by R. L. Naquin
I looked down at him through my glasses, and he shifted from foot to foot. “You’ll have to ask someone in personnel, sir.” I leaned forward. “Did you want me to give you the form to fill out for an appointment?” There was no form for that. But I made it sound so ominous, he’d never ask for it.
He took a step back—they usually did that when they were afraid I’d take off my shades and turn them into stone with my stare. I loved that part.
“No, no. That’s fine.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and pointed his gaze somewhere over my left shoulder. “I was just wondering, that’s all.”
I grunted at him again, then slammed a stamp on the top page of his paperwork and dropped it in the outbox. “Follow the copper line to Thebes for orientation and further instruction. Next.”
My favorite part was always the way the finality of my words fed the confusion and panic on their faces.
After a moment of hesitation, he spotted the colored lines on the floor, chose the thick, copper one, and followed it out of the atrium down a hallway. Three more new hire humans stood in line behind him. I sighed and gave the next one an impatient signal to step forward.
The morning dragged in what felt like an endless stream of newbies to be sent to orientation. By ten, though, even the stragglers were checked in and on their way. Mondays always went that way—an influx of brand new humans bound for training for the first few hours, then everything went back to business as usual.
I dropped a Be Right Back sign on my desk and took my ten-minute break without saying a word to the four people standing in line. I heard a centaur clomp one foot in agitation, but I ignored him. I couldn’t intimidate a Mythic with the threat of turning them to stone, since they knew I didn’t have that ability. But I still had all the power. I was the receptionist. If they wanted me to straighten out whatever their problem was, they’d have to suck it up.
I might have liked the job more than I let on.
After a quick trip to the ladies room, I refilled my coffee cup and took a few minutes to watch the other folks meandering in the Mythics cafeteria. Two satyrs sat hunched over a game of checkers, laughing at some joke or other. A minotaur in a jogging suit blew on a cup of ramen noodles, then tipped it back and drank it all in one gulp. The snuffling noises he made were...unlovely. I wrinkled my nose, a little grossed out. A stray noodle had squirmed from the side of his mouth and lay flat against his hairy cheek. I took a sip of coffee and looked away.
A naiad and a dryad sat in a corner together, the naiad drinking water through her graceful blue fingertips, and the dryad with both green hands buried in buckets of soil. The naiad’s cerulean hair shimmered as if wet, and the dryad’s hair sprouted flowers as she ate.
I tried to take another sip of my coffee, but it was gone. While I’d been otherwise occupied, my snakes had dipped their tiny faces into my cup and drained it.
Fantastic. Now my hair’s all caffeinated and won’t stay in place.
I poured a second cup of coffee and returned to my desk. It turned out, spazzy snake hair was far more disconcerting to the clients than when I gave them the stony stare. I’d have to consider saving up for an espresso machine.
First in line when I came back was a cyclops with corrective lenses—lens. Really, it was a monocle. It was held in place around her head by a string of pink and yellow beads. She had her hair pulled into three pigtails, one on each side and one on top.
I made no attempt to hide my smirk. “Next.”
She slapped an employee ID card on the counter. “I need this changed.”
The card had a picture of a similar cyclops, but with a little goatee and a black plastic frame around the monocle.
I pushed the card toward her with two fingers. “You can’t make changes to another employee’s card. This person…” I bent closer to look at the name and my headsnakes gave a warning hiss at everyone near enough to scare. “Charles Leech. Charles will have to come in himself if he wants a new ID card.”
The cyclops’s single eye grew wide, and the single eyebrow rose. She slammed her fist on the counter, her voice rising with each word. “I was Charles Leech. You’re not listening. I’m Charlize Leech now, and I need the name changed and a new photo taken. I’ve been getting the runaround for weeks.” With each word, the pigtail on the top waggled and bobbed.
