Page 100 of World's Okayest Oracle (Reluctantly) Seeks Demon

“—putting our after-death operations even further behind,” the other employee cut in, sounding equally irritated.

Even though Hugh lightly tugged on her hand, urging her to keep moving, Gwen didn’t budge. Mostly because she and the others needed to rest for a minute, but also because she was fascinated.

“Even without more trials to transcribe, scanning and indexing after-death records for all of history is an endless damn job, Renee.” The rapidtap-tapof typing. “They need to hire some extra help so we can complete the digitization project and computerized database on schedule.”

Renee made a noise of agreement. “I’m surprised they’ve been so cheap about the whole process. After we unionized back in the nineties and Death and the Fates started their group therapysessions, they mostly stopped being such a pain in our collective-action asses.”

A considering hum. “That’s when they stopped sending misbehaving employees to the Cubicle Farm of Contrition, right?”

Cubicle Farm of Contrition?Gwen thought back to the nineties-tastic, not-so-motivational posters she’d spotted in last night’s quarters and drew what she considered to be a relatively safe conclusion.

This time, Hugh’s tug on her hand and firm squeeze of her fingers demanded her full attention.Slowly and quietly, he mouthed, and she nodded. Hand in hand, they slipped past the spot where the door rested lightly against its jamb. When the other oracles followed suit, there were no sirens or startled shouts. They hadn’t been spotted, thank the gods and goddesses.

Down the next hall, another door was cracked slightly wider, and the muffled, droning tones of an informational video drifted from somewhere inside.

Once more, the entire group halted as Hugh and Gwen evaluated the situation.

“ ‘Spiritborne Pathogens’again?” someone groaned. “We’ve seen this HR video a million times already. And since it’s on freakingVHS, the resolution is, like, twelve pixels.”

“Stop bitching, Yun. It’s basically paid naptime,” his coworker responded. “Besides, if you ever steal my yogurt from the communal fridge again, the rest of us need to know how to safely deal with your disembodied spirit after I murder you.”

Even though the pomander had eased the worst of her hunger, Gwen perked up at the mention of a possible snack. Forherself, sure, but especially for the captives who hadn’t been able to force down protein bars at every meal.

She peeked through the narrow gap between the room’s door and its frame. A small anteroom appeared empty, while the light flickering from a dark, connected inner space indicated that the HR video was being played there.

Just inside the anteroom, only two steps from the cracked door…oh, goodness. There was a half-size refrigerator, humming faintly.

In a thread of sound, she whispered into Hugh’s ear. “Do you think we could…”

The tilt of her head indicated the mini-fridge.

Brow furrowed, he swept a glance over the sagging, fatigued gaggle of waiting oracles, then gave her a sharp nod.Let me, he mouthed, and she certainly wasn’t going to argue.

In a remarkably hot display of discreet grace, Hugh managed to slip inside the half-open door, crouch down beside the refrigerator, and ease it open silently. The employees continued to loudly mock their video, evidently unaware he was there.

He passed the booty through the crack in the door, and Gwen handed each item down the line. Water and soda bottles. Various yogurts, some labeled with sticky notes reading TAMIKA’S YOGURT—STEAL IT AND DIE, YUN!!! A grocery-store Cobb salad. Best of all: several sandwiches, including a foot-long, overstuffed roast beef and cheddar masterpiece.

Gwen kept half of that one for herself, becauseyum.

As soon as Hugh finished pillaging the refrigerator, he slipped back through the door. A jerk of his head urged everyone to continue down the hall. At the next branch in the corridor, he andGwen paused to confer in near-soundless whispers over which way to head while the other oracles quietly but hastily demolished the food and drinks they’d been given and carefully deposited their trash in a nearby bin.

After turning left, the group crept down several more lengthy corridors, only to reach another intersection. Where, to Gwen’s utter horror, a three-headed, slavering dog was waiting for them, all six ears tensed and flattened as three pairs of furious red eyes stared them down. Tail stiff and pointed upward, hackles raised, the creature stood ominously still.

Oh, fuck.

A three-headed dog tore you apart during an escape attempt, Matilda had said, cringing.It was…messy.

The dog’s flanks vibrated with a deep, ominous growl in triplicate, its weight shifted onto its front legs, and Gwen gasped out a hasty “Run!” as Hugh yanked her back the way they’d come.

The oracles’ footsteps slapped against the tile while they skidded down the hall, all their efforts at clandestinity now abandoned. The dog bounded after them, three sets of front teeth bared. Saliva streamed behind the canine, whipped backward by the speed of its chase as it drew closer and closer to the hindmost members of the panicked party.

I.e., Gwen and Hugh. Because she was built for comfort, not speed, and she was slowing her boyfriend down as they careened around one corner, then another.

The dog lunged for her leg, its teeth catching and ripping her pajama pants. As Hugh tried and failed to stop Gwen from stumbling, she fell heavily to one knee, sliding along the slick floor with the momentum of her run. The canine’s ruby eyes glowed with triumph as it braced itself for the fatal leap.

When Gwen cringed away, foil crinkled in her hand. The wrapped sandwich from the staff refrigerator, which Hugh had stolen and she’d torn in half.

Theroast beefsandwich.