A knock echoed against the door.

  “Just a moment!” Fey called out, forcing a pleasant lilt into her voice.

  Another knock—more impatient this time.

  Fey’s eye twitched, but she inhaled deeply to keep her composure. “Please wait a little longer.”

  Her glamoured voice travelled like honey over a river of milk, soothing the impatient—but only for a moment. Then, turning around with her staff, Fey’s expression soured in exasperation.

  “Chop, chop, people! We have five minutes to make this look presentable! Get your asses moving!”

  “This is slave labour!” Maya whined, balancing with her toes precariously on a chair as she tried to hang a—hopefully—fake spiderweb and tattered cloth over the window. “How much more do we need to do?!”

  Maya had already moved heaven and earth to meet Fey's impossible standards to make her place look ‘welcomingly haunting and eerie’—whatever that meant. The Draugr scurried about, rearranging furniture, dimming lights with blankets, and scattering eerie bony and wooden trinkets while Fey flitted between her room and the main area, emerging only to nag and make last-minute adjustments.

  “Cut another hole there,” Fey instructed, barely looking up at Maya who was still struggling with the cloth. “A few more normal candles over there, a scented one in between them, and—ugh, what is that doing there? Move it. And for Freyja’s sake, where is the human skull!?”

  Fey snapped her fingers, Leif the merchant Draugr shuffled up, presenting a perfectly polished human skull.

  Exhausted, Maya stared at Fey, deadpan. “Please tell me that human skull isn’t real”

  Fey cocked her hip and gave a dismissive wave. “Do you really want an honest answer?”

  “You know what… forget I asked.”

  “Good girl. Now we need—”

  She stopped mid-sentence as both of them noticed Missy trot proudly through the chaos, clutching something between her tiny jaws.

  Maya pointed. “Is that— is that my bra?”

  “Huh, I believe it is.”

  Missy disappeared under a blanket, only to reappear seconds later, zipping past a pair of Draugr who barely managed to avoid stepping on her.

  Maya threw her hands up. “Are we not gonna address that!? Why's your ferret obsessed with my bra!?”

  Missy darted through the room, leaping over the zombies’ feet and disappeared under her blanket again—holding another piece of distinct textile in her mouth.

  Halfdan, who tried to dodge the ferret, stumbled into Carl, sending both undead toppling over like dominoes.

  “Guys, keep it together!” Fey yelled at them before another thunderous series of knocks rattled the door.

  “Five minutes!” she bellowed before disappearing into her room.

  “Fey! You can't walk away!” Maya chased after her. “What are we supposed to do?”

  Fey barely glanced back. “Finish the preparations—but whatever the customer does, don't let him in. Stall him however you can!” She exhaled sharply, rubbing her temples. “I just need five more minutes.”

  “You've been saying that for the past twenty—”

  Before Maya could finish, Fey slammed the door before her nose and locked it.

  “Fey— Fey!” Maya banged on the door.

  Silence.

  Maya clenched her jaw and in a moment of pure spite, kicked the door. Big mistake; Pain shot up her foot.

  “Dang it Fey!” Maya cursed, jumping up and down, holding her foot.

  The Draugr loomed behind Maya.

  Maya swallowed hard. “Don't look at me like that.”

  “Groooooooo,” they moaned in unison, shuffling closer. Their cloudy eyes wide with eerie fascination like they had been missing outer stimuli for centuries.

  This is fine. Totally fine.

  The last time she had this close to Fey’s undead workforce was under much less controlled circumstances. And while these three weren’t as menacing as the others she’d faced, their slow, lumbering approach wasn’t exactly comforting.

  “Alright, listen.” Maya held up her hands, palms out. Surprisingly, the Draugr stopped. “No funny business? You three are the good zombies, you hear? Good Draugr who don’t eat people or attack me… right.”

  Carl, the war-helmed one made a guttural noise that could have been agreement—or indigestion.

  Halfdan stepped closer and Maya recoiled, closing her eyes. When she opened them, she noticed Halfdan was offering her a rope, gesturing clumsily toward the blankets still needing to be tied up.

  “Oh, you need help?”

  All three nodded at Maya, reminding her that their finesse has been lacklustre since their demise.

  “I can work with that—”

  The incessant knocking on the door started again and was louder than ever.

  Maya flinched. “Oh for pete’s sake!”

  The Draugr groaned in what sounded suspiciously like sympathy.

