Much Ado About Magic

by Shanna Swendson

  “I’m sure he could be coached,” Ramsay said mildly. “And it is in his best interests to cooperate with us. I understand he’s terrified of his former masters.”

  “He has been a little more cooperative lately,” Owen said, and I whipped my head around so fast to stare at him in shock that I felt something in my neck pop. “He even gave me the source for that barricade spell, and he’s interested in helping create a line of safe joke spells.”

  While I was still goggling at Owen and wondering what alien entity had possessed him to make him want to put a wild card like Idris in front of an audience, Ramsay said, “You have to admit it’s bold, daring, and a definite stake in the ground.” He pounded his fist on the table in emphasis.

  “But potentially dangerous,” Merlin murmured, as though he was speaking to himself. “Very, very dangerous.” Addressing us, he said, “It would certainly get everyone’s attention, wouldn’t it?”

  “It would have the biggest impact as a surprise,” Ramsay said, “so we wouldn’t have to announce him as a speaker in advance. That way we can wait until the last second to decide if we want to trust him. And we can ensure there are consequences if he doesn’t cooperate. The terms of his surrender already mean he can’t magically harm this company or anyone who works for it. If he agrees to speak, we could make it part of the contract that he can’t profit from Spellworks, so he has an incentive to stay with us.”

  Merlin nodded slowly, then said, “Miss Chandler, please prepare some brief remarks Mr. Idris might be encouraged to make on our behalf. I will make the final decision on the day of the event.”

  Before he could adjourn the meeting, Ramsay stopped him with a gesture. “One more thing, Ambrose,” he said. I couldn’t recall anyone ever using Merlin’s English first name like that. Merlin gave Ramsay a “go ahead” nod. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to speak, as well. The continuity of leadership would make us look like we’re presenting a stronger united front.”

  “We would be honored to have you participate,” Merlin said with a slight bow and a thin-lipped smile.

  “Fantastic!” Ramsay said. “Well, it sounds like your event is thoroughly under way, and everything is going according to plan and schedule. It’s sure to be a huge success.”

  I could barely wait to get away from the executive suite before I grabbed Owen’s arm and said, “I know illusions don’t work on me, so you can’t be someone else wearing an Owen disguise, but who are you, and what have you done with Owen Palmer?”

  He looked at me like I’d grown a third arm. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean thinking it’s a good idea to let Idris talk to anyone.”

  “You were just trying to make him more cooperative.”

  “Yeah, but to talk to us, not to talk to all our customers out in public where we can’t put a muzzle on him. I can’t believe you and Merlin agreed with Ramsay about that. It was like Attack of the Pod People in there.”

  “You have to admit it makes sense,” he said with a shrug. “He’s the best evidence we have that Spellworks isn’t what they seem to be.” He resumed walking, so I had to walk with him if I wanted to continue the conversation.

  “And you still trust Ramsay?” I asked.

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Well, aside from the fact that he wants to give our rather squirrely enemy a microphone at our event, don’t you think it’s a little weird that he always shows up to gloat whenever you being involved with saving the day gets misinterpreted?”

  “No, because he’s not gloating. He’s trying to help.”

  “How did that back there help, in any way, shape, or form?” I glanced around to make sure there was no one else in earshot before continuing with my voice lowered. “Think about it, Owen, who else is better situated to be behind all this? He gets inside info from us and inside info from the Council. He’s got access to money. He’s got the magical skills.”

  “But why? He was already the president of MSI and on the Council. He gave that up when we brought Merlin back—and bringing Merlin back was his idea. If he wanted to rule the magical world, he was already there. He’s famous enough that if he did want to start his own company, he wouldn’t have to go through all of this to do so. He’d have put his name on it instead of wasting time with Idris.”

  “I know I’m missing some of the backstory,” I admitted, “but he just bugs me, and I think there’s something seriously wrong with his idea to let Idris speak.”

  “Merlin thought letting Idris speak was a good idea.”

  “Merlin has, quite literally, been living under a rock for hundreds of years.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Katie,” Owen snapped so forcefully that it took me aback.

  “Come on, you’re not even the tiniest bit suspicious?”

  “I deal in facts, not suspicions. And I need to get back to work.”

  I was left blinking in his wake as he headed down a corridor to his office, wondering if we had just had our first real fight. The two of us weren’t exactly high-conflict people, and we’d generally agreed about most things other than his working habits and my safety. This, though, seemed like a fundamental disagreement, and I couldn’t understand why he was being so pigheaded. It was like he was under a spell.

  I gasped at the thought. That had to be it. Maybe Ramsay was using some kind of influence spell, like Rod’s old attraction spell, that made magical people trust him, and it didn’t work on me. That would explain everything. I still wasn’t sure why Ramsay would do these things or what his real goal was, but I thought it was worth looking into.

  And if I was right, I’d have to go this one alone, without Owen’s help.

  Chapter Eight

  I wasn’t sure where to start researching Ramsay. Owen had always been my source for info on the magical world, but I couldn’t turn to him this time. If Ramsay was using influence spells to keep people on his side, then that ruled out everyone magical, which ruled out most people who’d know anything about Ramsay. That left the magical immunes, and only one of the immunes I knew was in a position to have the kind of information I needed: Kim.

