Pierce Randall looked over the empty lobby of the ‘New York Chapter House of the Grand Hall of Sinister Wisdom’ with quiet satisfaction. No Black Magicians screaming in his face that they had priority for the Conjury laboratories. No Mad Alchemists wheedling about the delivery of some rare plants. No megalomaniacs waving hands ablaze with unholy fire about, over some triviality. No minions dragging bloody remains over the carpets. No idiots grabbing that chambermaid that Randall had finally managed to get properly trained, and dragging her off for an impromptu sacrifice. No disgruntled members burning glyphs for magical traps into the mahogany trim, to catch another member off guard. Where chaos normally reigned, there was only peace and quiet.
“Percy’s been the manager of this place for nine years. The only person that’s lasted even half that long was the manager of the London Chapter House. And he was a fukkin’ vampire! You ever been to the Chicago or Savanna chapter houses? They’re fuckin’ pits! He keeps this joint lookin’ nice and makes sure that there’s mints on the pillows, so the Big Noises like ‘im. Nope, Percy’s got some serious political chops, and if we ain’t careful, he’s gonna chop us up into bits.”