“You look worried,” Ethan said.
“I am worried.”
“So am I.”
“You should be. This isn’t the safest place in the world.” To illustrate this point, a man went running past us with the police on his tail. One of the policemen got sick of the chase and lowered his rifle. A couple of shots took care of the man. The police discreetly hauled the unconscious body away.
“What do you think this friend of yours is going to be able to do for us?”
I shrugged. “Find a way to smuggle you out of here.”
“Into the jungle?”
“Maybe. We could go all the way down to South Africa. Or get on a boat for India or Australia.”
“I think I’ve had enough of boats for a while.”
“So have I, but we might not have a choice. Beggars can’t be choosy.”
He considered this for a moment and then said, “How did your mother know him?”
“An old boyfriend.”
“Was that before or after you were living on the vineyard? Or after your fiancé was gunned down by rumrunners?”
I glared at him for a moment. “Are you implying something?”
It was his turn to shrug. “I’m never sure if what you’re telling me is the truth or not. There’s so much you’re hiding from me.”
“You’re better off not knowing. Trust me.”
“How can I trust someone who isn’t straight with me?” When I said nothing, he added, “We’ve almost been killed a couple times already. Don’t you think I’ve earned your trust?”
“You seemed to trust me all right last night.”
“That was different. I just—I needed someone to hold.” He looked down at the ground. “I’m glad it was you.”
“Don’t talk like that, Ethan. This is just a job.”
“I know.” He sighed again. “Since Celia died, you’re the closest I have left to a friend.”
“I’m not supposed to be your friend. I’m supposed to be your bodyguard.”
“Can’t you be both?”
“It’s better if I’m not.”
He stared at me for a moment and then said, “I understand. Can you at least tell me a couple of things?”
“What do you want to know?”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-eight,” I said. That seemed old enough to have some experience but young enough to go with how I looked.
“Where did you grow up?”
“I lived on a vineyard with my mother and sister in France until I was thirteen. Mama died and Alexis took me to America.”
“What about Henry?”
“He followed us there from the vineyard.”
“So your mother met this Vic fellow in France?”
“In Paris. She went there sometimes when she was lonely.”
“What happened to your father?”
“He died after I was born. I never met him.” That part was true. I had no memory of my father. I didn’t even know his name. Alexis didn’t know much about him either. She had vague memories of him. Supposedly he was a merchant who did a lot of sailing around the Horn of Africa to the Far East. He was gone years at a time, coming back long enough to get Mama pregnant again. After planting the seed that became me, he took his last voyage, winding up amongst the rocks during a storm.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. What else do you want to know? My favorite color? What I like to eat?”
“If you want to tell me.”
I shook my head. “My favorite color is green. My favorite food is steak. Happy now?”
“Steak? That’s not very French.”
“I’m not very French anymore.”
“Are you planning to be a private investigator forever?”
“For a while. I haven’t made any long-term plans.”
“Don’t you want a family?”
I tried not to show any reaction although I felt as if someone had punched me in the gut with a brass knuckle. “No,” I said, looking down at my feet.
“Because of Henry?”
“Skip it.”
He stared at me, his face paling a bit. “I’m sorry. I went too far.”
“It’s fine.” I checked my watch. “Let’s find a hotel to stash these bags and then go pay Vic a visit.”
I took some of the bags from Ethan, not caring at this point how it looked. He still sweated buckets trying to keep up with me as I stomped through the city. I wasn’t being a good bodyguard, but when I got mad I needed some physical exertion to help work off the bad feelings. Usually that meant punching someone; it was too early to punch any of the Nazis hanging around here. Some brisk walking would have to do.
***
The reports turned out to be true: Vic was doing well for himself. Vic’s American Bar was the place to be in Casablanca from the line waiting to get in. I leaned close to Ethan and then whispered, “Wait here a second.”
A fat man dressed like a harem guard stopped me before I could get inside. “Hold it, sister,” he said in French. “You can’t just go in there.”
“I’m a friend of Mr. Richards.”
“Lot of people say that.”
“Tell him Sue Johnson is here to collect the hundred bucks he owes her.” The bouncer stared at me blankly. “Just give him the message. He’ll know what it means.”
I went back to where Ethan stood while the bouncer delivered the message. I just hoped he got the name and amount of the debt right. If not, we might have to find a more creative way to get inside the place.
The bouncer returned a couple of minutes later. “Mr. Vic said you can come inside.”
“Good.” I took Ethan’s hand. “My husband is coming with me.”
There was some grumbling in the line as we sauntered past them, into the bar. It was a pretty swanky place, more of a dinner club than a tavern with linen tablecloths and silver wrapped in napkins on the tables. That kind of setup must have cost Vic a bundle.
Just about every table had someone at it, most of them Americans or Europeans here on vacation or business. In the corner, a black man played an old standard on the piano, accompanied by a full band. They were good enough to be on the radio back in the States instead of in a backwater place like this.
