Kiss and Spell (Enchanted, Inc.) (3 page)

They still weren’t doing anything but acting like they wanted to scare us. They weren’t making threats or demands, just leering at us as they sauntered around us like cats toying with a pair of mice. Well, if what they wanted was to intimidate or scare us, the way to ruin that was to refuse to act intimidated or scared, no matter how intimidated or scared I really was.

I folded my arms across my chest, rolled my eyes, and stifled a yawn. “Is there something we can help you with?” I said, giving my tone a veneer of civility on top of irritation.

Owen looked at me like I was nuts, then got the hint. “I’m pretty sure dinner’s waiting on us, and her grandmother won’t be happy if we’re late,” he said. “So, if you don’t mind, can we cut to the mugging part of this encounter?”

Our assailants gave each other surprised glances. I wasn’t sure what they expected us to do—maybe scream in terror? I’d seen a lot more frightening things than this in my time among magical people.

“Is this part of your hate club?” I whispered to Owen. “Are they trying to goad you into fighting them so they can say you’re evil?”

“There’s no telling,” he whispered wearily. Frowning, he added, “I think they’re elves. Their magic feels elven.”

“So I was right, those are illusions!”

“Good work.”

“Tell Rod. I want credit.”

One of our would-be attackers lunged toward us with his knife, but didn’t come close enough to do any harm. “Eek,” I said so he wouldn’t feel bad about not being scary enough.

And then it was as though someone had sent them a signal, and they all charged forward. This time, it looked like their aim was to do more than scare us. “Run!” Owen urged, and we ran through a gap they opened when they attacked.

A loud crack of lightning stopped us in our tracks. I realized it wasn’t generated by our attackers when they pulled back, too. Then a small figure came out of the haze of smoke lingering from the lightning and rapped a cane on the ground. “It’s dinnertime,” Granny said in a voice that wouldn’t accept arguing. She’d heard me! We hurried to her side.

At the same time, a trio of gargoyles swooped down from the tops of nearby buildings, two men dressed all in black appeared as though from thin air, and a bicycle messenger rounded the corner at full tilt, heading straight for the street gang. The attackers turned to run, but the biker was on their tail and the gargoyles chased them down from above. The men in black soon joined in the scuffle.

“What in the devil is going on?” Granny demanded of Owen and me.

“That’s what I want to know,” Owen said, moving toward the altercation. Granny and I followed him.

“You okay, kids?” Sam asked as he left the scrum and landed on top of a sign near us.

“Was this what you were warning us about?” I asked him, ignoring his question. “Did you know we were going to be attacked? Were we bait for some kind of sting?”

The men in black had bound the wrists of two of the elven gang members, and the bicycle messenger was protesting loudly. Hearing this, Sam left us, shouting, “Hey, this is our collar! It’s my sting! You just happened to be here ’cause you’re spyin’ on Palmer, here.”

One of the men in black replied, “This falls into Council jurisdiction.”

Sam snorted. “Yeah, you leave us to do all the dirty work on our own most of the time, but then when you feel like it, it’s suddenly your jurisdiction.”

“We’re not under the jurisdiction of any of you,” one of the captives protested. “We answer only to the Elf Lord.”

Granny tapped me on the arm. “While those idiots fight it out, let’s get home. Dinner’s getting cold, and there’s no point in us standing around. You did your part by drawing them out, apparently.”

The MSI security team and the Council surveillance team didn’t seem to notice us leaving, they were so caught up in their argument. I figured if they needed us, they knew where to look. It was a relief to get safely inside Owen’s heavily warded home and sit down to my grandmother’s homemade pot roast with all the trimmings.

“What was all that about?” I asked after eating enough to mollify Granny. “Sam seemed to know it was coming.”

“That’s what it looked like,” Owen agreed. “I don’t think the Council guys were supposed to be in on it, though.”

“And elves?”

“Maybe they think I’ve got that brooch or they think I destroyed it and they’re out for revenge. I understand there are rumors all over town about what happened to it.”

“Eat!” Granny ordered, pointing her fork at his nearly full plate.

“
I
destroyed the brooch,” I said. “Maybe I should put out a press release.”

