"I bet that's why I got a warning about this one in particular, rather than some other one," she says, adding that bit of information to her science notes. "They do seem to be more systematically useful than they were before the last time I upgraded my look, even if I still don't get as many as I'd like."

"It's a good power," says Marchessa. "Back to base we go."

Back to base they go.

The next few weeks fall into a routine, as catalogued in Margaret's prophecy journal. Of the roughly three prophecies she gets per week:

* One is usually a swarm warning, timed to turn a potentially major fight into a trivial one if acted on promptly,

* One is usually something else patrol-related:  information about who's going to be out sick or what the weather is going to be or that and how the skeet-thrower is jammed, 

* And one is usually completely unrelated but useful in some other way: warning of a power outage, dog diagnoses for Margaret's mom, counterintuitive but good movie recommendations.

The scientists find several thousand dollars to get Margaret a full workday with a Paladin-class stylist conditional on her picking something a bit heavier-duty than a swarm patrol to spend her time (the Paladins are an option, but so are the CDC or the DOD, and they're open to suggestions - her scientist contact says they're not planning on getting this money kicked back from wherever they send her, they just want to mention a big result on future grant applications).

If the CDC will take her then the CDC can have her! What sort of arrangements are they thinking of, either for the rest of the summer or for the fall? Presumably they want her to park in some office and discuss disease outbreaks until she gets prophecies about them, but what schedule are they looking for and is there compensation apart from the stylist meeting and the joy of doing some good for society? And does she need to go to Georgia at some point?

They're thinking rest of the summer with an option to extend into the school year, and they can pay her at paid-internship-at-the-CDC rates. They are willing to have her remote in but if that doesn't yield what they're hoping they'll want her to show up in person, yes.

Given what she knows of her powers, onsite will probably be work better; how about she shows up in person for the rest of the summer with the understanding that she'll have to go remote if she's still there when school starts again?

They are cool with that.

She says her goodbyes to the county pinch squad, and apologizes for promising them the whole summer and then backing out to go do science.

Her parents fuss rather a lot at the idea of her spending more than a month away from home, but they're not going to get in the way of an internship at the CDC. They put her on a bus to Atlanta with hugs and advice and an unholy amount of prepackaged food. Paid-intern-at-the-CDC money is enough for a little studio apartment within flying distance of their office.

Her CDC handler is named Brian Wells and his job is to engage her in conversation about all the CDC projects in progress, though she can also access their Slack.

She is pleased to meet him and excited to learn about all the CDC projects! She only has an intelligent high schooler's knowledge of biology, but she's switched out all her leisure reading for epidemiology and virology books and she's willing to look up anything she doesn't understand.

Brian can also give her book recommendations! He's a PhD student and will work on his thesis while she is occupied with reading.

Then she will sit and read and take notes and engage in speculation-heavy conversations with Brian. If this goes on for a few days, she will eventually interrupt her own musings about tracking contaminated spinach with the name of a farm in Arizona, followed by "there dwells unwholesomeness".

"...there dwells unwholesomeness! Okay, got it," says Brian, typing this up.

"Yeah, my magic seems to have a thing for pretentious wording," she adds in a less echoey voice, taking out her own notebook. No reason to stop taking detailed prophecy notes now.

"Annnnd they're on it," he says, "thanks!"

Then they will eventually find unwholesomeness, in the form of e. coli-ridden spinach.

They give Margaret a bonus. "I think they figure if they give you bonuses for results you'll be more motivated to try things that might help," Brian comments when he hands her the check.

"I'm already going to try things that might help but I won't say no to a bonus!" She's already listening to biology-related audio books on her commute every day; she starts adding fun facts about bacteria to her emails to her parents. Part of the bonus goes to buying herself cupcakes and the rest goes into savings. 

The appointment with the stylist rolls around.

This is almost as exciting as prions and a lot less gross and scary! So far immersing herself entirely in her target subject has only slightly improved on the previous level of "three prophecies a week, one maybe two of them relevant", though to be fair to her power she was pretty immersed in swarm-hunting before this.

The stylist wants her to appear either stark naked or in a designated variety of bikini, at eight thirty a.m.

She's not planning to do this by halves, but she's not getting arrested for public indecency either. She enters the specified building in the specified bikini, intending to take it off in the office's entryway or waiting room or whatever they have.

She gets to go straight in, since there's no prior client to get out of the way. The office is a little like Valenti's office, but bigger, and it has a weird appliance in a corner. The stylist does not blindfold herself. She tuts at Margaret, circles her. "Office and indoor lighting conditions, I assume?" she says.

"That's right," she says, ditching the bikini. Is it weird that she's more worried about being judged for how she laid out her scales underneath it than she is actually embarassed at having those areas visible? It's probably weird.