Much Ado About Magic

by Shanna Swendson

  The life snapped back into Gloria’s eyes, and she became the woman who’d nearly frightened me to death when I first met her. She threw off the knitted shawl from around her shoulders and came to her feet with ramrod-straight posture. “I know we have some information. Let’s go look.”

  She moved with a sense of purpose out of the living room and toward the study, with James, the dog, and me in her wake. If the information we needed was in that study, then I had a feeling this could take all day. Owen had learned his organizational skills from his foster father.

  Once we were all in the study, James took the lead. “Now, where did I put that file?” he mused out loud. “I haven’t looked at it in ages, not since we first wondered about the possible connection between Owen and the Morgans. When was that, Gloria?”

  “When Owen was ten. And as I recall, the information we had wasn’t of much use in answering the question, so I don’t know if it will help you, Katie.”

  “If you can even tell me where he was found, I may be able to track back and find out how he came to be there,” I said, even as I got a sick feeling in my stomach from worry that Owen was right and this was a waste of time. I didn’t have another plan.

  After trying three different file drawers, James came up with a large document file envelope. The heavy brown paper was faded, and it was closed by a fat rubber band. He swept a clear space on his cluttered desk, slid the band off the envelope, and opened it. There were a few official-looking documents and a sheet that looked like a typewritten carbon copy. “That’s the one that had the background information,” Gloria said.

  James put on his reading glasses, skimmed over the sheet, then said, “Ah, here it is. Children’s Services picked him up at the fire station on Broome Street, where the firefighters said he’d been left.”

  I took a notepad out of my purse and wrote that down. “It doesn’t say how he was left, does it? Did someone bring him there, or was he left on the doorstep in a basket?”

  “It doesn’t say.”

  “And what was the date?”

  James smiled, “July fourth. They used that as his birth date because the doctors who examined him that day believed he was a newborn.”

  “Then maybe that date is distinctive enough for someone to remember it,” I said. I gave each of them an impulsive kiss on the cheek. “Thank you. This really helps.”

  “You must tell us what you discover,” Gloria said. She hesitated, then said tentatively, “Should we perhaps go to him ourselves?”

  I understood that she’d want to see him, but I felt like I was treading on thin ice with Owen by going behind his back this way, as it was. Dragging in his foster parents would be too much right now. “He refuses to call you. I don’t think he’s up for visitors. And I may need to keep you in reserve for when I really need to knock some sense into him.”

  That evoked a slight smile. “I understand. Then please tell Owen what we told you. He may not be ready to speak to us yet, but he should know.”

  “I will,” I promised. She insisted on feeding me a snack that was more like a meal, and then James insisted on driving me to the train station. By the time I was back in the city, it was the end of the workday, so I went straight home.

  I hadn’t yet had a chance to tell Gemma and Marcia about everything that had happened, and Nita was already home when I got there, so I wouldn’t be able to anytime soon. I’d thought her presence might complicate matters since she wasn’t in on the magical secret, but it was nice to have an excuse not to talk about any of this for a while.

  Nita went into throes of ecstasy at the idea of ordering in Chinese food. “I’ve always wanted to do this!” she gushed, gazing at the delivery menu for our favorite Chinese place. “But we don’t have any restaurants that deliver back home, unless you count Meals on Wheels for the old people. And we don’t have Chinese food.”

  “It’s just takeout,” Gemma said with a shrug.

  “But I have been living in a world without it,” Nita said with the kind of drama that you’d expect to hear about electricity or indoor plumbing.

  “Welcome to the twenty-first century,” Marcia said, her lips twitching with wry amusement.

  Once we had food and were gathered around the dining table, Nita said, “I have the early shift again tomorrow, so does anyone want to go out tomorrow night? We could have a big girls’ night out—something very Sex and the City.” She paused, chewing her lip, then said, “But you all probably have dates.”

  “No, Philip’s got something going on,” Gemma said.

  “And Rod’s barely even talking. He seems upset about something. That reminds me, Katie, I was going to ask you—” Marcia cut off when she caught my slight shake of the head.

  The last thing I wanted to do was play Sex and the City when my life was more like hex and the city, but that wasn’t something I could easily explain to Nita, and I knew Owen wouldn’t be up for a date night. “Sure, sounds like fun,” I said, trying to sound a lot more enthusiastic than I felt.

  Nita clapped her hands. “Yay! We could start out at the hotel cocktail lounge. It’s very swanky, and I can get us an employee discount and give y’all a tour of the hotel.” Then she frowned at me. “Are you okay? You don’t look so hot.”

  That was one of the good and bad things about having Nita as a friend. She seemed shallow and flighty, but she really saw people, and you couldn’t sneak a bad day past her. “I’ve just had a couple of crazy days,” I told her. “There was the conference yesterday, and I had a meeting out of town today, so I spent most of the day on trains. I don’t know how people who commute like that every day do it.”

  “Oh, but starting every day by going through Grand Central is so inspiring!” she said. “I get off the subway one stop early so I can cut through the terminal on my way to work. I feel like Mary Tyler Moore.”

