The Afflicted Zodiac Complete Series

by M J Marstens

  When I get to the tippy-top floor, Mary is nowhere to be seen. No weapons (a.k.a high heels) and no shield (a.k.a Mary). . . good thing I went to self-defense training in college. . . sort of. It was a twelve hour training divided into three Saturdays in a row. Four hours on a weekend day. . . well, let’s just say, I made it the first ten minutes and decided I didn’t need to know anymore. Their opening strategy was to teach us to throw our hands out and scream ‘NO’ at the tops of our lungs. I think the hope was that the attacker would see a self-assertive woman who would not be easy prey. . . However, I think we just appeared to be deranged, which works in our benefit because I don’t think anyone would want to deal with that level of crazy. And I have been holding that card close to my chest for years now, ready to unleash the insanity at any given moment.

  Beware.

  Not you.

  Potential attackers.

  (Sorry, you know I ramble when nervous.) And I’m stupid-nervous right now, standing in front of the doors to the Presidential Office. I’m not even going to waste either of our time trying to give myself a pep talk. This is going to be brutal. (The Trust Tree of Truth is a sucky place to be sometimes all of the time.)

  Ok, time to face the assholes.

  I mean music.

  CHAPTER 18

  ZAHRA

  I open the doors and (again) struggle to get inside. I take two steps and hear a riiiiiip. My lace, flowy, power-color tank top catches in the doors and has torn what feels like half-way up my back. Anyone who wants to try and give me a silver lining right now can fuck off. I’m going to pretend this tank top has always been an open-back shirt, but just because I can roll with the punches doesn’t mean I’m going to get all Pollyanna-ed. This is a sucky situation that just turned suckier.

  I can feel all eight sets of eyes boring into me, but I hold my chin high and look over Khal’s head, out the windows. I’m going to survive this new fiasco by not making eye contact with anyone in this room. . . except maybe Kane. I walk until I’m standing next to the soft green divan and wait for this debacle to begin.

  “Sit down,” Caed commands tersely.

  I sit, as far left as possible, but it does me little good because the Steve Irwin impersonator is taking up three-fourths of the damn settee. I wait. Nothing. (I’m still not looking at anyone.) Nyam moves in my peripheral and I cut him a quick glance- but that A-hole is waiting. He smirks at me knowingly and winks.

  Winks.

  I cringe. . . does everyone know what happened yesterday?

  But the others seem oblivious, save Mio. (At least, I think so, given my hurried assessment. Remember, no eye contact.) I tip my head back and study the mural on the ceiling. It’s painted like the night sky with all twelve zodiac constellations interpreted into the background. One section depicts the moon phases, but it looks like someone defaced that part of the artwork.

  Pity.

  Someone clears their throat and I snap back to attention. In front of me are two denim-clad penises. Like a total professional, I shriek and fall off the divan. Luckily, it’s a short drop, but I’m pretty sure when I get back home I’ll not have an ounce of dignity left. The twins stare down at me, probably wondering what my problem is. . . neither of them move to help me back to my seat.

  “Yes?” I try to ask politely.

  I fail.

  Uryn gives a small grin (that is how I know it’s him) and gestures at my briefcase.

  “We are ready to see your work.” What, no reprimanding for this morning? Hot dog. I’ll take it. I quickly snap the briefcase open and take out the files.

  “Shall I give everyone their chart?” I query.

  Illu raises a brow in challenge, but gives me a nod. I get up and hand out everyone’s birth chart. The guys take a moment to read the dates.

  “The lass got mine right.” Comes Arawn’s smooth brogue.

  “And mine.”

  “And mine.”

  “And mine.”

  “And ours.”

  Until everyone in the room acknowledges how badass I am. . . I’m not going to lie, it feels pretty awesome.

  “Congratulations,” commends Illu in a flat tone.

  The way he says it almost hints like he knew I could do this. . . am I insulted or flattered? Whatever. I did it. That means I have the job. Which means now I can work, set aside some money, look for another job, and still live here. Life makes sense again.

