1
REGGIE
When I pull up to the location of my job interview in Nick's borrowed car, my first thought is that I've made a mistake. I peer up at the ominous-looking building, a black-brick Victorian tucked among several more-brightly colored neighbors, and consult my phone again. No, this is the right place. After all, there's only one Hemlock Avenue in the city. With a worried look, I glance up at the building again, then find a place to park a few streets over that's not too close and not too far away. It's a corner store, and I check the parking lot lines to ensure that I'm perfectly within my space, and then repark when I'm not entirely satisfied with how close I am to the yellow line. It takes a little more time, but it's always better to be precise than to be sloppy.
Ten minutes later, I'm down the street with a freshly fed meter running, and I've got my CV in hand. Am I really going to interview at someone's house for an assistant job? I'm a little uneasy at that, but it's for a gaming company, and those sorts of people are notoriously quirky . . . I think. I check the address one more time before I move up the steps and ring the doorbell, smoothing my skirt with sweaty hands. Up close, the building seems a little more imposing, with dark burgundy curtains covering every single window and not letting in a peep of light. The stairs up to the door have an ornate black iron railing, and even the door knocker looks like something out of a horror movie, all vines and animal heads.
Someone has a goth fetish, clearly.
The door opens, and I'm startled to see a woman about my age in jeans and a T-shirt proclaiming her favorite baseball team. Her hair's pulled back into a bedraggled ponytail, and she's not wearing a stitch of makeup. She's also about twenty months pregnant, if the balloon under her shirt is any indication.
"You must be Regina," she exclaims with a warm smile, rubbing the bulge of her stomach. "Hey there! Come on in."
I'm horribly overdressed. I bite my lip as I step inside, painfully aware of the clack of my low-heeled pumps on the dark hardwood floors. I'm wearing a gray jacket over a white blouse and a gray pencil skirt, and I have to admit, the feeling that I'm in the wrong place keeps hitting me over and over again. I don't normally make these mistakes. I like for things to go perfectly. It's the control freak in me that needs that satisfaction. I researched what one wears to an assistant interview, so I don't know how I flubbed this so badly. I want to check the ad one more time, but after rereading it over and over for the last three days, I know what it says by heart.
SPELLCRAFT EXPERTISE WANTED
Assistant required. Excellent pay for familiar.
I mean, I've been a fan of the card game Spellcraft: The Magicking since I was a teenager. I have thousands of dollars of cards and even placed second in a local tournament once. Sure, I was playing an eight-year-old . . . but he had a good deck. Heck, I've even brought my favorite deck with me in my purse, in case they think I'm bluffing about my love for the Spellcraft game.
So am I qualified? Fuck yeah, I am. I can be an assistant to someone that works for the Spellcraft: The Magicking company. It's kinda my dream job. Well . . . my dream job is actually to work on the cards themselves, but I'm not experienced enough for that, so being an assistant would be the next best thing. But I'm smart, I'm reasonably educated, I'm good with spreadsheets, and I'm excessively, excessively organized.
(Some might say "obsessively," but I ignore haters.)
I smile at the pregnant woman, suspecting she's the one I talked to on the phone. "You're Lisa?"
"That's me!"
I hold out my CV, tucked into a fancy leather-bound folder. I pray that the nice packaging will hide the fact that my detailed CV is kinda light on office jobs and heavier on things like "Burger Basket" and "Clown holding sign in front of Tax Masters." It's all about enthusiasm, though, right? I've got that in spades.
Lisa takes the folder from me with a little frown on her face, as if she's not quite sure what to do with it, and then gestures at the house. "Want me to show you around Ms. Magnus's house? She'd be the one in charge day to day."
Er, that's kind of odd. Why do I need to know about my employer's house? Maybe she's just really proud of the place? But since I'm interviewing, I paste on a bright smile. "That'd be great."
Lisa's smile brightens, and she puts her hands on her belly, waddling through the foyer. "Follow me."
