Chapter 3: Chapter Three

Two successful interviews later, I walked into the sprawling brick building that housed Thinner’s headquarters wearing a fitted black pant suit, my favorite gun (a pistol named Sydney), and a few of my favorite supernatural detecting accessories. Thinner took up half a block of prime real estate in downtown Applechester. I was greeted by the receptionist with shampoo commercial hair, glowing bronze skin, and a smile so fake it gave me ghost bumps. (5’8”, slender build, pencil skirt and heels would inhibit running. Risk assessment: unless looks could kill, low threat.)

“Hi again. I’m Mina Madison, Ms. Nicks’s new assistant.” As I spoke, I pressed a button on my watch, which should tell me in thirty seconds or less if the receptionist was human. The last two times I’d come across her, there had been additional people in the room, potentially interfering with the data.

Her smile stayed in place, but her eyes narrowed. “ID.”

I handed her my fake license and waited as she studied it and me. She gave it back and quickly pulled her hand away as if I disgusted her. She could give Sienna a run for her money.

“This way, Ms. Madison.” She pressed a button and walked over to a thick, spotless glass door with large copper handles.

I nodded my thanks as I walked through the door, pausing to glance down at my vibrating watch. Inconclusive. I tapped the watch face and tried again, getting the same result. So it wasn’t the other people last time. It was her. Hmm. Maybe werewolf?

Shampoo Commercial led me to the lower level and through a maze of hallways that would require me to leave M&M’s to find my way back if I hadn’t studied the blueprint. No thinking about candy before lunch because then you’ll be hungry.

Think about…cucumbers? Ugh. Cucumbers were like not eating at all. Crunchy water.

“So, you on the program?” I asked. “I’ve heard only great things.”

“Yes.”

Wow. Talkative. I studied her back, trying to pinpoint what exactly made her seem…different.

She walked like she was dancing, each move fluid and quick. I had to practically run to keep up with her, and she was wearing stilettos. Impressive. When she stopped suddenly, I almost tumbled into her back.

With a flourish of her hand, Shampoo Commercial directed me into an office encased in glass with two desks. My new manager, Maggie, was the complete opposite of the perfectly coiffed receptionist. A middle-aged woman who perpetually wore a headset and looked even more harried than last time I saw her. (5’6”, athletic build, A-line skirt and sneakers. Risk assessment: could beat up a mugger with her purse, if she wasn’t on the phone.)

She still had a pen cap between her teeth and her cell phone on speaker, all while making handwritten notes on two different note pads. She lifted her eyebrows in greeting as Shampoo Commercial disappeared back through the cave of wonders.

I set down my shoulder bag and grabbed a pad of paper and a pen from my new desk, then gestured to the phone in Maggie’s hand. With a relieved look, she handed it to me, and I jotted down what the speaker was saying.

A man gave me the name and cell number of Michigan’s governor, then requested a personal call back from Lucinda Nicks. With a quick flick of the earpiece on my fake glasses, which were actually a combination of a top-of-the-line camera and video feed, I took a photo of the note which automatically uploaded it to SHAP’s secure network.

Maggie flung off her headset and rushed around her desk, hand extended. Everything she did, she did with speed. Our handshake lasted only two seconds before she was hustling back to her computer.

“Welcome to your first day! Thanks for not sucking.” She paused, then gave me a quick once-over. “Please tell me that wasn’t a fluke and you actually don’t suck.”

I smiled. “I work hard, love organization, and I know how Google works.” I clicked my watch button and refocused on her.

She nodded while glancing through the file folders already in her inbox. “I like you. You’re better than the last one.”

“The last one?”

Maggie nodded. “He popped his gum.”

I cringed. “I’ve broken up with people for less.” She laughed and gave me a relieved smile. My watch buzzed and I glanced down. Human.

“IT will be by to set up your log in, and HR will be by with paperwork when they eventually grace us with their presence. In the meantime…” Maggie dumped a large binder on my desk. “Read this. Memorize it.”

I flipped open the cover and skimmed the first page.

Lucinda Nicks’s Preferences.

I had yet to meet the owner and CEO of Thinner in person, although we had talked on video chat during my last interview. She was currently in Washington, D.C., having tea with three former first ladies. Several members of the security detail they had hired for the trip were from SHAP.

“You’re the sixth hire in six months,” Maggie continued. “If you want to last longer than the rest, you do things the way Lucinda wants them when she wants them. Got it?”

