Borage

by Gill McKnight

  “Who was that?” Astral asked in awe. “She looks like a supermodel.” She had never felt so dumpy in her life, and she’d had many dumpy moments.

  “That was Iraldine. She’s the office princess.” Ping made a face. “She only talks to people she feels are of consequence. Note how invisible we were.”

  “Oh.” So, there were divisions in the seemingly perfect office, after all.

  “She heads up Reconciliations. They’re all kinds of uppity on that team. Think they’re something special. Come on, let’s get you started.”

  Ping led her back to the general office, coffee cup in one hand and a plate of fudge melts in the other. The gossiping session was clearly over and Astral fell into step beside her.

  “I’ll get your login details and leave you to get on with it,” Ping said. “Fergal will take you on the office tour when he gets back.”

  Astral nodded, grateful. She’d prefer to get settled into her cosy corner and spend the rest of the morning observing her new work colleagues. Someone was bound to stand out as critter-like, and already there were so many possibilities. Once she made a positive identification, she could report back to the coven and simply disappear.

  “Are there any other new starts?” she asked, hoping Ping would say, “Yeah, that weird guy over there. I think he’s real odd, the way he mooches around suspiciously.”

  Instead, she said, “Nope. Just you, so far. We all came down from London together. Most of us have relocated and the rest preferred to commute.”

  Not what she’d hoped for. But, then again, the critter could be casting the same illusionary spells as her coven, making it look as if it belonged here. Astral sighed. Why was this so difficult? An unsuspecting critter should be an easy thing to find. A well-prepared one would be a bitch.

  On cue, Abby Black left her office for the kitchen. Astral caught her in her peripheral vision. It made her curiously glum. If the critter wasn’t as obvious a guess as Abby Black, would she ever find it?

  Ping gave her a work pass and showed her how to sign on to the Black and Blacker computer system and left her to it with a happy little wave and a promise to pop by later and see how she was getting on. At least Ping seemed kind and friendly, and she made her first morning go well on the work front.

  Logged on, and with heaps to read for Fergal, Astral relaxed into her chair and began her day’s work proper. Online, she ran her eye over the company breakdown of in-house departments, teams, and team leaders. No one looked exceptionally crittery. She checked the emergency evacuation procedures for when the Cuckoo spell went splat, though she’d rather be long gone before that happened. After she finished her coffee and wandered through the “Welcome to Black and Blacker” online package, she decided to turn her attention to the paperwork Fergal had left her. It was a simple enough cross-referencing job and she was soon lost in it, finding a degree of comfort in contract clauses. In these, the world was orderly and organized, and she appreciated that, especially in a situation like this, where some terrible critter was afoot, draining coven funds.

  Since her desk was close to the elevators and near a long console table that held a large vase of fresh flowers and the office mail tray, various staff came by throughout the morning to collect or deposit mail. They made a point to introduce themselves and thank her for the pastries in the kitchen, demonstrating a decorous office culture, since she hadn’t put a sign out or anything saying who had left them. Ping had probably let them know and word got around. Regardless, it was a lovely, welcoming gesture, and she greatly appreciated it. The only exception was Iraldine, who glided by without a glance, though Astral was unsurprised after her earlier attitude and ignored her, too.

  She read through another contract, and for the most part, they were straightforward enough, except for a few small details that frankly eluded her. No amount of wading through the small print brought any insight. She decided instead to jot down a few questions for later. It was while scribbling in her notebook that she became aware of Iraldine, eyeing her from the mail stack.

  She looked over and Iraldine swiftly stared back at the mail in her hand, but not before Astral had caught the sneer that marred her beautiful face. Iraldine had clearly been studying her, and probably come to some unflattering conclusions based on her clothes, handbag, shoes, and hair. The rancour on her face made Astral feel as fetching as a discarded tissue. Iraldine’s churlishness caught her off guard and a void of self-deprecation opened. Luckily, the affirmations Grandma Lettice taught her years ago came rushing to fill it. Astral could combat feeling like this.