I didn’t see Vic anywhere. He was probably in his office with some floozy. That was how he’d come to be out here in the first place; he got mixed up with a congressman’s daughter. The congressman was none to happy to find out his daughter had a bun in the oven and that the father of that bun had a rap sheet as long as his arm. He gave Vic the choice of getting out of the country or doing a dime in Leavenworth. Vic made the smart play.
I led Ethan up to the bar, which was just as crowded as the rest of the place. A scrawny Russian poured us each a whiskey. “You new in town?” he asked me.
“My husband and I just got here today.” The Russian took a look at Ethan and then decided to work on another dame at the end of the bar.
I was still looking around when a fat old man waddled up to us. My body stiffened when he spoke with a German accent. “Mr. Vic invites you to play the roulette in the back.” The old man pressed a hundred dollars worth of chips into my hands.
“Thanks.” I patted Ethan’s shoulder. “Come on, honey. It’s our lucky day.”
We wound our way past the crowded tables and then through a curtain. As promised, there was a roulette wheel in the room, along with a craps table and a couple of card tables for blackjack and poker. I still didn’t see Vic, but someone else caught my eye.
She was standing by the craps table, smoking a cigarette from a black holder. She was dressed like most of the women of the place in a white evening gown lightweight enough for the hot weather. Those weren’t the details that drew me to her right away. It was her hair, the same chestnut as mine and her green eyes that caught my attention. Other than her skin being not as pale and her hair cut a bit shorter, she looked exactly like me, enough that we could pass as sisters.
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The girl looked back at me and blew a cloud of smoke. I couldn’t be certain, but I was pretty sure she winked at me. This prompted me to shiver. “Something wrong?” Ethan asked.
“It’s nothing,” I said. I went up to the roulette wheel, putting all of my chips on number twenty-two. The croupier spun the wheel, but I didn’t notice; I was still looking at the girl and she at me.
“Twenty-two!” the croupier sang. I left the chips there, not caring if I lost the money. I was too riveted by this stranger to do anything else.
“Do you know her?” Ethan asked.
“No.”
“Maybe we should go.”
“We’re not leaving yet.”
“Twenty-two!” the croupier called out again. I forced my left hand to work, to shove the chips back. Vic wasn’t going to let the number come up three times in a row, not with everyone watching.
As I gathered up the chips, the girl made her move. She put out the cigarette and then came strolling towards Ethan and I with practiced grace. There was a smile on her face that was not friendly at all, more like the smile of a cat toying with a mouse. She knew who I was, but I didn’t know who she was or what her game was.
She didn’t speak to me. “Hello, Ethan,” she purred.
“Have we met somewhere?” he asked.
She took his arm and then leaned forward to kiss his cheek. “Of course, silly. It’s me. It’s Celia.”
***
Ethan and I were still standing there in shock when Vic chose to make his appearance. He looked a lot different now that he was wearing a white tuxedo and had slicked his hair back with pomade. Even his smile seemed whiter; maybe he’d gotten his teeth done when he came out here. “You can’t be Sue Johnson,” he said. “Sue was old enough to be my mother.”
“She’s not Sue, darling,” the girl claiming to be Celia said. “This is her daughter. Stephanie. Isn’t that right?”
I stared at the girl and then forced myself to speak. “That’s right,” I croaked.
“I didn’t know Sue had a daughter. She didn’t seem like the type for that sort of thing.”
“She wasn’t,” I said. “It just happened.”
Vic nodded at this and then flashed another smile. “I suppose we’d feel a lot more comfortable talking about this at a table.”
The girl took Vic’s arm, pressing up close to him as they walked. I put a hand on Ethan’s shoulder, to snap him out of his shock. “Come on,” I said. “I don’t know what her game is, but let’s find out.”
Vic had a table in the back reserved for his personal use. Like a gentleman he held out a chair for the girl. Ethan managed enough coordination to do the same for me. “So, it looks like we’re all good friends already,” Vic said.
“That’s right. Ethan and Stephanie are old friends of mine from back home. We went to college together.”
Though Ethan had tried valiantly, he couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. “You can’t be Celia. She’s dead.”
“I’m not dead, sweetheart. I’m perfectly alive.” She took his hand and gave it a squeeze. “See?”
“She didn’t look like—you!”
“That’s easy to explain, darling. I was undercover. You remember the gentleman from the War Department? He’s my boss. He asked me to get close to you so they could keep an eye on you. In case someone tried to steal your work.” She looked at me as she said the last sentence.
“You’re a spy?”
“Yes, darling. I’m a spy for Uncle Sam.”
A waiter appeared with four champagne cocktails. Vic and I gulped ours down while Ethan left his untouched. Vic said, “That’s news to me, sweetheart.”
“I’m sorry, darling, but we thought they might come here to ask for your help.”
Vic shook his head. “Looks like we’re a couple saps, don’t it, kid?”
“I don’t believe this,” Ethan said. “Did you ever love me?”
“I do love you, Ethan. That’s why I’m here. To keep you safe from this woman.”
Now I saw her game. She was going to turn Ethan against me and split us up. “I suppose next you’re going to say I’m working for the Nazis,” I said.
