The New Improved Sorceress

by Sara Hanover

  Signs overhead pointed us to the Bingo room or back to the main casino. I wasn’t certain my knees could hold out if we passed that gentleman again. I caught a glimpse of an art gallery/art auction a corridor away with free champagne and beckoned at it.

  “That sounds fun.”

  “It does,” my mother agreed. “I could do with some free bubbly.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “You, however, aren’t old enough.”

  “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

  “You are the designated driver.”

  “Sheesh.” I trailed them down the opulent corridor to the art show. “What about my twenty?”

  “You can’t gamble either. And if you do, and win, they don’t have to pay out.”

  “Everybody has to rain on my parade. I’m coming back here next year, but I’m not sure if I’m inviting you guys or not!”

  Laughing at each other, we entered the gallery where a crowd already milled about, drawn by the promise of free drinks and auction bargains. I took it all in.

  “What are you looking for?” Mom, at my elbow, already stood with a champagne flute in her slender fingers.

  “Dogs playing poker or Elvis on black velvet or a white tiger with blue eyes. It looks like these guys are too classy for that, though.” As soon as I mentioned the tiger, I felt a new shiver run down my spine. That was what the silver blue-eyed gentleman had reminded me of, how intense and piercing his attention had instantly become, as though I’d walked into the view of a predator. I tried to shake it off without much success.

  A tuxedoed man came to the podium. Both my mom and Aunt April reached out to draw me into a chair between the two of them, and I sat down as he began to review the wonders of the art world they were going to show us. He started the auction off; I tried to pay attention, but boredom seeped in around me. The guys stood bunched at the back of the room, bored and talking among themselves. No one had said anything about silver eyes to me, so either they hadn’t noticed him—how on earth not?—or he wasn’t of any importance.

  I looked away from the podium and all the glasses of champagne bubble with their effervescence taunting me, turning about almost completely in my seat, and that’s when I saw it.

  In the far corner, a display of custom jewelry glittered on blue velvet stands; the prize of the bunch seemed to be either a platinum or white gold diadem band with a rich red gem accenting its center. I could see it from a football field away.

  A ruby the size of a goose egg. The thing should have been at Sotheby’s, not a casino gallery.

  Bingo.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  SNIPS N SNAILS N PUPPY DOG TAILS . . . OH, MY

  “I THOUGHT YOU were finally old enough to sit still!” Aunt April whispered in my ear, snapping my head about.

  “Sorry.” I craned my neck to see if Carter could see the jewelry display from where he stood. It didn’t appear that any of them could, and they were having an animated conversation about something, the professor appearing to be scowling.

  I knotted my own eyebrows. I had a feeling they were talking about me.

  “Fifteen minutes here and then we’ll head back to the restaurant. I’ll slip them a bill to move our wait time.” Aunt April made a soothing sound.

  My stomach gave a tiny rumble, and that made her smile. “I’m hungry, too,” she added, and patted my knee.

  I hardly heard her. I’d spotted the Eye of Nimora, and if we sat here all evening, I’d probably see it auctioned. But to whom? And who had brought it here? And would anyone bidding on it know just what it was, besides a ginormous gem? Did the elves know? Had one of them brought it to sell to another? If so, which group belonged to the crime family giving the Broadstone family grief over the trial: sellers or buyers?

  And, because it also seemed important, could I sit through everything before I starved to death?

  I swiveled my head about again. Could I possibly alert them to the Eye without letting anyone else know of our keen interest? I laced my fingers together as they suddenly itched to touch the object of our search. I couldn’t be certain but felt fairly confident that the moment I tried to touch the diadem the mother of all security systems would go off. The jewelry cases had to be alarmed. That kept me quiet in my seat as the first six or so pieces of art, just standard landscapes that might have appealed to some people but didn’t raise an eyebrow on me, went up on the easels. I pulled my cell phone and quietly tapped in a message, and turned the sound to vibrate for the answer. The auctioneer, partnered with a beautiful young woman who glided back and forth about him displaying canvasses as though we sat at Sotheby’s, kept up a nice patter, congratulating the bidders on “knowing their stuff.” All the while I wondered if he knew his.

