The Swanmaiden

This is a

2020 "On the Job"

Contest entry.

**********************

"How could you let this happen?" Charlotte shouted. "What the fuck were you thinking?"

Amelie buried her face in her hands. Her head pounded, and not just because she was the object of the other woman's ire.

"You know what can happen!"

"I'm sorry!" Amelie sobbed. Ever since waking up hungover in her East Village brownstone after a night out with some girlfriends, she had been shaken and was not feeling herself. "I don't know how I lost it!"

Sofia reached out and took Amelie in her arms. Both were crying.

"We have to find it," Petra said softly. She stared dully out the window as the rain fell. From the seventy-second floor, the rest of the city seemed so small. And somewhere out there was something of immense value. "The wards will protect you here, but you are vulnerable if you leave the Circle."

"I called the restaurant and the car service," Monika tapped away at her cell phone. Unfortunately, there was no scrying app that could locate the missing item. "They haven't seen it. It was not left in the car."

Charlotte chewed on her lip, contemplating what to do next. "Sofia, set up the beds in the apartment. Activate the Sentries in the Sanctum and at the Gates. I will contact the Trinity Coven to see if they can help us locate it. Someone stays with Amelie at all times while she's vulnerable. Amelie, you need to get some sleep. The rest of you: get looking."

**********************

The next day passed quietly.

Amelie wandered around the office in a zombie-like trance. Not knowing almost seemed to be worse than anything that could have happened to her. Of course, the actual consequences of her loss had the potential to be catastrophic, but in the moment, the anticipation weighed upon her.

She didn't dare leave the protective wards of the nest, and she couldn't go back to her apartment. Two of the others were always nearby, while the other pair searched the city from high and low.

None of the five were strong enough diviners to find what they needed, especially when it was specifically enchanted to evade detection. Their allies were similarly unsuccessful.

The only person who could possibly locate it was Amelie, but since the object was no longer in her possession, the magic was taken from her. That meant someone had it.

The only question was: What they would do with it? Did they know its power? Would they use it for some fell purpose?

If it had simply been lost or left somewhere, she could have teleported it back to her with the wave of her hand.

The others looked startled when Amelie jerked at the conference room table, going from slouching in her chair to sitting bolt-upright in an instant.

"It's here," she whispered.

Charlotte's eyes darkened with fear. Petra and Monika exchanged a worried glance and helped Amelie to her feet. They made their way to the foyer, with its walls lined with dark mahogany paneling.

Runes carved into the hardwood and the floor started to glow softly. Eyes glowed from the molding; the Guardians stood at the ready. Two golems in the shape of winged angels flanked the door.

Sofia began tracing subtle shapes with her fingers in front of herself. The air around them crackled with power.

The tension was palpable. Charlotte stepped in front of Amelie as the others took a defensive posture.

Finally, the outer door opened.

A young man stepped through, catching them all off guard. He carried a black garment bag over his shoulder. He did not radiate with sorcery, and his demeanor showed no ill intent.

Most importantly, the wards did not activate. Lightning and fire and ice did not strike him down. The Guardians stayed hidden within their niches. The Sentries stood motionless, appearing to be merely decorative.

The magic faded as the women let their spells dissipate.

The six of them stared at each other for a long moment.

Charlotte—the oldest—was the first to recover. She put on her best smile. "Welcome to Reinerschwan. How can we help you?"

"I was . . . uh, looking for . . . .um," he paused, to pat his pockets and draw out a business card. "Amelie Weiss, please."

"I'm Amelie." The fear was replaced by . . . hope?

Definitely human, he was neither demon nor fey.

The man was young, maybe in his late 20s. She could detect none of the malice of a necromancer. Nor the intelligence of wizard. Nor the cunning of a monster-hunter.

He looked rather plain.

If anything, the man was probably one of the thousands of cubicle workers who came and went in the financial district every day.

Neither slovenly nor well-dressed, he wore a non-descript dark blue suit and striped grey tie, as most of the men in their building did. He was of average height and appearance. Black hair. Brown eyes. In any other setting, he probably would have been beneath Amelie's notice. Invisible.

What he held in his hands was more powerful than he could possibly imagine.

