Storm Called

by Susan Copperfield

  Dear lord alive, I hoped she’d come back. I loved her on my couch, her usually haughty, untrusting expression relaxed in sleep. I wanted to take a picture, but I didn’t dare. Instead, I fetched my blanket from my bed, covered her, and left a note with the spare key for her to use whenever she wanted.

  Everything hinged on landing the perfect job so I could afford to feed a princess in dire need of meals she could trust. I couldn’t help but wonder if my cooking might help me catch a wild west Texas wind—and what I’d do if I managed to keep a princess around.

  I made it to Sundale Reserves Industries with twenty minutes to spare. Already resigned to losing my chance to explore the area, I walked around the block once to settle my nerves before heading to the security desk as ordered.

  The whole place reeked of wealth, and I wondered how people could walk over the polished marble floor without worrying about damaging the damned thing. Would I be fired if I scuffed it?

  Maybe wearing my boots hadn’t been a good idea.

  As it was far too late to change anything, I said, “My name is Patrick Laycal. I have a four o’clock interview.”

  The pair of guards exchanged glances. I had no idea what the look meant, but the older of them, his dark hair streaked with gray, rose to his feet. He wore the kind of suit I expected an elite to own. “Please follow me, Mr. Laycal. There’s been a slight adjustment to your planned interview.”

  Shit. “Am I late?”

  The guard humored me with a smile. “Not at all, Mr. Laycal. Mr. Hemmington had an emergency come up, so someone else will be conducting your interview and handling the necessary arrangements for your hire.”

  Why did the security team know anything about the specifics of my interview? I did my best to hide my uncertainties, struggling to keep my expression neutral. “Thank you, sir.”

  The guard led me down a hall lined with elevators and swiped a card at the final key pad. The door pinged and swooshed open. He gestured for me to enter, and as soon as I stepped inside, he tapped the card to another panel and pressed the up button. “Introduce yourself to the receptionist. She’ll take care of you.”

  The guard stepped away from the elevator, and the door closed.

  What the hell sort of janitorial job was I interviewing for? Nothing matched my expectations. With my afternoon already turned upside down due to a royal visitor, I’d be impressed if I got through the rest of my day without losing control of my nerves.

  The ascent took longer than I thought, and I fought the urge to turn tail and go home.

  The elevator door opened.

  A tiny, wobbly-legged horse bounced around the reception, her hooves clicking on the marble. A pale bandage wrapped around its golden hind leg. I stepped out of the elevator, blinking at the presence of a horse in the skyscraper.

  It whinnied and darted to a brown horse standing patiently with two women in designer jackets and skirts plus three men in suits. Their attention shifted to me.

  The foal then bounced to me and thrust its tiny head against my stomach. Unable to help myself, I chuckled and asked, “What’s the story, Morning Glory?”

  My question earned me a snuggle, and I rewarded the little animal with a petting.

  “That’s perfect,” one of the women declared. “That’s what her name will be. Thank you. I thought we’d never decide on a name for her.”

  The newly dubbed What’s the Story, Morning Glory continued to nuzzle me. “You’re welcome, ma’am.” I swallowed, reminding myself I’d sworn to act like I belonged to a higher caste than I did, and continued, “I’m Patrick Laycal, and I’m here for an interview scheduled for four o’clock.”

  All five of them checked their watches or phones.

  The woman, whom I presumed owned the foal, grinned. “You’re right on time. Excellent. I’m Elana, the primary receptionist for this floor. Mr. Hemmington is running behind due to an emergency, so we’re going to handle your interview. This is Mrs. Goldman, who works in Human Resources.”

  The other woman smiled at me and inclined her head.

  “These gentlemen are the Darmill brothers. You’ll get used to that soon enough. Adolf is in charge of our tech department; he’ll set you up with everything you need. All employees have business phones and a suitable laptop, as you’ll need to be able to check your schedule in our system. Harold works with the marketing department. You’ll see him a lot. He often works late hours during crunch time. Lanley is in upper general management.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said, wondering if I’d see the trio often enough to wonder how to address them beyond Mr. Darmill.

