A sharp voice cut through the general hubbub, saying, “You would not believe the difficulties I’m having here. Absolutely everyone showed up with the wrong things. It’s a disaster—the wrong color linens, wilted old flowers, an obese ice sculpture. How hard is it to get an order right?”
Speak of the devil, I thought. Mimi was entering the courtyard, talking on a cell phone. I caught Rod’s eye and gestured toward her with my head. He nodded and signaled the others.
As soon as she got fully into the event space, Mimi took one look at the preparations and snapped, “Why aren’t the tables set up? You can’t have a black-tie, celebrity-filled gala with bare tables! There should be tablecloths and chair covers! Those have to be on before we can do the centerpieces and name cards! What is wrong with you people?”
I expected the man in charge of the table linens to remind her that the tables were bare because she wanted different tablecloths, but he didn’t stand up to her at all. Instead, he fell on his knees. “I have failed you,” he said, bowing his head in shame, his hands clasped in front of him in supplication.
Surprised, Mimi took a step away from him, her face screwing up in distaste. As much as she’d always wanted that kind of response, she must not have expected it. “Well, yes,” she said. “But when will you get the right tablecloths and get them on the tables?”
“Soon! Now!” He gestured to the staff, indicating for them to hurry up stripping the tables, and then he got on the phone and yelled at whomever was bringing the new linens.
Mimi moved on to her next victim, the florist, who jumped to attention. “We’re almost done, we got new flowers, see, the centerpieces are done, and we’ll get them on the tables as soon as the tablecloths are on,” she babbled. “I hope the arrangements are to your satisfaction.” She bobbed an awkward little curtsy. Mimi was so stunned that she didn’t even complain about the new arrangements and make the florists put them back the way they’d been.
“She must have the brooch on her, but I don’t see it,” I whispered to Owen as we kept pulling cloths off tables. “But why aren’t they scrambling to get at it? Shouldn’t there be a big fight like there was at the restaurant?”
“She seems to be using it,” he replied. “Unfocused, it creates the chaos we saw at the restaurant, but when someone is actually wielding it and using its power, then the user can control people and keep them in line. People with a thirst for power will still be drawn to it, but most will just be put under its thrall.”
“This is disturbing on so many different levels,” I muttered, then I glanced over at Granny and saw a frightening gleam in her eye. “Uh oh,” I said, elbowing Owen.
He turned to look, then winced at what he saw. He bent and took Granny by the shoulders. “I need you to focus, Granny,” he said.
“That doodad y’all are looking for must be nearby,” she said, her speech a little slurred. “My, but that’s powerful.”
“Can you resist it?” he asked. “If you can’t, I need you to get away from us.”
She pulled herself together and gave a disdainful snort. “I’ve never had a weakness for jewelry. But I do want to take it away from that biddy. I don’t like her.”
I looked around the room to see how everyone else was reacting. Most of the event staff were treating Mimi like she was the empress of the universe. They practically bowed as she passed, trailed by a pair of clipboard-bearing assistants. Rod had flattened his back against the wall, and even from across the room I could see that he was breathing heavily.
I pointed that out to Owen. “We’ll have to keep an eye on him,” I said.
Earl seemed less affected. He looked bored. I didn’t see the gnome. His head didn’t come far above the tables, so he’d be easy to lose. “Do you see Thor?” I asked Owen and Granny.
Owen shook his head. Instead of a response from Granny, there was a “thwap” sound and then a thud. A glance at the floor showed Thor lying on his back, his axe in his hands. Granny stood over him, holding her cane out like a weapon. “He was trying to sneak up on her,” she said.
Owen leaned over him. “Are you carrying out the mission to retrieve the brooch, or are you under its influence?” he asked.
“I think a little of both,” Thor admitted groggily, rubbing his head. “It is our property. But, boy, is it ever enticing. I could really use a piece of that.”
“The ownership is currently disputed,” Owen said. “Sylvester owes you for the work, but the brooch doesn’t actually belong to your people.”