Authors: Lexi George Kathy Love,Angie Fox
A Demonic Bundle (2 page)
Chapter Two
C
harlie sighed as he bundled another group of mail, then dropped it onto the appropriate cart next to him. He repeated the process, then repeated it again.
harlie sighed as he bundled another group of mail, then dropped it onto the appropriate cart next to him. He repeated the process, then repeated it again.
The cart he was loading would go to the fifteenth floor. The main offices of
HOT!
magazine. A place that had become his version of the end of the rainbow. He could see the end, he knew the pot of gold was out there somewhere, but he couldn’t seem to reach it.
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magazine. A place that had become his version of the end of the rainbow. He could see the end, he knew the pot of gold was out there somewhere, but he couldn’t seem to reach it.
The fact was he’d been working in the mailroom for a month now and all he saw was this workroom and this sorting station.
In his hand was a parcel labeled clearly with the great Finola White’s name. He stared at that name in black, serif font, imagining what it would be like to work directly with her and her art department instead of here—he glanced around and couldn’t contain the slight grimace that curled his lips—here, in strangeland.
He hadn’t mistaken the oddness he’d felt when he’d been interviewed. Over the past few weeks, he’d realized the staff of the mailroom
was
strange. He couldn’t place his finger on what was odd down here. It was just an intensity, a vibe in the air like the work went beyond mere mail delivery. Even though that was exactly what they did. Deliver mail.
was
strange. He couldn’t place his finger on what was odd down here. It was just an intensity, a vibe in the air like the work went beyond mere mail delivery. Even though that was exactly what they did. Deliver mail.
He dropped another stack onto the cart. He knew that all too well.
And he didn’t even get to deliver it. He just sorted the mail and processed the mail, and subsequently never left the mailroom. Not how he’d envisioned his plan.
When he’d come up with this scheme, he’d actually imagined that he’d at least be in the vicinity of Finola White—or members of her artistic and design staff. In the offices where he could slip his portfolio into the mail and thus in front of some important person who would be wowed by his work and hire him on the spot.
Genius in a blue mailroom smock.
But so far, he hadn’t even seen any of those people. And he was losing hope. A month down here and he was starting to believe his brilliant plan was utterly stupid. He was closer to his dream job when he was doing wedding photography. And while brides, mothers of the brides and, well, anyone involved with weddings could be high-strung and demanding, they had nothing on this mailroom staff.
He looked around, watching his coworkers bustle around like they were doing some sort of clandestine service that was keeping the free world safe from imminent danger.
It’s just mail, Charlie wanted to shout, but instead he took his frustration out on the rubber band he used to secure another bundle of missives.
He really shouldn’t get mad at his fellow coworkers. It wasn’t their fault that the closest he’d come to photographing high fashion was when he happened upon a
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photo shoot in Bryant Park, and stopped to snap a few pictures like some inquisitive tourist. Not quite what he’d imagined when he’d started here.
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photo shoot in Bryant Park, and stopped to snap a few pictures like some inquisitive tourist. Not quite what he’d imagined when he’d started here.
He looked up from his work to see two men watching him and whispering. Clearly about him. Another older woman at her computer watched him too.
Okay, even if he didn’t have a plan and just wanted to work in a mailroom, this place would still strike him as strange. Everyone just exuded weirdness. Apparently it was a prerequisite for working here.
“And what does that say about me?” he muttered to himself.
Charlie sighed. He might as well be in the deepest, darkest circle of Hell rather than the lowest level of 66 West 46th Street in the heart of the garment district.
He looked around again. A woman who looked like a Russian fitness instructor circa 1960 was typing furiously on her computer as if she was inserting top secret data rather than logging in received packages. Another man, wearing a bow tie with his royal blue work smock talked to Eugene, the mailroom manager, their heads tucked close together, again like they were sharing some cloak and dagger plot.
Let’s face it, Charlie, old boy. Even if you did manage to get your portfolio in front of some bigwig, as soon as they discovered you worked in the mailroom, they’d probably cast your photos aside. No matter how good they were.
He should just quit.
“Charlie.”
