Shy and nocturnal, Jennifer Crow has never been photographed in the wild, but it's rumored she lives in the woods south of Buffalo with her husband and kids. When she isn't holding up her half of the sky, she hunts for fossils, bakes cookies, and occasionally finds time to write. If you'd like to know more about her work, you can catch up with her through her blog.

Immediate opening: Global force seeks CEO. Must have leadership experience, ruthless ambition & complete lack of morals. Horde of bloodthirsty minions a plus, but not necessary.

The door of Chaledon Greev's study creaked open, and a figure in black glided into the room. Its cloak absorbed the lamplight, leaving a dark shadow in the midst of the golden glow. A hood hid the being's face, and it made no sound as it came to a halt in front of the huge mahogany desk.

Chaledon leaned back, his hands behind his head. "Let's not waste time, shall we? I appreciate your interest in the position, but frankly . . . you're not what we're looking for."

The creature loomed. "I will be the new Dark Lord."

"Very impressive. However, we're trying to get away from the clichés."

"You will not speak to me with such insolence, cur!" A skeletal hand extended from the robes, shreds of decaying skin dotting the egg-sized ruby on its finger. A faint stench of death clung to its robes, and Chaledon considered a quick misting with air freshener. No, that would be impolitic.

The creature continued raving. "Bow before--"

Chaledon pulled on the tassel of a red silk rope that hung behind the desk.

"Yes?" The tinny voice of Millicent, Chaledon's executive assistant, blared out of the wall, drowning the robed being's ranting.

"Could you send for maintenance? I'm about to have another stain on my carpet."

"Should I call security?"

Chaledon glanced at the hooded creature. "You cannot cast me out!" it bleated. "I have the Wand of Power!"

"I have a nozzle on the front of my desk. Your resume mentions a certain weakness. Acid, I believe. Extracted from the eyeless slugs of the Hellpits, wasn't it?"

The dark creature subsided, just as Millicent appeared with a pair of burly guards. "This the one?" barked the taller of the men.

"Just show . . . er, him the door." After they left, Chaledon sat up straight and said to Millicent, "They're always so easy to bluff. Send in the next one, as long as it's not another Spectral Evil clone. Did you hear him? They're all alike."

"Rough day?"

"If I'd realized the forces of Good were going to win a decisive battle right at the end of the fiscal year, I would have put in for a vacation beforehand." He rubbed his face. "I have to come up with a new Lord of Darkness, and he/she/it has to be off and running by the end of the week. Have you seen what's out in the waiting room? I'm doomed. I should have picked Misinformation Systems, not Inhuman Resources."

Millicent opened the study door a crack and peered out. Chaledon took a moment to admire the impeccable blue raw silk suit she wore. He could guess how much it cost, and wondered how she'd paid for it. Then again, he'd heard rumors about her from Michael in Corporate Reporting.

"Huh." She tucked a lock of brown hair behind her ear. "I see one who might work."

"Send him in."

"Her."

"Whatever."

Millicent signaled to someone, then stepped out of the doorway. The door flew open, striking the paneling with a resounding crunch, as a statuesque female strode into the room. She wore a gauzy black dress with orange and red flames appliquéd in strategic locations.

"I heard you're interviewing." She thrust a resume into Millicent's hands.

"He is."

A faint smile quirked the woman's blood-red lips as she turned toward Chaledon. "Even better." Her hips swayed as she stalked across the room. A cloud of scent enveloped her--more pleasant than the last candidate's stench, but so strong it made Chaledon's eyes water. "I'm the one you're looking for."

"You have experience?"

"All kinds." She licked her lips. "I could demonstrate."

"Um. No thanks."

She set her hip on his desk and leaned forward, giving him a good view down her plunging neckline. "I never look as good on paper as I do . . . in the flesh."

Chaledon stuck out his hand. "Thanks for stopping by, Ms.--" he glanced at the resume Millicent passed to him. "Ms. Lucrezia. But I'm afraid--"

She breathed on him, a cloud of flowery scent. He sneezed. "You're not quite what we're looking for. We need subtlety."

"I can do subtle." She pouted, but Chaledon gestured toward the door. "I don't understand." She pulled a compact out of her cleavage and flicked it open, checking her teeth. "It always works."

"I'm afraid Chaledon is immune to wiles of the feminine variety," Millicent put in.

"He's gay?"

"As Oscar Wilde," Chaledon said. "But thanks for stopping by."

Lucrezia flashed her smile at Millicent. "I don't suppose you . . . "

"Nope."

"Damn. It figures." She oozed out of the room much the way she'd come in.

"What were you thinking?"

Millicent smirked. "She needs some bump to go with that grind. You want the next one?"

Before he could reply, the speaker on the wall blared again. "Hello." A smooth tenor voice, somehow undistorted by the speaker, emerged. "Just thought I'd see how the talent search is going."

"Oh, fine, Doug. Fine."

"That's good. Because I was hearing rumors, and--Well, anyway, I told them they hadn't given you a fair chance. You know how important it is that you create value for the company. You can handle it." He paused. "You can handle it, right? Because I need all the numbers Monday, including--"

"You'll get them."

"You sound a little tense. I could send up--"

"No, no, no! That's quite all right. Good afternoon." He ended the conversation with a yank on the silk rope.

"Was that wise?" Millicent asked.

"That was Doug." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Doug from Accounting. Did you hear what he and his people did in the Mergers and Acquisitions department last year? It was a bloodbath."

