The Shambling Guide to New York City (10 page)

Don’t let them intimidate you
, she firmly reminded herself. “Anyway, hi, I’m the human. Zoë. Good to meet you.” She stepped into the room, but did not offer her hand to either woman to shake.

Morgen hooted with laughter. “Awesome! How long does he expect you to last with the zombies and vampires here? And did he tell you about the incubus?”

“Oh, they’re not allowed to touch her,” the other woman said. “That much is clear. I am Gwen, Zoë. I’m your head writer. Morgen is in sales and marketing.” She stood, her long black skirts rustling somberly, and extended her hand.

Zoë shook it and immediately her mind filled with whispers of numbers:
2,015; 20 percent; 2,023; 30 percent; by 2,067; 100 percent.

Zoë dropped Gwen’s hand as quickly as she could without appearing rude. “Uh, I don’t know how long he expects me to last, honestly,” Zoë said to Morgen. She shook her head to clear it. “Maybe he’s testing me somehow.”

“Why would he do that?” Gwen asked.

Morgen shrugged. “He’s a vampire. Wouldn’t put it past him.”

Gwen sniffed. “Bigot.”

Morgen laughed again. “Come on, Zoëlife, I’ll show you your office.” She said “Zoëlife” as one word.

“Now maybe we can start to get some work done around here instead of wasting time at other people’s desks,” Gwen said, turning her back on them.

Despite the chill in the fall air, Morgen wore a light clingy
summer dress that hugged her slight curves. Her bare feet brushed the carpet lightly, and her skin was a paler blue than Zoë remembered.

Zoë wondered where Morgen was leading her, but relaxed a bit when they reached a modified closet pleasantly lit and even decorated with a little plant.

“Wow, I rank a solo office?” she asked, hanging her coat behind the door.

“Closet office, yeah. Managing editor and all that. Writers, sales and marketing, research, et cetera are all grouped in the big dressing rooms.” She jabbed her thumb over her shoulder down the hall. “Now, there are some things you need to know.” Morgen closed the door behind her. She indicated the desk chair for Zoë and took the guest chair facing the desk.

“Now listen. Everyone knows a human is going to be working with us, but some don’t believe it. They don’t want to believe it. Phil told me that you will have done research, but there are some things you need to know that the books will not have told you. Some people see their personal space as sacred—literally sacred ground. They mark it off with tape, or plants, or sometimes just dirt spilled on the floor. Do not enter these spaces unless you’re looking to piss off a coworker. Which”—she grinned again—“I’ll admit sometimes is fun. But I know how to deal with them. You don’t.”

Zoë pulled out her notebook and began taking notes. Morgen continued.

“Let’s see, what else?” She counted things off on her fingers. “Eventually you’ll probably share a meal with people—don’t freak out on what others eat. They don’t like it.”

Zoë smiled. “That’s true in any culture.”

Morgen nodded. “Sure, but rarely in other human cultures will you encounter someone eating human remains.”

“Point taken.”

“Some of us don’t eat at all. Gwen the gothic princess gets her sustenance through… well, different means. But we do employ zombies, and you’ve already shared a meal with Phil, so you know human bits will be eaten in front of you.”

Zoë nodded.

“OK, your first week is essentially orientation. We currently don’t have anyone in CR, so till we get someone, Phil’s assigned me to help you out. Sprites don’t eat people, you know, so I’m not meant to be a threat to you. Feel free to ask me anything. Are you threatened?” Her head quirked to the side like a dog’s.

Zoë held up a hand to stop the fast-talking woman. “Um, I do have some questions. ‘CR’?”

“Coterie resources instead of human resources. We’re not human.”

Zoë felt stupid. “Of course. Here’s my big question. I’ve studied a lot of different coterie, but I’m missing one bit of information—how to identify people by sight. For example, and please understand I mean no disrespect, but when I came in I was surprised to realize that you and Gwen both could have passed as human. I know you’re a sprite, but I still don’t know what she is. How am I to avoid offending someone if I don’t know what they are?”

“Gwen? She’s a psychopomp.” Zoë stared at her blankly. “Oh, right. You wouldn’t have heard that word. She’s a death goddess. Welsh, I think. She used to ride the countryside, gathering up errant lost souls and taking them to the underworld.”

Zoë sat back heavily in her chair, feeling the color go out of her face.

