The Wicked Interview by Raegyn Oliver

The Wicked Interview by Raegyn Oliver

Inside the Pumpkin Patch’s lobby, it looked like the remains of an after-party. Rubble littered the carpets, confetti-like, and the air reeked of burning incense. Chandeliers hung askew from the rocky ceiling. All around, skeletons swept, mopped, and tried to right the chandeliers in the dim light.

Oh, Mother of Dragons…Mercy stared down at her hands, twisting and knotting them as if doing so would calm her bundles of nerves or make the clock spin faster. As of now, the clock sat idly by in the corner of the waiting area. She looked to the reception desk for the nth time, checking to see if the clerk had finally waved her over.

With a trembling hand, Mercy pulled a note, the note, from her skirt pocket. This morning, it had read, Bard wanted! Come to Grimm’s Peak at midnight tonight. Commission to be determined, but ever since she had set foot in the castle, the script had repeated one thing:

 Ask for Jackal.

Now, as Mercy’s eyes scanned the white script once more, the ink grew tendrils and speckled red:

ASK FOR JACKAL. ASK FOR JACKAL. ASK FOR JACKAL.

It seemed Mercy wasn’t the only one ready to kick things into gear.

She lifted her gaze at the sound of yelling.

Three seats over, a man in a pinstripe suit paced back and forth, veins popping out his forehead. “This is ridiculous! I’ve been waiting over two hours!” He stomped over to the reception desk and knocked over the clerk’s crystal ball. “Can she see me or not?”

The receptionist carefully righted her ball and gestured to a blue door next to the desk. She grinned. “Be my guest.”

The man muttered and strolled to the door, opening it and stepping inside. It wasn’t a full ten seconds before the door burst open, and the man ran out, arms flailing. His fingers were reaching the lobby doors when his limbs hardened into black diamond.

His mouth froze into a silent scream. Mercy covered her ears, trying to block out the scream that wasn’t there. She jumped out of the seat, shifting her weight onto her cane. Once again, she considered high-tailing it back to the D&D Cottage she was staying at.

Who was she kidding? Mercy could barely walk without pain blossoming through her body, yet here she was—bewitched by the lure of a job in the middle of nowhere. Thinking she could work for someone who apparently had a bad habit of murdering clients. Mercy had asked around about this Jackal, but no one had anything to say about her. It was like she didn’t exist…or didn’t want anyone to know she existed.

Remember, baby, everyone leaves footprints. That was Ma’s voice. If you don’t see any, they’re hiding something.

Last thing you need is surprises, and that’s exactly what this is. And that was Pop’s. A big fat exclamation point, telling you to get the hell outta here.

Mercy rushed toward the lobby door, her cane clacking against the tiled floor. She grasped the handle but couldn’t bring herself to open it.

What would leaving solve? She only had one more night in that wretched room before her rent was raised. Coin she didn’t have. It was too late to change course now. She had been to every hero agency, eatery, and brothel in Ever After. No one was looking for a bard…or at least a novice like her.

Mercy limped back to the waiting area, her adrenaline rush long faded. It had blinded her to the fact that she’d been sitting for hours. Now, her body was rejecting her fast pace. On her way, the note slipped out of her pocket. As Mercy bent down to pick it up, leaning against her cane, she bumped her head against the statue of the pinstriped man.

“Don’t get any bright ideas,” said the receptionist without looking up. “I told his ungrateful ass to wait his turn, but no. He just had to have his way. It’s okay, though. He’ll serve as a nice coat rack for us employees.”

Mercy shrank back into the cushions of the chair. She looked at the engagement ring she kept on a chain around her neck.

What’s done is done. She balled a fist. Her fiancé had thrown her out of their flat. Nothing could change what happened. Now, she was here with no man, no coin, and no prospects.

She thought of him. Sir Richard the Brave. That’s what she used to call him, what everyone would call him soon enough. But now, after everything, he would be Sir Ricky the Bastard to her. She giggled.

She vigorously shook her head and whispered a prayer to the Godmother. She had done enough already. Before she fled, Mercy had torched Ricky’s new convertible carriage. As the flames licked his wheels, a delicious satisfaction warmed her belly. She pictured him then: chestnut skin flaring red, his mouth twisting into a hard line. When his brown eyes turned glassy, she’d cackle, thinking over and over how much he deserved this. But then her guilt came flooding in, chasing away that fantasy. She doused the wheels in water and left him some coin for the damages.

