Ahnou takes off his glasses and shoots me a sympathetic look. “I promise you, I'm not lying to you.”
This time when my stomach revolts, I know there's no holding it back.
“Please excuse me while I go make a phone call.”
And by phone call, I mean puke.
SNEAK PEEK CHAPTER TWO
AHNOU
Welcome to Cedar Peak Heights!
The sign elicits a chuckle from me. This far east in Virginia, the tallest peak around was likely an anthill anyone could piss over.
But humans were oddly territorial as they were sentimental. If one part of Virginia boasted mountain tops and panoramic views, then the whole state would.
Clearly the folks of Cedar Peak Heights decided to go big with the town’s name since they had nothing else to compete with the state’s western topography.
Which is a shame because the deciduous trees here might be some of the most gorgeous fall foliage I’ve ever seen.
For a town of just under five thousand residents, it has plenty of stores and restaurants. One in particular stands out—Sugar and Spice café, owned by my current auditee.
From the outside, it looks warm and inviting, the window bedecked with autumn decor in vibrant reds, yellows, and oranges.
In less than five minutes, I’m pulling into Miss Mabon’s driveway, and I wish my job was only moments away from where I lived.
Even though I’m a homebody, I spend over half the months in the year away doing audits. How I long for my own bed and kitchen—eating out gets old after a few weeks.
But I still have three more audits to finish this year before I can return to my house.
I contemplate the stately house while collecting myself. As an introvert, doing these yearly audits almost makes me want to quit my job.
One would think working for the IRS would be spent sitting in a cubicle, pouring over tax forms for hours.
It's not—something I learned the hard way.
Not all IRS employees perform in-person audits, but the government thought with me being a monster, I would be a good representative to knock on other monsters’ doors.
Except in the five years that I've been doing this, I've only audited two monsters—all the rest were human.
Whether the IRS doesn’t realize that the combination of being audited and by a monster is a disaster in the making, or they just don't care, I don't know.
But it certainly doesn't make my job any easier.
One woman thought I was actually there to mummify her. I jokingly told her that I left my Canopic jars at home…
She slammed the door in my face, locked it, and refused to open it again. The IRS had to send someone else to audit her.
At this point, you think the government would’ve wised up, but they didn't. And here I sit, ready to traumatize some other poor soul.
It takes me a moment to unfold myself from my tiny electric car. I love that I'm helping cut down on Earth's carbon footprint, but wish they made these things bigger.
Even for a monster, I'm fairly large.
Straightening my suit jacket and tie, I step onto the porch. The wood groans under my weight, but holds, and I hope the structure is sturdier than it looks.
Because the only thing worse than being audited by a monster is one that breaks your house.
With a deep inhale. I rap on the door and wait. My keen hearing picks up on the sound of a television set, but that doesn't necessarily mean that someone's home.
People leave their TVs on all the time for their pets.
I knock again, and this time I hear a distinctive feminine murmur. The pitch and lack of echo tells me it is not the TV—someone’s here.
After waiting another moment, I knock again. And again. Until whoever's inside creeps out towards the door.
Through the small frame of stained glass above it, I spy a redheaded woman. The glass distorts her features, but I can sense her apprehension from a mile away.
Even though she wasn't given a specific date or time, the IRS does alert people when they're going to be audited.
When it becomes obvious she’s not going to open the door, I sigh. “Ma'am, are you going to let me in?”
She squeaks and crashes to the floor, and I wince in sympathy as her ankle twists underneath her.
“N-nobody's home!” she attempts, and I hang my head.