Morgen laughed. “I wasn’t trying to scare you, just wanted you to know. She doesn’t do that anymore, you know; publishing pays better these days. Not as many Welsh souls needing escorting into the underworld anymore, even in Wales.”

“Do not a lot of Welsh die these days?”

Morgen shook her head. “No, it’s not that. As far as I can tell, after Christianity came to the British Isles, most of the population chose Heaven as their goal instead of the underworld of their ancestors. And get this, Gwen tells me their ancestors are seriously pissed about that. Spend all that time creating a family to endure through the ages and BAM!—your descendants change religions and you don’t even get to talk to them in the afterlife. But there’s not much they can do to them, so they pretty much sulk. She says it’s a pretty depressing place to go, in honesty.”

“I suppose that’s another bonus to taking this job? No moping souls?”

“Exactly. But to answer your question, you’re right, asking someone what they are is pretty rude. But it’s a little more important in this situation to find out if a coworker is going to freak out if you turn your back in his presence, so if you have any questions, ask me. There are going to be some coworkers who will be looking at you to find the flaw so they can convince Phil to boot you, and you’ll want to not give them that. But let me tell you who you’ll be working with.” She began ticking off her long fingers as she counted.

“There’s me, Gwen, and you know Phil’s a vampire. We have two other vampires, Kevin and Opal, they’re also writers. Oh, another bit of protocol, never ask a vampire who her sire is. That’s a private thing to them. Koi is our operations, she’s a kitsune, a fox spirit. I think she’s likely the oldest person in the office. Nine thousand years or something.” Morgen paused to grin mischievously. “Get her drunk and ask her to take her spirit shape. It’s pretty awe-inspiring.”

“Anyway,” she continued. “Paul, Rodrigo, and Montel are our zombies. Paul is a writer and Rodrigo is our office assistant. Montel is an executive VP under Phil. Montel is his go-to guy.

“Oh, Ursula and John, the siblings—look out for them. They’re ’buses. Succubus and incubus. They feed on sexual energy. They’re both in PR. John will give you the best night of your life, but then you’ll feel like you have the worst hangover ever for about a week. Unless you’re a lesbian, then you’re safe. Ursula’s tastes run to men. Regardless, watch out for them. They’re sexy and dangerous and very good at what they do.”

“John, an incubus,” Zoë said. “Really?”

Her disbelief must have registered. Morgen raised an eyebrow. “You’ve met him?”

“Yeah, and, well.” Zoë felt uncomfortable, not sure how to mention someone wasn’t as sexy as myths described him to be. “I didn’t feel the draw,” she finally said.

“Really. Huh.” Morgen looked amused and interested. “That will be a first.”

“And anyway, I don’t want an office romance. I don’t need another—” Zoë bit her lip. “It’s bad news,” she finally said.

“Really? You know this for a fact?” Morgen asked.

“Yes,” Zoë said, stony-faced.

The water sprite got the hint. “So anyway, that’s everyone. We are hiring more writers and editors right now, and some section editors that will work directly under you, but we needed you before we hired them.”

Zoë blanched. That she might be involved in the hiring process hadn’t occurred to her. “What does one look for in a coterie employee?”

Morgen thought for a moment. “Having never been human, I’m not sure how they’d compare. Hang on.” She got up and left Zoë’s office.

Zoë let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Had she really been chatting with a water sprite? About a death goddess and a succubus? She shook her head to clear it. Morgen
swept back into her office, followed by a slow-moving man who had been, at one time, a tall, thin, handsome African-American, but now was clearly an ashen-green walking corpse.

“Zoë, this is our executive VP of Operations, Montel. Montel, Zoë is our new managing editor.”

Zoë remembered not to extend her hand and instead smiled warmly, trying not to let the man’s peeling facial skin pull her gaze from its firm place on the man’s lifeless eyes.

He smiled slowly in return. “Phil had told me we were hiring someone with experience. I have a history in business, but not publishing, so we’re quite glad to have you here.”

Montel formed each word deliberately, reminding her of her grandfather who, after his stroke, had spoken painfully slowly. Zoë tried not to fidget while the zombie spoke.

“I’m excited, but I know I have a lot to learn,” she said. “Morgen mentioned I would be interviewing section editors once we get the New York book set up, and I was curious what you look for in hiring.”

