Page 2 of Fangs with Benefits

Someone staring down at their phone bumps into me, their shoulder knocking mine, but he doesn’t even look up from the screen to apologise; he just mutters a sorry and is on his way. He wears a suit much like mine, so much like it that I think it might even be the same one. It must be common in the workplace, matching our bland, wool ensembles.

The sky is growing brighter by the moment, so I guess now’s as good a time as any to start the first day of being what Dylan calls a corporate gremlin.

Only, when I reach the door to the building, it’s not a door at all, but a series of glass panes within a larger, circular glass chamber. I blink, sure I’ve seen one in a film but unsure how one is supposed to interact with it. To be quite truthful, it terrifies me.

Another person brushes past me, this one not on their phone but holding paper cups in either hand. She lifts onto her toes, bumping her hip against a metal post that beeps at the action, then uses her back to press against a more palatable glass door to the right of the rotating one. Now that I can do.

I’m headed for the more comfortable side door when a group of individuals approaches the building. They don’t hit their hips to the post, instead pulling out white rectangles much like the credit card Dylan gave me and using that to earn the same beeps before entering.

I do not have one of those white cards, but I pull out the plastic credit card and try that against the post. It makes no sound, so I try again, harder this time to the same end.

‘Excuse me,’ I try as a woman walks past me. She keeps walking, not even acknowledging me. I clear my throat and stand taller.

That’s another thing different about this place since I last visited: no speaking to strangers. The city isn’t exceptionally conducive to making friends.

I decide maybe I don’t need the post to beep, and instead try my luck pushing at the glass door, but when I try, it’s stuck and immovable, no matter how much force I use on the handle. Locked.

‘You good?’ someone asks behind me. I turn from my efforts on the door and find a human woman with a mess of golden curly hair pulled into a braid. She’s got a few loose curls that rest on her forehead above eyebrows that are knitted together in confusion or concern, I’m not positive which. All I can think is that she looks like sunshine.

‘Am I… good?’ I repeat. Is she asking after the nature of my person?

She raises one eyebrow above the other. ‘Yeah, do you need help or something? You can’t just get in through that door; you need a key.’

A key. I remember Dylan saying that sometimes keys don’t look exactly like keys any more. Sometimes they look like apps, or–ah, yes–like cards.

‘I don’t have a key,’ I say.

‘Well, then you can’t go in that door.’

‘Do you have one?’

She blinks at me. ‘Yes, because I work here.’

‘I’ll use yours then.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Oh, forgive me. May I use yours?’ My manners are not what they once were, my mother would say on account of me spending so much time with a dog. ‘Please.’

‘I can’t just let people in. You’ll have to call building security and get them to give you a pass.’ She gestures at a plaque on the wall with a phone number.

To do this, I would have to use the phone Dylan gave me, and I’m not entirely sure I remember exactly how to make a call on the little glass screen that contains so many additional screens within.

‘But I work here too,’ I protest. ‘Today’s my first day, and if I don’t get in soon, I will be late, and I’d like to be on time if you please.’

‘If I please?’ She laughs but doesn’t look all that amused. ‘I–you know what? Sure.’ The woman retrieves a white card from her coat pocket, hers attached to a long necklace of some kind, and scans the pillar, inciting the familiar beep. ‘Stop at the security desk to the left.’

I smile and bow, remembering when I am already halfway prostrate in front of her that Dylan said bowing is out of fashion in much of the world these days and completely incorrect. Her eyes are expressive and like honey, and she looks at me like I’m the strangest creature she’s encountered all morning. A result of the bow, I presume.

Turning to finally enter the building, I pause, suddenly afraid that if I try to go in, I will be stopped by the magical forces that require me to be invited into a residence. Public buildings seldom have this requirement, but I’ve been wrong before. Better to cover my bases then. It’s my first day, after all.

I turn back to her again.

‘So, you’re saying I’m welcome here,’ I hedge.

‘Dude, what?’ She props one hand on her hip. Her suit is black, not grey. Another employee squeezes past us, scanning his key before gaining entrance.

‘You’re inviting me into the building. Correct?’