  “Thanks. I’m an awesome astrologist like that. So let’s talk business. Is there any way I could get an advance or maybe set-up a relocation budget to help me move? Also, I would like to review my benefits. Do I get dental. . . Wait, will I actually be an employee of Miraval or will I be subcontracted out? That affects how I do my taxes. If I’m self-employed, I need to save things, like donation receipts, for tax deductions, and other things li-”

  “Donations, like those you give to the Goodwill?” Mio’s English is sounding hacked again.

  “Ah, yeah, exactly like that and I ne-”

  “Zahra has very big heart. She’s very generosa. Isn’t that right, Nyam?”

  “Mhmm, that she is. . . Zahra, didn’t you give Goodwill your vibrator?”

  Ohmyfuckinggod.

  That’s it.

  I need those heels so I can purposely accidentally stake Nyam through the heart.

  (Does that kill demons or just vampires? I could use a lesson from Monster Man, I bet as a potential vampire, he would know.) The office is shrouded in silence. Even the crickets are too mortified for me to make a sound.

  “You gave your vibrator to a charity center?” Comes Caed’s lazy, condescending drawl.

  “Not on purpose,” I huff. “I didn’t know it was in the box. I thought it was just a bunch of random junk from my parents’ house I was trying to clean. . . I knew I shouldn’t have been trying to organize my personal stuff while decluttering. Or I should have double-checked the boxes. . . I don’t even think I got a receipt for that donation. . .” I might be babbling.

  Can you guess my embarrassment level?

  “Maybe you should keep your thoughts to yourself. It would help you seem more intelligent.” Khal helpfully/unhelpfully suggests. I narrow my eyes in affront.

  “Everyone’s inner ramblings are dumb!” I defend.

  “Yes, except you don’t keep yours inside.”

  What.

  A.

  Dick.

  “Well, I’m not dumb, thank you very much. I have a freaking master’s degree in engineering!”

  (How suitably impressed are you right now?)

  “Your resume said it was library information.”

  (Ok, how suitably impressed were you?)

  I do some quick math in my head. So, it only took fifteen minutes for this meeting to completely unravel. . . that has to be a record of some sort.

  “Can I just get my benefits package and go, please and thank you? I have some research I need to do.”

  To Google: available jobs in Tucson or even outside of the city. I want to limit my chances of running into these eight.

  “Still looking for a replacement vibrator or a better wording for your gangbang search?” Nyam casually asks.

  Why?!

  Why is this happening to me?

  Oh, no!

  Karma is real and she’s a total bitch. She also is in cahoots with Mrs. Gerty and this is my punishment for embarrassing that old bat all those times before.

  I’m sorry, Mrs. Gerty!

  I’m sorry, Lady Karma!

  Please, please, please, I cannot take anymore humiliation.

  “She looking because no one can. . . what are right words. . . make her vagina spasm in lust?” Mio half comments, half questions.

  “Orgasm is the word you’re looking for,” Nyam supplies.

  “Ah yes, thank you, my friend. She looking for toy because no one can make her vagina orgasm.”

  “I thought she was looking for the vibrator because her fingers didn’t have the stamina?” Nyam evilly contribu
tes.

  “Ah, must be why she needs many men. So the fingers do not become tired. Good thinking, carina.”

  I’m concerned when I said I couldn’t take anymore humiliation that Karma thought it was an invitation. . . or worse, a challenge.

  You win, Karma, good freaking game!

  Fuck it, I’m out of here.

  I stand to make my way out of this personal hell (and here I always thought it was Minnesota in winter. Perspective, people, it can be life changing), but Khal demands that I sit down. Immediately. This guy has a serious complex. It’s not healthy.

  “Ms. Delsol, you will be working for Miraval as an interim employee. Upon a successful two-month evaluation and the completion of a project, you will be moved to full-time status and will receive a benefits package then. Unfortunately, there are no relocation funds, as you so quaintly put it, for this position. But you can stay at the hotel for two weeks while you find a new living arrangement.”

