by Mel Todd
Jo started school on Monday but she, unlike me, didn't have to be there until nine am. The first two days I showed up at eight and did paperwork and training. I don't know what I expected, but mounds of disclaimers, acknowledgments, watching videos about harassment, reporting, diversity, ergonomics, and other things that made no sense at all given my job were not it, though the hazardous chemicals one at least made me think.
It was a waste of sixteen hours, but I got paid. My nerves on the third day were in such a state I couldn't even drink my coffee that morning as I traveled to the station. I’d spent part of the prior week learning the bus routes and getting a Marta Pass.
Standing outside, I looked up at Ruby Hospital. They had three teams running the twelve shifts, then two each on the ten and eight-hour ones, but that meant most of the time you had five teams, a number that seemed huge to me compared to Rockway. But this was Atlanta. I stood looking at all the bays with their doors down, and then the door that said staff.
I double checked the badge in my hand, verifying it said my name and had my picture. Then I took a deep breath and walked in. My jumpsuit was in my bag though my boots were on. I'd been considering letting my hair grow just so I could do ponytails. They seemed easier, and my lack of mage status would be very obvious at that point.
Stepping in, I looked around—this place would be my home, for a while at least. Well, that was my intent. I stepped into a hallway that had no more personality than the office I'd been interviewed in. One side held lockers and benches, the other side had two doors leading to what looked like offices. One of them read Shift Supervisor, the other read Department Manager.
I checked my paperwork again, verifying it said to present myself to the Department Manager, one Donald Smith. I swallowed and knocked on the closed door. The frosted window prevented me from seeing if anyone sat inside.
"It's open," a voice called, and I blew out a sigh of relief. At least someone was here. I turned the knob and stepped in. It was a smallish office, about the size of Laurel Amosen's, and set up about the same, except for the addition of a bookcase full of binders. The man sitting next to the desk had looked up as I stepped in. He was older, at least fifty, with pasty skin and with the florid nose I'd learned to associate with someone who drank way too much, way too often. He also had reddish blond hair that was thinning rapidly and dark brown eyes that speared into me like a weapon.
"Who're you?" His voice had the mushy southern drawl that my parents had prevented in me, at least when they paid attention. It didn't help that he seemed to be missing at least two of his front teeth, maybe three.
"Cori Munroe. I'm starting today?"
Wouldn't you be expecting a new employee? Please tell me he knew I was coming.
My nerves stretched as he just stared at me, not saying anything. I kept myself from shifting uncomfortably, but I could feel my skin starting to burn with nerves.
"Great. Another complete newbie. How old are you?"
I was surprised and confused. Didn't he have my birth date on the paperwork? I answered. "Twenty-one, sir."
"Merlin save me. At least you can drink. Might keep you alive. Got your badge?" he asked as he pushed himself to his feet, revealing a belly that strained the buttons of his light blue oxford shirt.
Wordlessly I held up my badge, thrown off balance again.
He grunted. "Follow me. I'm Don Smith. I make sure your timesheets are completed, reports filed, and competencies kept up to date. My favorite type of employee is the one I never need to talk to. Do what I ask you to do the first time and I don't give a damn about anything else, as long as you don't kill anyone. You got your stuff?"
This time I raised my bag, swallowing. I felt like I was walking through a minefield. All my experience with Molly had not prepared me for this. I took a deep breath. I had this. First days at any job were always tricky.
"Here's your locker." He pointed to one without a name or a lock on it. I memorized the number, 13. Did that mean good or bad things? "Get a lock, make sure it isn't more than a quarter-inch thick so when you quit, cutting it off isn't an issue."
I glanced at him, but he just stated it the way you'd state to remember to fill up the ambulance before going off shift.
"Be here at least ten minutes early. Listen to your senior partner. If in doubt, do what he tells you and argue with your shift supervisor after the fact. You'll get your schedule before you leave today. You may rotate partners depending on multiple things you don't need to worry about. For your first month or so, it's Jorge Roland." He pronounced it the Mexican way, with an h.
