Master of the manor 1, p.1
Master of the Manor 1, page 1
Master of the Manor 1
Dante King
Copyright © 2024 by Dante King
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No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
v001
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Contents
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
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Immortal Swordslinger
Bone Lord
Chapter 1
This looks like something from a horror movie, I thought.
The brochure was printed on double sided glossy paper, and it had been folded into thirds by God only knew how many hands. The front showed a group of people walking across a lush, green meadow, skipping across the grass with smiles as wide as a toothpaste commercial. All of them were holding hands.
“They look like they’ve got a villager inside the Wicker Man, and they’re about to light it on fire,” I said, turning my attention from the brochure to the woman sitting on the other side of the desk. “Is this for real?”
The sounds of conversation filled the office. The temp agency was even busier than usual this week, and the woman sitting at my cubicle looked like she needed a vacation. The garishly colored blouse that hung from her thin frame had a coffee stain on the front. Her long blonde hair was tied into a ponytail so tight it was tugging at her scalp, pulling her entire face back in a (very painful looking) amateur facelift.
I glanced at the name plate on her desk—Olivia.
“I assure you, it’s real,” she said, glancing from her computer screen to the brochure. “Those things are all the rage these days. They’re called ’wellness retreats’. Very chic.”
“Wellness…” I muttered, setting the brochure back down on the desk. The rear of it had a large logo of a sun and the letter B, along with the words Beldame Private Holdings written in tiny letters along the bottom. “Oh, I get it. Is it like a rehab thing?”
Olivia’s eyes widened. “No, nothing so gauche,” she said, sounding offended on the establishment’s behalf. “They serve a variety of purposes, but they’re not designed for people who are detoxing from illegal drugs.” She paused, pursing her lips as she looked me up and down. “You might have heard them spoken about as spiritual retreats? Not anything put on by any organized religions. No, these are much more... vague, I guess.”
I wasn’t exactly a spiritual person. My mind had always been firmly grounded in what I could see, what I could feel. I doubted many of the people who’d come to Sunlight Staffing on this beautiful Tuesday afternoon were very spiritual. We were interested in what really made the world go round—money.
Not a lot, mind you. Just enough to survive, really. Which was all that mattered to me and the many other jobseekers here.
And the goal of Sunlight’s employees was to match the right jobseeker with the right position.
Evidently, my new contact thought this was what was right for me. She’d had the brochure ready when I sat down.
“Listen,” I said, giving the brochure a final, desultory look. “This isn’t my first rodeo, you know? I know what kinds of work I’m suited for, and what I’d be better off passing up. This”—I put a finger atop the glossy sheet—“is definitely a pass. I’m not into woo-woo nonsense, even if it means collecting a paycheck. I’m not going to entertain someone’s fantasies just to put bread on my table. You should have noticed as much from what I’ve accepted with the agency before.”
Olivia frowned. “Yes, about that,” she muttered, her gaze scanning the screen. “You have quite a record with Sunlight Staffing, don’t you, Mr. Jackson? You’ve been contracted with our offices for some time now.”
“Nine months,” I said, nodding. If she was looking at my profile, she could see that already. “Which is why I know—”
“And in all that time, you’ve never gotten anything other than the best references. You’ve worked retail, you’ve worked in call centers… it says here you were even employed as a janitor for a brief while?”
“At the Azalea Mall,” I said, remembering with a shake of the head. “That was a good gig, but that place is on the downswing. Most of the stores had already closed by the time they hired me to clean the place up.”
Olivia’s nostrils flared. She stopped scanning the computer and put a hand on her forehead, then slid her glasses down the bridge of her nose.
“That position was the only one you didn’t leave voluntarily,” she said, her voice dropping despite the ambient noise level in the office. “None of the other jobs you’ve worked through Sunshine Staffing have lasted for more than six weeks, Mr. Jackson. It seems you have a habit of leaving jobs halfway through—”
“You can call me AJ,” I said, trying to force a smile onto my face. This wasn’t going the way I’d hoped when I first walked into the office. “All my friends do.”
“Mr. Jackson. You are quite a conundrum, aren’t you?”
I blinked. No one had ever called me a conundrum before.
“Look at all these jobs, all in the last nine months,” she said, clicking her tongue at the results on the screen. “You’ve received nothing but good feedback from each of them—from what I’m reading here, in fact, several of them reached out to the staffing service about possibly retaining you after you left. One or two of them even mentioned a modest salary increase—”
“Look,” I said.
The word came out harsher than I intended. The blonde lady rocked back in her seat, and I knew I’d stepped in it. Too much, Abe, I told myself, gritting my teeth.
