CHAPTER ONE
When I was born, the nurse didn't say "it's a girl!"—or even "congratulations!"
She said: "Where the hell is the birthmark?"
For more than a century, the women in my family have been born with a crescent-shaped birthmark—linked to a whole host of supernatural powers. Aunt Melly has one on her nose, and she can smell demons. Mom has one on her right hand, and she can shoot poison darts out of it. My sister Keeva (damn her) has one on her foot—and can fly.
Me?
I can wiggle my ears. That's about it. And so, I took an ordinary job as a programmer at a small company.
"Kira. This is unacceptable."
My boss, Jerry Funst, slapped his hand against my cubicle wall. He frowned at me, gray eyebrows furrowed, and he looked very much like a toad.
"What's... what's unacceptable about it?" I asked, pulling my hands away from the keyboard.
"The client wanted a spell that would write, in purple flames, Happy Birthday, Ashley! What part of that did you not understand? Get up. Look at what you did."
He motioned at Katerina, who stood on the testing floor. "Natalis!" Blue sparks flew from her hands, and then the letters HAPPY BIRTHDAY ASSLEY appeared in the air. In puke-green glitter.
"I'm so sorry, I must've made a mistake. Just a simple bug... uh..."
"Did you even test the code on the simulator before sending it down to the mages?!"
Crap. I'd forgotten. Three days ago, my boyfriend of a year—Adam Tsang—dumped me. Since then, I'd been running on four hours of sleep a night. My brain was not in the best shape.
"I'm so sorry. I forgot. I'll fix it right now."
"Good. You know, I could let you go for this. But I won't, because I'm not awful like that."
I forced a smile, and made myself say: "Thank you so much, Jerry."
He left.
But then Katerina stepped forward. Stupid Katerina, with her perfect blonde hair, perfect petite figure, and perfect smile of magically-white teeth. "Kira," she said, in a soft voice that had an undercurrent of rage, "you have to test the code first. You're risking our lives, here. What if your error made the fire shoot at our faces? Or cut off our air supply? You could really hurt one of us."
"But the resource pack we use only includes heat-less flames, glitter, and—"
She shook her head. "It's not about the risk, Kira. It's about the respect." I frowned at her. "We're wielders of magic. Sculptors of the elements. We can't waste time trying spells that don't work because you forgot to test them, okay?"
I watched her walk away, a heavy weight settling in my chest.
Then I turned back to my computer and got to work.
After three hours of grueling coding, I packed up my things and left for the day. I glanced back at the building, hatred bubbling in my chest. Spells for Any Occasion! the cheerful pink sign read. We'll make your DREAMS come true.
It boggled my mind that they used magical resources for dressing up birthdays instead of hunting monsters.
It boggled my mind even more that they paid their mages $50 an hour—and their programmers $15.
I walked out onto the sidewalk, pulling my hand-knit scarf tighter around me. Between the massive skyscrapers on either side of the street, a strip of sky came into view. The sun had slipped below the swamp, and brilliant orange reflected across the windows.
Then I was at my apartment building. A '60s monstrosity of stained brick and tiny windows. I walked in, grabbed my mail, and headed up to the third floor. As I walked down the hallway, I heard the usual sounds. Henrietta and George arguing, their voices barely muffled through the paper-thin walls. “Where the hell did you put the remote?!” “I didn’t touch it!” “Liar!”
I stuck my key into the door. Click. I walked inside.
Ah. My lovely apartment. The ever-present fragrance of must and rotten food. The fist-sized holes in the wall, from the last tenant.
Home sweet home.
I stepped in, my foot crunching down on a stray peppermint candy. I picked it up, set it on the table, and then walked into the kitchen. Dammit—I'd left out no less than three half-eaten bowls of cereal. The ants had found one of them, and they had greedily set to climbing up the bowl, stealing all they could.
I filled a pot with water and set it to boil for my usual dinner: pasta. Cheap, delicious, keto-unfriendly pasta. Grabbing my mail, I walked onto the balcony, plopped into the plastic chair, and admired the view of the brick wall.