"Jorge, your new partner is here," Don called out as we walked into an open area. At one end was a kitchen with a large table in the middle. More lockers and storage stood against the wall between me and the bays. The main area looked like a large living room, with a table against the back wall. There were two doors to what I figured were bathrooms, but I made a note to myself to double check. To my right were more lockers and a bench in front of them. Most of them had boots or bags laid out, waiting to go. There were three people in the room. The one who rose and headed my way was a man with skin the color of an Americano, pale but rich, with shocking white hair and eyes so pale blue the combination confused me.
"Great. I get a newbie? Not even a low mage? What did I do to make you hate me, Smith?" The man, Jorge I figured, didn't whine, but it didn't sound like a joke either. If anything, it sounded the way I felt when I found grounds in my cup of coffee. He had a lyrical tone to his voice, and it might have been pleasant except for the look on his face as he considered me.
"Don't look at me. You're short and this is what HR sent over. You know how they feel about us. Have fun. Don't break her on the first shift. I need at least a week for them to go through other applicants."
"Have fun, Munroe. If you break, please don't leave body fluids everywhere. I hate having to get this place cleaned." With that he turned and walked back to his office, leaving me standing there feeling about three inches tall. My scalp burned and there was a click and a rattle and about two cups of ice spit out of the fridge door in the kitchen.
"Well, hell. What’s up with this blasted fridge?" a woman, tall with dark brown hair in a horse mane style said as she pulled herself up from where she was reading and stalked over to clean it up.
"Whatever. So, name? Munroe?" Jorge asked, looking at me as if I was the worst thing he'd ever seen.
"Cori Munroe. Hi." I put on my best smile but I could feel it shake.
"Whatever. Do your job, don't get in my way, don't toss your cookies on patients or in the rig. Don't drink or do drugs in a way that I notice. And don't ask to drive. That isn't happening." He scanned me up and down and shook his head. "Get dressed, we're on in five minutes." He turned and walked away, leaving me standing there. The other two people, one of them was the woman cleaning up ice. The other was a man with lightly tanned skin and tight curly black hair who glanced at me then away, focusing back on what he was doing.
I will not slink. I will not let them see I give a damn what they think.
The pep talked helped a bit, and I walked back to my locker. I'd brought a lock. It had been on the list of things I'd probably need. I pulled on my jumpsuit, though I left it mostly unzipped. I wouldn't roast in the current temperature, but it wasn't cool, and I knew how quickly the jumpsuits got hot. No need to get myself worn out before I started. I slipped my phone in a pocket and clipped my badge on. I had brought little else besides a few pieces of jerky and a granola bar. Enough that I could get by if we didn't have time to eat.
Now that I was here, and my nerves were about to explode, I needed caffeine. I headed to the kitchen, seeing an old coffee maker. And by old I meant it was a percolator, in poor condition.
"Is it okay if I make coffee?" I asked the room in general, though I was rapidly learning that around here, asking might not be the best way to go. Just doing it and waiting for someone to yell at me might be better.
"Whatever. We don't ra
te a real coffeepot. What I want is a pod coffee maker, but these jerks keep breaking them." It was the woman, and I just nodded. I dug and found a decent amount of ground coffee. It was stale, but it would do, especially since I found cinnamon. I scrubbed out the percolator as the bottom looked like sludge from the last decade, then started it brewing. It had just started when a bell ran and I flinched.
"Shift notification. Don't worry about it," the man said. I needed to be introduced to people but right then I didn't care. I was watching the coffee, my mug waiting for its life-giving effects. As the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee with hints of cinnamon filled the air, I heard another vehicle enter the bay. A minute later the door banged open behind me then there was another loud crash.
"What by the planes?" A voice yelled, at the same time another yelled, "Shit."
I whirled, surprised, and looked as two men with dark hair and exhausted expressions stood staring at the door laying on the floor.
"Someone go get Smith. I swear this place will fall down around us someday. How hard would it be to get decent maintenance?" one man muttered as he stalked in. He froze and tilted his head, sniffing. "Is that honest to god coffee I smell?"
