Much Ado About Magic

by Shanna Swendson

  If Ramsay took offense, he didn’t show it. “I’m curious to know what your people have in mind before I offer my input,” he said.

  “Have you ever done a customer conference?” I asked.

  “No, we haven’t,” said Mr. Hartwell, the company’s head of Sales. “What do you have in mind?”

  “We’d invite all our major customers and anyone else who’s interested, show off our products, have a few educational seminars and some big rah-rah speeches from the executives. The idea is to let everyone see what’s going on with the company and maybe hammer in a few marketing messages cleverly disguised as education along the way.”

  “Do we want to let everyone know what we’re doing?” protested the head of Verification, Gregor. He’d very briefly been my boss, and he was a real ogre. By that I mean he was really, truly, literally an ogre when he got angry—horns, fangs, and all. “We don’t want to show our hand to the competition.”

  “But we do want to show our customers what we’re doing,” I pointed out. “That’s the general idea, to give them more confidence in us.”

  The gnome who headed the accounting department conjured up an abacus and began clicking beads. “It would be expensive, and our revenue is significantly down. Do we want to throw money at something like this?”

  “It’s worth considering,” Ramsay said. “If you don’t spend the money now, you may be even more behind later, and unless you’ve really been squandering cash since I’ve been away, you should still have hefty reserves.” I noticed that Gregor and several other people around the table relaxed at Ramsay’s endorsement.

  “I think it’s an excellent idea, Miss Chandler,” Merlin said. “I’d like to see a plan for that, along with some budget figures and a proposed schedule. We should stage this event as soon as possible—at Midsummer, perhaps?”

  I took a sip of coffee to stave off a coughing fit. It was early May, which meant Midsummer—if he was actually talking about the first day of summer the way it was referred to in the magical world—was less than two months away. We’d spent most of the year planning my old company’s customer conference and had a whole staff devoted to it. “Let me see what I can come up with,” I said when I was sure I could talk without gasping. On the upside, we did have magic to work with.

  Merlin adjourned the meeting. People rose to leave, but Merlin motioned me to stay seated. Owen gave me a slight wave and a nod as he left, and Rod Gwaltney, director of Personnel and Owen’s best friend, shot me a grin along with a thumbs-up. Once everyone was gone, Merlin said, “Now, about your new position.”

  Finally, a chance to clear things up. “What new position?”

  He frowned, then said, “Oh, I suppose you didn’t get the news yet.”

  “Apparently not. I only just got in the door before the meeting started.”

  “Dear me, you must have been confused,” he said with a rumbling chuckle. “You’re our new director of marketing. That will be your full-time responsibility. The job is too big to be done on the side. You’ll be reporting to Mr. Hartwell in Sales, and you’ll have an office there. Of course, there will also be a commensurate salary increase.” He named a figure that I’m sure made my eyeballs pop out. It was a real, professional salary, nearly twice what I’d been making before joining MSI.

  “Thank you, sir,” I said, trying not to show my shock. “I’ll do my best.”

  He stood and ushered me toward the door. “I have every confidence in you.”

  Mr. Hartwell was waiting for me in the hallway. “I’ll walk you to your new office,” he said. “I’m looking forward to having you in our department.”

  The sales department was pretty much what I remembered from my first day at MSI. Compared to the executive suite, it was noisy and chaotic, with voices coming out of all the individual offices up and down the main hallway. Most of them appeared to be talking on the phone or into the crystal ball communicator devices the magical world used in addition to phones. Mr. Hartwell walked me all the way down the hall, almost to where his office was, before opening a door for me. There was a small outer office with a secretary’s desk and a door leading into an inner private office. Considering that I’d spent my last few months in a broom-closet-sized office behind the counter at a farm-and-ranch-supply store, this would be like going to work in the Taj Mahal.

