Page 1 of Minding the Minotaur (Monsters of the Labyrinth #1)

S AMMY

The pager on my belt lets out a volley of loud beeps. I glance down to see the words HEAD OFFICE scroll across the display.

This can only mean one thing. I’m being summoned by the CEO of DeVines.

From across the table, Clem cocks an eyebrow. “Looks like Winters has a bone to pick. Better you than me,” she says, before taking a slurp of her caramel milkshake. I love Clem, we’ve been besties for five years, since we started working at DeVines on the same day, but she can be blunt at times.

“Maybe I’m getting a promotion.” I manage a weak smile as I stand up.

“Yeah, right. I’ll be ready to dry your tears when she’s whipped your ass.”

“Gee, thanks.”

I turn off my pager. By now, all ears in the canteen have heard it, and all eyes are following my every movement. I toss my blonde ponytail, pick up my tray and stalk over to the lunch counter.

Brenda, the chef, grabs it with a grunt. “Hope you survive.”

I cast her a dark look.

Three minutes later, I’ve taken the elevator to the top floor and am standing in the reception area outside Marsha Winters’ office. The elegantly carved doors are closed, but I can hear Marsha’s strident voice berating some poor employee.

My gut clenches, and a bead of sweat runs down my neck.

To take my mind off the barrage, I gaze out the window at the rooftops of Sparkle City. The spires and turrets do indeed sparkle in the mega beams cast by a million lights—the nearest thing we’ll ever get to sunshine.

I remind myself how lucky I am to live here.

Sparkle City is built under a huge dome, an oasis in the middle of a stark, barren world.

It’s the most magnificent of seven domed cities that are spread over the desolate, poisoned landscape that was once Earth.

My mom and dad were fortunate enough to win the ballot to move here from Ruby Town, an older and far less glitzy dome, and start a brand-new life of prosperity.

Rumor has it that Sparkle was erected above the ruins of a human city that was huge and prosperous, but no-one is allowed to explore it, because the air is so shitty it will kill you in minutes.

Besides, anyone who tries to find out about the past risks losing their permit to live in Sparkle.

Obviously, you’d have to be mad to do either of those things.

And if you manage to secure work in an elite store like DeVines, you are doubly blessed.

My dad, Hank Buggins, scored a job here in the small goods department soon after my parents arrived in Sparkle City, and my mom, Stella, ran the cosmetics counter.

DeVines took me on because of the Buggins work ethic, but frankly, I only just scraped through the interview, and landed a job in store security.

I would have loved to work on a counter selling products, but I’m not pretty enough. And way too curvy.

I remember Marsha Winters in my interview, sneering, “You certainly haven’t inherited your mom’s figure, have you? Or her looks.”

It’s true, Mom is petite and dark-eyed, while I take after my dad’s side of the family.

I swear, if I even look at a donut, I put on weight.

There’s no hiding my ass in the DeVines uniform, or my tits, which have this embarrassing habit of bursting buttons off my tunic.

And when that happens, my bright blue eyes (thanks again, Dad) get even rounder than they normally are, and my fair skin flushes beet red as I try to tuck my overflowing E-cups away and achieve some semblance of respectability.

Yeah, it’s a drag.

The only thing I like from the Buggins’ side is my bright blonde hair, which reaches right down to my waist when I let it loose.

“It’s like a river of golden silk,” Mom used to say when I was a kid.

That always made me feel special. Now, I stroke the end of my ponytail nervously, trying to reassure myself that all is well. That I am special. That DeVines need me, and that I’ve done absolutely nothing to bring the wrath of Marsha Winters down on my head.

I jump as the doors fly open and a staff member scuttles out, sobbing quietly. They disappear into the elevator, but not before their red-rimmed eyes have met mine in a moment of camaraderie. It’s a look that says, “You’re next.”

My heart judders and I fold my arms over my tits to stop them bobbing up and down with my ragged breathing. I can’t afford to look scared. Marsha Winters is a bully, and bullies love it when you’re scared.

I firm my lips as she appears at the doorway, staring at me over her black and gold spectacles before beckoning me in with a long red fingernail.

“Sit,” Marsha orders.

I do, sandwiching my hands between my thighs and squeezing hard to stop them from trembling. I feel my head spinning under Marsha’s steely gaze.

When she finally speaks, her tone is syrupy sweet. “About the girl you apprehended yesterday, shoplifting…”

I breathe a sigh of relief—I must be getting a pat on the back after all. I handled that incident so darn well. Clem will have to eat her words.

“Yes.” I smile tremulously, releasing my hands from the vice of my knees, anticipating a gem of rare praise from Marsha.

And then she drops the bomb.

“She’s Ronald DeVine’s niece.”

“I—I?—”

“You frog marched THE NIECE OF OUR REVERED OWNER through the store in front of our customers, then handed her over to the police.” Marsha’s face contorts. “Ronald is LIVID.”

My cheeks prickle with heat as my mind races through yesterday’s events.

It had been a coup, catching that girl slipping a pair of earrings into her pocket.

I’d thought she looked suspicious in her big coat, just roaming around the jewelry department, so I followed her.

I did everything by the book. Filling in the incident report, calling the police, and watching smugly as the officer handcuffed her and marched her out. Oh yeah, I was chuffed with myself.

But it seems I inadvertently handed Ronald DeVine’s niece over to the authorities. Ronald Devine, the owner of the store, who also happens to be the mayor of this revered city.