  “Wasn’t that in Minneapolis?” Marcia asked.

  “I think she means the feeling of making it in the city,” Gemma said. “Too bad they got rid of the old Penn Station, because that’s where my subway stop is, and it’s not nearly as inspiring as that must have been.”

  That started a conversation about things that got them excited when they first moved to the city, and I didn’t have to answer additional questions about why I was out of sorts. There was only so much claiming to be tired could cover for when the real trouble was that my world was in danger of falling apart.

  *

  I went to the office the next morning because I needed to do some research before I tried the fire station. Perdita’s greeting when I entered the office wasn’t nearly as friendly, cheerful, or welcoming as it usually was. “Oh, I didn’t think you’d be here,” she said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because of—well, you didn’t come in yesterday, so I was wondering if maybe, well, you know.” She didn’t quite look at me when she spoke.

  “After my boyfriend was accused of being the son of the previous generation’s bad guys, you thought I wouldn’t dare show my face around here, or I might even have been fired?”

  She looked up guiltily, peering through the hair she’d let fall into her face. “Something like that. You didn’t know, though, did you?”

  “He didn’t know. The boss didn’t know. It may not even be true. And he’s not evil, I’m pretty sure of that.”

  “I didn’t think he was evil, but you can’t be sure, can you?”

  “I suppose it depends on where you stand on the nature versus nurture issue. I’m a magical immune like my mother, but I hope I don’t share all her personality traits. And, as I said, there’s not even any proof that it’s true.”

  “Would you like some coffee?” she asked sheepishly.

  “Peppermint mocha, please. And make it a big one, extra whipped cream, maybe even some sprinkles.”

  “Coming right up.” It appeared on her desk, and I picked it up. “Is there anything else you need me to do?”

  “Not right now. I’m working on something for t
he boss and I’ll probably be out of here soon.” I started to head into my office, then turned back. “On second thought, there is something you could do. You’re pretty tuned in to the network, aren’t you?”

  “I get around,” she said, twining a ringlet around her finger.

  “Then you could start a few rumors—ask where the proof about Owen is or how Phelan Idris knew about that. And you could rebut anything you see that you know isn’t true. Get your friends on board, too.”

  “Oh cool! I can talk to my friends, and it’s work! Awesome! I’ll get right on that.”

  At my desk, I looked up the location of the fire station and figured out the best way to get there. Then I searched for any photos of Ramsay from around the time of the war with the Morgans. I figured if he was the big hero, there would have to be something, and sure enough, there was. I printed one. There were no such photos of the Morgans. Owen’s pictures of them were tiny and I didn’t think he’d share them, anyway, if he knew what I was up to. I went up to Merlin’s office to see if he had anything.

  Before I could get to Merlin’s door, Kim came out of her office and pulled me aside. I was startled when she high-fived me. “Looks like we were right about you know who,” she said smugly.

  “Yeah, we were. Go, us,” I said without much enthusiasm.

  “He was talking to Idris before that speech. I’m sure he was the one who told Idris all that stuff about Owen.”

  “Really?” That was what we’d all suspected, but it was nice to get a little more evidence. Not that a brief chat before a speech was real proof. “Thanks for the tip. Now, I need to talk to the boss.” She gave me a “be my guest” wave.

  “Have you spoken to Mr. Palmer since yesterday?” Merlin asked as soon as I entered his office.

  “No, not since lunchtime. Why? Did something happen?” I sat in the nearest chair before the sudden surge of fear could make my knees go weak.

  “His resignation was waiting for me when I returned to the office yesterday afternoon.”

  “He quit?”

  “For the good of the company.” Merlin said with a deep sigh. “And I am afraid he was correct. Three more large customers wanted to cancel their contracts this morning, and I was only able to persuade them not to by assuring them that Mr. Palmer was no longer in our employ.”

  “So you’re throwing him under the bus,” I said.

  “That is a very colorful turn of phrase, but not entirely accurate.”

  “Yeah, but it works out well for the company,” I muttered, leaning back in my chair and folding my arms across my chest. “It makes for good damage control.”

  “Which was his reason for resigning,” Merlin said firmly. “He’s putting the good of the company first, which gives us the opportunity to contain the situation.” He sighed in deep resignation and sagged against the back of his chair. “I hope you have made some progress.”

  I told him what I’d learned, then said, “Do you have any pictures of the Morgans I can use for identification?”

  “Pictures of them are quite rare.”

  “I wonder if Ramsay had anything to do with that—keeping his secret until he could use it. Owen found some pictures in an old club directory, and he does look a lot like them. If everyone knew what the Morgans looked like, it wouldn’t have been a secret for long.”

  “That may very well be the case. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a photograph of them.” Merlin got up from his desk and thumbed through a few of the books on his shelf, then shook his head. “No, I am afraid I have nothing.”

