“Apparently you didn’t.” He listened to Jeff’s serenade for a while. “Stalker, huh?” He was taking this pretty calmly, and my hopes rose.
“Yeah. I did him a favor once, and he’s extremely grateful.”
“What kind of favor?” There was a tinge of suspicion in his voice.
“She disenchanted me,” Jeff said helpfully. I wondered if there was a way to reenchant him. He’d be less of a bother if all he could say was “ribbit,” and the restaurant would call the cops if he took his clothes off. “I was cursed to spend eternity as a frog, until she freed me with a kiss.”
Keith turned to look at me, one eyebrow raised as if asking for an explanation. “He was lost in the park, and um, well, naked, and I got help for him.” In essence, Jeff and I had told the same story. My version just sounded saner, even if his was more accurate.
“Do you do that sort of thing often?” Keith asked.
“No, just that one time.” Jeff launched into another aria, one I recognized from a pasta commercial, even if I didn’t know what opera it was from. I wondered what all the Italian words he put around my name meant.
I glanced toward Ari’s table and saw that they were all staring—as was every other patron in the restaurant. I caught Ari’s eye and mouthed the word “Help,” but she gave me an innocent look, as if to say, “You told me to leave you alone.” I narrowed my eyes at her, and with an exaggerated sigh she waved a hand. In midphrase the aria stopped and Jeff said, “Ribbit.”
Had she put the frog illusion back on him? I wished I could see what my date saw. If a tuxedoed man singing arias to your date was weird, that man suddenly disappearing and a frog taking his place would be beyond strange.
The restaurant manager—the real one this time—came to our table and said, “Miss, is this person bothering you?”
“Yes. Yes, he is.” The manager and one of the waiters each took Jeff by an arm and dragged him away. I assumed that meant they didn’t think he was a frog, or they would have removed him from the restaurant in a different way.
Our waiter then stopped by and asked, “Would you like to see the dessert tray?”
Without hesitation, Keith said, “No thanks. Just the check, please.” My heart sank. That was definitely a bad sign. When the waiter had gone, Keith turned to me and said, “I hope you don’t mind if we call it a night. I have somewhere I have to be pretty early in the morning.” In other words, I was being ditched. I couldn’t blame him. In his shoes, I’d ditch me, too. But that didn’t stop it from being a huge disappointment.
He paid in cash as soon as the waiter showed up with the check. Then he escorted me to the front door. “It was nice meeting you, Katie. It was an, um, well, interesting evening.”
I winced. “Sorry about that.” I wanted to say that sort of thing didn’t happen to me often, but the problem was, it probably would, given my line of work. “Thanks for dinner, though.”
“Yeah. Well, I’ll call you.” His tone made it the “you’ll never hear from me again” version of “call you.” The fact that he quickly disappeared around the corner underscored that impression. I was left standing on the sidewalk, holding the giant bouquet of roses Jeff had given me. It looked like I’d graduated from little sister to freak. Either way, it meant there wouldn’t be a second date. With a deep sigh of regret, I began walking home.
As I walked I mulled over my situation. I was trapped between two worlds, not really belonging to either. I wasn’t magical, and facing the reality of magical life—like kissing frogs—freaked me out. But I wasn’t totally normal, either, for the magical world had a nasty habit of spilling over into the rest of my life. If I thought my social life was complicated before, now it was a tangled mess. I adjusted my grip on the roses, then gasped when I accidentally hit a thorn. I paused on the sidewalk to suck my injured finger, stepping out of the way so I wouldn’t block the person I heard walking behind me. I froze when the sound of footsteps behind me also stopped.
My heart pounding in my chest, I moved forward again, walking faster. Now I didn’t hear those other footsteps at all. Maybe I’d imagined them in the first place, or maybe the person behind me had turned off to step into a building or down a side street. The thought didn’t calm me down much.
