Possessing Providence
Chapter 1
M.A.R.C. Cosmetics. Creating new faces for the future. A bright and shiny, picture perfect blonde—thin, cover model with gleaming white teeth smiled at her as she passed under the ten foot high sign.
“What a crock.” Providence blew out a breath, using the back of her hand to swipe her pastel pink and blue streaked hair out of her face. Sweat gleamed on her skin. Figures, thirty-eight degree heat and my van’s air conditioning unit is broken.
Typical. She was running around fixing everyone else’s air-conditioning units and didn’t have time to fix her own. She licked her dry lips and tried to ignore the grimy sweat trickling down the centre of her back.
Money was money, even on a stinking hot day. M.A.R.C. Cosmetics offered her a bucket load of it to come and fix their problem ahead of everyone else’s.
Standing in the shade next to his booth, a guard in a white shirt took a long swallow of bottled water as she pulled her van to a stop.
With her window already down, she leaned over. “Hey, I’m Providence Velour, of Velour Electronics.”
The six-foot-two guard eyed her wearily, his gaze lingering on her coloured hair, while he accepted her identification card. “I got an emergency call saying something overloaded. I thought you guys had your own sparky?” Her gaze swept over his bulk and sweat-bathed, white shirt; she noted the black gun belt around his navy blue pants, complete with holster and handgun.
“Yeah, we did.”
She didn’t press for more info, but thought it odd when he didn’t elaborate. “You’re clear to go through. Head around to your right, enter via the blue door.”
“Gotcha.” She gave him a nod.
He handed back her ID card, stepped down onto the road and pushed up the red and white striped, boom gate.
M.A.R.C. Cosmetics was one of the biggest cosmetics companies in Australia. As far as she knew, it produced anti-aging creams and also medical creams for its clients. The company moved into an old army base two years ago. They spent a shit load of money fixing it up and bringing jobs to her home town of Butterfield Creek in the remote, northern part of Victoria, Australia, which had nothing more than miles of sheep paddocks and one obscure, little hill.
The only thing that stood out in the town was her.
She didn’t care if she got stared at, or the elderly residents of her town shook their heads in disapproval. She was forced to grow up tough, with a father always watching for her to slip up, waiting for another chance to show her how inadequate she was, how disappointed he was, that she wasn’t the son he always wanted. After his death, she went to dying her hair wild colours, dressing more and more like a guy, and not caring what anyone said.
She took her foot off the brake and rolled forward. The old, army barracks stood to her left, but she motored around to the newer large, warehouse sheds, painted in gumtree green to blend in with the native bushland. It wasn’t too bad. Then, she spied the long rows of covered exhausts not far off from the main buildings.
Pulling her van to a stop, she peeled sweaty legs off the seat, collected her tools from the van’s side and headed towards the door.
‘Press Bell for Customer Service.’ She glanced up, spying several surveillance cameras, but doubting they were working if the power was out like they claimed.
Prov rang the bell and knocked for good measure, waiting until the door swung in.
Another six-foot man with a white shirt and navy blue pants, complete with weapon, glared down at her.
“You’re the electrician?” It wasn’t hard to miss the dry sneer in the man’s tone and the disapproving look.
Prov glared back, her temper flaring along with her already heated body temperature. She was in no mood for games. “No, I’m the resident clown, so unless you’re going to assist me with my magic tricks, you better lead me to where your electrical problem is, or I’m going home to have a tall glass of ice lemonade.”
The new, armed guard stepped back. His sneer morphed into an amused grin. “This way, rainbow sprite.”
She snorted and stepped into the dim interior. The temperature was only slightly cooler than outside. The only thing in the room was a four-foot-high, red ochre-coloured, reception desk. The guard reached for a clipboard, complete with a white sheet on top.
“I’ll take you down to the main circuit room, but you need to sign this form first.”
She frowned and snatched the board from his hand, glancing over the printed words.
“It’s a privacy contract; anything you see in the labs below cannot be talked about. Or we can sue you. There is some highly secret stuff M.A.R.C. competitors would love to get their hands on.”
Prov rolled her eyes. “I don’t care about your crappy creams. I’m here to fix your electrical problems.”
