It wasn’t long after the appearance of the Mythriqs that everyone began sleeping together. The appeal was otherworldly, pun intended. Of course, there was far more to the Integration than that, but at the end of the day, that’s what people truly wanted to know. Who slept with whom? How did it work? What kind of pairings did it lead to? Were people truly compatible with Orcs and Fae, Werewolves and Teyflings, Minotaurs and more?
The week, later dubbed The Unveiling, changed everything. Humans learned they were not the apex predators they had imagined, seven billion people turned into five billion humans and two and a half billion Mythriqs, reality shifted overnight, and somehow, the world kept spinning. Twenty-five years later, everyone had cobbled together a strange new mosaic of a life—coping with tragedy, triumph, bureaucracy, pandemic, and interspecies jealousy alike. The magic had not disappeared. It had simply learned to file the proper paperwork, in triplicate.
For most Clevelanders, more than two decades of Integration had simply become life. For Aviva Stern, it meant endless noise complaints, zoning disputes, and attempts at interspecies harmony on a Tuesday.
Aviva unconsciously blew her bangs out of her eyes and tapped on her car’s screen, dismissing the recent texts from her family’s endless group chat. She adjusted her gold hoop earrings and pondered this as she made her way downtown.
The soothing drive from the emerald eastern suburbs had been peaceful but she secretly enjoyed the approach to downtown, too. Buildings of all shapes and sizes emerged. Mothkin nesting towers and Gargoyle roosts towered on the tops of several apartment buildings. Fae and Elven neighborhoods in the distance burgeoned with prolific gardens and climbing sparkling ivy.
She could always tell which buildings housed Minotaurs and Satyrs because the entrances were always overly wide and they never had revolving doors. Here and there, amphibians and Serpentborn emerged from nearby ponds and waterways, warm air vents blowing to allow them to drip dry. A new Vampire cafe had just opened its doors, so to speak, with a sign listing ‘Opens one hour after sunset.’
Hitting Euclid, she moved south, careful to navigate around the orange construction cones that a dwarven city crew were laying out. Spring in Cleveland meant potholes, orange cones, and Dwarves in neon vests. Turning right on Sixth avenue, she slowed down to allow an Elven crossing guard to shepherd a group of mostly two–foot-tall Meadowborn children across the street. They looked to be on their way to the Main Public Library for a school trip.
As she pulled into the Cleveland City Hall parking lot, she giggled at the city uniformed Satyr duo, their thick curls and polished horns gleaming in the morning sun as they perched effortlessly in a city bucket truck, hanging new baskets of petunias for the summer. She parked and wondered if she would have time to plant flowers this spring, since she’d been so busy lately.
As Aviva reached the employee entrance, she caught her reflection in the security station windows. Today, she liked how she looked. Large coffee-colored eyes and thick long dark wavy hair, she often ignored it and threw it up into a messy bun.
Today, she actually allowed herself a small nod of approval. Cute, flared knee-length denim skirt. White leather sneakers, fresh laces. A red-and-white striped sweater from last year’s gemach. It playfully clung to her torso, form-fitting but not too tight. That would not have been modest.
The older Ratkin security guard barely looked up from his phone, whiskers twitching as she murmured good morning. The glamour detector gave its standard ping as she passed through, indicating she wasn’t under an active enchantment.
The stars and stripes waved by the doorway, moved by an invisible warm breeze filling the antechamber for coldblooded Mythriqs with city business. The red of the flag reflected against her sweater. Self-consciousness hit her like a truck.
I don’t look like the American flag.
I don’t look like the American flag.
I look… patriotic. Nautical?
I look cute, don’t I?
Her stylus perched behind one ear as usual, balanced by practiced flair, she unconsciously tapped her small gold Magen David necklace. She knew she was decent to look at, but even years after the messy end of her marriage, she still tugged at her clothes, uncomfortable with the body that had once been abused and derided. Aviva shook her head sharply.
