Chapter 5: Gainful Employment

Ryan stood in front of the wardrobe mirror, trying to straighten his wrinkled shirt, struggling with his tie. It was the day of the job interview, and he had but a scant hour to get himself prepared. It wasn’t as if he had never worn a suit before, but it was Becky who had advised him on being presentable. He didn’t know the first thing about dressing snappy. She had prepared his wardrobe, helped him shop for clothes, ironed his shirts. Without her, he was a mess. Maybe there was an element of truth to what she had told him, and he hadn’t really appreciated her until she was gone.

He trusted his demonic allies to help him get through this, but he hadn’t seen Nahash since the previous night, and he was starting to get worried. He needed instructions, like the ones that she had given him on the day that he had won the car – where to go and what to do.

The smell of sulfur wafted over to him, Ryan letting slip a quiet sigh of relief as Nahash’s tall figure materialized in the living room, her gnarled horns scraping the ceiling. It was funny how accustomed he was getting to seeing a giant goat demon appear out of thin air. She made her way towards him, as distractingly naked as ever, hips rolling and breasts swaying as she sidled up behind him.

“This will not do,” she muttered, appraising his reflection. “Raise your arms.”

He did as she asked, and her claws wrapped around his neck, Ryan flinching as he felt her warm skin brush his. She removed his tie and then tugged his shirt over his head, walking off with it to leave him bare-chested.

“What are you doing? Nahash?”

She walked over to the kitchen, her hooves clopping against the floorboards, and she pulled out an ironing board from beside the fridge. She extended the legs and set it down, Ryan watching with growing embarrassment as she retrieved the iron from its place on a shelf near the washing machine. It was as if she knew where everything was in his apartment. Had Orobas told her?

“Come on, Nahash,” Ryan mumbled as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I can do that.”

“You don’t know how,” she replied matter-of-factly. “Come, I will show you.”

He walked over to stand beside her reluctantly, watching a scene that might have been comical under different circumstances, the towering she-demon plugging in the iron and filling the water reservoir as she lay his dress shirt out on the board.

“Start with the collar,” she said as she popped the collar open and slowly pressed the iron from one end to the other. “Then, the cuffs. Ensure that the fabric is moist, and do not linger in one place for too long, or you risk burning the garment. Do you see what I’m doing?”

He nodded, and she handed the iron to him.

“Now, you try. Iron the second cuff. Yes, that’s good. Remember to make use of the steam function to ensure that the clothing is damp. Apply more pressure. Good.”

His mother had always been there to iron his clothes for him when he had lived at home, and when he had moved in with Becky, she had always done it for him. Now that he was alone, he would have to learn to do these things himself. Ryan had always thought of himself as accomplished and self-sufficient. He owned an apartment in the city, he had worked a steady job, and he had lived with his girlfriend for years. But now that she was gone, he realized how dependent he still was on other people, how he had somehow avoided learning any of these mundane chores and skills even into his mid-twenties. He couldn’t cook for shit, he didn’t pick up after himself, he couldn’t even iron a fucking shirt without help. Far be it from just finding another job, turning his life around would involve becoming self-reliant, too. He had to learn how to take care of himself.

As he ironed his shirt under Nahash’s tutelage, he came to a realization. This was what he had asked for. He had asked Orobas to help him turn his life around, and that was what Nahash was doing. She was acting as his damned life coach.

“You are correct,” Nahash said, not even giving him a chance to ask the question. She must have sensed the realization in him. “Orobas has tasked me with teaching you the skills that you lack, at least where necessary for your success.”

She shot him a sympathetic glance as another wave of embarrassment washed over him.

“My intention is not to shame you, Ryan. Truth be told, this era of human history confuses me. Your relationships are more tenuous and temporary than ever before. For thousands of years, a man of your age would have had a wife and children by now, and thus would have had help when it came to household chores. Several generations of a family would live together under one roof, but now it seems that you seek to be rid of each other as soon as possible. I cannot claim to understand these new ways.”

“That’s not really making me feel any better,” he said with a frown, a hiss of steam pouring from the iron.

“I meant no offense, I am merely shocked by how rapidly things change in the mortal realm. Things are so static and constant in the place that I reside.”

“And where is that?” Ryan asked, flipping the shirt over to iron the other side.

“You would call it Hell, but that word carries so many negative connotations in your culture. It is not a realm of eternal fire and punishment as you imagine it, but the abode of earthly spirits, the domain of those who have not aspired to lofty ideals or holy works.”

“Doesn’t sound so bad,” he said with a shrug. “I’m not exactly a Saint myself.”

