1.
My name’s Tamerlane, but most people in the know called me Tam. I was one of few functioning mages in the New England area. I didn’t advertise it, because I didn’t live on it. I worked as a typical office drone in a Fortune 500 company. Boring, but paid the bills.
My real name is Tom, so the two nicknames aren’t so dissimilar. It was a normal day at the office, and I was heading over to the entrance, when I saw a man standing there. I stopped and gaped, hoping he hadn’t seen me. He stood an easy six and a half feet, with short-cropped auburn hair. His suit looked too tight on his broad shoulders, that if he moved his arms forward his jacket would split in the back. I looked downward to his legs, not quite so noticeable as the jacket, but I was sure was just as muscular. His butt was probably as hard as steel.
He turned around and saw me standing there. I saw him smile, and he said, “Hey, can you let me in?” Even his voice was like whiskey-drenched silk.
I got closer, trying not to stare at the chest that stretched his shirt. I looked up at his face, but that didn’t help, as he had the most beautiful hazel eyes I had ever seen. I swallowed, and pulled on my badge, which was attached to a flexible nylon thread on my belt, like a reel. I showed it to the electric eye that read the bar code, and heard the lock snick open.
“Thanks, bro,” he said, holding the now open door for me. I went in, kind of ducking my head. “I’m looking for Mr. Ceasar?”
This distracted me from oggling him. “Oh, third floor, take a right. Just ask the HR secretary.”
“Great, thanks.” He smiled. “Hope to see you around sometime.”
“Uh huh,” I could only say.
I watched him walk up the stairs. Yep, a nice hard ass.
Chuck Caesar was the HR man, so this guy was probably new. Well, I couldn’t dwell on him for long, as I had to get started on my own work.
I lived in the cubie farm on the second floor, and I normally took the stairs to keep myself in shape. I’m not a gym type of person, just like I’m not an artificial type of mage, either. I work with nature, not against it. So if I’m offered healthy food versus junk food, I’d take the healthy food every time, or the least destructive of the junk food.
However, this didn’t make me an angel. I could eat chocolate cake like the best of them. As a matter of fact, I had an egg and cheese on a biscuit along with a coffee with extra sugar in my hand.
“Morning, homes,” said Paul, as he looked up from his cubicle. I think the man actually did live here, because he was always the first person in. He saluted me with his iced coffee.
“Morning,” I said and set my stuff down. “How did you make out with the testing last night?”
“Was here ‘til nine.”
Crazy bastard, I thought, he was going to put the rest of us to shame. But then, he was a Capricorn probably with strong Aries tendencies – he was one competitive son of a bitch.
I checked over my desk as I usually did. I had it organized not only to my own comfort, but to a bit of limited Feng Shui. There was a mirror to the side of me reflecting a person who would stand at the entrance of my cubicle. I had a plant to give me oxygen and to calm me down when things got too hairy.
“Morning, boys,” called Maggie, our resident Affirmative Action hire. She was black, bisexual, and a woman, and she joked that she was hired to “fulfil the department’s diversity requirements.” “Did you stay late again, Paul?”
“Yep,” he said, and then started into the details of his work.
Our manager showed up an hour later as he normally did, grunted his hellos to us, and then I got my first call.
Off to the races.
2.
I usually ate lunch alone in the cafeteria, wrapped up in the latest literary novel. I heard his voice, “Nice caff.” I looked up and saw him with the Account Managers. I smiled to myself, figures he was hired for them. That department was always hiring because of its high-turnover. Being a liaison between crotchety old clients and the company itself easily took the toll out of anyone. I watched him from under my book, as he got his lunch, and sat with the Brat Pack as we called them, because they always got what they wanted.
They gossiped about people, and different departments. My department, IT, was notorious for being slow, as all IT departments usually are. My position wasn’t actual coding, but more like support and testing. Oh, and I was often called in to assist when things got catastrophic. Why not, I had no life. I overheard what they were saying, and, to be honest, I didn’t really care because a lot of it was true. Even up to and including me: “Tom’s a faggot,” said Jim, the Brat Pack leader. “A real faggot.”
“Ah,” said the big guy as if that explained everything.
I wanted throw the book across the room at them. Oops, it just slipped out of my hand and flew at your head.
The big guy saw me and smiled, before Jim grabbed his attention again, telling him about the quality of the cafeteria food. I didn’t need to hear his pontificating, to tell you the truth, so I gathered my things. As I did, my phone jumped in my hand. I looked at the text.
Call me. Nettie.
Huh, I thought, curious. Nettie was my upstairs neighbor. I wondered if something happened to the house. I went back to my desk as the big guy said, “Hey,” in greeting to me.
“Hi,” I said, and stopped. Jim was frowning at me. Jealous, Jim? I never knew. “I guess you found Chuck?”
“Yes, I did, and thank you.” He motioned to Jim. “I’m working in the account management department.”
“I’m Tom from IT,” I said, and held out my hand. I wondered if he had been paying attention when Jim went through his diatribe about our department.
The big guy took my hand and shook it firmly, “I’m Roger.”
“Good to meet you.” The phone buzzed again. Okay, so maybe the house was on fire. “Excuse me, I need to take that.”
“Of course,” he said. “Nice to meet you too. See you later.”
Jim tapped Roger on the shoulder. “You’re up next,” he said, as I started out the door.
I went to the foyer of the building and whipped out the phone, dialing Nettie’s number. She picked it up by the second ring. “Tam,” she said, breathless, “Tam, I need your help.”
“Is the building on fire?”
“What? No.”
“Then what’s the emergency?”
“My grandmother. She’s been stolen.”
I looked around the foyer. I had found lost items for her before, using Horary astrology and my pendulum, but finding a person? “What do you mean ‘stolen’?”
“Someone went in her grave and took her body!”
“Are you serious?”
“I’m dead serious.”
I snorted at the pun. I don’t think she realized she said it, since that’s one of her stock phrases. “Okay. I’m at work right now.”
“When do you get off work?”
“Five. I’ll be home by five-thirty.”
“Okay. Who would do this?”
I could think of a few things that would do it. But to go through the trouble of taking a body out of a modern grave is something different entirely. “I don’t know yet, Nettie. I’ll see you when I get home.”
My mind was half on work as I chewed pencil erasers and pondered what would take a human body out of its grave. I wrote down questions to ask Nettie, things that would clarify some of my thoughts on the matter.
((attempting to take “The Mage and the Bear” short story, clean it up, flesh it out, and make a first novel out of it.))