Katie Chandler - Damsel under Stress Part 6

"Oh, I let Philip handle all my major decisions," I drawled. "And I'm so sorry to hear about your uncle. I hope he gets better real soon."

A flicker of reaction crossed her face, but before I could decipher it, she managed to tamp it down. "Things don't look good," she said, sounding more determined than sad. I had the strongest suspicion that she had something to do with that "stroke." She walked us to her office door, and I felt the tingle of magic in use nearby. It didn't affect me, but I was worried about what it would do to Philip. I moved to stand between her and him, then caught his arm to make sure I had some sort of control over him as we left the building.

We both let out deep breaths when we were safely on the sidewalk and well away from the building. "Did you notice anything untoward?" he asked.

"Yeah. She had a nasty-looking bodyguard in there that I'm sure was hidden from you. And, oddly enough, it was a kind of creature my big enemy happens to be fond of. Are walking skeletons popular on magical goon squads?"

"I'm not familiar with that kind of creature."

"I thought so. I wonder if she's in league with Idris, then. That would make things interesting. Oh, and she tried to use magic on you when we were leaving."

"I noticed. I'm not certain that it worked, but I will be careful."

"That lady is bad news. And I don't think you can count on her saying, 'Oh, so sorry my ancestor put you under a spell, you should take over.' She probably would have you killed-like I bet she did to her uncle-instead of having you turned into a frog."

He sighed. "I didn't imagine this would be easy, but I fear it may be more difficult than I thought."

"Remember Ethan, the guy I used to date? He's both magically immune and a lawyer, which is just what you need for taking her on. And if she is teamed up with our enemy, you're about to have the resources of Magic, Spells, and Illusions, Inc., on your side, including Merlin himself."

He smiled at me, then gave me a gallant bow. "Then I must thank you for your a.s.sistance."

"Don't thank me yet. We may end up putting you to work."

When I got home, I felt like I was changing out of my superhero costume and returning to my mild-mannered persona as I changed out of my fancy meeting clothes and into sweats. I spent the whole evening finishing my cross-st.i.tch for Owen's foster parents while some pop star's holiday special played in the background on the TV-something I was sure the fictional Sue-Ellen Hunt would never do. She'd wear cashmere sweats, if she even wore sweats, and she'd have people to do her sewing for her. The pop star would be playing live in her living room instead of on TV. Sue-Ellen was so far from my reality that I had a feeling my secret ident.i.ty was safe.

Concentrating on my needlework was a good way to distract me from worrying about the next day with Owen or the holiday with his family. I'd forgotten what a good stress release this kind of thing could be, but my roommates would tease me mercilessly about being old-fashioned if I started doing it on a regular basis, I was sure. Maybe I should go back to knitting, I thought. At least some Hollywood stars had made that almost cool again.

The next morning, I was eager to get to Owen's house to tell him what I'd discovered. The romantic day in New York was almost secondary. Although I'd been in his home before, I'd never entered by the front door. The last time I'd been there, I'd been magically teleported inside. This time I had to climb a fairly imposing set of front steps and ring a buzzer. Instead of a response by intercom, the door just opened. I went up the staircase in the vestibule to the next floor, where Owen's door was, and it, too, opened for me.

I expected to see Owen waiting there for me, but the entry hallway was empty. A loud "meow!" at my feet corrected me. "Hi there, Loony," I said to the white-and-black-spotted cat that was rubbing happily against my ankles.

"Back here," Owen's voice called from the kitchen. I took off my coat, hat, and gloves while Loony waited patiently for me, then she headed back to the kitchen, her tail giving me a "follow me" flick. I heeded her instruction and found Owen standing at the stove in his cozy kitchen, tending one skillet full of French toast and another full of bacon.

"Wow, you're cooking for me?" I asked.

"I wanted to make sure you knew last time wasn't a fluke. And you're just in time. Breakfast is almost ready."

When he turned to talk to me, I noticed the dark circles under his eyes. I crossed my arms over my chest and said, "Don't tell me, you worked all day yesterday and most of the night."

He deftly flipped a slice of French toast. "There's coffee in the pot if you want some."

"Owen," I warned.

"Yes, I worked late. I wanted to finish before I left for Christmas." He arranged everything on plates, which he carried to the small table in one corner of the kitchen. Unless he'd cleaned house significantly in the last couple of weeks, the dining table was probably too full of books for anyone to be able to eat there. "And breakfast is served," he said.

"It looks great," I told him as I took my seat at the table. Loony immediately jumped into my lap, but Owen snapped his fingers and pointed, and she jumped down again, looking offended.

"I hope you don't mind that we didn't go out to eat," he said as he took his own seat. "It's easier for us to talk this way." He grinned and added, "And you'll need your energy for what I have planned today."

