After looking at and rejecting any number of items as I browsed the stalls of the Union Square holiday market, I came to the conclusion that when it came to finding gifts for people like that, it took either a lot of money or a lot of personal effort. Personal effort I could do. I had a nearly finished cross-stitch sampler somewhere in the closet, so if I got a nice frame and buckled down to work, I figured that I could have it done and offer a truly personal gift. There was an ornate metal frame at one of the stalls that seemed ideal. I bought Owen a nice wool muffler that would go well with his coat and that had blue flecks in it that matched his eyes. It seemed a safe enough gift, personal without being too personal and demonstrating that I had some concern for him.
Then I had to hurry to transform myself into an oil baron’s daughter before Philip came over. I wore a slim skirt, one of Gemma’s silk blouses, and my own red stiletto shoes, now unenchanted. I made liberal use of all those Mary Kay makeup samples my mom kept sending me and teased and sprayed my hair to within an inch of its life. All I needed was a fur coat to complete the effect, but that I’d have to do without. Philip’s reaction when he came over told me all I needed to know about how effective my transformation was.
“Hi, hon,” I drawled. I hooked my arm through his and added, “Now, let’s go find us a place where I can invest all of Daddy’s money.”
“Is this really what an oilman’s daughter would be like?” he asked, his eyes popping enough to remind me that he once was a frog.
“No, not based on the few I’ve met, but it’s what people around here will expect from TV shows and movies.”
“Very well, then. I propose we take the subway, as it’s faster than surface transport.”
I didn’t think your typical oil baron’s daughter would set foot on the subway, but he was right about the speed issue. The company that should have been his was located on the far tip of Manhattan, below Wall Street. Its building looked like it might have gone all the way back to Colonial days. Philip stood on the sidewalk in front of it for a moment or two, gazing up at it. I tried to imagine what this must be like for him, to see his family business about a century later in a very different world. Then he took a deep breath and opened the front door.
The interior was full of heavy antiques that had probably been new when the building was built. Philip approached the receptionist’s desk and said, “I have a two o’clock appointment with Mr. Meredith.”
She checked her computer. “Ah, you must be Mr. Smith.”
I remembered myself just in time to keep from giggling. I could see why he might want to use an alias when checking out his family business, but he could have found one that sounded a little less like an alias. Come to think of it, I needed an alias of my own.
The receptionist gave me a sidelong glance. “And is Miss…”
“Sue-Ellen Hunt, of the Texas Hunts,” I drawled, sticking my hand out at her. My alias wasn’t much better than Philip’s, as Sue-Ellen had been a character on Dallas and Hunt was the only family name associated with oil I could think of off the top of my head. If someone Googled the name, they’d certainly get the Texas oil associations.
She eyed my hand for a second before shaking it, then she said to Philip, “Miss Meredith will be with you in a moment.”
“My appointment was with Mr. Meredith,” Philip said. “I understand he is currently chairman of Vandermeer and Company.”
“Mr. Meredith is indisposed. His niece is taking care of the business for him in his absence.” She glanced around as if to make sure she wasn’t being overheard, then whispered, “He had a stroke last week, totally incapacitating. I’m sure Miss Meredith will be officially installed as chair very soon.”
If we were meeting with a woman, I was in trouble. All my preparation had been designed to distract a man, but I was playing the kind of woman other women tend to hate on sight. It looked like I’d have to wing it and see what kind of person this Miss Meredith was.
Soon a frazzled-looking young man came into the lobby. “Mr. Smith? This way, please.” He appeared as though at any second he was going to slip a note saying something like, “Help! I’m being held hostage!” into our pockets. I recognized the look; I’d looked much like that in my old job.
The chairman’s office was even more lush than the lobby. The desk in the center of it was large enough that you could have held a feast for twenty of your closest friends on it, with room for several courses’ worth of silverware at each place setting and space in the middle for a string quartet to provide entertainment. I sank past my three-inch heels and almost up to my ankles in a carpet that could have doubled as a mattress. But what really caught my eye was the thing lurking in the back corner of the office.