“I’m a good worker,” I said, clearing my throat. “Like you said, you’ve never gotten anything but great feedback from any job you’ve assigned me to. So just give me a new position, and I’ll be good to go.” I glanced down at the brochure with barely concealed revulsion. “Anything other than a freaking religious retreat for hippies. Hell, I’ll wash dishes if you want me to.”
Olivia sighed. I didn’t like that sigh one bit. It was the kind of sigh people made when they’d just mentally decided to give up on you. I’d heard it more times than I’d like to admit from my colleagues, back when I was working at—
No. I slammed that mental door shut before it got open an inch. I did not need to confront that bullshit. Not today, of all days.
“I’m aware that the job at Beldame requires some extra effort,” Olivia said, crossing her arms.
“Effort? Where is this place? Out in West Virginia somewhere?”
“It’s approximately an hour and a half from your current address. Not a short drive, but not an especially long one, either. Beldame has already signaled that they’ll provide a stipend for travel, provided we bring them the right candidate for the position.”
“I don’t travel,” I shot back.
She made a face. “You’ve traveled for several of these jobs,” she snapped, gesturing with a thumb at the screen. “Don’t bullshit me, Mr. Jackson.”
Her casual use of profanity was so surprising that my train of thought derailed. I tried to muster up a response, only to find that I couldn’t. Not easily.
Behind her desk, Olivia sighed. Conversations like this one were happening all around the office, and from the way she looked at me, I could tell mine was going a hell of a lot better than it was for most of these poor saps. Guys didn’t normally fall into the purview of a place like Sunshine Staffing unless they had some serious issues in their personal lives. Most of them were felons who’d just gotten out of the can and were looking for some work experience.
Not for the first time, I wondered why the hell I was here. Why did a guy like me feel the need to put himself through all this?
Because I deserve it, I thought.
For a moment, the only sound in my ears was that of broken glass.
“I’m sorry,” I managed, shaking my head. My heart was racing. It took an effort to calm myself down. “What did you just say?”
Olivia didn’t reply right away. She stared me down, a mix of irritation and sympathy on her face. From the way she looked at me, it was clear she had even less understanding of why I was here than I did.
“I said, there are no other jobs, Mr. Jackson,” she repeated, her voice not unkind.
I forced out a laugh. “Nah, I don’t believe that. There’s plenty of jobs in the world.”
Her lips formed a tight line. “Not for you. This”—she pushed the brochure over at me, with its happy multicultural group of smiling idiots plastered on the front—“is the only position available for you at the moment.”
“You’re not going to force me into this,” I said, holding up the sheet. Tiny text filled the backside of the brochure, filled with jargon about changing lives and locating your inner peace and building the new you. I knew all about that kind of bullshit. I’d spouted it myself, once upon a time. “I’m not working some rehab center out in the middle of nowhere.” I softened a bit, giving her an out. “I might agree to be the groundskeeper. A little fresh air and sunshine might do me well, after that dusty old mall.”
Olivia was already shaking her head. “This isn’t a groundskeeping position,” she said, tapping the keys of her keyboard. “The Beldame Center doesn’t have any openings for grounds or janitorial work.”
Maybe that was just as well. It would’ve reminded me too much of The Shining, anyway.
“They’ve had a number of sudden openings,” she continued, giving the screen an odd look. “A number of counselors have left them in the last few months, and they’re looking for qualified personnel to fill the gaps.”
I sat up straighter. “Counselor?”
“Life coach,” she said with a shrug. “Therapist.”
Squealing tires. Breaking glass.
It felt as if the temperature in the room had just dropped twenty degrees. It took me a moment to find my voice. For a short while, nothing but random noises escaped the back of my throat.
“I,” I finally managed, “am not a therapist.”
Her brows furrowed. “You have all of the certifications,” she said, gesturing at the screen. “They’re a little out of date, perhaps, but they’re nowhere near expiring. Technically, you’re overqualified to be a mere therapist—you could open up shop with a private practice whenever you wanted to—”
I was out of my seat before I could control it.
“I’m not a therapist!” I said, startling the nearby cubicles into silence. Too late, I realized that I was starting to draw stares. “Not after... not after the accident…”
No no no no no. The lid inside of me was more than open a peek—the whole damn thing was about to rip off. This was not what I needed. This was the last fucking thing I needed today, needed in my entire life…
“Mr. Jackson?” Olivia’s voice reached me like I was at the bottom of a deep, dark well. “Mr. Jackson?”