"Now you've got me intrigued." I ate and complimented him on the food, then finally said, "So, what did you discover from all your extra work?"

"Nothing." He sounded discouraged. "It didn't match any of our current employees."

"On the bright side, that does mean we don't have another mole or double agent."

"But on the not-so-bright side, it also means there's an outsider who can get through every layer of security we've got."

"Oh. I hadn't thought of that." I ate some more, keeping my mouth busy with the food so I wouldn't be tempted to say something stupid. After a while, though, I couldn't help myself. "Could it be an ex-employee? I mean, other than Idris. Someone who might not be in your current files but who would know something about how to get past security? I don't know if you could magically change the locks, so to speak, but that would explain someone being able to get in."

"We did change the security wards after Idris was fired. I can't think of anyone who was at a high enough level to have that kind of access who has left between then and now."

"There's the former boss," I reminded him.

He frowned. "No, I don't think so. As I said, he retired on good terms, and he's not even living in the city anymore. It was his idea to revive Merlin, and if he were in league with Idris, that would be the last thing he'd want to do. He was the one to make the final call on firing Idris. If he wanted to delve into that kind of magic, you'd think he would have stayed on board and turned the direction of the company around." He raised an eyebrow and flashed me a crooked smile. "And then I guess I'd have been the dangerous rogue wizard trying to bring down the company."

"I suspect you'd have been a lot more successful than he has been."

"That's because I'd be the good guy."

"Yeah, because the good guys always win in the real world. Meanwhile, I may have found something else." I briefly told him about Philip's predicament and the skeletal creature in the office.

"I haven't heard of anyone else using that kind of creature," he said. "It seems to be unique to Idris. If he's allied with someone like that, then it could mean he's found funding, and it means there are people within the establishment who might support his goals. That widens the scope of our problem somewhat."

After we finished breakfast and washed the dishes, we bundled up against the cold, then headed outside, where we walked side by side down the street. We took the subway and got off at Thirty-fourth Street for a quick peek at Santa at Macy's, then headed over to Fifth Avenue. We worked our way up the avenue, stopping in front of each elaborately decorated store window. I felt like a little kid, back in the days when I'd been utterly enchanted by the tinsel and lights strung around the shop windows on the town square back home.

At one particular store, Owen made a point of steering me to the front of the crowd to get a good look at the window. It was an intricate woodland scene, with fairies fluttering over a toadstool village inhabited by gnomes while snow drifted down from overhead. This wasn't one of the famous department stores, but it was the most exquisite window I'd seen yet, with the figures looking incredibly lifelike. They even had facial expressions. One of the fairies winked as she fluttered past the front of the display window. After we'd watched the window for a while, I realized that the patterns of the figures didn't repeat. They were spontaneous and random. I started to blurt, "These are for real!" but caught myself just in time and whispered it to Owen instead.

He leaned forward and rested his chin on my shoulder so he could whisper back. If it hadn't been so cold, I was sure I'd have melted into a puddle of goo on the sidewalk from having him next to me like that. "Yes. They work in shifts. It's one of the more popular seasonal jobs in the magical world."

"Are any of the other windows magical?"

"I'd say there's a little magic involved in all of them."

"Real or figurative?"

"Ah, that's the big question."

We continued walking up the avenue and enjoying the seasonal sights until we reached the big FAO Schwarz toy store. "Ready to regress to childhood?" he asked.

"Always!"

The doorman dressed as a toy soldier ushered us inside, where we were surrounded by every kind of stuffed animal. "The good stuff is upstairs," Owen said, and I knew what he meant as soon as we reached the top of the escalator. That was where the giant piano kids could play by running around on it was, but that wasn't what caught Owen's attention. He was focused on the display of magic kits, which were being demonstrated by a young employee. I bit my lip to keep myself from laughing. Not only was Owen a genuine wizard, but he also had a knack for stage magic. You had to know your magic to be sure whether he was using sleight of hand or real magic. If the demonstrator picked the wrong audience volunteer, I knew this could get interesting.

We stood near the back of the cl.u.s.ter of shoppers that had formed around the demonstration table, then as the employee finished a trick, that group trickled away and we moved to the front. The next volunteer was a little boy, who could never properly guess which card would be drawn, while the demonstrator got it right every time. The demonstrator then turned to Owen, who guessed correctly. That took the demonstrator aback. He turned to get another trick from his case, and Owen bent to whisper to me, "I've got the same set."

From there, it turned into a game of magical one-upmanship, each of them trying to stump the other. As far as I could tell, Owen wasn't using real magic. I could usually sense the tingle of power in use if I was paying attention. A larger and larger crowd formed as the show grew more and more spectacular. The demonstrator finally pulled out a silk top hat, showed everyone that it was empty, then pulled a plume of feathers out of it. He handed the hat to Owen, who shrugged and reached inside. That time, I felt a tingle. Owen pulled a live rabbit out of the hat, to much applause. While everyone was applauding, the rabbit turned into a stuffed toy, which Owen handed to the little girl next to him.

