You Only Spell Twic

by Paige Howland

  “Ryerson, where the hell are you?” he snapped.

  “Your office.”

  A pause and then, “Don’t move.”

  The call was disconnected, and Ryerson eased back off the desk. Dorothea looked angry enough to spit nails.

  “Please take a seat,” she said with all the warmth of a Siberian winter. “The director will be with you shortly.”

  “You’re getting better at making friends,” I told Ryerson as we sat down.

  Twenty minutes later, Director Abrams strode through the door.

  “Where the hell have you two been?” he said by way of greeting.

  Ryerson flicked a glance at Dorothea, clearly uncomfortable having this conversation with an audience. Lucky for him, the question was rhetorical as Director Abrams didn’t even slow down as he crossed the reception area toward his office. Dorothea stopped trying to melt Ryerson with the heat of her glare long enough to hastily gather a stack of memos for her boss, which she handed to him as he breezed by her.

  He stopped at the door to his office and glanced back at us. “Well? Are you coming?”

  Director Abrams’s office was exactly what I expected of a career government employee’s office. Cheap furniture except the ergonomic desk chair, carpeting that probably should have been replaced a decade ago, the walls decorated with commendations and the odd photo of the director posing with recognizable politicians, including a sitting U.S. senator and two former presidents.

  He closed the door and gestured at two chairs situated in front of his desk.

  “Before you explain what the hell happened to prevent you from checking in for nearly three days, do you have the item?”

  Ryerson nodded and pulled the Grimoire out of his backpack. He set it on the desk. I waited for the voice to object, but it was quiet. In fact, it hadn’t said anything in a while. I wondered if I should be relieved or concerned about that as Director Abrams leaned forward, running a reverent hand over the cover. “Good work,” he said gruffly and sank into the chair behind his desk. “Now explain.”

  So we did. About the attack in Mauritania. About how we became separated. About the attack at the safe house in Morocco. Director Abrams listened intently, interjecting questions every now and then, leaning forward when I described the attack at the safe house. Dahlia would have already told him about that, but he asked a dozen questions about it, questions I was sure I’d spend hours answering for the debrief team before the day was over.

  Finally, Director Abrams sat back, his lips a tight line. “We’re already looking into the information leak, of course. We also have agents searching for the team that attacked you. I understand your friend Zoe Masters was among them.”

  I felt the heat of Ryerson’s stare, but I refused to look at him. I nodded. “I’m sure she has no idea she’s not working for the real CIA, sir.”

  “Yes, well, we’ll make that determination when we find her. In the meantime, you both did an exceptional job this week. Have you told anyone else that you were successful in your efforts to recover the Grimoire?”

  “Dahlia knew I had it at one point, but we haven’t spoken to her in a few days.”

  He nodded. “You were right not to contact anyone. In fact, until we get to the bottom of this, tell no one that it’s here. As far as anyone else is concerned, your mission was unsuccessful. Understood?”

  “The debriefing?” Ryerson asked.

  The director thought for a moment. “No, better tell them the truth of it. No one else, though.”

  Ryerson nodded. I didn’t like the idea of lying to Dahlia and Andersen, but I supposed it made sense. For now, at least. Keeping them in the dark would clear them quicker, at the very least.

  “What will happen to the Grimoire?” I asked.

  “For now, we’ll keep it here, in the MPD. No safer place for it, unless this shadow organization has roots deeper than we can imagine. And then, well …” He shrugged, as if to say then we were screwed anyway. Which was a cheerful thought.

  “You’ve both done an excellent job.” Director Abrams stood, so we did the same. “Now go home, get some sleep, and report back here first thing in the morning.”

  Sounded good to me, but Ryerson hesitated. “What about our debriefing, sir?”

  I wanted to kick him. He had probably been the kid who reminded the teacher when she forgot to assign homework too.

  But Director Abrams waved him off. “We didn’t know you’d be arriving today, and the debrief team will be busy for hours. Besides, I want to personally vet the team members before your debriefing.”