The entire atrium had fallen silent. If I didn’t take back control of the conversation, every person who witnessed the situation would take advantage of me from then on. I blinked. “Ma’am, in order to process your request, I’ll need to see some photo identification.”
Charlize groaned in frustration. “The only photo ID I have has the wrong information on it. That’s why I’m here.”
“I see.” I reached under the counter and thumbed through a file. “Fill out these forms and follow the red line to Crete. Please make sure you answer all questions completely or they won’t be able to help you.” I slid the forms into a clipboard with a pen dangling from a string. On top, I added a yellow sticky note on which I wrote “Ask for Peg.” Peg would make the transition go smoothly, and the cyclops wouldn’t get the runaround.
What? I did nice things for people all the time. I just didn’t make a habit of letting everyone know about it. I had a reputation to uphold.
“Did you say the red line?” Charlize asked.
“Yes, I said red.” I handed her the clipboard and dismissed her. “Next.”
She hesitated—they all did when I wanted them to leave—and I ignored her. She glanced at the clipboard, then found the red line and stomped off.
She’d be fine. But seriously, how often do you get such a perfect opportunity to roll out the red tape? She was lucky I didn’t draw out the situation.
I should have drawn it out. The rest of the day droned on forever with nothing quite so interesting as a transgender cyclops in a beaded monocle. Plumbing complaints, transfer requests, lost time cards—it all had to go through me before I funneled it through to the correct department.
I glanced at the giant clock embedded in one of the enormous pillars across from my desk. Ten more minutes and I could bug out of there. All the clients had been taken care of, and with a little luck, no one else would come in. Five minutes later I bent over to grab my purse from a built-in shelf. Maybe I could cut out early. Who would care?
My headsnakes hissed, alerting me to the presence of another person at the desk. I sighed, bracing myself, and sat up. “Yes?”
A small woman with nervous eyes clutched her bag against her chest. “I need an exterminator.”
I frowned. “Pardon me?”
“An exterminator. You’re new.” She glanced past me, standing on her toes. “Is there someone else here? Where’s the man who was here last month?”
“Samuel?” I gave her a polite smile. “He was reassigned. What sort of exterminator do you need?”
She gulped. “I have a basilisk living under my porch. The exterminator came out to take care of it, but there must’ve been more than one. All the grass around the house is dead, and I’m afraid to let my cat out.”
“Uh huh.” I reached for a form in a cubbyhole under the desk, only half listening. I stopped and blinked. “Wait, basilisk?”
“Yes. Apparently, there were two.”
My heart pounded in excitement. “What happened to the other one?”
“The exterminator took care of it”
I frowned. “Took care of it?”
She nodded. “Chopped its head off right in my yard. I doubt anything will grow there now. Might as well pour cement and make a patio in that spot.”
My pulse pounded in my ears. Basilisks were small, peaceful creatures. I’d read about them—roosters with poisonous spurs on their heels and the long tails of snakes. Snakes. I couldn’t let another one be harmed. I had to do something.
I pushed the paperwork into a clipboard with an attached pen. “Fill this out for me, please. I’ll see to it the basilisk is removed and does no further harm to you
r property.”
“Thank you.” She sighed with relief and went to sit in a chair while she wrote down her information.
Five o’clock came and went, and I watched people from other departments brush through the atrium and out one of the two doors, off to wherever they lived in either the human world or in Mount Olympus.
As the last of the stragglers exited the building, my client returned to the desk with her completed paperwork. “You’re sure they’ll take care of it this time?” The skin under her left eye twitched. “I’m so afraid it’s going to come out and bite me or turn me to stone.”
I glanced at the paper she’d given me. She lived in New Mexico. It figured. Basilisks liked warm, dry places. “I’ll see to it myself,” I said. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
~*~
A lot of logistical problems stood between me and saving my first real, live basilisk. The first being location.