Millicent backed up until she found a chair, then sat down abruptly. "Oh. That Doug."

"Get me the next candidate. Now."

Ordinarily she would have taken umbrage at his tone, but she leapt to her feet and hurried into the waiting room. After a few minutes of indistinct murmurs and shuffling feet, she reappeared with a young woman in tow.

"This is the last one."

The girl, a dazzling blond dressed in flowing white, strode to the desk and stuck out her hand. "I'm--"

"I know who you are. Ms. Ariane Goldenhair, are you not?"

"Correct." She beamed. "I'd like to be the Ultimate Evil."

"I thought you had a contract with the Other Side."

"I don't feel like I'm living up to my potential. Besides, they're downsizing."

"Ouch."

"So anyway, I've been studying." She smoothed her satiny dress. "You know, Torture, Convoluted Plans, Sexual Perversions, Maniacal Laughter--" Here she unloosed a bellowing guffaw that had Chaledon rubbing his ears.

"Very nice, but I'm not sure--"

"I've got inside information on the enemy. I'm your girl." She placed her resume in the center of his blotter, then straightened it. "I don't expect an answer right away. Just think about it."

She left, Chaledon and Millicent open-mouthed in her wake.

Chaledon coughed and raised his eyebrow. "You think--"

Millicent shook her head. "It's impossible to take her seriously."

"You can't blame her, really. She's tired of being the ingenue. After her father forced her to marry that cad as a plot device . . . well, you know how it is. And no one wants to stay on the same career path for a lifetime any more--these days, flexibility and mobility are the rule."

"Really?" Millicent eyed Chaledon's desk with rather more interest than he liked.

"Yes, well, anyway. Ariane's nothing. The last time the Dark Lord bought the farm, we had three Little People, five spear-wielding bit players from the Last Battle and an elf with an overbite who felt he'd never gotten the respect he deserved, all clamoring to be the new Big Bad."

She shuddered. "Not hard to see why your predecessor decided to go with a classic instead."

"And look how well that worked. No, it's time for a change. That's why I'm here, and Bob's haunting a sewer under the Forbidden City."

"Hmm." She opened the door and eyed the empty chairs in the waiting room. "We could do another open call."

"Are you mad?"

"Well, you have to do something. He Who Shall Not Be Named needs his numbers."

"Don't remind me."

"Wait a minute." Millicent planted her hands on his desk. "Who's the scariest person you know?"

"My mother."

"I mean here at the company."

Chaledon frowned. Then his face lit up with a huge smile. "You're brilliant. Freaking brilliant!"

"True."

Chaledon pulled on the silk rope. "Get me Accounting."

Doug's mellifluous voice answered. "Do you have good news for me?"

"That depends. What are your thoughts on career mobility?"

"Talk to me."

The band of adventurers, bloodied and battered in frequent skirmishes, stepped through the portal and eyed their destination.

"That's it?" An elf wearing highly polished armor shook his head. "I can't believe that the greatest hero in the universe lives here."

"Well, he's not the greatest hero yet. We have to convince him to join us." A mage with tatty white robes spoke up.

"Maybe it's a prison. Maybe we'll have to break him out." The barbarian fingered the empty loop on his belt where his battle ax normally hung. "We shouldn't have left our weapons behind, Saganak."

"You know the spell doesn't work that way, Borto," the wizard protested. "Selevan, explain it to him."

The elf shrugged. "He may be right this time."

They stared down the hill a moment longer. The building, vast as a castle and square as a box, stood on a plain surrounded by brightly colored carriages that growled and moved without horses.

The heroes picked their way through, dodging vehicles and staring at the strange inhabitants of the place. These stared right back, but didn't show any signs of trying to stop the band. "None of them bear arms," said Selevan.

The barbarian scowled at the horseless carriages. "You hope," he said, as he followed his companions across the plain.

"Here we are." Saganak examined the strange sigil on the door. "I wonder what it means?"

Borto, not given over-much to pondering, pushed on the clear glass and the door swung open.

"It could be a trap." Selevan stepped through warily.

A crowd gathered in the entry, but the adventurers pushed through.

"Can I help you?" one woman asked.

"We need to find--" Saganak consulted his parchment. "Kay-vin Hug-hiss."

The woman paged through the tome on her desk. "Oh, you mean Kevin Hughes?"

"Probably."

She smiled doubtfully. "You have an audit?"

"Yes," Selevan answered, because she seemed to expect him to say so.

"Let me call him. I'll have security escort you up to his office."

Finally they trooped to a small box that whizzed them to the top of the building. The barbarian, still a bit hung over from the previous night's carousing, left a bit of vomit behind him.

The guards knocked on a door at the end of the hall, and motioned the three adventurers in. "Your one o'clock's here, Mr. Hughes."

"Interesting." Hughes stared at them over a pair of half-spectacles. "You're in costume."

"Our apologies for the abrupt arrival." The elf bowed. "I am Selevan of Brightleaf, at your service."

Hughes smiled, a dangerous smile. "I am Kevin Hughes, of the Internal Revenue Service. Let's get down to business, shall we?"

"Excellent." The elf bowed again. "We are here on a quest, traveling between planes. Our world is in danger--in fact, the fate of the whole universe may hang in the balance. Our seers have said that you are the only man who can help us defeat the Dark Lord."

Hughes slammed a heavy tome on his desk. "The tax code. Episode one. Did someone in Collections send you as a joke? Because if not, I suggest you show me your receipts."

Saganak glanced at his crestfallen companions. "We're doomed," he whispered.