"I . . . ah, found this the other night at the restaurant." His stammering was mildly endearing. "I saw you leave, but I couldn't catch you in time. Your business card was in the inside pocket. I'm . . .um, sorry it's taken me this long to get it back to you."

He held out the garment bag. Amelie took it from him, trying her best to keep her hands from shaking.

She unzipped it enough to make sure of the contents. Her hands ran over the soft down of the cloak.

Amelie sighed, solace replacing the emptiness and despair.

"Thank you," she said softly. Her relief was almost immediate. Already, the magic coursed through her again. Her posture straightened. Her strength returned. Her mind cleared. "I thought I had lost it for good."

"You're welcome," he smiled sheepishly. It seemed he wanted to say more but stopped short.

They all stood there awkwardly.

Charlotte took the garment bag and drew the long white cloak out. Even under the industrial LEDs in the ceiling, it seemed to shimmer.

She handed the empty garment bag to Amelie and winked. "Back to work, girls."

The others excused themselves back to their offices. Charlotte lovingly cradled Amelie's cloak and took it to the safety of the back offices and the Vault, leaving Amelie and the man standing by themselves in the foyer.

"Thank you again . . ." Amelie's voice trailed off expectantly.

"Oh, sorry," he flushed with embarrassment. "Mitch . . . er, Mitchell Morales."

"It's nice to meet you, Mitchell Morales," Amelie reached out to shake his hand. "I really appreciate you bringing that back to me. Can I buy you lunch?"

"I can't today." The disappointment was apparent on his face. "I have a client meeting in about an hour. How about Thursday?"

"Thursday would be great," she smiled sweetly, neatly folded the garment bag and handed it to him. Her fingertips brushed his. "Come pick me up at eleven-thirty."

She walked him to the door. As soon as he disappeared into the hallway, Amelie collapsed in a heap, relieved that the one who found her cloak had no idea what he could have used it to do.

Or what obligation he was owed after having returned it.

**********************

"Fifty bucks says he doesn't show up." Petra was bored.

"He'll be here," drawing out a bill from her wallet, Monika lay it on the table. "Did you see him? He was smitten the second he walked through the door."

"He's a weak-willed imbecile," the other woman snorted. "He looks like his mother still dresses him."

Amelie fidgeted nervously, waiting for her lunch date.

"Did you make your boobs bigger?" Charlotte observed. "You did! At least one cup!"

"I'm not taking any chances," Amelie blushed.

"Why not go for two?" Petra snorted.

"That would be overkill," Amelie glared at her sister. "Besides, he's cute. In a dorky, awkward sort of way."

"Seriously? Mitchell fucking Morales? Do you really want

that

as your mate?"

"She could do worse," Charlotte observed. "I don't see any cobs beating your door down, Petra."

Any retort was cut off by the phone buzzing. Charlotte pressed a button on the speakerphone.

"Mr. Morales is here for Amelie," Sofia said formally.

"She'll be right out," Charlotte replied with a sly smile before hanging up.

Amelie stood up and took a deep breath.

"Be careful. Don't leave the Circle." Charlotte took a moment to inspect the younger woman. She brushed the hair out of her face and took a second to give Amelie's magically enhanced breasts a firm squeeze. "Very nice; bigger, but still perky. Be sure he's what you want, little pen."

"I know, 'mother'," Amelie rolled her eyes. She stepped out of the back office into the main foyer.

Mitchell stood from on the comfortable chairs to greet her. Sofia winked as Amelie passed.

"Wow," he said under his breath, probably unaware that he had spoken out loud.

Amelie was a little bit taller than Mitchell, and in her heels, she seemed to tower over him. She wore a blue form-fitting dress with a high collar, long sleeves and an elegant gold chain belt.

He was in a plain grey suit and wing tips.

"I can't take too long for lunch today," she said apologetically. "Do you like sushi? We could go to Yoshi's on the tenth floor."

"I . . . uh, sure," he stammered.

Amelie smiled sweetly and led him out of the office. She put a little extra sway in her hips just for his benefit.

They were seated in one of the booths by the glass window overlooking the food court. The service was discreet and fast. Most everyone there was on an expense account and talking business.

"I can't thank you enough for bringing my coat back to me," she said once they had ordered. "It's very special to me."