She could still hear his voice when she closed her eyes—Silly little Junebug.

She dug her nails into the chair’s cushions.

There was no turning back. It was either get this job or return to the Bayou. And that wasn’t an option. Ma could never know about the pictures, or else she’d force Mercy to move back in with her, Pop, and her six brothers. Yeah, you heard right. Six.

Silly, Junebug. You’re nothing without me.

She rubbed her ring’s ruby. Ricky’s voice started to sound like her own.

She rocked herself back and forth. They had been together for two years. In finishing school, she was ranked among the top 10% of her class. She had dreamed of becoming a renowned bard like the Pied Piper, but then came Ricky. With his kisses and suave promises, he built a wall so high she couldn’t see. His dreams became hers until he became her sun. On her tiptoes, she couldn’t reach his ego.

Oh, Junebug. You’re so lucky I love you.

Who would read a story like that?

Adventures are for heroes, Junebug. Not you. But, hey, I’m just trying to protect you.

You’re just too fragile. Don’t push yourself. You’ve already broken three bones this week.

Where would you be without me?

Each was a cut like a knife. She never realized how his words gradually took a new chunk of her, piece by piece, until…she was rendered as she was now—a shell. But she couldn’t hate him. No. She blamed herself. 

Remember, Junebug. Sluts don’t get happy endings.

She could curse Ricky all she wanted. But, in the end, he wasn’t the one who cheated.

Brown eyes glanced toward the reception desk.

Who was she kidding? Ricky was right. He had all the splendor and charisma. Stories always came easy when she had her muse. Without him, Mercy was worthless. Nothing. She could never compare to Ricky. Everything he touched turned to gold. He graduated from the academy early, the youngest knight ever appointed. He was the only reason why she was recognized as a bard at all in the village. Creating his fanbase and lore was easy since everyone was already in love with him.

But he wasn’t here, and Mercy needed a bed to sleep in tomorrow. So, she gripped her cane and pushed herself up. Her hip had started acting up again, a dull pain spreading down her side. Dragging her right leg forward, she shuffled to the receptionist’s desk in the middle of the cavern. She tried her best not to gawk at the receptionist, who had a jack-o’-lantern for a head. Instead, Mercy honed in on the receptionist’s animated tattoos as the receptionist spoke to the crystal ball on the counter.

“I can feel your anger,” she said to the ball. “It orients you. Pushes you.”

Mercy tugged at her ring.

That was when the receptionist finally raised her eye openings and noticed Mercy.

“Oh, Daddy, I’ll have to call you back.” She snapped her fingers, and the crystal ball dimmed.

Mercy watched the tattoo on the clerk’s collarbone like a reel. A prince turned into a cat on her skin and chased a fat mouse down her sternum.

Annoyed, the receptionist cleared her throat. “Can I help you?”

Mercy gulped as she felt the receptionist drink in her cane and small frame. “Why, yes! I was here earlier. You said Jackal would be ready to see me, and well, that was three hours ago…Is there any way she could see me now?”

“The boss isn’t to be disturbed now. It’s her self-care hour. Come back tomorrow.”

“But I was told to be here tonight.” Mercy’s voice wavered. “She’s expecting me.”

Eye holes flared red. “Did I stutter? The boss isn’t seeing anyone anymore. Go home, dwarf.”

Mercy sighed and turned away from the desk. She was about to leave when she felt a harsh tug on her curls. She turned this way and that but didn’t see anything. Another yank stopped her in her tracks. Mercy spun around, noticing a black paper floating in the air. The note. When she didn’t move, the note grabbed a chunk of her ‘fro and dragged her back to the desk.

“Ow!” Mercy swatted the note away.

It flew onto the desk, right under the clerk’s nose. The letters unraveled on the page, molding into a grin.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” said the receptionist. “Follow me. Don’t come crying to me when you end up like your hard-ass friend there.” She grabbed her clipboard and stared at the note. “And you! What have I told you about picking up strays?”

“I’m sorry?”

The receptionist yanked the note from the desk. “Wasn’t talking to you.”

Blessing her ring, Mercy hurried after the receptionist.

They walked past the blue door into a narrow passageway with a spindly staircase. When Mercy noticed the lack of railings, she gulped and whispered a prayer. It’s alright. Take your time. No wasted movements. May the Godmother help me reach the top without falling on my face and the receptionist scraping my body off the tile. A clawed hand yanked her back as she raised her cane to climb the stairs.

