Sunlight broke through tall panes of glass, catching particles of dust to render them as falling bits of light. Shawn watched those lights fall from his cubicle, indigestion and worry mixing to create a familiar sense of dread. The old sensation of a tide rolling in came back to him. The feeling was almost dead by now, but he knew that someone, somewhere in the office had screwed something up. Because it was Friday at five, and he was getting ready to get up from his broken chair and head home. That’s when things always went wrong.

A project manager expected problems before they happened, forestalling anything a client could say or do to screw up a contract. Twenty years in the field was telling Shawn all he needed to know. He pulled his drawer, withdrawing a warm energy drink and popping the top. A few sips in and his phone rings. Not an email, of course. Because angry clients rarely send emails when something catastrophic happened. As he crooked his head to the side, listening to the irate man on the other end, a vein in his neck thumped as his heart rate quickened.

The phone clicked on the receiver, and Shawn let out a steady breath. He booted his laptop and prepared to write an apology email, secretly narrowing down the list of which member of the sales team had bungled this. Not that it mattered. They could sell a client the moon and everyone would pop the champagne. But the moment anyone reveals the moon is indeed very far away, management grabs their pitchforks.

The office was empty by now. The transition from autumn to winter in the city had been as grim as ever, barely even snowing to make up for the dead trees. At least the scent of garbage wasn’t so bad, not that Shawn got to experience that. As he drafted the email in his mind, he thought about simpler times. When he was in college he wanted to take some time off to become a fire lookout. Back then, it was still a job some destitute college kid could do. There were plenty of towers in operation. The task had been outsourced to drones and technology, the way most things had been.

“Maybe a park ranger,” Shawn mused, tapping the F key repeatedly on his empty email. He snapped his fingers, then chugged his energy drink. “Or homeless. Either option is better than this.”

The lights turned out overhead, and Shawn shook his head. He stood, groaning to his feet. Too much time at his desk and too little care for himself had created the opposite image he had in mind for himself. Forty-five came quicker than he expected, and there was no turning back once one had reached such levels of out-of-shapeness. He shambled to the front of the office, clicking the lights on again. The last one out the door had turned them off, leaving him in the dark the way they always did. The sun was half-way down by the time he returned to his desk, painting the city below in shades of dusk.

Shawn didn’t hear the front door click open, but a pair of heeled feet padded down the carpeted space between cubicles. So focused on his email, he didn’t even turn around to see who it was. Another workaholic, no doubt.

“Is that accurate?” a soothing voice asked from behind him. A hand rested against his shoulder, pointing at the old plug-in alarm clock sitting on his desk.

Shawn checked his phone. “Yep. On the dot.”

“Excellent,” the woman said. She waited, and Shawn could feel that she wanted him to turn around and greet her. Like an angry client waiting for some PR-inspired response.

He swiveled, stopping to gawk. It wasn’t heels he had heard, but hard-soled boots. A woman stood, every inch of her covered in… armor? Lacquered plate armor like the samurai in that coffee table book he had back in his apartment. She had a mane of wild, matted brown hair and a headband with a strange symbol. The armor was dyed different shades of brown and green, small twigs and leaves poking out between the seams. Her features were indiscernible as to origin, but the lopsided smile on her face said she was smug.

“I know I said I was the president of the LARP club in college on my resume… but we did little of… this,” Shawn gestured vaguely at the woman’s costume. “I thought it would look better with some extra-curricular activities. It didn’t.”

“I haven’t come to talk about your weird past, mortal. You are quite fat.”

Shawn looked down at himself, poking at his belly. People didn’t normally point it out like that. He shook his head, mind still lingering on what he should say in the email. “Are you the new girl?”

“I am not a girl, I am a wolf,” she said. “I’ve come to collect you.”

Shawn’s eyes glossed over the nearby cubicles, searching for some other costume-wearing people. LARPers traveled in herds. There was nothing but the dim flickering of fluorescent light and the hum of some distant air conditioner—perhaps the vents rattling on themselves. “Where are we going?”

Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

“To Hornfen,” she said, jabbing a finger at the clock once more. “In five minutes, you will be dead. And I will collect your soul.”

Shawn sighed, grabbing another drink from his drawer. It stung his throat as he chugged it, then belched loudly. “What are we going to do in Hornfen?”