  “He’s good,” murmured my mother as she sipped her drink. “He makes it like a contest and you want to be successful by bidding. Very interesting psychology. Oh, look. It’s not exactly dogs and poker, but there you go, Tessa.”

  The painting depicted a New York brownstone neighborhood on a blustery day, with a guy out dog-walking a dozen or so charges who gamboled about him. It actually appealed to me, the different dogs with vibrant personalities pulling at their leashes and the man who seemed determined to ignore their enthusiasm. We watched it go for a couple thousand, not high for an original whatever the artist’s name was. A number of the offerings were prints. They went in the moderately reasonable range, and I could feel Aunt April beside me shaking with mild adrenaline and the desire to bid. I nudged her.

  “What house would you hang that in?”

  Of all the properties she’d owned at one time, only three remained: our house, her big house, and a small, quaint cottage in the historic end of town that wasn’t worth much for the architecture but for the location. She looked down her nose at me, and the question seemed to quiet her, reminding her just how much she’d lost over the last five years. She gave me a curt nod.

  I tried to pay attention. Honest. But that red jewel haunted me, and it took all I could not to turn around again and stare as it burned at the back of my thoughts.

  I touched my mother. “Bathroom,” I whispered and before she could answer, smoothly exited the row and headed back to where I thought I might have seen a restroom sign, and had definitely seen the Eye. The hem of my dress flowed around my ankles like a sea at high tide, reminding me to walk a bit more carefully rather than like a striker about to wreak havoc on a hockey field. So I settled by walking like a lady but a very fast one. Scout saw me make my move and strained against his leash, but the guys took no notice nor had Carter answered my text. Brian seemed animated enough that his hair stood a little on edge. That must be one heck of an argument. Carter looked up to catch me in the corner of his eye and jerked a nod when I inclined my head in the direction I moved. He gave a signal to let me know he watched.

  At the corridor’s edge, I halted by the jewelry case to get the look I so desired. A number of handmade, one-of-a-kind, stunning pieces of jewelry caught my eye. A slinky choker of obsidian with a spade finishing it rested on a mannequin next to rings on bedazzled fingers. As beautiful as they all were, the diadem featuring the Eye of Nimora ruby stood out blatantly. For a moment I wondered if it were like the elven arch and only certain eyes could see it. It had to be what Hiram’s family had given to Germanigold; there couldn’t be two pieces of jewelry like this in the world . . . well, there could, but only if one were a deliberate forgery . . . and I pondered how we could track it. Who had stolen it? How many hands had it passed through to get here, and where might it go? My palm itched, and I put my hand up absent-mindedly to scratch at it, but of course it was the stone demanding my attention.

  It not only warmed, but pulsed gently, as if sensing the Eye. “Stone, meet Eye,” I muttered softly. Not that I wanted it to get too close, magic-devouring thing that my stone seemed to be, and there was the high probability of a very sensitive alarm system on this
window case. But the possibility came to me that the stone definitely had vibrations for the jewel, and that might come in handy. I came as close as I could to touching the glass, saying the item’s name in a soft whisper, and for the barest of a second, it sat crystal clear and alone in my thoughts, a brilliant stone with a depth of facets. Then the clarity faded and although still beautiful, the Eye sat in its place looking a bit . . . ordinary. Not that I thought for a minute that it was.

  Just beyond the cases sat a doorway into a small office area. I leaned over for a look. No one presided at the desk and computer. Folders, most open, appeared scattered all over. The desire to snoop took over, and I glided in after a look or two to make sure I couldn’t be seen.

  Nothing met my glance immediately, and then I saw a glossy picture of that choker necklace. I nudged it aside and under it sat the object of my search. The picture looked as if someone had taken it on their phone and printed it out from there. They had also written along the edge but I did not recognize the script, let alone what the words might have said. One good picture deserves another, so I got my phone out. As soon as it snapped the shot, I heard voices drifting my way and high-tailed it out of the office before being discovered.

