Page 19 of Magic for Nothing

I was alone. Well, that, or I was in the company of someone who was so good at being quiet that they should probably sign up for the Creepy Lurker Olympics. I didn’t open my eyes, instead focusing on my arms and legs, trying to determine whether I was tied down. There’s this thing people always do in the movies, where they wake up, try to move, and dramatically discover their chains. Amateurs. There’s no way to do that without making noise and attracting attention. I didn’t want either of those things.

But there were no manacles around my wrists, and no cuffs around my ankles; unless the Covenant had managed to devise weightless restraints, I was free to move. I opened my eyes.

The room I was in was dim but not dark, like the people who’d put me here wanted to be sure I got the sleep I needed. There was a wall to my left, and a bedside table to my right, complete with lamp, in case I needed more light. I touched my thigh, and found my jeans. They hadn’t undressed me or changed my clothes. They might have searched me—I would have searched me—but if they had, all my ID matched the identity I was claiming as my own, and I had my St. Julian pendant around my neck, which was a form of ID in and of itself.

The hardest thing about packing to fly to London had been leaving my weapons behind. I’d felt naked getting on the plane, and would probably have been paralyzed with fear walking into the bookstore, if not for the miracle of jet lag. I was starting to think that all dangerous activities should come directly after a transatlantic flight. Regardless, a Covenant search wouldn’t have turned up anything more dangerous than the Swiss Army knife in my suitcase, which was there mostly so I’d seem more believable as a world traveler.

I wanted to check on Mindy. I didn’t know if the room was bugged. I rolled into a sitting position, waking the chloroform headache that had been lurking patiently in my skull, and let out a pained moan that tapered upward into a squeak. I hate chloroform. People think it’s a game, but nothing that knocks a person out is actually funny. The hangover is never worth it.

Once the room stopped spinning, I lifted my head and got a better look at it. It was . . . well, it was a room. A proper room. I was sitting on a proper bed, the sort of thing you’d find in a cheap hotel or a college dormitory. There was a dresser against the wall in front of me, next to a glass-fronted bookshelf filled with actual books. My suitcase was next to a chair, with my backpack propped against it; on the chair was a folded towel, two washcloths, and a bar of soap.

“Hello?” I said. I didn’t have to work to make my voice sound querulous. The headache, and a slowly-waking, bone-deep hunger did that for me. Chloroform and jet lag. The perfect pair.

No one answered. Either the room wasn’t bugged, or the people doing the bugging didn’t feel like tipping their hand yet. That was fine. I could do some tipping of my own.

“Hello?” I said again, pushing myself to my feet. A wave of nausea swept over me. Pain and hunger are not awesome when taken together. Swallowing the urge to vomit, I took a shaky step toward the door. “Is anyone there? Can I have some toast? Or maybe a bucket?”

No answer. I glanced at my backpack. The urge to check on Mindy was so strong it hurt, and I couldn’t. It was too much of a risk. She’d understand. She knew what she was doing when she signed up for this journey. It still ached to turn my back on her and reach for the door.

The doorknob turned easily. All this, and they hadn’t even locked me in. I opened the door.

Leo was right outside, looking at his watch. “Ten hours, seventeen minutes,” he said, looking up. “Good evening.”

It took a moment to realize what he was talking about. I blinked. “You’re kidding me.”

“I am not.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

He cracked a smile. “Again, I am not, and also, language, Miss Brown. You’ve been asleep for over ten hours. Jet lag alone will do that to a person, if it’s bad enough, and when it’s jet lag plus chloroform, well . . . honestly, I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d been out for another three hours.”

“What time is it?”

“Half-seven in the evening. We’re about to sit down to dinner, if you’d like to join us.”

“‘We’ being . . . ?” I was starting to feel like I’d fallen into a really weird BBC production, probably scripted by Neil Gaiman, possibly featuring half the cast of Downton Abbey. If someone walked by in a bonnet, there was a strong chance I was going to scream.

“My family and I. Come on. Some food would do you good.”

He was right about that. Eating is one of the only things that really minimizes a chloroform hangover. I still hesitated, giving him a careful sidelong look. “Does that mean you’ve decided to trust me?”

“On a provisional basis, yes,” said Leo easily. “We went through your things—you knew that was going to happen, I won’t insult you by pretending otherwise—and didn’t find anything to set off any alarm bells. You seem to be legitimate. It’ll be a while before there’s a final verdict, of course, so I wouldn’t get too comfortable, if I were you.”

“Understood,” I said, trying not to let my face show how relieved I felt. If they hadn’t found anything suspicious, they hadn’t found Mindy. Really, that was the important thing. All the rest was just details. “I’d love food. Am I okay to come down as I am, or should I change my clothes first?”

“If you’d woken an hour ago, I’d be suggesting a shower,” said Leo. “As it stands, run a brush through your hair and put on a different jumper, and my mother will at least see that you’ve put in an effort, yeah?”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Um, I’m going to . . .” I gestured over my shoulder.

Leo nodded. “I’ll be here.”

“Cool,” I said, and shut the door in his face. Not quite striking a blow against the Covenant that would echo through the ages, but it was still pretty satisfying, especially since I was going to have to make nice with these people.

Very, very nice. I wasn’t stupid enough to think that infiltrating an organization of monster hunters that had managed to stay under the radar for centuries would be as easy as walking in and saying “what’s up, I wanna join.” There were going to be tests. There were going to be trials. There was every chance in the world that they were going to ask me to do things that went against my moral code.

But first, there was going to be dinner. I still didn’t know whether the room was bugged—I was leaning toward “yes,” given how quickly Leo had shown up after I woke—so I didn’t call for Mindy, just turned on the light, hoisted my suitcase onto the bed, and got to work making myself halfway presentable.

My hair was still relaxed and well-behaved from the henna. I brushed it as smooth as I could before pulling off my shirt and pulling on a clean sweater. It was demure enough to wear around people I was trying to make nice with, but had a deep enough V-front to show my St. Julian medallion to good advantage. Every little bit helps.