I’ll inform the local police of my visit.
Honey huffed and placed her phone face down on her desk. The nerve. When she thumbed through the thin file on the Hale Orchard, she assured herself it wouldn’t be so bad. Farmers had to be disciplined. They had to be hardworking, pragmatic, and know how to pivot when something came up. All admirable qualities. But this Mr. Hale, with no registered email, a phone number that sent her straight to voicemail, and now a refusal by text, of all things, was proving himself to be difficult.
Smoothing her hands over her slicked-back hair, she adjusted her bun and took a measured breath. This would be fine. Good auditors adapted. Besides, resistance often stemmed from misunderstanding, and she was very good at explaining regulations.
She did a quick search to find out who the Director of Arcane Relations was in Brim's Hollow and stared openmouthed when she discovered there was none, and hadn’t been for quite some time. Once she got over the initial shock, it only strengthened her resolve. A town without any kind of magical oversight certainly would need an audit.
Before she could figure out what authorities worked in Brim's Hollow that she may need to inform of her visit, Mr. Aldridge walked by and clapped his hand on the doorframe of her office.
“Thank you for agreeing to do this,” Mr. Aldridge said, as if the promise of promotion he offered and Honey’s sense of duty really gave her any choice in the matter. “I’ll be checking in with you mid-week to see how you’re getting along.”
“Of course,” Honey answered, and Mr. Aldridge hoisted his briefcase and turned on his heel to head home for the day.
After ensuring her desk was tidy and her planner opened to the date she would return from this excursion, Honey flicked the light off and locked her office door. She headed three blocks north and two blocks east to her apartment building. She nodded hello to Paul Jacobi, the doorman, and bypassed the elevator in favor of the stairwell and ascended the three-story walkup.
Exiting the stairwell, Honey nearly collided with her neighbor, Ruby Castillo, who was just returning from a run. Her black hair was a halo of frizz around her head, damp with sweat, and her cheeks were flushed the kind of pink only endorphins or near-death experiences could create. At the sight of Honey, she pulled her headphones from her ears.
“My god, Honey. You scared me.” Ruby huffed, doubling over with her hands on her knees. “Why are you always so quiet on the stairs? It’s like you float.”
“I don’t float,” Honey replied mildly, adjusting the folder under her arm. “I just walk like a person who was taught to respect communal spaces.”
“If you’re talking about Rupert again, that’s fair. He does walk very loudly. Or if you’re talking about me, just now, that’s my bad. I had to clean up a massive crime scene last night—blood everywhere, and some kind of black goo? It was a whole thing. So I thought, ‘Why not sweat the demons out this morning?’ And now I think my legs are filing for emancipation.”
“That sounds…gruesome,” Honey said, a flicker of curiosity sparking.
“Yeah, nothing a bit of thymol and bleach couldn’t get out.”
Over time, Honey had learned that Ruby was one of those rare people who could make chatter seem charming. She was a professional crime scene cleaner and true-crime aficionado. Ruby had casually detailed her passion for blood spatter and gore to Honey over mojitos and curry on the fire escape six months ago, during one of those odd, punch-drunk evenings when honesty seemed like a game of chicken.
“Anyway, about poker tonight…” Ruby began.
“I’ll be there. Seven o’clock.”
It was their Friday night tradition with some of the residents in the building. Honey found sleep hygiene to be very important, but she simply couldn’t resist the temptation of a good poker game.
Ruby winced. “Actually…Crap. I was going to text you, but then I forgot, and now that I’m standing here, probably smelling like a banshee’s armpit, I’m thinking I should just say it: I need to bail tonight.”
“Oh.” Honey smoothed her hair to mask her disappointment.
“Yeah. I’m supposed to maybe meet up with Ben. I mean, he might flake again, but if he doesn’t, I don’t want to be mid-hand holding a pair of threes, y’know?”
Honey nodded slowly. “That would be a rather underwhelming hand to go out on.”
“Right?” Ruby gave her a grateful smile.
If they’d been true friends, Honey would have told her not to waste her time on a man like Ben. Anyone who stood you up regularly, including the awful time he failed to show up for Ruby’s sister's wedding, didn’t deserve her attention.
But they weren’t truly friends. She liked Ruby morethan she probably should. She was bright and messy and sincere in a way Honey found disarming. For some reason, Ruby didn’t seem put off by the meticulous way Honey ran her life. She didn’t mock the color-coded meal plan, or the rigid bedtime, or the fact that Honey carried a mini lint roller in her purse. Ruby just rolled with it.
Which was why it would hurt a little when Ruby eventually moved out.
Because she would. People like Ruby always did. Eventually, she’d be off to some bigger, brighter life, probably with a golden retriever of a boyfriend and a dishwasher that didn’t leak. Maybe even to the suburbs.
And Honey? She’d stay here. In the same building, in the same apartment. With the same routines. Just the mildly odd neighbor Ruby used to play poker with on Fridays.
As a general rule, Honey didn’t let herself get too close to people. It never ended well. Her quirks were fine in small doses, amusing even, but up close, they wore thin, and when people left, they always took something with them.
Ruby fumbled with her keyring and finally inserted the key into the lock. “Thanks for not being weird about it. I’ll make it up to you next week,” she called over her shoulder as she kicked off her sneakers and started to close the door.