  “Fey’s gonna hate this but I can’t keep them waiting forever.” She glanced between the door and the undead trio before making a split-second decision. “Boys, move to the back!”

  The Draugr groaned, confusion was written all over their decayed faces.

  “Don’t look at me like that, shoo!” She pushed them toward a different room and shut the door. She nervously slapped lightly at her face. “Okay, time to deal with this. Should be easy. Remember, money—”

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Another bang rattled the door.

  Maya clenched her jaw. I wish I was at home with Val right now. Just cuddled up watching some dumb rom-com.

  She adjusted her dress, inhaled sharply, and forced a confident smile. I hope I can do this.

  “FINALLY!” croaked a short man in an ill-fitting suit.

  For the first time in a while, Maya actually had to look down to address an adult. She was almost too stunned to react.

  “What’cha staring at, pixie?”

  “I— uh…” Maya faltered, stumped for words.

  The stumpy man was a walking assault on fashion. His suit, unflattering and slightly too tight, featured garish orange lining, clashing horribly with the chainmail shirt he wore beneath it. A grape-purple cravat sat puffed against his throat, barely held together by an ostentatious amber cufflink. His maroon derby shoes, freshly polished, squeaked with every exaggerated tap on the floor.

  However, the real crime was his hair.

  A ridiculous tuft of brown hair perched atop his head in a voluminous curl—somewhere between a quiff and an unfortunate styling accident.

  From Austin’s wild explanation of the Norse world, Maya could scarcely believe that was a dwarf.

  “Get it on, pixie! I ain’t got no time on hand!” The dwarf impatiently tapped at his gold-and-diamond-encrusted watch, which probably weighed more than his entire arm. “Move your cutie big behind and funky ‘fro, and lemme in talking business with the madam.”

  Maya bit the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to remain cordial. I could be polite, or I could rip off his square ears; But I need the money!

  Easier said than done, but the dwarf was testing Maya’s patience when he smacked her thigh as he brushed past her. “Get going, pixie. I’ve got work to do afterwards.”

  Maya shook her hands in the direction of the dwarf. No, Maya. Buy Fey time. Don’t strangle the customer.

  As she motioned for the dwarf to step inside, a nagging thought surfaced. Even though this was Fey’s domain, and strange encounters were the norm, she still had to check.

  Plastering on a Hollywood-worthy fake smile, she chirped, “I don’t think I caught your name, Mr…?”

  The dwarf scoffed as if he was personally offended. “What kind of operation does your mistress run if her staff don’t even know my name!?” He leaned against the doorframe, licked his palm and ran over his slick tuft of hair as if it needed more attention. “I’m Almasi, Son of Berka. Remember it, pixie—I’m important.”

  Maya gritted her teeth. Pixie? She could already hear Fey snickering from behind her locked door.

  “Sure…” she exhaled through her nose. “Follow me—”

  “Yeah, yeah, less talking, more walking,” Almasi grumbled, shouldering past her again like he owned the place. His maroon derby shoes squeaked against the floor as he stomped forward, casting a disapproving glance around the room.

  He wrinkled his nose. “This place looks drab. Where’s the horror? Where’s the spice?”

  Maya clasped her hands together in front of her, attempting to smile. “I apologise, sir.” Maya swallowed the venom she felt for him. “But your early arrival threw off our schedule.”

  Right on cue, one of the draped blankets slipped off its precarious perch, landing right between their feet.

  Maya barely contained a wince. The whole setup looked less like an eerie witch lair and more like a child’s half-hearted attempt at a haunted house. Even the red sofa in the middle of the living room, Missy’s throne, meant to add mystique, just sat there like a sad excuse for décor.

  “Are you implying this is my fault?” Almasi clutched his chest with mock indignation, turning to Maya with a glare. “Is my presence somehow unwelcoming and bothersome to you?”

  Yes, but—

  Maya forced her strained smile to stay in place as her freshly painted nails dug into her palm. “Of course not,” she lied through gritted teeth. “We’re thrilled to have you.”

  Though I don’t know why you are here or what you want.

  Almasi clapped his hands together, grinning. “Great! Bring me some refreshments, will you? You got any Nidavellir beverages?”

  “...I’ll see what I can find.”

  Maya had no idea what Nidavellir was, but she used it as an excuse to duck into the kitchen, disappearing beneath one of the sheets she’d hastily hung up earlier. The moment she was out of sight, she sagged against the counter.