“Yeah, no. That’s the quickest way to get hexed,” said the receptionist. She threw her pencil toward the staircase. As soon as it touched a step, the pencil melted.

The receptionist summoned a magic carpet for them to ride. The tile echoed Mercy’s timid steps, each sound sharper than the last. When her fingers finally brushed the carpet’s fur, it frayed its edges and scooped her up before she could scream. Flying, the carpet tickled Mercy’s ankles in a reluctant apology. As the air kissed her cheeks, she couldn’t help but remember the night she got the ring. Ricky had rented a magic carpet just like this. “May it bring you good fortune,” he said as he slid it onto her finger. “It’s the best you’ll ever have, Junebug.”

The receptionist tapped her when the carpet landed outside a green door.

Screams could be heard behind it.

Mercy clung to her ring.

The receptionist knocked.

The screams hushed.

“Entrée,” called a voice.

The doors opened wide, and in they went.

A great skeletal mouth protruded from one wall, made entirely of black diamond. In its center sat Jackal atop her desk. She was draped in a crimson suit with a long train. When she walked over, Mercy was reminded of a crocodile slithering its tongue.

And into the belly of the beast, I go.

Jackal hurled three daggers at the receptionist. “Cressida. What did I tell you about interruptions?”

Cressida deflected each dagger with her clipboard. “That you hate inter—”

“That I hate interruptions!”

As Mercy looked around the office, she noticed two soldiers dangling from the ceiling stalactites. One was out cold. The other cried. When Cressida caught Mercy staring, she whispered, “The last two interruptions.”

Jackal crept closer. “You know how I get when I don’t have my ‘me time.’ So, someone better be dead, dying, or under a sleeping curse.”

“Apologies, Miss,” said Cressida. “But it was urgent. I figured you’d want to hear this. One of your contraptions brought you a new pet.”

She handed Jackal the note.

“You have the floor.”

Cressida pinched Mercy, earning a yelp. “A girl’s here. Said it brought her here to meet you.”

“How amusing.”

But Mercy wasn’t listening. She was too busy stomaching everything. Jackal’s pure black skin. Her crown of white dreads. And her eyes…Gods, her eyes. They were sewn shut.

Jackal hummed. “You’re staring.” She dismissed Cressida and motioned for Mercy to sit. “You must know I didn’t summon you. I gave the note a soul, so it pretty much does whatever it wants.” She turned toward the note. “Despite my many warnings.”

The note trembled and quickly hid itself in one of the desk’s drawers.

“Um, yes. I gathered that,” said Mercy.

“What did it promise you?”

Mercy fiddled with her ring. “It said you were in the market for a bard.”

“A bard?” Jackal shook her head. “Why would I need something as useless as a bard? My skeletons do most of the heavy lifting, and then there’s Cressida. What are even your qualifications?”

You’re nothing without me. Ricky’s voice was back. Admit it, Junebug.

Mercy clutched the ring. “Well, I’m fresh from finishing school, so I haven’t been a bard for that long, but no one tells a story like I do.”

Jackal flung a dagger toward her captives. “So, you have no references? Alright. Tell me, why does a sweet thing like you want to work here?”

“Your headquarters and staff are so…welcoming. Almost like family, and I think I could learn so much from you—”

“Flattery will get you nowhere. Best to be honest.” Jackal turned towards Mercy. “Let’s start with that thing you keep picking at. What is it?”

Mercy froze.

Jackal raised her hand. A purple light emanated from her palm.

Mercy’s necklace snapped. The ring flew into Jackal’s grasp.

She felt it over. “Ooh, a ring. From someone special?”

Mercy’s fingers itched for it. “Something like that.”

“Why are you really here?” Jackal sighed. “We are a villain corporation. We create and sell curses. We kidnap princesses and lock them in towers. Why do you want to work here?”

“I…I have nowhere else to go. If I don’t get this job, I’ll have to return home a failure.”

“But there’s more, isn’t there?” Jackal smiled. “You’ve earned yourself two minutes. Sing me something.”

Worthless.

“I…I can’t sing.”

“What do you mean you can’t sing? You’re a bard, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Just not your average bard—”

“What can you offer my court?” Jackal tossed the ring into the air and caught it.