"It was my pleasure." Mitchell seemed to recover after his initial shock at meeting her again.

They made small talk for most of the meal. His timidity passed a little as Amelie drew him out of his shell. She was tempted to use her magic on him, but any enchantment she cast would negate a possible future they might have together.

"So you work on thirty-two?" she asked, referring to the floor where his office was located.

"Yes, I'm a financial analyst and planner for Campbell, Jenkins & Burke," he replied. "What do you do up on the penthouse floor?"

"A little bit of everything," Amelie said non-committally. "Mostly real estate futures and property rights."

"Is business good?"

"Land is the one thing that is always in demand, and there's not much more being made, so if you control the right property, it can be very lucrative." He started to say something in return, but she interrupted him. "That man to your left. Three tables over. Yellow tie, suspenders. Don't stare. Does he work with you?"

"Yeah," Mitchell said, his voice dropping with disappointment. Amelie didn't need to read his mind to understand what he thought she would say next. "He's one of the new hotshots they hired a couple of months ago."

"He keeps looking this way. You think he's a dick." The man in question was young and pretty with rugged good looks and the appearance of confidence.

"Um . . . I guess."

"I've seen his kind before: pompous, arrogant, full of himself," Amelie felt the man undressing her with his eyes. If they hadn't been in public, she may have cast a minor ailment on him. "Reach across the table. Put your hand on mine."

Mitchell's eyes widened in surprise. But he did as Amelie asked. She only smiled slyly back at him and made some more small talk.

Their meal ended a little while later, but not before the man who was watching them got up and left in a huff.

"Thank you for lunch," he said when she grabbed the check. "I, uh . . . don't suppose you'd like to . . . um, go out for dinner one night."

"I would like that very much, Mitchell Morales," she said flirtatiously. She took out a business card and scribbled her personal cell phone number on the back.

Mitchell gave her one of his cards with his office number and cell phone number on it.

"And thank you . . . for rubbing my lunch date in Brandon's face," he said sincerely.

"Anything for my saviour," she smiled back.

As they walked to the elevator, Amelie surprised him by putting her hand in the crook of his arm. He walked her to the door of her office, but didn't step in.

"Thank you again, Amelie," he said quietly. He made no move to kiss her or express any other affection. It seemed he was both shy and a gentleman.

"You're very welcome, Mitchell. Call me when you want to do dinner," she winked.

With that, she turned into the heavy wooden doors at the Reinerschwan offices.

Sofia was waiting at the desk just past the inside doors. She looked up and smiled knowingly.

"You're glowing," Monika teased as Amelie walked through the maze of offices back to the Vault.

"Shit," Petra snorted when she saw her sister. Then she began digging into her desk for money to pay the other women.

Amelie emerged from the secured room wearing only her cloak around her shoulders. With the wave of her hand, the floor-to-ceiling window disappeared.

She leapt out into the cool air and flew away above the clouds.

**********************

"I'm here to see Mitchell Morales," Amelie said to the receptionist, adding a touch of Germanic accent to her voice. After their lunch, he sent her a text message thanking her for the date. He asked if she was free over the weekend, but she didn't commit to anything.

They exchanged text messages over the weekend and into the next week. They met again for lunch at a sandwich shop in the food court. She did some research into his past. She did not want to seem to eager, nor like she was playing hard to get.

The young woman looked up from her cell phone, trying her hardest not to appear annoyed. "Is he expecting you?"

"No," Amelie replied curtly, thankful that her company didn't need to employ underlings like this.

"May I tell him who's calling, please?"

"Amelie Weiss."

The receptionist reached for the phone on her desk. "Mr. Morales, there's a Amelie Weiss here to see you. . . . Yes . . . Yes, I'll let her know."

"He will be right out," the receptionist sounded bored. Of course, she probably had an MBA and was working an entry-level front office job at a fraction of what she expected at this stage in her life. Still, that was no excuse for shitty service. "You can have a seat if you like."

From what Amelie found through her cursory research, this was the main office at Campbell, Jenkins & Burke, and international accounting and finance company. It buzzed with a quiet, but tense activity.

Everyone there was concerned with making money, both for their clients and themselves.

After a moment, Mitchell emerged from the main hallway.