I do, and I can't help but notice that the interior of the place looks much larger than the exterior suggested. Inside, the ceilings are incredibly high, and the rooms seem airy despite the dark coloring. The walls are the same burgundy red, and several of them are covered in reproductions of ancient Roman murals. "Your boss must like Roman stuff."
"Oh, she's Roman. All the big names are," she calls over her shoulder.
"Ah." Funny, I researched the game and thought the CEOs were from Seattle. Maybe she's an investor? Who just likes to talk about the game? That might be kind of fun. My enthusiasm brightens as Lisa shows me through the living room and the modern, elegant kitchen. She heads down a long hall and looks over at me again. "This way to the lab."
"Lab?" I echo. "Oh, you mean office?" I beam. "It's so charming that she calls it a lab."
"What else would she call it?" Lisa opens a large symbol-covered door, and I think Ms. Magnus must be a huge nerd to decorate her office like this. When we step inside, though, I'm a little stunned. There's a large desk, all right, but instead of a laptop and paperwork, there are beakers and bottles. An old book is spread out on the table itself, and the walls are lined with jars and more books. The ceiling is hung with what look like dried herbs.
It's an absolute nightmare. Every iota of my organization-loving heart cringes at the sight of this. It's clear that Ms. Magnus needs me. I'd never let a place of work get this disorganized. The books are all over the place, there's no computer to be seen, and I'm pretty sure under the stacks of loose paper and piles of nonsense, there's a bookshelf. Somewhere.
It all needs a guiding hand, and that's what I do best. Guide. Or . . . control. Whatever. I'm good at this kind of thing.
"So this is the lab," Lisa chirps. "I hope you're up to date on your herbs, because a lot of Dru's favorite spells are plant based. She's more of a traditionalist, unlike her nephew." Her hands go to the small of her back, and she stretches uncomfortably. "You'll see him around here from time to time, by the way. He lives in Boston, but when he's in town, he stays with Dru. And he might ask you to assist him with some minor stuff. Mostly running errands."
"Sorry, what?" I ask, peering at a jar that really looks like it's got a pickled frog in it, of all things. These props are really incredible. It looks like something out of a witchy movie, all right, except there are no cobwebs or cauldron, and I'm definitely not at the apex of some fog-covered mountain, being chased by a hero. I poke another jar, but it just looks like it has wizened berries of some kind in it. "This place is amazing. Does she use these props to help her get in the mood? Sort of like method acting?"
"Method what?"
I turn to look at Lisa, and as I do, I suck in a breath at the sight of a glowering god standing in the doorway to the room. The man there looks . . . intense. He's impossibly tall, with broad shoulders that would put a linebacker to shame. He's dressed in a black suit with a black shirt underneath, complete with black tie, and his hair is dark and just brushes his collar. The long, solemn face is unsmiling, his expression stern, but his mouth is full and pink and shocking against the paleness of his skin.
"Who are you?" he asks bluntly, ignoring Lisa and looking right at me.
"Hello," I gush, extending my hand and moving forward. "I'm Reggie Johnson, here about the job. I'm such a big fan of . . ."
The tall man gives me an up-and-down look and then dismisses me as if I'm unimportant. He turns to Lisa and holds out a piece of paper. "I need these books from the library. Today. And did you file those requests I asked for?"
"I'll get to them," Lisa says tersely. She deliberately rubs her belly and glares at the man, who glares back.
Well, this is awkward. I tuck my hands back down to my sides and glance between the two of them. I truly hope that this isn't going to be my boss, because yikes. Hot but pissy.
The man casts another imperious look in my direction and then points a finger at Lisa. "Get it done, today." He turns on his heel and leaves without acknowledging me, and then he's gone.
Lisa sticks her tongue out at his back. "Such a dick."
My mouth has gone dry. "Is that . . . Mr. Magnus?" If so, my boss has a stunningly handsome (and stunningly dickish) husband.
"Sure is."
I divert my attention to what looks like a stack of bills shoved under a book, and my hands twitch with the need to clean up. "Does Mr. Magnus work for his wife?"