  “We can wait—” Ryerson said.

  “I appreciate that, but it can wait. If someone I trust becomes available today, I’ll send him over. Otherwise, go home. Get some sleep. You’ve earned it. That’s an order.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Ryerson walked to the door, but I didn’t move.

  “Could I have a minute, sir?” I said.

  Ryerson paused at the door.

  Director Abrams grunted his assent and sat back down. Ryerson hesitated and then left, closing the door behind him.

  “What can I do for you, Ms. Winters?”

  I pulled in a deep breath. “I want to be an operative.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Is that so?”

  “Yes. I’ve been a part of two missions so far, with no training, and both have been successful. I—”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  I blinked. Well, that was way easier than I expected. “Sir?”

  “You’ve proven yourself more capable than some of our operatives who have gone through years of education and training. I believe you’d be a valuable asset to the team.”

  Well, huh. Guess I wouldn’t be needing that speech after all. “Really? Just like that?”

  Director Abrams nodded and stood, guiding me to the door. “Just like that. Let me put together a plan for your integration and run it up the pole. We’ll talk more about it in the morning. For now, go home. Get some sleep, and remember, tell no one about the Grimoire. You’re an operative now, Winters, and that’s an order.”

  I grinned. “Yes, sir.”

  Ryerson wasn’t waiting outside Director Abrams’s office. I was a little disappointed, but I wasn’t surprised. He’d been given an order to go home, and he would follow it.

  But he did text me.

  Tomorrow night, it said. Dinner?

  My smile stretched wider and I sent a quick reply. Can’t wait.

  I would have skipped out of Director Abrams’s office if I wasn’t so sure it would undermine the whole super-serious-secret-agent image I wanted to project. Because I had a date. And I was going to be a spy. Me. A real, honest-to-witchness spy.

  Not only was it exactly what I wanted, but it would also give me a better vantage point from which to pull Zoe back from the dark side and maybe even find proof of Alec’s innocence. And Director Abrams had agreed super easily. Clearly, I was way more awesome at this than I’d thought.

  Now I just had to tell Ryerson.

  That thought deflated my mood.

  It wasn’t that I thought he wouldn’t be happy for me. It was what he’d said in the car. That he was ready for us to be together because we wouldn’t be working together anymore.

  What would happen once he found out that wasn’t the case?

  Of course, maybe I would be assigned another partner. That thought slowed my steps. Would I still want to be a spy if Ryerson wasn’t my partner? I was pretty sure my answer was still the same, but I hadn’t really considered the possibility. Or what if my assignments took me away from my family for long periods of time? How would I explain that? And who would take care of Jinx? And Golem?

  It was possible I hadn’t thought this through.

  I needed to talk this out with someone. Normally that person would be Zoe, but, well, clearly that wasn’t happening. I reversed course and headed back down the hallway.

  I would follow Director Abrams’s order to go home. Just no
t quite yet.

  It was close to eight, the sun dipping behind the trees outside the windows, but Dahlia was still in her office. Her eyes widened as I walked inside and plopped myself down on Andersen’s couch.

  “What the hell?” she spluttered.

  “It’s nice to see you too.”

  Her eyes narrowed, and she waved a hand at the monitors behind her. “I’ve been looking for you for days!”

  I winced. She did look tired, the skin around her eyes dark and sunken, her wrinkles deeper than usual.

  Tired and pissed.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “Ryerson thought it best we didn’t contact anyone until we”—got the book back into the right CIA hands—“made it back to the States.”

  “Ryerson’s home too?”

  I nodded.

  She blew out an angry breath and closed her eyes. Counting to ten, probably. Er, make that twenty. A full minute later, she opened them. “I guess I can’t blame you,” she said grudgingly. “Don’t get me wrong. I really want to. But I suppose it makes sense.”

  I decided that was as close to forgiveness as I was likely to get. “Any word on Zoe?”

