by J M Thomas
We’d see how long that lasted.
I’d show them I could delegate and manage as well as design. Nevermind that I’d only ever managed farm work with a slew of brothers. A design team couldn’t be harder than negotiating who was gonna get slop duty this week. Yeah, who am I kidding? But harder or not, this was my deal for now. I had to make the best of it.
Soon, I had project management software set up, the server redesign research meeting put in, the assignments uploaded and detailed, and the contact information of round one’s beta testers under the outreach tab.
Then, the email came in. The lady I’d spoken with earlier, my won’t-you-be-my manager, had been scouring the company for why this poor, misguided intern thought she was managing the NecROMANCE project. The email left me shocked and confused.
“I apologize for any confusion earlier. It appears that I am technically your manager as long as you are undertaking this project. I’ve put you down for once a month updates on the server’s design progress starting next month on the first Monday at 8AM sharp. We will review whether this server has potential to earn the value we’re investing in it at that time.
“As to your reference that there will be a team working under you, I’m afraid you were mistaken. You are currently the only person assigned to this program, and there are no plans to reassign additional personnel to it. We can discuss perhaps assigning one of the new interns to your project if it shows adequate progress between now and our meeting.
“Austin, who sits behind you, will fill you in on anything else you need to know to get started. I believe you’ve already been given all the materials and program access. Best of luck to you. -Shawna Lambert”
Oh, dear God, no. My heart sank to my knees. I looked over the workload I’d been prepared to assign out to five other people, then at Fluffy, then back to the project management software.
The slap of her words and carry-through weight behind them knocked the wind out of me like I’d fallen off a horse. This server hadn’t been reanimated to give me a chance—I’d been thrown in my grave with it.
Now that I’d been asking around, everyone would know poor Celeste’s sad tale of being the whole kit and caboodle on this assignment. That, or it’d be the comedy show of the decade. I was drowning, and there was nowhere to go but up.
The first life preserver for me to grab onto, ironically enough, would have to be talking to some actual necromancers. A little shiver went down my spine, Martin’s comment about them drinking blood like their ancestors ringing in my head.
“Welp, guess I’d better start making calls, then,” I whispered to no one. I wasn’t sure why I was surprised no one whispered back. Resigned to my fate, I called the first number on my list of contacts from the server’s beta mode.
“This line has been discontinued or is no longer in service.”
The second. “The number you have reached is no longer…”
The others were all the same. There were no addresses, only names, numbers, and their public profile information from the archive.
Resigned and determined, I braved my screen. It stared back at me, an unfeeling and dead-eyed window through which I could almost reach and grab onto significance. Almost.
By lunchtime, I had the sinking feeling I’d be asking every person I met the question, “have you ever met a necromancer” for the next fifteen years of my not-career. After half of my morning was wasted looking for active accounts or social media presence for the beta clients, and finding crickets, I determined this pitiful list was going to be all but useless.
These people were as good as ghosts. No wonder they struggled to connect with life partners; I was giving it my darndest and couldn’t even find them.
As soon as my bank account dinged with the merry notification that I had actual money, at least for now, I headed to the cafeteria. I hoped for some opportunity to talk to people and get some traction on the thoughts that wouldn’t stop racing through my mind. Despite everyone tittering amongst their groups about the vast and varied implications of Taco Tuesday, I found a five-foot circle around me forming everywhere I stepped.
Only when the other tables filled up did anyone ask to sit at mine, three guys from my department I hadn’t met yet. Austin Who Sits Behind You, which I decided was going to be my headcanon name for him forever, was the only one whose name I remembered.
They were already engaged in an animated debate about some sporting event I hadn’t seen, so I let the crunching of my taco shell drown them out. Shrugging my sweater higher on my shoulders, I sought refuge in the protective barrier between me, the fabric, and the world of normal people who were actually happy about their jobs.