  Out in the corridor, I saw no one who could have spoken, let alone two someones. Pondering, I drifted back to my seat in the middle of a bidding war for a “mystery” painting, its back to the audience, and found my aunt with her hands buried under her thighs to keep herself from making an offer. Mom and I traded looks. She leaned against me.

  “Aunt April is resisting temptation.”

  “It looks tough.”

  “Adrenaline junkie.”

  We nodded to each other. I leaned the other way, toward Aunt April’s ear. “Almost dinner?”

  “Yes, thank god.”

  The auction hammer came down. “That’s $750.00 for this stunning painting. Let’s see what you have won!” And the pretty assistant turned around the painting to reveal the Eiffel tower in the rain, its lights glowing, and two or three young couples in love wandering the rain-glistened streets before it. Quite winsome, actually, and the gallery audience oooh’d because it evidently was 1) an original and 2) a steal at that price. Aunt April pounded the side of her chair with her fist. I nudged her.

  “That’s $750 we didn’t have.”

  “True.” She deflated a bit and checked her watch. “Five more minutes and we can go check in for the line.”

  “Great!” I sat back, thinking and growling, my mind and stomach both working furiously. I stopped when a feeling crept up the back of my shoulder blades and buried itself in the nape of my neck as though a target rested there. As though a predator watched.

  I wanted to turn around and look. Every nerve in my body twinged, sending tiny shocks here and there that would stop if I just looked. I froze in place. Something told me that if I did, if I turned about, a line would be crossed. A test passed that I didn’t want to pass. A feeling of danger settled about me like a net; I fought to keep from shrugging it off, from springing to my feet and heading for the nearest exit. My body tensed until it hurt.

  I had to look. I let my purse slip off my knee to the carpet and, at a snail’s pace, bent to retrieve it. Glaciers move faster than I did, although I tried to do it naturally and look behind us. Even upside down, I recognized the beautiful man with the silver eyes from the poker rooms. He wasn’t watching the room. His gaze had locked on the three of us. I slid back into place and pulled my phone out of my purse cautiously. I wanted to take a picture but knew if I did, all the care I’d taken to be unaware and oblivious would be blown away. Still, I sent a text to Carter with his description and interest and where we were. He hadn’t answered the first text yet, which bothered me. Had he gotten mine? Or was the signal blocked? Neither possibility sounded promising.

  Aunt April’s foot pushed the side of mine. “I’ve had enough. Let’s head for dinner.”

  The three of us stood together, bowing out as quietly as we could as another “mystery” objet d’ art rested on the easel. Bidding this time seemed to go through the roof, drawing everyone’s eager attention, even that of ice-cold eyes.

  Although I could swear the moment we passed by his stare followed our steps until the corridor turned, taking us out of sight. My flesh tingled with feeling, and when I looked down at my arms, goose bumps covered them.

  I told myself I should do something heroic, like point him out to the guys. But I’d been warned, most emphatically, not to do anything solo or stupid. If anything, my guys would want the element of surprise. My stomach took over as we passed the restaurant and marched me into line because I felt like I was starving. With the phones not working as they should—and for all I knew the casino might be dampening the signal to discourage cheating—I hoped they were right on our heels.

  Mom bravely held the table while Aunt April and I went cruising the buffet line. I’d seen pictures of dinners like this but hadn’t ever attended one. I grabbed one plate and filled it full of crab legs while my second plate held more demure offerings of rare roast beef, Virginia ham, and au gratin potatoes. Mom gave me a look when I sat down. I contemplated the plates, trying to determine her disapproval.

  “I’ll get salad next round,” I promised her. “And shrimp.”

  With a laugh, she stood and marched off to do her own conquering while Aunt April brought back two ewers of clarified butter with her own dishes. She had the balancing act down pat and smiled at my envying look.

  “Experience, dearie, experience.” She passed me one ewer and we began to eat. I’d almost cleared my crab plate before my mother rejoined us.

