Katie Chandler - Damsel under Stress Part 5

She looked enigmatic as she took a bite of her steak. "Now, about your problem."

"It's not really a problem, but if you've got anything in that book of yours about Owen's family, that might help."

"Of course I have something about his family. I have access to all records pertinent to your relations.h.i.+p. That's how I knew you'd been invited to spend Christmas with them." Her book appeared in her hand, and she retrieved her lopsided gla.s.ses from within the layers of her bodice. "Hmm, now, that's odd. There aren't supposed to be blank pages in here," she muttered. Before I could ask what she meant about blank pages, she said, "Oh, there we are. The Eatons, Gloria and James. Married late in life, no natural children. Goodness, but it took some effort to get those two together." She looked up at me across the top of her gla.s.ses. "They're very stubborn." Turning her attention back to the book, she continued, "Took in an orphaned child after their retirement from the university at the request of an old friend. Hmm, that part's strangely blank, too. Very odd."

She snapped the book shut, it vanished, then she took off her gla.s.ses and looked at me. "I'm sorry, but there's nothing here that would be of much use to you."

"That's okay. It was worth a shot." I turned my attention to my dinner. It wasn't often that I got steak, so I didn't intend to waste this chance.

Ethelinda's attention strayed again. There was another couple seated near us. This couple did seem to have a cool emotional distance between them. They were cordial but didn't show any signs of affection. Both of them wore business suits, and that gave me the impression that maybe this wasn't a date. When the woman bent and pulled a folder from the briefcase at her feet, it confirmed my impression.

Before I could say anything to stop Ethelinda, she had waved her wand at another pa.s.sing waiter's tray. When the waiter placed the woman's plate in front of her, there was a long-stemmed red rose alongside it. "From the gentleman," the waiter said.

The woman went very pale, then abruptly turned red as she leaned across the table, clearly trying to keep her voice low but unable to succeed, as angry as she was. "What is this?" she hissed. "You know I'm married. I never had you pegged as such a sleaze." All the poor guy at the table with her could do was stammer incoherently.

Someone had to deal with this, and since I was the only person around who had the slightest clue what was going on, it looked like it would have to be me. I slipped out of my seat, hurried over to the bar, and fluttered my eyelashes at the bartender. "Can I borrow your ap.r.o.n for a second? I just noticed a friend of mine is eating here and she hasn't seen me yet. I thought it would be funny to pretend to be a waitress and surprise her."

I must have improved my eyelash-fluttering technique, or else it really is true that you suddenly become a lot more attractive to all men as soon as you get a boyfriend, for he grinned at me and untied the ap.r.o.n. I put it on and approached the table where the woman was still teaching a s.e.xual hara.s.sment seminar to her sh.e.l.l-shocked colleague.

"Excuse me," I said, hoping neither of them had noticed me sitting at a nearby table. "There's been a mistake. I'm very sorry, but the order numbers and table numbers got mixed up back in the kitchen. You weren't supposed to get this." I grabbed the rose off the table. "I'm sorry if there's been any misunderstanding about this. I hope I'm not too late to get this rose to the proposal that's supposed to happen in the other room!"

The man and woman stared at each other for a moment, then the woman hid her face behind her folder and burst into nervous giggles. "I'm so sorry! I guess I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions," she said.

As I walked away, untying the ap.r.o.n, I heard him say, "Believe me, I'll never make a pa.s.s at you. Not that I don't think you're attractive, but...Okay, can we just forget all this? There's nothing I can say right now that wouldn't sound like an insult or get me in trouble."

I handed the bartender his ap.r.o.n, then presented him the rose with a flourish. "Thanks! I'll never forget the look on her face," I told him, then I hurried back to Ethelinda before he could say anything. I hoped she hadn't done anything else while I was gone.

"For what it's worth," I said as I took my seat, "there are reasons other than romance for men and women to have dinner together, and you might want to be sure of the reasons before you interfere. You could have ruined that man's career."

She gave a haughty sniff, then summoned dessert. I thought she might have forgotten about my own issues in all the excitement, but just as I dug into the chocolate cake, she asked, "And things are going well for you otherwise? How was your dinner Sunday night?"

I had to blink myself back to my own relations.h.i.+p concerns. After what I'd seen from her this evening, I knew the last thing I wanted was to have her involved. "Things are going great," I said, keeping my voice neutral. "I doubt he'd have invited me home for Christmas with him if they weren't. And we're going out later this week."

"Your dinner, though? It went well? Your outfit was good?"