Six
I t was a skeletal creature much like one that had been stalking me for the past couple of months. I couldn’t be sure if it was the same one, since all skeletal magical creatures look pretty much alike to me, but the one I knew had worked for Idris. That made this meeting suddenly a lot more interesting. I had a feeling I wasn’t supposed to be able to see Mr. Bones, who stood silent and still in his corner, so I forced myself not to react. That was a challenge, like ignoring the giant pink elephant in the middle of the room.
Then Miss Meredith came into the room and shook Philip’s hand. “Mr. Smith? I’m Sylvia Meredith. Thank you for coming in.” I wasn’t sure which was more dangerous, her or Mr. Bones. She was a shark in human form—sleek, efficient, and deadly, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if she had a couple of extra rows of teeth. The ones we could see were white and even, and she turned the full force of them on Philip in a smile I was sure was supposed to be charming but which looked like it might draw blood. Philip turned out to be pretty smart, for he didn’t look like he was the least bit taken in by her attempt at charm.
I remembered that I was supposed to be a brassy oil heiress, so I waded through the carpet and stuck my hand out at her. “Sue-Ellen Hunt, of the Texas Hunts,” I said, thickening my drawl as much as I could and still be understood. “Nice place you got here. I bet this office runs you about as much as my daddy’s whole estate back home. We like things big in Texas, you know.” I was beginning to annoy myself, so I was sure this act was like fingernails on a blackboard to a New Yorker.
“Miss Hunt is my fiancée,” Philip said, not missing a beat. “When she heard about my appointment with you she thought it would be beneficial for her to meet with you, as well.”
“I gotta do something with my trust fund other than buy shoes, right?” I said with as much gusto as I could muster.
“Please, have a seat,” Miss Meredith said, gesturing toward a pair of plush wingback chairs. Only the tiniest hint of annoyance showed in her eyes, but I got the feeling that meant she was steaming inside. Nothing but the strongest emotion would get past her icy facade.
I more or less tuned out the financial discussion while I checked out the setting. There was a row of portraits on one wall, going from a modern photograph of a white-haired, stern-jawed man on one end to oil paintings of men wearing powdered wigs at the other end. About five portraits in from the modern end, the look of the people changed abruptly. They went from having Philip’s refined features and golden hair to looking coarser and meaner. It was obvious when the company had been usurped. Other than the skeletal creature still lurking in the corner, I didn’t spot anything obviously magical. An uninformed person who wasn’t immune to magic wouldn’t have noticed anything odd.
When I blinked back to the meeting, it seemed to be wrapping up. “Thank you for the information. I shall have to consult with my advisors,” Philip was saying.
Sylvia eyed him warily. I hoped she hadn’t noticed the resemblance between him and all those portraits on the wall. “You won’t find our specialized services anywhere else,” she said. “We’re one of the only high-level banking houses exclusively serving the magical community.” She turned to me and added, “I hope what we have to offer interests you, as well.”
&nbs
p; “Oh, I let Philip handle all my major decisions,” I drawled. “And I’m so sorry to hear about your uncle. I hope he gets better real soon.”
A flicker of reaction crossed her face, but before I could decipher it, she managed to tamp it down. “Things don’t look good,” she said, sounding more determined than sad. I had the strongest suspicion that she had something to do with that “stroke.” She walked us to her office door, and I felt the tingle of magic in use nearby. It didn’t affect me, but I was worried about what it would do to Philip. I moved to stand between her and him, then caught his arm to make sure I had some sort of control over him as we left the building.
We both let out deep breaths when we were safely on the sidewalk and well away from the building. “Did you notice anything untoward?” he asked.
“Yeah. She had a nasty-looking bodyguard in there that I’m sure was hidden from you. And, oddly enough, it was a kind of creature my big enemy happens to be fond of. Are walking skeletons popular on magical goon squads?”
“I’m not familiar with that kind of creature.”