M.A.R.C. Cosmetics. Creating new faces for the future. A bright and shiny, picture perfect blonde—thin, cover model with gleaming white teeth smiled at her as she passed under the ten foot high sign.
“What a crock.” Providence blew out a breath, using the back of her hand to swipe her pastel pink and blue streaked hair out of her face. Sweat gleamed on her skin. Figures, thirty-eight degree heat and my van’s air conditioning unit is broken.
Typical. She was running around fixing everyone else’s air-conditioning units and didn’t have time to fix her own. She licked her dry lips and tried to ignore the grimy sweat trickling down the centre of her back.
Money was money, even on a stinking hot day. M.A.R.C. Cosmetics offered her a bucket load of it to come and fix their problem ahead of everyone else’s.
Standing in the shade next to his booth, a guard in a white shirt took a long swallow of bottled water as she pulled her van to a stop.
With her window already down, she leaned over. “Hey, I’m Providence Velour, of Velour Electronics.”
The six-foot-two guard eyed her wearily, his gaze lingering on her coloured hair, while he accepted her identification card. “I got an emergency call saying something overloaded. I thought you guys had your own sparky?” Her gaze swept over his bulk and sweat-bathed, white shirt; she noted the black gun belt around his navy blue pants, complete with holster and handgun.
“Yeah, we did.”
She didn’t press for more info, but thought it odd when he didn’t elaborate. “You’re clear to go through. Head around to your right, enter via the blue door.”
“Gotcha.” She gave him a nod.
He handed back her ID card, stepped down onto the road and pushed up the red and white striped, boom gate.
M.A.R.C. Cosmetics was one of the biggest cosmetics companies in Australia. As far as she knew, it produced anti-aging creams and also medical creams for its clients. The company moved into an old army base two years ago. They spent a shit load of money fixing it up and bringing jobs to her home town of Butterfield Creek in the remote, northern part of Victoria, Australia, which had nothing more than miles of sheep paddocks and one obscure, little hill.
The only thing that stood out in the town was her.
She didn’t care if she got stared at, or the elderly residents of her town shook their heads in disapproval. She was forced to grow up tough, with a father always watching for her to slip up, waiting for another chance to show her how inadequate she was, how disappointed he was, that she wasn’t the son he always wanted. After his death, she went to dying her hair wild colours, dressing more and more like a guy, and not caring what anyone said.
She took her foot off the brake and rolled forward. The old, army barracks stood to her left, but she motored around to the newer large, warehouse sheds, painted in gumtree green to blend in with the native bushland. It wasn’t too bad. Then, she spied the long rows of covered exhausts not far off from the main buildings.
Pulling her van to a stop, she peeled sweaty legs off the seat, collected her tools from the van’s side and headed towards the door.
‘Press Bell for Customer Service.’ She glanced up, spying several surveillance cameras, but doubting they were working if the power was out like they claimed.
Prov rang the bell and knocked for good measure, waiting until the door swung in.
Another six-foot man with a white shirt and navy blue pants, complete with weapon, glared down at her.
“You’re the electrician?” It wasn’t hard to miss the dry sneer in the man’s tone and the disapproving look.
Prov glared back, her temper flaring along with her already heated body temperature. She was in no mood for games. “No, I’m the resident clown, so unless you’re going to assist me with my magic tricks, you better lead me to where your electrical problem is, or I’m going home to have a tall glass of ice lemonade.”
The new, armed guard stepped back. His sneer morphed into an amused grin. “This way, rainbow sprite.”
She snorted and stepped into the dim interior. The temperature was only slightly cooler than outside. The only thing in the room was a four-foot-high, red ochre-coloured, reception desk. The guard reached for a clipboard, complete with a white sheet on top.
“I’ll take you down to the main circuit room, but you need to sign this form first.”
She frowned and snatched the board from his hand, glancing over the printed words.
“It’s a privacy contract; anything you see in the labs below cannot be talked about. Or we can sue you. There is some highly secret stuff M.A.R.C. competitors would love to get their hands on.”
Prov rolled her eyes. “I don’t care about your crappy creams. I’m here to fix your electrical problems.”