"The outfit was a big hit, and the dinner was good, too. It started a little awkwardly, but the friends-to-dating transition can be a challenge. We seem to have worked it out, though."

"Nothing happened, did it?"

I instantly grew suspicious. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, nothing unusual?"

"You mean like the restaurant catching on fire?"

"Heavens! Is that what happened?" She seemed so stunned that either she was innocent or she was Dame Judi Dench in costume and makeup, turning in another Oscar-caliber performance.

"Yeah, but it was a minor fire and n.o.body was hurt."

She fanned herself and looked like she was having heart palpitations. "A brush with disaster! That doesn't happen to my clients!" I grew suspicious again. She was pouring it on awfully thick. "It's okay, really. Everything worked out."

"It did?"

"Yes, it did, so relax."

"That's good to hear." She finished her dessert, the empty plates vanished from the table, and she said, "Do you need anything else from me?"

I hadn't actually needed that much from her, but I said, "That's it. I hope I didn't waste your time."

She waved a dismissive hand. "Pish tosh. Time spent with my clients is never wasted, and I needed to eat. Are you sure you don't need anything else?"

"Nothing. My roommate's already loaned me her cashmere sweater collection, so I don't need any wardrobe help. I don't need you to turn a pumpkin into a gla.s.s BMW. We've got our next date planned, and I think I'll be okay. Yeah, I'm a little nervous, but that's part of the fun of a new relations.h.i.+p. The b.u.t.terflies only intensify everything."

"Well then, you know how to reach me if you change your mind." She got up, and I followed her out of the tavern, where she abruptly vanished in her usual burst of glitter. I was halfway tempted to sneak around to Owen's street and see if his lights were on. Both his study and his bedroom overlooked the street. But, knowing my luck, his Katie radar would be working and he'd look out the window just in time to catch me, and then I'd feel like an idiot. Instead, I hurried home, wondering what was missing from those blank pages Ethelinda mentioned.

Owen was at a meeting and I was sitting at my desk in the makes.h.i.+ft office in Owen's lab the next morning when Rod stuck his head around the whiteboard. "Hi!" he said. He was still wearing his hair the way I'd seen it on Sunday, and his skin looked better than I'd ever seen it before.

"Are you exfoliating?" I asked without thinking about what I was saying.

Before I could apologize, he grinned and said, "Yeah. You can tell the difference?"

"You look fresh and well rested." I thought that was a diplomatic way to avoid saying his skin usually had pores you could drive a truck through. "Then I guess getting sucked in by that saleswoman at Bloomingdale's was worth it. I thought maybe she'd give me her phone number if I bought enough stuff. Is Owen around?"

"Departmental meeting," I replied. "It could be an hour or more. Did you need something?"

He patted the fat envelope he carried. "I've got those results on employee magic use for his comparison project." "Oh yeah, that. I can take them and give them to him when he gets back, unless there's something else you needed to talk to him about."

"No, that's fine. I can leave them with you."

He turned to go, but I said, "Can I talk to you a second?"

"Sure. What is it?"

"I don't know if you know this already, but I'm going home with Owen for Christmas. I was hoping you could give me the scoop on his foster family."

He gave a low, long whistle. "Oh boy. That's a topic for a dissertation."

"That bad?"

"I wouldn't say bad, but yeah, there are some things I should warn you about."

That sounded even more ominous than Ethelinda's blank pages. "Pull up a chair," I told him.

He grabbed a chair from the lab outside, then turned around and waved his hand at the lab doorway while muttering some words under his breath. "An alarm, so he can't sneak up on us," he explained before sitting down. "I don't know the whole story because I was a kid when James and Gloria took Owen in. They were good to him. There was never any sign of physical or emotional abuse. But they never really warmed to him. I'm not sure why they agreed to bring up a child when they seemed to have no interest in children whatsoever. I don't even think he was related to them in any way."

"He sounds like he's a bit in awe of them."

"They're the kind of people you tend to be in awe of. They wouldn't look out of place wearing crowns. They're not really all that warm to anyone, to be honest, so I don't think it's all directed at Owen."

"He also makes it sound like they're very clear on the fact that they're his foster parents, not real parents."

"They never adopted him, I know that much, but I don't know why, and they always had him call them by their names, never anything like 'Mom' or 'Dad.' But as foster parents they should have been free of their obligations to him when he turned eighteen. He was even prepared for them to cut him loose then. That's when he went into the custom-spell business at school, so he could stay at Yale even if they quit paying the bills. But nothing at all changed when he turned eighteen. They kept paying his school bills and sending him an allowance even on into graduate school, and they kept expecting him home for holidays until he finished his studies and moved to New York."

