“He can’t have a table set aside for me,” she said. “He doesn’t even know I’m coming.”
“He’s reserved it every day since he opened the place. I think it’s reserved for you.”
“Not Emma?”
“Emma, Shemma. Don’t you realize she’s like a cosmic McGuffin?”
“A what?”
“Don’t know your Hitchcock, do you?”
Nora frowned. She had seen all of Hitchcock’s movies. “I don’t remember any McGuffin in Hitchcock’s films.”
She braced herself, expecting Sancho to pull out some other Hitchcock, some famous writer or well-known politician. Instead he snorted and said, “See what I mean?” which of course, she didn’t. When she didn’t respond, he said, “He’s going to want to see you. I assume you’re here to see him.”
She swallowed. Now that she was so close, she was chickening out. “I can just as easily talk to you. It’s about Ealhswith.”
“I never talk about Ealhswith.”
Nora felt silly looking down at him. She crouched.
Sancho slapped her arm. “Don’t do that. You’ll make me look five years old.”
“I’m used to looking people in the eye.”
“Well, I’m not. You’re making me nervous.”
“You’re making me nervous.”
“I’m older than you. Respect your elders, for God’s sake, and stand up.”
She did. Then she crouched again. She wanted to see his expression when she asked him the next question: “You’re not still working for Ealhswith, are you?”
Color filled his face, and it didn’t look like the color of someone who was embarrassed or caught red-handed. It looked like a flush of anger.
“Je-Zus,” he said. “Just stand. Stand up. Stand.”
She did.
He shook his head, then jumped once, as if he were a kid trying to kill a giant ant. The people in line were staring at them.
“Aethelstan told you this, didn’t he? That I worked for her. I never did. I never did. I was an apprentice for a summer. One summer. I thought she could teach me alchemy. No one can teach anyone alchemy, but that’s a whole different story, and one that goes on for about six hundred years. Her first scam, I call it, and I fell for it, until Aethelstan explained the properties of gold to me. He wasn’t right either, not then. I mean we knew nothing about science, but he was closer than she was, and besides, he made more sense, and I hate it when he tells people that I used to work for her.”
“Don’t apprentices generally work for the people they’re apprenticed to?”
“That’s not the point!” he shouted.
“What is the point?”
“I quit.”
“All right,” she said. “I had to ask. And I do need to talk to you.”
“Aethelstan’ll kill me if I talk to you and don’t let him talk to you.”
“You’re lying again aren’t you?” she said. “There’s no table.”
“There is a table, he will be mad, and I’m not lying,” he said. “I have never lied to you. Ingrate.”
He said that last under his breath, but she caught it anyway. She let him lead her around the side of the building to the kitchen door.
Nora had been in dozens of restaurant kitchens over the years—she had put herself through school as a waitress—but never had she been in one like this. The kitchen was large with several steel tables scattered throughout it. There were several ovens, even more grills, large refrigerators in each area from salad prep to baking, and a freezer large enough to live in. A dozen people were working, all dressed in white and most of whom were men. The work areas were spotless. Even the dishwasher’s space, usually the sloppiest in any restaurant kitchen, was clean. If it weren’t for the heavenly smells coming off the stove tops and the marvelous meals, served on simple white plates, that were passing from chef to waiter, Nora would have thought the kitchen was a movie set that had never been used.
Sancho led her through the kitchen, around most of the tables, and into a back area of the dining room. Here the conversation was loud and laughter-filled, and the Portland summer sunlight filtered through dozens of windows. The decor was more modern than she would have expected, with cast-iron wire sculptures on the wall and a lot of neon.
Sancho started up a flight of very wide, very shallow stairs, and then looked back at her. “Come on,” he said.
She was gazing at the full dining room, the patrons waiting at the maître d’s post, thinking that she didn’t know Portland could support a place like this, at least not at lunch. “I thought you said I had a table.”
“You do.”
“In the restaurant?”
“In the good section,” he said. “Now come on.”
He took the stairs quicker than she would have thought possible, and she had to hurry to keep up with him. The stairs wound around a column, decorated with some artist’s idea of graffiti, as well as the signatures of famous patrons.
At the top of the stairs was a balcony that was partially glassed-in so that it could be used in the winter. Right now, though, all the windows were open, and out on the terrace were dozens of cast-iron tables with umbrellas, and all of them had a stunning view of the city.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Blackstone asked in her ear. He was behind her. She hadn’t heard him come up—it was hard to amid the clatter of plates, the murmur of conversation, and the low jazz that filtered through it all—but she could smell him, that touch of leather and something exotic. He had to be very close, because she could also feel his warmth against her right shoulder, even though their bodies weren’t touching.
“The restaurant?” she asked without turning around. “Or the view?”
He laughed, and the sound sent a tingle through her. “Contrary as always.” Then he did put a hand on her back, and the tingle grew worse. Coming to see him had been a mistake. She had suspected it on the street, but now she knew it.
“Mr. Blackstone,” she said, turning, and catching herself against him. He didn’t move back, as any other person might do.