  I am loved. I am unique. I am important. I am the centre of my living world and my soul shall always be guided towards light, truth, and joy. So mote it be. Then, Crap! Was that a spell? Did she just do a spell? Did grandma teach her magic or was that just an affirmation? Shit. She wasn’t supposed to do magic because a critter could easily sniff it out.

  She glanced around surreptitiously. Nothing seemed to have changed and no one was paying her any extra attention. Iraldine wafted off on her ethereal breeze, envelopes in her hand, disinterested in everything and everybody but herself. Had she tricked her into doing magic? Astral rested her head in her hands, trying to collect her wits. Of course not. Iraldine was a bitch and nothing more. Or was she the critter? Could it be that obvious?

  “I’m going mad,” she muttered and logged off. “I knew it would happen.”

  “Talking to yourself already, are ye?” Fergal appeared at her shoulder. “This place can do that to an orderly mind.” He cast an eye at the documents open on her desk and seemed pleased.

  “Oh, I have some questions.” Astral grabbed for her notebook and the satisfied look slid off his face.

  He opened his mouth to answer but was cut off by a crash followed by a roar of, “Get out and don’t come back until you can talk some sense!”

  Abby Black’s office door burst open and a flustered, weasley-looking man in a sharp business suit practically fell out into the corridor. He gathered himself quickly, clearing his throat and checking the knot of his tie as he trotted for the elevators.

  The outer office went deadly quiet as each and every head ducked towards a computer monitor and focussed straight ahead. Astral blinked at Fergal, who watched the man hightail it off the floor. He caught her eye and shrugged.

  “That’s Snide. One of Ms Blacker’s minions. They feck everything up all the time. Sure, Abby can’t stand them.”

  The hush on the floor prevailed and the temperature seemed to drop by degrees. Was Abby Black’s temper that bad that she could terrify an entire office floor with one tantrum? Astral was stunned. Never mind the critter. Her new boss was frightening.

  Unaffected by the drama, Fergal inadvertently proposed the ideal distraction. “Maybe it’s time to meet the rest of the gang. That’ll liven you up.”

  He led her on a tour of the office. Iraldine was with her Reconciliations team, a collection of tall and impossibly elegant women who looked as if they worked for a fashion magazine rather than a finance house. Astral had the impression Iraldine handpicked her staff and sent a silent blessing she wasn’t temping for her. Iraldine may have been beautiful, but it was literally skin deep, because from the epidermis down, she was a truly ugly person.

  The Reconciliations team followed Iraldine’s lead and barely glanced Astral’s way on introduction. Every last one of them was rude and aloof, and in Astral’s opinion the only sour note in the office, after Abby Black’s moods.

  All the other teams, though busy, took time out to welcome her with courtesy and genuine friendliness. The Data Analysis team confessed to eating more than the lion’s share of her baked goods and begged to swap recipes. They were a team of jolly middle-aged women and exactly the kind of gossipy crowd Astral hoped would help with her search.

  The Dividends team consisted of more Irishmen, all lively and jocular, and judging from their banter, missing Fergal, who had been their team lead until he’d been promoted to Compliance. They we
re teasing and funny and Astral left in a fit of giggles.

  “It’s the back-end people down here on the coast,” Fergal explained, as they walked back to their little Compliance island. “The trading teams and marketing folks, and anyone client-facing are still up in London.” He paused to check his pocket watch. “Would ye look at that. Lunchtime,” he declared, surprising Astral, who thought it a little early. “Me and the boys always go over to The Beaten Docket.” He looked at her sheepishly. “It’s the pub over the road.”

  “Oh,” she said, realising this might be an awkward invitation for her to join them. “I brought in a packed lunch today. Perhaps another time?” She sugared her words with a charming smile.

  “Grand, then.” He looked relieved, proving the invite had been more about good manners than a genuine wish for her company. Astral didn’t mind at all. She had her own lunchtime agenda and she needed time to unwind from critter-hunting duties. She had the perfect place in mind—a small park near the office.

  Fergal shrugged on his coat in seconds flat. “Okey-dokey. See you in an hour or so.” He was out the door before the corners of her charming smile could relax.

  *

  Lunch break was quick. City pigeons turned out to be thugs. Astral was lucky to escape with her hair still on her head. The Hitchcockian retreat brought her back to work earlier than she’d wished but better that than histoplasmosis, or whatever diseases pigeons carried.