Her eyes widen, and then she chuckles. "Oh no. That's a Mr. Magnus, but he's not married to Dru. He's her nephew and between assistants himself, so I'm having to fill in." She leans toward me confidentially. "No one likes him. Can't keep anyone in his employ."
My smile returns. "I'm good at multitasking." I'm also a huge suck-up.
Lisa snaps her fingers and then pulls out her phone. "While I'm thinking about it, I had a few questions for you."
"Oh, of course." I read a book last night on interview questions one could expect for a fast-paced job, so I'm more than ready for this. I do wonder when we're going to get to the sit-down part of the interview, but maybe Lisa's just doing introductions before I meet her boss. That makes sense, and I give her a practiced "I'm very interested" look. "Ask away."
She flicks through her phone with her thumb. "Any allergies, food or otherwise?"
"No." Weird, but maybe I'd be in charge of getting coffee or grocery shopping or something. Some assistants do that, don't they? "Do you need to write this down? Should I take notes for you?" I dig in my purse, pulling out a notepad and pen. "I'm happy to do so."
"Not necessary." Lisa taps something on her phone, and I'm pretty sure I hear game music. She stares at the screen for a moment and then looks back at me. "Star sign?"
Getting weirder. "Taurus."
"Ah, a hard worker and stubborn." She dimples, nodding. "She'll like that. Tauruses are great employees. Very easy to work with."
"Thank . . . you?"
"Too bad Mr. Magnus is a Cancer. Very moody." She makes a face, still locked onto her phone. "Here we go. Any particular crystal affinity?" She gestures at one of the shelves, and I notice for the first time that there are rows and rows of crystals of all shapes and sizes in glass containers. Not in any sort of order, of course, but I'm sure I can help with that, too.
"Um, I don't think so?" This is definitely verging on fully weird territory. I'm starting to get a little uneasy, but I glance around the office again. Maybe this woman is some kind of new-age hipster that needs inspiration to work on the game? "What do crystals have to do with the position?"
"A lot. Blood type?"
"Is that really important?" I ask finally, resisting the urge to show my frustration.
"Not necessarily," Lisa admits. "But Ms. Magnus likes to know."
"I'm an O."
"Wonderful." She types with her thumb. "Any physical ailments? Do you work out at a gym? Eat healthy?"
I'm torn between pointing out that those are extremely inappropriate questions and just answering, because I really want the job. "I count macros," I say after a long moment. "For my nutrition." And because it feeds my obsessive need for control to hit the numbers perfectly.
She tilts her head. "I guess that's pretty good. Come with me, and I'll show you into Ms. Magnus's personal offices."
I follow behind her, glancing backward at the "lab" we're leaving. If that's not the office . . . Nope, Reggie. Don't ask questions until they mention the pay. You've had weird jobs before. As long as it pays well, you can put up with weirdness. I paste a smile on my face and follow Lisa's slower steps down the hall and toward the stairs. As we cut through the house, I glance over at the kitchen. Mr. Magnus is in there, with a glass of water in front of him on the counter. He's leaning over it and staring intently in our direction, practically scowling.
I can't help but notice that the kitchen is in complete disarray, with dishes on the counter and several cabinets hanging open. Maybe he hates the mess as much as I do, and that's why he's cranky.
"Just ignore him," Lisa continues. "He doesn't like strangers. Remember. Cancer sign."
Right. Moody. That fits him. I cast a brilliant smile in his direction, and I'm pleased when he gives me a startled look and turns away. I could swear he's blushing. Suck on that, Magnus.
We walk down the hall, and it seems the house gets bigger the deeper I go into it. The hall branches off into two others, both of them lined with doors, and there's a high ceiling with a crystal-covered chandelier above the stairwell. I gaze around me in awe as Lisa leads me past a glorious-looking library filled to the gills with all kinds of old books. There are portraits on the walls, most of them old, and I realize that the Magnus family is old, old money. No wonder they're eccentric. Lisa heads toward a pair of double doors and opens them. "Just have a seat, and I'll let Ms. Magnus know that you're here."