  She lifted an eyebrow at me. I pointed a seafood fork at her. “I have been waiting all day for this.”

  The guys filed into the restaurant about then, Scout with them, prancing in his Service dog jacket and looking about as helpful as he could. One ear twitched my way, but he stayed with Carter and took a place under the table as Carter signaled him to down and stay. A few people approached them, but Carter shook his head and explained that dogs in training and service shouldn’t be distracted. Both fans and pup looked disappointed as he fended them off.

  My own appetite quashed, I got to watch as Hiram laid assault to the buffet, a wondrous thing to behold, because Iron Dwarves can nearly eat their considerable weight in offerings if they put their mind to it. I think I heard one of the floor managers moan softly as she ordered a new platter of crab legs to be brought out. Carter didn’t disgrace himself either, or Brian, although I noted that Brian preferred the beef to seafood, and he had one enormous plate of salad and exotic-looking vegetable dishes. Maybe the seafood was left for dessert.

  Mom poked the back of my hand with the tip of her knife.

  “What?”

  “You’re staring.”

  “Sorry. It’s like watching Godzilla devour Tokyo.” I swiveled slightly in my chair to turn my eyes away.

  “He does have a prodigious appetite,” noted Aunt April. “Reminds me of a gentleman I dated when I was young. Had the enthusiasm of a Paul Bunyan—”

  “Paul who?”

  Aunt April shook her head at me. “Never mind.” To my mother, she added, “Thought you were giving her a classical education?”

  Mom just shook her head before skillfully stripping a crab leg of its delicious meat.

  I stacked my empty plates to one side before standing. “Back to the front. Desserts this time.” My mother side-eyed me. “And salad. Definitely salad.”

  The dessert end of the buffet bars sparkled with a hundred or more different jewels of deliciousness. I hovered over them in indecision, knowing I could only taste maybe half a dozen or so without getting more killer stares from my mother and great-aunt and wondering if I could possibly stuff two or three down before I got back to my table. Sugar is definitely my weakness.

  So the strawberry and whipped cream topped
meringue thingy called a Pavlova definitely found a spot on my plate. Then a caramel and chocolate frosted mini-brownie. Most of the desserts came in mini size, which was a good thing, I told myself. I could always get another one if I wanted. Poised over the éclairs, a movement in the kitchen beyond caught my attention. Someone watched from behind the scenes. I wouldn’t have blamed a worker for sneaking glances of Hiram’s Herculean-sized portions, but my skin chilled when I identified the spy.

  Once seen, it took all I had to look away and find another pastry, but I could feel the knife-edged sharp watch of chilly blue eyes on me, and on our tables beyond me. Had he come looking for us? Trailed us to the restaurant? And did he have any inkling who Hiram, Brian, and Carter might be? Or was that steely attention fixed on me, because of the maelstrom stone or worse? Something told me I really did not want definite answers to any of my questions. I snagged a chocolate caramel éclair bite and sauntered back to my table where I promptly ignored the towers of goodness on my plate while I got my phone and texted Carter two tables away, hiding my actions. I then waited to see if he showed any reaction that my phone message had reached him.

  None.

  It seemed the casinos, in strategic areas anyway, had phone reception blocked. Not cool. I could rush to his side and tell him everything, but I’d spoil the trap. The Keno board lit up, and a young lady not much older than I was stopped by the table to collect our cards. I grabbed a crayon, scribbled a message on the back of the playing slip and gave her five bucks to get it to the other table. She pocketed the cash, went to two or three other tables first, and then sauntered by the guys. Credit to Hiram, he even stopped eating long enough to smile gently at her, and Carter sat up straight in his chair when he’d finished reading. Scout lurched to his feet.

  Brian leaned over to listen when Carter tapped his arm, and both of them looked serious for a few minutes, then Hiram flashed a nod my way before pushing aside a plate of devastated shells and heading back to the buffet. He positioned himself strategically so that he could check on my report, so skillfully done that I couldn’t have told that anything but the fresh crab legs and a bin of chilled and peeled shrimp interested him. He returned to the table and then three things happened: