SNAP: The World Unfolds

The one at the right glanced up, murmured something and clicked a button.  Up close, I could see that the phones were set into the marble counter and had no sound, only buttons that were lighting up.  The receptionist tapped an earbud, pulled it away from her head and asked, “May I help you?”   Her red mouth formed to something not quite a smile and her eyes looked through me.

“Good morning.” I used my best professional voice. “I’m Maxmillia Gwenoch.”

She looked, she continued gazing through me, she didn’t speak and didn’t blink an eye.  I was startled.  I’d never before seen anyone who could go that long without a blink.

It was clear my name meant nothing and she wasn’t going to deign to ask me why I was there, so I added. “I’m the new managing editor.  I’m starting this morning.  Can someone show me to my office?”

She blinked.  Then she sighed.  “We didn’t expect you so early.”

Early?  I knew that SNAP staffers worked all different shifts.   A 24-hour news day means that the old nine-to-five grind doesn’t cut it anymore.  But I never thought that 11 a.m. was early.  I’d timed my arrival so that I could find my office, check in with the HR department for the forms packet and still have a leisurely lunch with some of the executives.

“Just a moment,”  The blond stuck the earbud back in her ear, pushed a button and murmured some words.  Apparently all was well, because she looked up at me and nodded before she punched another flashing button and started murmuring again.

Hands down, this was the oddest reception I’d ever gotten at any of the many jobs I’d had.  I was so stumped that I hitched my bag higher on my shoulder and slowly turned around, looking for a chair or couch or door, something.  But this was it.  The polished steel elevator doors behind me, the high, long, black marble counter in front of me and endless reflections of blond heads.

Suddenly the reflections wavered and broke as a door opened at the far end of the mirror.  A young woman with pixyish brown hair, dressed in a brown suede mini, a forest-green top and brown stiletto boots came over and held out her hand.

“Hi, I’m Jasmine Fall, but please, just call me Jazz,” she bubbled.  “I’m your admin assistant.  I came in early this morning because I knew this was your first day.  I hope you’ll like it here.  SNAP is just too fabulous to work for; I’ve gotten to meet SOOO many famous people already.  Follow me.”

First impressions don’t always hold up, but I’ll never forget my SNAP introduction.  I followed Just-Call-Me-Jazz through the mirror and into my new workplace.

 

            They were comfortable, their pace not quite a lope.  The woods were dark, but the just-past full moon showed the path.

“Those pigs...” the first one snarled.

“They’re more trouble than they’re worth,” the second one growled.  “They make way too much noise when they’re hunting.”

Baying suddenly broke the night silence.  “The rest of the pack,” the first one tuned his head to listen.  “How many coming out tonight?”

“Only three besides us,” the second one sniffed.  “Every body was out last night.  Tonight, it’s just patrol and checking traps.”

Snuffling came from ahead just to the right of the path followed by fast-running feet. Night birds—ravens and owls—took off with rustling wings, swooping over the two heavy-shouldered men on the path.  The owls were silent, only rushing air marking their passage.  The ravens raucously called to one another, making the men pause.

“Who else is out?”  The first one’s voice rumbled low in his wide chest.  Before he could answer, the second one let out a startled bellow.

“I smell something.” he screamed, rapidly shape shifting into a wolf and going down on all fours.  The first one dropped too, and, now both werewolves, they whirled and ran toward a snare net.

“I knew I smelled him,” the first one said as they came upon a figure struggling in the net.   The net, woven with strands of silver, was pale in the moonlight showing the prey.

“It’s a Kandesky, let’s get him out and take him to Matthais.”  Shifting to human form, they tied the Kandesky vampire’s arms behind his back with strands of the silver woven rope.

“This is a big mistake,” the vampire hissed, his fangs gleaming in the dim light.  “You know these woods are neutral.  You’re not supposed to be hunting here.”

Instantly, snarls, high-pitched screams and shouts filled the dark.  Wings beat overhead, bodies plummeted down with talons searching for flesh and another figure spun into the man holding the trussed vampire.  A blade flashed and the man dropped the rope, howling, holding his right arm with blood spurting black against the night. 

The two figures, now clearly vampires, were rising to escape when the pigs attacked.  Heavy-chested boars with scimitar-curved tusks, slashed and gouged, giving the two captors time to call the pack.  The pack answered, leaping through the brambles and saplings to bring the vampires to bay.   The first man, licking the wound on his forearm, grabbed the net and threw it over the two cornered vampires.  Werewolves, snarling and snapping, watched while the first two shape shifters bound the vampires together and dragged them down the path.