"What are they like, other than being very regal?"

"They're proper. They're demanding. They don't use magic at home-they don't believe in shortcuts." He shrugged. "It's hard to say. If they suggested that Owen invite you-and he wouldn't have dared unless they suggested it-I think it's a good sign. They probably think you're good for Owen, and I'd have to agree with them. They might not act like normal parents toward him, but he's been the center of their lives since they took him in."

"So, bottom line, what should I do?"

He shrugged. "Be yourself. Follow their lead. And dress before you go to breakfast."

"What?"

"Seriously. Owen says he's never seen them in their pajamas. They get fully dressed before they leave their bedroom, every single day."

"Wow. Now, that's formal. Hey, do you think they're really something nonhuman, only it's hidden by illusion, and the clothes are somehow part of covering it all up?"

"I have no idea. But if you notice anything unusual, you'll have to let me know."

As he left my office, I realized that I might be in for a very interesting Christmas. I faced either magical royalty or some other kind of mysterious being that had fostered my boyfriend.

My crazy family Christmases from childhood were starting to feel very tame in comparison.

We only had to work a half day Thursday, so when it was time to shut down for the holiday, I stuck my head in Owen's office door and asked, "Are you ready to leave?"

He looked up at me, frowning. "Is it that time already?"

"Five minutes past."

"I still have a few things to wrap up. You don't mind heading out by yourself, do you?"

Not only did I not mind, I was relieved. I needed to do some shopping, and I had that meeting with Philip. "That's okay. I've got stuff to take care of. I'll see you in the morning."

"Okay. See you then." He'd already returned to his work by the time I turned to leave his office, and he didn't seem to notice when I left for the day, judging by the fact that he didn't respond to my farewell as I pa.s.sed his open office door. He was lost in his project and probably would be for the rest of the day, if not all night.

Shopping for Owen's foster parents looked like it was going to be quite the challenge. Owen himself had to ask me for advice to get them anything more personal than a gift basket or a charity donation in their name. Their apparent wealth and grandeur made them even more difficult to shop for on my budget.

After looking at and rejecting any number of items as I browsed the stalls of the Union Square holiday market, I came to the conclusion that when it came to finding gifts for people like that, it took either a lot of money or a lot of personal effort. Personal effort I could do. I had a nearly finished cross-st.i.tch sampler somewhere in the closet, so if I got a nice frame and buckled down to work, I figured that I could have it done and offer a truly personal gift. There was an ornate metal frame at one of the stalls that seemed ideal. I bought Owen a nice wool m.u.f.fler that would go well with his coat and that had blue flecks in it that matched his eyes. It seemed a safe enough gift, personal without being too personal and demonstrating that I had some concern for him.

Then I had to hurry to transform myself into an oil baron's daughter before Philip came over. I wore a slim skirt, one of Gemma's silk blouses, and my own red stiletto shoes, now unenchanted. I made liberal use of all those Mary Kay makeup samples my mom kept sending me and teased and sprayed my hair to within an inch of its life. All I needed was a fur coat to complete the effect, but that I'd have to do without. Philip's reaction when he came over told me all I needed to know about how effective my transformation was.

"Hi, hon," I drawled. I hooked my arm through his and added, "Now, let's go find us a place where I can invest all of Daddy's money."

"Is this really what an oilman's daughter would be like?" he asked, his eyes popping enough to remind me that he once was a frog.

"No, not based on the few I've met, but it's what people around here will expect from TV shows and movies."

"Very well, then. I propose we take the subway, as it's faster than surface transport."

I didn't think your typical oil baron's daughter would set foot on the subway, but he was right about the speed issue. The company that should have been his was located on the far tip of Manhattan, below Wall Street. Its building looked like it might have gone all the way back to Colonial days. Philip stood on the sidewalk in front of it for a moment or two, gazing up at it. I tried to imagine what this must be like for him, to see his family business about a century later in a very different world. Then he took a deep breath and opened the front door.

The interior was full of heavy antiques that had probably been new when the building was built. Philip approached the receptionist's desk and said, "I have a two o'clock appointment with Mr. Meredith."

She checked her computer. "Ah, you must be Mr. Smith."

I remembered myself just in time to keep from giggling. I could see why he might want to use an alias when checking out his family business, but he could have found one that sounded a little less like an alias. Come to think of it, I needed an alias of my own.

The receptionist gave me a sidelong glance. "And is Miss..."

