by Shannon Page
My thoughts were interrupted by the server returning to collect my empty glass. She replaced it with a small sparkly cocktail. “Drink this slowly, until you get more food in you,” she advised.
“Thank you.” I took a tentative sip. Wow. I had no idea what was in it, but it was just what I wanted. I decided not to even ask about it. I’d just enjoy the…well, the magic.
Anyway, the server was gone again by the time I looked back up. They moved whisper-quiet in here, that was for sure.
At my breast, Rose suckled on. The drink was flowing into my bloodstream but staying out of my milk, without my even directing it to.
My goodness, we could learn a thing or two back home from these Old Country witches.
When the food came, I wasn’t even surprised that it smelled and tasted like General Tso’s Chicken, even though it looked nothing like my favorite takeout dish. I tucked into it, eating every bite. It wasn’t chicken; I’m not even a hundred percent sure it was meat. But it was, yet again, just what my body wanted.
I leaned back at the end of the meal, replete and satisfied. Rosemary had fallen asleep at my breast; she twitched a little, dreaming, no doubt. Elnor washed her whiskers; her dish had been removed. Petrana sat placidly in her chair across from me. “I wish you could eat,” I told her. “You’d have loved this.”
“I am certain that I would have, Mistress Callie,” she said.
Okay, as a dinner companion, perhaps she left a little to be desired. But I was content in every other way.
The server returned. “Will there be anything else?”
I smiled at her. “You probably already know the answer to that, but no, thank you. Just the check.”
“Are you staying in the hotel? I can charge it to your room.”
“I’m hoping to,” I told her, “but I haven’t checked in—I don’t even have a reservation. I came straight here.”
She gave me a brilliant smile and glanced down at my sleeping infant on my breast. “Just wait here. I’ll be right back.”
Good as her word, she was back a few minutes later. “You’re all set. Your room is on the seventh floor, number 719. Here’s the key.” She set a large, old-fashioned golden key on the table. “I can send a porter to help you with your things if you like.”
I shrugged. “I don’t have very many things—I think we can manage it. But, don’t I need to see the front desk? And, like, pay or something?”
Her smile grew. “We know who you are, Calendula Isadora, and your coven’s credit is good here. Nothing to worry about.”
Oh. Well. Hmm. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that…and then I wasn’t sure whether I should be surprised or not. “Well, thank you,” I said. “I’ll make my way up as soon as I can untangle myself here.”
“No rush at all,” she said. “This table is yours as long as you’d like to stay.”
A room, with privacy and a bed and all, not to mention a bathroom, was starting to sound pretty good, though. So I woke my baby, gathered my cat and golem and our few bags, and found my way to the hotel lobby.
It was as elegant as the rest of the building, and the witch behind the counter waved at me and smiled. “Greetings, Calendula Isadora. The lifts are right through there.” She pointed toward a narrow passageway.
“Um, thanks,” I said, trying not to stare at her. I couldn’t discern her age at all; she was garbed like Leonora on a multi-century rampage, Elizabethan collar over an Edwardian dress with an extra petticoat or two on the outside and enough bangly jewelry to give Stevie Nicks a serious case of envy. There was an actual living spider in her powdered wig.
I didn’t want to know what her familiar looked like.
In the lift (one of those old-fashioned numbers with a wire-cage doorway and elaborate scrollwork everywhere), I thought more about the situation. Should I have tried for a less conspicuous hotel? I hadn’t been thinking strategically, or, really, at all; I’d been too hungry and too tired. Of course they would figure out who I was—heck, the border control folks had basically sent me here; the hotel owners wouldn’t even have had to look into my identity magically.
But my coven had an account here? Just in this hotel, or in the Old Country generally?
See, this is what happens when you run off without telling anyone, without getting any help or advice, I told myself.
But what else was I supposed to do? “Hey, Leonora, I’m off to look into crimes committed by the head of our Elders. See you when I get back!” Or even, “Hey, Gregorio, I’m going straight to the source to reveal how you murdered my best friend and a whole bunch of other people for your own personal gain. Ta-ta!”
No, there was really no other way to go about it.
But I really ought to start being smarter.
The elevator gave a cheerful ding as it reached the seventh floor. I pulled the cage door open and found my room, opening it with the big shiny key.
The room itself was…well, let’s call it cozy. It definitely looked comfortable, but in terms of size, it gave my coven house bedroom a run for its money.
Of course, Old Country—old world. Everything here was on a smaller scale than the vast expanses of America. I knew that, theoretically; I’d been noticing it since making landfall; this was just another example.
“Come on, gang,” I said, as Petrana trundled in behind me. At least she didn’t need much room. In fact, there was an unused corner just her size, I noticed.
As if people traveled with golems all the time.
She helped me unpack, such as it was. It took all of two minutes to stash my few changes of clothes in an antique armoire against the back wall. I sank down on the bed, not even unstrapping Rose from her sling, just letting her rest against my chest. She quickly fell asleep once more. The bed was a funny size and shape, something in between single and double, and not very long. Elnor jumped up and sniffed around, spending a lot of time on the quilts and pillows, before jumping back down and inspecting the entire room.