I nodded. “She’s not my first Devil Wears Prada.” I doubted she’d be as bad as working undercover for a feel who was pregnant with twins—nymphs were outright barbarians when they hit forty-seven weeks—but I knew it was stupid, if not deadly, to underestimate any opponent.

Maggie smiled. “Ah, but I bet she’ll be the most memorable. This is one hundred percent a ‘Yes, I can’ or ‘I will look into that immediately’ work culture. There is no ‘I can’t.’ Understand?”

“Perfectly.”

“Then you can have a temporary ID badge until HR makes you an official one. This will get you in and out of the building and onto the executive level.” She grabbed a badge from her drawer and tossed it to me. I caught it midair and clipped it to my belt loop. It read Executive Pass, Lucinda Nicks above a small chip.

I didn’t get a chance to thank her before an old-fashioned ringing emanated from our desk phones. Maggie’s entire face rearranged itself into a customer-service smile before she pulled on the headset. “Hello, Ms. Lucinda, this is Maggie speaking.” Her fingers flew over the keyboard. “No, I don’t think she can sue. It’s in the contract she signed. Yes, ma’am.”

When she hung up, she jotted on a sticky note and held it out on her finger, the name Natalie Moranis and a date of birth meticulously printed on the square. “Take this to the records department and ask them to forward the digital copy to me but wait for the paper file as well. Take the paper file to the office down the hall and hand it directly to Carma Nicks. Not her assistant. If you screw this up, you’re fired. Got it?”

I nodded and took the sticky note. “Records, digital to you, paper into Carma’s hand. Check.”

She pointed past the door. “Look both ways before you step into a hallway.” The phone rang again, and Maggie picked it up without another word.

As instructed, I looked both ways, only to be nearly flattened by a group of five men in suits that probably cost more than a year’s rent. Good lord, they walked faster than I jogged. I flipped the glasses to video mode to catch their speed. If someone was rushing, there was usually a good reason.

There weren’t any smiles or greetings from the passersby, just snorts or quiet conversations on their AirPods. Either random newbies wandering the halls looking lost was a common enough occurrence to disregard, or people were so busy they didn’t care if I was a lamp post or a human. Fine with me. The more invisible I was, the more I could observe.

Jake was right. There was a really weird vibe to this place. Neither my watch nor the EMF reader ring on my pointer finger, which glowed if I came across a strong electromagnetic field of energy, had alerted me to anything suspicious. Still, I couldn’t shake the internal vibration in my chest, the one that told me to keep my guard up.

“Excuse me,” Jake said as he stepped out of the elevator to my right. With the exception of a brief glance to my wrist, he acted as if I were a complete stranger. “Can you tell me how to get to…” He looked down at his phone. “Mina Madison’s office? I’m from IT.”

“Hi! I’m Mina,” I said, playing along. His eyes met mine, and I shook my head once, indicating I had zero idea what was going on.

I made a show of telling him how to get to my office, using a lot of hand waving. “I’m headed to records, but maybe I’ll see you when I get back.” He nodded, then squeezed my elbow once—indicating he had also come up blank—before walking away. He was using his gunmetal gray cane today, which had been fitted with surveillance equipment and storage space for a knife and a bottle of holy water. Never knew when either would come in handy.

The records department was at the end of a long hallway that sloped downward, only adding to the suspicion there was something supernatural at work here. Sure, all the executive offices could be on the lower level because of space or to lower heating and cooling costs, but likely it had to do with sunlight or noise. I mean, wasn’t having a window office the perk of being an exec? But vampires and sun did not mix well, and werewolves hated noise.

Supernatural creatures all had very real origins. It was an incredibly diverse group, hailing from all over the planet. Every country, every state, every major city. Every skin color, religious background, sexual orientation, and political party had non-humans.

Through both genetic and viral mutations, as well as scientific experimentations—in the days before such things were considered “cruel and unusual”—the line between what we considered normal and fiction blurred. We knew both zombies and vampires were caused by a rare, but often fatal, virus spread through their venom that once blood-borne was difficult to cure.

Werewolves started from a scientific experimentation to cross a wolf and a human. While the practice had been outlawed in the 1970s, new wolves still popped up. The genes sometimes stayed dormant for generations, usually activating during times of physical trauma. Werewolf bites weren’t what turned others into wolves—it was the trauma of surviving an animal attack.

My badge unlocked the record room’s door, and I was startled by an ultra-clean, ultra-modern space. I had expected rows and rows of manila files along a back wall behind a cluttered desk. Instead, a man with an intense stare raised his dark gaze and studied me from behind a smudge-free glass desk. (5’10” wide shoulders, slender build. Sneakers, no glasses. Risk assessment: scrappy in a bar fight.)