I had enough street smarts to know that if you think you’re being followed, it’s best to immediately head to a safe place, preferably one that’s well lit and full of people. There was a Duane Reade ahead, open twenty-four hours, and usually with at least one cop in there buying snacks or antacid at all times. I’d just make it one more block, go into the store, and mill around enough to make sure I wasn’t being followed. If I was still nervous and if there was a cop in there, I might be able to play Southern belle and sweet-talk him into walking me home, only a block or so away.
Having a plan made me feel better. I got a tighter grip on my purse and wondered if I could hit someone hard enough with the roses to make the thorns do any damage, then set off toward the drugstore with a purposeful stride.
I was halfway down the block when I felt the tingle and pressure in the air that meant someone was doing magic nearby. That made me nervous, even though I knew I’d be relatively safe. Magic couldn’t affect me directly. Was someone trying to use that control spell on me, without realizing I was immune? I’d have to let Merlin and Owen know about this.
I forced myself to keep walking. I just had to get to the corner and cross the street, and I’d be safely at the drugstore.
Then I felt the tingle again, followed by a rush of wind and a loud pop. Something dark came out of nowhere and grabbed me hard around the waist, knocking the air out of my lungs so that I couldn’t even scream for help.
Before I moved to New York, I took a self-defense class at my hometown’s karate studio/tanning salon, mostly to make my mother feel better about me going to the big bad city. This was exactly the kind of situation the class had been designed to teach us to deal with, but my mind had gone frighteningly blank. It was like something out of a nightmare, being in danger but being so paralyzed with fear that I couldn’t scream or move.
It seemed like hours later, but it could only have been a second or two before I thought of what to do. I shoved the roses into the guy’s face to distract him. He sneezed, but he didn’t release his grasp. Then I remembered something from the self-defense class about kicking the guy in the knee. That was supposed to be a weak spot. I was wearing pointy-toed heels, so I lifted my right leg and gave my attacker a good wallop in the kneecap. The theory was that the pain would distract him enough to loosen his grip on me so I could get free. He did loosen his grip, but it was so fast that my leg was still raised from kicking him, so I lost my balance and hit the pavement.
I hadn’t been the best student in the class, needless to say.
Now I was in even bigger trouble because it would take time for me to get to my feet, and during that time he’d be able to grab me again. I’d dropped my purse when it fell, and I knew I was in real danger when instead of going after my purse, he came after me. He wasn’t a garden-variety mugger, then. I pulled off one shoe and hurled it at his head. There was a thud and a curse, then he staggered. Got him! Those hours in the backyard with rocks and baseballs had paid off. I was getting my feet under me to make a run for it when I heard a rush of wings. I looked up to see Ari and her friends. They surrounded the dark figure, and I felt that magical tingle. This time there was an added charge in the air, as magic apparently flew back and forth between the fairies and my attacker.
A hand grasped my arm and I squeaked—which was an improvement over paralyzed silence, but still not very effective. “It’s okay, Katie, it’s me.” I recognized Rod’s voice and let him help me to my feet. “Are you hurt?”
“I don’t think so. Only my dignity, I imagine.” I found my shoe, put it back on and gave myself a quick survey, but from what I could tell, I hadn’t even torn my stockings. “What’s going on? What are you doing here?”
“We can talk about i
t later, but now I want to get you away from here. They’ve got it under control.”
“Got what under control?”
Before he could answer, there was another whoosh of wings, and Sam was on the scene with some of his people, including the beaked gargoyle I’d seen earlier. “Okay, let’s haul the perp away,” Sam instructed.
Rod bent to pick up my purse, then put his arm around my waist and said, “Come on, let’s get you somewhere safe.”
“Safe would be nice.”
“I don’t live too far from here, if you’d rather go there and get yourself together, maybe talk some, before you go home.” Under other circumstances I’d suspect that was a pickup line, coming from Rod, but he sounded genuinely concerned. If he was a big enough letch that he’d hit on a woman who’d just been mugged, then I might as well find out now instead of later.