“I thought so. I wonder if she’s in league with Idris, then. That would make things interesting. Oh, and she tried to use magic on you when we were leaving.”
“I noticed. I’m not certain that it worked, but I will be careful.”
“That lady is bad news. And I don’t think you can count on her saying, ‘Oh, so sorry my ancestor put you under a spell, you should take over.’ She probably would have you killed—like I bet she did to her uncle—instead of having you turned into a frog.”
He sighed. “I didn’t imagine this would be easy, but I fear it may be more difficult than I thought.”
“Remember Ethan, the guy I used to date? He’s both magically immune and a lawyer, which is just what you need for taking her on. And if she is teamed up with our enemy, you’re about to have the resources of Magic, Spells, and Illusions, Inc., on your side, including Merlin himself.”
He smiled at me, then gave me a gallant bow. “Then I must thank you for your assistance.”
“Don’t thank me yet. We may end up putting you to work.”
When I got home, I felt like I was changing out of my superhero costume and returning to my mild-mannered persona as I changed out of my fancy meeting clothes and into sweats. I spent the whole evening finishing my cross-stitch for Owen’s foster parents while some pop star’s holiday special played in the background on the TV—something I was sure the fictional Sue-Ellen Hunt would never do. She’d wear cashmere sweats, if she even wore sweats, and she’d have people to do her sewing for her. The pop star would be playing live in her living room instead of on TV. Sue-Ellen was so far from my reality that I had a feeling my secret identity was safe.
Concentrating on my needlework was a good way to distract me from worrying about the next day with Owen or the holiday with his family. I’d forgotten what a good stress release this kind of thing could be, but my roommates would tease me mercilessly about being old-fashioned if I started doing it on a regular basis, I was sure. Maybe I should go back to knitting, I thought. At least some Hollywood stars had made that almost cool again.
The next morning, I was eager to get to Owen’s house to tell him what I’d discovered. The romantic day in New York was almost secondary. Although I’d been in his home before, I’d never entered by the front door. The last time I’d been there, I’d been magically teleported inside. This time I had to climb a fairly imposing set of front steps and ring a buzzer. Instead of a response by intercom, the door just opened. I went up the staircase in the vestibule to the next floor, where Owen’s door was, and it, too, opened for me.
I expected to see Owen waiting there for me, but the entry hallway was empty. A loud “meow!” at my feet corrected me. “Hi there, Loony,” I said to the white-and-black-spotted cat that was rubbing happily against my ankles.
“Back here,” Owen’s voice called from the kitchen. I took off my coat, hat, and gloves while Loony waited patiently for me, then she headed back to the kitchen, her tail giving me a “follow me” flick. I heeded her instruction and found Owen standing at the stove in his cozy kitchen, tending one skillet full of French toast and another full of bacon.
“Wow, you’re cooking for me?” I asked.
“I wanted to make sure you knew last time wasn’t a fluke. And you’re just in time. Breakfast is almost ready.”
When he turned to talk to me, I noticed the dark circles under his eyes. I crossed my arms over my chest and said, “Don’t tell me, you worked all day yesterday and most of the night.”
He deftly flipped a slice of French toast. “There’s coffee in the pot if you want some.”
“Owen,” I warned.
“Yes, I worked late. I wanted to finish before I left for Christmas.” He arranged everything on plates, which he carried to the small table in one corner of the kitchen. Unless he’d cleaned house significantly in the last couple of weeks, the dining table was probably too full of books for anyone to be able to eat there. “And breakfast is served,” he said.
“It looks great,” I told him as I took my seat at the table. Loony immediately jumped into my lap, but Owen snapped his fingers and pointed, and she jumped down again, looking offended.
“I hope you don’t mind that we didn’t go out to eat,” he said as he took his own seat. “It’s easier for us to talk this way.” He grinned and added, “And you’ll need your energy for what I have planned today.”
“Now you’ve got me intrigued.” I ate and complimented him on the food, then finally said, “So, what did you discover from all your extra work?”
“Nothing.” He sounded discouraged. “It didn’t match any of our current employees.”
