It was December 31st and Mackie was busy. Customers lined up outside the door, while her assistant -- the very buff Pierre -- took down the basics from each person. Mackie was on her third whiskey. It was going down smooth, but then all of the interplanetary distilleries were top notch.

Brunela squeezed her way into the office and chose to stand rather than sit in the narrow office chair. She hung her head, plopping her Coach handbag in the seat instead.

"It's not the end of the world," Mackie said.

"But I tried to lose weight. I really did," she sniffled. "The end of the year just snuck up on me."

"It happens. But that's why I'm here. You still have a good. . ." Mackie looked at the clock. ". . . fifteen hours to make your resolution come true."

Brunela smiled, handing over a large check.

Mackie's gold capped fangs gleamed as she grinned and accepted it with dignity.

No one paid any attention to the skeleton with the designer handbag dangling off its ulna - or was it the radius? Anyway, the skeleton left the shop and more people surged in.
"Next," Mackie said, rubbing her temple in pain.

"I need to finish my novel," a wiry, young man said.

"Reading or writing?"

He looked confused. "Writing."

"That will be $100.00. Please use the portal potty behind the shop. You can take all the time you wish. Time doesn't flow inside. Of course, it's always a bit crowded in there, even for an extra dimensional space, but we make do."

The man forked over a C-note and gestured with his lap top. "Is there wireless connection there?"

Mackie frowned. "Yes, but you'll never get your novel finished that way. And some of the mailer daemons eat flesh." She nodded encouragingly at him and he left her office. Letting out a deep breath, she pushed the intercom buzzer and went to pour herself another drink

Pierre's voice came over the speaker. "Yeah?"

"I don't need to see all the people who need more time. Send them out back and collect the fee. I'm beginning to feel a bit drained." Mackie took a hard swallow of the Venusian Blue Whiskey.

"OK that should clear up some backlog."

The next customer reeked of cigarette smoke.

"Let me guess," Mackie said. "You wanted to quit the habit."

"I didn't really want to, but my kids are harassing me."

"Hmmm," she said, tapping her chin. "Pierre can make you a vampire. That would cure your addiction to cigarettes."

"Chick magnet city!" He rubbed his hands together. "Wait. Will I be a fruity one that glistens or will I look like a demented leprechaun?"

Mackie blinked. "Think Gary Oldman."

"Sa-weet!"

"It's rather expensive and there are some additional complications, but Pierre will handle all the details on that."

He left the room and Mackie started spritzing her pheromone spray to clear the air.

Pierre popped his head in. "Thanks a hell of a lot. I'll never be able to get that ashtray taste out of my mouth."

"Do me a favor and round up all the addicts and do them all in a bunch."

He rolled his eyes. "That definitely will cut down on the crowd. What are you going to do aside from nurse your headache and slack off?"

"I will take anyone else," she settled down on the couch and kicked off her shoes.

Pierre walked in and locked the door behind him.

"You have things to do. We don't have time for this," she scoffed and went to shoo him away, but he grabbed her wrist, and hauled her to her feet.

"You didn't ask me what my New Year's Resolution was," he hissed and tightened his grip.

Mackie refused to flinch from the pain, even though she knew there would be bruises later. "I don't really care."

"You should. You make them all come true."

"At a price," Mackie glared at him. "So, I'll bite," she snapped at the hand holding her and he let go. "What's your resolution?"

"I want to be the boss. That's why I poisoned your booze," He smiled, obviously proud of himself.

This would explain why she was so light headed. "You insipid fool," Mackie said. "You don't have the power to do what I do." She would have thought he knew that poison wouldn't kill her, either. It did, however, make her cranky.

"What power? You have that device that stops time. And for everything else, you have me. You don't actually do anything."

Mackie punched him in the gut and kicked him to the floor. She put one foot on his throat to hold him down. He flailed a bit but couldn't shake her off.

"Your actual resolution was to find a better job, one with ultimate power and slaves to order around," she intoned, looking deep into his eyes.

"So?" Pierre coughed.

"So be it," Mackie said and concentrated. Thunder cracked and the earth moved a bit. The transgender was always major mojo. But in less time than it took for the minute hand to hit twelve again it was done.

The bee buzzed around her office and Mackie staggered over to the window and undid the latch. "Out you go, your majesty." And the queen bee, the no longer buff Pierre, buzzed outside. Unfortunately, it was around twenty degrees out there. Mackie closed the window. "Not my problem."

"Next!" She yelled and started to pour the whiskey down the drain. Damned shame. The whiskey, not her assistant.

"Yes, I was wondering. You see . . ."

"Spit it out," Mackie snarled and turned to face a handsome, young man in a business suit.

"I wanted a better job for the new year."

"There's a lot of that going around," Mackie said sourly, but eyed the kid anyway.

"With more money," he said, raising his chin.

"How do you feel about becoming a vampire?"

"I'm pre-law."

"Perfect," Mackie grinned. "You're hired."