in others causes something in my gut to clench. I squeeze my eyes closed a moment, putting Adam out of my mind.

"To address your question," Derek says, "the role you're applying for here is a bit unusual."

Well, there's a shocker.

"We need someone to manage schedules, help with clients, and assist with any investigations, emergencies or events that arise."

I nod. "Okay. I mean, I'm definitely capable of doing that, but... " I pull out my resume from my bag and place it before me while he continues speaking.

"And we're not an ordinary firm. You'd be working from sundown to sunup, and our location frequently changes, so it's something of a live-in position."

"Live-in? I'd have to live here? In an office building?"

"No. You'd live in our home. With us."

"Just the four of you?"

"And our grandmother and other staff," he says.

My nerves tingle, and my flash hits me with a wave of light that makes me almost vomit. "Where is your home?" I ask, trying to mask the effects of my gift. That's what Adam always called it. A gift. "We're secret superheroes," he would whisper to me when I would cry myself to sleep every night after our father's death. "No one can hurt us."

"That's also complicated," he says.

"This is a waste of time," Sebastian says, speaking for the first time since this meeting began.

Derek looks at him. "What do you mean?"

"She doesn't even want to be here. She doesn't want this job. She told me herself. She's wasting our time. She's not qualified."

My face burns red as blood rushes to it, and that mental barrier that's supposed to keep people from blurting out what's on their mind at inappropriate times snaps in half. "Not qualified? What could you possibly know about my qualifications? Or anything about me at all? You haven't asked about my work history or seen my resume. You have no idea what I'm capable of." I stand, to the surprise of all four of them, and walk to Sebastian, shoving my resume in his face. "I'll have you know I'm more than qualified to work for you. In fact, I'm overqualified. I graduated from Harvard's MBA program with honors. I was Managing Director of the last company I worked for. I'm probably more qualified than you to run your business, whatever the hell it is. You should be working for me." As soon as the words are out, I regret them, but it's too late. Words, once spoken, cannot be reined in. They take on their own life, which is why it's so important we choose with care which ideas or words we give birth to. My father tried to teach me that, but I'm clearly still learning the lesson.

Sebastian shoves the resume aside. "And where did you get your law degree?" he asks with ice in his voice.

"What?" I ask, confused.

"If you're more qualified than me to run my business, you must have a law degree. After all, we are a law firm. Where did you get your law degree? I don't see it on your resume."

"This is a law firm?" I ask, more confused than ever. "What kind of law firm does interviews at midnight?"

Derek shoots Sebastian a stern look and takes the resume from him. "We offer our services to a niche clientele. One you will have to become familiar with, should you choose to accept this job."

"Who are your clients? Vampires?" I say with a laugh, but none of them smile. Sebastian smirks and leans back in his chair. I want to smack that grin off his beautiful, perfect face. Derek narrows his lips and glances at the others. This is too weird. "It was a joke. I obviously don't think your clients are vampires. Sheesh. Tough crowd."

Still, nothing but uncomfortable stares and awkward silences.

"She's not the one," Sebastian says again, and I'm stung by his rejection, despite my qualifications, despite the connection I thought we had on the train, and despite the fact that I'm not even sure I want this stupid job.

I ignore my flash that's pushing me to stay and glare at Sebastian. "You're right. I'm not the one. This would be a huge step down in my career. Perhaps if your creepy receptionist gave me an inkling of what this interview was for, I could have spared us all the waste of time. Good day."

I grab my bag and make my way to the door, pulling it open in one harsh movement, but then I stop and glance back at Sebastian, leveling him with my stare. "Harvard," I say.

He narrows his eyes at me, confused.

"My law degree," I clarify. "It's from Harvard as well. I didn't put it on my resume because I didn't take the bar, and I was never told what kind of firm this was." And with those closing words, I storm out and slam the door behind me.

The moment I do, tension builds inside me, buzzing on my skin, in my head, like spiders hatching within my body. I've felt this before, in the past, when I ignored my flash, but it will go away. I just need to get out of this soulless building and away from these men who make me crazy in too many ways.

But the tension doesn't fade as I walk the halls. It builds. It builds so much it scares me. I search for a bathroom and see a door ajar down the hall. My brain feels like it's swelling and tears prick my eyes at what's to come. This hasn't happened in so long. Not since...not since that day. I thought this was under control.