“It might be unimaginable to a mortal,” she continued, struggling to find the words to describe it. “It is a realm of raw emotion, possessing no material qualities whatsoever. There are no laws of physics there, no up or down, merely oceans of sensation and currents of feeling that ebb and flow. Swirling patterns of pure thought, spirits mingling like shoals of fish. It is at once overwhelming and beautiful.”

“Do you miss it?” Ryan asked. “When you’re here, I mean.”

“No,” she replied with a confident shake of her head. “I have dwelled there for eons. Taking a corporeal form and experiencing only my own emotions, my own thoughts ... that is a rare reprieve from the relative chaos of home.”

She was probably oversimplifying things for his benefit, and so he didn’t pry, instead lifting his newly ironed shirt and pulling it over his head. It was warm, and all of the creases had been ironed out of it. He might actually pass for someone who had his shit together now.

He wrapped his tie around his neck and fumbled with it, his face burning as Nahash stepped forward and took charge, deftly tying a perfect Windsor knot as he averted his eyes from the massive bust that was practically hitting him in the face.

“How do you even know how to do that?” he grumbled. “Do demons wear ties when they go to work in Hell?”

“My master provides me with the information that I need as it becomes necessary.”

“So, you’re like that guy from those Matrix movies? Tank, I need a program for ironing shirts!”

He chuckled to himself, but she obviously didn’t get the reference, stepping back to look him up and down.

“It will suffice,” she announced, planting her hands on her wide hips. “You must depart twenty minutes earlier than you had intended. There will be traffic on the road that will delay you.”

“Thanks, Nahash, for ... y’know. Everything.”

“I merely perform my duties as they are assigned,” she replied, brushing his sleeve with the back of her hand to dislodge some errant fluff.

“Uh-huh,” he said, certain that there was more to her kindness than just obligation. “Is there anything else that I need to know? Any instructions that you can give me, like when I went to the mall, and you had that big list of dos and don’ts?”

“No, my master will be using different skills to aid you today,” she explained. “It is better that you remain ignorant until it becomes necessary for you to know more.”

He nodded, buttoning his cuffs.

“Anything else I need to do before I leave?”

“Yes. You will need your strength if you are to remain alert and focused, and you have not yet eaten today. What were you planning on doing, going hungry?”

“I figured I’d get a bowl of cereal before I headed out,” he said with a shrug.

“Sit,” she insisted, gesturing to the table. “I will cook for you, and when we have the time, I must teach you how.”

“You’re making me breakfast?” Ryan asked, watching her stride over to the stove. “I can handle some fried eggs, you know. I’m not that helpless.”

“My master informs me that in the event that you attempt to cook, you will splash bacon grease on your only dress shirt. Sit at the table, and allow me.”

He pulled up a chair and leaned on the table as he watched her, her back turned to him as she worked over the stovetop, breaking eggs and frying bacon with the speed and skill of a professional chef. The smell of it filled the room, Ryan’s mouth beginning to water, and not just because of the alluring scent. Her rear was like a giant peach, that groove in her spine starting between her shoulders and running all the way down the smooth curve of her back, ending between the two dimples above her round cheeks. Her waist was a perfect hourglass, her thick thighs supporting her massive body, her long legs tapering into those oddly dainty hooves.

The more he looked at her, the more attractive she became, and he had to shake his head in an attempt to dispel his arousal lest she sense it. He wasn’t sure if she had to concentrate or whether it came easily to her. Perhaps she wouldn’t notice his peeping if she was occupied with another task.

She returned to the table before long, placing a plate piled high with bacon, eggs, and sausages in front of him. Where had she even found the sausages? Perhaps Becky had bought some before she had left, and Orobas had told Nahash where to find them.

“Proteins and fats,” she declared, standing beside him expectantly. “Eat. It will give you strength.”

“You’re the boss,” he said, picking up his cutlery and forking a piece of fried egg into his mouth. He chewed cautiously, then his face lit up, and he hurriedly took another bite. “This is great!” he mumbled through a mouthful of sausage. “Where the hell did you learn to cook this good?”

“I asked my master to use his powers of prescience to tell me what kind of food you would like, and I used whatever ingredients and seasonings were available.”

“I’ve never eaten eggs this good,” he exclaimed, breaking open one of the yolks and watching the yellow fluid ooze around his knife.

“Sunny side up,” she replied, a rare expression of humor.

“Cooking is a skill, you know,” Ryan added as he bit into a bacon strip that was fried to perfection. “This can’t be your first time cooking – there’s no way. Did you guys throw banquets as part of your revelry or something?”

“We did,” she replied as she watched him eat, her expression hard to read. Was she proud? Content? He couldn’t tell. “One thing that hasn’t changed much in five thousand years is cooking. I find that somehow ... comforting.”