Nope. None of that today, ma’am. You’re behind.
Aviva Stern worked for Human and Mythriq Relations—HAMR—a department within city planning whose primary function seemed to be knocking everyone’s nose out of joint while trying to keep all species marginally satisfied. She started right out of college. Seven years later, through constant people-pleasing and endless caffeine, she had become deputy director. Her nine-woman team had grown into more family than coworkers.
Stepping through the elevator doors, the scent of stale coffee and damp potting soil hit her in the face. She heard the familiar high-pitched mechanical whine as Megan, the Nymph transplant from Indiana, brewed a new pot from old sour grounds. She tapped a quick reminder to herself on the handy tablet. Add ‘clean out coffee machine’ to her list of team duties before the weekend.
Typically, she brought coffee from home, but not wanting to mix bitter brew with the lingering spearmint from a teeth cleaning, today she carried a to-go cup of Earl Grey. Work tote on one shoulder, purse on the other, cup in hand, she smiled broadly as she badged into the department.
“Good morning, my magical mavens!” she called. Heads popped up over the cubicle walls—pointed ears, polished horns, curls, and a set of orange twitching fox ears all acknowledged their deputy director.
“Good morning,” chimed Nadine, the elderly Gnome who often wore her homemade shawls in the chilly office air conditioning, and Kira, the newest Werefox, dressed in her favorite Seattle Seahawks jersey, which clashed horribly against her russet fur.
“Morning,” grumbled Lawson, a Teyfling new mom who looked noticeably over-tired, visible dark shadows under her normally bright red eyes, red and black spotted skin looking dull from midnight feedings.
“Hi, Aviva,” called Jessica, a human woman in her late sixties, sorting nocturnal and diurnal complaint forms into separate piles, because, naturally, bureaucracy demanded such things. Her peer, Denise mouthed help me while patiently enduring a Werewolf explaining—in great detail—why the city’s leash ordinance was species discrimination.
“Yeah, yeah,” grumbled the remaining women, spoken in distinct tones of hangover. She chuckled to herself. Clearly, some of them had stayed over-long at the office happy-hour last night.
One of the human women, Mary, was adding a new flyer to the office bulletin board that read:
HAMR Office Potluck Sign Up - Please label all food items
Happy AMAA DAY!
Let’s Celebrate American Mythriqs Accessibility Act Day!
Name - Food Item
Kosher • Vegan • Keto • Gluten-Free • Blood-Free • Photosynthetic Friendly
Walking down the spacious aisle, wide windows at the far end, taking in the glorious view of the lake, Aviva greeted each of her coworkers in turn, then spotted her boss walking toward her. She bit the inside of her cheek.
Oh crap. What? What did I do? Didn’t I send her that AMAA email last night? I could have sworn I did.
“Stern!” Her boss, Janice, shouted in a heavy Texas drawl.
“Good morning, J,” she perked. As she approached her desk, she adjusted the tilted ‘No Magic Zone’ sign that had ‘except cosmetics’ scrawled under it in glitter pen.
The Orc leaned heavily against Aviva’s cubicle wall, clutching a bucket-sized mug of steaming gray morning sludge. Janice was in her late fifties—by Orc standards that merely meant middle-aged—with angular glasses perched on her nose, thick dark hair pulled back into a tight bun, and gray just beginning to sparkle at her temples.
Today Janice wore a gorgeous, tailored navy suit and her sensible low heels complemented the outfit perfectly. This morning, however, she was frowning. Aviva averted her eyes.
Jewish guilt instantly rushed through her veins—because of course it did—the minute her boss called her name in that tone. Overly chipper, she blew her light thin bangs out of her eyes. “What’s up? I just got in. I had a dentist appointment, remember? I put it on your calendar.”
