Page 42 of Tortured Soul
Carter grunted in the distance, cursing under his breath. It echoed unnaturally and he cursed again.
Both Ann and I exchange a glance, chuckling. Margaret didn’t waste any time.
“You know, I’m pretty sure I’m safe from him here. Margaret won’t let the poor man breathe too close to me.”
Ann released a sigh, pinching her eyes closed.
“Am I that obvious?”
“You are.” I grinned.
She stopped pretending altogether and let herself fall on the velvety armchair on the other side of my desk.
“Margaret can only do so much,” she said. “At least if I’m here, he’ll know someone will report back if he behaves poorly.”
I waved her concerns off. “I’m fine. He’s more bark than bite now.”
Her smile was strained when she answered. “You’re probably right. But Arc doesn’t trust him yet.”
Which was odd. From what I’ve gathered, Carter had been here, with the Guardians, from the beginning. Helping build this entire place from the ground up.
“For fuck’s sakes, leave me alone you creepy ghost!”
We tried our best to muffle the giggles.
“He’s not so bad,” Ann finally said, relaxing in her chair. “I know he can be kind. He’s simply…”
She interrupted herself and tensed when his footsteps echoed around us, getting closer. We both avoided looking at him when he strode to my desk and abruptly stopped next to me.
“I need to check out this file.” The small folder was dropped on my keyboard. His nostrils flared and he turned his face away, grinding his teeth in disgust.
What an arrogant piece of shit, I thought as I lifted it to inspect the cover, examining the numbers.
As I started to type it in the system, Ann remained quiet, the sound of his foot tapping on the floor in annoyance echoing around us.
“I don’t have all—”
He stumbled to the side with another colorful curse toward our friendly ghostly host.
“What the—damn that hateful shrew.”
“Maybe if you were nicer, Margaret would do what you say and leave you alone,” Ann suggested, faking a sudden interest in her painted nails.
To prove a point, two cups of deliciously steaming coffee appeared on the desk, clattering on their little saucers. Ann squealed in excitement.
“Thank you, Maggie! You’re a peach, as always.”
Carter groaned as I hid a smile, clicking away on my computer.
Two pastries appeared next to the cup.
I leaned back in my chair, handing the file back to Carter. “Like Ann said. An absolutepeach.”
Carter didn’t wait another second to rip the file from my hands and storm out of the Archives, slamming the wooden door behind him.
“I take it back,” Ann said. “He’s an ass.”
I should have bought more clothes. Marcus—the diva that he was—had been monopolizing the laundry machine for the last two days, forcing me to depend on my shifting powers to create more while the only ones I had were dirty.