  “Here you go,” Mr. Hartwell said. “I’ll leave you to it. Let’s meet this afternoon to talk about your customer conference idea. Say, three?” He was gone before I could respond, but I didn’t have anything on my calendar to conflict with the meeting, unless there was something else they’d neglected to tell me about my new job.

  My pulse quickened as I stepped across the threshold into my own office. I had moved up in the world in a big way. But my executive chair was already occupied by a redheaded elf woman. Her long legs were stretched out and propped on the desk, and her fingers laced behind her neck. She was staring into space, her eyes unfocused.

  Apparently, I had the wrong office, which wasn’t the most auspicious start to my new job. I turned to sneak out and find Mr. Hartwell, but before I made it out the door there was a high-pitched squeak behind me.

  Chapter Two

  I whirled to see the woman sitting bolt upright in the desk chair, one hand covering her open mouth, her eyes wide with horror. “Oops,” she said. Then she jumped out of the chair and faced me. She was built like a teenage model, half a foot taller than I was and with legs that seemed to go up to her pointed ears. “You must be Miss Chandler. I’m your assistant, Perdita. Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to invade your space or anything, but I wanted somewhere quiet to think and you weren’t here and I didn’t know when you’d be here, so I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  It took a second or two for my ears and brain to catch up with the rapid-fire flow of words. When I was sure I had everything straight in my head, I said, “Hi—Perdita, was it?”

  She nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, Miss Chandler.”

  “You can call me Katie, please.”

  She nodded again. “Okay, Miss—I mean, Katie.” Her mouth then moved silently, as though she was repeating my name several times to herself. “Is there anything I can do for you or get for you, Miss—Katie?”

  “Not right now, thanks. I just want to get settled in.”

  “Okay, let me know if you need anything. I’ll be right outside. And I don’t mind if you want to shout through the doorway. Or you could call me. My extension’s on the list beside the phone. I made a list of important numbers for you.”

  “Thank you, I’m sure that will be very helpful.”

  “And your computer’s already set up. The computer guy said it was your same e-mail address and password and everything.”

  “Good. Thanks for letting me know.”

  “Can I get you some coffee, or something?”

  “No, thanks. Not right now,” I said, already exhausted by her energy. I hoped she was just nervous about meeting me and starting a new job. I knew I was nervous about a new job and having an assistant.

  “Okay. Let me know if you need anything else, because that’s my job!” She paused and frowned. “Is there anything I need to be doing?”

  “I’m sure I’ll have something for you soon, but I have to get myself settled before I have projects to delegate. You can take it easy for a while. We’ll be busy soon enough, I’m sure.”

  “I guess I’ll just answer the phone then.”

  “That’ll be great, thanks.”

  And finally, she was gone. I sat at my new desk and gave myself a moment to calm down. Once I quit feeling like everything might vanish in a puff of smoke, I got out my compact mirror to assess the subway fight damage. Red welts had formed on my neck and I had a scratch on my cheek. My hair was an utter disaster, so I took out the pins, found an elastic in my purse, and made a ponytail.

  That taken care of, I was ready to get down to business. I worked my way through a surprising number of e-mails and resisted the urge to cal
l one of my friends to squeal about getting a promotion and having an assistant. I had a feeling Perdita’s pointed ears were sharp in more ways than one, and it might diminish my status as boss if she knew how overwhelmed and excited I felt. Instead, I got out a notepad and made a list of things to consider for the customer conference so I’d be ready for my meeting with Mr. Hartwell later that day.

  A commotion from the outer office startled me out of my thoughts. Perdita’s voice shouted, “Wait, I have to announce you! That’s my job!”

  A second later, a frazzled-looking Owen stepped into my office, closed the door, and leaned back against it with a big sigh. “I’m going to kill him,” he said.

  This wasn’t quite what I’d expected in our first moment alone since he’d met me at the airport a couple of days earlier, but we were at work, and he obviously was irked about something, so this probably wasn’t the time for a romantic reunion. Knowing that didn’t stop my heart from fluttering at his presence. “Is that a threat or a premonition?” I asked, trying to sound casual. “And who is this marked man?”