  She hung up her coat, cast an eye around the almost empty office, and decided to get stuck again in the pile of contracts, since it was the only way to make time fly.

  “Hello there.” Fergal bustled in much, much later, and Astral had to force herself not to look at the clock above the console table. His lunch had lasted over two hours and she could smell the beer from her desk.

  “Have a nice lunch?” he asked, and slumped into his chair.

  “Yes, thank you,” she answered, determined to never go for lunch with him and the boys. As a temp, she’d be out on the street in seconds flat if she took a lunch break that long. She reached for her notebook of questions. “I read the documents and I need—”

  “Oops, late for another meeting.” Fergal lurched to his feet and wheeled away.

  Astral, puzzled, watched him wobble off. She eyed the open notebook with dissatisfaction because her list of questions was growing longer. With an annoyed tut, she slid open the top desk drawer, the one that held her pens and highlighters. Her eyes popped in their sockets.

  The drawer was squashed full of cupcakes. Cupcakes! All sizes, all shapes. Creamed ones, sugar-spangled ones, chocolate-sprinkled, double-chipped, frosty-topped, square, round—and as soon as daylight hit them, the sponge began to expand. Astral slammed the drawer shut. A glance around the office confirmed no one paid her any attention. Slowly, she cracked the drawer open an inch to peek inside. Icing oozed out over her fingers. She slammed the drawer shut even harder. An ugly flush raced up her neck, and her brow broke out in a rash of itchy sweat. She could feel her hair frizzing into a tight scrunch all over her head. What on earth was happening? This was magic in a place no magic should be.

  The next drawer down began to rattle.

  Astral stared at it as the rattling grew more violent, and she feared it might actually burst apart. With growing trepidation, she inched it open. Doughnuts. Jam, cream, fruit puree centres, chocolate sprinkles, and powdered sugar. Dozens and dozens and dozens of them. She slid the drawer closed with a controlled, decisive click. Cream shot out of the keyhole and splatted her skirt.

  Astral lunged for the box of tissues and twisted one into the keyhole to block further leakage, then swabbed her skirt. She sat back in her chair, mind spinning. This simply could not be happening.

  The top drawer creaked ominously under the pressure of expanding sponge cake and she frantically rammed her hands against it to stop it from bursting open in a tsunami of cupcakes. Witchcraft. She was surrounded by witchcraft. Except she wasn’t doing it. This was not her magic. On the other side of her desk, the file drawer slowly rolled open. Astral’s heart filled with dread.

  The deep, voluminous drawer was full of cookies. Round, crisp, and golden, piled high like pirate doubloons. They slid, on the verge of overspill. Astral quickly tried to push the drawer closed, but it was heavy, and cheeky enough to push back. It smacked her painfully on the shin. Panicking now, she wheeled back in her chair, brought her foot up, and kicked with all her might. The drawer whacked shut and she lunged for the key. It rattled angrily at its confinement but to no avail, because it was locked tight. Unfortunately, that was the only drawer with a key. The other two began to shake ominously, threatening to burst open at any moment.

  Everyone else in the office carried on with work, regardless of her little drama, making her suspect this was some sort of illusionary magic. Which meant someone was playing with her.

  The top drawer exploded open and a meringue hit her in the forehead before disintegrating all over the carpet. Astral scooped up the remains and dumped it in her bin, her fingers oozy with cream. Her forehead stung from the slap. So much for illusionary magic. These were real pastries, and they were intent on attacking her.

  The doughnut drawer shook viciously, and sugar blew the tissue out of the keyhole and made a small heap under her desk. She sprang to her feet and wedged her chair against the handle, jamming the cupcake drawer back in place. She hotfooted it to the washroom.

  “I am but a simple girl, I am but a simple girl, I am but a simple girl,” she chanted to her reflection in the mirror as she dabbed meringue off her forehead. This was a set-up. It had to be. Her heart was racing. There was no magic coming from her, she was sure of it. She had no magic. Or, rather, what little she had was bound up in a broken wand in the kitchen dresser back home.