  “Mr. Hemmington informed me you’re a latent horse empath,” Elana announced. “That’s why I brought in Sunshine and her filly to meet you. We find our employees work better, are healthier, and remain at the company longer if we work with everyone on an individual level. There are a lot of ranchers working here, so you’ll have a chance to use your talent.” The woman’s attention returned to the filly, and she smiled, shaking her head. “Sometimes this bites back, and sometimes, the horse picks her rider.”

  The filly pressed her head harder against me, and I resumed stroking her. If she hadn’t been trying so hard to meld with me, I would’ve staged a retreat. “I can’t afford a horse, ma’am.”

  “You’ll be surprised to discover what you can afford here, Mr. Laycal. What’s the Story, Morning Glory has a defect, one that’ll prevent her from working as a ranch horse. Realistically, she’d be sold at auction, likely to a butcher, without a good reason to try to resolve the defect.”

  Texans loved horses, but every horse served a purpose, and sometimes, that purpose was putting food on the table. Dismayed, I petted the filly’s nose. “What’s the defect?”

  “See that wrap? It’s covering the deformity. Right now, she’s holding her own, but we’re fairly confident it will take extensive surgery to correct. She’s improved somewhat; at birth, her leg was casted.”

  Not even magic saved most horses with a broken leg, and leg deformities often led to an early demise. Most couldn’t afford to pay for the treatments. I certainly couldn’t. Most of the wealthy opted against paying the steep price, too. “Does it hurt her?”

  “Some. She’s not usually so energetic.” Elana’s smile brightened. “I’ll recruit you to boost her morale while she goes through treatments. If the operations go well, she might make a good schooling horse down the road. You know how to ride?”

  “No, ma’am. I don’t. I’ve only been near horses during evals.” I flushed as a hint of my accent came out.

  “Typical. Well, Mr. Laycal, I expect you’ll be in rotation at the ranches once you’re settled in. Mr. Darmill?”

  I had no idea how the brothers knew which one she addressed, but the one she’d introduced as Lanley chuckled. “It’d be cruel to the little filly to take her human away. Mrs. Goldman, make a note in his file to schedule him in for lessons. If it pleases you, Elana, I can take Sunshine and her filly to my stable down the road. I’ve a pair you can board in exchange. Send over a stat sheet along with a copy of her papers, and we’ll do a value evaluation. We might be able to swing a hiring bonus to include the filly and her treatments.”

  “She won’t sell for more than three-fifty at auction. She’s from a decent line, but we don’t think she’ll shake out to be anything special. Right now, she can’t jump, can’t run, and won’t have any endurance without a lot of care.”

  The Darmill brothers all snorted, and Harold tossed his head back and laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” Elana demanded.

  Harold pointed at me. “Mark my words, Elana. You’re underestimating that filly, and you’re underestimating the man, too. You don’t toss a starved talent into his element without magic happening. Unlike us, he’s got everything to prove with her. I bet if you give him an hour every few days at my brother’s stable, we’ll get to see a miracle. Hell, I like to gamble. I’ll foot the filly’s board bill myself to see what happe
ns. It’s not often we get to play with a latent horse empath. When it’s time for her surgery, she’ll be ready, and once she’s back on all four hooves, she’ll be worth writing home about—and so will he.”

  “Mr. Darmill, you can’t just dictate his schedule. We ain’t even done his interview yet.”

  The woman’s casual use of slang startled me even more than Mr. Darmill’s desire to hire me without a proper interview.

  “We need to interview him?” Harold looked me over and grinned. “He ain’t got no idea what’s going on here, and he ain’t run for the hills yet. Yesterday, that interviewee took one look at the reception, turned around, and was out the door before we could ask him any questions. All right, Mr. Laycal. Let’s talk business. What skills do you bring to the table outside of cleaning?”

  “I can cook,” I replied.

  “You’re hired. I don’t know about the rest of y’all, but at midnight during crunch time, I’d do a hell of a lot more than pay for a horse’s medical bills for someone to make me a half-decent meal. We’d be fools to ignore a gift from the heavens.”

  “Half-decent?” I blurted. “Like hell! I don’t do half-decent.”

