Compact with the Devil: A Novel Read Free Page A

The woman gave her a nasty look, and Nikki smiled apologetically.
    “Jen!” protested Nikki when the woman was out of earshot.
    “What?” demanded Jenny. “I’ve seen that boy; he’s hot. I mean, steam actually rises off of him.”
    “Don’t be silly.”
    “I’m not being silly; there was steam.”
    “It was just that one time,” said Nikki with irritation. “We were running and it was cold out. Our sweat was warmer than the air, therefore you get steam. Natural phenomenon.”
    “It ain’t natural to be that fine, but I guess you can delude yourself if you want,” Jenny said, seeming cheerfully unconcerned.
    “Thanks, I think I will,” said Nikki as they arrived at the Operations Room. “Because he may be fine, but that doesn’t stop him from being an ass.”
    “Fatal flaw of all men,” said Jenny with a grin as she opened the door.
    The room was walled with whiteboards that were pasted over with blueprints, diagrams, and intel sheets. In the center of the room was a long conference table that had been laid with manila folders set perpendicular to the table edges, so that each seat was the picture of businesslike precision. At the head of the table sat Nikki’s boss, Miranda Merrivel, a dark-haired woman of nearly seventy with a serene, professional appearance. Nikki sharply sucked in a breath of freon-cooled air, and Jenny flinched a little. They had been expecting a ranting Camille, but finding Mrs. Merrivel waiting for them meant that they were in for a whole new level of getting chewed out.
    Jane entered the Operations Room from the opposite door. Nikki looked for some sign from Jane as to Mrs. M’s mood, but Jane avoided eye contact and handed a folder to Mrs. Merrivel. Jane preferred the chic-punk-rock look and today was working a safety-pinned black T-shirt that bore the words WHITE WRITING ON A BLACK SHIRT . She had paired it with Donna Karan slacks and black jelly bracelets. Mrs. M, as usual, appeared oblivious to Jane’s costume and simply accepted the folder with a nod.
    “Come in, girls,” she commanded. “Camille’s been telling me about the mission.” Nikki and Jenny exchanged looks. Mrs. M could go either way; there was no telling if she was pissed or not. As they entered the room fully, they noticed for the first time that Camille was leaning against the wall, fuming.
    “Mission?!” snapped Camille. “Maybe you should explain the concept of a mission to Nikki and her boyfriend. We’re working our tails off and she’s chatting on the phone like she’s getting her nails done. She completely blew it.”
    “The maid answered my phone,” protested Nikki.
    “You could have hung up!” Camille pushed herself away from the wall and began to pace. “Why she’s a team coordinator I’ll never know—the girl’s incompetent!”
    “Really, Camille,” said Mrs. M, “your temper hasn’t improved any with age. You’re still as quick to judge as ever.” Jane gave a small cough and handed Mrs. M another sheet of paper. Mrs. Merrivel examined it briefly. “According to the initial reports you violated the mission parameters, which resulted in a time-consuming and dangerous firefight. Perhaps you should have followed Nikki’s plan, hmm?”
    Camille turned a brilliant shade of red, but Mrs. M continued ignoring Camille’s impending explosion.
    “It also states that Nikki fulfilled all her mission parameters while breaking up with her boyfriend. Not ideal, perhaps”—she gave Nikki a piercing stare, and Nikki squirmed—“but hardly the fault of the team coordinator. Now, won’t you all please sit down?”
    Camille continued to glare, but Mrs. M held the woman’s angry gaze calmly. Camille didn’t move, but Nikki knew Mrs. Merrivel well enough to know who would win the staring contest. Ignoring the battle as if it were already over, she went to a seat at the table.
    “I had to make a judgment in the field!” said Camille defiantly.
    “I’m sure you did. These things