At least Priscilla's potted plants looked nice, next door.
"Okay. Let's see what we have here." I riffled through the mail. Collections agency, electric bill, and some good-ol' paper spam. A coupon booklet for some home improvement place (yeah right), an advertisement for a steakhouse, and—
A letter from the National Institute for Monster Prevention?
I turned it over in my hands. It looked official, all right—it bore the logo of the phoenix and the dragon, and my name was typed in crimson lettering. (Yes, it was my name, not my sister's. I checked. Three times.)
I slid my fingernail into it; the envelope made a delightful ripping sound. A crisp sheet of paper fell into my lap.
I carefully unfolded it.
Dear Ms. Kira Steele,
I hope this letter finds you well.
I am writing to inform you that a new position has opened up here at the Moorshire chapter of the National Institute for Monster Prevention (NIMP). Many Steele women have worked for us. They have been some of the best Hunters we have ever known.
I would be absolutely thrilled if you would come to our facilities for an interview. You can reach me by phone or e-mail.
The position that has opened is Associate Monster Hunter. The salary is $125,000, plus a bonus and a company car.
Regards,
Thomas Jackson
Head Hunter
I stared at the letter. What? They must've made a mistake. I had no magic, no powers, no Hunting abilities whatsoever.
Then again... one-hundred-twenty-five thousand dollars...
I smoothed the paper back out against my lap, then cradled it in my arms as if it were a newborn baby. I could get out of this stinky, awful apartment. Tell Jerry to shove it. Buy that merino yarn I always wanted. And eat something other than pasta every night.
They'd almost certainly find out I wasn't a Hunter.
But it was definitely worth a shot.
CHAPTER TWO
The day of the interview, I woke up at 6:15 AM.
"Hey Jerry," I said into his voicemail, faking a cough. "I'm feeling really sick. Yeah, I'm not going to make it into work today. I'm so sorry."
Not.
I hung up the phone, pulled on my best clothes, and ate a luxurious breakfast of scrambled eggs.
It was a chilly October day. As I walked out to the car, leaves skittered across the road, scraping across the asphalt. I pulled the purple knit scarf tighter around my neck.
This isn't just about the money, I thought, as the engine sputtered beneath me. Even though that's, like... 90% of it.
This is about proving myself.
It wasn't only the snobby mages and witches at Spells that gave me trouble. It was my own family. For the entire twenty-three years of my existence.
It didn't matter that I graduated with a double-major in computer science and biology. It didn't matter that I could find security breaches in even the best software systems, or name every magical invertebrate in existence.
All that mattered was that I had no magic.
Mom was devastated when she realized I couldn't be a Hunter. First, she was in denial, and enrolled me in every magic program east of the Mississippi. None of them worked. Magic Camp—while the other teenagers killed mosquitos w
ith their eyes, I knitted a misshapen scarf. Super Powers: Learning through Practice—while the other kids flew above the trees and shot at Squirdlings, I just lay there, knitting socks. You're Magical!—that's the only one I didn't fail at. But that's just because it was about the metaphorical "magic" of being kind to other people, and my mom didn't get it.
After a few missed turns and red lights, the GPS announced: "You have arrived at your destination."
I looked up. I was in the city, all right—but not a very good part of it. There were no skyscrapers, no palatial buildings. On the right side of the street lay a row of brownstones. Several people stood on the sidewalk, smoking cigarettes. One threw a butt into the gutter and laughed.
I glanced at my phone. You have arrived at 1406 Massachusetts Ave. NIMP was here, somewhere.
I turned to the left side of the street. There was a tall building with a few businesses on the ground floor: MICHEL'S SALON, DISCOUNT SOUVENIRS, BUBBLES LAUNDROMAT. The first two were closed. The laundromat, however, was open.
After spending ten minutes parallel parking, I got out of the car and walked to the laundromat. Amber light shone out of the windows, contrasting sharply with the gray morning.
Chh-chhng.