I knock gently on the door and it opens slowly. I expect to see any number of things--a broom closet, a standard office or waiting room, but what I find is nothing that should exist in this building.

It's as if I've been transported to a castle in an age of magic and wizards. The room is windowless and covered on one wall with floor to ceiling shelves filled with leather-bound books that look like they should be under glass at an important library. Another wall has shelves full of jars with different colored powders, roots, and other strange objects. In a corner sits a round table carved from jade and etched with ancient symbols. A fire burns in the center, though I see no source to feed the flames. And the flames are blue, rather than the standard red or orange. While I know blue flames can occur in nature--wood saturated with sea salt can produce blue flames--I don't know of any that can dance atop solid stone like that. Must be a chemistry trick, though why it would be in a law office is beyond me.

The room smells of spices and wood and earth. Against another wall is a desk covered with scrolls, with books and jars resting above it on shelves. A large chair sits in the center of the room in front of a blazing stone fireplace with a strong fire burning within. There's no chimney, no way for any of this to work.

"Hello there, dear, can I help you?"

I jump at the sound and turn to see Matilda standing in the doorway.

The pressure in my brain is building. I don't have much time to find somewhere private. Damnit.

Black spots appear in my vision. Light dances before my eyes as pain explodes in my head. I only have time to say, "Help, please!" as my eyes fill with tears and I grip my skull and sink to my knees, a sob escaping my throat.

Matilda rushes over. "Oh, my dear, it's all right, love. Come now." She rests a cool hand on my forehead. "You're burning up!"

I know. I always do when these hit.

And it's not over yet. It's just starting.

She helps me to the chair, supporting my body weight as sweat slicks my skin, and I shiver. I am both cold and hot. The pain hasn't reached its climax yet and I'm not looking forward to when it does. I won't be able to stop what happens next, and that terrifies me.

"I have to leave," I say between breaths, grinding the words out through the pain.

"Of course you can't leave. Not in this condition."

I reach for my bag, knowing I don't have enough time to get out of here, hoping I still have the strip of leather I used to carry just in case. I fumble, my sketchbook falling out, still opened to the page of Sebastian's sketch. Matilda notices it but says nothing as I find what I'm looking for and stick it into my mouth to keep from screaming.

Just in time, too.

The pain breaks my skull open, shattering my mind into a million pieces, undoing me, removing from my consciousness any memory of who I am or where I am. All I know is pain. And I bite down, moaning, muffled screams escaping through the leather.

My body convulses, and I experience a moment of a flash, and a vision so dark and terrifying fills my mind that I let the scream burst forth, spitting out the leather in the process, my body thrashing.

Something is pressed against my lips. Hot liquid pours into my mouth, a trickle at a time. It's bitter. Vile. I cough and try to spit it out, but a hand holds my head, and a soft voice soothes me. "This will help, my dear. Drink it all. It will help, I promise. You poor thing."

As more of the liquid makes its way down my throat, I feel its effects. The vision fades. The pain ebbs. The vise-like grip on my brain eases. And I slip into the darkness.

* * *

He is always there, in my dreams. In my sleep. In my mind.

This time we are children. Nine or ten years old. I'm in bed, sweat beading on my forehead, the pain in my small body building. Adam is lying next to me, holding my hand, his face contorted in pain as well, but it's not his pain he's feeling. It's mine. "Why is this happening?" he asks our father, his voice a scared whine.

My father places a cool washcloth on my forehead and tenderly brushes away the wet hair clinging to my skin. "Every superhero has to go through hardships to come into their powers," my father says, his smile sad, untold secrets living in his dark brown eyes. Eyes my twin and I do not share. We have our mother's eyes.

"When will I go through my hardship?" Adam asks, with equal mixture of fear and excitement.

Adam wanted to be a superhero more than anything. And he felt sure we were meant to be just that.

Our father's smile slips, but he catches it in time and pastes it back onto his face. "Someday, my boy. Someday you, too, will go through your own transformation. In lumen et lumen . Always remember to stay in the light."