  He says this like he’s bestowing the greatest of honors on me.

  “I can’t just move here for a two month trial!” I explode. “I have a whole other life in Minnesota. Either I need to come here or go back there, but I’m not bouncing back and forth!”

  Khal is looking absently at his computer screen, drumming his fingers on the desk, and doesn’t even look at me when he replies:

  “Please, we both know you have nothing going on back in Minnesota.” Well, I definitely know that, but he can only be guessing.

  Well, two can play the bluff game.

  “Actually, I have plenty of other options and I do have things going on back home. If that is the best you can offer me, then I’m going to have to walk. See, I spoke with Mary and honestly, it sounds like you guys need me more than I need you. I’m the best you have!”

  “Don’t delude yourself, Ms. Delsol,” Khal’s words rain down on me like a bucket of ice. “Just because you’re the most competent applicant, doesn’t mean you’re the most competent astrologist. We could easily find better. It’s only a question of time and money.”

  I hate him.

  Truly loathe him.

  He called my bluff and raised me a middle finger.

  He’s no longer invited to my gangbang fantasies.

  Okay, so that’s that. Time for me to just pack it up and go. While I have a tiny shred of dignity.

  “What project?” I ask.

  Fuck my mouth.

  That. . . I can’t think of an obscenely appropriate enough word. . . cuntmuffin?. . . yes, that cuntmuffin (a.k.a. my mouth) has gotten me in more trouble in the last forty-eight hours than any hare-brained scheme my mind has thought up. Is there any way to keep from talking? I think if you don’t have a tongue. . . seems kind of extreme, but potentially doable given how my life has been trending lately.

  “We want you to find the balance in all our charts,” Illu says in his heavy accent.

  “Specifically in regard to the moon,” Arawn adds.

  What is it with these guys and the moon?

  “Fine and I have two months to do this?”

  “Technically yes, but I want to see a report a week. To demonstrate your progress. And I’ll tell you which charts to do when. Start with Mr. Marx’s first.” Khal commands.

  “Fine, but I would like to see some paper work confirming everything we have talked about today.” There is no way I’m not getting my temporary living arrangements in writing. Mr. Al-Zahil would totally renege just to fuck me even more.

  “You want paper work confirming you need a new vibrator and a new porno search engine?” Nyam asks like he needs genuine clarification.

  Shit, they are sort of technically my bosses now, so I can’t flip him off or throw a stapler at him. I give him my dirtiest scowl before leaving. That pervert probably just took it as silent foreplay.

  CHAPTER 19

  JUPITER

  We all watch Zahra leave and then Saturn, Mars, and Pluto all begin shouting at Mercury and Sun. I don’t understand why. . . we all knew what we were asking when we sent them to get information from her. And besides, they upheld the ‘request’: no one laid with Zahra.

  “What the fuck really happened between you two and Zahra?” Saturn demands hotly.

  “None of your fucking business, Turno,” Mio fires right back. Saturn stands, fists clenched at his side. Across from him, Mars rises, too, always prepared to spill blood. Sun sheds his humanity and nearly blinds us with his light. Pluto and Neptune stand in defense. Uranus does out of reflex. I stay seated.

  I’m their neutrality.

  I’m their harmony.

  I’ll not let their curses overtake them. I still fight for us and our brotherhood. But Pluto surprises me by blinking out of sight. Mars and Saturn follow suit. Neptune hesitates.

  “I’ll go speak with them,” he says, before disappearing, too.

  Neptune is not usually one to intervene, but only he can work to change minds at a subconscious level. Uranus stays behind. It’s hard being a twin and the planet of independence. One demands codependency from the womb and the other demands absolute freedom. Today, his individuality is winning. Mercury and Sun sidle up to him, bent on taking advantage of this, and subtly begin teasing him about the others. Both those two have a better handle on their curses, but the instigation and trickster tactics have amped up this last reincarnation of Lina’s. I wish we could just have one day of peace, but even before the curse, we were a quarrelsome lot.