We slipped away in the commotion as the shoppers surged forward to buy magic kits. The still-baffled employee kept shouting that the rabbit trick wasn't included in the kit. On the way down the escalator, I elbowed Owen. "You cheated."

"I couldn't let a college student beat a real wizard," he said with a grin and a blush. "It would be bad for my reputation. And he's going to sell a lot of magic kits."

"Nice justification. But don't you feel bad that he'll be spending months trying to figure out how you got a rabbit out of that hat?"

"He'd be better off working on his technique so he can fool your average ten-year-old. Ready for lunch?"

I was hungry enough in spite of the big breakfast that I didn't mind him changing the subject that way. We found a deli nearby, and it felt incredibly good to sit down after all the walking we'd done. "How have you enjoyed the day so far?" he asked.

"It's been wonderful. I saw some of these places before when I was with Mom at Thanksgiving, but at the time I was so worried about what else we might run into that I barely noticed them. It was nice to be able to take our time and enjoy it all."

"I'm glad it hasn't been a total waste of time."

"Oh no! It's been great."

"It's not over yet," he said with one of those sly grins of his that woke up the b.u.t.terflies in my stomach.

After we finished our meal and were leaving the restaurant, he said, "And now, our final adventure of the day."

"What is it?" I asked, feeling like an eager, excited child.

"Haven't you learned by now that I'm not going to tell you?"

I soon figured out that we were heading toward Central Park. He led me down the path alongside the pond, where I'd once kissed frogs with some co-workers on a very wild girls' night out. And then we were at the plaza overlooking Wollman Rink. Skaters twirled beneath us on the ice. We watched for a moment, then he said, "Come on."

I followed, then realized that he intended for us to go onto the ice. "Whoa, wait a second," I said. "I've never been ice-skating."

"All the more reason for you to give it a try."

"But I don't know how."

"You've roller-skated, haven't you?"

"Yeah, when I was in third grade and had Barbie skates."

"Don't worry, I won't let you fall."

I knew he wouldn't, and that he had more than just brute strength to rely upon for keeping me upright. That still didn't make me feel much better. "I'll make a fool out of myself in front of all these people."

"You won't be the only one." As if to prove him right, a girl fell straight onto her behind not too far from where we stood. I knew he was too nice to have done that to her just to prove a point.

"I take it you know what you're doing on the ice."

"Yeah, Rod and I used to play hockey when we were kids on the pond in the village park."

"See, that's where I'm at a disadvantage. Where I'm from it doesn't get cold enough or stay cold long enough to freeze any body of water thoroughly enough for it to support a person's weight, unless it's a really freaky weather year."

"Skating here at Christmastime is one of the most romantic things to do in the city. It shows up in movies all the time." I had to give him that point. How many times had I watched a romantic scene of a couple on this ice rink and sighed, wishing that could be me one day? Here I was a couple of days before Christmas with an amazing guy. It was a scenario right out of a movie. Then he moved in for the final argument. "Who knows, if we're lucky, it might even start snowing."

I knew when I was beat, and besides, I secretly really wanted to do this. "Okay, but if I break my leg, you're carrying me up and down the stairs to my apartment."

"Deal." He paid the admission and skate rental, then we took our skates to a bench to put them on and stowed our shoes in a locker. I felt wobbly getting to the rink, so I could only dread how bad it would be when I stepped onto the ice. Ice was slippery and cold, and that wasn't a great combination in my book.

True to his word, Owen kept an arm tight around my waist as he eased me onto the ice. I was glad he didn't feel the need to show off, but he did seem good enough at what he was doing to keep his balance and support me at the same time.

I was sure I looked a lot like a newborn foal whose legs aren't quite steady and tend to try to move in different directions, but I didn't feel like I was going to fall. Soon I felt confident enough to let myself glide a little, and before long I was actually enjoying myself. A lot of that was probably because of Owen's arm tight around my waist and the way he smiled patiently down at me.

After a full lap around the rink, he eased up on the death grip around my waist, keeping his arm there but not squeezing quite so hard. I was finally able to notice my surroundings-the trees in the park, the tall buildings overlooking us, the other skaters. Christmas music played on the sound system. All we needed to make it perfect was a little snow.

No sooner had I thought it than a scattering of light flakes began to fall. I laughed out loud. "Okay, you're right, this is perfect."

"Isn't it, though?" he said mildly, a glint in his eye.

"You're doing this, aren't you?"

He tried to look innocent and failed. "Maybe. But look how much everyone is enjoying it." He was right. The kids were squealing in delight and the adults were all beaming.