“Safe, kitty?” I asked her. I didn’t doubt that it was—at least, safe from monsters and bogeymen and mice—but she needed to do her due diligence.
She responded by jumping back up on the bed and curling up by my side, purring, looking for a scritching.
I had big plans, but I took some time to help my familiar feel comfortable. Rose was snoring softly, and in a minute Elnor was too.
And then I must have been as well, because I opened my eyes and the room was dark.
Night had fallen; I’d slept the afternoon away. I felt momentarily chagrined—I had arrangements to make, a city to explore, crimes to expose—but apparently, I also had rest to get caught up on.
And I thought I’d never slept so much in my life when I was pregnant. Heck, undersea ley line travel put pregnancy to shame.
“Wow,” I said, stretching and yawning, as Rosemary came awake with my movement. She blinked up at me and made a few of her nonsense sounds. “This is going to be the most boring secret research mission ever, because I’m afraid we all need another meal.”
Before I headed out of the hotel, I stopped at the front desk. The same witch from earlier was there. I wondered how long her shift was, or if she had a series of identical siblings. But no; she was clearly unique. “Good evening, Calendula Isadora,” she said politely. “I trust your room is to your liking? Everything is in order?”
“Oh, yeah, everything’s great,” I told her. “Very cute little room.”
She smiled. “Wonderful. What can I help you with? Do you need transportation anywhere, or directions to popular ley lines or local attractions?”
“Yes, I probably do,” I said, “but first I, well, was wondering something.”
She raised a thin, painted eyebrow and waited.
“You know who I am—by my energetic signature, I’m guessing?”
“Of course. We are only sorry that we did not know in advance that you were coming. We would have had your room ready for you.”
“Yeah, well, the thing is
—I’m on kind of a quiet trip. I stumbled into this hotel by accident, really. I didn’t know my coven had an account here?” I couldn’t help making that last a question.
“Leonora Scanza is a great and longtime friend of The Majestic,” she said, proudly. “Every member of your coven is a pre-registered guest.”
“Right. Um. See, she doesn’t exactly know I’m here…”
Understanding lit up her eyes, followed by worry.
“Is there—I mean, is it already too late? Does she get a message or something when anyone from the coven uses the account?”
“Oh.” The witch paused, seemed to think a moment, then said, “Ordinarily, yes; though ordinarily, arrangements would have been made in advance, of course. Far in advance. In your case…well, there wouldn’t have been any confirming message, so…” She thought further, looking slightly uncomfortable. “Of course, the thing to do would have been to send her an ætheric message upon your arrival, assuring her of your safe condition and satisfaction with the room. Since, er, nothing happened in the usual manner this time, no message has been sent.” She frowned at me. “I am to understand that you would prefer that no message, er, continues to be sent?”
“Yes, please, if that’s possible.” I smiled at her. “Just for now, of course. Once I get back home, I will naturally tell her everything that has happened while I’ve been here, including what a marvelous hotel this is.” My smile grew as I reached for the story I’d used on the border clerks. “It’s kind of a surprise for everyone at home, what I’m doing here. I would hate to let the cat out of the bag before I’m ready to, if you know what I mean.”
Actually, come to think of it, I wasn’t even lying.
Her frown relaxed some, though I could tell she was still a bit concerned. “All right, I can hold off on the message. But Mother Scanza will receive her monthly statement of charges. I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do about that.”
“When do those go out?”
“First week of the month, covering the month prior. And they go by postal mail.”
It was barely mid-November. I was golden. “That’s not a problem at all. I’ll be home long before the statement arrives, and Leonora will not be surprised by it.”
“Ah, excellent.”
She was so relieved, she spent the next twenty minutes giving me a thorough run-down of the central district of Balszt—restaurants, theatre options, the best places to shop, even good parks to take a child to, “though of course your little one is a bit young for that yet.” We were all starving by the time I managed to extract us.
At last, we stepped out into the night. Our first night in the capital of the Old Country, and the weather was still comfortably warm. Petrana carried Rosemary in the harness, and Elnor walked proudly at my heels, clearly delighted by the presence of so many other cats out in public. Even if they were disguised as other creatures as often as not.
“You want me to do that for you, kitty?” I asked her. “Make you into a little weasel, or a baby goat?”
She just gave me a dark glance—well, as dark as her bright yellow eyes could manage, anyway.
I chuckled and led us on toward the central market square.
The night was bustling, the streets even busier than they had been in daylight. Of course, nighttime is when witches really come alive. It’s when our magic is the strongest, when the sun’s distracting forces are blunted, hidden on the other side of the planet. That’s why we do our Circles at midnight, and why I did my best lab work by the light of the moon—or by no light at all.
Crowded though the streets were, I found the whole place increasingly welcoming. Passing witches still looked askance at Petrana, but they grinned at Rosemary, and as often as not complimented me on my adorable baby. Rosemary herself seemed to be enjoying the sights, especially after we’d grabbed a quick meal in a sidewalk café. I’d been tempted to find another fancy restaurant, but I was increasingly aware of my limited time here. We couldn’t spend the whole trip dining out.