Janice nodded, one long red lacquered nail clicking against her mug, which was definitely not filled with coffee. Was it a clay protein powder? Aviva couldn’t remember. She had seen it on sale at the grocery store once and wondered how awful it tasted. Why did Orcs like it so much?
“I know. We need to talk,” she turned on her heel and walked toward her office, presuming her deputy director would be on her heels.
Aviva sighed, shut her eyes, and dumped her baggage on her messy desk. Red voicemail light blinking endlessly, the tower of city budget forms leaned across her keyboard. She had to get to those today; the deadline was tomorrow, she chided. But first, there was a fire to put out. She turned and pounded across the thin carpeted floor to follow.
Stepping into the boss’ office, she closed the glass door, and settled into her familiar spot across from the massive, green-skinned orc. She adjusted her round glasses, worry etched into her heart-shaped face.
Janice was grinding her jaw. She often did when outside forces became more than a casual bother to the city. When a protester banged on the City Hall doors, or a particularly whiny citizen demanded her undivided and frequent attention, Janice’s jaw would grind. The sound made Aviva cringe.
Janice plopped into her seat and immediately reached for a hand-grip trainer. It bent easily in her agitated fist.
Aviva exhaled, teacup in hand, watching her boss’s thick tusks slowly slide back and forth, back and forth. Whatever the bad news was, her intuition already knew.
“Rodney quit.”
“What?! Are you serious? When?”
“A day before I could kill him myself!” Janice held her forehead, lips pursed. “Technically? Last night, Joe called this morning. We need to deal with Snug Harbor, like yesterday. I am getting calls from the mayor’s office now. This is becoming a thing.”
Aviva rolled her eyes and crossed her legs.
Of course he quit. Rodney! You incompetent Centaur! He will inevitably fail upwards. I wish him hot pillow sides forever.
All the soft joy of her long green drive from her Heights dentist appointment was ebbing away. She shook her head and waited.
Janice grumbled and the grip tool softly whined in her hand. “The mayor wants ribbon cuttings.”
She squeezed the grip strengthener, hard.
“The Ratkin want guarantees.”
Squeeze, squeeze.
“The Amphibians are threatening federal environmental review.”
Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze!
“Historic Preservation says the Gargoyles have nesting rights.”
Squeeeeeeeeeze… pop!
With one final emphatic squeeze, the grip trainer finally gave up the ghost, its spring snapping with a metallic pop, and crumpled into a knot of metal and plastic. Without even looking, the Orc director dropped it into the waste bin, methodically opened a drawer, and reached for a replacement.
Snug Harbor had been everyone’s headache for months. What began as an ambitious waterfront redevelopment project had become Cleveland’s first purpose-built mixed-species lakeside neighborhood, and every community believed—often correctly—that its needs had been overlooked.
Aviva had spent months in planning meetings, luncheons, and Zoom calls trying to reconcile concerns that often couldn’t coexist. Somehow everyone was right, and no solution fit in the same physical space.
Janice’s lower tusks slid back and forth again. “Now they’ve brought in a new representative from overseas to speak for all the Mythriq clans. Can you believe it? I just heard this mornin’. No idea who but, they had been waiting for Rodney to quit. They were damn near expectin’ it. He just walked away, left all the plans on his desk apparently, told their leadership to take a hike, and, typical Centaur, hoofed it.”
“Now they want to bring in this new person, come back to the table, and start all over from phase three!” Janice rubbed at her forehead hard, other hand strangling the latest pathetic exercise tool.
“Oh, for goodness sakes,” the smaller woman muttered under her breath. “I mean, I understand their worries. Nobody’s ever tried anything like this before.”
“I can’t handle this anymore, Aviva. You need to fix this. I don’t care what you have to do, but fix it. I mean, we have no more money and can’t really give them anything they’re askin’ for, but I need this back on track, ready for ribbon-cuttin’ by the end of the week!”
“I know, I know. I’m sorry.” Aviva nodded, massaging her temples. More negotiations. Great.