The beat of my molars chomping drowned out the others, who I was sure were busy having fun with their work friends right about now. If I couldn’t have a team to help me, then I didn’t want to play third wheel to everyone else relaxing with their teams. I might crush their vibe.
Every time I swallowed, snippets of debate about which team had the ugliest cheerleaders, complete with physical attributes and pantomimes, gave me a newfound appreciation for how loud the taco crunched in my ears. I thanked my lucky stars for slightly-overcooked corn tortillas, and not just because it was something to eat.
I’d nearly finished my lunch when one guy seemed to join the real world and realized I was still sitting there. “Oh, Celeste, right?”
I nodded, chewing faster so I wouldn’t be forced to reply with a mouth full of food. “Mhmm.”
“I’m Darrel. Did they really give you lead on the NecROMANCE server?”
“Yeah, whoever they are, sure did.” I swallowed my last bite of taco, feeling like my shielding from the cheerleader talk was down. It didn’t leave a great taste in my mouth, but I was eager to string more than two words together. “Now, I just have to find somebody with necromancer contacts so I can interview them. Like those are just lying around everywhere.” I gave a weak smile, hoping it’d come across as good humor more than utter desperation.
He got an odd glint in his eye as he leaned toward me and whispered, “I might know a guy.”
With a start, I locked eyes with Darrel across from me. He seemed so… average, like a used car salesman in an asphalt ocean swarming with them. Not like the kind of guy I’d picture as having connections to the dark side of the magical underworld.
Right now, he held a life preserver out, and I couldn’t care less how unlikely-looking the lifeguard. “I’d love to meet your connection!” I leaned my elbows on the table. “Who is it? Do you have a number?”
Darrel let out a chuckle, his pitted cheeks coloring a little. “I’ll see if he can come by the office Monday. You and I can get some coffee after.”
I froze in my seat when I realized this favor came with the expectation of immediate reprisal. I considered my options with lightning speed. How far away can I make this coffee date? I literally just got my paycheck!
“Um, sure. We can get coffee over lunch break next Friday, if you like.” Why did I say yes? I could have said no. Why didn’t I say no? Why am I not saying no right now? I just got out of debt, dagnabbit!
“Perfect!” Darrel grinned as the other two made themselves scarce, not even breaking their conversation as they headed out. “We can walk to the little shop at the corner.”
“Yeah, they have a good iced peppermint… thing.” Or so I’d heard. I’d barely had five bucks to spend on lunch most days, much less drinks. I fumbled with my tray, collecting my things and ducking my head to avoid eye contact. As I slid my chair back, I scanned the cafeteria for the path of least resistance to escape.
Darrel reached across the gap I’d put between us and patted me awkwardly on the back, one arm extended as he went in for a side hug. Why is he hugging me? What on this planet did I do that gave off cuddle vibes to this guy I just met?
Against my inner screaming, I let him. More accurately, my mind refused to let me escape, shutting down my legs and arms. His cologne-scented nervous sweat envel
oped me.
It clung on as he squeezed my shoulders. It’s bad enough when people wear too much cologne from a distance, but this was unbearable. I suppressed a cough to expel the scent from my lungs and forced a half-smile.
I kept my eyes on the floor until I deposited my tray and trash, then speed-walked toward the elevator. Now my feet worked. Now I thought of ways I could’ve twisted free. Now I had half a dozen paths I could travel besides the one I’d taken. Now that my shirtsleeve smelled like Darrel’s left armpit.
In the sudden rush of thoughts, I nearly crashed into the manager who’d interviewed me for this position. “How’s the project going?” he asked congenially, as if completely unaware that I’d been rushing to dodge past him half a second ago.
I searched my memory for his name and drew a total blank in my panic. Come on, Celeste, it’s Hispanic. What is his dang name? “Just trying my best to track down some necromancers to gather data from!” I forced a smile, already hating how many times I’d had to do that in the last few days.
He seemed distracted and interested all at once. “Patrice gave you where to find hers, yes?”