FUCK. FUCKITY FUCK.

I am so going to pay for this .

I try to stifle a groan, but it comes out as a strangled squeak.

“I’m so sorry, Marsha,” I manage to whisper hoarsely.

“Sorry won’t cut it.” Marsha’s voice slices through my groveling like a hot knife through butter.

“No—please. I—let me make it right. I’ll send a letter of apology, anything?—”

“It’s too late. The news has already leaked to the press.

It’ll be front page feature in tomorrow’s Sparkle Daily .

Fenella’s sweet little face smudged with tears under the heading, De-mean De-vines .

It’s either my fucking ass on the line, Samantha, or yours.

And it certainly isn’t going to be mine.

” She finishes on an almost hysterical laugh, and amid my horror, I realize that Marsha is shaken.

For our Iron Lady to show a smidge of vulnerability, things must be dire.

I’m a goner. There’s no point even trying to argue. I lace my fingers together and stare at my whitening knuckles as tears prick the back of my eyelids.

“You’re sacked, Samantha. Effective immediately.”

I bow my head to hide the tears that threaten to overflow, but I don’t dare wipe my eyes for fear of looking pathetic. I don’t even dare ask about severance pay, or my last wage packet. I can’t risk being savaged all over again by the bitch.

“Go,” Marsha barks. “Pack up your locker and get out of DeVines. You’re a disgrace to our organization.”

I stand up, and with my teeth clenched and my arms rigid by my sides, I walk out of Winters’ office.

But when the elevator doors close behind me, I lose it. Everything crumples in on me like the walls of a cardboard box collapsing. I slide down the wall to the floor, sobbing, my hands over my face.

Working as an Assets Protection Officer at DeVines is the only job I’ve ever known.

It pays for my tiny apartment, and a modest social life, by Sparkle standards.

One day I dream of meeting a guy who doesn’t cheat on me.

If we’re one of the lucky couples, maybe we’ll have a baby, raise them, and finally retire to Paradise Beach like my parents.

(It’s a fake beach, of course, like the sunshine, but it’s the poshest suburb in Sparkle.) But without a job, how will I even pay my rent?

And how will I get another job? There’s no hope in hell that Winters will give me a reference after this.

Soon, that photo of Ronald DeVine’s cute little niece in the lock-up will be all over the city.

With my name as the perpetrator of her humiliation.

Samantha Buggins.

Fat, infamous, and a total fucking failure.

As the elevator bumps to a halt, I check the control panel. At least we’ve reached the staff floor without anyone finding me here in a blubbering heap.

As the elevator doors open, I look up to see Clem standing in front of me.

I can’t help a little sob. She reaches in and in typical Clem fashion, hauls me to my feet.

She may be small, but she’s strong. And then her arms are around me and she’s giving me the biggest hug, which just makes everything worse.

My tears wet her shirt as I bury my head in her neck. “How do you know already?” I gulp out.

“News travels fast—and so does Winters’ voice over the staff room intercom.”

“Oh, no!” I pull back and stare at her in horror. “So now everyone knows I’m fired? She must have done it on purpose.”

Clem just hugs me harder.

“What am I going to do?” I wail.

“We’ll think of something. I’m here for you. Pack up your stuff, go home, and I’ll be over as soon as my shift finishes.”

She lets me go, then holds out her arm. “Wanna dry your eyes on my sleeve?”

I smirk through my tears. It’s our little joke. Many a time has Clem’s sleeve been the repository of my tears: when my bank account got hacked, when my car got totaled on Lapis Highway, when I found my lowlife boyfriend (now ex) in bed with another woman.

Needless to say, Clem has never needed to cry into my sleeve. She’s way too cool for that.

I shake my head, swiping at my cheeks with my arm. “I’ll use mine. I won’t need this fucking awful uniform anymore, so I’ll leave it on the floor in a snot-covered heap when I’m done.”

“Go for it. And make sure you stamp on it before you leave.”

I let out a little hiccupping laugh. I’ve always hated this uniform: brown pants and a beige tunic.

But… well, it’s been my life these past five years.

Every day, driving down beautiful Sapphire Boulevard to the center of Sparkle City, stopping off to get my spiced chai latte, always making sure I’m on the shop floor by 9 am sharp, when the doors open and the public stream in.

Yep, that was my job.

But now it’s gone.

I spin away, madly swallowing down my panic.

Don’t think about the future.

“I have to get back to accounts, they’ll be looking for me,” Clem says, squeezing my arm one more time. “I’ll come over after work with take-out, okay?”

She disappears, and I go to the change room and grab my things from the locker: my water bottle, and my home clothes—threadbare tracksuit pants, a t-shirt with a hole in the left armpit. My sneakers.

I tear off that stupid uniform and drop it on the floor, then put on my casual gear.

Finally, I go over to the mirror, pull my hair out of the tight ponytail I always wear for work and shake it loose.

Even in the nasty fluro lights, my hair shines as it tumbles to my waist. I brush it out until it’s an electric storm of gold around my head, then dry my red, swollen eyes, wash my face, and dab on some foundation and mascara.

I’m going to leave this place with my head held high. Even if nobody sees me, at least I’ll know I didn’t crawl out of here in shame.

I stare down at that fucking ugly uniform heaped on the floor, and do exactly as Clem suggested, I stamp on it, just for good measure. Not once, but several times.

Then I drop my ID badge on top of the pile.

Leave my key in the wide-open, empty locker.

And head down to basement parking.