HR was on the seventh floor. I sat in the waiting area, wringing my hands. The rest of me was stiff with worry. I might as well have been in the principal’s office, awaiting a dressing-down and punishment. All for an offense I didn’t remember committing.
The waiting area was basic, with gray walls and chairs. Magazines sat on a coffee table in front of me. Most were at least two years old. Brad Pitt was on the cover of one, staring at the ceiling with a slight smile, as if he knew something I didn’t.
I told myself to stop wringing my hands. Even the scolding I gave didn’t help for long. My heartbeat pounded wildly in my chest, and that was what I focused on most. The receptionist was a demon who sat behind a desk like my old one. He had perfectly styled blond hair and an empty smile whenever his gaze met mine.
“Can I get you something to drink, sir?”
I shook my head. “Thank you anyway.”
He turned to his computer and, after a brief pause, began typing.
It didn’t take long before someone opened the door across the room. The woman wore a dark suit. Her dark hair was in a tight bun. She was attractive in an uptight sort of way. She didn’t speak, just stared at me as if a telepathic conversation were happening between us. I didn’t hear anything in my mind except the sound of my own nerves shutting down every other thought process and ability.
Then she gestured toward the space beyond the door. I stood, walked through, and waited for her to take the lead. We came to an office with white walls and a single desk in the center. There were two places to sit. One was behind the desk. I chose the chair nearest the door. Minimalist didn’t even begin to describe the room. The desk and chairs were black. A photo of a volcano erupting broke up the starkness. It was the thing I stared at because there wasn’t anything else.
She shut the door and left me alone. It felt more like an intake room at an insane asylum than the HR department of a business. Well, the business had to do with death, so I guess it sort of fit.
The doorknob turned, and a man walked in. He had slicked-back hair and dark eyes. He carried a file folder, set it on the desk in front of him, then took the seat behind the desk.
“Mr. McPherson?” The demon’s voice was gravelly, as if he hadn't used it in ages.
I blinked in disbelief. How could he not know my name or who I was? Why did he need me to confirm it? Saying my name as though it were a question made everything twenty times more awkward. “Yes? Phin McPherson.”
“We are restructuring the reaper department.” They were restructuring. That was a strange way to put it. What did that entail, exactly?
“Excuse me, but may I ask a question?” I had a thousand questions.
“Yes, of course.” The demon opened the file and seemed to read its contents rather than focus on me.
“Is the restructuring why the rest of the people in my department haven’t come to work this past week?”
The demon met my gaze. His was calculating, as if gauging exactly what to say. He may lie, but at least I had his full attention. “It sure is.”
“So there is no longer a reaper department? Or is his majesty... doing what, exactly?” What I really wanted to know was how souls would be ferried without the reaper department.
“I’m not privy to that information. All I know is what’s in your file.” If that were my file, it seemed mighty thin. Maybe that meant I wasn’t a troublemaker with a thousand demerits. Maybe it meant no one thought I was significant enough to warrant one. Either way, it was probably a good thing it was lacking. “Congratulations. You’re getting a promotion. Effective immediately, you will move to an executive position on the top floor. Don’t bother grabbing your things. We will gather them for you and bring them to your new station.”
His expression remained neutral. He was almost stoic, except for his eyes. The black depths. He had answers to office secrets. He knew everything. But he wasn’t going to tell me.
I was being shuffled around because the reapers had messed up. Someone had to pay the price, and it looked like it would be me. Either that, or I was being sent to the top floor so Donn could monitor me. Proximity to him would make it hard for Ossy to find me. I was screwed either way.
Chapter Ten
Phin
Isat in my cubicle, staring at a three-ring binder. A stack of pages was bound inside. I hadn’t opened it yet. On the cover, written in black Sharpie on masking tape, were the words "Executive Assistant Job Description." That was the only thing in my cubicle, besides the chair I sat on. I needed to get supplies, but I froze in my chair. All I could do was stare at the binder. The suddenness of the change settled in my bones, making me feel heavy and paralyzing me to the point that I didn’t know how to start the rest of my day. Until I read the manual, I didn’t even know what my job entailed. Even as I thought it, I couldn’t bring myself to open the binder.
Was it me, or was it just hot on the top floor? I took off my suit jacket, which helped a bit, but I still wore a long-sleeved shirt. Short of taking off my tie and rolling up my sleeves, I had to live with the sweat beneath my clothes. I didn’t know whether it was because of the old adage that heat rises or because someone had turned the temperature up a lot, but I was about ready to combust.
Fuck it.
I considered shedding layers of clothing at work unprofessional, and I always wore a tie, but after the morning I had, I wasn’t so sure I cared anymore. I sat in my cubicle, listening to other workers type, sneeze, and answer the phone when it rang, while I had nothing to do but read a binder. Busy work meant they didn’t really need me, which meant Donn wanted to hide me from my reaper team. If that was the case, then Donn had gone a step too far.
I pulled off my tie, stuffed it into my coat pocket, and rolled up my sleeves.
Maybe Donn turned up the heat on purpose. He was the god of death. He might like everything a little on the warmer side. He also apparently preferred walls that changed color. They shifted from red to black to gray in various gradients and back again. Staring too long was dizzying. That was why I faced the inside of my cubicle. Well, that and the shadows that crawled across the ceiling. Horror-movie-creepy didn’t even begin to describe it.
I kept my head turned toward my cubicle wall, my gaze fixed on it, so I didn’t have to look at the faces in the shadows as they watched me.