“Alex,” he said.
“I thought your name was Aethelstan.”
“It’s not a name that trips easily off the tongue.” He was looking down at her. She thought she had remembered his eyes, but she hadn’t. They were the soft silver-blue of a summer sky. “Although I like the way it sounds when you say it.”
She stared at him a moment too long. “I didn’t come here to be charmed,” she said, taking a step back from him.
“Pity,” he said, moving the hand that had been on her back to her elbow. “You’d present quite a challenge.”
She didn’t smile. He led her to a table that had a view of the dining room below, the terrace, and the rest of the balcony. Yet it was on a landing all its own, a private place where conversations couldn’t be overheard.
There was a reserved sign on the table, as well as two place settings, and a vase with a single rose. Blackstone pulled out a chair for her, and she sat down. Sancho seemed to have disappeared.
Then Blackstone sat across from her. As he did, a waiter showed up.
“Ms. Barr would like a glass of water, some of our special-brewed ice tea, and so would I,” he said.
Nora opened her mouth to contradict him, then she realized that was exactly what she would have ordered—if she had known that they brewed their own tea.
“And bring us the mushroom and polenta appetizer, and two orders of the Chilean sea bass.”
The waiter nodded and disappeared.
“I didn’t come for lunch,” Nora said.
Blackstone smiled. “That’s funny. Everyone else did.”
“And if I had, I would have liked to look at the menu.”
“Next time,” he said. “You’ll like this.”
The thing of it was, she probably would. “Don’t tell me,” she said. “I was radiating desire for the sea bass.”
His smile grew. It was a soft smile, not his charming do-
anything smile. This one was somehow more dangerous. It was a private smile, one that seemed like it was just for her. “If you were radiating desire,” he said, “I would hope it would be for more than the sea bass.”
Her heart rate increased, and she wished she had the mental power to slow it down. Damn the man for flirting with her. Damn her for wanting to flirt back.
“I didn’t come here for lunch,” she repeated. “I came to find out a few things.”
His smile faded. “About Emma?”
“About Ealhswith.”
His mouth thinned. The warmth he had shown her a moment ago was gone. “How is Emma?”
“Adapting better than I would have thought,” Nora said. “She still has trouble with some of the basics—zippers are beyond her for some reason—but she seems to be doing well. I don’t know how she is emotionally. She has that pretty well shut off.”
He closed his eyes and turned his head slightly. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. What I did. It’s indefensible. You know, about a hundred years into it, I had forgotten that she was even a person. I always prided myself on my compassion and my humanity, and somehow, I managed this.”
Nora waited. There was nothing she could say to that.
He swallowed. “If I could go back and change things, I would. But I can’t. So I honor your wishes—and Emma’s—and I won’t try to approach her. But if she ever needs anything—money, support, help with the magic—please call me. Please.”
He hadn’t begged before. He hadn’t been this contrite before. Nora wanted to reach across the table and take his hand, but she couldn’t. After all, this was her client that they were talking about, and he had treated her horribly, whether the treatment had been intentional or not.
“Why is Ealhswith so interested in her?” Nora asked.
He turned. “You’re having trouble with Ealhswith?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you made her uninvited.”
“She hasn’t come near us,” Nora said.
The waiter returned with two clear blue plates and tiny appetizer forks. He set them down, then turned and grabbed a larger plate off a nearby tray. It had a mound of polenta in the center, with dozens of kinds of mushrooms on top, all covered in a sauce that smelled faintly of burgundy and garlic.
Then, as quickly as he appeared, he left.
“Your recipe?” Nora asked.
“Everything in here is made from my recipes,” he said. “And usually at my hand or under my supervision. You have to collect something in a thousand years.”
“Recipes?” Nora asked.
He shrugged. “I like food. And I learned long ago to get the recipe for something you like because there’s no guarantee that anyone will remember how to make it when you return to the same region again.”
She supposed not. Over that many years, of course things would change, would disappear. Restaurants barely stayed open long enough for her tastes. She couldn’t imagine what would happen for his.
He picked up her plate and placed part of the appetizer on it. Then he set the plate before her and watched her. It seemed as though he were hoping for her approval. She wasn’t sure why. She wasn’t sure what this undercurrent was between them, how they seemed to speak on more than one level at once.
She took a small taste. The mushrooms were grilled—an unexpected surprise—and the sauce was more a demi-glace that had a richness she hadn’t expected. The polenta added a texture that took the food to a level she hadn’t tasted before, at least not at the restaurants she frequented.
“It’s spectacular,” she said.
Blackstone relaxed visibly. “That’s the first compliment you’ve ever given me.”
She smiled. “It’s the first you’ve deserved.”
A flush covered his cheeks, and she wondered if her words were too harsh. Perhaps she should go easier on this man. After all, he had respected her wishes. He hadn’t come to her office again. He had made no attempt to contact Emma. And he hadn’t even sent Sancho over to see if he could find out anything.