"Thank you," I whispered, smiling up at him. And then I was suddenly falling into something very wet and cold.

Seven.

I wasn't surprised to be falling; I'd actually been antic.i.p.ating a big fall from before the moment I stepped onto the ice. However, I'd expected the ice to be cold and hard. Instead, I was cold and wet, all the way up to my shoulders. If I hadn't known better, I'd have thought I'd fallen through the ice on that frozen pond Owen had mentioned. The only thing keeping me from going under entirely was Owen's firm grasp on my arm.

"Katie!" he yelled. I blinked to see him stretched out on the ice, facedown, as he tried to get his free arm under my shoulders. I vaguely recalled having read somewhere that when you were on cracking ice, you should lie down to spread out your body weight. I wondered if he was doing that instinctively. But then I remembered that this rink was on top of a cement slab, and the ice couldn't have been more than a few inches thick, even if I couldn't seem to feel the bottom of whatever I'd fallen into.

I got my wits about me enough to reach my other arm up and try to get a grasp on something, but my fingers were numb from cold, and the ice kept breaking off around me. Owen grabbed that wrist and managed to pull me a little farther out of the hole. The whole time, he mumbled under his breath, and I could feel the tingle of magic near me. A crowd gathered around us, and soon a couple of men helped Owen pull me up onto the ice. I turned around to see the hole where I'd fallen and caught only a glimpse of the hole freezing over again.

A muddle of voices asked variations on the "what just happened here?" question, only with lots more profanity, this being New York. My teeth were chattering so hard I could only hear bits and pieces. Next thing I knew, something heavy was being wrapped around me and I was being pulled to my feet. Then I felt my feet leaving the ground. My legs were still pretty numb, but I got the feeling they were draped over someone's arm, and I was cradled against something warm and solid. The wind stirred around me, making me shiver even more, and I realized that whoever was carrying me was moving.

Soon I was deposited onto a bench, and I heard Owen's voice barking out orders. "I need someone to bring a blanket and something hot to drink." Then his face was very close to mine. "Katie?" he asked, looking tense and worried.

I tried to tell him I'd be fine, but my teeth were still chattering. He pulled something from around me-his coat, it turned out-then peeled my own wet coat off me. I tried to fight him because if I was this cold already, how would I feel without a coat on at all? He shushed me, though, murmuring so only I could hear, "I'll take care of it, but the last thing you need is to be wrapped in a wet coat." Sure enough, soon my clothes were dry and warm, and I felt much better. He put his dry coat back around me and set my soaking coat, which had ice crystals forming on it, aside on the bench. As the cold seeped away from my brain, I realized what he'd done. He'd managed to dry my clothes magically while still keeping my coat wet, and with his coat around me, n.o.body would notice that my clothes were dry. They'd only see the wet coat and a.s.sume I was still wet, so they'd never suspect anything funny-well, anything funnier than falling through ice that had a concrete slab under it. My Owen was really good at thinking logically in a crisis.

A moment later, someone draped a blanket around me, and Owen held a steaming paper cup to my lips. "Come on, drink," he urged. It turned out to be hot cocoa, and that warmth going into me just about did the trick. Soon my hands had thawed enough for me to hold the cup myself. While I drank, Owen disappeared for a moment, then returned and knelt in front of me. It took me a second to realize he was pulling off my skates and putting my shoes on. My feet seemed to be the last parts of me that remained numb from the cold.

The people around us were still talking. "Must've been a sinkhole," one voice said. "No way," another replied. "Not that deep." "Strangest thing I ever saw, and I seen a lot." I felt the air around me stir, then turned to see Sam perched beside me on the back of the bench. He winked at me, then faced Owen, who gave him a quizzical look. Sam shook his head grimly, then took off again. He coasted in a spiraling pattern above the rink, looking for all the world like a buzzard circling a dead animal out in the country.

Someone wearing a park employee uniform joined us. Owen dealt with him, saying something about how I'd be okay, there must have just been a melted spot. The employee went out on the ice, others leading him to the place where not too long ago there had been a gaping hole full of icy water, but it was impossible to tell that anything had happened there. I almost felt sorry for the guy, who was probably going to have a hard time writing the report on this incident.

He returned and had more words with Owen. There were raised voices, and I wished I could concentrate enough to pay attention to what they were saying because Owen never raised his voice, not even when he was angry. He was one of those people who got quieter and calmer when he got mad, so this was unusual and probably well worth listening to. I did manage to hear him say quite firmly, "I need to get her home and warm. I don't know what happened, but you don't have to worry about us filing a complaint or suing. I don't care about your paperwork. I just need to get her warm."

Then he came back to me, sitting beside me on the bench. "Do you think you can walk?" he asked, his voice soft and gentle, more like his normal self.

"Yeah," I managed to croak.