After clicking the button on my watch, I held up my badge. “I’m Ms. Nicks’s new assistant. I need the paper file and Maggie needs the digital.” I handed him the note, which he glanced at and returned.

My watch buzzed. Inconclusive.

He stood and moved into the back with startling speed. With that bird-like stare, I would’ve expected some kind of avian relation, maybe even the grandson of a harpy. If only I could take a blood sample…

While the detector was an amazing invention, ultimately it was a fancy smart watch with special calibrations. It scanned a body for vital readings, like heart rate, core temperature, and breathing patterns. Vampires would be colder than humans, while werewolves would be warmer. Heart rates and breathing patterns (or lack thereof) had helped us identify dozens of creatures over the decades, but like humans, the supernatural were always evolving.

My watch reading “inconclusive” wasn’t scary, just annoying. Likely, it meant whatever made these people different just wasn’t an option in the software. As supernaturals procreated, their genes mutated and over time, SHAP needed to recalibrate our watches to track younger generations.

The far less likely but infinitely more concerning option was someone had created a new breed of creature that wasn’t in the database. I had only seen it happen once, after a bunch of teens tried to turn themselves into vampire-werewolf hybrids after watching Twilight. The six people who survived the transition now all worked for SHAP.

Keeping an eye on the doorway, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and set it on the counter, then oops, clumsy me, pushed it off the other side. I made a big show of looking mortified—just in case someone could see me—and ran around the counter to get it, fiddling with my glasses to grab shots of what was on his monitor.

The rustling of a paper warned me I was out of time. I swooped down, snatched my phone, and returned to the other side of the desk as he came around the corner. He hesitated as if he sensed the air shifting but didn’t miss a step. Interesting. What a very unhuman-like thing to do.

He handed me the file, staring at me as if tracking every movement. I swiftly tucked the file under my arm.

“Been here long?”

He didn’t blink. “Year.”

Did the Thinner program remove these people’s conversational skills? “They treat you well? Do you like it?”

“Yep.”

“What’s your favorite part of the program?” There. Try another one-word answer.

“Success.”

I should’ve seen that coming. I had plenty of experience with my dad, after all. I smiled wide and leaned on the counter. “Can you tell me how to get to Carma Nicks’s office? It’s my first day and I’m all turned around.” I knew where her office was, but sometimes the helpless female act broke the most stoic of men.

He didn’t bother to use words. He grabbed a pre-printed map and placed it between us. Using a highlighter, he drew a line from the records department to Carma’s office. Then he turned back to the computer. Something in my chest eased as soon as his gaze was off me, as if he saw through my facade and was moments away from uncovering my secret.

With a deliberately awkward wave—being the clueless new girl was always a great cover—I backed out of the room and into the hall. The folder burned in my hand. I needed to get a copy of it. As much as people didn’t seem to be paying attention to me as they passed, I wasn’t naive enough to start scanning through it in the hall.

I made my way to the restrooms, pushing through the women’s room door and into a stall. The stale air was heavy with disinfectant and potpourri, but I was blissfully alone. I turned my glasses onto video mode and scanned over each sheet of paper.

Health charts, mental health worksheets, goals…and bingo. A membership contract.

Member agrees to enter into an ongoing, lifelong contract with Thinner until the member passes away or until member is unable to tolerate program…

Lifelong? Why? And how the hell could they enforce it? What did “unable to tolerate” mean?

The member agrees to the following stipulations:

1) Member must abide by the program with no deviation, including only ingesting Thinner-approved food replacement meals and beverages, other than water. No other food is permitted, as it may cause a life-threatening reaction with Thinner supplements.

2) While on the Thinner program, member agrees they have completed their intended childbearing, as the Thinner food replacement is not safe for pregnant or nursing mothers.

3) Outside discussion of the Thinner program is prohibited…

The bathroom door squeaked open. Dammit. I paused, hoping they’d walk into a stall but instead, they just stopped at the mirror. Awesome.

I only had a few more pages of the contract left to scan but didn’t want them to hear the rustling of the paper. I flushed the toilet, using the noise of rushing water to cover me. When it finished, I unzipped and redipped my zipper, then shoved the file folder under my shirt.

Before I had the chance to open the stall door, the woman walked out, and I nearly sagged in relief. After washing my hands, I barreled into the hall and straight into something.

No. Someone.

The file tumbled to the floor, causing papers to scatter everywhere. This would never have happened four months ago. I was entirely off my game.

