Damsel Under Stress (16 page)

Keeping my eyes on it, I edged my way back to the bed. “What are you doing in here?” I asked in a whisper.

The creature blinked in surprise. “You can see me?” it asked. I would have expected something that small to have a high, squeaky voice, but its voice was rough and husky, as though it had smoked a couple of packs of cigarettes a day for a couple of hundred years.

“I’m a magical immune,” I explained. “Your veiling spell doesn’t work on me. But you haven’t answered my question. Who are you and what are you doing in my room?” In my dealings with the magical world, I’d yet to run into anything like this. There was something elfin about its features, but it was to the elves who worked at MSI what a raisin is to a grape—shrunken, shriveled, and brown. It had long, wispy white hair and wore a shapeless brown garment with an apron tied around its waist. I might have guessed it was a female, but these days it’s dangerous to make assumptions like that based on hairstyle and stereotypical gender roles.

“I keep house for the family,” it (she?) said. “But no one’s supposed to know. Mistress Gloria would be most upset if her secret were out.” She rolled her Rs and had the slightest trace of a Scottish accent. “You won’t go tellin’, will ye?”

There was something vaguely familiar about this situation, an old story I’d once heard. I had a mental image of sitting in a circle of girls while wearing a brown beanie. “Hey, you’re a brownie!” I said. One of the first things we’d done at my very first Brownie scout meeting was listen to the story about the helpful little creatures who worked in the night.

The brownie rolled her eyes. “Of course I am. What would you think, that I was a fairy godmother like your friend there?” Then she looked concerned again. “You won’t be tellin’, will ye?”

“No, of course not. Though I think it would actually make her son feel better if he knew she had help. He’s worried about her.”

She frowned in thought—at least, I thought she was frowning; as wrinkled as her face was, it was difficult to tell—then said, “Fine. He can know once you’re gone, but he mustn’t let on he knows. The mistress couldn’t bear that.”

“Have you worked here long?”

She went back to her dusting, talking as she worked, “Oh, I lose count of the years. The boy was just a wee thing when I came to this house. I’d known the mistress before, though, and she gave me a home when my own was torn down. This is my way of makin’ it up to her for her kindness.” She gave the mirror a final swipe. “Well, now, I have dishes to do, and you’ll be needin’ your sleep.” She disappeared before I could tell her good night or wish her a merry Christmas. As I settled back onto the pillow, I wondered what was next. At this rate, Saint Nick would have needed Rudolph and the Grinch with him to be the oddest sight of my night.

Fortunately, I was able to sleep the rest of the night without any magical interruptions. I woke early the next morning, my subconscious too afraid of annoying Gloria to let me sleep late. I dressed in Gemma’s red sweater and a pair of black slacks, put on a touch of makeup, then opened my bedroom door and stuck my head out into the hallway to try to get a sense of the situation. Owen’s bedroom door was still closed, which made me hesitate to go downstairs. I didn’t want to be alone with James and Gloria, and the faint sound of voices downstairs told me they were up. They’d been nice enough so far, but I wasn’t sure I was yet ready for a lot of alone time with them. On the other hand, I didn’t want to be the last one downstairs.

This looked like a good time to make use of that squeaky board in the hallway. I took a deep breath and stepped outside my room, aiming for the spot that would make noise and hopefully signal to Owen that I was up and about. But just as I hit the squeaky board, Owen’s door opened and I found myself face-to-face with him. I didn’t have fast enough reflexes to stifle my yelp. Owen caught my arm to steady me when I wobbled. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” he said.

“How do you do that?” I blurted.

A flush rose from his collar to his hairline. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s subconscious. I honestly don’t plan it.”

“Are you two up?” Gloria’s voice called from downstairs.

“We’re on our way down right now,” Owen replied. He then held his arm out to me. “Shall we?”

Gloria had a light breakfast of sweet rolls laid out on the dining table, which was set with china. I had a feeling the brownie had something to do with that. I couldn’t help thinking how great it would be to have one of those.

After we ate, we went into the parlor, where James and Gloria took seats on the sofa. I imagined they’d have a difficult time getting down on the floor, and a more difficult time getting up again. Owen settled himself cross-legged on the floor by the tree, and I joined him. It seemed that their custom was for Owen to hand the appropriate packages up to his foster parents.