  Her expression softened fractionally, and she shook her head. “Sorry. We’re working on it. Did you guys get the book back?”

  I opened my mouth to lie to her, but I just couldn’t form the words. “Sorry,” I said finally. “It’s classified.”

  She stared. “From me?”

  “From everyone.”

  “Fine,” she said, but she didn’t look happy about it.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “You mean something new and different from what you’ve been doing the last five minutes?”

  Everyone’s a comedian. “I asked Director Abrams to make me an operative. He said yes.”

  Her eyes widened. “That’s great!”

  “Yeah, except I kissed Ryerson.”

  I didn’t think her eyes could get any wider. I was wrong. She leaned forward in her chair so far I worried that she’d fall out of it. I did not want to be in trouble for breaking Dahlia, so I eyed her until she rolled her eyes but sat back in her chair.

  “Tell me,” she said, all traces of her earlier anger gone.

  I shrugged. “About the kiss? It was great. Better than great. He’s got this stubble that scratches in the best way, and his lips taste like—”

  Dahlia was leaning forward precariously again, and I cleared my throat. “Like lips. But he said something afterward. He said he felt like we could finally be together, because the mission is over and I’d be a civilian again.”

  “But you don’t want to be a civilian again.”

  “Exactly,” I said miserably.

  Dahlia winced. “That’s rough.”

  “What do I do?”

  “I think you already know,” she said, sounding sympathetic.

  And the thing was? She was right. I did know. I couldn’t give up the chance to do something with my life. To be an operative. Not even for Ryerson.

  “I’ll just have to tell him and hope he understands.”

  “Oh, he’ll understand,” she said. “He’ll even be happy for you. Well, as happy as he ever gets, anyway. Whether he’ll still think dating is a good idea?” She shook her head. “He tried that once. It didn’t end well. And Ryerson isn’t one for repeating mistakes.”

  “His ex is a crazy evil witch that love cursed him and almost killed him,” I reminded her.

  She shrugged. “She also caused him to lose focus. Do you think the real thing would cause him to be any less distracted?”

  I sagged back in my chair. “I can’t give up this chance. Not even for Ryerson. Especially not with Alec and Zoe still out there. I have a much better chance of helping them if I’m part of the team.”

  Dahlia nodded and then stood and went to a small refrigerator. “When Andersen gets stuck on a spell and needs some distance from it, he experiments. Today he made elderflower smoothies. They’re supposed to improve the complexion. Plus he spelled them so they wouldn’t melt. He wanted to see how long the preservation spell would last, but I think he’d understand.”

  She handed me a pink glass and then took a sip of her own.

  They were delicious.

  We spent the next hour talking and sipping smoothies. Despite her earlier anger, she seemed to be in a rare good mood. Apparently Aunt Belinda had called her this morning because they were close to a counter-curse for the aging spell. By the time I left her office, it was late. I offered to stay and walk her out—I didn’t love the idea of Dahlia walking to her car alone in the dark—but she waved me off. I made her promise to call a security guard to walk her out. She scowled, but she agreed.

  “Oh, and Ainsley?” she called as I reached the door. “This came for you today. Sorry, security opened it. They do that with all our packages, but everything should still be there.”

  She handed me a shipping box. The packing tape had been slit, and the security team hadn’t bothered with the pretense of sealing it again so the cardboard flaps gaped open. I peeked inside and did a quick inventory. Sure enough, all the ingredients I’d ordered for the Grimoire’s banishment spell were accounted for. I thanked her, tucked the box under my arm, and left her to finish closing up for the night.

  I was halfway down the hallway when a wave of dizziness swept over me, and I leaned against the wall until it passed.

  Witches and wizards, do I have news for you, the voice said breathlessly, and I jumped.

  When my heart rate had climbed down out of heart-attack range, I whispered, “Don’t surprise me like that! And where the hex have you been? And why are you out of breath? You’re dead. You don’t breathe.”

