Himora Clarke

 

“You’ve graduated top of your class at Drew Collins University. A very prestigious school, but very difficult to get into. That was over three years ago. You have no work experience since?”

 

I stared at the man leading with his plump stomach in the chair as he looked over my files. Frank Basset. Amphibian traits. The webbed fingers, the buggy eyes and tongue that slipped out of his mouth every so often coupled with his damp skin that he always swiped with a dark red rag. He was shaped like a bull frog that poached on a lily pad on a humid afternoon. 

 

My nails began tapping on my thigh in a pattern as I began to mentally count the number of times I heard the paper on top of his cabinet flap against the AC vent. His office was stuffy. There was no high-tech equipment. Just stacks of papers, an old rug filled with coffee stains and posters filled with the Underground’s Most Wanted mythical and magical beings throughout the country.  My eyes began to wander towards the small mirror on his wall with toothpaste specks staining the glass. My complexion was a neutral deep brown that could darken in the summer and pale in the winter. Our bloodline was filled with mythics from witches to sirens, and shifters but somehow I came out with two fae parents. I could see my rust orange bob and bangs just at the bottom of my reflection, before I turned back to face him with a flick of my hair teasing my jawline. 

 

“Well, as you know…” He cleared his throat. “I went to school with your father, and he’s called in as sort of a favor… He’s told me about your…issues…and whatnot and I’m happy to give you a job but you have to work with me here, Clarke.”

“Himora,” I corrected. Reaching for my glasses, I adjusted the lens against my nose. “Himora Clarke.”

“We go by last names here.”

“I’m aware,” I replied. “I’m letting you know what my first name is. I do not have issues. My father does not understand the concept of a social disorder, even in the broadest of terms.”

 

The paper picked up again on top of the cabinet as I stood up and walked behind his desk to grab it. I felt the cool draft before deciding to put a small book on top of the stack to keep it still. Without a word, I walked back around and sat down in the chair with my knees pressed together. My shoulders upright and posture facing Frank who inwardly groaned. He grabbed my folder again, drained of the interview process already. 

 

“Alright well–––”

“In the fae community, it is called Eclipsed Syndrome,” I said. “A condition where we struggle with verbal and social cues as it relates to interacting with those around me. I developed late speech later on–––”

“I’m aware. Your father has told me, and you made sure to mention it in your file along with your…” holding the papers up, “extensive medical history and list of therapists.”

 

I gave a firm nod as I stared at the paper at the top of the cabinet again, seeing the corner flicker from the dust covered vent above. The sound of the cold air pushing through the soot blocking the vent before filtering out onto the cabinet to spread more dust was something I found hard to ignore at this point. 

 

“Alright, so I’ll give you–––”

“Your AC unit is about to go out,” I said, pointing to the vent behind him. He scrunched his face up before turning around. “I can hear it. The coolant is bone dry and, in a few moments, it will blow air. Neither hot nor cold. Just air. I suggest you have someone look at your HVAC system and have your vents cleaned regularly along with your filters being changed.” 

 

Just then, there was a loud booming sound that could be heard throughout the ceiling as I heard a woman scream in annoyance about the air again. Frank Basset looked at me before pinching his nose with a squeeze of his two fingers. 

 

“Alright,” clearing his throat. “Your father and I go way back so I’m hiring you off the strength of our friendship alone. You understand this is the National Mythical and Magical Agency and what we do here is important to our kind. You will sign on a 2-year contract where you are to remain on the property through our provided housing. We offer a cafeteria, gym, pool and cars for agents on a house call or run. This is one of the hardest jobs to get and although I am not hiring…I guess,” looking through the paperwork with regret. “We’ll stick you somewhere…uh….”

 

The door burst open with a woman wearing long colorful braids poking her head in as she began to fuss about the AC.

 

“Frank! The cold air is out! It’s just blowing air!”

“I know! I know! I’ll have someone to look at it–––”

“It’s throughout the entire building! Not just the admins office–––”

“I said I’ll have someone look at it! Send Stacy on it!” He fussed irritably. The woman closed the door shut as I gave another small nod of validation for myself. 

 

“Sure you heard about the air problems from your father,” he muttered to himself.

“I can assure you; I heard the problems through the vent. There is a whistling noise it makes before it goes out and–––”

“Yeah yeah…I get it,’ he waved off. “Enough.”

 

Frank Basset began to shift the papers around as if he was looking for something. He bent down to pull out a rusty drawer before holding up a black folder labeled MAD that had dust on it and little to no papers inside. 

 

“Here we are…We don’t normally have anyone working this as humans do not interest or concern us in any way. The most you’ll do is fill out the usual paperwork at the end of the day…timesheet uh…” waving his hand about with a shrug, “you may do some coffee runs to the small cafe if asked.”

“What is the actual job?” I asked. Frank Basset looked at me with his bulging eyes. 

“GRIOT, Government Reconnaissance and Investigations of Other Worldly Threats is what pays the bills and keeps the lights on in this place. The agents here are trained for research, trained to fight, and capture. They are our priority. OMBRA is the Office of Magical Black Research & Affairs. They work directly with GRIOT agents on different cases and workloads as it relates to information and research. Then there will be you… Mortal Affairs Department. Those are the three sectors of this building but only two matter, do you understand? Mortal affairs deals with humans…their habits…keeping track of content to put online about us, and our world. Rarely does it make waves and hardly anything worth reporting happens when concerning humans. I’m giving you an easy way to make a decent living, save up enough money and go from there.” 

“Understood,” I said with another firm nod. Frank Basset stared at me with a tired expression, trying to hide the possible regret of hiring me. 

“Just don’t cause any trouble for me or others here,” he said with a low voice, almost as if he was warning me. “Keep your head down, turn in your timesheet, and do as you’re told, am I clear, Clarke?”

“Himora,” I corrected. 

“Am I clear?”

 

I stared at him with a slight tick of my head to the left, hearing a sound from outside of his office door but my eyes never left his. Frank Basset suddenly groaned with a hard sigh. 

 

“Am I clear, Himora Clarke?”