Hired Luck

by Mel Todd

  "Officer Stone. At this point if you don't understand what I mean by the words 'walk around' and 'explore' then I can't help you."

  "It's Detective Stone, and you look here, young lady…" I cut him off. It turns out spending five weeks with cops who like you and made sure you understand exactly what the law does and doesn't allow can be extremely useful.

  "No. You have my statement. I have been here for three hours. I've answered every variation of question you could ask. You have my statement about where I bought coffee not an hour before I made the call. You know where I live. So, unless I’m under arrest I am leaving. Now." I gave him a level stare, my hands flat on the table so he couldn't see them tremble. "Am I under arrest?"

  "No," he admitted slowly, glancing up at the clock. "You aren't. But you haven't answered the question about ritual magic."

  "What question about ritual magic? I'm not a mage. You checked with the OMO." I didn't have to even ask to know they had done that. The OMO connected to every law agency. They ran your OMO status just like they ran your license looking for warrants.

  "Technically you don't need to be a mage to do ritual magic. You can use it if you know the forms and how to channel it."

  I'm sure I had a stupid look on my face. I hadn't heard that, and now I wanted to ask more questions. Normal people could do magic? Then the image of the girl flashed in front of me again and I fought a shudder. No. I had no desire to do anything with ritual magic if it required that sort of thing.

  "That may be. However, I had nothing to do with her. I didn't lay her out all presented for her photos. So while you keep wasting time with me, the person behind this is getting farther away."

  I couldn’t get it out of my head: her shirt, flowing yellow with green flowers on the edge, new jeans that were still bright with blue dye, long curly hair that looked like she'd taken time to style it. It had to have been styled or the humidity would have frizzed it out. But mostly it was her face: no make-up, blood dripping from both eyes, the skin peeled to reveal muscle and bone, and a mouth open in a silent scream. The perfect image. I could almost visualize the movie poster it was for, and I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry.

  "What do you mean 'lay her out' for her photo?" His voice sharp as he leaned forward, pinning me with eyes that looked like buckeyes.

  Crap, I said that. I really didn't mean to. At least not out loud.

  I blinked rapidly to get my emotions back under control and let a sigh escape. "Even the cops on the scene would have been able to see how she was laid out. The pine tree's lower branches draping to frame her with no obstructions. She was there to be found and photographed. Do you know why?" That question slipped out and I tensed, waiting for the next attack, but the detective didn't jump on it.

  "What do you know about the symbols used?"

  I blinked at him. "Again, I'm not a mage, so nothing. I wouldn't know the difference between magical symbols, Norse runes, or Tolkein's elvish."

  He glared at me. "This isn't a joke or something out a book."

  "No, but you sure are acting like the stereotypical cop, too stupid to not know the person in front of you is just the red herring to distract the audience while the real bad guy is getting away. Heck, now that I think of it, I can think of at least three episodes on Law and Order: Magical Investigation Unit that had this same story line." He flushed red, which was interesting under his dark skin, and opened his mouth. I spoke first. "So, as I believe you said, I'm not under arrest. Unless you have something to charge me with?"

  He growled, looked at his watch, then back at me. I sensed another stall, but I was done.

  "Are you charging me?"

  "No," the word sounded like I had dragged it out of him.

  "Wonderful. Then I am leaving." I pushed up from the table, turned, and headed towards the door. My hand was wrapped around the handle when he spoke behind me.

  "Don't leave town. We might have more questions."

  "Considering I just moved here, I hadn't planned on it. But if this is the level of professional courtesy I can expect, I might change my mind." I pushed the door open and strode out, amazed that my knees didn't buckle from stress. They made being brave and telling authority to suck it look so easy on TV and in stories. I kept expecting someone to grab me and make me stay, tell me they had evidence linking me to the crime. Or something. Right now, I just wanted away from here and the way it felt like everyone was staring at me.

