Catherine turned away from the bulletin board in the Gillet lobby with a sigh. The Rickenbacker had already been done, as had several notice boards in Brakket Academy’s main building.
That left a stack for the rest of the town.
All major businesses were required to have bulletin boards easily visible for announcements to be posted. Normally notices would simply be emailed or faxed.
Catherine let out a string of curses under her breath as her high heels clicked down the sidewalk. There was no reason why Zagan couldn’t help, or the stupid little girl, or any one of Martina’s other minions.
But no, the woman
Catherine had dropped to her knees in front of Martina. One patch on her thrice handed down pants tore loose. She clasped her hands together and looked up at her tormentor. “Please missus,” she had definitely said, “the nuns stalk the streets. They hunt for black blood. I’ll never survive.”
“You are my familiar. You will do as you are told,” Martina had said immediately before laughing in the most evil manner possible.
That laugh might have been impressive under other circumstances. It would have been more impressive had it not rested firmly within Catherine’s imagination. She might not have minded serving someone with a laugh that good.
The actual conversation may have involved several undocumented uses of specific fingers on the human hand, but that wasn’t how Catherine would be repeating the story.
There was one specific element she had actually been worried about. Apart from her general distaste for menial labor, that is.
Walking through the town in the early morning alone with those abhorrent nuns stalking around was going to get her killed.
Worse, Catherine’s clothes itched. Every step she took rubbed some part of it against some part of her. It was supposed to be real fur, yet it brushed against her skin in the most unnatural way.
When she had first been appointed as Martina’s secretary, Catherine tried to minimize the amount of cloth touching her sensitive skin. Martina put a stop to that. Apparently it wasn’t
Prudes.
Every last one of them.
Her current attire seemed to be pushing the limits if Martina’s expressions meant anything.
Catherine would push them more, if only to annoy Martina. She’d find the exact limits and go one step further. A new dress was set to arrive in the early days of next week specifically for that task.
With any luck, it would be more comfortable too.
That might as well have been forever away. Walking through the town in her current clothes would have to be dealt with for now.
Using her sharp fingernails, Catherine ran her fingers down the seams at her sides. The dress split straight down the sides. Only a thread at the very top of her dress, just beneath her arms, kept the back and front of her clothes from peeling apart.
Far more maneuverable.
Modesty stayed intact as well. For the most part. The dress might have swung too far apart from her belly and her legs as she walked. But who cared about that anyway. Even if someone did care, it wasn’t like anyone else was going to wake up at such a horrible time in the morning.
Anyone aside from nuns, that is. Catherine kept a careful eye on the early morning shadows.