“It’s probably best that not too many people know what really happened,” Owen said, then he noticed Granny’s glare and dutifully put a bite of roast in his mouth.

“I wonder what Sam’s plan was if you hadn’t shown up, Granny,” I said. “I guess you got my message just in time—you
did
get my message?”

“Loud and clear. But what are you people teaching her?” she demanded of Owen. “That was the worst mental call for help I’ve ever heard.”

“It worked!” I protested.

“We actually haven’t taught her that at all,” Owen said with a proud smile at me. “She must have figured that out for herself.”

“Then teach her properly before she needs to do it again. My ears are still ringing.” Then she turned back to me. “What
have
they been teaching you, if not how to properly call for help?”

“Today we worked on some defensive shields that should mimic the effect of being magically immune.”

“Hmmph,” she muttered, and I knew I was in for a magical lesson, Granny style, as soon as the table was cleared. She and the MSI people had very different approaches to magic, since theirs was more analytical and based on rigorous study over the centuries and hers was more of a folk art handed down through generations of people who were mostly isolated from other magic users. I hadn’t even known that there was magic in my family until earlier in the year, and then it turned out that my mother’s side of the family tended to be either wizards or immune to magic. I had one brother who was a wizard and one who was immune.

By the time Owen called a halt to the post-dinner magical workout, I felt as drained as if I’d just done an intense session at the gym. I wondered if magic counted as cardio. “I’m getting totally mixed signals on magic, between Rod and Granny. Who am I supposed to believe?” I asked him as he walked me home.

“Whichever works best for you,” he said with a shrug. “The only ‘right’ way in magic is the way that works with the least power and without hurting anyone. A lot of it is trial and error. Your grandmother does have some interesting approaches. With the lower levels of available magical energy to draw from in your hometown, she’s really good at making efficient use of resources. I’ve incorporated some of her techniques into my research.”

“If you tell her that, she’ll be impossible.”

“Which is why I haven’t told her,” he said with a wry grin. “If something comes of it, though, I’ll owe her royalties.”

We reached my front door, and he kissed me good night before saying loudly, “I don’t have any evil scheming planned for the night, but I’d appreciate the escort home, if you don’t mind.” With a smile, he added, “I might as well take advantage of the hassle. See you tomorrow.”

When I got upstairs to my apartment, Nita, my one roommate who didn’t know about magic, was sitting on the sofa with a big bowl of popcorn in her lap. “Oh, good, you’re home,” she said without moving her eyes from the television screen. “Marcia’s working late and Gemma’s out.”

“I had dinner with Owen.” I joined her on the sofa. She was watching one of those romantic comedies where people fall in love in a montage set to a pop ballad. The couple went on a picnic in the park, went boating on the lake and nearly fell in, danced on a rooftop in the rain, and stared dreamily into each other’s eyes across a restaurant table.

I couldn’t help but sigh wistfully. That was what being in love in New York was supposed to be about, not fighting off gangster elves and then having dinner with my grandmother while being lectured on how to do magic. Owen and I had yet to manage one normal date that was even remotely similar to the kind of things you saw in movies. The closest we’d come was when we were hanging out as friends before we started dating. I guessed it came with the territory when part of your job was stopping bad magic.

But we weren’t on the front lines right now, other than apparently being targets. We should finally have the time to work on the romantic side of our relationship and see what was there without the adrenaline of constant danger or the closeness that came from developing battle plans together. I thought about planning a picnic for the weekend, but then I’d have to pack enough to feed Owen’s official monitors, the various factions who were also watching him, and now possibly the MSI security people and the elves who were out to get us. Was just one nice, romantic day out too much to hope for?

“It’s a lie!” Nita said, and I turned to her in surprise, wondering if I’d been projecting my thoughts unwittingly.

“What is?” I asked.

“This whole romantic autumn in New York thing. It’s like there’s an entire industry devoted to selling us this story, and then does it really happen? No! If you try to suggest any of this stuff to a guy, he accuses you of having seen too many movies. Apparently, no one but tourists goes boating on the lake in Central Park. Or is that just what they say when they don’t want to pay for it?”

“You
have
seen too many movies.”

