Marked by the Moon

The Interview

The heavy rain had made the sidewalk wet, each raindrop a beat on the town's rhythm. Eliana stood in the crosswalk, holding the worn out handle of her old bag in her wet soles, really worn out leather shoes as it was her lifeline. Her neatly pressed blazer clung to her body, drenched by the storm that had stolen her umbrella an hour ago.

She looked up.

Blackthorn Enterprises. The logo loomed above the glass doors, metallic and cold. For a brief second, she considered turning back. But what would she return to? A leaky apartment, three job rejection emails, and a final eviction warning if she didn’t pay rent this week? She had already heard of the corporation, naturally, everyone had. Tech. Realty. Energy. Power. But Ryder Blackthorn, the man himself? A myth. No interviews. No pictures. Nothing but headlines and rumors. Elusive billionaire. Fearsome negotiator. Genius. Terrifying.

Eliana swallowed.

This was just an interview. Just an interview. One shot, a shot for her to escape debt, escape nowhere leads, escape insomnia. Her resume had landed in their inbox in the form of a miracle. Now, she could only make it through the interview.

The lobby was peculiarly still, the silence ringing in your ear. It was all spit-shined: marble floors, golden frames for the elevators, walls made of solid glass. Eliana stood in front of a clumpie-eyed mirror, mascara in one eye: a wet-eyed gaze. She dried it with a tissue and placed a tense smile in the receptionist's direction behind the desk.

“Name?” the woman asked, not raising her eyes.

"Eliana Cole. I-I have a 9 a.m. interview"

She struck something on the screen, nodded. "Take elevator C. Top floor."

Elevator C swung with a bank vault. As soon as she got in, a rush went through her. She was in motion. Vertically. Quickly. Her eardrums buzzed with speed.

She set down her bag and attempted to compose herself.

This was it.

As the doors were flung open, cold air rushed in. It was a dark floor, lights low like twilight. Shadows clung to the massive office walls. Glass walls provided a vertiginous glance down over the city. And in the center, behind a block-shaped desk, he sat.

Ryder Blackthorn

He didn't glance up immediately.

There in the doorway,thorax in my throat. She'd been expecting an older man, with a head of grey hair in a starched suit. Not this. Not a thin-faced man in his mid-thirties, with immobleness, like a panther in the shade.

He spoke in the silence. “You’re late.”

She blinked her eyes "I-I'm sorry. The rain and..."

"Excuses don’t interest me," he told her, his gaze finally rising.

They locked eyes.

And something inside of her broke.

Not through fear.

With warmth.

It seemed as though the air got heavier, vibrating between the pair. His dark eyes, there were no other eyes narrowed, as though he could feel it also. She gripped the strap of her worn out bag tightly.

"I looked through your file," he said, getting up.

He towered. Not ordinarily. He was abnormally tall. And he moved silently, quiet, fluid and deadly. He walked towards the desk, passing the distance between them with careful ease. Eliana froze when he stood a foot from her.

"You're beyond my expectations"

So are you, she said in her mind , but remained quiet. "I don’t want someone with A's or Ivy-League lingo," he said to her. "I want someone who listens. Someone who listens well and knows when and when not to speak."

She gestured in affirmation, hoping words could be made.

Ryder's eyes fell briefly to the nearly invisible birthmark at the very end of her throat. Her moon-shaped childhood scar. No one ever really noticed.

He did, though.

He changed his visage, one second only. Surprise? Recognition? It went.

"Come on," he said.

She did.

She escorted him through a brief hallway into a steel and glass room. No chair. Only a small table with a single file on it. He motioned for her to sit. He stayed on his feet.

“Eliana Cole. Age twenty-three. Valedictorian, no less, of your class. Two jobs. No contacts. No fall-back position. Yet.” He turned a page. “You impressed me.”

She swallowed. Her voice softened and fluctuated between firm and gentle. “I work hard.”

He observed her.

In a gulping, drawn-out silence, silence stretched out again. Then Ryder moved forward, into her. Not forcefully. Deliberately. She couldn't avoid his presence as it was authoritative and unsettling.

" Do you believe in fate, Eliana?" He asked, his tone low and curious.

She stared nervously, "I'm not sure if I've ever had a choice in believing."

He smiled. It was not unkind. It was not malicious. It was knowing.

"Welcome aboard."

“Excuse me?"

"You're reporting on Monday. In person. To me."

She opened her mouth. “But...but you have not yet questioned me.”

“All I must know, I have known.”

She got up, shocked. It was a test? Just a joke?

"You should go rest while you can," Ryder said to her, his eyes downcast. "Changes are imminent."

This time the dip in the elevator felt bigger.

And cooler.

Eliana stepped into the rain again as she left the building. The cold biting through her wet clothes. It didn't trouble her now, however. Her chest pounded, dizziness making her head spin.

She filled the position.

But something made her realize that what happened was not simply a successful interview.

It was an initiation.

And when she gazed away from the skyscraper, there swirled in her chest a foreign heat, deep, unshifting. She could not define what it was yet.

All except that Ryder Blackthorn had changed her life. Now, the turning point arrived.