Spark of Chaos

I wanted to pace, to march up and down before the heavy door with the frosted glass pane-a symbol brought to life. It was the final barrier standing between me and my last chance of a new life.

Breathe.

No, that didn't help. I was breathing, but still nervous.

Great.

I was starting to very much fear that my deodorant had given up some time around noon as I stalked through the city of York in the burning heat of the summer sun, hunting for those all too few businesses that might possibly hire me.

So far it had been a bust.

I fanned my face and pulled at the collar of my blouse, wondering if I should loosen the top button, though that might give the guy about to interview me the wrong impression.

Sweat ran down my back and I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the glass pane of the window opposite the door I waited beside. My hair, that had started in such a neat, tight bun, was somewhat awry with dirty blonde strands, sticking to the sweat damp skin of my face.

My makeup, what little of it I had applied, was beyond saving even if I did have the time to run to the ladies to fix it.

A rumble sounded from inside the office, the plastic wheels of an office chair pushed over wooden floorboards as its occupant rose from behind his desk. The soft pad of feet across those bare boards as he crossed the office and then, there, his large, shadowed form behind the frosted glass set into the door.

I swallowed back my nerves.

This was my last chance. I had few options left. Every other business in the city was either not hiring, or perhaps just not hiring me. I could feel the quiet hunger growing daily and without a job, I would be forced to feed it in a way that would bring notice.

I couldn't risk that.

"Emma Grey?"

The speaker towered over me as I stood up. His shoulders so broad that he filled the doorway to the office, and his face obscured by a shaggy beard of dark brown hair. A match for the unruly mop on his head.

He stepped back and waved me in, brow furrowing as he wrinkled his nose, which only caused an increase in perspiration as I realised, he was smelling me.

Just great.

I pressed my arms against my sides and shuffled past him into the office. The air inside was thick and clammy. The only sound coming from the whirr of the fan on the desk that was trying its hardest to cool the hot air with little effect.

The large man stepped past me, moving slowly as though afraid a quick movement might send me hurtling across the cramped office space. There was a sour scent to him as though he'd slept in his clothes, an odour that matched that of his office and I wondered if he had actually slept in the leather office chair behind the wide desk.

He gestured for me to take the wooden backed seat opposite him, and I settled into it, crossing my legs and holding my purse on my lap as I chewed my lower lip. He huffed softly as he settled into his chair and folded his hands across his flat stomach as he peered at me with deep brown eyes the colour of autumn leaves.

"I-I have a CV," I stammered, opening my purse and pulling out a wrinkled sheath of papers that had been folded in half, twice. "Sorry, it's a bit-"

He waved away my apology and held out his hand. I passed him the only copy of my CV that I had left and waited as his eyes roamed the page, taking in every detail.

As he read, I took a moment to scrutinise his office. It was not an impressive space.

A second desk was pressed up against the wall to the right of the door I'd entered, its dark, walnut surfaced covered with stacks of folders that I was sure were due for filing in the rank of metal cabinets that lined the righthand wall.

On the opposite side of the room were bookshelves loaded with books, many of them stacked haphazardly and scattered amongst them strange figurines and ornaments. Many of those were obvious charms and wards, though against what I could only guess.

On the wall above the door, was a clock that had long since stopped working.

Dust covered everything.

Except the man's desk, which held a telephone, a stack of brown cardboard folders, a leatherbound ledger, a copy of the days newspaper – not one of those awful tabloids thankfully – and a single coffee cup that bore the deep, dark stains of frequent use, and infrequent washing.

"Okay." His voice was gruff, and low. Each word accompanied by a deep rumbling from deep in his chest. "You're wanting a job."

It wasn't a question.

He discarded my CV casually, letting it lie amongst those files on his desk, and he folded his hands as he looked me over.

"Well, Mr. Grimshaw…"

"Grim," he said, interrupting. "Or Jack, either's fine."

"Jack," I said, smiling nervously. I swallowed hard. This was my last chance. "I need a job, and…"

"Private school." His eye's dropped to my CV. "College, then University. Not a top university, but a decent one down south. Well off family, I guess."

I could only shrug. It wasn't exactly something I wanted to talk about.

His gaze swept my body, and I stiffened, almost feeling an invasive touch as he took in everything about me in that look. His expression didn't change, and I suspected he found nothing to be impressed about.

A young woman, slim though not exactly athletic. Well dressed, soft spoken, and sweating like a whore in church.

I couldn't exactly blame him.

"Look," I began but he cut me off again, and I could barely stop myself from rolling my eyes.

"You studied Economics."

"Yes, I-"

"Looking to join the family business, was you?"

I unclenched my jaw and forced my lips into a polite smile. It wasn't going well and aside from his infuriating need to interrupt me, he simply sounded bored. Entirely uninterested.