I blinked. I was still standing in front of her desk. The chair I’d been sitting in had slid backwards a foot or two and was still shaking a bit, but it hadn’t fallen down. Absurdly, I noticed a calendar stuck to the wall of Olivia’s cubicle, with a cute cartoon cat clinging to a clothesline.
I didn’t even know people had those in real life, I thought.
“Please sit.” There was sympathy in Olivia’s tone, but there was also an edge in it. Like the next time she asked me to do something, she might not be so nice about it. “I wasn’t trying to upset you, Mr. Jackson. This is a wonderful opportunity.”
I managed to get back into the chair. By the time I’d slid it forward, conversation filled the office once more. A couple people gave me confused or suspicious glances, but most had already forgotten the outburst. I guess this kind of thing happened frequently in an establishment like this.
“I’m aware that you’ve had a rough time of things,” Olivia said, giving me a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry I mentioned psychology—this isn’t like that at all. This is more of a… a life coach position.” The corners of her mouth raised like she’d found the exact phrase she was looking for. “You’re simply helping people become the best version of themselves that they can be. No real mental health work. It’s all just... encouragement. A nudge in the right direction.”
With a barely suppressed shudder, I forced the old memories down. It had been almost a year since that awful day, the day I left Dr. Bourassa’s clinic for the last time. There’d been so many phone calls, so many letters, all saying the same thing. It wasn’t your fault. There was nothing you could have done…
The trouble was, I knew they were all wrong.
I sighed. The panic was gone, and strangely, I felt better. I guess it was kind of like lancing a boil. Now that the poison was out, the pain was muted. A strange emptiness still filled my chest, but I found I could look the staffing agent in the eyes. After a few moments, I even managed to smile.
“Mr. Jackson, can I give you my honest opinion?” Olivia asked.
I shrugged. “Go for it.”
She leaned forward. All of a sudden, we weren’t two employees having a business meeting. Her eyes widened, really focusing in on mine, and when I looked into them, I saw someone who might even care a little about what happened to me.
“I think you have a gift,” Olivia said, lowering her voice to keep the candidates in other cubicles from overhearing. “Ever since I was assigned your case yesterday, I’ve been looking over your notes. I have to tell you, normally when someone who works for Sunlight has this many notes on their account, it’s a very bad thing. But with you… well, it’s incredible!”
I blinked. “I didn’t realize there were so many,” I managed to mutter.
Olivia shook her head, incredulous. “Mr. Jackson—AJ—there’s not a single temp job you’ve worked for us that hasn’t come back with glowing remarks from your employers. Not a one. Several of them write about you like you were a member of their own family. I know that you were previously in training to be a psychologist, a therapist—”
I grit my teeth.
“—and I can clearly see you’re not ready for that,” Olivia said quickly, holding up a hand. “But this is something you could do. Beldame isn’t a psychiatric facility; it’s a retreat center. It’s all about personal development. The people who go there aren’t basket cases—they’re looking to get the edge in their business dealings, or understand their past relationships, or break some embarrassing personal habit. This is not something that’s going to… going to cause any incidents.”
If anyone else had told me that, I would’ve laughed in their face. But from this woman, I believed it. Something about her tone convinced me.
Shit, I thought. Maybe I can do this.
I’d just been talking about warm sunshine, after all. Getting outside for a bit could help me shake the cobwebs away. Maybe it wasn’t the worst idea in the world.
“The pay is good,” Olivia continued, nodding. “Very good, actually—I think you’ll find it blows your previous temporary positions out of the water, even before the travel stipend comes into it. And I’ve been informed that if the candidate we supply matches the requirements well, this could very easily become a permanent position.”
“Permanent,” I muttered, thinking that over.
“No more jumping around,” Olivia said. “Mr. Jackson, I think you’ve been rootless and restless for some time. Now I’m beginning to understand why.”
“Yeah,” I said, managing to laugh. “Yeah, I have been at that.”
Her hand came down on mine.
The touch was such a shock that I frowned as I stared at it. I looked around, half-convinced that this was all an act and I’d been pranked by some hidden camera TV show. Holding hands with your clients was definitely not part of the Sunlight Staffing employee handbook.
“I think you need this as much as those people do,” Olivia said, furrowing her brow. “It really is a very good opportunity, Mr. Jackson. And it’s the only one I’m qualified to offer you at this time.”
I shook my head, thinking it over. “And it’s for how long?”
Olivia didn’t hesitate. “Beldame is open year-round, though their busiest season is right now, in late spring and early summer. The initial ask for the position is to have someone on the grounds for two months, to help with the current crop of residents and those who’ve already made reservations.” She paused. “You would, of course, be given a relocation stipend. Along with a small monthly remittance to cover bills at your current place of residence while you are away.”