Charlie fought back a groan. Great, Innocuous Dave. Man, when he’d considered this guy average and dull, he’d been right on the mark, and that was what made him so awful. He was a boring, long-winded pain in the ass, following Charlie around like a shadow, watching Charlie’s every move, repeating and repeating the importance of the mailroom and the way to perform even the simplest of tasks.
Pride in your work was one thing, but this went beyond that toward obsession. Creepy obsession.
“Charlie,” Dave repeated, his voice clipped and emphatic. He stopped on the other side of Charlie’s sorting area, his dark eyes serious, but also snapping with another emotion. Excitement? Anticipation? Worry? Charlie couldn’t really tell.
Charlie waited, sure this was going to be another lengthy diatribe on the importance of mail sorting. He needed to quit. This place was sucking away his soul. And if he was wise, he’d do it before Dave started talking—otherwise he’d be stuck listening to something that made no sense and would likely go on for what felt like hours.
Charlie set down the envelopes on the metal sorting table and opened his mouth to do that very thing, but Dave spoke first.
“You are being promoted.”
Charlie’s mouth snapped closed; then he said, “Promoted?”
“Yes, you will now be delivering and collecting the mail for the fifteenth floor,” David announced, leaning forward as he said the floor number, as if he was revealing a secret assignment.
His mission—should he choose to accept it.
Despite his thoughts just seconds earlier, Charlie found himself smiling. “Great.”
Instead of looking pleased at Charlie’s acceptance, David pursed his lips, regarding him critically. “You need to realize this is a significant advancement. A very important part of the mailroom’s operation. You are expected to pay great attention while up there.”
Charlie nodded, even though he found it hard to believe his new job was that significant. It was just pushing a cart around, handing out mail and picking up mail. But he
would
pay a lot of attention while up there. To who might really advance his career.
would
pay a lot of attention while up there. To who might really advance his career.
Charlie forced an earnest expression. “I will take it very seriously.”
Dave still looked unimpressed. But he didn’t say anything more, because Eugene had joined them.
Eugene was a bit less intense and strange than Dave, even with his eerie blue eyes and cryptic advice.
“I’ve been impressed with you, Charlie.”
Charlie nodded, trying to look pleased by his boss’s words.
“I’ve been watching you and I think Dave was right; you are going to be a great asset to our team. Just remember, you are our eyes and ears in this company. You have to be aware of what is happening around you and be ready to report back to us.”
Charlie frowned. Okay, he
had
considered Eugene less odd—until now. What could they possibly expect him to report?
had
considered Eugene less odd—until now. What could they possibly expect him to report?
But he simply nodded. The sooner he got his portfolio out there, the better.
About half an hour later, Charlie had his cart loaded and he boarded the elevator. Elton, a small, elderly black man with a gravelly voice and gnarled hands, stood beside him.
“Now remember, your assignment will be to oversee the fifteenth floor,” said Elton.
Assignment? Oversee? Why did Charlie get the feeling he was in some spy movie? A bad one at that.
He almost commented on that fact, but decided Elton wouldn’t appreciate his sense of humor. Weirdness abounded in the mailroom. Senses of humor, not so much.
Instead he asked, “How long have you worked for Finola White Enterprises?”
Elton turned, regarding him with rheumy, but intelligent eyes. His voice was raspy and fervent, reminding Charlie of some zealous preacher. “We do not work for Finola White. We work for Eugene Edwards. Remember that.”
Charlie couldn’t quite suppress his amazed smile, but he wasn’t going to argue with the elderly man and point out it was Finola White who signed their paychecks—not Eugene.
He shook his head slightly. Ah well, he should have known normal conversation with one of his coworkers was going to be a long shot anyway.
The elevator dinged, signaling they’d made it to the fifteenth floor. The stainless steel door slid open, and Charlie wasn’t pondering Elton’s strange wording and odd loyalty any longer. Because he’d not only found the end of the rainbow, he’d made it over it. He truly understood how Dorothy had felt when she’d stepped out into Oz.
The
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lobby greeted him as though he had left a black and white world and stepped into Technicolor. Bright, beautiful colors and lines. A magical, exciting world even more incredible than he’d imagined.