Wait, what? I shook my head. “Her… necromancers?”
“Shoot her an email.” He was already walking off as he said the words, hand extended to wave at someone he must’ve been preparing to meet with. I wasn’t bothered that he didn’t send me off with a well-wish.
If he’d truly wished me well, he’d have found a spot for me on some other team, as a junior designer with someone to mentor me and point me in the right direction. Mr. Ortiz, that was his name. Of course, after it did me no good to recall it.
Reviving a dead server was a job for someone with decades of experience. Or maybe they could’ve given it to someone who’d made a bad move and needed to be taught a lesson so they’d earn acceptance into the fold again. It wasn’t a job for a graduating intern with more experience managing the filing system than actual dating service design.
I bit my lip and headed back to my desk, fuming with the injustice of it all. Get your dream job, they said. It’ll be great, they said. So fulfilling. So meaningful. If every single favor in this place comes at the cost of dating an awkward coworker, they’d at least better be buying.
Chapter 3 – Perched On
After a weekend spent working from my laptop, perched on cafe stools at every single coffee shop that had free wifi, I was ready to be in the relative quiet of the open-concept office again. The brooding clouds that’d obscured the sunrise this morning reflected my mood perfectly. Normally, I loved changes in the weather. But I’d had enough storms in my life already this past week.
I’d managed very little besides hair-yanking frustration, except that I did confirm one thing. None of these necromancers I was supposed to interview had any contact information at all to be found. Anywhere. They were completely severed from my reach.
My last two traceable leads were: Patrice’s I-know-a-guy, who apparently worked at the homicide morgue and was a member of the official Wachenta Necromancer’s Guild. Then there was Darrel’s I-know-a-guy, who I knew even less about, but who might show up at some point, if ever.
But morgues had phones. Who knew? I was sure the employees at the morgue had lively conversations in their cold rooms on their morgue phones.
I’d managed to set up a brief window of opportunity where I could go get creeped out and hopefully learn something. So long as I didn’t die of fright, it’d be a grand story to tell later.
What did you do this week? Oh, interviewed a necromancer at a morgue. Good watercooler material. I would be the most popular woman at HarmonE with lines like that.
I steeled myself and made the call, trying my best not to let my voice quiver. Doctor McGrady sounded cold and brusque on the phone, so my chances weren’t looking great. He reluctantly consented to be interviewed, so long as I “kept it brief.” Yup, fine. I’d gladly take what I could get.
That left the expensive contact, who’d better be worth the awkward coffee date I’d reluctantly agreed to undergo in order to chat with him. How does one even start a conversation with a necromancer, anyway? Good morning? Salutations? Oh god, I hope not.
I was busy compiling my questionnaire for Dr. McGrady’s interview when my office line rang.
It was Darrel. “Hey, uh, my buddy came by, if you wanna stop over at my desk.”
“Sure, I’ll be right there!” I snatched my headset off, already up out of my chair before I managed to get untangled from the cord. As soon as I got myself collected again, I took off for the finance desk cluster.
As I rounded the corner, I skidded to a halt.
The security guard keeping watch by the door stood on the balls of his feet. His arms were crossed high over his chest, his body language giving the impression he anticipated a threat to life and limb.
Warned by his posture, I approached Darrel’s desk with cautious, hesitant steps. Someone was talking to Darrel in hushed tones, their tension carrying farther than their words. This must be who the guard was ready to escort from the building by force, if necessary.
Sharp anger and betrayal gutted me. Darrel didn’t have his buddy here; he was setting me up! I wasn’t sure whether to just walk away right then and there, or...
My feet moved toward Darrel’s desk on auto-pilot, curiosity tugging at me even as my rational mind vied for escape. As I drew closer, the thin divider no longer concealed who Darrel was talking to.
The man’s fists rested knuckles-first on the stacks of paper covering the desk. Veins bulged over the muscles in the man’s neck where it showed above the collar of his thick leather motorcycle jacket.
