Soul Fire (Darkling Mage 8)

Or, barring that, an impressionable young man’s pliant, vulnerable heart. Asher seemed to be a little bit more interested in what Katherine had to say than our actual surroundings. Mason contained himself a little better, poking his nose curiously into displays of company uniforms over the years, gratefully accepting samples of unreleased menu items as they were offered to us.

Like an actual artisanal hotdog, never found at any of the Happy Dog stands because it was far too rich and sassy to sell, with its ridiculous brushings of authentic truffle oil, and tiny shavings of edible gold foil sprinkled over the mustard. Who knew you could even eat gold?

“This is delicious,” Herald said, biting off fully a third of the bourgeoisie dog he’d been handed. “I – it’s so delicious,” he continued over a mouthful of hotdog, eyes shut, his throat emanating a weird kind of noise that I’d only ever heard him make in the bedroom.

“Okay,” I said, speaking through a forced grin. “Keep it down, now.”

“You’re only saying that because you haven’t tried yours. Eat it.”

I took a bite, and yeah, Herald was absolutely right. A constellation of flavors exploded across my tongue, new universes birthed out of bread and meat and condiments. I saw stars, galaxies. It was like magic. What the fuck did Happy, Inc. put in their damn food?

“This is too good,” I murmured.

“We’re so glad you think so,” Katherine said, her smile dazzling the room – and Asher – as she continued to guide us through HQ. “And you haven’t even tried the recipes we’re testing for the opening of Happy Ramen.” She brought a finger to her lips and winked. “Shh, that’s a secret. Good thing we made you sign those nondisclosure agreements before the tour. No telling, or else we’d have to kill you.”

Katherine giggled. We laughed, too, but not quite as enthusiastically. The way she said it almost made it sound like Happy, Inc. did have the right to kill us if we talked. Man, I really should read things before I sign them.

“Sure, our presence is strongest in California,” Katherine said, her waves of blond hair tumbling behind her as she led the way. “And especially in Valero. But we’ve got branches all over the country, to make sure that our excellent products can reach as many Americans as possible. To feed them and make them happy.”

None of us remarked on the fact that a continuous diet of everything the Happy corporation offered couldn’t be very good for you, but hey, that wouldn’t have been polite. And I’m as self-aware as anybody. Man can’t live on burgers and hotdogs and boba tea alone, no matter how delicious.

“But the real goal,” Katherine said, as she brought us into a somewhat darker room, “is expansion. We here at Happy, Inc. believe so strongly in our product line that we know with one hundre

d percent confidence how well we can do almost anywhere.”

I looked around myself warily. Even Herald had stopped chowing down, inspecting the relative darkness. Weird, I thought, that I couldn’t make anything out. Then Katherine clapped her hands, and I understood.

The sensors activated and the lights all around the room came on. The room itself – walls, ceiling, corners – was rounded, like the inside of a snow globe, a dome. It was entirely bare except for the pinpricks of light arranged all around us, each one representing the location of a Happy, Inc. chain. We were standing smack in the center of a very large map of the world.

A projector high up in the ceiling flickered as it showed the inside of a wireframe globe. Little green lights pulsed all across America, marking locations all the way from the East to the West Coast, though most thickly clumped, as Katherine explained, in California. The rest of the world was studded in tiny red dots. Future locations, I guessed, but why red? Way too ominous. They looked like targets for some kind of missile strike.

Katherine spread her arms, gesturing at the rotating continents and nations around us. “The main objective, gentlemen,” she said, in her cheeriest voice, “is world domination.” She grinned, her teeth glinting red as stray beams from the projector scattered across her lips.

Asher made a soft, awed “Wow.” Mason looked on with his arms folded, trying not to seem so impressed. Herald’s glasses reflected the glimmers of red, making him look more than a little demonic himself. I chuckled nervously.

Katherine clapped her hands again. That deactivated the projector, and the map disappeared. Lights powered on from various corners of the room, and I could almost forget about the weird dread sitting in the pit of my stomach when the cheery reds and yellows of Happy HQ came back with the brighter lights. Katherine flashed her perfect teeth at us again, her hair cascading as she stepped briskly towards the exit.

“Let’s continue, shall we?”

The next place was a long hallway, its walls filled with screens playing videos of Happy’s various brands over the years, mostly TV commercials. I recognized some of the newer ones, which had always triggered a positive response in me, specifically from my salivary glands, but things were starting to feel a little, I don’t know. Sketchy.

“Hey,” I whispered to Herald, nudging him in the ribs. “Is it just me or does this all feel a little cult-y to you?”

Herald sucked on his jumbo tumbler of milk tea, which, as Katherine had explained, was made from the finest jasmine tea.

“A little,” he hissed back. “But I thought you were a believer. You bought into the cult of Happy, like, ages ago. Hell, even Banjo’s a convert now.”

That was true. Puppy Yum biscuits were not just my go-to first choice for ritualistic incantations, but the best treat we kept stocked at the Boneyard for Banjo the corgi, also fondly known to Carver as Daddy’s Little Murderer.

“It’s just corporate culture,” Herald said. “That’s how this stuff is. You work at the same place long enough, they get your hooks into you, and you become the perfect machine.” He nodded at Katherine, who had her backed turned to us, but kept babbling on about Happy, Inc.’s greatness. “Don’t worry too much about it.”

So I didn’t, because we were supposed to be in my happy place. Not really an exaggeration, mind you, because what awaited at the end of the video tunnel was basically an indoor damned amusement park.

You know how some of the world’s hugest companies have crazy office spaces with arcade machines, or slides and fireman’s poles that let you travel between levels, and maybe half a dozen foosball tables? Yeah. Welcome to Happy, Inc.

Chapter 5

“Go nuts,” Katherine said, spreading her arms again. No hesitation: Mason and Asher fanned out and went exploring.