The bells jangled overhead as I opened the door. The smell of flowery detergent rolled over me, and I began to cough.
The place was in terrible shape. Washers and dryers lined the walls, paint flaking, corroded with rust. One had a suspiciously fist-shaped dent in the center. At the back, a dingy little door sat, marked EMPLOYEES ONLY.
"Can I help you?" a nasal voice asked.
I turned around. A middle-aged woman sat at the counter, wearing a green vest with a nametag that read Ling.
"Do you know where I can find the, um—" I lowered my voice to a whisper— "National Institute for Monster Prevention?"
Her painted-on eyebrows shot up. So high, they resembled little birds, ready to take flight. "Who wants to know?"
"Uh, Kira. Kira Steele."
"Ah! Yes. This is it—you're here."
"What? I'm... here?"
"Sshh! Keep your voice down!" She took off her glasses and leaned in close. "Can I see ID?"
I fumbled in my purse, through layers of used tissues and petrified Sour Patch kids. "Here."
Her eyes flicked back and forth, from the license to my face. "Great," she said, handing it back. "Okay, so. NIMP is right above us. You just need to go through the secret entrance."
"Okay. Where is it?"
"Second dryer on the left."
I stared at her.
"Well, come on! They're not going to wait all day." She leaned over the counter and pointed to one of the dryers in the center aisle. "What, do I have to climb over there and throw you in?"
"You're saying I have to... get in... the dryer?"
She nodded.
Maybe I got the address wrong. Maybe this woman is just some nutcase in the laundromat, and doesn't even know what NIMP is. But I took a deep breath, walked over to the second dryer on the left, and stood in front of it.
It looked like a regular dryer. A white, dented exterior. All the regular knobs and dials. With a clang, I swung the lid open and peered inside. But all I saw was dull metal, clumps of lint, and an abandoned pink thong.
"Well, come on, now. Get in."
Ling's voice came from behind me.
"But it looks like an ordinary dryer."
"That's because it's cloaked with enchantments. Come on, now. Feet first."
"Okay."
I'm not even sure I can do this. I clutched the top of the machine and lifted my left leg. Slowly, carefully, I lowered it into the depths of the dryer. I swung my other leg up and pulled myself in, the sharp metal rim biting into my back. I pulled my shoulder—
Chhh-chh-chh!
The entire laundromat rumbled. This is it! I braced myself against the cold metal of the dryer, waiting, waiting –
Ding!
I opened my eyes.
I was still waist-deep in the dryer. The laundromat was still there. The rumbling was coming from the far wall.
From the EMPLOYEES ONLY door.
It swung open. A tall, pale man wearing all black stepped out. As soon as his eyes fell on us, he groaned. "Oh, no, Ling. This, again?"
The woman behind me burst into a fit of laughter. "I'm sorry, Gavin—it's just so funny."
"It's not funny," he said, rolling his eyes. "It's immature. And humiliating." He motioned to me, still sticking halfway out of the dryer. "You can get out of there, now. The real entrance is back there."
Ling made her way back behind the counter, still giggling.
"Kira, right? I'm Gavin."
When my eyes met his, my heart fluttered a little. Dark brown hair contrasted sharply with pale skin. Brilliant, green eyes twinkled in the dim light. His long, straight nose led to a playful mouth, a strong jaw, and a pointed chin.
But he didn't offer to help me out of the dryer.
Instead, he walked over to the employees-only door, and said: "Shall we go, then?"
I tried to pull myself out of the dryer—and promptly fell on the floor.
He pressed his ID badge to the reader next to the door, and the lock clicked open. I followed him through it—into a hallway, with an elevator at the end.
We stepped into it. The doors whooshed behind us. The laundromat and its cloying smell disappeared.
"Sorry about Ling," he said, glancing over at me. "She plays that prank on everyone." He spoke softly, with a British accent. Just listening to his voice was calming my nerves about the interview.
"It's okay. It's not the first time I've climbed into a dryer, if you believe it."