“That sounds like a good idea,” I said. It did. I wasn’t sure I wanted to face my roommates until I’d calmed down considerably. Telling them about the date was going to be bad enough. Gemma would kill me for scaring off the perfect guy.
He walked me down a side street, then another side street, and then to a modern apartment building. We went through the lobby to a bank of elevators. “I didn’t know you lived near here,” I said when we were inside the elevator. It was a weak attempt at casual conversation, considering how badly my voice shook.
“There are a lot of us in this neighborhood.”
“Any particular reason? It’s not extra loaded with magic, or anything like that, is it?”
He smiled. “No, not really. There’s just a lot to do around here, and some of the Village denizens are odd enough that nobody pays much attention to us.” The elevator came to a stop, and he escorted me off. He unlocked a door, then pushed it open and said, “Welcome to my humble abode.”
It wasn’t all that humble. Magic must pay pretty well. It was the classic high-end bachelor pad—all sleek leather upholstery and blond wood furniture with glass insets. He had an entertainment center to die for and a view of the city lights. “Nice place,” I said, admiring the framed classic movie posters.
“Thanks. Make yourself at home. Have a seat, or the bathroom’s just down that hallway, if you want to freshen up. I’ll make you some tea.”
I wandered down the short hallway and found the bathroom. It was as small as most New York apartment bathrooms, and almost entirely devoid of grooming products, aside from basics like toothpaste. I supposed his idea of grooming was putting on that illusion.
In the light of the bathroom, I checked myself out. I had torn my stockings, after all, a small hole on the side of my right knee. I dampened a tissue and blotted the dirt off my skin. Otherwise, I seemed to be unscathed physically. Emotionally, I had a feeling I would be a total wreck as soon as the shock wore off. In fact, I was already shaking.
I took off my shoes before trying to walk back to the living room. My legs felt like rubber, and they wobbled in unpredictable directions. I barely made it to the sofa, where I collapsed into the soft leather cushions. Rod came into the living room, holding a steaming mug.
I took it from him, then fought to keep my hands steady. “Wait a second, you said you were making tea. You mean, you actually made this instead of zapping it into existence?”
“Believe it or not, we don’t all go around just zapping things. For one thing, it’s an energy drain. At the office, we have enhanced power circuits to draw on. Most of us don’t have them at home.”
I nodded. “That explains a lot. I was wondering why you bother going to restaurants or bars.”
“It’s the social factor. We need that as much as anyone else. And it never quite tastes the same. I wasn’t sure I could get the tea just right without actually making it.”
I tasted it, and it was very strong, and very sweet. If I wasn’t mistaken, there was more than just tea and sugar in there. I drank a little more. “Thank you.”
He sat next to me on the sofa. “Now, I imagine you’re wondering what just happened.”
“Yeah, I believe I recall asking you a couple of times. I don’t think it was an ordinary mugging. He didn’t even try to grab my purse.”
“No, it wasn’t an ordinary mugging. We’ll know more once we talk to your attacker, but we think tonight’s adventure came courtesy of our friend Idris. He must have figured out the role you’ve been playing, and he wants you out of the picture.”
I shuddered, then gulped down more of the tea. “What role? I’m not magical. There are hundreds of people in this city who could have done exactly what I did. If he’s going after people who are a threat, he should be going after Owen.”
“Who said he isn’t, on a daily basis?” Rod’s tone sent shivers up my spine. “But you’re also a key player in this, like it or not, and it would be just like Phelan Idris to want to know exactly what role you do play. His people have been stalking you for a while, and we’ve been watching them while we keep an eye on you.”
“So you and Ari and her gang being there wasn’t just a happy coincidence tonight?”
“Not in the least. Ari was supposed to be watching you in the restaurant, but you must have managed to get out of there before she had a chance to follow you.”
“Disastrous date,” I explained. “So they’ve been following me? I still don’t get it. I’m not that important, really. I just have a few good ideas and some down-home common sense.”
“Do you realize how rare that is? But I imagine the issue to Idris is that you’re an unknown quantity. He doesn’t know the role you play, and he wants to find out. He also wants to scare you.”