“This one’s for the two of you from Katie,” he said, handing Gloria my package. My heart instantly started beating faster. My humble handmade offering suddenly seemed entirely inadequate.

However, Gloria was more than gracious when she opened it. “This is lovely, thank you,” she said, her words almost thawing around the edges. “Did you do this yourself?”

“Yes, ma’am. It’s one of the ways I work off stress, other than baking.”

“It’s very nice. I used to do needlework, but my hands and eyes aren’t quite up to it anymore.”

Owen’s gifts to his parents, which I’d helped him pick out, were big hits, and he even gave me credit for helping with the selection. Owen was equally pleased with the muffler I gave him, jauntily tossing it around his neck and over his shoulder even though the room was quite warm. I was even warmer, thanks to the way he smiled at me as he thanked me. The room temperature shot up a few more degrees when he gave me his gift to me.

It was a delicate locket, oval instead of heart-shaped like Ethelinda’s, and the chain looked almost fragile. “Wow, it’s beautiful,” I said when I opened the box. And it was, but it was also a little uncomfortable opening something like that in front of his folks. Jewelry generally meant you’d moved pretty far along in a relationship.

Apparently, Owen was conscious of the same thing. He turned an impressive shade of red and hurried to say, “It’s not the locket itself that’s important. It does have some gold in it because that’s essential for the spell to work, but the important part is the spell. If it works correctly, it should amplify your sensation of magic being in use nearby. Since you don’t see illusion, you might not know that there are layers over reality that other people see. I know you’re getting better about feeling the use of power, but this should help, and it doesn’t matter whether you’re immune or not. The locket reacts directly with the magic in use and responds in a way that you’ll feel.”

“That’s kind of cool. I wouldn’t dare wear it at work, though. I’d be buzzing all day.”

“It shouldn’t hurt,” he clarified, “But yeah, you’d probably want to save it for times when you’re away from the office or away from known magic users, in general.”

James looked as fascinated by the idea as I was. “Was that something you found in—” he started to ask, but Gloria cut him off.

“Not now, dear. You and Owen can talk shop later. We’re opening presents at the moment.”

Owen leaned over and took the locket out of the box. “Here, put it on, and then we can test it.” I lifted my hair from the back of my neck so he could fasten the clasp, and the touch of his fingers on that already sensitive spot sent the rest of my nerve endings into overdrive. It was a good thing that wasn’t the kind of magic the locket amplified, or I’d have exploded on the spot. As it was, I was fairly sure there would be no more pretending to Gloria that we were nothing more than co-workers. She was sharp, and she had to have noticed the steam coming out of my ears and the way I couldn’t help but squirm when he touched me.

When I opened James and Gloria’s gift to me, I was sure Gloria had never been fooled. They gave me a basket of beautiful woolen yarns, and that meant Owen must have told them a lot about me. I may have mentioned once in passing during our morning commute that I sometimes liked to knit, so if he noticed and passed on that kind of detail, Gloria would have to have known there was something going on.

“This is gorgeous, and so soft,” I said. “Thank you.”

“Use it to make something for yourself,” Gloria instructed. “That’s why I got the rose color. I doubted you’d be tempted to use that to make a gift for anyone else.” She glanced meaningfully at Owen as she said that, and I had to fight back a giggle at the thought of him wearing a rose sweater.

We’d barely done away with the wrapping paper and ribbons when the doorbell rang. Gloria insisted on answering the door herself. A moment later, she came back to the parlor with a young woman. “Owen, you remember Rebecca Middleton, don’t you?”

He stood, and out of manners and curiosity I also rose. The guest was tall and thin, with the kind of build that probably had made her something of a beanpole in her teens. She held a loaf-shaped object wrapped in colored cellophane, and she wasn’t the least bit shy about giving Owen the eye. “Here, I brought you some of Mom’s banana bread for Christmas,” she said. “And sorry about last night. I don’t know what came over me.”

Gloria thanked her for the bread, then very pointedly thanked her for stopping by before gently escorting her to the door. “At least that girl has finally filled out,” she said as she returned to the parlor “She’s improved, but she had a lot of room for improvement.” I decided I quite liked Gloria.

