Page 36 of Magic for Nothing

“Hey,” I said, with forced joviality. “Did you pick the lock on my room?” You sillies, said my tone. I would have let you in. “Can you teach me to do that?”

“Shut the door,” said Robert.

I stepped inside. I shut the door. I even put down my suitcase, to make it look like I wasn’t planning to bolt at the slightest sign of danger. I did not take off my backpack. My willingness to risk myself did not extend to letting them get my mice.

“I was against sending you on this jaunt from the beginning,” said Robert. His tone was flat; his eyes were cold. It was like being lectured by a lizard that had decided to spend some time in human form. “You’re American, and Americans are inherently untrustworthy. You don’t understand tradition. Not really. Not down to your bones. You’re also very new. No one should be in the field after only six weeks with us. It’s inappropriate, and it’s unfair to you. If you fail, it will be counted against you forever, when we were the ones who sent you into something you’re not prepared for.”

“I thought this was going to be me and Margaret,” I said. I allowed a note of irritation to creep into my tone. I didn’t like Margaret, but in a distant, terrible way, I recognized her as family. And no one treats my family badly but me. “Why are you here?”

Margaret, standing against the wall, didn’t meet my eyes. That probably wasn’t a good sign.

“I don’t know how much you retained from your lessons, but our Maggie is the latest scion of a line known for throwing traitors. She’s not allowed to leave the United Kingdom without a minder, lest she go the way of all Healys and defect. She and I have worked together before. She knows how to take orders from me. As to why you weren’t told, it was a test. We wanted to know how you’d behave if you thought you weren’t under supervision.”

“Well?” I spread my arms wide before allowing them to slap back against my sides. “Do I pass, or is this where I try to see whether I can run faster scared than you can murderous? Because I can run really fast when I’m scared.”

“Calm down, Miss Brown. You comported yourself admirably. You didn’t draw excessive attention, you moved between your checkpoints without hesitation, and you didn’t have unnecessary contact with civilians. All in all, you did as well as could have been expected, and substantially better than I’d expected from you.”

My first impulse was to get angry. Fortunately for me, my second impulse was to simper and look flattered, and that was the impulse that won. Baiting a member of the Covenant when I was exhausted and unarmed didn’t seem like a good way to keep myself breathing.

“So what happens now?” I picked up my suitcase, walking over to sling it up onto the dresser next to the ancient television. “I need to get some sleep before I talk to the carnival. I’m so tired that my hair hurts.”

“What happens now is we leave.” Robert pulled a battered smartphone out of his pocket, holding it up for me to see. “There are two numbers programmed into this. ‘Sue’ will reach Margaret. ‘Tom’ will reach me. Only call if you have something to report, or if your life is in danger. Otherwise, you’re expected to text us both at ten-seventeen every evening to tell us what’s going on. References to food, cats, or having a good time will be taken as a sign that your mission is going well; references to alcohol, dogs, or frowny faces will be taken as a sign you need assistance.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You’re not the one who came up with this code, are you?”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” asked Robert, lobbing the phone at me. “And it doesn’t matter who conceived the code, as long as you stick to it religiously. If you miss two check-ins in a row, we’ll come for you, and we won’t come gently. Either Margaret or I will call to inform you of any changes to the mission. Do you understand?”

“I do,” I said. “Are you going to back off now, and let me convince these people that I’m on their side? Because I can do it, but only if you leave me the time I need to work.”

Robert looked at me assessingly. I stayed where I was, trying not to squirm. I needed him to give me the freedom to act. I needed to be able to approach these people on my own terms, to get them to trust me, so I could figure out whether I’d be able to protect them.

And whether I should. If they were responsible for those disappearances—if they were kidnapping children, and especially if those children weren’t alive—I would normally have notified my family, and we would have dealt with it. Dealing with it didn’t always end bloodlessly. So if they were killers, and turning them over to the Covenant could strengthen my cover, why shouldn’t I do exactly that? Why shouldn’t I protect humanity and myself at the same time?

I swallowed the urge to shake the thought away. I was tired, and these people were getting to me. I needed to sleep. I needed to rest. Once I’d done that, I’d be able to think more clearly, and the idea of turning innocent cryptids over to the Covenant of St. George would stop seeming like something that could ever, ever be “all right.”

(Yes, sometimes we killed, and sometimes we did it because cryptids were putting humans in danger. But there was a big difference between a clean kill on home ground and inviting the assassins over to play.)

“You’ve got your own reins,” he said, and stood, walking over to clasp my shoulder firmly. “Don’t fuck it up, Annie-girl. You’re not going to get another shot.”

Then he turned and walked out. The silent Margaret trailed after him, pausing only to shoot me a pained look. I felt almost bad for her. It was pretty clear how the hierarchy here worked, and she wasn’t anywhere near the top.

The door slammed behind them. I was alone—only not quite. Shrugging off my backpack, I put it down next to the bed, yawned, and said blandly, “It’s sure nice to have a little privacy again.”

The sound of scurrying feet from under the bed told me Mindy had taken the hint, and was hauling Mork along with her while she searched the room for listening devices, hidden cameras, and other things that could ruin my night. Without Chloe there to snore and provide cover, I couldn’t talk to the mice until we were sure that it was safe. So I sat down on the edge of the bed to wait.

It was a nice bed. So nice. So soft. So comfort . . . able . . .

The room was dark. When did that happen? I blinked several times, trying to make the light come back. The light did not come back. I sat up. Doing so revealed that I’d been lying down before, still fully clothed, atop the sheets of my cheap motel room bed. Well, that probably cut down on the bedbug risk. I glanced at the clock next to the bed. Three AM. I’d been asleep for eleven hours.

“Did someone get the number of that truck?” I asked, of no one in particular.

“There was no truck, Priestess,” said Mindy solemnly. “You were Asleep. Exceedingly and utterly Asleep. We attempted, in the traditional manner, inserting pencils in your nose, but you did not wake. You merely threw the pencils across the room and muttered.”

I would have been mad, but that particular tradition was my fault, triggered during Alex’s “fall asleep doing his homework” phase in high school. I should have known the mice would be watching when I started jamming pencils in my brother’s nose, and more, I should have known they would promptly make a holy ritual out of it, because that was what the mice did.

“Right,” I said, muffling a yawn before I asked, “Did you find anything? I’m assuming no, because you’re talking to me.”

“We found one device for the listening,” said Mindy. “We moved it to the room next door. The woman there is sleeping. We will move it back before she wakes. We have further examined the telephone you were given. It contains no devices for listening.”