For the first time in my life I hoped I'd be working late on a Friday.
* * *
The next morning I did my hair in a style that left a curtain of bangs falling across one side of my forehead. It hid the bruise and made me look like a movie star, but I had a feeling that having my hair in my face would drive me stark raving mad before I even got to work.
Once again Owen was at the subway platform when I got there. I halfway suspected him of doing that on purpose, and I wondered if he was able to do it because I was so predictable or because he was using some of his more unique abilities. I was tempted to test him, to switch to a different subway line or leave earlier or later in the morning to see what happened. On the other hand, what was so bad about commuting every morning with a nice, good-looking guy who could keep me safe from any criminals or lunatics that might cross my path? I'd have to be insane to look for a way not to run into him every morning. Then I remembered the look on his face as he'd held that intruder pinned to the wall, and I couldn't help but shudder.
In my world, a weird, scary guy was one who didn't get the hint when you told him three times in a row that you couldn't go out with him because you were busy washing your hair. A guy who could fling people around with his mind was a whole new level of weird and scary.
He smiled when he saw me, then immediately frowned and looked worried. "Your head, is it okay?" He looked so sweet and cute that I couldn't help reminding myself that as powerful as he was, I was immune to his magic. I didn't have to worry about him flinging me around. Obviously, however, I wasn't immune to his charm, for I immediately got a warm, yet shivery feeling in the pit of my stomach when I saw his smile. He was the boy next door, a heroic rescuer, and a dangerous potential bad boy all rolled into one. I knew if he made any effort at all to woo me, I'd be as helpless as the victims of Rod's love spells. It was a good thing he was too shy to make the first move—that is, if he had any interest in me whatsoever.
"I'm fine," I insisted, hoping I wasn't blushing enough to give away what I'd been thinking about him. "Just a nasty bruise, and thus the attempted cosmetic cover-up."
"It looks nice." He turned a particularly interesting shade of pink before adding, "I'm sorry."
"For what? It wasn't your fault."
"Yes, it was. If I'd made it to you sooner, I might have been able to help you before you got hurt." He ducked his head and studied the platform floor. "I finished reading the paragraph I was on before I got up and ran."
I laughed, which made him turn even pinker. "That's okay, really. I still don't think you'd have made it before he shoved me into the wall. I should have known better than to try to tackle an intruder by myself."
Before he could respond, a train came rumbling out of the tunnel. "You did us all a big favor," he said as he ushered me onto the train. "You were very brave." Now I was the one who was blushing.
The train was too crowded for conversation, especially the kind of conversation we'd be most likely to have, so we didn't try to talk during the journey. We walked together across the park to the office building, greeted Sam at the entrance, then parted ways at the top of the lobby stairs. I went into the verification pool just long enough to inform them that I'd be out on an assignment most of the day, then headed to the sales department.
I asked Hertwick where to find Mr. Hartwell, and he directed me to a pair of giant double doors at the far end of the corridor. Mr. Hartwell was apparently quite the bigwig. Just as I was about to knock, the doors creaked open. He sat behind a wooden desk almost as large as the one in Merlin's office. "Good morning," I said.
He looked up from his work to smile at me. "Ah, Miss Chandler. Good morning."
"I thought we ought to get started right away."
"Most definitely. Please have a seat. Would you like some coffee?"
"Yes, please," I said, settling myself in the armchair in front of his desk. I braced myself for the mug to pop into my hands. This time, I didn't jump or spill any of the coffee. With the hand that wasn't holding coffee, I flipped open my spiral notebook to the notes I'd made the night before.
"The first thing I need to do is get a better idea of how you get your products into the marketplace and promote them," I said.
He looked puzzled by my question. "We send them to the stores and put information on what the spells do on the packaging."
"That's it?"
"It's all we've ever needed to do."
"You're going to need to do more than that now. Assuming your competition isn't quite ready for the mass market, we have a slight head start. It's best if we can get our messages into the market before the competition gets there, so we don't look so much like we're reacting to the competition. How fast can you get your packaging changed?"
"Instantly."
I took a deep breath. Too bad I hadn't had access to magic in any of the other marketing campaigns I'd done. In the real world, it would take months. Here, we might be in gear before the end of the day.
"That makes life easier," I said. "What we need to do is incorporate some key messages into everything you do to communicate about your company and your products. A line or two on the packaging and in the material you send out to announce a new product should do it."
"Oh, that's quite doable."
"Now, is Merlin's presence here a big secret, or is that something you can promote?
He should be a real celebrity in the magical community, and you may be able to play on that."
He frowned and clasped his hands together on top of his desk. "That can work both ways. Most people know he'd only be brought back if there was trouble, so they'd assume something was wrong if they saw him."
"Good point. Okay, we scratch Merlin as a celebrity endorser." I crossed that idea off of my notebook. It struck me that I was very possibly in way over my head. I wasn't up to running a major campaign like this for a normal company, but here I was trying to market something I didn't fully understand, and the stakes were a lot higher than they would be for launching something like a soft drink. The way they talked, this sounded like a life-or-death issue. "But we can change the packaging, add some additional corporate messaging to the spell release information, and get some information out to the various magic-specific Web sites, right?"
