”Janet,” Ms Johnsson said. She looked at Janet and sighed quietly.

Janet pulled on her skirt hem and crossed her legs. There was a muffled crunch.

Ms Johnsson tapped her fingertips together. She closed her eyes letting a less quiet sigh escape her lips.

”Janet,” she repeated, “this is now the third time in as many months. You're a lovely young woman and a good worker... otherwise…,” she swatted the air around her magnificent hair.

Janet let out an audible gulp as her eyes twitched. Mrs Johnsson paused to look at her.

“First it was the haunted coffee machine. Coffee everywhere when you tried reaching for a cup. Coffee disappearing when you thought you poured yourself one. Coffee turning into pebbles and condoms.” She shuddered and closed her eyes again. “Then it was Mr Delivery-wolf attacking the mail room and shredding a week's worth of client correspondence and our advertising material.”

“I'm sorry,” Janet said. Her shoulders dropped in resignation.

“He peed on Ramsay's door. Did you see that?” Mrs Johnsson asked, looking up at Janet again.

“Yes, Mrs. I saw that.”

“Do you know how hard it is to get wolf pee off the carpet?”

“No, Mrs. I can't say I've ever had to.”

Mrs Johnsson turned on her chair in the massive black wood paneled office and stood up. She took a step to look out the window. The day was exceptionally lovely today, she thought and let her eyes wander down the glass to the little bee walking along the window sill.

“Janet, do you know why hired you?” She asked.

“Because of my degree in communication?” Janet suggested.

Mrs Johnsson smiled at her own reflection in the window. The day was really very lovely though she was hardly even noticing the blossoming gardenias outside. She kept staring at the children running around in the field beyond them.

“No, it wasn't your degree, Janet,” she turned to look at the neat young woman sitting in the armchair trying to keep her legs gracefully crossed. “I hired you because you reminded me of myself when I was young: ambitious, not very skilled but resourceful.”

“Uhm… I'm not sure…,” Janet started then suddenly winced.

“What I'm saying is that… we've all been there.” Mrs Jonhnsson turned away from the window and the buzzing sound intensified. “Well, maybe not all all. I don't think Macy from the deli's been there.” The tip of her lip curled into a faint smirk.

She bent to the desk and wrote down something on a piece of paper, then handed it to Janet.

“This is my guy. I've been to them a few times and they have very reasonable prices. You understand that this isn't officially covered by the company.”

Janet unfolded the piece of paper: Stevie Odds – Occult Healing Services.

“Like I said, we've all been there,” Mrs Johnsson said sitting back down. “You like bad boys and you're bound to get petty possessions or even the occasional werewolf stalker. You're young, but I trust you've now learned that you don't give demons your real name? You don't invite them to be your friend on Facebook or give them a real phone number until marriage,” she continued picking up her cup of tea, “and you especially don't have unprotected sex with them, otherwise you get vaginal bees.”

She took a sip.

“Yes, Mrs.” Janet nodded. “I surely have learned this.”

“Good,” Mrs Johnsson smiled setting her cup down. “I'll give you the rest of the day off so you can take care of this little … issue,” she waved her hand.

A group of three bees was wandering around aimlessly on the armchair, leaving wet trails after them.