  I headed out, not waiting for anyone to show me out. My habit of mapping out places as I entered helped, that and the fact that most police stations seemed to have similar layouts. The exit was up ahead and I heard people mutter as I walked through. My temper and frustration were boiling over, and I couldn't help but smirk as one of the coffeepots cracked with a crack of electricity and smoke started rising from it. That got everyone's attention away from me. This time I was just glad for the weird stuff and I headed for the exit.

  The lobby was full of people. No one paid attention to me and that was all that mattered. The clear glass doors from the entry area beckoned me and I felt a spring in my step as escape stood just a short distance away. I pushed the doors to the muggy Atlanta air and stepped out. The wave of thick wet air mixed with exhaust and sewer smells almost made me miss the icy air conditioning and vague stale smoke smell of the station. Almost. I stood there for a moment, getting my bearings. A man approaching from the opposite direction I needed to go caught my attention. He stalked, not walked or strolled, and he focused so intently on the cement sidewalk I expected it to melt as he came my way. I didn't think he was cute or sexy, but he had a face that promised character. Good or bad character I didn't know. Something about him made me think he'd be a formidable enemy.

  He glanced up at me, his eyes focused on my temple, and I waited for the normal dismissal, but this time he frowned at me. His stare was more confused than intense as he kept moving forward. I'd had enough drama for one day. Shaking my head and trying to rid myself of the frustration that coated me like ash, I headed down the steps and down the street in the other direction. I wanted to walk the area around Ruby and prep for the interview tomorrow.

  I dismissed him and the other cops from my mind as I walked. The streets were starting to look familiar and after watching the Atlanta traffic, I was just as glad that I didn't have a car. The drivers were all kamikaze mages, acting like they could survive everything and anything.

  That’s how I spent the rest of the afternoon. The areas I walked through were much creepier than I was used to. In the middle of the day I didn't feel unsafe, just out of place because of my skin color, my gender, and just the fact that I still didn't feel at home here. However, from a few of the glances from the men loitering on the streets I thought maybe a self-defense or a martial arts class for both Jo and me might not be a bad idea. I had no desire to be a victim and not acting like one was the best choice. I could punch decently, Stinky had taught both of us. I knew the best way to stop a guy and how to throw a decent punch, but I had no illusions about my ability to protect myself. Most men weighed double what I did and were stronger.

  I really need to join a gym. Or at least start using the one at our apartment complex.

  I beat Jo home by a whole five minutes. She walked in the door, an odd look on her face. She'd spent the day doing placement tests, seeing where she rated and what classes she needed to get caught up on.

  "Hey. Tests over?" I was still a bit out of sorts from the police station. She glanced up at me and for a moment I thought she would say something. She had a look of something on her face: Worry? Fear? Sorrow? Stress? Then it disappeared and she smiled.

  "Meh, tests. They always suck. I mean really, who remembers who shot who to start World War Two? And if I need to know what time a train will get here, I pull it up online."

  "Gavros fried the Archduke Ferdinand with lightning, and that was World War One, not Two. Two is a lot harder to nail down. And I completely agree with you about trains and using an app. Besides, since
when has a train ever kept a constant rate of speed. Idiots keep laying on the tracks." That had been a call that was up there with falling guy. Having your legs severed because you laid down on the track had to be way up there in the stupidity levels. No, the train won't stop.

  "Show off. I swear, don't you forget anything? I can never keep that stuff straight, and how does knowing it make me a good or bad mage? I'm a math person, not a words person." There was something odd about how she said it and I frowned looking at her. "Ignore me. Grumpy. I hate tests. Tacos for dinner?"

  "As long as you don't make them super hot. I have the interview tomorrow. I don't need to emit toxic fumes."

  "Spoilsport. If they all die as they talk to you, doesn't that mean you have the job?"

  "I don't think it works that way. Though I'm not sure they could charge me with murder for that." I sighed glaring at her. "Now I have to go look that up. Thanks. Not."

