Maybe it was the good pay. Maybe it was because I got weekends off.

Or maybe it was because I had a moment of temporary insanity that unfortunately coincided with me saying, “I accept,” when I got offered this job.

Besides the fact that the lines were permanently out the door, the computer systems were temperamental at best, and my boss was a complete broom rider, my stash of chocolate and Sour Patch Kids was empty.

That meant someone was going to die today.

Lord, save me now.

“You got those ten years ago. You need some from this year.” Or decade I finished silently.

She shuffled out of the line like a turtle and I took her slowness as a chance to really search beneath my station and chair for a long-lost piece of sugar. Anything. Even a stray jellybean would likely find its way into my blood stream at this point. Of course there was nothing. I briefly considered hiding beneath my desk until five o’clock. My car. I had an emergency stash in my car. I glanced at my watch. I had another hour until I was able to take a fifteen-minute break.

A pair of black pumps appeared before me and I inwardly groaned. Just what I needed—a run-in with the witch. But instead of being greeted by her condescending, screechy tone, an icycold red can appeared before me. Hallelujah, praise the Lord, it was caffeine and sugar!

I snatched the Coke out of her hand and popped the top, taking a large, satisfying chug.

She laughed. “I know that look when I see it.” Then she straightened and whispered. “Witch alert.”

I didn’t even notice.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I growled as I looked around for something sharp I could stab him with.

A thick brow arched. “So is this where you spend your days? As if the DMV isn’t a horrible enough place to visit without the poor people of Alaska having to tolerate you.”