“Well, yeah, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be at all true. Have you ever done any of this romantic New York stuff?”

“We went ice skating in Central Park last Christmas,” I said. And I fell through the ice, which was supposed to be impossible since the rink wasn’t a frozen pond. “Otherwise, no, not really. Work’s been crazy, so most of our dates are lunches at the office.”

“I think that’s the way most people date in this city.” She sighed. “They’re
so
doing it wrong.” I couldn’t help but agree as we watched the rest of the movie together. I had an amazing, gorgeous guy, so where was my romantic comedy life?

*

When Owen and I got to the office the next morning, I was eager to interrogate Sam about the previous evening’s events, but he wasn’t at his usual place on the building’s awning. “He’s avoiding us,” I accused.

“You know he had to be under orders, and he obviously did try to warn us as well as he could.”

“Then I guess we can’t go demand that the boss tell us what’s up.”

“I’m sure he’ll tell us soon enough.”

“I hope he lets us know before we get attacked by elves with knives again.”

“Elven blades are dangerous,” he agreed. Then we reached my hallway and he said, “I’ll see you for our afternoon training session.”

As I approached my office, I hoped Perdita had gotten over whatever had been bugging her the day before. I wasn’t in the mood to tiptoe around sensitive feelings. I felt a lot more like stomping on things.

She was already at her desk, which was unusual for her, but she merely glanced up at me, then looked down again. Normally, she’d offer me coffee, at the very least. Often, she’d bombard me with gossip and questions before I made it all the way through the door. “Good morning,” I called out more cheerfully than I felt, but she just nodded and continued pretending to work. I hadn’t given her a project to work on, so I knew her busyness was fake. Giving it up as a lost cause, I went on into my office.

I’d almost made it to my desk when she called out, “Um, Katie, could I talk to you about something?” She sounded troubled and more serious than normal.

I turned back and went to the office doorway. “Sure. What is it?”

She took a deep breath, as though steeling herself for something unpleasant. She wasn’t going to resign, was she? Sure, she was a ditz and a klutz, but I was getting used to her, and she often had good ideas. I’d hate to think that I’d driven her away. I hoped I was a good boss. I’d had enough horrible bosses for me to make a conscious effort to not repeat those mistakes. “There’s something I think I should show you,” she said, not meeting my eyes.

I went over to her desk and sat in the guest chair beside it. “Okay,” I said, as reassuringly as I could. “What do you have to show me?”

She glanced around, like she was making sure no one was nearby to eavesdrop, then leaned forward and opened her lower desk drawer. With another glance around and then a big gulp, she pulled a piece of paper out from under a stack of manila envelopes. “This,” she said, shoving the paper at me like it was on fire. Then she screwed her eyes shut, as though she expected me to hit her once I saw it.

It was a flyer photocopied onto colored paper, the kind of thing political groups hand out around Union Square. “ARE WIZARDS OPPRESSING ELVES?” the flyer asked in huge block capitals. Underneath, it listed the evidence in bullet points, with each line in a different font. I cringed at the first one, which claimed that wizards had stolen and then destroyed the Knot of Arnhold, the ancient magical brooch treasured by the elves.

Actually, I’d been the one to destroy it, though I hadn’t been a wizard at the time. And, technically, we hadn’t stolen it from the elves. Their own leader had stolen it to use it in a scheme, then it was stolen from him and sold, and
then
we’d stolen it. It was a complicated story, but it had been necessary for saving the world because the Knot had been united with a nasty gem that probably would have led to World War III if I hadn’t thrown it on the electric third rail of a train track during a massive scuffle. The fact that I got magical powers out of the bargain was beside the point. I wasn’t named in the flyer, but Owen was, I noted, and his heritage was highlighted. I wondered if that explained the attack on us.

There were other gripes, including an accusation that wizards were abducting elves who dared to speak out. The flyer concluded with a call for elves to disassociate themselves from wizards, stand up for themselves, and fight back. It looked like Sylvester, the Elf Lord, was still up to his old tricks and using propaganda to do what he hadn’t been able to do with enchanted jewelry. “Thanks for showing me this, Perdita,” I said.