“What did you guys eat back in the day?” he asked as he cut into a sausage. “I suppose you roasted whole pigs over fires? Or was it all magical? Did you conjure wine from thin air?”

“Some of it was real, and some of it was illusory,” she replied. “We might have been able to spear a boar in the forest and roast it over the bonfire, but wines and spirits were harder to obtain. We had no vineyards of our own, we could not distill them, and so we stole them or took them as offerings where we could. Turning water into wine was a popular trick. We would use our powers to influence the senses and emotions so that a goblet of water tasted like the sweetest ambrosia.”

“You can do that?” he asked, pausing his chewing. “Show me!”

“I ... should not,” she replied hesitantly. “It is not permitted.”

“Says who? Come on, what harm can it do?”

“I have pledged to only perform the functions that my master has assigned to me,” she explained, shifting her weight uncomfortably beside the table.

“It’s not real alcohol, after all,” Ryan insisted. “I want to taste your interpretation of fine wine.”

She considered for a moment, then walked over to the kitchen sink, filling a glass with water. She brought it back to the table and placed it in front of him, and he lifted it to take a sip.

“Yep, that’s tap water alright,” he said as he set the glass down. “What happens now? Do I need to do anything?”

He felt a sudden warmth come over him, as if he had been wrapped in a blanket, penetrating deep into his bones. He glanced at Nahash, and her yellow eyes locked with his, the hairs on his arms standing on end. He felt drowsy again, not dissimilar from when she used her abilities to relax him, and he watched her gesture to the glass of water with her clawed finger. He picked it up, feeling as if a fog had fallen over his mind, his thoughts coming slow and muddled.

“Drink,” she breathed in that low, husky voice. She was standing a few feet away, and yet he could feel her breath on his skin, hear her musical tones as if her lips were an inch from his ear. He raised the glass to his mouth and took a draw.

There was an explosion of flavor on his tongue, as if all of the fruits and berries of the world had been concentrated into that one mouthful. It was the most delicious thing that he had ever tasted. It was sweet and tangy like fruit punch, yet dry like wine, warming his belly in the way that a shot of strong liqueur would have. It was like drinking a rainbow – he could almost see the colors of the flavors in his mind’s eye, his senses melding and becoming hard to distinguish as the chilled liquid slipped down his throat.

He abruptly snapped out of his trance-like state, staring at the glass of water in his hand as he came to, then he started to laugh.

“Well, god damn. Ambrosia indeed.”

Nahash seemed pleased with herself, watching him with a wry smile. Every time he convinced her to do something like this, he saw a little glimpse of her true personality beneath the surface, a glimmer of the person that she had once been and could be again. Orobas had her so restrained, so fearful of engaging in her natural behavior, but Ryan was formulating a plan that might change that.

“You should leave soon,” she said. “You have but a quarter-hour.”

He nodded, wolfing down the last of his breakfast before heading for the door, swiping his coat from the rack. He began to walk back towards Nahash as he buttoned it up, then stopped himself, his face reddening. Every day before he left for work, he would kiss Becky goodbye, and he had been about to perform the same routine with Nahash. It was a reflex – he hadn’t even thought about it. She cocked her head at him, and he tried to mask his embarrassment, waving to her instead.

“Thanks for the breakfast, Nahash. I’ll see you later. Wish me luck!”

“You don’t need luck,” she replied as her body began to fade. “You have magick.”

Ryan pulled up to the office building, turning off his engine and waiting in the driver’s seat for a few moments longer, gripping the wheel tightly as he steeled himself. This was it – the big interview. If he landed this job, then his financial woes would be over. He had help from his demon cohorts, but it was a good idea to play it safe regardless and treat this interview like any other. His resume wasn’t the issue – what had lost him his last position was his emotional turmoil, as Nahash would describe it. It should go fine as long as he stayed confident, maintained eye contact, and gave a firm handshake.

He stepped out of the car and slammed the door behind him, straightening his jacket as he made his way across the parking lot. The high-rise loomed above him, its rows of windows reflecting the blue sky above, shining in the sunlight. When he reached the glass door, he tried to push it open, quickly noticing a sign that said pull. Trying not to look quite as nervous as he was feeling, he headed into the lobby, the sounds of the city silenced as the door closed behind him. It was all sterile, white décor with faux wood paneling, the large windows that looked out onto the parking lot letting natural light flood into the room. Between two potted plants ahead of him was the main desk, Ryan clearing his throat as he approached it. A secretary glanced up from her computer monitor to greet him, adjusting a pair of spectacles, her hair pulled back in a tight bob.

“Can I help you with something, sir?”

