She stepped out of Malcolm’s grip and hailed a cab before she could lose her nerve. ‘We don’t look like ourselves,’ she reminded him tersely as they slid into the backseat. ‘We can just hang back and wait until they split up.’
Unfortunately, the mother and daughter didn’t seem inclined to do any such thing. Jane had mostly been afraid that they were heading to brunch – a time-consuming activity, for one, not to mention that she couldn’t stomach another bite after everything they’d eaten at the diner. But stalking the two Doran women as they examined every little thing at Bendel’s was, she eventually decided, much, much worse.
‘I think you need one of these,’ Malcolm told her cheerfully, holding a retro powder puff up to Jane’s cheek.
She sneezed before she could say anything, and a black-clad salesgirl glared. Chastened, Malcolm returned the puff to its box and stepped away. ‘They’re heading upstairs,’ Jane murmured, turning away from the spiral staircase to examine a huge square studded with subtly different shades of Laura Mercier foundation. ‘I have no idea if I’m a summer or an autumn right now,’ she grumbled, counting the steps in her head until she guessed that Lynne and Annette must have reached the second floor.
‘Is there any chance that there’s less stuff up there?’ Malcolm asked pessimistically, craning his neck to try to get a better look. His mother and sister had already spent nearly an hour on the first floor, seemingly examining every cosmetic in existence. The chattering crowd bouncing between one colourful display and the next had made it easy to stay unseen, but the energetic music was starting to give Jane a headache, and Malcolm was looking even more drawn than she felt.
‘There’s plenty,’ Jane told him, although she suspected that he probably already knew that. ‘But we’re already all “dressed up,” so we should stick it out if we can. Anyway, there’s a salon in the building. They could still part ways.’
‘Or they could be aiming for an entire day of mother-daughter bonding,’ Malcolm pointed out grouchily. ‘Hey, what would happen if I got this hair cut? Would mine get shorter by the same amount? Or would they even be able to cut it, since it’s not—’
‘Come on,’ Jane interrupted. The staircase was clear, and she couldn’t see Lynne or Annette anywhere. ‘We don’t want to lose them.’
She thought she heard Malcolm muttering behind her as she headed for the stairs, but she resolutely ignored him. Spying isn’t his thing, she reminded herself charitably. I wish it had never become mine, either. Malcolm had given up an extraordinarily comfortable life for a dangerously uncertain one because he knew it was the right thing to do; she wasn’t about to take him to task for not enjoying it enough.
The only ones enjoying this are those two, she thought grimly as a familiar chestnut coif came into view, bent close to a dark-blond one. Annette’s apple-green Dior suit was a little mature for her age, Jane thought: she must be trying to mimic her mother’s style. She was carefully settling an ornate jeweled comb in her tousled hair, and Lynne seemed so intent on helping her that for a moment Jane forgot to stay out of sight. Then Lynne’s dark eyes swept her way, and Jane stiffened.
Before she could decide what to do, Malcolm stepped part of the way between them, holding up a sequin-studded Carnivale mask to Jane’s stricken face. ‘We’re two hundred yards away,’ he reminded her steadily, ‘and you don’t look like you.’
‘She knew I was Ella,’ Jane said in a whisper. ‘I’m still not sure how.’ She pulled him gently over to the store’s remarkable front windows, remembering as she did that she had heard somewhere that they were Lalique. They were certainly lovely, although her attention as she pretended to examine and admire them was more than a little divided. No matter how hard I try, Lynne will always have more experience at being a witch. The comparison was so unfair that it was downright depressing. It was entirely possible that Charles had ‘outed’ her somehow when she had been disguised as Ella, or even that she had given herself away with some word or gesture. But she also had to consider the possibility that Hasina had used some spell that Jane would never live long enough to even hear about. How could any witch hope to live a safe, quiet life until that ghoul is gone for good?
Malcolm squeezed her arm, and she glanced up at him. His face was a study in sympathy and concern. ‘Can I help?’ he asked softly.