Mount Olympus was in a separate dimension from the human world. The front door led to wherever a person came from. I’d originally arrived from downtown Philadelphia. The building I’d entered looked, on the outside, like an abandoned department store. Once I walked through the door, I was in the atrium where I worked. All major cities had an access building that looked abandoned but led to Mount Olympus. If I walked out that door, I’d be in Philly, not New Mexico.
Now, of course, I didn’t leave through that door. I didn’t live in the human world. I left through the other door on the other side of the atrium. It led to other parts of Mount Olympus, like the residential and shopping districts.
The only ways to go to a different human location were to apply for a transfer, go with someone as a guest, or work in the courier department.
Since transfers took weeks and I couldn’t let anyone see me, that only left one option. I’d have to become an unofficial member of the messenger branch.
After hours, the building was dark and echoed with every footstep I took. The ding of the elevator and the sound of its doors opening bounced around the atrium and made me cringe. My hand shook as I pressed the button inside, and I held my breath when the doors opened for me on the seventh floor. Nobody stood waiting to catch me.
I stuck my head out and peered both ways, then stepped into the tiled hallway. A directory on the wall across from the elevator advised me to turn left, and I followed the arrow until I reached the correct door. Gold letters on frosted glass read Courier and Travel. Beneath that was a picture of a pair of gold, winged sandals.
The problem with breaking into a god’s office is you can’t whisper a prayer before trying the doorknob to see if it’s unlocked.
To my surprise, the knob turned and the door swung open. I ducked inside and closed the door behind me. A bead of nervous sweat trickled from my temple, and my headsnakes shifted and coiled tightly against my head.
The room’s overhead lights had been turned off, but all along the far wall pockets of ambient light kept the room from total darkness. I crept over to inspect the light’s source and found a row of glowing sneakers hung on pegs by their laces.
Perfect.
Every department had specific tools its employees used to do their jobs. Cupids had their wings and arrows to encourage love, muses had their bottles of thought-bubbles to offer inspiration, and messengers had their sneakers for travel.
I found a pair in my size, tucked them into my purse, and got the hades out of there.
On the way back downstairs, I nearly ran into a harpy pushing a mop bucket and humming to herself off key. I ducked behind a potted plant as she passed by, then made a run for the elevator. By the time I made it back to my desk, I was out of breath and panicky.
I’d only been a part of this world for less than two months, and I’d already stolen something from a god. I’d never done anything wrong in my life. I’d never so much as stolen a stick of gum. This was insane.
I berated myself for my terrible behavior the entire time I was changing into my ill-gotten sneakers. I lectured myself thoroughly all the way across the atrium, out the door, and out into New Mexico.
I glanced at the address on the paperwork the woman had given me and rebuked myself for risking so much without a thought to consequences as I flew over Albuquerque and landed at Mrs. Swanburg’s house.
And then I forgave myself. No use ruining a perfectly good adventure.
The minute my magic-covered feet touched the dry earth, my headsnakes became alert. Something under the porch had their undivided attention.
One of the advantages of using one of the departmental tools—like the traveling shoes—was they disguised the user. What I’d lost when my stealth insurance had lapsed was returned when I put on the shoes. I looked human. The only difference was, I wasn’t human. My headsnakes were still present and, to my eyes, my skin was green. But to anyone else, I was the mousy, unremarkable girl I’d always thought I’d been. At least, that’s what I’d read would happen. Fingers crossed the material I’d read in training hadn’t been outdated or incorrect, because I was in a New Mexico suburb pretending to be someone—something—I wasn’t. Eileen Swanburg was obviously a part of the Mythos world, but I was betting none of her neighbors were. If a gorgon showed up and crawled under her porch, that would be bad for everyone.
I glanced around. A blue, four-door sedan pulled in across the street, and a man got out. He gave me a smile and a wave, then turned and went inside.
Obviously, he hadn’t seen a green-skinned woman with a head full of hyperactive snakes. I was in the clear, so I turned my attention to the Swanburg house.