“Please don’t send that banana bread back with me,” Owen said with a shudder. “She brought enough of it over when we were in school that I think I developed an allergy to it.”

The next time the doorbell rang, Gloria was in the kitchen preparing Christmas dinner. Judging by the tingling around my neck, I suspected she was using a few magical shortcuts, and that was why she’d declined help. Owen answered the door and soon returned bearing a fruitcake tin and bright red cheeks. “It was Stephanie Heller,” he said to James. “She asked me to tell you to have a merry Christmas, and she’s sorry about last night.”

“At this rate, we’ll have baked goods to last us until Easter,” James remarked drily. That only intensified the flush on Owen’s cheeks.

I went along with Owen the next time the doorbell rang. Soon after he opened the door to reveal a mother and daughter, he put his arm around me and pulled me up against him like he was using me as a human shield. I could hardly blame him. That mother looked pretty scary. I recognized her as the one who’d thrown the first cookie in the fight. The way the daughter stood with her eyes cast to the ground, I got the impression that the mother had dragged her over by the ear. Mother seemed to be the one who was keen on her girl snagging the local hot catch. The chain around my neck throbbed, which made me wonder if she was attempting to use magic on him. No wonder he was using me as a shield.

“Mrs. Ellis,” he said, his voice sounding tight. “How nice of you to stop by. I’m afraid James and Gloria are busy right now.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” she simpered. In that moment she reminded me of Ethelinda. “I can see them anytime. They are neighbors. I’m just glad to see you.” She elbowed her daughter, who thrust out a napkin-covered basket. Owen kept his arms tight around me, so I took the basket from her. Her mother elbowed her again.

“Are you going to be here long?” the daughter asked stiffly. As bashful as she looked, she might have been the perfect match for Owen, aside from the scary mother. I noted that neither of them had yet apologized for all but attacking Owen the night before.

“No, we’re going back to the city tomorrow,” Owen replied. “Thanks for coming by.” He barely waited until they stepped back from the door before reaching around me and closing it. Then he shuddered. “That woman is scarier than any harpy I’ve faced. I’m amazed her daughter hasn’t snapped yet.”

“Who was it this time?” James asked from behind a book when we found him hiding in his study.

“Mrs. Ellis. And what was her daughter’s name?”

“I have no earthly idea. She can barely get a word in edgewise with her mother around. What’s our haul looking like?”

I checked under the napkin. “Blueberry muffins.”

“We should have you to visit more often, my boy,” James said.

We’d just sat down for Christmas dinner when the doorbell rang again. “I thought we were out of neighbors with marriageable daughters,” Gloria muttered as she started to get up.

“I’ll take care of this one,” James said, motioning her to keep her seat. “I hope this time it’s cookies.”

But a moment later, he called, “Owen, Katie!” and there was an urgency to his voice that told me this wasn’t about baked goods or overeager women after Owen.

We got up and went to the foyer, where Sam sat perched on the banister newel. “You two have to get back to the city right away,” he said.

Ten

“W
hat is it?” I asked.

Owen answered for Sam. “Idris. I knew it. I knew he’d hit on Christmas. Last night must have been just a diversion. I never should have left town.”

“Whoa, hold your horses, kids,” Sam said, holding his hands out with a “stop!” motion. “I didn’t say it was a disaster, and I don’t think you bein’ in town would have made much of a difference. The boss just wants you back ASAP so you can get a read on things and start formulating a disaster-control plan first thing in the morning.”

“So nobody’s dead, bleeding, or in danger?” I asked to clarify things.

“Nothing scary yet, but it’s a doozy, believe me.”

“It’s a couple of hours until the next train, since they’re running on a holiday schedule,” James said, checking his watch. “I suppose you could borrow our car.”

“It’s okay, Pops,” Sam said. “We got it covered. Rolls is on the way.” I had a brief mental image of returning to the city in a chauffeur-driven Rolls-Royce, but Sam’s next statement shattered it. “In fact, I’m almost surprised he didn’t beat me. He doesn’t hold too much to things like speed limits. Come to think of it, even the laws of physics don’t mean much to him.” Apparently this Rolls was a person, not a car. Rats.