  “It was worth a shot,” I said. It was time for Plan B, and Owen looked enough like his supposed mother that someone might be able to make a connection. Unfortunately, I didn’t have any photos of my own boyfriend, which probably said something about the history of our relationship. We’d always been too busy trying to save the world to pose for pictures.

  I headed for Owen’s lab and got Jake to let me into the department. “I don’t suppose you have any pictures of Owen lying around?” I asked him.

  “Someone once brought a camera to a department party,” he said. There was a crowded bulletin board over his desk, with pictures overlapping each other, and he searched through them. “He’s bad about vanishing as soon as a camera comes out, but wait, here’s one where he didn’t get out of the way in time.” He unpinned a photo and handed it to me.

  The photo focused on Jake and a couple of other guys in lab coats and Santa hats. On the edge of the picture, Owen was leaning over a lab table and had just looked up. It wasn’t a shot worthy of a Men of Magic calendar, but it looked enough like Owen to work. “Can I take this?” I asked.

  “Sure. No problem.”

  “I’ll bring it back.”

  “There’s no hurry.” He worried his lower lip with his teeth, then asked, “How’s he doing? Have you seen him—or do you need that because he’s gone missing?”

  “He’s fine, just a bit upset. Next time I see him, I’ll tell him you asked after him.”

  Armed with photos, I caught a subway train uptown and got off near Little Italy, then walked to the fire station. It was an old station that looked a lot like the toy firehouse my brother Teddy used to have. Right next door was a church, and I wondered then if the baby might have been left at the church, then discovered by the firemen. The baby left on the church steps was such a cliché. Did anyone actually do that in real life?

  The bay door was open, and a couple of firefighters stood outside, leaning against a wall. “Can I help you with somethin’, miss?” one of them asked, and my first instinct was to look up to see if Sam was perched nearby. The voice, accent, and way of speaking were almost identical.

  I approached the firemen, feeling suddenly awkward and unsure. “Maybe,” I said. “This is going to sound kind of weird, though.”

  “Ah, try me,” the fireman said. I didn’t think he was that much older than I was, but his face was weathered. His dark hair was cut in a short, military style, and his nose looked like it had been broken a few times. “I get a lot of weird every day. It comes with the job.” He grinned at his colleague, who nodded in agreement.

  “Okay, then,” I said, wondering for a moment if Sam might have taken human form. “Is there anyone still around who was working here thirty years ago, or do you know of someone who was?”

  He turned to his colleague. “Vinnie’s been here forever. Think he was here back then?”

  “I think so,” the other guy said. “He was probably here when they still used horses to pull the engines.”

  The human version of Sam said, “What do you want with an old-timer?” He winked and added, “Or is it personal?”

  “It’s about a baby who was left at this station.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Seriously? That does happen sometimes, but I never found one. And I’m okay with that.” He jerked his chin in a “follow me” gesture and went into the fire station. I followed him inside and then up the stairs to the office/living area of the station. “Is Vinnie in today?” he asked the firefighters hanging around in a common room.

  “He’s makin’ lunch,” one of the men said.

  “Hope you brought the Alka-Seltzer!” another one said, and they all laughed.

  “Aw, shaddup,” my Sam clone said with a good-natured laugh. “He’s a better cook than any of you guys. C’mon, doll, we don’t need these losers.” As he led me to the kitchen, he said, “Vinnie’s mostly retired and doesn’t go out on calls, but he comes in and helps out around the station. The job gets in your blood, makes it hard to leave, y’know?”

  As we entered the kitchen, he yelled, “Yo, Vinnie! Someone here to see you.”

  A barrel-chested man wearing a chef’s apron and a ball cap turned to see us. “Whaddaya want, Corelli?” he asked.

  Corelli gestured to me. “Miss?”

  “Katie Chandler,” I supplied.

  “Miss Katie Chandler, this is Vinnie Marciano.”

  Vinnie wiped his hands on his apron, the
n held out his right hand to shake mine. “Pleased to meet you. How may I be of service?”

  “She’s lookin’ for someone who was around thirty years ago,” Corelli said. “I figured that would be you.”

  “Yeah, I was around then. Why?”

  With a deep breath, I said, “A baby was left at this station—at least, this is where Children’s Services picked him up, though he could have been left at the church next door. It was on July fourth. Maybe that’ll make it easier to remember.”

  Vinnie frowned and nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I remember that. I was workin’ that day, had an early shift.” He grinned. “That was our little Yankee Doodle Dandy, born on the fourth of July, he was. I’ve always wondered what happened to that kid.”

  A lump grew in my throat as I reached for the photos in my purse. “Do you remember anything about how and where he was found?” I asked.

  “He wasn’t really found. His mother brought him.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  My hand froze halfway inside my purse. “His mother?” I repeated. There went my theory about Ramsay.

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure that was the mom,” Vinnie said with a shrug. “I mean, the baby was fresh out of the oven, barely even cleaned up, and she wasn’t lookin’ too good.” He knitted his bushy eyebrows at me. “Why do you wanna know, anyhow?”