Four painted steps led up to the wraparound porch. A pair of whitewashed wooden chairs with pink cushions sat beneath a picture window, and hanging plants and wind chimes swayed from the overhang. Pretty in a kitschy, overdone sort of way.
The space beneath the porch was skirted in flimsy latticework, and one corner on the right hung loose. I assumed it was where the exterminator had gone in the last time. I tested it and found the decorative barrier came off without any resistance, so I set it aside and took off my glasses to peer into the darkness under the house.
Something moved in the shadows. I tapped a flashlight app on my phone and used the light to get a better look.
Two tiny eyes like liquid tar stared back. Silky black feathers glistened, and the creature snapped its beak open and closed several times. It shook its crimson rooster wattle at me and scraped its clawed, poison-spurred feet in the dirt, then ruffled two dark wings.
“Don’t be silly.” I kneeled in the dead grass and ducked my head inside. “I’m here to help you.” I crawled inside on all fours, hoping the dirt wouldn’t ruin my skirt.
The rooster bobbed its head up and down, then it stretched its neck toward me, beak clacking in warning. But the front half of the basilisk was a distraction. Aside from the venomous spurs, the rooster portion was no more harmful than its barnyard cousins. The problem was the back half. It slithered next to me in silence, fangs dripping with the same poison that had killed the grass outside.
My hand touched something wet and stiff, and I shone the light at it. A dead rat lay curled in on itself, as if it had died in agony. I wiped my hand on my skirt. I’d probably have to toss it after this anyway.
I turned and addressed the snake as it crept closer. “Look. I really don’t want to hurt you. Give me a second.” I sat up and removed the stolen sneakers so the basilisk could see my true form. “See?” My snakes coiled and uncoiled, the movements making my scalp itch.
The snake end of the basilisk pulled back, its eyes wide in surprise. The rooster stepped toward me, head turned to the side to examine me with one piercing eye, and the snake’s tongue flicked to taste my arm.
I smiled and held still while the creature judged me. I must have passed the test. A moment later, my lap was filled with scales and feathers. The rooster end buried its head under my arm, and the snake end climbed my body to commune with my headsnakes.
“There you go.” I cuddled the r
ooster with one hand and rested my other hand against the snake’s skin. “Everything’s going to be okay, sweet boy. I know. This was scary. I don’t know how you got out here, but I’ll get you someplace safe.”
We sat like that for a while, until the basilisk was ready to go.
If I’d had a choice, I’d have taken him back to my dorm room. But I doubted my roommates would appreciate him the way I did. As it was, they already didn’t like having my Daphne there in her tank. Besides—basilisks weren’t pets, and certainly not indoor pets. I’d already thought it through, though. I knew exactly where to take him.
“Now, I have to change how I look before I we can go. Don’t be alarmed, okay? It’s still me.”
The basilisk’s rooster head bobbed a few times, and the two ends climbed from my lap and waited while I put the sneakers back on. Once I’d tied the shoes, the snake portion drew closer and flicked my cheek with its tongue to verify it was still me.
The rooster portion of the basilisk followed me out from under the house with the snake riding patiently on its back. The gods were a strange bunch, making such awkward creatures.
The sky had turned dark, so no one saw us emerge. I scooped the basilisk into my arms, replaced the latticework over the hole, and flew into the sky.
The only way back to Mount Olympus from the human world I knew of was through the front door to the main building, right past my desk in the atrium. Despite my earlier expedition to steal shoes from the courier department, I felt pretty ballsy walking into the empty building with a basilisk tucked under my arm. Still, I strode through the door and across the atrium like I owned the place, then exited through the opposite door out into the rest of Mount Olympus.
Five minutes of flight later, I was in a clearing in the wilds of the land of the gods.
“This is it.” I gave the basilisk an affectionate squeeze and set him on the ground. “You’ll do a whole lot better here. I promise.”
The basilisk nudged me with both its heads and gave me a sorrowful look from four eyes.