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lobby greeted him as though he had left a black and white world and stepped into Technicolor. Bright, beautiful colors and lines. A magical, exciting world even more incredible than he’d imagined.
The main greeting area was ultra-modern and expensive. Glass and chrome and recessed lighting cast red light down the walls. Fiery, red velvet furniture with high backs and angular styling surrounded an asymmetrical, glass sofa table. Dramatic and fabulous cover shots from
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lined the walls. The place reflected the magazine’s title. A sort of chic, trendy, sexy version of Dante’s Inferno.
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lined the walls. The place reflected the magazine’s title. A sort of chic, trendy, sexy version of Dante’s Inferno.
At the front desk, a stunningly gorgeous woman with a pageboy shag, in vogue because of Heidi Klum, talked on a sleek chrome-plated phone. Her voice was smooth and efficient. She only vaguely acknowledged Charlie and Elton as they stepped out of the elevator.
Charlie pushed the mail cart as Elton followed along, just a few steps behind. Charlie picked up the first bundle of letters, most of which he knew was junk mail, which was why it was being delegated to the receptionist. She could sort through the unimportant stuff.
Charlie placed the bundle on the edge of the large glass desk that reflected the red lighting so that it appeared to almost shimmer and move like a pool of molten lava.
Amazing.
The woman didn’t register him right away, but finally she glanced at him and nodded. But Charlie found he couldn’t move, or tear his gaze from her face. For just a moment, something about her features seemed to change like a disturbing, unattractive mask falling over—or away from—her beautiful features.
But then, as suddenly as he’d seen the strange transformation, it was gone. The woman was as lovely as he’d first thought.
Charlie quickly shoved the mail cart away from her desk.
“Everything all right?” Elton asked, regarding him closely with those hazy eyes of his.
Charlie nodded. “Yeah, fine.”
It must have been the lighting playing tricks with his eyes. That was the only explanation.
They left the reception area, stepping through floor-to-ceiling, frosted glass double doors. The décor here was similar to the waiting area. More angles—both hard and soft. Red recessed lighting. Glass. Chrome. But unlike the quiet of the front office, this area was abuzz with people at work, creating the most popular fashion magazine in the industry. Artists, fashion consultants, designers, writers, editorial directors, assistants . . . and of course, photographers. They were all here.
Quickly, Charlie’s weird vision was forgotten as he became inspired by the creative vibe snapping in the air. Yes, this was exactly where he belonged. Working with these—
“Minions of Satan.”
Charlie looked away from the bustling business people to peer at the little man beside him.
“What?” Had Charlie heard the old man correctly?
Elton pursed his lips, disgust clear in his eyes, but then he damped it down. “Nothing. Just don’t like this place. Too . . . soulless.”
Charlie regarded the old man for a moment, then couldn’t resist smiling. “Well, it’s not the mailroom, I grant you.”
Yeah, there was a hotbed of warmth and emotion.
Elton’s gaze held his, and for a moment Charlie had the strangest feeling of being pinned in place by that dark, hazy stare.
“You will find out your place, soon enough. Until then don’t be charmed and seduced by what these people want you to see. In fact, you of all people should be able to see past that.”
Charlie didn’t have any idea what the old man was talking about. What did Elton know about what he could see and couldn’t see? And what did he mean anyway?
He had no idea how to respond, so he refocused on the job at hand, deciding that was the best course of action. But again, he wondered if being crazy was a requirement for working in the mailroom, and if so, was he doomed to be nuts too?
Charlie pushed the cart along, delivering to one desk, one office, after another. And even with Elton following disdainfully behind, Charlie allowed himself to bask in the creativity around him.
Even though the atmosphere was so much more appealing than where he’d been working, he couldn’t say that any of the
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employees were any warmer or kinder than the mailroom staff. In fact, Charlie could have been invisible. But the air of excitement and creativity made up for the cool atmosphere.
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employees were any warmer or kinder than the mailroom staff. In fact, Charlie could have been invisible. But the air of excitement and creativity made up for the cool atmosphere.
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