  He shoved himself away from the door and collapsed into the chair in front of my desk. “Who do you think?”

  “Our friend Idris?”

  Owen ran his hands through his hair, leaving bits of it standing on end. “That was too easy.”

  “How did he earn your wrath? I mean, this time.”

  “He’s decided that he won’t talk to anyone but me. I’m a researcher, not an interrogator, but we need whatever information he has, so I’m stuck with the job. And you’ll like this part—he wants to talk to you, too.”

  “How did he even know I was back?”

  “I think he’s trying to avoid talking by making what he thinks are impossible demands.”

  I made a show of moving paper around on my desk, like I was terribly, terribly busy. Never mind that most of the paper was blank. “Well, we can’t always get what we want, can we? He’ll just have to learn to live with the disappointment.”

  He chuckled bitterly. “I wish I could pass on that message. Unfortunately, we need him to talk, and he won’t talk unless you’re in the room.” With an attempt at sounding upbeat, he added, “It could be fun to shock him if he thinks you’re not even in town.”

  “But I have a job to do! You heard what I have to pull together in less than two months. I don’t have time to spend chitchatting with annoying, mildly evil people.”

  “It’s all work toward the same goal, isn’t it?” he said with a weary shrug. “We want to stop the bad guys. We might not even need your event if we can get Idris to tell us who he’s working for so we can deal with him directly and shut him down. And I’m guessing from the way you looked this morning that you know how important this is.”

  “Yeah, I got caught in a Spellworks special.”

  “What was it this time?”

  “Influence spell, used to make someone steal a wallet and hand it over and then used to start a fight. A bystander stopped it with a Spellworks charm. I bet it was a setup—a form of guerilla advertising.”

  “You’re okay, though?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. I may have to wear turtlenecks in May to cover the bruises I’m sure to have, but no serious harm was done.”

  He leaned forward and touched my cheek, a worried frown creasing his forehead. “Does it hurt?”

  I’d almost forgotten about it, but his touch brought up a whole new range of sensations that were anything but painful. “It’s just a scratch,” I said, trying not to swoon.

  “Maybe I’d better go back to escorting you to and from work.”

  Was that a purely practical suggestion, or did he have ulterior motives? “If you think that’s necessary,” I said, aiming for a mildly flirtatious tone.

  “I don’t know if you’re in danger, but with all those influence spells, I may need you to slap some sense into me.” His eyes twinkled with humor and a hint of mischief.

  “Well, if you insist, but let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  “Do you think you’re up to dealing with Idris now?”

  “This may be the best time. It’ll be nice to take it out on the person who deserves it.”

  “Maybe you can terrify him into talking, and then we can get all this over with and go home.”

  I got up and followed him out of my office. Perdita jumped when she saw us. “Sorry about that, Miss—Katie, I mean. I tried not to let him through, since you were working, but he just barged in.”

  I silently counted to three and reminded myself that she had no way of knowing that Owen had an all-access pass. She acted like she didn’t even know who Owen was. “That’s okay, Perdita. This is Owen Palmer, from Research and Development. His department creates the spells we market, so I’ll need to talk to him often. You can let him in at any time, and you should always put his calls through.” I knew that was safe to say, since with Owen’s funny knack for knowing things, chances were he wouldn’t ever show up at a bad time.

  She gasped an “Oops!” and put a hand up to cover her mouth. “Oh, sorry about that. And sorry, Mr. Palmer. I didn’t know.” As she turned to him to apologize, she got a good look at him, and then her eyes got a funny glint to them. Owen had that effect on women. He really was quite gorgeous, with his dark hair, blue eyes, and a face worthy of a sculpture.

  I cleared my throat to get her attention back to me. “And now I have to go deal with something urgent. I hope it won’t take too long, but I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

  As we headed down the hallway from my office, Owen said, “So, that’s your new assistant.”