  She’d hated me from the start because I got the job as Merlin’s assistant that she’d been aiming for, and the fact that she’d replaced me in that job hadn’t made her like me any better. She was the last person I wanted to turn to for help. I’d rather have organized an Ivor Ramsay Appreciation Festival.

  I stayed late that evening searching the company archives from my computer, but the only relevant item I found was an internal notice about Ramsay’s retirement about a year earlier. It didn’t go into much detail, mentioning only his long tenure with the company and many unspecified contributions. The photo with the notice was the usual corporate portrait.

  I finally admitted to myself that Kim really was my only option. The next morning I did everything else on my to-do list, in hopes that some other solution would miraculously appear and I wouldn’t have to talk to her. Was it too much to wish that Owen would suddenly snap out of the spell and call to tell me I was right?

  Apparently it was, because I still hadn’t heard from him. With Owen, that wasn’t all that unusual. I couldn’t tell if he was deliberately not talking to me or just being his workaholic self. Finally, I couldn’t put it off any longer and trudged upstairs to the executive suite. Trix wasn’t at her desk, so I went to the small office off to the side that used to be mine.

  “What are you doing here?” a voice behind me screeched. The owner of the voice whipped around to block me from going further into the office.

  I had to swallow a couple of times before I could speak because just thinking these words put a bad taste in my mouth. “I need your help.”

  She snorted in disdain. “That conference is your job. If you can’t handle it, don’t ask me to clean up after you.”

  “This isn’t about the conference. I just need some information.” I decided to try flattery, much as it pained me to do so. “You’ve worked here a lo
t longer than I have, so I thought you’d have some perspective on company history.”

  Putting one hand on her hip, she sneered and asked, “Don’t you have your boyfriend for that?”

  I gritted my teeth and forced myself to take a few deep breaths. She seemed determined to make this as difficult as possible for me. “I actually need a nonmagical perspective—an immune perspective.” That surprised her enough that when I stepped forward into her office, she didn’t block me. I shut the door and asked softly, “What do you think about Ivor Ramsay?”

  I never thought I’d see Kim go speechless, but she did. Her mouth hung open, and she lost her usual haughty air. With a furtive glance at the closed door behind me, she whispered, “Please tell me I’m not the only one who can’t stand that man.”

  “I think we need to talk,” I said.

  “Want to go get coffee?” she asked, suddenly sounding so perky that I was afraid the body snatchers had invaded again.

  “Sure! Let’s go!” I replied, matching her in perkiness and hoping that the invitation was about talking away from the office rather than a plan to kill me and dump my body in the Hudson River.

  We went to a coffee shop around the corner from the office building. I didn’t even have to ask a question to get Kim started. “He’s driving me crazy!” she said as soon as we got our drinks and sat at a table in the corner. “He just shows up, with no appointment, and Trix lets him in without even checking with the boss. But the boss doesn’t complain, either, and it messes up the schedule for the whole day. I’m the one who then has to rearrange everything.”

  “That must be annoying,” I said, grateful for once that I didn’t have my old job back. “Does he show up often?”

  “Practically every day.”

  “And how long has that been going on?”

  “It started just before you got back—before the boss went to Texas.” She frowned suddenly. “Why do you want to know all this?”

  “He’s getting the boss to agree to things I never would have expected.”

  She glanced around the room, then leaned forward and dropped her voice into a whisper that barely carried across the table, even though we were both carefully avoiding using names. “Do you think it’s a spell that makes people do what he wants?”

  “Maybe. Did you know him earlier, when he was in charge?”

  “I didn’t work closely with him, but I was often asked to provide verification at his meetings.” Most magical immunes at the company worked as verifiers who made sure that magic wasn’t used to hide or change things in business interactions. She sat up straighter and gave me a haughty look that reassured me that this was still the same old Kim. “He asked for me by name.”

  “What kind of president was he?”

  “He was hands-on—he did a lot of walking around the company, checking in on every department, even Verification. But in a friendly way, not micromanaging. He really did seem to know everyone, all the way up from the mailroom.”

  My suspicious mind thought that was a good way to conduct industrial espionage on his own company in preparation for a long-term scheme he was developing, but even I thought that sounded a little far-fetched. “What about after the boss was brought in?”

  “He stayed on for a few months until the boss figured out the language and had a sense of what was going on with the company, and then he retired. I know they were both in many of the meetings I went to for a while, but the boss didn’t say much then.”

  “Was the idea always to turn things over to the boss?”

  She frowned and tilted her head, took a sip of coffee, then said, “I don’t think so. The boss was just supposed to deal with the rogue who’d come up. Taking over the company wasn’t discussed ahead of time, as far as I know. It did seem like a surprise when it happened. But it makes sense. The boss founded the company, so he should be running it.” She dropped her voice again as her eyes widened in alarm. “Do you think he’s after his old job and trying to get rid of the boss?”