  Jo snickered and headed for the kitchen. "Go look it up and let me know. I'll get tacos going."

  Chapter 3

  After the Civil War the US barely held together. The government looked at what was going on all over the world. Mages were battling each other. They had become almost currency between nations, and their lives were very short as learning to control offerings and make sure they only gave what they could afford to had yet to become the science it is now. Then Rudyard Kipling wrote a story that sent shock waves through the political world and started the idea of the draft. ~ History of Magic

  The next morning I called a rideshare. My bank account was good so I needed to quit stressing about every expense. Showing up to an interview hot and sweaty would not make a good first impression.

  I got there at least fifteen minutes early. At least I knew I looked decent. For my birthday present, Marisol had bought me an interview outfit. Nice black slacks, two different blouses, and a suit jacket. The shirts were silk, and I was super paranoid about getting anything on them, so there was no coffee after I put them on. Which mean I spent the morning walking around the apartment in my bra and slacks. Jo found it amusing. I just flipped her off and inhaled my coffee, then went to pee twice before leaving.

  "Please wait in here. Your interviewer will be in shortly." A young man, obviously with better things to do than deal with job applicants, ushered me into a room that had seen better days. I had hoped for a document to read or something. The room was ugly and almost sterile , with scraped up beige walls and chairs that must have been made in the seventies.

  My tension, worry, and every other emotion in my mind twisted together until I felt like a cat on a live wire. I had to keep doing breathing exercises. My first interview. I could do this.

  A brisk knock on the door pulled me out of my swirl and an older woman walked in. At nine thirty on a Friday morning she had circles under her eyes. Her hair was coming out of its bun, the streaks of gray ugly against her sallow complexion. If I had to guess, not enough sleep and too much stress.

  "You Corisande Munroe?"

  "Yes, ma'am," I responded in a bright affirmative tone. I tried very hard to project pep and energy, not worry and nervousness.

  She arched one brow as she sat down on the chair across from me. "You're applying for the paramedic position. Did you bring your certifications?"

  I slid the originals across with a pang of worry. Those were the proof of everything I'd done. Not that I thought she'd do anything to them, and it wasn't like I couldn't pay to get new ones, but still.

  "Letters of reference?"

  This time I passed her copies. The originals were safe in the fire box Henri had given us. Along with all the important paperwork.

  She spent some time going through them, which confused me as I'd attached everything to the application, but the last time I had been on a job interview was for the Grind Down.

  "Everything looks in order. Your references are glowing. I called and talked to Sally Chang earlier today."

  That surprised me as she had acted like she'd never seen this before. My face must have betrayed my surprise because she gave me a half shrug. "I like to see who comes in prepared. If you prepare for the little things, the odds are you're prepared for the important stuff."

  She slid the documents back to me and opened up another folder, counting paperwork. I waited for questions, for something, but she just nodded after a minute then looked up at me.

  "Can you start on August 5th? There are two days of orientation, paperwork, and training. Then you will be on rotating twelves. The current opening is for the twelve-hour shift, though with seniority you can apply for the ten or eight hours as positions come up. This opening is from seven am to seven pm. Is that acceptable?"

  Dear gods. Mornings again. Why me?

  I let the idea of sleeping until eight or nine, drinking my coffee at a leisurely pace, fade into a fantasy. Instead, I fought to keep my snark under control.

  "That's it? You don't want to ask me any questions? See if I’ll fit in?" No matter what, I didn't think interviews went like this. There was no way the premier hospital in Atlanta would hire me, not without testing me to make sure I could handle it. This had to be a joke or another test.

