Love and Luxury #2
Finally, shoulders at my ears, stomach flipping in watery protest, breath coming in rapid, shallow gasps, I reached the woman. Up close, I could see the liver spots across her hands, the jagged claws of her fingernails, the yellow tint to her eyes that spoke of something inwardly dying.
“Next,” she said again in that raspy voice.
“Yes, that’s me.” Maybe I shouldn’t have said that part. Maybe I should’ve kept my stupid mouth shut. Maybe I should be kinder to delivery people.
Again, there are so many split seconds in my memory I can no longer turn over for further analysis. They happened as they did, leaving me to wonder for the rest of my human life if I could’ve done something—anything—to avoid this.
“In.”
The woman gestured past the cracked wooden door hanging low enough in the wall I had to duck to enter. Without another word, she slammed it behind me. I’m not too proud to admit I flinched.
I was in a cramped room with another sad desk, but thankfully no shadow creature this time—instead, a totally normal woman perched primly in a swivel chair.
A thick, yellowed, plastic computer tower and matching monitor nearly hid her from view, the hum of its fan blessedly breaking the silence I’d just endured.
She wore a leopard print peasant blouse that hung limply from her bony frame, and as she reached to cup her chin in her hands, I caught the flash of ruby red nails.
Her watery eyes peered up at me disdainfully from behind Coke-bottle glasses, the frames too large for her wan face.
“Miss Marina,” she said, gesturing to a metal folding chair across her desk that I was certain hadn’t been there a moment ago. “You may call me Madeline.”
My legs moved on their own, dropping me less than gently into the seat.
Forced to look at Madeline around her girthy computer, I couldn’t help but notice a complete lack of personalization in what must’ve been her office—no knick-knacks, no framed photos, not even a fast-food toy of a favorite animated character.
Never taking her eyes off mine, she clacked furiously on her keyboard for a moment.
“I assume you know why you’re here,” she said, voice a soothing purr.
She twisted in her seat, reaching behind her to a particularly toad-like printer.
It belched sheets of paper in a stinking cloud.
Madeline grabbed a few, waving them in the air to dispel the stench.
She squinted before tapping the stack on her desk and setting it down, folding her hands across it.
“No,” I said, so stunned and terrified that any other thought evaporated. My brain held only those two letters rattling back and forth like a caged monkey slowly losing the will to fight.
Madeline offered me a reassuring smile, her yellow teeth alarmingly sharp in the dull light, too many points overlapping each other to make human sense.
In a blink, they were Chiclet-straight and uniform, a normal shade of off-white for a woman who most likely didn’t smoke or drink black coffee without a slice of gum nearby.
“That’s okay,” she said. “We’ll make sure it’s crystal clear in the contract before you sign.”
“No?” I couldn’t turn away from her to glance over my shoulder, to look around the room.
I could only stare deeper into her watery gaze, could only take in the piecemeal parts of her the computer tower didn’t block.
Panic fluttered against my ribs, a delicate, frightened creature unafraid to scratch and bite its way free.
And still, I couldn’t move, as if my body had cut off all communication with my brain.
“Trust me, Miss Marina.” Madeline reached for the toad-like printer again, this time not bothering to check but instead stretching a blind hand behind her, expertly snagging the rest of the papers from the tray.
She set them on top of the last batch, returning her folded hands to the top.
“The contract will make it clear, and you will sign.”
My fingers fumbled with the sudden object in my hand. I didn’t need to look to recognize the ballpoint pen that I hadn’t brought with me.
“No.” I sighed, defeated and embarrassed. I couldn’t defend myself, couldn’t protest, couldn’t explain to this strange, demonic woman that I wasn’t going to sign shit—never mind whatever twisted game she was playing.
Adjusting her glasses, Madeline picked up the first page from the stack of papers between us and began to read.
“On this 287th day of the 2,205th cycle, the wronged party, heretofore referred to as The Witch, and the wrongdoer, heretofore referred to as The Bitch—”
She paused here and looked up at me meaningfully before continuing, “—enter into a Contract of Amends, willingly and of sound mind . . .” She muttered to herself, eyes scanning the rest of the page rapidly before heaving a put-upon sigh and waving a beleaguered hand through the air.
