Damsel Under Stress
Page 30

“Oh, I let Philip handle all my major decisions,” I drawled. “And I’m so sorry to hear about your uncle. I hope he gets better real soon.”
A flicker of reaction crossed her face, but before I could decipher it, she managed to tamp it down. “Things don’t look good,” she said, sounding more determined than sad. I had the strongest suspicion that she had something to do with that “stroke.” She walked us to her office door, and I felt the tingle of magic in use nearby. It didn’t affect me, but I was worried about what it would do to Philip. I moved to stand between her and him, then caught his arm to make sure I had some sort of control over him as we left the building.
We both let out deep breaths when we were safely on the sidewalk and well away from the building. “Did you notice anything untoward?” he asked.
“Yeah. She had a nasty-looking bodyguard in there that I’m sure was hidden from you. And, oddly enough, it was a kind of creature my big enemy happens to be fond of. Are walking skeletons popular on magical goon squads?”
“I’m not familiar with that kind of creature.”
“I thought so. I wonder if she’s in league with Idris, then. That would make things interesting. Oh, and she tried to use magic on you when we were leaving.”
“I noticed. I’m not certain that it worked, but I will be careful.”
“That lady is bad news. And I don’t think you can count on her saying, ‘Oh, so sorry my ancestor put you under a spell, you should take over.’ She probably would have you killed—like I bet she did to her uncle—instead of having you turned into a frog.”
He sighed. “I didn’t imagine this would be easy, but I fear it may be more difficult than I thought.”
“Remember Ethan, the guy I used to date? He’s both magically immune and a lawyer, which is just what you need for taking her on. And if she is teamed up with our enemy, you’re about to have the resources of Magic, Spells, and Illusions, Inc., on your side, including Merlin himself.”
He smiled at me, then gave me a gallant bow. “Then I must thank you for your assistance.”
“Don’t thank me yet. We may end up putting you to work.”
When I got home, I felt like I was changing out of my superhero costume and returning to my mild-mannered persona as I changed out of my fancy meeting clothes and into sweats. I spent the whole evening finishing my cross-stitch for Owen’s foster parents while some pop star’s holiday special played in the background on the TV—something I was sure the fictional Sue-Ellen Hunt would never do. She’d wear cashmere sweats, if she even wore sweats, and she’d have people to do her sewing for her. The pop star would be playing live in her living room instead of on TV. Sue-Ellen was so far from my reality that I had a feeling my secret identity was safe.
Concentrating on my needlework was a good way to distract me from worrying about the next day with Owen or the holiday with his family. I’d forgotten what a good stress release this kind of thing could be, but my roommates would tease me mercilessly about being old-fashioned if I started doing it on a regular basis, I was sure. Maybe I should go back to knitting, I thought. At least some Hollywood stars had made that almost cool again.
The next morning, I was eager to get to Owen’s house to tell him what I’d discovered. The romantic day in New York was almost secondary. Although I’d been in his home before, I’d never entered by the front door. The last time I’d been there, I’d been magically teleported inside. This time I had to climb a fairly imposing set of front steps and ring a buzzer. Instead of a response by intercom, the door just opened. I went up the staircase in the vestibule to the next floor, where Owen’s door was, and it, too, opened for me.
I expected to see Owen waiting there for me, but the entry hallway was empty. A loud “meow!” at my feet corrected me. “Hi there, Loony,” I said to the white-and-black-spotted cat that was rubbing happily against my ankles.
“Back here,” Owen’s voice called from the kitchen. I took off my coat, hat, and gloves while Loony waited patiently for me, then she headed back to the kitchen, her tail giving me a “follow me” flick. I heeded her instruction and found Owen standing at the stove in his cozy kitchen, tending one skillet full of French toast and another full of bacon.
“Wow, you’re cooking for me?” I asked.
“I wanted to make sure you knew last time wasn’t a fluke. And you’re just in time. Breakfast is almost ready.”
When he turned to talk to me, I noticed the dark circles under his eyes. I crossed my arms over my chest and said, “Don’t tell me, you worked all day yesterday and most of the night.”