  She just looked at me, seeming older than what I suspected she was. "Cori, not to be mean or dash your hopes, because I know you're young, but no one cares if you fit in. If you show up, do the job, and don't wash out in the first month, everyone will regard it as a win. Our turnover rate is so high that if you don't suck, you'll move through the ranks quickly. We get the worst calls, the ones where the death rate is over 25%. We gave up trying to select only the best of the best; they don't last any longer than the ones that are just competent. There is a world of difference between being able to do the technical aspects of the job and dealing with the day-to-day emotions. To know people call sometimes because they were too lazy to go get more insulin and would rather go to the ER for diabetic reasons, then pry dead bodies out of a car, and still be ready to go to the next call is what we need." The images of the boy, Bobby, in the back seat of the car flashed through my mind.

  "At the end of the day, you have the skills. If you can make it in this job, which Sally seems to think you will, then we'll be happy to have you. The question is, do you want the job?"

  Her question hung in the air, and I blinked. Of course I wanted the job. This was my dream.

  "Yes. I want the job."

  The hint of a smile softened here face. "Excellent. Then the starting salary is 17.80 an hour. Performance reviews and raises every ninety days until you are at 18.50 an hour. Then reviews go to twice a year. Here is the list of infractions and how you should deal with them." She gave me a look to imply I could ask questions now if I wanted.

  I'm starting at over 17.80 an hour. Holy moly, I'm rich. Even with the max of everything taken out, I will have money. Like lots of money.

  At Grind Down I was the highest paid at 9.50 an hour. On good weeks I'd get another fifty or so in tips. But to make this much money, even before taxes? I locked my jaw so my shock wouldn't show. I shook my head mutely at her questioning look, still shell shocked, and resisting the desire to jump up and down in excitement.

  She pulled a sheet out of the stack. "Here's where to be. The first day is mostly the bullshit stuff. The second is all the mandatory training for Ruby Medical. You'll be told where to get a uniform." Her eyes ran up and down my body, but there was nothing personal in them. "Your size is average enough, the location listed on your sheet should have some in stock without a need for a special order. Shoe requirements, hygiene requirements, and other dress codes are all listed. Good luck." With a huff of effort, she pushed herself up from the table and headed out the door without a backwards glance.

  I sat there, looking at everything she'd shoved at me, and frowned. Weren't you supposed to be excited when you got a job? Your first job as a real adult. I didn't know how I felt. Shaking my head, I got up, gathered all the paper, and put it neatly back in my bag. I headed out and winced as the door behind me
popped off the hinges.

  "Dammit. Someone call maintenance to fix that damn door. This is the third time this month it's done that," a voice in the office called out behind me and I sagged in relief. At least maybe that weird thing was not weird, it was just a thing. I could live with that. I ignored the desire to scratch my head.

  I got another ride home. No way was I about to mess up my good clothes. I walked into the empty apartment, changed, and then just sat there, strangely off-kilter. I had my first job. I started in a week. Now what.

  For the first time in a very long time I had nothing to do for more than a week. What a weird feeling.

  Chapter 4

  While no one has captured a unicorn, it is widely agreed they do exist. And the only known dragon is not available for study. However, knowing something exists and KNOWING are two different things. Which means most magical creatures remain in our lexicon as something mythical and rare. ~History of Magic

  Today. I start my new job, my new life, today.

  The thought kept running through my mind and it took everything I had not to skip, which at six in the morning had to be something approaching a miracle. I figured it'd wear off fast, so I might as well enjoy it while I could.

  Jo didn't talk about her tests, and I didn't push her. Who enjoyed taking tests? We spent our week exploring the neighborhood, going to all the touristy things we'd never done, and even splurged on a day at Six Flags. I cringed as I spent the money, but we had a blast. We took the time to get a few more things for the apartment, run back up to see her family, and get me four sets of jumpsuits and better socks. I'd learned quickly that thick socks were a must when you were in boots all day. They made life much more pleasant. Even if paying almost twenty dollars a pair hurt, Sally had convinced me it was money well spent.

  While Jo and I spent a lot of time together, she never mentioned how she did on the placement tests, but I didn't worry about it. Jo was a whiz at so many things, though I seemed to remember only average grades in any class not focused on math.