  “Yeah. I’m really moving up in the world. But apparently not up far enough to avoid being assigned a space case.” He smirked at that, but then his face quickly went back to neutral. “It’s not funny,” I insisted. “I’ll have to spend all day with her, every day. And if you laugh, I’ll call you down for meetings twice a day.”

  “That wouldn’t be so bad.” I was still trying to decide how to interpret that when we reached the dungeons.

  Since the MSI building looked like a castle I expected a real dungeon—a dark, dank place in the basement, with iron bars and chains and maybe even some really scary guards. The MSI detention facility turned out to be in the middle of the building, two floors below my office. Instead of having slimy stone walls, the place looked more like a laboratory or hospital. The floors and walls were stark, sterile white.

  “What, no basement dungeon?” I quipped to Owen as he waved his hand across a blank wall.

  “It’s too easy to escape through a basement. Here, anyone trying to rescue him would have to get through a good portion of the building, no matter which way they come, and he’d have to go back through much of the building to get out.” A doorway opened in the wall, and Owen guided me into an observation room.

  A long window showed Idris seated at a table in a brightly lit interrogation chamber. His hands were chained in front of him, and the chain looped through a bracket on the table. He fidgeted and glanced constantly around the room, but then he yawned, so I decided he was more bored than nervous.

  Two security gargoyles stood watch next to an area of blank wall that I assumed must be another magical doorway. A tall, thin man dressed in black turned from the window to face us. “Ah, there you are,” he said in a voice too deep for a body that thin. “The magical dampening field is in place, so remember that neither you nor the prisoner will be able to use magic,” he told Owen. “I will observe and will send the guards if anything untoward happens.” He gave a thin-lipped smile that made goosebumps appear on my arms, then waved a hand to reopen the doorway. Owen and I exchanged a look, then he nodded and we stepped forward into the interrogation room.

  When he saw me, Idris’s jaw dropped in shock at first, but then his face lit up with a huge grin. “Katie!” he called out. “I hope you didn’t come all this way just because I asked.” His grin faded when I got close enough for him to see my injuries. “Ouch. That looks like it
hurts. Maybe you should see one of the healers. Oh, but I guess they wouldn’t be able to heal that cut, since magic doesn’t work on you, huh?”

  Owen ignored him, pulling out a chair across the table from Idris and seating me before taking his own seat. He then fixed Idris with a stern, steely gaze.

  Idris squirmed, but with him, you could never tell if he was uncomfortable or just fidgety. After a long silence he blurted, “It’s not my fault, you know.”

  “What’s not your fault?” Owen asked, his voice calm and almost casual.

  “Whatever happened to Katie. Look, I know I’ve set some things on her that were not so nice, but she was never really hurt. I only wanted to scare her. I was having a little fun, seeing what she could do, you know? But I’ve been in here all this time, so I couldn’t have made anyone attack her.” He broke away from Owen’s stare and turned to me with wide, pleading eyes. “You know that, right, Katie?”

  I had a feeling his concern was more for the trouble that he was in than for anything he’d done to me. With my best shot at a stern glare, I said, “Actually, it was your fault.”

  He shook his head. “No, no, no, no. It wasn’t me.”

  “But it was someone using one of your spells that caused the incident. And the guy who choked me”—I pointed to the red welts on my neck—“was under the influence of a spell you sold. So, yeah, it was your fault. This is what’s happening because of your business.”

  He stared openmouthed at me. Then he shook his head. “But that’s not what I meant.”

  “Then what did you mean?” Owen asked. “What did you expect would happen when you made spells like that widely available?”

  Idris looked at him for a moment, then blinked and turned his attention back to me. “What was it like?” he asked. “What happened?”

  “That’s not what we’re here to talk about,” I said. “What we need to know is who set you up to do all this. You may not have thought it through, but I’m betting that whoever’s behind this did.”