‘Just keep your eyes open,’ she suggested with a tired half smile. Jane had never held a glamour in place for so long, let alone two glamours, and she was starting to feel the strain. For some reason – probably the simple fact that it wasn’t a disguise of her own body – Malcolm’s glamour was proving especially tricky, and Jane couldn’t help worrying that she would let it slip. But I’m glad he’s here, she thought gratefully. He’s making it almost . . . fun.
Malcolm’s dark eyes widened in surprise, and she whirled around to see what he was looking at. All she saw were the backs of his mother and sister, sorting through Loro Piana cashmere scarves. ‘I’ve gotten dragged in here a few times,’ Malcolm explained awkwardly. ‘Isn’t the third floor . . . lingerie? If they head up there, we may need a new plan.’
‘But our old one is working out so well,’ she joked, stepping back from the window and trying on a giant pair of Roberto Cavalli sunglasses for the hell of it. ‘Let’s not borrow trouble yet,’ she counselled more seriously after a moment. ‘I’m starting to wonder if today is just destined to be a loss.’
Malcolm pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘Is there likely to be a “good” day, though?’ he asked. ‘Won’t my mother be doing everything she can to persuade Annette that this is some fabulous birthright she’s won her way back to, just like we’re going to try to convince her of the opposite?’
He was right, Jane had to admit. The fact that they had happened to follow the pair on yet another day of mother-daughter bonding probably had nothing to do with luck at all, good or bad. It would be smart for Lynne to keep her daughter as close and as happy as possible for the remainder of the twenty-eight days. Her life, after all, depended on a transfer with no glitches or interference. It would be careless to leave Annette to her own devices for the next week and a half . . . and Lynne was a woman with a keen eye for detail. ‘She knows how badly Annette wants to be part of a family,’ Jane grumbled, switching to a pair of Ray-Bans.
Malcolm nodded seriously, then adjusted the frames a little on Jane’s nose. ‘How do you convince someone that what she’s wanted her whole life isn’t all it’s cracked up to be?’ he wondered aloud.
Bitter experience is a pretty effective teacher, Jane thought ruefully, but unfortunately they didn’t have the luxury of letting Annette make mistakes in order to learn from them. ‘Malcolm,’ she hissed suddenly, swiveling her head back and forth, ‘do you see your mother anywhere?’
Annette’s apple-green ensemble was still in view inside the luxury accessories section, but Lynne’s demure, mink-topped grey jacket was nowhere in sight. Jane spun around, worried that Lynne had somehow snuck up behind their unsuspecting backs, but all she saw was Fifth Avenue traffic outside the stained-glass windows.
It’s what we wanted, Jane almost said, but how long would Lynne be gone? There was no way of knowing whether she was off to the salon for the afternoon or simply powdering her nose for a minute.
‘You should go to her,’ she said quickly. ‘I’ll back you up from here, but she’s more likely to listen to you.’ She reached up and waved her left hand across his face, releasing the magic that held his disguise together as she did. It was a bit complicated keeping her own in place at the same time – like separating a melody from its harmony in an unfamiliar song – but the feeling of relief afterward was so intense she had to close her eyes for a moment. ‘Go,’ she gasped, checking to make sure that Malcolm looked entirely like himself again. ‘And hurry.’
Malcolm wrenched himself away from the window and crossed the store in a few long, eager strides. Of course, he’s been dying to see her, Jane realized, feeling a little foolish. She’d been thinking o
f their afternoon in terms of a reconnaissance mission while he’d been painfully close to his long-lost sister the whole time.
Jane braced herself as Malcolm approached Annette, who was holding up an Hermès bangle thoughtfully. The curious look on her face turned to shock and then something approaching rapture, and Jane tried to make herself relax a little. Annette might be a bit of a hothead, but surely she wouldn’t attack her own brother in a public place, even if he told her something she didn’t want to hear.