The woman hummed, tugging at something tucked under her armor. She withdrew it, unfurling a length of parchment. “You had aspirations to be a Guardian of the Grove, didn’t you?”

“A what of the what?”

“A defender of the forest.”

“You know, I was just thinking about that,” Shawn said with a chuckle. He turned to his laptop, pulling up the bookmarked page for fire watch positions in Washington. As always, the page was empty. Just the same boilerplate message about sending an email and waiting for a response. “But they aren’t hiring.”

“I’m hiring,” the woman said, placing her hands on her hips and beaming. “Four minutes until you die.”

Shawn tabbed out of the webpage, going back to his email filled with Fs. He didn’t have to think long about the LARPers request. She was full of it, of course, but this might be something worth getting fired over. He still had the mage costume he made back in his apartment, somewhere in some old box. It probably didn’t fit anymore, but it was the thought that counted. The old tree branch he used as a staff was leaning near his front door, ready to bonk any would-be intruders.

“Is the pay good?”

“It is excellent.”

“What are my responsibilities?”

The woman held her closed fists up, dropping the scroll onto the ground. She counted off each item of responsibility. “Maintain the Sacred Tree. Work with other Custodians to ensure the health of Asevar’s forests. Aid the Sacred Spirits when they request it. Be a liaison to the mortal races of the world. That’s it.”

“I do a bit of liaisoning right now. Seems like I’m a suitable candidate.”

“Yes, but you cannot bring this form,” she said, gesturing to Shawn’s general pudginess. “Not only are you unprepared for the forest, but my world would not accept it.”

“A new form, huh?” Shawn asked, turning back to his laptop. He searched for fantasy races, settling on something that appealed to him. “How about a wood elf?”

“I have never heard of such a thing,” the woman said, leaning in and poking a finger into the screen. “This looks similar to something we have.”

“One of those, please.”

Leaning back, the woman shook her head. “I hate this race.”

Shawn clicked his tongue, leaning back in his chair. “You’re a wolf-person, huh? Can I be that?”

“You cannot handle my power.”

“You’re not going to force me to be a human, are you? What’s the point of roleplaying if you’re just gonna be a person?”

“There is a race of human highly attuned to the forest. The Talen Por.” The woman nodded to herself several times. “They are typically shorter than you are now, but not as short as the dwarves.”

“Can’t be dwarf-height, right?”

“Absolutely. I need some magical power, too. I always play a mage.”

“How about a druid?”

“Yeah, that’ll do.”

“Done. Two minutes, by the way.”

Every time she mentioned that his death was drawing closer, more excitement built in her voice. These people could get excited about the roleplay of it all, so Shawn brushed it off. This flight of fancy had been the perfect distraction. He imagined himself as a spritely dude, prancing through the forest and casting magical spells. Maybe he could live in a little mushroom house, tending to his livestock of frogs and squirrels. What a delightful frogcore existence that would be.

“I really need to write this email,” Shawn said with a labored sigh. The thumping in the vein on his neck increased at the thought. “Always cleaning up other people’s messes.”

“I think your clock is slow,” she said, flicking the old alarm clock. She was probably right, but only by a few seconds. The woman withdrew another length of parchment from her armor, placing it on his table. She crossed a few things out, adding other stuff with a pen stolen from his desk. “Read this before you die. And sign it.”

Shawn let out one last sigh, but picked the sheet up. He looked up after scanning the document. “This isn’t legally binding.”

“It is spiritually binding.”

Another shrug. Shawn signed the paper, handing it back to her. The parchment was thick, almost as though it was made of leather or something. The woman picked it up, squealing with joy. She kissed the sheet at the bottom, then tucked it away under her armor once again. Tapping her foot, she waited for the clock to roll over.

Shawn watched that clock, the anticipation building in his chest. It rolled over to the half-hour, and nothing happened.

“Ah, it’s fast,” the woman said with a soft chuckle. “Three… two… one! Gimme your soul!”

Pain tore through Shawn’s chest. A layer of sweat formed on his body in an instant, covering him in a sheen of liquid. He couldn’t breathe. Tipping over onto the ground, he clutched at his chest, desperate to stop the pain. The woman stood over him, that smile still hanging on her face. As his vision faded, he realized how wolf-like her appearance had become.