He laughed. "Oh?"
"Yeah. As a kid, I was given a lot of the dirty work, since I—" I stopped myself. Since I wasn't magic, and it was the only way I could make myself useful. "Since I was good with machines."
"That’ll be useful. Everything's breaking around here."
I raised an eyebrow at him. "Doesn't NIMP have a huge government grant?"
"Yes, but we have to pay all your salaries. And some of you... make quite a bit of change. Not much left after that to fix the coffee machine."
Ding!
The doors rolled apart with a faint grinding sound.
"After you, Kira."
I stepped out onto the floor.
It was beautiful. High, vaulted ceilings of glass that let in the sun. White walls that neatly constructed spacious offices. In the center stood a fountain—a woman, intricately carved in the stone, holding a jug. Water flowed from it in a way that defied physics, swirling and twisting in the air before plopping into the main pool.
"How the heck is the water doing that?!"
"Enchanted by nymphs." He ducked into the office next to the fountain and motioned for me to follow.
A short man, sporting a gray goatee, reached out to shake my hand. "You must be Kira! Please, have a seat. My name is Thomas Jackson, and I'm head of the Hunting division."
Okay. I prepared myself for this. I forced a smile and sat down. He’s going to ask me questions about my abilities. I'll just reply, it's personal. I mean, that makes sense, right? For all he knows, my ability could be shooting poison darts out of my—
"So, Kira," Thomas said, shuffling the papers on his desk. "I just have one question for you."
I pulled at my fingers underneath the desk. Okay, brace yourself...
"When can you start?"
"What?"
"Everyone knows what amazing Hunters you Steele women are. We're surprised that you haven't already been snatched up! I mean, private contractors offer like triple what we pay, so..." He shook his head. "Nope. I shouldn't have said that. Now you're going to look into private contractors." He scratched his head nervously, bit his lip.
I suddenly noticed how tired he looked. Deep circles fell under his eyes, and his chocolate-toned skin shimmered under the fluorescent lights with sweat. It must be a hard job, managing this en
tire branch of NIMP.
"Do you have any questions for me?"
I shook my head.
"Great, great, because I really need to deal with the situation on Floor 5." He looked at Gavin and muttered, pointedly, "We've got a code 42." He got up, then drummed his fingers on the desk. "So, when can you start? Today?"
"Uh... I guess so?"
"Perfect! Gavin, here, will show you around, get you up to speed—and test your skills, of course. We want to see what you can do!"
Dammit.
As soon as Thomas left the room, Gavin stood up. "Meet me on the third floor. Room 4, fifteen minutes. I’ve got to check out this, er, code 42."
He rushed out into the hallway, after Thomas.
***
The third floor was very different from the eighth.
When the elevator doors opened, there were no statues, no high ceilings, no beauty. Just a long corridor, extending to a far wall decorated with modern art. The air was musty, almost damp, and various muffled sounds came through the doors. Grunts, yells, thumps... and sounds that didn't seem quite human.
I stood in front of room 4 for a minute, staring at the ugly beige door. He's going to know. Immediately.
Oh, well. Easy come, easy go.
I took a deep breath and opened the door.
The room was immense. Mirrors covered one wall. Padding stretched out over the floor. A untidy heap of equipment sat in the corner—boxing gloves, shields, capped daggers.
Gavin stood in the center, wearing a black tank and gray shorts. My eyes skimmed his body—while not that muscular, he had an attractive build. Broad shoulders, long legs.
"Here's what we're going to do. I'll let out a Squirdling, and you’ll defend yourself—without hurting it, of course. From there, I'll start logging your abilities and moves, give you some pointers, and then we'll apply it in the field."
"Wait, Gavin—"
He touched a button on the far wall. With a mechanical groan, one of the mirrored panels lifted into the wall.
Out stomped a Squirdling.
I froze.
I'd seen Squirdlings before—at that stupid magic program. But those must have been baby ones, because they were much smaller (and cuter) than this hideous beast.
No Magic, No Problem Page 1