1
REGGIE
When I pull up to the location of my job interview in Nick's borrowed car, my first thought is that I've made a mistake. I peer up at the ominous-looking building, a black-brick Victorian tucked among several more-brightly colored neighbors, and consult my phone again. No, this is the right place. After all, there's only one Hemlock Avenue in the city. With a worried look, I glance up at the building again, then find a place to park a few streets over that's not too close and not too far away. It's a corner store, and I check the parking lot lines to ensure that I'm perfectly within my space, and then repark when I'm not entirely satisfied with how close I am to the yellow line. It takes a little more time, but it's always better to be precise than to be sloppy.
Ten minutes later, I'm down the street with a freshly fed meter running, and I've got my CV in hand. Am I really going to interview at someone's house for an assistant job? I'm a little uneasy at that, but it's for a gaming company, and those sorts of people are notoriously quirky . . . I think. I check the address one more time before I move up the steps and ring the doorbell, smoothing my skirt with sweaty hands. Up close, the building seems a little more imposing, with dark burgundy curtains covering every single window and not letting in a peep of light. The stairs up to the door have an ornate black iron railing, and even the door knocker looks like something out of a horror movie, all vines and animal heads.
Someone has a goth fetish, clearly.
The door opens, and I'm startled to see a woman about my age in jeans and a T-shirt proclaiming her favorite baseball team. Her hair's pulled back into a bedraggled ponytail, and she's not wearing a stitch of makeup. She's also about twenty months pregnant, if the balloon under her shirt is any indication.
"You must be Regina," she exclaims with a warm smile, rubbing the bulge of her stomach. "Hey there! Come on in."
I'm horribly overdressed. I bite my lip as I step inside, painfully aware of the clack of my low-heeled pumps on the dark hardwood floors. I'm wearing a gray jacket over a white blouse and a gray pencil skirt, and I have to admit, the feeling that I'm in the wrong place keeps hitting me over and over again. I don't normally make these mistakes. I like for things to go perfectly. It's the control freak in me that needs that satisfaction. I researched what one wears to an assistant interview, so I don't know how I flubbed this so badly. I want to check the ad one more time, but after rereading it over and over for the last three days, I know what it says by heart.
SPELLCRAFT EXPERTISE WANTED
Assistant required. Excellent pay for familiar.
I mean, I've been a fan of the card game Spellcraft: The Magicking since I was a teenager. I have thousands of dollars of cards and even placed second in a local tournament once. Sure, I was playing an eight-year-old . . . but he had a good deck. Heck, I've even brought my favorite deck with me in my purse, in case they think I'm bluffing about my love for the Spellcraft game.
So am I qualified? Fuck yeah, I am. I can be an assistant to someone that works for the Spellcraft: The Magicking company. It's kinda my dream job. Well . . . my dream job is actually to work on the cards themselves, but I'm not experienced enough for that, so being an assistant would be the next best thing. But I'm smart, I'm reasonably educated, I'm good with spreadsheets, and I'm excessively, excessively organized.
(Some might say "obsessively," but I ignore haters.)
I smile at the pregnant woman, suspecting she's the one I talked to on the phone. "You're Lisa?"
"That's me!"
I hold out my CV, tucked into a fancy leather-bound folder. I pray that the nice packaging will hide the fact that my detailed CV is kinda light on office jobs and heavier on things like "Burger Basket" and "Clown holding sign in front of Tax Masters." It's all about enthusiasm, though, right? I've got that in spades.
Lisa takes the folder from me with a little frown on her face, as if she's not quite sure what to do with it, and then gestures at the house. "Want me to show you around Ms. Magnus's house? She'd be the one in charge day to day."
Er, that's kind of odd. Why do I need to know about my employer's house? Maybe she's just really proud of the place? But since I'm interviewing, I paste on a bright smile. "That'd be great."
Lisa's smile brightens, and she puts her hands on her belly, waddling through the foyer. "Follow me."