“Yes,” he replied, straightening his tie more because he was fidgeting than because it was crooked. “I have an interview with Mister Booker scheduled for ten AM. Ryan Cutter.”

She checked her display for a few moments, twirling a pen between her fingers with practiced finesse, then nodded in approval.

“Very good, Mister Cutter. You’re right on time. If you’ll wait outside the office on the third floor, I’ll send word that you’ve arrived,” she said as she gestured to a nearby elevator. “Mister Booker will see you shortly.”

“Thanks,” he said with a quick nod, heading for the elevator. He hit the call button, waiting for the doors to open, feeling the secretary’s eyes on his back the entire time. It was a relief when the car finally arrived, and he stepped inside, pressing the button marked with a three. There was a tug of motion as the elevator began to rise, Ryan taking a moment to exhale, leaning back against the wall.

The building was larger than he had expected, and it probably housed hundreds of offices. The firm that he was trying to land a job with handled IT for other companies, doing things like on-site repairs, hardware installation, and tech support. It was a higher paying job than his last one, and it would certainly allow him to live comfortably.

When he arrived at the executive offices, he took a seat in the empty waiting room. It was a very average office environment. Chairs were lined up against the walls, and plastic potted ferns served as sparse decoration, complementing the geometric patterns of the carpet. It was almost indistinguishable from the last place that he had worked, as if these offices all came off the same production line. He picked up a magazine from a nearby coffee table and leafed through it absentmindedly, waiting to be called. Before long, the door to one of the side rooms opened, and a portly man wearing a pinstripe suit walked out to greet him.

“Mister Cutter,” he said, extending his hand as Ryan rose from his seat. “I’m Mister Booker, pleased to meet you.” They shook, the man looking him up and down, apparently pleased with his attire. “You’re very punctual, that’s encouraging! Please come into the conference room and take a seat. We’ll begin the interview shortly.”

“Nice to meet you, Mister Booker,” he replied stiffly. He followed Booker into an upscale conference room where a large wooden table occupied most of the space, an expensive-looking projector hanging from the ceiling above. He was faced with a panel of interviewers who glanced up at him as he closed the door. There were two women and three men besides Booker, who took up a seat to his left and gestured for him to join them. Ryan sat down awkwardly, trying not to feel too self-conscious, the interviewers scrutinizing him as he waited for further instructions. Everyone was smartly dressed – all upper management by the look of them. Each person had a laptop on the table in front of them, along with a glass of water, and he noted that there was a cup laid out for him as well.

“So, Mister Cutter,” an older woman in a blue pants suit at the head of the table began. “What makes you want to work for our company?”

Ryan had played this game before, and he went through the usual spiel about how excited he was to work with them, trying to appear as positive and enthusiastic about the prospect as possible. These interviews were as much a judgment of character and sociability as one’s employment history and qualifications. It was paramount that he remained courteous and confident. Before long, the subject of his firing from his previous position came up, and he decided to answer truthfully.

“It says here that you were hired by one of our competitors three years ago, Mister Cutter,” a sharply dressed man to his right added. This one was younger, perhaps in his early thirties. His black hair was cut short, and he was wearing a fitted suit of the same color. “Straight out of college, apparently. You were recently let go. Why was that?”

Ryan shifted uncomfortably but tried to remain relaxed, resisting the urge to fiddle with his tie.

“There was ... quite a disruption to my personal life, a break-up with a long-term partner,” he replied. “Needless to say, it impacted my ability to perform my duties. I have recovered, of course, and I’m eager to get back on the horse and start working again.”

“Would you say that there’s a risk of the same thing happening again?” Booker asked, peering at Ryan over his laptop.

“No,” he replied adamantly. “I’m certain that there’s no risk of a repeat.”

He was starting to feel like he was losing the crowd. There was some muttering amongst the interviewers, followed by disdainful glances in his direction. He felt a bead of sweat trickle down his brow and resisted the urge to wipe it away. If he became visibly anxious at this stage, then he might blow the interview altogether.

A cold came over the room all of a sudden, the temperature dropping noticeably, and one of the women buttoned up her jacket as she scowled in the direction of an air vent that was built into the wall above them.

“Has someone been messing with the thermostat in here?” she wondered aloud, and her colleagues shook their heads. “Maybe someone opened a window on this floor, then. It’s the middle of damned autumn, what are they thinking? I’m sorry, Mister Cutter, where were we?”

Ryan was distracted as wavering shadows began to play across the walls, swirling vapors descending over the room to hang in the air like a mist. His breath caught in his throat, and he looked to the interviewers with wide eyes, but they weren’t reacting to what was happening around them. It was as if they couldn’t see it, couldn’t smell the sulfur in the air. Was he the only one who could?