Rise of the Wadjet Witch - By Juliet C. Obodo Page 0,28

single. She was prime real estate in the dating market. Memphis felt like a condemned property.

“This is Amelia and Thomas. They are interns,” Jill said, introducing two individuals who looked no older than fourteen. “Coffee,” she ordered. They quickly left to get the beverages.

“They were college freshmen? Man, I feel old.”

“I know! I had to check their driver’s licenses before I hired them.”

She sat down behind her large, glass desk. She really was the boss; behind her desk she looked the part. She handed Memphis a folder full of paperwork to complete and turn in to human resources. She went on to explain Memphis’s actual job description: Initially, she would write a monthly and a weekly horoscope. If people liked her predictions, she would go on to write daily horoscopes and receive a raise. In addition to the horoscopes, she would write one feature article per week about a topic related to astrology.

“Oh, that reminds me. You will actually be writing the horoscope for fourteen zodiac signs, not twelve.”

“Fourteen?” Memphis was confused.

“Yup. Apparently there are actually fourteen constellations in the zodiac. Here, take a look at this.” She handed her a research paper written by a Dr. Virgil White.

“I know this guy.”

“You do?”

“Not personally. He hosts a local program called The Universe Now. He discusses a more in-depth and scientific approach to astrology.”

“Hmm. Maybe you should try to contact him for an interview. That could be your first article!”

“I’ve already tried contacting him for, um, a personal project. He hasn’t responded yet. As soon as he does, I’ll request an interview.”

“Great. Wow, Memphis, you’re off to great start! C’mon, let me introduce you to the rest of the staff.”

They went around the newsroom and Jill made introductions. Memphis nodded, said hello, and quickly forgot everyone’s names. Jill brought her to the desk she would use; it was across from a journalist.

“Lawrence will be your desk mate. He’s the reporter who pitched the third-eye murder case. He’s not at his desk, but he should be here somewhere.” She looked around. “Oh, there he is. Lawrence!” She called in the direction of a shiny head of hair. Memphis recognized that head of hair. Lawrence turned around and walked over to them.

“What’s up, boss lady?” He gave them a smile.

Memphis swallowed a gasp. She instantly recognized him. It was the purple masked guy. He was here and he was her desk mate.

“I told you not to call me that,” Jill scolded him. “This is Memphis. She will be your part-time desk mate. She’s an astronomer working on her PhD at Columbia. She’s going to be writing horoscopes for us.”

“Hello, Memphis.” He cocked his head; he seemed to know her too. Before he could place her, Memphis grabbed his hand and pumped it vigorously.

“Nice to meet you!” she said loudly.

“Em, honey, Lawrence isn’t deaf. That’s Charles. I introduced you to him earlier.”

“Oh, yes, sorry, I forgot,” Memphis covered. “So, Jill tells me that you covered the Third Eye murders.”

“Yes, I’m reporting on them. There have been two more homicides; they found a body last week in the Bronx, and another woman in Queens.”

“Outer boroughs,” Jill mumbled, wrinkling her nose.

“Excuse me, but I live in Queens! Maybe if I got a raise I could actually live on the island,” Lawrence chided.

“That’s terrible,” Memphis commented.

“Queens isn’t that bad.”

“No, Queens is great. They have the best arepa café on 36th Avenue. I was referring to the murders.”

“Oh yeah, I know the one. Those arepas are great. But yes, it is terrible.”

“Were the other victims teachers, too?”

“No. One was a stockbroker and the other was unemployed, but get this: she was last month’s mega jackpot winner.”

Memphis suddenly felt as if there were a pit in the middle of her stomach.

“Coffee is here!” Jill handed her a cup.

“Lawrence, what did the lottery winner look like?”

“Look like?” He seemed puzzled, but then his face brightened. “Wait, I have a picture. My sister’s a police officer in Queens; she sent me the victim’s mug shot. This woman was convicted for a bunch of petty crimes, but when she won the lottery, it looked like she would never have to steal again. She was on the front page of the mainstream papers—a real rags-to-riches story. I have it here somewhere. He searched his desk. Here it is.” Lawrence held up the mug shot.

Memphis had a feeling it would be the woman from the newspaper shop, but that didn’t stop her from dropping her cup of coffee in surprise.

Despite the serial killer on