“That’s right. They blew up Ethan’s lab right after you showed up on campus. Then you tried to kill me on the train.”
“I thought I had killed you. You must be able to bounce pretty well.”
“You tried to kill her?” Ethan said. “But you said—”
“I was trying to spare your feelings,” I said. “Celia is working with the Nazis and someone called the Chairwoman. She figured if she were your fiancée it’d be easy for her to get her hands on your work. As soon as you finished it, she was going to kill you and turn it over to her friends in Germany.”
“That’s not true. I was going to convince Ethan to sell his work to the War Department. With the money from that, we could disappear someplace quiet.”
“And I was just a little diversion to pass the time,” Vic said.
“I’m sorry about that, darling. I thought you understood.”
Vic shook his head. “First time I ever had a dame use me instead of the other way around.” He signaled the waiter for another drink. I was grateful for that.
Celia turned away from Ethan to glare at me. “This woman is the one who’s going to kill you. She’s staged all of this to get you out of America, so that her friends will have an easier time of picking you up. They’re probably on their way here.”
“Stephanie wouldn’t do that,” Ethan said, but there was a tremor in his voice. I knew his dilemma: he liked me, but he loved Celia. Even though she looked completely different and had admitted lying to him for years, he still couldn’t see her as an enemy.
“Stephanie. Are you sure that’s her name? Maybe it’s Sue Johnson. Or Elizabeth MacArthur. She has so many of them.” Celia took a sip of her drink and then smiled. “Maybe she told you that story about growing up on a vineyard. Her poor fiancé Henry.”
“How do you know that?” Ethan asked.
“She tells that to all her marks. That’s how she gains their trust.” She took Ethan’s hand and squeezed it. “She’s like a black widow. She lures you in close, makes you trust her, and then she kills you.”
Part of me wanted to applaud Celia. Everything she was saying was true, just that she was describing herself instead of me. And because Ethan loved her, he would believe it. “She’s lying to you, Ethan. She’s the one who’s done all those things. She’s the one who’s working for the Nazis.”
“And who are you working for?” The way Celia grinned, she knew I was caught. I couldn’t reveal I was working for a witch named Gretel.
“I can’t say. It’s confidential.”
“Of course it is.” Celia looked Ethan in the eye, her face turning grave. “Ethan, I’m sorry about all of this, but I do love you. Come with me. We’ll get on a plane and leave this dreadful place. We’ll go back to America. We can pick up our old lives. And later, we can get married, just like we said we would.”
As much as I wanted Ethan to say no, I knew this was too tempting of an offer for him. Celia was offering him the chance to go back to the way things had been; I could only offer him a life on the run. It didn’t come as a surprise when he said, “I’ll go with you. Anywhere.”
She hugged him and then kissed him on the lips. “It feels the same, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” he whispered. “It does.”
“The rest doesn’t matter, does it?”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Good.” She took his hand, pulling him up to his feet. “I’ve got a car waiting outside. We’ll get the first flight out of here.”
He nodded. Before he left with her, he whispered, “I’m sorry Stephanie—if that’s your real name.”
I sat there, frozen, as he left with her. It was Vic who snapped me out of it. “You going to let him go with that crazy dame?”
“There’s not much I can do about it.” Short of sapping them
both and carrying Ethan over my shoulder.
“If that’s what you think, you must not be Sue’s daughter. Sue wouldn’t have let that skirt get out of here in one piece.”
I smiled a little at this. A few years ago or even a few weeks ago I probably wouldn’t have let something like this happen. But that was before I’d come to know Ethan and Celia, before they’d become my friends. I didn’t want to hurt them.
Yet Vic was right. I had a job to do. I had to protect Ethan from the woman he loved, to get him out of harm’s way. I’d put him in this jam in the first place; I couldn’t give up when things got rough. I gulped down my cocktail and then stood up. “Thanks, Vic. I see why Mom was so fond of you.”
He raised his glass to me. “Here’s looking at you, kid.”
***
I got as far as the front door. There was a group of police waiting for me, their guns at the ready. A man in a blue uniform with a gray mustache came up to me. “Stephanie Johnson?” he asked. When I nodded, he said, “We have a warrant for your arrest.”
Vic had come out with me. At his signal the bouncer came over as well. “On what charge, Louis?”
“That is none of your concern, Vic.” He looked back at me. “We’ll discuss that in my office if you please.”
“I’m afraid I have a previous engagement,” I said.
“That was not a request.” He signaled to the half-dozen policemen with him. I waited until they closed in to make my move. I twisted the rifle out of one’s hand while kicking another in the kneecap. With the rifle I bashed another in the side of the head and then whirled around to hit another in the stomach. Vic and the bouncer tripped up the other two.
I broke into a run, not much concerned where I was going. I pushed people down as I wound my way through the streets, until I found a dark alley. There I would vanish myself as close as I could to the airport.
Nothing happened. I couldn’t vanish myself. I tried to summon a fireball with the same result. My magic was gone. I was mortal for the first time since I’d turned thirteen again. “Goddamnit,” I muttered to myself.
Awakening (Birth of Magic #1) Page 15