I couldn’t get over what Jeremy had said about the folk being cold and reserved, not even speaking aloud to each other. Of course, Balszt was a tourist destination, a magnet for witchkind from everywhere. The capital catered to strangers, its economy was set up to welcome them.
But also…Jeremy was a warlock.
Once I’d had that thought, I started looking around with different eyes. Yes: witches were warm, open, and friendly to me and mine. Warlocks…they seemed to live on a different plane here. They greeted one another on the street, with glances or nods; they ignored the far greater numbers of witches surrounding them.
I wasn’t sure a single warlock had spoken to me, not since I left the Azores.
Odd, but also not odd, when I thought about it. The power differential we suffered under at home—where warlocks ran the Elders and felt that they made the rules that governed all of witchkind—would be only more pronounced here, because of the very visible minority of the warlocks. They would have to project far more haughty unapproachability, just to protect their position. The political system was the same here as it was at home; we’d imported it wholesale. Even our local Elders nominally answered to bigger Elders here.
And yet…what I saw was a city full of witches basically ignoring the warlocks, cheerfully going about their lives.
Just like we did in our covens, except right out in the open.
I grinned right back at all these cheerful witches, dressed so dramatically and colorfully. It made my jeans and plain blouse feel like the drabbest, most boring choice ever, so I sought out one of the clothing stores the hotel clerk had recommended.
Yes, I knew I had to get busy with my research. I told myself I’d have better luck if I blended in a bit better.
An hour later, I emerged from the bazaar, dressed in snakeskin pants that clung to me like they’d been painted on (but that breathed and moved like I was wearing soft air), a shiny black top with cascades of black lace and pearl buttons down the front, and purple illusion-boots—they looked like they had six-inch heels, but they were as comfortable as sneakers. I’d been tempted by any number of gorgeous pull-over shirts and sweaters, but until Rose was weaned, I needed easier access in a garment.
And I would have to carry all this stuff home with me. Darn that ley line travel and its restrictions, or I would have bought out half the store.
As it was, Petrana was now carrying a small package as well as my daughter. I strode down the street, feeling far more comfortable, just enjoying the night.
But now it was time to get serious. I needed to find out as much as I could about the manufacturing company, Grand Laurel Merenoc, before I traveled to Zchellenin. So I headed to that bastion of information: the main library.
Balszt’s library was not far from the central district, in a slightly quieter, slightly more elegant part of town. There was a river nearby; I could smell it, and the houses had taken on that air of old money that homes with picturesque water views tended to have.
The building was massive, and covered with spells and sigils. Not as witchkind buildings back home were, for protection and obscuration; here it was for more open access, even from afar—plus decoration, of course.
The access thing was interesting. Maybe I hadn’t needed to come here in person? But it was a sight to see, and I was glad I had.
The building was nominally four stories, not unlike the main campus library back in Berkeley, and it resembled that building as well. (Interesting, I thought…coincidence, or not?) But a mere glance showed that it was far more complex and warren-like inside than even the Berkeley one. Corridors, additions, even entire floors sprang off in every direction, wrapped around each other, sharing magical and physical space in a way that made it clear this had been going on for centuries.
I stood on the library steps, admiring the intricacy. Many minds and many magics had gone into the place. A witch could learn a lot here.
It gave me ideas about my house.
Not that I need
ed to be focusing on my house right now, or even how marvelously arranged this building was. I tore my eyes away from the exterior and we headed for the doors.
The interior, once I was inside, did not disappoint. I had to school myself to stay on task. I would have much rather wandered about the building, trying to find the information I was looking for on my own, and enjoying the process of discovery—even if it had taken days. Instead, I stepped up to the information desk.
An incongruously plain witch sat behind the counter. She was neither old nor young; her hair was brown and coaxed into a long braid down her back; she was dressed in a navy-blue shirtdress. It was almost like she was in protest to the general tenor of the rest of Balszt. “Yes?” she said, looking up politely. At least she smiled at the baby, so I knew she was alive, and not some elaborate golem.
“I’m looking for any information you might have on a company called Grand Laurel Merenoc,” I said. “It’s in—”
“Zchellenin, yes, is their headquarters,” she said, waving her fingers in the air as I spoke. Words appeared from her fingertips, as if she had consulted some sort of ætheric computer system. “They have a showroom here in the capital, but all their manufacturing and most of their sales efforts are in Zchellenin.”
“Wow,” I said, watching her fingers. I could almost-but-not-quite follow the magic she was using.
She smiled and coaxed the words around to face me more directly, though it didn’t help; the lettering was in an unfamiliar language. “Proprietary spellwork,” she said proudly.
“Did you write it yourself?”
Her smile grew. “I did.”
“It’s amazing.”
“Thank you.” She seemed to shake herself back into a more professional seriousness. “But I didn’t give you anything you couldn’t have found out from the local æthernet. What specifically did you need to know about Grand Laurel Merenoc?”