  My eyes widened as I realized I’d opened my mouth and spoke without thinking, rebuking someone from a higher caste.

  “And he’s got pride in his skills. Let’s not delude ourselves here, people. Anyone with half a brain can clean an office. His work record is as good as it gets across all the castes. If I need to pay the filly’s bills for however long he’s here, that’s fine. But I need to be fed.”

  Harold stared at Lanley, narrowing his eyes.

  Lanley smirked. “Please excuse my brother, Mr. Laycal. He lit the stove on fire last week attempting to feed himself. Frankly, employing you will spare us from quarterly kitchen renovations.”

  As my first blunder hadn’t ruined me, I dared to say, “You need general safety courses, a timer, and lessons in common sense, Mr. Darmill.”

  Harold sighed while everyone else laughed.

  “That he does,” Lanley replied. “Perhaps you can educate him about kitchen safety.”

  I cast a doubtful glance at the kitchen disaster waiting to happen. “How many kitchens has he ruined?”

  “Overall or here?”

  “Let’s start with here.”

  “Eight stove fires, six fried microwaves resulting in fire, and please don’t ask about the coffee maker.”

  I shuddered. “I recommend a kitchen ban and an evaluation for electric-based talents, which can result in the unfortunate demise of kitchen appliances. It’s a basic taught in cooking classes. Those with electrical talents need to take precautions around appliances, and if the talent is strong enough, special protectors need to be installed. A gas stove is the ideal solution for electric talents, although that won’t help with microwaves or coffee makers. Most refrigerators come grounded against electric talents, but that’s part of why they cost more than other appliances.”

  “See? I told you we needed someone with practical life experience around here,” Elana declared. “Do you know how to use a computer?”

  “Only enough to use the internet and handle my filings,” I admitted.

  “You can learn. Adolf, get him a good machine. I’ll teach him how to use the scheduling software and spreadsheets. He might even be able to help with the reporting software during crunch time if he’s not otherwise busy.”

  Mrs. Goldman sighed. “You’re going to scare him off, Elana.”

  She was? With the filly insistent on nuzzling me, I doubted I could make it far even if I got it into my head to flee the oddest interview I’d ever attended in my life.

  “Does he look scared to you? He’s not scared. He’s confused, uncertain, and possibly overwhelmed, but he’s got himself a happy little filly keeping him company. He’s fine. Hell, he’s probably having the time of his life right now. Anyway, we have several janitors for this floor that do the daytime shift already, and the entire building gets a full cleaning once a week. We’ll need to keep him busy.”

  Lanley looked me over, making thoughtful noises in his throat. “He can augment our night security for this floor, be the savior of our kitchen, and otherwise work as a jack of all trades. Every office needs a jack of all trades—and a good kitchen person on the executive floor. You’re right in that we’ll need to keep him busy, Elana. But the position we’re hiring in is too low for his qualifications. I’ll get Mr. Hemmington to fast-track a promotion and give him a good starting bonus to bring him more in line with his actual qualifications.”

  Kitchen person? Oh, well. If I could cook, I’d cope with my new job position as a jack of all trades and a kitchen person.

  “There’s the issue of caste restrictions, sir,” Elana muttered.

  “Leave that to Mr. Hemmington. If he can’t get an exemption, no one can—and Mr. Laycal has all the qualifications we need. Add in the possibility of us nurturing a horse empath, which we’ll pay for, Mr. Laycal, so don’t worry about that, it shouldn’t be a problem. We’ll put together a fair compensation package for you.” Lanley’s attention returned to Elana. “Anyway, we have the license to assist in caste transitions, and it shouldn’t be a problem to apply this to Mr. Laycal’s case. He’s already enrolled in expanded education. That alone qualifies him. It’s just paperwork. Between the five of us, we can handle it. If we turn over the completed package to Mr. Hemmington, it’ll limit any delays.”

  I decided the safest thing to do was keep quiet and pet the filly, watching with interest as they discussed my fate. When no one spoke, I said, “I’m going to need a lot of training.”