He nodded enthusiastically, and I got the sinking feeling that he understood about as much of what I'd said as I understood when they talked magic. We were all clueless together, in our own individual areas. "Sounds like a great plan! You'll just need to talk to the design department."
"You have a design department?"
"Of course. Someone has to design the packaging."
Design was one of my comfort zones. Not that I knew that much about how to design, but I understood a lot about the process. That department had been one of my hiding places on Mimi's bad days. They hated her as much as I did, so I found any excuse I could to tarry when I was sent there on an errand.
Mr. Hartwell thanked me again and gave me directions to Design. The department was tucked away into a basement room, and the word "department" was something of an overstatement. It was more like an individual. He was quite young, young enough to make me feel old, and so tall and lanky that at first I thought he must be an elf. He sat slumped on a beat-up old sofa in the comer of the office, his long legs stretched halfway across the room. He appeared to be playing with a Gameboy, but I was sure it was something far more magical than that. I didn't see any of the usual design department trappings in here, such as a drafting table or a super powerful Macintosh computer. Maybe this was just the break room.
I waited until he finished a game—judging by the muttered curse and sigh of disgust when he loweredthe gadget for a second—then cleared my throat and asked, "Are you the designer?"
He looked up at me like I'd just materialized out of nothing. "Yeah, you must be Katie." News really did travel fast around here. "I'm Ralph."
"Hi, Ralph. I need to talk to you about the packaging design."
"Cool.
I've been trying to get them to jazz it up for ages." He showed no signs of even thinking about unfolding himself and getting off the sofa to head to his office, so I assumed we would conduct the meeting where we were.
"I don't know how much we'll be able to jazz things up, but we will add more corporate messaging."
"Aw, hell, we might as well give 'em a makeover while we're at it." He put down his Gameboy—now I was pretty sure that's what it was—and waved his hand in the air.
A packaged spell fell into my hands. It startled me enough that I had to juggle for a second to keep from dropping it. "What do you think?"
Once I managed to get a good grasp on the package, I took a look at it. Then I had to blink, and I wished I had some sunglasses handy. It certainly was different. The packaging I'd seen on the previous day's visit to the store had been basic and straightforward, just stating the spell and its possible uses in an attractive layout.
This used wild graphics and bright colors that blinked at me. "It's very eye-catching," I said, trying to think of a diplomatic way to say, "Hell, no!"
"See the scrolling text?" He pointed to a spot on the packaging where information rolled across like a news ticker in Times Square.
"Yeah. That's . . . interesting."
He beamed. "I figured out how to do that a while ago. We can have it say whatever we want, like putting things on sale or announcing a special offer—buy that spell, get another at half price."
I had to admire his initiative, even if I couldn't admire his design. It was giving me a headache. "That's a great idea," I began. "I'm just worried that it'll be a little confusing to our customers. If they have to wait for information to scroll past at the right time, they might miss something." That always happened to me when I watched the mom-ing news shows that used the scrollingtickers. I usually caught the tail end of a headline and had no idea what the story was about, then didn't have time to wait until it scrolled around again.
"But it's cool!" he insisted. "I bet the competition won't have it."
I restrained myself from suggesting that we give the idea to our competition as a form of sabotage. Was it possible to perform a spell with a splitting headache? If we could inflict pain on anyone who bought one of the bad spells, we'd be able to nip this problem in the bud. "It might be too much for us to do at this stage, but keep working on the idea."
He did something with his hand, and the scrolling ticker disappeared. I felt the muscles around my eyes relax. "What about the rest of it?" he asked.
"It's certainly bright and colorful, but I'm not sure it conveys the message we want."
He glared up at me through bangs that fell across his eyes. "What do you want?"
"I'm sure you know about the situation we're in. We need to make sure people know we're the only med-and-true source for reliable, safe, well-tested spells, and we have been for more than a millennium. You can't trust anyone else to give you the results you want."
"Okay, so more boring-like. Got it." He waved his hand, and the package I held changed. Now it looked positively corporate, with the information I'd given him included as a tagline under the logo on the package cover. Better still, it didn't give me a headache to look at it.
"Perfect! I'll just run this by Mr. Mervyn and see what he thinks, and then we can roll it out. How long will it take to get this in production and out in the market?"
"Say the word, and it's out there."
I stared at him for a second, not sure what he meant. "You mean, you can change what's already on the shelf?"
He shrugged. "Sure. Why not? You want posters, too?"
"Yes, of course. Thanks. This is great." There had been many times when I'd wished that it was this quick and easy. I'd be spoiled for working at any company that didn't have a designer who could make retroactive changes to materials that had already been produced. Then again, someone like Mimi would abuse that power to keep changing her mind indefinitely.
I left the dungeon and headed toward the turret. Merlin's receptionist looked up from her work as I reached the top of the stairs. "Go right in, he's expecting you," she said. I wondered just how much he knew, and how he knew it. The explanation could be as simple as Ralph calling ahead, but just as I was pretty sure Owen didn't stand around all morning on the subway platform, waiting for me, I was pretty sure Merlin didn't need a phone call.