Aviva usually loved negotiation. She lived for finding common ground. This project, however, had become a migraine the color of paperwork.
Janice cleared her throat. “Hello…?” Aviva looked up, forlorn, the memories of her initial exuberance flowing down the drain.
“Sorry, J. Sorry, I was… just reminiscing. What were you asking?”
“Reminiscing? About what? When we actually liked this project?” Janice retorted in a twang and rolled her eyes, tusks working. “Can you handle a one o’clock today? Joe said the new negotiator wants to get started right away. Can you move things around please?”
The boss’ tone said this was not a request. Seeing her deputy director wilting in front of her, however, she softened her voice slightly. “Sorry, didn’t mean to smack ya with this so early. I hope you had a nice appointment, by the way,” she added as an afterthought. Janice knew how gruff she could come across, especially to humans. Of all people, she knew Aviva would never take it personally.
Aviva nodded. “Yes, boss. You got it. I’m sorry about all this. I know we wanted this done. I wanted it done. We’ve been working so hard, and I’m just as mad as you are. I’ll move some things around and meet with this new person at one, and we’ll get it all sorted. I promise.” The words froze in her throat even as she said them.
Crap. It’s not technically a real promise, is it?
She desperately needed to see Janice smile. She was breakfast-starved, the project was threatening to fall backwards by three months, and somehow, she was going to make this work. I need to fix this.
The two women nodded in aggravated agreement, and Aviva rose with her cup of tea. She returned to her desk, a hum of curiosity rising from the sea of cubicles as multiple sets of bright eyes watched her.
“So?” a voice asked from behind a foam wall. Rising from her seat, a tall Fae in a green pencil skirt and form-fitting blouse turned toward her, rattling her morning iced mocha in a loud, practiced motion. “Who died? You look as cheerful as a bride at a wake. Are we planning your funeral?”
Aviva smiled weakly and plopped down in her chair. “No one died, Siobhan. But I kinda want you to just kill me now.”
“Ha! I’ll get right on that.” Siobhan leaned over the cubicle wall. She and Aviva had been close for nearly a decade. Siobhan was in her late nineties, still possessed the heavy Irish accent of her particular clan, along with the red hair, green eyes, and creamy glowing skin of her people. Her angular jaw and pointed ears were a dead Fae giveaway, and her eyes always sparkled with mischief. Had it not been for Siobhan, Aviva might not have survived the bureaucracy of city hall.
“According to Janice, Rodney quit. Like, last night. Surprise, surprise. Now I have to meet with some new negotiator they literally just hired, and discuss all of the agreements we already put to bed and rehash everything all over again! It feels like a Monday on a Wednesday. This is so damn unfair.”
Siobhan loomed over the cubicle partition, watery iced mocha remnants swirling in her cup. She smiled playfully. “Ah, so you are right and proper screwed then. Are you goin’ to at least get lunch before you meet with this jack-o? You get so turned about when you’re hungry.” Her work wife knew her so well.
Aviva snapped her head up, narrowing her eyes, and caught the time. The dentist had taken longer than she thought, and it was already eleven forty-five. If she was going to meet with this new person—whoever they were—she was going to have to shove some food in her face fast and deal with her most pressing messages before then. Grabbing her wallet from her purse, she nodded toward Siobhan.
“You’re absolutely right. I’m gonna run across the street and grab a sandwich. Do you want?”
The tall ginger Fae laughed and smiled. “Nah. I brought my lunch.” Then, furiously sucking the remnants of her coffee with a loud slurp, she added, “Besides, you know I’m powered by Celtic poetry and caffeine.”
Aviva cackled at Siobhan, hit the staircase on a mission for falafel, bound and determined to control her day’s chaos. She moved with the confidence of a thirty-one-year-old, painfully single, municipal paper pusher who believed she decided her own destiny.
After all, she was getting a sandwich, not a soulmate. That kind of nonsense only happened in books.