  Elana smiled at me. “Everyone hired does. That’s normal, and it’s not an issue. Your primary job will be tidying offices, emptying trash cans, vacuuming, and other cleaning tasks in addition to working in the kitchen. If you’ve finished your tasks for the day, spend your time however you see fit. We care about results, and if you can do the job in four hours and stay ahead of our mandated deadlines, we don’t care what you do with the rest of the time. Just do the job well, and you’ll be fine.”

  Harold rubbed his hands together, and his chuckle rumbled in his chest. “The old tech room’s empty; he can use that as an office. It won’t take long to empty and clean up. We can supply anything he needs in there, and if he needs to lock his ingredients up so no one is tempted to use them, that will work nicely. It’s not that far from the kitchen.”

  I wondered why he’d be concerned about the ingredients being used. “If you’re worried about that, just install locked cabinets in the kitchen or invest in a safe. It typically isn’t necessary, though.”

  The Darmill brothers exchanged glances, and ultimately, Harold and Adolf stared at Lanley.

  Sighing, Lanley shrugged. “We’ve had issues with food safety in the open kitchen,” he admitted. “I’ll authorize a large safe for non-perishable foods, and we’ll put in a fridge and freezer, too. It’ll be a little extra work moving things when you cook, but the old tech room already has a good security system installed.”

  It occurred to me they had no idea how to secure a kitchen. “They sell code-access refrigerators and freezers, and they can be linked to security monitors. My former boss was considering investing in one. They’re expensive, but if you’re concerned about food safety, they’re ideal. You’ll know who accessed what in the fridge and freezer without having to take excessive measures.”

  I wanted to know what the hell was going on with the food supply. The heir’s concerns were worrisome enough, but for there to be issues in an office building suggested a wide-spread issue—one that wasn’t affecting the supply chain for lower-end restaurants and retailers.

  Lanley considered me, his expression somber. “That sounds ideal. Do you have any other suggestions, Mr. Laycal?”

  Did I? I thought about it, scratching the filly behind her ears while I attempted to put myself in the shoes of the elites who worked on the floor. It didn’t take me long to realize I had no ide
a what they did, how they did it, or what they really needed from me. My experience with handling food would have to suffice, and even the lower castes dealt with food safety or risked losing their licenses. “If you’re having problems with people getting sick, you need to do a full lab evaluation of the food in the kitchen, sir. If there’s some form of contamination, it’s important to know what that contamination is. That’ll make it easier to identify the source and correct it. In the meantime, your best bet is to monitor the kitchen.”

  “But why?” Elana asked, her eyes widening.

  “Once is likely accidental undercooking or poor food handling. Multiple illnesses, if they’re staggered and not from an isolated incident, is either intentional or a contaminated food source. It’s a concern in all kitchens. I suppose it is possible it’s several incidents of poor food handling, but it’s unlikely.”

  I hoped.

  The Darmill brothers engaged in another staring contest, and Lanley lost again. He retrieved a cell phone from his pocket, dialed a number, and said, “I need a complete food safety check done on the executive floor. Send samples of everything to a lab for testing.” He listened for a while before hanging up. “Elana, please notify the floor that the kitchen is off-limits until further notice. Send security an email instructing them to prepare the old tech room, get it fully wired and keyed to Mr. Laycal, and to expand monitoring in the kitchen. Let’s nip this in the bud. While it’s been minor enough so far, I’d rather not see this escalate.”

  The more I heard, the less I liked it. “How many people have gotten ill?”

  Elana grimaced and averted her eyes, but Lanley Darmill looked me in the eyes and replied, “Everyone on the floor has gotten ill at least once in the past month. Some of us have gotten sick several times.”

  That sounded like a general contamination to me, although I wasn’t sure if the food itself was a problem, poor handling, or if something as simple as a broken refrigerator was to blame. “I’d be concerned about a contamination under those circumstances, but it could also be something as simple as the refrigerator not keeping things at the right temperature. A lot of people know how to tell when milk has soured, but if the refrigerator isn’t maintaining the right temperature, the food can start going bad without anyone realizing it. It could be a lot of things. But a test of what’s in the kitchen should tell you if it’s food spoiling earlier than expected.”