See, Junebug? You’re nothing without me.

Words died on Mercy’s tongue.

“I’d like to think my little note brought you here for a reason.” Jackal slid over a bottle of mead. “I’d hate to be mistaken and have to turn you into stone for wasting my time.” She took a swig. “Tell me a story. You can do that, can’t you?”

Shaking, Mercy rose from the chair. “Once, there was a girl—”

“No, no,” said Jackal. “I don’t want to hear about some hero drunk on bravado. I want to hear about what brought you here.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“But there is. You’re running from something, and I want to know what it is.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Horseshit! What aren’t you saying?”

Mercy dug her nails into her palms.

Jackal sighed and held up the ring. “Fine. Tell me about this, then. Who gave it to you?”

When Mercy didn’t answer, Jackal scoffed. “Unless you’re ready to talk, the door’s that way.” A blue fire burst in her palm.

But Mercy didn’t move an inch.

To her horror, Jackal dangled her ring over the flame.

“What are you doing? Hand it back!” Mercy lunged for the ring.

But Jackal was faster. With a flex of her pinky, Mercy was glued to the floor.

“Who gave you the ring?”

A tear fell down Mercy’s lash. “My fiancé, okay! It’s all I have left!”

Jackal pouted. “He’s not dead, is he?”

“You don’t understand! That ring was our future! My future!” Laughing, Mercy yanked at her curls. “No guy had ever paid attention to me like that! Ricky looked at me like I was a princess! He’d be the next Prince Charming, signing autographs and rescuing damsels. He said we’d be perfect, that my place was by his side. We’d travel together. We were set to be wed this Spring—”

Jackal dangled the ring over the blue flames.

Mercy eyed the gleam of her ruby.

Sluts don’t get happy endings.

“We wanted different things,” said Mercy. “He found someone else—”

“If you’re going to lie, lie better.” Jackal inched the ring even closer to the fire.

“Okay, okay!” Mercy balled a fist. “He didn’t do it for me, okay! In the bedroom, he never did it for me! I tried to spice it up! I tried ointments, toys, oils, everything, but he just kept bitching. For once, I wanted to feel valued. So, one night—drunk—I talk to this stranger at the bar, and he listens to me. It felt like he saw me. One thing led to another, and…Ricky caught us in bed together…” Mercy looked around the office, honing on the two captives. “Next thing I know, I see my body—” She sniffled, turning away from Jackal. “On every mirror, poster, and crystal ball in town. Then, Ricky’s smug face…I fled.”

Jackal cackled as she put out the fire and waved her hand in the air. Her laugh seemed to echo throughout the chamber.

Mercy crashed onto the floor, pain ebbing in her elbows and joints. She was free.

She balled her fists, nails blooming bloody crescents.

She meant to leave. She meant to clutch the last thread of dignity she had left. But instead, she dusted off her skirt and squared her shoulders. Brown eyes glared daggers at the crude stitches over Jackal’s lids. She was sick of Ricky! Sick of Jackal running all over her! It was high time Mercy drew blood for herself, and she wasn’t leaving until this trick got checked.

“Now, let me tell you something, Your Wickedness,” she shouted. “There’s more to bards than singing. We’re storytellers! We’re the reason fairytales exist! It’s about branding and social engagement! Something you know nothing about! We all know the Evil Queen, but there are no stories about you!” She laughed. “In fact, I’d never heard of you before today! And after everything you’ve done, you need me! After all, what’s a villain without a fairytale?”

Jackal stilled.

“What’s that?” Mercy asked. “Gator got your tongue?”

The lights flickered.

Jackal slammed the bottle onto the desk. Mead dripped onto the cobblestones.

The soldiers whimpered.

Jackal crept toward Mercy.

Blast it! I took it too far! She took several steps back.

Jackal crept closer, trapping Mercy against a shelf. She leaned in. “What do I call you?”

“Mercy.”

“Mercy,” Jackal said it like a prayer. Her lips pulled into a smile, a genuine smile. She turned toward the door. “Cressida! Come meet our newest recruit!”

For the first time, Mercy didn’t hear the sound of Ricky’s voice. Her chest rose as she drew in a steady breath. With her cane, she squared her shoulders and rose to her full height. As the weight from the past few weeks started to lift, she looked at the white stitches covering Jackal’s lids, flashing a smile of her own.

* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright Raegyn Oliver 2025