Darrel, who was on the receiving end of a hissed tirade, gave the guard a “stand down,” wave. The vigilant security worker only raised an eyebrow and re-crossed his arms, never turning his eyes away from the perceived threat for a second.
Slowly, I worked my way around the cubicle to get a better look. As if sensing my presence, the figure I’d only caught partial glimpses of straightened to his full height and took a heavy step back from the desk, thrusting his hands into his pockets with an unmistakable glare aimed right at Darrel.
If ever someone didn’t belong in an office cubicle, it was this guy. He was only about five foot nine, but his black motorcycle boots added a good inch and a half to his presence. The thickness of his brown hair on top of that added another inch or two. It still didn’t exactly make for an imposing height, but his broad shoulders, solid build, and jacket gave me the impression that I wouldn’t want to cross this guy, ever.
From the bug-eyed look on Darrel’s face, he had crossed the man and was regretting it. He caught sight of me and waved at me to come on over.
I returned a helpless wave of one hand, standing frozen on the spot. I am the worst possible person to talk this guy down! I’m five-foot-three for crying out loud! I’ll get my skull crushed if I screw this up!
Darrel beckoned again, this time rising from his beaten cower to introduce the man somehow still managing to look like he was standing over Darell. “Celeste, this is Aeron Lyons. My… contact.” He blushed a little, as if suddenly realizing this was a bad idea. “He’ll show you where you can find some necromancers to talk to.”
At the word “necromancer,” Aeron’s shoulders tensed. He stared down at me, his hooded eyes narrow and evaluating. One cheek twitched right at a nasty-looking scar.
“Pleased to meet you, Mister Lyons.” My voice was quiet and cool as I shook his begrudgingly outstretched hand. It was rough, callused, and tattooed on the palm where his hand extended from beneath his jacket sleeve. The strange geometrics of the vaguely-familiar circular tattoo on his palm seemed oddly raised from his skin, rather than set into it.
Aeron quickly retracted his hand, then spoke in a jagged London accent. “Best be gettin’ on wiv it, then. Meet me at hospital ER entrance in twenty minutes.”
Oh no you don’t, creeper. I swallowed hard against the “yes” that threatened to escape my
throat and ruin my plans. “I have an appointment already, but maybe I can meet you there in an hour and a half?”
He gave me a withering look that had a dare in it, like he was testing to see if I’d back down on my own. In my periphery, Darrel looked like he was one sneeze away from wetting himself with fear.
I met Aeron’s gaze, cocking my head to the side. I offered him nothing but an amiable smile and my card. “You’ll find my contact information on the back.”
With a little huff and a twitch of his scar-slashed cheek, Aeron marched from the room, boots thudding as he showed himself out. The security guard followed far enough behind so as not to provoke, but close enough there was no mistake Aeron was being escorted to the door.
Darrel’s shirt was dark under his arms and at the collar from his sweat when I turned back to frown at him. “That’s your ‘I know a guy’?” I whispered accusingly.
He showed me the same awkward hovering he’d given Aeron. “It’s not what you…”
“Don’t you dare tell me what I think it is.” I crossed my arms, muttering under my breath as I stormed out of the other end of the office and toward my car. I can tell you what it sure as heck looks like, though. Jerk. You took advantage, and I fell for it.
The cool breeze etching its way through the parking garage brought with it the scents of exhaust, oil, concrete, and rebar. Despite being tangy to inhale, it cooled my hot cheeks nicely, and I calmed almost immediately.
After a moment to think, I bet it’d been a prank. I’d never see the random ruffian again, which would surely absolve me of my obligation to buy Darrel coffee. The guys were probably having a good laugh over this little hazing, my initiation made all too easy by my predicament.
Whether it turned out to be office hazing or not, I’d be able to shake it off a little better if I chose to assume it was. Haha, nice one. One point to you. I’ll have to get some jello and put your staplers in it or something later.