I paused, my better nature warring with my need for caffeine. My selfish nature won, and I really didn't care. "Yes," I said as I filled my mug. It was a big pot, there should be enough, but I wasn't about to risk going without. "I made it. Help yourself." Part of me wanted to offer to serve them, but Marisol had counseled me against it. She'd told me if I started out serving, I'd never break that image or that role.
"Start as you want to continue, Cori. Don't let anyone treat you like a servant."
Her words rang in my head and I stepped back, taking a sip. Not perfect, but damn decent. I needed to bring better grinds, but not yet. I'd wait more and see how this place worked out. I could always bring a small French press to make my own coffee if I needed to.
"Me first. My newbie, I get to taste it first." Jorge appeared as if teleported and poured a huge mug. He took a tentative sip, then another one. "Not bad. Nice to see you're good for something."
Jorge's words, crankiness, and nerves drove my response. "Be nice. Or I'll only make enough for what I pour in my mug. I'll help out, but I'm no one's servant, or their newbie."
"Ooh, puppy's got bite," the woman who'd cleaned up the ice said mockingly. Before she could continue, a voice rang out over the speakers.
"Call Bus Red-Four. Car accident, Andrew Young and Courtland."
"That's us, newbie. Let's see if we can set a new record," Jorge mocked as he headed into the bay.
I scurried after him, glad I'd been ready. Here I'd use the supplies in the ambulance. Though not having time to go over it made me nervous, I'd figure it out.
"New record?" I asked as I climbed into the passenger side of the ambulance and strapped in.
"See if I can break you in two days or less." His smile had no teasing it in.
Mine was just as humorless. "You're welcome to try, but I don't break."
"We'll see. Welcome to Hotlanta, newbie."
Chapter 5
The draft has affected this country in profound ways. While some people end up in the military, the majority take the degrees they earned and end up in labs, engineering, medicine, or even working with consumer companies. Those jobs are often the gateway to permanent careers, but not all magicians are so lucky. ~ History of Magic
I like the work, but maybe I made a major mistake accepting this job.
That thought, that idea, haunted me all three of my twelve-hour shifts. Rotating twelves meant three days on, two off, two on, and three off. I had started on the three on. So by Friday, adding in the two eight-hour days of training and paperwork, I'd worked well over forty hours. Which left me exhausted and unhappy. I didn't mind the work but feeling like an unwanted guest was getting old. And even for me, that was a lot of hours.
In theory, you only worked thirty-six hours, reality was you worked a bit more. You didn't get to leave in the middle of a call, though you tried to get back to the bay at least thirty minutes before the end of shift so you had time to fill out paperwork and turn everything in. That didn't always happen. Sometimes calls were three or four hours long. Which screwed everything up.
I eventually figured out a few names. Lisa, Mike, Raul, John. Our shift manager should usually be Kelly, though since I hadn't met that person, I still didn't know who she was. All of them treated me with the same strange polite distance. They answered questions but didn't talk to me. The only thing they seemed to agree on was my coffee. They also didn't pull any shit on me, which meant I couldn't complain about being mistreated. I just felt like a foster kid - tolerated, but not really wanted. It was not the work environment I had dreamed of.
The shifts hadn't been too bad, but my strangeness followed me even here. The first day it was only minor things. As we went on a call that first day, three different cupboards in the back of the bus popped open when we hit a pothole, scattering supplies everywhere. Jorge cussed up a storm, swearing he'd locked them. Luckily that first call just required on-site treatment and we took fifteen to clean it up. I took it as a chance to learn where at least some of the stuff was. Finding the silver lining in weird things had become second nature.
The next day was a call where a car had hit a power pole. It snapped, leaving live lines all around the car. The victim was awake and aware, and miracle of miracles not panicking. But no matter which direction we approached the lines would move and block us. It took an hour for the power company to get that area shut off. It was strange enough that Jorge was almost social on the way to the next call, but I hadn't pushed my luck.