“On the bright side, that does mean we don’t have another mole or double agent.”
“But on the not-so-bright side, it also means there’s an outsider who can get through every layer of security we’ve got.”
“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.” I ate some more, keeping my mouth busy with the food so I wouldn’t be tempted to say something stupid. After a while, though, I couldn’t help myself. “Could it be an ex-employee? I mean, other than Idris. Someone who might not be in your current files but who would know something about how to get past security? I don’t know if you could magically change the locks, so to speak, but that would explain someone being able to get in.”
“We did change the security wards after Idris was fired. I can’t think of anyone who was at a high enough level to have that kind of access who has left between then and now.”
“There’s the former boss,” I reminded him.
He frowned. “No, I don’t think so. As I said, he retired on good terms, and he’s not even living in the city anymore. It was his idea to revive Merlin, and if he were in league with Idris, that would be the last thing he’d want to do. He was the one to make the final call on firing Idris. If he wanted to delve into that kind of magic, you’d think he would have stayed on board and turned the direction of the company around.” He raised an eyebrow and flashed me a crooked smile. “And then I guess I’d have been the dangerous rogue wizard trying to bring down the company.”
“I suspect you’d have been a lot more successful than he has been.”
“That’s because I’d be the good guy.”
“Yeah, because the good guys always win in the real world. Meanwhile, I may have found something else.” I briefly told him about Philip’s predicament and the skeletal creature in the office.
“I haven’t heard of anyone else using that kind of creature,” he said. “It seems to be unique to Idris. If he’s allied with someone like that, then it could mean he’s found funding, and it means there are people within the establishment who might support his goals. That widens the scope of our problem somewhat.”
After we finished breakfast and washed the dishes, we bundled up against the cold, then headed outside, where we walked side by side down the street. We took the subway and got off at Thirty-f
ourth Street for a quick peek at Santa at Macy’s, then headed over to Fifth Avenue. We worked our way up the avenue, stopping in front of each elaborately decorated store window. I felt like a little kid, back in the days when I’d been utterly enchanted by the tinsel and lights strung around the shop windows on the town square back home.
At one particular store, Owen made a point of steering me to the front of the crowd to get a good look at the window. It was an intricate woodland scene, with fairies fluttering over a toadstool village inhabited by gnomes while snow drifted down from overhead. This wasn’t one of the famous department stores, but it was the most exquisite window I’d seen yet, with the figures looking incredibly lifelike. They even had facial expressions. One of the fairies winked as she fluttered past the front of the display window. After we’d watched the window for a while, I realized that the patterns of the figures didn’t repeat. They were spontaneous and random. I started to blurt, “These are for real!” but caught myself just in time and whispered it to Owen instead.
He leaned forward and rested his chin on my shoulder so he could whisper back. If it hadn’t been so cold, I was sure I’d have melted into a puddle of goo on the sidewalk from having him next to me like that. “Yes. They work in shifts. It’s one of the more popular seasonal jobs in the magical world.”
“Are any of the other windows magical?”
“I’d say there’s a little magic involved in all of them.”
“Real or figurative?”
“Ah, that’s the big question.”
We continued walking up the avenue and enjoying the seasonal sights until we reached the big FAO Schwarz toy store. “Ready to regress to childhood?” he asked.
“Always!”
The doorman dressed as a toy soldier ushered us inside, where we were surrounded by every kind of stuffed animal. “The good stuff is upstairs,” Owen said, and I knew what he meant as soon as we reached the top of the escalator. That was where the giant piano kids could play by running around on it was, but that wasn’t what caught Owen’s attention. He was focused on the display of magic kits, which were being demonstrated by a young employee. I bit my lip to keep myself from laughing. Not only was Owen a genuine wizard, but he also had a knack for stage magic. You had to know your magic to be sure whether he was using sleight of hand or real magic. If the demonstrator picked the wrong audience volunteer, I knew this could get interesting.
Damsel Under Stress (Enchanted Inc #3) Page 8