I finished my tea. “Well, it worked. I’m scared. I’ve never been mugged before, and let me tell you, it’s not fun.”
He leaned toward me, putting one hand on my arm. “We’d understand if you wanted to walk away from all this. It’s not your fight, so there’s no reason you should be putting yourself in danger. We have ways of giving references that won’t look suspicious, and I know people in other industries, so we could help you get another job. Don’t feel at all obligated to us. I know when we offered you the job, we never mentioned the possibility of danger, so it’s entirely our fault if you’ve had an unpleasant surprise.”
I pondered that. Did I want to go back to living an ordinary life, working at a company where you actually had to brew coffee, having coworkers who might throw hissy fits but didn’t turn into monsters, not really mattering in the grand scheme of things? True, it would simplify my life considerably. I would be able to talk about work with my friends, and I wouldn’t have to worry about my dates being jinxed—literally.
But could I turn my back on what I knew was going on? If Idris thought I mattered enough that he wanted to stop me, then maybe I was more important than I thought. This thing was far bigger than I was, and now that I knew what the stakes were, I couldn’t just walk away. Whether or not I had any magic powers, this was my fight, too, and I wanted to see it through.
I shook my head. “Nothing doing. Now they’ve just pissed me off.”
He grinned. “I was hoping you’d say that. Don’t worry, we’ll continue to protect you. These days, we all need to look out for one another.”
A realization struck me. “Is that why Owen’s been coming to work with me every morning?”
“Yeah, he’s part of your security detail, with the added benefit that you can spot anyone in disguise who might be after him.”
“Oh.” I couldn’t help but feel a sting of disappointment to have it verified that his attention wasn’t personal.
“More tea?” he asked.
I studied my empty cup and assessed my condition. I still wasn’t ready to go home. I wasn’t sure which would be worse, explaining why the perfect man Gemma had set me up with never wanted to see me again, or telling them that I’d been mugged. “Sure,” I said, handing him the cup.
When he returned to the living room with a fresh cup of tea, I said, “Maybe you can help me with something.”
> “Anything you need. Just ask.” His tone reminded me of Owen, that first day of work on the bus.
“Do you know anything about magical pranks?”
“A little. Why?”
I told him about the Naked Frog Guy, ending with his unwelcome appearance at my date that night. When he finished laughing and wiping the tears of mirth out of his eyes, he said, “Owen’s the one you want to talk to about that.”
Owen was the last person I wanted to talk to about either dating or about being serenaded by men who used to be frogs. “Why’s that?”
“It sounds like one of his spells. The layering’s the clue. Most prank spells are one-dimensional, but the beauty of this one is that ‘breaking’ the enchantment actually only makes it worse by making the victim become obsessed with the woman who breaks the frog part of the spell.”
“I don’t know him that well, but fraternity prank spells don’t seem to be Owen’s style.”
“When we were in college, he made extra money by doing custom spell work. I’m surprised to hear that one’s still going around, and that it’s made it to the city.” He shook his head. “He should have asked for royalties. That was one of his better ones. It really brought out his sense of humor.”
“You mean all the bad poetry?”
“He was taking a Shakespeare class that semester.”
“Don’t tell me he’s a Barry Manilow fan.”
“No, that was the customer’s request—they were looking for something really humiliating. The opera is pure Owen, though.”
“So, how do I break this spell?”
“It’s supposed to break when the victim meets someone he’d like even without a spell. Around the university, that meant it was usually over within a day or so.”
“And if he doesn’t? Or if he really does like the woman?”
“Then you’d have problems.” He studied me for a while, and his gaze gave me shivers. I wasn’t used to being looked at that way by men. The sweater Gemma loaned me must have been especially good with my coloring. “And I can see where that’s a distinct possibility. Yeah, you should definitely talk to Owen if this guy keeps bugging you. He’s probably got a back door built into the spell, so he could break it for you.”
Enchanted, Inc. Page 23