My heart slammed in my chest, shoulders sagging as my mind raced with all the thoughts that had been dammed for the last few moments. I had to consciously will myself not to throw up at the overwhelming sensations as I gasped for air.
“Dramatic.” Madeline rolled her eyes. “Where were we—”
“I’m not signing that,” I spat out, flexing and unflexing my hands against my thighs as I tried to discreetly scan the room for another exit.
“You will.” She held up a finger, cutting me off before I could protest. “Once you hear the terms, you’ll sign.”
Madeline droned on, continuing through the dense legal language in a monotone voice.
So far, I didn’t recognize anything too strange other than the quirky opening line.
Despite being referred to as a “wrongdoer” and “The Bitch,” I still hadn’t heard my crime.
I wondered if this was a sick theatrical joke.
Immersive, experiential theatre was having a heyday in the city, Maybe I’d wandered into one on accident.
If that were the case, I needed to tune back in to the contract language.
That must function as the instructions for the show.
“Compensation for The Bitch’s physical assault of The Witch—”
“Excuse me?” I couldn’t help the indignation in my voice.
Any thoughts of the woman across from me being an actress vanished like a half-finished set behind a curtain as she turned her gaze to mine.
Rage simmered in her eyes, pressing her face smooth with the heat and weight of an old-fashioned iron.
This woman was not only completely serious, there was something deadly in her expression that activated the monkey in my brain again, setting it screaming in a high-pitched keen that drowned out any other impulse I had but the one to escape.
“Did you have a question about the terms, Miss Marina?” Her voice was ice cracking down the middle beneath my feet, threatening to plunge me into the dark depths below.
“I didn’t—”
“You did.” She cut me off for what felt like the hundredth time. I wasn’t sure I’d uttered a complete sentence since the door slammed behind me. “You slammed into my bad shoulder in the crosswalk. When I told you to watch out, you flippantly refused.”
“Watch it!”
“NO.”
“That was you? I didn’t even—”
“—see me. Yes, I’m aware.” Madeline waited for the information to settle fully.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. Truly.” I pressed empathetic hands to my chest for emphasis, straightening in my seat.
“But surely an accidental brush in a crowded, public space isn’t cause for all of this.
” I gestured to the room around us and the stack of papers she still hadn’t read through despite the eternity I felt we’d been sitting here.
“It isn’t.”
I sighed in relief, clasping my hands in my lap and offering Madeline my most winning smile. “I’m glad we agree. What’s the fastest—ahem—easiest way back to the street?”
“But your rudeness needs punished.” Madeline adjusted her glasses for the umpteenth time and returned to the contract.
“Compensation for The Bitch’s physical assault of The Witch will be provided in the form of services rendered without fee, commission, or charge until a centum of clientele is reached. ”
“Wait, what?” I leaned forward, trying to glance at the paper in The Witch’s hands. This was all becoming more real in front of me as it wore on. What I’d assumed to be a mean turn of phrase in a vengeful performance was clearly literal.
Madeline handed me the paper and waited as I picked through the spidery font, muttering under my breath.
“You want me to work for free?”
Madeline nodded, so I continued, the words syrupy on my tongue, refusing to spit loose from disbelief. “For one hundred clients.”
The Witch waited in silence, staring blankly as I slumped back into the creaking metal chair. “Why?”
“If we may continue.”
I threw my hands up in frustration, but Madeline took her cue and picked up the second sheet of paper. More droning legalese followed for what felt like an hour—something about the human-witch accords of the 1600s and the various sentencing for violations on both sides.
I gave up trying to check the time. My smartwatch showed a scrambled screen, and I’d left my phone in the office. There were no clocks in the room, just bare, peeling walls and the endless, monotonous sound of Madeline reading.
Finally, The Witch said something that pulled me from my stupor, hauling me upright in my seat.
“Wait, read that part again?”
With no acknowledgement that I’d asked, Madeline repeated the line as if I’d pressed a rewind button.
“The centum shall be filled from a pool of The Witch’s choosing. For this instance, The Witch has selected the pool of The Monstrous, The Forgotten, and The Lost.”
“What does that mean?”
Madeline sighed as if I’d asked her for the definition of a three-letter word and not the twisted, binding language of a potentially supernatural contract. “It means I’ve chosen the population least likely to find housing safely in San Francisco.”