Stifling a curse at the sharp pain that radiated through my shoulder, I darted to the ground and tried to shove the papers back into the folder before this person saw what I was hiding.

“Entirely my fault.”

I glanced up at the woman who had crouched down to help me—the one I had face planted into—and froze. Green eyes, the color of sun-drenched summer leaves, locked with mine. My gaze snagged on her bright red lips and all the oxygen in my chest evaporated. Helium filled my heart and I briefly worried it was going to burst through my chest and float away.

(5’10” slender build, perfect breasts and hips, A-line dress and towering heels. Risk assessment: to be determined.)

I cleared my throat and rubbed the heel of my palm across my breastbone, unsettled by my reaction. I opened my mouth to say something, but my voice failed me. She dipped her head, her dark hair falling against her porcelain cheeks. My hand started to lift to brush it back behind her ear, but thankfully my brain and arm reconnected before I did something stupid.

“I’m so sorry,” I managed, pulling up my awkward-new-girl persona, which wasn’t hard. All coherent thought had vanished as I stared at the intricately carved wooden coffin around her neck. It was small enough to look like a whimsical charm at a distance, but up close…

Summers, stop staring at her chest!

“Are you new here? I would remember seeing you.” She handed me the folder.

Was…was I blushing? What was this warmth on my cheeks thing? A fever? An allergic reaction? Maybe I should text the SHAP physician.

My laugh filled the space between us. “Uh, yeah. It’s my first day.” I held out my hand. “I’m Mina Madison, Lucinda Nicks’s new second assistant.”

The smile she returned was so stunning, I forgot how to blink for a few seconds. She slipped her cool, smooth hand into mine and shook it, not letting go. “I’m Carma Nicks, Lucinda’s daughter.” She bobbed her head and laughed again. “And VP.”

Neither of us moved for a moment, still staring at each other. Carma Nicks. “Oh!” I cried, breaking my grip and shaking my head to clear it. I should’ve recognized her immediately, but I got distracted by the perfect cupid’s bow of her lips…

Focus. I clicked my watch and then held out the folder. “Uh, actually, this is for you. Maggie told me to place it directly into your hands.”

She accepted the file. “You were just hanging out with it in the bathroom?” Her words sounded teasing, but there was a real question beneath her melodic voice.

I forced a laugh and waved away the prodding question. “I was on my way back from the records room, and the two cups of coffee I downed earlier today…” I trailed off when my watch buzzed. Inconclusive.

She smiled, suspicion seemingly forgotten. “Ah yes. I miss coffee.”

“No coffee on the meal plan?” I inquired.

She shook her head. “Don’t need the caffeine anyway. It’s been forever since I’ve had a cup, but I still love the smell of freshly ground beans.”

“Best smell in the world,” I agreed.

She gestured to the other end of the hallway. “If you’re headed back to your office, I’ll walk with you.”

I nodded for her to proceed. After looking both ways, we stepped into the middle of the hallway, and she matched her pace with mine. “Why does everyone walk so fast around here?” I asked. “I didn’t realize I’d be sprinting all day.”

“You’ll get used to the pace. I swear, some days these people have skates on the bottom of their shoes.” She glanced down at my feet and took her time moving back up my body.

That weird cheek-heating thing happened again. I cleared my throat. “Is, uh, are skates allowed? Because I would one hundred percent be in.”

Her laugh was like wind chimes on a breeze. “Sadly, I think my mom would veto.” We stopped in front of my office. “It was nice meeting you, Mina.” She said my name like this was an ending to a dinner date, not an embarrassing hallway meeting.

A shiver ran over my overheated skin. Did I have a fever? What the hell was happening to me? It wasn’t flu season. Food poisoning? Poor quality HVAC system? Alien abduction?

“You too, Ms. Nicks.” My voice came out low and husky, like I had forgotten how to talk normally.

“Carma, please.”

“Carma, then.”

Her eyes flicked down to my lips then back up. She bit her lip and turned on her heel, then walked quickly down the hall to the office next door. I couldn’t remember how to look away.

Maggie called out, startling me. “Mina, come meet Jake from IT!”

Jake. Job. Focus. What had just happened? I’d made a rookie mistake.

When I walked into my office, Jake’s dark gaze assessed mine. His brow narrowed. He glanced down at my watch and I shook my head once. Inconclusive, I mouthed. He nodded, then started to explain how to log into my desktop, as if it was the first computer I’d ever seen.

My mind, however, was still on the woman with the green eyes and red lipstick.