  I wondered how much I should tell her about my suspicions. True, we’d found this one area of agreement, but I didn’t trust her as far as I could throw her. If she thought there was any way to benefit from ratting me out, she’d take it without a second thought. I figured she’d be more helpful if I could convince her that helping me was to her advantage. “Maybe,” I hedged. “That’s what I’m worried about.”

  Her eyes took on a steely gleam. “Well, he won’t get away with it, not while I’m around. That’s my job—I mean, it’s the boss’s job, and I won’t see him tricked into losing it.” A flicker of a smile crossed her lips. “We could sabotage him, make him look bad so that the boss won’t listen to him anymore. I know! I’ll tell the boss he’s hiding things magically.”

  “Let’s hold off on that until we’re sure,” I said, worried that I might have unleashed a monster. “Just keep your eyes and ears open and let me know if you see or hear anything odd. We may be the only people in a position to do something who aren’t affected by him, but we’ll have to be careful because the rest of the company may be under the spell.”

  She drained her coffee cup and picked up her purse. “Don’t worry, I won’t let him win.”

  *

  After another day of silence, I caved and sent Owen an e-mail, a chatty “how’s it going?” message, but I got no response. Under any other circumstances, I wouldn’t have been at all alarmed, since he had a habit of falling into his work, neglecting his in-box, and losing all track of time, but because he’d actually snapped at me the last time we’d spoken, I was starting to worry. A weekend without a word from Owen made me want to call police stations and hospitals. I decided it would be saner to call him, but I got no answer at his home or office.

  I got to my office on Monday morning to find Perdita sneezing her head off. With each sneeze, strange things appeared in her office—soap bubbles, flower petals, white feathers. “Sorry about that, Katie,” she said, dabbing her nose with a lace handkerchief and waving the bubbles, petals, and feathers away with her other hand. “I don’t know what got into me.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I may be coming down with something,” she said with a sniffle, which she followed with a cough.

  “Do you always sneeze up bubbles and flowers?”

  She sneezed some glittery confetti and groaned. “Yes. It’s so embarrassing. It’s like I totally lose control of my magic when I sneeze. I never know what will appear.”

  “Why don’t you go home and get some rest?” I suggested. I liked having her there to veil me from the overly friendly sales staff, but she looked utterly miserable, and I was worried about what she might sneeze up next.

  It was a sign of just how awful she felt that she didn’t argue with me. She just sneezed again, creating another cluster of bubbles, coughed, then said in a raspy voice, “I think maybe I will, if you don’t mind.”

  I braced myself for a stream of constant interruptions, but was left in relative peace. In fact, every call I made went straight to voice mail. That afternoon, the subway was reasonably peaceful, compared to the chaos of the last few weeks. The crime wave seemed to have broken. A number of people were sneezing and sniffling, which made me wonder if a cold was going around or if there was some allergen affecting a lot of people.

  I felt fine the next morning, but there was still a fair amount of wheezing and coughing on the subway. I got to the office to find a note saying that Perdita was out sick. I wasn’t surprised because she really had been in bad shape the day before.

  Although I’d had many a moment when Perdita tried my patience and when I’d wondered if not having an assistant would be easier or safer, when she wasn’t in the office, I realized how much I needed her. For one thing, her absence meant I had to find another source for coffee. In any other business, there would have been a break room with a coffeepot, or even one of those vending machines that drops a paper cup before shooting out a stream of coffee that doesn’t quite hit the cup. There
might even be a Starbucks in the lobby. But at MSI, where most of the employees could conjure whatever they wanted to drink with a flick of their wrists, there weren’t a lot of places where a nonmagical person could find caffeine. The only coffeepot I knew of in the entire building was in the verification department, and as I recalled from my brief stint there, that didn’t exactly qualify as coffee.

  I left my office and went in search of anyone who could conjure me some coffee. By the time I reached the end of the hallway and hadn’t found anyone present who wasn’t making alarming hacking and coughing sounds, I wasn’t even hoping for one of Perdita’s lovely concoctions. I’d have been happy with a cup of instant, as long as it was hot and contained caffeine.

  I headed up to Rod’s office because Isabel did good coffee, and she might also know how widespread the flu was. “He’s not seeing anyone,” she whispered when I stepped into her office.

  “He has it, too?”

  She nodded sadly. “And he’s being a big baby about it.”

  Just then, a hoarse shout of, “Isabel!” came from the inner office. “I need more tea!”

  “Hold on a second, Katie,” Isabel whispered before raising her voice to say, “With honey and lemon again?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Isabel raised her hand and flicked her wrist, then Rod coughed and said, “Thank you!”

  “You should go home,” she said.

  “I’m too—” he went into a coughing fit “—busy.”

  “Men, they’re such babies when they’re sick,” she whispered to me. “Was there something you needed?”

  “Coffee, please. I think everyone in my department is out sick. I’m desperate, Isabel.”

  She waved her hand, and a cup appeared on her desk. I picked it up and practically inhaled the brew. “Oh, you’re a lifesaver. Thank you.”

  “Most of the company is either sick or coming down with something. Germs spread as fast as gossip around here. You should have seen this place in January. The few people who were still standing practically came to work in hazmat gear. You’d better watch yourself.”