  “Think of the money, Maya. We need the money.”

  “Groan?”

  Maya caught the scent of coffee and turned to find Leif standing beside her, offering a cup.

  “For me?” she asked with a melting heart.

  The zombie nodded, and Maya accepted the cup to take a generous gulp—ignoring it was piping hot—before immediately regretting it. She stuck out her tongue at the horrifically bitter taste. “Bah, this tastes like dirt…wait,” an idea struck her, “make some more for the guest.”

  The Draugr groaned uncertainly but shuffled back to the makeshift kitchen. Maya knew nothing about premium coffee—her go-to was whatever cheap brand she could make at home. All the fancy stuff came from her Baaaabucks addiction or Val—most exclusively Val.

  Maya was begging for a cup from Val, with lots of creme, sugar, cinnamon, milk and all the other rest her girlfriend knew how to make the perfect taste.

  Which, in retrospect, is probably why I’m broke… Maya sighed wistfully. I miss her so much.

  “Gruurrhgh?” Halfdan shuffled forward, offering a tray with freshly brewed cups.

  “Thank you… say, do we have some salt? Maybe some spices too?”

  Confused, the zombies looked at one another and Carl promptly opened the condiment compartment cabinet for her, revealing the wild assortment of spice befitting for a witch.

  Maya’s grin widened.

  “Where are the refreshments!?” Almasi grumbled, rocking back and forth on the sofa restlessly. His strong arms flexed as he tapped impatiently against his knee.

  “Right here,” Maya announced sweetly, stepping forward with the tray of coffee and thrusting it just inches from his face.

  Almasi leaned back, confused.

  “What's wrong? Take. It.” She presented him with a particularly odd mug, her smile stretching a little too wide., offering him a particular mug. “It's goooooood.”

  Almasi instinctively leaned further back, momentarily caught off guard by Maya’s brashness—and by the fact that her outfit generously accentuated her deep dekolleté. His gaze flickered downward for a split second before he forcibly straightened, suddenly clearing his throat.

  “Thank you, min goldklump.”

  Maya shot him a weary look of aversion. Her Danish was rustier than a nail on a shipwreck, and all she caught from that was plump or clump.

  Whatever it was, she shoved the mug into his hands. “Enjoy your coffee.” Her voice dripped with menace. Choke on that.

  As Almasi carefully approached his cup to his lips, Maya grinned sinisterly which would have made Fey proud.

  Almasi took a deep swig.

  Maya leaned closer.

  His eyes widened, sputtering coffee. “Oh, oh gods—what is this brew?!” He jolted back. “This… taste… it’s… it’s…”

  Maya proudly savoured the victory. Yes, suffer. My brother and I came up with this bland for a school fair to pay back on—”

  “It's delicious!”

  “Huh?”

  Almasi took another hearty sip, looking almost reverent. “The spice and bitterness blend perfectly with the sugar and vibrant acidity!” His voice rang with conviction. He couldn’t stop drinking. “I can taste lemons, honey, even milk! This godly brew puts any Nidavellir ale to shame! You, min guldklump, have the hands and beauty of a Goddess.”

  Maya blinked in horror as the dwarf reached out and touched her hands in admiration.

  She yanked her fingers away. “G-glad you liked it?”

  Before she could recover from that particular nightmare, the entire room plunged into darkness.

  “What the—” Almasi squinted, shifting uncomfortably. As a dwarf, he could see easily in pitch-black caves—but this was not natural darkness. This was magic that swallowed light whole, rendering even his sharp vision useless. “Gold nugget, where’d you go?”

  The candles flickered to life, cutting through the darkness. Green flames cast ghostly shadows against the walls. An eerie figure with silhouettes of towering Viking warriors stood among them.

  Or at least, that’s what should have happened—but their budget was limited.

  The warriors’ forms flickered unevenly as the three Draugr gave their best in acting. Even the red sofa looked more comedic than menacing.

  But Maya had positioned herself perfectly before the velvet curtain, shimmering like a dark winter storm.

  Green smoke curled around her ankles. A sudden gust of wind tore through the room, pulling the curtain back to reveal the new and terrifying mistress of the apartment complex.

  “Welcome to my lair, dear guest,” she purred, her voice layered with ancient power beyond comprehension. “A place where Seidr reigns supreme.”