137- You could spam me all night and I still wouldn’t unsubscribe.
ROWEN
I stumble back into my hotel room with all the grace of someone who has been bleeding, sprinting, and emotionally blackmailing a mermaid in the same twelve hour span. I don’t even bother turning on the lights. My coat hits the floor, followed by my boots, followed by me, briefly leaning against the wall just to breathe. I’m bone deep tired. The kind of tired where your limbs don’t feel like they belong to you anymore, and your brain is just white noise with a vague sense of urgency. There’s blood on my shirt, my jeans and my elbow somehow. None of it mine… Probably. I peel everything off like it’s been glued to my skin and stagger into the shower. The moment the hot water hits me, I nearly melt on the spot. My back relaxes for the first time in hours. My head thuds lightly against the tile wall as I exhale. Hot water is a wonderful, wonderful thing. Possibly the only kind of magic the mundane world got right. Once I’m cleanish, I towel off, drag myself into the hotel bed, and sink into the mattress. The pillow is covered in the special black silk case I always bring with me when I travel. Partly because silk is supposed to reduce hair breakage, but mostly because hotel pillows are always snow white, and my rainbow hair stains like a crime scene. I’ve learned the hard way that hotel staff look at you funny when your pillowcases look like they lost a paintball war. Wrapped up in the comforter, limbs still buzzing from adrenaline and exhaustion, I grab my phone. It’s been buzzing all day with messages from Andy, but I haven’t had a second to check them until now. He hasn’t called, which means no emergencies, but knowing him, there’s probably a whole novella waiting for me. I brace myself and open the message thread. What I find is… Not what I expected.
<3 – Current status: hostage. Emotional, not literal. Yet. (I’m fine. Don’t actually worry.)
<3 – Currently involved in a mandatory team building exercise. Did not agree to this.
<3 – Learning a lot about workplace culture. None of it good.
<3 – Situation escalating. I may be outnumbered.
<3 – There was chanting. I was not invited to participate. Unsure if offended or relieved.
<3 – Emergency snacks were compromised. Morale is deteriorating rapidly.
<3 – Tried to enforce a filing order. Was accused of ‘vibe sabotage.’
<3 – At least one sentient object has unionized. Possibly two. Still assessing.
<3 – Estimated time to freedom: unknown. Estimated number of betrayals by inanimate objects: rising.
<3 – I may or may not have joined a committee. Against my will.
<3 – Was accidentally made a senior member of something. No idea how. Might just nod along.
<3 – Disaster appears inevitable. Morale remains weirdly high.
<3 – There was group chanting again. I harmonized on instinct. Regret nothing.
<3 – Confidence level: medium to high. Dignity level: medium to low.
<3 – Have learned at least three new life skills. None of them are useful in any normal setting.
<3 – Current environment: questionable. Team dynamics: surprisingly functional.
I stare at the screen, blinking slowly. I have no idea what Andy is doing. It sounds like he’s either running an impromptu supernatural book club or got sucked into a pyramid scheme. And yet… He sounds fine? Weirdly cheerful, even. Does he have someone over? Is he roleplaying some kind of corporate fantasy game? I genuinely don’t know. But he hasn’t used any of our emergency codes and he hasn’t tried to call. So whatever’s going on, he’s clearly handling it. I thumb out a few sleepy replies. Something about the mermaids with serious attitude problems, how one of them tried to drown a council liaison in a decorative fountain, and how I had to break up the fight twice before anyone would even listen to my warning about the cursed tide pool. Then I toss my phone onto the bed beside me, roll over, and exhale. I’m done. Exhausted. The kind of exhausted that feels like gravity is stronger now. I want to be home tomorrow. I want my bed. I want my husband. I fall asleep before I can even think about brushing my hair.
By the time I finally make it home, I’m running on three hours of sleep, leftover adrenaline, and a protein bar I found in the bottom of my bag this morning. I’m expecting home to be quiet. I’m expecting Andy will probably meet me at the door, possibly with a hot drink if he’s feeling sweet. What I’m NOT expecting is the sound of my husband talking animatedly to someone in the garage. That’s weird… Why is he even IN there? I pause in the hallway. The door to my workshop is open just a crack, and I can hear the unmistakable clatter of tea mugs, the gentle hum of warded documents… And Andrew’s voice, cheerful and overly proud.
“No, see, if you use conditional formatting here, it’ll highlight any cursed items over a certain danger threshold automatically.” He says patiently.
“You made the box turn red when the ghost is screaming.” A gravelly voice replies, impressed and deeply suspicious.
“That’s functional magic.” It declares.
“I mean, it’s Excel, but sure.” Andrew agrees. I push open the door, and stop dead in the entryway. Andrew is perched on a stool in my chaos wreck of a workshop, sipping tea with a lesser demon. Although it doesn’t look nearly as chaotic as it did when I left a few days ago. Andrew and his… Guest appear to be sorting through a pile of files which glow gently around them in organized stacks with colour coded tabs poking out in regimented rows like well trained soldiers. There’s an entire shelving system on the far wall that I am pretty sure I didn’t have before. Even more amazingly, the floor in here is actually visible. Not to mention it looks like the banshee folders have been soundproofed and it seems like the cursed contracts are sorted by region, language, and threat level. Andrew beams when he sees me, jumping to his feet.
“Hey, babe! Look! We made a filing system.” He tells me proudly. The miniature, sharp eyed, incredibly judgmental lesser demon currently scribbling furiously on a notepad no bigger than a matchbook, looks up and gives me a curt nod.
“Hunter, your paper situation was an affront to order. Frankly, you should be ashamed.” He says.
“I know you’re busy Row. That’s why we fixed it for you.” Andrew says brightly. I blink.
“You’re… You’re drinking tea. With a demon. In my workshop.” I say blankly. I have no idea how to process any of this.
“Not just any demon.” Andrew says, patting the tiny creature gently and dare I say affectionately on the shoulder.
“This is Garth. He’s a paperwork specialist. Speaks twelve languages. He’s a bit intense. But we’ve got a good system going now. He even helped me sort out the ‘Murder Taxes’ file.” Andy says this casually like that isn’t the most horrifying task imaginable.
“There were three, but one self destructed in protest. It was filed under ‘M’ instead of ‘L’ for ‘Legally Dubious Death Fees.’” Garth mutters
“Amateurs.” He sighs heavily. I rub my temples.
“Honey… This is genuinely impressive. But it’s not safe in here. You really shouldn’t be doing all this without me.” I tell him, not wanting to disregard all his hard work. But more than a little concerned for his safety. Andrew waves a hand breezily.
“No worries. I won’t have to. Garth volunteered to take over the filing from now on as long as we can maintain tea and crumpet Tuesdays. He’s going to work here once a week. We’re even making a plan to tackle the basement next.” He says with a smile.
“The basement?” I repeat, blinking. Garth nods solemnly.
“We’ll need velvet folders, four fireproof cabinets, and at least one birdcage.” He announces.
“Oh, and more scented candles. Garth says they help the vibes. I kind of questioned that at first but I have to admit the paperwork got a lot more cooperative when I lit the cinnamon spice one I got in that old gift basket.” Andrew adds as he sips at his tea. I stare at them both. Then slowly, quietly, add a mental note. Clean out the basement. Immediately. Possibly with fire.