Much Ado About Magic - Page 6/109

“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 call 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.