  Who would set her up? And why? Magdalene Curdle immediately came to mind. This was a trap. Was she critter bait? Yes, I bloody well am. She glared at her reflection. I’m a hunk of tuna at Sea World. Why was she washing her hands when she should be running from the building?

  “That’s it. I’m outta here.” She’d go back, grab her coat, and—

  “Are you all right, Ms Projector?” Ms Black’s reflection loomed in the mirror.

  Astral’s breath hitched and she turned to face her. “Huh?”

  “You’re standing there muttering to yourself. Is everything okay?”

  The Mindcoddle was not working if Abby Black could see her distress. In the mirror, her hair sat proud on her scalp like a dandelion seed-head. It screamed “Danger” to anyone with eyes to see, except it was far too late.

  “I was just…washing my hands,” she said, trying to pat her hair nonchalantly back into place with damp hands. “I got icing on them.” She held them up to show. They were sparkling clean. She felt stupid.

  Ms Black washed her own hands, all the while watching Astral in the mirror with a dark, unblinking, enigmatic gaze. Astral fluttered over to the wall-mounted hand dryer.

  “You seem to like pastries,” Ms Black said. Her gaze flickered over Astral’s generous curves. It was the slightest of glances but Astral felt the scald of it and blushed. She was a tiny bit self-conscious about her weight, though admittedly inclined to do little about it.

  “I like baking,” she said, a little too defensively. “Every time I start a new job, I bring something in for the team.” She tried to level out her tone but knew she sounded squeaky. A curl sprang from a hair clip and stuck to her brow. She brushed it away, and it sprang right back, bringing a friend. She felt more tendrils sticking at right angles from the nape of her neck. She was in trouble and her hair knew it.

  Ms Black was standing before her now, and Astral was uncertain what to do. The woman towered over her. She was only a couple of feet away, probably deciding the best angle of attack.

  “Most people like cupcakes,” Astral continued with what she hoped was civilised, don’t-hurt-me chatter. Ms Black was looking at her funny. Was she about to lunge? Astral’s hair certainly
thought so.

  “It’s a good way to meet people and make friends.” She was desperate now, stalling for time. If this was the critter, and if it attacked her, she had no magic to defend herself. She wracked her mind for any self-defence videos she’d stumbled across on YouTube and came up blank.

  “Friendly and…nice,” she blathered. Even if she had some magic to throw around, wouldn’t the critter simply suck it up? Suck it right out of her like a milkshake. Suck until she was as hollow as a rotten tree. Was that how it worked? “Cupcakes are nice.”

  Ms Black—the critter?—was staring at her keenly. Assessing her with its soulless black eyes. Maybe critters didn’t suck. Maybe they bit their prey. Maybe they devoured witches whole. “Of course, bread is nice, too. I bake bread. Do you like bread, Ms Black?”

  “I have been known to indulge,” she said, and Astral’s mind reeled with even more confusion because—was that the flicker of a smile at the corners of her mouth?

  “Well, if you’d like, I can bring some in. I really do love making—baking.” Oh, Hecate, could she sound any more ridiculous? “Helps clear the mind, I’ve found. Baking. Not bread.”

  Ms Black raised an eyebrow. “I do appreciate a clear mind, Ms Projector. Are you certain you’re all right?”

  “Um.” No, she most decidedly was not, with a desk full of magic, pushy pastries, and this intimidating woman regarding her like—like what, really? Her hair had, oddly enough, settled and Ms Black somehow wasn’t as intimidating as she might have been at first, but that only confused her.

  The restroom door swung open and Astral nearly dropped with relief, even though it was Iraldine. She paused, as if surprised at seeing her boss and the new start standing so close. Her inquiring gaze grew as cold as it was curious. Astral didn’t care. She welcomed Iraldine in this instant.

  “Um, yes,” she managed to say before she hastily ducked out from between Ms Black and the wall and forced herself not to make a show of lunging for freedom, for living another day. She couldn’t resist a peek over her shoulder, however. Ms Black raised her wet hands to the hand dryer. The hand dryer Astral had been standing in front of…and blocking. Hecate’s hair, Ms Black had just wanted to use the facilities.