I had to change that.

"My family and I have parted ways."

That piqued his interest. He leant forward in his chair, one bushy eyebrow rising in query. "Why?"

"Isn't that an impertinent question?"

"Probably." He lifted large shoulders in a shrug. His arms were almost as wide around as my waist! "Answer anyway."

My hands tightened into fists, and I pressed them down against my legs, fighting the urge to snap back a reply. I breathed out, and drew a deep breath, calming myself.

"Father was… wild, in his youth. He left the family for a few years and came back with me. His family didn't approve and never let me forget that." I couldn't help the anger in my tone, and I forced another deep breath before I continued. "He recently passed, and with him went my place in that family."

"So, they kicked you out." His face darkened at that, though I suspected it was less to do with my own family strife and more, something personal to him. "Sound like a bunch of twats."

"Quite."

"I've no need for an office manager." He grunted. "Nor a receptionist."

"Good. I've no desire of being either."

"What then?"

I sucked in another deep breath of hot air and held my hands still against my lap as I desperately willed the fan to blow some of the turgid air in my direction.

"To be frank, I have only a limited idea of what you do, but I need a job, and I am willing to do anything." Within reason, of course. "You're a private investigator. Surely you have need for help doing…" I waved a hand, gesturing vaguely. "Whatever it is that entails."

His laughter was a low rumble, almost a growl and the hairs stood taut on the back of my neck at the sound. A primal reaction, like that of prey when confronted by a predator.

My tongue darted out, wetting too dry lips, and I tasted the lipstick I wore. Jake shook his shaggy head as he pulled open a drawer and pulled out a bottle. He poured a generous measure into his coffee-stained mug and took a moment to screw the cap back on the bottle as he studied me.

"Been a long week," he said, nodding down at his cup. "Before you think I'm some sort of cliché."

"Perish the thought," I said, though I'd been thinking exactly that.

He lifted the mug and took a long swallow before wiping his mouth and beard with the back of his hand. He belched and tapped his chest with a large hand as he mumbled an apology, and I realised he'd likely been drinking for some time.

"Happens I could use some help," he said, grinning sourly. "There's some that'll talk to a lass easier than they will me."

"I'm a people person," I lied. "I can do that."

He threw back the rest of the bourbon and reached for the bottle. Another grunt as he considered me, his eyes fixing on mine.

"Not sure that's true."

There wasn't much I could say to that.

"I do work for the covens, that a problem?"

Yes.

"No."

He flashed straight white teeth and filled his mug with the remains of the brown liquid in the bottle.

"I can smell your lies, lass," he said. "Even beneath that reek of death that covers you."

Shit!

He waved a hand as I opened my mouth to give panicked reply, and my shoulders slumped. He'd been my last chance, and I'd blown it as soon as he'd opened the door.

"Can give you a £120 per week," he said, and I blinked in surprise. "You'll do all the shit I don't want to do for the bread-and-butter jobs; Filing, interviews, research and so on."

"Really?"

"Not sure if you'll be a help or a hindrance with the supernatural community here, but I can make it work, I reckon."

I was stunned to silence. I didn't know what to say. It would barely pay my bills, but since my few savings were almost gone and I had a desperate need to keep a roof over my head and food in my belly, I was willing to take anything.

"Why?"

A little voice in the back of my mind was screaming at me and calling me seven kinds of fool for asking, but I had to know.

Grim gave a knowing smile and tapped his nose with one thick finger. "Call it good timing if that makes you feel better. That's all I'll say. You want the job or not?"

I held out my open hand across the desk. He barely hesitated before he engulfed it in his own, his grip firm and strong, yet almost gentle as though he were afraid of crushing my hand.

"When can I start?"

"Now." He lifted his chin towards the other desk loaded with files. "Sort all that out."

I nodded eagerly and rose from the chair. I hesitated a moment as I turned away and I looked back over my shoulder at him.

"You know what I am?"

"Aye, lass."

"You're okay with it?"

I held my breath as I waited for his answer. I shouldn't have asked. It could only bring me more pain. As much as it had through my whole life. Mum had been the only shield to the hate and disgust, and with her gone, I wasn't sure how much of it I could take.

Grim flashed his teeth again as he leaned forward, placing one hand flat on the desk. Those deep brown eyes of his lightened, becoming the orange of sunset and then a deep amber that shone forth, his face falling into shadow.

My cheeks burned at the heat that radiated from his body, the sour smell of an unwashed body lost beneath the animal musk of a beast. The hairs on my neck stood on end, and I trembled as I stared into that golden gaze.

The nails on his hand lengthened and curled, darkening as they became claws that dug deep gouges in the wood of his desk and that low rumbling growl sounded form deep within his chest, turning my knees to jelly as I let out a gasp of very real fear.

"I reckon I'll be safe," he growled.