"Good morning, Miss Weiss," he said formally. The quizzical look on his face showed genuine surprise. He reached out to shake her hand. "How can I help you?"

"Do you do individual financial planning?" she asked, trying her best to maintain a professional air.

"Of course, we do—"

"Do

you

do individual financial planning, Mr. Morales?"

"Well, um . . . yes."

"Excellent. I would like to see about getting some financial advice."

"Um, okay . . . this way." He led her back into his firm's offices. If he was confused by her sudden accent, he didn't show it or call her out.

Mitchell was a mid-level analyst who warranted his own private office, even if it was one of the smaller ones away from the outside windows. Several of the other workers glanced up at Amelie, although most ignored her, caught up in their own tasks.

She took a seat across his desk.

"I don't believe for a second that you need financial advice," he said nervously. "I've seen where you work. You could buy and sell half of the people in this building all at once."

Amelie smirked but continued with the charade. "A relative recently died. I would like to know how you would advise me to handle a sudden windfall. Hypothetically."

"When you say, 'windfall', do you mean you could pay off the loan on a small SUV, or are you going to quit your job and buy an island in the Caribbean? Hypothetically," he asked, going through the motions.

"It's enough to provide for me and my hypothetical future family, but not enough to disappear completely."

"It all depends on what your goals are for your money, and how close you are to retiring. Do you want the money to make money for you? Are you looking for more conservative, long term growth? Do you just want to beat inflation? Without knowing some of the other variables, I don't know that I can give any real advice."

There was a not-so-quiet knock on at the door. A man in an expensive suit and tie stood there giving off an air of self-importance. "Friday staff meeting in five minutes, Mitch."

"I'm with a client," he tried unsuccessfully not to sound annoyed.

"This is an all-hands one. Important stuff, Morales." Amelie immediately didn't like him. But she was used to dealing with idiots like him. It took a second for her to calculate a number.

"More important than a five million dollar account?" she asked incredulously.

Both men's jaws dropped. She gave the intruder at the door a stern, don't-fuck-with-me look. She may have embellished her glare with a little supernatural intimidation. He withered and walked away.

"You've got to be shitting me," Mitchell muttered under his breath. He reached for a folder and began scribbling down some notes.

"No horseshit, Mitchell," Amelie flashed him a conspiratorial smile. "Although I don't know how much I like your firm. I've seen four people who work here: an asshole middle management type, a creep who could be on

To Catch a Predator,

and a receptionist who spends most of her time surfing Instagram. You're the only one who thinks I'm more than some bimbo with big boobs."

He fell silent, at a complete loss for words.

"I'll tell you what: I'd hate for you to miss some important staff meeting," Amelie rolled her eyes. "You need to take me out to dinner tonight. At that expensive steakhouse on the mezzanine. Tell your friend's boss that I left in a huff because he was acting like an asshole, and you need to pull out all the stops on this account."

Mitchell smiled despite himself.

"If they give you any shit about it, invite your boss to dinner and I'll have that guy sent down to the mail room first thing Monday morning."

"Remind me not to piss you off, Amelie."

"Just stay on my good side. I'll be ready at six," she winked before standing and walking out of his office.

Amelie noticed more people staring at her, but she put on a mischievous smile and ignored them as she strode out of their offices.

**********************

"Mr. Morales is here to see you," the intercom buzzed.

"I'll be right there, Sofia," Amelie replied. She hadn't changed clothes; that would be too obvious. But she put on matching emerald earrings and pendant.

Mitchell was waiting for her in the foyer. He was wearing the same suit, although it looked like he had shaved and tried to clean up a little.

She slipped her hand in his arm, and they headed for the elevators.

They were seated in one of the private rooms in the back. Apparently, Mitchell had made some special arrangements for dinner. On a Friday night, at a swanky upscale steakhouse. In New York.

The service was white glove and was probably costing a fortune. But the prospect of landing a multi-million dollar account warranted every effort, and Campbell, Jenkins & Burke was clearly taking no chances.

"So why are you doing this?" he asked after they placed their order.

"Doing what?"

"Women like you don't look twice at guys like me," he said plainly. "Are you serious about opening an account with us? Or are you just angling for a very expensive dinner?"