She had brought his drink in over an hour ago, and it was still untouched.
This was a good time for prayer or celebration, depending on his mood. But this was why Elite Secretary Matori accepted the high pay and respect; someone had to walk in and ask why the boss was not taking his customary nightcap.
Matori knew it was best to just get it over with.
Click. The doorknob turned.
"Master G—"
"Close the door."
Secretary Matori wished she had updated her will and all of her beneficiaries. After all, her bratty niece wasn't written out yet, and she'd roll over in her grave before that teenager gets a payday from Matori's death.
Her heels dug into the soft, plush carpet. If she dies, it'll be hell for the grunts to get the bloodstains out.
Matori could not see him well through the dim light. Her boss had terrible migraines that not even the hardest drug could tackle, so it was pertinent to have darkness and silence. Even certain smells triggered him into an agonizing state.
Alone, sitting in a chair, was one of the most powerful men in the world with an untouched drink. His hand over a familiar, treasured, and unnamed book. Dark, unblinking eyes staring off into the moonlit sky as if he was soaring amongst the stars.
An escaped sigh of relief. A trance. He was in one of his mysterious, powerful trances. She fixed her glasses to prepare for her inevitable, confusing, and vague conversation. Hopefully, her boss was coming off it so he would be more lucid.
"Sir. You have not touched your drink. Is everything to your liking?"
"There is a girl."
"A girl? Where?"
Silence. This was often how these conversations went. He comes and goes, weaving through this odd veil of reality. Frustrating for a woman like Matori, who preferred directness and efficiency.
The distinguished gentleman traced out the leather bound cover, as if he knew something far deeper and beyond the imagination of his assistant. This was powerful stuff and it was best to not question it.
"She's seven years old and attached to her mother's hip." The long answer, drawn out by a cool vagueness. "Blonde. Small. Lives deep in the heart of the forest. Apple of her guardian's eye."
The forest. Matori remembered this same conversation almost a decade ago. A special child that had come before his visions. Move quick, quick, quick—not to let them get away, not to let them wriggle from his grasp…
They were successful before. With all the changes, they will be successful again. But that was a newborn they had taken from the mother. This one was older. This one had eluded the visions for seven years.
How was that possible? Matori wasn't an expert on this thing, but she wasn't a skeptic either. She left that to her boss's second-in-command.
"I thought—every ten years—"
"After what happened last time, it seems our mother had another to replace her grieving. She made the rules; no reason she cannot break them from time to time. Grief is a powerful emotion, just like love."
More vagueness. Matori could feel her own headache coming on. So many damn nuances in mysticism and wizardry pursuits. No wonder her master's most faithful commander often hid his eye-rolling.
"Shall I inform Archer? To fetch her?"
Her boss smiled, his trance now fading away, "Yes. Immediately. No other orders will be above this one."
That was all Matori needed to hear. Each syllable was gospel and unable to be broken.
His subordinate left, ferrying the urgent message to the lower ranks and filling the gossip coffers. In minutes, the entire organization knew and set off to work. They had cast aside all other priorities.
Wheels and cogs of destiny fired up. The oil flooded in and there was no use in stopping it now.
Now the master could drink.