“The same thing as when you’re hiring a human. Strong work ethic. Preferably experience, or knowledge. And don’t judge based on coterie clan. A bleeding flesh golem might dirty up the carpet, but we can work around that. An ifrit could set things on fire if he gets angry, but if he’s a strong writer, I don’t care.”

Zoë nodded through this laborious speech and wondered if e-mail would be a better communication tool with a zombie. “Understood.”

“That’s leaping ahead a bit, though,” Montel said. “For now, get familiar with the office, your coworkers. You and I have a meeting with Phil at ten to discuss the first book.” His face screwed itself into an attempt at a thoughtful expression, and then fell back to the drooping neutral. He shuffled out of the office.

Zoë wrote “learn different body language cues” and “ifrit?” in her notebook.

Morgen motioned for her to follow. “Come on, I’ll show you where everyone sits.”

Even though Zoë had gotten to work fifteen minutes before Phil had suggested—at 8:45—she had still arrived after a lot of coworkers. Gwen quietly pointed out the two vampires lurking onstage in the break room. A peek as she walked by showed that Kevin preferred more traditional vampire garb than Phil did; he wore all black. Opal, however, wore a long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans complete with high heels. Neither looked up at her as she walked by.

In the writing room, Gwen sat at her desk, writing furiously in a notebook. Another zombie, Paul, had arrived and was shuffling toward his desk at the end of the row. Paul wore a fedora and an overcoat, and when he reached his desk, began the laborious work of undressing. Zoë saw the festering, peeling wound on his neck, and averted her eyes.

Beside Zoë’s office sat Montel in his gloomy room, which apparently he shared with Rodrigo, the executive assistant zombie who hadn’t arrived yet. Koi also ranked her own office, and a small administrative office had been converted into one for PR and marketing. John and Ursula usually got in at ten, Morgen explained. On the other side of the backstage was another closet with a closed door. Then Phil’s large office.

“Those who need to, use the bathrooms in the lobby,” Morgen said, gesturing past the rows of seats. “And that’s the tour.”

Zoë checked her watch. “I’ve got half an hour before my meeting with Phil. What do I do till then?”

Morgen shrugged. “Get familiar with your office? Bother the writers? Change your mind about this whole thing?”

Zoë made a face. She found herself liking the water sprite. “I
think I’ll choose option A. I need research books, I guess I will head out at lunch and get some. Will Phil reimburse me?”

“In hell notes, yeah,” Morgen said. “He’s pretty easy with the checkbook, he’s looking for an accountant. He wants a dragon”—she rolled her eyes at this—“but there aren’t a lot of dragons in New York City who don’t already have hoards, and it’s really hard to find a dragon who will look after someone else’s money. But they are the absolute best with money, and Phil always wants the best.”

A dragon. Zoë nodded, feeling a buzzing in her ears. She realized that was the sound of the reality portion of her brain checking out, and that she would likely hear it a lot.

She went to her office and shut the door. It was cozy, not claustrophobia-inducing, she told herself firmly. She had room for a desk, a guest chair, and a bookcase. She made a mental note to get a grow lamp for her plant. If she didn’t have a window, at least she could bring a little nature in.

The door locked. That was very, very good. Although if something tried to get her through the door, there wasn’t anywhere she could go. Still, it gave her some relief.

She got out her notebook and a pen, and sat at her desk, occupying herself with making lists until ten o’clock.

When she and Montel entered Phil’s office, he was sitting at his desk. Zoë realized with a start that he was in front of the vanity mirror and cast no reflection. She mentally shook her head: she should have seen that coming.

“Zoë, great. I trust you’ve gotten the tour and met everyone?” Phil asked, getting up from his desk.

“Yeah, well, I’ve learned about everyone and gotten the tour, but not met everyone.”

Phil nodded. “Perhaps that’s best, we don’t want to overwhelm you.”

He gestured to the couch, and she and Montel sat down. She tried not to act as if she was trying not to touch him, even though that was exactly what she was doing.

Phil pulled his desk chair to face the couch. “So we’re about to do what no one ever has—chronicle the city through the eyes of the coterie. Which is why, Zoë, I need your expertise, but you need to let the writers do their jobs.”

“Naturally,” Zoë said. “But can you give me an example of how you see the city?”

Phil thought for a moment.

Surprisingly, Montel spoke first. “Liberty.”