Night Shift (Book 1, the Night Shift series)

Chapter One

"I see," Mr. Oliver said, studying him. He smoothed out his royal blue tie, letting his fingers pause at the golden W on the clip.

Daniel squirmed, making the wooden chair squeak.

"Do you believe in ghosts?"

He cocked his head to one side, unsure if he'd heard correctly. "Um, ghosts?" Daniel didn't dare crack a joke; in fact, the old guy was creeping him out. Why was it important for a night security guard to believe in ghosts? He shifted his weight in the chair again, trying to buy time to think. He was totally unprepared for this interview. The silence grew painfully long; he had to say something. Daniel took a deep breath. He knew all about the finality of death. "No," he said. "I don't believe in ghosts."

"Good. Willard's has a bit of a reputation—unfortunately. The store goes through a lot of night guards."

"Oh," Daniel said. His gaze flicked around the room, wondering if there was a hidden camera on him. Maybe this was some psychological component of the interview? "Excuse me, but by 'go through,' what do you mean?"

"They quit."

"Oh," Daniel said again.

Mr. Oliver folded his hands on the green blotter and stared back. "Why do you want to work here?"

Daniel's fist squeezed the keychain inside his pocket. He met Mr. Oliver's gaze and told him the truth. "Because it's just what I need."

Mr. Oliver let out a long breath, and then added Daniel's thin resume to a pile of more substantial hopefuls, making the outcome of this disastrous interview obvious. Daniel's last bit of hope faded, and the disappointment weighed on him like a wet blanket.

"Thank you for your interest in Willard's," Mr. Oliver said, nodding toward the door. "Come to the office tomorrow, half an hour before the store closes. We'll get you fitted for a uniform."

Daniel almost fell out of the chair. "I got the job?"

"Don't be late," he said, then paused, and his voice dropped a few notes. "Daniel Gale."

"I won't. Thank you!" Daniel was stunned for a moment, unable to move. Mr. Oliver frowned at him, and then motioned impatiently to the door again.

Daniel left the security office, shouldering his backpack, suddenly giddy with his change in luck. He leaned against a long glass counter and grinned. He was finally getting closer to finding an answer.

Earlier that morning, Daniel had left the hotel with his little black notebook and a map of the city. He'd passed the bare trees of Gramercy Park, shivering in the light drizzle—everything had looked gray and dead.

The feeling in his chest had grown heavier as he crossed the traffic on Broadway, and then Fifth Avenue. He paused every few blocks along West 18th to consult his map. Bent into the wind, he took shelter under some scaffolding. He stared across the street at the five-storey building of glazed terracotta and rusticated ironwork. Something clicked inside his head, like the tumblers inside a lock falling into place. A large royal blue banner hung over the entrance.

Golden letters spelled out Willard's—It's Just What You Need!

He flipped through the little black notebook. It was mostly small notations of his travels, a few doodles from his dreams, and near the back, lists of cities with lines crossed through them. Daniel double checked the last address. Willard's.

He crossed the street and waited under the banner, frowning at the main entrance, still hesitant. The large front windows were covered in brown paper stamped with DISPLAY IN PROGRESS. A steady stream of customers bustled by, oblivious to his shaking in the rain. Only when the glass doors had closed and the brass pull handles came together did Daniel finally let out the breath he'd been holding.