Blackstone took some food for himself. The mood was gone. “What sort of trouble is Ealhswith giving you, then, if she’s not throwing fire spells at your front door?”
“Legal trouble,” Nora said.
He raised his eyebrows. “Ealhswith?”
“It’s my fault really. I’m the one who brought up the law that night, saying that she was bound by the laws of this land.”
“How could she use that against you?”
With two bites, Nora had finished the food he had given her. Now, as she spoke, she took a second helping. “She has retained one of the best lawyers in the city, and through him she’s claiming that Emma is her daughter, that Emma has been declared incompetent, and that for the last ten years she’s been in a mental institution. She’s also claiming that because of all of that, Emma’s unable to take care of herself in any matter, including hiring a lawyer.”
Blackstone pushed his plate away. “What would you normally do in this circumstance?”
“Investigate her claim, of course.”
“And if, for the sake of argument, Emma had been in an institution?”
“I’d hire a psychiatrist or a series of psychiatrists to determine her mental condition.” Nora scraped the last of the polenta off her plate. The appetizer had been excellent, but filling. She doubted she would have any room for the sea bass. “I couldn’t do that in this case if I wanted to. Emma still asks basic questions that any three-year-old should know the answer to, like why do we keep voices in one box when we have a box that can hold voices and bodies?”
“Huh?” Blackstone asked.
“See?” Nora said. “Not even you get that one. And I wouldn’t have either, if I hadn’t seen where she was looking at the time. She thinks we store voices inside of radios and people inside of televisions. She hasn’t grasped the concept that these are taped projections. Airwaves are really beyond her.”
“Oh, dear,” Blackstone said. He ran a hand through his thick hair. “Are you asking me to finally give her the information spell?”
“No,” Nora said. “She still won’t take the spell, although I’ve mentioned it from time to time.”
And always in exasperation. Emma could try the patience of God.
Nora sighed. “I need information, though. I was going to get it from Sancho, but he brought me to you.”
“I’m sure I can tell you what you need to know,” Blackstone said.
It surprised her that he didn’t push his ability to do the information spell on her. A month ago he would have insisted, and then insisted some more until she got angry. He really had had time to think about all he’d done. She wondered how he felt, losing the thing—the person—he had protected for a millennium. It must have been nearly impossible to step away. And he had.
“All right,” Nora said. “I need to know how Sancho got the documents for Emma and how he made them look real.”
“Counselor,” Blackstone said. “You don’t really want to know that.”
“I do,” she said.
Blackstone licked his lower lip. It was a nervous gesture that seemed that much more startling because Blackstone had so few of them. “You really don’t want to know.”
“Sancho said the documents are legal.”
“They are,” Blackstone said. “But what we consider to be legal and what you consider to be legal are two different things.”
“How about what a judge would consider to be legal.”
“Why?” Blackstone asked. “Is this thing with Ealhswith going to go to court?”
“I hope not,” Nora said. She took a sip of her water, more as a stalling tactic than because she needed it. “I guess what I’m fishing for is this: Is what Sancho did unusual or can Ealhswith do it too?”
“Get legal documentation of something?”
Nora nodded.
“Of course she can.”
Nora sighed. “Then the documents that she showed
Hank Geffon were probably legit.”
“Who?”
“Her attorney.”
“You need legal documents for this claim?”
“Legal guardians are appointed in court. Ealhswith’s documents would show that Emma is incompetent to live her own life.”
Blackstone leaned back. “I suppose if I offered to provide documents that proved she was competent, you’d turn me down.”
“I really don’t want to go to court with fake documentation,” Nora said. “Even if you and Sancho insist it’ll hold up.”
“You know,” he said with a small smile, “you create a lot of problems because you’re so damn ethical.”
Nora shrugged. “I warned you about that in the beginning.”
“So you did.”
They sat in silence for a moment, just looking at each other. Was it her imagination or had his eyes grown darker? She longed to lean forward, to touch his face, his hands. She had never felt so drawn to a man before.
The waiter broke the mood, clearing his throat before he set down two plates of Chilean sea bass. Nora felt her cheeks flush, and Blackstone looked a bit startled himself as he glanced at his employee. The waiter smiled at Nora as if they shared a secret.
She immediately looked down at her sea bass. It rested on a white plate whose simplicity added to the beauty of the meal before her. The sauce was light and multicolored. The bass rested on a bed of rice, touched with cilantro and green onions. Fresh green beans acted as a garnish along the side.
The scent wafting toward her made her stomach rumble. And she hadn’t even thought she was still hungry.
“This is more food than I’ve eaten in a week,” she said.
Blackstone smiled at her. The waiter bowed and disappeared, probably to tell stories in the kitchen of the boss’s flirtation. The thought made her blush again.
“I didn’t think attorneys blushed,” he said.
“Only ethical ones do,” she muttered, her head down.
He put his forefinger under her chin, lifting her head up. “Do you know how beautiful you are when you blush?”
She pushed his hand away. “I told you in my office, Mr. Blackstone—”
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