  Habit, the voice said. And I decided to poke around a bit to see if I could get to the bottom of this shadow organization. They want my Grimoire, after all.

  Yeah, I said, in my head this time, as a door opened down the hallway, spilling light into the darkened hall. Director Abrams’s office. Director Abrams, who had ordered me to go home hours ago. I wasn’t sure how serious of an order that had been, but probably best not to find out. I stepped into the nearest shadowed doorway as the director and another man whose face was hidden by shadows stepped into the hall.

  Hello? said the voice. Did you hear a word I said?

  Right. Sorry. What did you find?

  Oh, just the guy in the shadow organization in charge of stealing the Grimoire from us at the safe house.

  I froze while the voice savored the moment. Wait, I said. He’s here?

  Down the hall, the man talking to the director shifted, and the shadows fell away from his face. I sucked in a breath.

  Because I recognized him.

  I don’t know his name, said the voice, but—witches and wizards, it’s him. It’s that guy.

  There in the hallway, talking to the director as if nothing was wrong, as if he wasn’t a double agent, stood Agent Eyebrows. One of the guys on Zoe’s team who had attacked us at the safe house.

  Um, hide, said the voice.

  I am hiding! But maybe I shouldn’t be. Maybe I should confront him now.

  Are you crazy? That’s a terrible idea.

  I wanted to cast a rune to hear what Agent Eyebrows was saying, but I couldn’t risk it. Rune magic wasn’t normally visible to humans, but Ryerson had magic-viewing contacts that allowed him to see the light blue trail of magic in the runes I drew. I couldn’t take the chance that Eyebrows was wearing the same contacts. That would definitely give me away.

  Ainsley, when I left you earlier and went to investigate, I overheard what his plans are.

  Yeah?

  Maybe I could wait until he left and then go straight to the director. I’d—

  No, said the voice. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. There’s no time. He’s planning to kill your Agent Ryerson. Tonight.

  32

  My thoughts froze.

  What? I said. It sounded only slightly panicked. But Ryerson doesn’t hav
e the book anymore!

  Yeah, but he knows where it is.

  So do I.

  Oh, they’re planning to murder you too. There’s probably an assassin on the way to your place right now.

  Um. You couldn’t have led with that?

  The voice shrugged. You’re not there.

  Fair point.

  I’ll get closer. See what I can hear, the voice said and slipped out of my head. Just like that. Like it was the easiest thing in the world.

  In any other situation, I would have taken advantage of her absence to think about how to keep her from sneaking back inside my head. But there was no time for that now. Not when Ryerson was in trouble.

  Director Abrams locked his door, and then he and Agent Eyebrows walked down the hall, away from me. Director Abrams clearly had no idea of Agent Eyebrows’s real identity.

  I followed them.

  In the parking lot, the director paused to look down at his phone. Agent Eyebrows kept going.

  This was my chance to tell Abrams exactly who Agent Eyebrows was. But it would take time, and the assassin was already halfway across the parking lot. By the time I explained things, Eyebrows would be long gone. Maybe I could catch up to him before he reached Ryerson. Maybe not.

  I made a decision.

  I texted Ryerson to warn him as I slipped by Director Abrams, and when Agent Eyebrows pulled out of the lot, my little Jetta was right behind him.

  Not so close, the voice said, popping back into my head and startling me so badly I nearly veered into a light pole.

  Learn anything new? I asked.

  No.

  I slowed and stayed two blocks behind the car I was following. Then I sketched a rune into the dashboard and sank magic into it, camouflaging the car into the night around us. It wasn’t perfect, but it would make us more difficult to spot, anyway.

  I called Ryerson on the way, but he didn’t pick up. He hadn’t responded to my text either. So I tried him again. And again.

  No answer.

  Fear wove through me.

  We eased onto the GW Parkway and drove toward the suburbs. I didn’t have Director Abrams’s phone number, so I called Dahlia.