Undercover Gorgon: Episode #1 — Witches War (A Mt. Olympus Employment Agency Miniseries)

By R.L. Naquin

Patrice is finally comfortable in her life as a gorgon. By day, she rules the Mt. Olympus reception area with a fist of iron, a glare of stone, and a headful of snakes. After hours, she sneaks around “borrowing” magical items from other departments to aid in her secret missions to help people behind the scenes.

She thinks she’s covered her tracks until a powerful goddess comes to her for a favor. If Patrice agrees to help, she could start a war with all the witches of ancient Greece.

But if she refuses, she could anger the most powerful witch of all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: R.L. Naquin
• Release date: Feb 28, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311047182

R.L. Naquin

Rachel is the author of the Monster Haven urban fantasy series from Carina Press and the Mt. Olympus Employment Agency series from Bottle Cap Publishing. Her head is packed with an outrageous amount of useless Disney trivia. She is terrified of thunder, but not of lightning, and sometimes recites the Disneyland dedication speech during storms to keep herself calm. She finds it appalling that nobody from Disney has called yet with her castle move-in date. Originally from Northern California, she has a tendency to move every few years, resulting in a total of seven different states and a six-year stint in England. Currently, she’s planning her next grand adventure. Rachel has one heroic husband, two genius kids, a crazy-cat-lady starter kit, and an imaginary dog named Waffles. She doesn’t have time for a real dog.

Book preview

Episode #1 — Witches War

Six months ago , when I was a mousy human working in a drugstore, I would have smiled and taken the shit this guy was giving me. Unfortunately for him, I was not a mousy human anymore.

I was a bitchy gorgon.

I lowered my sunglasses, not enough to expose my light-sensitive eyes, but enough to make the muscled manbun in front of me flinch. They always worried I’d turn them into stone. Hell, I’d thought I’d turn everybody to stone when I lost my human glamor and found out what I really was. Now, I just thought it was hilarious and used their misinformation against them.

Sir, you need to step behind the line. I’m not going to ask you again.

He scowled, but took a step back. I’ve been waiting half an hour for somebody to take care of this problem. He waved a piece of paper at me. Somebody’s going to pay for my dry cleaning bill. That was a $300 shirt, and your girl in the dining hall dripped marinara sauce on it.

I stared at him through my darkened lenses without changing my expression. The snakes on my head, however, eased from the complicated up-do I’d arranged them in earlier and slithered in agitated patterns over my shoulders. Not for the first time, I wondered why I bothered to try to style them at all.

My tone was as patronizing as I could make it. Sir, as I explained before, your paperwork has been through the system, and your request was returned denied. You’re done here.

His face turned red, and he nudged a shoe over the line. My snakes all hissed, and he pulled his toe back. Then make the girl pay for it out of her salary. That’s how the real world works.

My snakes went silent. I leaned forward, all pretense of bitchiness gone, replaced by genuine anger. Listen carefully. If you can afford to blow $300 on an ugly shirt, you can afford to pay to clean it when it inevitably ends up getting dirty. I don’t know what you do for a living and, frankly, I don’t care. You will not set foot in my lobby again until you learn to respect the hard-working people in the service industry. Now leave the building before I call security.

He spluttered something incoherent, but something in my face—or the faces of the mass of snakes on my head—made him realize I was serious. This isn’t the end of it. He turned toward the door, and his voice trailed behind him, weaker and less full of bluster. I’ll be writing a letter to your boss.

The entire queue turned to watch him go.

I shook my head, and my snakes moved into a less angry, more hair-like position. Next.

A cloaked woman with a hood covering her hair and much of her face moved forward and took his place. She spoke in a low, raspy whisper. I hear you can get things done.

I glanced side-to-side, looking for cameras or snickering coworkers. This had to be a practical joke.

If you’ve filled out the correct forms, then yes. I held back from giving her my usual dose of attitude. Something told me it wouldn’t be in my best interest. What exactly do you need?

No paperwork. This is… She glanced around again, as if afraid secret agents were watching from behind the potted plants. This is a delicate personal matter. I’d like to keep it between the two of us.

She seemed serious. But nobody knew about my after-hours activities. How could this woman know I’d been borrowing magical tools from other departments to fix things I had no business fixing?

I had to play dumb. There was no other way to handle it. Look, I’m just the receptionist. But I’ll be happy to direct you to whatever department can help you.

She sighed and drew closer to me, her palms resting on the desk. Her breath smelled like cotton candy. "You are the department I need, Patrice. I have a problem only someone with your…resourcefulness can accomplish. She stopped and looked over her shoulder. I’m out of time. I have to get back before I’m missed.