I do, and I can't help but notice that the interior of the place looks much larger than the exterior suggested. Inside, the ceilings are incredibly high, and the rooms seem airy despite the dark coloring. The walls are the same burgundy red, and several of them are covered in reproductions of ancient Roman murals. "Your boss must like Roman stuff."
"Oh, she's Roman. All the big names are," she calls over her shoulder.
"Ah." Funny, I researched the game and thought the CEOs were from Seattle. Maybe she's an investor? Who just likes to talk about the game? That might be kind of fun. My enthusiasm brightens as Lisa shows me through the living room and the modern, elegant kitchen. She heads down a long hall and looks over at me again. "This way to the lab."
"Lab?" I echo. "Oh, you mean office?" I beam. "It's so charming that she calls it a lab."
"What else would she call it?" Lisa opens a large symbol-covered door, and I think Ms. Magnus must be a huge nerd to decorate her office like this. When we step inside, though, I'm a little stunned. There's a large desk, all right, but instead of a laptop and paperwork, there are beakers and bottles. An old book is spread out on the table itself, and the walls are lined with jars and more books. The ceiling is hung with what look like dried herbs.
It's an absolute nightmare. Every iota of my organization-loving heart cringes at the sight of this. It's clear that Ms. Magnus needs me. I'd never let a place of work get this disorganized. The books are all over the place, there's no computer to be seen, and I'm pretty sure under the stacks of loose paper and piles of nonsense, there's a bookshelf. Somewhere.
It all needs a guiding hand, and that's what I do best. Guide. Or . . . control. Whatever. I'm good at this kind of thing.
"So this is the lab," Lisa chirps. "I hope you're up to date on your herbs, because a lot of Dru's favorite spells are plant based. She's more of a traditionalist, unlike her nephew." Her hands go to the small of her back, and she stretches uncomfortably. "You'll see him around here from time to time, by the way. He lives in Boston, but when he's in town, he stays with Dru. And he might ask you to assist him with some minor stuff. Mostly running errands."
"Sorry, what?" I ask, peering at a jar that really looks like it's got a pickled frog in it, of all things. These props are really incredible. It looks like something out of a witchy movie, all right, except there are no cobwebs or cauldron, and I'm definitely not at the apex of some fog-covered mountain, being chased by a hero. I poke another jar, but it just looks like it has wizened berries of some kind in it. "This place is amazing. Does she use these props to help her get in the mood? Sort of like method acting?"
"Method what?"
I turn to look at Lisa, and as I do, I suck in a breath at the sight of a glowering god standing in the doorway to the room. The man there looks . . . intense. He's impossibly tall, with broad shoulders that would put a linebacker to shame. He's dressed in a black suit with a black shirt underneath, complete with black tie, and his hair is dark and just brushes his collar. The long, solemn face is unsmiling, his expression stern, but his mouth is full and pink and shocking against the paleness of his skin.
"Who are you?" he asks bluntly, ignoring Lisa and looking right at me.
"Hello," I gush, extending my hand and moving forward. "I'm Reggie Johnson, here about the job. I'm such a big fan of . . ."
The tall man gives me an up-and-down look and then dismisses me as if I'm unimportant. He turns to Lisa and holds out a piece of paper. "I need these books from the library. Today. And did you file those requests I asked for?"
"I'll get to them," Lisa says tersely. She deliberately rubs her belly and glares at the man, who glares back.
Well, this is awkward. I tuck my hands back down to my sides and glance between the two of them. I truly hope that this isn't going to be my boss, because yikes. Hot but pissy.
The man casts another imperious look in my direction and then points a finger at Lisa. "Get it done, today." He turns on his heel and leaves without acknowledging me, and then he's gone.
Lisa sticks her tongue out at his back. "Such a dick."
My mouth has gone dry. "Is that . . . Mr. Magnus?" If so, my boss has a stunningly handsome (and stunningly dickish) husband.
"Sure is."
I divert my attention to what looks like a stack of bills shoved under a book, and my hands twitch with the need to clean up. "Does Mr. Magnus work for his wife?"
