The Assassin’s Call Center

“I swear,” Mandy mumbled around a mouthful of egg salad in the break room. “Sometimes I wonder if they’re using elves in the call centers because nobody would ever dare complain about struggling to understand their accents. I mean, if they knew who they were really calling.”

Her boss lowered his tablet and reached for his tea, studying her thoughtfully with suddenly golden, slit-pupiled eyes. “And here I thought you were handling the existence of elves so well.”

She choked on her sandwich, feeling her cheeks heat in shame. She’d only been on the job for three weeks, and had just stepped in it with her boss. “I just meant – no, there’s no excuse. I’m sorry. It’s been a long day. I didn’t mean anything by it, but it was awkward at best. I’m sorry. Please don’t fire me.”

“And they’re messing with you,” he said levelly. Jet set down the tablet to reveal a grinning mouth of pointed teeth that she thought might be an attempt at reassurance. “Your resume didn’t lie.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it cautiously. “You wanted an admin who’s good at languages.”

“And you picked up the hjurnan language so quickly that they’ve been using their home dialects. Much harder for the human ear, especially when you’re getting at least six variants at once.” He nodded. “And also, we weren’t sure whether we could trust you, so they kept their voices low and switched to dialect when you were around.”

“Umm.” She took another bite of her sandwich, thinking hard about her words. “It’s just IT work, right?”

Jet didn’t reply, just studied her with that cool, assessing gaze. “People know who they’re calling, if they have this number.”

She swallowed, a squishy lump of paprika-flavored egg caught in her throat. “It’s not just IT work.”

Both hands raised the teacup to his lips. “Let’s just say that these elves are…specialists.” Jet tilted it back, dran, then set the cup down carefully. “I’ll tell the boys to knock off the dialects. And get Mason to start teaching you self defense.”

“Mason?” It came out as a squeak, and her head whiplashed to gaze out the break room door into the call center.

A head with pointed ears, piercing azure eyes, and long black hair held back with a leather wrap came to attention. The elf took off his headset and stood, folding tattooed arms across his chest.

“Mason, the scary-looking tattooed muscle-y guy who’s suddenly staring at me?” Mandy dropped her gaze, feeling small and weak.

“Sounds about right,” Jet answered cheerfully. “He’s our best assassin.”

“Perfect.” She studied her hands. Her pale, weak hands, still holding half a squashed sandwich.

“It really is.” Jet tapped his tablet and pushed his chair back. “I just updated your job duties. Bring workout gear starting tomorrow, all right?”

***