He greeted me as soon as I stepped through the doors. "Katie! How are you?" He brushed my hair away from my face and studied my bruise. "That's ugly, but it's already on the mend. Please, have a seat. I was just making some tea. Would you care for some?"
"Yes, please," I said as I took a seat on the sofa and waited for the cup to appear in my hands. Then I noticed him standing over by a counter tucked into a comer of the office, fussing with an electric teakettle. He was really making tea.
As he worked he talked. "Tea is quite a remarkable beverage. We had nothing like it in my day, as the British had barely journeyed beyond our own kingdom at the time.
We had to settle for herbal infusions. Every day I seem to discover something new."
"I imagine you do." I felt almost overwhelmed when I considered what he must be going through. His intellectual curiosity was probably what kept him sane.
"Milk or lemon?"
"Milk, please."
He brought two cups and a sugar bowl over on a tray. "There, now we can talk."
I handed him the revised packaging design. "What do you think?"
He studied it carefully, then handed it back to me with a sad smile. "It does seem to say what we want it to, but I must confess I don't know enough to know if this is good or not."
"It's good, really."
"Then by all means, please carry out your plan."
"I'll let Ralph know, and then apparently everything will be changed automatically.
The sales department is also gearing up to make a big splash with their next release, which is scheduled this week."
"Good, good." Then he looked grave. "Do you think this will save us?"
I looked down at the mock-up packaging I held. "I don't know. I don't think it can hurt. The object does seem to be to shrink the impact your competitor can have just long enough to come up with a way of fighting him. This may do it."
"Then I am most grateful." He chuckled. "Here they brought an ancient sorcerer out of hibernation, and our problems are solved by a clever girl without an ounce of magic in her."
"Hey, I didn't say anything about solving this. That part's up to you guys." I took a sip of my tea and thought for a moment, then plunged ahead with the question I wanted to ask. "How bad is this Idris guy, anyway?"
"Phelan Idris is a great danger, and not just because he's angry at us. He's dangerous because he believes in using his power to its fullest extent, without regard for the consequences and with no thought for the people who might get in his way. He would have left eventually, for he chafed under our rules, but we sent him away angry."
"And everyone's in danger, not just magical people?"
"I'd say the nonmagical people are in greater danger, not because he has any particular enmity toward them, but because they lack the resources to protect themselves."
"And is he really all that powerful?"
"I don't think he can counter the combined might of our best people. But in order to counter a spell, one must hrst understand it. Unfortunately, understanding it may involve some risk, as would testing any countermeasures we might devise."
"You'd have to be on the receiving end of it," I guessed.
"Or very nearby."
I didn't like to think about that. It meant Owen was out looking to be hit by one of those spells, and as powerful as I knew him to be, I still thought of him as that sweet, shy, harmless-seeming guy. "All this"—I indicated the package—"may just rile him up for you."
"Then your plan will have unexpected benefits." He rose from the sofa. "Now, what about your offer to go out to lunch with me and show me the area?"
"It's still
good. I just need to give Ralph the go-ahead on the packaging."
"We'll go see him together. Is there anything I'll need with me?"
"It's a bit nippy, so you may need your jacket. And you'll need money." I certainly couldn't afford to buy lunch for both of us at too many places around here.
He took his jacket from a coat tree, then went into the outer office and asked his assistant for some of the local currency. He waited in the hallway outside the verification department while I grabbed my jacket and purse, then we went down to the basement together. Ralph jumped to attention when he saw the big boss enter his den.
"Very good work, son. Please implement it immediately," Merlin said.
"Yes, sir, boss, right away."
As we left the building I said, "I haven't really explored this part of town, other than walking through it, but I think there are some restaurants over on Broadway."
"Lead on, then. You're more of an expert than I am." He held his arm out for me to take as we walked toward Park Row. Anyone we passed on the streets probably thought I was out for a stroll with my grandfather.
In a way, Merlin did remind me of my long-dead granddad. My real grandfather had been a Texas farmer, and not very much like a Dark Ages wizard, but both of them had the same curiosity and good humor. If they'd met, they probably would have been friends.
Along Park Row was a string of computer, music, and electronics stores. Merlin slowed to look through the windows. I imagined this stuff would be fascinating for someone like him. "Do you mind if we go inside?" he asked.
"Not at all."
The store was crowded with lunch time browsers. Merlin headed straight to the DVD section, which astonished me. I wouldn't have thought he'd know where to go in a store like this. "Do you have a DVD player?" I asked him.
He raised an eyebrow at me. "Of course. Otherwise, my evenings would be lonely. I find it a fascinating way to learn about this place and time. Owen taught me how to operate it and loaned me some films about New York."
I moved closer to him and dropped my voice so the other shoppers couldn't hear me. "You do know it's not real, the stuff on the DVDs, right? Unless it's a documentary. Otherwise, it's fake, with actors and scripts."
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