Page 7 of Minding the Minotaur (Monsters of the Labyrinth #1)
A RLO
“You’re staying here until I find you a minder,” Otis growls, throwing his sheriff’s hat on the chair in the hallway as he strides past.
I follow him. It’s a long time since I’ve been inside the sheriff’s house.
I used to come here as a kid when Otis’ dad, Sheriff Bradley Cane, would throw big parties and invite all the neighbors.
Ah, those were the golden days. Bradley was a gregarious orc, burly and big-hearted, with a loud laugh and a friendly slap on the back for everyone he met.
We felt safe around him, as though nothing could harm us.
Trouble was, while he was liked by most monsters, there were a few that didn’t care for Bradley Cane. Mostly on the lower levels, where lawlessness is a way of life.
It only takes one false move, and it’s over in a second.
After Bradley was killed trying to contain a wolf pack skirmish three years ago, his wife, Sally, lost her mind from grief and ended up in an institution. The three other Cane kids— all younger than Otis—scattered to work on other levels, leaving Otis to take the reins as sheriff.
This old place is quiet now, but weirdly familiar.
All the furniture is the same, just older and dustier than it was when we were younglings.
The lights are dim when they used to be bright.
The Canes were known to have the brightest lights on level one.
Bradley earned enough that he didn’t care about the energy bills.
Some said he took kickbacks, but nothing was ever proven.
“Here,” Otis says, flinging open one of the many doors. “Your room. Next to mine, so I can keep an eye on you.”
I amble inside.
“Now what?” I say, hurling myself onto the bed.
“You’ll stay here until I’ve found someone to guard you in your home. Then I’ll have bars put on your windows, locks on your doors. Surveillance.”
I stare at him, slack-jawed. “You’re joking, right?” Bars. Locks. Surveillance. The thought makes my big strong body want to buckle.
Otis’s large shoulders slump before he pulls himself upright. “For your own good,” he mutters, then adds, a tad more kindly, “I’ve got some stew on the stove. Want some?”
Amid my horror at my predicament, I also realize I’m starving.
Portal travel uses up a lot of energy. I’ve felt this bone-bending exhaustion shortly after each visit. It can take a while to wear off.
“Yeah, that would be good.” Otis disappears and I hear cupboard doors open and close in the kitchen down the passage, a saucepan clattering onto the stove.
Lying back on the bed, my eyelids droop.
I jerk awake. I need to stay alert. Hopefully after I’ve gotten some food in my belly, I’ll be able to persuade Otis that he’s overreacting, that I will absolutely never, ever attempt to portal travel again.
But even as I make this resolve, my heart rebels.
I know I won’t stick to it. Not if it means I won’t meet my little human again.
A moment later Otis pokes his head in. “Could you come and watch the stew, check it doesn’t burn? I have a few calls to make.”
I sit bolt upright, alert with suspicion. “What kind of calls?”
“If I told you, I wouldn’t be doing my sheriff duty, now would I?” He quirks his mouth in a superior smile that makes me grind my molars. I’m pretty sure those calls will be about me.
Fuck the bastard. Wide awake now, I make my way down the hall toward the aromatic scent of slow-cooking meat and herbs.
In the kitchen, I amble over to the stove and stir the stew, then taste it. Not bad for a bachelor orc.
I think about my total lack of culinary skills. I used to just heat up pot noodles, gods knows how I got so bulked up on them.
But since I’ve been earning good coin at the clinic, I’ve employed a nutritionist, who cooks for me. Some of Tippy’s green smoothies are hard to swallow, but generally her food is okay.
Guess I should have learned to cook for myself, but it’s not like there’s been anyone I wanted to impress.
Until now.
I have a sudden fantasy of preparing a meal for the beautiful human, holding her hand across a candlelit table, gazing into her big blue eyes.
The memory of her bouncy tits and curvy ass has my cock fluffing. I shift, grunt. Rearrange myself. What the fuck? I’ve been smashed by the portal, hauled over the coals by Otis. I’m fucking exhausted. But my dick is tenting the front of my pants, ready for action.
I’m still daydreaming about all the things I’d like to do with my human when Otis walks back in, humming.
