LAST ADVENTURE OF CONSTANCE VERITY - Hardcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

A. Lee Martinez enjoys juggling, origami, skulking, and time travel.

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The Last Adventure of Constance Verity

1

Trouble wasn’t content to follow Constance Verity. Trouble was more proactive when it came to Connie. She’d grown used to trouble, so she knew it when she walked into a room. She’d been recognized, and there was nothing to be done about it. She almost stopped right there, thanked the interviewers for their time, and went on her way. But she’d come this far. She might as well go all the way.

“Please, Mrs. Smith, have a seat.” Tom, an older man in a gray suit, gestured to the chair across the desk.

“It’s Smythe,” she corrected. “And it’s Ms.”

Jan continued to study Connie like a complicated math problem she couldn’t quite solve in her head. She leaned over to Tom and whispered in his ear. His eyes went wide, then narrowed. A curious smile crossed his face.

“Terrific,” mumbled Connie to herself.

“I’m sorry?” asked Tom.

“Oh, nothing.” She smiled and smoothed her pants.

“Ms. Smythe, we’ve been looking at your resume, and I must say it’s a bit thin.” He held up the paper, ran his finger down the two paragraphs, and nodded to himself. “To be honest, we probably would’ve rejected you right out, but you scored incredibly well on the aptitude tests.”

“Thank you.”

It wasn’t technically a compliment, but she felt like she should say something.

Jan folded her hands across the shared desk. “Yet according to this, you didn’t even attend college.”

Connie shrugged. “My education was . . . informal.”

“Please, go on, Ms. Smythe.”

They leaned forward.

“My childhood was chaotic. I might not have the credentials, but I am fluent in seventeen languages, type at two hundred words per minute on a good day, know how to fix any office machine you can think of and probably any you will have one day but haven’t thought of yet, can run the mile in four minutes if I’m wearing a good pair of shoes. Oh, and I know shorthand, and I play a mean game of softball, if you need a new player to fill in while your starting shortstop recovers from his broken ankle.”

“How did you know that?”

“I’m a bit of a detective, too.”

He nodded again. “And where did you acquire these skills, Ms. Smythe?”

“Places,” she replied. “Does it really matter? I’m qualified, aren’t I?”

“Perhaps overqualified,” said Jan.

“How can I be overqualified? You just said I don’t have anything on my resume.”

“But surely someone of your abilities can find more gainful employment elsewhere.”

“I just need a job,” said Connie. “If you don’t want to give it to me—”

“Are you Constance Verity?” interrupted Jan.

“No, I’m Connie Smythe.”

Tom went to his smartphone. This was so much easier before Google.

“Yes, that’s me,” said Connie. “But that’s my old life.”

Next came the questions.

Most people had questions.

“What is it like in the future?” asked Jan.

“Like now but with more evil robots. Good ones, too. No flying cars, though.”

“Is it true you’ve died twice?”

“Three times. But one of those times, I was a clone, so it doesn’t really count.”

“What’s Dracula really like?”

“Good guy, once you get past the creep vibe.”

“I read on the Internet that you have telekinesis. Can you move this pencil?” Jan rolled it forward. The interviewers stared at it, expecting it to dance.

“I had telekinesis. For about a week,” said Connie. “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

Frowning, Jan took back her pencil.

“I can see I’ve wasted your time.” Connie stood up.

“Wait, Ms. Verity . . . Ms. Smythe. We might have a position available for you.”

“Really?”

Tom smiled. “Yes. In fact, I can think of the perfect use for someone with your skills.”

Connie shook her head. “I’m trying not to do that kind of stuff anymore.”

He chuckled. “Oh, Ms. Smythe, I’m not talking about any of your more colorful talents. Although I’m certain those will come in handy eventually. No, we have an opening in the mailroom. Or would that be a problem?”

“No, not at all.” She shook their hands. “You won’t regret this. I promise.”

“I’m sure we won’t. Since you’re here, why don’t Jan and I go down with you and introduce you to the team?”

“Now?”

“Why not?”

Connie said, “Sure, but can we downplay the . . . stuff? I don’t like to talk about it that much.”

Jan and Tom smiled and nodded. “We understand. It’ll be just between us.”

It wouldn’t be. It never was. Jan and Tom were certain to tell someone about meeting the Amazing Constance Verity, and by day’s end, everyone would know. Connie just hoped nobody would make a big deal about it.

On the elevator ride to the basement, Jan and Tom flanked her. They smiled and bobbed their heads along to the Muzak. They were brimming with more questions, but to their credit, they didn’t ask them. Maybe this would work out after all.

The elevator doors opened. The mailroom was a big, empty chamber where a dozen robed figures stood around a yawning chasm reaching deep into the foundation and beyond.

Connie groaned. “Ah, shit.”

Tom pressed a ceremonial dagger against her back. “If you would be so kind, Ms. Verity.”

She stepped out of the elevator, and the cultists all turned toward her.

“I just wanted a job,” she said. “Is that too much to ask?”

“Ah, but we have a most important job for you,” said Jan. “You will feed the Hungry Earth. What greater honor is there?”

“Pension matching?” she suggested. “Four weeks’ vacation a year?”

They pushed her to the edge of the pit. At its distant bottom, a ring of giant teeth gnashed, a dozen tongues writhed.

“I must say you’re taking this very well,” said Jan.

“You don’t think this is my first time on the sacrificial altar, do you? I’ve been offered up to dark gods and cosmic horrors more times than I’ve been to the dentist. And dental hygiene is very important to me.”

“Ah, yes, Ms. Verity,” said Tom. “But the difference here is that you are all alone. No one is here to save you.”

“What makes you think I need to be saved?”

“Come now, Ms. Verity, even someone of your reputation for harrowing escapes can see you’re at our mercy. This building is secure. There will be no last-minute arrival of the cavalry.”

“First of all, you can stop using my name so much. Why do bad guys do that? It isn’t dramatic. It’s just repetitive.

“Secondly, what do you possibly hope to accomplish by feeding me to this thing? You...