Overall it wasn't horrible but as I walked out Friday night, I missed with an almost physical pang the camaraderie of Kadia, Carl, and even Molly and her social panic. It hurt to not have anyone to talk to. I worked with strangers all day long and none of them seemed to want to be more than that. They all got along and joked, but I was the outsider trying to figure out how to fit in. Jo focused on her schoolwork as both of us wanted to go back to Rockway tomorrow with nothing hanging over us. I let her be and read another couple of chapters on diseases that were almost impossible to diagnose, either before or after death. I didn't find any answers, leading me back to mages again. I gave up about ten, exhausted from a day of trying to pretend I didn't care about how my co-workers treated me, and went to bed. Dreams of a girl screaming as her eyes were cut out followed me all night.
Saturday morning Jo and I were both ready to go by seven am, needing to get back to familiar territory with a passion I don't believe either us had expected. On the back of her bike I tried to let the wind tear away my fears and worries. Neither of us talked, we just enjoyed the speed and the feeling of home awaiting us.
When we were approaching town, I activated the radio between us. "Can you drop me off at the police station? Then I'll walk to Grind Down? Dinner at your parents?"
"Sounds good. Yell if you need me."
We both needed some time alone, and I figured she wanted to go to the shop and see her dad and brothers. Me? I wanted to talk to Laurel. I didn't know if she'd be around on a Saturday, but I got the feeling she usually dropped in on Saturdays to do paperwork, so I figured I could try. Either way, I knew that Grind Down would be open.
I climbed off the bike and tucked the helmet back into the storage bag. Jo took off, driving faster than she had with me. That incident with the deer had made her a bit more cautious, at least when I was on the bike.
Should I feel good or sad about that?
I entered the station, cataloging all the differences between our small police station and the bigger one I'd visited in Atlanta. This one won the battle, hands down, for comfort and safety. While they both smelled of stale smoke and coffee, this one didn't have that aura of hopelessness Atlanta’s did. Or the feeling of guilt. Or maybe that was me.
"Hey, Cori. Thought you were living down in Atlanta now?" the desk sergeant asked, giving me a
sharp look.
"I am. Just off this weekend so I’m up visiting. You really think I'd miss any chance to have Marisol's cooking?"
"Probably not. I won a casserole of hers once." He closed his eyes with a look of pleasure so intense, I almost felt like I was intruding by witnessing it. "Still the best thing I've ever eaten. So whatcha need?"
I think I needed this. To not be treated like the enemy.
"Any chance the Chief is in? Wanted to talk to her for a minute."
He glanced down at his logbook. "Yep, sure looks like it. Go on back." He buzzed me in, and I headed to the back. I couldn't pinpoint the minute Laurel became someone to talk to, someone to trust, but it had happened. And while it confused me, it was also kinda nice.
Her door stood open, as usual. I'd only seen it closed when someone was getting chewed out, or for the occasional discussion about sensitive matters. I didn't know if she was a great police chief, but I had the feeling she was a pretty good one.
I knocked on her door, watching her as I did so. Dressed in jeans and a tank top, I suspected she had other plans after a quick stop at the office. Her hair, as always, was a neat cap of dark espresso above her cafe au lait skin. She'd become my measure of all other cops, and Detective Stone was failing badly in comparison.
Her head lifted. When she saw me, she smiled, setting down the papers she'd been looking at, and waved at the chair. "Hey, Cori. Come on in. What brings you to the backwoods so soon?"
"Weekend, off work, and Marisol's food, of course." I settled myself into the chair as I tried to think about the two topics I wanted to ask her.
"Always a valid reason to visit the Guzman's, but I notice you're sitting in my office." She leaned back, looking at me, but where I had once seen annoyance in her gaze, I now saw the patient humor.
Maybe this is a side effect of growing up? Ugh, who wants to be more reasonable?
I fought a smirk at my own mental rambling. "Have you heard anything about a body being discovered in Atlanta with ritual magic involved?"