“Sorted,” he says.
That’s enough to make my cock shrivel.
“Meaning?” I side-eye him as he gets out two bowls, knives and forks and puts them on the table.
He strides over to the stove and starts ladling out the stew. “My contacts have found you a minder.”
“A peripheral, right?” I grunt, slumping onto a chair. Otis places a bowl in front of me and I start shoveling food into my mouth.
He doesn’t answer. Guilty by omission.
That’s all I need. I’m going to be locked up with a scrawny peripheral for company. How fucking humiliating—a huge guy like me and some weasel of a human. Not that I would dare harm a hair on their pathetic head. It’s happened a few times, peripherals getting mauled.
We dislike peripherals, and yet we rely on them to find us the better paid work, too. That’s how I got my very lucrative contract. So how can I complain? Still, no-one really trusts the small handful of twilight humans who move between two worlds, with no true allegiance to either.
The idea of living with one of them, having them lording it over me, has me furious.
As I slurp another spoonful of the thick, meaty stew, I know one thing is certain: my life for the foreseeable future is monumentally fucked.
SAMMY
I’m about to get into my PJs, when I hear the phone ring.
I dash into the hallway and pick up. It’s Jax.
“Found you a job,” he says.
My heart stutters. “Already? ”
“Yep. Sheer luck that I heard about it. Planets aligning and all that—not that I believe in any of that shit, but…”
“So…” I try to sound casual. “What is it?”
“Exactly what you’re qualified for.” He pauses, and I can hear him taking a drag on his cigarette. “Security work. Labyrinth, level one. You’ll need to put on your big girl pants though, ’cos it’s nothing like what you’re used to at DeVines.”
Inwardly, I’m high fiving, but I try to sound nonchalant. “No problem.” I’m already imagining meeting the minotaur on my day off. Wondering if they have cozy, candle-lit restaurants down there serving romantic dinners. Hotels with big, big beds…
Woah, back up the truck, Sammy Buggins.
Jax continues, “The offer came right from the sheriff himself. I told him about your years of experience.”
I laugh. “Not that many years—I’m only twenty-five. So, what’s it involve?”
“Dunno, exactly. Sherrif wouldn’t share the details over the phone.”
“Why not?”
Jax pauses. “You’ve got a lot to learn, Blondie.”
I refrain from saying that’s bloody obvious, considering as of yesterday I didn’t even know this Labyrinth of monsters existed. But I hold my tongue. I don’t want to put Jax offside.
“You’ll have to take it on trust. It pays well, though. Black market money, which is easy to shift into Sparkle coin, if you know how. I can organize all that. I’ve arranged for us to go down tomorrow morning first thing, meet the sheriff. If you don’t put a foot wrong, you’ll start straight away.”
“Suits me.” And it does. My rent is due in a week, and on top of that I’ll have to pay my monthly entertainment subscription, a fee that goes toward maintaining the clubs and venues we party at endlessly.
Right now, I couldn’t care less about any of that, but since having fun is obligatory in Sparkle, the money gets taken out of your bank account regardless.
“So, erm, how do we get there?” I ask.
“Through one of the cargo portals,” Jax replies. “Got any problems with your sinuses?”
“No, not right now.”
“Then you’ll be fine. Come to my place at 9 am sharp and we’ll go down together.”
“Wow, that’s er—amazing.” I peer down the hallway into my tiny bedroom, eyeing the clothes spilling out of my closet and wondering what the hell you wear in a world full of monsters. “What should I bring?”
“Just a small bag of personal stuff. I’ll sort out your uniform and ID.”
I try to ask more questions, but he cuts me off. “You’re gonna have to take the rest on trust. Sometimes, the less you know the better.”
I swallow the questions wanting to tumble out of my mouth. He’s probably right. “Thanks, Jax, for everything,” is all I say.
“No worries, Blondie,” he responds gruffly, then I hear him cough, even though he covers the mouthpiece. It doesn’t sound good—I can understand why Clem nags him about his health. When the hacking subsides, he croaks, “You’re Clem’s mate, and any friend of hers is a friend of mine.”
And then he hangs up.