Annette’s face darkened, her square jaw setting. Jane balled her hands into fists, letting the magic that was holding up her glamour flow into the rest of the power that she held in reserve, ready to release it at a moment’s notice. But no flames licked around the highly flammable cashmere; and Malcolm continued to speak earnestly, even fearlessly. Jane allowed herself to do a quick visual sweep of the store, checking for Lynne. She didn’t see her anywhere, but considering how many tall, well-dressed, glossy-haired women were nearby, it was hard to be confident that they had enough time. ‘Hurry,’ she whispered again, wondering if there was some magical way to project her voice to his ear.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of mink on the spiral staircase. In a near panic, Jane reached out with her hoarded power and pulled, tugging on Malcolm’s arm as urgently as if she were standing there beside him. He swung around, surprise registering on his face, but when he saw Jane’s expression he seemed to understand. He pulled a pen from his pocket, scribbled something hurriedly on a business card, and pressed it into Annette’s hand before ducking his head and exiting back into the main part of the floor.
Jane swirled her magic around him as he did, darkening his hair and slimming his broad shoulders a little so that he would be harder to recognize from behind. She was nearly done before she realized that, as the one who was facing in Lynne’s direction, she probably should have touched up her own disguise first. But by the time she had enough attention free to do so, Annette had crossed the floor to meet her mother, steering her back toward the staircase. The two women began to climb again, chattering naturally, and then Malcolm wrapped his arms around Jane, enveloping her in his own spiced-champagne scent.
‘Thank you,’ he breathed into her hair. ‘It’s too soon to tell if she listened, but thank you for helping me try.’
Chapter Eight
A FEW HOURS LATER, after waking up from a much-needed nap, Jane wandered halfheartedly toward the kitchen. Without Dee’s cheerful influence, though, nothing in it seemed especially palatable. She wandered out again, wondering where Malcolm had disappeared to. She didn’t know if he was considerately trying to give her space, or if he felt like having a little space of his own, but the sudden tugging in her chest made her not care.
Slipping off her shoes, she padded down the hardwood hallway, encouraged to see that the bedroom door was open – but Malcolm wasn’t in there, either. She half started toward the bathroom door, listening for the sound of a running shower, but then realized where he must be and stepped into the hallway instead. The door to the bedroom that she still thought of as Dee’s was closed. But now Jane could sense the warmth of a live presence from the other side of it, as though she could hear Malcolm’s heartbeat.
She entered before she thought to knock, and promptly blushed: Malcolm was extended along the floor’s wide open space, stripped to the waist and glistening with sweat. She had caught him mid-push-up, and from the looks of things it wasn’t his first or even his fifteenth. Never a small man to begin with, Malcolm had put on easily ten new pounds of muscle during his travels around the world. Lots of calisthenics alone in his room, she guessed, and then he saw her standing in the doorframe and she blushed harder.
‘Sorry to interrupt,’ she mumbled, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. Her palms suddenly felt slick with sweat, and it took her two tries to turn the enameled knob, but finally it clicked closed. When she turned around again, Malcolm was pulling a thin gray T-shirt over his head, and she felt a quick stab of disappointment.
‘You seemed exhausted,’ he told her, brushing a damp curl of dark-gold hair back from his forehead. ‘And I didn’t want to crowd you in your own home.’
‘It’s been a long couple of weeks,’ she agreed noncommittally, catching herself searching for the flat curve of pectoral muscle beneath his thin shirt. ‘We’re hurtling toward a deadline, and I can’t make Annette contact you in time, or even figure out how to actually help her if she does.’
He smiled wanly and settled himself into a low white armchair. Jane, feeling uncomfortable about sitting on the bed without some sort of invitation, folded into a cross-legged position on the crocheted rug in the middle of the floor.
‘We’re underpowered.’
Malcolm didn’t try to contradict or reassure her; he just nodded. ‘How can I help?’
He leaned his upper body forward. His attention felt like radiating sunlight, and she closed her eyes for a second, basking in it. ‘Help me think,’ she requested, and he nodded.
They began with the nearest source of additional power: Lynne Doran’s athame, which Jane had kept locked safely away in a bank vault ever since it had been handed over to her. Malcolm started out surprisingly neutral about it – technically it could be considered a part of his sister’s inheritance, but under the circumstances that was a trivial concern. Annette had plenty of magic of her own, and Jane had bartered it from Lynne fair and square. Besides, to hear Malcolm tell it, magic was stolen fairly regularly, or mistakenly allowed to die with its owner; obtaining such a massive store of it was a rare gift that no witch could really expect. Still, he seemed reluctant to actually tell her to go remove it from the bank for their use, and Jane wondered if he shared her worries about the real nature of its power. He certainly has reasons to distrust his mother’s magic. Maybe his hesitation should mean even more than my own.