"Sue-Ellen Hunt, of the Texas Hunts," I drawled, sticking my hand out at her. My alias wasn't much better than Philip's, as Sue-Ellen had been a character on Dallas and Hunt was the only family name a.s.sociated with oil I could think of off the top of my head. If someone Googled the name, they'd certainly get the Texas oil a.s.sociations.

She eyed my hand for a second before shaking it, then she said to Philip, "Miss Meredith will be with you in a moment."

"My appointment was with Mr. Meredith," Philip said. "I understand he is currently chairman of Vandermeer and Company."

"Mr. Meredith is indisposed. His niece is taking care of the business for him in his absence." She glanced around as if to make sure she wasn't being overheard, then whispered, "He had a stroke last week, totally incapacitating. I'm sure Miss Meredith will be officially installed as chair very soon."

If we were meeting with a woman, I was in trouble. All my preparation had been designed to distract a man, but I was playing the kind of woman other women tend to hate on sight. It looked like I'd have to wing it and see what kind of person this Miss Meredith was.

Soon a frazzled-looking young man came into the lobby. "Mr. Smith? This way, please." He appeared as though at any second he was going to slip a note saying something like, "Help! I'm being held hostage!" into our pockets. I recognized the look; I'd looked much like that in my old job.

The chairman's office was even more lush than the lobby. The desk in the center of it was large enough that you could have held a feast for twenty of your closest friends on it, with room for several courses' worth of silverware at each place setting and s.p.a.ce in the middle for a string quartet to provide entertainment. I sank past my three-inch heels and almost up to my ankles in a carpet that could have doubled as a mattress. But what really caught my eye was the thing lurking in the back corner of the office.

Six.

I t was a skeletal creature much like one that had been stalking me for the past couple of months. I couldn't be sure if it was the same one, since all skeletal magical creatures look pretty much alike to me, but the one I knew had worked for Idris. That made this meeting suddenly a lot more interesting. I had a feeling I wasn't supposed to be able to see Mr. Bones, who stood silent and still in his corner, so I forced myself not to react. That was a challenge, like ignoring the giant pink elephant in the middle of the room.

Then Miss Meredith came into the room and shook Philip's hand. "Mr. Smith? I'm Sylvia Meredith. Thank you for coming in." I wasn't sure which was more dangerous, her or Mr. Bones. She was a shark in human form-sleek, efficient, and deadly, and I wouldn't have been surprised if she had a couple of extra rows of teeth. The ones we could see were white and even, and she turned the full force of them on Philip in a smile I was sure was supposed to be charming but which looked like it might draw blood. Philip turned out to be pretty smart, for he didn't look like he was the least bit taken in by her attempt at charm.

I remembered that I was supposed to be a bra.s.sy oil heiress, so I waded through the carpet and stuck my hand out at her. "Sue-Ellen Hunt, of the Texas Hunts," I said, thickening my drawl as much as I could and still be understood. "Nice place you got here. I bet this office runs you about as much as my daddy's whole estate back home. We like things big in Texas, you know." I was beginning to annoy myself, so I was sure this act was like fingernails on a blackboard to a New Yorker.

"Miss Hunt is my fiancee," Philip said, not missing a beat. "When she heard about my appointment with you she thought it would be beneficial for her to meet with you, as well."

"I gotta do something with my trust fund other than buy shoes, right?" I said with as much gusto as I could muster.

"Please, have a seat," Miss Meredith said, gesturing toward a pair of plush wingback chairs. Only the tiniest hint of annoyance showed in her eyes, but I got the feeling that meant she was steaming inside. Nothing but the strongest emotion would get past her icy facade.

I more or less tuned out the financial discussion while I checked out the setting. There was a row of portraits on one wall, going from a modern photograph of a white-haired, stern-jawed man on one end to oil paintings of men wearing powdered wigs at the other end. About five portraits in from the modern end, the look of the people changed abruptly. They went from having Philip's refined features and golden hair to looking coa.r.s.er and meaner. It was obvious when the company had been usurped. Other than the skeletal creature still lurking in the corner, I didn't spot anything obviously magical. An uninformed person who wasn't immune to magic wouldn't have noticed anything odd.

When I blinked back to the meeting, it seemed to be wrapping up. "Thank you for the information. I shall have to consult with my advisors," Philip was saying.

Sylvia eyed him warily. I hoped she hadn't noticed the resemblance between him and all those portraits on the wall. "You won't find our specialized services anywhere else," she said. "We're one of the only high-level banking houses exclusively serving the magical community." She turned to me and added, "I hope what we have to offer interests you, as well."