* * *

I try to cling to the vision of my brother and my father--two men now lost to me forever--to the memories that feel more real than the present sometimes, but consciousness steals him from me once again. When I come to, my head is still pounding, but it's no longer splintering into jagged edges. It's just a normal headache. My mouth is dry and bitter tasting, and I am curled up on a huge chair in front of a fire. It takes a moment for the preceding events to flow back into my mind. When they do, I shift my body and move to stand, but a wave of dizziness forces me back into the chair. Okay then. I have to take this slower.

I've never been hit with a headache that bad before. I'm dreading the recovery length of this one. I don't have time to be laid up. Moving slowly, cautiously, I lift myself upright, using the back of the chair as support. A wave of nausea passes through me, then recedes. I got this. I inch forward on the chair, my nails digging into the leather upholstery.

Voices in the hall give me pause. I strain my ears to listen, then slowly lift myself to standing and creep towards the door, retrieving my bag along the way.

"She's a mundane. She'll never fit into this world. It's not worth the risk!" That sounds like Sebastian, his voice deep and commanding. A voice that leads armies, that men and women will follow into battle and die for.

"She's exactly what we need--did you see who wrote her letter of recommendation? Do you want to tell Richard Dwarvas that his protege isn't good enough for us?" Derek pauses dramatically, and I almost laugh. Rick would have laughed.

"Even if she weren't," he continues, "we are out of time. He'll be expecting us by week's end."

"She is hot-tempered and ill-suited to this world." I think that one is Liam.

"You're one to call someone out for being hot-tempered," Derek says haughtily. "And if any of you have a better idea, now's the time to give it voice. We need her. You know we do."

"The four of you need to pipe down," Matilda's voice interjects. "The girl passed out and is in my office."

"What?" Sebastian says with a fierce growl.

"Oh, calm yourself, boy. She'll be fine. I gave her some tea to help. Poor thing. She'll feel it when she wakes up though."

I don't need to hear more. I just need to get the hell out of this office of horrors. Coming here was a giant mistake, one I intend to immediately remedy.

Slipping out of the office quietly, I head down the hall in the opposite direction of their voices. I see the shadows they cast from around the corner, but can't see them, so unless they have eyes in their shadows, they can't see me either.

I do my best to move confidently through the halls, but I haven't recovered from my episode, and I really need to be at home in bed right now.

I'm forced to pass through an open office space with cubicles, where people in suits are busily working on what look like important matters. There are law books open, phone calls being made, frantic typing on sleek, modern computers that match the space in which they dwell. I'm at least dressed the part, though my face must look ashen and my eyes sunken. Likely my makeup is smeared as well. I try to touch up my eyes with the pad of my index finger as I walk, avoiding the gazes of anyone who might glance my way.

I wonder what will happen when Matilda and the Night brothers discover I've left. Maybe nothing. I'm surely not special in the grand scheme of things, despite my impressive letter of recommendation. As I walk down another hall trying to find a stairway or elevator to take me back to the first floor, I notice a glass meeting room with what looks like clients and their attorneys. At first my glance is just that, a casual noticing, but then I turn back, slowing my step to reassure my brain I didn't just see what I think I did.

My breathing quickens as I try to stay casual and totally normal. Inside the room, one woman stands apart from the rest, and no one seems to acknowledge her presence. It takes me a moment to register what I'm seeing. She has long silver hair down to her feet, styled into hundreds of tiny braids. Her skin is a deep black, dark as midnight, with freckles on her prominent cheekbones that glow silver like stars in the night sky. Her eyes are wide and large and are entirely silver. And on her forehead is a delicate silver horn.

I know the moment she sees me. The moment we see each other. Her presence washes over me like a waterfall on a warm day, inviting and cool and so refreshing. I hear the soft whisper of my name carried on the faintest drift of air, or maybe it's in my head, I can't tell. But as my name enters me, I feel peace even through the pain.

A tear rolls down my cheek and she smiles, revealing large white teeth, and in my mind's eye I see her in a brilliant emerald glade, prancing through the thick grass, but her body is not that of a woman, but a unicorn.

I walk as if in a daze, somehow finding the elevator and making my way to the first floor. The twins both stare as I walk out and hail a cab, my mind spinning with all that I saw, but my heart is full from that brief glimpse of the woman with silver eyes.

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