‘If nothing else, we could melt it down,’ Malcolm suggested, as in sync with the direction of her thoughts as he frequently seemed to be. ‘There’s a spell – Emer would know. You melt it and then transform the silver into something else – mercury, usually, or zinc. Something that can’t hold magic, and it dissipates.’
Jane considered this, but as troubling as the thought of having the athame around was, destroying it didn’t seem much more appealing. ‘I worry that we might need it someday,’ she explained, spinning her plain silver ring idly around her finger. ‘That it could be the key to saving Annette, or that we might need it . . . later.’
Worry lingered around Malcolm’s eyes, but he didn’t bother to ask what ‘later’ might mean – he had grown so much more serious in the last few months. When they had first met, his relaxed manner and easy charm had attracted her: she had wanted to share whatever life had made him so open and confident. Of course, he didn’t really have it so good even back then, she reflected, but regardless, the change now was palpable. He’s grown up, she decided finally. Once he broke with his mother, he could start to become his own man. And there was no denying that that new man was plenty attractive in his own right, albeit in a very different way from his former, lighthearted self.
‘More witches would help,’ Jane continued thoughtfully. ‘Everyone keeps talking about how there aren’t so many of them anymore, but obviously there are some, and plenty more than I’ve met.’ Her mind’s eye filled briefly with a button nose, spiky brown hair, and wide brown eyes, but that was a no-go. Dee’s Wiccan group had all gone underground since Annette’s party, and anyway Jane was pretty sure that her friend Brooke hadn’t even known she was a witch before Jane’s power had touched her own. We need experienced witches, not a pack of untrained recruits.
‘I did meet a couple of them in my travels,’ Malcolm mused, ‘but none who I think would come all the way to New York just for the privilege of pissing off my mother. Most of them didn’t have enough power to be much help, anyway, and the ones who do are the least likely to get involved.’
‘André and Katrin are he
re, and they’re already involved,’ Jane reminded him nervously.
‘You and André,’ he said quietly. ‘I wondered when you first mentioned him, if . . . while I was gone . . .’ He lifted his hands, then let them fall helplessly in his lap.
Jane swallowed hard. ‘We had a . . . relationship,’ she confirmed, although she wasn’t entirely sure that relationship was the correct word. They’d had a healthy amount of sex and an unhealthy amount of mutual deception. The fact that it ultimately added up to a sort of comfortable affection was serendipity – certainly it wasn’t any kind of clever planning on Jane’s part. ‘It’s over now; it ended when my disguise did.’
‘They’re power for hire – both of them,’ Malcolm warned her, his voice thick with emotion. ‘If my mother’s bought them, they’re hers. And even if their contract with her is up, they’ll kill you the second it suits them, no matter what relationship you thought you had. The best thing you can do is just stay the hell away from hi – them.’
Way too late for that, Jane thought ruefully. ‘Look,’ she began in what she hoped was a soothing tone, ‘I get that this must be upsetting for you. Especially knowing that they want us to kill your sister—’
Malcolm brushed that aside with an angry wave. ‘Jane, I know damn well that Annie might not live through this mess – that none of us may live through it. I think I understand that better than you do, and it’s sure as hell not why I’m angry.’ He drew a shuddering breath deep into his broad rib cage, and let it out smoothly. ‘The thought of that absolute creep so much as touching you . . .’
‘You’re jealous?’ Jane blurted out.
Malcolm slid forward to kneel on the floor in front of her, his chair rebounding gently in response to his sudden absence. ‘Yes,’ he told her, so fervently that the force of the words made her shiver. ‘I’m jealous that he kissed you, touched you, saw you sleeping. I’m jealous that he got to stand beside you and breathe the same air as you. I am in love with you, Jane, whether I have any right to be or not, and I will forever be jealous of anyone lucky enough to be in your life when I had to stay away.’
The Lost Soul (666 Park Avenue 3) Page 5
