Drop of Magic (Malec)

Taken Interest

      If there is one thing I've learned in life, it's that money does not buy happiness. Although, it does make misery a little more bearable. So that is why I sit at a horribly uncomfortable desk chair in a small office every morning, before moving out to a slightly less comfortable rolling chair in a tiny cubicle far too early to be legal. Finding bitter comfort in the feel of worn bills between my cold fingers. Money that counts into the thousands, that passes through my hands like railway, every morning, but never sticking around long enough to matter.

Counting other people's money for a living is a horrible kind of torture. It's like a drunk being forced to sit with a glass of prized, well-aged whiskey, smell it, hold it between their shaking, detoxing hands, but never able to take a sip. I can see the money, feel it's folded edges between my fingertips, and then let it go because it was never mine in the first place. But for the small paycheck that clears the bills- with little excess- I sit here, Monday to Friday. It makes being miserable a little better if you're wallowing under a roof and four walls.

     I suppose you could say I got myself into this mess, which wouldn't be entirely correct, but not entirely wrong either. I come from a wealthy family, the Lightwoods. Our name is well known, often tied to dollar signs and numbers reaching into the millions. We own a successful yacht business. Our home is several stories, with vintage furniture and rooms whose soul purpose is to look good, but not to live in. Our business is highly acclaimed, our workers wealthy and content. But I didn't fit there. Now, my siblings, younger sister Isabelle, budding fashion designer and regular beauty with a biting tongue; Jace, my adopted brother, with his shimmering golden hair, intoxicating eyes and confidence and charm that precede him; and my youngest brother, Max, all dark locks and wide eyes, bright smiles and infectious laughter, destined for greatness. They all fit inexorably well because they outshine anyone who happens to have the misfortune of standing against them or even being in the same room. I, to put it simply, am dull. I don't hold a match to anyone in the room, no matter how plain they seem. I fade into the shadows and get lost in empty rooms. That, added to the fact that I'm simply not straight, was enough for my parents to decide I don't belong. I go by the name Alec Light, but I used to be Alexander Lightwood, and all of these bills were once mine.

      "Alec! Boss needs the numbers by noon, are you done?" Simon, one of my coworkers calls from his small cubicle. I sigh, leaning back in my chair so I can see his face down the aisle.
"Numbers have been on her desk since 10, I swear if the assistant didn't deliver them again-" Speak of the devil. Camille Belcourt, my boss comes strutting out of the elevator. Her eyes are sharp and narrow, like arrows, ready to pierce. She resembles a snake, poised and venomous, always looking for the kill. He slinky red dress hugs her curves, her sharp black heels akin to spikes clicking against the hardwood floors in an ominous way. We fall silent as she stops at the front of the room, assessing the cubicles in rows in front of her. I work for a successful magazine company, The Dumort, handling accounting first thing in the morning before moving down to do editing with the occasional interview. It's not ideal, but it works. When I got kicked out, Simon scored me the job. He's a nerdy guy, wears black thick rimmed glasses and a goofy smile. His sense of humour is something else, but deep down he's a good guy. After what seems like hours of hushed silence, Camille's eyes fall on me.

"Alec Light?" I tense at the sound of my false name seeping from between her lips like poison and look up at her. She smiles, a quick arch of one side of her mouth, more a grimace than anything, and motions for me to follow. With numb legs and a racing heart, I do. She says not a word as she slides into the elevator and presses the button for the 40th floor. We ascend in uncomfortable silence; smug and intimidating on her end, and absolutely terrified on mine. When the elevator opens, I'm greeted with Camille's office. No one is allowed up here, save for her personal assistant, and the panic in my chest is lurching up, making me feel nauseous. With a flourish of her heavily jeweled hand, she motions for me to sit on a blood red seat in front of her deep mahogany desk. As she rounds the desk, I take a second to soak in the room. Its walls are tall, leading to a high ceiling with a skylight. The outer wall to my right is all window, stretching out over New York. To my left and back is a fireplace with a black leather sofa in front. The hardwood floors are dark and decorated with neatly placed blood red rugs to match the walls. The deep colour sets me on edge. She takes a seat in the large, black chair behind her desk. I fold my hands in my lap, tightening them together until the knuckles turn white. With a coy smirk, she speaks.

"Alec Light. I'm sure you're curious as to why I've asked you up here." I nod slightly, not trusting my voice. She assesses me then, much like a predator sizing up her prey before she continues. "Well an old friend of mine is a very wealthy businessman, and we've been lucky enough to conduct an interview with him. He's read some of your articles and seen some of your interviews. I'm not normally impressed by your work," she slips snide comments in like clockwork. "But Mr. Bane has taken a keen interest in you. I've scheduled dinner for the two of you tomorrow night. Do not let me down, Alec, he is more than a fellow businessman." With that, she flicks her wrist towards the door. I know I'm expected to thank her, or something to that effect, but I don't. Silently, I nod and step back into the safety of the elevator.

A dinner. An interview with Magnus Bane. His company is the only one that rivals my parents in popularity and wealth. I can feel the panic rising in my chest as I descend back to the floor with my tiny cubicle. Why, on earth, heaven, and anything holy, did Magnus Bane take an interest in me? And how the hell am I going to do this without messing up? We're on two opposites ends of the spectrum, he sits in wealth and luxury while I can barely afford to eat. I can only imagine this going poorly, but I sigh and head back to my desk, knowing this is going to happen whether I'm ready or not.