  In truth, I have been keeping the peace between these seven since the cosmos birthed us. Usually, I’m quick to break up any potential dispute. . . before things become physical. Everyone is riding the razor-edge of their curse these days and I desperately try to be the final voice of reason. But today I listen to Mercury and Sun goad Uranus, interested to see what they are up to.

  “I didn’t realize Saturn told you what to do,” I hear Sun taunt the blue Sky god.

  “Afraid to have a taste of Zahra yourself? Afraid to see what Saturn might do?” Mercury sneers in near tandem. Those two should have been twins, but being conjunct for most of their life has brought about a similar relationship. For the life of me, I cannot figure out what they are up to. . .

  “tastes like honey and her juices when she comes is the nectar.” I miss the first part of Mercury’s speech, but I have no problem catching on. They both paint a vivid picture of Zahra as she reaches her peak: how she tastes, what she feels like, the smell of her arousal. . . I can feel my cock stir in my pants. Just because I’m a peacekeeper does not mean I’m a saint. Far from it. My appetites may not be as overt or as strong as the others, but I still have them. And I want Zahra, regardless if she’s Lina. Because right now, she’s not. She’s not the vindictive, possessive woman who tried to tear us apart. . . she’s a lovely, innocent woman housing the soul of a monster.

  A monster I once loved.

  And I wouldn’t touch Lina if she were the last woman on earth now, but I would gladly give up my immortality to taste Zahra. Zahra is the lightness to Lina’s darkness. She’s the balance Lina always lacked. That is why Saturn was so surprised by her physical form. Lina has never chosen to look so diminutive, so light, so weak. . .She wants you to know she’s a force to be reckoned with, especially when her dark side comes to the fore. What Lina is up to this reincarnation, I shudder to think about. I hope Mars is not right and we are not walking right into her hand. I bring my attention back to the others when I see Uranus crash out of the room. I blink startled eyes at Mercury and Sun.

  “What the hell just happened?” I ask.

  “We appealed to his rebel side,” Mercury states. I close my eyes, still not fully comprehending their tactics.

  But one thing is for sure: this is going to be a fucking nightmare.

  f

  ZAHRA

  I have an email when I get back to the room.

  It’s from Khal.

  Should I accidentally-on-purpose delete it?

  Too childish?

  Well, this wasn’t
my year to improve my maturity, but I figure I better open it or else. No knowing what Khal might do if his precious email is not acknowledged. So here it is and I have taken the liberty to critique it first for your enjoyment. You’re welcome!

  Zahra (That’s his greeting. . . At least it’s not ‘Ms. Delsol’.),

  Upon speaking after your departure (Why is he so uppity sounding? Is it just the Brit in him? No offense, my British friends!), my fellow business associates (he means fellow douches) and I would like to amend your project. We would like a comparison of all seven charts in regard to our moon and how to find its balance.

  Cordially (Cordially? Super British sounding word. And there is nothing cordial about this man.),

  Khalid

  Ugh, I want to write him back, so he can see what a proper American email looks like, but I have too much to say and spoken word will be quicker. . . time is money and all that. . . also, I’m super lazy.

  (Remember: no judging. We are in this Trust Tree of Truth together, supporting one another in our weakest moments. And bless you, because you obviously have to do a lot of lifting for me. Thanks.)

  I call Mary to see if she can patch me through. It rings for a bit and I wonder if she wasn’t at the office at all today, but she picks up right before I hang up.

  “Hi, Mary. It’s Zahra.”

  “Hello, dear, I missed you this morning! Is your head feeling better?”

  “Much, thanks. I think getting some aspirin into me asap really stemmed it.”

  “Excellent, what can I do for you?”

  “Actually, I was wondering if you could patch me over to Mr. Al-Zahil. I got an email from him and it will just be more convenient to explain myself to him over the phone.”

  “Of course, but the boys are actually out of the office for the day. How about I give you Khal’s personal cell number?”

  Personal number?