Holly Jolly Cowboy (The Wyoming Cowboy #7)(82)
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 who 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 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 smile. “That’d be great.”
Lisa’s smile brightens and she puts her hands on her belly and begins 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’ve 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 he 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, and the walls are lined with jars and even more books. The ceiling is hung with what looks 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 stacks of loose paper everywhere.
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 not like her nephew at all, who prefers the more physical sort of casting.” Her cheeks turn red and she rubs her belly. “That’s the sort of thing that got me into this kind of mess.”
“Sorry, what?” I ask, stepping inside and peering at a jar that really looks like it’s got a pickled frog in it, of all things. These props are really amazing. It looks like something out of a Harry Potter scene, except there are no cobwebs or sorting hat, and I’m definitely not at Hogwarts. 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 chirp, 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?”