Her eyes widen, and then she chuckles. "Oh no. That's a Mr. Magnus, but he's not married to Dru. He's her nephew and between assistants himself, so I'm having to fill in." She leans toward me confidentially. "No one likes him. Can't keep anyone in his employ."
My smile returns. "I'm good at multitasking." I'm also a huge suck-up.
Lisa snaps her fingers and then pulls out her phone. "While I'm thinking about it, I had a few questions for you."
"Oh, of course." I read a book last night on interview questions one could expect for a fast-paced job, so I'm more than ready for this. I do wonder when we're going to get to the sit-down part of the interview, but maybe Lisa's just doing introductions before I meet her boss. That makes sense, and I give her a practiced "I'm very interested" look. "Ask away."
She flicks through her phone with her thumb. "Any allergies, food or otherwise?"
"No." Weird, but maybe I'd be in charge of getting coffee or grocery shopping or something. Some assistants do that, don't they? "Do you need to write this down? Should I take notes for you?" I dig in my purse, pulling out a notepad and pen. "I'm happy to do so."
"Not necessary." Lisa taps something on her phone, and I'm pretty sure I hear game music. She stares at the screen for a moment and then looks back at me. "Star sign?"
Getting weirder. "Taurus."
"Ah, a hard worker and stubborn." She dimples, nodding. "She'll like that. Tauruses are great employees. Very easy to work with."
"Thank . . . you?"
"Too bad Mr. Magnus is a Cancer. Very moody." She makes a face, still locked onto her phone. "Here we go. Any particular crystal affinity?" She gestures at one of the shelves, and I notice for the first time that there are rows and rows of crystals of all shapes and sizes in glass containers. Not in any sort of order, of course, but I'm sure I can help with that, too.
"Um, I don't think so?" This is definitely verging on fully weird territory. I'm starting to get a little uneasy, but I glance around the office again. Maybe this woman is some kind of new-age hipster that needs inspiration to work on the game? "What do crystals have to do with the position?"
"A lot. Blood type?"
"Is that really important?" I ask finally, resisting the urge to show my frustration.
"Not necessarily," Lisa admits. "But Ms. Magnus likes to know."
"I'm an O."
"Wonderful." She types with her thumb. "Any physical ailments? Do you work out at a gym? Eat healthy?"
I'm torn between pointing out that those are extremely inappropriate questions and just answering, because I really want the job. "I count macros," I say after a long moment. "For my nutrition." And because it feeds my obsessive need for control to hit the numbers perfectly.
She tilts her head. "I guess that's pretty good. Come with me, and I'll show you into Ms. Magnus's personal offices."
I follow behind her, glancing backward at the "lab" we're leaving. If that's not the office . . . Nope, Reggie. Don't ask questions until they mention the pay. You've had weird jobs before. As long as it pays well, you can put up with weirdness. I paste a smile on my face and follow Lisa's slower steps down the hall and toward the stairs. As we cut through the house, I glance over at the kitchen. Mr. Magnus is in there, with a glass of water in front of him on the counter. He's leaning over it and staring intently in our direction, practically scowling.
I can't help but notice that the kitchen is in complete disarray, with dishes on the counter and several cabinets hanging open. Maybe he hates the mess as much as I do, and that's why he's cranky.
"Just ignore him," Lisa continues. "He doesn't like strangers. Remember. Cancer sign."
Right. Moody. That fits him. I cast a brilliant smile in his direction, and I'm pleased when he gives me a startled look and turns away. I could swear he's blushing. Suck on that, Magnus.
We walk down the hall, and it seems the house gets bigger the deeper I go into it. The hall branches off into two others, both of them lined with doors, and there's a high ceiling with a crystal-covered chandelier above the stairwell. I gaze around me in awe as Lisa leads me past a glorious-looking library filled to the gills with all kinds of old books. There are portraits on the walls, most of them old, and I realize that the Magnus family is old, old money. No wonder they're eccentric. Lisa heads toward a pair of double doors and opens them. "Just have a seat, and I'll let Ms. Magnus know that you're here."
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