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There were finely carved boxes I knew held cool crystals underneath their hinged lids. An enameled bowl from the eighteen hundreds carried rat bones that I carefully degreased and then treated with hydrogen peroxide to whiten them.

My prized Farinone Battista tarot deck, also from the eighteen hundreds, sat inside a rectangular, closed crystal box with scrolling silver trim. My grandfather had bought me that set when I graduated high school, and if anyone ever stole it, I’d pull their spine out through their mouth.

Everything was as it should be, and I took a deep breath and headed into work.

* * *

“What’s wrong with you?” Matilda eyed me up and down, squinting her eyes, as I walked into the office.

She was sitting behind her desk, a stack of papers in hand. “Nothing. Good morning,” I greeted her.

After my purse strap was slung over the side of my chair, I went to the coffee machine. There was already some sitting in the brown, grime-stained pot, and I grabbed a mug and poured myself a cup.

“You go on one of those hikes again? You look tired. You’re too old to be gallivanting around in the woods like that.”

I felt the back of my neck stiffen, and I nodded my head side to side. “I do like to stay in shape, it’s great exercise. You should try it sometime, it's refreshing.” I gave her a bright smile. “More coffee? I’ll pour you a cup if you’d like,” I offered.

Matilda heaved her thighs to the side and narrowed her eyes. “No, thank you.”

The moment eight o’ clock hit, the phone started ringing.

“Thank you for calling Quality Propane, how may I help you?” By now, I probably quoted that line in my sleep.

“You can help me by not robbing me blind. You fuckers expect me to pay these rates?” the angry man yelled at me.

For some reason, the general public thought we were bleeding them dry. It didn’t matter what I said, they wouldn’t understand it wasn’t us personally, but rather the owner and he went by market rates. It was a whole thing, the way pricing worked, but neither Matilda nor I had anything to do with it. We just took all the abuse.

“I’m sorry Mister Buchanan.” Caller ID was fantastic. “The last time we spoke, I told you about some of our programs. Did you figure out which one you wanted to go with?”

“Oh, I’ll program you alright—just you wait!” The man was going to give himself a coronary.

There was some scuffling in the background and I heard a muffled, “Honey.”

Then a woman got on the phone. “Hi sweeties, we’re going to do your senior program? If that’s okay? I apologize for Fred. Minnie pooped on the steps again and he’s in a tizzy.”

Good Lord. “That sounds great, Suzanne. I’ll set you guys up and email the forms. How does that sound?” I offered, fiddling with the edge of my desktop calendar.

“Perfect. Thank you. Have a great day, sweeties.”

“Fred Buchanan?” Matilda peeked at me over the top of her banana bread. She must have warmed it in the microwave because the whole office now smelled like a bakery.

“Yep,” I said. After I emailed Fred and Suzanne, I glanced at her again.

Matilda rolled her eyes. “He’s always so angry.”

There was nothing to say so I didn’t answer her.

The rest of the day went much the same, with Matilda taking frequent smoke breaks followed by banana bread breaks. She very much enjoyed baking and the smells in our office were much better than I imagine they would have been otherwise, thanks to her penchant for flour and sugar.

Working in a propane office wasn’t my idea of a dream career, but it paid more than I’d ever expected and nobody gave a shit what we did as long as we got the job done and didn’t blow anything up. Explosions were actually a possibility, which was pretty cool in a morbid, disaster movie type of way. Not that I wanted to be a part of one or anything.

The other great thing about my job was that we were only open four days a week.

But even better, it was Thursday, and I was going to meet Vance at a club tonight to unwind.

After I got home, I showered and changed, replacing my work makeup with a heavier face. I mixed black and red lipstick together and swiped lip balm over it, mixing it together. No matter what brand I tried, nobody could get the color I wanted just right other than me.

After I took a look at myself in the mirror, I decided I wasn’t quite an “elder goth.” I looked pretty cool all done up, and I headed out.